It’s Tekes (Ceremony) Time! (Part 1)

This is an amazing time of year to be in Israel. We are in the midst of a series of post-Pesach holidays and commemorations that began last week with Yom ha Zikaron le Shoah ve le Gvura, Holocaust Martyrs and Heroes Remembrance Day. This week we observed Yom ha Zikaron, Remembrance Day for Soldiers Fallen in Wars and acts of terror, immediately followed by Yom ha Atzmaut, Israeli Independence Day, with Lag b'Omer coming up next Monday. This sequence creates a powerful emotional arc: two days filled with very solemn, sad observances culminating in an outburst of patriotic hoopla, picnicking, bonfires and raucous release. During this period the radio and TV stations broadcast official ceremonies and play appropriate and iconic music and films; the newspapers are filled with stories, reflections, and assessments of the current state of the State. Of course, we are experiencing only a small slice of the events in Tel Aviv (Jerusalem is another story) and have stuck primarily to the mainstream events to establish a baseline understanding of the dominant cultural norm. I was especially interested to see how these events would be presented in my aleph plus class (more on this in another post). There are also many alternative ceremonies and events that reflect different perspectives on the focus and meaning of these holidays (see www.combatantsforpeace.org).

Standing Still, Silence, Stories and Song

On erev (eve)Yom Ha Shoah (all Jewish holidays begin at sundown) we managed to tune into the webcast of the official ceremony at Yad Vashem which incorporated this year’s focus on children. A performance of a haunting song by a children’s choir, another elegiac song performed by a young woman with guitar accompaniment; the lighting of commemorative torches by survivors, including a pair of twin sisters who, as children, survived Mengele’s experiments in Auschwitz; poetry selections and recitation of a memorial prayer by a young soldier—all of these captured the somber spirit of the moment but did not feel altogether different from what we experience at our ceremonies at home. The political element, however, was different. The audience consisted of important political figures and other dignitaries and in his remarks Netanyahu bypassed the focus on children and spoke mainly about the need to counter the nuclear threats and distortion of the truth about the Holocaust emanating from Iran.

The sounding of the memorial siren next morning raised the experience of Yom Ha Shoah to an entirely different level. Wanting to witness the full effect of this phenomenon, I hurried out to busy Namir Rd., the major boulevard closest to our neighborhood, arriving moments before the 10 a.m. blast. From my vantage point on the corner of a busy intersection I could see the traffic flowing steadily as it usually does at that hour but a police van was stationed on our cross street. Even though I knew when to expect the siren, I was not prepared for the loud impact and the instantaneous response: the sound went from the low hum of traffic to a deafening wail covering absolute stillness; the picture went from ordinary movement of cars and people to a freeze frame of cars, trucks, and buses and people standing stock still at attention with heads bowed in the street and on the sidewalks. Two minutes elapsed, an eternity of time to think about the horror, and then things returned to normal. One is entirely alone with one’s thoughts and yet entirely surrounded by others who are sharing this moment. I experienced the two additional siren blasts for Yom ha Zikaron (for the soldiers) in a less anonymous setting in my neighborhood: at 8 p.m. on Monday I stood among a dense crowd in the schoolyard of Jerushalami-Bavli school as the blast brought the assembled neighbors of all ages to attention and initiated the memorial tekes (ceremony); at 11 a.m. the following day Lew and I ended up in the same location as the schoolchildren assembled to repeat some of the songs, dances, and poetry from the previous night’s commemoration--each time very moving but this last occasion had its own special impact. At one moment we were watching a group of young kids animatedly chattering and bouncing around with no sense of anticipation; the next instant the deafening siren drew them to attention as if strings attached to the tops of their heads were being pulled from above. They stood absolutely still, some with hands clasped behind their backs, with heads bowed. After about a minute a gaggle of little boys of about seven or eight began to squirm a bit and to bump each other, causing me to smile inwardly in recognition of familiar boy behavior (yes, Gregory I remember you and your friends at that age) crossing national boundaries.In ulpan class, Edna, a 30-year veteran school teacher, gave us an hilarious demonstration of how to stand appropriately, “dom” (at attention). “Like this”: standing tall with hands at her sides, “and not like this”: slouching, hands on hips, scratching and wriggling. I guess the little boys missed that lesson at Bavli school.

