Sunday, April 19, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Purim is a Weird Holiday
Purim is a very weird holiday. And Jerusalem is, as I'm sure you've gleaned this already, a very weird city. It has been a strange week.
First, the basics: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purim
I grew up in a Jewish home. I knew this story. Oh wait! No I didn't. I didn't know that Megillat Esther (Purim book) says that Haman is the distant descendant of Amelik, who has a pretty nasty track record in the Tanakh (Bible) for killing Jews when they're at their weakest. I hadn't thought at all about the intense connection between the story of Purim and the Holocaust. And I definitely didn't know that Purim was celebrated on a different day in Jerusalem than the rest of the world!
You must be thinking, "Wait. You mean Purim is celebrated in Israel on a different day. Right?" Nope! While Tel Avivians (that is, people from the city of Tel Aviv) were parading the streets on the 14th day of Adar (this year March 10) clad in costumes, Jerusalemites were waiting patiently (or traveling to Tel Aviv for the festivities) for their day to come. In Jerusalem, Purim is celebrated on the 15th day of Adar (this year March 11).
"But why?" you ask. Because one time we had a wall!
At the end of the story (the part no ones likes to remember) the King gives Esther permission to send out a decree to all the Jews allowing them to fight back against those who were going to kill them. They kill thousands of people and it says that the Jews fought on the 13th day of Adar and celebrated their victory on the 14th. But the Jews in the walled town of Shushan fought for two days and celebrated on the 15th day.
So the Jews in Shushan (Iran) celebrate Purim a day later. No, you're not wrong. I'm not living in Iran. But the rabbis were concerned about honoring the city of Shushan more than Jerusalem. So even though at the "time" of Esther, the city of Jerusalem was in ruins, because once (in the time of Joshua) Jerusalem was a walled city, they decided to include it. Of course, to make things more complicated, during the time of Joshua when Jerusalem was a walled city, Shushan wasn't. Crazy rabbis.
So while the rest of the country (except a few other possibly walled cities which we won't get into right now) was winding down its Purim festivities, Max and I trekked over to a drag show to kick off our Jerusalemite Purim. The drag show was NOT funny, but Purim hasn't been a total bust. Here are the highlights:
- Seeing a donkey walking down the street.
- Conversing with Elliot-as-Sarah-Palin who wouldn't break character (even when the confused Israeli bar tender couldn't understand him/her)!
- Having my cheeks pinched by Mara's fiance Josh-as-a-charedi(religious Jewish)-woman.
- Letting the Purim spirit take control and climbing aboard the stage during the drag show to move a huge vase that was blocking my view!
We're heading to a big Purim shin-dig this afternoon and I have to do Elliot make-up.
Chag sameach! (Happy holiday!)
First, the basics: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purim
I grew up in a Jewish home. I knew this story. Oh wait! No I didn't. I didn't know that Megillat Esther (Purim book) says that Haman is the distant descendant of Amelik, who has a pretty nasty track record in the Tanakh (Bible) for killing Jews when they're at their weakest. I hadn't thought at all about the intense connection between the story of Purim and the Holocaust. And I definitely didn't know that Purim was celebrated on a different day in Jerusalem than the rest of the world!
You must be thinking, "Wait. You mean Purim is celebrated in Israel on a different day. Right?" Nope! While Tel Avivians (that is, people from the city of Tel Aviv) were parading the streets on the 14th day of Adar (this year March 10) clad in costumes, Jerusalemites were waiting patiently (or traveling to Tel Aviv for the festivities) for their day to come. In Jerusalem, Purim is celebrated on the 15th day of Adar (this year March 11).
"But why?" you ask. Because one time we had a wall!
At the end of the story (the part no ones likes to remember) the King gives Esther permission to send out a decree to all the Jews allowing them to fight back against those who were going to kill them. They kill thousands of people and it says that the Jews fought on the 13th day of Adar and celebrated their victory on the 14th. But the Jews in the walled town of Shushan fought for two days and celebrated on the 15th day.
So the Jews in Shushan (Iran) celebrate Purim a day later. No, you're not wrong. I'm not living in Iran. But the rabbis were concerned about honoring the city of Shushan more than Jerusalem. So even though at the "time" of Esther, the city of Jerusalem was in ruins, because once (in the time of Joshua) Jerusalem was a walled city, they decided to include it. Of course, to make things more complicated, during the time of Joshua when Jerusalem was a walled city, Shushan wasn't. Crazy rabbis.
