For a very brief description, here is the first post:

So. No one is watching this yet, I’m assuming (unless someone just really likes that photo of Yoga on the rocks in my header), but I’m going to talk anyway.

I’m going to be using this blog mostly for practice, to keep myself committed to taking pictures and working with them, and just to have a place to put them. So often when I take my camera out and take a bunch of pictures they just end up sitting on my harddrive collecting metaphorical dust because I have nothing to do with them, nowhere to show them. So.

The first few posts are going to be a mix of older photos and more recent stuff, and eventually I plan to update as I take pictures and keep myself on a regular schedule (but we’ll see how that goes).

So yeah. It’s rather self-indulgent posting of pictures I kinda like at this point, but if any of y’all have any interest, I’ll be trying to keep it updated pretty regularly.

Also, please excuse the rather basic layout. I’m still getting the hang of fancying things up (I’m apparently far too old for all this newfangled technology).

Anyway. It’s been two weeks since I’ve been back in the US, longer since the program ended – exactly a month ago today, actually, was my last day of volunteering. I know I haven’t talked much – or at all, really – about my volunteering, but I’m easily distracted by flashy things like trips out of town and holidays, apparently, and time got away from me. (sidebar) I had a dream several months back, around March or the beginning of April, in which it was suddenly July and things were over and we were all leaving and I remember thinking in my dream, “I knew it would go by quickly, but man, it went really quickly!” It’s starting to all seem a bit like that dream now. It seems like time goes faster and faster the older you get.

I could go into a drawn out explanation of the places I worked at – oh lord, could I, I am so very, very long-winded – but I’ll spare you. In short, I worked at a community garden located in my neighborhood in South Tel Aviv, at a therapeutic riding center providing horseback riding classes to children with Autism, and at a prison working with detained kids who have crossed the border into Israel (mostly from African countries) illegally and without a parent or guardian.

It’s this last place that I’m going to focus on for a moment. The kids come to Israel for work, trying to make money to send home to their families. Some arrive with family already in Israel while others are totally alone. As many of the kids are coming from places like Eritrea and Sudan (countries in the midst of political and cultural turmoil), and have come without guardians, they can’t be sent back to their own countries.  It’s a relatively new occurrence, and as such the authorities in Israel have struggled to come up with a better place to house these kids while searching out family members to send them home with or boarding schools and kibbutzim to for them. So they end up in a prison in Ramla (a town about thirty minutes from Tel Aviv).

ANYWAY, before I ramble too much on the how’s and why’s, so these kids, almost entirely boys (the numbers are always in flux, but at the moment the ratio of boys to girls is somewhere around 40 to 6), aren’t criminals in any way aside from crossing the border illegally, but are stuck in this prison with little to no stimulation and crazy amounts of energy. The prison directors do the best they can for them, providing teachers and a classroom so the kids get English, Hebrew, math, and science classes, but there’s only so much they can do and most of the time the kids are stuck in their rooms watching TV or out in a yard that’s not really a yard (more of a medium-sized room with an open-air roof) with nothing but benches and pay-phones in it.

Again, ANYWAY, so we each come once or twice a week in pairs or threes basically to hang out with the kids and give them at least a little stimulation, both mental and physical – one day we brought a huge map of the world in and talked about different countries, another day we sat in the classroom with a few kids and did word games with them on the blackboard, most days I ended up  just hitting a ball around the yard with a few boys. With the girls (who are quite a bit more calm and relaxed than the boys), we did English and Hebrew lessons, made jewelry, did word searches.

Sometimes I wondered how interested they actually were in us being there. In such a dire situation – separated from their families, alone in a foreign country, little to no stimulation all day, every day – is there really much that we can actually do for these kids? Sometimes I wondered if the boys were just indulging me by playing ball, if it really mattered to them at all that we were there.

The thing is, I think many of us came to Israel with perhaps grander expectations than are really possible, or at least different expectations than are reality. We all tend to build things up in our minds sometimes, right? Most people who do a program like this want to make some sort of an impact – on the country, on the people here, on the world – and I think it was hard for most of us at first to get here and really be faced with the problems we were jumping into (rather than read about them as a concept before we left home), to realize how difficult it can be to get involved, especially in a foreign country, and hard to know that when we left Israel the issues would still be there.

And everyone finds a different way of adjusting their views of things, adjusting their views of themselves, to find the greatest effect they can have while there. For me, it was about letting go of what I came here thinking that I wanted to do and embracing what I could actually do and what I was doing. Appreciating the impact of simple things and realizing that though you may sometimes feel minor and insignificant, even the simplest actions can have a great effect.

On our last day at the prison we had parties with both the girls and the boys. The boys’ party was, as expected, a huge, fun baligan – water guns, water baloons, buckets of water, just water, water everywhere for two straight hours. The girls’ party, just like working with the girls had been each week, was much more subdued, relaxed, calm – we sat with them and did makeup, painted their faces, listened to music. I spent about forty-five minutes blowing up tons of brightly-colored baloons, and a couple of the girls and I began hitting them around the room.

Bear with me for a moment while I indulge my sentimentality…

It was one of those moments when I felt an actual pain at not having a camera with me (not allowed in the prison). It sounds weird or obsessive maybe, but part of my insane picture-taking is that I want to be able to remember things easily and clearly, be able to return to these kinds of amazing or funny or lovely or interesting moments with ease, and when I don’t have a camera with me to capture this kind of moment it makes me a little nutty with anxiety at the possibility of losing this image.

I spent two weeks kyaking in Alaska two summers ago, and on our first day out on this little annoymous island in Prince William Sound, we were unpacking our gear and setting up our tents when a great humpback whale suddenly appeared in the water right in front of us, so close to the shore that I could see every ridge on it’s back, and swam up the shoreline – up and over the water, back down under, then up again, tail gliding easily along behind it as it dipped back down under. When we first saw it, my mind, of course, immediately went to “where is my camera??” but I quickly realized that if I dove for my bag and went on a mad search for my camera, I would miss the whole thing, so I sat and watched it with the others and tried to burn the image into my mind. There were other moments from that trip that killed me not to have pictures of, but I try to think of them often and make sure the memories stay with me.

That’s how I’ll try to hold onto this one. We hit these balloons around and I watched the girls smile and laugh as the balloons floated through the air, all these different colors hovering around them, and listened to the music surrounding us, looked up to see rays of sunlight shining through the metal grating seperating us in the yard from the outside world. It’s hard to really put it all into words, but here’s what I’ll remember of this specific moment: the sunlight, the music, different colored balloons falling towards me, Danielle (one of my fellow volunteers) with her sunglasses on, smiling brightly, the girls laughing with their arms raised up to catch the baloons. Such a simple, beautiful moment of intense contrast that I will try to keep in my mind always.

So, if you asked me how I would sum up my volunteering experience over the past five months in just a few words? I think it all comes down to those balloons falling through the air and sunlight filtering down on us and music in our ears and Danielle smiling and the girls laughing. The places we worked at weren’t always easy and things we saw weren’t always pleasant, but that’s the case with any type of work like this, right? I’m starting to ramble again, but point being that this has been such a huge, challenging experience, even in just learning how to navigate through trying to help people or help the community around us – how can you make a difference when problems and issues seem so huge? How do you make a little girl laugh when she’s seperated from her family and stuck in a prison? Like I said, everyone figures out their own way, but for me it was holding on to the good, bright, beautiful moments through things that seem hard or frustrating or sad.

There was one day at the prison. We were in the yard, Spenser and Becky and I and, at one point when I counted, twenty-seven kids. I have no idea how we all fit in there. Spenser was playing music for the kids and trying to get them to dance, chatting with them about pretty much anything and everything. Becky was doing flashcards of English and Hebrew words with different groups of kids, walking around to try and get the less interested ones involved. I was smacking a ball around with six or seven kids, and it was one of those days that I wondered how much they actually even noticed us being there and wondered what impact I was really having. As we were leaving, saying goodbye to the kids, one really little guy looked at me and Spenser hopefully and asked, “so you’ll come back tomorrow, right?” And it broke my heart just a little bit to say that no, it would be a few more days before anyone came back. But it was also one of those moments when I was reminded of how much of an impact you can have even when you feel insignificant and like it’s not enough.

So. That was volunteering. Maybe someday, years in the future, I’ll get around to updating this again, because there’s lots more to say about the last six months. But I’m a procrastinator, so who knows.

Thing is, I really hope everyone keeps an open mind about things.  I ask this not simply because I live here and really love it here, but because I fear a mob mentality brewing in regards to the international response to this and I wish people would recognize the muddiness of the whole situation. Can we really demonize one group and victimize the other, whichever side you stray towards, before we have a more clear idea of what happened?

I fear sometimes that people close their eyes towards the Middle East; either blindly support Israel and view all Muslims as terrorists, refuse to see Israel’s faults, the negative actions of the last few years especially, and fail to see it as an actual country, rather than the utopia they want to see it as, or people blindly condemn Israel and see only the displaced Palestinians and the closed borders without attempting to understand how these things have come about.

Mostly I’d just like you all to stop for a moment before any of you jump to condemn Israel, as it seems like it took poor actions from both sides to bring about this conclusion. Try to understand that this is a complex situation that has more behind it than simply Israel wanting to prevent aid from getting to Gaza.

Try this article: http://www.haaretz.com/news/diplomacy-defense/israel-navy-commandos-gaza-flotilla-activists-tried-to-lynch-us-1.293089

One of the commandos said some of the soldiers were stripped of their helmets and equipment and a several were tossed from the top deck to a lower deck, forcing them to jump into the sea to escape.

“They jumped me, hit me with clubs and bottles and stole my rifle,” one of the commandos said. “I pulled out my pistol and had no choice but to shoot.”

This one I feel is a bit too biased at parts (“no humanitarian crisis in Gaza”?), but makes some points that have not been focused on much anywhere else as well: http://www.jpost.com/Opinion/Op-EdContributors/Article.aspx?id=177084
Once again, they were fully aware of the fact that Israel intended to lead the ships to the port of Ashdod, deliver the supplies to Gaza and send the participants back to their country of origin.

The melee that greeted the IDF commandos as they landed on the boat can be seen in this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LulDJh4fWI

The ‘Free Gaza’ Flotilla had publicly insisted on their non-violent intentions, however their violent attack on the IDF soldiers was clearly premeditated. They had knives, metal rods, firebombs and other items ready to use.

Whereas the IDF commandos went in with paint-ball guns (one of which can be seen in the video above), and the protesters on board attempted to steal other weapons they did have on them.

This whole channel on youtube done by the IDF has several videos worth watching: http://www.youtube.com/user/idfnadesk#p/u

A clip from Al-Jazeera TV prior to the flotilla heading out, in which men on board one of the ships chanted Islamic battle cries: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3L7OV414Kk

A participant interviewed: “Right now we face one of two happy endings: either Martyrdom or reaching Gaza.”

