Masada

I had long imagined that a peaceful, if hot and strenuous, hike up Masada with my family and then a lecture from Aloni about this heroic, if controversial, last stand of the Jews in the Roman period would be a highlight of our time in Israel. I was half right. As expected, Aloni’s lecture was remarkable—both in content and intensity. If Israel is Aloni’s classroom, Masada is the PhD program—as it represents to him, and to many Israelis, perhaps the defining moment of Jewish resolve that, together with the lessons of the holocaust, established that “Never Again” will Jews be confronted with a choice between enslavement or suicide or be unable to protect themselves. This was, and continues to be, the core raison d’etre of the State of Israel. Indeed, many Israeli soldiers are brought to the top of Masada, after long arduous hikes, for their swearing in to indoctrinate them into the critical importance of their mission.

First, however, we had to get to the top. The plan was to get up at 5:30 AM and make the 45 minute climb before it was too hot and just in time to meet my mom, Fern, Tina, Jessie, Rama and Aloni who were catching the first tram up. Aloni had told us repeatedly that walking is ridiculous—too hot and hard and that we should take the tram. However, we have walked our way through the Africa and South East Asia and we were not about to wimp out at Masada. Emma, on the other hand, was just not having it and before we had left the parking lot she started huffing, puffing and kvetching. So, the 45 minute walk turned into a one and a half hour torture session in which Emma dissolved into tears in a heap every 10 feet or so (see pictures) as though she herself had been walking through the desert for 40 years, rather than having spent the night in a nice air-conditioned hotel and spa. Good thing the young Jewish pioneers were not relying on Emma’s strength and fortitude as they built this county. Though, I hope that Emma would have risen to the challenge had the State of Israel been relying on her fortitude for its every existence. Fortunately, that hope will not need to be tested.

All was not lost as we still had Aloni’s lecture ahead of us and he did not disappoint. As with all of Israel, he knows the history in stunning detail—but for him, this place is personal and he shares it with a sense of purpose, and even a bit of dramatic flair. He took us to the various buildings where he described in great detail how the Jews lived there during the two year siege by the Romans, from the mundane aspects of everyday life such as eating and bathing, to the way they continued to study, learn and engage in their sacred ritual practices even as the Romans were a mere 1000 feet below preparing for their destruction. He described how his father led him, his sister and a couple of dozen fellow kibbutzniks to Masada when Aloni was a boy (maybe 6 years old) during the British mandate period when the entire area was still off limits to Jews. His description of the journey through the desert with donkeys carrying their belongings and camping at the top of Masada sounded almost biblical. At dawn, his father had them sit at the top of the mountain overlooking the sweeping view of the vast desert and the Dead Sea and remain completely silent. He told them to close their eyes, listen to the sounds and imagine what it would have been like to be the last free Jews in the land of Israel on the eve of their sure destruction by the Romans. He asked them to imagine what it meant for them to make the drastic decision to take their own lives rather than be killed or forced into slavery. While we had not walked for days through the desert (thankfully, as Emma would have been a camel snack) and were sitting comfortably in the shade having a snack, the intensity of the moment was not lost on us. One can spend years debating or wondering whether the suicide pack was the right decision—but no one can dispute the power of this story on the psyche of Israelis, past, present and future, who continue to live in a state of war and uncertainty and to Jews, generally.

Adventures with Aloni

We feel incredibly privileged to see Israel through the eyes of Aloni, this remarkable man who has been part of our family for more than 30 years, but who is now a bona fide member since he became my mother’s partner (he really does not like the term “boyfriend”). He is a Sabra (someone who is born in Israel--literally the word for desert flower--prickly on the outside and soft in the middle) whose family has been in Israel for 500 years, a former frogman and Colonel in one of Israel’s most elite military units who fought in every war except the War of Independence (because he was 10 years old at the time), a poet, an artist, an avowed secular Jew and a steadfast Zionist. He has a gruff exterior that covers one of the kindest, sweetest and most thoughtful souls I have ever known. He also has a beautiful home in the middle of the German Colony--the hippest part of Jerusalem (not an oxymoron-I swear)--in which he has graciously allowed our family to stay and wreck havoc with the otherwise peaceful (and neat) surroundings.

Despite his antipathy towards religion, he reads the Bible every day and knows its contents by heart--and I mean that in every sense of the term. He also has a positively encyclopedic grasp of every inch of Israel’s geography and moment of Israel’s history, much from direct personal knowledge. It is in this context that he shows us Israel—the popular tourist locales with his personal insight (spin?) and the nooks and crannies nestled into various parts of this country that few have the opportunity to see, and even fewer the great fortune to see through the eyes and enchanting stories of Aloni. I know it sounds like a lame cliché, but he truly makes the Bible and Jewish history come alive.

These excursions require no planning on our part. Indeed, our input is neither sought nor considered. He usually says something like-“get ready, we are going somewhere very beautiful and special,” and off we go.

Nevi Schmuel was our first such destination. This is the tomb of the prophet Samuel who installed the first king of the Jews, King Saul. The tomb, considered a sacred site by religious Jews and Muslims, is nestled into a quiet Arab village about 30 minutes from Jerusalem. Aloni started by focusing our attention on the excavated site and noted the numerous and somewhat complex system of water collection and storage that was the key to survival in this country of limited rainfall. He then turned to the geography and topography and the strategic nature of the place which sits atop a hill with a view of Jerusalem and much of the West Bank—allowing residents to keep a constant watch for the enemy. He also pointed out that the site sits at the exact border between the dry, lifeless dessert and fertile valley with numerous fruit trees and other agriculture. He taught us to identify the various kinds of fruit trees and described how the bountiful harvests and ability of the residents to sell the fruit in Jerusalem kept the town prosperous. We could all imagine the residents piling baskets of apricots, almonds and olives onto donkeys and on women’s heads as they ascended the hills to Jerusalem to sell in the markets. As Aloni was talking, there was a group of young Arab girls with whom he engaged in discussion. They were sweet young girls who seemed to be typical teenagers—they asked us questions about where we were from and offered us a package of sunflower seeds. At that moment, the war that continues just miles down the road seemed particularly ridiculous.