Now that I have experienced the siren, I think that this form of observance is a very powerful cultural phenomenon that has no parallel in the U.S. Of course I don’t know what goes on all over the country, particularly in Arab neighborhoods and non-Jewish towns, but it is certainly hard to evade the impact of the siren in most places throughout Israel. Also, while individuals could be thinking of anything during those two minutes, outwardly at least their demeanor conveys respect and acknowledgement that individual deaths are significant and must be remembered both personally and societally. Understandably, there are Israelis (including Druze and Christian Arabs) who feel conflicted about these observances and the events they commemorate, but I think that a two-minute pause to breathe and reflect is sorely needed in a country with so many divisions .

I’ve included a few photos from the ceremony at Bavli school on erev Yom ha Zikaron (repeated the following day) which included a procession of flag-bearing scouts and residents carrying wreaths to commemorate lives lost from the neighborhood—children, parents, and teachers; songs, dance, and poetry reflecting this year’s focus on children performed by the students; and recitation of the El Ma’ale Rachamim prayer by Rav Frenkel, the rabbi who lives in our building (the link is to a gender neutral version). The entire ceremony was signed because, as our friend and neighbor Edna Barromi explained to me, deaf children attend the school. I ran into Edna after the ceremony and we began an interesting conversation that we picked up tonight (at son Udi's flute concert) and will likely continue tomorrow when we join her family for Shabbat dinner. She found the ceremony disturbing due to what she described as a synthetic, lock step, monolithic viewpoint, imposed by adults, that left little room for diverse perspectives or for the kids' genuine expressions of individuality or creativity. Because she feels that the school reflects the homogeneity of the neighborhood, and thus would not expose her children to diverse ideas or offer them an opportunity to relate to youth from different backgrounds, she and her husband have chosen to send them to schools that are more inclusive.

After the Bavli ceremony I joined Lew in Rabin Square for the main Tel Aviv commemorative event. Here large screens were erected on either side of the stage to project the ceremony—the presenters, the popular singers and the words to the well-known songs--but also to show a series of memorial films about the lives of individual soldiers who lost their lives in wars since the declaration of the State of Israel. Those assembled filled the square to capacity and overflowed into the streets. I found myself surrounded by young people, many in tears and embracing, raptly watching these film clips which included photos, home movies and stories shared by mothers, fathers, and spouses about the loved ones they had lost. Both ceremonies (at the school and in the square) proceeded in respectful silence without applause and closed with the singing of HaTikva, the Israeli national anthem. In stark contrast to the Tel Aviv 100 event and the next night's (Yom HaAtzmaut) party atmosphere, the young people were not smoking, texting and chatting with friends. As I looked around, I felt that these could be my kids and the knowledge that they or their friends could be among those commemorated was heartbreaking. A thoughtprovoking article in HaAretz provides another take on the underlying gender and militaristic biases built into the celebrations of Independence Day.

CSI: Israel

You would think that based on our experience watching Quincy, Colombo and CSI we would have the tools to reconstruct how I managed to smash my cheekbone, occipital orbit/brow ridge and thigh while making a desperate attempt to reach the bathroom at 2:30 a.m. Sunday morning. But this is not the case. Somehow there is a gap between my stumbling from the bed and Lew discovering me bent over the bathtub disgorging the contents of the many meals I managed to consume over the course of our 2-day tiyul (trip) north with friends Pat and Norman, visitors from the States. Now I am sporting a lovely black eye (thank goodness for sunglasses!)in addition a colorful bruise the size of a large cucumber across my thigh. Lucky for me I didn’t put out my eye in the process. Also, since no visit to the emergency room was required we didn’t have to explain that my husband had not beaten me for messing up the bathroom. I can, however, imagine how a motor vehicle/pedestrian accident survivor must feel after a collision (an unfortunately frequent occurrence here). But don't get me started on the drivers. Last week, the bus driver had to break so precipitously to avoid a collision that I went flying into the lap of the large woman seated across from me. As we resumed our places I mumbled, "slicha" (all-purpose phrase meaning excuse me) and she just shrugged her shoulders and smiled as if to say, "it happens."

