To Jaffa And Back

So today I shelpt back up to Tel Aviv, we didn't really go so much to Tel Aviv save through it, and spent most of the afternoon and late evening in Jaffa. And boy was that an experience.

This blog entry will be a bit different, it's mostly going to formatted around the pictures. I've been wanting to try this out, but couldn't figure out how to sync my phone with my computer to download the photos. I will be the first to admit I'm pretty tech ignorant, so bear with me it took this long.

Our first stop was at 2:00 P.M. at the Palmach museum in Tel Aviv. It was actually a pretty interesting tour. But once again, another museum where you end up turning your head a lot.

It covered the elite strike force of the Haganah, the armed forces of Israel which would eventually become the Israeli Defense Force. It specifically focused on the elite unit of that armed force.

Turns out Harry Potter used a time-turner to fight in the Israeli War of Independence.

This is our guide, Dikla. She's really cool, and I don't think I have met someone who has been to literally everywhere. She took us through Jerusalem and Northern Israel. She's also pretty cool to talk to one on one. She's also extremely attractive.

 Here are two shots I took of the memorial to the fallen of the Palmach. The main reason we toured this facility is personal for Dikla and the director of our Ulpan; both of her grandfathers fought, and one died in the war of independence serving, while both of Ilan's parents were also active participants in the Palmach.

I couldn't decide which photo was better, so just decided to use both.

Afterwards we shlept to the interior of Tel Aviv, where we walked down Rothschild boulevard. It's pretty impressive how built up Tel Aviv is with a population of around 500,000.

Those are some of the photos I took of the buildings around the street. Thereafter we wandered through one of the first neighborhoods in Tel Aviv, even coming across the first kiosk built in the city;

Kind of neat, I walked by this last time I was in the city. It makes me think; how often have I been in D.C. or New York City and walked past something I thought derelict or crappy, and just ignored it, never realizing its history?

There after we traveled along the beach as we walked toward the ancient town.

 And then Jaffa itself;

We then went to the marketplace. There was a lot of talk about pickpockets, so I was extremely careful with my belongings. Perhaps too careful, because honestly it was the most interesting part of our travails that day. Because of that I didn't take my phone out, but let me tell what happened.

We went down the alleys, and I was accosted by numerous, in what I can only term 'desperate' merchants. One actually tried to pull me back by my arm when I tried to walk away. I can only laugh it off, but when somebody pointed out I should probably check my bag for my belongings, that gave me confirmation on just how aggressive that part of Jaffa is.

I mean, if you even look at an item with the mildest of passing interest they will do everything in their power to keep you there. To the point of pulling you back, or as a friend from the kibbutz experienced, stand in your path and do everything possible to block you from going forward.

As someone who practices self-defense and self-security, I felt extremely uncomfortable and had to leave the area. So I went back to the main street and walked around. I eventually ended up getting terrible Shwarma, and some kind of ice-drink akin to a better akin version to slurpee.

After this we walked toward the old city of Jaffa, and things took an entertaining turn. We basically went for the good views and brief recap of the old city. Since it was summer a lot of people get married, and we saw three weddings. I begged our guide to let us crash one, but we didn't end up.

Here we are walking up the first of many, many flights of stairs.

Here is a view of Tel Aviv from the Old City of Jaffa. The town is literally next to Tel Aviv, to the point you'd think you are just entering a kind of neighborhood. 

On one of the benches I found a kick-ass Flower of Life symbol.
You can find virtually every symbol within it.

A sunset I tried to catch in Jaffa. Maybe I can figure out a way to filter out the sun better in the future. Again, technologically retarded.

Dusk in Jaffa.

 And... the photo above is me acting out a brief skit where I pretended to be Perseus, and a fellow Kibbutzim pretended to be Andromeda. I found this particularly funny because the wig I am wearing looks identical to my actual hair. Redundancy can be funny sometimes.

Thereafter we ventured into the hills of Jaffa as we made our way from Jaffa, and there were still some cool things to see, at least to me as a history major. 

This photo is of the ruins in the old city dating back to Philistines. Jaffa is between 4,000-5,000 years old, and you can literally dig into a hill in it and find layers of history sandwiched on top of each other.

Now this piece of artwork is pretty awesome in my book. The Israeli artist Ran Morin tucked this artwork inside the old city of Jaffa, and it is an orange tree suspended and growing in the air. It says a lot honestly; but to me it said the most about how often the Jewish people have been uprooted yet still continue to thrive. Every year this tree blossoms and bears a very sour form of citrus.

After that we loaded back up on the bus after traversing a maze of descending stairs, exiting the city soon after. We were exhausted, but it was a pretty cool trip to see what was arguable the oldest city in the world, and certainly the oldest existent port-city.

The Mad Dash Of Rehovet

"For we are like olives; only when we are crushed do we yield what is best for us."

