Outrage

The last time I wrote about Women of the Wall, it was about the calm before the prayer. There was nothing else to write about, unless I wanted to write about lending my roommate my siddur and my tallit and watching her pray when she hadn't done so in a long time. The time before that was when we got chairs thrown at us and the police arrested the chair-throwers. At that point, it seemed like the police were on our side. The Haredim were the wrongdoers; we were following the law, and they were still harassing us. But this. How did this happen?

I was not there, as I have been in the States for a month and a half now, but there is a blog post about the experience by Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg here. I am shocked. I am speechless, save for the word "What?" "What?" The women were not doing anything that they hadn't done month after month, year after year since 1988. Daven most of the service at the back of the women's section - march with the Torah, singing, to Robinson's Arch - read the Torah - dance - daven Mussaf. Month after month. So why now? Why are we suddenly the bad guys again? Did they really think we were going to change our pattern now? Was it not just a few months ago when we were almost physically harmed by an army of chairs?

I say "we" this time not because I was physically there, but I feel like the Women of the Wall are still part of me. Watching the video I remember the times when I walked down that path, the first time in the rain with Haredim yelling at us, the time when we sang "Not By Might" in Hebrew and the woman next to me said she'd have to tell Debbie Friedman that someone had translated her song, the time Mr. Dubin was there. There is no video of the women standing outside of the police station, but I can see it in my mind. I know that spirit. I can imagine Nofrat Frenkel standing next to Anat Hoffman as she was arrested for the same charges for which Nofrat was arrested just seven months ago. "We then kept singing for some time, because, Nofrat said, Anat (who was inside the police station somewhere) would be able to hear us. (Nofrat knows from personal experience, natch.)" Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg said. Can you imagine what that must be like? Can you see her reliving that experience?

And why are the Women of the Wall put through this ideal? For being female and wanting to pray on Rosh Chodesh, which Orthodoxy declares a "women's holiday." Because wanting to sing out their prayers loud and proud is somehow wrong. Because reading the very text that is the basis of our religion is somehow wrong.

It's been said before by many people and I'll say it again: the Kotel doesn't belong to the Jewish people. The Kotel belongs to the Haredim, and that's an offense against all of us who call ourselves part of the Jewish people.

Calm

The thing that I like most about Women of the Wall is the walk to get there. There are no buses that take you from Mount Scopus to the Old City; you have to go to Jaffa Rd and then walk from there. This means that a trip to the Kotel involves walking all the way through the Old City at a time of morning when nothing’s open and no one’s there. All the shops that are usually open are closed, all the streets that are usually crowded are completely empty. It’s peaceful. And then you arrive at the Kotel and see all these men and women davening, and all these police cars parked right outside the guard station, and you’re ready to pray. You’re ready to combat the Haredim with your prayer, your love for their hate.

This entry is not really about Women of the Wall, though. I am currently lying on a bed at Kibbutz Yahel, a Reform kibbutz in the Negev, taking a few precious moments between dinner and our campfire. This Shabbat seems to be about a similar kind of calm. We’re out of the city and into the desert, where there’s really nothing around us other than lots of sand, a bit of grass, and the people who live on the kibbutz. I’m also singing and listening to songs that I haven’t heard since camp, and other songs that I haven’t heard since AHA—and even without the words in the book (because Mishkan Tefila was written as a prayerbook, not a songbook), somehow I still remember the words to these songs I haven’t heard since 2001. It’s the peace of nostalgia that I’m feeling right now; even though I know I was never really happy at camp, these songs bring back fond feelings. I came on this Shabbaton because it was a chance to take a Shabbat away from Jerusalem, but I think instead I’m refinding Reform Judaism. Not that I’m going to come away from this Shabbaton a Reform Jew—I’m not—but I’m reminding myself that there are parts that I really like, parts that I really loved as a little kid, and maybe I can recall those images when I think of Reform Judaism rather than thinking of congregations that do yartzeits based on English dates and close down for the summer.

Secular holidays

Israel's a bit odd in that most Israeli holidays are also Jewish religious holidays. In the States there are a bunch of secular holidays: MLK Day, President's Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day, Veteran's Day, and Thanksgiving according to Wikipedia. In Israel there are only five (Yitzhak Rabin Memorial Day, Holocaust Remembrance Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Jerusalem Day), and of those only two are non-business days. Those two, the Big Important Israeli National Holidays were this week, Memorial Day (Yom HaZikaron) on Sunday night/Monday followed immediately by Independence Day (Yom HaAtzmaut) on Monday night/Tuesday.