Meanwhile, although my stomach is not entirely back to normal that has not stopped me from indulging in lemon/mint sorbet, chocolate-hazelnut torte, and chocolate/poppyseed sweet rolls in the last few days, after a brief respite limiting myself to chicken soup and yogurt. Characteristically, I have become a connoisseur of all the fantastic gelato venues, as well as the numerous bakeries, chocolate shops and cafes in neighborhoods throughout Tel Aviv. Lew thinks I should organize a chocolate and gelato maven’s tour of Israel, replete with appropriate biblical and historical references. The above photo was taken on trendy Sheinkin St. at Orna and Ella, a hip eatery known for their homemade desserts. We are about to share a chocolate-hazelnut torte that sent us swooning. Any takers?

Music to My Ears

Pinch me, I must be dreaming. No, wait. Don’t pinch me because I don’t want to wake up! Yesterday's excellent adventure took me to the Buchmann-Mehta School of Music at Tel Aviv University where I spent three spellbinding hours listening to Pinchas Zukerman conduct a violin master class IN HEBREW. I don’t know why but somehow I imagined that after the initial “shalom” he would switch to English. But no, he worked with three out of the four students in Hebrew, switching to English only for the fourth, a Russian girl. I am happy to report that my ulpan classes are starting to pay off because I definitely understood much more than I might have a few months ago. With my background as a violist, and his demonstrations and gestures, I really did ok, although I was concentrating pretty hard. He is a wonderful teacher, very funny and not at all intimidating. He had one of the students play while standing on a chair at one point. He also asked her to play her piece “like Bach” and when she looked upwards in concentration, he looked to the ceiling with hands raised and asked, “where is Bach, is he up there with God?” When he finished with the students he “fiddled around,” demonstrating the practice routine he uses for overcoming jetlag. Progressing from slow to increasingly faster scales, and then to dazzling bowing techniques, he finished off with a collage of riffs from his repertoire. The fantastic acoustics and the arrangement of the seats at the same level as the performance space in the small auditorium, gave a very intimate feel to the experience. Afterwards I was able to speak with him for a few minutes, complimenting him on the performance of “Harold in Italy” (Berlioz) I heard him play last spring in Chicago with the Chicago Symphony. I asked him to sign my program so now I guess you can call me an official groupie.

Jerusalem: City of Gold and Garbage

Photos from left, clockwise: refugee camp and separation wall; Tour guide and participants; new building at Har Homa--outlying Jewish neighborhood; view of security fence and olive orchard cut off from nearby Bethlehem; writing on wall in Abu Dis.



“You will get a headache,” said our guide, as we began our four-hour journey by bus around the “backyard” of Jerusalem to “see the facts on the ground.” The tour, taking us through some of the large Jewish suburban developments ringing the city outside the pre-1967 green line, as well as through several of the Arab neighborhoods of East Jerusalem adjacent to or bisected by the security barrier, is offered in English twice weekly (and in Hebrew the rest of the time), by Ir Amim, an organization dedicated to finding creative, multilateral approaches to seemingly insoluble dilemmas in the status, governance and growth of Jerusalem. For the 3/4 million Israelis and Arabs who live in the neighborhoods that the city now encompasses, the “facts” are not just demarcation lines on a map. They reflect the everyday fabric of their lives---whether their apartments will be shot at; whether the erection of a barrier will provoke more violent retaliation from their neighbors; whether the city will grow in a coherent, governable and sustainable way; whether they will be able to reach their olive groves, businesses, or friends and family on the other side of the separation barrier; whether they will have adequate housing, city services and schooling for their children.

