my fabrengen dvar torah

Additionally, during the fabrengen, the host is expected to speak. So, I prepared a Dvar Torah for the week.

The Torah portion the week of my birthday was Vayigash. In this portion, the saga of Joseph and his brothers was continued. We picked up with Judah and his brothers trying to secure the release of their youngest brother, Benjamin, after Joseph planted his goblet in Benjamin’s bag to frame him.
The portion explains to us that the brothers see all their misfortunes as part of the unending punishment for what they had done to their brother Joseph, their father’s favorite, whom they had 22 years previously thrown into a pit and then sold into slavery. It is explained that all of them these 22 years have been able to think of hardly anything else, continually haunted by Joseph’s memory and concern over what has happened to him, and how they might rediscover him. And yet.
The brothers had now spent countless hours in direct company of Joseph, now second in command only to Pharaoh in Egypt. True, he is in a very different circumstance then they had last seen him, and true, he is speaking now in a different language, but Joseph is still in fact himself. He was 17 years old, very nearly a man, when he last saw his brothers, and so in all likelihood his appearance is not so wholly alien to what his brothers last knew him to be. It seems a bit odd that his brothers, who constantly think on him, would still fail to know him, even after he exclaimed who he is to them, after having spent so much time in his company.
And so this brings me to wonder, why we so easily can find ourselves obsessed with something, thinking of and hoping for just one thing for years and years, and yet when it is right in front of us, even after it has identified itself to us, we fail to see it for what it is.

Too often, we worry so much about finding the forest, we don’t realize we are in the midst of the trees. We are so hardpressed to what we think we are seeking, we don’t even realize when we have found it.

Being Jewish means having two birthdays

One of the things I have learned during my time here is that being Jewish means you have two birthdays. My Hebrew/Jewish birthday is the 4th Tevet, the same as my good friend here, Irina. On a Jewish birthday, we are meant to give extra tzedakah, eat a new seasonal fruit we haven’t eaten yet, give friends brachas, increase Torah study, and host a Fabrengen. Irina and I decided to take on the challenge.
This year, 4 Tevet was on December 21st.
Rivka Marga offered us her home for our fabrengen, which we excitedly accepted. For our fabrengen, Irina and I set off for the shuk early in the morning to buy the necessary things to have brownies, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered strawberries (my new fruit) and bananas, veggies and humus, and pomellos. We then came back to Mayanot for the afternoon class, and then straight back to Rivka Marga’s to get to cooking and preparing. With some local help, we set up quite an elegant little table with the fruit and baked goodies and even a few candles. Everyone had written cards to us throughout the day, and during the evening, as typical during a fabrengen, the girls took turns saying warm fuzzies about Irina and myself, making a very comfortable and sweet evening, where we didn’t leave Rivka Marga’s until after 1am.

Back to Hebron, December 18/19

I had arranged to go with Miri to Hebron for Shabbat, staying by the Cohens, who run the Chabad house there (what a sentence I never thought I would say!)
Every Friday night, Bat Sheva hosts a Shabbat dinner for about 40 of the soldiers stationed in Hebron, and so when girls go to stay by her they need to get there early, and are expected to help and work.
I don’t know if I will ever understand how this woman really keeps her sanity. In addition to having this massive dinner every week, for which she makes all the food fresh, she also has six children from the ages of 12 years to 4 months, the first five boys (and you can imagine how crazy five boys are to have), and she is a perfectionist down to the manner in which the napkins for the table are folded.
Miri and I arrived by 9:30, and we were right away chopping, folding, cooking and slicing (with the occasional eating breaks…Bat Sheva is a Jewish mother, after all) until nearly 3 when we went upstairs for a short rest and to shower and dress for Shabbes, and then go to Machpelah, the cave where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah are buried to pray, and then came home for dinner, during which we were very helpful. In truth, the amount of work that we were doing during the meal was not entirely necessary all the time as there were five girls there doing this and just one entry to and from the kitchen, but there would have hardly been any reason to stay seated. The seating had been arranged so that I was sitting only with the other girls who were there, and the parents of one of the girls who were visiting Israel. Although I desperately wanted to speak with the soldiers, talking with them about their experiences and lives living and working in Hebron, in such an environment, I could tell that it would not be the most appropriate thing for me, as a woman, to do. The limitations to entering certain worlds…

After dinner and cleaning up, I was sufficiently ready to go to bed. Miri and I were staying in the Chabad guest house on the roof, literally 15 or so feet from a guard post where a soldier keeps watch 24 hours a day, and as it was such a chilly, windy night, before turning in I made the soldier a cup of tea and wished him good shabbes. Then Miri and I retired, having a long conversation about my actual feelings towards the apparent theology of the Chabad movement. She took it pretty well. Saturday morning I slept very late, still getting over my cold and tired from the day before. The benefit of being shomer shabbes is there are no alarm clocks, so no one can be angry at oversleepers . After reading a bit from The Five Books of Miriam on my own, I went downstairs to help put lunch together, a much easier task as there would only be 15 of us (crazy to think, ONLY). After lunch, which was just as perfect as dinner, Miri and I went on a tour of Hebron, given by a local who had lived in Hebron for 33 years. He took us on a tour of the Old (not ancient) city, and we were accompanied by about 20 armed soldiers, and a few lovable stray dogs. The level of needed separation was odd to see, and the level of guards seemed extreme, but another girl told us that on a previous tour, local Arabs had thrown rocks and even a knife at them…hard to reconcile the situation….
We returned home for a snack and Havdallah, and then directed ourselves for the bus stop to return to peaceful Jerusalem.