After the history and bible lesson, we descended into the actual sanctuary, where men and women must pray separately. Adam and Aloni went one way, Emma, Maya and I the other. The girls and I finished fairly quickly, and waited for the men. Since praying is never on Aloni’s agenda, I was curious as to why they were taking so long. It turned out that Aloni had engaged one of the religious Jews (“black hats”) in a discussion about the Messiah. The Black Hat apparently asked Aloni why he did not pray for the Messiah—didn’t he want all Jews to be resurrected in Jerusalem? Aloni’s response: “Absolutely not—we already have too few parking spaces.” Even the Black Hat laughed.

We also went to Ashkelon, a beautiful seaside town—with a huge park (incidentally designed by Aloni’s father) containing fascinating antiquities, including those related to the story of Samson and Delila—which Aloni told in beautiful and illuminating detail.


One day, Aloni showed us the Russian Compound and Jerusalem Municipal Buildings—and pointed out what I suspect are often overlooked details about the gardens, the bullet holes and other battle scars of the various wars—and even the ancient tools that were hidden behind unremarkable walls that were used for pressing olive oil.


On another day, we had a delicious breakfast, with the best pita bread ever—at Bar HaBar and then an extremely cool excursion to the Sobeq caves where we saw the most amazing collection of stalactites and stalagmites—something that looked like a Disneyland exhibit—completely unreal.


Kibbutz Ramat Rachel was our last excursion with Aloni (besides Masada—see next post). This is a beautiful kibbutz just outside of Jerusalem, in truth a 20 minute walk from Aloni’s house, that he described at the last Israeli stronghold against Jordan before The Six Day War. He first showed us a unique and beautiful peace monument that sits in the middle of an olive tree grove, which consists of large pillars with olive trees on top.


We then stood on the ridge, looking over the West Bank and contemplated the magnitude of the battle in which Israel constantly exists. He also explained how much one can learn about history by examining the ground—where we found shards of clay that were once pots, pieces of flint that were once spears or knives.

Aloni also explained his theory of why the emblem of Israel is a menorah-while most nations choose some sort of animal (or scavenger, as he says). He explained that in biblical times, Jews worked from dawn until dusk to cultivate their fields so they had no time to study during the day. In order to study, an essential activity of Jewish life since biblical times, they had to do so at night. The menorah, of which they have found many ancient versions, provided the necessary light and helped Israel become a “light unto the nations.” This made an obvious impression as the kids now frequently repeat the phrase—“you need light to learn.”

In between all of these fascinating excursions, we had the pleasure of just being with Aloni-- eating, chatting, listening to him read and translate exquisite biblical poetry and sometimes just hanging out in his garden while Emma plays in the swing, There is no doubt that he has significantly enriched our Israeli experience immeasurably and for this we are exceedingly grateful.

Water Park Diplomacy

Today, we started six days of travel around Israel. The first two nights are at Kibbutz Shefayim, where we are meeting good friends from home. The kibbutz, a wealthy kibbutz, is now known for its Water Park and relatively nice Kibbutz Hotel (it’s no Bel Air). As we entered the Water Park, this afternoon, I kept thinking of Golda Meir, whose autobiography I have just read. As a consequence, lately I tend to start every sentence with the words, “Having just read Golda Meir’s autobiography, I think Golda (I feel we’re on a first names basis) would feel. . .” this way about any issue we may be discussing. It’s admittedly fairly insufferable, but I can’t help myself. In any event, having just read Golda Meir’s biography, I could not help but wondering if the Water Park enterprise of Kibbutz Shefayim is the realization of Golda’s dreams for a socialist, agrarian collective. My first instinct is that she would find this a bastardization of all that is good with the Kibbutz system. However, on further thought, maybe she would be happy to see that in the midst of the chaos that is life in the Middle East, the Kibbutz has become a center for some plain old frivolous fun. Who knows?

The Water Park is the kind of place that I hate; it’s teeming with humanity, long lines, loud children and obnoxious adults. I have also never been big fan of fun. It’s too ephemeral. However, as I’m ushering my kids around the park, I noticed a couple of things. First, I was enjoying it. There’s something gleeful about sliding down water slides, being in wave tanks, shooting down slides in inner tubes, etc. It’s disarmingly fun. This brings me to my second point. In looking around at all of the annoying people, I noticed that there was a true diversity of people enjoying water park antics. Most interesting was that I saw a number of Muslim women fully covered, head to toe, prancing in the water next to their children. I also saw head-covered orthodox women doing the same. It seems that the joy of water park fun overcomes ancient hatreds and bigotry.

It got me thinking. Maybe had Yasser Arafat, Golda Meir, Gamal Abdel Nasser and Hafez El Assad gone to a water park, the Middle East would now be a peaceful place. After a day of splishing and splashing in the water, would they really want to blow each other up? Somehow I doubt it. As I continued in this line of thinking, I started wondering what positions the various world leaders would have taken on the water slides. My guess is that Golda would have sat upright and stared straight ahead unruffled as the water flew by. Nasser would have dove head first on his stomach. Assad seems like a guy who would have leisurely slid down on his back. Arafat’s easy. He would have started down head first on his stomach, become nervous and then turned over and tried to climb back up the slide.

The only problem is that a number of the water slides is off limits to those below 10. As a consequence, Emma is considering starting an Intifada. I guess you just can’t satisfy all of the people all of the time.

A Day of Volunteering

A friend of ours had invited us to join them in volunteering for a morning to help put together care packages for Israeli combat troops with an organization called A Package From Home. I went into it with a very cynical attitude. “This is not real volunteering. It will be American Jews who give three hours of their time, so that they can go home and say that they volunteered. Etc. Etc.” I must confess that I was pleasantly surprised with the experience. There was definitely some of what Melissa aptly referred to as “Photo-Op Volunteering.” Indeed, a particularly funny moment was when a pushy father was videotaping, for posterity and his home synagogue, his freshly bar mitzvahed son (who, of course, was there for his bar mitzvah tzedakah (charity) project) putting together one of the care packages. At the end of the process, one of the organizers noted that the hapless bar mitzvah boy had put the package together entirely wrong and mildly chastised him for not paying attention. All of this was caught on video—not exactly what the father had in mind to proudly show his synagogue. More like an episode of “Bar Mitzvah Boys Gone Astray.”

