Since last summer’s war with Hezbollah, both Israel and Syria have been building up both offensive and defensive forces in the border area. This is the Golan Heights, a traditional part of Israel that was Syrian territory until the 1967 Six Day War, in which Israel took hold (‘occupied’ is the common misnomer) of the Heights. Syria and Israel never signed peace treaties, and are technically still at war. Tensions tend to ebb and flow, but since 2006 these two countries have privately devoted military attention to their enemy, while publicly reassuring each other that they want no war.
In the past few months there has been an intense tank and anti-aircraft buildup on both sides of the border. War maneuvers have been held, by Israel and Syria, which has led both sides to engage in fairly ferocious threats. “If you dare attack us, you will face the repercussions.”
So to many peoples’ surprise, including my own, Israel either inadvertently or on purpose entered Syrian airspace. The problem is that neither side will truly discuss what happened. A Syrian source claims that Israeli planes entered Syria, were fired on by anti-aircraft bunkers, and in turn the jets dropped munitions and fuel tanks in order to make a hasty retreat. Nothing has come from the Israeli side, considering the government has leveled a media blackout on the issue. American sources have claimed that Israeli jets entered Syria and destroyed nuclear weapons or material from North Korea, and potentially even killing North Koreans in Syria who were working on Syrian nuclear installations. Again, the problem is that no one is talking forthright.
Even an Economist article* claims that “Syria's own muted response and failure to retaliate suggest that whatever happened, it was most embarrassing.” Whatever happened, Israel invaded Syrian territory, which Syria could quite easily have declared an act of war, and retaliated against Israel. Syria could have easily entered the U.N., given even cloudy proof of Israeli violations, and demanded either extreme sanctions in order to reclaim the Golan Heights (in light of Israeli ‘irresponsibility in the region’) or threatened a military retaliation for this violation.
Instead, only until recently were the Syrians able to muster an official response on the entire issue.* Vice President Farouk Shara said on Saturday that Syria doesn’t want war with Israel in “the distant or near future.” Instead, he says all these reports of Israeli air raids striking targets is simply part of a “psychological campaign” against Syria, aimed at rebuilding confidence in the Israeli army. Essentially, he is denying that anything happened at all besides a chance Israeli transgression of airspace.
Foolish! How foolish could he be, and how simple does he think his audience is? Think about this: somehow, the most highly respected fighter pilots in the world took some of the most advanced fighter jets in the world, and invaded deep enough within a grave enemy’s territory to incur anti-aircraft shelling, thus requiring a dumping of fuel in order to speed away. Does that really make sense? With this much on the line, with war only 1 mistake away, could you really think that Israel is stupid enough to accidentally invade Syrian airspace?
I’ll tell you with likelihood what really happened. This is the only good possibility, the only thing that makes sense considering the near silence from both sides on what really happened. The first thing to remember is that countries are much like businesses. They know that the longer they wait until after they make a mistake the more guilty they will look. If McDonald’s sells a poisoned hamburger, you can bet within a day they will release some type of conciliatory statement. Likewise, Israel learned its lesson on public relations in the past few years, and if an accident indeed happened, they would have publicly admonished the mistaken pilots.
Consequently, there really is one situation that I can imagine. Israel had intelligence that some type of weapon was in Syria, which was meant for Israel. This could be the nuclear material from North Korea, which NK promised to get rid of as per American demands. That possibility is bolstered by the one harsh international response to the supposed attack, coming from outside the Middle East – North Korea. Also, it is quite likely the target was missiles destined for Hezbollah in Lebanon, probably coming from Iran, as sold by Russia. No matter whose weapons they were, nuclear or traditional, the point is that Israel either destroyed them or now has solid proof of their existence. Both of these possibilities are shaming enough to keep Syria quiet in order to maintain its domestic and international image of strength. If the weapons were destroyed, declaring this would make Syria seem weak. If Israel only took photographs and pictures of the weapons, then it is damning enough for Syria in international legal terms to take away all bargaining power for regaining the Golan Heights. Just imagine: “Ok, yes, we did funnel weapons to Hezbollah, which would be targeted to kill civilians in northern Israel…but you guys are occupying our territory!”
So why then has Israel kept so quiet, especially if this mission was so successful? That's because, in my opinion, Israel isn't interested in the reprimand by the international community that would follow a report that she invaded a sovereign state in this tumultuous region, and then proceeded to even bomb something! No matter that the target was an illegal missile cache; it is an act of war during a time of international pressure for peace! Israel so far has gotten away scott-free with this ‘mission,’ even if it was just an aerial surveillance raid. She has no need to say anything. Syria is quiet, Hezbollah is quiet, only speculation is flying. Analogous would be a boy standing up to a bully: the boy is bullied every day for years, all for the bully’s self-esteem. One day the boy stands up to the bully, maybe even punches him in the nose, and the bully runs off. However, no one saw anything happen, so in a way both sides win. The bully can remain ‘tough,’ and the boy can avoid the inevitable trouble for striking someone, all while retaining his superiority over the bully. In a way, both sides retain something valuable. In the real world case, Israel retains its general security from Hezbollah missiles, and Syria retains its claims to the Golan Heights (if they were to claim the attack happened, it might get out what they had there, and the international community may have lost faith in the Syrian government and her claims).
This whole situation is one of the best things to have happened in years. The real potential for war has been adverted. The decision now, at least on Israel’s part, has to be one of reserved threat. In essence it must be made clear, in private to Syria, that whenever we see these weapons in Syria we will find a way to destroy them before they get to our enemies. But, this cannot be a general threat against Syria. It must be a threat against Syria funneling weapons, because otherwise Israel has no claims against Syria. Let’s say this: we will hold the Golan in return for not bombing you if you violate this agreement. Not in Syria’s interest…but neither is getting bombed.
Also, it could be one of the worst things to happen in years. Even if there was no attack whatsoever, as the most recent statements from Syria are saying, the whole thing stinks of aggression – truthfully on both sides. One side may be self-defense, namely that of Israel’s, but I wonder what would have happened if they had videos and photos and brought that before the U.N. Probably nothing, but it’s worth a shot.
And now Syria is very seriously claiming nothing happened. Typically what happens with Israel and her neighbors is that Israel sneezes and the Arab states claim Israeli belligerence. So why now are they, in a way, coming so strongly to Israel’s defense? That nothing happened at all. That Israel did nothing. Why not say, “Poor us, unite against Israel!”
It all just reeks of something not normal: something is being covered up.
*The Economist, Sep. 13th, 2007. “Mysterious Happenings”
*The Jerusalem Post, Sep. 29th, 2007. “Syria doesn’t want war with Israel”
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The Importance of American TV in Israel
I had a great past two days. A good friend of mine, an American-Israeli, is back in Israel from New York for Succot and a friend’s wedding. Her mother, step-father, and sister still live here, all of whom I know, so I went to their house for all the meals (about 5 or so) over the past few days. Her step-father is a British-Israeli doctor, so his apartment is a large, comfortable place in a quiet neighborhood. It’s about a 45 minute walk, which I did about 4 times in two days. Let’s just say my legs are a bit stiff, but it’s a nice feeling.