-The Talmud

Today I had something of an adventure to reach a Western Union in the town of Rehovet, neighboring the Kibbutz Naan I am currently staying at.

This was my last paycheck from the United States, and the funds are necessary for me when I leave Naan.

I left the Kibbutz at 4:45, reaching Naan within fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. I knew that there was a post office (almost all the western unions are in the post offices, as opposed to the convenience and grocery stores back in the United States) on Herzl street, and luckily the shuttle dropped me off less than twenty meters from that street. I immediately tore down it; I knew that with my terrible sense of directions I would have difficulty finding it, and I did.

Herzl 165 post office is located off a side street better put as a garbage strewn alleyway where you’d expect drug deals rather than letter sending, and it was only with the directions of the adjoining store was I able to figure out where it was at all. That ate up twenty minutes. Now when I checked the site online, I read that the post office closed at six. And while this is normally true, apparently during the summer the hours shift, and instead is closed at 1:30. After rattling the doors to no avail, which makes sense since it had been closed for almost four hours since the time I arrived, I was somewhat desperate.

The bus I had taken, while free, would be difficult to get back on. This was because the driver spoke no English, and I only vaguely understood with my poor comprehension of Hebrew that with his hand gestures he would be retrieving those of us who would use the bus somewhere to the right. Whether that was across the street or the city, I didn’t have a clue concerning.

I was desperate because I was worried (I’m Jewish, we worry like mice over matters) that the next time I could retrieve the money would be sometime later in the week, and I assumed that given the difficulty I was already experiencing in obtaining it as it was, would probably only magnify the longer it took for me to reach a location with a western union.

So I decided to not give up. I had a few hours to kill before it was 7:30 when the bus would return, and so headed to the mall. Surely I would some kind of information, and maybe with luck, a post office that was still open.

Turns out that was a good idea. A teller at a ritzy watch shop informed me after looking at his phone online that surprise even to him, there was actually a post office still open, and it was located on the top floor of the mall. It was 5:27 when I found out, and I hurriedly thanked him and took off at a fast pace. I was so relieved when I got there; I could get my money.

Well, turns out that not every post office has a western union, only the main branches. o.O

So, with the help of the postal worker there, I learned of a western union station a few streets away on Jakov street. I tore off, not really having a clue where to go, since the directions were again in Hebrew. I tore up the street, past the shuuk (the open marketplace) and around the corner. I followed the directions as best able (by some weird and awesome coincidence in my Ulpan the day before we had JUST gone over directions in Hebrew) but somehow ended up back on Herzl street. OK.

I asked a few other store clerks who told me to cross the street to get to Jakov, which of course with my luck was only labeled in Hebrew, and none of the words it was labeled with remotely read as Jakov. I tore across the street, Jay walking (no clue if that was illegal, but I’m going to assume it was) by that time I estimated it was around 5:40- 5:45ish.

I kept going up the street, walking into any store I thought someone might speak English, and it turned out maybe one out of the three I went to, to ask for help actually did in any form, from bad to excellent.

I learned that I was gradually making my way in the right direction. I luckily stepped into a cell phone store, and a beautiful woman around my age in perfect English directed me that it was just down the street, in the direction I had been going in. She gave me the directions with an expression that spoke of a bemused kind of pity. In hindsight maybe I should have asked her out?

I entered what looked to be a post office from the exterior (the other two offices I had been to had similar signs) and was relieved to see that it was only 5:45. I don’t know how I did it, but apparently I tore down two flights of stairs, across four city blocks, and spoke with maybe ten people across eight stores.

I was able to exchange my money, but I never did learn if it was an actual post office (it looked nothing like the other inside, which looked like your traditional post office) but literally half the room was packed with packages. I think it might have just been a branch of Western Union, but to be honest I don’t know.

I went back to the mall and got dinner, of all things Pizza hut. I must look pretty American, or come off as American because when getting the pizza for six shekels (that’s a bargain for the monstrous slice I got the size of my face) they inquired if it tasted the same as back in the States. I had yet to have it, so couldn’t know of course, and thanked them for the food and would let them know next time if I came back.

Turns out that while the texture was different, it tasted pretty much the same. Kind of like it had the crust of a Dominos pizza, and the topping consistency from Pizza Hut. I’m not complaining, it was good, and I was hungry.

I wandered through the shuuk afterwards, there wasn’t anything to buy, and I intend to keep a fairly tight grip on my money. This is basically me saying I’m in survival mode, and the only shops that were open were mainly clothing, and most of those sold only underwear.

As I exited the shuuk I ran across two young boys who had ridden with me on the bus to Rehovet, and asked if they would be coming back at 7:30. In broken English they told me yes, so now I am at the bus stop benches where they told me the bus would retrieve me. And it’s across the street where I was dumped unceremoniously off.