Nonetheless, we arrived and we’re immediately put to work organizing the assembly line for the packages. The choice of products was what you would expect: towels, underwear, t-shirts, snacks, candy, toiletries and notes containing good wishes to the soldiers. However, some of the choices were kind of funny. For instance, I loved the image of dirty, hardened combat soldiers opening their care packages and seeing that they had been provided with a magenta towel. Or, imagine their glee at receiving pastel boxer shorts. Or share with them their joy at receiving scented body wash. After the assembly line was completed we went to work assembling the packages. I must admit that there was a degree of esprit de corps that developed as we all moved through the assembly line.

I and another guy (also from the Los Angeles area) were assigned the task of keeping the assembly line well stocked. Odd though it may sound, I found myself competing with him, and aggressively so. I wanted to be the one who first noticed when a particular stock was running down, such as the pastel towels, and be the first to restock. Whenever, he got to an area first, I felt as if I had personally failed. I guess it’s kind of like being in combat in Lebanon.

Midway through the process, the woman who originally organized the drive several years ago spoke to us about the program. She’s a lovely, gray haired elderly woman, originally from Chicago, but made Aliyah (immigrated to Israel) 15 years ago. She started the program many years ago in her home. She told us that the program was motivated out of a desire to do something tangible for the soldiers who put their lives at risk for the good of the country and the Jewish people. She was particularly touched by the “lonely soldiers”—non-Israeli Jews who come from all over the world to serve in the Israeli army, not because they have to, but because they feel a responsibility to the state of Israel. After hundreds of checks started rolling in from an email appeal to her friends that had managed to circle the Jewish globe in short order, she began to assemble packages and send them by mail to various units. One day, she was called in by a general who wished to talk to her about these packages and she thought she was in trouble. To the contrary, the general told her how important the packages had become to the soldiers and proposed an arrangement in which her organization would gather the items, assemble the packages, and a pair of soldiers from each unit would come to collect them. She told many moving stories about how the army and individual soldiers has fully embraced it. She was told that the soldiers taped the notes to the walls above their bunks. She also told us that during last summer’s war in Lebanon, that it was actually somewhat perilous for the soldiers to receive the packages. However, the packages were seen as so uplifting to the soldiers that the soldiers themselves felt it was worth the risk.

So while it may be the case that this was “Photo-Op Volunteering” (as evidenced by the attached pictures), it was still worthwhile, fun and even meaningful. If you're interested in learning more about the organization, click here.

Who Knew I had Israeli Cousins?

Thanks to my Uncle David and Aunt Elaine Gill, we had the extraordinary opportunity to meet cousins in Israel about whom I was previously completely unaware. We were excited to be invited for Shabbat dinner (actually, the kids and I were excited—Adam, not so much), and were expecting a pleasant, if somewhat awkward evening of stilted albeit polite conversation. Our expectations were far exceeded.

We were warmly greeted and immediately embraced by a wonderful family who, thanks to a chart scratched out by Aunt Elaine on a hotel notepad, appear to be mostly 4th cousins. In truth, I didn’t completely understand the chart (in my family, family trees tend to be more like spread out bushes that one needs a PhD to figure out), but Elaine has promised to do a more complete version and it quickly became obvious that the official connection was irrelevant—really a happy technicality. My cousins are somewhere in between my age and that of my parents with kids in their teens and 20s. Two of the son’s are currently in the army, some of the children are currently living in America and one, who was there for dinner, works for the Israeli Prime Minister.

My cousins, like the majority of Israelis, are completely secular and the evening included no blessings, candle lighting or singing. Yet, there was something incredibly spiritual about this family gathering that happens almost without fail each Friday night with any family members who may be in the near vicinity. Indeed, in many ways it felt more spiritual than many extremely religious Shabbat dinners I have attended in my life time. This is clearly a sacred family time that they set aside each week—many travel more than an hour to do so—in order to stay connected, enjoy each other’s company, and, of course, eat delicious food. In my mind, this is the very essence of Shabbat. One of my cousins graciously offered to drive us back, practically an hour out of her way. We were all sad to say goodbye (even Adam managed to be a bit charming)—and thrilled to have found such wonderful new relatives. As we walked into Aloni’s that night well past midnight, Maya said “that was the most incredible family I have ever met.” I had to agree.

Despite the fact that they were thoroughly Israeli, they seemed entirely familiar. It occurred to me that we all started out in Russia—but their grandparents decided to turn South, and ours West. It is an interesting thing about being in Israel-on an hourly basis I pass someone who reminds me of someone with whom I went to Jewish camp or religious school, or sat next to in shul. In America we are among friends and compatriots, but here, almost everyone could be family in some way. The evening prompted me to imagine what my life would have been like had my great grandparents chosen Israel, or Palestine at the time, over America. I frequently find myself envious of those who grew up in Israel—living as one of the majority, directly supporting, perhaps even fighting for the Jewish state, and living in a place where being Jewish is just a matter of being rather than something requiring a constant affirmative commitment. This is not to glorify life in Israel. They face challenges that I can’t begin to imagine. Indeed I spoke to my cousin about how difficult it is to live with the fact that her sons, who currently serve in elite army units, are not only constantly in harm’s way, but are forced to work within, indeed support, a cycle of violence that they wish did not need to exist. I am not ready or even willing to make Aliyah (immigrate to Israel), but there is a part of me that wishes that my parents had done so and raised me in Israel, making it unnecessary for me to grapple with the decision.

Idle Musings

Military Mobilization?

On June 21, 2007, I woke up, like any other day. Although, I always feel that it’s a good day, when I wake up. However, I digress. We walked to our ulpan and immediately noticed that the city was filled with soldiers. In fact, I was actually somewhat alarmed. Had the problems with Gaza spread to Jerusalem? Had the rumors of war with Syria come to fruition? Mercifully, no. It was merely the annual Gay Pride Parade. However, this is not an event to be treated lightly. The relationship between the hostilely secular (though, in fairness, in this instance the marchers were merely seeking tolerance and equal treatment for gays and lesbians) and the oppressively religious is a ticking time bomb. Last year, in fact, the Gay Pride Parade in Jerusalem resulted in stabbings of marchers by a religious nut and bags of urine and feces being tossed at the marchers. Of course, the religious believe that it is better to stab a gay guy, than be a gay guy, or even be friends with one. This time the authorities were taking no chances. Over 8,000 border police were called up to maintain order. There were literally troops on every corner that was even remotely in the vicinity of the march. Fortunately, the march went off without incident. Melissa and I noticed that, for the most part, the soldiers were sitting around eating sandwiches. It seemed fitting that Jewish soldiers would spend most of the day noshing. Melissa surmised that there must be Jewish mothers somewhere in the border police hierarchy who insisted on packing sandwiches for the soldiers. They should go hungry?

