Don't talk about Ari
I just had a very surreal experience.

I was sitting up in the lounge doing my Hebrew homework for today, and a song starts coming through from the radio. It says, in Hebrew,

"Don't talk about Ari
Oh, no, don't talk about Ari
All the time, it's Ari, Ari, Ari,
I'm sick of this Ari"

Dear Singer: Whatever I did, I'm sorry.

Only in Israel would my name make it into a song.
- posted by @ 9:25 AM

 
A Patchwork Orange
Last night Elana and I went with Nava and Nathalie, two of our friends who are also in the JSS master class, to a modern dance performance downtown (do not read "Performance art." This was actually dance). Nathalie's boyfriend El'ad was one of the dancers. It was excellent.

After the show we went to a restaurant for a late night dinner with Nava, Nathalie and El'ad. It was a very enjoyable night.

It's been kind of hard getting back into the swing of Academia after a weekend filled with such a vacation, but I think I am finally in "work mode" again. The week has started off slowly (oh, great, the guy on the computer next to me is making out with his girlfriend, and I'm the only other person in the room. How unbelievably awkward...), but once I hit Tuesday I feel like I am already in the week's home-stretch: I have no more Arabic classes during the week, and basically all I have is two Hebrew classes until the weekend.

In other news, not that anything resembling news has appeared in this blog entry, good friends Jeff and L, whom we know from Brandeis (well, we know Jeff from Brandeis, and L from her various visits to Brandeis, as well as our recent trip to Washington, D.C., where they were gracious enough to host us for the weekend), are in Israel, and we are going to see them some night this week in Tel Aviv. I can certainly relate to Jeff's experience, who is now meeting a dizzying array of future in-laws (he gets to do it before the marriage; I did it after!), and we're both glad that we are going to get a chance to see them, even if it's only for one night.

The website, many of you may have noticed, has been updated. It no longer looks so hodge-podge (unlike this blog entry, sadly; without a tiyul or a funny story there is no narrative to tie any sort of coherent entry together). It has been updated and streamlined, and made more sleek and aerodynamic for 2004. I made the pictures larger because in some of them, the textures of faces resembled sand; but I put them on more pages, so it won't take so long to download each. It actually looks sort of like a real website, though there are yet some kinks to work out. It is best viewed, as are most websites, with a fast connection.

Now it's off to do the Arabic homework, which I blew off last night to go to the performance (this last sentence, admittedly, was a truly futile attempt to give this entry some sort of circular structure). I apologize for the quilt-like nature of these thoughts, and promise better efforts in the future.
- posted by @ 9:17 AM

 
Adventures out of Jerusalem
At last!

We just got back into Jerusalem after a fantastic Hanukah weekend. We scuttled our original plans to go the Jezreel Valley area in favor of Tzfat (Safed), further to the north. But we did get to Emek Yizre'el on our visit. All in good time.

On Christmas eve we drove to Ashdod to spend some time with Grisha and Valya, whom we hadn't seen in a week and a half. We spent one night there, then we hopped in the car and headed north. Beit Hashita, where I spent a year in high school, was on the way (okay, well, a little out of the way), but I really wanted to see it and I wanted Elana to see it, so we took the long way through the aforementioned Jezreel Valley, and drove in. The first thing we did was to go to the zoo, where I worked for most of the year (I only pointed out the Zeitia, the olive factory, because I wouldn't want to subject anyone to such a smell). The zoo remained outstanding: the baboons were still there (the same ones!), and a lot of the work I did was still evident (the wires holding the chain link fence in place? All me! The plaster in the Byzantine winery excavation? You guessed it! The concrete floor of the baboon cage? Original Ari, baby!) Mookie no longer works there, but I did recognize the young Kibbutzniks who had taken over (Jen: I think I saw Ofer working there!). While I was there, I called Amichai (the director of the American Class), who was shocked to hear from me, and even more shocked that I was on the Kibbutz. After our visit to the zoo, we drove down to the Mazkirut, the Secretariat of the Kibbutz, where Amichai is now basically one of the top three men of the Kibbutz. The American Class, sad to say, no longer exists: applications were down, and Amichai was pessimistic about the prospects of it coming to life again. I'm just glad it was there for my year.

The changes to the Kibbutz are very deep, but fortunately didn't touch the surface too much. Of course, it's all privatized now, a sad development for a community whose roots are socialist. There is a gas station, a Burger King, and a Thai noodle restaurant at the bottom of the hill on the highway, which was also kind of sad to see. But on the Kibbutz itself, everything looked exactly the same (as soon as I finish writing this entry, which could be a while, I will post some pictures of our whole journey on the website). The dorms of the American class lie empty, but everything else was a comfort. When we left, I filled up the Shtinker at the Beit Hashita gas station, both to get gas and to give something back to the community that gave me a great year in high school.

Mom, before you ask, no, I did not call Rene (my Kibbutz mother, with whom I have lost contact). But I did find out that she is still on the Kibbutz, and Amichai gave me her phone number and contact information. So a letter will be heading her way soon. ;-)

We headed out east towards Beit She'an and cut north towards Tiberias, on the way to Tzfat. On the way, we passed by Lake Kineret, the Sea of Galilee. We stopped to take some pictures and touch the water. It only later occurred to us that we were touching the water that Jesus walked on at Christmastime. For the Christians among you, let the pictures on the website serve as an additional reason to come visit. We'll take you there.

We hopped back in the car after our fifteen minute stay at the Lake, and didn't stop until we found our hotel, the Ruth Rimonim, in the Artists' Colony in Tzfat. It was a nice hotel (ironically enough, affiliated with Howard Johnson's--this is probably the best HoJo's in the world), and after dropping our bags in the room, we immediately set out walking.

Tzfat, as a city, is outstanding. It now hosts (so we were told) a thriving art scene (more on that later), and is also a great Jewish spiritual center: there is a fantastic history of Kabbalic and spiritual study in Tzfat. It's easy to see why: the views from the mountaintop city are breathtaking, and the Old City is like a gentle version of the Old City of Jerusalem. We stopped in a couple of art galleries, none spectacular save that of the sculptor Haim Azuz, whose flowing sculptures actually do merit a mention by name. He also wasn't pushy, which, as you will discover, is also worthy of note. We wandered through the Artists' Colony, most of which was already closed for the night, into the Old City, which had tons of awesome stone corridors and steps. We hopped up the hill into the New City, and walked back down to our hotel, on the way stopping for dinner. We relaxed in the hotel for the night.