And that was my crazy sprint through Rehovet. Summed up by pizza, three post offices(?) a beautiful woman, and sweating what I’m guessing was around two liters.

Gotta say, with the money safely secured, it was well worth the effort. Perseverance and tenacity pays off

An exasperated sigh. I had many.

P.S. The bus showed up, and I’m on it. Never would have thought I could wander into a foreign city, not speaking a lick of the language save the word yes (ken) and then make it back intact and better off.

Why I Am Making Aliyah

"The end result of good deeds... is wisdom."

-The Talmud

This question is one I've been asked over and again since coming to Israel. One person has asked me five times, and I believe it won't stop there. If anything, while the paperwork is complete, I still have the interview. I hope by this to have provide the answer to that question.

There are a lot of reasons. But I won't focus on the negative; lord knows I have a lot of that, and while I keep it neutral, given the good with the bad, the bad will always outweigh the good, and that's just how people work.

So let me get the bad out of the way; It happened. I've been hit in the head thousands of times, and in the heart hundreds. That's martial arts, and life, for you. I've loved, and I have absolutely lost. I have seen friends come and go, and the worst were those who killed themselves and who were lost by accident. I have one person I call friend still recovering from a motorcycle accident which left them comatose. They woke up. They may spend the rest of their life recovering, but it's still a miracle that's awe-some.

I've seen the good and bad; I've been cherished and loved, I've been scorned by own family and forgiven. I've seen my own family torn apart by divorce and death, but despite that there is always a silver lining, when we can move on we can find happiness.

You can't stop the bad from happening, I know that, and I live with it.

I am leaving the United States not because the country left me with a bitter taste in the mouth, we've all had that in a sense. I am leaving it for something I see can be better.

I am leaving the country because I have hope. I consider myself a living embodiment of that, and I do not believe in the least it is undeserved.

Honestly, I can be happy anywhere, why not be happy somewhere I can do good?

I came to Israel with $200 in my pocket, which seemed so incredulous I was detained when entering the country because it was so ridiculous. I will spend two weeks drifting as someone who will work for room and board.

I originally came to Israel under a fellowship so I can teach English to Ethiopian immigrants who have made aliyah, to provide them, hopefully, with opportunities I myself did not appreciate.

Sometimes that's the only way to get and understand what you've got; by giving it to another.

I am not coming here to start over. I am coming to Israel to continue.

I have a compassion in my heart to give what I have, be it just what I can say. I guess that's why I write; it's the passing of one word to hopefully help or save another's life. That's just who I am.

When I was young, just three years old, I approached my parents about what I wanted to do; I wanted to learn martial arts. I wanted to be a power ranger then. Twenty years later I only understand now what I really wanted to do; help others.

I don't care if I'm rich or poor. This isn't something economic of the pocket, its pure and simple economy of the heart. I have seen a young man die at seventeen and over a thousand gather to mourn. It isn't what we earn that will define our life, it is what we do, or could have done and didn't that will.

I am moving to Israel because I believe I can make a difference. I believe I can contribute in such a way to make the country a better place, even if it's tiny. Remember, even the number 1 is something infinitely greater than 0; nothing. Something is always greater than nothing.

Here there is poverty and racism, fear and anger. Even war. I intend to serve in the military; I see a need to be with those like me; standing shoulder to shoulder until the time to act on an ancient, great civilization I call heritage toward. I see a need for those akin to me. As someone who comes here with only reservation over whether or not I am doing a right or wrong action in the moment, I can contribute to making the country better in the future.

Yes I am Jewish, but that is such a small part in why I came to Israel. I see a place and time I can make a difference, even with one child and person, that is all that really matters.

We rejoice when a child is borne because of our hope in what they might do; every child born may be a messiah, even if its just a teacher to another for that person who comes thereafter to do better.

I have seen how a single word can save an addicts life, cannot the same be said for anyone else?

That's why I am here, and that is why I will stay.

A Journey In Hebrew

“Not only does every Hebrew word have its own definition, but every Hebrew letter, within the word, has its own meaning. God placed before you a great banquet of universal truths. All this in 22 Hebrew letters. Every letter contains a progressive curriculum designed to teach you about this marvelous world that God gave us. These letters will flavor each word’s definition claiming its place in God’s well organized universe.” 

-Michael Ben Zehabe

To say that needing to know Hebrew is important in Israel is kind of an understatement. The fact I speak English makes me lucky since most Israelis are taught English in elementary school, around seven or eight years old, but most are not the best at speaking English.

Frankly its a matter of practicality for them; but what surprises me is that a good half of those I have met here who have lived here all their lives can speak around three or four languages on average. That's impressive; among those that are extremely common are Hebrew, English, with French, or Russian. Some speak Arabic. I have met one person who speaks Japanese. I'm not sure many asian languages are spoken here, so I'm going to assume he's just an exception.