So while the rest of the country (except a few other possibly walled cities which we won't get into right now) was winding down its Purim festivities, Max and I trekked over to a drag show to kick off our Jerusalemite Purim. The drag show was NOT funny, but Purim hasn't been a total bust. Here are the highlights:
- Seeing a donkey walking down the street.
- Conversing with Elliot-as-Sarah-Palin who wouldn't break character (even when the confused Israeli bar tender couldn't understand him/her)!
- Having my cheeks pinched by Mara's fiance Josh-as-a-charedi(religious Jewish)-woman.
- Letting the Purim spirit take control and climbing aboard the stage during the drag show to move a huge vase that was blocking my view!
We're heading to a big Purim shin-dig this afternoon and I have to do Elliot make-up.
Chag sameach! (Happy holiday!)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
You're 22 and you live ... in Jerusalem
I know I haven't written anything in a while. Which probably seemed rather ironic considering that all eyes were on Israel for the last few weeks. But it wasn't ironic at all. Nothing in the last few weeks has really changed in my life. I'm safe and, despite feeling more nervous in crowded areas, Jerusalem has felt more or less the same. But every time I opened www.blogger.com to write, I found myself crippled my confusion and unable to find words to describe the experience of being in Israel during a war. And so, the updates about all of the exciting non-war aspects of my life were sacrificed, because it felt strange to write about them as if nothing else was new.
Don't get too excited. I still really don't have the words. The words to describe how war leaves no room for wishy-washy political views. How defining "my Zionism" began to feel like an imperative. How much I've thought and read about what it's like to send your 18-year-old boy into war; to decide that the State of Israel and what it stands for and what it does is something you believe in enough to do raise your children here. How scary it felt to ride a bus, but not even comparable to the faces in the photographs of the Palestinian women who see death all around them. How conscious I became of the peacenik-y "war is bad" view that I was raised with, and how to reconcile that with Israel - and reality. How much I've thought about the dozens of Israelis who made yerida (moved away from Israel - the opposite of aaliyah) and became my Jewish teachers, mentors, role models in my reform synagogue in my small corner of the United States. How different Judaism is to Americans and to Israelis. How little I know about my own religion and how little I know about what I want from it in my life. How strange it was to have dinner at my teacher's home last night, and look at from his balcony at the sea of green lights that shine from the tops of mosques in the West Bank, just over the hill.
In the last week, I would have written about a new class at Pardes on Spirituality that I'm taking and how difficult it is not to fall asleep during meditating. That my friend Greta is now in Israel, and how happy I am to have her here. That I had a lovely dinner last week at my friend Dena's house and pulled off an amazing veggie lasagna. How much fun it was to have lunch with old camp friends and gossip about who will return. That we have a new President and, despite missing America, how fun our inauguration pizza party was! That I heard a famous jazz saxophonist, painted a floor, and learned about the art of Storahtelling on our Dorot seminar "What is Jewish Art?" That I received a 30 page packet detailing how my friends and fellow Dorot Fellows and classmates and employers and professors rate my emotional intelligence. Well, that one will probably have to be explained in detail later.
For now let me say that I am safe and, despite being confused by Israel and, in the most quintessentially "Avenue Q" kind of way, about being 22, I am happy. And that www.kayak.com says that you can buy a round trip ticket to Israel for only $800. So if you happen to have $800 lying around (yeah right!) come visit me because it's getting warmer in Israel now and I just found a delicious pizza restaurant in Jerusalem and it would force me to clean my apartment.
Don't get too excited. I still really don't have the words. The words to describe how war leaves no room for wishy-washy political views. How defining "my Zionism" began to feel like an imperative. How much I've thought and read about what it's like to send your 18-year-old boy into war; to decide that the State of Israel and what it stands for and what it does is something you believe in enough to do raise your children here. How scary it felt to ride a bus, but not even comparable to the faces in the photographs of the Palestinian women who see death all around them. How conscious I became of the peacenik-y "war is bad" view that I was raised with, and how to reconcile that with Israel - and reality. How much I've thought about the dozens of Israelis who made yerida (moved away from Israel - the opposite of aaliyah) and became my Jewish teachers, mentors, role models in my reform synagogue in my small corner of the United States. How different Judaism is to Americans and to Israelis. How little I know about my own religion and how little I know about what I want from it in my life. How strange it was to have dinner at my teacher's home last night, and look at from his balcony at the sea of green lights that shine from the tops of mosques in the West Bank, just over the hill.
