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.

Architecture mixed with a bit of politics

Today marked my architecture class's second trip to the Old City, and the last trip for a while. For the most part it was nothing remarkable--just a tour through a Herodian mansion and a visit to the Southern Wall of the Temple Mount. However, current events dictated that we must try to take a look at the newly rebuilt Hurva Synagogue, which we did.

Long story short: the Hurva Synagogue was originally built in the 1860s and was destroyed twice. In 2002 the Israeli government decided to rebuild the synagogue, and it was rededicated last Monday night. This was part of what lead to the "Day of Rage" riots among the Palestinians last Tuesday. The New York Times explains why they're so upset:

The synagogue’s new white dome blends in with the city’s ancient monuments holy to Christians, Muslims and Jews. Because of the topography, seen from certain points around the city, it rises above the Islamic shrines of the compound revered by Muslims as the Noble Sanctuary, and by Jews as the Temple Mount, including Al Aksa Mosque.

In Damascus, Khaled Meshal, the exiled leader of the Islamic militant group Hamas, said the synagogue’s dedication signified “the destruction of the Al Aksa Mosque and the building of the temple,” according to Agence France-Presse.

Okay, so that sounds a little bit drastic. Really, the rebuilding of one synagogue is going to lead to the destruction of the Temple Mount as we know it? However, take a look at this (also mentioned by Ha'arez):

According to a centuries-old rabbinical prophecy that appears to be coming true, on March 16, 2010, Israel will begin construction of the Third Temple in Jerusalem. During the 18th century, the Vilna Gaon, a respected rabbinical authority, prophesied that the Hurva Synagogue in Jerusalem, which was built during his day, would be destroyed and rebuilt twice, and that when the Hurva was completed for the third time, construction on the Third Temple would begin.

And the Third Temple will logically be built on the Temple Mount, and thus Al-Aksa Mosque will be destroyed... it makes sense. Except for the whole "we're going to build the Third Temple now!" part. I don't see the moshiach anywhere; do you? Besides--according to Ahuva's recent sermon, we weren't meant to resume the whole animal sacrifice thing anyway.

Anyway! The brand-new rebuilt synagogue is entirely locked, but we got to go in and see it anyway. See, our teacher is Israeli, and Israelis are pushy and tend to get their way when they're only up against a couple of custodians who answered a classmate's very insistent knock at the door. The synagogue is beautiful. Take a look:

The outside photo is not mine because silly me expected to be able to find a recent photograph online, but apparently not. They're being very secretive about this place, probably because of all the riots and such. But really--how hard is it to take a picture of the outside?

I don't know what to think about the controversy surrounding this synagogue. Sometimes it seems like people--Palestinians and (particularly haredi) Israelis--will riot over just about anything, given the chance. It's not like we're in a position to build the Third Temple, no matter what the Vilna Gaon said all those years ago. Yet--the fact that the dome rises above everything else does make a certain political statement. I read it somewhere--"We're here to stay," it says. The Israelis are here to stay, in the heart of the Old City, in the heart of East Jerusalem, in the heart of Eretz Yisrael... can you blame them for being upset?

Israeli basketball

Basketball is definitely not soccer. I mean, I know it's not, but in terms of Israeli sports--there's a big difference between a Beitar Jerusalem game and a HaPoel Migdal Jerusalem game, which is what one of our madrichim from Rothberg took us to tonight. Thank goodness there was no racism, but there were also no organized cheers whatsoever. There were also plenty of seats left, and very few people standing--though I was told that part of that was the fact that it was a Saturday night game and a lot of Jerusalem's fans are religious. Anyway, the game in videos:

Hatikvah, lots of insane basketballs flying everwhere, and a view of the crowd:

Ramat Gan's team doing well at the beginning of the game:

And a video of Jerusalem doing well, because that is my city for the year, after all:

Ramat Gan only did well in the beginning; by the second quarter Jerusalem was creaming them and I lost all of my attention span. Really, sports games need to be close to be interesting. It's no fun when Jerusalem wins 107 to 68, with the margin only growing over the course of the game.

Oh well. At least we won?