Chanukah in a flash

It was a bit of a readjustment being back to classes full time after so much time away, but it was almost easier, as I slept much more than I had been doing, and before I knew it, the whole week was up, it was Shabbat again, and the start of Chanukah. This next in/out Shabbat, for dinner Friday night, I went to the family of John Medved, an American venture capitalist that I had met when here on my birthright trip with AIPAC when he had spoken to our group, and I had in fact been the one to introduce him. Dinner was delicious, company entertaining, everything wonderful. Adding to all this, my friend living nearby was away for the week, and so I was watching her cat/having use of her apartment for a bit of respite when needed, so after the meal I went back to her apartment for the night where I could sleep star-fish style and play with the cat, who is the greatest cat/dog like animal I know in Israel. The on Saturday, and I joined up with Hayley and one of my roommates to go to lunch by a family up the road, giving Chanukah a very delicious and fun beginning. During the week, different girls signed up to take different days, organizing Chanukah events for everyone. Musha, Hayley and I signed up for the fourth night, having a ‘mystery maccabbee’ as well as a sufganiyot decorating party, in addition to the nightly communal candle lighting and the frequent parties hosted by different women in the community for us. And again, before I knew what had hit me, it was Shabbat again, out once again, and the last night of Chanukah.

December already?

Somehow, just after Chelsea left, it was December, and already on Tuesday we were having to say goodbye to Hillary, and then to Dani on Wednesday. Monday night, therefore, we all went out AGAIN, this time to Herzl where we had the place to ourselves. We laughed, joked, passed around the frog-hat, all and all, a good time. Hillary accidentally spilled a decent amount of red wine on my white skirt, which proved the true value of tide-to-go, when it got all of the stain out. Red wine, out of white cotton. Amazing. I’d be a spokeswoman for the product any day.
Just after saying goodbye to a friend a day for three days, it was another Thursday night before an out-Shabbat, so the usual suspects were again to be found at Herzl, spending the night dancing away from our senses.

Eager for some reprieve, I went to Tel Aviv to stay at Anna’s for the weekend, spending the time with a bit of solitude after weeks of constant (but very welcome and enjoyable!!) company, hanging out with Anna Friday night, spending Saturday day on the beach with my favorite sandwich and a book, and then seeing Shai for a coffee Saturday night before heading back to Jerusalem.
Shortly into the week, I had a very nice distraction—Joel Soffin, my rabbi growing up, was in town and had his last evening in Jerusalem put aside to meet with Jess, Matt and I, his little protégés living in Haeretz. Although the meeting was cut shorter than hoped since he had a last minute TV interview to give before heading to the airport, it was great to see him.

L'Hitraot, Chelsea!

Next on the tour was to stop by Kever David (David’s Tomb). While this is portrayed just like all the other kevers, with a proper tomb-like shrine and beit kenesset full of praying Jews, from what I understand no one actually thinks that this is the location in which King David is buried. ANYWAY.
So we went to the kever and explored around there, and additionally, the guide book claimed the room of the last supper to be in the building of this same plot, somewhere hidden around and above. So we decided to play crusaders, in the most Monty Python way possible. Eventually we found what may have been the room, and took some funny pictures that may or may not have bordered on respectable (her idea, we sat in the middle of the room and pretended to eat imaginary food).

Next on the agenda was a break at a coffee shop downtown to revive on lattes. Although it was a Sunday, we all rallied for another night out with Nechemia, Irina, Laneia, Hayley, myself, and of course Chelsea, and spent in the most ironic way, at the cheesiest tourist bar in town, where we all continued to fail to be able to blow smoke rings (though not for lack of trying)
Monday morning, before her sherut was to come, Chelsea and I set off early for the shuk so she could buy some things to take home, such as halva and dates, and to get a final falafel sandwich, getting us back to Mayanot just in time to say goodbye.

the grave of Oskar Schindler

Sunday, Chelsea’s last full day in Israel, was going to be spent visiting different tourist attractions. After I had attended my morning classes, the two of us set out for the Old City so I could drop by Jeff Seidel’s office to hand in my paperwork, and then we set off for the grave of Oskar Schindler, stopping off at the Old City Holocasut memorial museum along the way.

