honeymoon over

The pace is picking up. The 15 and 16 year olds we're working with at a local school are so warm, receptive and engaging, after a 3-hour workshop with them this afternoon, I feel like I'm in love. We gave them the lyrics to Black Eyed Peas' "Where is the Love?" and discussed diversity and politics in Israel, to help them with their facility in English and leadership. We talked about the American vs. Israeli attitudes toward terrorism, college-entrance tests, and Israeli films. Jenya, the Russian-born competitive weight-lifter and aspiring doctor in my group made a striking comment. "Yeah, it's interesting that Israelis are happier." I was talking about my perspective on the Northeast US, about the fast pace of life and the high rate of psychological diseases especially among the well-off. He said that was true in Europe as well, but not here. "You wouldn't think so because more people are killed in violence here [well not true, but definitely more publicized] but Israelis are happy people." That was a paraphrase, but it struck me because I thought that was only my perception, as someone who is only starting to replace romanticized notions of Israel with a reality check. So maybe it really is true.

Then again, this weekend we saw the sadness in the kibbutznik's eyes. Long-Eyelashed Nellie and Quiet Vegan Alyssa and I took an early bus going south to Eilat, and got off in the middle of an expansive gold-sanded desert on the side of the road. The Kibbutznik with the Sad Eyes promptly picked us up and brought us to Kibbutz Lotan. It was established in 1983 by Anglo and Israeli Reform Jews, and, I believe, was the last kibbutz to be founded. Everything is still owned in common, and their mission has evolved to be an ecological one. They are sustained by an dairy and a date farm, and they do environmental education around recycling, straw bale building and bird migration. They also have a holistic health treatment center, and a waitsu practitioner (one of 150 in the world, if I remember correctly; waitsu is a shiatsu treatment in water). They are using their graywater to make constructed wetlands to replace bird habitat that's been destroyed as Eilat has been developed for tourism. They only have 55 adult members (on a kibbutz you have to apply for membership; even if you grew up on the kibbutz you usually apply for membership after your army service) and are looking to expand. As for the beautiful Kabbalat Shabbat service we attended, let's just say that everyone speaks Hebrew and everyone knows you're Jewish, so if you actually make it to services, chances are you're not their to stumble and divide 50-50 between prayer and chatting. We stargazed with college drop-outs from New York and Oregon, and debated territorial concessions with an Israeli ex-pat doing anti-corporate activism in Oxford.

On Israeli Politics education day I learned that Aleh Yarok, the legalize marijuana party got 1.0% of the vote in the last election, while the Green Party got .4%. I was livid. Otherwise, we jostled with the idea of coalition-building between the ever-proliferating religious parties and the staunch secular parties, and did a text study on Ahab, Jezebel and kosher kingship. Behind the Menachim Begin center we toured an ancient burial site and learned about the meaning of "gathering up the bones of his fathers" as it says of funerals in the Torah. Bodies of the deceased were stacked in a cave outside the city until they decomposed, and when they did, the bones of a particular family were gathered together, along with all the possessions that they would need to enjoy themselves in The Pink World (as my MDA instructor called Olam Ha-baah). We lay in the indentations carved out by the bodies and took photos. Photos which are forthcoming since I can't seem to hold on to possessions for too long.

Last night was my first night on the town in Beersheva, and I can tell you with confidence that we showed those Israelis a thing or two. They sat laughing at us on the dance floor, in total disbelief. Then when they realized we had full comprehension of how ridiculous we looked, they came out and joined us. I think that may have been the only conga line Interpool has ever seen. Happy Birthday Josh!

My emotional landscape has likened itself to Eretz Yisrael over the past week. The north is filled with planted cedars, the source of all the country's drinking water, and the center of commerce. The heart is an ancient desert, with the finest sand I've ever hiked and the most unexpected oases and covered plots. The borders are tight and, like my carefully-selected clothing, grown tighter. The nights are growing colder and, with that, my dreams more vivid. My friends are beginning to show their crepuscular colors, normally undercover, and hence the post's title, "honeymoon over." Plans seems to be slowing and condensing as Rosh Hashana approaches. I don't know what that really means, but that's all I can muster for now.

triangle of stability

The sun glows orange every night over the Jerusalem forest, and we stand on the hill and bide our time as it's lowered into the horizon. That has been our moment of peace evenings of this monotonous week of 10 cold-classroom hours daily, learning the signs and symptoms of medical emergencies. I'm almost finished with the 60-hour Magen David Adom course, where I have learned about tension pneumothorax, perfected my ability to take blood pressure and prepare an IV, and learned that the acronym JAP also stands for Jewish Australian princess.

My first night on the town brought me to a smoky trance bar on Rahov Ben Sira where new American olim told me about working in Paramus, NJ, how they've lived here for 17 months without speaking Hebrew, what sadness is a good kind. When men approached, we tried to straddle the line between bourgeosie restraint and honoring fate, depending on the quality of the approach. Jerrin met a mysterious Israeli expat from Hong Kong.

