Sunday, August 1, 2010
West Bank > Jerusalem > Jordan > now
Wrapping up, I split with Noah in East Jerusalem and hopped a bus to Jordan.
I spent the night in Amman, but not without some adventure. I had been to Jordan before, so naturally I thought my visa situation was all good. Not the case. They took me off the bus at the border, and I was sitting in an air-conditioned office surrounded by pictures of the King of Jordan before I could say "American consulate." It really wasn't bad, though. I was very lucky. The guy phoned it in, all the way to the Ministry of the Interior I was told, and after explaining my situation they eventually let me through.
And everything happens for a reason. Another guy in the same boat turned out to be a Jordanian-American from Michigan. We got to talking and he offered me a ride in a car that was picking him up. Having been the recipient of much generosity, I wanted to pay it forward, so I offered to share the ride with these girls met at the border. The guy had no objections, but then word kinda got around and it ended up being me, the guy, the driver, and three girls. They were all cool: a French-Moroccan, a woman from Texas, and an undergrad from Colombia University. They had female-amounts of luggage, though. But seriously, the trunk couldn't close so the driver stuffed all the bags in and took a piece of string and laced it through the handle of each bag and tied it to the handle of the open-trunk. The Colombia girl ended up sitting on my lap for the hour-long ride into Jordan proper.
In Amman, I met up with my friend Anna, who was having a goodbye party for her roommate. I invited the Moroccan-French girl to come, too, because as it turned out, we both had the same travel plans; Petra, Wadi Rum, and then Aqqaba. So with a new Arabic-speaking travel buddy, we left for Petra the next morning.
Petra is where Indiana Jones "Last Crusade" was filmed. Enough said. It was truly breathtaking, and the Moroccan-French girl, Latifah, and I had a lot of fun taking pictures and hiking through. Things took a sour turn though, and it ended up with me spending some time with the Jordanian tourist police. Let me explain, in brief: Latifah decided she wanted to ride a donkey with this Bedouin guy, so we decided to meet at the top. 30 min. later though, I didn't see them. I waited. Waited some more. At this point, my big-brother instincts kick-in and I go to the tourist police tellin em that Latifah kinda went missing. To spare you (and me) the agonizing details, five hours later she shows up happy as a clam after a wonderful evening with her new Bedoioun friends, while I'm running all over the place writing things like "black shirt, longish hair" on scrap pieces of paper at the police station. Anyway, not important now.
In Wadi Rum I met these really down dudes: two Egyptian Muslim brothers and a German Christian guy. So it was them three and me, the American Jew, wondering through the Jordanian desert talking about The Simpsons and religious tolerance. As it happened, I was wearing my t-shirt from "Operation Understanding," the African-Amerian and Jewish dialogue group I did in High School. The logo is of half an Israeli flag and the other half the colors black, green, and red, colors of black identity but also the colors of the Palestinian and Jordanian flags. Everything happens for a reason.
I spent the night in Amman, but not without some adventure. I had been to Jordan before, so naturally I thought my visa situation was all good. Not the case. They took me off the bus at the border, and I was sitting in an air-conditioned office surrounded by pictures of the King of Jordan before I could say "American consulate." It really wasn't bad, though. I was very lucky. The guy phoned it in, all the way to the Ministry of the Interior I was told, and after explaining my situation they eventually let me through.
And everything happens for a reason. Another guy in the same boat turned out to be a Jordanian-American from Michigan. We got to talking and he offered me a ride in a car that was picking him up. Having been the recipient of much generosity, I wanted to pay it forward, so I offered to share the ride with these girls met at the border. The guy had no objections, but then word kinda got around and it ended up being me, the guy, the driver, and three girls. They were all cool: a French-Moroccan, a woman from Texas, and an undergrad from Colombia University. They had female-amounts of luggage, though. But seriously, the trunk couldn't close so the driver stuffed all the bags in and took a piece of string and laced it through the handle of each bag and tied it to the handle of the open-trunk. The Colombia girl ended up sitting on my lap for the hour-long ride into Jordan proper.
In Amman, I met up with my friend Anna, who was having a goodbye party for her roommate. I invited the Moroccan-French girl to come, too, because as it turned out, we both had the same travel plans; Petra, Wadi Rum, and then Aqqaba. So with a new Arabic-speaking travel buddy, we left for Petra the next morning.
Petra is where Indiana Jones "Last Crusade" was filmed. Enough said. It was truly breathtaking, and the Moroccan-French girl, Latifah, and I had a lot of fun taking pictures and hiking through. Things took a sour turn though, and it ended up with me spending some time with the Jordanian tourist police. Let me explain, in brief: Latifah decided she wanted to ride a donkey with this Bedouin guy, so we decided to meet at the top. 30 min. later though, I didn't see them. I waited. Waited some more. At this point, my big-brother instincts kick-in and I go to the tourist police tellin em that Latifah kinda went missing. To spare you (and me) the agonizing details, five hours later she shows up happy as a clam after a wonderful evening with her new Bedoioun friends, while I'm running all over the place writing things like "black shirt, longish hair" on scrap pieces of paper at the police station. Anyway, not important now.
In Wadi Rum I met these really down dudes: two Egyptian Muslim brothers and a German Christian guy. So it was them three and me, the American Jew, wondering through the Jordanian desert talking about The Simpsons and religious tolerance. As it happened, I was wearing my t-shirt from "Operation Understanding," the African-Amerian and Jewish dialogue group I did in High School. The logo is of half an Israeli flag and the other half the colors black, green, and red, colors of black identity but also the colors of the Palestinian and Jordanian flags. Everything happens for a reason.
Keepin it movin
Post the upside-down world of Hebron, Noah and I went to Nablus. It was that day that we did Bethlehem, Ramallah, Nablus, and Jenin all in the same day. I'll start at the beginning.
We woke up in Bethlehem at our refugee-camp/hostel, then went and got falafel and to an internet cafe. We changed buses in Ramallah so I didn't really see it, but everyone says its the most urbane and modern city in the West Bank (to wit, they say Palestinians in Ramallah drink alcohol). I wish I could have seen more of it, but I guess the "New York City of Palestine" is for next time. In contrast, the city of Nablus is waaay more traditional, perhaps because it's 9,000 years old. For real. It is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. The shops close down at about 8 PM, and alcohol is virtually impossible to buy (so they say, I didn't try). By midnight, the streets are empty.
In Nablus, we again went to a refugee camp there: Balata. It is the largest refugee camp in the West Bank and the place where many (most?) of the suicide bombers and militants of the Second Intifadah hail from. It is one of the most densely populated places on earth: at less than 1 square mile, it is supposedly home to 40,000 Palestinian residents.
We met with a British girl who had studied oboe at Cambridge University and was now teaching music classes in Balata. And, as fate would have it, there was a group of American rappers who had just done a hip-hop workshop for the kids. We also met some Palestinian men who were raised there, and now work in the community center. They were also fascinating, and clearly dedicated.
Around the city of Nablus itself, you can see hand-bills and posters of "martyrs." I don't read Arabic, but from what I'm told these memorials do not distinguish between "martyrs" who were killed fighting Israeli soldiers and "martyrs" who took their own lives as part of suicide-bombing missions. Nablus is also famous for Kanafiya, a deliciously sweet dessert.
I don't mean to be facetious with my transitions but that's really the only way to describe what it's like there. The people are super-friendly, always shouting "you are welcome!" as you pass through. Random strangers walked us to where we needed to go on multiple occasions. One merchant gave us some free figs. Another gave me a free apple. The hummus is delicious. We also went to "Jacob's Well," located inside a beautiful church with astounding religious art.
And finally, we went to Jenin to see a play at the "Freedom Theatre," where the actors are young people from the Jenin refugee camp and the play that we saw about exile and displacement. At least I think it was; it was entirely in Arabic. Still cool, though. Again the juxtapositions: talking and joking with the actors and an American Jewish girl who worked there, I noticed an article from the Washing Post reporting on the fates of some of the actors from the "Freedom Theatre." Of the original 5, only one was not either dead or in jail. This bleak fact was clearly presented in a way meant to invoke moral outrage at the Occupation. What the article said plainly, however, was that the 4 who didn't make it were members of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade. damn.
We woke up in Bethlehem at our refugee-camp/hostel, then went and got falafel and to an internet cafe. We changed buses in Ramallah so I didn't really see it, but everyone says its the most urbane and modern city in the West Bank (to wit, they say Palestinians in Ramallah drink alcohol). I wish I could have seen more of it, but I guess the "New York City of Palestine" is for next time. In contrast, the city of Nablus is waaay more traditional, perhaps because it's 9,000 years old. For real. It is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. The shops close down at about 8 PM, and alcohol is virtually impossible to buy (so they say, I didn't try). By midnight, the streets are empty.
In Nablus, we again went to a refugee camp there: Balata. It is the largest refugee camp in the West Bank and the place where many (most?) of the suicide bombers and militants of the Second Intifadah hail from. It is one of the most densely populated places on earth: at less than 1 square mile, it is supposedly home to 40,000 Palestinian residents.