Here’s a pretty extensive article that you should really read all of, as it goes into great detail on the various factors involved: http://honestreporting.com/articles/45884734/critiques/new/Special_Alert_Flotilla_Battle_Unleashes_Anti-Israel_Wave.asp

Playing a central role in the flotilla is the Turkish IHH organization, which besides its legitimate philanthropic activities is also, according to the Intelligence and Terrorism Information Center, a supporter of radical Islamic networks, including Hamas, and at least in the past, even global jihad elements.

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One soldier suffered a serious head injury, two others were injured by gunshots and one more was stabbed. A total of seven soldiers were wounded – four soldiers were moderately wounded, of which two were initially in critical condition, as well as an additional three soldiers who were lightly wounded.

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During the commotion, another commando was stabbed with a knife. In a later search aboard the Marmara, soldiers found caches of bats, clubs, knives, and slingshots used by the rioters ahead of the IDF takeover. It appeared the activists were well prepared for a fight.

I realize these are all in defense of Israel’s actions, so I hope this isn’t coming off as completely biased, but I feel there’s so little of it out there at the moment and I’d really like to point out more of this side. I know that “Israel Storms Boats Carrying Humanitarian Aid, Kills Nine Activists” is an exciting, scary headline, but there’s a lot more to the situation than just Israel’s big, bad army massacred innocent people. The ships were told they would not be allowed into Gaza, were told to turn and dock in Ashdod, a city on the coast about midway between Tel Aviv and Gaza. Had the ships travelled there, they would have been searched and the cargo sent over land to Gaza. Why did the ships refuse to stop? Why the 700 activists on board in the first place if they were simply bringing humanitarian aid? Why did they ignore Israel’s demands to stop? When boarding the ship, the commandos were mobbed by several hundred people and beaten, their armor and weapons stolen, had been told not to use force unless their lives were in danger.

This isn’t to say that Israel is the innocent victim in all this, or that the deaths are justified, at all.  This raid was extremely ill-planned, and for that the IDF should be held responsible – there had to have been a better course of action than dropping one-by-one down a rope onto the deck. I just want to put more facts out there, so that everyone takes a moment to think about the complete picture, and I find it interminably frustrating that so few news sources are discussing all of the factors that led up to this confrontation.

It all begs the question: what exactly is the price we’re all willing to pay for our safety? Israel exists under constant threat of invasion, rocket fire, terrorism, which you need to understand in order to understand the actions it takes. Again, I’m not trying to justify anything or explain away bad behavior, but just help you understand why things like blockades, strong military forces, road blockages are used: people are scared, and they’ve been scared for a long, long time. You know the few years in between Sept. 11 and the end of the Bush administration? When there was a random yet constant string of “terror threats” and such, and the country lived on edge waiting for the next big thing to happen? Imagine living like that for 60+ years, only interspersed with actual violent/terrorist acts taking place. It breeds fear, anger, hatred on both sides that has become so deeply rooted in some people that they are brought to defenses that seem extreme to anyone on the outside. Maybe they are extreme most of the time – I have deep issue with much of how Israel handles the West Bank, in particular – but they at least must be understood. People don’t erect giant walls, run citizens through security checks at every bank and mall entrance, train bus drivers in anti-terror defenses, enforce blockades to the point of death for no reason, and whether or not the ends justify the means, you at least must realize that there are reasons driving people to this end. Why the blockade? Because ships heading to Gaza had been caught bringing weapons to Hamas, and even a group claiming to be bringing humanitarian aid is suspect. Most of Israel, I believe, is desperate for peace, but even more so I think Israel is desperate for safety. Whether that justifies the tactics employed to keep order or not, I don’t know, but we must, must at least understand why before simply condemning. What will be the ultimate end of all of this? Is it possible to have peace and safety in this region of the world? Is it worth sacrificing lives and morality for that safety? I really don’t know.

But all I really want to say here is please, please keep your eyes open and take in everything you can. Please seek out all evidence before coming to any conclusions. It pains me to hear this kind of blind condemnation without any independent thought by people who are listening to the news rather than digesting it. I’m not asking you to come to the same conclusions as me, just that you consider all the facts before coming to any conclusions. It also makes me terribly sad to hear about things like boycotting Max Brenner’s in NYC because it’s an Israeli-owned company. I wish people would remember to seperate the actions of a country’s government from it’s people – it’s something I think we in this program struggle with all the time, when we work with populations overlooked by the Israeli government and in areas seemingly forgotten about, and must remind ourselves that it is not necessarily representative of the people as a whole. Please, please remember that even if you condemn the Israeli government for this, the owners of Max Brenner or B&H Photo are not a part of that, just like all of the great people I’ve met here don’t deserve racial slurs thrown at them or seeing their flag burned.

So that’s that. I’ll write about more fun stuff soon.

Holocaust Memorial Day / Yom HaShoah was last Monday. Hard to put into words my feelings on the day. A very different experience to be here vs. in the States – I usually acknowledge when the day rolls around, especially as it falls around my grandmother’s birthday (she would have been 97 on April 4th) and the two days go hand-in-hand for me, but beyond that I don’t know if I find myself thinking about the Holocaust any more on this one day out of the year over any other. I’m told that there were things going on at home to mark the day this year, but to be honest, I haven’t really noticed in the past.

Twas interesting being in Israel on this day. These two weeks contain several holidays which I expected to all sort of be the same, but they’ve each been very unique, perhaps because of how different of a connection the country as a whole has to each day.

There’s a siren that goes off throughout the country, we were told, on Sunday night at 8pm and then again on Monday morning at 10am, so on Sunday night Alex, Paul, and I went out to one of the main roads near our apartment at about 7:45, staked out a good spot on a hill that overlooks where the road meets the highway so lots of cars are constantly whizzing through. We were told that when this siren goes off, everyone in the country stops whatever they’re doing, wherever they are, and has a moment of silence.

At 7:55 we got ready…

At 7:57 I said, “I feel like I’m waiting for the countdown on New Year’s Eve…”

At 7:59 we peeled our ears (is that an expression? I’m thinking not, but let’s pretend for the moment that it is)…

At 8:00 we were waiting…

At 8:02 we waited some more…

At 8:06 we wondered if there would actually be a siren on this night…

At 8:09 we suggested that maybe it was just late, as things in Israel are rarely on time.

At 8:15 we decided that there was probably some misinformation given to us and we headed back home.

The next morning I woke up around 9:40 (shut up, it can be a hard schedule and coming off of a year+ working only in the evenings, I’d say I’m doing well just managing to get up at 9am) and threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, and shoes, grabbed my cameras (yes, cameras plural) and ran out the door, as it seemed that no one else was awake (at 9am, I’m actually one of the more early risers in my apartment). (too many parentheses!)

I was just reaching the little hill that we had been on the night before, walking along a busy street and heading towards this intersection of road and highway, glancing at my watch every couple of minutes to check the time – 9:52…9:56…9:59 – watching the cars driving past me. I looked down at the ground to watch where I was stepping – Israelis have about as much interest in picking up dog shit as WaHi residents, which is to say, very little – when suddenly it started, this low, wailing siren that grew to a steady, unobtrusive pitch.

I looked up, and the whole world had gone still. In that one split second that I was looking at the ground, everyone had stopped their cars and gotten out, stood with their heads bowed by the open doors. I scrambled up on the hill that was right beside me and snapped a couple of pictures with my small camera – had wanted to take more with my larger camera, but once in the m0ment I realized how disruptive that would have been, and even the relative quiet of my little digital camera seemed harsh in the complete, utter silence of the moment.

It was truly one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen. Not a single car or person moved, each stopped exactly in place, as if someone had frozen the cars right in the midst of driving. It was a breezy day and trees rustled noisily, dogs barked in a yard just behind me, the traffic lights continued to change from red to green to yellow to red, and not a single person moved or spoke for a full minute. You could feel the impact of this moment as the world just continued on but every single person paused.

A bus was stopped just in front of me and the people didn’t all get off, but I could see through the windows that they were all standing up from their seats. A group of children stood quietly with their teachers beside me. The siren continued to sound. I took a few seconds of video of nothing but the trees moving.

I don’t know exactly what I thought about during that moment. I thought about Oma and Opa. I thought about how amazing it is to see an entire country collectively stop all at once. I thought about why we do things like this, have these day to commemorate events in history now 60+ years past, and how for these kids beside me it’s probably only just entering into their consciousness what happened 60 years ago. I thought about how many victims of the Holocaust have no graves to mark their deaths or family members to remember them, and how important it is, though it feels small, to stop and think about them – almost like paying respect at a headstone in a cemetery.

And that’s not true really, to say it feels small – it was one moment before the day continued on relatively as normal, but it actually felt huge – think of those first few days after 9/11, how you’d walk through Times Square and it was just silent and that’s sort of what it was like, though a bit different because it wasn’t unintentional, silence out of grief, but planned, done together, and out of remembrance.

The rest of the day was relatively normal, though I suspect part of that is due to us not having a TV or a radio – I’m told that every program on this day was devoted to Holocaust remembrance – and being a bit cut off from the rest of the country in that sense. Which is maybe part of why the siren felt so huge to me; it was something you could really feel and grasp, no matter where you were or how much access you had to the news.

We had an interesting speaker come for a discussion with our group in the afternoon, Dr. Edward Rettig, who is an American-born Israeli citizen living in Jerusalem, the acting director (according to his card) of the American Jewish Committee. He spoke quite a bit on the relationship between the Holocaust and it’s place in our collective memory, and current conflicts between Israel and other nations. I didn’t agree with everything he said – he spoke a lot about the use of violence and force in protecting ourselves, which made me hedge a bit as I listened – but it was fascinating to hear this perspective from someone who is obviously very intelligent and thoughtful, well spoken (mostly – he got off on the occasional tangent, but managed to bring it back around), yet a slightly different point of view from my own. He spoke quite a bit about the last Intifada and his son’s army service and I got a great sense of how his experience living through that has influenced his perspective – his experiences which are so different from my own living here, and even my own living in post-9/11 New York. I tend to be much more pacifist in my thinking and sensibilities towards world and political conflicts, and while I recognize that non-violent action isn’t always (or perhaps, isn’t often) realistic, I still firmly believe that nothing in the world is ever solved through war and violence alone, nothing is ever solved without discussion and understanding. Which is not to say that Dr. Rettig was telling us that bombs and guns alone will hold Israel’s place in the world, but he touched several times on the necessity of violence in Israel’s defense, which is true, but… something. Hard to articulate. Or maybe it’s just hard for me to acknowledge that violence can be a necessary part of maintaining order in this part of the world, when I want so much to believe that it’s through understanding one another that we’ll achieve peace (hippie moment). Do you ever have those moments in your life, or those beliefs in your life that you stand by so firmly at one point and feel so strongly about, but years later look back on and realize that you’ve come to feel very differently about them? As in, ideas you had as a crazy, emotional teenager that you may still believe in as a 25-year-old, but not in the same way or with the same fervency – I wonder if this will be one of those. So many things throughout your life can influence your ideas and beliefs; I wonder how living here will influence mine.

And now I’ve gone off on a tangent.

Anyway, an interesting discussion that I wish could have gone on a bit longer.

