Education in Four Parts

School's Out

I spent the last day of English class at Jaffa’s Lev school discussing food with Aya and Sineen. As they chose pictures of peaches, tomatoes, cucumbers and watermelon to put in their make believe fruit and vegetable salads, we talked about what they liked to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The girls, along with their classmates, had become increasingly rambunctious and distracted over the course of the last few months.  On this day Aya and Sineen literally danced in their seats---their hands and torsos swayed to a disco beat while their bottoms remained planted in their seats. Pointing to each other they learned the English words for “she’s crazy.” It was a wild ride to the end of the session.

After class the headmaster, a personable young Arab man, invited us into his office for a goodbye celebration.  We had contact with him during the year, especially towards the end, when he was called on to intervene with students who needed some encouragement to behave in class. One day, for example, Mahmood refused to work with me until the headmaster had a talk with him. Later, the headmaster explained that Mahmood’s parents, who were divorcing, had come to school and yelled at each other.  Speaking in Hebrew, the headmaster thanked us for taking the time to work with the children. He explained that many of the kids experienced disadvantaged or difficult circumstances--- single parent and divorced families, poverty and so on. With 30 kids in a classroom, the teachers have little time to give them the individual attention they desperately need. He said that they had benefited from the one on one attention we provided. As for the challenging behavior, he said we shouldn’t take it personally as they treat all the teachers that way. This was obvious to me when I saw the kids bursting into the teachers’ lounge and heard the teachers yelling at them. The headmaster explained that they were testing us---Would we come back? Do we care? What expectations do we have of them to learn and succeed? “You have done something important,” he concluded, rewarding us with a booklet about Jaffa (in Hebrew and Arabic) and an ergonomic ballpoint pen and offering us cookies and juice to show his appreciation for our efforts. 

The cookies, from the nearby bakery Piece of Cake, were unbelievable.  Since I needed a birthday cake to bring my ulpan party the following day, I got directions and headed directly over there (the chocolate and halva cakes were a big hit). We stopped in again while touring Jaffa with Rachel to stock up on cookies, rugelah and granola. I am going to miss my weekly trips to Jaffa, typically including stops at the fruit and vegetable market and Café Yafo for shakshuka (traditional North African dish of eggs poached in a tomato, onion and pepper sauce) or, more often, fabulous gelato/sorbet. Luckily I didn’t discover Piece of Cake until the end of the term otherwise that would have also been a weekly temptation. And of course I should also mention the famous Abulafia family’s Arab bakery and hummos/shwarma restaurants.

To Teach or Not to Teach Nakba

One of the worksheets we used for our lesson on "daily activities" features simple stories about “Tom” from America and “Gila” from Israel in which the children introduce themselves and tell how they spend the day: “My name is Gila, I am from Israel, I live in Tel Aviv, I get up at 7 a.m.” and so on.  When I asked Aya to write a similar story about herself she began: “My name is Aya. I am from Felastin. I live in Yafo.”  When I gently suggested that she lives in Israel, she insisted on writing  “Felastin”, using a spelling based on the Arabic pronounciation. I should point out that Aya was the only girl in the class who wore a white head scarf covering her hair but Sineen, minus headscarf, also agreed that she lives in Felastin. With my limited Hebrew and their limited English (and young age) we weren’t going to have a political discussion about this. However from observation, reading the newspapers and talking with community activists, I can see that as the Palestinian/Israeli conflict fails to resolve, and conditions for Arab-Israeli citizens remain problematic, Arab residents find themselves in limbo and many have become more militantly identified with the Palestinian struggle. Religion also plays a role with differences among Christians and Muslims and varying degrees of fundamentalism within the Muslim community. On the street one now sees a few women wearing the most extreme head to toe black garb (with only a small slit for the eyes) standing out from those wearing less drastic head scarves and coverings. 

Arab and Jewish families have lived side by side in Jaffa for centuries through periods of interdependence and prosperity, suspicion and conflict. The fierce struggle that led to the 1948 creation of the State of Israel marked an important turning point in Arab-Jewish relations in this traditionally mixed town. At that time many Arab families left and were unable to return due to political circumstances. Those that stayed became citizens of Israel but experienced marginalization and discrimination. A fascinating account of Jaffa’s history, told through the stories of several key families, can be found in Adam LeBor’s City of Oranges: Arabs and Jews in Jaffa.

This month controversy erupted over observation of and teaching about Nakba  (Palestinian commemoration of the ‘catastrophe’ that befell them after the establishment of Israel).  A knesset member from the right wing nationalist party Yisrael Beitenu proposed a bill prohibiting any event marking Nakba while at the same time HaAretz reported that a curriculum about the experiences of Palestinian Arabs before and after the creation of Israel has been developed for use in Israeli high schools. 

Multiculturalism in Israel? (Oy!)

Curriculum issues make for huge battles here, not only between Jews and non-Jews but also between secular and religious Israelis. As I explained in an earlier post, Lev school split from the neighboring school across the courtyard, Weizman, over language and curriculum issues between Arab and Jewish parents. Now Weizman school is having difficulty attracting Jewish families to maintain the diverse population in the school.  Consequently, Beit Daniel, the Reform (Progressive) synagogue in our neighborhood that operates a guest house and educational progams in Jaffa, has been invited to run the kindergarten in the school next year. The hope is that this will encourage Jewish parents in the community to enroll there children here rather than choosing an alternative or private school.  

Reforming Education---the L.A. Connection

Amazingly, I recently met a woman here, Sara Gefen, who was instrumental in  developing a relationship between the very well-respected high school in Tel Aviv (near our apartment) where she teaches photography and optics and Miliken High in Los Angeles (connected to the reform congregation Stephen S. Wise---my parents were among the founders!).  Sara spent a lot of time in Los Angeles working with Metuka who runs all the educational programs at Stephen S. Wise. Metuka was one of my Hebrew school teachers many years earlier. As a high school student I was her assistant in the third or fourth grade Hebrew school class.  Another unbelievable coincidence among many we've had here

 

Yom Huledet Sameach! : A Happy Birthday with Two Ednas

Photos: Aleph Plus class; Linda, Edna, and Vivien; Linda, Edna B. and Hedva

I celebrated my 61st birthday in Israel with two Ednas and my friends in Aleph Plus. I'll write more about my adventures with Edna Barromi-Perlman in another post. Meanwhile here is a photo taken at lunch with her mother in an old-fashioned restaurant near the headquarters of the Hashomer Hatzair Kibbutz Movement (an important left-leaning zionist socialist organization) after Edna gave a fascinating presentation to the movement's archivists about the implications of choosing how to preserve and interpret childhood images in kibbutz photographs. Using images from one specific kibbutz, she focused on how children's lives were captured in historical photographs and how one particular archivist from this kibbutz has been documenting information that was left out of the historical record, especially regarding parents' ties to children, the role of women and inclusion of family members who moved off the kibbutz.