When we turned on the news we got word of the terrorist attack at the bus stop on Geheh Street in B'nei Brak/Petah Tikva. Four were killed. It was right along our route that day, Road 4.

When we woke up this morning, it was cloudy and damp, though not rainy. We walked through the Artists' Colony again, this time stopping in at the studios which had been closed. This turned out to be a big disappointment. The quality of the art was low, and everything any of the artists said to us was designed to make a sale. They were very aggressive, always breathing down our necks. Of course I understand the need to sell one's work (though it's probably easier not to sell your own work), but when asked "What medium is that?" the answer should never be "Dye and silk, inexpensive." I've never heard of *that* medium. We did meet one interesting man, who was from fifteen minutes from Telanyesht, where many of Elana's family come from. He was excited to talk to someone whose roots are "home," and shared with us his past fighting with Menachem Begin in the '48 War of Independence. For those of you unversed in the history of the man who made peace with Egypt, he was a member of what has been termed a Jewish terrorist organization, called Edzel. He smiled, not unpleasantly, when he saw my reaction: he said simply, "I'm not a terrorist. I'm a patriot." I believe him: Edzel never targeted civilians, though their tactics tended to lean uncomfortably towards guerilla.

The crafts and the Judaica were phenomenal. Beautiful old menorahs and mezuzahs and prayerbooks, painted glass and figurines. We didn't buy anything, but it was fun to look at.

We also found our way to the synagogues, which were kind of a disappointment after all we had heard about them. They were not real well preserved, and one gets the sense that the mural painters were chosen for their piety rather than any artistic talent. We took a dutiful picture in each (one of which we later deleted), and decided to leave Tzfat. We had a car, a little more than three quarters of a tank of gas, and basically all of northern Israel and the Golan Heights at our disposal. We selected Beit She'an, a small town of historical significance that lies at the eastern end of the Jezreel Valley (about ten minutes east of Beit Hashita) and on the northern end of the Jordan River Valley, where there is a huge excavation underway of an ancient Roman city.

We left Tzfat with little trouble, and drove back down along the coast of the Galilee. Somehow, when we reached the bottom of the Galilee, poor signage (a problem in Israel) led us astray, and suddenly we found ourselves driving down a rather narrow road with no way to turn around, next to a large double- or triple- fence with barbed wire. It took a few minutes for it to register that this was awfully excessive for keeping unwanted animals off the highway, as most animals in fact are not trained in the deadly art of insurgency. We were, in fact, driving along the narrow strip of Israeli land between the southern tip of the Galilee and the State of Jordan, entering into the Golan Heights. This is not an unsafe place to be, before you wet your pants for our sake: Golan has been very quiet (especially the southern Golan, far from Syria) and Israel and Jordan have been at peace since 1995.

More poor signage compounded our error, and after a left turn that was supposed to get us back to 90, the main highway, we found ourselves driving up Road 98, perhaps the most treacherous road I've seen in my life (though conditions were good, and the road was very well paved). There was again no place to turn around, and we had to climb all the way to the top before we found a place that was safe to reverse direction. That spot, however, afforded us a fabulous view of the lower Galilee. It was also a history and geography lesson: it is easy to see why Israel is reluctant to give up the Golan Heights. Check out this picture for a new definition of "strategic importance." Happy accidents.

We climbed back down the hill (it is much easier to simply ride the break down than to coax a car up) and found our way back to 90, our detour having taken twenty-five minutes or so. So, it was not *too* costly a mistake, and, hey, the Shtinker passed his trial-by-fire with flying colors. We got to Beit She'an, where I had been a couple of times, and went in. There was a group from Denver there, some of whom were wearing DU apparel. Elana and I walked around, poking through the Roman ruins and enjoying the weather. We spent a little more than an hour there, marveling at the amphitheatre and the boulevards, before we decided it was about time to pack it in and head back towards Jerusalem.

However, we could not take the direct routes down, since they happen to pass through Jenin or Jericho; this meant another drive past Beit Hashita, through the Jezreel Valley. We stopped for dinner at a little restaurant called Iris HaGilboa, which is at the bottom of Kibbutz Ein Harod, next door to Beit Hashita, and where we attended school during the American Class year. Sometimes, on long days at school when we were supposed to go the Ein Harod dining hall, we would sneak quickly down the hill and order food, hopefully in time to make it back up (the last time I was there in '96, I didn't make it back in time for class and Amichai's punishment was to strip me of the privilege of going down there for lunch; a meaningless edict, since it was already forbidden, but I obeyed for the remaining month of the program nonetheless). The same guy was running the restaurant, and I told him, among other things, that I'd been waiting to eat there for eight years (when I have craved Middle Eastern Food in the US, I have craved Iris HaGilboa) and that I had learned to eat humus, now a staple of my diet, at his restaurant. He was pleased. The food is not phenomenal by any means (well, except when compared to Kibbutz dining hall food, which makes Brandeis food look like New Mother India), but it did taste like I remembered it, and for that reason alone it was delicious.

On the way back, we again passed the site of the terrorist attack. Less than twenty-four hours after the attack, there was a new bus stop in place, and there was no indication at all that anything had happened there. This is something I first found callous, but now respect about the way Israel responds to these attacks. The very act of putting a memorial at every attack site would soon render the memorials themselves meaningless. The best tribute is to move on with life. If something has been destroyed, rebuild it. Of course, the bus stop was not the target: the innocent civilians were. But you fix what you can, and move on. They won't stop us from living our lives.

We arrived back in Jerusalem with no problems. In Jerusalem, there were no cars on the road (it's such a pleasure to drive in Jerusalem on Shabbat!) and we got back to our apartment in record time.