Following the guide books directions, we managed to find the cemetery easily enough. The path led out of the old city, east from where I live; the roads were a little less clean, a little less smooth. Eventually we found the Christian cemetery we were in search of. It was very nondescript but for the small, cheap looking sign telling people “Oskar Schindler’s grave.”
Oskar Schindler, although originally motivated by economic opportunity during the reign of the Third Reich, began to care for his Jewish workers above his own fate and fortune. Saving more than 1200 individuals—unskilled workers, women, children, handicapped individuals—bribing the SS and Gestapo, and even once going so far as securing the return of individuals sent to Auschwitz. Although at the height of his career he was among the economic elite, his unyielding efforts ate away at his fortune, leaving him impoverished after the war, needing to largely rely on social welfare, even for his final hospital bills.
Oskar Schindler was honored as a righteous gentile, a Righteous Among the Nations, in 1963 by Yad Vashem, and he died 11 years later, interred—according to his wishes—in a Franciscan cemetery on Mt Zion, making him the only member of the Nazi party to be buried in Israel.

There was one other man in the cemetery when Chelsea and I were there, presumably looking for the same thing we were.
According to the book’s information, the grave itself was fairly poorly marked, in the lowest section of the cemetery four rows from the left, or something to that affect.
After looking around for a bit, Chelsea and I were not exactly sure how we would find what we were searching for, without literally going through every grave.
Then in the distance I saw a simple grave that differed significantly from its neighbors: it was covered in rocks.

(this is a Jewish custom, to leave rocks on the headstone)

I knew I had found my man.
It seemed simultaneously appropriate and odd that Schindler, who had at great personal risk saved the lives of so many, should in his final state be so plain. There was no special marker from Yad Vashem. There was nothing from the State of Israel, or from the Federal Republic of Germany honoring him. He lays alone, having divorced from his wife in the 1950’s, and is surrounded largely by unknowns, as well as a decent amount of garbage from years of neglect to the cemetery at large. Why is it seemingly acceptable that such a man should be in his end so treated?
And on the other hand, while his actions were indeed great, they are what in theory ought to have been by so many more; his behavior in an ideal world would have been the norm, going to great lengths to insist on an acceptable level of humanity, not the exception. He has been granted all of his final wishes, being buried in Jerusalem, and so perhaps the relative simplicity of his actual legacy—greatly supplemented by his virtual legacy built by Steven Spielberg—is appropriate for a man who acted as we would hope should be ordinary in times that were far beneath him.
In either case, I had done what I considered a responsibility for myself, not only as an Ashkenazi Jew, but as an ordinary human being: going to pay my respects to one of the few men who managed to maintain their expected decency and normality in a time of unexplainable inhumanity.

thanksgiving in Haifa

After eventually returning back to Caitlin's and still in a bit of a foul temper (taking much after my father ;) ) Chelsea and I decided it best to go back to sleep. Later that day, we all went with Caitlin to explore her favorite vintage shop and get a hot drink in the hipster area of Haifa, Rehov Masada, all the way at the bottom of the Carmel, until it was time for the three of us to head to our Thanksgiving dinner.
Looking at the map, we could see that from where we were to where we were heading would only be about 800 meters, an easy walk, so we decided that we would save the taxifare and trek. What we forgot to account for was that these 800 meters were straight up the Carmel. I guess we thought we were mountain climbers.
At every point along the way, when we would check directions with someone, everyone tried to convince us that it was not a walking distance that we were going. Even Reber laughed when we told him we were walking. Oh well.

It took us nearly and hour and a half, but eventually we arrived. We were having thanksgiving dinner with Reber, who went to Temple Shalom with me, and friends of his in Haifa from when he used to live there. It was mainly Americans who had made Aliyah, with a few Israeli spouses. Especially luckily, the hosts of the dinner were in culinary school 
Although it was a long way from Plymouth Rock, it was a very traditional Thanksgiving, complete with corn muffins, potatoes, yams, a beautiful turkey, pumpkin and pecan pie, and of course, the football game.

After dinner, we decided to head back to Motzkin instead of staying in Haifa for the night, since most of our things were there. Even though it was just a 30 minute train ride there, due to a series of unfortunate events, ranging from a slow taxi driver, to oversleeping girls, it took us about 2 hours to finally get home. Thankfully, keys were left for me.

Although T was away for the weekend due to the happy arrival of his new niece, we were allowed to stay by the apartment for Shabbat, and so we ventured out into town to equip ourselves with food for the next couple of days before heading back to Jerusalem Saturday night, to spend Motzei Shabbes out with the usual suspects.

a bit of rage comes out...

