Going Back to California

I have packed up my bags and am ready to return home to “civilization.” I am especially proud of the fact that everything I have fits into one large carry on bag. I also have a shoulder bag, which in pop culture is referred to as a “murse” and that is my only new addition to my traveling ensemble. My goal on this trip was to keep my “foot print” small, of course one has the luxury of doing this when other people’s foot print is large. Thus, I don’t need to own a TV, because the apartment I rented had a huge HD TV already installed. I admit that is cheating and I get to look and act like St. Francis of Assisi while I get to enjoy all the benefits of the penthouse suite at the Vatican. (to mix some metaphors.)

Ben Gurion Airport. There is nothing in the world like this airport. All day long people are coming in from all over the world some in rags escaping something, some coming to Israel for a new life, others visiting love ones who have previously made the trip, lots of young kids on their Birthright trip, and of course there are always the pilgrims, some coming to see where Jesus walked, other to see the Wailing Wall. There are even people who think they are the new mesiah and this group is afflicted with what is commonly called Jerusalem Syndrome. Everytime I go to the airport, tears come to my eyes, there is just so much human emotion being expressed by the crowds.

The huge temple like columns dominate the arrival hall and the digital schedule board gives a nice glimpse of the international character of the flights coming and going.

Two things happened to me as I was leaving Israel. First, I walked to the main street with my bags, stood 10 feet from the corner and waited patiently to hail a cab to the airport. A cute Israeli woman in a mini-skirt, go-go boots, cigarette and talking on a cell phone walked up to a spot 5 feet from the corner and immediately hailed the first passing cab. She never looked at me and never gave any thought to the fact that there was a cab-hailing protocol which generally favors a first-come, first-serve. Second, when I got on the plane, the stewardess made the announcement that the flight would take 12 hours and 15 minutes from Israel to Toronto. Immediately, the call light above the seat in front of me went on and (excuse the stereo-type) but a large, heavy-set Israeli man, with a kipa on his head, summoned the stewardess. What followed was a very heated and loud (on his part) discussion, actually argument, that the distance to Toronto could not be 12.25 hours, but had to be 11.5 hours. The man claimed he had made this trip a hundred times and it had never taken 12.25 hours. The stewardess (Air Canadian) said there were many variables like wind and weather, but the Israeli man would not let go of it. I have watched a discussion/argument like this a hundred times in Israel, almost always in Hebrew and never understand what the fight was about. Now that I heard it in English, I still didn’t understand what the fight was about.

When the first leg of my return journey landed in Toronto, I stood patiently in the passport inspection line and saw a woman struggling with her small child. I told her she could go ahead of me and she turned to me and said, “thank you very much.” Shortly thereafter, a man bumped his cart into my leg and apologized profusely. Even when I arrived in LA, while rushing to get to the shuttle bus, I got to the door at the exact same time as another rider and heard him say, “after you.” I was stunned. The idea that Americans, no less, could teach other people (ie Israelis) about politeness was a staggering insight.

But I don’t want this to sound so harsh. Clearly, Israelis operate on two levels. There is the street level in which it appears that everyone is in their own world, I almost never made eye contact with anyone and when I did, it was almost always with a foreigner. People function on the street in a personal bubble, which means they get on a bus as soon as the doors open, they talk on a cell phone loudly in a crowded elevator, wherever it rings and they can smoke a cigarette an inch from your face and never think twice about it. On the other hand, (as Tavio in Fiddler on the Roof would say) once a connection is made, Israelis will give you everything they have. This is especially true with the older women I met. I was fed and toured to death by Israelis who had almost instantly accepted me as their friend. Once a connection was made, I was taken into homes and into confidences effortlessly. I was constantly overwhelmed by the commonality of Jew to Jew, even though I am hardly a Jew in the traditional sense. I would have to say that that for me, a Jew from the Midwest, (there is a movie called Yiddle in the Middle on this very subject) I found the instant rapport of Jew-to-Jew to be almost magical and amazingly satisfying. I think in the end that feeling was larger and more profound than the constant irritation of what seemed like the incredibly disrespectful and boorish Israeli street personality.

Here is a picture of my last sunset on the Mediterranean while sitting on a Tel Aviv beach and shortly thereafter I took a picture from my Berkeley window of the sun setting over the Pacific.

One of the most bizarre images from the streets of Jerusalem. A team of about 20 Israeli soldiers, I think they were officer trainees, were running around crazy with a list of what looked like items on a scavenger hunt. As they found different items, they would check them off of their list and rush off to find the next item. It seemed like great fun, except the Uzi machine guns always give me pause.