Memorial Day is a big deal in this country. There have been so many wars that everyone knows someone or knows someone who knows someone who died in a war or a terrorist attack. I didn't attend any ceremonies, but I heard that every neighborhood has one for their own fallen along with the national ceremony which takes place at the Kotel. I didn't go to any ceremonies partly because it didn't feel right to walk in on someone else's mourning and partly because, frankly, I'm a foreign student; I don't know anyone who died and I had a lot of homework to do. Instead I listened to the radio, which played exclusively downbeat songs, probably mostly about soldiers though it was hard to tell with my poor level of Hebrew. I did catch one song that I knew from high school, though: חורף 73 (video here; English lyrics here) in which children conceived after the Yom Kippur War sing about how peace never came, no matter how much their parents promised.

Another aspect of Yom HaZikaron is that the entire country stands still in remembrance of the fallen for two whole minutes, one at 8pm and one at 11am. The minutes are marked by a very loud air raid siren; this is what it sounded like from inside my room. Interestingly, though, the radios don't shut off; I had to turn it off on my own when the siren blew.

Immediately following Yom HaZikaron is Yom HaAtzmaut, which is a totally different scene. At night, Yom HaAtzmaut is one big party: at the shuk, at clubs, in government plazas, etc. Ahuva, Alexis, Marc, Abigail, Alexis's friend Avi, and I spent the night at Ben Yehuda Street, which was packed with people dancing and singing and spraying each other with silly string. Observe:

Another big thing downtown was the selling of massive inflatable hammers. Ahuva bought two for an impromptu dual with Alexis, though there were others much bigger. No matter how much I try I can't seem to find the origin of the hammer thing, but they're Big in multiple ways.

After about an hour walking around Ben Yehuda we headed over to Gan HaAtzmaut to watch the fireworks display off the roof of the Leonardo Plaza Hotel. Surprisingly, fireworks aren't a big part of independence day in this country. Not only was the show half an hour late, but it was insanely short. Observe it in its entirety:

After the fireworks Ahuva and I went home, though Marc at least stayed out until 5am. The next morning Ahuva, Alexis and I got up early to head to Kibbutz Na'an for a traditional Israeli barbecue, which is basically what Israelis do for Yom HaAtzmaut. Not so different from American independence day, right? The big difference is that you're not eating hamburgers, hotdogs, potato chips, and coleslaw; instead, it's Israeli salads of all kinds, hummus, pitas, fries, grilled cauliflower, and as many kinds of meat as you can imagine--chicken, steak, kabob of various sorts, etc.

The big thing about the barbecue was that it was an informal AHA reunion of sorts. Kibbutz Na'an is home of Gideon Meiry, who used to be head of security for AHA, and Guido ('06). While nowhere near all the AHA alumni in Israel were there--at least two that I know of were missing--there were a good seven of us, including Alexis ('04), Ahuva ('05), Rachel Herman ('07), and myself ('07). Actually I didn't know any of the AHA people other than those I've mentioned, so it was more of an opportunity to experience Yom HaAtzmaut Israeli-style than anything.

After lunch a member of the kibbutz took us to the Kibbutz history museum, where we learned about the kibbutz before Israel existed as a country. Na'an was one of many kibbutzim that hid weapons underground, and the house that became the museum was built on top of one of the underground weapons storage rooms. It's actually pretty cool; they still have some weapons down there, along with an old morse code machine.

There are a whole bunch of other really cool things, too. For instance: an old airplane on the roof of a building on the main road, a museum set up like a pre-Israel house (yeah, that museum), and an armored vehicle outside of the museum. We also learned that no one know why the kibbutz was built where it was, because though it's high up it has absolutely no water source, which isn't good for a country where it doesn't rain. It's a big mystery.

After the tour we came back to Jerusalem and I started on my homework for Wednesday. To be honest, Tuesday day felt like the 4th of July, and I kept expecting someone to come out with a flag cake any minute. Monday night felt like a big celebration of some sort, or maybe Jerusalem turning into one big dance club. I don't know. I don't tend to pay attention to these holidays in the States (even though Hillel does do things for them), and I don't think I'm really missing out on anything. I prefer the holidays that involve Torahs and hallel and cheesecake, thank you very much--which is, of course, Shavuot, the one last holiday for which I'll be in this country.