So that was Yom HaShoah.

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On Tuesday evening we went to Nalaga’at Theater, home to the only theater company in the world made up entirely of blind/deaf actors – as in, each actor is both blind and deaf. First we went to Cafe Kapish, one of two eateries attached to the theater, which is staffed entirely by deaf waiters and waitresses. There have been several moments in my life that I have seriously wanted to throttle myself for not having a camera during, and this was one – the waitstaff teaches you a bit of sign language at the end of the meal, and watching everyone practice it was one of the highlights of my evening. The food was excellent and I loved watching the waitstaff talk to each other, saying these normal restaurant things that I’ve said out loud a million times, all through sign language.

The show itself is a bit hard to describe – not like a typical play or musical, but more snapshots of the thoughts and feelings and dreams of each of the actors, pieces of their lives before and after losing these two senses. I find myself totally fascinated by this, by people who live without these two senses most important for communication, and how they learn to build new ways of connection and communication through touch. How frightening and perhaps hopeless that must feel, to be without both sight and hearing – how does someone live through that?

The director of the theater explained afterward that she had started this group simply as a theater class for a group of blind/deaf people and ten (fifteen? I can’t remember) years later she’s still here working with them and has built the group into an acting troupe.

The aspect that was the most striking to me, though, is that all of the actors are Jewish, Arab, Christian – not  just Jewish Israelis, but people from every community in Israel, which is amazing to see. It’s another one of those instances when you realize how small the differences between you are, how there’s so much more that unifies than divides you (hippie moment #2). It made me think about how these differences between us are significant – religion, belief, ideas on how the world should be run and how we exist within the world – but how we let them become literally larger than life, let them eclipse everything that we have in common, even right down to the simple fact that we’re all human. The show really helps remind you that there are things bigger than our differences – how we communicate, how we connect to each other as people rather than just as Jews, as Arabs, as Christians, as secular, etc, how we live our lives through our personal boundaries and hardships.

It made me think of Holland House, one of the volunteer placements Tikkun Olam participants can work at, which is a Jewish and Arab run center for young children (0-3 years) with various physical and mental disabilities. The first time I went there, taking a tour with our group, I got a bit choked up upon seeing the teachers – some Arab, some Jewish – working with the kids, and how dedicated and caring they were towards each of the children; how the religion and background of the kids wasn’t any kind of factor in the care given, and everyone was just working together to care for and educate them. It was amazing to see, and amazing to think about how these people really put everything else aside for something more important, for problems more immediate than racial or religious differences.

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Monday was Fallen Soldier Memorial Day / Yom HaZikaron, which began Sunday evening with a siren – the same as on Yom HaShoah – at 8pm and a huge memorial service in Rabin Square in the center of town. There were memorials all over the city Sunday evening and into Monday, but this was the largest, most centralized.

Some of the crowd at Rabin Square

Memorial Day here is a very, very different thing than in the U.S. It’s taken very seriously, considered not a day to relax and BBQ, go to the beach, as it is in the States, but rather a very solemn day during which many shops, bars, restaurants are closed, the streets are calm and quiet, no one plays loud music or chatters above low tones. Even the shop owners below our apartment, who wake me up each and every morning around 7am with their raucous conversation, were silent on Monday.

Anyway, Spenser and I went to the ceremony at Rabin Square, along with several thousand others. Everything was in Hebrew, so I couldn’t understand most of it, but it was pretty straightforward – someone came up to speak a few words, then a musician would play, then more words, than another singer, then more words, then there would be a video clip of a family speaking about their lost loved one, which was very sad to watch. They had several of them interspersed throughout the ceremony, and again, I couldn’t understand the specifics of what they were saying, but it was very emotional nonetheless to see mothers and fathers choking back tears as they spoke of their children, seeing how young some of them were when they died.

One thing that really struck me during all of this is just how prevalent war and conflict and the threat of death has been in this country since it’s birth – while the US has specific generations that have lost large portions of the population to war, for Israel it’s every generation – every family, every person has some relationship with conflicts that have gone on in some form or another for 60+ years. These videos highlighted soldiers killed at all different times in the past several decades – one in 1988, one in 2005, another in 1968, one in 1977, another just a few months ago – and it made me think about just how much it’s been a part of life and the culture here for so long. Again I feel I’m doing a terrible job putting my thoughts into words, but essentially it really drove home how different this culture, this holiday, the general regard for the military is here vs. the U.S. I felt at times like an outsider – people wept openly all around me while I tried to make sense of my thoughts and tried to take things in. I thought about Daniel and tried to relate to that kind of concern for a family member in the military, but even that couldn’t quite bridge the connection for me. It felt a bit like being at a funeral for someone I didn’t know.

It’s interesting, the different relationships the people here have with each of these holidays, vs. my own relationships with these holidays. Yom HaShoah was very significant to me, and I really felt the impact of it even as the rest of the world seemed to go on fairly as normal. Memorial Day, however, I felt less of a connection to despite how much more all-consuming this day felt. But it’s much more prevalent in their lives at this point, the IDF and loss of friends, the fear of losing friends, whereas I have no real personal connection to the IDF short of empathy for families of soldiers, but feel more of a relationship to events of the Holocaust.

If that makes any sense. Christ, I’m rambly today. This post needs more pictures.

This is Ben, for those who haven't met him. He's not in Israel (unfortunately).

Anyway, the whole ceremony was really nice and very sad to watch. With all of the musicians and singers and so many spectators it felt like a huge outdoor concert, except totally quiet, as the mood was very somber.

The next day we had a class which focused on grief and different ways of grieving, and remembrance within the context of Israeli culture, which I found really interesting. Again it was something that I wish it could have gone on longer – we read Israeli poems and songs from different time periods and by authors with very different perspectives and discussed what each one was trying to convey and how they relate to this day and the loss of soldiers. There was a really interesting contrast between poems about the loss of soldiers and sacrifice for one’s country and the greater good, and poems which focused more on personal loss and lives interrupted.

Next we split into groups to go to Memorial Day ceremonies at different schools. The one I went to was… interesting. I don’t volunteer at any schools, as most of the other group participants do, s0 it was great to see what this school in particular was like. Two of my roommates volunteer there so it was nice to put an image to the place they’ve talked about so often and see some of the kids they work with.

However, as with many young, pre-teen kids, they seemed to have a lot of trouble focusing on what was going on, and I felt a lot of disconnect between them and the solemnity of the day. It was a bit hard for me to understand, because like I said, everyone here has a connection to this day and we were told beforehand to be very respectful and understanding at these memorials, as they are taken very seriously and many of the schools have lost former students, many of the current students have family members currently in the military or have lost brothers and sisters already – and then the whole time at ours the kids were wandering around, talking, fighting, staring at me (they looked about 12 years old and I think they don’t see girls that often), talking some more, being shushed and reprimanded by their teachers. I wish they’d been a bit more respectful themselves, but then I really shouldn’t expect adolescent kids to quiet down and focus just for my own interests, so c’est la vie (which, sidebar, suddenly made me think of this really crappy pop song that I heard the other night that is now in my head and must be downloaded immediately – say you will, say you won’t, say you’ll do what I don’t, say you’re true, say to me, C’est la vie! B*Witched, anyone?), it was a very interesting day nonetheless.

And good lord, I need to learn to be less long-winded – shorter winded? – these things just go on for freaking ever. I think it’s time for another picture.

Here's a picture of Nick cheering after winning Apples to Apples

Tuesday was Independence Day, ushered in by tons of partying after sundown on Monday night. We went to Florentine, one of the neighborhoods near our own and where we often end up on nights out. The crowd was a bit odd – all seemed to be either 16 – 19 years old or 55 – 65 years old. But fun anyway, even though I think we stayed in one spot on the street for about three hours.

Me, Mark, Pauly

Spenser, Josh (my fellow Gingie), another Rachel, me, Becky, Alex

I think there were more people here on Monday night than on Purim, which I would not have though possible before

On Tuesday we took a stab at celebrating Independence Day like the locals do and BBQed on our roof (Independence Day here is pretty similar to Independence Day in the US, all parties and music and BBQs and fireworks, which makes it all the more interesting that it comes on the heels of Memorial Day), but everyone was a little sluggish (not hungover, of course, not at all) so it was a nice, laid back meal out on the roof and that was about all we did for the day.

Now I'm just starting to enjoy putting random pictures in here. Here, have one of me, Barbara, and Elmo.

-

Our apartment has become a house of refugees.

So there’s this country off in the middle of nowhere, pretty unassuming, out of the way… or so we thought, before the Eayyyjjafvjjjjaeallllajiiockckkuuull (or some such) volcano errupted.

Pauly, Alex’s boyfriend, came to visit us all from London about sixty-seven years ago for what was supposed to be a ten-day trip.

In actuality, he’s now entering day seventeen of his ten day trip. And it honestly feels like he’s been here for years (even though we haven’t even been here that long). He is soon going to head to the UN offices to apply for refugee status, maybe call the Migrant Worker’s Hotline and see about getting hooked up with a job. He has been paying us rent in the form of rugelach and good conversation, but another week and he may qualify for residency.

It started innocuously enough: Paul was supposed to leave for London on Thursday evening. Thursday morning I woke up, wandered into the kitchen and ran into Paul with this stumbling sort of grin on his face as he said, “I may be here a bit longer – there’s been a volcano eruption in Iceland and all the airports in England are closed.”

I blinked at him.

“…What?”

He repeated himself and I broke into a grin, because much as I realize he has an actual life to go home to and a pretty serious job that requires his actual presence on the continent, I’ve really enjoyed having him here and was happy that we’d all have him around for a few more days. The earliest flight he could get re-booked on was for Sunday, so it looked like he had the weekend, most of which was taken up by lesson planning (teacher, religious studies, and don’t even get me started on how brilliant it is that religious studies is a required course throughout all schools, public or private, in the UK) – one sad irony of the whole situation is that he purposely left all of his work at home because he didn’t want to worry about it while on vacation, and then he ended up totally frustrated at having to do all of this work without any of his materials. Maybe that’s not actually ironic, maybe that’s just the Alanis Morissette definition of ironic. Either way, pretty annoying for him, and I think about the only thing during the weekend that really bugged him.

He kept a very upbeat attitude about the whole thing. “I’m stuck in Tel Aviv with my girlfriend by the beach. There are far worse places to be stuck for a few days.”

Then Sunday rolled around, and the volcano kept spewing ash. Sunday flight: canceled.

We got more European refugees – two friends of Anya’s coming off of a week’s vacation in Eilat were headed off on their way back to St. Petersberg by the volcano. They took up residence in the upstairs. We thought about opening a hostel and starting our own volunteer place, where soon other MASA programs would send participants to work with foreign refugees.

Last night when I was writing this I had this long, ridiculous paragraph about all the different groups of people that we were supposedly housing that was totally fictional and random so I stuck this picture of fireworks in just because. This morning I nixed the whole paragraph, but I like this picture, so it's staying put. Enjoy!