We met with a British girl who had studied oboe at Cambridge University and was now teaching music classes in Balata. And, as fate would have it, there was a group of American rappers who had just done a hip-hop workshop for the kids. We also met some Palestinian men who were raised there, and now work in the community center. They were also fascinating, and clearly dedicated.
Around the city of Nablus itself, you can see hand-bills and posters of "martyrs." I don't read Arabic, but from what I'm told these memorials do not distinguish between "martyrs" who were killed fighting Israeli soldiers and "martyrs" who took their own lives as part of suicide-bombing missions. Nablus is also famous for Kanafiya, a deliciously sweet dessert.
I don't mean to be facetious with my transitions but that's really the only way to describe what it's like there. The people are super-friendly, always shouting "you are welcome!" as you pass through. Random strangers walked us to where we needed to go on multiple occasions. One merchant gave us some free figs. Another gave me a free apple. The hummus is delicious. We also went to "Jacob's Well," located inside a beautiful church with astounding religious art.
And finally, we went to Jenin to see a play at the "Freedom Theatre," where the actors are young people from the Jenin refugee camp and the play that we saw about exile and displacement. At least I think it was; it was entirely in Arabic. Still cool, though. Again the juxtapositions: talking and joking with the actors and an American Jewish girl who worked there, I noticed an article from the Washing Post reporting on the fates of some of the actors from the "Freedom Theatre." Of the original 5, only one was not either dead or in jail. This bleak fact was clearly presented in a way meant to invoke moral outrage at the Occupation. What the article said plainly, however, was that the 4 who didn't make it were members of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Brigade. damn.
Hebron
From Bethlehem we travelled to Hebron, which for me and my buddy Noah encapsulates The Conflict at its most intense. It is in Hebron that Israelis and Palestinians have an immense amount of friction, partly because it is where some of the more extreme elements can be found.
In the Palestinian section of Hebron, there is a fence that covers that top of the market, to catch the trash that the Settlers throw at the Palestinians. There are Jewish houses that literally overlook the Palestinian streets, so Israeli soldiers patrol the rooftops to make sure things don't escalate, as they are wont to do.
Inside Jewish Hebron is a different story. Like the Dheishah refugee camp, there, too is a mural depicting one side's version of history, starting with Talmudic-era Jews in Hebron through Arab attacks on its Jewish residents in the early 1920s through its "liberation" and the return of the (so-called) exiled Jews. The chasm between the Jewish and Palestinian narratives regarding these places are mind-boggling. The starting points are galaxies away, almost like parallel universes.
Noah and I, being Jews, got to walk around the Jewish neighborhood in Hebron, fenced-off from the rest of the city and guarded by soldiers. I wanted to make the most of the opportunity. I walked past an apartment located inside a Yeshiva and heard people talking. I poked my head in and said, "Anybody home? Can I come in?" in Hebrew. "I don't see why not," a calm, welcoming voice answered back, also in Hebrew.
Inside was an elderly British-Jewish man, his wife who had late-stage Alzheimer's, and a Filipino caregiver. Soon we were all talking and laughing in English, the man giving us tea biscuits and glasses of water. He was incredibly kind. He reminded me so much of my grandfather, it was erie. And yet there he was, living in an extremely controversial place that is the subject of some of the most vitriolic criticism in the world. I didn't know what to make of it except thank him for the tea biscuits.
Within minutes I found myself literally on the other side of the fence, in a Palestinian home, drinking coffee. The father pointed out how his son had lost part of his vision when a Settler had thrown a Molotov cocktail through his window (which, in reality, would be quite easy to do. The apartments actually face each other with just a narrow alley in between). We also went to visit the "Christian Peacemaker Team," which is essentially a group of Christians of all denominations who act as an observing and monitoring presence in Hebron, documenting the acts of Israeli soldiers and walking Palestinian children to school (otherwise, the children are attacked by Settlers, according to people there).
To complete the unreality of Hebron, I went to the tomb of some of the greatest biblical patriarchs and matriarchs: Abraham, Sarah, Jesse, and Ruth. Bizarrely, Israeli solders again ask you about your religion outside the site, and your answer at that moment completely determines whether you have access or not, with no way to verify the truth of your pronounced religious beliefs. There are some places where saying I was Jewish was like a golden ticket. But there were other places were the same statement means I'm barred. Same goes for Muslims and Christians. The last, and perhaps only, thing I'll say about Jesse's tomb is that it was entirely deserted when we went there, barely marked, unkempt and clearly not well maintained. It made it seem like it was all for nothing.
In the Palestinian section of Hebron, there is a fence that covers that top of the market, to catch the trash that the Settlers throw at the Palestinians. There are Jewish houses that literally overlook the Palestinian streets, so Israeli soldiers patrol the rooftops to make sure things don't escalate, as they are wont to do.
Inside Jewish Hebron is a different story. Like the Dheishah refugee camp, there, too is a mural depicting one side's version of history, starting with Talmudic-era Jews in Hebron through Arab attacks on its Jewish residents in the early 1920s through its "liberation" and the return of the (so-called) exiled Jews. The chasm between the Jewish and Palestinian narratives regarding these places are mind-boggling. The starting points are galaxies away, almost like parallel universes.
Noah and I, being Jews, got to walk around the Jewish neighborhood in Hebron, fenced-off from the rest of the city and guarded by soldiers. I wanted to make the most of the opportunity. I walked past an apartment located inside a Yeshiva and heard people talking. I poked my head in and said, "Anybody home? Can I come in?" in Hebrew. "I don't see why not," a calm, welcoming voice answered back, also in Hebrew.
Inside was an elderly British-Jewish man, his wife who had late-stage Alzheimer's, and a Filipino caregiver. Soon we were all talking and laughing in English, the man giving us tea biscuits and glasses of water. He was incredibly kind. He reminded me so much of my grandfather, it was erie. And yet there he was, living in an extremely controversial place that is the subject of some of the most vitriolic criticism in the world. I didn't know what to make of it except thank him for the tea biscuits.
Within minutes I found myself literally on the other side of the fence, in a Palestinian home, drinking coffee. The father pointed out how his son had lost part of his vision when a Settler had thrown a Molotov cocktail through his window (which, in reality, would be quite easy to do. The apartments actually face each other with just a narrow alley in between). We also went to visit the "Christian Peacemaker Team," which is essentially a group of Christians of all denominations who act as an observing and monitoring presence in Hebron, documenting the acts of Israeli soldiers and walking Palestinian children to school (otherwise, the children are attacked by Settlers, according to people there).
To complete the unreality of Hebron, I went to the tomb of some of the greatest biblical patriarchs and matriarchs: Abraham, Sarah, Jesse, and Ruth. Bizarrely, Israeli solders again ask you about your religion outside the site, and your answer at that moment completely determines whether you have access or not, with no way to verify the truth of your pronounced religious beliefs. There are some places where saying I was Jewish was like a golden ticket. But there were other places were the same statement means I'm barred. Same goes for Muslims and Christians. The last, and perhaps only, thing I'll say about Jesse's tomb is that it was entirely deserted when we went there, barely marked, unkempt and clearly not well maintained. It made it seem like it was all for nothing.
Bethlehem and Dheishah Refugee Camp
After wrapping up Northern Israel, my man Noah and I set out for a three-day stint in the West Bank. We took an Arab bus (that's what they're called) from East Jerusalem to Bethlehem. In a moment that sums up part of what it is to be in the Middle East today, in Bethlehem we got falafel just feet away from where Jesus was born (allegedly). Strange in a different way, the hostel Noah and I stayed at was located inside a Palestinian refugee camp.
I don't know about you, but in my mind "refugee camp" evokes images of rows of tents and the absence of permanent structures. But this is a refugee population going on 40 years. A friend put it like this: "being a refugee just means you're not at home." That's certainly how many people there feel: the older generations of Palestinians are said to still carry around the keys to the locks of their homes in Israel, dreaming of one day going back and opening their old doors. Heavy stuff.
We also took a "graffiti tour" of the Dheishah refugee camp. Not that we needed to leave the hostel to see graffiti: the walls on each floor were painted with murals of people throwing rocks and molotov cocktails at tanks, along with less provocative paintings, like a Palestinian woman baking bread. Though it sounds like it could be unsafe, there were foreign tourists there from all over, and it's not like the people there were themselves violent. I actually hung out with a little with the manager and his friends, and I even tried to help one of the Palestinian guys there with his English application to a university in the West Bank, but we couldn't do much because the internet wasn't working.
A note about the concept of safety and "violence": I met people who said that throwing a rock or molotov cocktail at an almost-impenetrable tank is actually non-violent. It's an effect-centric definition. "No harm, no foul" kinda thing.
But back to the graffiti tour, which was very enlightening. There was some really deep art there, including by the British graffiti legend Banksy, whose work you should check out, period. His piece in the camp was of a soldier with his hands against the wall being frisked by a little girl. There was also one with a map of Israel coded with blue for "Jews" and Green for "Palestinians" over a series of years. In 1946, it's all green. By 2005, it's virtually all blue. "But there was no Palestinian state in 1946. It was the British mandate," I pointed out to our guide. He failed to see the relevance of that distinction.