In some aspects Hebrew is like any other language- it's not some mystical words or even particularly magical- when a term comes up that isn't native to their language, much like Japanese and English and many, many other languages they just pronounce the term as it is. Such as when I asked my teacher what the word was for 'hangover' she told me it was just hangover, as its pronounced in English. But then there's a commercial I see (I like watching the Israeli commercials on youtube) for the product called head&shoulders, and despite there being obvious words in Hebrew for your head and shoulders, the commercial product's name is pronounce in English. Or should I say Abrit.

Anyway, something surprising to me I never knew about Hebrew is that there is traditional characters, such as these;

And then there is a script form, akin to how in English we have cursive.

I found this really surprising as I had never heard of that existing in relation to Hebrew. Something I could only find out in Israel, I suppose.


But where it gets kind of weird to me, is that there is a whole set of marks that let the reader know how to pronounce the characters in a word. These are a kind of grammar/vowel indicator. And they are standard in both Hebrew in its traditional form, and in its shorthand.

But here is where it gets a little crazy to me. You see even though these are academically important, and even vital to pronounce a word, most Israelis do not utilize these at all. Instead, words are written without the accents, leaving the reader to have to guess, based off the context, what was actually communicated.

Let me illustrate the issue; The word כוס is pronounced Kos, and means cup. However, the word כוס can be pronounced Koos, which means Vagina. The only thing that sets those words apart is the application of the grammar marks.

So this presents an unusual problem for the foreigner and inexperienced Hebrew speaker. Let's say one day I am at a girls house to meet her parents after a date or two. I ask them to pass a cup, but if I were writing it, I could inadvertently also be asking them to pass me a vagina. You see what I mean?

Now this is where the context of the situation indicates which word I am using, if I am writing. Chances are I will not be asking her parents to pass me the pussy, but the fact that if this is writing, it can lead to many problems. Now I do understand the reason for not including the marks, mainly because it makes writing Hebrew WAY longer and harder to do.

But still, this is something I have never encountered in any language studies, where there is an established set of rules for how to write, but then are completely ignored.

This is why many places do not include the marks, especially on road signs;

I'm certain the language will get easier over time and with practice; but to me this is still something so strange. The language itself can be very beautiful; my goal is to be able to write poetry in Hebrew in all three forms, from ancient, to modern, and in script. But the fact I'd have to do so with skill means ignoring the grammar rules essentially makes that type of writing very, very tricky.

 Disclaimer: I am a novice at speaking and writing in Hebrew, this is based off the classes I have received at the Ulpan and this article will be edited as I go forward, as I believe that some of the things I have covered here may not be true, because of my limited experience with the language. This is solely what I have noticed thus far, and as a beginner it means my understanding can be very wrong. Please correct me where I have erred. And thank you for reading.

A Two Day Tour Of Northern Israel Part 2

"The hat is fine but the head too small."

-Jewish Saying

I pulled these photos from google. They're pretty much 100% the same as what I saw. I thought it against my best interest to bring my phone to take the pictures, and my instinct proved very correct. After all, you WILL get taken from your raft and soaked.

Just a fair warning, the majority of this post will probably read a tad like an action adventure, because frankly our kayaking down the 'rough' Jordan river came about feeling like one. You'll see.

Anyway, ahem,

We woke up and had breakfast at the hostel at 7:30, loaded up and hit the road a half hour later.

From there we went to a post just outside the Lebanese border. This was probably one of the sadder parts of the trip, and our guide apologized several times that she had nothing positive really to tell us about the situation there. From where we were situated we could see a large earthworks and construction site; it turned out that it was a site being built by Hezbollah, moving massive amount of earth from the interior. From what our guide told us, the site was presumed to be bunkers being built.

Now on to something not depressing, our kayak experience!

When we arrived we were explicitly told not to leave the rafts. This is important because virtually all of us ignored that, between switching boats, being dragged from the boats by fellow kibbutzim and even Israelis.

That's right, we pretty much went full pirate on the Jordan river.

Our group divided up into three large kayaks, each holding four people with one holding five. Roy and I decided to separate, knowing the others would treat the kayaking as a race, and took a two man raft. Even though we went into the water well after the others we easily reached them, ramming literally every boat we possibly could while we figured out how to get in sync with each other's rowing. Each time we successfully rammed a boat we shouted 'Merica!'

I personally made it a mission to attack the girls' boat, splashing them as profusely as possible. I might be 25 and the oldest in our group, but I do know how to act ten years younger also.

Then again, so did the Israelis. Boating brings out the ten year old in all of us.

Perhaps the most dramatic part of the trip, for me at least, was when I was dragged from the kayak and nearly lost my glasses, and definitely lost my excellent water bottle.

