Last Day in Israel

Tomorrow I'm off to Istanbul, leaving the land of my ancestors (well, some of them) behind. It's been a very interesting week, but I've had enough. Mostly, I've had enough of being alone, so I'm looking forward to being with friends in Istanbul.

Speaking of friends, I was not actually alone today. I went to Pardes Hanna, about 40 minutes from Tel Aviv, to have lunch with my dear friend Sat-Sung. Neither of us can quite remember when we last saw each other, but it was somewhere in the neighbourhood of twenty years ago. Two hours wasn't quite enough time to catch up on two decades, but it was a good start. Thank you, Facebook, for helping us to reconnect!



In addition to seeing an old friend, it was interesting to see a small Israeli town, and the landscape around it.





Random observations:


There are a lot of cats in Tel Aviv! All kinds of apparently domestic cats, just strolling around the streets. Why don't New Yorkers let their cats out?

There are an awful lot of soldiers in this country! Yes, I know this isn't news, and I haven't exactly been surprised. (Little in Israel has really surprised me, since it's so much in the news, and in the minds of American Jews in paricular.) But it's remarkable, and certainly unusual for me, to see women and men in uniforms, carrying big guns, all over the place. Most of them appear to be off duty, but it's still a little disturbing how militarized the society is.

There are a lot of security checks! In particular, at the entrance to every train station, bus station, and shopping mall. And occasionally individual stores (I saw this in Jerusalem, not in Tel Aviv). Sometimes there's a metal detector and an x-ray machine; sometimes just a person checking bags. And none of them have seemed particularly interested in me, which I attribute to racial profiling. I must say, though: As unnerving as it is, it makes a lot more sense than what passes for security in many New York buildings, where one is asked to show ID and or sign in, but nobody checks what people are bringing in with them. (And speaking of bogus security vs. real security, when I went through security in the Istanbul airport to board my flight to Tel Aviv, I didn't have to take my laptop out of my bag, I didn't have to take off my shoes, and nobody said anything about liquids! I look forward to seeing what security at Ben Gurion Airport looks like. Stay tuned.)

Israelis drive on the right side of the street, but the trains run on the left, apparently because the Brits built the system. But didn't the Brits build a lot of the roads too?

The creation of modern Hebrew amazes me. Until around the turn of the 20th Century, Hebrew was not used for conversation by anyone. The early Zionists decided to leave behind their European languages and turned a "dead" language into a living one. It seems like it would have been easier for most of the early settlers (invaders) to stick with Yiddish and a mishmash of other languages, but they didn't. They said to themselves, "we're starting a new society, and so we're going to speak a 'new' language." I think that's pretty cool. (On the other hand, how might things have been different if they had learned the language of the people who were already here, Arabic, and tried to join the existing society, rather than replacing it?)

Jewish Guilt

Walking around both Tel Aviv and Haifa, I've been marveling at the fact that they've been able to build really quite beautiful, modern cities--Tel Aviv feels a lot like California--in such a short time. While there were cities here already (in some cases for thousands of years), much of the infrastructure, and much of the society, has been built only since 1948. It's impressive.

But, of course, there is a dark side. These cities weren't empty before 1948. In Hebrew school, I was taught that the Arab leaders told the people living in what was then Palestine to take off for a few days after Israel declared independence, that they'd be able to come back just as soon as the Arab armies pushed out the Jews and put an end to this whole Jewish state idea. And while that may be part of the story, the other part is that the Hagannah, the terrorist group that became the Israeli Defense Force (think about that for a moment), forcibly ejected hundreds of thousands of people. The lucky ones went to places like Lebanon and Jordan, and sometimes farther off. Others stayed closer, either by choice or because they had no choice, and their children and grandchildren are now living in Gaza and the West Bank. Either way, their land was confiscated by the new state, and much of the land in the lovely cities I'm now exploring belonged to them.

This included the family of my friend Hiba, with whom I had dinner in Ramallah the other day, and whose family used to be prominent landowners in Haifa, and my friend Mostafa's parents, who fled Jaffa for Beirut in 1948.

The narrative taught to Jews in North America is one of repeated efforts by both Palestinians and neighbouring Arab states to annihilate the State of Israel, and repeated victories by Israel against this "aggression." Well, what would you do? We took their country! Of course they want to push us into the sea!

I said "we," didn't I? I haven't felt a deep connection to the land or the people or whatever since my arrival here. But I do feel basically at ease, at least in Tel Aviv. And I know that if I were so inclined, I could find my way to whatever government office handles these things, say "I'm here to stay," and they'd welcome me with open arms. OK, I'd have to go through no small amount of red tape to prove my Jewishness (particularly given my gentile name), but I have a right, under Israeli law, to live here. Hiba and Mostafa (and many many others less fortunate than they), whose parents were born and raised here, do not.