Wisdom from an Israeli writer

In Hebrew class today we read part of a poem by an Israeli writer, Yehuda Amichai, entited "Tourists":

פעם ישבתי על מדרגות ליד שער במצודת דוד, את שני הסלים הכבדים שמתי לידי. עמדה שם קבוצת תיירים סביב המדריך ושימשתי להם נקודת ציון. "אתם רואים את האיש הזה עם הסלים? קצת ימינה מראשו נמצאת קשת מן התקופ הרומית. קצת ימינה מראשו". "אבל הוא זז, הוא זז!" אמרתי בלבי: הגאולה תבוא רק אם יגידו להם: אתם רואים שם את הקשת מן התקופה הרומית? לא חשוב: אבל לידה, קצת שמאלה ולמטה ממנה, יושב אדם שקנה פֵּרות וירקות לביתו.

Once I was sitting on the steps near the gate at David's Citadel and I put down my two heavy baskets beside me. A group of tourists stood there around their guide, and I became their point of reference. "You see that man over there with the baskets? A little to the right of his head there's an arch from the Roman period. A little to the right of his head." "But he's moving, he's moving!" I said to myself: Redemption will come only when they are told, "Do you see that arch over there from the Roman period? It doesn't matter, but near it, a little to the left and then down a bit, there's a man who has just bought fruit and vegetables for his family."

We as American--and Canadians, and whatever else we are--could learn a lot from this piece of writing. We come to Jerusalem because it's a holy city, but is that really what Jerusalem is? What should we be focusing on when we come here, Jerusalem as it was or Jerusalem as it is? Jerusalem isn't frozen in time; it's a modern city with modern citizens, modern life, and modern problems. When I go to Women of the Wall, it's the people I'm focusing on, not the history. The wall itself isn't what's important; the treatment of women there in modern-day Jerusalem is what matters. The same goes for any human rights issues you might look at--the problems of the Palestinians, the problems of the GLBT population, etc. These are real people living today; can we really come to this country and ignore them? If we do that, Israel is nothing. "Next year in Jerusalem" will always be just a saying, whether or not there really is a place called Jerusalem and whether or not Jews can come there. We have to look at today, not just yesterday. Tomorrow all of this will be history--is this really what we want to see?

Beersheva

Pesach Break served as a time to travel, since I don't really have any other chances to do it before I leave Israel. I've already posted about my trip to Tzfat; my second trip was only a day trip, but in some ways it seemed even bigger.

I wanted to go to Beersheva for what seemed like the coolest shuk in the entire country:

On the south side of Beersheba, in Elat Road (Derekh Elat), the Bedouin market is held every Thursday. It is frequented by Bedouin from far and wide, and its colorful bustle of activity attracts many tourists. The main wares of interest to visitors are carpets, finely embroidered cushions and camel saddles, copperware and numerous other craft products; the local people, on the other hand, come to buy articles of clothing, domestic requisites, skins and also live goats and hens. (from this site)

Other descriptions mention the sale of camels and sheep, which I just think is cool. I mean, it's not like I'm going to buy a camel and bring him home with me, but I've never seen a place where they're sold before. There's also a place near Beersheva where you can ride camels, so it seemed like the ideal trip--that is, until my usual travel luck took over.

Lynley and I got up early on Thursday, ate some matzah for breakfast, and headed to the Central Bus Station for the hour and a half ride to Beersheva. We made it there by 10 and walked to where the Bedouin Market was supposed to be, only there wasn't really a market. Instead there was this city festival thing with exhibitions, food vendors, music, and kids' crafts, which wasn't quite what we'd come to see (and also not particularly up and running at 10:30am). There was one Bedouin guy who set up shop--a tent and a bunch of stuff spread out--but that was it.

(Photo courtesy of Lynley)

One tip about Bedouin markets: never ask the price of something that you have no intention of purchasing. Curiosity may not kill you, but it will sic a very persistent salesperson on you who won't leave you alone until you either buy something or walk away--and in my case walking away wasn't an option, as Lynley was partaking in some hooka and pretending to be a dragon:

Actually, smoking hooka in a Bedouin tent might not be such a good idea either. Bedouin salespeople can be very creepy. The same guy who pushed me to buy also insisted on sitting down next to us and attempting to persuade Lynley to marry him for a full five minutes, or until we left--and I'm pretty sure he was serious.