The second Edna, my ulpan teacher, prepared a very beautiful, heartfelt blessing for my birthday and taught us all the words to use to congratulate someone or to celebrate a special event. I brought two cakes--one chocolate and one halva--from a fantastic bakery in Jaffa. The class sang "Yom Huledet Sameach" (Happy Birthday) and we took some photos. Edna said I bring joy to the class because I am always smiling!  That is because I love Edna and Kita (class) Aleph Plus.  Here's a rough translation of the blessing, which you can see on the board in the group photo:

Dear Linda, Happy Birthday! We congratulate you on your birthday and wish you much happiness, good fortune, good health, success and joy. We hope to see you return to Israel. Yours in friendship, The students and teacher of Aleph Plus class, Gordon Ulpan, Tel Aviv.

After class Lew and I capped the celebration by sharing mussels in a curry-coconut broth at Goo Cha on Dizengoff. He bought me a beautiful small red hand made vase from the Eretz Yisrael museum gift shop. With phone calls from Mom, Judy, and Rachel and ecards from Gregory, Judy and Adele, the day could not have been better. Thanks to all for making my birthday so special!

 

 

 

Apples, Smoke and Memory

 

In our quest to sample all the cultural riches Tel Aviv has to offer we spent a recent Friday afternoon with a gyrating mass of young people in the courtyard of the Suzanne Dellal Center listening to the Apples, a popular Israeli funk jazz band that has gotten a lot of attention in Europe and elsewhere. The Suzanne Dellal Center, home to the Batsheva Dance Company, is an important incubator for innovative dance, music, and theater in Israel. This event was part of a three week festival, “The Big Stage,” celebrating the center’s 20^th anniversary and Tel Aviv’s first 100 years.

The band-- sax, tenor sax, trumpet and trombone grouped at one side of the stage, upright bass and drums on the other side, and 2 DJ’s in neon green jumpsuits manning turntables in the center—jammed at high intensity for over two hours. For most of this time the audience was on its feet. We were not entirely confident that the temporary stadium style seating would hold up to several hundred people rhythmically swaying and stomping in unison but we came out unscathed, at least sort of. The bigger problem was the smoking. You would think that since we were outdoors this wouldn’t be much of a problem. You would be wrong. Sadly, the majority of these young people smoke like chimneys.  Many held a cigarette in one hand virtually the entire time (often while managing a bottle of beer in the other). A haze of smoke billowed above the crowd, occasionally swept away by a refreshing breeze. One young woman directly behind me noticed my discomfort and graciously moved a few feet away but most of the smokers were oblivious to the impact on others. Soon my throat burned and my chest felt constricted. I can only imagine how long I would survive in a club setting where one would usually here this music. In any case I’m sure that I’ve reduced my life span by a few months just by inhaling my neighbors’ smoke at the outdoor cafes and restaurants (no restrictions outside).

Luckily, our second visit to the Big Stage the following evening drew a different crowd who, thankfully, did not smoke. We saw an intense performance of  “Aide Memoire,” danced by the excellent Kibbutz Contemporary Dance company. This work, by choreographer Rami Be’eri, stems from his personal response to the memory of the Holocaust (his parents were survivors) and his hatred of war. The collage of movement, lighting, spoken text from Ecclesiastes, music and percussive sound was striking and intense. 

All it Takes is Love: Shavuot in Jerusalem, part 2

Finishing dinner around 11 p.m. with a long night ahead of us, we set out to “repair” ourselves through study. Conveniently, we only needed to walk a short distance from the hotel to the Hebrew Union College facility where we were able to participate in two study sessions (in English) among the hundreds offered at various synagogues, institutes and cultural venues across the city. With small groups of English-speaking strangers, led first by Rabbi Rich Kirschen and then by Rabbi Dr. Michael Marmur, we discussed Biblical text and commentary on various aspects of what it means to be “a stranger in a strange land:” What has it meant for Jews to be the “other” in the diaspora?  What does it mean to lose this otherness in Israel?  What is the relationship between otherness and the Biblical concept of being “chosen” by God for a special purpose-- to receive and live by “the law”?  What is problematic v. formative about this concept?  The second session with Marmur was especially lively. He used commentary by the famous modern scholar A.J. Heschel to explore what it means to feel alienated or at home in the universe (“I am a sojourner on earth” Psalms 119:19---we are all just passing through). How does this realization affect our conceptions of God/spirituality, compassion, and justice?  Have we become too comfortable or complacent during our sojourn?  The theme of the stranger is central to Shavuot, embodied in the reading of the Book of Ruth, the ultimate convert and great, great grandmother of King David.

Still going strong at 2:45 a.m. we walked to Beit Avichai-- a gorgeous facility that offers lectures, music, art exhibits, theater and so on—where we joined a larger crowd of mostly young people to study with Avichai Lau-Lavie, the founder of Storahtelling. The evocative title of this session was “Mounting Sinai: Mythos and Eros on the Dawn of Revelation.”   Through poetry and interpretive texts we explored the central Jewish metaphor of the union of bride (the people) and groom (God). Presumably the bride (the people) was asleep when Moses returned from the mountaintop with the Torah. Moses called to the bride to wake up and join the waiting groom under the canopy to receive the laws. Now we study all night on Shavuot so as not to miss the big event.  Trying to keep our eyes open, we talked about what’s going on inside us when we sleep and what it means to be truly awake. What opens us up?  What gives our lives meaning?  Ultimately, Lau-Lavie says, it all comes down to love. The power of love enables us to unite polarities within ourselves (head and heart; inner and outer; male and female) and connects us with others.

At 4 a.m. we connected with hundreds of others streaming out of the many sessions at Beit Avichai and elsewhere and following a silent, invisible pied piper through the quiet streets and narrow alleys of the Old City to the Kotel (Western Wall). Waiting for the sun to rise we watched the growing crowd fill up the plaza. Aside from praying, the main activities seemed to be smoking and milling around.  Groups of young religious men and women, dressed to the nines (rhinestones and modest necklines) gathered to check each other out. Teens from abroad, dressed more casually, greeted their friends with shrieks of recognition. Mothers guided little girls in fancy party dresses through the chaos. We sought in vain for a spot where we could breathe freely. Although signs warn against taking photographs, there is no prohibition against smoking. Somehow it just doesn’t feel spiritual to inhale second hand smoke in this ancient, revered place.

“Jews for Cheeses”: Shavuot in Jerusalem, part 1

We celebrated Shavuout (our final holiday here in Israel!) in Jerusalem and it was a more sober and studious experience than the previous night’s urban circus in Tel Aviv. Shavuot is dual purpose holiday: on the religious side we celebrate receiving the Torah at Sinai while on the secular side we mark the end of the counting of the omer (seven weeks after Pesach) when the first fruits of the harvest were brought to the Temple. On the secular side schoolchildren make flower garlands and, at least in one surviving kibbutz, there is a parade of children, farm equipment, animals and harvest bounty. Religious observance entails Tikkun Leil, an all night study marathon to repair, correct, or set things right. Everyone, secular and religious, eats dairy (cheesecake and blintzes!). The dairy association has many explanations, mystical and biblical, but the one that my ulpan teacher favors is this: Before we received the laws or commandments written in the Torah there weren’t any rules for preparing food. As soon as we received the Torah we had to learn the kosher rules in a hurry. Since it was easier to prepare dairy in a kosher way, as opposed to the more time consuming effort that is required to properly slaughter and prepare kosher meat, we began our new lives as people of the law with a cheesefest (as one letter writer to the newspaper put it, on Shavuot we become “Jews for Cheeses”). The cheese eating often goes along with the donning of white clothing, more likely to represent aspirations to purity rather than identification with dairy products. The white clothing sticks around as the temperatures rise and I noticed a surplus of cheesecake at the supermarket—post-Shavuout leftovers.