Shabbat

Shabbat Shalom!

Despite Tel Aviv's secularity, Shabbat here is very quiet. Stores, with the exception of small corner stores, are mostly closed. Buses don't run; trains don't run; there aren't many cars on the street. It's actually very nice. Restaurants are mostly open, so people can hang out in cafes and stroll around the city, and not much else. So that's what I did.

Speaking of restaurants, I had to take a picture of Orna and Ella's, where much of the action in one of my favorite movies, the Bubble, takes place:



And this one I just found amusing: "25 years of humus."

Dead Sea

This posting is out of sequence; I went to the Dead Sea on Tuesday (so sue me). What can I say about the Dead Sea? It really is that floaty! It actually took effort to push my feet down to the bottom, quite a weird sensation. I should have asked Stefan to give me drills to do, taking advantage of the floatiness to make me a better swimmer in normal water.

Tel Aviv

I'm happy to be in Tel Aviv. OK, I'll say it: I didn't really like Jerusalem. Don't get me wrong--I'm glad I went. But I'm not in a rush to go back there. Jerusalem has basically one industry: G-d. People are there because they want to be closer to G-d, and believe that Jerusalem is where she lives. Not just Jews, Muslims and Christians too. (Yes, note my hypocrisy in proclaiming my secularism while sticking to the traditional Jewish refusal to spell out anything resembling the name of G-d, aka Jidashdi.)

So I'm happy to now be on the coast, in lovely, urban, secular Tel Aviv. Andy asked me yesterday (today? I can't remember) whether Tel Aviv felt foreign. And I still haven't decided what the answer is. It's obviously not the US or Canada--to start with, everyone speaks a foreign language. But it certainly feels more familiar than African or Asian cities I've visited, and less foreign than Jerusalem. And the language the people are speaking is one that is familiar to me, even if I can't actually communicate (though I'm getting there!).




This afternoon, I walked up to Jaffa, the much older city that predates Tel Aviv. It was an Arab city until 1948, when most of the population fled/was forced out (depending whom you ask).



OK, I have another confession: I've never been all that fond of pomegranates. They're kind of tasty, and intriguing because they're so weird. But all in all, they always seemed like more effort than they were worth. And messy. Much like corn on the cob. Well, it's pomegranate season here, but they don't make you pull apart the seeds and get red stuff all over you, they make them into juice! And the juice is deliciously refreshing, both sweet and tart.



Obligatory beach at sunset photo:

Haifa

My planned tour of Nablus was canceled because not enough people signed up. Apparently, although this country is chock full of tourists, they're mostly afraid of crossing over into the West Bank. Or not interested. Or both. When I told my taxi driver in Tel Aviv that I had gone to Ramallah, he asked, "Really? Weren't you afraid?" I pointed out that four people had been killed by a "terrorist" (unclear whether his motivations were politics or just general anger) just outside the Old City in West (i.e., Jewish) Jerusalem earlier in the week, while nobody had been killed in Ramallah, but he didn't have a reply.

Speaking of Ramallah, I quite liked it (see previous post for some photos). It was busier, and more urban, than I expected. Very lively, full of people shopping, working, celebrating Ramadan--in short, living quite normal lives in spite of the difficulty of living under military occupation. It felt more lively and more normal--whatever that means--than Jerusalem.

With more of the West Bank off the program, I decided to leave Jerusalem a day ahead of schedule, so came to Tel Aviv on Wednesday. That gave me time to go to Haifa Thursday.






As may be evident from the above photos, Haifa is built on a hill. A big hill. I took the Carmelit, Haifa's one-line "subway" up to the top.



And then walked back down, taking advantage of the many steps that had been considerately built into the hill.




Filipinos are everywhere:

They tell me a picture is worth a thousand words

Maybe I'll have more to say tomorrow. Meanwhile, here are some photos. Early in the day, I walked along the top of the wall of the Old City in Jerusalem.









In the evening, I went to Ramallah, in the West Bank, for dinner with my friend Hiba.

Shakshouka

I had dinner today at a café called Tmol Shilshom, alleged by Lonely Planet to be a place where homosexuals hang out. Seemed like as good a way to decide where to eat as any. I ordered a dish called shakshouka, two eggs, soft-cooked with a kind of stew of eggplant and tomatoes (at least that was the version I had—there were other options, all centered on the eggs), served in the miniature wok in which it was cooked. It was OK: the eggplant was tasty, the tomatoes were tasty, the eggs were eggs. But even if I had the various components in the same bite, it didn’t really blend together to form a coherent dish; it seemed more like a bunch of different flavors thrown together. Based on 24 hours here, that’s how I feel about Jerusalem too.