Apparently Lynley has "magical eyes," though he'd used that line on me not five minutes before as a bargaining tool. (Bedouin markets also mean haggling. Bigtime. I paid 1/3 of the originally offered price for what I bought, and I still think I was probably ripped off.)

After we left the Bedouin Market--what there was of it--we headed down to the Beersheva Visitor's Center, which is located near Abraham's Well. This is where we discovered that Beersheva really isn't a tourist place. The visitor's center was just a small room with a few pamphlets, all in Hebrew except for one random pamphlet in French. The only English in the entire place was a misspelled sign next to Abraham's Well, which you have to pay 5NIS to see:

In actuality that's not really Abraham's well but rather a Turkish one, and there are no signs of explanation anywhere other than the Biblical verses. How was the well discovered? When? What's the wooden thing for and how does it work? No explanations anywhere. A bit disappointing.

After visiting the really unhelpful visitor's center we headed for lunch in the old city. Beersheva is supposed to be "the heart of the Negev," and if Beersheva is the heart of the Negev, the old city should reasonably be the heart of the heart--which is the case in both Jerusalem and Tzfat, the other Israeli cities I know that have old cities. Wrong! The old city of Beersheva was like a ghost town. Most of the restaurants were closed for Pesach, the buildings were run-down and graffitied, and the only people we saw were a few blue-collar workers, one of whom seemed to be chasing after us screaming but was really trying to get the attention of someone in a car. It was really sketchy, and we abandoned it for the mall food court very quickly.

After lunch we set out for the Negev Camel Ranch, or in other words, Cameland. I always love it when the bus drops you off by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, but luckily there was a map on the Camel Ranch website that I'd copied down and a nice big sign once we'd walked 100 meters down the road. Of course, from there it was a loooooong walk to the ranch because this is Israel, and this is the desert. But when we reached it--there were camels! Lots of camels! And these pictures are only the ones they don't take out on rides for tourists!

After waiting for about an hour--the day was full of waiting, since we were also crowded out of our first bus for Cameland--we ended up with a private camel tour just for the two of us. This is where I learned that camels are really slow and desert looks like desert looks like desert. However, I definitely got to ride a camel. That was completely worth the trip.

After riding camels it was time to go back to Jerusalem, since it was already 5pm. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, our bus stop was out in the middle of nowhere, on the side of the road, without any signs whatsoever:

Also, the bus back to Beersheva only runs every hour and a half. This left Lynley and me by the side of the road for an hour, watching cars go by. We weren't necessarily trying to hitchhike back, but we wouldn't have minded it, and it's funny what drivers do when they see people standing by the side of the road. We got a lot of people putting their hands up like "What am I supposed to do?" and some people honking at us. The entire time we didn't even see a taxi pass and the bus was 20 minutes late, so we had this plan of walking to Dimona--the nearest town, about 5 minutes drive away--if the bus didn't show. While the bus did finally show, it was only after a car pulled over and a really nice couple offered to give us a lift to Beersheva. We took it. It sure beat walking to Dimona. From Beersheva it was an easy ride back to Jerusalem and the Kfar, though I didn't get back until after 9pm. Then it was pretty much bedtime. Tourism is exhausting, especially when it involves hour-long camel rides.

Pesach in Israel

Absolutely the best part about Passover in Israel is the fact that it's only 7 days long, rather than the 8 days in the rest of the world. Seriously, it's amazing. My diet this past week has consisted of mainly 4 things: matzo pizza, matzo with peanut butter, mashed potatoes and corn, and matzo ball soup. It gets old.

That said, there's so much more difference between Pesach in Israel and in the US. For one, you really can't get chametz anywhere. Maybe in the Arab neighborhoods you could, but at least in the Jewish parts the supermarkets look sort of like this:

And by that I mean that they're all covered up. Most shelves still have all the non-Pesach food on them (you just can't get to it), but in the case of fresh bread everything's just gone. Ahuva's standing there with the last loaf of bread in the entire store and it was only Sunday--Pesach didn't start until Monday night.

And then there's restaurants. A lot of restaurants just close down for Pesach, but plenty stay open and even have pretty much their normal fare. I was very confused on Thursday when I entered the Central Bus Station and saw what I thought was the normal sandwiches (below), but then when I went back to take a picture I noticed that there was a sign saying that everything was kosher for Pesach (also below). You do not find this kind of thing in the States.