I don’t really have any super-close friends here, considering this friend now lives in New York (hopefully just for another year or so), so it can get kinda lonely. There is a difference between having a very close friend living nearby versus a bunch of good acquaintances. This is a family to go to, a family that apparently really likes me, and the importance of a comfortable second home is beyond words. Most of us, living near or with our family or around close friends, tend to forget how social the human being is. We certainly are not solitary creatures. Never forget the importance of our ‘wolf-packs.’
It will be a shame when this friend leaves. Luckily, she has a sister that lives here, and it was made clear that she wants me to visit for more Shabbats when she is home. Having family dinners with your mom and step-father, alone, is not really the best way to spend a Friday and Saturday. Everyone needs a bit of company, even when you are with your family!
On another note, Succot is still in session, but we have begun the ‘Chol HaMoed,’ essentially the ‘minor festival days.’ What this means for Jerusalem is that the Old City is packed, all day and night, with tourists and Israelis of all types (religious and secular). On my walk to my apartment I had to stumble over Americans, French, Russians, 10 year olds pushing strollers, and the various Arabs ogling all the improperly dressed teenage girls.
Apparently Mea Shearim, a super-religious neighborhood of Jerusalem, is filled with dancing ultra-orthodox all week. This holiday is a joyous one, meant to be celebrated with lavish meals and alcohol and dancing, and so like everything else the ‘Charedim’ push it to the max. I should really get out there and see if it’s as crazy as they say.
Oh, and I got to watch about two hours of American tv tonight. You’d be surprised how much you miss the simple things, even after one month! And I don’t even watch much tv in America. At my apartment in Williamsburg, during school, I didn’t have tv. Nothing lightens your load like watching Steve Carrel make a fool of himself in The Office.
* Doctors here actually don’t make much money, or at least anything like in America. Supposedly Israel has the highest rate of doctors per capita. Nonetheless, a doctor in any country is going to make more than the average, even in a quasi-Socialist health care system like Israel’s.
Listen up! Tomorrow, if you read this blog, you will hear my thoughts on the current Syrian-Israeli conflict. Remember, I got my degree in Government (political science), so this is an educated opinion. Well, it's worth about as much as I put in to my studies, which was late night cramming sessions the day before tests and papers....but presumably you already guessed that much. (Just kidding, I worked very hard....)
I don’t really have any super-close friends here, considering this friend now lives in New York (hopefully just for another year or so), so it can get kinda lonely. There is a difference between having a very close friend living nearby versus a bunch of good acquaintances. This is a family to go to, a family that apparently really likes me, and the importance of a comfortable second home is beyond words. Most of us, living near or with our family or around close friends, tend to forget how social the human being is. We certainly are not solitary creatures. Never forget the importance of our ‘wolf-packs.’
It will be a shame when this friend leaves. Luckily, she has a sister that lives here, and it was made clear that she wants me to visit for more Shabbats when she is home. Having family dinners with your mom and step-father, alone, is not really the best way to spend a Friday and Saturday. Everyone needs a bit of company, even when you are with your family!
On another note, Succot is still in session, but we have begun the ‘Chol HaMoed,’ essentially the ‘minor festival days.’ What this means for Jerusalem is that the Old City is packed, all day and night, with tourists and Israelis of all types (religious and secular). On my walk to my apartment I had to stumble over Americans, French, Russians, 10 year olds pushing strollers, and the various Arabs ogling all the improperly dressed teenage girls.
Apparently Mea Shearim, a super-religious neighborhood of Jerusalem, is filled with dancing ultra-orthodox all week. This holiday is a joyous one, meant to be celebrated with lavish meals and alcohol and dancing, and so like everything else the ‘Charedim’ push it to the max. I should really get out there and see if it’s as crazy as they say.
Oh, and I got to watch about two hours of American tv tonight. You’d be surprised how much you miss the simple things, even after one month! And I don’t even watch much tv in America. At my apartment in Williamsburg, during school, I didn’t have tv. Nothing lightens your load like watching Steve Carrel make a fool of himself in The Office.
* Doctors here actually don’t make much money, or at least anything like in America. Supposedly Israel has the highest rate of doctors per capita. Nonetheless, a doctor in any country is going to make more than the average, even in a quasi-Socialist health care system like Israel’s.
Listen up! Tomorrow, if you read this blog, you will hear my thoughts on the current Syrian-Israeli conflict. Remember, I got my degree in Government (political science), so this is an educated opinion. Well, it's worth about as much as I put in to my studies, which was late night cramming sessions the day before tests and papers....but presumably you already guessed that much. (Just kidding, I worked very hard....)
Friday, September 28, 2007
Jerusalem Nights
Jerusalem is abuzz with the holidays, which are still raging strong with the festive celebration of Sukkot. Everyone is in love with this holiday, a commemoration of the sheltering of the Israelites during the 40 years of wandering in the desert with Moses. In addition, it coincides with the beginning of the rainy season here in Israel (there is a definite dry season, and then a definite rainy season – a Mediterranean climate). This is definitely a happy time, with everyone sleeping and eating in a Sukkah, basically a shelter with palm tops (i.e.- a holy shed).
The problem is that Sukkot is my least favorite Jewish holiday. I never felt connected to it. There is something too involved with it. You are supposed to eat every meal, sleep every night, literally ‘dwell’ in the Sukkah. It’s just not my thing. I really never even understood the meaning of Sukkah, whether it was a celebration of sheltering or celebrating the all-important rain. It’s just not my bag of tea.
Thankfully, really truthfully thankfully, one of my good friends is back in Israel for a couple weeks. She is an American-Israeli, and her sisters and mom and step-father live here in Jerusalem, all of whom I know. So, I’m eating all my meals at their comfortable apartment in one of the higher-class areas of Jerusalem. I feel relaxed there.
Last night after the first night of Sukkot my friend, her sister, and myself went out into town to have a drink. Jerusalem has a very condense, lively bar scene, but the problem is that it is often packed with 18 year old ‘freckas and arsim.’ Without giving a definition of those terms, I’ll just tell you that they are loud, physical, and generally have the same manners as gorillas.
Eventually a new friend of mine that I met on the plane over here called me, and she joined up with us at a tucked away, age-restricted bar. Eventually the group split up, with me and my new friend going to a bar owned by Shlomke, a 30 some year old guy who is obsessed with her and her ex-IDF boyfriend.
This is a good time to introduce the Israeli term ‘proteckzia.’ Basically, this is pulling strings for people, generally used in the army. This means that a guy that knows a big-dog in the army can easily get into a prestigious or desired unit, no questions asked. I feel that Shlomke is the kind of person that has proteckzia to get people what they want. He owns a very successful bar, which we sat at with him, surrounded by roaring teens. Every 20 minutes or so he would grab one of his waitresses, say a few words, and then they would bring us liquor. I was planning on having a beer, but it’s kind of hard to say no to a Godfather character. It really was an impressive scene, and I had the distinct impression that this guy could get me into the unit I want in the army.