I had my first Sephardic shabbat, in Netivot, where I'll be living later this year. Netivot and S'dot Negev have a partnership with Philadelphia, and there are many beautiful new buildings donated by Philadelphians. My family for the weekend opened Shabbat with an overflowing libation. The kiddush cup needs a plate under it to catch the spillage, like an ancient offering. The evening ended with nibbling sunflower and watermelon seeds on the back patio, drinking Carlsberg, and discussing everything from politics to after-school activities to the pros and cons of Tzachi's lifeguarding job. In the end, myself and Erin, a copatriot from Philadelphia, decided not to go clubbing with our host-brothers in Beersheba, but to sleep early and to shul this morning.

We sat in a curtained balcony and eventually found our place in the chumash, despite the wavering Phrygian melody that made every familiar prayer sound unfamiliar. When the man who was being honored for his new son's birth went up for an aliyah, the women ululated from the balcony and threw candy below onto the men. Later, eight of the young men, all in black pants and white shirts, removed their shoes, stood on the bimah with their prayer shawls over their heads and shoulders and swayed back and forth. Their voices filled the room, and it was beautiful to see all their white-socked feet on the green carpet. There are no intermediaries in synagogues here, yelling the page number or pointing and directing. Everyone acts automatically and freely. It's not a struggle, because they know what to do. Some come and fall asleep, since you don't have to go to shul to be Jewish those who would talk usually stay home. The continuous moment is uninterrupted. And you get out at 10:45, which is much more reasonable.

After services, we dropped in for coffee and house tours at some of the neighbors. They talked over each other, debating what to do with their time, as they've all just retired. We ate homemade cheese, broccoli quiche, and amazing olives and fruit, as usual.

I'm going to study Pre-Hospital Trauma Life Support, and go to sleep. The triangle of stability is 1) backboard 2) headvice 3) neckbrace. Buenas noches.

Week in Review

Our first week of ulpan (intensive conversational Hebrew class designed for new immigrants) was exhausting. Yesterday I learned the phrase 'tavlineem bli kemikalim'--spices without chemicals--so I'm already priming myself for ethnobotanical excursions. Afternoons were spent in seminars. I learned that:

*my friends have a sense of humor
*no country surrounding Israel has been a sovereign nation-state for much longer than Israel has (Jordan in 1942, Saudi Arabia in 1938, etc.)
*the two official languages of Israel are Hebrew and Arabic, yet Israeli children learn English, not Arabic, in school
*you should not pay more than 250 shekel for a tabouka (small handdrum) at the Bedouin shuk
*the American Jewish community is trying to hide the results of a reputable study that shows a huge decline in the numbers of Americans who identify as Jewish (if i recall correctly, about 1 million people in 20 years). In consequence, the largest Jewish community today exists in Israel
*Israelis are bitter about the huge waves of Russian immigration that happened in the 1990s after the fall of the Soviet Union, but without them there would be a much more severe danger of Jewish Israelis being the majority of the state

The week was replete with a meaningful Rosh Chodesh (celebration of the new moon and new month in the Hebrew calendar) gathering hosted by my dear roommate Nellie, yoga, capoeira, a visit to Soroka Hospital for a booster shot all by myself, Hebrew flashcards, and my first night on the town at ArtCafe, overseeing a friend's wooing of a French oleh (new immigrant).

Yesterday we woke at 7 to walk to Beersheba's Old City to the Bedouin shuk (open-air market). Some vendors were still setting up, others were already yelling into their megaphones. Muslim women covered all in black hauled bags of kitchen supplies home. Bedouin men, some in white robes and headwraps, others in tight jeans and t-shirts, smoked together in the shade before shopping. Israelis shopped determinedly for clothing and housewares. I bought an AM/FM radio for 30 shekel and another supply of cashews and dates for my stash. I haggled for headbands in Spanish, and when the 10AM sun began to sear our skin we hopped in a taxi back to Merkaz Klitah Ye'alim.

After ordering a dulce de leche birthday cake for my buddy Jerrin, also in Spanish, we boarded our group bus to a new agricultural settlement near Ashkelon, in the desert near the Mediterranean coast. We spent the afternoon transporting potted orchid plants in a greenhouse that was 1 of 40 to be relocated from Gush Katif, Gaza. The settlers there had built the largest greenhouse complex in the Middle East, we were told, but it had only been possible to relocate half of it, and the former settlers needed all the help they could get. The indoor irrigation system used long hoses that ran the entire width of the greenhouse, with a tentacle stuck into the soil of each potted plant, so as to drip water right at the roots. Fans circulated air throughout the greenhouse, about as large as two soccer fields, and multiple screens protected the plants from the desert sun.

We spent the sunset at Delilah Beach in Ashkelon. A beautiful quiet would have closed the week had Nellie, Jerrin, Stephanie and I not bombarded this civilized family beach with yelps and howls at the beauty of the orange fireball dropping into the sea. There was not quiet, but here, with army kids teaching each other how to front-handspring, and extended families cooking dinner in sandpits and playing the tabouka, there was peace.

For Shabbat, I'm visiting Diane and Raffi's family, just outside Netanya. I've already cleaned the fridge out of everything that never walked or swam; don't worry about me. And the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese was more of a hit than I could have imagined.

"This is what it means to be created in the Divine image: to know that one's image is Divine, that no opposites exist, and that there is no other."
-Jay Michaelson