Looking back on our first real Tiyul in Israel, I can say with certainty that we have set a high standard for ourselves vis-a-vis future trips. We both had a fantastic time, and even the disappointments (like the art in Tzfat) were accepted as an eminently worthwhile part of the experience. Breaking out of the center of the country gave us a new feeling of freedom, and I eagerly await the next tiyul. For now, we have a day to unwind before we're back to routine. But I can't but feel totally refreshed and invigorated from our trip up north.
- posted by @ 8:54 PM

 
Quite Mad
Not as in angry. As in a hatter.

I'll talk about the plans for this weekend in a minute, but first I want to make mention of Elana's day at JSS yesterday. The Master Artist Israel was in, and four or five times held Elana's work as an example of what to do. It was, as Elana described it, one of those embarassing moments where the teacher holds up, for example, your essay, and says to the class, "If you want to know how to write an essay, LOOK AT ELANA'S!" And puts it up on the bulletin board. Elana, as a matter of fact, asked me not to write about this. But that's the good thing about holding the password: I get to decide what goes up. The greatest compliment was probably when he said to another student, in reference to to some criticism he was giving at the time, to which Elana's work that day was applicable, "Elana may look like a nice person, but really she's quite mad. Absolutely insane." Everyone turned to look at Elana, who couldn't resist the urge to make a monster face.

We spent the morning trying to plan our trip. I take full responsibility for the failure to pull it off. We were planning a trip to the Jezreel Valley in the lower Galilee, where Beit Hashita, Beit She'an, Megiddo, Belvoir, and all sorts of interesting places, lie. Every hotel within a fifty mile radius is booked up. Why? Why, you ask?

Because I was trying to make reservations for Christmas, not ten miles from Nazareth. *Insert Ari smacking head in "D'oh!"-like gesture, repeat.* One of these days, Ari, bang-zoom to the moon!

So, in true Israeli style, we fudged our plans. We are now planning to head to Ashdod tonight and set off for Tzfat (Safed) tomorrow, stay there overnight and return to Jerusalem on Friday night. Then, on Saturday morning, we'll take a day trip to the Beit Guvrin Caves, which will be awesome. I should have some very interesting stuff to say.

There's some new photos, plus more of Elana's Art, on the website.
- posted by @ 3:23 PM

 
Don't tie yourself to tour guides
The trip to the Israel Museum was a disappointment. It's not entirely the fault of the Israel Museum: the Return of the King-induced late night and the Broncos-Colts-induced early morning combined to sap me of any energy I had. Still, though, the trip was certainly not what the Hebrew teachers who organized it had hoped.

I arrived at school and boarded the private bus that was taking us and a couple of other classes to the Givat Ram campus, where the Israel Museum is located. It was sort of disorganized from the start, with all the classes mingling and chatting while the teachers desperately tried to keep us segregated in the three or four groups they had arranged ahead of time. Once we finally got going with the tour, it was in Hebrew. Now, this was not a surprise, since the trip was in conjunction with a Hebrew class. However, I was tired, our tour guide was long-winded, and the topics of our tour--the Dead Sea Scrolls, Hanukiot from around the world, and the Bible art of Abel Pann--were dry at best, and it didn't seem worth my energy to try to keep up. The Dead Sea Scrolls are pretty cool in general, but for some reason we didn't actually SEE them, nor did we discuss their history or content: rather, the main topic of study was a comparison of different methods of preserving them. I spent some time wandering apart from the group. Elana and I want to go back on our own time, to see what we want to see--I remember it being a fantastic museum, and this trip left a poor taste in my mouth.

When we got back to Mount Scopus, I was so tired I elected to ditch Arabic (the first class I have purposely ditched since senior ditch day in high school) and go home. Apparently I was not alone; many others had the same idea, since Yael, the teacher, made a comment today about how many more people decided to show up. I relaxed for a bit, then Elana and I decided to go see the Old City, which we had not done yet. The Old City was great. It's like one giant building, with narrow pedestrian streets of stone twisting beneath arches and through corridors. It's hard to think of it as a real city, since it seems like the kind of thing that has been set up as some sort of replica in the US, designed to sell you souvenirs for more than they are worth. We stopped in a few shops, and bought a lovely handmade backgammon set from an old Iranian Jew with the unlikely name of Yehuda al-Sheikh (for a reasonable price after bargaining), who was very happy to sell it to us--indeed, probably to sell anything. We shrugged off would-be tour guides, who are very aggressive, and made our way down to the Kotel, the Wailing Wall.

Nothing really prepares you for it. I'll post some pictures on the website when I get around to it, hopefully soon...but it's still astonishing how close together everything is. The wall, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque (where, incidentally, Egypt's foreign minister was attacked yesterday after we were home) are within the same square half-kilometer. The location of the Dome and Mosque, of course, are on the Temple Mount, the holiest plot of land in Judaism, and were built on the site of the ruined Second Temple, destroyed in the year 70. Many Jews want Israel to tear down the Muslim sites and rebuild the Temple: I think it highly unlikely that any such thing will ever happen. Still, some Jews refuse to acknowledge even the existence of the Dome and the Mosque (soon, there will be a link here to a picture of a map of the Old City that was hanging on a wall in Jewish Quarter).

We grabbed a taxi home, and after lighting the Hanukiah for the fourth night and having a dinner of mamaliga (the Russian name; in English it's called "Cornmeal Mush," so my use of the Slavic term must be excused), we had an apartment clean-up party and went to bed early.

When I got to school today, I found out that the quiz, originally scheduled for Sunday, had been moved up to today in my absence. I crammed for an hour, enough to get it all into my short term memory for the quiz, and hope to review the words later on. Right now I am procrastinating; since we are a week behind in State and Society in the Medieval Islamic World, which meets later today, I am thinking of waiting until next week to do the reading, so that it again corresponds to the lecture.

For a general picture, it has now been a full three months since we arrived in Israel--or, as I feel when I type that sentence, *only* three months. In that short time we have found an apartment, a car (which we have fixed a bunch of times), arranged for insurance, internet access, a bank account, and cellphones, made significant progress in our studies, found the time to visit some interesting places, and made some friends--all in a language neither of us speaks very well. It's hard to believe that it's only been three months. I can't help but feel very good about how we're doing here.