During the course of the night I met a few Americans that have done the same thing I have, moving to Israel. They were friends of my new friend, Bethany. It’s really a lot more popular thing than most people in America realize. Jerusalem itself has quickly become an ‘Anglo’ city, where the most common language is English. Anyway, all these young Americans seem to have pretty good jobs.
Bethany just got a job as a glorified secretary, some type of administrative assistant or something, making the equivalent of $35,000 or so in America (which is great for the level of the work, and that she is 22 with no one to support but herself). Levy, another kid I met, is making the equivalent of $45-50,000. And so on, and so on.
I’m living off savings, a pretty generous grant from Nefesh B’Nefesh, and my ‘sal klitah,’ or absorption basket (read: welfare). I’m living and eating for free, but not really doing what I want to be doing. Hearing these kids, who all have their own apartments and jobs and lives, I feel like a blob. Supposedly learning Torah all day is more important than working for the man all day, but I’m at the point in my life where I want to work for the man. I don’t care who I work for, I just want to apply what I’ve learned, instead of sitting and learning even more. Granted, I do love learning about the Jewish traditons, but I don’t think that I need to read books and listen to lectures from 9am to 7pm for more than another few months.
I am the adventurous type, the guy at 19 that backpacked America for 2 months all alone (by bus), went to Israel for 2.5 months all alone knowing no one and nothing first-hand about Israel, spent 9 months in Israel studying and living, and now I have become an Israeli citizen, with no family and very few friends here. It’s amazing how far a person will go to pursue an ideology. It’s amazing that with a simple desire people can push themselves so far.
But equally amazing, and certainly more distressing, is how powerfully immobilizing comfort can be. I have a bed, an apartment (granted with many others, but my room is private), free food, a beautiful place with A/C where I study all day, and generally kind people all around. I would like to find a job and have my own place and work all day… but it’s just not going to happen for a while. It’s hard to turn down some free and comfortable.
If you thought I had it all figured out, you’re wrong! I have some solid plans though for January – and hopefully a job will be in the sights around then. For now I’m just another moocher, livin’ on the dole.
The problem is that Sukkot is my least favorite Jewish holiday. I never felt connected to it. There is something too involved with it. You are supposed to eat every meal, sleep every night, literally ‘dwell’ in the Sukkah. It’s just not my thing. I really never even understood the meaning of Sukkah, whether it was a celebration of sheltering or celebrating the all-important rain. It’s just not my bag of tea.
Thankfully, really truthfully thankfully, one of my good friends is back in Israel for a couple weeks. She is an American-Israeli, and her sisters and mom and step-father live here in Jerusalem, all of whom I know. So, I’m eating all my meals at their comfortable apartment in one of the higher-class areas of Jerusalem. I feel relaxed there.
Last night after the first night of Sukkot my friend, her sister, and myself went out into town to have a drink. Jerusalem has a very condense, lively bar scene, but the problem is that it is often packed with 18 year old ‘freckas and arsim.’ Without giving a definition of those terms, I’ll just tell you that they are loud, physical, and generally have the same manners as gorillas.
Eventually a new friend of mine that I met on the plane over here called me, and she joined up with us at a tucked away, age-restricted bar. Eventually the group split up, with me and my new friend going to a bar owned by Shlomke, a 30 some year old guy who is obsessed with her and her ex-IDF boyfriend.
This is a good time to introduce the Israeli term ‘proteckzia.’ Basically, this is pulling strings for people, generally used in the army. This means that a guy that knows a big-dog in the army can easily get into a prestigious or desired unit, no questions asked. I feel that Shlomke is the kind of person that has proteckzia to get people what they want. He owns a very successful bar, which we sat at with him, surrounded by roaring teens. Every 20 minutes or so he would grab one of his waitresses, say a few words, and then they would bring us liquor. I was planning on having a beer, but it’s kind of hard to say no to a Godfather character. It really was an impressive scene, and I had the distinct impression that this guy could get me into the unit I want in the army.
During the course of the night I met a few Americans that have done the same thing I have, moving to Israel. They were friends of my new friend, Bethany. It’s really a lot more popular thing than most people in America realize. Jerusalem itself has quickly become an ‘Anglo’ city, where the most common language is English. Anyway, all these young Americans seem to have pretty good jobs.
Bethany just got a job as a glorified secretary, some type of administrative assistant or something, making the equivalent of $35,000 or so in America (which is great for the level of the work, and that she is 22 with no one to support but herself). Levy, another kid I met, is making the equivalent of $45-50,000. And so on, and so on.
I’m living off savings, a pretty generous grant from Nefesh B’Nefesh, and my ‘sal klitah,’ or absorption basket (read: welfare). I’m living and eating for free, but not really doing what I want to be doing. Hearing these kids, who all have their own apartments and jobs and lives, I feel like a blob. Supposedly learning Torah all day is more important than working for the man all day, but I’m at the point in my life where I want to work for the man. I don’t care who I work for, I just want to apply what I’ve learned, instead of sitting and learning even more. Granted, I do love learning about the Jewish traditons, but I don’t think that I need to read books and listen to lectures from 9am to 7pm for more than another few months.
I am the adventurous type, the guy at 19 that backpacked America for 2 months all alone (by bus), went to Israel for 2.5 months all alone knowing no one and nothing first-hand about Israel, spent 9 months in Israel studying and living, and now I have become an Israeli citizen, with no family and very few friends here. It’s amazing how far a person will go to pursue an ideology. It’s amazing that with a simple desire people can push themselves so far.
But equally amazing, and certainly more distressing, is how powerfully immobilizing comfort can be. I have a bed, an apartment (granted with many others, but my room is private), free food, a beautiful place with A/C where I study all day, and generally kind people all around. I would like to find a job and have my own place and work all day… but it’s just not going to happen for a while. It’s hard to turn down some free and comfortable.
If you thought I had it all figured out, you’re wrong! I have some solid plans though for January – and hopefully a job will be in the sights around then. For now I’m just another moocher, livin’ on the dole.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Traveling the Mediterranean Coast of Israel
After Yom Kippur (an adventure unto itself), we have a few days off until the next holiday starts. This is the “High Holy Holidays” season, an expression you may have heard before, and as such it is sort of a time-off from class work. Taking advantage of this ‘bein-zman,’ some of the guys I’ve met here decided to take a trip somewhere in the country. After some swaying on the issue, we decided to go somewhere up north.
When I met up with the two guys I am friends with, I was a little unhappy to find out that we would be traveling in a group of about 8 or 10. I’ve backpacked America by myself, traveled to Israel and lived by myself, and generally tend to do things in smaller groups, or alone. The problems inherent in a large group manifested themselves instantly. Not only were there two schools of thought on where to go, there was dissension on how to get there and what to do once there. Seriously, I had a headache within 10 minutes.
Eventually we made our way to a bus stop, I argued with a know-it-all over what bus goes to the central bus station, and finally got the right bus. In the chaos of the bus station we all eventually lost each other, except my two friends and I who stuck together. Instantly freed of the dead, or extra, weight, we quickly got our tickets to Haifa. From there we would catch a train up to Nahariya, a small coastal town very close to the Lebanon border. The rides were comfortable and uneventful, especially the train, and I was feeling somewhat giddy about being a part of the country. Living in Jerusalem, amidst thousands of native English speakers (Anglos), it is hard to remember that this land is a miracle. We rode past hundreds of farms, not one tract of space wasted (unless laying fallow so it can produce even more the next year), literally growing fruit from rocky soil. Any other place in the world the inhabitants would have given up, but not here. The agricultural system is truly a miracle. I’ll have to write about it sometime.