Chelsea and I woke early the next day, intent on returning the car immediately, and proud to be just within the mileage allowance (200 kilometers) for a one day rental. It needed to be returned by 10, so we left before 8 am, with 177 km on the dashboard, confident of ourselves and armed with our Avis map, showing a center located directly in the heart of the old city of Haifa.
Two hours, 50 kilometers, several stops asking for directions, and a decent amount of swearing and shouting from me, coupled with unanswered phone calls at the center, and I decided to head toward the center just on the edge of Haifa, which, while less convenient and off of the map of Haifa that Avis equipped us with, proved much easier to find. However, by this time, we were 33 kilometers over the limit allowed, which would cost us an additional 60 shekels in fees. Also, when we arrived, we were informed that the center we had been circling the old city for an hour trying to find has been closed for a year, even though it is still on their map. And now they want me to pay an overage fee. Unacceptable.
After a bit of a heated discussion with the agent at the Avis center, and the involvement of the manager, I succeeded in convincing my way out of the extra fee. That's right, Avis, don't mess with me.

goodbye, golan, hello haifa

After the winery, and a decent respite so that driving would not be an issue, the three of us loaded back into the car to head to Haifa—that’s right, I would need to drive in an actual city.
Following the directions of the map were easy enough, and once into the city, we were able to follow signs to the University of Haifa most of the way, asking for directions from neighboring drivers as we got closer: “yashar yashar yashar, v’smola” until after a few times needing to turn and correct ourselves, we managed to find Caitlin and park by the dorms. The four of us then went inside to settle—Hayley still barefoot—after which we returned to the car, all shoed, to head into town for a bite and a bit of catching up with Caitlin. After playing with the life-size spider man statue in burger ranch and taking a nice walk around the area, we set our way back to the campus to set to bed before needing to get up first thing in the morning to return the car by 10 am, and not need to pay for a second day.

No shoes? no problem! anachnu rotzot lishtot ktzat yayin bGolan

After the sun had set, we decided to complete our Golan experience by visiting a winery. Based on some recommendations and the tour books we were armed with, we selected the Golan Winery, not too far from the reserve. After getting a bit mixed up with directions (as long as we didn’t end up in Lebanon, I think it was a success) we found the winery. Just one more obstacle to overcome. It was already late, so we weren’t sure if tours were still being given, or even if the place was still open. Hayley was napping in the backseat, so Chelsea and I went in to investigate.
“Hi,” said the hostess. “Can I help you?”
“We have two questions,” I asked, while Chelsea waited a bit anxiously, knowing what was coming. “One, are you still giving tours?”
“We aren’t,” she replied, “But we are still offering tastings”.
“Great. Second question: So we are traveling around in Israel and today was our only day in the Golan, and so this morning we went hiking at the reserve. As you know, it rained all day yesterday, and so the reserve was incredibly muddy. Our other friend, who is still in the car, doesn’t have a second pair of shoes with her, and her sneakers are really disgusting. Would it be okay for her to come in just in clean socks?”
Chelsea and I were barely keeping a straight face by this point.
“Sure, no problem.” Not even a snicker, no appearance of surprise. Israelis are pretty chill.
We went out to rouse Hayley and inform her of the good news, and the three of us, in various states of muddiness, went in to speak with the sommelier in order to select the three wines we would each taste, as well as to look around the show room explaining the processes in a winery. Coincidentally, Hayley and I selected the exact same set—a sparkling Yarden white wine, a light red Golan, and a dessert white from a newly started company. Chelsea also had two whites and red, but very different from ours. It was dusk, we were sitting in the Golan, sipping our three glasses of wine each, and enjoying the evening. All for 10 shek a piece. What else is needed in life? The dessert wine Hayley and I had was very very nice. I bought a bottle to save for my birthday.

a hiking trip

Although I was very nervous getting behind the wheel—I had never driven a rental car, never driven outside of the US, didn’t know where I was going, and hadn’t driven at all in a few months—but I maneuvered out of the parking lot sans accident, so so far, so good. Chelsea sat in the front as navigator, which made her motion sickness better, but she doesn’t read any Hebrew, so this would be funny. Actually, she did a great job—and Israel is pretty good about making all signs trilingual (Hebrew, Arabic and English). That, and it a pretty easy route we were taking, just driving north to the Kinerret, and then following around the lake from one high way to another and then straight on to Katzrin and the Yehudiya reserve. Having the car was a very nice luxury, allowing us to just throw all of our things into the trunk and backseat, and not need to carry, or hold or worry about what is where.
Since daylight is a scarce thing, we thought it would be best to head to the reserve first to get some hiking done. We found the place well, packed up the back pack with our lunch food, and head out with our map. It may not have been raining anymore, but the evidence of the rain the previous day was certainly there. The woman at the desk had told us, had even warned us, but we were sure that mud wouldn’t stop us. Well, I guess technically it didn’t, but it did slow us down a bit. It was a very special kind of clay-like mud infused with cow excrement that would build up upon itself on our shoes, resulting in three inch platforms that needed to be regularly kicked off. It felt like walking on moon shoes.
Looking at our trail map, we had decided to head to the spring pools—even though it was very cold and rather muddy, we decided we would take a swim. It would likely be a very short swim, but since there would be no one else around, we would be able to lay in the sun and dry up afterwards while we ate our lunches. Except we never managed to find the pools. We were where they ought to have been, but all we saw was a small stream. And a crab (did you know there were freshwater crabs that hang out outside of the water? Did you know there were crabs in Israel? Not kosher…) So instead of the pools, we just hung by the stream, Hayley drank some brine, and we all enjoyed the weather and the beautiful scenery of the Golan. Since the reserve would be closing at 4 (the sun sets then) after lunch we turned back, traipsing back through the mud and swampyness (on the way in, I had fallen in a bit of swamp. Wet.). When we finally arrived back at the car, the level of mud and much on our shoes was beyond what we had expected possible. Chelsea and I luckily had another pair of shoes in the car. Hayley was not so fortunate. Needless to say, none of the muddy sneakers were worn into Siva—they were all quickly abandoned into bags (and at the time, I thought maybe forever; although I have since managed to clean them of almost entirely and have been wearing them again).

go north, go sea, go lan!