I don't know about you, but in my mind "refugee camp" evokes images of rows of tents and the absence of permanent structures. But this is a refugee population going on 40 years. A friend put it like this: "being a refugee just means you're not at home." That's certainly how many people there feel: the older generations of Palestinians are said to still carry around the keys to the locks of their homes in Israel, dreaming of one day going back and opening their old doors. Heavy stuff.
We also took a "graffiti tour" of the Dheishah refugee camp. Not that we needed to leave the hostel to see graffiti: the walls on each floor were painted with murals of people throwing rocks and molotov cocktails at tanks, along with less provocative paintings, like a Palestinian woman baking bread. Though it sounds like it could be unsafe, there were foreign tourists there from all over, and it's not like the people there were themselves violent. I actually hung out with a little with the manager and his friends, and I even tried to help one of the Palestinian guys there with his English application to a university in the West Bank, but we couldn't do much because the internet wasn't working.
A note about the concept of safety and "violence": I met people who said that throwing a rock or molotov cocktail at an almost-impenetrable tank is actually non-violent. It's an effect-centric definition. "No harm, no foul" kinda thing.
But back to the graffiti tour, which was very enlightening. There was some really deep art there, including by the British graffiti legend Banksy, whose work you should check out, period. His piece in the camp was of a soldier with his hands against the wall being frisked by a little girl. There was also one with a map of Israel coded with blue for "Jews" and Green for "Palestinians" over a series of years. In 1946, it's all green. By 2005, it's virtually all blue. "But there was no Palestinian state in 1946. It was the British mandate," I pointed out to our guide. He failed to see the relevance of that distinction.
Go Golan
After spending a lovely Shabbat with good friends from my 2003 trip to Honduras, I was back in Tel-A for my last week of work.
I finished up my project on comparative domestic intelligence powers, and had some cake. Everyone at the office was super nice as I said goodbye, and it was all in all a pleasant resolution (for some reason I almost typed "it was all in all a peasant revolution," which I think says a lot about the subliminal associations I've formed regarding my office). As soon as I ducked-out with that, it was onwards and upwards for a three-day trip to the Golan, Israel's Northsideeeee.
Close followers of the blog will remember the time I tried to go to Jordan and ended up in Sinai, Egypt. Even more unexpected, the beach I landed on in Sinai had a bevy of homeys I had meet the week before at a Kibbutz in Southern Israel ("Ketura"). It was one of these fine people, Noah, who invited me to go with him and two other friends to explore the Israeli North.
All I can say is that it was some of the most fun I've had since High School. It was basically a road trip with three Torontonians that involved poorly-planned camping (tents but not sleeping bags), spontaneous hiking, and stopping for fruit and falafel at places I've never been before. One such place was a Druze town called Majdal Shams. There we went to a Druze "holy site" (that's all the specificity the English sign provided) and slept out under the stars. We swam in the Jordan river and the Sea of Galilee, made some campfires, went to the Israeli-Lebanon border, the Israeli-Syrian border, and climbed a hill that took us to the highest point in all of Israel.
We went to the Arab town of Acco, and drove through Hafia. Which reminds me: though I've jumbled the chronology, I also met up with an Israeli Professor of Civil Rights law at Haifa University who is a really cool guy. He took me to his favorite falafel stand, we did a little walking tour of Haifa, and talked about Tupac. I even spit a Warmbodys verse for him. The whole thing was tight. Haifa also has the Ba'hai gardens, which are beautiful, and which are the second-holiest cite for the Ba'hai. The breadth, immensity, and range of spiritual communities that are historically invested in this land is startling.
Ok, I'm gettin warmed-up now.
I finished up my project on comparative domestic intelligence powers, and had some cake. Everyone at the office was super nice as I said goodbye, and it was all in all a pleasant resolution (for some reason I almost typed "it was all in all a peasant revolution," which I think says a lot about the subliminal associations I've formed regarding my office). As soon as I ducked-out with that, it was onwards and upwards for a three-day trip to the Golan, Israel's Northsideeeee.
Close followers of the blog will remember the time I tried to go to Jordan and ended up in Sinai, Egypt. Even more unexpected, the beach I landed on in Sinai had a bevy of homeys I had meet the week before at a Kibbutz in Southern Israel ("Ketura"). It was one of these fine people, Noah, who invited me to go with him and two other friends to explore the Israeli North.
All I can say is that it was some of the most fun I've had since High School. It was basically a road trip with three Torontonians that involved poorly-planned camping (tents but not sleeping bags), spontaneous hiking, and stopping for fruit and falafel at places I've never been before. One such place was a Druze town called Majdal Shams. There we went to a Druze "holy site" (that's all the specificity the English sign provided) and slept out under the stars. We swam in the Jordan river and the Sea of Galilee, made some campfires, went to the Israeli-Lebanon border, the Israeli-Syrian border, and climbed a hill that took us to the highest point in all of Israel.
We went to the Arab town of Acco, and drove through Hafia. Which reminds me: though I've jumbled the chronology, I also met up with an Israeli Professor of Civil Rights law at Haifa University who is a really cool guy. He took me to his favorite falafel stand, we did a little walking tour of Haifa, and talked about Tupac. I even spit a Warmbodys verse for him. The whole thing was tight. Haifa also has the Ba'hai gardens, which are beautiful, and which are the second-holiest cite for the Ba'hai. The breadth, immensity, and range of spiritual communities that are historically invested in this land is startling.
Ok, I'm gettin warmed-up now.
The Return of the Blog
This post is the hardest to write, because I have so much to say. At one point I was in 4 different Palestinian cities in a single day. I have not been in the same place for more than twenty-four hours since July 21. Since my last post, I've finished working at ACRI (the Association for Civil Rights in Israel), stayed at two Palestinian refugee camps, and seen one of the "Seven Wonders of the World." Putting a "refugee camp" in the same sentence as "Seven Wonders of the World" somehow seems inappropriate, but that's what's challenging about writing this: trying to catch-up on a whole bunch of disparate events that were all personally significant but in ways that feel completely separate. I'll try to sort them out. Let's go:
Fun stuff:
I went to the Tel Aviv opera. Well, Simone says it wasn't technically an opera, it was merely a "performance" or something. All I know is that there was an orchestra, people in tuxedos with binoculars, and, actually, a "heavy" lady singing. Call it what you will. Entirely unrelated, I was lucky enough to have some members of my synagouge from back home in MD hit me up while on their own trip in Israel. I met up with my Rabbi and his wife, long-time friends and all-around great people. it was amazing to see em. To hear how their relationship with Israel has evolved in all the years since they've been coming here, what it's like to be an American Rabbi in Israel, and what Israelis and Americans both need to understand about the idea of peace. The other cool thing about it was that we went to a restaurant that gets their dairy from the Kibbutz I stayed near about a month ago. So maybe I met the cows that were now supplying the cream-cheese on my bagel. Feels local.
More friends from shul were also out in about in Jerusalem, and we had a really wonderful time at a Moroccan restaurant there. It was all decked-out Morroccan style, with a beautiful courtyard and halls with painted ceilings and women in traditional dress (as far as I could tell). I also learned that Morrocan food involves putting powdered sugar on everything, which I see as a plus.
Spiritual stuff: I took a day off from work to go to the Pardes center in Jerusalem, a pluralistic Yeshiva-style center for studying Jewish texts. My study partner was a Professor of psychology from Carelton College, I think. Our first assignment was to take the first and last sentence of each of the Five Books of Moses and organize them by themes we create. It was a surprisingly insightful excercise. We kept finding more and more connections and metaphors and before the hour was up we had created a pretty elaborate cosmology. So that was dope. Other aspects of it were disapointing. I went to a lecture on "personal prayer" and found the teacher to be one of the coldest, stalest, and least-spiritually awake people I have met in some time. "Those who can't do, teach," I guess. That's too harsh. Maybe she's enlightened on the inside. Like a spiritual M&M or something.
Alright, that's installment one. Get ready.
Fun stuff:
I went to the Tel Aviv opera. Well, Simone says it wasn't technically an opera, it was merely a "performance" or something. All I know is that there was an orchestra, people in tuxedos with binoculars, and, actually, a "heavy" lady singing. Call it what you will. Entirely unrelated, I was lucky enough to have some members of my synagouge from back home in MD hit me up while on their own trip in Israel. I met up with my Rabbi and his wife, long-time friends and all-around great people. it was amazing to see em. To hear how their relationship with Israel has evolved in all the years since they've been coming here, what it's like to be an American Rabbi in Israel, and what Israelis and Americans both need to understand about the idea of peace. The other cool thing about it was that we went to a restaurant that gets their dairy from the Kibbutz I stayed near about a month ago. So maybe I met the cows that were now supplying the cream-cheese on my bagel. Feels local.
More friends from shul were also out in about in Jerusalem, and we had a really wonderful time at a Moroccan restaurant there. It was all decked-out Morroccan style, with a beautiful courtyard and halls with painted ceilings and women in traditional dress (as far as I could tell). I also learned that Morrocan food involves putting powdered sugar on everything, which I see as a plus.