In reality, we did have three people – Pauly and Anya’s two friends – stuck with us for several days. Every day Paul and Alex got up, checked the news, checked the weather, and every day it just got more and more bleak. More airports around Europe closed. We laughed at the insanity of it all. Paul alternated between serene and stressed, happy to still be on holiday with his girlfriend but concerned about missing necessary classtime with his students.

Day 12 of a 10 day trip: We went to the beach.

Day 14 of a 10 day trip: We went to Budda Burger.

Day 15 of a 10 day trip: We partied in Florentine. “I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Paul exclaimed several times, arms spread open and eyes dazed. “I’m supposed to be in class right now and I’m at a street party in the middle of Tel Aviv!”

Day 16 of a 10 day trip: The Russians had sushi. We had BBQ. Airspace over Europe seemed to clear up a bit. Then there was threat of another volcano eruption. Pauly started gathering paperwork for his upcoming immigration to Israel.

Finally today things started to clear up, and here’s where the real twist comes: Alex has a wedding back in London to attend this weekend, so she’d had a flight for tonight already booked weeks ago. The next flight Paul was able to get on is on Friday. So Alex had to leave tonight for London, while Paul is with us for another two days. The Russians left us this morning, and are now finally home. The whole thing has been one of the oddest, most absurd situations. But I quite enjoy having Pauly around, so it’s been fun (for us more so than him, I suspect, though he’s stayed in very good humor, all things considered).

Pauly through a water bottle. I was going to put up a picture of him in Florentine from Monday night, but that seemed weird.

And now, having updated you all on the past week or so of life here, I’m off to bed. Or maybe to watch a movie, I haven’t decided yet. But either way, RVR out.

*I have very limited space on my computer’s harddrive, so I only have a random handful of pictures pre-February, such as Game Night at the Poelle’s and pictures of my pets at home. Just wanted to let y’all know.

Here, have one more: Jen eating sushi.

DO get a Visa ahead of time if you’re traveling over land across the border.

DON’T listen to anyone who tells you differently.

 “You don’t have a Visa?” the Egyptian passport control officer asked me. “What’re you doing here? Go back to Israel!”

The border between Eilat, Israel and Taba, Egypt

DO spend a few days in Sinai.

Don’t go at the beginning of your trip when all you want is to get to Cairo.

We (my travel companions, Adam and Spenser, and I) had to hang in Sinai for two days to wait for the Egyptian embassy back in Israel to open up (coming over the border from Israel you need a Visa to get to Cairo and Egypt Proper, but not to go to Sinai), and while my travel companions had a blast, I was antsy and restless and bored, ready to head out.

Sinai beach

DO stay at African Toukl.

DON’T wait until you’re hungry to order any food.

The tourism industry in Sinai has been wrecked by terrorist attacks over the past five years and as such there is very little in this area in particular – the coastline between Taba and Nuweiba, a city about an hour away, is lined with empty resorts and hotels abandoned half-way towards completion. Additionally, the Bedouins who live in the area have been forced in and out of land by tourism developers and over the last few years have built up these little hut villages (Lonely Planet calls them “tourist villages”), which is where nearly all of the visitors to this part of Sinai stay. When I say huts on a beach and that’s it, that’s exactly what I mean: they are little clusters of straw huts lining the coast, often run by Bedouins who live nearby. Ours was called African Toukl and run not by a Bedouin but by a Sudanese man named Juma who made amazing food – there are literally no stores or restaurants or anything for miles in any direction, so Juma provides you with everything you need, from toilet paper to bottled water to soda to the most amazing meals you’ll ever spend four hours waiting for. We’re not exactly sure why it takes so long to make a plate of spaghetti or some roast chicken, but whatever the case, be sure when you go to order your dinner around 3pm so you can be ready to eat by 8 or 9.

Our hut

Juma's shakshuka is the best I've ever eaten, but if you get it make sure you have a bathroom handy.

DO take a shared taxi through Sinai to Cairo.

DON’T wait until you get to Cairo to agree on a drop off point.

Unless you want to end up in the middle of a busy intersection at 9pm. The shared cab was very conveinent, much more so than the bus from Taba to Cairo would have been, I’m told – we left earlier, only had to share the space with five loud Arab-Israelis, had a few disgusting bathroom breaks, and paid only a couple dollars more than we would have for the bus. Just remember that it’s called a shared cab, but it’s not really a cab, and they will drop you off wherever they feel like, no matter how much you miss-communicate with them.

DO bring an iPod and/or a long book with you.

DON’T expect to get anywhere particularly quickly, or within the time frame they tell you you will.

The (five to seven hour) drive through Sinai to Cairo (and Cairo to Sinai) is pretty much endless amount of nothing speckled with ramshackle bits of nothing. It’s pretty amazing to see, just these little bits of houses, Bedouin tent villages, the occasional police checkpoint, the odd gas station. It’s amazing to think how expansive these deserts are, you see just a horizon full of emptiness and sand, like looking at the ocean and seeing nothing but water forever.

Driving through the endless desert

Ramshackle bits of nothing

Abandoned half-finished hotel

DO spend a few days in Cairo.

DON’T go without preparing yourself first.

26 million people is a fuck of a lot, and you really feel it as soon as you get there. I think it’s a very polarizing city – I loved it, especially coming off of the emptiness of Sinai; the life, the vibrancy, the energy, were all amazing. But others can leave Cairo feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed, lost in the furious pace of the city. Or hit by a car, which brings me to…

DO take great care when crossing the streets of Cairo.

DON’T show any fear.

No one ever gets to play the “such-and-such state has the worst drivers!” game ever again. Even Israel – no one ever gets to claim Israel has the worst drivers, because Cairo has won it all. Egypt on the whole is a crazy place to drive, but Cairo is like a giant, collective game of Chicken. There are no traffic lights. There are no crosswalks. There are no lanes on the road. There are no rules to the road. And you all think I’m exaggerating here, but I’m dead on.

It's blurry because they were going faster than the speed of light

Somehow, it all works – people seem used to it enough so that they all kind of work together to make this road system work. They duck and weave around the cars surrounding them, skim along beside the sidewalk so as not to hit any pedestrians standing fearfully by the side of the road hoping to cross the street in their lifetimes, ride those brake pedals just waiting to jam on them, and somehow it more or less works. Despite the fact that Egypt has one of the highest rates of vehicle-related deaths in the world.

Crossing the street is an even dicier affair. If you want a death-defying thrill, come to Cairo. Mom and Dad, you may not want to read this part…

I summed it up at one point by saying that it’s like a huge game of Frogger – those of us too young to remember that game (which I think I actually am, but it was featured in an episode of Seinfeld, so there you go. Sorry for the TV reference, Barbara), it’s basically crossing a busy street through a series of starts and stops and backwards and forwards and weaving through empty spaces. Which is a bit like this experience in Cairo, but I later realized that it’s less like Frogger and more like another game of Chicken – it’s you vs. the cars to see who will blink first. There should be a video game made out of this.

The trick is to just go, and once you go you can’t stop or go back or even really take a second to breathe – you have to get your ass across and basically just dare the cars to hit you, because if you keep going they will stop – but as soon as you stop, even if you’re in the middle of the street, they’ll whizz right past you. There are no real crosswalks – actually I think there are one or two, but there are no traffic lights at them and no one really pays attention to them when driving. I think they’re just painted on the street for decoration. So everyone pretty much crosses everywhere all the time and you have to trust that the cars will stop for you. We found it’s best to go in big groups – look for other people trying to cross the street and go as soon as they do; you feel much less vulnerable that way.

So, moral of the story, rules of the (pedestrian) road:

1) Check out the sidewalk around you, find other people crossing and use them as human shields.

2) Commit to going. Once you start, you can’t stop.

3) Drivers can smell fear. They prey on hesitation. Show none!

4) GO! GO NOW!

DO stay at African Hostel in Cairo.

DON’T fall out of the elevator.

Seriously the best hostel I’ve ever stayed at – if you can really call it a hostel. You think of a hostel as usually a shitty, dorm-like residence that you stay at more for the low cost and the experience of it than the atmosphere, but African Hostel was freaking beautiful, in every way – the building fit right in with most in Cairo, this old European style dusted over with decades of dirt, as if they are as much relics as the pyramids. The rooms are ginormous, very grand and spacious, and ours opened up to overlook a busy street below (as I guess all the streets in Cairo are), and the staff is the friendliest I’ve met anywhere I’ve traveled, hands down.

Overall, people in Egypt were quite lovely to us – never a bad word said (aside from one grumpy tour guide one day, and even that was mild), lots of people excitedly shouting “Obama!” to us when we said we were American, lots of people offering to direct us around when we couldn’t figure out our way - but you get this sense that it’s all done with an underlying motivation of greed. Maybe greed isn’t the right word for it; as one fellow traveler we met put it, they don’t have very much money, and they know we have more than them, and they want to help us part with it. But it gives you the sense that it’s never really genuine kindness or helpfulness when someone gives you a friendly smile or directs you somewhere, but rather done with the hope that they’ll get a little something from you in return.

The staff at African Hostel, however, was strikingly different in that respect from the rest of our interactions through the country, which I think helped formed my overall impression of Egyptians as very nice, friendly people. The front desk guy was warm and helpful and excited to talk to us (which very well may have been an act, and yet didn’t come off as such), and they helped us pretty plan the rest of our trip – booked all our transportation, hotels, felucca, guides, tours for us for insanely cheap and got a driver for us to guide us around Cairo and Giza for super cheap as well. All in all, I’d say our trip would have been very different had we not spent the first couple of nights at African Hostel in Cairo.

African Hostel outside courtyard

The awesome/scary elevator that has no shaft

View from our window

DO bring your own toilet paper everywhere.

DON’T argue with me on this.

Even the nicest hostel in the world is pretty short on TP. In Sinai we had to buy some from Juma. Not a single public bathroom had any. The only two places that had readily available toilet paper in the bathrooms were the hotel we stayed at in Aswan and the hotel we stayed at in Luxor. I’m not a really high-maintenance person, but the bathrooms overall were pretty dicey, so just trust me on this, at the very least: bring toilet paper everywhere you go!

DO ride a camel to see the pyramids.

DON’T ride a runaway horse.

I gasped out loud when the pyramids first came into view. I’ve heard some people say that they’re disappointing, a bit like seeing the Mona Lisa – smaller than expected, overrun with crowds, too touristy, yada yada yada. But I found it absolutely incredible to see them rise over the treetops at the edge of the highway, just sitting there like they have for 3,000 years – amazing.

We were driven into Giza and taken to a tour office who offered us a choice of going up to the pyramids by camel or by horse. My travel companions thought they had chosen wisely with their horses – “camels are too slow,” they said. “Horses are way cooler,” I’m pretty sure they were thinking.

I chose a camel.

Mostly because I’d never ridden one before, and how cool is that, to ride a camel up to the pyramids? Way cool, I know you’re all thinking it. As soon as I got on, though, I started wishing that I was on a horse like the guys. The camel was kind of lumbering and sluggish and I felt wobbly and I haven’t ridden a horse in I don’t know how long and suddenly the grass was far greener on the other side. I watched as Spenser’s horse pranced along the street (a sign of things to come, I later realized…) and Adam casually strode along atop his, took some pictures of the two of them trying to look like badasses, and got a bit jealous as I held tightly to my camel’s saddle.