Diversity

After all of our travels, Melissa and I have come to the counter-intuitive conclusion that Israel is the most diverse of the many nations that we have visited. Of course, this is counter-intuitive in that it’s a Jewish nation. Therefore, one might think that the country is utterly homogenous. However, it’s just not true. There is great diversity between the physical appearances of the Sephardic (dark Middle Eastern tone), Ashkenazi (white European) and Ethiopian Jews (black African). Of course, when you add the non-Jewish elements, such as Arabs, Druze, and others, you have a true societal cornucopia. Along with the obvious physical distinctions of these various groups, they each bring with them a rich and vibrant cultural heritage. Walking through Machane Yehuda (the Jewish outdoor food market) on Fridays before Shabbat is a truly colorful experience, and not just because of the fruits and vegetables.

In contrast, all of the prior places that we visited were largely homogenous. Tanzania has tribal diversity, some religious diversity, but really no racial diversity. No one ever confused me with a Tanzanian, and frankly, we stuck out like sore thumbs. Southeast Asia, of course, possesses great cultural diversity, but very limited racial diversity. In Laos no one ever spoke to me in Laotian, assuming that I was Laotian.

In some ways, this realization was slightly unsettling. How could it be that the Land of the Jews was the most diverse place we visited? At the same time, it was another element that spoke to the miracle that is Israel. During Israel’s two year War of Independence starting in 1948, Israel not only had to fight against a much bigger and better armed Arab military, but also had to integrate a massive number of refugees from hugely divergent places, many of whom were broken people coming out of Hitler’s camps or were desperately poor or the subject of intense discrimination in Arab countries. Most did not even speak the language. Indeed, modern Hebrew was only a few decades old at the time. To put some numbers against this; when the war started there were about 600,000 Jews in Israel, by the end of the war there were 1,600,000 Jews. An extraordinary integration by any standard, let alone one done in the course of a war that the Israelis should not have won.

Separate But Equal Revisited

Melissa has taken the time in Israel to catch up on all of the religious services that she missed over the past five months. Notwithstanding our renewed closeness, Melissa’s exploration of the synagogue options has been largely a solitary endeavor for her. However, I have gone a few times with her and we’re both somewhat surprised, probably naively so, at the ubiquitous presence of the mechitza. The mechitza is the divider that separates men and women from each other during services. The alleged rationale is that men are unable to pray in the presence of women. Put another way, a man’s constant preoccupation with sex, makes it impossible for him to concentrate during religious services amid the presence of lovely beguiling young women, or even old ugly ones. At this Shabbat, I also learned that a married woman should never be alone with a man that is not her husband and vice versa, because inexorably that will lead to adulterous relations. If only it were that easy. I came away thinking that the Rabbis who put together these rules must have been the horniest guys alive. Horny, and frankly, a bit arrogant (like it would be that easy for them to get laid).

But now that I think about it, the Rabbis may have been right and perhaps did not go far enough. I think that it’s just not sufficient to separate men and women during prayers, or to keep married women away from men (and vice versa), but there should be separate places for men and women to work (how are men supposed to work when they’re just a wink away from a passionate embrace), separate public transportation to prevent the rampant sexuality for which our subways are famous, separate schools (does this even require explanation?). From America’s own history, we know full well that separate but equal works just fine.

If it’s good enough for our horny dead Rabbis, it’s good enough for me.

Remedial Hebrew

Somehow, I thought after 12 years of religious school, 42 years of sitting in shul at varying levels of frequency, passively listening to my Israeli friends over the years and even learning to read Torah recently, learning to speak conversational Hebrew would be a breeze. Not so much…

The four of us started an Ulpan last week—which is essentially an intensive Hebrew course, usually designed for new immigrants to Israel who need to integrate fast. Most programs are five to six months long, but we found a terrific one that was willing to cater to our reasonably short time frame and varying skill levels. It’s a charming place—in an apartment with a young and engaging staff, run by an energetic religious woman who has eight children (all of whom seem to have some role in running the ulpan) and incredible enthusiasm for teaching Hebrew. The program is designed to be one-on-one for 2 half hour periods with some conversation with staff and other students in the interim.

The kids immediately took to the program which combines conversation, songs, games and other engaging activities, and they zoomed ahead. Adam, who spent a year and a half in Israel 20 years ago, seemed to pick up where he left off. My 42 year old brain, however, seems to be too full of lyrics to 1970 popular songs and show tunes to have any room left for Hebrew vocabulary or grammar. Besides, I went to private school where they did not see fit to teach English grammar—how am I supposed to understand Hebrew grammar?? I have always wanted someone to design a devise—like a flash drive—that would allow you to download extraneous items from your brain to make room for other more pertinent information. Such a device would serve me well right now, but Bill Gates seems to be too busy saving the world to do anything useful right now.

Per the Ulpan’s program, we have dutifully loaded the lesson CDs on our ipods and I listen religiously (no pun intended). Indeed, I listen repeatedly during my morning runs at the expense of my already dubious navigation skills. Fortunately, Sderot, the West Bank and Gaza strip are a little further than I am capable of running—so I should be safe. I do feel that I have become quite adept at asking for directions when I am hopelessly lost, and wandering around drenched in sweat. However, most Israeli’s quickly get bored suffering through my tortured syntax (not to mention the panting for breath) before they just answer in flawless English.

The rest of the homework is much more challenging and both Adam and I are noticing that the procrastination skills that we honed so vigilantly in college and law school are well in tact and we have a hard time keeping up with it all. One of the most amusing daily assignments of the Ulpan is that we are required to repeat the following sentence 12 times per day: “I enjoy studying Hebrew. I understand and speak Hebrew easily and fluently. I progress rapidly in Hebrew.” Needless to say, I can barely get this so called “affirmation statement” out of my mouth with a straight face. So--try as I might, my dream of speaking like Israelis do in three weeks will remain just that. A dream. But I am having a lot of fun trying.