Spiritual stuff: I took a day off from work to go to the Pardes center in Jerusalem, a pluralistic Yeshiva-style center for studying Jewish texts. My study partner was a Professor of psychology from Carelton College, I think. Our first assignment was to take the first and last sentence of each of the Five Books of Moses and organize them by themes we create. It was a surprisingly insightful excercise. We kept finding more and more connections and metaphors and before the hour was up we had created a pretty elaborate cosmology. So that was dope. Other aspects of it were disapointing. I went to a lecture on "personal prayer" and found the teacher to be one of the coldest, stalest, and least-spiritually awake people I have met in some time. "Those who can't do, teach," I guess. That's too harsh. Maybe she's enlightened on the inside. Like a spiritual M&M or something.
Alright, that's installment one. Get ready.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
"White Night," West Bank pt. II, Jerusalem (cont'd)
Last Thursday was White Night (official motto: "not as racist as it sounds"). The cultural branch of the U.N. has dubbed TA the "white city," and in Hebrew, a "white night" is an all-nighter. Hence, White Night, an annual event in Tel Aviv where bands perform on the beach until 8 AM, ppl drink and dance in the streets (correlated), and restaurants stay open 24. Taking advantage of the White Night specials, Simon, me, and our friend Aitai hit up an Israeli chocolate restaurant called "Max Brenners." There's one in NYC. If you ever frequent it, be prepared: it has the most decadent, indulgent, and fantastical "food" I've ever seen. Our meal included a chocolate milkshake, chocolate fondu, and chocolate pizza. Obscene. Aitai actually got what I can only describe as "chocolate drunk." He could barely walk home. The next day Simone had a "chocolate hangover." I felt like I was in Candyland.
This past weekend was a little more real. I went to Jerusalem for a tour with Ir-Amim, an organizations focusing on civil rights in East (Arab) Jerusalem. Among the interesting lessons learned is the fact that some "Settlers" are of the non-ideological variety to the extent that they don't even know they're living in a Settlement (!). They just know it's cheap to live there, and that prices in Jerusalem are NYC-status. It's as if Brooklyn was a contested political territory at the center of an ongoing inter-ethnic struggle. Ok, bad example.
I also attended a protest in Sheikh Jarrah. Standing on one foot, the issue is essentially this: certain houses in Sheikh Jarrah have changed hands due to various wars, but since 1967 they've mostly been inhabited by Arabs. Now, in the past couple of years or so, Jews have been showing up with deeds from pre-1948 and demanding their houses back. The houses, crucially, are in East Jerusalem, which many people believe will be part of a future Palestinian state, and in any event are on the other side of the Green Line (the armistice line defining Israel's borders post-the 1948 War of Independence).
The Israeli government has honored many of these deeds, resulting in Arabs being evicted and replaced with Jews (overwhelming, religious). Not so cool. Every Friday a group consisting mostly of Jewish Israelis and foreigners show up to protest. I apparently picked the "right" one to go to: 25 people were arrested and there was plenty of "action," by which I mean police violence. But that's what a demonstration is about. A Spanish Professor I was with called it choreography, which I think is apt. The police let them yell for awhile, then they push em back. Repeat as desired.
Saturday I went to the West Bank, which I wasn't planning to do. Consequently, I didn't have my passport with me when I got to the checkpoint. One Maryland driver's license and a Harvard ID later, I was in. We met with Palestinian villagers who don't have access to water and can't build-up any infrastructure because the Israeli gov applies Ottoman property laws to their villages (really, at least that's what they told us).
And while it's true that Arab residents of East Jerusalem are denied many municipal services, it's also true that they don't vote in the Jerusalem elections. The conventional wisdom is that voting would be recognizing the authority of the Israeli government. I heard it put this way: Jerusalem Arabs are looked upon as traitors by Arabs in the West Bank and Gaza, while on the other hand are seen by Israelis as being no different from the Arabs in those places. I think there was even a Palestinian journalist who was going to run for mayor of Jerusalem until the Palestinian Authority told him not to run and some Palestinian terrorists bombed his car. But that needs a fact-check. Bottom line: democratic ideals 0, socio-cultural pressure 1.
Besides all that stuff, I stayed with my friend Shelby from JDS, who has a beautiful house (I took an "Arab Bus" to get there since Jewish buses don't run on Shabbat, a first for me) with a magical view of Jerusalem. In spite of/because of the city's frustrations, anger, and turmoil, it remains one of the most beautiful cities in the world, to me.
This past weekend was a little more real. I went to Jerusalem for a tour with Ir-Amim, an organizations focusing on civil rights in East (Arab) Jerusalem. Among the interesting lessons learned is the fact that some "Settlers" are of the non-ideological variety to the extent that they don't even know they're living in a Settlement (!). They just know it's cheap to live there, and that prices in Jerusalem are NYC-status. It's as if Brooklyn was a contested political territory at the center of an ongoing inter-ethnic struggle. Ok, bad example.
I also attended a protest in Sheikh Jarrah. Standing on one foot, the issue is essentially this: certain houses in Sheikh Jarrah have changed hands due to various wars, but since 1967 they've mostly been inhabited by Arabs. Now, in the past couple of years or so, Jews have been showing up with deeds from pre-1948 and demanding their houses back. The houses, crucially, are in East Jerusalem, which many people believe will be part of a future Palestinian state, and in any event are on the other side of the Green Line (the armistice line defining Israel's borders post-the 1948 War of Independence).
The Israeli government has honored many of these deeds, resulting in Arabs being evicted and replaced with Jews (overwhelming, religious). Not so cool. Every Friday a group consisting mostly of Jewish Israelis and foreigners show up to protest. I apparently picked the "right" one to go to: 25 people were arrested and there was plenty of "action," by which I mean police violence. But that's what a demonstration is about. A Spanish Professor I was with called it choreography, which I think is apt. The police let them yell for awhile, then they push em back. Repeat as desired.
Saturday I went to the West Bank, which I wasn't planning to do. Consequently, I didn't have my passport with me when I got to the checkpoint. One Maryland driver's license and a Harvard ID later, I was in. We met with Palestinian villagers who don't have access to water and can't build-up any infrastructure because the Israeli gov applies Ottoman property laws to their villages (really, at least that's what they told us).
And while it's true that Arab residents of East Jerusalem are denied many municipal services, it's also true that they don't vote in the Jerusalem elections. The conventional wisdom is that voting would be recognizing the authority of the Israeli government. I heard it put this way: Jerusalem Arabs are looked upon as traitors by Arabs in the West Bank and Gaza, while on the other hand are seen by Israelis as being no different from the Arabs in those places. I think there was even a Palestinian journalist who was going to run for mayor of Jerusalem until the Palestinian Authority told him not to run and some Palestinian terrorists bombed his car. But that needs a fact-check. Bottom line: democratic ideals 0, socio-cultural pressure 1.
Besides all that stuff, I stayed with my friend Shelby from JDS, who has a beautiful house (I took an "Arab Bus" to get there since Jewish buses don't run on Shabbat, a first for me) with a magical view of Jerusalem. In spite of/because of the city's frustrations, anger, and turmoil, it remains one of the most beautiful cities in the world, to me.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Public Service Announcement
Check-out this Op-Ed in the Huffington Post by the director of the org I'm workin for in Tel Aviv. He's a very nice man who studied astrophysics at Harvard before becoming the director of Israel's leading human rights organization.
In an unfortunate coincidence, my initials appear in this article as an acronym for "Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions." This, in turn, results in the sentence, "My heart shutters [at Israel]...becoming a state referred to by one of the Declaration's drafters as having a 'criminal government' deserving of BDS." I hope that's not how they feel about me at work.
Here's the piece.
In an unfortunate coincidence, my initials appear in this article as an acronym for "Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions." This, in turn, results in the sentence, "My heart shutters [at Israel]...becoming a state referred to by one of the Declaration's drafters as having a 'criminal government' deserving of BDS." I hope that's not how they feel about me at work.
Here's the piece.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Jordan
Saturday thru Sunday mornin:
Anna and I get-up to get ready to take a boat from Egypt to Jordan. The boat turns out to be $70. We make other plans. Specifically, we cross back into Eilat, Israel and take a cab to the Israeli-Jordanian border (in case it's not obvious, they blast Britney Spears' "Gimme More" at the Israeli-Jordanian border). When we crossed to the Jordanian side, Anna used her charm and newly-developed Arabic skills to get us out of havin to pay the entry tax. I also began to notice a fascinating trend: hand-holding and affectionate touching among Arab men. I experienced this custom first-hand, so to speak, when the tourism officer at the Jordanian border held my hand lightly as he conversed with Anna. To throw off his game I kept squeezing his hand then relaxing my grip. The Egyptian border guards hold hands, too, btw.
In Aqaba, we hopped on a bus. No, wait. First, this guy offered us a ride for 5 Jordanian Dinar (which did u know is worth more than the dollar?! outrageous). We hopped in his car, but Anna was like "I don't feel the vibe" so we told him thanks but nah. Then we got a bus (that was actually a van). The van/bus was full of Jordanians, packed. I don't know if this was intentional, but the men were in the front and all the women were in the back. How did I notice this, you ask? The only seat left was next to the driver facing the back of the bus. So it's me, the lone American (minus Anna) facing the whole van. A great time for one of the Jordanian guys up-front to ask me, "so what religion are you?"
