So my new best bus driver friend (NBF in textese) dropped me off very near Hebrew University on Mt. Scopus. The bus is stopped at the front gate and a soldier comes on board, looks everyone directly in the eye and then the bus proceeds to an underground drop off point. (BTW: Everyone on the bus is also always looking everyone else directly in the eye) We then proceed to another inspection and then we are inside the University. I see a veranda and it overlooks Jerusalem and the dome of the Golden Mosque, it’s a breathtaking image.
Picture of the Golden Dome from Mt. Scopus.
I wander the campus for about two hours and it was like being in paradise. Thousands of kids everywhere, lots of English being spoken, every building has a different kind of food court and everywhere you turn there is another spectacular view of Jerusalem. I finally found a t-shirt that said Hebrew University of Jerusalem to send to Eli, but not sure whether the political climate at UCLA will permit him to wear it except maybe on the High Holidays.
Photo of Arab woman, with her shoes off reading alone on the grass.
Again as with Tel Aviv University there are literally hundreds if not thousands of names of contributors. Honestly, is there a Jew anywhere in America who has not at some point in his life made a contribution to Israel? I remember so clearly in1949 (I would have been 5) going to Temple and putting a coin in a little blue metal box and being told that a tree would be planted in my name in Israel for each victim of Holocaust. But every park, every garden, every classroom, even every bench in the courtyard is named after somebody. There was a time, not so long ago, where I would have found this incredibly self-centered or self-congratulatory, but frankly, I was really touched by those gestures today. Somehow the idea that a Jew who has made it in one part of the world would send money to a Jew in another part of the world who has not made it, gave me a real sense of pride. I’m sure all ethnic groups do this, whether its Latin workers sending money home, Iranians buying wheel chairs, Armenians setting up memorials, the list must be endless, but the scale of the American Jewish contribution to hospitals, schools etc. in Israel is really impressive. If there is an argument as to why this is a bad thing, I’m open to hearing it, but I can’t come up with it on my own.
This large sculpture (about 15'x12') which I think is some peace and dove symbol was made entirely out of legos, sorry about the sun flare, but it was really cool
After taking a leisurely bathroom break in the plush stalls of the Hebrew University library and having a nice fresh salad at the Rosenberg Café, I jump on a #26 bus which I am told is heading back to the Central Bus Station. This bus takes a different route directly through the super religious section where everyone is a “penguin.” There is a Hassidic Girls’ High School letting out, lots of old men arguing doctrine on the street and many really young religious boys at what seems to be 7 or 8 years old. On the bus, men are silently reading little tiny books and moving their lips and rocking back and forth. My first thought is “how long does it take to read a little book like that.” An hour at most and you would think that after the first one hundred times, you would either know what it says, or you will never know and maybe instead of reading it, you should just wait for the movie to come out so you can really understand it better. And what’s with the moving the lips, isn’t God supposed to be listening to your heart and not the inaudible whispers coming out of your mouth. Very, very curious.
Finally, I get off at Jaffe Street and go to a bakery that I found which has for lack of a better word, “pigs in a blanket.” Okay, I know there really aren’t “pigs” in those rolls, but they are really good and I can dream can’t I. I buy a nice cotton shirt which started out at 70 shekels, I walked away and by the time I finished I was at 40 shekels, but I really hate that process. 
Got to the Central Bus Station, peed in the less than perfect bathroom and sat down next to a nice woman soldier who was writing furiously in what I think was her diary. We started to chat and next week she is on her way to St. Paul, Minnesota of all places. I asked her if she liked being a soldier and she said she hates it, but added that all soldiers hate it, to which I added, all soldiers everywhere hate it. She gets out in October, she explained to me why some soldiers get to carry Uzi’s and some don’t, her English was really pretty good, but she was really scared about using it. (Tell me about it, at least she can talk with her captivating Israeli eyes, which is more than I can say for me.) Anyway, she quickly wrote the English alphabet without missing a letter and I laboriously wrote the Hebrew alphabet leaving out about 4 letters. But even though she didn’t have her Uzi with her, I was still too nervous to get it right. I gave her the name of my blog and told her I would give her an honorable mention at the end of it today. All in all, for a mistaken trip, I think it was a full day, certainly more interesting than picking through the rubble in Askelon.
There is a huge sculpture made out of wire strands in front of the Bus Station that can be seen for miles and is a great way of orienting oneself.
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