L’hitraot.

Eilat and Petra

To continue our whirlwind trip through Israel, we headed south to Eilat with our friend Scott Perlo, who has been studying here for the past year and has been a tremendous tour guide, translator and all around fun guy. The five of us made an odd group and no one could quite figure out the relationship. It was a little depressing when people assumed he was our kid—since he is 28—but I just went with it. The truth is, I would be proud to call him my son—even if he would have had to be an illegitimate child born to an unwed 15 year old girl. We all loved having Scott around—particularly Adam who appreciated a little male companionship after four and half months of being surrounded by pure estrogen. They even made a half hearted attempt to go out to a bar one night—but ended up home, and asleep, in less than an hour. The city of Eilat itself is pretty tacky and completely lacking in charm, with dozens of huge ugly hotels and loud Israeli families on vacation. Sort of a Jewish Daytona Beach. However, the beaches and coral reefs of Eilat are absolutely beautiful and we had a blast lazing on the beach and snorkeling through the crystal blue water and observing the spectacularly colorful fish and coral.

One reason we chose to go to Eilat was its proximity to an easy border crossing to Jordan, not far from Petra, an extraordinary archeological site. We crossed the border on foot—which was an experience in itself—Adam said it seemed eerily reminiscent of the dangerous and risky prisoner exchanges of the Cold War. I thought it was just odd to cross a border on foot. In any event, we grabbed a cab to Petra. The cab took us to a sketchy looking hotel that seemed miles from the center of town. We followed our instincts and left, only to hear later that it is a common scheme for taxi drivers to take unsuspecting tourists to that hotel where “terrible things happen to women.” Bullet dodged.

I had heard that Petra was incredible, but knew very little about it. Once again, the town itself was nothing special. At the very least we expected fantastic Arabic food—but in fact had the worst humus of the trip, and fairly mediocre pita. Nonetheless, the actual site of Petra more than lived up to its reputation and made up for the unspectacular town. This “hidden city” carved out of rose-red rock was always known by the locals, but was open to westerners after a Swiss explorer, disguised in Arab garb, came across it in 1812 and realized it was the “lost” city of Petra. It since gained considerable fame after being used as the location for one of the Indiana Jones movies. Indeed, we heard that several hotels show the movie every night—either to entertain visitors or pay homage to the Hollywood vehicle that turned this relatively dusty town into a major tourist destination.

You enter the ancient city through a narrow valley of red rock—which is quite magnificent in itself. Many people take donkeys or camels up through the canyons, but as has been our habit for this trip, we forced the kids to walk. The elaborate palaces, temples and tombs seem Roman, but, in fact, were carved by the by the Nabateans, a relatively cosmopolitan trading people who apparently had a taste, and talent, for Greek and Roman architecture and style. In addition to the elaborate and intricate carvings, the Nabateans also developed fairly sophisticated systems of water conservation and irrigation smack in the middle of the desert which apparently was able to support a far larger population than inhabits the area today and has been studied by modern agronomists. While my knowledge of architecture and engineering is reasonably limited, there is not doubt that they accomplished amazing feats with this city, especially given the remote and relatively inhospitable location. The remarkably beautiful structures are hundreds of feet high with incredibly elaborate and precise carvings that looked to us as though they were made by a 1000s of men with sophisticated power tools. The rose-red color of the rock further adds to the beauty and majesty of the site and the color changes as the sun moves overhead. Perhaps the most dramatic site appears quite unexpectedly. The ruins in the canyon are stunning and are impressive, but not anything to write home about. However, as you walk through a particularly narrow part of the valley, you see, as if through a key hole, this elaborate façade, for the Nabatean treasury, carved right into the face of the mountain. Michelangelo, it is said, once described sculpting as releasing the statue from the marble. This is what the treasury seemed like—as if the Nabatean workers simply released the structure from the mountain side. Just breathtaking.




In the evening, while the girls and I were passed-out in the hotel room, Scott and Adam took an evening walk though the canyon which was lit by hundreds of candles, giving the rocks and structures and entirely different look. In our travels, we have had the opportunity to see many breathtaking ruins. It was particularly interesting for us to compare Petra, which was built sometime around the first century AD, to the ruins of Angkor Wat and the other temples in Cambodia which were built in the 9th, 10, 11th and 12th Centuries. The entire system and style of building is completely different—but both astounding accomplishments. The precise lines and rose color of the Petra ruins, which takes on different hues at different times of the day, was, perhaps, more visually captivating. But the magnitude of the Cambodian temples and the intricate and huge carvings of Angkor Wat, in particular, were astonishing.

The next day the girls did the obligatory camel ride.


We then started the journey back.The border crossing back into Israel was surprisingly exacting. In all of our months of travel, no one has actually opened any of our bags. Here, the Jordanians searched in every nook and cranny—including taking apart my flashlights. We found it particularly amusing when a very stern looking Jordanian official was intently looking through Maya’s polka dotted backpack. When we expressed surprise that the Jordanian security was so tight going into Israel, our Jordanian cab driver explained that this is a particularly peaceful border and the Jordanians and committed to keeping it that way. The Israel side was not exactly a cake walk either. I think we all expected to sail right through-we’re Jewish, we’re in Israel, what’s the question? In fact, they seemed impervious to Scott’s charm and fluent Hebrew and asked us a series of pretty tough questions, particularly focused on what we were doing in Jordan. The most amusing aspect of the border crossing was the group of burly tattoo-covered, cross wearing, American men with southern accents, who we encountered as we were crossing through the Jordanian part of the border. We also noticed that they carried official passports. We assumed they were in the military, but when we asked, they gave us some vague answer about a temporary assignment in the Jordanian embassy and politely dodged the rest of our probing questions. It was hard to imagine that they were, for instance, the cleaning crew of the embassy. We concluded that they were part of some secret elite squad of Navy Seals and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to guess what or who they were here to blow up. Overall, the tight security was a bit surprising, but made us all feel very safe. It was a terrific trip, the Jordanian people could not have been nicer and more welcoming and the sites were spectacular. Nonetheless, we all breathed a sigh of relief when we walked back across the border and were safely inside Israel-even if it was the tacky part.