Police make all the difference

Police make all the difference in the world. Remember my first trip to Women of the Wall? It was pretty miserable, both due to the rain and due to the haredim's hatred. There were police around, but we didn't feel guarded; this was just a month after Nofrat Frankel was arrested. The next month the police made a barrier between us and the haredi women and it went better, though one woman was hit by a haredi. This month--G-d. What a difference.

The assault from the men's side was totally unexpected. They did not wait for us to start davening, but instead threw a bunch of chairs over the mechitza while we were still gathering, even breaking a leg off one of them. It wasn't even 7am, and the police hadn't arrived yet. Lots of chairs (and a video starting in the middle of it):

Notice how the women attempt to make light of it. This is how you have to think at Women of the Wall--ironic comments are about all we can do.

Needless to say, I thought that the early chair throwing was an indication of a very bad morning ahead. It's not exactly a good sign. However, the men eventually stopped throwing chairs and the police came over to ask what happened and help clean up the chairs. Someone also said that they arrested the chair-thrower, which was the first good sign of the day. (According to YNet, they arrested two chair-throwers even!)

Once we started davening, the police formed a wall between us and the haredim. Surprisingly, the haredi women didn't bother us this time--one woman muttered about how the moshiach was never going to come this way when she walked past us, but that was it. The men were also surprisingly subdued. There was a little bit of shouting, but that didn't last. They mostly walked/danced around in a circle singing, supposedly drowning us out in their ears. For the first time ever I could hear every word the service leader said; the sounds from the men's side didn't overpower us at all us. Oh--and Mr. Recite Hallel at Us was back today, too. That was sorta weird--it almost seemed as if he was supporting us, except we knew better. (He was screaming "gevalt" last month.)

At the end of Hallel we were actually able to dance around in a circle ourselves, which one of the women said had never happened before. No videos of that because I was participating, but I think this is proof of what police--and overseas--support can do. When the chair-thrower was arrested I think it really changed the dynamics. The haredim no longer had the upper hand, and there were consequences to their hatred. They were in the position that we were in back in December, and even more so probably November. And why were the police guarding us? I think that has something to do with overseas--particularly North American--support for Women of the Wall. I mean, politics make my head spin, but when 29 Canadian rabbis send a letter to their Israeli ambassador supporting Women of the Wall and there is enough American support that the ambassador to the United States made a statement about the issue, that's gotta mean something, right? If nothing else, it'd probably make Israel look pretty bad if/when something bad happened to the Women of the Wall while they were davening, assuming they were following the law (not reading from the Torah and not wearing talitot). Why else would the police go from arresting Nofrat Frenkel to protecting us from the haredim, if not for international pressure?

I have to say, I will be perfectly happy if the Haredi men keep drowning us out by singing and dancing and reciting Hallel at us. These are all things that belong at the Kotel. Screaming insults and throwing chairs--those do not. What are the chances that they'll find this solution satisfactory, or that next month will be even slightly like this month? One thing I've learned over the past three months is that the reaction to our davening is unpredictable. Totally and completely unpredictable.

We went from our peaceful davening at the Kotel to an even more peaceful Torah reading with rotating Torah readers, including Devora, a fellow Rothberg student. Notice how you can hear the birds singing. Isn't that a nice end to it all?

A trip to the City of David

An update about the start of the new semester and my class schedule will come soon; we're three weeks into the semester and my schedule just got finalized today. However, this semester promises many more class-sponsored tourism than I got last semester due to one class: Jerusalem's Architectural History. We had our first field trip today, a visit to the City of David. Possible little known fact: the Old City of Jerusalem today is nowhere near on the same land as the Really Old City of Jerusalem, aka the city that King David built. The only overlap is really the Temple Mount--everything else is outside the current walls.

Another possibly little known fact: Jerusalem architecture is ugly. There's this way of building one house on top of another because that's how you build on the side of a mountain--okay, I get that. But why does everything have to be so blocky? It's just ugly, and it's all over Israel. Really, why? The below photo is of Sirwan, an Arab neighborhood across the valley from the City of David, but it's just one example.