Although we were sad to see Caroline go, there was no downtime. Monday evening, Chelsea and I, now accompanied by Hayley, packed our bags and boarded a bus heading north, starting our upward expedition, basing ourselves out of Motzkin (a suburb of Haifa). We awoke early the next morning (okay, 7:30…it was a vacation!) and headed off around 8:30 to make our way to Tsfat, one of Israel’s most mystical city. We spent the afternoon exploring the winding streets, endless art galleries, and beautiful synagogues, seeing the filming of one of Ben Snouf’s music videos and stopping for a Yemenite lunch along the way. As the sun began to set, the three of us set course to Tiberias, on the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee). The plan was that from here, we would see the Kinneret and go up into the Golan heights. The snag in the plan was that it had been intermittently raining throughout the day, and was pouring the entire bus ride from Tsfat to Tiberias. A rainy Kinneret might be a full one, but it is not a good climate for hiking. I assured the girls that God would see to this: it would rain the entire bus ride, cease for the two hours after we had arrived to Tiberias so we could find a hostel, get some food, etc, and then rain all night again so that the morning would be clear.
Believe it or not, even though the weather reports had predicted a week of rain, I was 100% correct. Spooky.
In Tiberias, for dinner we found a great little shwarma stand (only 15 shek!), and some interesting people to talk to before heading in for the night.
The next morning, we packed our things, prepared ourselves for our day of hiking, checked out (storing our bags) and went off to the bus station to go to Katzrin in the Golan. We found out the that the next bus wouldn’t leave for Katzrin for a couple of hours, and the last one coming back would be at 2 pm. This wasn’t going to work well at all. After talking with some taxi drivers, we ruled out taking a cab, too (they wanted nearly 400 shek!) Being the adventurous girls we are, I remembered seeing an Avis center in town. Bingo!

We moseyed on over to inquire about acquiring a vehicle, and after jumping through some hoops because none of us were 23 (meaning we had to pay the young driver fee, and were not eligible to buy the extra insurance) and none of us had our passports (so we also had to pay the tax that tourists are exempt from) we hopped into our little silver car and hit the road. Or more precisely, while the girls went to get our things from the hostel, I asked the Avis guy every possible question about Israeli driving laws possible, from right on red to legal BAC limits, merging, speed limits, gas regulations, you name it. That’s right: I was the driver.

Farewell, Caroline

Sunday night, in honor of Caroline, the three of us went to Waffle Bar, where we indulged in waffles with toppings and the largest salad ever created, and then joined with a few others for a final goodbye evening. The next morning, after coming to Rivka Marga’s class again, Chelsea, Caroline and I went to take a tour of the aqueduct tunnel, graciously arranged for us by Nechemia and Zack. This tour is extremely interesting, and not for the claustrophobic. Or people whose hips are too wide…even skinny Nechemia needed to turn sideways occasionally.
By the time we returned to Mayanot, we just had time to eat some lunch, take one last walk over to Aldo Max Brenner’s for Caroline to get some ice cream, and then to wait for her Sherut to arrive to take her to the airport.

Remembering

Sunday was Caroline’s last full day in Jerusalem. In the morning, she and Chelsea joined me for one of Rivka Marga’s class, and then the three of us grabbed lunch for the road and set off to visit Yad VShem, the Holocaust museum in Israel. It was a bumpy ride just getting there, which didn’t sit too well with motion-sickness prone Chelsea.

I hadn’t been to the museum since my Birthright trip in 2006, before the renovations had been completed. Going through it, especially with my academic background, felt extra meaningful in this context; I was walking through the Israeli Holocaust museum with two individuals on their first trip to Israel. Ever since I had begun my studies in German and Holocaust history, visiting such museums has taken on a new meaning for me. So many of the places displayed and discussed in the exhibition were places I knew and had been to: Babi Yar, Auschwitz, Dachau, Sachsenhausen, Buchenwald, Weimar. Many of the background locations to the marches, speeches, and actions by the Nazis were places that I have grown to love: Unter den Linden, Brandenburger Tor, the Reichstag building, even random streets whose names meant something to me just throughout Berlin. Being able to read the signs and understand the speeches of the Nazis, and feeling connected to the Hebrew captions, individuals giving their testimony in the loschen kodesh, gave the three+ hours spent traversing the winding space a deeper sense of inner comfliction. Reading through the stories of the resistance fighters, I began to wonder if I would have the strength, physical and spiritual, to do what they had done if God-forbid the need should ever rearise.