In between shooting jealous glances towards Spenser trotting up a sand dune and trying not to fall off of my camel, I gaped at the pyramids.

We stopped on a high dune to take some pictures

I really like jumping pictures

Unfortunately I forgot to change one of the settings on my camera, so several of my pictures are way too bright :/

So about here is when Spenser offered to switch his horse for my camel, and things started to go south.

Well, fun for a few minutes I guess, as Adam and I had a (controlled) gallop across the desert.

“Do you know how to ride?” our guide asked me.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I used to ride a lot when I was a kid.”

In retrospect, I fear he may have mistook that for I’ve been riding since I was a kid. Which is a very different thing.

Especially when you end up riding a BATSHIT CRAZY HORSE.

It started out a quick trot. The guide told me to slow down. I pulled on the reins. The horse sped up. I leaned back. He sped up more. I spoke to him and continued pulling back on the reins. He started cantering (in between a trot and a gallop.”

“Help,” I said goofily, laughing a bit. “Uh, help. Help?”

The horse took off at a gallop.

“Help. Help. Help? HELP! HELP!”

Yeah, I screamed. Now, I don’t normally panic in that way – my freakouts are usually of the quiet shaking sort, maybe a few tears. On roller coasters I usually just close my eyes and put my head down and wait for it to be over (and then immediately want to go again).

But I screamed my head off all the way across the pyramids. I pulled and pulled and screamed and watched as my horse headed towards a dip in the dunes, and had plenty of time to watch it approach and think about how I was about to go flying down a cliff.

A man jumped out in front of the horse to try and stop it, but to no avail. My crazypants horse just flew right by him.

I hear the gallop of other horses around me, and we picked up even more speed.

“HELP!!” I screamed. “HELP!!! AHH!!”

Finally we slowed down – another guide on his horse came up on one side of me, our guide on his horse on the other side, and they grabbed the reins and somehow forced mine to a halt.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou,” I breathed out in a mildly hysterical rush. No tears, fortunately, but for some reason I burst into hysterical laughter in between my gratitude.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” the other guide said soothingly, smiling brightly like everything really was okay. “You’re fine, everything’s okay.”

“I thought you said you knew how to ride,” my guide said, and I tried to choke out that I know how to ride SANE horses, and that he neglected to mention that this horse was out of it’s fucking mind.

“He’s very strong, this horse,” the other guide said. “Very crazy.”

“Yes, you have to pull very, very hard on him,” my guide added. ”And do this – ” he demonstrated pulling the reins from side to side – “to make him slow down.”

I didn’t say, “well, that’s a fuck of a lot of help now, isn’t it?”

Also, let me point out that another tour guide knows how crazy this horse is, and yet they continue to let unsuspecting tourists ride it.

We bid goodbye and one last thanks to my savior and my guide led me back to the others, holding firmly to my horse’s reins.

“I’m fine,” I told the guys shakily, yet still smiling like a crazy person for some reason.

We were then led closer to the pyramids and given some time to get off, go up and take pictures.

“Man, I gotta pee,” Adam muttered.

“So pee!” our guide told him.

“What, here? On the pyramid?”

“Of course! Why not? You’re outside!”

So he did.

After taking some more pictures

and getting barked at by a police officer who demanded money for touching the pyramid (which is bogus, we were warned about beforehand by our guide – more on that later…)

and touching the pyramid anyway

we got back on our rides and I took my camel back from Spenser.

“Do you want us to hold onto the horse for you?” our guide asked Spenser. “Or do you want to try controlling him yourself?”

“…Um…you can hold onto him,” Spenser replied slowly.

We hit up the Sphinx next, our last stop on the Great Pyramid Tour.

Sphinx!

I really don’t understand why some people are disappointed by it or complain that it’s too small. I thought it was amazing.

DO visit Saqqara because it’s my favorite pyramid

DON’T try to touch this one because they’ll yell at you.

Literally the oldest pyramid in the world, built in about 2650 BC – four thousand years old.

DO climb inside  a pyramid when you can.

DON’T try to do it in the dark.

 The power went out as we climbed down the pyramid of Dashur, which was seriously cool on the one hand, but a bit difficult on the other.

Spenser and Adam using camera flashes for light

Nothing much to see inside, as most all the pyramids have been cleaned out and their contents either lost to tomb raiders or sent off to museums, but still very cool to climb inside one.

DO keep a lot of small change on you to give out for tips.

DON’T feel obligated to tip everyone who asks.

Like I said, the Egyptians are very eager to help you part with your money, and as such will demand tips from you – “bakshish! bakshish!” – at just about every turn.  Sometimes it’s justified, like a particularly good tour guide or a driver who’s been with you all day. Most of the time, however – cops who demand it to touch pyramids, tour operators who insist on carrying your luggage for you to a car, random shmos on the street who give you directions – it gets fairly ridiculous, and I refused to hand out tips for every little BS thing. People can get pushy about it, holding a hand out in front of your face even when simply handing you toilet paper for the bathroom, and they may get a little annoyed with you if you don’t hand over some pounds, but hold your ground, because there’s nothing they can really do if you don’t.

My general rule of thumb became: if they don’t ask for it, they probably deserve it, and I’ll readily dole out a few pounds. If they ask for bakshish, I’ll shrug apologetically and explain that I have no small change on me.

DO take an overnight train

It’s way cheaper than a flight across the country and the seats are pretty comfy to sleep overnight in.

DON’T forget to pack an eye mask and earplugs

DO check out Aswan

DON’T spend more than a couple days

Just personal opinion here – it was a really lovely place, felt very calm after the craziness that is Cairo, and the Philae temple was one of my favorite spots. But it’s rather overrun with tourists and seemed even in the city’s center that people don’t actually live there and instead like it’s a stopping off point for travelers.

But like I said, Philae Temple is pretty great

And the souq here is fun

But overall I’d use it as a stopover for other places and not spend too long here.

More from the temple

DO take a trip on a felucca

DON’T sail with anyone but Captain Jack

That’s a bit of a stretch. I’m sure all the other felucca captains are great – or most of them, at least. But Captain Jack was awesome beyond awesome.

This is a felucca

They’re basically this big sailboats that hold up to about a dozen passengers, and you just sit on the big, comfy deck and lounge against pillows and sail up the Nile.

There’s no real inside, except the captain’s cabin and a storage space for your stuff, so you sleep up here too, and it’s just awesome. It was my favorite part of the trip, by far. All you really have to do is

lounge

drink tea

eat

eat

eat some more (oh my god, that rice was amazing)

(the captain cooks for you on board)

lounge some more

watch goat herders on the shore

chat with your fellow passengers

(I loved meeting the other people on our boat – a couple from Austria, one of whom is a physicist, a couple from England who are in the midst of driving from London to South Africa, a man on business from Taiwan, a guy from Australia who loved his flower-print shirts, and a young woman from Holland traveling on her own)

watch Captain Jack do his thing

watch other boats on the river

and lounge some more

(if this picture was slightly better you’d be able to see the billions of stars that were in the sky)

So to repeat: DO, definitely, definitely DO take a ride on a felucca.

DO be cautious about where you tell people you’re from and coming from.

DON’T be overly so about it.

The first time I ever went abroad was my month-long summer study abroad thing in Luxembourg in ’04, at the beginning of the war in Iraq in Afghanistan and height of anti-American sentiment throughout the world, and we were expressly warned not to tell anyone that we were from the US, and me being an idiot and an inexperienced foreign country traveler, followed their instructions and told people I was from Canada – while in Amsterdam, of all places. We had the same debate throughout our trip in Egypt – do we tell people we’re American? Do we tell people we’re living in Israel? Who do we tell what to? If someone asks where we’re traveling next, what do we say?

And here’s the thing – you just never know who’s around you. I realize it’s incredibly paranoid, and I feel like this sense of distrust has been beaten into me over the last few years of being inundated with Muslim terrorist this, Islamic extremist that. And overall I can’t imagine having any problems with most of the people we met in Egypt. But you never know who’s around you, and when you’re in a spot where you’re the only tourists around, it’s hard not to feel a little anxious and like you shouldn’t reveal too much of yourself. Add to that the Israel thing, which is dicey in this area – Egypt and Israel have a peace treaty (as far as is my understanding), so you can travel freely between the countries (though it’s much harder for Israelis to get a Visa for Egypt than it is for others), but seeing as most every country in the area kind of hates Israel, it’s hard to decide what the reaction of people is going to be if you say you’re living there.

I realize this comes off a bit confusing and muddled – I’m just typing as I think here and my feelings on the whole situation are a bit hard to articulate. Mostly it comes down to: this was my first foray into a Muslim country, and much as I like to keep an open mind, it’s hard in this post-9/11 era not to let that edge of paranoia sink in. Maybe it’s the NYC If you see something, say something hyper-vigilance that is hard to shake off even as you try to be accepting and open to other cultures. It’s not like women in headscarves are such an unusual sight, but I think it’s suddenly being the foreign one, the one of these things that’s not like the others, that drives in how far you are from home, and that can be alarming.

But it’s one of those things that you have to push through. One Israeli woman we met in Sinai put it very well – there are always concerns in Israel about the safety of Sinai, so it can feel a bit scary for many people going there, but much of that is your own fears, your own sensibilities, and you have to break through your own fears and your own mindset and you’ll be fine.

But how do you balance that with actual, legitimate dangers that are particularly prevalent throughout the Middle East and Northern Africa? With the fact that Americans are often targeted for terrorism, kidnapping, etc? With the intense animosity that still exists between Israel and the countries surrounding?

For me it came down to the specific people, and Captain Jack is a great example. I think he heard Spenser and I speaking softly and carefully to our fellow passengers about how we live in Tel Aviv and picked up on our nervousness and caution about it – over dinner he regaled us with stories of other trips he’s taken and other passengers he’s sailed with, telling us first about a group of four drunken Aussies who bought three cases (24 bottles per case) of beer for their trip of three days, then about a group of German passengers, before moving into a story about an Israeli man who was traveling a few years ago and how he was very nervous about revealing where he was from, especially when Captain Jack invited the man for a meal at his home. When the man finally tentatively explained that he was Israeli, Captain Jack explained that it really didn’t matter, and the man ended up having such a lovely time that he recently took his honeymoon on Captain Jack’s ship.

And from there the felucca captain moved into a conversation about how a country’s people are different from its government, and while our politics or religion might differ, we’re still people and we can still talk to each other and be friends. It helped me remember that once you really talk to people, the gaps between you become so small. Maybe it’s simplistic, maybe it’s too optimistic, but I still firmly believe that people don’t want to hurt each other, and when you’re able to talk to and interact with each other on a natural, normal basis (as opposed to labeling each other only by our religions or our skin colors or our nationalities and just firing guns at each other), you gain such a greater understanding of each other and it’s easier to let go of those initial fears of different and unknown and I don’t understand.