The tour brings these concerns to life in a way that reading about them or simply looking at a two-dimensional map cannot. It also makes very clear why this city is at the heart of the Israeli-Palestinian conundrum and drives home (pun intended) the realization that no progress will be made in the current impasse without some kind of sustainable bi-lateral plan for the city. No wonder one ends the tour with a spinning head. It takes several days to decompress and sort out the conflicting impressions; a repeat trip is probably necessary to incorporate all the information into one’s thinking about the many complex issues. Indeed, our Jerusalemite friend Myriam (Simone Lipman’s niece) told us she has taken the tour three or four times over recent years to keep up with the latest developments, exactly as Ir Amim hopes Israelis will do.

Boarding the bus, we received a color-coded map to help us understand the geopolitical dimensions of the areas we would be viewing—blue for the Israeli neighborhoods, orange for Arab/Palestinian areas, green for the line marking the pre-1967 division of the city between Israel and Jordan, and a red squiggly line representing the existing and proposed sections of the separation barrier. It’s quite easy to see from this map how the build-up of Jewish neighborhoods on the city’s periphery has significantly reduced the relevance of the green line as a meaningful demarcation between Israeli and Palestinian areas of concentrated population. Our guide, a young man in his mid-30’s, explained that when he hikes around the city with his father, even he, a 70 year old man who has lived in Jerusalem almost his entire life, cannot remember the exact location of the green line, so drastically has the growing fabric of the city obliterated it. When the state of Israel was created, Jerusalem--central to Jews, Muslims and Christians--was supposed to become an “international city”, although the details were never spelled out. After the Israeli war of independence that option remained unexplored and the city was split in two with Israel controlling West Jerusalem and Jordan administering East Jerusalem. Jordan did little to develop their portion of the city and most of the educated or prosperous segments of the Palestinian population moved elsewhere. Since 1967 when the entirety of the city came under Israeli authority, planning has been driven by demographic, political and security considerations: maintain secure vantage points, take land, leave out as much of the Arab population as possible. So today, without an effective bilateral approach to future development, the mirage of Jerusalem as “two viable capitols of two states” recedes ever further into the future

Because the tours are not meant to impose a particular “solution”, but rather to empower participants to craft their own viewpoint by putting the facts together for themselves, the guide skillfully gave voice to many different perspectives on difficult issues. For example at one stopping point, a vista from Mt. Scopus looking towards the contested Jewish satellite town of Ma’ale Adumim, he used his hat to enact a dialogue about how much territory to include within the separation barrier surrounding this large suburb: “on the one hand” (hat on)…. “on the other hand” (hat off)….back and forth. There are no easy solutions here: for example should the barrier include enough land for future development with a road for safe access to central Jerusalem for the residents and secure access to the Dead Sea OR should the area not be encircled so as not to further reduce and severe portions of the West Bank from each other-- but leaving the Jewish suburban enclave “hanging out to dry,” making the Gaza pull-out look like a picnic.

Lew took great notes and I recommend his write-up to those who have not already read it.
Here are a few of the strong impressions I came away with:

Standing on a hill at the edge of Gilo (a strategically placed Jewish neighborhood (population 30,000+) overlooking Bethlehem and Beit Jala):
Gilo is one of the post-1967 areas the Israelis built in strategic locations on the hills surrounding the city in order to maintain good security vantage points and sustain a demographic balance of 70% Jews/not more than 30% Arabs within Jerusalem. The government provides subsidies and the rents here less expensive than in the central areas—a plus for the larger religious families seeking more space. Nevertheless this demographic goal is declining due to the failure to retain or encourage immigration to the city by young Jewish families and the higher birthrates among the Arab population.
On the edge of the neighborhood the apartment blocks facing Beit Jala across the valley, were frequent targets for sharpshooters. Not very far away we can see the heavily damaged house in Beit Jala that received the brunt of the retaliation from Israeli defense forces. The guide said he used to enjoy going to the cafes and wandering the charming streets of Beit Jala, a pastime that is no longer possible. Pointing to the red tiled roof of a monastery on the vineyard-covered hill next to Beit Jala, “a little bit of Tuscany,” he said, “there is where a couple of young lovers were murdered.” He then relayed his own personal experience with pre-barrier violence. After completing his army service he decided to go to India, as many youth do, to travel and unwind. At his departure his parents offered to take him to the airport but he said he would take the bus. As a passenger on bus #18, he felt the shock and extreme heat from the explosion of the bus behind them that was blown up by a suicide bomber. When he arrived in India, someone asked if he had heard the news about a suicide bombing. He said he had been there but when he got to a TV he realized from the reporting that there had been yet another incident. He cited statistics that revealed that Jersualem experienced a disproportionate number of violent incidents. With the barrier in place these type of incidents have declined but a new type of violence is occurring—mayhem from tractors driven into central Jerusalem by residents of Arab neighborhoods within the separation walls. A close friend of Myriam (Simone’s niece) was killed in the most serious incident on Jaffa Rd., a very busy street that runs from the central bus station all the way through the center of the city.

From our vantage point in Gilo we see the separation barrier in the valley below adjacent to Bethlehem. In this section it is a barbed wire fence with cleared swathes of land and access roads for the security patrols on either side. The guide explained that even though the concrete wall seen elsewhere is ugly, it actually displaces less land and uproots fewer trees. On the Israeli side of the fence we see an olive grove that belongs to a man in Bethlehem who must now traverse a roundabout route through a checkpoint to get to his land and harvest his olives. His land was going to be appropriated but the process has been halted and for now he retains his tenure. Even more striking, a cluster of very tiny Arab villages whose residents did not apply for Israeli residence status in 1967, and since then have neither asked for nor received municipal services, but who now are basically in limbo, cut off from their friends, relations, and shops within spitting distance in Bethlehem.

Driving from Gilo and Har Homa (another huge complex of apartments on the southern side of the city) through a series of Arab neighborhoods, we are struck by the contrast between the amenities in the Jewish enclaves and the lack of municipal services in the Arab neighborhoods. As we make our way around a traffic circle the bus traverses up a narrow, potholed, garbage strewn road with no gutters or sidewalks, to access the east Jerusalem village of Sar Bahir and the areas on the eastern side of the old city--from the developed world to the Third World in a few hundred feet. The new Jewish suburbs have new apartment blocks, well-lit and well-maintained roads and sidewalks, parks and play areas. The Arab neighborhoods lack all these, an unfair situation that is certainly not made any better by their refusal to participate in municipal elections, thus denying themselves representation in the city council. Nevertheless, although they have residency status rather than citizenship, they do pay taxes and are thus entitled to city services, which they are not receiving. They city has not developed any new housing in these areas, despite the fact that the population has quadrupled. Mortgages are not available and building permits are extremely difficult to come by given the cumbersome bureaucracy, language differences and lack of resources to hire lawyers to expedite the process. Of course, since people need to house their growing families, this leads to illegal building (and demolishing) without proper consideration for safety codes (a tragedy waiting to happen if an earthquake occurs) and environmental impact. The bus pauses for several minutes as we view the tent with a black flag perched on the site of a house demolition which the residents have since abandoned. As we drive on we learn that there are 1300 fewer classrooms than are needed to educate the children in these areas and a disproportionate percentage of the residents are poor. Just down the road, the guide points out a new self-contained development for religious Jews, financed by a wealthy American, and one wonders how they can close their eyes to the conditions next door.

Next we come to a section of the wall that separates the community of Abu Dis near the Mount of Olives. This place is one of the most frequently photographed sections and also the site of many protests due to its particularly sad bisection of a very populous, thriving neighborhood. As we pause here at a small gas station and convenience store for a bathroom and ice cream break, we can see the Dome of the Rock not far away.
Looking at the graffiti written on the wall— “Abu Dis” ghetto/ Warsaw ghetto with arrows, our guide says in a choked voice, “Every time it’s hard to look at this because my father is a Holocaust survivor.” As today is Holocaust Remembrance Day, I am sharing a link to an interesting column by Gideon Levy in HaAretz about the mistake of conflating these two very terrible situations.