Jerusalem Part One

Where to start? I’ve spent 30 years in Berkeley, CA so I don’t make this comment lightly, but Jerusalem is CRAZY! And it didn’t just get crazy in the 60’s as part of the free speech movement, it has been crazy for thousands and thousands of years. It was crazy for the Romans, the Christians, the Moslems, and now the Jews. Thank the “goddess” that I have the good fortune of staying with a wonderfully sane and secular woman who lives within walking distance of the huge Jerusalem Mall, which is built next to a 4000 year old cemetery, as well as Israel’s largest, 20,000 seat Teddy Kollek Soccer Stadium.

These towering apartment complexes dominate the view out of my bedroom window, admittedly they are very gaudy and completely out of context of the
neighborhood, but they do look impressive.

Chagall Windows: I took the bus up to the Hadassah Medical Center which is billed as the largest medical facility in the Middle East. I have no way of knowing if that is true, but it is certainly enormous. If I can be permitted a prideful comment, (and as I have said often in this blog) I get an especially proud feeling whenever I see the money of so many world-wide Jews of the diaspora being used to build a hospital of this magnitude instead of an artificial golf course in the middle of the Arabian Sea. But I digress. Chagall completed his 12 stained glass windows in 1962 and each tells the story of one of the 12 tribes of Israel. During the 1967 war, Jordanian shells struck near the windows breaking 4 of them and when Chagall was told, he responded, “you take care of the war; I’ll take care of the windows”, which he subsequently repaired. As with almost every monument in Jerusalem there are spectacular views of the City and hills.

The Chagall Windows are brightly colorful, especially when the sun hits them, as a reminder of the dangers facing Israel, the goat's head in the bottom window retains the broken frame from the Jordanian rocket attack.

Har Hamenuhot Cemetery: I took another bus off in a different direction to this sprawling cemetery on the western outskirts of the city. Being buried in Jerusalem is a big business and it is even the specialty of a local kibbutz. For as far as the eye can see, there are grave stones, some plain, some with impressive marble coverings, many with candles burning in a little compartment and of course the traditional stones placed on top of the caskets. I was struck by how small the plots were and according to my measurement they were all a standard length of about 5’ 10” long. I wonder what they do with the Jews over 6 feet tall.

Rows and rows of grave stones are siloutted by the Jerusalem hills in the
background.

The Wall: It took me a couple of days before I got to see the full effect of the new “security” wall. Normally, I took the bus to Tel Aviv which does not have to go through any occupied territories, but yesterday we took a short cut to a new town called Modi-in and to get there we had to basically bisect Palestinian territory. For a distance of about 5 miles the road goes through a kind of “tunnel” with the Wall on either side of the highway. It was a weird feeling and of course there are all the issues of the various properties that got cut in half and the difficulty of getting from one side of the road to the other. I was told that before the fence, traveling on this road was usually dangerous and cars were regularly stoned.

Different images of the Wall, in the first video it is only a single continuous
wall, in the second, there are two walls on either side of the highway forming a
tunnel through the occupied territories.

Jerusalem Politics: As I said above, I don’t even know where to start. There is a big mayoral election coming up next month. The current mayor is orthodox, but apparently not terribly nutzy, although he frequently sides with the “ultras” in their numerous, on-going disputes. One of the candidates is a sensible secular guy who might not win. Another candidate who is extremely orthodox recently got out of prison for bribery and corruption, is very popular, but under current law needs a waiver in order to run because his crime involved moral turpitude. Of course, the current prime minister has also been accused of misusing some kind of travel money related to the Holocaust Museum and may also be on his way to jail. A third candidate is a billionaire Russian businessman who has sided with the ultras, but is quickly falling out of favor and there is a fourth candidate who is old, with a long white beard and represents the most right-wing religious sects. I recently heard of a sign that said: “Wake Up Seculars; Jerusalem is the Next Iran.” Clearly there is a feeling among the seculars that the battle for Jerusalem has been lost and it will soon be completely under the control of the ultra-conservative wing of the religious right. “Sarah Palin, we’re not in Tel Aviv any more!”

Jerusalem Part Two

Market Day: The person I’m staying with in Jerusalem gets up at 4am on Friday to do Shabbats shopping at the huge Mahaneh Yehuda Market. We arrive at 5 a.m. and already the place is buzzing with activity. A large group of “Ultras” walks past us on their way home from early morning prayers. It seems that a month before the New Year (Rosh Hashanah) there is a sects that conducts services throughout the City at this ungodly hour. Twice I tried and failed to get up in time to participate in the service. I can only assume that God is a morning person.