In case I don't write again tomorrow, we are leaving for a long weekend, and probably won't be back until Saturday night. Our Tiyul's destination is, as yet, unknown, but the Jezreel Valley (where Beit Hashita, Belvoir, and Beit She'an are) and the Dead Sea have emerged as leading candidates. In the meantime, Happy Hanukah and Merry Christmas. For those Jews in the LA area, we wish you a happy hike up Castle Peak.
- posted by @ 1:21 PM

 
Catch my breath
Okay. Wow. That movie was awesome. I'm not going to waste any time on analysis or criticism, I'm just going to enjoy having had the experience and let it be at that. If you have not seen Return of the King (in conjunction with the first two), please do as soon as possible.

I will talk about the movie-going experience in Israel, since that is more relevent to the ostensible subject of this blog. Our experience may or may not be indicative, since we did go see a hugely popular movie on the first day after opening weekend (remember: Sunday is a workday). We had intended to see the 4 PM show, so I drove home from school and we drove down to the theatre. I stood in line, and there were only two seats left available for the 4 and 5 o'clock shows: in the third row on the very side, I was told. It turns out that these would not have been terrible seats. But instead, we opted for the 8 PM show, which allowed us to sit in the third row in the center. Tickets in hand, we walked back to our area, loathe to give up our parking space in the garage, which is quite possibly the worst-designed parking garage in the history of mankind. We went to the Beit Hadar mall, across the street from JSS, and went and sat down at the Aroma Espresso (= Starbucks + Great sandwiches and salads) for a bite to eat. We lit the Chanukah candles for the third night, and then grabbed a cab back to the theatre.

It was a mob scene. People were crowded outside the door to the theatre lobby (which is kept locked except when they are passing people through a third line of security, after the entrance to the building and the top of the escalators), waiting to get into various movies. Some poor girls asked us if we would consider scalping our tickets, that Return of the King was sold out. With a sad smile, we turned them down, both thinking the same thing: "This is the third time we have come to the theatre to see this movie. I'll be damned if we fail now."

A large segment of the crowd was American. Perhaps it's just being here, but you can spot an American a mile away here, and it's almost invariably by the fact that they are constantly complaining about something. Not in the aggressive Israeli way, which is usually undertaken with direct intent to get something done and borne from the knowledge that being quiet will get you nothing. Rather, Americans complain in the...well, American way. Which is passive-agressively polite, and more likely to earn you a smack upside the head than a solution to your problem. Elana asked an American woman standing in front if she was waiting for Return of the King, and got an answer something like this:

"You know, I had to call this theatre THREE TIMES just to find out how much tickets cost--some said 40 shekels, some said 50--another time to find out the times of the movies, and TWO MORE times to find out how much popcorn cost, and you know what their response was? They don't KNOW! It's absoulely unbelievable."

Elana tried again: "Are you waiting to get into the lobby for Lord of the Rings?"

American woman: "They're so disorganized, they don't know what's going on in there!"

A third attempt by Elana and the question was finally addressed: she was, in fact, there with her kids to see Spy Kids 3-D. I don't know exactly what her deal was. Why did she need to call to find out the times of the movies when they are printed in the newspaper and online (in English newspapers too!). Why did she care whether movie tickets were 40 or 50 shekels (a difference of approximately $2.00 per ticket)? What person in their right mind calls a theatre--especially after so much difficulty over the telephone--to inquire about the price of POPCORN? Maybe she's just weird, and I shouldn't put it down to being American. Maybe she hadn't used English in a while, and was so excited at the prospect of being able to use compound sentences again, she didn't pay attention to what she said. But she wasn't done, and continued her harangue about Israeli society in general. I would have tossed in a comment or two about the difficulty of getting a car deed transferred (remember that strike of the licensing authority that was going on in October? Well, the two sides are further apart than ever), but I didn't want to encourage her. Israelis were starting to stare, not in an "Oh, what's going on" kind of way, but rather in an "Oh, look, it's an American" kind of way.

The fun didn't stop. Once we were in the theatre (our seats were not bad...the theatre was small), an American in the front row started loudly complaining about how rotten her seat was. She also left her cellphone on during the movie. At least she had the good grace not to talk during the movie. But it's frustrating to see our fellow Americans behave so conspicuously stereotypical.

This morning I woke up early to watch the football game, and the good guys won. Now, it's off to shower and to class. My Hebrew class is taking a field trip to the Israel Museum. Good times.
- posted by @ 7:38 AM

 
An exit from the triangle
I arrived at school early today, with the intention of pulling out my extremely long list of Arabic words, which I had not looked at, and cramming for the quiz I have in an hour and a half. When I opened my notebook, the giant words "NO QUIZ THIS WEEK," circled, starred and with arrows pointing at them, reminded me why I had not learned the words over the weekend. So now I have a chance to update, and write about this past weekend.

The weekend started off, as many good weekends may, with a good haircut. We both felt the need to do something with our hair: Elana for a change, and me to settle down the 70s theme that was slowly encroaching down on my face from above. We walked to a stylist called GaZoom on Bethlehem Street, which was owned (or at the least operated) by two young Israeli guys in unnecessarily tight jeans, sporting hairdos that would make Marge Simpson jealous and Don King absolutely green. I went first, and again after what cannot be called anything but negotiations, my stylist and I arrived at what I thought was a mutual understanding about just how much hair could come off. The first savage cut, yet again, left a wry smile on my face and a too-large chunk of what had been my hair on the floor. I turned my eyes up to heaven, a silent plea that this haircut would come out better than the last. I'm pleased to report that it did. My hair, though short, is at least still there, and is actually shaped pretty well. So I'm happy.