This year the holiday began on a Thursday night and segued into Erev Shabbat on Friday night. Since the busses wouldn’t be running for our trip hone until Saturday night we needed to find a place to stay for two nights in Jerusalem. All the affordable hotels and guest houses were booked weeks in advance so we were lucky to be invited to stay with Noam and Marcella Zion in the Arnona neighborhood of Jerusalem.  I was a little nervous the taxi driver would misunderstand my directions and take us to the Dead Sea rather than to Rechov Yam HaMelach (Dead Sea Street) but my fears were unfounded. Our driver, an entertaining and knowledgeable young Arab man regaled us on the way with an account of his plans to buy a “new” used car for his wife who is completing her drivers’ training.

Despite construction of massive new apartment complexes, this area still feels peaceful and somewhat remote from the intensity of the city center and Old City. From the balcony of their apartment on Dead Sea Street we could see a blue strip of the Dead Sea with the brown hills of Jordan rising above. From 1948 to 1967 this was the edge of “no man’s land” which lay beyond a barbed wire fence across the street. Not too far away is the hilltop U.N. outpost where the Jordanian forces began their attack in 1967.  Now incorporated into the Israeli controlled Jerusalem metropolis, the view highlights the city’s contrasts—the modern high rise complexes of the Jewish neighborhood of East Talpiyot dominate the sliced off the tops of the nearby hilltops while further away the small enclaves of Arab neighborhoods, each punctuated by a tall, florescent green lighted minaret, nestle into and conform to the shape of the hills that roll to the Dead Sea. Tall date palms, cypress and pines, vivid purple, bright pink or orange bougainvelia and sweet-scented flowering jasmine abruptly give way to the browns, tans and ochres of the desert where the rain line stops. Just down the hill to the south the former Diplomat hotel complex once housed thousands of Ethiopian immigrants brought to Israel in the massive airlifts. Many Arnona neighbors walked to the hotel on Shabbat to bring gifts of food and clothing to the new citizens who recreated the atmosphere of a traditional village in the halls of the hotel.  Further away to the south rises a massive new school complex built to serve the children of the Arab villages. As you may remember from a previous post, there is a serious lack of classrooms for these children.

Once the holiday began, walking became the operant mode of transportation. Given our somewhat remote location from the city center, we put a lot of mileage (or, more appropriate to Israel, I should say kilometers) on our shoes. Shavuot eve our observant hosts walked us to a community center in the German Colony that houses Shira Hadasha, a somewhat more egalitarian, though still orthodox, congregation that features lovely singing.  This popular, pioneering congregation incorporates somewhat more progressive  practices into their worship and strives to build community among the members, both novel ideas in the Israeli context. Though a high gauzy curtain separates the men’s and women’s sections, the podium (bima) extends to both sides and the curtain is opened during the more didactic portions of the service. Women participate as service leaders  and read from the Torah. We had actually visited this congregation on our visit two years ago and shared a Shabbat dinner in the home of a couple that belongs to the community. This time, with a gazillion adorable kids running around and a not overly interesting dvar (teaching) in Hebrew, our prayer experience was not riveting and we didn’t stay too long.  Mainly we were here to connect with Marion Robboy(visiting from Chapel Hill), daughter Tanya (who lives in Jerusalem) and her friend Liora, a South African transplant now working for Nefesh b’Nefesh (an organization that assists new immigrants).  The four of us walked to the King David Hotel, their Jerusalem base, where Stan awaited our arrival for our prearranged dinner date. 

At the King David a mix-up led to our being seated in the “meat” dining room rather than the “milk” dining room. During Shavuout the hotel offers discounted rates so the place is absolutely packed with religious families who come for this pilgrimage holiday. The demands on the kitchen are intense so they offered a set menu that consisted of numerous small courses served in succession—tuna tartare, pate, fish, duck breast, steak, lychee sorbet with fruit, chocolates. Amidst the hullabaloo we had a grand time catching up with Marion and Stan who came to visit Tanya and attend events related to their service on the board of the Israel Museum.

 

Red Walls/White Night

Who knew that when I painted my living room and dining room walls red over ten years ago I was following in the footsteps of Israel’s national poet, Chaim Nachman Bialik. On a recent visit to his home, built in the 1920’s, I was surprised to see the walls painted in rich hues of red, blue, and green downstairs, with more subtle hues (light blue, gold, lavender) upstairs. Fabulous tiled columns and floors and delicately stenciled friezes add to the gracious ambience. With its open layout, high ceilings, large windows, spacious verandahs and library lined with built-in wood bookcases, this impressive house, carefully restored to its original state, embodies a unique blend of European and Arab architectural and decorative styles. I can easily imagine the poets and thinkers of Bialik’s day gathering to discuss big ideas and the latest developments in the long journey to Israeli statehood. If the city hadn't turned it into a museum, I would have been tempted to move in and live with their ghosts for a while.

The house is one of several large, beautiful homes, anchored around a stately municipal building (also undergoing restoration) that encircle Kikar Bialik, an open plaza with a lily pond at its center. As I mentioned in an earlier post, the artist Reuven Rubin also had a home (now a museum) on this street, as did Felicia Blumenthal, a prominent piano virtuoso whose home now houses an intimate concert venue and music library. Kikar Bialik (Bialik Square) is at the center of Little Tel Aviv, an old neighborhood of narrow streets at the heart of the city spreading out from the apex of Allenby and King George Streets (major shopping arteries) that join four other streets to form Kikar Magen David. Shuk haCarmel (market), Gan haIr (city garden), historic Trumpledor cemetary, and stylish Dizengoff Street are all within walking distance. This neighborhood was a vital center of Tel Aviv (and Israeli) literary and artistic culture in the early to middle decades of the twentieth century. Although many of the buildings have deteriorated over time, or been replaced by newer apartments, recently efforts have been made to restore and preserve the area’s character and charm.