Just a few of the many trucks lined up at 5 a.m. to set-up the busy Mahaneh Yehuda Market. Most of the vendors have already been to the wholesale markets at 3 a.m. to make the best and freshest purchases.

I’m sure every “farmers” market sets up like the one in Jerusalem, but the combination of its huge size and the impending insanely chaotic Friday shopping day, makes this an especially unique experience. At this hour, everyone is especially friendly and my guide seems to know everyone by first name. Of course, no two products are bought at the same stall. One vendor with unique seedless grapes, can not be used to purchase, special cherries. Cheeses, (I affectionately call them the “Baby Cheeses” in honor of the fact that the son of God may actually have shopped at this market) are in a separate wing and fresh breads are purchases down the street at the bakery. Within an hour, twenty individual bags have been accumulated, a meaningful one-on-one conversation/negotiations has been exchanged with each seller and then all the early morning regulars sit down for a nice breakfast. As you can imagine with this many Jews, the conversations are animated, sometimes contentious and usually insightful.

This totally unexplainable and even gaudy sculpture sits atop one of the premier art buildings on the grounds of the huge Israel Museum.

Here is a better example of the other sculptures on the grounds of the museum, The towering letters spell "love" in Hebrew and there is yet another breathtaking view of Jerusalem in the background.

Dead Sea Scrolls: On the one hand it is easy to dismiss the Scrolls as much ado about nothing. After all, these are the writings of a group of people, living in the middle of nowhere, with barely a pot to piss in, (actually the only pot they may have had was used to hide the Scrolls), writing in an archaic language, which not only is in fragments, but eroded over time and difficult to translate. One the other hand, the Israelis really know how to package their archeological discoveries. The building housing the Scrolls as well as all the surrounding decorations, make for an incredibly impressive presentation. I don’t know much about the Scrolls but two things jumped out at me from the various segments on display. First, the Esseneians (or whoever wrote them) were dedicated ascetics as in fervently anti-materialists. This is in breathtaking contrast to the modern Israelis whose pursuit of seems to know no bounds. Second, the “creator” who apparently either dictated or inspired the words written down in the Scrolls, seemed unnecessarily obsessed with how he/she/it was to be worshipped, with pages and pages of detailed rules as to what can and mostly can not be done on the Sabbath, and similar instructions many of which the Ultras not only follow today, but expect everyone else to follow. I just don’t get it. If there is a god and he/she/it has the power, time and inclination to talk to us mere mortals, then why spend so much time explaining what kind of goat should be sacrificed on what kind of holiday in order to get a measly smile on the face of the supreme being. In any case, despite all their efforts to follow these rules, the Esseenians never seemed to have made it out of their desert caves.

This is a photo of the "jar" shaped white building that houses the Dead Sea Scrolls. It was built to look like the containers in which the scrolls were found, it is white to symbolize goodness, and there are showers of water continually being spayed on the building. (forgot what that symbolizes) In the foreground is a huge, black marble rectangle which I think symbolizes "evil." Not sure what that has to do the scrolls, but the image of the two icons is very powerful.

Knesset: As I have commented so often before, the Knesset building and the associated trappings of power present an awe-inspiring sight. One is endlessly reminded that Israel is the “only democracy in the Middle East” and up to a certain point that is true and worth something. It does give one pause to sit in a large parliamentary hall and contemplate the kinds of debates that have raged in that chamber. Many brilliant decisions were made there, as well as some bone-head ones. Of course, the ultimate issue of “peace with its neighbors” has not only eluded the government, it has also eluded the Jewish people for 3,000 years. That is not the fault of democracy, but I am not quite convinced that a democracy has the intelligence and will to bring about peace in our time.

This is a portion of the large iron fence surrounding the Knesset. This is a common motif in Israel and I believe it is usually trying to represent barbed wire and memorialize the Holocaust.

What I find really fascinating about Israeli politics is the absolute brilliant strategy of the Ulta-conservative religious parties. For many reasons, some logical and other irrational, the Israeli electorate is generally equally split between liberals and conservatives and this split pertains mostly to issues of war and peace and economic welfare policies. The Ulta’s, however, represent “god’s” issues, which mainly comes down to getting extra money for having their children, making sure their kids don’t have to go into the Army, and no negotiations on the status of Jerusalem. With these issues clearly articulated and with their 10-20% voting bloc, they can form a coalition government with either the liberals or conservatives depending on who is more willing to meet their demands. It’s a brilliant strategy, which uses the Israeli democratic institutions to ultimately reach an undemocratic conclusion.