Anyway. We made it to Nahariya, left the train station, and immediately felt 100% lost. All three of us were disoriented, not sure which way was up or down. I had never been to this part of Israel, one of the few remaining zones largely untraveled, and so I felt just as adrift. We were total tourists. There is a certain confidence factor someone has to have if they want to try to fit in as a new citizen of another country, a certain desire to blend in. But, in our present state, we were anything but Israeli, and anything but blending in. Sometimes you have to feel out of place, however, to find your place in the end. How could you ever know where you want to go if you only know where you’ve been?
Throwing appearance to the wind, we trudged on with our packs, bags of food from Jerusalem, and looked for the beach. With only what must be experience on the part of the Israeli tourism bureau we found a tourist office. Now armed with maps, we looked even more the part of the summer transients! The map was quite good, and even included most of the potential lodging options. Too bad there wasn’t a hostel, not even one, because we were forced to fork over a bit more money than at least I wanted to spend. We found that 100 Shekelim was going to be the cheapest, double what I was hoping, and with that we walked towards a potential ‘hotel.’
I use the word hotel quite lightly. Anyone familiar with the cheap motel system in America would be accustomed to the odds of finding a place that is not only clean, but also quiet, comfortable, safe, and aesthetically pleasing. I’m still young enough that I don’t care where I stay, as long as it is safe and quiet. My traveling buddies weren’t in the same boat.
The first place we went was a throwback to whenever it was built, not because the owner likes pre-1980’s style, but only because that was the last time it was ever updated! Still, it had 3 beds, a shower, a toilet, and an air conditioning unit. Good enough, 100 shekels, and the guy working the place was pretty nice. We talked for a few minutes while my friends had a furtive conversation about the room. Turns out that the guy was born and raised for 6 years in Germany, where his parents fled the war but then returned afterwards to live in an American compound. He was a character, with a voice so cracked by years of cigarettes that I imagined smoke would escape from his mouth and ears at any minute. It was good Hebrew practice, but I felt mildly bad chatting him up as I more and more realized my friends would want to move on.
We decided to take a look at another place which was advertised as having a pool and was generally more upscale. As we walked with maps in hand, we ran along a little place called Motel Ariele (Malon Ariele). I was actually the most hesitant in the group about approaching the place, as it looked like a tiny, private, and somewhat longer-term place. Something about a large, sterile hotel is more inviting to me. – It screams “peace, quiet, undisturbed, sterile.” As we walked into the front gate, through the massively overgrown ferns and other flora/fauna, I greeted a very old man sitting at a table watching television. He told me to wait, and buzzed for the owner. And here she comes.
Here comes ‘Grandma,’ which my friend Joey eventually started to call her. Right away I could tell she was Eastern European, as are many people in this region, but also she beamed a certain courtesy. Stereotypically, people in this country are rushed, aggressive, and abrasive. She smiled warmly, genuinely, and started speaking to me in English. I refused to speak in English, and we began a half-Hebrew half-English conversation. Eventually she showed us through her office, which is also her home, into a small courtyard again overgrown with all types of green plants and flowers, and up the stairs to a quaint 3 bed room. It had a bathroom, air conditioning…and 3 beds. 100 Shekels. We took it, especially because of Grandma.
Grandma and I had an hour-long 90% Hebrew conversation on everything from the potential war with Syria, her home country of Romania (and the terrible pogroms of Jews that she had to flee), young Israelis, my life, her family and grandchildren, the Israeli mafia, drugs… Everything. She even told me where to get drugs, a suggestion I laughed off with a certain curiosity as to how a nearly 70 year old woman could even bring the topic up. It’s just a different culture here, I suppose. Maybe she wanted me to bring some back for her?
We left the hotel wanting to go find some dinner and have a walk on the coast. Israeli coastal cities tend to have a promenade, or walkway, called a ‘tayelet.’ The one in Tel Aviv is a massive thing, something of a pedestrian thoroughfare. The one in Nahariya is a small wooden boardwalk, but it is infinitely more peaceful and personable. Strewn along the sides are outdoor bars and restaurants, complete with lush leather sofas or Caribbean style wicker chairs and couches with pristine white cushions. All these bars were playing some type of quiet music, like the Bob Marley marathon at the ‘Papaya Beach’ establishment. At the end of the wooden walkway started a stone-concrete mixed footpath along the beach. To our west was the unending Mediterranean, aptly called The Great Sea in Hebrew, and to the east were posh houses with panoramic windows looking out onto the water. Because Haifa juts out into the Mediterranean, we could easily see the outline of the Carmel Mountain and the vast northern side of Haifa, alit with yellow lights and flashing harbor bulbs.
My friends took a dip in the ocean, which was about 80 degrees, and I sat on the boardwalk attempting to meditate on the glory of the ocean. It’s not everyday that one can feel so much at peace, especially when you are a country boy perpetually living in cities. I drank it in. But like all good things, we had to move on to find some food. Not wanting to gorge on what would inevitably be highly marked up common bar-food (not true, most of these places are very nice restaurants also), we made our way back to downtown and found a kosher restaurant. There is an attached picture of our cheese-stuffed mushrooms in a cream sauce ‘starter,’ and a huge stir-fry salmon salad. We were stuffed.
To walk off the waddling we decided to explore around a bit, see what Nahariya had to offer. Quickly we realized that it wasn’t the imposing city it seemed at first. In fact, it was pretty much a resort town packed with Russians and unbelievably gorgeous 20 some year olds. The main road was unnaturally quiet for the amount of bars and restaurants jammed into every block. After a while we tried to find a liquor store, just to get some fun into our break, but it took nearly 30 minutes to locate anywhere with more than 5 things available.
As fate would have it, my sense of curiosity was a blessing. Nearing the end of the main drag, I looked down a side street and saw what looked like a bit of life. I saw people sitting by a store (a common Israeli corner store where people sit and talk or watch soccer/basketball), and another larger store next to them. It turned out the other store was a big falafel shop. Dismayed, I glanced further down the alley, and saw a large car dealership or body shop for GM Israel. I told my friend (one was on the phone) that I wanted to just look at the dealership really quick. He assented, so we walked, and as I reached it I looked one block down and…voila, a grocery store! We couldn’t find a grocery store all day! We wanted beer or liquor and food that wasn’t marked up 100% for tourists, and here it was, a large Russian supermarket! Oh, and how it was Russian.
Walking past the security guard as I said quite plainly ‘hello!’ and quite plainly being ignored, I pushed through the turnstiles and entered a veritable paradise. As with all Israeli supermarkets, fresh-everything was on display. Meat was hanging from terrifying hooks, all types of cheeses were soaking in tubs behind displays, vegetable dishes like hummus, tehina, matbucha (a type of salsa), babaghanush, and so on were sitting perfectly undisturbed in their refrigerated exhibits. I don’t know why I got so excited, but I always do with the unbelievable reality that people can have such a rich life in such an oppressed area of the world. I guess it’d be like finding a Whole Foods Market in the middle of backwoods Alabama (it’s just a nice surprise).