Grandparental Reunion and Exploring Israel

Neither Melissa nor I have written for a while and the throngs have been demanding the next installment. Ok, we received one email from someone who derisively accused us of being too lazy to write. I think that there a few reasons that we have not written for a while. First, quite frankly, we have been somewhat busy. Second, it’s been more complicated for us to distill the essence of our Israel experience. After four and half months of traveling in places where no one would mistake us for locals (shocking, I know), now we’re frequently stopped and asked for directions. This is both good and bad. On the one hand, it’s nice to not feel like an outsider. Indeed, at the risk of sounding parochial, as a Jew, Israel is perhaps one of the few places where I feel an insider. On the other hand, once the actual locals hear my 3rd grade Hebrew (and that’s an insult to third graders), there’s no confusing my status. More importantly, though a Jew, as diaspora Jews, we are very much outsiders by our failure to contribute to the creation and protection of the state. Thus for us, or at least for me, in Israel, paradoxically, I feel both at home and like a foreigner. This schizophrenic state has created some degree of writer’s block in me, and I think Melissa, as well. That’s my justification and I’m sticking with it.

About a week after we arrived in Israel, my parents flew in to spend a week with us. We were all excited to see my parents after 5 months of traveling. It was a wonderful reunion followed by some great sightseeing around Israel. First, we hung out in Jerusalem. Ever since I lived here 20 years ago, I have loved Jerusalem. It’s truly a magical place. You feel the weight of history as you walk through the city. Indeed, the weight is sometimes oppressive, but mostly, I find it enthralling. You need only kick a stone to uncover some great archaeological find. However, once you do so, you will be attacked by various interest groups, whether crazy religious Jews, fanatical Christians or zealous Arabs attempting to prevent you from further digging. This is a microcosm of life in Jerusalem. It brings together three of the world’s major religions in a demented ménage a trois. Sometimes it’s exhilarating but mostly no one knows what they hell they should be doing.

On our first full day together, we visited Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust Museum. The name, Yad Vashem, comes from a passage in Isaiah, in which Gods promises to provide a “memorial and a name.” When I previously lived here, I visited it many times and each time I found it jarring and emotionally charged. I still retain vivid images of the pictures of children, whose bodies were lost to the Holocaust, but whose spirit is preserved at the museum. Several years ago, the museum was rebuilt. When I was originally there, the building was simple but the experience was intense. While, objectively speaking, the new museum is visually stunning, I was somewhat taken aback by the slickness of the structure. It’s a highly stylized and admittedly well thought-out building, but in some ways, the building, in my mind, distracts from the exhibits and the meaning of the exhibits. Though, I’m sure that many would disagree with me. Nonetheless, the power of the museum is huge and sharing the experience with my wife, children and parents was moving. As you walk through the museum, you are on a path that takes you from the early days of seeming happiness in pre-Nazi Germany, through the initial phases of terror and deportation, to the attempted implementation of the “Final Solution” to the birth of the State of Israel. As you walk through the museum it’s impossible to not feel anger, despair, horror and then, finally, pride at the birth of Israel against such extraordinary odds and coming off one of the greatest tragedies confronted by humanity.

Before we left Jerusalem to travel with my folks, Melissa came up with the stellar idea of going to the Kotel (the Western Wall) at 4:00 am for Shavuot. A brief word about the Wall: It’s essentially the sole remaining part of the Second Temple which was destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD. It’s not a wall of the actual temple, but part of the retaining wall that surrounded the Temple. It’s considered the holiest site in Judaism. However, over the Wall is the Dome of the Rock which is considered by Muslims to be the third holiest site of Islam, and parenthetically, where Abraham intended to sacrifice Isaac. In any event, Shavuot celebrates the day that God gave Moses the Torah. You’re supposed to pray all night until dawn, ostensibly the time of delivery of the Torah by God. So at 3:30 am, we got up and walked, first to the Conservative Yeshiva, where we met up with friend and future Rabbi, Scott Perlo, and then headed to the Kotel. The walk was amazing, as the dark streets were filled with Jews descending on the Old City. When we got there, we went to a special area of the Kotel, where men and women are permitted to pray together. As I’m not the best pray-er, I decided to head to the main area of the Kotel with Maya. It was spectacularly frenetic. The sun had started to rise and the sky was huge and brilliantly lit up and people were praying feverishly. I felt as if I had been returned to the time of 50 AD. Oddly (or maybe not?), among the thousands of Jews, we ran into the lovely Tali Stolzenberg-Myers, which was a pleasant surprise. Maya and I then headed back to Melissa and Emma, where we found Melissa deep in prayer and Emma whining about how tired she was. I joined Emma in whining. Though, while I would not repeat the excursion, it was certainly an interesting experience.

The next day we started two days of touring around Israel. My dad decided to hire a guide. When we met our guide, Meir, Melissa and I were initially a bit concerned. At the risk of sounding ageist, he looked as if he were 100 years old. However, he ended up being wonderful, in a grandfatherly way, albeit partially deaf and slightly forgetful. We started the day with a drive to Beit Shean, which is an amazing architectural site from the Roman period that was discovered only 20 years ago. As I said, all you need to do is kick some dirt to discover major ruins. The Cardo was so complete that it really made you feel as if you were transported back to Roman times. I felt that I wanted to try my hand at being a gladiator. I’m sure that I would have fared quite well as a gladiator.



Next, we saw Maimonides’ tomb. Quite frankly, and perhaps sacrilegiously, I’m not altogether into tombs and I’m more moved by Israel’s fallen military and political leaders. However, I guess it was a nice tomb, as tombs go.

From there, we went to our lodging for the next two nights, which was on a beautiful kibbutz on Lake Kinneret, known also as the Galilee. This kibbutz’s claim to fame is a fairly astonishing archeological discovery. A few years back some fishermen discovered an ancient boat in use at around the time of Christ. What’s most interesting is the different marketing approaches that the Kibbutz uses to attract visitors. For the Jews, it’s an ancient Jewish fishing boat, perhaps the remnants of a boat used at the time of the Bar Kokhba revolt. For the Christians, it may actually have been Jesus’ fishing boat. This brings us to another interesting fact about Israel; that, currently, a huge amount of tourism comes from Christian Evangelicals. Quite frankly, it makes me a bit uneasy in that I just don’t know where they stand. My understanding is that they see control of Israel by the Jews as the precondition to the final apocalyptic event, but I don’t think that the Jews come out of their apocalypse all that well.