So, what it comes down to is this: DO be open to people and allow yourself to talk about who you are and where you come from, DO be open to others in return and recognize that not everyone around you is out to get you, but DON’T forget who you are and where you are and that you’re the foreign one here, so DO exercise a fair amount of caution with who you speak to and how gregarious you are with yourself. Ultimately it comes down to your own comfort levels, but as I’ve said before, you always have to adjust your comfort zone when you go to a new place, and if you’re looking over your shoulder at every turn and suspecting every person you come across you’re going to be stressed out and miserable for your whole trip.

DO try to be on time for meeting points or you will have angry Italians glare at you.

DON’T bother trying to explain that it wasn’t your fault you were late as they’ll probably just continue glaring.

DO drink lots of water

DON’T be fooled by the dry heat

It’s lovely compared to the oppressive humidity of NYC’s summer months, but it can be just as harsh in the middle of the day.

DO sit next to a window when taking vans long distances

DON’T sit too close to your travel companion in a cramped, hot van or she will bite your head off.

DO visit Edfu as it’s one of the most complete, untouched temples that looks most like it did in its heyday.

DON’T visit Comombo if you’re running short on time or getting templed-out. It’s nice enough, but not a top attraction in my book.

Edfu exterior

The temples are all amazing, but after a while they do tend to bleed together a bit and it can be a little exhausting to go to yet another one with the same style of hieroglyphics adorning the walls, so if I had to pick one to sacrifice it’d be Comombo, as all the others have a few more distinctive features to individualize them.

Inside Edfu

DO stay at the Nile Queen hotel (or maybe the Queen Nile hotel) in Luxor.

DON’T scoff when someone offers you a hotel with a pool.

When booking the rest of our trip at African Hostel back in Cairo, the guy helping us was showing us a brochure for the places we’d be staying at in Aswan and Luxor.

“3 Stars hotel in Aswan,” he told us.  “3 Stars hotel in Luxor – it has a rooftop pool.”

“Cool,” we replied, nonplussed and mostly just ready to get going and hit the road.

“The hotel in Aswan doesn’t have a pool,” he continued regretfully. “I’m sorry – but there is one at the hotel in Luxor!”

“Meh,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t care that much about a pool.

“You will, you will,” he told me. “It’s very hot. You will want a pool.”

When will I learn not to doubt people who know better than me? THANK GOD FOR THE POOL. Seems like a minor thing, no? But the day we got to Luxor it was boiling hot and we’d just emerged from a van that we’d been trapped inside for a three-hour drive and upon being told that we wouldn’t be able to get onto any tours that afternoon, we decided okay, we’ll check out the pool for a bit.

And spent the rest of the afternoon and evening up there.

DON’T try to take pictures.

or

DO try to take pictures at the Valley of the Kings.

DON’T be as obvious about it as me.

The Valley of the Kings is where tombs of many of the most famous Pharaohs reside – there are a ton to see, but 90 Egyptian pounds (about $20) only gets you access to three of them, so chose wisely.

We actually didn’t get to choose – our tour guide chose for us and directed us to arguably the best ones outside of King Tut’s, which costs extra. Some tombs, I’ve read, are definitely better than others – different states of wear and decay, different designs, some have things (the sarcophagus, usually) left in them, some are completely empty save the hieroglyphics on the walls.

Photography is absolutely forbidden in all of them, a rule which I had not realized would be quite so vehemently upheld until my camera was suddenly snatched away by a very angry looking guard.

“I’ll watch your back,” Spenser had said, before he got distracted by something on the wall and turned away. Lesson learned: DON’T trust Spenser to help you take illegal photos at ancient pharaonic sites.

I only got a few blurry pictures before my camera was confiscated

DO make sure to tell your tour guide where exactly you want to go.

 

DON’T let him pressure you into going to an alabaster factory.

He gets a kickback from the factory owners and you get to spend twenty minutes fending off alabaster dealers. Woo. Just don’t do it. He’ll try to push it on you – a lot – but you can talk him down from it. Unless you really want to go to an alabaster factory, in which case you’re in luck, as many tour guides will be delighted to take you.

DO flaunt in the face of warning signs.

 

DON’T get caught. (see: above, the Valley of the Kings camera incident)

DO tell people that your are married, when asked or you’ll be getting quite a few marriage proposals.

DON’T worry too much about the marriage proposals. Like the whole tipping issue, it’s easy enough to walk away from people.

DO take your time exploring Karnak Temple.

 

DON’T forget about Luxor Temple.

These were two of my favorites, and cooincidentally the last two places we visited before hitting the road.

Karnak

Luxor Temple

DO have your return trip worked out in advance.

 

DON’T forget to take into account the screwy Passover bus schedule in Israel.

 

DO keep a few pounds on you for the trip back through Sinai to the border. It’s a long trip to go without any money or any food and there’s definitely no ATMs conveniently located along the way.

DON’T talk to the crazy man in the seat across the isle from you on the bus or he will not shut up for the duration of the trip.

DO expect lines at the border coming back at the end of Passover. Ugh.

DON’T be surprised if it takes you several hours to get through. UGH!

DO try to explain what “I’m volunteering in Tel Aviv for five months” means to the border officials, no matter how much it seems like they aren’t getting it.

DON’T try to lie and say that you’re jsut traveling for a couple of months, because if you’re me, they won’t believe you. And it’ll be a gigantic pain in the ass and you’ll spend the rest of your evening wondering if brown hair would help erase whatever potential terrorist qualities you must possess which keep getting you hassled by Israeli security.

So, we’ve come to the end of our journey through Egypt. Perhaps when I’m feeling a bit less lazy about it I’ll go into a bit more detail on Karnak and Luxor Temple, but this thing has taken me long enough and it’s time to get it finished and posted. So, in conclusion,

DO enjoy yourself in Egypt.

 

 

 

DON’T pass up a stopoff in Israel on your way home.

(wish I could’ve written something more creative just then, but like I said: lazy. And this has taken me forever to write. So there you go.)

When last I left you, Alli and I were sleeping in a very noisy cave weirdo hostel and Spenser was on his own elsewhere in the Old City.

We left our temporary home in search of breakfast and managed to stumble across not only the first real bagel place I’ve encountered in Israel, but also two other members of our group who had spent the night in Jerusalem as well. No sign of Spenser, but as we hadn’t received any frantic phonecalls from him, we assumed he was fine somewhere (turns out the guy running his hostel was feeding him a full, homemade breakfast, which we did not receive at our hostel).

Met up with the rest of our program at the entrance to the Temple Mount, a holy site for both the Jews and the Muslims, on which the Dome of the Rock resides. It’s considered the holiest site in Judaism (two Jewish temples once stood here), though today it is dominated by the al-Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock.

al-Aqsa Mosque

Dome of the Rock

Though the Temple Mount is contested as a holy site (as with all things in Jerusalem), it’s managed by a Muslim council and only Muslims are allowed to enter the buildings. You can try to fake your way in, as I contemplated, but I’m told there is a rigorous screening process before entree (no joke) so you may be better off looking from afar as I did. Because the outside is a pretty spectacular sight in itself.

(that’s my cue to bombard you with tons of pictures)

I almost got left behind because I got so caught up taking pictures. No joke.

Okay, so it’s been way too long since I started this post and I want to move on to bigger and better things (*cough*EGYPT), so I’m going to speed things up here and breeze through the rest of Jerusalem. I’ll visit again soon, I’m sure, so we can talk about it more then.

After the Temple Mount we headed for Mt. Zion and saw the church where Mary is said to have died – except that they don’t claim that she actually died there, they say she “fell asleep” here.

After that we ducked for a bit into the oldest Holocaust museum, I believe, in the world, built in 1948 (I’m recalling this from memory, so I might be wrong on that – I’m terrible with dates, much as I love history – but at some point I’ll discuss all this in more detail and will make sure my facts are straight). Very simple and pretty and intense, the whole place is line with these large tiles, each one for each of the communities in Europe destroyed by the Nazis. A few other things on display, like clothing and books and lots of pictures and we were meant to spend only a few minutes inside, as it’s fairly small, but we ended up taking quite a bit of time looking at everything.

Had lunch in the Muslim Quarter in the Old City, which was great, got a fab picture of Arabi Diet Coke

And we continued to the Kotel Tunnels – basically the insides of the Western Wall.

Really cool, really beautiful stuff here, including people praying at the wall from the inside, which I didn’t ever really know existed.

The lighting was lovely so I got lots of really nice pictures inside the tunnels. Basically, to sum up the tunnels, there was a temple built here once upon a time, then other people moved in and took over and built overtop of the temple, so all of these hallways and arches became tunnels. Basically.

Okay, I’m going to stop here because I’m about to run out to get some awesome hummus and I want to just post this already, so I’ll be back at some point to talk more about the tunnels and the Holocaust museum and such, but up next: EGYPT.

Yup.

Yeah, you don’t really think of the center of three major world religions being a party capital, but the Jerusalemites do it up for Purim.

Our group had an organized group tour on Tuesday, so a few of us – Alli, Alex, Spenser, Sumiko, and I – went on Monday to see what Shushan Purim was all about.  Another very quick history lesson: Purim begins at sundown on the previous secular day. In cities that were protected by a surrounding wall at the time of Joshua, such as Jerusalem, Purim is celebrated on the 15th of the month, known as Shushan Purim (Wikipedia, what would I do without you?)

So, as there are lots of religious folk who live in Jerusalem, you can guess who was doing most of the partying.

We took a sherut from Tel Aviv, which is a shared taxi that fits about seven or eight people (not to be confused with shrutim, which is Hebrew for bathroom). It’s about an hour ride, give or take, and gives you incredible views of forests and old city areas before you enter the really old city. As we reached the city and stepped off into the big main shuk (big outdoor market), we realized that we had absolutely no plans for the day and no idea where to go. So after wandering thr0ugh the shuk for a bit and picking at some lovely baked goods (mmm, hamentaschen…) we did what anyone in Jerusalem with no real plans would do: headed for the Old City.

IDF soldiers sitting amongst ancient ruins

Heading down towards the Western Wall

You wander around through tiny streets and amongst really, really old shit that your mind can’t even quite process as being as old as it all is, and navigate shop vendors trying to push pretty jewelry, Jesus shoes, and IDF t-shirts on you, and you walk down this stairway and turn a corner and it literally takes your breath away.

Western Wall and Dome of the Rock

One of my travel buddies cried at the sight. I didn’t, ’cause that’s not my style (ha) but I literally gasped out loud, even though I’ve seen it before. It seems as if I must make some kind of distinctly audible sound of appreciation every time I come upon this sight.

Not just the Wall, which is an impressive and humbling sight in its own right, but the Dome of the Rock is just insane to see in person.

We didn’t linger too long around here, though we stay long enough for me to take a couple hundred pictures

more

pictures

So, upon finally dragging me and my camera away, we headed in what would ultimately turn out to be a vain search for some kind of festivities going on in a park somewhere – which was just as vague a description we had of it as we went off looking – and along the way Alli and I stopped at a cemetery just outside of the old city where Oskar Shindler is buried.