Our last stop was perhaps the most shocking of the day. Perched on a hill to the north of Mt.Scopus and the French Hill neighborhood, we looked across a ravine to a run down refugee camp situated between two middle class Arab neighborhoods containing 30,000 residents, all of whom must exit the area through a single checkpoint to access their jobs and other business in central Jerusalem. It would be an understatement to say we were dumbfounded to learn that there is a refugee camp under Israeli authority.

I’ll leave off my narrative here and let you think about what you have read and, if you want to learn more, I encourage you to look at the Ir Amim and Bimkom websites, two organizations which are trying to bring some sane perpectives to this balagan (mess).

Pesach Pastiche

Passover Pastimes

Back in the time when the Temple was the center of Jewish life, pilgrims came to Jerusalem during the festival days to make a sacrifice (usually a goat), do their shopping and get blessed. We discovered that not much has changed in the Holy City. Although we missed out on the priestly blessing which took place a few days earlier in the plaza of the Western Wall, we got a full dose of the festive holiday atmosphere as we strolled through the crowded lanes and small squares of the Old City last Monday. On this unseasonably hot day, large religious families and tourists were out en mass buying chatchkes from the vendors, eating kosher le Pesach goodies—lots of meat, French fries, popsicles, and special formula Coke, and enjoying the free street entertainment--a juggling mime, balloon-dispensing clown, Chasidic tunes blaring from loudspeakers. Fathers in full ultra-Orthodox regalia (my favorite: three-quarter length belted robe or topcoat in gold satin with narrow black stripes, accompanied by a large, furry streimel-hat) pushed strollers, carried babies, or led stair stepped little girls or boys dressed in matching outfits--the girls in skirts or dresses, the boys in crisp white shirts, solid or striped black pants, with side curls dangling below their kippas--by the hand. On the other side of town, in the upscale, secular German Colony, large family groups from abroad joined the locals to eat their kosher meals at the cafes and restaurants lining Emek Refayim, the busy main commercial street. Later in the evening as we headed back to the central bus station for the trip home, the smell of grilled meat wafted through the open car windows from the many family picnics in the park---not exactly from sacrifices but the aroma was probably not dissimilar.

Farewell Pesach

Heading out to Hayarkon Park just before noon on the final day of Pesach, we ran into Rav Frenkel in his best black satin coat and streimel, preceded by a similarly dressed son and teenage grandson and followed by his wife and granddaughters in holiday skirts. Obviously they were returning from morning services. As we looked back towards our building we saw a passel of younger grandkids leaning over the second floor balcony of his apartment.

We were on our way to join the secular version of the holiday. Those who hadn’t opted for the beach, set up their encampments in the park--- tents, folding chairs, tables, grills, dogs, blankets, coolers, hookahs, guitars, bicycles, motorcycles, strollers, backgammon sets, and plenty of food. The air was thick with smoke and mouth-watering smells from the sizzling grills. Like Elijah, we were hoping for an invitation, but no such luck. So we continued on, past the newborn goats, past the man feeding matzo to the ostriches, past the picnickers, soccer players, boaters, cyclists and runners to the rock and cactus gardens where towering rock formations beckoned like Stonehenge.