Kikar Bialik turned out to be a perfect place to experience Lilah Lavan (White Night), Tel Aviv’s all night extravaganza of music, street entertainment and general hoopla that takes place throughout the city-- on the pedestrian mall of stately Rothschild Street, in concert halls, museums, libraries and synagogues, in parks and neighborhood squares, at Jaffa port and on the beaches— the day before Shavuout. This year’s White Night theme, “Little Tel Aviv,” commemorated the city’s 100th anniversary and featured special activities to celebrate the city’s cultural and historical heritage. With too many enticing options to choose from, we decided to head first to Bialik street where a 1920’s European-style café was set up in the square, complete with white tablecloths and flowers on the tables and plenty of beer, coffee and other refreshments for sale at the brightly illuminated “Café Bialik” kiosk. Costumed “newboys” distributed broadsheets with the news of the day (1909) to the “customers” as they began to stream in at dusk. We snagged a couple of chairs and parked ourselves up on the verandah of the Felicia Blumenthal Center next to the municipal building where the musicians were setting up.

With the white moon rising in the balmy night sky, the haunting sounds of Yair Dalal and his Bedoin-Balkan ensemble of violin, oud, sitar, Bedouin flute and percussion players, created a haunting and spirited ambience. A gaggle of little girls, joined by a couple of lively older women, jumped and swayed with the music in the limited open space directly in front of the band. Closing my eyes, I could feel myself transported to a bedoin tent in the desert. And that’s exactly where Yair Dalal often finds himself. An Israeli musician and composer of Iraqi-Jewish descent, he plays the oud and the violin and sings, drawing on Arab, Jewish, classical European and Indian traditions in his original compositions. He is also a peace activist, working to build communication and understanding through collaboration with bedoin and Palestinian musicians.

As the night progressed, the plaza became more and more packed with groups of chatting, drinking and smoking young people mixed in with families and hip alta kakers (older folks--us!). After a brief intermission, a parade of 15 hippie-esque brass, wind and percussion players, their instruments held high above their heads, snaked through the crowd to the stage. Time to PARTAY with the Marsh Dondurma Band!! Taking their name from a favorite Turkish ice cream,this wild and crazy street band from Jerusalem packs a punch with their foot-stomping klezmer-inspired eclectic mix of jazz, Balkan, funk, New Orleans, gypsy, and Latin grooves to traditional and original tunes. I especially liked their high-energy version of Ellington’s Blue Pepper featuring some wailin’ sax and horn solos.

Energized and curious about what was going on elsewhere we spent another hour and a half following the crowds (and the music) around town before hopping into a taxi for the last stretch home in the wee hours. I wasn’t all that tired and was tempted to bike up to Tzuk beach for the sunrise concert by pop star Yehudit Ravitz, but we had plans to pull an all-nighter for Shavuout the following evening so I resisted. It’s hard work keeping up with both the secular and spiritual dimensions of Israeli culture but as a true Gemini I can swing both ways.

"Rembrandt of the Straedtel": Goldberg's Non-Variations

A few years ago while clearing out our mother’s dining room, my sister and I uncovered half a dozen black ink drawings or prints that belonged to our grandmother, Gertrude Frankel (nee Gittel Goldberg). The artist’s signature, written in Hebrew, reads “Avraham Goldberg.” As it happens, my grandmother had a brother, Avram Goldberg, who came to Israel rather than the United States when the siblings left Minsk, Belarus before WWI (another member of the family went to Montevideo, Uruguay but that branch of the family also moved to Israel in the 1970’s). I first met my Uncle Avram, a very sweet man, when I was about 10 or 11 years old. He came to Los Angeles for a visit and we took him to Disneyland, which he loved. I saw him again when I spent the summer of 1965 in Israel and stayed over a few weekends with his son, Nechemia, and family—wife Tamar and two daughters, Chaya and Ruthie. During all this time I never heard any mention that he was an artist and I’m pretty sure the similarity in names is only a coincidence. Still, I was curious about the artist Avraham Goldberg and decided to see what I could discover. First, I checked on the Internet. I found one piece of Avraham Goldberg’s work for sale on an art auction website, as well as the name of a Tel Aviv art gallery that has another. I also learned that the artist was born in Poland in 1903, made aliyah to Israel in 1919, spent some years studying in Paris and New York and died in 1980. Although the lifespans of the two Goldbergs match, I’m reasonably certain my uncle did not study in Paris and New York. To explore further I stopped by the Bineth gallery; the staff there suggested I visit the library at the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. The library turned out to be a treasure trove. The library contains books and archived materials on Israeli artists; when I told the librarian what I was looking for she brought out a small stack of books and a file of newspaper clippings. Two of the books contained reproductions of Goldberg’s black ink drawings and color pastels prefaced by scholarly introductions. The third, an overview of painting and sculpture in Israel published in 1958, included a critical assessment of this artist along with others active at the time. The newspaper clippings from the Palestine Post and other newspapers reviewed exhibits of his work at the Tel Aviv Museum and in Jerusalem (1939, 1942, 1950). In addition to frequent shows in Israel, he also exhibited his work in France. One reviewer referred to him as the “Rembrandt of the Staedtel” and noted the influence not only of Rembrandt but also Daumier. As the title indicates, his subjects were invariably the Jews of the Ghetto—rabbis praying, old men and women (often his mother) around the Shabbat table or at the cemetery—expressing his “homesick longing for the semi-darkness of the lost staedtel of his childhood” and portraying the “burdens of a much-tried people.” While the reviewers gave a nod to his skill at portraying the dignity and suffering of his subjects, they also criticized the monotony of his work---“always the same rabbis, the same women.” My take is that during the early years of statebuilding, Israelis preferred more heroic and less defeated images; they were creating the future while Goldberg dwelled on the past, the lost world of Eastern European Jewry. I agree that our prints create a somewhat gloomy atmosphere but they also are very evocative and haunting. Although I’ll need to verify this, I have a hunch that what we have are merely reproductions and not originals. Still, it was fun to track down the background of this artist.

La Madre de Jessica

 

My friend Jessica's mother passed away last month at the age of 88. Jessica invited me to a celebration of her memory at the end of the 30 day mourning period. The gathering took place in her mother's apartment where Jessica will be moving with her 5 year old son at the end of this month. Relatives and friends shared their memories (in Spanish) of this very active and generous woman who came to Israel from Argentina. One of her mother's friends told me that they liked to talk on the phone every night and that sometimes at midnight Rosa would say, "I haven't eaten dinner yet!" Jessica showed a plaque her mother received from Tel Aviv University for her activities on behalf of the Spanish-speaking Jewish community. Jessica sang a beautiful song in Spanish and a friend played guitar and sang with the group joining in Spanish and Hebrew. For the refreshments, Jessica served tea and coffee, sweets, and cheese with membrillo (quince paste, and also another fruit paste that is typically Argentinian) on her mother's wedding china. Although my knowledge of Spanish and Hebrew is somewhat limited, I felt very welcomed into this warm and gracious group.