The trip here went as well as can be expected. Although Turkish Airlines forced me to check my bag, they managed to deliver it to Tel Aviv on the same flight as me, so I can’t complain. Seven hours in the Istanbul airport was not the most exciting way to spend a Saturday, but it could have been worse. At least there was a Starbucks. Upon arrival, I cruised through immigration with very few questions. I headed outside to the sherut, shared taxis to Jerusalem. I told the gruff gentleman the name of my hotel in the Old City, and he indicated he knew where it was. 45 minutes or so later, he pulled over at a major intersection, and told me we were there. I explained that no, my hotel is inside the Old City, to which he replied “no cars in the Old City (STOOPID!).” Oh, right, I knew that.

Luckily, I had spent enough time studying the maps in Lonely Planet to know that if I followed the sign to Damascus Gate, I’d be able to find the hotel. Sure enough, I found the gate and walked into the walled city. And sure enough, there were no vehicles. The “roads” in the Old City—at least in the Muslim Quarter, where my hotel is—are extremely narrow, often covered, lined with shops and jam-packed with people. It’s more like a market than a street. After checking in, I took a little walk but saved the major exploring for later. The Lunesta on the flight from New York to Istanbul didn’t do much, and I needed to get to bed.

In the morning, I managed to sleep quite late, and then headed out. Objective #1: coffee. Lonely Planet said my hotel had a good restaurant, so I asked the woman at the desk about breakfast. “No breakfast during Ramadan (STOOPID!).” Oh right, I knew that. I guess coffee can wait. When they say “Muslim Quarter,” they mean it. This section of the city is all Muslim, so although the stores were open, and even selling food, there was no sign of an open café or restaurant.

Every year on Yom Kippur, there’s a whole section in the afternoon when they talk about the rituals performed on Yom Kippur at the ancient Temple. I find it somewhat interesting, but never took it very seriously, kind of like reading an anthropological account of an ancient cult performing a ritual sacrifice. Because that’s what it was! And sometimes the rabbi will talk about some metaphor or another that strikes her, or will talk about how we evolved Jews have moved beyond that kind of primitive worship. And I knew that the Western Wall is important because it is the remaining wall holding up the Temple Mount, so it’s the closest we can come to visiting the actual Temple that was destroyed by nasty conquerors twice, most recently about 2,000 years ago. And I know all about sticking pieces of paper in the wall, praying at the wall, etc. To me, this was all still about a fascination with the history, even a connection to our ancestors through that history. But when I got there, it hit me: These people think they’re closer to G-d because they’re standing in this place! Really! They think their prayers are more likely to be heard if they say them standing at this Wall than if they say them across town, or on the Upper West Side. They really believe this.

From the Wall, I headed up to the Temple Mount itself, which is now dominated by the Dome of the Rock and the al Aqsa Mosque. First I had to pass a sign informing me that the Chief Rabbinate of Israel forbids Jews from treading on the Temple Mount because it is holy ground. Specifically, the problem is that we don’t know exactly where the Temple was, and we don’t know the exact location of the Holy of Holies—that section of the Temple that only the high priests could enter, and only on Yom Kippur, see above. So if you walk around the Temple Mount, you might accidentally enter the Holy of Holies, and that would be very bad indeed. Oh, and the Temple was built here because it was on this spot that Abraham was told to sacrifice Isaac (or Ishmael, depending on whose story you’re reading), and then at the last minute, G-d said, “just kidding, kill a goat and circumcise Isaac/Ishmael.” Meanwhile, this is the third most holy site in Islam because Mohammed stopped off there on his way from Mecca to heaven for a chat with Allah.

I decided I’d had enough ancient history, so headed toward Jaffa Gate to get out of the Old City. On the way, though, I stumbled upon the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I don’t know what a sepulchre is, but apparently this is where Jesus may have been crucified… just down the road from the Temple Mount. (Oh, and it’s in the Christian Quarter, so cafés were open—hooray!)

Outside the walls, it’s a bright, beautiful day. The first thing I found was a lovely shopping mall! I strolled through the mall, and through the streets, eventually meandering into the center of Jerusalem. Tourists, Jews, shops, restaurants. It’s nice, but… just not that exciting. What’s remarkable is how very different it is as soon as one gets outside the walls of the Old City. And how segregated the city is—very few Arabs in the western part of town.

After a nice falafel lunch (how could I not?), I strolled up into Mea Shearim, the ultraorthodox (haredi) neighborhood. Mea Shearim runs right up against East Jerusalem, the Arab part of town. The whole city seems to be like that—one neighborhood right up against another, each one for a specific group. Even where the groups come together—haredim walking amongst the secular Jews in the city center, Arab shopkeepers selling to Jewish tourists in the Old City—it feels as if people are living completely separate lives, in several completely different cities, which all just happen to exist in the same place. I felt this way before, but my first day here has confirmed it: the idea that Jerusalem could ever be peacefully run by just one of the many peoples who lay claim to it is completely insane.