It was about then Zack, our resident Jewish Hulk separated Roy from the Kayak and while I was able to get on board Roman hopped on. Turns out he has a passion for boating, especially kayaking I never knew about. Then again, being in a desert region of the world probably doesn't lead to much boating conversation either.

And when I say he was good at kayaking, I mean extremely good at rowing. He immediately got in sync and we propelled down the fairly shallow water. In fact, we reached the end of the river for the kayaking portion we actually turned the kayak around and plowed upstream. I mean its not like the current was insane, or even forceful, but that was still something.

Turns out reconnoitering with our group was kind of a huge mistake, because they immediately boarded our kayak and pulled me from it while Roman jumped ship and swam back to the girl's boat. I ended up with the paddle so they pretty much had to drag the boats by hand, or use their hands as oars.

Meanwhile I swam back and forth between the boats, I think inventing a new sport where you use kayak oars to swim. I got to entertain quite a few Israelis doing that, especially since I got good enough with it I was able to also go upstream. I call it body-kayaking.

After that we saddled up and headed back.

The only other particularly of note that occurred was on the way back we pretty much let our security escort out on the side of the road near Haifa, also known as the middle of nowhere. It seemed like a combination of when someone lets a beloved dog out forever into the wild, and a bit like we forgot we had him with us and remembered and then let him out.

Believe me, I wasn't the only one who made remarks about how oddly abrupt his departure was.


And that wrapped up our trip to northern Israel.

A Two Day Tour Of Northern Israel Part 1

"We don't see things the way they are, we see things the way we are."

-The Talmud

On the 21st and 22nd I had the pleasure of going with my Ulpan up to the Golan Heights and Sea of Galilee and its surrounding area, and it was, as usual, rather event filled.

We left at 7:30 a.m. Tuesday morning, and arrived pretty early, around 9:30 at Mt. Arabel. I was very happy about that, because it was the first word I was able to read without having to check my notes to make sure I had correctly. So that mountain will stand out in my memory as my first real Hebrew vocabulary word.

You have to remember, in Israel everything is fairly exaggerated concerning geography. A mountain is really a set of large hills, and a river is more like a stream. The river Jordan which I kayaked for example had only two areas we came across in an hour of boating where I may have been underwater if I stood straight up.

Now that being said, the cliffs of Mt. Arabel were pretty impressive. Especially since at the start an armed paramedic joined us. You know, just in case while there one of us fell.

From that cliff we made our way slowly down until we came to a near-impassable area, and used chains that had been hammered into the side of the cliff to make our way down in a zig-zag manner. It's probably the most danger any of us have been in while here thus far, and I was happy to follow right behind our guide to continue our conversation. I like that- if I can I try to be the first in anything, it its something I care about. And I have always loved rock climbing and bouldering.

Across from us was another hill, within it were many holes, most man-made. Thousands of years ago hermits who were Jewish, and later Christian who came and lived out their days there. Oddly, the fortress the Jews Josephus had written about, the last of the Hasmoneans to hold out within the fortress in the cliff, is often what is credited to be where the Hermits lived, but they actually dwelled in the large hill and cliff across from the fortress. We got to walk under the fortress, and though we could not enter because of its likelihood of collapsing on us if we had, it was still impressive.

Reaching the base in what was a largely Bedouin town that was also surprising modern we boarded the bus. Surprisingly our guard joined us; he was to stay with us for the duration of the tour. Those in our kibbutz elected the song 'Cheerleader' to be the song of our kibbutz. I'm not really sure why, especially since I had never heard it before.  We went to a small stream, well, at least a stream from where I come from in the states, it was rather pompously called a river, when in truth the water barely went above our knees at any point in it, and was only 500 meters or so. The only really notable thing that happened to me concerning it was at the end I noticed my toes touching stones; which was odd for the athletic shoes I was wearing. Apparently all the stones on the bottom had torn through both shoes, leaving my feet basically garbed in cloth with the soles completely ripped to shreds. This is important because they were the only shoes capable of being in water with me, and had been instructed to leave my sandals behind. So, I was in a bit of a pickle.

After that we went to a very interesting military complex in the Golan Heights.

 It had been captured during the Six Day War back in 1967. From the Israeli standpoint you could see the Israeli-Syrian border.

                                       

The very fertile land of Israel; sprawling farms, trees, towns, gave way to desert and ruins very abruptly at the border, creating a stark contrast between verdant life, and clear death. 

We then went into the bunkers, what was most interesting to me when going in was at one point there is a very vivid splatter against the concrete wall that could have been something else, but seemed more pretty much blood to me; namely because of how it streaked down the wall from small concentric red splotches. We were maybe forty feet underground, so there was no wind not even really light to wear it away from the stone, whatever it was.