Hebrish

I hate Hebrish or should I say Englew, English words written in Hebrew characters (for example, the new verb “lefaxses” means to fax). Whatever you call it, it drives me crazy. It took me two days of walking past bus stop billboards featuring a photo of some kind of fruit drink to figure out that the name of this product is “Spring”, not sapering or sufring or some other nonsensical Hebrew word. I was a little quicker to pick up on “yoga”, offered at our neighborhood community center down the street, but “Tai Chi”, “Kung Fu” and “bridge” written in Hebrew letters had me stumped for quite a while. Our new friends Liona, a dermatologist, and Alan, a venture capitalist, admitted that they still are periodically stumped by these “Hebrew” words even though they made aliyah from Canada over 15 years ago and speak fluent Hebrew. Upon arrival in Israel they opted to live in a Hebrew-only Jerusalem neighborhood, rather than in one of the predominantly English-speaking enclaves. They chuckled as they reported that in their modern Orthodox congregation there are two minyanim (prayer groups), one upstairs primarily attended by English speakers or mixed couples and the other downstairs frequented by Israeli or Hebrew speakers. They broke the norm in the congregation by mixing the two groups at the tables for their child’s bar mitzvah luncheon. They applauded our decision to live outside the Anglo bubble in Bavli (our Tel Aviv neighborhood) and our efforts to learn Hebrew at Gordon Ulpan. Alan shared this tidbit about his early struggles with the language: meaning to order decaff coffee, he asked for “coffee with unleaded gas," sending the waiter into a lengthy fit of convulsive laughter.

We learned all this while enjoying a fabulous dinner with Alan and Liona at Deca, a trendy new restaurant in a converted building in a south Tel Aviv industrial area —very hip interior and chic (but not overly fussy) food and by the way, it’s kosher (fish and dairy). We shared several appetizers: pumpkin carpaccio with buffalo mozzarella; fish felafel; tomato risotto; and gnocci with mushrooms. My entrée, sea bream over roasted potatoes with a drizzle of crème fraiche and balsamic vinegar was fantastic. For dessert we shared a molten-centered chocolate soufflé and strawberries with mascarpone. A good Israeli chardonnay lubricated the conversation with topics ranging from the failure of the Israeli educational system (their five children attend private schools); to the need for Jewish religious pluralism and removal of control over divorce, marriage and determination of Jewish identity by the state-sanctioned Orthodox rabbinate; the need for reform of Israel’s crazy, dysfunctional multi-party parliamentary system (Alan is on the board of the Democracy Institute); the importance of developing joint business ventures with Palestinians to build their economy and create a solid basis for peaceful co-existence (another of Alan's projects); to the fantastic classical music scene in Israel. Driving us home after dinner, Alan pointed out an alternative high school near our neighborhood where the very proactive principal has incorporated religious pluralism into the curriculum and maintains a relationship with a Jewish high school in Los Angeles. Something to explore further.

Social Action in Action

Photos: Linda and Inbar at train station; Linda, Lew and Eitan at youth center; Eitan, Lew and Inbar eating lunch at youth center; Tal holding "Sesame Sandwich"; Yoki with Linda and Lew at Source Vagabond Systems



Through Lew’s contacts from Sheatufim and United Jewish Communities (the Federation) we’ve had some wonderful opportunities to visit with folks who are engaged in innovative and important social activism. This was the case last week when we visited the Tirat Carmel Community Foundation and toured a few of their associated projects.

Our day in Tirat Carmel, a city of 20,000 close to the seaside high tech enclave at Hof haCarmel near Haifa, began when Inbar Hurvitz picked us up at the train station. Inbar replaced Lew’s colleague Atar as director of the Tirat Carmel community foundation when Atar left to join Sheatufim. The first thing we learned was that Inbar and I share an alma mater, the University of California at Berkeley. She spent nine years in Berkeley while her husband earned a Ph.D. in Chinese history. In addition to giving birth to two children, she completed her second master’s degree in public policy during this time. I, of course, received my B.A. in sociology from Berkeley quite a few years earlier. Berkeley women rule!

Inbar brought us to the Community Foundation office, housed in a small converted apartment in a poor neighborhood in order to create a close link with the local residents. The town initially served as a transit camp, beginning in 1949 after the Arab population left. With growth over the last few decades, 20% of the city’s current residents are new immigrants, most from former Soviet Union countries and the Caucasus, as well as a smaller group from Ethiopia; 40% of the city’s residents receive welfare assistance.
In 2002 residents, activists and local business leaders came together through the initiative of a veteran welfare official (a woman with 15 years of experience in the community) to form a partnership to create avenues for social change in the city. The foundation doesn’t provide direct services but rather facilitates cross-sector collaboration among the partners—municipal and national officials, local citizens’ groups and community-based organizations, nonprofits and the business sector—and finds resources to support projects. This uniquely successful model of community-based action has spawned several creative programs; we visited two of these and met the energized and visionary people who created and sustain them.

At The Center for Development of Human Capital, the motivated staff, led by dynamo director, Tsilili, offers counseling, internships, social networking and educational and vocational opportunities to young adults (18-40) who haven’t found a place in the schools, military or workforce or who need retraining in the face of job loss. One of their particularly successful programs serves a selected group of dropouts or rejects from military and national service, providing them with the extensive support and training they need to complete or advance their studies; opportunities to perform community service; and the means to acquire the personal motivation and connections that underpin productive lives.

Similar encouragement and training is given to at-risk high school age youth at the community youth center, as we learned from the director, Eitan, a Tirat Carmel native. In the morning school dropouts come to the center-- housed in the slowly-being-renovated buildings of a former vocational campus made available by the municipality--for tutoring, social activities and to learn vocational skills in the hair salon, bicycle shop and ceramics/art studio. One really creative program is the “Sesame Sandwiches” business, overseen by the very enthusiastic coordinator, Tal, who left his family’s catering and food business to pursue a master’s degree and then took this job using his business skills to help empower youth. Every morning at 5:30 a.m. he supervises a group of youth who make and deliver delicious and healthy sandwiches to vending outlets in nearby high tech offices. The kids “run” the business and learn what it takes to be successful. The afternoon and evenings bring kids who are still in school to the center for recreational and social programs (including a new disco area set up in the lunch room). The goal of both the Human Capital Center and the Youth Center is to encourage integration of at-risk populations with the mainstream.

Other community-based efforts in Tirat Carmel include a second store started by a group of women that sells donated items at low cost and raises quite a bit of money for community projects; a women’s theater group for new immigrants; a community garden; partnerships of local businesses with particular schools, childcare and neighborhoods; and a group of young parents who have been working to introduce a progressive, pluralistic curriculum into a local elementary school (which would encourage “strong” educated young families to remain in the town).