These particular houses obviously weren't there in biblical times, but they were still built one on top of the other--thus how King David saw Batsheva bathing. However, what was there was Warren's Shaft, (probably) the passage through which David and Yoav originally invaded Jeursalem back when it was a Canaanite city. We got to go down there:

Of course, the metal stairs weren't there originally, but it was still pretty cool. We also went through Hezekiah's Tunnel, which involved lots of water and a soaking wet skirt. I couldn't take video in there because I needed my batteries for my flashlight, but I stole someone else's video off Youtube:

This class includes four field trips like this. Today was First Temple Period Jerusalem, next week is Second Temple Period, and in the future we have post-Christianity and Islam Jerusalem and Modern Jerusalem. Pretty cool. Hopefully by the end of the semester things will stop looking like one piece of Jerusalem stone after another... which is really all I can tell of Jerusalem right now.

Purim x2

Israel is one of only two places in the world where you can celebrate Purim, drive to another city, and then find that it's (Shushan) Purim all over again the next day. While this is an interesting phenomenon, it's one that I hadn't intended on taking part of. Purim is not my favorite holiday ever - there's too much partying and drinking and too little meaning. Still, when I mentioned to my friend Ri that it would technically be possible for me to get from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv for Saturday night's megillah reading at the Gay Center and she offered to let me stay over for the night, I figured I might as well. It's not like I'm going to get this chance ever again.

The evening at the gay center began with a havdallah that wasn't so impressive, though it did allow me time to scan the room with my camera. Havdallah's usually my favorite Shabbat service, but it wasn't like anyone was joining in with the singing, and the leaders botched the words enough to make me wonder whether they normally do this or not. It's also the first time I had ever seen havdallah done without dimming the lights.

The megillah reading was your typical megillah reading. Lots of people in costumes, lots of noise whenever Haman's name was said. I was actually really surprised at one point when a cowboy went up to read and I recognized "his" voice--it was Nofrat Frenkel from Women of the Wall. My camera failed me on that reading, though, so I have to leave you with the reading of a sailor and a cute mother/daughter pair instead.

After the megillah reading most people left for other parties around the city, but a few stayed for dancing at the gay center. I stood or sat against the wall the whole time, but it was still pretty entertaining to watch. I really like the fact that alcohol wasn't the center, which is usually the problem with Purim since it's supposedly a mitzvah to drink until you can't tell the difference between Mordechai and Haman. There was one girl walking around with a bottle of something, but that was about it. It was mostly dancing--again, a bad camera time. There were some really cute moments, like a Haradi woman dancing with a gay guy dressed up like a fairy and a woman in a lion suit dancing with a little girl dressed up like snow white. Unfortunately, all I caught on camera was the normal dancing stuff, none of the really good moments.

We got back to Ri's house around 1am on Saturday night, slept in until noon, and then headed off to the bus and train stations and back to Jerusalem for Purim Part II. We had planned to go to a megillah reading and possibly to another gay Purim party at HaKatze, but we didn't end up getting back to the Kfar until 8pm and we decided to just stay in and make some hamentashen dough. This morning, however, was a totally different story as we went to the Kotel for the Women of the Wall's megillah reading.

This was the first time I have ever heard a delayed reaction when it comes to drowning out Haman's name. People are usually jumping at it - I'm used to megillah readings where the reader says "ha" and someone starts making noise, whether or not that word is actually supposed to be Haman. This is the first time I've ever seen the reader pause without being forced into the pause by the overwhelming noise, and the noise lasted significantly less time than, say, at the gay center megillah reading.

What's even stranger than Haman, though, is the fact that the Women of the Wall megillah reading went without a hitch. There were about a million people at the Kotel, on both sides of the mechitza, and there was a bar mitzvah going on on the men's side. Yet, we were completely ignored by everyone. I don't understand; if the problem with women praying out loud is a problem of kol isha, why doesn't apply to megillah reading? If it isn't a problem with kol isha, what is the problem? Why can't they just leave us alone? I should be thankful that no one screamed at us this time (though I confess I was was sorta looking forward to chalking it down to an over-enthusiastic drowning out of Haman's name), but it's left me more confused than anything. Politics. Religious politics.