Through a narrow stone passage we entered a truly magical world of artfully arranged boulders, wildflower gardens bursting with colorful spring blossoms, and cacti of every conceivable shape and variety. The path through the rock garden winds among enormous, fantastically shaped specimens of the many geological elements found in various parts of Israel—limestone, sandstone, bituminous shale, quartz, compressed fossilized seashells, granite, copper manganese. The contrast between the ancient rocks and the vista of the modern skyline in the distance creates an otherworldly feeling. From the rock garden we entered a formally laid out area of wildflower beds and rose bushes surrounded by manicured hedges, fountains and water channels, combining elements of Verseille and the Alhambra with a reproduction of an ancient synagogue mosaic thrown into the mix. Climbing the gentle slope of the cascading water to its source, we found a bubbling rock fountain in the center of a dense grove of cacti. From here the path wound through a stunning array of cacti in a multitude of sizes and shapes, interspersed with vivid multi-colored swathes of wildflowers. Every twist and turn elicited an exclamation (“look at that!”) or a click of the camera (thank goodness for digital technology!). I am quite sure we managed to hit the peak of the blooming season. As we exited the garden back into the bustling activity in the park, I felt as if I had returned from another world, one I hope to visit again very soon.

Post Pesach Revelry

On today’s walk I found the park filled with Orthodox families---strolling, grilling, boating, biking---a surreal mirror image of yesterday’s scene, but with a costume change! Simcha, a little boy of eight or nine, asked me to take his picture. His friend was too shy to join him. Last week in Jerusalem a slightly older boy noticed me taking a picture of him. He was kicking a soccer ball around with a friend on a plaza that gave a great view of the Knesset. He ran after me, calling agitatedly to ask what I was doing, worried because back home in London someone had used a cell phone to send his picture to another kid with a message to beat him up. He said he was here for the holidays with his family; hopefully he enjoyed a peaceful visit.

Uniforms and Bikinis

Riding in the car back to Tel Aviv with Edna and Udi after the Pesach seder, I had a good opportunity to ask Udi, a new army recruit, a question that had been on my mind for some time. How do the girls (and most of the boys) manage to get their army pants to fit so they ride low on the hips? I was expecting a short answer but given that the question involved teenagers and the Israeli army, two complicated groups, I got quite an earful. So, here’s the scoop. Each new recruit gets three uniforms that must last for the entire three years of service. When I expressed surprise at this, Udi explained that this was entirely sufficient because almost everyone wears one or two uniforms over and over again with repeated washings to break them in and create the impression of long term service. No one likes to appear to be a newbie. Another technique used to avoid this embarrassment is to rub the black lacquer coating off the eyelets of the shoes and the insignia pin with steel wool (and rub them on the floor, if necessary). The most elaborate treatment is reserved for the beret, which is covered with a fuzzy material that makes it appear “like a dead cat.” In order to denude the beret the following steps are taken: First, deodorant is sprayed all over the outside; then it is burned and shaved. Next, the beret is soaked in water and stuffed into a small cup or glass to sit overnight or until it has achieved the desired shape. (Thanks, Udi for confirming the details in case anyone wants to try this!). Anyhow, back to the issue of fit. As you can imagine, the process for dispensing the uniforms is quite chaotic—lots of naked recruits in a big room trying on various sizes to attempt to get the right fit. Supposedly you can keep asking for another size until you are satisfied, but in reality those who are giving out the uniforms tell you it looks good and rush you along (for no apparent reason). To exchange any part of the uniform afterwards is next to impossible. Udi described the situation of someone who had a broken shoelace. Every day for an entire week he asked for a new shoelace but failed to receive one. Finally, he took some white string and used that to tie his shoe. Very clever. Since the regulation shoelaces are black, his makeshift lace stuck out and he was yelled at-- “why are you wearing that, you can’t wear that”-- and immediately received a new lace. The moral, you better get the uniform to fit right from the beginning. But since the uniforms don’t exactly flatter the girls’ figures, many take their uniforms to be tailored in order to achieve the best fit and the right look (see: http://www.serialno3817131.com/ for some examples).

In stark contrast to the less than flattering army uniforms, bikinis are the way to go when it’s beach weather in Tel Aviv, though not on the segregated beach. Apparently, Pesach is the turning point for swimsuit season (in the States it would be Memorial Day, while Labor Day and Rosh Hashana mark the sartorial transition from white to black accessories). Yesterday at shuk HaCarmel we encountered a frenzied scene around the bathing suit stall—sort of like the wedding dress sale at Filene’s basement but at least no one was trying on suits in the aisles. Of course, some of you may know that the cover of this year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue features an Israeli model, Bar Refaeli (NOT THAT I ENDORSE THIS ENTERPRISE!!! In fact, Lew canceled his subscription quite a few years ago over the inclusion of this offensive non-sport issue).