Being that the store was Russian, the only thing you heard was Russian, from the workers to the few patrons. Not to stereotype, but as I looked for alcohol I slowly realized that more than 50% was vodka. Exactly what I wanted. We weren’t trying to get drunk, we just wanted something to sip while enjoying the beach. Nothing wrong with that.
After a while we found ourselves back at the beach, sitting on a bench, reminiscing and just generally being alive. Some friends of David from New York, one of my friends, walked by with backpacking packs on, and they randomly just happened to see each other. Apparently they almost got stuck out on a hiking trail at night, but luckily found their way to the road, and then had to hitch-hike into town. Not the smartest thing to do, but it worked out for them. It was just another instance of Israel being a part of that ‘it’s a small world’ coincidence.
Eventually we settled in on some couches at one of the bars, Papaya Beach, and ordered a round of Israeli beer. I was sitting with my back to the north, looking southward at the outline of an illuminated Haifa. It was hard to imagine that I was actually going to live in Haifa, until the very last minute before I left America. Those plans changed overnight and put me back in my yeshiva, a place I was very hesitant to go back to. But, as I had told myself to no avail for the weeks before, ‘everything happens for a reason.’ Just imagine if I would have actually moved to Haifa. Chances are I wouldn’t have met these two great people I was with, and I wouldn’t be sitting at that table, looking at the purple sky and yellow harbor, listening to the lapping ocean, and smelling the salty atmosphere. How lucky we are that everything always works out, in some way, with no visible or clear warning! So what if your plans are ruined? Even the worst turn of events has a positive outcome.
After a long while we decide to head back, but not 10 feet out of the bar did the extraordinarily stunning hostess of the next bar distracted us. I’m trying to not use immature expressions here. Let’s just say making this woman smile was worth the extra hour (it was a slow night). As soon as we sat down my friend started talking to two girls sitting by themselves, and in an instant we were all sitting together. Two hours later my head really hurt from all the beer, Hebrew, and blue lights tinting everything neon. It’s funny how a split-second decision can turn into an entire night. What was going to be a 30 minute beer turned into a two hour episode. Eventually we did make it home, only to get a few hours of sleep before we arose for a big day. On the walk home we found it funny how we could have ever felt lost in this small, warm coastal town.
We took a sherut, or a shared taxi-bus, for the 10 kilometer ride to Akko (Acre). Akko is an ancient port city between Haifa and Nahariya. It was once the headquarters of the Crusaders (for a couple centuries), and because of this military presence it has a high walled Old City; cavernous, indiscernible tunnels underground, forts, jails, and so on. Interestingly, this was also the site of Napoleon’s defeat to Ahmed al-Jazzar in 1799 during his Egypt-Palestine campaign.
We had come to Akko because David, my friend, had randomly met a guy in Old City Jerusalem the day before that offered to take us sailing. Sailing. When David told me that I refused to get excited, mainly because I hear these types of promises all the time and never see them carried out. Not that I hear of sailing offers for free in Jerusalem, but in general, in this world, many things are said and many of those things never happen. But, each passing event made the promise more and more real.
We arrived in Akko, got lost again, but the guy that David met came in his car and picked us up. Sailing was certainly going to happen. Riding through the Old City, dodging Arab children and honking at the random van stopping to chat with a pedestrian, finally we made it to the port. This was really something. Not only were we getting onto a fairly nice sailboat, we were departing from a Biblical city. I personally felt like Jonah.
In case you’re wondering how all this happened, here’s the short of it: David was talking to someone in an open area of the Old City about where we were going to go for the break, this guy overheard him and invited him to sail on his friend’s boat, David got his number, and we met up at the predetermined time. The owner of the boat was Joel, a 69 year retired orthopedic surgeon who has lived in Israel for 30 years. He wanted guys to come along because you can’t just properly sail without a small crew.
I’d never been sailing before, and the waves were incredibly tall north of the port. I wasn’t scared, but I would have liked to have a few horsepower with all those waves throwing us around. Luckily the wind was really blowing. I took half a Dramamine before setting out, just in case I got sea-sick (the mother of the guy David met was there and had them). Well, the ridiculous scenery was ruined for the first hour and a half, as I was sitting in the stern turning green. The whole time I had to gut it out, stick my eyes on the coast, and try from burping up the beer from the night before. I was definitely dehydrated from the night before, and hadn’t had breakfast, so the only thing that kept me from leaning overboard was that there wasn’t anything to throw up!
I felt pretty stupid sitting there, while everyone seemed to be having a great time, wanting to puke my guts out. I was literally in a cold sweat, totally absorbed with my own misery. Next thing I know David is leaning overboard. Joel told me that splashing me with water would help a bit, so I leaned over the railing as he dumped a bucket on my head. It worked for 2 minutes. Eventually the opinion came up that sitting up on the bow helps a lot, and the guy that David met was sitting up there cause he was feeling sick too. I quickly glanced to the bow, not trying to divert my attention from the fixed shore, and was daunted by the narrow walkway and endless sea ahead. I said thanks but no thanks. The woman persisted for 5 minutes, and one thing she said really sent me packing: It couldn’t hurt! I did feel like death itself, so I gave it a chance.
5 minutes later I felt like a million bucks. Well, I felt extremely weak on account of the lack of sleep and food, but compared to how I felt! And then I was able to appreciate the amazing coast we were sailing. I’ve sailed the Mediterranean! We went up to Rosh HaNikra, which is literally on the border of Lebanon, and then sailed all the way into the private ‘yacht club’ of Haifa. There were some million-dollar sailboats in there.
We were out for 6 hours. David never got better. I had him come up to the front with me, because I felt so good up there compared to the stern. Alas, he still felt terrible, and ended up puking about 3 times, once just about 15 minutes before we docked at the end of the day. We were out from about 11 until 5. The ironic part was that he was the one that made it happen, he was the one that kept talking about it with all the guys that were supposed to come with us! And then he was the only one that didn’t have any fun. The thing about being truly sea-sick is that it is all-absorbing. There is nothing on your mind except your own wretchedness.
Here are a few pictures. To be honest it was really hard to take pictures, especially because I had to help sail while we were at the best picture taking places (the ports) and because I was terrified of either dropping my camera into the sea or of getting disoriented while looking at the screen and falling into the sea. I did get some pictures of the yacht club marina, a few of the cargo ships (many are from Turkey, the second best economy in the Middle East behind Saudi Arabia), north-Haifa and the port, and some crappy ones of the Akko port. The waves were too strong to take a steady picture, and I didn’t have time. Sailing is a lot of work… I think I prefer motorboats.
Certainly a once in a lifetime experience. Or at least a once in a lifetime turn of events. I could easily go sailing anytime Joel goes out, because it wasn’t like he was doing us a favor. We were his crew, and you can’t just go out by yourself. He said it many times over. I doubt I’ll go out again, but I would definitely enjoy it if it did happen again.