Aaaaaaand--Purim is not yet over. When Ri gets back from her seuda we're going to finish making hamentashen and then hopefully head off to the drag show at HaKatze. Perhaps I will test out my new camera there, since the old one completely failed at the drag show last time.

Women of the Wall - Rosh Chodesh Adar

As I walked down to the Kotel from the Jewish Quarter this morning, the first thing I noticed was the large amount of men davening on the men's side--so much larger than the group there last time (see my post). There were more women, too, but what I noticed was the men--I suppose I saw them as more of a threat, and there were so many more of them. I know it's probably because it wasn't raining cats and dogs this time, unlike in December, but as I walked down the steps I got a bit nervous. More people means more chance of trouble, and there were a large number of police cars in the parking lot, too.

I got there early, so I went up to the Kotel for a little alone time and spontaneous prayer, something I can only seem to do at the Kotel. When I got back--the Women of the Wall meet just outside the women's section--I found some familiar faces, and it wasn't long until davening started.

I was surprised by how quiet it was at first. For all the men in the men's section, most of them ignored us, and in the beginning there was only one guy yelling "gevalt" at us. It was easy to hear Nofrat Frenkel, who was leading the davening--unlike last time, when we had to strain to hear the leader. Eventually more people started yelling at us, but it was the women who made more of a fuss at us, pointing and yelling. There were plenty of soldiers and police officers guarding us, though; they stood between us and the women, though I think I saw a bit of shoving at one point. I was in the back, up against the wall that marks the end of the women's section. I figured it would give me a bit of emotional support if necessary, since getting two hours of sleep doesn't so much make for stability. Overall, though, I thought it was pretty much okay. It wasn't until Hallel that we had to strain to hear Nofrat, when other men joined in the "gevalt" and the women were screaming. By that point our original gevalter was reciting Hallel at us--though I don't understand what the point of that was. Yes, we know. We were just reciting that, thank you very much.

As we left the Kotel plaza for Robinson's Arch, a few men joined our group, including Noam and Mr. Dubin. This made me think a little bit; I've told people a few times that (in high school, at least) I felt that one of the worst parts of being a woman was not being able to help make a minyan in circumstances that required adherence to Orthodox law. How must these men feel, who want to support Women of the Wall but can't because of their gender? Is it similar to the way I feel when I can't help make a minyan? Perhaps I'll ask next time I see Mr. Dubin.

The rest of the service went without a hitch--we walked over to Robinson's Arch singing Mishe Nichnas Adar, but no one followed us over. We read the Torah with no screaming people and no rain to disrupt us. There was a little bit of dancing at the end of the Musaf amidah, but not so much. It was just calm, really, a big contrast to the davening at the Kotel itself. Out of sight, out of mind?

It's hard to come up with concluding thoughts right now, as I am writing this before going back to sleep--and if two hours isn't enough for emotional stability, it sure isn't enough for thinking. Thinking back to December, though, when most of the men on the men's side were screaming at us, it's amazing how many people ignored us. It's even more amazing to me that the women were the ones who gave us the hardest time; I understand, sorta, that there's a problem with kol isha for the men, but what's the problem with the women? Do they feel like we're reflecting badly on womenkind? If anything, I think they're the ones doing that. All we want to do is pray.

I'm grateful for the soldiers and police officers who came to protect us. I'm glad that no one got arrested. I'm glad that my initial fears were largely unfounded--though, perhaps I didn't get the full experience standing in the back. Those in the front may have a different story.

British Airways

I'm back in my dorm room in Jerusalem after a month in the States, and I would like to write about something I should have written about a month ago: my experiences with British Airways.

My flight to the States coincided with the big snowstorm in the UK, which means my original Friday flight was cancelled. After an hour on hold, I got my flight rescheduled for Monday and settled in for a Shabbat at Ahuva's--which was fine until Friday night, when my second flight got cancelled. Another hour on hold and I was booked for Tuesday.