When visiting graves Jewish custom is to leave a stone on the gravestone – to show that you’ve been there is my basic understanding of it, but I’ve read that the real explanation is to indicate one’s participation in the mitzvah of erecting a tombstone, even if only in a symbolic way. And I’d read that so many people come so frequently to Shindler’s grave that it’s always covered with stones, so it only took us a few minutes to spot it.

Another humbling sight

Having seen the Old City and Shindler’s grave and not finding this supposed festival in the park, we ditched Sumiko since she was the one who took us on this goose chase to the park (actually she left us to hang with her sister, but she was really the one who took us looking for this festival) and went to have lunch at Aroma, Israel’s Starbucks (but way the hell better – the food is made to order rather than sitting around all day getting stale, and the hot chocolate actually tastes like chocolate) overlooking the Old City.

That's my sandwich, in case you didn't believe me

We lingered around there for a while and I read some ridiculous emails from Jen back in NYC (I’ll just say Nathan’s last night and leave it at that) and debated what to do, when finally someone threw out the idea of going to walk through Mea Shearim, one of the most religious neighborhoods in Jerusalem. It can, in fact, be a bit of a dangerous area for outsiders to travel through (BPo, this one’s for you!), as they take their Torah seriously, and unlike most other sects of Judaism, who have a rather live-and-let-live attitude towards the many different ways to be Jewish or not Jewish or whatever, the peeps of Mea Shearim are pretty ardent about their practices and do not wish to be offended by visitors and their kneecaps/shoulders.

Signs posted in and around the neighborhood

I’m told that generally men and women walk on opposite sides of the street, men won’t touch or talk to you unless it’s to shout at you to get out, and should you “dress immodestly” (ie, show too much skin, especially as a woman, or wear pants as a woman, rather than a skirt or dress) or blatantly take pictures or video or in some other way disturb the peace there you could have things thrown at you – stones, water bottles, dirty diapers (no joke, this is apparently what they throw at tour buses that come through).

Sounds like a party, right?

Actually, it was. Yay, Purim! I think as a result, our trip through Mea Shearim was different than most, but even so, we donned our modest dress (which was our pashmina scarves wrapped around our jeans as makeshift skirts, which went fabulously with the hiking boots and raincoat I was wearing) and ventured down streets reminiscent of an Eastern European shtetl.

Alex rocking her modest dress

On this day, men were mixing with women, families were out together in larger groups, everyone off somewhere for a party or on their way back from one. Saw a few scuffles, prompted mainly by brash photographers getting in people’s faces with very large cameras (which, stone-throwing locals or no, seems pretty rude) and helped not by the extreme drunkenness of most of the Hasidic men wandering the streets. I spotted the photographer later with splatters of something (I’m assuming garbage) down his clothing. But mostly we were ignored as we tiptoed through the narrow streets and watched men hugging jovially and swerving around (seriously, they were very, very drunk, everyone).

I want to be diplomatic when speaking of Mea Shearim and not give too much away about my feelings on their treatment of women (which I have great issue with), amongst other things, but there are some aspects of this neighborhood which are basic fact: there is a truly amazing amount of garbage everywhere; in the streets, in the gutters, spilling over from garbage cans that look like they haven’t been emptied in weeks, on doorsteps, on sidewalks, etc etc. There are many kids wandering about, some with parents, some without, almost to the point where it made me nervous (such as a group playing on a balcony ledge with no adult in sight). The whole neighborhood has the feel of a poverty-stricken inner city, with crowded, run-down buildings and sewage running through the streets.

All of that said, I think we picked a good day to go, because, as I said, the people were happy and lively, some in costume

Oddly, Santa is a popular Purim costum for children and adults

Interestingly enough, the street parties here quite resembled those in Tel Aviv. The only difference was the lack of Lady Gaga costumes

So, all in all, an interesting venture into a very, very different culture – almost felt a bit like stepping back in time – and I’d like to check it out again (but next time I’ll bring a skirt with me).

Also, one more time, because I mean it: drunk.

Our day began to wind down after that. Exhaustion led to bickering led to more exhaustion led to flopping down in a heap at Aroma (like I said, great hot chocolate) and having a debate about hostels to spend the night at that lasted way longer than it should have. Alex opted to make the (hour) long trip back home instead of joining the argument over hostels, and Spenser, Alli, and I ultimately settled on two places in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City – two places because they were religious hostels and each gender has its own place (25 sheks per night! a bargain despite the oddness of it all). So after nearly falling asleep over some pizza, we bid Spenser goodnight and went off to find our cave hovel hobbit hole hostel, with a door so short and stuck in the middle of a wall that we walked past it about three times before finding it.

Alli, pooped out from our travels back through time today, fell asleep pretty quickly, while I went out to try and accomplish several things: call home, call Jen, make some sense out of the craziness that went on that night at Next Door, get Alli some Advil, meet up with Spenser and another girl from our program, Jackie, who apparently were partying with some (druuuuuuuunk) Hasidic teenagers passing out free alcohol. Unfortunately, I only made two and a half of those things happen, as my stupid phone ran out of battery and I got hopelessly lost in the Old City and eventually ended up by the Western Wall, which was just as amazing a sight at night as during the day (especially with even more drunken celebration around it, which I don’t think happens down there often).

So after spending a bit of quiet reflection time looking at the Wall, and spending some time getting lost again, I wandered back to the burrow hostel and managed to get some shuteye in between lots of chatty girls and Ali’s shushing of said chatty girls.

And I would continue into Day 2 of Jerusalem, but I’m pretty tired and want to finally post this because it’s been sitting here half-finished for days and I’m getting very behind on my posting. So hopefully tomorrow (ha) I’ll follow this one up, but I’ll give you a preview: Caves! Temples! Jesus! It’ll be great.

Also I’ll take this opportunity to point those of you haven’t been yet to Rickshaw USA: to http://rickshawusa.blogspot.com/ Sean and Cooper are biking across the US on a rickshaw built for two and doing lots of interesting things, meeting cool people, and blogging far more frequently than I, so check them out. They may be coming to a state near you!

So anyway, here’s a quick rundown of what I’ve been up to the past few weeks:

-Saturdays at the beach

-Purim

-Overnight in Jerusalem

-Beginning of volunteering jobs

Will try to cover them as quickly-yet-thoroughly as possible.

Saturday is one of my favorite and also one of my least favorite days here. I love it for how relaxed it is, everyone chilled out, sitting on the beach, enjoying the sun (when there’s no fantastically huge rainstorm going on). Least favorite because pretty much everything shuts down and you have to make sure you get whatever food or anything else you need for the weekend by Friday afternoon, otherwise you’ll be taking a nice long walk to find anything left open. So it’s nice and relaxing, but sometimes it feels a bit like forced relaxation, because there’s nothing much else to do.

So Saturday has become beach day – again, aside from in the midst of massive rainstorms, which we had last weekend. Truly, I have never seen rain like this before.

It rained on and off for about five days straight – and by on and off, I mean it would be the most intense downpour for twenty minutes, then clear up and be kind of sunny for half an hour, then an even more horrific downpour for an hour, then dry for ten minutes, then a steady rain for half an hour, then okay again, on and on for days.

But we got the most incredible rainbow out of it afterwards

This doesn’t even fully do it justice. It was actually a full rainbow, so big I couldn’t fit it all into one picture. Pretty amazing.

So when it’s not threatening to send us looking for an ark, we head for the beach on Saturdays, as does pretty much the entire city. Our first weekend here, one of my roommates and I went walking around one of the typically busier neighborhoods and it was pretty much a ghost town, not a soul to be seen anywhere save some hungry stray cats picking at spilled garbage.

And then we got to the beach.

These are all at the beach near Jaffa, which is close to my neighborhood, but there are nicer beaches for lounging and swimming farther uptown.

So really there’s not much else to say about that. This was really just an excuse to show you pretty pictures of the beach.

Purim was last weekend. In very, very short, Purim is a festival commemorating the deliverance of the Jews living in the Persian Empire from a plot by Haman the Agagite to annihilate them, as recorded in the Book of Esther (thank you, Wikipedia).

In modern day Tel Aviv, it’s a day (or several, as the case may be) on which people get dressed up in costumes and party in the streets. It was on Sunday, so parties lasted from Thursday through Monday it was pretty much like having Halloween for four or five days straight, except with hamentaschen instead of candy.

So dressed up we got (several of my roommates and I went as Beatles songs – I was Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, though I admit, it was a rather half-assed attempt) and out we went, to Florentine, one of the main partying neighborhoods, where bars and clubs had spilled hundreds of costumed Israelis onto the streets into a throng of nuttiness.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, Strawberry Fields Forever, Rocky Racoon, Here Comes the Sun, Bungalow Bill, and Lady Madonna

You can drink openly in the streets, hence all the street partying

My travels that night took me to a punk bar, a pizza place (slice of pizza and a beer for twenty shekels (about $5)!), several trips up and down the street, dancing on one block to classic rock (score!), dancing on another block to rave music, and back again for more pizza.

Rave in the streets

Some of my roommates dancing. Luckily for all of you, there are no pictures of me dancing

Unfortunately, this was the weekend of the massive rainstorm, so most of us didn’t go out much beyond this night and Thursday night, but we did go to Jerusalem on Monday, where Purim is celebrated the day after everyone else. More on that in my next post, because this one is getting pretty long and if any of you have my attention span, you’re long since checked out of this, and I want you primed and ready for pictures of partying in Jerusalem! (no really, there was partying in the streets of Jerusalem. Just you wait.)

As we enter the apartment, you will see a hallway that leads to one bathroom, with two washing machines conveniently located on either side of the hallway, one facing the living room, so you never have to walk far to do laundry.

Turn to your left, and you will enter the living room.

The space may look plain, but it is easily renovated – the couches, for example, have recently been upgraded with matching covers, and the table has moved around the room several times.

Let’s cross the room and take a look out on the balcony.

Step out onto the balcony and you will get a lovely view of the surrounding neighborhood.

Now let’s turn and walk back across the living room to take a look into my room, shall we?

Don’t mind the mess, it’ll probably be like that until June.

The small size is untypical of the rest of the apartment, though it’s not a bomb-shelter, as one of the other rooms are, so it’s got that going for it. Actually, it’s really rather cozy, but the windows face the street, so every morning I am awakened at 6am by the sounds of the shop right beneath us opening up.

It only looks cluttered because I didn’t have enough places to put things – only a dresser and a shelf with hangers underneath – but I received another set of stacking shelves yesterday (there’s one guy who’s job it is to fix things in our apartment and get us furniture or dishes or whatever else if we need it) so the clutter should clear up a bit.

Let’s leave my room and go back through the living room

and check out the bathroom

Yes, that’s the shower next to the toilet. Because how many times have you been in the shower and suddenly thought, “man, I really need to use the toilet, but I don’t want to get out and walk all the way across the room”? Plenty, I’ll bet. Remember to squeegee the floors after showering!