That's not all there is, though. Most places have a lot of salads, but there's also realistic looking pizza and quiches and breaded fish and... everything. Pretty nearly everything, not to mention the potatoes and other things that are always kosher for Passover. My roommate says these things are made mostly out of potato flour and that they actually taste good, but I didn't try most of them. My eating out consisted of a bad potato boureka in Beersheva on Thursday and a potato and spinich "blintz" (really an omelet) and Passover cheesecake at Village Green yesterday. The cheesecake looked good enough (see below), but it had this awful almond macaroon bottom and really wasn't worth the 31NIS I paid for it--typical of Village Green desserts, but I do it over and over again anyway. Besides--cheesecake is one of those pleasures you need to have during such an awful food holiday. (I just miss it being free and made by my father.)

(Picture courtesy of Lynley.)

So maybe Israel is the best place to be for Passover if you're willing and able to eat out all the time, but otherwise I'm actually not so fond. Where are the tins of macaroons? Where's the (mostly) really bad mixes for pancakes and muffins and cakes and things? For that matter, where's the matzo farfel? I'm not one to eat out all the time, and I honestly missed some of the things that you can get in the States during Pesach. There's this one really good apple cinnamon muffin mix that you can get in the States, I think Savion brand, in a brown box that's amazing and definitely not Manischewitz, I miss that a lot. I usually live off muffins during Pesach, but that hasn't happened this year. Call me crazy, but I think I'd actually rather spend Passover in the States--even with the extra day. I'll trade an extra day for some muffins, thank you very much.

Tzfat

I spent this past weekend in Tzfat, one of the four holy cities (the others being Jerusalem, Hebron, and Tiberias). I was there once before, in high school, and I remembered it being beautiful. As someone who goes to Friday night services pretty regularly, I love thinking about the fact that this is where Lecha Dodi was written, and really Kabbalat Shabbat as a whole was formed. The city has a lot of spiritual meaning.

The trip started out on Thursday by discovering that the 982 bus to Tzfat doesn’t actually leave from the Central Bus Station, even though that’s where you buy your tickets. Also, the big “23” on the ticket dosen’t mean “gate 23” but rather a zone. So… Lynley and I missed our bus and had to wait two and a half hours for the next one. Yay. At least I finally got to check out the mall that’s in the Cental Bus Station, and obtained something that you’ll probably only find in Israel—haggadot in a dollar store.

We finally made it to Tzfat around 7pm after a three and a half hour bus ride up and down and around lots of mountains. (It’s Israel.) Guidebooks tend to only spend a page on Tzfat as part of the section on the Galilee, so we got off the bus and had to wander around until we found a sign for our hostel, Ascent. “Go up the stairs and follow the map,” it said—what map? There was no map! Thankfully I remembered that someone at the office had called my phone to confirm our reservation, so the number was in my phone and I was able to call them for directions.

The thing about Tzfat is… even with a map, you get lost. It’s one of those places that maps can’t really handle, like the Old City of Jerusalem. For example, this:

That’s a road. There’s no signs and no stores or houses on it to indicate that it’s a road, no street numbers, but it’s very definitely marked on the map as Ma’alot Olei HaCardom. Such is Tzfat.

The first place we tried to go for dinner, Café Bagdad, kicked us out saying that they were only serving coffee, even though they were open for another half hour. (This was 8:30pm.) So we went to the next place the people at Ascent recommended, Café Milano. There we discovered that even though Tzfat is mainly known for kabbalah and art, there’s actually another piece to it: cheese. According to the faulty map there was entirely a whole cheese museum! (In actuality, no such place exists.) Anyway, this meant that there were a lot of cheese dishes at Café Milano. Lynley ended up getting something called “halumi salad,” which was actually pasta in teriyaki sauce with cashews, bell peppers, and halumi cheese. I got a cheese platter with roasted vegetables. Lynley very much got the better deal; her halumi salad was amazing. (I know cause I got to try some.) Take a look:

My cheese platter was okay. I really liked the labane, but of the other two cheeses one was okay and the other I didn’t really like. The veggies were also okay, not wonderful. But Lynley’s halumi salad… wow! Amazing. Just amazing.

After dinner we headed back to Ascent and went to bed. Then on Friday we woke up early and went to explore Tzfat before everything closed for Shabbat. Our first stop was Safed Candle Factory, where they really make art out of candles. Like, for example, the Temple:

or a whole bunch of penguins:

There was also one of David and Goliath and one of Samson tearing down the Philistine temple, but I wasn’t so interested in those. While we were there we also eavesdropped on a tour guide teaching a family a bit about how regular havdallah candles are made, basically by dipping string into melted wax multiple times and then weaving the tapers together while they’re still hot. It’s pretty cool. I actually spent as much money at the candle factory as I did for two nights at Ascent, which either says something about how cheap Ascent is or how impressive the candle factory is. Maybe both. And no, I did not buy a penguin—their faces were too weird.