Perhaps our most interesting conversation took place at the factory office of Yoki Gill, founder of Source Vagabond Systems, a company that produces high quality, innovative adventure gear including the iconic Israeli sandal (more popular here than competitor Teva) and water bladders. Yoki, a lean pony-tailed man in his 50’s, started the company with his wife out of their two-room Tel Aviv apartment after they returned from a 2-year period of post-army world travel (a very popular Israeli activity). An articulate and visionary guy, he sees travel as a means to learn about others, confront nature and face oneself. His gear is meant to give those who travel with their homes on their backs the comfort they need to face these challenges. But, as he explained, after a while he began to realize that the workers who made the equipment are spending the majority of their waking hours engaged in work. He wanted to acknowledge and support their full humanity, incorporating values of self-development, dignity and cooperation into the workplace. So he added a 5% profit-sharing clause to the company’s bylaws and encouraged the very diverse group of workers (Arabs, Jews from many backgrounds, deaf employees, etc.) to develop all kinds of social, creative, healthy programs/activities to enhance their work lives. The next step for him was to understand that the factory and the workers are part of a community. So, he became very active in making social change to improve the lives of everyone in Tirat Carmel, serving as the chair of the Community Foundation board. His mission is to bring love as a primary value into work and into all aspects of community life. Speaking with Israeli directness, a style he feels often comes from a place of “I”, he expressed a desire to teach Israelis to love others as they love themselves. It is his view that tzeddakah should be mandatory, not just based on personal whim. He believes that business principles—results-oriented, resource-maximizing-- can be turned to the social good. Yoki echoed themes we heard from the other people we met in Tirat Carmel: we have learned to listen to each other, bringing people from all sectors together at roundtables to generate creative solutions to community problems; we take a holistic, long-term approach and don’t just apply bandaids; we love living and working in this community. Tirat Carmel, poised to expand as new housing developments are built, has become a model for progressive social planning through the efforts of the Community Foundation and the amazing people we met.

As we left Tirat Carmel with our gift package of Sesame Sandwiches and bottles of olive oil from the community harvest of the town’s bounteous and beautiful olive trees (which Yoki dreams to develop as a social enterprise business), we felt very hopeful for the future of this place. Yet we also learned from Yoki that Mountain Equipment Co-op, his major Canadian customer, recently faced a challenge from some shareholders opposed to doing business with his Israeli company. Although this effort was defeated, he told us that some European companies are discussing whether to demand that made in Israel labels be removed from products. This seems to me to be a very misdirected and counterproductive strategy, especially when one knows the progressive values that motivate Yoki and his company.

What's in a Name?

There are 85,000 Ethiopian Jews living in Israel, 20,000 of whom were born here. Unfortunately, they are burdened with many disadvantages, suffering high rates of poverty and facing religious, educational, employment and housing discrimination. My friend Ruth Mason (fellow summer of '65 ulpan participant) has dedicated herself to doing something about this. As a journalist she got to know members of the community and took on several projects to benefit Ethiopian youth: raising funds to enable Ethiopian students to participate in school trips to Poland to learn about the Holocaust; establishing a scholarship program for students to attend the Jerusalem music academy that I wrote about in an earlier post. As she gained a deeper knowledge of Ethiopian culture, she learned how important and meaningful are their original Amharic names, which unfortunately were taken from them and replaced by more conventional Israeli names when they immigrated here (much like many of our family members lost their names when they immigrated to the U.S.). Now she has produced a film on this topic based on her interviews with members of the community. She has a distributor and hopes to find the final bit of funding she needs to complete the project. PLEASE TAKE A LOOK AT RUTH'S LETTER AND THE PROPOSAL BELOW AND SEE IF YOU CAN HELP OUT:


RUTH'S LETTER:

I'm in the finishing stages of making a documentary film, These are my Names, which looks at the stories, struggles and identity issues of Ethiopian Israeli Jews through the prism of their original Amharic names -- names that were taken away from them when they fulfilled their centuries old dream of moving to the Jewish homeland.

I believe the film will help both Ethiopian Israeli youth who have lost their way and are dropping out of school and turning to drugs, drink and petty crime, as well as other Israelis who may harbor prejudices against this newest group of immigrants.

This is a non profit project and a labor of love. My deep connection and commitment to the Ethiopian community in Israel is partially expressed by my founding of a scholarship program for Ethiopian children at the Jerusalem Conservatory of Music and Art, which in the past three years has brought the number of Ethiopian children studying there from zero to 35. When I heard about the deep meanings and stories behind every Ethiopian name and saw the light in people's faces when I asked about their Amharic names, I felt I couldn't keep this story to myself. I'm a journalist by profession, but this was clearly a visual project. So I turned to a filmmaker friend and we began interviewing.

The young Ethiopian Israelis we interviewed have important messages to convey: the traumas they endured to get to Israel, the prejudice they encountered here, their subsequent denial of identity and their reclaiming of their roots. I believe the message is also a universal one that will speak to any culture that absorbs immigrants who look different from the absorbing population.

I've received financial support from friends, family and two foundations (so far.) I need another $3,000 for the on line edit and sound mix – two technical steps that bring the film up to broadcast quality. I'm hoping you would like to partner with me in creating this important film.

Some comments from people who have viewed a preview:

"Moving and important." - Tamar Cohen, Jerusalem Cinematheque

"I was glued to my chair." Gila Cohen, head of film archives, Diaspora Museum

"The film is an invitation to a respectful dialogue: The names are a gate to the culture ...The film will give Ethiopian youth a good feeling about themselves...that's it's OK to go back to their roots." - Shmuel Yilme, head of Ethiopian project at JDC-Israel.

"Beautiful. Humane." - Ruth Diskin, film distributor

"An important film. I was deeply moved…a very special project." – Chaim Perri, director of Yemin Orde Youth Village

I've attached a short proposal and budget (NOTE: I CAN SEND THIS TO ANYONE WHO WANTS IT VIA EMAIL- LF) and would be more than happy to send you a copy of the final cut and/or answer any questions. Our goal is to have the film shown throughout Israel in schools, community centers, and hopefully theaters as well as in Jewish and possibly other film festivals around the world (we have a distributor, Ruth Diskin Films. The trailer will be uploaded at the end of May on her web site, www.ruthfilms.com.)

I am working on partnering with a non profit organization, and if I succeed, donations will be tax deductible.

Thanks for your time and attention,

Ruth Mason
Dan 8
Jerusalem 93509 Israel
02-673-2319
ruthm_2001@yahoo.com

PROPOSAL

These are My Names

a documentary film produced by Ruth Mason and directed by Ruth Mason and Naomi Altaraz

"We got a very clear message: It doesn't pay to be Ethiopian." - Yuvi Tashome (as quoted in the film)

"What's your name in Amharic sounds like a simple question, but it makes you ask, Who am I? Where did I come from? It connects you to yourself." – Mali Tamno, in the film


Background/Problem Statement
Ethiopian Jews brought with them a rich and deep cultural heritage about which most Israelis -- and many young Ethiopians -- know too little. The devaluing of traditional Ethiopian Jewish culture by unaware Israelis, and the loss of status and authority of the generation of immigrant parents, has led to a painful identity crisis among many young Ethiopian Israelis. Stoked by the prejudice and racism they encounter, this identity confusion is one important factor leading to a downward spiral of alienation and worse – drug and alcohol abuse, petty crime and prostitution. The fact that Ethiopian Jews had their original names changed when they arrived in Israel – with no consultation, discussion or consent and with a lack of understanding on the part of Israeli officials of how meaningful Ethiopian names are – is a wound to the community as a whole and to individual Ethiopians' sense of identity.