In the last week, I would have written about a new class at Pardes on Spirituality that I'm taking and how difficult it is not to fall asleep during meditating. That my friend Greta is now in Israel, and how happy I am to have her here. That I had a lovely dinner last week at my friend Dena's house and pulled off an amazing veggie lasagna. How much fun it was to have lunch with old camp friends and gossip about who will return. That we have a new President and, despite missing America, how fun our inauguration pizza party was! That I heard a famous jazz saxophonist, painted a floor, and learned about the art of Storahtelling on our Dorot seminar "What is Jewish Art?" That I received a 30 page packet detailing how my friends and fellow Dorot Fellows and classmates and employers and professors rate my emotional intelligence. Well, that one will probably have to be explained in detail later.
For now let me say that I am safe and, despite being confused by Israel and, in the most quintessentially "Avenue Q" kind of way, about being 22, I am happy. And that www.kayak.com says that you can buy a round trip ticket to Israel for only $800. So if you happen to have $800 lying around (yeah right!) come visit me because it's getting warmer in Israel now and I just found a delicious pizza restaurant in Jerusalem and it would force me to clean my apartment.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Meatballs, cribbage, and goodbyes
Friday afternoon was a whirlwind of tidying and sweeping and washing. And, unfortunately, the much procrastinated beginnings of the search for a plan for next year.
We invited Darja and Yishai (neighbors) to join us for Shabbat dinner, which Max and I planned to cook for his family. Max's mom and sister: wine and challah. Darja and Yishai: side dish and dessert. Max and I: spaghetti and "meat"balls and a salad (which had a remarkable resemblance to the salad at Olive Garden, if you don't mind my bragging).
Dinner was delicious and a lot of fun. Although, when I offered to make french toast out of the leftover challah, Yishai said he'd bring the hummus. I didn't end up making french toast, so whether or not he was kidding is still up for debate.
The next morning Max and I were supposed to meet Max's family at the Islamic Art Museum, but, luckily, I checked the website and discovered (at about 1:30 pm) that it closes at 2. After an unexpected refrigerator incident (a lot of water was involved) we walked down to Emek Refaim to meet Beth and Robin for tea and cribbage - a rather confusing, but very fun, card game. We switched to Spades briefly and then left to meet Michal Kabatznik (camp friend) for dinner at Luciana's - a very nice Italian restaurant. When Max and I got home, we got to talk to Sammy ... and Mike and Ben and Alyssa and Navah and Greta and Daniel on Skype!
Max had to work this morning, but I was free to meet Robin for breakfast and spend some time hearing stories about Max's annoying big brother days. And then Beth and Robin left, and I did dishes and more job hunting and some homework and signed up for more ulpan and made granola. And missed home.
We invited Darja and Yishai (neighbors) to join us for Shabbat dinner, which Max and I planned to cook for his family. Max's mom and sister: wine and challah. Darja and Yishai: side dish and dessert. Max and I: spaghetti and "meat"balls and a salad (which had a remarkable resemblance to the salad at Olive Garden, if you don't mind my bragging).
Dinner was delicious and a lot of fun. Although, when I offered to make french toast out of the leftover challah, Yishai said he'd bring the hummus. I didn't end up making french toast, so whether or not he was kidding is still up for debate.
The next morning Max and I were supposed to meet Max's family at the Islamic Art Museum, but, luckily, I checked the website and discovered (at about 1:30 pm) that it closes at 2. After an unexpected refrigerator incident (a lot of water was involved) we walked down to Emek Refaim to meet Beth and Robin for tea and cribbage - a rather confusing, but very fun, card game. We switched to Spades briefly and then left to meet Michal Kabatznik (camp friend) for dinner at Luciana's - a very nice Italian restaurant. When Max and I got home, we got to talk to Sammy ... and Mike and Ben and Alyssa and Navah and Greta and Daniel on Skype!
Max had to work this morning, but I was free to meet Robin for breakfast and spend some time hearing stories about Max's annoying big brother days. And then Beth and Robin left, and I did dishes and more job hunting and some homework and signed up for more ulpan and made granola. And missed home.
