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.