First I pretended not to understand the question. "Are you [Arabic word for Christian]?" he asked, making the sign of the cross. "Nope," I said. "Allah?" asked the driver, expectantly, as he leaned into my seat not lookin at the road. "No," I said. "Yehud?" was the third guess. I pretended not to know the meaning. "I like all religions," I said honestly. "Allah's actually pretty cool." They tried to understand: either I might be Jewish or that I had no religion at all (speaking from personal experience, that's a hard question, in general). For better or for worse, the language barrier prevented the convo from going any further.
A Jordanian man and his wife (one of two, we learned) invited us to their house and we accepted. His children were adorable. He wore a Keffiyeh, and when I walked in the house his daughter was there with her hair uncovered. She went to her room and started to put on a Hijab, but I walked in on her again while her Dad was giving us the tour of the house. At that point she musta been like "the damage is done" bc she left her hair uncovered the rest of the time we were there.
Our Jordanian Dad was nice enough to lead us to the highway and flag down a car for us to hitchhike in. After tea, of course. Our new friend was a banker and store-owner in Amman, and though his English was weak we had a lot of fun. We played this "game" which was basically him trying to talk and Anna and me trying to guess what he was saying. "In Egypt, the police not follow the..." "Law?" I guessed. "Yes, law! Now one point for Brett, two for Anna." When we got to Amman, tired and weary, he took us to his favorite Hummus and falafel spot. It was divine, truly. Allah or otherwise.
Quick sum-up: Anna has a dope roommate who's written a book on Tunisian-Jewish poetry, Amman is an awesome city, and I caught a 5 AM bus back to Tel Aviv and went to work that Sunday (diff work week here). I hadn't showered since before the beach in Egypt, which made me pretty much like everyone else at my office. JK. Oh, lastly, the border-crossing back into Israel from Jordan is a zoo. And then they dropped me off in East Jerusalem but this nice Jewish-American recent Stanford grad helped me find the bus back to TA.
Wknd was like Whoa.
Anna and I get-up to get ready to take a boat from Egypt to Jordan. The boat turns out to be $70. We make other plans. Specifically, we cross back into Eilat, Israel and take a cab to the Israeli-Jordanian border (in case it's not obvious, they blast Britney Spears' "Gimme More" at the Israeli-Jordanian border). When we crossed to the Jordanian side, Anna used her charm and newly-developed Arabic skills to get us out of havin to pay the entry tax. I also began to notice a fascinating trend: hand-holding and affectionate touching among Arab men. I experienced this custom first-hand, so to speak, when the tourism officer at the Jordanian border held my hand lightly as he conversed with Anna. To throw off his game I kept squeezing his hand then relaxing my grip. The Egyptian border guards hold hands, too, btw.
In Aqaba, we hopped on a bus. No, wait. First, this guy offered us a ride for 5 Jordanian Dinar (which did u know is worth more than the dollar?! outrageous). We hopped in his car, but Anna was like "I don't feel the vibe" so we told him thanks but nah. Then we got a bus (that was actually a van). The van/bus was full of Jordanians, packed. I don't know if this was intentional, but the men were in the front and all the women were in the back. How did I notice this, you ask? The only seat left was next to the driver facing the back of the bus. So it's me, the lone American (minus Anna) facing the whole van. A great time for one of the Jordanian guys up-front to ask me, "so what religion are you?"
First I pretended not to understand the question. "Are you [Arabic word for Christian]?" he asked, making the sign of the cross. "Nope," I said. "Allah?" asked the driver, expectantly, as he leaned into my seat not lookin at the road. "No," I said. "Yehud?" was the third guess. I pretended not to know the meaning. "I like all religions," I said honestly. "Allah's actually pretty cool." They tried to understand: either I might be Jewish or that I had no religion at all (speaking from personal experience, that's a hard question, in general). For better or for worse, the language barrier prevented the convo from going any further.
A Jordanian man and his wife (one of two, we learned) invited us to their house and we accepted. His children were adorable. He wore a Keffiyeh, and when I walked in the house his daughter was there with her hair uncovered. She went to her room and started to put on a Hijab, but I walked in on her again while her Dad was giving us the tour of the house. At that point she musta been like "the damage is done" bc she left her hair uncovered the rest of the time we were there.
Our Jordanian Dad was nice enough to lead us to the highway and flag down a car for us to hitchhike in. After tea, of course. Our new friend was a banker and store-owner in Amman, and though his English was weak we had a lot of fun. We played this "game" which was basically him trying to talk and Anna and me trying to guess what he was saying. "In Egypt, the police not follow the..." "Law?" I guessed. "Yes, law! Now one point for Brett, two for Anna." When we got to Amman, tired and weary, he took us to his favorite Hummus and falafel spot. It was divine, truly. Allah or otherwise.
Quick sum-up: Anna has a dope roommate who's written a book on Tunisian-Jewish poetry, Amman is an awesome city, and I caught a 5 AM bus back to Tel Aviv and went to work that Sunday (diff work week here). I hadn't showered since before the beach in Egypt, which made me pretty much like everyone else at my office. JK. Oh, lastly, the border-crossing back into Israel from Jordan is a zoo. And then they dropped me off in East Jerusalem but this nice Jewish-American recent Stanford grad helped me find the bus back to TA.
Wknd was like Whoa.
Egypt
Friday:
Actually this story starts on Thursday. From Jerusalem, I travelled with my friend Anna (we volunteered together in Ukraine 04) to Eilat, at the Southernest [sic] part of Israel. We had planned to travel to Jordan, where Anna is working for the summer, but by the time we got to Eilat Thurs night the Jordanian border was closed. Lucky for us, the Egyptian border keeps the same hours as 7-11, so we were like "f-it, lets go." The Egyptian side of the border is hilariously lax. There is, quite literally, more security entering an average shopping mall in Israel (fyi, to go to the mall in Israel they search your bag, you gotta go thru a metal detector, and you also have to take off your pants. JK about the pants).
So it's 1 AM, we in Egypt, Sinai to be exact, and we got no plans. I turn to some Israeli's standing next to me and ask, "hey do you guys know where to go?" 5 mins later we're sharing a cab to "Paradise" (that's the name of the beach. Yes, it is scary when a group of Egyptian men are all yelling askin if you want to go to Paradise. I was like, "hell no I don't wanna go to Paradise!").
In reality though, it was. Our Bedouin cab-driver spoke fluent Hebrew, and he spent most of the drive talkin World Cup with our new Israeli friends (is the Cup big back home? Here it's like everyday is the Super Bowl). His fluent Hebrew would turn out to be extremely typical. The Egyptians at Paradise all spoke flawless Aivrit ("Hebrew" in Hebrew) and were totally chill. On Friday night, Anna asked if there was going to be anything for Shabbat. "Of course!" was the response (in Hebrew). In addition to having Stars of David hanging around, the staff arranges a communal Shabbat meal every Friday, provides candles and wine, and are generally the nicest guys ever. I don't know if it was the beach setting, market capitalism, or the Middle Eastern-hippie crowd, but people there REALLY seem to get along. Almost Israeli-Egyptian utopia. Regretably, when I told my Israeli co-workers about it, they told me that "Sinai is not really Egypt." Or so they say.
A really crazy thing I gotta mention is that we actually ran into the crew I had chilled with at the Kibbutz the wknd before! They all just happened to be there. Keep in mind I wasn't even trying to go to that country that night, let alone that beach. And the Israelis that took us there turned out to be AMAZING, amazing people. Iraqi-Algerian, Moroccan-Yemenite newlyweds taking a break before their trip to Thailand and medical school in Hungary. We went snorkeling together (seeing what is in the ocean is wild, yo) and talked politics, religion, you know.
And the food was good. And it was cheap.
Actually this story starts on Thursday. From Jerusalem, I travelled with my friend Anna (we volunteered together in Ukraine 04) to Eilat, at the Southernest [sic] part of Israel. We had planned to travel to Jordan, where Anna is working for the summer, but by the time we got to Eilat Thurs night the Jordanian border was closed. Lucky for us, the Egyptian border keeps the same hours as 7-11, so we were like "f-it, lets go." The Egyptian side of the border is hilariously lax. There is, quite literally, more security entering an average shopping mall in Israel (fyi, to go to the mall in Israel they search your bag, you gotta go thru a metal detector, and you also have to take off your pants. JK about the pants).
So it's 1 AM, we in Egypt, Sinai to be exact, and we got no plans. I turn to some Israeli's standing next to me and ask, "hey do you guys know where to go?" 5 mins later we're sharing a cab to "Paradise" (that's the name of the beach. Yes, it is scary when a group of Egyptian men are all yelling askin if you want to go to Paradise. I was like, "hell no I don't wanna go to Paradise!").
In reality though, it was. Our Bedouin cab-driver spoke fluent Hebrew, and he spent most of the drive talkin World Cup with our new Israeli friends (is the Cup big back home? Here it's like everyday is the Super Bowl). His fluent Hebrew would turn out to be extremely typical. The Egyptians at Paradise all spoke flawless Aivrit ("Hebrew" in Hebrew) and were totally chill. On Friday night, Anna asked if there was going to be anything for Shabbat. "Of course!" was the response (in Hebrew). In addition to having Stars of David hanging around, the staff arranges a communal Shabbat meal every Friday, provides candles and wine, and are generally the nicest guys ever. I don't know if it was the beach setting, market capitalism, or the Middle Eastern-hippie crowd, but people there REALLY seem to get along. Almost Israeli-Egyptian utopia. Regretably, when I told my Israeli co-workers about it, they told me that "Sinai is not really Egypt." Or so they say.