Friday, January 9, 2009
I got off the bus
Last Wednesday I got off the bus.
I had a lesson with Noam at the Hartman Institute at 10:45 am and then a Hebrew lesson with Sharon at 1. At 2:15 pm, I boarded a bus headed for downtown and settled into a nice backward facing window seat.
The bus drove down Emek Refaim. I started thinking about the situation in Gaza. About how scary it must be to be a civilian in Sderot - to wake up every morning with the fear that a missile might come through your kitchen window. How terrifying it must be to be a civilian in Gaza - to not be able to sleep out of fear for the lives of your family and friends. How horrifying it must be to be an Israeli soldier - to be an 18-year-old boy who has been ordered to perpetuate violence and fear.
The bus turned onto Keren Hayesod. I started thinking about times that violence has escalated in Israel. About riots in the streets. About stone throwing in the Old City. About burning restaurants. About suicide bombers.
The bus continued onto King George. I started to think about how many Palestinians must have woken up fearful and angry, rightfully in many cases, this morning. About what fear and anger make people do. About how many people whose faces and bodies I couldn't see were on that bus. And I got off.
I stood at the bus stop and watched the bus drive down the street. I watched it until it became very small in the distance and had already passed my stop. And I started to walk home, feeling silly and embarrassed and confused.
But I think what I really felt was Israeli. I was so viscerally conscious at the moment when I reached up and pressed the STOP button, 3 stops before mine, what it might be like to be an Israeli citizen and live in fear everyday of a terrorist attack.
In the days since I have tried to get the root of the confusion that this incident has caused for me. Confusion about what kind of fear and violence warrants war. About what kind of injustices make people feel that terrorism is the only viable option. About what right people who don't live in Israel or the Palestinian territories have to think they understand this situation.
Or maybe, how necessary it is for those people whose vision isn't clouded by fear, to get involved.
I had a lesson with Noam at the Hartman Institute at 10:45 am and then a Hebrew lesson with Sharon at 1. At 2:15 pm, I boarded a bus headed for downtown and settled into a nice backward facing window seat.
The bus drove down Emek Refaim. I started thinking about the situation in Gaza. About how scary it must be to be a civilian in Sderot - to wake up every morning with the fear that a missile might come through your kitchen window. How terrifying it must be to be a civilian in Gaza - to not be able to sleep out of fear for the lives of your family and friends. How horrifying it must be to be an Israeli soldier - to be an 18-year-old boy who has been ordered to perpetuate violence and fear.
The bus turned onto Keren Hayesod. I started thinking about times that violence has escalated in Israel. About riots in the streets. About stone throwing in the Old City. About burning restaurants. About suicide bombers.
The bus continued onto King George. I started to think about how many Palestinians must have woken up fearful and angry, rightfully in many cases, this morning. About what fear and anger make people do. About how many people whose faces and bodies I couldn't see were on that bus. And I got off.
I stood at the bus stop and watched the bus drive down the street. I watched it until it became very small in the distance and had already passed my stop. And I started to walk home, feeling silly and embarrassed and confused.
But I think what I really felt was Israeli. I was so viscerally conscious at the moment when I reached up and pressed the STOP button, 3 stops before mine, what it might be like to be an Israeli citizen and live in fear everyday of a terrorist attack.
In the days since I have tried to get the root of the confusion that this incident has caused for me. Confusion about what kind of fear and violence warrants war. About what kind of injustices make people feel that terrorism is the only viable option. About what right people who don't live in Israel or the Palestinian territories have to think they understand this situation.
Or maybe, how necessary it is for those people whose vision isn't clouded by fear, to get involved.
Politics of Archaeology
After what felt like much more than 3 weeks since we last met, the Dorot gang once again convened early Thursday morning for our first seminar since before Budapest. This time, for the Politics of Archaeology seminar that I, and my partner Rebecca, planned.
We met at the Jerusalem Inter-Cultural Center, a small building very close to the Old City, for breakfast (provided by yours truly) and lots of catching up. We sat down at 9 to talk about the readings Rebecca and I had sent out, which covered the complexity of archaeology in Israel which is tied with politics and the never ending fight to establish the legitimacy of the Jewish State.