Joey on the left, David on the right.jpg)
1/50th of the vodka
Shower, brush your teeth, and sit on the toilet all at once
Timber headed to wood-starved England.
How Turkish people spell stuff.
Looking back at Haifa
A very fake smile, still felt a bit sick.
The only place I could sit and not be sick
This is sea-sick
Akko walls
Akko marina
From our dock
When I met up with the two guys I am friends with, I was a little unhappy to find out that we would be traveling in a group of about 8 or 10. I’ve backpacked America by myself, traveled to Israel and lived by myself, and generally tend to do things in smaller groups, or alone. The problems inherent in a large group manifested themselves instantly. Not only were there two schools of thought on where to go, there was dissension on how to get there and what to do once there. Seriously, I had a headache within 10 minutes.
Eventually we made our way to a bus stop, I argued with a know-it-all over what bus goes to the central bus station, and finally got the right bus. In the chaos of the bus station we all eventually lost each other, except my two friends and I who stuck together. Instantly freed of the dead, or extra, weight, we quickly got our tickets to Haifa. From there we would catch a train up to Nahariya, a small coastal town very close to the Lebanon border. The rides were comfortable and uneventful, especially the train, and I was feeling somewhat giddy about being a part of the country. Living in Jerusalem, amidst thousands of native English speakers (Anglos), it is hard to remember that this land is a miracle. We rode past hundreds of farms, not one tract of space wasted (unless laying fallow so it can produce even more the next year), literally growing fruit from rocky soil. Any other place in the world the inhabitants would have given up, but not here. The agricultural system is truly a miracle. I’ll have to write about it sometime.
Anyway. We made it to Nahariya, left the train station, and immediately felt 100% lost. All three of us were disoriented, not sure which way was up or down. I had never been to this part of Israel, one of the few remaining zones largely untraveled, and so I felt just as adrift. We were total tourists. There is a certain confidence factor someone has to have if they want to try to fit in as a new citizen of another country, a certain desire to blend in. But, in our present state, we were anything but Israeli, and anything but blending in. Sometimes you have to feel out of place, however, to find your place in the end. How could you ever know where you want to go if you only know where you’ve been?
Throwing appearance to the wind, we trudged on with our packs, bags of food from Jerusalem, and looked for the beach. With only what must be experience on the part of the Israeli tourism bureau we found a tourist office. Now armed with maps, we looked even more the part of the summer transients! The map was quite good, and even included most of the potential lodging options. Too bad there wasn’t a hostel, not even one, because we were forced to fork over a bit more money than at least I wanted to spend. We found that 100 Shekelim was going to be the cheapest, double what I was hoping, and with that we walked towards a potential ‘hotel.’
I use the word hotel quite lightly. Anyone familiar with the cheap motel system in America would be accustomed to the odds of finding a place that is not only clean, but also quiet, comfortable, safe, and aesthetically pleasing. I’m still young enough that I don’t care where I stay, as long as it is safe and quiet. My traveling buddies weren’t in the same boat.
The first place we went was a throwback to whenever it was built, not because the owner likes pre-1980’s style, but only because that was the last time it was ever updated! Still, it had 3 beds, a shower, a toilet, and an air conditioning unit. Good enough, 100 shekels, and the guy working the place was pretty nice. We talked for a few minutes while my friends had a furtive conversation about the room. Turns out that the guy was born and raised for 6 years in Germany, where his parents fled the war but then returned afterwards to live in an American compound. He was a character, with a voice so cracked by years of cigarettes that I imagined smoke would escape from his mouth and ears at any minute. It was good Hebrew practice, but I felt mildly bad chatting him up as I more and more realized my friends would want to move on.
We decided to take a look at another place which was advertised as having a pool and was generally more upscale. As we walked with maps in hand, we ran along a little place called Motel Ariele (Malon Ariele). I was actually the most hesitant in the group about approaching the place, as it looked like a tiny, private, and somewhat longer-term place. Something about a large, sterile hotel is more inviting to me. – It screams “peace, quiet, undisturbed, sterile.” As we walked into the front gate, through the massively overgrown ferns and other flora/fauna, I greeted a very old man sitting at a table watching television. He told me to wait, and buzzed for the owner. And here she comes.
Here comes ‘Grandma,’ which my friend Joey eventually started to call her. Right away I could tell she was Eastern European, as are many people in this region, but also she beamed a certain courtesy. Stereotypically, people in this country are rushed, aggressive, and abrasive. She smiled warmly, genuinely, and started speaking to me in English. I refused to speak in English, and we began a half-Hebrew half-English conversation. Eventually she showed us through her office, which is also her home, into a small courtyard again overgrown with all types of green plants and flowers, and up the stairs to a quaint 3 bed room. It had a bathroom, air conditioning…and 3 beds. 100 Shekels. We took it, especially because of Grandma.
Grandma and I had an hour-long 90% Hebrew conversation on everything from the potential war with Syria, her home country of Romania (and the terrible pogroms of Jews that she had to flee), young Israelis, my life, her family and grandchildren, the Israeli mafia, drugs… Everything. She even told me where to get drugs, a suggestion I laughed off with a certain curiosity as to how a nearly 70 year old woman could even bring the topic up. It’s just a different culture here, I suppose. Maybe she wanted me to bring some back for her?
We left the hotel wanting to go find some dinner and have a walk on the coast. Israeli coastal cities tend to have a promenade, or walkway, called a ‘tayelet.’ The one in Tel Aviv is a massive thing, something of a pedestrian thoroughfare. The one in Nahariya is a small wooden boardwalk, but it is infinitely more peaceful and personable. Strewn along the sides are outdoor bars and restaurants, complete with lush leather sofas or Caribbean style wicker chairs and couches with pristine white cushions. All these bars were playing some type of quiet music, like the Bob Marley marathon at the ‘Papaya Beach’ establishment. At the end of the wooden walkway started a stone-concrete mixed footpath along the beach. To our west was the unending Mediterranean, aptly called The Great Sea in Hebrew, and to the east were posh houses with panoramic windows looking out onto the water. Because Haifa juts out into the Mediterranean, we could easily see the outline of the Carmel Mountain and the vast northern side of Haifa, alit with yellow lights and flashing harbor bulbs.
My friends took a dip in the ocean, which was about 80 degrees, and I sat on the boardwalk attempting to meditate on the glory of the ocean. It’s not everyday that one can feel so much at peace, especially when you are a country boy perpetually living in cities. I drank it in. But like all good things, we had to move on to find some food. Not wanting to gorge on what would inevitably be highly marked up common bar-food (not true, most of these places are very nice restaurants also), we made our way back to downtown and found a kosher restaurant. There is an attached picture of our cheese-stuffed mushrooms in a cream sauce ‘starter,’ and a huge stir-fry salmon salad. We were stuffed.
To walk off the waddling we decided to explore around a bit, see what Nahariya had to offer. Quickly we realized that it wasn’t the imposing city it seemed at first. In fact, it was pretty much a resort town packed with Russians and unbelievably gorgeous 20 some year olds. The main road was unnaturally quiet for the amount of bars and restaurants jammed into every block. After a while we tried to find a liquor store, just to get some fun into our break, but it took nearly 30 minutes to locate anywhere with more than 5 things available.