A really crazy thing I gotta mention is that we actually ran into the crew I had chilled with at the Kibbutz the wknd before! They all just happened to be there. Keep in mind I wasn't even trying to go to that country that night, let alone that beach. And the Israelis that took us there turned out to be AMAZING, amazing people. Iraqi-Algerian, Moroccan-Yemenite newlyweds taking a break before their trip to Thailand and medical school in Hungary. We went snorkeling together (seeing what is in the ocean is wild, yo) and talked politics, religion, you know.
And the food was good. And it was cheap.
West Bank
3 countries in 3 days.
Thursday: Traveled to Jerusalem and from there to the West Bank (South Hebron Hills) for a tour with "Breaking the Silence," an organization of ex-Israeli soldiers who served in the Occupied Territories during the Second Intifadah. If I had expectations going in, it was mostly bracing myself to hear some very disturbing things. Our guide, however, was pretty much like most other Israelis I've encountered: he talked about the need to balance security with Palestinian rights. And though he came out more on one side of that scale than the other, the discussion was still the same. There was no "Israel is an apartheid state" or "Zionism is racism" rhetoric. He told some tough stories, no doubt: he talked about Settlers who attack Palestinian school children, about what it's like to conduct a home invasion, and what the "just following orders" mentality does to one's ability to empathize. We also heard about the Israeli Gov's "willful blindness" when it comes to Settlements, overtly discriminatory property laws, and the ways Palestinian villages are systematically deprived of water (a scarcity here, to be sure).
We also went to a "Palestinian village." I reluctantly use quotes bc in actuality the village consists of a few dozen tents set-up in a seemingly arbitrary place in the middle of nothin. Just behind it, though, was a Settlement that looked like a regular Israeli neighborhood (which I guess in some sense it is). And this was, in the words of our guide, an example of a Palestinian village that was experiencing "a resurgence."
We also got to meet with the head of that Palestinian village. Alluding but not dwelling on Settler violence, he seemed more tired than angry. He spoke of his lack of faith in both governments. And he talked about the need for peace.
Some other interesting aspects: our tour guide still serves in the Reserves of the Israeli army. Another surprise was that, with the permission of the military, he gives his presentation at pre-military academies to Israelis who are about to start their national service.
The people on the tour were interesting, but most of them seemed like they were there to confirm their already well-entrenched views about the situation. One notable exception was this really cool journalist I sat next to from San Francisco. When her story comes out I'll link to it.
Onto less serious topics:
1. We got vegetarian Indian food in Jerusalem. Ate with an Italian film director who was on the tour with us. Cool dude.
2. The bagels in TA are the size of steering wheels.
3. Besides occasionally confusing the word for "vegetarian" with the word for "Zionist," my Hebrew is improving.
In the words of Ice Cube, "It Was a Good Day."
Thursday: Traveled to Jerusalem and from there to the West Bank (South Hebron Hills) for a tour with "Breaking the Silence," an organization of ex-Israeli soldiers who served in the Occupied Territories during the Second Intifadah. If I had expectations going in, it was mostly bracing myself to hear some very disturbing things. Our guide, however, was pretty much like most other Israelis I've encountered: he talked about the need to balance security with Palestinian rights. And though he came out more on one side of that scale than the other, the discussion was still the same. There was no "Israel is an apartheid state" or "Zionism is racism" rhetoric. He told some tough stories, no doubt: he talked about Settlers who attack Palestinian school children, about what it's like to conduct a home invasion, and what the "just following orders" mentality does to one's ability to empathize. We also heard about the Israeli Gov's "willful blindness" when it comes to Settlements, overtly discriminatory property laws, and the ways Palestinian villages are systematically deprived of water (a scarcity here, to be sure).
We also went to a "Palestinian village." I reluctantly use quotes bc in actuality the village consists of a few dozen tents set-up in a seemingly arbitrary place in the middle of nothin. Just behind it, though, was a Settlement that looked like a regular Israeli neighborhood (which I guess in some sense it is). And this was, in the words of our guide, an example of a Palestinian village that was experiencing "a resurgence."
We also got to meet with the head of that Palestinian village. Alluding but not dwelling on Settler violence, he seemed more tired than angry. He spoke of his lack of faith in both governments. And he talked about the need for peace.
Some other interesting aspects: our tour guide still serves in the Reserves of the Israeli army. Another surprise was that, with the permission of the military, he gives his presentation at pre-military academies to Israelis who are about to start their national service.
The people on the tour were interesting, but most of them seemed like they were there to confirm their already well-entrenched views about the situation. One notable exception was this really cool journalist I sat next to from San Francisco. When her story comes out I'll link to it.
Onto less serious topics:
1. We got vegetarian Indian food in Jerusalem. Ate with an Italian film director who was on the tour with us. Cool dude.
2. The bagels in TA are the size of steering wheels.
3. Besides occasionally confusing the word for "vegetarian" with the word for "Zionist," my Hebrew is improving.
In the words of Ice Cube, "It Was a Good Day."
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Kibbutz livin
Before I get into my Kibbutz experience, a few quick highlights:
1. I met author Jonathan Safran Foer who was in Tel Aviv to talk about his new book, "Eating Animals." Very convincing presentation on the environmental costs of eating meat. It's not why I got in the game, but I'll take it.
2. Spent the wknd before last in Zichron Yakov with friends from my Freshman year trip to Honduras. Beautiful people.
One of those great people, Alisha, has been living on a kibbutz for the past six months as part of a Palestinian-Israeli-Jordanian-North American Environmental education program (if you think that's an unlikely combo, today at work I came across "The Texas Chapter of the Human Rights Congress for Minorities in Burma." I bet it's in Austin).
Alisha's Kibbutz is in the way, way south of Israel, about a 4.5 hour bus ride from Tel Aviv. On the way down I sat next to an dude from Sudan trying to find work in his 4th country since he left home. Interestingly, he's not a refugee from Darfur but a Muslim immigrant from Khartoum. He told me that Israel is "racist unless your Jewish," citing the Ethiopian community and even African-American Hebrews as proof. Sad to say, racial tensions in Israel run high these days, as Israel's own variation on Brown v. Board of Education threatens to widen the already deep fissure dividing religious and secular Jewish communities in Israel.
Despite the turmoil, or maybe because of it, the insular, close-knit feel of the Kibbutz was a welcome break from the politics and activism of Tel Aviv. Founded by American Jews, Kibbutz Ketura now hosts volunteers from the U.S., Chile, Australia, England, Ethiopia, Ecuador, and many more as reflected in the totally unpredictable playlist at the Kibbutz bar (ever hear a DJ play "Welcome to Jamrock" and then follow it up with Israeli folk music? It's not as bad as you think).
On Friday, the Jordanian et al. people from Alisha's program had a potluck dinner and literally sat around playing guitar and singing together. I'm making it sound more like utopia than it was. You can still sense the divisions, suspicion and cold shoulders. But in-between the 112 degree days, the 5 AM hike up a mountain, and the cactus farming, I was really liking the kibbutz vibe.
Supernatual note: At the Kibbutz, I had a vivid dream about eating a hot dog. In the dream, I thought, well, I don't like eating meat, but this hot dog seems so good. There's nothing I can do. I ate it. I felt very conflicted about my choice.
When I woke up and went to the dining hall, they were serving hot dogs. "Should I break my vegetarianism?" I asked myself. "Maybe the dream has meaning." No, I insisted. Instead, I sat down next to this guy I had met at the bar the night before. "Did you try these hot dogs?" he said. "I love veggie hot dogs bc they don't pretend to be meat." I had one. I should've had more.
Here are some pictures: things I ate in Jerusalem, and Quality Time with my Honduras peoples.
1. I met author Jonathan Safran Foer who was in Tel Aviv to talk about his new book, "Eating Animals." Very convincing presentation on the environmental costs of eating meat. It's not why I got in the game, but I'll take it.
2. Spent the wknd before last in Zichron Yakov with friends from my Freshman year trip to Honduras. Beautiful people.
One of those great people, Alisha, has been living on a kibbutz for the past six months as part of a Palestinian-Israeli-Jordanian-North American Environmental education program (if you think that's an unlikely combo, today at work I came across "The Texas Chapter of the Human Rights Congress for Minorities in Burma." I bet it's in Austin).
Alisha's Kibbutz is in the way, way south of Israel, about a 4.5 hour bus ride from Tel Aviv. On the way down I sat next to an dude from Sudan trying to find work in his 4th country since he left home. Interestingly, he's not a refugee from Darfur but a Muslim immigrant from Khartoum. He told me that Israel is "racist unless your Jewish," citing the Ethiopian community and even African-American Hebrews as proof. Sad to say, racial tensions in Israel run high these days, as Israel's own variation on Brown v. Board of Education threatens to widen the already deep fissure dividing religious and secular Jewish communities in Israel.