After that we traveled to the hostel in Metulla, the northernmost town in Israel. the hostel was of the same name. To be honest, all of us expected something out of the hills of Europe in the horror movie based on Hostels; instead what we got was closer to a three or four star hotel, excellent food and flat screens TV's with air conditioning. What was a tad concerning when we arrived in the parking lot the entire front of it was burned out. Some flames were still going, but apparently fires are very, very common in that part of Israel. To the point you could set an entire front lawn on fire and no fire department would come because of how normal it was considered.

Later that night we stood outside looking over the landscape of the Galilee when we looked behind us to Mt. Hermon which in the dusk was also covered by very interesting clouds. We were all marveling at how cool they looked, obscuring the mountain when our manager of the group, a wizened man named Ilan walked up, and when we pointed at the clouds he remarked; "it's a fire; Sreyfa, wildfire. 

That kind of made the whole evening close on a somewhat dramatic air, at least to me.

Decided to add this, I suppose as motivation to get my arse in gear to learn in Hebrew.

Words Learned In Hebrew July 21st;

Esh-Fire

Sreyfa-Wildfire (Fire that burnt shit from my cousin Amanda an editor at the Jerusalem Post)

(My blog for martial arts can be found here; http://zenjael.blogspot.co.il/2015/07/what-is-master.html
And http://zenjael.blogspot.co.il/)

Two Days In Tel Aviv

"Examine the contents, not the bottle."

-The Talmud

On July 16th and July 18th, a day after my trip to Jerusalem, I had the pleasure to visit Tel Aviv. Both were quite interesting. The 16th's visit was one I was expected to go to, whereas the 18th I was more or less dragged.

Both were great experiences.

After visiting an international college, with frankly the nicest campus I have ever seen, complete with every building being a museum, and built on the grounds of a former Israeli air base from its early days, we then went to Tel Aviv.

We visited its marketplace, A never-ending hall of stalls that reminds one of Vegas; keep your eyes forward and off the ground, you wont like what you see otherwise.

The smell was pretty rancid, but if you're going off your senses to tell you whether or not a place is desirable, there are many places in the world you would avoid when otherwise there is a great experience to have.

Throughout this whole trip I have not had a phone. If I separate from those I am with, I am effectively lost, and I imagine for a long while that will probably involve police to recover me. You know that line in The Hangover 2, Bangkok has him? Yes, I know that line as a precaution for not getting lost in Jerusalem, and especially so in Tel Aviv.

So I clung to the group that seemed the most reliable, and that was the girls of our kibbutz, Livy, Sharon, and Mathilde. That turned out to be the better choice. Because with them I was encouraged to go balls to the walls and throw caution to the wind; had I stuck with the guys I would probably not have held a rope that supported an Israeli female soldier walking across it without falling, engaged in a limbo contest, nor have danced in the central area outside of the city market.

Luckily we caught me terribly dancing on video;

That was pretty much one of the most enjoyable days I have had yet in Israel, but it got better two days later.

You see everyone from our Kibbutz opted to visit Tel Aviv on the Sabbath, and those who stayed behind, just four of us, inevitably decided to go out also. I wouldn't say we're more cautious, it's just that jealousy and boredom took the reigns at some point, and we decided why be left behind.

I was perfectly content being left behind, but one particularly generous member among us (he bought ice cream at one point when visiting the college for everyone from our kibbutz, and gave some to the faculty and security guards also that was leftover) More or less told me at the local pub that I should come, and later, that he had already arranged the taxi for the 3 of us. So I would be wasting his money if I didn't go. Jewish guilt won over, and I was ready at 9 the following morning.

So off we went to Tel Aviv! 

And let's just say what a crazy freaking day. We had an amazing breakfast; a buffet that served vodka and cham-pag-ne (I wrote it that way because if Hugo, who was part of our three musketeer trio reads this ever reads this, it will make him cringe since I called it that all that day deliberately to annoy him) I distinctly remember the eggs and the birds that would tear your food from the table the second you turned your back on it. 

We then wandered the city in search of cigars. We wouldn't find them for seven hours, when the Sabbath had ended. We next went to the art museum. We had a good time; I did learn that I am not meant to go to art museums, and if I want to avoid being arrested in the future, I should just avoid them. I'll leave it at that and cultural misunderstanding. Luckily no trouble came of it.

We ended up having lunch in a pizzeria outside the main boulevard, and coffee at a shop across the street. I distinctly remember being flirted with by a waitress I thought was fifteen (children as young as I swear eight are employed here for even hard labor, I would know, I work on the noi or landscaping service, in our kibbutz and saw many servicing the shops in Tel Aviv, even a candy stall)  but turned out to already be married. This is such a strange country; there are so many beautiful women, and I can't tell if the women who are around eighteen and twenty to twenty five are actually. So I have somewhat of a fear of dating Israeli women.