This is a distant photo of the Knesset building as picture taking was forbidden inside which is unfortunate because there were huge Chagill tapestries and the chamber was very impressive.

Side Trip to Kibbutz

My son, daughter and I went to Kibbutz Yotvata in the Negav Desert, here is Eli's report.

The Kibbutz

We started our five-day journey on Friday morning from Tel Aviv. We took a train and a bus to make our way south through the country. It is not long before the lush trees and dense civilization make way for the sprawling desert. As far as the eye can see it is nothing but orange rock and sand. Soon we would grasp that this geographic style is a common theme in this part of the world. After deboarding the bus on the side of this desert highway, miles from the nearest CafeCafe (like a Starbucks) or theater showing of the ubiquitous Don't Mess with the Zohan, we entered the gate of Kibbutz Yotvata.

The Kibbutzim began to sprout up in this region decades before Israel's War of Independence in 1948. Generally started by adventurous European Jews, the Kibbutzim used the socialist theories of community living and applied them to the agricultural development needed for the large unpopulated areas of the country.

Growing up in Berkeley, the idea of picking up and moving away from your stuffy job in the States and going to work on a Kibbutz was kind of like how some people think of moving to Los Angeles to become an actor or writing the great American novel. For us socialist dreamers, the Kibbutz is the utopia that represents all that we wish we could do with our lives: work for our own food without relying on corporations to package and provide it for us, live exempt from the evils of our greenback slave drivers, and get to wear overalls. The knowledge that somewhere out there in the faraway desert there exists a community that works together and supports each other, gives us lefties a glimmer of hope that not all socialism ends up like Animal Farm.

Well, I suppose utopia is a bit strong, but after two days as guests in the community we were pretty impressed with the way things are in Yotvata. Once inside its borders, it is easy to forget the harshness of the terrain outside. 400 people live within its pleasant confines, enjoying a swimming pool, plenty of green lawns, a spacious dining hall and coffee parlor, and even a disco/gymnasium. Lucky for us, our first night coincided with an outdoor concert put on by members of the community with men, women, and children of all ages performed songs and poems under a full desert moon. I had been expecting to stay in a bunk, maybe next to a chicken coop or something along those lines, but our guest apartment had 2 bedrooms, a TV, a kitchen, and a refrigerator fully stocked with delicious chocolate milk. This was starting to not feel like the kind of socialism I had heard about. In fact, after hooking up with a big company that distributes its product, Yotvata has become the largest dairy in the entire country and is doing quite well.

There are some aspects of the system that I kind of thought were "cheating" as far as the original kibbutz model goes, but I suppose my ideals aren't exactly realistic in today's world. Everything seems to be a fair balance between practicality and some aspect of this great community concept. Almost all of the food we ate was brought in from outside (except the milk, of course), but it is all prepared and served by a Kibbutz member, a regular guy or gal who could very well be your neighbor. They hire outside help for big projects like construction, but someone from within does most every other job or helps out in some way or another with the production or just the general upkeep of the town: teachers, farmers, and even artists. Which brings me to the most radical piece of the organization: everyone gets paid the same amount. There are no salaries, except for a regular allowance that each Kibbutz member receives. This means that no money changes hands within the community.

The entire length of our stay, a consistent topic of conversation amongst our clan was The Fallacy, The Catch. What hidden attribute would prove the reason that everyone didn't live in a Kibbutz? If it was as pleasant and successful as this one seemed to be why was this not a more widespread form of living? I think the end result is that people generally don't want to have their lives governed by someone else. People like to make their own decisions about their money and their property and it is this reason that many Kibbutzim in Israel have already privatized, meaning that there are differential salaries and less community organization. Although it seemed like the people at Yotvata, and I agree, believe that privatization defeats the whole purpose of the community experiment. My dad was wise to note that, unlike the American communes of the sixties (of which he may or may not have lived in, depending on how much memory is resurrected), this commune is not driven by sex, drugs, or God. Going clean and secular, the goal of the community is solely the success and happiness of its participants and nothing else.

As we all left feeling both mentally and physically healthy, it appears this strategy is working well.

Kibbutz/Desert Pictures

Welcome to the Negev. Last stop for water: 1 hour ago.