From the candle factory we poked our heads into the Ari Synagogue (looks like a normal Orthodox synagogue, minus the women’s section) and proceeded to a street lined entirely with galleries of more conventional art—paintings, jewelry, and Judaica. There were some really beautiful things there, all of it expensive. There was even one shop where we got to watch weavers at work, which was really cool although I don’t understand why anyone would spend more than $100 on a really plain-looking matzah cover.

And of course we had to go find the cheese. There are signs all over the place saying “Tzfat cheese à” or “holy Tzfat cheese à” all of which led to another and then yet another sign. Reaching the cheese factory is like going thorough a maze, literally. When we get there it was just a little place—a table covered with different cheeses, a few tables for sitting down, and a room with vats in it that are used to make the cheese. Unfortunately we didn’t get to find out how cheese is made (we’d have to come back on Sunday for that, except that we were leaving Tzfat on Saturday night), but we did get to try every single one of his cheeses. They weren’t expensive, either; I got small pieces of feta and the special Tzfat cheese for only $10. That plus the four rugalach I’d brought from Jerusalem were more than enough for lunch.

Cheese:

So Friday was good. Shabbat… not so much. It’s odd because when I said I wanted to spend a Shabbat in Tzfat, I was warned that Ascent was really, really Orthodox—which is true. However, I’ve spent Shabbat with the Orthodox before, and as long as I know I’m there for Shabbat and not for a long period of time, I even sorta enjoy parts of it. Organizations that reach out to non-Orthodox students tend to be really concerned about how you’re doing and completely willing to talk to you about Orthodoxy. They have this kind of excitement to them. The people at Ascent… didn’t really. There was a shiur before Shabbat, but it didn’t really go anywhere. After that was supposed to be “Candlelighting and orientation,” but in reality it was just lighting on our own and sitting around until time to go to services. Dinner wasn’t with families in Tzfat, as it usually is at Ascent, but all together in a room in the hostel with not so wonderful food. Saturday was more of the same, if not worse; downtime until lunch unless you got up in time to go to 8am services at a synagogue of your choosing, a meal in which there was no vegetarian option (brisket and potatoes that were cooked together with the brisket), more down time until 4:45, an hour-long tour of Tzfat, and then more down time until dinner and even more downtime until havdallah!

Honestly, if I wanted to stay in my room and read and eat crappy found, I could have stayed in Jerusalem. I wasn’t too pleased with Ascent Shabbat. Usually they pay attention to us. Usually there’s singing and words of Torah and decent food when Orthodox organizations try to draw people in (and presumably the rest of the year, too), and that’s what I was expecting. That’s what I paid for. I feel like it would have been different if we’d gone to families for meals, but the website made no mention of the fact that Shabbat HaGadol isn’t a Shabbat where we get hosted. If it had, we probably would have come another weekend.

It all just seems very odd to me. They asked us twice if we were vegetarian—once on the registration form, and once when they called to confirm our registration. There was at least one other girl in our boat, too. If you know more than 48 hours in advance that 3 out of your 10 English-speaking guests are vegetarians, how in the world do you justify ignoring it? Apparently they expected us to just eat the salads, with no warning that we wouldn’t be able to eat the main dish. Thank you very much for your consideration. I really appreciate it.

I think, in the end, I’m still glad I went to Tzfat for Shabbat. As much of a let-down as it was, as much as it was so not worth the 200NIS we paid for it, if I hadn’t done it I would have wished I had. I would have just continued to have this fantasy of Shabbat in Tzfat and regretted never experiencing it. And there were some good parts to it. I discovered that while no one drives on Yom Kippur, the Shabbat of Shabbats, in Jerusalem, no one drives on Shabbat in Tzfat, period. Not a car moving that I could see, at least not on HaAri Street or Jerusalem Street, the only two streets we walked on where cars can actually go. I also discovered that there are basically no cats it Tzfat. The entire time we were there, we only saw two—as opposed to the rest of Israel, where they’re everywhere. These things are interesting to me. They’re unique, the same way the history is unique. I just wish all of Shabbat was like that.