I tried to help guide my friends a little through the exhibit, being supportive, informative, and not overbearing. The one thing I really wanted them to take away, however, was best explained by the way the exhibit ended: the exit from the museum leads onto a promenade overlooking Jerusalem and Israel as a whole. This, I told them, was the whole point, and what was too often misunderstood: The history of the modern state of Israel did not begin with the Holocaust as so many would claim. Rather, the history and the tragedy of the Holocaust against the Jews of Europe—whose aim was complete genocide many peoples, particularly the Jews—ended with the rebirth of the state of Israel.

Chelsea and Caroline do Shabbat

Friday morning, we got started (relatively) straight away. Chelsea wanted to get some pictures at the Kotel, so we went there first to get them done before Shabbat, and then trekked on to the shuk in order to buy some food for our shabbos day picnic the next day. Because Shabbat comes in ridiculously early in the winter, after this was done it was time to go home and get ready. Along with most of the girls from Mayanot, we then climbed the snake path again to go back to the Kotel to daven before the meal. When we got back we were all sufficiently hungry for dinner, and got straight to our jobs to put the in-Shabbat meal on the table. After we had all had our fill, true to form Rabbi Levinger went around the table having everyone speak, including Caroline and Chelsea. Although it was their first fabrengen, they got right into it and Caroline was even moved to tears while she spoke, which made a big impression on the Mayanot crew as a whole.
Saturday morning, I picked the girls up at Jess’s, and the three of us went to picnic in the park near the windmill, one of my favorite overall locations in Jerusalem. From the shuk we had gotten a delicious challah, tomatoes, the unripest avocados ever, and some amazing cheeses from what may be the greatest cheese/wine shop in the world (we had a pesto cheese and something else I don’t remember…it was a little pricey, but with all the samples that were thrust at us while waiting our turns in the store, it was worth it). In addition to our picnic, we played cards, and did the ultimate shabbos day requirement: took a nap. That night after Havdalah, we of course went out, as it would be Caroline’s last weekend night in Israel before she left on Monday.

coming back to Israel

Our bus arrived back to Taba around 4 am. As we were crossing through the Egyptian side, Caroline decided she needed to go to the bathroom. Knowing that the Egyptian side does not believe in the practice of toilet paper, I decided to wait the next 200 meters and pee in Israel. After paying the 2 pound exit fee, we approached the Israeli side and were shocked: it was 4 am, and apparently everyone in Russia had chosen this hour to enter into Israel. Seriously, this was the time to go in and conquer, because no one was left watching the motherland, even Putin might have been there and in the throngs no one would ever have known. And because when entering Israel, the border guards question everyone, particularly non-Jews, and because seemingly none of these Russians spoke any English, let alone Hebrew, it would be more than four hours before we got through the last 200 meters of the border. So close, yet so far. And no bathrooms. Ouch.
When we finally got through, Caroline and Chelsea had no problems. I, on the other hand, had entered, left, and re-entered Israel once already since I had been here, and was still waiting for my official visa, which I need to be here longer than three months. Although we had chatted in a friendly manner, the immigration official meant to stamp my passport called the higher-ups, and informed me that while yes, I would get my 3 month tourist stamp now, if I have not received my actual visa before I leave, the next time I come back again they will only give me a one month stamp.

On the way back to Jerusalem, the girls and I decided to stop for the afternoon at Yam haMelech—the Dead Sea. It may have been late November, but that didn’t stop us from donning our swim suits and playing in the lowest place on earth. I think the girls were glad I had convinced them not to shave for the entire week previous.

We then came back to Jerusalem, settled back a bit into Mayanot, and then went to meet Jess, who had kindly agreed to host Caroline and Chelsea. Not wanting to stop, after a short respite from the previous few days, along with Jess, we all went downtown for a night out. New York never sleeps, and neither do New Yorkers.

The last day in Cairo

The next morning we all slept in, going for breakfast at 9 am. After breakfast, we gathered our things and checked out, leaving our bags at the hostel for the day while we did more touring. The first stop was to be the Egyptian Museum. Once again, student IDs were handy. After a few hours of hieroglyphs and mummies, we left to go to Khan el Khalil market to get some lunch and do some souvenir shopping. I hadn’t finished my meal, so I packaged it up in my purse and brought it from the restaurant. The stray pooch who I gave it to really appreciated it. The market place was huge, with a local side selling fabrics and clothes and wares, and a tourist side, with 7 or 8 varieties of shop selling belly dancer clothes, hookahs, pyramids and the like. While perusing the wares, we ran into our friends from the border, the students from the university in Ramallah, so we all stopped to have tea. This evening was then a huge soccer match between Egypt and Algeria ( I think), so everyone was going crazy for it the entire day, carrying flags, wearing painted faces, banging drums etc. This craziness inspired Chelsea, Caroline and I to want to get to the bus station early to avoid any problems with traffic, etc. So even though our bus didn’t leave Cairo until nearly 10, we were at the station by 8. After buying our bus tickets and getting our change literally all in change (we each had handfuls of single pound coins—felt like pirates), we made camp upstairs in the station by a burger café, were a dozen or so men were gathered to watch the game. We ordered some dinner and played cards while the hooligans went through ups and downs with their team, and the poor performance led to a couple of big fights breaking out in the mall. In Egypt, they don’t drink alcohol: just goes to show you that men can be stupid and belligerent while completely sober, too. On the plus side, the custom of service in Egypt is so high that even the burger and fries I ordered were served to me on a silver tray, with my tea in a real tea cup. We finally boarded the bus, braced ourselves for the long, uncomfortable, and freezing night ride ahead of us, and tried to go to sleep.