At 9:30, we were joined by Danny Seidman, a well-known lawyer who specializes in property rights, especially with Palestinian clients. For someone who claimed to know very little about archaeology, he was very knowledgeable and provided the perfect introduction to the day. He got especially riled up when talking about the Museum of Tolerance, a controversy with which I was already familiar, but now feel compelled to share.
The Los Angeles Weisenthal Center is in the process of constructing a Museum of Tolerance in Jerusalem, to promote the unity and respect among Jews and between people of all faiths. The museum, however, is currently being constructed on top of a very prominent Muslim graveyard. Many friends of the prophet Mohamed are said to be buried there as well as family members of Muslims currently living in Israel and the Palestinian territories. The Israeli Antiquities Authority has said that it is impossible to avoid building over graveyard in the State of Israel, as there are more ancient artifacts per capita than almost any part of the world. But, as far as I can tell, there is a real difference here. This is not a piece of land that happens to have an ancient civilization's remains underneath. This is a clearly marked, recently used, burial site. I wish I could urge people to do something to stop this injustice, but as the upheaval of the graves and the construction of the Tolerance Museum is already underway, all I can ask is to think twice before paying their entrance fee.
We left the JICC for the afternoon, and headed toward "Ir David." Ir David (the City of David) is believed to be the place of biblical Jerusalem, where King David established the unified capital of the tribes of Israel. Ir David has been a tourist attraction since the early 1990s, and has gained increasing success in the last 5 years. The tours, however, are being given by Elad, a right-wing settler organization that was sub-contracted by the State Parks Authority.
Our very lovely tour guide showed up a 3-D movie about the City of David, which told the story of the capturing of the Old City from the Jebusites by King David's army. The movie's special effects were impressive, but not nearly as impressive as the not-so-subtle propaganda the movie puts forth. Most horrifically, the movie boasted that now that Jews have resettled the City of David, there are children playing in the place where it all began. Somehow they forgot to mention that the famed City of David is where the Palestinian village of Silwan sits today.
The tour took us around many of the sites of the archaeological sites. Many of the archaeological finds were very impressive. Recently, for example, coins were uncovered which have the names of characters from the Bible, during the First Temple period. We saw the tunnels that were dug to provide the Old City with impenetrable access to water, in the case of a siege. But I couldn't shake the feeling that we missing a big part of the story: the other layers of archaeological evidence from the eras prior to and after those of interest to Jewish history, the Palestinian town surrounding Ir David on all sides, the increasing Jewish population in the village of Silwan.
After a quick falafel lunch, we hurried back to Ir David to meet Yoni Mizrahi, an archaeologist who leads "alternative" tours of Ancient Jerusalem. He believes firmly that archaeology has no place trying to prove the Bible, and that archaeology should not be used as a political tool. He advocates strongly for the residents of Silwan, many of whom have been uprooted from their homes by Elad, the very organization that runs the tours of the City of David. His tour was in no ways unbiased, but he provided us with a much greater scope of the story of ancient Jerusalem and the current political situation surrounding the area. We even got to speak briefly with Jawad, a resident of Silwan, who confidently epoused his belief that the best, if not only, way to truly support Israel as a Jew is to be critical of it when the situation warrants.
We headed back to the JICC for our final speaker, Jon Seligman from the Israel Antiquities Authority. He was intelligent and could hold his own, but only confused me further about the bureaucracy underlying this situation and to to hold responsible.
After Jon Seligman left, we brought out the cookies to keep everyone awake during the debriefing. The conversation turned quickly from archaeology to the importance of hearing multiple narratives and about the need to change Israeli education in North America.
Something to think about ...
We met at the Jerusalem Inter-Cultural Center, a small building very close to the Old City, for breakfast (provided by yours truly) and lots of catching up. We sat down at 9 to talk about the readings Rebecca and I had sent out, which covered the complexity of archaeology in Israel which is tied with politics and the never ending fight to establish the legitimacy of the Jewish State.
At 9:30, we were joined by Danny Seidman, a well-known lawyer who specializes in property rights, especially with Palestinian clients. For someone who claimed to know very little about archaeology, he was very knowledgeable and provided the perfect introduction to the day. He got especially riled up when talking about the Museum of Tolerance, a controversy with which I was already familiar, but now feel compelled to share.