Anyway, we then wandered into the Little Italy of Tel Aviv, we three musketeers; Hugo, San, and myself (Alexander for those who don't know my name). Desert is a kind of mythical meal; much like I imagine if a Brit were to go looking for a place that actually catered to tea time as a specific meal in the United States; here's one thing I learned, you won't find desert in Israel. At least we haven't yet, between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. 

Eventually we left, smoking cigars near the pier of Tel Aviv in a place that also served alcohol. I've frequented bars, hookah locales, but never one that combined the two, so that was pretty cool.

We then walked the pier until heading home in a Taxi that did everything it could to overcharge us as legally justifiably it could; and we returned to the kibbutz by seven. Both days were an adventure; anytime you dance with a random crowd of people, especially for a charity event, or accidentally potentially ruin something priceless, you cannot know what it means to go on an adventure until you do those things in a foreign city in a foreign country.

All my best as the fighters fly overheard as usual,

Alexander.

A Day In Jerusalem

"Say little and do much."

-The Talmud

On the 15^th of July I had the pleasure of going with my kibbutz to Jerusalem. It was a short sojourn, maybe close to an hour.

We first went to the Knesset, where we were given a tour by a guide who honestly reminded me a lot of the character Salad Fingers. A nice guy though, we got to see the declaration

As well as the art by Chagaal, although frankly the whole building, reminiscent of a Greek temple, was built into the building itself; from the doors to the floor to the walls. All of which were gorgeous. 

I had to wait for the Rabbi taking a selfie to get out of the way. Yes, he had a selfie stick.

The security was intense as anything!

He's telling us to stay away from the window.
Saw him leaning against said windows when we went inside.

We sat for what was supposed to be a Knesset meeting, but only one representative showed up for the conservative party, while no one else did. So the meeting was rescheduled for an hour later, and we ended up having to miss it. The guy who rescheduled it was not happy pretty much nobody had showed up.

We then went right after to a national cemetery for the military, located on mount Herzl. It was pretty saddening, something like 90%, maybe more of the graves I saw were either the age of, or under the age of twenty-one. When you see row after row after row of graves all with somebody around twenty or nineteen, it kind of gets to you, it’s just too young.

We saw the grave of the founder of Zionism and Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin; the Israeli’s have a culture where when they want to leave something in memory at the grave, they leave a rock. 

Which is why it was so surprising when we made the tour among the soldier’s graves and came across a path of graves which were bedecked in flowers, memorabilia and photos of the soldiers who had fallen. One in particular was crammed full of such. Israeli heroes are less remembered for valorize, and more for sacrifice and attitude while doing so.

We then had a meager lunch of Tuna Sandwiches and some kind of pastrami and I believe turkey, but it could well have been chicken. For some reason nobody here has heard of chicken salad, and there is no roast beef, but ham is sold galore. There is more Turkey than chicken, which confuses me because I imagine chickens are easier to raise. The forbidden fruit/meat is well abound.

After lunch we went to a very annoying ‘museum’. It was less in the format of exhibits, and moreso done in the format of moving from room to room where objects were on display while a play was put on telling the struggle of Herzl and his creation of Zionism. I say it was annoying because every few minutes the video of the play would shift to another wall, forcing you to constantly keep randomly switching which wall you were watching. These museums are pretty common in Israel, from what I understand. It was supposed to engage you, but did nothing to stop our youngest member of the kibbutz from falling asleep.

After the museum we went to the City of David and went underground through the excavated ruins. One thing that surprised me, while walking through what is believed to be the palace of David, there was a heck of a lot of stray cats. One even perched on the tallest pillar. I entitle it the king of the cats.

We continued, delving deep underground, eventually reaching a tunnel built over 3,000 years ago when Jerusalem faced besiegement by the Assyrians. We walked through the tunnel, which connected Jerusalem to the Gehon, the city’s primary source of water. It was extremely dark, and required flashlights while cold water was at a few points up to our waist, while at other times around our ankles.

When we emerged it was to a small pool under what is today a mosque while the head imam chanted for the beginning of that part of the day’s prayer. It was around 2 p.m. I have to say that it was a very cool experience walking through a man-made cavern, barely wide enough to fit a person, but was so old and because of the cold water condensing on the walls that the beginnings of stalactites had begun to form. Imagine a stone ceiling, flat and worn smooth from people passing that stalactites were growing, and so many people had passed each stalactite had been chipped off. At some points the tunnel ceiling could whump you on the head, while at others it towered far, far above. Makes me wonder a little why it was built like that; I can only guess and imagine to that, though.

Afterwards we went to the wailing wall. The men and women are separated. You have to cover your head; so I just continued to wear my military camouflage hat. I saw quite a bit of some of the craziness I had heard of, made a prayer of my own and then deposited the prayers I had brought from the United States to put for people who would not be able to come.