Looming from across the Jordanian border, might as well be the San Gabriel Mountains.

Howard contemplates emigration.

Inside the lush confines of Kibbutz Yotvata

Side Trip to Petra

My son, daughter and I went to Petra, here is Eli's report.

The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan

After our departure from the Kibbutz, we took a bus down to the port city of Eilat. This city, at the very southernmost tip of Israel, owns a small portion of coastline on the Red Sea. The borders of Egypt and Jordan are only a few miles on either side and Saudi Arabia is only 40 miles down the road.

My sister, the only one brave enough for the Red Sea.

We were only in Eilat long enough for two lemonades and a quick evaluation of our currency situation, but we spent it down at the beach watching big oil tankers come in to dock and bikini-clad Israelis smoking their cigarettes go out to sea. With its towering hotels framed by desert mountains and billboards galore, it reminded us all of Las Vegas. And on that note we flagged a taxi to take us to the Jordanian border.

The border crossing was quiet. Supposedly it is packed at 8am as people commute to work, but by 11 the station was isolated. At the passport window, a radio in the back played Phantom Planet's song "California." We pondered whether they play homeland anthems for everyone.

The history of the relationship between Israel and Jordan has been a tumultuous one, but since the signing of a peace treaty in 1994, it has been relatively stable. Because of Israel's geography, its language, and other more quirky characteristics of the country and its people, it has given me a taste of the foreign. Its culture is strange to me, but it is still a very Western place and after only a short period of time (especially in Tel Aviv), you can forget that you are in the distant Middle East. Entering the Arab nation of Jordan, it hit me that I might be leaving my comfort zone.

We are one of those families that despises the classification of the word tourist. If it's possible we desperately avoid going to "touristy places" and eating at "touristy restaurants." Several times on this trip, I have wondered the streets of a foreign city for much longer than necessary because I would be mortified to pull out and unfold a large map in public, thus exposing myself as just another lost American. However, on our trip through Jordan, we decided to bite the bullet and hire a travel agency to book transportation and beds for us. We didn't really have to worry about standing out as foreigners though. The brightness of our white skin and the bulge of our fanny packs could have stood out to even a blind local.

Our first stop was the ancient city of Petra. First settled by the Nabataeans in the 7th century B.C., this region was the center of the global spice trade for centuries. The walking tour of the site starts with a stroll at the bottom of a dry gorge. The walls, tall as skyscrapers, still have carvings from the ancient civilizations that called this their holy city.

Now, the most famous feature of the "rose-red city" is "The Treasury." If you have ever seen the third Indiana Jones with Harrison Ford and Sean Connery, then, one, congratulations on having great movie taste, and, two, you will for sure recognize this amazing structure built straight from the rock face.

Future Album Cover

Camels, just chilling.

We stayed a night in a hotel in the town just outside the archaeological site. The next day, we drove to Amman, the capital and biggest city of Jordan. 80% of the country is desert, so that is what we saw on this drive, until we reached the outskirts of Amman. The city is very busy with lots of cars, which all use their horns as if they were turning signals. Although the parts of the city that we saw were far from third-world status, there appeared to be many positive signs of development. Immediately outside our hotel window, they were building what will be the tallest building on Amman's skyline.

Watch out King Abdallah, there's another monarch in town.

Side Trip to Golan Heights

My son and I went to the Golan Heights, here is his report.

The Golan

My dad and I just got back from a two-day trip to the Golan, a region in the northeastern corner of Israel. This area was captured by the Jews only four decades ago in the Six Day War and its ownership has been a matter of conflict with neighboring Syria ever since (Its Wikipedia page is even disputed). We had booked a tour in a small bus that carried us around to a handful of different cities and sights, from our home in Tel Aviv to a Kibbutz at the most northern reaches of Israel where would spend the night. Then, today we hit another set of points on the way back.

Our first stop was in the city of Nazareth (yes, of "Jesus of Nazareth" fame). This was also our first stop that had made an important appearance in the New Testament. It would not be our last, as it seems JC had booked the same tour with Israeli World Tour Group just two millennia ago, hitting all the same locations. For every place where the Bible says anyone committed any deed, there is a church built on top of that place, and in some places there are two or three churches that all claim to be built on top of that place. Not only that, but every church is not the original church, because every few centuries it gets knocked down in a war, so they pool money from Christians all over the world to build a new church on the ruins of the old.

Here in Nazareth, there is a well at which Mary was getting some water when she was told by the angel Gabe that she was pregnant with God's kid. So, inside this giant church there is a hole cut in the ground and there is the well. Christians from the Argentina to Zimbabwe are snapping pictures, praying, and buying postcards.