As fate would have it, my sense of curiosity was a blessing. Nearing the end of the main drag, I looked down a side street and saw what looked like a bit of life. I saw people sitting by a store (a common Israeli corner store where people sit and talk or watch soccer/basketball), and another larger store next to them. It turned out the other store was a big falafel shop. Dismayed, I glanced further down the alley, and saw a large car dealership or body shop for GM Israel. I told my friend (one was on the phone) that I wanted to just look at the dealership really quick. He assented, so we walked, and as I reached it I looked one block down and…voila, a grocery store! We couldn’t find a grocery store all day! We wanted beer or liquor and food that wasn’t marked up 100% for tourists, and here it was, a large Russian supermarket! Oh, and how it was Russian.
Walking past the security guard as I said quite plainly ‘hello!’ and quite plainly being ignored, I pushed through the turnstiles and entered a veritable paradise. As with all Israeli supermarkets, fresh-everything was on display. Meat was hanging from terrifying hooks, all types of cheeses were soaking in tubs behind displays, vegetable dishes like hummus, tehina, matbucha (a type of salsa), babaghanush, and so on were sitting perfectly undisturbed in their refrigerated exhibits. I don’t know why I got so excited, but I always do with the unbelievable reality that people can have such a rich life in such an oppressed area of the world. I guess it’d be like finding a Whole Foods Market in the middle of backwoods Alabama (it’s just a nice surprise).
Being that the store was Russian, the only thing you heard was Russian, from the workers to the few patrons. Not to stereotype, but as I looked for alcohol I slowly realized that more than 50% was vodka. Exactly what I wanted. We weren’t trying to get drunk, we just wanted something to sip while enjoying the beach. Nothing wrong with that.
After a while we found ourselves back at the beach, sitting on a bench, reminiscing and just generally being alive. Some friends of David from New York, one of my friends, walked by with backpacking packs on, and they randomly just happened to see each other. Apparently they almost got stuck out on a hiking trail at night, but luckily found their way to the road, and then had to hitch-hike into town. Not the smartest thing to do, but it worked out for them. It was just another instance of Israel being a part of that ‘it’s a small world’ coincidence.
Eventually we settled in on some couches at one of the bars, Papaya Beach, and ordered a round of Israeli beer. I was sitting with my back to the north, looking southward at the outline of an illuminated Haifa. It was hard to imagine that I was actually going to live in Haifa, until the very last minute before I left America. Those plans changed overnight and put me back in my yeshiva, a place I was very hesitant to go back to. But, as I had told myself to no avail for the weeks before, ‘everything happens for a reason.’ Just imagine if I would have actually moved to Haifa. Chances are I wouldn’t have met these two great people I was with, and I wouldn’t be sitting at that table, looking at the purple sky and yellow harbor, listening to the lapping ocean, and smelling the salty atmosphere. How lucky we are that everything always works out, in some way, with no visible or clear warning! So what if your plans are ruined? Even the worst turn of events has a positive outcome.
After a long while we decide to head back, but not 10 feet out of the bar did the extraordinarily stunning hostess of the next bar distracted us. I’m trying to not use immature expressions here. Let’s just say making this woman smile was worth the extra hour (it was a slow night). As soon as we sat down my friend started talking to two girls sitting by themselves, and in an instant we were all sitting together. Two hours later my head really hurt from all the beer, Hebrew, and blue lights tinting everything neon. It’s funny how a split-second decision can turn into an entire night. What was going to be a 30 minute beer turned into a two hour episode. Eventually we did make it home, only to get a few hours of sleep before we arose for a big day. On the walk home we found it funny how we could have ever felt lost in this small, warm coastal town.
We took a sherut, or a shared taxi-bus, for the 10 kilometer ride to Akko (Acre). Akko is an ancient port city between Haifa and Nahariya. It was once the headquarters of the Crusaders (for a couple centuries), and because of this military presence it has a high walled Old City; cavernous, indiscernible tunnels underground, forts, jails, and so on. Interestingly, this was also the site of Napoleon’s defeat to Ahmed al-Jazzar in 1799 during his Egypt-Palestine campaign.
We had come to Akko because David, my friend, had randomly met a guy in Old City Jerusalem the day before that offered to take us sailing. Sailing. When David told me that I refused to get excited, mainly because I hear these types of promises all the time and never see them carried out. Not that I hear of sailing offers for free in Jerusalem, but in general, in this world, many things are said and many of those things never happen. But, each passing event made the promise more and more real.
We arrived in Akko, got lost again, but the guy that David met came in his car and picked us up. Sailing was certainly going to happen. Riding through the Old City, dodging Arab children and honking at the random van stopping to chat with a pedestrian, finally we made it to the port. This was really something. Not only were we getting onto a fairly nice sailboat, we were departing from a Biblical city. I personally felt like Jonah.
In case you’re wondering how all this happened, here’s the short of it: David was talking to someone in an open area of the Old City about where we were going to go for the break, this guy overheard him and invited him to sail on his friend’s boat, David got his number, and we met up at the predetermined time. The owner of the boat was Joel, a 69 year retired orthopedic surgeon who has lived in Israel for 30 years. He wanted guys to come along because you can’t just properly sail without a small crew.
I’d never been sailing before, and the waves were incredibly tall north of the port. I wasn’t scared, but I would have liked to have a few horsepower with all those waves throwing us around. Luckily the wind was really blowing. I took half a Dramamine before setting out, just in case I got sea-sick (the mother of the guy David met was there and had them). Well, the ridiculous scenery was ruined for the first hour and a half, as I was sitting in the stern turning green. The whole time I had to gut it out, stick my eyes on the coast, and try from burping up the beer from the night before. I was definitely dehydrated from the night before, and hadn’t had breakfast, so the only thing that kept me from leaning overboard was that there wasn’t anything to throw up!
I felt pretty stupid sitting there, while everyone seemed to be having a great time, wanting to puke my guts out. I was literally in a cold sweat, totally absorbed with my own misery. Next thing I know David is leaning overboard. Joel told me that splashing me with water would help a bit, so I leaned over the railing as he dumped a bucket on my head. It worked for 2 minutes. Eventually the opinion came up that sitting up on the bow helps a lot, and the guy that David met was sitting up there cause he was feeling sick too. I quickly glanced to the bow, not trying to divert my attention from the fixed shore, and was daunted by the narrow walkway and endless sea ahead. I said thanks but no thanks. The woman persisted for 5 minutes, and one thing she said really sent me packing: It couldn’t hurt! I did feel like death itself, so I gave it a chance.
5 minutes later I felt like a million bucks. Well, I felt extremely weak on account of the lack of sleep and food, but compared to how I felt! And then I was able to appreciate the amazing coast we were sailing. I’ve sailed the Mediterranean! We went up to Rosh HaNikra, which is literally on the border of Lebanon, and then sailed all the way into the private ‘yacht club’ of Haifa. There were some million-dollar sailboats in there.