In de Nile

Through Amman, the American guy we had traveled to Cairo with, we had agreed with our cabby to get to our hostel for 14 Egyptian pounds. When we arrived, he tried to tell me 40. I said no, explained the crucial difference between 14 and 40 (although the 14 had been agreed upon in Arabic between the driver and our friend), told him I would not give him more than the 15 I was intending to give him, and he eventually said okay and we got out of the car. Interesting start. We found our place, Lialy Hostel, fairly quickly, but were uncertain of it by the somewhat shady state of the entrance. We walked up the three flights of stairs to the entrance, and upon seeing the charming lobby, we were completely reassured.
After a warm greeting from the receptionist, Shady (Sha-D), we checked into our room. Technically they were out of triple rooms, so he offered us a double and a single, but we decided that we would fit the three of us into a double room (and agreed to pay the triple rate: three showers, three breakfasts, etc.) and although we imagined two of us doubling up in bed, Shady brought in an extra mattress for us. The bathrooms were clean, the room was charming, and breakfast was included. All of this for the equivalent of $6 each per night. After having some dinner and doing some planning, the three of us decided to turn in early, still tired from our odyssey to Cairo, and intending to leave by 6:40 am to make our way to Giza, and the pyramids.
Following the tips of Lonely Planet, as we began our trek we sought out a meter taxi, knowing it would give us the best deal to Giza. Before we had even completed getting to the pyramid plaza the onslaught began: “You want camels? Come to my stables, good prices, good deals.”
We wanted to wait by the window to make sure we could buy our tickets to the plaza right away, since they only sell a limited number per day. Having our student IDs was definitely a good idea—Cairo is big on student prices. After successfully acquiring the tickets, it was time for camels. We were aware that the ministry of tourism had set the official price at 35 egyptian pounds an hour (less than $7) and we were also told to haggle. We eventually agreed with a man for 30 pounds and hour, and taking a two hour trek, so 60 egyptian pounds each. My camel was named Michael Jackson. It was a thriller.
Our guides were two: a mid 30’s seeming man, and a young teenage boy. The boy did most of the work, leading on foot, while the man rode a horse.
The pyramids were everything they are expected to be, and more and real and surreal. We took tons of touristy pictures, as well as walking around on the base of the pyramid and around the Sphinx.
Because we had arrived so early, we were finished touring and playing in the pyramids before 11. Caroline and I had thought it would be funny to eat lunch at the Pizza Hut across the street. We got there and it was still closed. That is what happens when you start the day at 6 am.
We stop for some Fanta, relax and bit, and then make our way back to Cairo, where we went straight to our hostel and our 30 minute nap turned into nearly 5 hours. Oops. So we got up, got some dinner, and then went for a tea and nargillah, and then going for a stroll along the Nile, having a lazy Arabian night.

Oh, PS, crossing the road in Cairo is a permanent game of frogger. My hand was hit by a bus. Aval kol beseder.

CAIRO OR BUST

Since we first talked about Chelsea and then Caroline coming to visit me in Israel, we also talked about taking a trip to Cairo and seeing the pyramids. Although Chelsea and Caroline had managed to get visas in New York (Americans need visas to Egypt when traveling over land) I had as of yet not acquired one, after a disastrously failing attempt to do so a few weeks previously at the embassy in Tel Aviv (the post is only open from 9am-11, Sunday through Thursday, and it takes 24-48 hours to process, meaning I need to surrender my passport to them). I had read that it could be gotten at the consulate in Eilat easily, but was still concerned that I wouldn’t be able to, and then no one would be able to go (I had tried to convince them that, should I not be able to get the visa, they ought to go without me).
We caught the last bus from TA to Eilat, which left at midnight and would arrive very early the next morning. Egged buses are not necessarily comfortable places to sleep. They also aren’t exactly warm places.
We arrived to Eilat around 4:45 am, and schlepped into the bus station, where we haphazardly went back to sleep until around 7:30, at which time we would head out to the consulate. When we eventually get there—a there that is not the same there that is listed in the maps in tourist books—I handed in my form, my photos, and my 65 shekels and less than an hour later, poof, a visa. The Tel Aviv Embassy is so much less helpful. While waiting, the three of us started to chat with the four others—two girls and two guys—who were also waiting on their visas. We found out that these four, who studied together at a university in Ramallah in the West Bank, were also going to Cairo. Because they were studying at a West Bank university, they were unable to acquire student visas from Israel and therefore needed to leave the country every few months, and then hope to be able to get back in.
Because we were all going to the same place, and these four all spoke some level of Arabic, we decided to stick with them and travel to Taba (the border point) together. After getting through, the now seven of us hired a minibus to take us to Cairo—it cost an extra $4 a person than the standard bus would have, but made the trip 2 hours shorter, and infinitely more comfortable. It was also convenient, because even though the Egyptians would mainly only be speaking in Arabic, two of our new friends—a Moroccan-French girl and a guy from Germany—spoke German, and so I was able to covertly find out what was going on in Arabic from them by speaking in German. Multilingualism is helpful.
Seven hours later, we arrived to Cairo, hailed a taxi to take us to our hostel with the help of one of our new Arabic-speaking friends, and parted ways with the other four (after exchanging contact information).