The next day we visited the beautiful and ancient city of Tzfat. From there we went on the obligatory and moving tour of the Golan Heights. The Golan Heights was the setting of some of the most vicious fighting of the 6 Day War in 1967. The 6 Day War was the war that was supposed to finally push the Jews into the ocean. Instead, Israel obtained a military victory that was unprecedented, in the modern era, for its speed and scope. There has been much talk of the 6 Day War, as it is currently the 40th anniversary of the war. The legacy is complicated. On the one hand, it firmly established that Israel was a strong and self-sufficient country that was not going to quietly into the night and, for both better and worse, reunited the holy city of Jerusalem. On the other hand, the land that it captured, in particular the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, threaten Israel’s status as a democracy and pose thorny obstacles in its quest for peace. However, when you visit the Golan it’s impossible to not marvel at the victory against Syria, given the huge strategic advantages enjoyed by Syria. The Golan is sprinkled with various monuments to fallen Israeli soldiers. I felt both proud over the accomplishment and great sadness over all of the bloodshed. From there we went out for Chinese food, one of the few restaurants in Tiberias that is open on Shabbat.

The next day was more ruins: Acco and Caesaria, both of which are spectacular archeological sites. We had a wonderful day.




Finally, we ended up in Tel Aviv. Our final night in Tel Aviv was quite special and I’m about to name-drop, so take note. We had dinner with Ada Karmi Melamede. Ada, who I’ve known for about 20 years, is the mother of one of my closest friends. She recently won the Israel Prize for architecture, which is the equivalent of the Israeli Nobel Prize. Her work includes the Israeli Supreme Court, which, with her brother, she designed both the exterior and the interior. It’s a stunning structure. For more about her work, click here. Her family is the first in Israeli history to have three members win the Israel Prize, her father (who was the first recipient of the Israel Prize for architecture) and her brother also won the Israel Prize for architecture. We thoroughly enjoyed dinner with her, as her perspectives on Israel, architecture and everything else are honest, interesting and thought-provoking.

After dinner, we said a tearful goodbye to my parents, who were leaving at the crack of dawn the next day. It was great seeing them and enjoying the wonders of Israel with them.

Israel 2

I have neglected writing in the blog since I have been in Israel—partially because we have been so busy, but mostly because the idea of trying to capture this experience in writing is just far too daunting. I feel like anything I say has either been said, or does not do justice to the experience. This is simply a magical and miraculous place that is utterly impossible to understand or describe unless you are here.

As you drive through the country (which you can do completely in less than seven hours), you see an unbelievably diverse array of sites: ancient ruins, desolate desert, rich and prolific agricultural fields, upscale wine vineyards, indescribably beautiful bustling cities, charming villages, sparking blue oceans and vividly beautiful coral reefs, the holiest and most important religious sites for almost every major world religion—and this all in a country that is smaller than New Jersey (an often sited, albeit incongruous, analogy). As you hike through the deserts and through some of the astounding archeological sites, you feel as though every spoonful of sand in this country contains the mysteries and answers of the thousands of years of questions. And, in the midst of all of the ancient ruins and rich history, is this incredibly cosmopolitan and sophisticated place in which cutting edge work in every industry and artistic discipline is occurring every single day. When we read about Israel in the papers from abroad, the stories are limited to the political upheaval and the many extremely problematic actions taken by Israel. While true, important and often disturbing, these stories miss the miracle that is Israel, built in just over 50 years essentially by refugees and Holocaust survivors. We spent a morning at the Theodore Herzl Museum, which included a slightly hokey if enjoyable and informative interactive presentation about the man who conceived of modern Zionism—the concept of a homeland for the Jewish people in Israel—and established the mechanisms for the creation of the state of Israel which was not to happen until 40 years after his death. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, this was an absolutely audacious, even ridiculous dream. Indeed, were it not for the Holocaust, it is likely that the State of Israel would never have come into being, despite the tireless work of this visionary man. The fact that it even exists at all is in itself a miracle. After spending the last four months in the developing world, and seeing the country that Israel has become, the enormity of this miracle is even more acute and it is hard as a Jew, not to feel incredible pride at the accomplishment.

After our first week of exploring Jerusalem, Adam’s parents arrived and we had a wonderful week during which we covered a fair bit of the country in a relatively short time. We spent time in Jerusalem (including a 4:00am visit to the Wall on Shavuout), saw some remarkable newly excavated archaeological sites, hiked in the Golan Heights with the Syrian and Lebanese borders in spitting distance, and enjoyed the beautiful, if packed, beaches of Tel Aviv (more details from Adam’s blog). It was absolutely terrific to be with Don and Nancy—and not just because Adam and I got a few nights alone. It was great to be all together after four months and we were all sorry to see them leave.

There is so much more to see, and we look forward to exploring it further at a relatively leisurely pace.

Arriving In Israel

We arrived in Israel on May 15. Our arrival here carries significance for all of us for at least two reasons. First, when we started our trip, Israel seemed so far away. It felt as if we had so much to do before we arrived there. To be here now forces us to acknowledge that this remarkable journey that we have taken as a family is approaching its conclusion. While we miss friends and family, after this, it will be hard, I think, to return to our normal routine. In particular, it will be hard to return to a life, in which at times, we feel more like ships that pass in the night than a close knit family. Hopefully, we can figure out a way to make our lives back in LA a little less hectic. I’m hopeful but skeptical.

Second, since the time that I spent my junior year in Israel, the country has always held significance for me. I remember back during the summer before my junior year, I was living with a bunch of guys on the Cape. I fully intended to return to Hamilton for my junior year. I was being groomed for the auspicious role of editor of the Hamilton newspaper. Most of the guys that I was living with worked on the paper, and I was finding them thoroughly annoying, with rare exception. It occurred to me—what the hell am I doing? It was not as if the Hamilton College Spectator carried the prestige of the Harvard Crimson. I then decided I wanted to go abroad.

