white night

Of late, I've had a suspicion that Israelis (on average) sleep less than any other people I know of. The perpetual exuberance of my first laila lavan confirmed this suspicion. Laila lavan, lit. "white night" is the Hebrew translation of "all-nighter", but when people say laila lavan it denotes activity and a bright color, whereas "all-nighter" is normally spoken in the moping tones of a minor-third chord, denoting darkness, and usually implying a chore such as reluctantly writing a paper.

Last night, Megama Yeruka held a laila lavan seminar on campaign organizing from 6pm-8am at the Society for the Protection of Nature campus near my apartment in south Tel Aviv. I rarely feel so at home as I do at environmentalist events, no matter where, no matter with whom. But most of my experience with lobbying was in high school, so it was a welcome change to plan campaigns with students who range their 20s, have completed years of army service, and are extremely well-traveled. I couldn’t help but think that because they can no longer take their lives for granted, they inject more passion and seriousness in their endeavors. (I am also aware that this may just be my brain-cloud romanticization). Regardless, I don’t doubt that these students exert as much influence as any experienced, professional American lobbyist does in Washington.

Anyway, they're serious. My group's simulation was to design a campaign to abolish the passionfruit from Israeli agriculture. Although we didn’t win the contest, we debated campaign strategy for hours, beginning at 1am.

After a marketing lecture, lectures on campaign organizing, and this fierce campaigning competition, it was 4am, and time to take action. One group made posters, one group added commentary (with spray paint) to campaign signs around Tel Aviv (the elections are March 28), and my own group went to the center of town to flyer young bargoers. This idea blew my mind away. Although I helped develop our Swarthmore Storm the Dorms tradition of going door-to-door to do personal energy audits and the idea of a no-agenda Earth Day party, it never occurred to me just to go into bars and talk to people. Maybe that's because bars are not my element unless I'm dancing in them; talking has always seemed to defeat the purpose of going out. Then again, personal, seductive salesmanship is the cutting-edge marketing technique. It crosses the line when used to promote products for corporate revenue. But...

In our case, we are concerned citizens (well, not me, but my opinion is taken seriously as an American Jew spending a year in Israel) voicing our opinions to our neighbors, asking them to keep the environment in mind when casting their votes next week. 1500 people die every year in the Greater Tel Aviv Metropolitan area due to air pollution, from the Reading Power Station and transportation pollution. Eventually, the goal is to have the Knesset pass the recently proposed Clean Air Act legislation.

We came back to our classroom, did some Tai Chi led by one of the students, ate some fruit salad and did a wrap-up. Staying up all night with people builds incredible solidarity. Just think about our first sleepovers or Sixth Grade Camp or Project Graduation…Israelis think of annual school overnight trips, youth group events, and army training. Accordingly, despite all rifts, Israelis have incredible solidarity.

Case in point: Anonymous told me a great story about being Israeli on the road. He was in Peru, cycling from Mt. Whitney across the Americas to Tierra del Fuego. He was sharing a room with two German guys at a hostel, and he knew of an Israeli who had a single room in the hostel. That night, it became apparent that he wanted to spend some time alone with a girl he had met. He knew of the Israeli guy, but hadn’t actually had a conversation with him. Even so, he took his key, knocked on the guy's door, waking him up, and said, "I need a room for tonight. You can sleep in my bed. Room 6, the bed on the right. Thanks so much."

"Ok," said anonymous Israeli traveler #2, "No problem."

international day for water and a protest without opponents

My first job today as an intern at Megama Yeruka (Green Course), the national university-student environmental group, was to use doublestick tape and scrap paper to cover the government emblems on the front of the motorboat that we drove onto the lawn of Jordan Valley College at our Open the Kinneret! rally.

The shores of the Kinneret are public, and, according to law, users may only be charged the price of its upkeep. Over past years private individuals and groups have fenced off sections of shoreline, and in some cases charge exorbitant entrance fees (US$25), or have even begun to prohibit entrance. Megama Yeruka and the Society for the Protection of Nature in Israel (SPNI) have undertaken a public awareness campaign on the issue.

Today Jordan Valley College hosted political debates among Knesset candidates from several parties. Megama Yeruka set up a boat with banners and a bunch of students for a photo opp with a few candidates who promised to sign our Statement of Intent to Open the Kinneret.
This is what is fascinating about the psychology of the event: SPNI and Megama Yeruka are quasi-governmental organizations—they have autonomy, and are considered non-governmental organizations, but they use government funding in their operations. However, they are not affiliated with the Ministry of the Environment or any decision-makers, for that matter—their job is to educate and mobilize the public on important environmental issues without taking sides. But in this case (in this small country with only three degrees of separation) the guy who was originally going to lend his boat to be used in the protest bailed on us, and the other last-minute boat-lender who was contacted agreed to lend a government boat he had access to, on the condition that it was not displayed as such in public.