Goals
• to raise awareness about and respect for the richness, beauty and depth of Ethiopian Jewish culture among non-Ethiopian Israelis

• to build the Jewish-Israeli-Ethiopian identity of young Ethiopian Israelis and encourage pride in their culture

The Project: raising multi-cultural awareness and strengthening identity through a documentary film
Ethiopian names – laden with meaning and reflecting fascinating stories – are a mirror through which we can better appreciate and understand this population that lives among – but largely separate from – us. The 45-minute documentary film, These are my Names (Hebrew with English subtitles) will contribute toward alleviating the situation described above and will help move both the Israeli public and Ethiopian young people toward greater understanding, acceptance and strength.

The film does this by exploring the stories, values, culture and identity conflicts of young Ethiopian Jews in Israel through a focus on their names and on the repercussions of having had their names changed. Viewers are taken into the confidence of the interviewees and told how they denied their identity, "passed" as Yemenites, refused to bring friends home when parents were engaged in Ethiopian cultural activities. These same young immigrants went through a process of reclaiming their identity and attaining renewed pride in their origins. Some are formally changing their names back to their original ones and with that act, reclaiming their Ethiopian-Jewish-Israeli selves.

In These are my Names, young Ethiopian immigrants Asher Rachamim, Mali Tamno, Zoe Gidamo as well as several minor characters invite us to witness the journeys they have taken with their names. These are stories of leaving behind a native culture and adapting to a new one, of loss and hope, identity and conflict. One's name bespeaks volumes and an immigrant's relationship to his or her birth name – especially when it is "different" or "strange" ---reflects her relationship to her old and new cultures, her old and new identities.

The filmmakers' questions, interest and attention led the interviewees to remember, to express and sometimes to work through difficult stories from the past: stories of the dangerous trek to Sudan, about family members who disappeared in Sudan; stories about hunger and fear and difficult separations. These stories – a critical part of Ethiopian-Jewish-Israeli identity – find their place in the film.

We intend to show the film in festivals, film houses, community centers and high schools throughout Israel. We hope for a television broadcast. Ruth Diskin, Ltd. is distributing the film. The Diaspora Museum, the Ministry of Absorption and the Jerusalem Cinematheque have all expressed interest in the film.

The Filmmakers
Ruth Mason, producer and director, is an award-winning journalist who has written extensively about the Ethiopian community and has established a scholarship fund for Ethiopian children at the Jerusalem Conservatory of Music and Art. Naomi Altaraz, camera woman and editor, is an award-winning community filmmaker and the widow of terror victim Eli Altaraz.

How to contribute:

If a tax deduction isn't critical to you, please make out the check to me, Ruth Mason, and send to Dan 8, Jerusalem 93509, Israel. If you would like a tax deduction, I'm working on partnering with an NGO and hope to have details soon. Please let me know if you need this and I will let you know when I've finalized the details.

The Pope and Us in Jerusalem

Hold the Mushrooms

In case you were wondering what the Pope had for lunch last week when he dined with the Latin Patriarchate in Jerusalem, here’s the inside scoop from the chef and his assistant who prepared the meal. Exploring the cobble-stoned, high-walled alleys of the Christian Quarter in the Old City, we encountered them in the banner-festooned entryway of the Latin Patriarchate’s residence waiting for the caterers’ truck to come pick up the stacks of dirty dishes, tablecloths and other banquet remnants from the previous days’ festivities. The proud and chatty pair shared the menu they created for the Pope and his guests: tabouli, lamb with fresh herbs, rosewater sorbet with an assortment of fresh berries, biscuits and coffee. Sounds tasty. I had guessed they served fish but the chef responded to this suggestion with mock horror, revealing that the Pope is allergic to seafood and mushrooms. You would think this information would be confidential. They graciously invited us into the courtyard for a peak and then posed for a photo with Lew.

Whose History?

The various Christian denominations have scored some nice property in and around the Old City. Especially impressive is the Church and Monastery of the Dormition, currently owned by the German Benedictine monks. Poised on the crest of Mt. Zion just outside Zion gate, it marks the spot where Mary fell into “Eternal Sleep” (i.e. died). Though their influence may be dwindling in the Middle East as a whole, Christians have an important foothold in Israel and thus a vital interest in the outcome of conflict over control of Jerusalem and its holy sites. In a recent NY Times article leading up to the Pope’s visit, Ethan Bronner and Isabel Kershner revealed the Israeli government’s $100 million multi-year plan to create a ring of “parks” around Jerusalem to protect the Jewish holy sites. Not only are the battles taking place on the ground but, as I wrote about in an earlier post on our visit to the City of David excavation, the historical narratives that support claims for sovereignty are also highly contested.

NIMBY

In Israel NIMBY (not in my backyard) can just as easily refer to the tension between the ultra-orthodox and other Jews as to that between Jews and Arabs. This is particularly true in Jerusalem, although the phenomenon recently erupted in Jaffa as well as in the posh neighborhood of Ramat Aviv (near Tel Aviv University) when Haredi announced plans to move in or build new apartments in these neighborhoods. In Jerusalem particularly virulent battles (including stone-throwing) have been going on over Haredi demands for an increase in the number of segregated busses traveling from or through Mea She’arim and other ultra orthodox neighborhoods. Novelist Naomi Ragen, herself an observant though not Haredi Jew, has been one of the most outspoken opponents of segregated busses, pulling a Rosa Parks to protest the practice. In another ongoing battle, the longtime secular residents of the Kiryat Hayovel neighborhood have been fighting with ultra-orthodox newcomers over the erection of an eruv (a physical boundary which allows the ultras to carry things outside during Shabbat) and the use of a private home to hold regular prayer services with 40 participants. Citywide there is conflict over the disproportionate funding allocated to Haredi daycare and kindergarten centers. In addition to their self-imposed insularity, the Haredi families have higher birthrates and suffer from higher rates of poverty due to the focus on study rather than work, at least for the men.

Yesterday we viewed an exhibit of amazing photographs by Menahem Kahara, a photojournalist who gained access to the Haredi community and has been documenting their spiritual and everyday lives for the past 15 years. Exhibition curator, Alex Levac writes that the photos provide a peak over the wall that separates religious and secular Israelis. He argues that not only do the Haredi work hard to maintain this wall, but Sabra Israelis, eager to build a new society, also strive to distance themselves from the religious, spiritual and presumably moral-driven lives of these “others.” In a way, a distinction is made between Jewishness and Israeliness. These photos portray the ultra Orthodox as individual human beings, not simply social ciphers, who love, hate, get drunk, play, and pray. Gideon Levy, a left-leaning columnist in Haaretz recently urged readers to take this same view in the face of the intolerance shown by the Ramat Aviv residents. Yet, as we heard from our friend Josie in Carmiel, it is not clear what Haredi neighbors contribute to the social fabric of the broader communities in which they live. And, as the bus battles demonstrate, their presence can bring unwanted consequences that burden other women who don’t choose to limit themselves in the public sphere.