Elana's haircut is nothing short of spectacular. Her stylist rambled on a list of possible things he would love to do with her hair. Elana, looking not entirely unlike a deer caught in headlights, glanced at the swirling blond and brown triangular tower rising from his skull, and took the plunge: she gave him free reign. She figured, she told me later, that if he can do *that* to his hair, he must have some idea of what he is doing. Fortunately, he did: a series of acrobatic passes with the razor, followed by some sort of cool something-or-other with the dryer and the brush, topped off with a behind-the-back, loop-the-loop-through-a-ring-of-fire blindfolded scissors trick (perhaps I embellish ever-so-slightly) left Elana with great hair and the two guys from GaZoom with a couple of repeat customers. I'll post pictures of Elana. And, if I can get them, I should post pictures of the GaZoom guys as well. Because their hair, while I wouldn't say "looks good," necessarily, is worth note as the fifth- and sixth-tallest buildings in Israel, respectively.

Our haircuts done, we walked back to our apartment, and immediately packed up the Shtinker and were on our way out of town. This trip marks our first exit from the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv/B'nei Brak/Petah Tikvah/Rishon LeZion-Ashdod/Ashqelon triangle, and its destination was Meitar, a small city of about six thousand close to Be'er Sheva in the northern Negev, where Elana's uncle Grisha (from her father's side) lives with his wife Sima. You may recall that these two had already come to visit us in Jerusalem. We arrived on Friday afternoon with no trouble finding the place, though we did have to drive 120 kilometers rather than the bird's eye 70, since that straight route would unfortunately have taken us through such happy spots as Bethlehem and Hebron. So we had to drive almost all the way to Ashdod before we cut south.

Grisha and Sima were very good hosts. We had a dinner on Friday night with Elana's other uncle, who had a lot to say about American Football, and other members of her family on her father's side. The other uncle, Fima, mentioned that probably nowhere in the world did Elana have as much family as on her father's side. I chuckled a little at that: her *grandfather's* family alone is as big--especially when you consider that Elana's father's aunt Zena (insert Lucy Lawless joke here) is married to an Elichis. Yes, an Elichis, the family of Elana's grandfather's mother, and currently boasts such blog-favorite members as Izya! So Elana is even related to the Pelman family through her grandfather. It just never ends...

The dinner over, we went to bed. The next day, Grisha took us on a tour of the area, which is about a kilometer-and-a-half from the green line, separating Palestinian and Israeli territory. We could easily see the difference between a Jewish settlement and an Arab village (one is wealthy, the other is impoverished) and could see the basis of the common Israeli joke about the green line: there are trees and green ground up to the border, and then on the Palestinian side the earth puts one in mind of a wasteland. We stopped in a Bedouin village (no, that's not a typo: the Bedouins, who have lived a nomadic lifestyle for over two thousand years, are settling down) and visited the nearby museum of Bedouin culture. It was an interesting experience, and certainly worthwhile. That afternoon, we had lunch with Grisha and Sima, their daughter Irit (Elana's first cousin, whom I met for the first time), her husband and their two kids who came down from Modi'in. We liked them very much, and had a very nice visit with them before we loaded the Shtinker back up and had a relaxing night-time drive back to Jerusalem.

We tried to go see Lord of the Rings, but after finally finding the movie theatre near us, we couldn't park; when we dropped the car off at home and walked back to theatre, it was sold out. We are going to try to go today, under the assumption that it will not be so crowded on a work-day. There is an interesting mish-mash of movies out: Matrix 3, Master and Commander, and Lord of the Rings are of course playing concurrently with theatres in the US (perhaps they are released a week or two later), whereas movies such as Veronica Guerin and Under a Tuscan Sun are also making the big-screen rounds.

So, hopefully, today we are going to get to see Peter Jackson's apparent masterpiece. I only pray that we don't end up sitting behind our barbers. After all, I want to see Return of the King. I've already seen The Two Towers.
- posted by @ 9:34 AM

 
The beat goes on
Two nights ago, my friend from Kibbutz Sechy, Elana and I got together. Sech is in Jerusalem for the next three weeks. We had a very nice visit: our standard walk to Emek Refaim and shawarma. There was some confusion about where to pick her up; being new to Jerusalem, and getting some bad advice from classmates, I asked her to meet me at Damascus Gate when what I really meant was Jaffa Gate. Damascus Gate, of course, is the entrance to the Arab quarter. I'm glad she knew better...

Yesterday, Elana came to the University with me to sit in on my class with Professor Maghen. It was great to have her along. We checked out Bezalel (from the roof you can see the Dead Sea, and it is still amazing how close it is), and walked around the Botanical Gardens. The campus, she agreed, was beautiful. And of course, she enjoyed the theatrical nature of Professor Maghen's lecture.

This morning I woke up at 4 AM after some weird dreams and couldn't get back to sleep, so I got up. Lo and behold, the Avalanche game was being broadcast live with the Fox Sports Rocky Mountain feed (fair and balanced sports FSRM ain't; the announcers are the biggest homers ever, with the possible exception of the Avs' radio guys). So, that's nice. It's time for the third period now; I'm hoping my favorite Canadian imports can pull a comeback.
- posted by @ 6:25 AM

 
Prelude to the dubba term o'dubya
Today was more or less an average day. I dropped Elana off at class and then headed out to school. I did my work, but I was terribly bored in class. I planned to go with two other classmates to the Givat Ram campus (the Israel National Library is there) in order to look up some stuff for my early morning class tomorrow. When I met them in the lobby, one of them told me that Saddam Hussein had been captured.

We went to the library at Givat Ram; it's a beautiful building, and I took a good look, since I will probably live there for the month of February while I am working on my seminar paper. We looked up what we needed to, I drove them back to Mount Scopus (they actually live in French Hill) and then I made my way down to Nava's house, where Elana was hanging out after her class ended.

She has started on a week-long pose, and today was all about measuring. Yesterday Elana taught me how to measure, and I produced a cute little line drawing of the lamp in our living room; I may or may not post it on the website, but it's easily the most exact thing (and perhaps the best thing) I've ever drawn. It gave me renewed appreciation for just how patient these artists have to be; I couldn't stand it. Today she was measuring for SIX HOURS, and there is more measuring to be done tomorrow.

Of course, this pales in comparison to next week, when they will start a month-long pose.