The Los Angeles Weisenthal Center is in the process of constructing a Museum of Tolerance in Jerusalem, to promote the unity and respect among Jews and between people of all faiths. The museum, however, is currently being constructed on top of a very prominent Muslim graveyard. Many friends of the prophet Mohamed are said to be buried there as well as family members of Muslims currently living in Israel and the Palestinian territories. The Israeli Antiquities Authority has said that it is impossible to avoid building over graveyard in the State of Israel, as there are more ancient artifacts per capita than almost any part of the world. But, as far as I can tell, there is a real difference here. This is not a piece of land that happens to have an ancient civilization's remains underneath. This is a clearly marked, recently used, burial site. I wish I could urge people to do something to stop this injustice, but as the upheaval of the graves and the construction of the Tolerance Museum is already underway, all I can ask is to think twice before paying their entrance fee.
We left the JICC for the afternoon, and headed toward "Ir David." Ir David (the City of David) is believed to be the place of biblical Jerusalem, where King David established the unified capital of the tribes of Israel. Ir David has been a tourist attraction since the early 1990s, and has gained increasing success in the last 5 years. The tours, however, are being given by Elad, a right-wing settler organization that was sub-contracted by the State Parks Authority.
Our very lovely tour guide showed up a 3-D movie about the City of David, which told the story of the capturing of the Old City from the Jebusites by King David's army. The movie's special effects were impressive, but not nearly as impressive as the not-so-subtle propaganda the movie puts forth. Most horrifically, the movie boasted that now that Jews have resettled the City of David, there are children playing in the place where it all began. Somehow they forgot to mention that the famed City of David is where the Palestinian village of Silwan sits today.
The tour took us around many of the sites of the archaeological sites. Many of the archaeological finds were very impressive. Recently, for example, coins were uncovered which have the names of characters from the Bible, during the First Temple period. We saw the tunnels that were dug to provide the Old City with impenetrable access to water, in the case of a siege. But I couldn't shake the feeling that we missing a big part of the story: the other layers of archaeological evidence from the eras prior to and after those of interest to Jewish history, the Palestinian town surrounding Ir David on all sides, the increasing Jewish population in the village of Silwan.
After a quick falafel lunch, we hurried back to Ir David to meet Yoni Mizrahi, an archaeologist who leads "alternative" tours of Ancient Jerusalem. He believes firmly that archaeology has no place trying to prove the Bible, and that archaeology should not be used as a political tool. He advocates strongly for the residents of Silwan, many of whom have been uprooted from their homes by Elad, the very organization that runs the tours of the City of David. His tour was in no ways unbiased, but he provided us with a much greater scope of the story of ancient Jerusalem and the current political situation surrounding the area. We even got to speak briefly with Jawad, a resident of Silwan, who confidently epoused his belief that the best, if not only, way to truly support Israel as a Jew is to be critical of it when the situation warrants.
We headed back to the JICC for our final speaker, Jon Seligman from the Israel Antiquities Authority. He was intelligent and could hold his own, but only confused me further about the bureaucracy underlying this situation and to to hold responsible.
After Jon Seligman left, we brought out the cookies to keep everyone awake during the debriefing. The conversation turned quickly from archaeology to the importance of hearing multiple narratives and about the need to change Israeli education in North America.
Something to think about ...
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
To Haifa We Go
Saturday afternoon involved much bumming around and not much else. By the time Max and I finally decided to face the cold, it was nearing dinner time. We headed out to Aroma Cafe on Hillel St. where I ran into Elliot Greenwald (friend from UNC) and his cousin. They graciously made room for Max and I at their table (Aroma was hopping) where we waited for Max's family (Mom and sister) to arrive.
When they did, we headed over to Tmol Shilshom (a personal favorite) for dinner. Their sweet potato soup is not as good as the Village Green (another Jerusalem favorite) but definitely a winner.
Sunday, the Socols and I took a stroll around the shuk and then ventured into the Old City. We made our way very slowly (lots of shopping) to the Kotel, so Max's mom could put her congregations letters in the Western Wall. After finding the Old City surprisingly normal, considering the current political situation in Israel, we decided it was safe to eat lunch in the Muslim Quarter at Max's favorite hummus joint. The hummus was, as usual, stellar, and we rounded out the meal with some sahlab (Arab puddingly-drink).