The extreme gender segregation and the fact that the photographer is male, render the women in these photos almost invisible, seen only from a distance at the back of male crowds or peeking around from behind the men at a family celebration. The one striking exception is a photo of a bride seated in an almost empty reception room with a few boys studying in the background. She is dressed in a demure white gown with her face completely covered by a white veil and in her hand she holds one end of a long black ribbon or rope that trails in front of her to the ground. A young girl seated near her, one of three dressed in modest party dresses, tilts sideways trying to get a glimpse of the bride’s face. I wonder what is going through her head.

Myriam’s Kids

Our Chapel Hill friend Simone kvells (speaks with pride) about her niece Myriam’s important work with severely physicially challenged kids. Now that we’ve had a chance to visit the Ilanot School where Myriam is the dedicated computer expert, I understand exactly why Simone is so proud of her accomplishments. For 30 years Myriam has been developing programs and adapting equipment to the individual needs of students with severe physical disabilities so that they can learn, play games and communicate via the computer. Ilanot, one of a handful of public schools around the country specifically for special needs kids, educates and cares for children who cannot be mainstreamed into regular classrooms due to a variety of physical conditions and limitations. A skilled and loving group of 90 staff members and volunteers provide a wide range of educational and supportive services for a diverse student body of 80 Jewish, Muslim and Christian children, ages 5-21, who arrive at school each morning in specially equipped vans from Jerusalem and cities as far away as Ashdod. The attentive and creative teachers, aides, physical and occupational therapists, social worker, psychologist and scores of volunteers work together to insure that each child participates as fully as possible in all of the learning and enrichment activities. Even if a student can only move one finger, Myriam will find a way to enable that child to enjoy playing a computer game with a friend. The motto at the school is definitely “where there is the will, there is a way.” The staff is always looking for new ideas to enhance the environment, through music therapy, art and ceramics projects or building a sensory tunnel (see slideshow) to help the children engage fully with the world and each other. It takes attentive observation (and lots of Velcro and engineering ingenuity) to assess how a child is functioning in the moment and adjust the environment to help that child maximize his or her potential. With 60 pupils grouped in classes of 12 students, each with a unique set of individual challenges, the staff is kept very busy organizing a complex schedule of physical, educational and recreational activities, not to mention the personal care each student may need for hygiene, mobility or nourishment. It speaks volumes for the positive atmosphere at the school that many of the staff members have long-standing tenure. As Myriam shared with us, everyone at Ilanot loves working with the children, their families and each other to solve problems in creative ways. The children’s colorful and expressive artwork lines the halls and even the elevator, showing the joy and pride everyone here feels for their accomplishments.

Excursions, Part 2: Bonfires on the Beach

Photos: bonfires at Jaffo beach; Edna, Eli and Linda tending fire; wood haulers--in town, at the beach.


Leaving the house Tuesday morning to drop off the laundry and enjoy a café hafuch gadol (large “mixed up” coffee, a cross between cappuccino and latte) at Café Bavli, I was struck by the noticeable haze and lingering aroma of smoke in the air. My lungs were still recovering from the bonfire bonanza at the beach we had attended the previous evening. My clothes reeked of smoke, as did our apartment. What can this mean? It’s Lag B’Omer! Yes, it’s true, we celebrated another holiday this week!

Here’s my brief explanation but feel free to skip to the next paragraph if it doesn’t interest you. Lag B’omer is a holiday somewhat akin to Chanukkah in that it’s not an official religious holiday. In a nutshell it takes place on the 33rd day of the counting of the omer (sheaths) between Pesach and Shavuot, a period of 7 weeks or 49 days. In biblical times pilgrims brought their measure (omer) of barley to the temple in Jerusalem on the second day of Pesach and 7 weeks later returned with their measure of wheat, the intervening time being the period of the counting of the omer. So, what happened on the 33rd day? Like Chanukah there’s a revolt involved, this time led by Bar Kochva against the Romans. The spiritual leader was Rabbi Akiva, a brilliant man and great teacher who didn’t learn to read until he was 40 (!) when his wife, Rachel, encouraged him to begin to study. Anyhow, presumably 24,000 of Rabbi Akiva’s students died during a plague that occurred at the time of the revolt. But on the 33rd day of the counting of the omer, the deaths stopped. Coincidentally the date also marks the death of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the author of the Zohar, the central work of Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism. That’s why on Lag B’omer 150,000 religious folk make a pilgrimage to his grave on Mount Meron where they sing and dance all night. At this event young boys traditionally receive their first haircut. The 7 week omer counting period is considered on of semi-mourning during which time one is not supposed to get married, hear music or cut one’s hair. Lag B’omer is a one day exception to these prohibitions between Pesach and Shavuot. And, in fact, Lew and I got married on Lag B’omer!

Now, back to the present:
We were invited to tag along with Edna and nine-year old Eli, fresh from baseball practice, to the Jaffo beach where his schoolmates and their families from The Open Democratic School gathered to enjoy the primary activity marking this holiday----lighting bonfires with all manner of pilfered wood. The wood collecting had been going on for weeks, since right after Passover, with kids scouring the neighborhoods and building sites and loading up their booty in shopping carts. They drag the wood to central locations all over town—playgrounds, vacant lots, the park at Kikar Medina and so on. At the beach, instead of making one central bonfire, each group of friends built their own separate bonfire (of course the nine year olds boys and girls didn’t want anything to do with each other), some quite huge and others relatively small, depending on the advanced planning and strength of the kids. As the setting sun, a magnificent red ball of fire, sank below the horizon of the sea, the fires began were ignited one by one. Out came the hotdogs, potatoes, and marshmallows. The kids ate and ran around while the adults kept an eye on the fires (sort of), chatted and drank beer. The only songs we heard came from the nine-year old girls who swayed back and forth with their arms around each other’s shoulders as they belted out what were probably popular tunes.

When the conflagration reached its peak, we took off for a stroll down the beautiful Jaffa shore to escape the flying embers and intense smoke. Then we learned more about Edna’s amazing family background. She told us that her mother, a microbiologist, had worked in various hospital settings but basically found her career truncated when she lived abroad during her husband’s diplomatic career. Edna’s father worked for the foreign ministry and served at the ambassador rank in South America (Buenos Aires and Uruguay), the U.N. delegations in New York and Geneva, Haiti, and Portugal. He was born in Rome and received one of the last student visas to travel to Israel in 1939. Edna’s grandmother and a daughter hid in an Italian monastery during the war. Hedva’s mother (Edna’s grandmother), a pediatrician, was the first woman and the first Jew to receive a medical degree (graduating at the top of her class) in Riga, Latvia. Her father (Edna’s grandfather, Benzion Katz) was a noted journalist who published an important poem about the pogroms in Eastern Europe by Chaim Nachman Bialik (who later became Israel’s most famous poet) in his Hebrew language newspaper. After fleeing the Russian Revolution they made their way to Germany and France, finally immigrating to Israel in 1929. Unfortunately, Hedva’s mother’s career suffered in Israel but her father became an important figure in journalism and at the university. Last year the family organized a tribute ceremony to acknowledge and honor the contributions he made to building Israeli society.