Despite the turmoil, or maybe because of it, the insular, close-knit feel of the Kibbutz was a welcome break from the politics and activism of Tel Aviv. Founded by American Jews, Kibbutz Ketura now hosts volunteers from the U.S., Chile, Australia, England, Ethiopia, Ecuador, and many more as reflected in the totally unpredictable playlist at the Kibbutz bar (ever hear a DJ play "Welcome to Jamrock" and then follow it up with Israeli folk music? It's not as bad as you think).
On Friday, the Jordanian et al. people from Alisha's program had a potluck dinner and literally sat around playing guitar and singing together. I'm making it sound more like utopia than it was. You can still sense the divisions, suspicion and cold shoulders. But in-between the 112 degree days, the 5 AM hike up a mountain, and the cactus farming, I was really liking the kibbutz vibe.
Supernatual note: At the Kibbutz, I had a vivid dream about eating a hot dog. In the dream, I thought, well, I don't like eating meat, but this hot dog seems so good. There's nothing I can do. I ate it. I felt very conflicted about my choice.
When I woke up and went to the dining hall, they were serving hot dogs. "Should I break my vegetarianism?" I asked myself. "Maybe the dream has meaning." No, I insisted. Instead, I sat down next to this guy I had met at the bar the night before. "Did you try these hot dogs?" he said. "I love veggie hot dogs bc they don't pretend to be meat." I had one. I should've had more.
Here are some pictures: things I ate in Jerusalem, and Quality Time with my Honduras peoples.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Plug: Ethiopian-Israel Social Justice Program
The founder and director is a fantastic person and leader. This program promises to be really valuable, and it would be wonderful if you could pass this on to people you know or YOU!
The Yahel Social Change Program is an exciting new 5-month service learning experience for young adults between the ages of 21 and 27. The program is based in the town of Gedera in Israel, and combines hands-on volunteer work with in-depth learning and immersion. Offered in collaboration with a grassroots non-profit organization working in the Ethiopian community in the fields of community empowerment and education, this is a unique opportunity to take part in meaningful and innovative social change efforts in Israel .Yahel participants live, volunteer and learn alongside young adults from the local Ethiopian-Israeli community. Substantial grants and scholarships are available through Masa Israel Journey. Yahel is now accepting applications for the fall 2010 program. To learn more about the Yahel Social Change Program please visit: http://www.yahelisrael.com/programs_socialchange.php
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03EMGzz8LHI
The Yahel Social Change Program is an exciting new 5-month service learning experience for young adults between the ages of 21 and 27. The program is based in the town of Gedera in Israel, and combines hands-on volunteer work with in-depth learning and immersion. Offered in collaboration with a grassroots non-profit organization working in the Ethiopian community in the fields of community empowerment and education, this is a unique opportunity to take part in meaningful and innovative social change efforts in Israel .Yahel participants live, volunteer and learn alongside young adults from the local Ethiopian-Israeli community. Substantial grants and scholarships are available through Masa Israel Journey. Yahel is now accepting applications for the fall 2010 program. To learn more about the Yahel Social Change Program please visit: http://www.yahelisrael.com/programs_socialchange.php
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03EMGzz8LHI
Sunday, June 13, 2010
"If I forget thee, O Jerusalem..."
Source: Psalm 137, 5
Last Wednesday, I went to Beit Hanina, a Palestinian neighborhood in East Jerusalem, for a panel discussion on international humanitarian law in the wake of the flotilla (no pun). The legal issues were fascinating, and even more so was the group of Palestinian lawyers video-conferenced in from Gaza. Even their office furniture was interesting, and I tried to gauge what kind of facilities were available and what Gazan lawyers wear to work. Afterwards, I went to the Jerusalem office of my org, met a friend of a friend, Jaqui (now my friend), and an old friend (my homegirl Shelby from JDS).
I also had some nice run-ins. A Canadian ex-pat who advocated for a "no states" (plural) solution. A former Olympic boxer (or so his business card says) who is now a religious Jewish dietician. An elderly British man who insisted on holding my hand for a suspiciously long time as he asked for directions.
And on Friday, I went to my first Gay Pride parade. "No rainbow." Tel Aviv is essentially the most liberal city in the Middle East (not a hard contest to win), and the annual gay pride parade is an opportunity for gays, gay allies, lesbians over forty, asexuals, and burly gay men who call themselves "bears" to all wear speedos and wave highly identity-specific flags. The event of the season, to be sure.
It's just one of the ways in which TA and Jerusalem is a study in contrasts. In TA, for example, I had a lengthy conversation with a member of the Israeli Communist party (the words "proletariat" and "bougois" were used liberally, in both senses). In Jerusalem, on the other hand, I saw graffiti that read in Hebrew, "death to Arabs". Now, I think it is probably very likely that similar anti-Jewish graffiti can be found in Arab neighborhoods, but I don't read Arabic. In any event, the diversity of perspectives even among Israeli Jews is a constant feature of my experience in Israel.
The weekend was tight and deserves its own post. In the meantime, here are some pictures from Simone's party (in case u forgot, I already told ya).
Last Wednesday, I went to Beit Hanina, a Palestinian neighborhood in East Jerusalem, for a panel discussion on international humanitarian law in the wake of the flotilla (no pun). The legal issues were fascinating, and even more so was the group of Palestinian lawyers video-conferenced in from Gaza. Even their office furniture was interesting, and I tried to gauge what kind of facilities were available and what Gazan lawyers wear to work. Afterwards, I went to the Jerusalem office of my org, met a friend of a friend, Jaqui (now my friend), and an old friend (my homegirl Shelby from JDS).
I also had some nice run-ins. A Canadian ex-pat who advocated for a "no states" (plural) solution. A former Olympic boxer (or so his business card says) who is now a religious Jewish dietician. An elderly British man who insisted on holding my hand for a suspiciously long time as he asked for directions.
And on Friday, I went to my first Gay Pride parade. "No rainbow." Tel Aviv is essentially the most liberal city in the Middle East (not a hard contest to win), and the annual gay pride parade is an opportunity for gays, gay allies, lesbians over forty, asexuals, and burly gay men who call themselves "bears" to all wear speedos and wave highly identity-specific flags. The event of the season, to be sure.
It's just one of the ways in which TA and Jerusalem is a study in contrasts. In TA, for example, I had a lengthy conversation with a member of the Israeli Communist party (the words "proletariat" and "bougois" were used liberally, in both senses). In Jerusalem, on the other hand, I saw graffiti that read in Hebrew, "death to Arabs". Now, I think it is probably very likely that similar anti-Jewish graffiti can be found in Arab neighborhoods, but I don't read Arabic. In any event, the diversity of perspectives even among Israeli Jews is a constant feature of my experience in Israel.
The weekend was tight and deserves its own post. In the meantime, here are some pictures from Simone's party (in case u forgot, I already told ya).
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Chebrew
Things in IS is good (well, maybe that's too broad a statement. I'm havin fun).
My three-step "slipperly slope" plan to wear shorts to work has been a success. Here's how it works:
First day: Wear khakis and short-sleeve button-up (try to act really American and formal)
Second day: Wear jeans and t-shirt (overcompensate for day 1)
Day 3 through rest of summer: wear shorts with short-sleeve button-up (implicitly convey idea of middle-ground)
Feel free to try it out (results outside of Israel may vary)
Besides being extremely comfortable as I go about my duties, I'm experiencing aspects of Israel I didn't even know were there. I've gotten to use my Chinese twice this week. First, I saw a guy doing Tai Chi in the park. Turns out he's a representative of the Chinese government in TA (although Jerusalem is Israel's official capital, many foreign governments don't recognize it as such due to Jerusalem's "disputed" status. Instead, they put their embassies in TA). I was excited to talk about Tai Chi, but he asked me where I learned Chinese and I replied, "Taiwan." He gave me a confused look and asked again, "where?" I repeated myself (4-5 more times, trying out different tones along the way) before he realized what "Taiwan" meant. At which point he said many things I did not understand. I gathered, though, that much of what he was saying concerned the fact that Taiwan is really China, that Taiwan and China should be one country, etc. No more Tai Chi was discussed.
The second time I used my Chinese was actually at work. There's a worker's rights organization in the building, and Israel, apparently, has over 60,000 Chinese workers. These workers pay $31,000 (American) to come here. They obviously don't have that much yuan, so they take out loans and send money back. Problems then abound, so on Tuesdays this organization opens its doors to Chinese speakers who come in to get free legal advice, report rights violations, and receive cups of water from friendly Harvard law students with poor Chinese skills.
Karmically, I think all this happened because I got Chinese food this weekend. If there's one lifestyle complaint I have (which I don't), it would be the Chinese food. Ironically, perhaps, the sushi hear is reputed to be some of the best outside of Asia. Speaking of global rankings, the 2010 Lonely Planet named Tel Aviv one of the the world's "Top Ten party cities" . Strangely, it doesn't mention anything about it's Tai Chi scene.