When I got back to the Kfar on Saturday night, I learned that my roommate Estie, who was also flying British Airways, was still going out in the morning. At this point I just wanted to get home and pet the cats, so I listened to another hour of hold music before finally talking to a representative. I explained my situation, that my flight had been cancelled twice and that my roommate was flying out in the morning, asked if there was any way I could be put on her flight. After a few more minutes of hold music, she came back saying I was good to go. Why they didn't put me on that flight to begin with I'll never know, but it was that simple. She even stayed on the line a while longer so Estie and I could ask various questions about baggage allowances and special meals, juggling both of our questions and both of our accounts without ever sounding annoyed. And this after multiple days of call after call of frustrated, hour-on-hold passengers!

Since then I've had a few less pleasant experiences with British Airways, namely another call during the massive snowstorm in DC to try and reschedule my flight which was met with one very rude customer service representative. Also, whereas this entry a month ago would have mentioned the surprisingly edible food provided by British Airways--evidenced by both August flights and the January ones--maybe they're making budget cuts or something, since the food was nearly inedible for my flights back to Israel. However, I have to hand it to them; they did take off during a time when the DC metro was even shut down, and I even had a row to myself for my first flight--totally coincidental, but it made up for Mr. Customer Service Guy.

I've flown El Al before, during my first trip to Israel with AHA. They're much more expensive and, honestly, I don't think they have anything over British Airways to make it worth the cost. And with my travel luck, being able to say anything good about an airline is a miracle. I don't expect to travel much in the future, but if I do I know which airline I'll pick (assuming they stay on the cheap side of the price range, of course).

Besides--who could resist those accents and the pink and blue pillows they put on the seats?

The value of money

I owe this blog a long entry about the ending of the semester, but that entry is still to come. Right now, I would like to talk about the concept of money.

I have been spending money on food, transportation, and other daily necessities for five months now, all in shekels. As I travel around Boston now, I'm really not doing anything I haven't done before. Yet, somehow, it feels different. While I balked at a $2 bottle of water at the airport, once I converted it into shekels I realized that I'd bought a $2 (8NIS) bottle of water in Israel before, quite willingly, if not an experience I repeated again once I realized how much I'd spent. $1.80 in subway fare sounded high when I looked at how much I'd be traveling until I realized that it's not that different from Egged's $1.25 (5.9NIS) fare for those who can't pass as a youth. $4 on pizza and $8 on lo mein also seem extreme when I'm looking at buying all my meals, until I remember those $7 (26NIS) calzones I splurged on a few times. Similarly, the $3.25 (12NIS) falafels I got in Israel felt really cheap there, but really aren't when compared to that pizza.

I always knew that I don't really have any real concept of the shekel. I've been judging my purchases based on whether the number seems large, knowing that you really can't get anything for 1NIS. But it took me until this trip home to realize that I've been thinking about it in the same way I think of dining points at Brandeis: I have a fixed number of them, and as long as I don't go over I'm good. Shekels don't look like dollars, and it's not like I can earn any anyway. But in the States, where I'm used to money as something that's earned and spent and saved, it's a completely different matter. The money guilt that has evaded me in Israel comes flooding back.

I have not yet figured out the solution to this problem, or what it is I need to solve here. The lack of money guilt is very nice, though being left to spend whatever I please is probably not a good idea. Perhaps leaving my money in dollars in a US bank will solve this one.

How not to plan a trip

* Plan the entire trip between midnight and 2:30am the night before you leave.

* Stay up until 2:30am when you have to get up at 9:30am. Repeat the next night, substituting "2am" and "7:30am." Survive the trip with the help of caffeine pills. Be really crabby because of it. Travel with another person who's doing the exact same thing.

* Plan to meet someone and then have one digit wrong in her phone number.

* Plan your entire trip around websites about gay Tel Aviv, and then find out that there's nothing to see or do until night.

* Fail to realize that there are two shuks in Tel Aviv, and then go to the one that's mostly food and not random fun stuff.

* Fail to look up each and every relevant bus route.

Read: The one big important lesson I learned from my trip to Tel Aviv and Haifa with Ahuva is that I'm really not cut out to be a traveller. Going to places I'm unfamiliar with is too stressful.