When we arrived home, we got all the details of the Saddam capture. Of course I'm thrilled they got him, but the partisan in me grumbles in dissatisfaction, "Great. Four more years of Bush." He badly mishandled the war, which is unrelated to Saddam's capture, but most people won't realize that. I noticed how he was careful to assure the American people that there would be more violence. I guess even politically unsavvy C-students can learn from past mistakes.

All of this should not take away from the fact that, hey, they got the bastard. Not only did they get the bastard, but they humiliated him (not a wise move! Way to go, Bremer!). But the fact that he was captured is, as FoxNews said fifteen or twenty times in a matter of two-and-a-half minutes, a "turning point" in the Iraq mission. Where it turns from here is anyone's guess.
- posted by @ 8:26 PM

 
The Better Side of Life
Of course, life here goes on for the rest of us.

Tuesday night was a great night. The students in the master class at the Jerusalem Studio School proved themselves to be a very motivated and passionate bunch of people.

There is, perhaps, a new tradition, and that is a gathering, independent of class sessions, every two weeks for discussion. They originally tried to organize it at a bar, but those gatherings were poorly attended and, as you might imagine, loud and not conducive to discussion. This time it was hosted by one of the more senior students. I tagged along with Elana and our friend Nava, who is also in the class. It started off tentatively, with different small groups of people making small talk as more and more people began to trickle in. All in all, I'd say around fifteen showed up. After about fifteen minutes, with more people dropping in, our host, Tirtsa, announced the topic for discussion: Does figurative art have a place in the world today? Do they, as figurative artists (or aspiring figurative artists, depending on whom you ask) still have a place? Of course, the discussion ranged all over, touching upon these topics, tangential topics, and even unrelated topics, all interesting. The conversation whimsically switched off between Hebrew and English (sometimes three or four times within the same sentence), but despite this we found ourselves able not only to follow but also to contribute to the conversation in a meaningful way. I felt very comfortable with this group of people. It was delightful to talk on a high level about creative topics again; because, hey, say what you will about the fall of the Umayyad dynasty, it can never be as rewarding to discuss as matters affecting the human condition.

I think it's awesome that this is a group that actually cares enough, is passionate enough, to spend their free time in a discussion like this. If you can imagine, it's art all morning, a break for lunch, art all afternoon, a break for dinner, for some (including Elana, when she chooses--this part is optional) art all evening, a break for driving to someone's house for a discussion about art (for a change).

In other good news, we went out with Nava and her boyfriend Leonid two nights ago. It was a fun night; we ate out (a nice change) and walked around downtown Jerusalem for a bit. This was the first time we had gone out with friends in a few months (spending all our time at school or with family), and it while we enjoy both school and family, it was certainly a nice change of pace. I also met with Professor Amitai (who, incidentally, we saw skulking around Emek Refaim street yesterday, looking decidedly hobo-like; he was too swift for me to catch my tongue in time to catch his attention and say hello, but maybe that's a good thing). He approved my paper topic, gave me a mountain of sources "to start out," and upon putting me on this path, set my heart palpitating when he told me that my topic has not been explored in academia, and he would be very interested to see what I come up with. What have I done?

Anyway, today we are heading to Ashdod, and will be back tonight. Happy Birthday, Liat!
- posted by @ 9:59 AM

 
Terror attack in Tel Aviv
I promised to post every time there is a terrorist attack, just to confirm that we are safe. Well, we are. The attack was in a money changer in Tel Aviv.

This one wasn't even Palestinian: apparently it was a mafia hit. So we're doing this crap to ourselves, now? Jesus Christ.
- posted by @ 3:28 PM

 
This blog is filler...filler night...
There isn't much new going on. I finally got back to the gym today, and feel good for having worked out. It was not a hard workout, but at least my heart was pounding for a reason other than the car. I have my Arabic midterm in half an hour, but I have had no motivation to study. For one thing, it counts for only 10% of my grade. For another thing, my grade doesn't count on my GPA; all I have to do is complete three years of Arabic. For a final thing, it's all very easy, and I know my stuff. So instead of studying, I'm here writing a blog entry with almost nothing to say.

I'm off to get a sandwich and do some cramming, but first:

I did just see a guy in a Broncos sweatshirt, which gave me cause for some joy. It was not the new cyber-Bronco, but rather the old capital Denver D with a snorting horse coming out the middle. He had never been to Colorado. His family from New York had sent him the shirt. He cared so little that when I mentioned that the shirt was a shirt for my team, he replied, "Oh, you like the Giants?" Don't get me wrong, I love Israelis, but sometimes they just don't know their burrows from their burros.
- posted by @ 10:03 AM

 
Here's a story...of a man named Bronshtein...
This weekend we did, as promised, head out to B'nei Braq. We met Elana's old babysitters, Yacov and Shoshanna, who were also her old next door neighbors. It was fantastic. Since they were her family's next door neighbors, we were of course in her old apartment building. Yacov and Shoshanna were wonderful, warm, and open people, and it was easy to see how Elana's family and they could become so close.

Yacov is a rare man: a holocaust survivor who is not uncomfortable talking about his experiences. He has had a very hard life, yet spent most of his time talking about how wonderful his life is: a roof over his head, plenty of food to eat, a large number of grandchildren ("around eighteen," he told me, resisting the question I asked of how many and instead giving a number that numerologically correllates to the word "chai," life), and good health for him and his family. Elana pointed out that holocaust survivors seem to become more of what they actually were to begin with, as if the holocaust presented a huge magnifying glass pointed at the core of their being. Some we know became understandably very bitter, spiteful, and resentful of other peoples' lives, while others, like Yacov, truly inspiringly learn not to take anything for granted, and manage to extract every ounce of joy that life has to offer, even while remaining virtuous, caring and loving people.

B'nei Braq is perhaps the most observant area of Israel outside of Me'a She'arim, so we left about two o'clock to avoid driving through the area on the Sabbath. We took a driving tour of Tel Aviv thanks to a wrong turn, but then we found our way to Road 4, Israel's North-South coastal highway, and drove southward towards Ashdod, where nobody would care if we were driving on Shabbat.