In short, a government boat was used to publicly protest government neglect. (Tell me if Im wrong, but I don’t think this could ever happen in the United States. No matter how respected the environmental lobby is on its issues, its NEVER in bed with the politicians.) This seems to demonstrate something notable about the psychology of media pitching. i.e. No one thinks that the Kinneret should be neglected; it just happens to lag behind national priorities like security, poverty, and healing social rifts. Megama Yeruka is working in general to raise environmental issues to the forefront of the political agenda. Yet its events are still set up like any protest, making it appear that one side is pitted in opposition to the other. I suppose this is because the media presents every issue has clearly having two sides, and these organizations are experienced and adept at working with the Israeli media. They know exactly how to portray the issue as contentious; here, brave activists successfully persuade candidates to sign a statement of commitment to their beloved, neglected Kinneret.

In reality, this, like all environmental issues, is a long-term problem which requires meaningful enforcement of a law that’s already on the books, but that sounds pretty lame. Environmentalism is the art of explaining natural selection and advertising natural seduction.

Purim spiel

I was a carrot for Purim last week. Carrot-orange clothes and green hair, lipstick, and boa. Stephanie was a cucumber, Nellie was a tomato, and together we made a great-tasting Israeli salad.

This is the first year I’ve ever worn a Purim costume. Friends and family were somehow able to coerce me into a Halloween costume, but my Hebrew school teachers were never able to convince me to wear a costume for Purim. As I began in college to see religions from a historical and sociological perspective, I booed Purim as a celebration of a military victory and a day of revelry that didn’t fit into what I knew Judaism to be. But in studying the Megillah of Esther over the past three weeks at Pardes, and watching the holiday unfold here in Jerusalem, I learned to appreciate the value of a holiday in which everything is turned upside-down, and exuberance is encouraged.

A few weeks ago, stores begin to sell gift baskets of food and sweets, which are given to friends to fulfill the Purim obligation of mishloach manot. Then other stores began to stock wacky-colored boas, funky hats, and sundry costumes and makeup. As the holiday approached, a feeling of festivity began to fill the marketplaces, the buses, and children’s faces. Parents led their costumed children to school, and security guards faces were painted with clown makeup or stickers.

Dressing in costume for Purim originated with the 15th century Italian Jews, influenced by Catholics who were celebrating carneval, before the beginning of the Lent season. Men and women of all shapes and colors cross-dress, secular people wear ultra-orthodox garb, and the ultra-orthodox wear borrowed clothes from friends in other sects. Children dress as adults and adults as children. No fear is implicated in the holiday as there is with Halloween; there is an aura of wholesome fun and mystery, and the happiness of getting a day off to celebrate.
It is considered an obligation to drink wine on Purim day until you can’t distinguish the name of Haman (the evil mastermind of the intended genocide of the Megillah) from that of Mordechai (the admirable hero who assists Esther in saving the Jews), as long as you won’t do anything to transgress any other commandments. For the first time, you can see young yeshiva guys, in their black pants, pressed white shirts, and kepot, holding bottles of liquor and stumbling through the streets. It is the only time I’ve ever seen people drinking alcohol while people are chanting from ancient scrolls in the synagogue.

On the 15th of Adar, Purim outside of walled cities like Jerusalem, I watched a yeshiva Purimspiel at a local yishuv outside of Jerusalem. The guys cross-dressed and imitated their teachers’ personalities, and their own wandering searches for a soul-connection with G-d, which took many of them from their American lives as Phishheads and brought them to the study of Torah. The highlight for me was the commercials—Tosaf-Oats, the cereal for all Torah-learners (based on the 15th century commentary by the children of Rashi, the Tosafot), and Lotion Hara, an easily absorbed cream that will prevent you from speaking negatively about other people (the sin of slanderous speech, known in Hebrew as lishon hara).

In Israel, hamentaschen, which for American Jews represent Haman’s three-cornered hat, here are called oznayim Haman, “Haman’s ears”. Instead of associating Haman with George Washington or the Pilgrims who also wore silly hats, last week I thought that if Haman had really been listening, and was not merely able to hear what he was hoping to, he could have altered his plans and saved his own life and reputation. On Purim, our senses are blurred with wine, noise, colors, and food. Despite distractions, we are obligated to hear every word of the megillah reading (the other three obligations of Purim are to give charity to poor people, give gifts of food to friends, and share in a festive meal). I like this world, where cookies give recommendations for my life, and for the life of this noisy culture.