Next door is another church. This is where Joseph had his carpentry workshop. I think it was underground in a cave because we kept looking down this hole in the ground. I'm not sure really why he would have built furniture underground, but our tour guide just kept saying, "In the Christian tradition, Joseph worked in this cave...," like he was not going to admit its truth, but he wanted to explain why billions of people still thought it was true, even though it might look completely ridiculous to the heathens in the group. This church was called St. Joseph's. My dad and I wondered what Joseph had done to become a saint. We agreed that any guy who believes his virgin wife when she comes home and says she is going to have a baby, but it's okay because it's God's, was probably a saint.

We then stopped at a series of churches at places where Jesus had committed miracles, like the church of the stone where he stood to make bread and fishes for an entire community and the church outside the old synagogue where he brought back to life the daughter of a Roman soldier. It wasn't even lunchtime before I was getting warn out by the deadly combination of piety and humidity. I would say, however, one very interesting aspect of all these sites is that they never just represent one group, but really each site is an amalgamation of at least three. Some places will have a mosque built on top of a church built on top of a Roman palace built on top of a synagogue. (And to think it's heavy that the Bay St. shopping mall is built on top of an Ohlone Shellmound!) Also, this means that at every gift shop you can see menorahs and crucifixes sitting next to each other on the shelf. If only, religious harmony could exist as well in people as it does in trinkets.


It is hot as hell (bite your tongue!) and I'm wondering why so much blood has been shed for this land while California sits miles away at a cool 70 degrees 365 days a year. But as we head further north, the golden brown of the desert that has been the theme color for every inch of this country starts to turn green. In the winter, they say it snows here. Tell that to my dehydrated camel. We drove through the Hula Valley, which looks a lot like Napa with big orchards stretching to the hills.

The word peaceful might have floated in my head just as we drove up to the town where we would spend the night, but it was only fleeting. We stopped at a memorial for some of the first Jewish soldiers to die fighting the Arabs for this land in the 1920's. Only steps away was a smaller, more makeshift memorial for Israeli paratroopers who had been hit by a rocket on this spot just two years ago in the Second Lebanese War. There were a group of soldiers that had stopped by in there trucks to look. This was a very real example of how constant and immediate the fighting still is in this country.

We were just a few kilometers from the border of Lebanon. Since going to Eilat a week and a half ago, I had now successfully traveled the entire length of Israel.

We spent the night at a hotel run by a Kibbutz called Kfar Gil'adi. This was one of those privatized kibbutzim, for sure. No commies here. Indoor pool, TV in every room, and an amazing buffet shown here:
On our trip back we surveyed the area known specifically as the Golan Heights. Until 1967, Syrian troops used to shoot down at Jews in the valley from its strategically significant higher ground. Once it became part of Israel, Jews began to quickly settle and cultivate the region. There are rumors that the Israelis might give this region back to Syria in exchange for a peaceful border (similar to the one in Jordan), which would provide tourism for both countries through easy passage, as well as other considerations. However, there are cities like Katzrin, which was constructed completely within that short time period and already has about 8,000 people and very well could be Lafayette. The Israelis can build civilization like no other. My dad tells me that the Chinese have even hired them to start building cities from scratch in China. You could have a plot of barren land, but give it to the Israelis and it will have a shopping mall and a post office in no time. The reason for building like this is obvious. They are trying to settle the land to show that is Jewish. In some respects it is very good. I like visiting clean, well-organized cities, and their efficient use of the land's resources is incredible. However, this makes it very hard, when say, you might have to give the land back to another country in order to sign a peace agreement. This is true all over this country. Everywhere I go, I am surprised, yet very comforted by the Jewish cities. It is all very Western. But I can't help thinking that there is a back end to this. Is someone losing out, where the Israelis keep winning?

Side Trip to Jericho

My son, Eli, and I took a side trip to the West Bank, here was his report.

Through the Walls of Jericho

There are no walls around Jericho anymore. I probably would have known that if I had read The Bible. In fact, it seems quite isolated. From a distance it might seem to be just a tight community whose only predators are the rocks of the desert.