It was Grisha's 70th birthday yesterday, and Valya and Alla prepared a veritable feast. I always hated those scenes in books that go into detail about the various courses served at feasts, so I won't bore with it. Suffice to say it was, as always, very tasty, and everybody left having eaten (and in some cases, drank) too much. Incidentally, Yacov had given us some homemade cherry wine as a present for the birthday boy; unfortunately, its mode of transportation was in an old Snapple bottle. So, when it was put on the table, Elana's relative Izya (a different Izya who happens to share the same first *and last* name as our sometime-Champion) poured himself a healthy portion, thinking it was tea. Elana warned him a moment before he drank, but upon further reflection, wishes she hadn't. The look on his face would have one for the ages. I do have to make special mention of the Napoleon cake, which was just the right level of sweetness. At the party, we met the oldest living Bronshtein, David, who is 84. He is a cousin of some sort--it was explained to me, and I will explain in a moment, because it's very funny. Fortunately, David is at work on a geneology of the Bronshteins, the completion of which I eagerly await. Perhaps I will finally be able to keep all of this straight. I find it amazing that Elana's family still keeps in touch with so many branches of the family. Most of the family was wiped out in the war, so this is just the tiny portion that was left, which multiplied and multiplied again. Still, the people who are Elana's "close" relatives here would be the furthest relatives I keep in any contact with, and the far relatives, many of whom I have met, are often not even names even my parents would have heard.

Now the explanation of exactly who this David Bronshtein is. Feel free to skip this paragraph if you don't care. But if you skip it, you will never understand the title of this blog entry. Elana's grandparents are named Haim and Sara Bronshtein. Her grandfather's grandparents were also, coincidentally enough, Haim and Sara Bronshtein. These are Elana's great-great-grandparents, and they lived in Telenyesht, Moldova. The elder Haim and Sara Bronshtein each had been married before, and were widowed. Each came into this second marriage with three children (hence, the Brady Bunch reference in the title). Elana's great-grandfather, Volodya, was the elder Haim and Sara's son. But wait, there's more, and this is something the Brady Bunch hinted at but never had the guts to actually do. One of the elder Haim's previous sons married one of the elder Sara's previous daughters, and David was born from that marriage. So, David Bronshtein is Elana's grandfather's half-first-cousin, twice (and, since 2 x 1/2 = 1, he is simply a first cousin, right?). Of course, Elana's grandfather, Grisha, and David all grew up together, making them much more like brothers than first cousins.

So, note to David Bronshtein: the world awaits the completion of your project with awe and trepidation. And now you all get some sense of the geneological juggling that I have attempted to accomplish.

We stayed in Ashdod overnight, had lunch of leftovers (again, we ate too much) and drove back to Jerusalem this evening.

It's been raining all day, which is great for the country, of course. It made driving a little slippery but we had absolutely no trouble getting back. This evening, we had more leftovers and watched a History Channel special on the Great Revolt and the Destruction of the Second Temple, narrated by Leonard Nimoy, himself of course a Jew. As he talked about Roman victory after Roman victory, all I could think to say was, "Where were you with your damn phaser, Spock?"
- posted by @ 9:32 PM

 
So I can put titles here...
You learn something new every day.

I know I've said this before. I know. But this time, I think it's different (knock on wood). This time, I have a really good feeling, and I don't feel like I'm just trying to convince myself.

I think...I don't want to say it because I fear I'll jinx it...but I *think* that the Shtinker's problems *may* be over.

Today I woke up early just by accident. I got to see the sunrise, and the air itself was yellow. The buildings glowed gold like I've never seen. "Yerushalayim shel zahav," indeed. Then, suddenly as the gold had come, it passed, and the sky clouded up and began to rain. I didn't have the car; it was still at the shop on Ha'uman. But I had received a phone call from them yesterday, saying they had replaced the choke (which was why it was having trouble accelerating) and the cables and spark plugs (which accounted for the trouble starting). I walked Elana to class under umbrellas, and the air smelled so unbelievably good. The light smell of air pollution was gone, replaced by much happier scents wafting our way, courtesy of the light wind, from a nearby bakery. It was almost as if we were smelling the remnants of the morning's golden air.

Forgive me if I'm waxing poetic. I'm in a good mood.

I continued down Pierre Koenig towards Ha'uman. A five minute drive makes it a thirty minute walk, and I couldn't justify paying fifteen shekels for a cab. Besides, I was enjoying the morning, and it was still amusing for me to walk by light factories and body shops still affronted by the very idea of stucco. I paid, got the car--it started right up with a very happy purr--and drove off to the University. The rain grew steadier and harder as the drive progressed, but I didn't care. I was too happy that driving faster than 60 KPH didn't send the Shtinker into a hissy fit.

Tomorrow we're going to B'nei Braq, to meet Elana's old babysitter, Shoshana. This is someone I have been especially looking forward to meeting. If the car does well this week--note that I said "if," because hey, the jury is still out, promising beginning aside--we may take our first tiyul the following weekend. The likely destination is Tzfat (Safed) by the Sea of Galilee, where there is a thriving arts scene.

For the first time in a long time, I feel on top of things and organized: bills are paid, schoolwork is up-to-date, minor annoyances from the States--and here I interject that one should never join Bally Total Fitness, not because they have inferior facilities but because they won't seem to believe that we've actually moved away--are finally in their endgame, and the car (knock, knock, knock) is showing signs of recovery. And, to top it all off, it's raining very hard, and I got inside before the worst of it. It's 10 AM, and I feel that it's going to be a good day.
- posted by @ 10:04 AM

 
I should have known. I didn't even need to call. This being Israel, things like "appointments" and "schedules" are not exactly adhered to. The Israeli army has a saying: all plans are simply the basis of change. This is doubly true for the society.

No, I didn't need to call Subaru. I just took my car and showed up. The Subaru dealer is on Ha'uman Street, Jerusalem's answer to AutoRow USA, which is a mere five minute drive from our apartment. I had no trouble finding it, but maneuvering through the various narrow ramps in the garage was harrowing. The ceilings were low--heaven help you if you need to get a minivan serviced--the turns were sharp, and a wrong turn would not have been easily rectified.