My three-step "slipperly slope" plan to wear shorts to work has been a success. Here's how it works:
First day: Wear khakis and short-sleeve button-up (try to act really American and formal)
Second day: Wear jeans and t-shirt (overcompensate for day 1)
Day 3 through rest of summer: wear shorts with short-sleeve button-up (implicitly convey idea of middle-ground)
Feel free to try it out (results outside of Israel may vary)
Besides being extremely comfortable as I go about my duties, I'm experiencing aspects of Israel I didn't even know were there. I've gotten to use my Chinese twice this week. First, I saw a guy doing Tai Chi in the park. Turns out he's a representative of the Chinese government in TA (although Jerusalem is Israel's official capital, many foreign governments don't recognize it as such due to Jerusalem's "disputed" status. Instead, they put their embassies in TA). I was excited to talk about Tai Chi, but he asked me where I learned Chinese and I replied, "Taiwan." He gave me a confused look and asked again, "where?" I repeated myself (4-5 more times, trying out different tones along the way) before he realized what "Taiwan" meant. At which point he said many things I did not understand. I gathered, though, that much of what he was saying concerned the fact that Taiwan is really China, that Taiwan and China should be one country, etc. No more Tai Chi was discussed.
The second time I used my Chinese was actually at work. There's a worker's rights organization in the building, and Israel, apparently, has over 60,000 Chinese workers. These workers pay $31,000 (American) to come here. They obviously don't have that much yuan, so they take out loans and send money back. Problems then abound, so on Tuesdays this organization opens its doors to Chinese speakers who come in to get free legal advice, report rights violations, and receive cups of water from friendly Harvard law students with poor Chinese skills.
Karmically, I think all this happened because I got Chinese food this weekend. If there's one lifestyle complaint I have (which I don't), it would be the Chinese food. Ironically, perhaps, the sushi hear is reputed to be some of the best outside of Asia. Speaking of global rankings, the 2010 Lonely Planet named Tel Aviv one of the the world's "Top Ten party cities" . Strangely, it doesn't mention anything about it's Tai Chi scene.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Week One: what it is in Israel
besides Google being in Hebrew, things here are sweet.
At work, I share an office with a girl who listens to hip hop ("Song Cry" and DJ Clue, yesterday) while I work on my international human rights research projects. At lunch, I get falafel for < $4. And yesterday I found out that there is no work on Fridays...in all of Israel! Apparently the work week here is Sunday-Thursday, in accord with the Jewish Shabbat instead of the Christian sabbath (I don't know why I didn't know that already. I def would've come in on Friday if I hadn't asked, haha). To celebrate, I passed a book store on my way home and bought some comics (3 X-Men, 1 Iron Man) and a nice beet/ginger/celery/carrot juice. I mean, they make it so easy.
Last night my roommate Simone had a birthday party at my (her) apartment, which was cool cuz I got to chill with a lot of Israelis, including a lot of recent immigrants Simone knows from this "new immigrants youth group" sponsored by the Israeli gov. I met people from Chile, Colombia, Amsterdam, the States, and South Africa, and spent a lot of time talking to this Ethiopian girl. First-generation Ethiopians (i.e., born in Israel) are part of the program, too, because the adjustments for their families are typically more drastic than those of other immigrants. To wit, she told me about how her family walked from Ethiopia to Sudan (appx 750 miles) in 1984 to an Israeli airlift in "Operation Moses."
I also had an interesting discussion about marriage in Israel. According to a co-worker, civil marriage does not exist in Israel. That is, if you're Jewish and want to get married, a Rabbi has to marry you. If you're Jewish and want to get divorced, a Rabbi has to divorce you. If you don't get divorced by a Rabbi, and a married Jewish woman has a child with another man, that child is a "mamzer" and becomes an outcast of Jewish religious society for 10 generations (that sucks). If a man has a child while married to another woman, that child is not a "mamzer" (that's whack. but better than both situations resulting in "mamzers"?).
Tonight will be my first Shabbat in Israel, which some people love (day of rest) and others resent (why are all the stores closed?). Which reminds me, there seems to be two opinions about pretty much everything here (three for every two Jews--old joke). On the flotilla thing, for example, many believe that the facts are a lot murkier than have been presented (see here) while others maintain that the humanitarian wrong is clear. One of my co-workers said the other day, "we held a big protest against the Israeli gov in Tel Aviv with over a thousand people and the media didn't even cover it!" Then I was talking to another guy who said "we held this big protest supporting Israel that was a huge success compared to the counter-protest of less than 500 people!" They can't both be right, but try tellin them that.
At work, I share an office with a girl who listens to hip hop ("Song Cry" and DJ Clue, yesterday) while I work on my international human rights research projects. At lunch, I get falafel for < $4. And yesterday I found out that there is no work on Fridays...in all of Israel! Apparently the work week here is Sunday-Thursday, in accord with the Jewish Shabbat instead of the Christian sabbath (I don't know why I didn't know that already. I def would've come in on Friday if I hadn't asked, haha). To celebrate, I passed a book store on my way home and bought some comics (3 X-Men, 1 Iron Man) and a nice beet/ginger/celery/carrot juice. I mean, they make it so easy.
Last night my roommate Simone had a birthday party at my (her) apartment, which was cool cuz I got to chill with a lot of Israelis, including a lot of recent immigrants Simone knows from this "new immigrants youth group" sponsored by the Israeli gov. I met people from Chile, Colombia, Amsterdam, the States, and South Africa, and spent a lot of time talking to this Ethiopian girl. First-generation Ethiopians (i.e., born in Israel) are part of the program, too, because the adjustments for their families are typically more drastic than those of other immigrants. To wit, she told me about how her family walked from Ethiopia to Sudan (appx 750 miles) in 1984 to an Israeli airlift in "Operation Moses."
I also had an interesting discussion about marriage in Israel. According to a co-worker, civil marriage does not exist in Israel. That is, if you're Jewish and want to get married, a Rabbi has to marry you. If you're Jewish and want to get divorced, a Rabbi has to divorce you. If you don't get divorced by a Rabbi, and a married Jewish woman has a child with another man, that child is a "mamzer" and becomes an outcast of Jewish religious society for 10 generations (that sucks). If a man has a child while married to another woman, that child is not a "mamzer" (that's whack. but better than both situations resulting in "mamzers"?).
Tonight will be my first Shabbat in Israel, which some people love (day of rest) and others resent (why are all the stores closed?). Which reminds me, there seems to be two opinions about pretty much everything here (three for every two Jews--old joke). On the flotilla thing, for example, many believe that the facts are a lot murkier than have been presented (see here) while others maintain that the humanitarian wrong is clear. One of my co-workers said the other day, "we held a big protest against the Israeli gov in Tel Aviv with over a thousand people and the media didn't even cover it!" Then I was talking to another guy who said "we held this big protest supporting Israel that was a huge success compared to the counter-protest of less than 500 people!" They can't both be right, but try tellin them that.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
First days
I decided to revive in Israel the blog that was my bread and butter (rice and soy sauce?) in Taiwan. I'm also 2010-in' it with a brand new twitter to tweet: http://twitter.com/uptowntox
So here goes:
On my first day, I couldn't find the office. After wandering around a bit, and after walking into several banks and asking where the human rights association was, I eventually emailed my boss from a frozen yogurt shop down the street. When I finally walked in, she said, "so of course we're working on the Gaza flotilla incident." To which I responded by staring blankly, having not read the news since I woke-up that morning (is that so unreasonable?). Suffice it to say, starting work at an Israeli civil rights organization the same day as the Gaza flotilla "massacre" (as it has been called by Palestinian PM Abbas) was eventful.
(to see my org's response, click here and here)
When I first touched down here in Israel, I got to practice my Hebrew with an old Israeli man who told me that Arabs have "nine lives, like cats" (maybe my Hebrew's a bit rusty?). It reminded me of a conversation I had with a Tunisian cabbie in NYC on the way out here, in which he told me that American movies lie because "they make it seem like some cabdrivers are white."
Now that I'm here, work is good, and my co-workers are interesting. One, whose last day was yesterday, is half-Rwandan and half-German, and speaks openly about her family being victims of genocide on one side (Tutsi) and perpetrators on the other. I have at least two co-workers who believe that the Jewish state should not exist. One is Israeli.
I live two blocks from the beach. The falafel is great.
So here goes:
On my first day, I couldn't find the office. After wandering around a bit, and after walking into several banks and asking where the human rights association was, I eventually emailed my boss from a frozen yogurt shop down the street. When I finally walked in, she said, "so of course we're working on the Gaza flotilla incident." To which I responded by staring blankly, having not read the news since I woke-up that morning (is that so unreasonable?). Suffice it to say, starting work at an Israeli civil rights organization the same day as the Gaza flotilla "massacre" (as it has been called by Palestinian PM Abbas) was eventful.
(to see my org's response, click here and here)
When I first touched down here in Israel, I got to practice my Hebrew with an old Israeli man who told me that Arabs have "nine lives, like cats" (maybe my Hebrew's a bit rusty?). It reminded me of a conversation I had with a Tunisian cabbie in NYC on the way out here, in which he told me that American movies lie because "they make it seem like some cabdrivers are white."
Now that I'm here, work is good, and my co-workers are interesting. One, whose last day was yesterday, is half-Rwandan and half-German, and speaks openly about her family being victims of genocide on one side (Tutsi) and perpetrators on the other. I have at least two co-workers who believe that the Jewish state should not exist. One is Israeli.
I live two blocks from the beach. The falafel is great.
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