Some of the prayers already put in the wall had fallen out, so those around me I put back in. It is believed that if you place a prayer in the wall it will come true, especially so. I don’t know, but it seemed to me if your prayer fell out of the wall then perhaps it didn’t come to pass. Maybe it was impossible for it to, or maybe it was the case that it had come true already and was let go. So I reasoned it that if it was the case it hadn’t come true by putting it back maybe I gave it a second chance, and if it had come true, maybe it might again for that person or another.

Sometimes I like to make up my own superstitions, and that’s one I like. Mainly because I wasn’t sure if it was alright to touch or handle someone else’s prayers, so at least that puts it in a positive light.

After this we continued our tour of the old city. We concluded at the former site of where the main street was during roman times, which was quite impressive; the site was what seemed to me about five stories lower than ground level, meaning the ground level was around that much lower back then.

We then got food, dashing through the streets in our group looking for shwarma, instead we found ourselves in a shopping district. Despite running out of time we dashed back where we were supposed to meet, I did not have money with me, so somebody bought me a burger while everyone else was getting them, which was very kind. Unfortunately we were so rushed, and another customer took my burger, that they had to make me another, and the one I received was not fully cooked. That’s ok, I still think it neat after traveling so far, and having had a quite interesting day to end it on a note of history, and then after a funny and semi-dramatic hunt for food ending my day eating cuisine something I would expect to get from the Burger Joint back in the U.S.

We saddled back on the bus as the sun set, and soldiered home to the Ulpan Kibbtuz Naan.

The Second Day

"A dream which is not interpreted I like a letter that is not read."
-The Talmud



On my second day in Israel I woke close to two p.m. I knew I was tired from traveling for sixteen hours, but I hadn’t realized how much of a piss it had taken out of me until Sonya popped her head in, much like a mother might, and said if I wanted to eat that day, at least the hot meal, I’d need to get moving.

Naturally food takes priority over sleeping most of the time; so off I went.

I came back around three to find a Brit on the steps waiting. His name is Oliver and he has a pretty fantastic sense of humor. I showed him around while Sonya called Ilan, and once he showed up he spoke with me in his office, giving me a brief introduction and made a quick copy of my Visa.

I told him my issue with the airport and crossing into the country, and he assured me not to worry. I am Jewish though, and worrying is something we’re quite good at, so naturally what he told me only eased that sense slightly.

I returned to my room, with final words from Ilan letting me know I can use the public pool. So I decided to go; it was quite nice, but otherwise unextraordinary compared to public pools from where I came from. I suppose diving boards are something that aren’t the norm at pools in Europe and the Middle East; there’s did not have one, looking a lot like my father’s.

I did notice two interesting things; the first was that the surface of the pool went to its edge exactly. Where I come from there’s always a ledge a few inches higher so water can’t spill over. So that was something I had not seen before.

And the second thing was a little odder, and a little subtler. I noticed while swimming that a good amount of people in the pool were children, but also wore floaties; the small inflated devices around the arm. When the adults swam lanes very rarely did they keep in a straight line, and they splashed a lot. So it occurs to me, something I can confirm after seeing it again during the next day, that even though Israelis like to swim, they both do not particularly do so well. I suppose it’s a cultural thing? Or perhaps a desert.

When I got back to the hotel another individual had arrived, a thin woman accompanied by two friends, whom Sonya was showing around. Ilan showed up shortly after, and when she went with him I was told there was also another girl who had showed up, but was out with her father since they had arrived after the cafeteria had closed for the day around three in the afternoon. I wouldn’t see her until the next day.

 A short but stocky Jew named Roy who hailed from New York City soon arrived about an hour later. I showed him around while I guess Oliver was sleeping; we wouldn’t see Oli again until much later in the evening. And by we, I really mean me. Livy, as it turned out the girls name was, had gone off with her friends, she is from Arkansas, and it was the strangest thing to me that a Jew would come from there, but I guess we really are everywhere. Well except Afghanistan, there is supposedly only one person who is Jewish there.

Roy, having come from as far away as me essentially passed out soon after, and I was once again left by myself. I walked around the kibbutz and visited its small supermarket until night fell and I returned back to my room.

I turned the air conditioning on and went to sleep; a rather uneventful day all in all.

I did wake at around eleven and ventured out when I heard talking. It was a highly inflected conversation and I joined them to see another girl having come, and was speaking to Oliver.

It was so late Ilan was already asleep, and so she had no room and was basically stuck outside. Oli and I kept her company until Ilan showed up after several telephone calls. The girl is nineteen and named Sharone, which is pronounced Sha-Rone. A very jewish version of an already Hebrew name, and she hailed from the area outside London near where Oliver came from.

 

Once that was settled I padded off to the kitchen to make some food for myself, when I heard a small mewing. Looking around an orange and black stray cat had approached and was begging for food. I went to the kitchen and gave it a slice of meat, and it became much more friendly. This would be the start of a very cool relationship with a cat I then named tangerine, and later would nickname Naranj.