Trying to catch up. Please have patience with me.

So. Caroline and Chelsea arrived in the evening on Thursday, November 12. They took the sherut from Ben Gurion to Mayanot, where we reunited, washed up, and made a plan. Wanting to kick things off the right way, we decided to go out that night. They were graciously allowed to stay by Rivka Marga’s that night, so we went there to drop off their things and then went to meet the girls and boys downtown. We girls were deciding where to go, so we chose this bar up the street. Just as we are about to order, one of the boys lets us know we can’t go there: N and Z are banned from there because of a fight a few years back. Right.
So Laeneia, Hayley, Hillary, Irina, Chelsea, Caroline and I (we are like the Pink Ladies) leave the place where we were sitting and go meet the T Birds outside the Square and decide what to do next. We end up at Herzl, a bar on the main bar street, but up a level so it escapes the stigmas associated with the main strip (a place for 18 and 19 year old yeshiva kids trying to flirt with one another and smoke cigarettes). As a group of 14, we pretty much took over the place. It started off a quieter night, the boys were out to cheer up Z who had just ended a relationship, we girls were out to welcome the tired Caroline and Chelsea, so in theory it was going to be a quieter, chill night having a few drinks and relaxing. I stepped out onto the balcony for a little while to get some air and talking to A, and suddenly we come back in and the entire room is a dance party. Rumor has it that Chelsea and Caroline started. So much for jetlag. And so much for a quiet night ;)

Friday after a trip to the shuk, where Chelsea and Caroline discovered the joys of dried fruit, halva, and schwarma/falafel stands, we left for a weekend in Tel Aviv, where we would room by our old couch surfing friends again for the night. After coffee and cake, Caroline and Nevo had a recording session, performing ‘Let it Be’. With the ridiculous amount of equipment they had, Dor managed to make a high quality, synced video of the performance (which can be found on Facebook). The next day, the girls and I had brunch with Nevo, Hayley, and Anna and Omer. After we dropped off our things at Omer’s, the New York girls headed south toward Yaffo, stopping at a particular ice cream shop in Neve Tzedek on the way. Walking through Tel Aviv and Yaffo along the beach, watching the sun set over the Mediterranean, is like nothing else.
Along the way, we found a playground unlike any we had seen before. This naturally required a short pause to play.
Saturday evening, we were going to stay by Nevo again, except that late that afternoon, his grandmother passed away. Of course we felt very sad for him and his family. We also realized our predicament. Having nearly decided that we would sleep on the beach for the night, Anna and Omer came to the rescue, arranging for us to stay at the former apartment of Omer’s new roommate. Israelis are pretty cool.
That night we went out with Etan, who lived in the apartment we were staying at, to Apartment, a decent club in TA. The next morning, although he had to leave early for work (also a pilot in the IDF) he left us his keys and allowed us to use the apartment for the rest of the day. Again, Israelis are pretty cool.
After a lazy morning, Chelsea, Caroline, Hayley and I headed off to eat at our favorite sandwich place in Tel Aviv—the best sandwiches ever perhaps, with a full condiment/salady bar, tons of sandwich options, and friendly sandwich makers. Satisfied from our lunch, we mosied across the street to the greatest juice bar, where we each got a fresh squeezed something (I had pomegranate and green apple). We then went back to the apartment, where caroline decided to take a nap, and Chelsea and I walked Hayley to the bus station, where we would meet up with Laeneia, and go to get my passport photos taken for my Egyptian Visa that would hopefully be procured in Eilat the next day.
The rest of this day comprised of a trip to Kikar Rabin to see his memorial, poking in vintage shops, and going back to wake Caroline to go to a final picnic on the beach. Around 10 pm, the four of us gather up, picked up all our things, and left for the Central Bus Station, from where Laeneia would return to Jerusalem, and the adventures would just begin for Chelsea, Caroline, and myself.