On Monday, after my Hebrew lesson with Sharon, Max's family invited me to join them on their trip to Haifa. They were originally planning on going to Eilat and then to Petra, but they later decided Haifa was the safer choice.
By the time we arrived in Haifa it was after dark. We checked in at a hostel on the outskirts of the city, wandered aimlessly downtown for a bit, and finally settled on a nice restaurant for dinner. When we arrived back at the hostel, we were befriended by a motherless kitten who was our source of entertainment for the night.
We woke at an unusually early hour this morning to get an early start on our adventure to the Bahai Gardens, which are (accurately I think) described by many to be the 8th wonder of the world. The dome in the middle of the 19 terraces of gardens houses the remains of the Bab, the teacher of the founder of the Bahai faith. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bah%C3%A1%27%C3%AD_Faith) The gardens are absolutely stunning!
After our tour of the Gardens and an informational video, we meandered over to the cave of Elijah the Prophet which was, to be honest, pretty disappointing. After wandering aimlessly (again), we finally found a cute restaurant with a beautiful view of the Bahai Gardens where we had a late lunch.
Robin (Max's sister) is studying Arabic at Tufts, and so we decided to head to Wadi Nisnas (an area of Haifa more populated with Arabs) to find her a book of poetry. We found not only that but the most delicious smelling spice store where I bought a mix to make my very own sahlab at home.
We took the bus to the beach, where we wandered along the rocky shore as the sun set over the Mediterranean. A little intoxicated with the beauty of Haifa, we decided to take the funicular (yes! another one!) from the beach (bottom of the mountain) to the Stella Maris monastery (very top of the mountain). It was an absolutely terrifying - but exhilarating - ride!
After a quick stop into the monastery, and an even quicker one to buy some rugelach, we headed back to the hostel where I grabbed my bags and caught a bus back to Jerualem, leaving Max and his family behind in Haifa until tomorrow.
When they did, we headed over to Tmol Shilshom (a personal favorite) for dinner. Their sweet potato soup is not as good as the Village Green (another Jerusalem favorite) but definitely a winner.
Sunday, the Socols and I took a stroll around the shuk and then ventured into the Old City. We made our way very slowly (lots of shopping) to the Kotel, so Max's mom could put her congregations letters in the Western Wall. After finding the Old City surprisingly normal, considering the current political situation in Israel, we decided it was safe to eat lunch in the Muslim Quarter at Max's favorite hummus joint. The hummus was, as usual, stellar, and we rounded out the meal with some sahlab (Arab puddingly-drink).
On Monday, after my Hebrew lesson with Sharon, Max's family invited me to join them on their trip to Haifa. They were originally planning on going to Eilat and then to Petra, but they later decided Haifa was the safer choice.
By the time we arrived in Haifa it was after dark. We checked in at a hostel on the outskirts of the city, wandered aimlessly downtown for a bit, and finally settled on a nice restaurant for dinner. When we arrived back at the hostel, we were befriended by a motherless kitten who was our source of entertainment for the night.
We woke at an unusually early hour this morning to get an early start on our adventure to the Bahai Gardens, which are (accurately I think) described by many to be the 8th wonder of the world. The dome in the middle of the 19 terraces of gardens houses the remains of the Bab, the teacher of the founder of the Bahai faith. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bah%C3%A1%27%C3%AD_Faith) The gardens are absolutely stunning!
After our tour of the Gardens and an informational video, we meandered over to the cave of Elijah the Prophet which was, to be honest, pretty disappointing. After wandering aimlessly (again), we finally found a cute restaurant with a beautiful view of the Bahai Gardens where we had a late lunch.
Robin (Max's sister) is studying Arabic at Tufts, and so we decided to head to Wadi Nisnas (an area of Haifa more populated with Arabs) to find her a book of poetry. We found not only that but the most delicious smelling spice store where I bought a mix to make my very own sahlab at home.
We took the bus to the beach, where we wandered along the rocky shore as the sun set over the Mediterranean. A little intoxicated with the beauty of Haifa, we decided to take the funicular (yes! another one!) from the beach (bottom of the mountain) to the Stella Maris monastery (very top of the mountain). It was an absolutely terrifying - but exhilarating - ride!
After a quick stop into the monastery, and an even quicker one to buy some rugelach, we headed back to the hostel where I grabbed my bags and caught a bus back to Jerualem, leaving Max and his family behind in Haifa until tomorrow.
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