Now we’ll take a walk past the door to nowhere

(because what apartment doesn’t need more doors?)

into the kitchen

There’s usually a lot more crap on the table – between nine people, a lot of stuff is generated. At some point I’ll take a picture of the fridge so you can understand why we had to ask for a second one.

Behind you

you’ll find more shelves packed with food, as well as two more bedrooms.

Next to the kitchen we have another bathroom

and then off to another bedroom/bomb shelter

On the plus side, it’s pretty sound-proof, which is good when you’re living with eight other people, and it’s also pretty big. On the down side, it’s a bomb shelter. No, really. Last week our power went out around midnight (“a power-cut in the neighborhood.” No idea if that’s typical or not) but this room’s light stayed on – and would not turn off until the rest of the power was back on, because the bomb shelter light needs to always be on. It seems like most houses and buildings around here are built with them; at some point we’ll take a tour of the Jaffa house, where other people from the group live, and you’ll see their bomb shelter which looks way more intense than ours.

Now let’s head upstairs. Mind the mattress!

At the top of the stairs you’ll find two more bedrooms and another kitchen and bathroom, none of which I’m going to show you because I’m lazy and this has taken me days to finish with my internet working so slowly (noticed I dropped the real estate agent routine a while back there? yeah, that got pretty old pretty fast)

No, we’re just going to skip to the best stuff now

The roof deck! The kick-ass roof deck that gets even better, you’ll see in a moment, as it wraps all the way around

Oh yes, it is that nice. It has some quirks, as does the rest of this house, like

the bathtub (we’re thinking of putting some dirt in there and trying to grow plants) and

the cow skull. No idea where it came from, but it’s there.

The views of the neighborhood and North Tel Aviv are fab

A view of the balcony from the roof

And here we end our tour. Watch your step on your way back down the stairs

Thanks for stopping by! Come by again and we’ll take a tour of the neighborhood and maybe the beach.

Later!

Where to start? How about my harrowing journey through El Al airport security at JFK, during which all my bags were searched and I was personally escorted onto the plane. Welcome to Israel!

El Al, the national airline of Israel, is understandably careful with all of their flights, and as such has the safest airline in the world (according to all info I could find when debating which flight to book out here – Delta, who charge you for entertainment and “don’t do standby”? Or the airline that has two undercover air marshals on every flight and run every checked bag through a de-pressurizer before loading them? I chose the latter). But I guess in this day and age, safety equals insanely rigorous shaking down of everyone – even pasty red-heads who’s parents are standing nervously three feet behind her.

Before you are allowed to check in a security guard interviews (re: grills you) about why you’re headed to Israel, how much you know about the country, how much you know about Judaism, your family history, your holiday celebrations (no joke), how much Hebrew you know, whether you have any weapons in your bags, and again why you’re going to Israel, while smiling politely and cheerfully and also apparently thinking about how you may be a terrorist.

So when I failed to list every Synagogue I’ve ever been to and what I do for Passover each year, they escorted me to a closed-off area and cheerfully informed me that they would have to search my bags. Not realizing at the time how thorough a search it would be and that it meant they believed I might be a security threat, I happily obliged and went to sit with my increasingly worried parents. When I came back they were still searching through my checked bags, which I began to grow concerned about as I had very carefully packed all my clothes in those lovely space-saver bags (the ones which the air can be sucked out of with a vacuum) and should they open those up, I feared I would never be able to pack them up again – at least, not in time to make my flight, which was rapidly approaching.

They then informed me that I would only be allowed to take one carry-on bag, so I had to quickly grab a couple of books and my iPod and various other random things that I had put into one bag and switch it to another and before I was allowed to take that bag they had to examine everything I wanted to take onboard the plane with me – carefully inspecting my iPod, my inhaler, my glasses, even the Sports Illustrated and Entertainment Weekly magazines that I had bought five minutes prior at the Hudson News stand.

During all of this, they took me to a small room, and as I glanced back at my mother I began to fear that she may start storming the El Al security, as her face had gone totally worried. But not to fear, I was not being strip-searched – at least, not totally. I was made to take off my jacket and sweatshirt and t-shirt, down to the tanktop I had on underneath (“Why are you wearing so many layers?” one of the security guards asked. “It’s 70 degrees in Tel Aviv!” I replied, “Um… I’m still in New York and it’s snowing out right now.”) They ran a metal detector over me and upon a beep, made me take off my bra, and then did it again. Ran some kind of fabric tester over my clothes, no idea what is supposed to find – and it’s just occured to me that maybe I shouldn’t be talking all about all of these security procedures in a public forum. Am I helping the terrorists win if I explain how they tested my bra for bombs? Oh well, I was never told not to, so whatevs – and then let me put all of my stuff back on. While one security guard walked off, another very nice one sat with me and apologized profusely for all the hassle and explained that while security is always very tight, they’ve suddenly bumped it up a lot and she was not sure why (which frankly was not something I think I needed to know at that point, right before getting on the plane, but at least she was nice and trying to explain things to me).

They were all very nice, in fact, very polite and efficient and professional, and despite the hassle (and the fact that they broke something in one of my bags) I appreciate that they are so thorough and on task. I just began to fear at that point that they were wasting a whole lot of time on me and meanwhile an actual terrorist would slip by.

But they finally seemed to trust that I was telling the truth when I said that I just wanted to go live in Tel Aviv and help people, so they told me they would now be escorting me to my gate and I was forced to make a very quick goodbye with my parents, who both still looked as if they feared I might be dragged off to a dark prison cell somewhere and beaten with falafel balls somewhere in the near future.

“Not only will I never fly this airline, I don’t think I ever want to go to this country!” my mother nervously exclaimed, but here’s the thing about Israel: it’s a bitch to get into it, and they are very distrustful of anyone who wants to enter, but once you’re hear they are the nicest, most welcoming people, so excited that you’ve come to see their home and thrilled to show you around the country. On my first trip, we had a short flight from Poland to Tel Aviv during which I sat next to an old Israeli couple who chatted me up a bit during the last few minutes. I was sitting in the aisle seat, and as we landed the woman grabbed my arm and yanked me across to look out the window as she exclaimed, “Look! It’s Israel!” So if you can stomach all of the security and concern for who you are and what you’re doing there, it’s overall a pretty welcoming people.

So anyway, after tearfully bidding my parents goodbye, I was escorted by a security guard (the nice one, who it turns out is studying film at Columbia – who knew airport security could be a part-time job?) through the JFK security gate – got to go through the priority line! Woo! And the whole while I thought it was because I was running late and they didn’t want me to miss the flight, but it occurred to me later – after she walked me all the way up tot the gate and onto the plane ahead of the line – that it was so that she could keep an eye on me the whole time onto the plane.

So that was security. Word of advice for anyone planning on coming to Israel (hint hint): study up on your Jewish holidays, when they say get there three to four hours before your flight, they mean it.

The flight itself was rather uneventful, though it took some getting used to being on a nine-hour flight packed mostly with Hasidim, who get up to do prayers by the plane doors at all hours, and the very religious couple sitting next to me were scarily disinterested in their baby throughout the entire flight, but I did get to watch An Education and The Proposal  – twice! So, score!

Didn’t sleep well and in my drowsy haze I began to worry both about the trip (will I learn Hebrew? Will people like me? Will I hate everyone? Will I be able to find ingredients to make Cosmaritas?) and about getting a blood clot as I sat in my seat and barely moved the whole way.

But as we began to descend and people leaned over to look out the windows, seeing the entirety of the country and the coastline, gasping with amazement at how beautiful it all is, I began to calm, and appreciate how interesting and beautiful and rich a place this is and remembered that I’m doing something really exciting and whatever the outside factors, it’ll be what I make of it, so it’s going to be amazing.

And I got up to go to the bathroom so I wouldn’t get a blood clot.

Finally off the plane after about ten hours, I stumbled my way through passport control and wandered around the baggage claim thing (carousel?) until I found an open spot to stand and wait for my stuff, all the while checking out everyone else from the flight to see if there was anyone who looked like they might be another American 20-something headed to live in Tel Aviv for five months, as I knew there would be two other people from my group on the flight.

I ended up next to tall blonde who had smartly grabbed a baggage cart and I spent several minutes wondering if I should ditch my spot by the baggage carousel and do the same. We gave each other careful, sidelong looks for several minutes before she balled up and turned to me to ask, “this may be a long shot, but you’re not by any chance doing Tikkun Olam, are you?”

Relief shot through me, some random sense of comfort at suddenly not being totally alone in an unfamiliar place, and I exclaimed, “yes! I am!” and we smiled brightly and laughed at having so randomly found each other and chatted as we waited endlessly for our bags.

After getting everything and reassuring myself that all of my stuff was still in my bag and only my hair straightening iron was broken (and thankfully only a little), we walked off to find Dan, one of the program people, who was leaning over a railing, casually holding a sign for Tikkun Olam. He was not nearly as excited to greet us as we were him, or so it seemed – he’s a pretty mellow guy, so his “okay, great, hey guys” was actually pretty excited. We spent the next half hour or so watching people greet each other with giant bunches of balloons (which all floated up to the ceiling – Dan pointed our attention upwards and said that everyone in Israel seems to bring balloons to the airport when picking someone up, and in their excitement they always lose them and they all up on the ceiling) and waiting for two more people from our group (one guy also on our flight and a girl coming in from London a bit later) and chatting here and there about ourselves.

Baloons on the Ceiling

Once we collected our last person (Alex, from London. Leslie was the girl at met at baggage claim and Matt was the other guy on our flight), Dan drove us to a hostel in Jaffa, which is part of Tel Aviv (brief history lesson: Jaffa is the oldest working port in the world, a city that’s been around for several thousand years, and Tel Aviv grew out of it – first as a suburb of Jaffa, where Jews began moving to get out of the more Arab neighborhoods, and eventually grew to be bigger than Jaffa. Jaffa is now still mostly Arab in population and is totally fascinating and pretty) and there we met another guy from our group, Spenser. Alex and Leslie and I flopped down in our room and spaced out a bit and I thought about how strange it was to be an a hostel in Israel without Ava and Sophie in the beds next to me.

(I’m breezing through the rest of this day ’cause I want to close this up and go for a run and I’ve already kept you all far too long)

We met the guys to go find some dinner, discovering that pretty much every place except for McDonald’s and a couple of pizza stands was closed (so early! it was only around 8:00 or 9:00!) so we ended up at a Romanian place as our first meal in Israel together. At least it wasn’t McDonald’s – in fact, it was really pretty good (though I just had hummus).

Wandered back to our rooms and fell asleep to the sounds of loudly clanging pipes and about fifty Russian teenagers partying in the room next to us.

So that was my first day in Israel. My camera, which of course has lots of pictures of the first few days, is out of juice and I can’t find the charger, so you’ll have to make do with this for now until I get some more pictures with my other camera. Perhaps this evening I’ll take you on a tour of my apartment and my neighborhood.

Until then, Shalom!

(and I’ll leave you with a picture of Tel Aviv that I Googled)