The next question was where should I go and what programs could I still get into given that it was so late? I decided on Israel, primarily because I did not want to be another one of those kids who went to England, Spain and France (no offense intended to Melissa, who went to France). We made some phone calls, and a few weeks later, I was on a plane to Israel. My experience in Israel was nothing short of spectacular. I made a great group of friends, learned a great deal about the Middle East, and, thanks to a girlfriend, began to realize that being religious or even simply believing in God did not necessarily mean abrogating rationality. Of course, as has been alluded to in the other blogs, as a Jew arriving in Israel, you’re inevitably struck with this wondrous feeling of not being in the minority, that Judaism does not have to be nerdy and that Jews, when necessary, can be tough SOB’s. Like Maya and Emma, I found myself consumed with the idea that everyone is Jewish from the prostitutes to the generals. In my more ironic moods, I used to fantasize about how my mother would react if I told her I was dating a Jewish prostitute. There’s kind of a good news/bad news aspect to that.

I so loved my experience during my junior year that I returned to Israel for another 7 months after graduating to see if I wanted to make Aliyah. My experience was not as spectacular, probably having more to do with my depression at the fact that my graduation signified that adulthood was approaching, than anything to do with Israel. However, after leaving Israel in January 1988 (as the Intifada was starting, although my departure was not the result of the Intifada), I have not been back to Israel.

As Melissa has indicated, even in these few short days, it has been magical sharing the discovery of Israel with the kids and for Melissa and me to share it with each other. My kids, at this point, come both with so much experience in seeing other cultures and a much richer understanding of Judaism, than I possessed at the time of my first visit to Israel, that they are already getting so much out of the experience. I look forward to having a wonderful experience with my family in Israel, while at the same time I am filled with some trepidation about our fast approaching return date.

From Bangkok to Jerusalem

From Bangkok to Jerusalem

I must admit, as we were flying on a Royal Air Jordanian plane over Saudi Arabia along the border of Iraq (information I picked up on the cool little flight tracking screen airlines now provide) headed for Amman, Jordan (for a short stopover en route to Tel Aviv), I did think to myself, “are we %&@#$^ insane?” We decided to fly Royal Air Jordanian after determining it would save us over $2,000 and even a little time since El Al is prohibited from flying over “hostile airspace” and must take a more circuitous route. We even did a fair bit of “research” with some of the 1000s of Israelis traveling through Thailand, including parents of young children, who assured us it was safe, and even more comfortable than El Al (not a terribly high standard). But, at 2:00 am as we flew over the “hostile airspace”, it suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. In the middle of this mild panic, I did congratulate ourselves for the restraint we showed by waiting to share the information about our flight and routing with the grandparents until we were safely on the ground in Israel. My mild case of temporary insanity proved to be just that and we landed uneventfully in Amman, had a $10 Starbucks coffee, went through what seemed to me extremely lax security (what is that about??), and were safely ensconced in Ben Gurion International Airport within two hours.

As we have all noted to each other and in our various blog entries, arriving in Israel has been a mixture of conflicting emotions: absolute joy to be in the home of our people; trepidation that this portion of the trip will be so much different from the others; worry that our newly discovered family dynamic will be disturbed; excitement about seeing people who we have not seen in so long; relief to be able to brush our teeth with the tap water; sad that we are moving into the last leg of our journey; thrilled to be able to see and learn about Israel; anxious about trying to learn Hebrew; comforted to be safe to be a Jew; etc.. etc…

During our travels, there was an odd phenomenon when people would ask about our trip. Fellow travelers were always excited, bemused and maybe a little impressed to hear the story of how we quit our jobs, yanked the kids out of school and took off on this six month odyssey. Then there is this brief moment of truth when we go through our rough itinerary that seems perfectly acceptable in the world of leftie, hippiesh travelers who are out exploring the developing world--Africa, Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, Indonesia-- and then we mention that we will spend two months in Israel. We then either get an awkward pause with an even more awkward question about our religious background (my personal favorite—“oh, are you of the Judaic persuasion?”), a polite, “oh I hear it is a beautiful country,” a blatant, “why would you go there?”, a remotely judgmental nod and smile and even an occasional “where/what is Israel?” It is simply extremely comforting to be surrounded by Jews and Israeli flags unabashedly flying about, safe in the knowledge that we don’t have to have that conversation any more.

My last trip to Israel was nearly 20 years ago—practically half this country’s lifetime—and it has changed dramatically. In many ways, it feels like we are home. It is at once familiar and foreign. I don’t speak Hebrew, but unlike Swahili, Thai, Lao, Cambodian, Vietnamese, Indonesian and Balinese, I can read it (like a third grader) and understand a slew of words and even some sentences in context. The weather, warm and mild and even a bit chilly, as well as the plants and trees make me feel like I am in Southern California. We have friends that are like family and we are staying in Aloni’s house, where the walls and shelves are packed with familiar art and pictures of many people I know and love. On the other hand, I am surrounded by unfamiliar places, sounds, smells and it took me 30 minutes to find the vanilla yoghurt that my kids requested because I was trying to sound out the Hebrew letters (it was the “french” that threw me). I love the fact that I when I go running people yell kol ha kavod (essentially “way to go” in Hebrew) , instead of “mzungu,” (white person) “pole” (sorry) or just staring slack jawed in disbelief at the large white woman with big hips (not a particularly common anatomical feature in Asian women).

Within hours of getting off the plane, we walked through the old city and up to the Kotel. As I was seeing it all for the first time in 20 years and through my beautiful daughters’ wide eyes, I realized that we had spent the last 4.5 months learning about other cultures and now we have the great fortune to immerse ourselves in our own extraordinary tradition and experience it together as a family without the distraction of our daily lives. I am thrilled to be here and can’t wait to see what this part of the journey holds in store for us.

Who Needs A Pickup?

One of the most charming and amusing facets of life in Southeast Asia is the use of motorbikes and regular bikes as the equivalent of a large SUV. When we would rent a Uhaul to move a lamp, the South East Asians manage to pile what seems like an entire living room on the back of a motorbike—along with their entire family. We saw: water jugs; coffee tables; huge mirrors; cages with a dozen live chickens; a large pig (still alive, but tied up and ready for roasting on the spit); huge baskets of flowers, fruit and all manner of food to be sold to passers-by; mattresses; several cases of beer; gas tanks(?!); building supplies—and these are just examples. We also saw families of four (and even one of five); mothers nursing their babies; grade schoolers doing homework; teenagers reading; mothers preparing and feeding snacks to their kids; and even kids napping. Anyway, we were not always able to get the pictures as they sped by, but here are a few examples.