There was something very humorous about Ha'uman Street, which I can't quite put my finger on. Perhaps it was the fact that here in Jerusalem, according to many the holiest place on earth (and to many of the rest the third holiest), the car dealership strip looked just like a car dealership strip anywhere else in the world: Buildings with lots of glass, English signs, cars out front--behind a secure fence, of course, and a security guard--but it was out of place here. Perhaps the fact that the buildings are, in accordance with the civic code, equipped with a facade of white Jerusalem Stone is what's funny. With that facade, almost anything looks like it has been around at least since Salah Din, and to see a giant "SUBARU" sign on such a building is almost preposterous. I make no apologies for my reaction: this is Jerusalem, after all, and Jerusalem is one of those words that no matter how many times you repeat it, it never loses its meaning. Of course, it's Israel's biggest city (though the Tel Aviv metropolitan area is bigger), and Israel is a modern country, but when you are here you can't shake the feeling that modernity, while not unnecessary, somehow could never quite get comfortable in a city with this much tradition. I get the same reaction when we walk by McDonald's on our way to get Shawarma at Adir's. It's almost as if the building says, "I have been around for time out of mind. Jews built me, Romans destroyed me, and Arabs and Crusaders conquered and reconquered me. To touch me...is to touch history.

"Do you want some fries with your history?"
- posted by @ 10:40 AM

 
The title of this entry, if blogspot would let you title posts, would be "Pelephone Rage."

This is a disease which afflicts almost every sabra (native-born) Israeli I've met here in Israel. This disease may be borne of the fact that more than half of Israelis have cellphones (the highest or second highest per capita rate in the world, depending on how Japan is doing these days), and there is simply no escape. Most families in the US who have cellphones at all have one or two. Here in Israel, every member of the family has one. Eden is still two or three years away from hers, to be sure; but remember that Eden happens to be four years old. We see third graders in big jackets walking down the street, looking like they're clocking some mad crazy dil'z on the sly. Fifth graders already start to bear an uncomfortable resemblance to pimps. I'm talking widespread here.

So when you end up talking to someone you did not expect to, usually because somebody dialed a wrong number, one of two things can happen. If they have called you by mistake, they will try to get as much information out of you as they possibly can before they hang up. A typical conversation will involve a request to speak to...oh, let's pick an Israeli name...Gal (male). "There is no Gal here."
"Who is this?"
"Aaron."
"Aaron who?"
"What does it matter? You dialed a wrong number!"
"...Who is this? Where is Gal?"
"No, there is no Gal here. You made a mistake."
"...Aaron who?" and so on. No one has been forward enough to ask for my credit card number, but I get the feeling that if I didn't just hang up eventually with a "Sorry, you dialed the wrong number," *click*...I would end up playing psychiatrist and helping these Israelis through their abandonment issues. After all, where WAS Gal? Why did he leave without telling anyone??

The second possibility is what just happened twenty minutes ago, which prompted me to come down to the computer center and write this entry. When you are the one who dials the wrong number, the response is generally an immediate hangup, with no attempt to even tell the person they misdialed.

Not today.

To give background, car repairs in Israel, I'm finding, tend to be incremental...the Shtinker is slowly getting better, but it's still having some of the same problems it was having to begin with. So we've decided to take it to a Subaru dealer, and just get the thing taken care of. I looked up the Subaru dealer in the phonebook yesterday morning, entered it into my phone, and tried to call all day yesterday, with no response. Thinking this odd, I checked the number again today, and it was indeed the correct number. So, twenty minutes ago, just after I arrived at school, I pulled out my cell to make another try. All the following is, naturally, in translation.
*Click*
"'Alo?"
"'Alo, is this Subaru?"
"No, you made a mistake."
"Oh, sorry, sorry..." and here I waited for the "B'seder" (okay) and the click so that Mr. Not-Subaru and I could each go about our respective days. Instead, what I got was...
"Who is this?"

Okay. I paused momentarily, and reflected in some amusement how even your own misdial suddenly makes your identity a topic of discussion. Not knowing anything about this guy, I went with,

"Uh...Moshe."
"Moshe who?" More familiar territory, as you see. But wait.

"What does it matter? I'm sorry, I dialed the wrong number."
"WHO ARE YOU?" This was yelled. I got my first clue that something unusual was happening.

"Somebody who dialed a wrong number," I answered.
"You think you're funny? You call ten times yesterday and you think I'm supposed to laugh at your fucking jokes?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why do you people keep calling for Subaru? Who are you?"
"What people? I told you, I'm Moshe, I'm sorry..."
"STOP YOUR MOUTH!"

Pause.

"Uh..."
"I said STOP YOUR MOUTH!" Right. He did say that, I cannot deny it. He continued:
"What is this, some kind of conspiracy? Why do all you people keep calling me? This isn't Subaru!!!" I tried to get a word in edgewise to explain that sometimes, phonebooks misprint telephone numbers. I could not. "If I hear from you one more time, just ONCE MORE--I'm calling the police!!"

Pause. Heavy breathing on the other end. I imagine I was probably standing there with my mouth open and eyebrows drawn in, too stunned to hang up.

"Uh...I just dialed a wrong number."
More heavy breathing. Then, a sigh: "Okay. Okay, Achi (literally "My brother," and colloquially, "My close friend.")...Have a good day."

"Uh...right. You too."
"Bye."
"See ya." *click*

The sudden change in tone was almost as shocking as the original explosion. Suddenly, we were best friends! So, thinking about Israelis' reactions to making and receiving wrong-number phone calls, I've decided that I should indeed study psychology and practice in Israel by phone. It seems worthwhile to specialize in anger management, abandonment issues, and obsession-compulsion. I'll make a killing. But what surprises me most...out of all of it...is that I managed to understand all the Hebrew, including words like "conspiracy," when he was talking in the same tone a rabid dog has when he is running towards a hapless slab of beef. Fast, furious, and, though I could not see him, probably drooly.

Today is a long day: class from 10:30-12:00, then again from 3:30-6:00. Fun stuff. Have a good day.
- posted by @ 9:58 AM

 
Someone from the New York Times is reading my blog. Who thinks I should take legal action?
- posted by @ 7:30 AM