To get there, we hopped on a small bus at the bus station just outside the walls of Jerusalem's famous Old City. The signs inside this bus show the swooping script of Arabic words, not Hebrew's blocky characters, but that change doesn't really mean anything if you can't read either language. Only 15 minutes after leaving the city center, we had reached a Palestinian village that might be called a suburb. The streets are more clearly lined with trash here. On the side of the road, a dumpster's contents slowly burn. We are only here to transfer, but the driver of our service taxi is waiting to fill up with a few more passengers. Meanwhile, we sat in the car without air conditioning, while outside several men chain smoke their cigarettes in the shade, draped over plastic chairs. It is probably getting close to 100 degrees.

The city of Jericho is completely controlled by the Palestinian Authority. There is an Israeli military post about a mile outside the city's border, monitoring the road in and out. Other than that, however, the city's security and well-being are lead from within. Only a small percentage of the West Bank has this set-up, a step towards autonomy.
Supposedly, Jericho is the oldest continuously-inhabited city on Earth, with records dating back 11,000 years. Today it has 20,000 residents.

When you are in a new and strange place, your eyes may strain to focus on anything that can spark a feeling of familiarity. Pulling into Jericho's main square, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. A Palestinian kid riding a bicycle towards us was wearing a navy blue shirt with the gold, script lettering of CAL on the front. In a second he was gone, like maybe I hadn't even seen it.

We circled the entire town center and appeared to be the only tourists. It was a pretty regular market day it seemed. Parts of pigs hanging from butcher shop windows, boxes of plastic toys lining curbs, falafel boiling in large pans of oil. We stopped to eat at what looked like the nicest restaurant in town, which meant slight air-conditioning and tables off the street. Our waiter was a young guy about my age who spoke a sprinkling of key English words and smiled a lot. Our food was plentiful and very cheap and we made sure to leave a good tip. When we were leaving, our new friend shook my hand and asked where we were from and then if I maybe knew 50 Cent Rapper. I told him yes and that next time I would see him in California. He laughed and smiled at us as we left and then returned to work.

My dad and I discussed what it takes for a guy like that to get to America. I suppose the best case scenario is he has a relative who has already made it and maybe can send money or a job opportunity back home, but you'd probably have to be one in a million to get hooked up like that. I think maybe if he worked hard enough at the biggest business in town or a hotel, maybe he could afford to travel, if he could get through the roadblocks, much less all the red tape. Learning English is a must.

After another half-hour game of see how long the Americans sit in the taxi before they realize its much hotter inside than out, we were heading to the city limits. An Israeli guard took our passports and peeked inside the car and we were off, speeding at 140 kilometers per hour back towards Jerusalem.

I think what I learned from my brief foray into the West Bank was not that the Palestinians were living in hovels or prisons, or that they were being forced by Israeli soldiers to walk in straight lines and speak only when spoken to, but rather that their oppression takes more abstract forms. When you see the upscale malls and bustling intersections of any big Israeli city it is hard to imagine anyone utilizing the land any better. However, the Palestinian land issue is not a matter of who would use the area more efficiently or who would keep it cleaner, it is a matter of basic freedom. When the Palestinians are forced to live behind a wall or a fence, its more visible impact is the destruction of economic opportunities for individuals and the community, but its less obvious result lies only within the minds of its people. By telling someone to move away from their home and live in a confined space, you are refusing them the ability even to imagine a life beyond borders. After spending the last 4 weeks traveling halfway across the world, seeing a larger array of cultures than I ever have in my life, I realized how much I take this for granted. It pains me to think that this waiter, no matter how hard he may work, will be tied to the ground by some faceless exterior force. I have enjoyed my stay in Israel immensely and by meeting people and seeing the country top to bottom, many of my political preconceptions have changed for the better, but as long as Israel remains an occupying nation, I have no choice but to see it as an oppressor, a barrier to some kid's simple dreams.

Leaving Tel Aviv

It’s been some time since I last blogged, my kids have been visiting and I discovered an interesting phenomenon; when you are traveling with another person, you spend much less time thinking about blogging. When I was by myself and saw something interesting, I thought, “that would make a great blog entry.” But when I’m with my kids, I immediately share the insight with them and they were quick to say, “Dad that’s a really stupid idea.” Now that they are gone, I am left with only my blog to share all this dumb thoughts.

I am off to live in Jerusalem for September with a really wonderful person who has promised to show me the city, both its spiritual core as well as its seamy underbelly. Before I leave, here is a quick update on a few Tel Aviv highlights.

Posters announcing the triathlon decorate the Roman ruins.