We were out for 6 hours. David never got better. I had him come up to the front with me, because I felt so good up there compared to the stern. Alas, he still felt terrible, and ended up puking about 3 times, once just about 15 minutes before we docked at the end of the day. We were out from about 11 until 5. The ironic part was that he was the one that made it happen, he was the one that kept talking about it with all the guys that were supposed to come with us! And then he was the only one that didn’t have any fun. The thing about being truly sea-sick is that it is all-absorbing. There is nothing on your mind except your own wretchedness.
Here are a few pictures. To be honest it was really hard to take pictures, especially because I had to help sail while we were at the best picture taking places (the ports) and because I was terrified of either dropping my camera into the sea or of getting disoriented while looking at the screen and falling into the sea. I did get some pictures of the yacht club marina, a few of the cargo ships (many are from Turkey, the second best economy in the Middle East behind Saudi Arabia), north-Haifa and the port, and some crappy ones of the Akko port. The waves were too strong to take a steady picture, and I didn’t have time. Sailing is a lot of work… I think I prefer motorboats.
Certainly a once in a lifetime experience. Or at least a once in a lifetime turn of events. I could easily go sailing anytime Joel goes out, because it wasn’t like he was doing us a favor. We were his crew, and you can’t just go out by yourself. He said it many times over. I doubt I’ll go out again, but I would definitely enjoy it if it did happen again.
Joey on the left, David on the right
.jpg)
1/50th of the vodka
Shower, brush your teeth, and sit on the toilet all at once
Timber headed to wood-starved England.
How Turkish people spell stuff.
Looking back at Haifa
A very fake smile, still felt a bit sick.
The only place I could sit and not be sick
This is sea-sick
Akko walls
Akko marina
From our dock
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Tourism in Israel, Jerusalem's Old City - YIKES
For about a week before Rosh HaShanah, traditional Jews across the world started saying “Selichot,” which are heartfelt supplicatory prayers. These supplications are in preparation for asking forgiveness for transgressions committed during the year, with the culmination on Yom Kippur. Those that take such things seriously, which feels like just about all of Jerusalem, say these prayers with great alacrity as soon as the ‘Jewish day’ begins.
Consequently, the Old City of Jerusalem, the focal point of all religious Jews in the entire world, has been packed to full capacity every night of the past couple weeks. Everyone from the ‘ultra-orthodox’ that live in the religious neighborhood of Mea Shaarim to middle-class Israelis from outside Tel Aviv to Christian pilgrims from Russia have swarmed the banks, so to say, swelling the high stone walls beyond capacity. From the perspective of a person that actually lives in the Old City, and from the lens of simply being able to walk freely to reach my apartment, this influx can be quite obnoxious. Trying to squeeze past 50 Ukrainians with snapping cameras, every night, makes a person a bit short-tempered.
But from the perspective of a person that relishes the importance of Jerusalem, of the holiest city, of all the nations of the world focusing on ‘the eye of the universe,’ these tourists and pilgrims alike are a blessing. Having these Jews and non-Jews come to Jerusalem is nothing more than a confirmation of the Jewish people, Jerusalem, and the centrality of those two living in Israel. What I’m trying to say is that tourism is heartwarming for a beleaguered nation. The spiritual, emotional, and economic boost that these people bring helps to swallow the traffic a bit easier.
The destination for all these people is the Western Wall, a supporting wall of the Temple Mount. Jews believe that G-d is everywhere, he is omnipresent. However, we also believe he listens more closely to those in Israel, and within Israel to Jerusalem, and within Jerusalem to Har Habayit, or the Temple Mount. Naturally it follows that the Western Wall, part of this Mount, is a pilgrimage point, especially during holidays. These prayers, the Selichot, following the Jewish belief, will be heard with great compassion and forgiveness at the Wall.
Due to the belief in the centrality of the Temple Mount, the Western Wall Plaza has been packed every single night. There has been probably over a thousand people packed into a relatively small area, crying out, singing in prayer, swaying with their emotions, all the while experiencing self-evaluation next to thousands doing the same. It’s really a very moving scene, regardless how you feel about your own personal self-evaluation. Attached is a picture of the crowd. This one is high quality, so you can click on it, zoom in, and really get a grasp on how many people are down there! Oh, and this view is from my yeshiva (it may be the best view in the world).
Earlier I posted a few pictures of the courtyard adjacent to my apartment. The past two weeks this area has been simply packed with Israeli school groups taking field trips to the Old City. They have had speeches here, theatrical demonstrations of Biblical-era Jerusalemites (just like you see a mock Patrick Henry at Colonial Williamsburg), and most recently a concert. The concert is what is in this picture, and all these people seemed to be there half the night. Needless to say, I haven’t gotten much sleep lately.
Consequently, the Old City of Jerusalem, the focal point of all religious Jews in the entire world, has been packed to full capacity every night of the past couple weeks. Everyone from the ‘ultra-orthodox’ that live in the religious neighborhood of Mea Shaarim to middle-class Israelis from outside Tel Aviv to Christian pilgrims from Russia have swarmed the banks, so to say, swelling the high stone walls beyond capacity. From the perspective of a person that actually lives in the Old City, and from the lens of simply being able to walk freely to reach my apartment, this influx can be quite obnoxious. Trying to squeeze past 50 Ukrainians with snapping cameras, every night, makes a person a bit short-tempered.
But from the perspective of a person that relishes the importance of Jerusalem, of the holiest city, of all the nations of the world focusing on ‘the eye of the universe,’ these tourists and pilgrims alike are a blessing. Having these Jews and non-Jews come to Jerusalem is nothing more than a confirmation of the Jewish people, Jerusalem, and the centrality of those two living in Israel. What I’m trying to say is that tourism is heartwarming for a beleaguered nation. The spiritual, emotional, and economic boost that these people bring helps to swallow the traffic a bit easier.
The destination for all these people is the Western Wall, a supporting wall of the Temple Mount. Jews believe that G-d is everywhere, he is omnipresent. However, we also believe he listens more closely to those in Israel, and within Israel to Jerusalem, and within Jerusalem to Har Habayit, or the Temple Mount. Naturally it follows that the Western Wall, part of this Mount, is a pilgrimage point, especially during holidays. These prayers, the Selichot, following the Jewish belief, will be heard with great compassion and forgiveness at the Wall.
Due to the belief in the centrality of the Temple Mount, the Western Wall Plaza has been packed every single night. There has been probably over a thousand people packed into a relatively small area, crying out, singing in prayer, swaying with their emotions, all the while experiencing self-evaluation next to thousands doing the same. It’s really a very moving scene, regardless how you feel about your own personal self-evaluation. Attached is a picture of the crowd. This one is high quality, so you can click on it, zoom in, and really get a grasp on how many people are down there! Oh, and this view is from my yeshiva (it may be the best view in the world).
Earlier I posted a few pictures of the courtyard adjacent to my apartment. The past two weeks this area has been simply packed with Israeli school groups taking field trips to the Old City. They have had speeches here, theatrical demonstrations of Biblical-era Jerusalemites (just like you see a mock Patrick Henry at Colonial Williamsburg), and most recently a concert. The concert is what is in this picture, and all these people seemed to be there half the night. Needless to say, I haven’t gotten much sleep lately.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)