Triathlon in Caesarea: A friend took me up to the city of Caesarea to watch her 13 year old nephew run in a triathlon event. Caesarea, as its name implies, is a Roman ruins which around 10 BC was one of the great port cities of antiquity; it was also the place of the first Roman Centurion’s conversion to Christianity, a momentous event which led to the revised rule that in order to be a Christian one did not have to be either circumcised or keep kosher (See Acts 10.) It is also the place where presumably the Holy Grail was discovered by the Crusaders in 1101 after which the city was repeatedly occupied and sacked by invading armies.

First leg of the race is swimming in the Mediterranean Sea.

The triathlon hosted about 1200 participants from all over Israel and it was truly an exhilarating experience. First of all, the course began with a swim out into the Mediterranean, then a bike ride up and down the coast, followed by a run through the ancient Roman ruins. Every piece of the course was dripping in beautiful scenery and archaeological wonders. Second, I couldn’t get over the fact, as I have said ad nauseum, that everyone was Jewish! There were plenty of beautiful Israeli bodies from 10 to about 70 years old. Finally, there were the over-involved parents fully equipped with cameras, water bottles and non-stop shouting of words of encouragement in Hebrew. Of course as a Dad who has spent many, many hours at such events, especially crew and racquetball, this was almost the most exciting experience I have had in Israel. Oh, by the way, the boy I came to see, Itamar Alster, was 8^th in his age group which even added to the excitement.

White Night: Every summer Tel Aviv turns night into day with a festival called White Night. Activities are planned all night everywhere in the City and probably a hundred thousand people hit the streets for dancing, eating and entertaining. I walked from about 1a.m. to 4a.m. from my apartment to up and down the beach. It was packed with revelers. I think the first thing that hit me was “camaraderie”, the feeling that this city has a distinctive personality and that everyone who lived in it not only shared in the vision of that personality, but contributed a little of themselves to forming that personality. The events were not gaudy, corny, trite, or staged. Secondly, there was the diversity, music of course was central, but there were so many events like puppet shows for kids, rock concerts for teens and classical music productions for adults. The atmosphere was safe, life-affirming and of course all of this was taking place in the middle of the night.

Dancing performances took place all along the beach

Opera in the Park: On Thursday night, the start of the Israeli weekend, about 15,000 people gathered on the lawn of the huge HaYarkon Park to hear the Israel Opera sing La Traviata. It was breathtaking. There was a long half hour walk to the field where everyone was picnicking, wine-drinking and stretching out on blankets. I went with a high-school friend who was visiting and unfortunately didn’t prepare any opera accessories, including the failure to bring my camera or something comfortable to sit on. The opera, of course, was in Italian, the libretto in Hebrew and the lead woman who was spectacular spent the whole time wailing and throwing herself from one side of the huge stage to the other. She was either dying from a mysterious illness or from being love sick, I couldn’t remember the story line, but in any case the sound system more than made up for my inability to follow the plot. As with the White Night event, and every other event in Tel Aviv, the esprit de corps was overwhelming. Thousands and thousands of opera lovers, many on their cell phones, (but speaking softly,), the moon and Jupiter high in the sky, the towering Tel Aviv skyline, it was an indescribable cultural event. And when it was over, people were courteous and picked up their litter. What a country! The evening was only marred by the lack of public transportation home and after waiting almost an hour for a bus, the crowd got pretty surly and people were throwing themselves into the path of the few moving taxis. I was generally being my mellow California self, but my friend who was from New Jersey, took the initiative to chase down a bus, while knocking over a few elderly Opera goers.

Opera solos were part of the White Night events.

Ultra Conservative Watch: I’ve started collecting kooky stories about the Ultra Conservatives in Israel, especially Jerusalem. One article complains about the secular Jews who are going around cutting down the “wires” that define where an “Ultras” can travel on Saturday. For the uninformed, the orthodox Rabbis install a continuous wire around their neighborhood and a devotee is allowed to travel and “carry” their bags within the confines of the “wire” without technically doing any forbidden “work.” If the wire is broken, then supposedly, the Ultras cannot leave the house. As you may have guessed, a common prank has emerged where some of the “seculars” are going around cutting the wires, just so the Ultras can’t leave their houses. This is a huge issue and commentators have raised the possibility of “civil war” if the police don’t get involved.

Another story claims that the Ultra manager of a large building complex was not allowed to shake women’s hands because they might be unclean. Can you guess why this might be so? Since a woman is considered “unclean” before/during/after her period, there is a remote possibility, even in post-menopausal women, that menstrual blood is on her hands and thus, one can never be too careful about shaking a strange woman’s hands. This prohibition applies to Ultras even in professional business situations.