PeSaCH: Protectzia, Savlanut, and Chutzpa or Payoffs, Patience, and Nerve

I’m pretty sure that the spiritual, “Let My People Go”, included in most American Haggadas, does not refer to layoffs but, unfortunately, this Passover season occurs in the midst of unprecedented number of job losses here in Israel for the third month in a row.
The unemployment rate at 6.5% is still much lower than in the States, but it’s likely that the ripple effects from the economic balagan (mess) will continue to roll in. The downturn has shown up not only in layoffs but also in the sale of the deluxe Ramat Aviv shopping mall. In this climate, the government has threatened to deport Thai agricultural workers, sending them back to their home country without the resources to pay off the debt they accrued to the recruiters who brought them here, an exodus in reverse.

Although the celebrations and gift-giving this year may have been tempered by the bad economic news, Passover is still a huge holiday here, much like Christmas in the States. Children are out of school for three weeks, workers get time off, those who have the resources take vacations, companies give bonuses and gifts to their employees (often tableware such as the set of Italian appetizer plates we received from Shetufim) and large plastic sheets cover the non-kosher-for-passover foods in the supermarket aisles. Family members pile in their cars and convene en masse at grandma’s or elsewhere, as evidenced by the massive traffic congestion we experienced at 6 pm and again at 12:30 a.m. going and returning from Kibbutz Ha’rel which is about half way between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. We were delighted to be invited to share the seder with Edna and Lee Perlman, their children Udi, Inbal, and Eli, Edna’s sister and brother and other extended family along with some other residents and friends of Kibbutz Ha’rel. Edna’s sister, Orna (the director of public health for the kibbutz movement) has been a kibbutz member for many years, as was Lee for a number of years when he first came to Israel, and that is how Lee and Edna met. The kibbutz has a progressive heritage but has now become privatized with members commuting to Tel Aviv or Jerusalem for work. The main kibbutz “industry” is tourism with bed and breakfasts that are popular with city residents who want to relax in the lovely countryside.

Forty people, from very young to very old, sat around two large tables, festooned with paper coverings and tissue-paper decorated coffee cans holding beautiful spring flowers, in the community/youth center of Kibbutz Ha’rel (formerly the children's house). The walls were decorated with Passover-themed scenes drawn by the children. Edna’s sister prepared food and coordinated the potluck meal. We contributed chocolate, toasted almond and matzos candy, a recipe from Lew’s Aunt Ida (on his blog). Lee played the role of Abba shel ha-seder (father of the seder), directing the action and calling on people to read from the Kibbutz Artzi Haggadah (from a left-oriented perspective) or supplementary readings from Xeroxed pages compiled by Kibburz Ha’rel and other sources chosen by Lee and Edna. There were the usual components—the four questions, the four children, the four cups of wine (yes, four is an important number), the 10 plagues, the telling of the story, the matza, charoses and bitter herbs, the hiding of the afikomen (middle matza) for the children to find, and so on—with some special twists. The singing was enlivened by the musical accompaniment of Udi (Edna and Lee’s musician son) on accordian and guitar. He teamed up with the kibbutz gardener—an older hippie with long, grey dreadlocks---on sax for a jazz rendition of “Go Down Moses.” The spiritual dimension of the seder was expressed in paens to nature—the rain, dew—rather than references to God. Several participants shared stories or commentaries (in Hebrew, of course, so I only got the gist and not the details and missed most of the jokes): Edna’s brother-in-law, who works for the Committee to End Torture, spoke about the need for hope and commitment to justice; a family member originally from Buenos Aires shared memories from seder celebrations in Argentina; the kibbutz kindergarten teacher told how the children are disturbed by some elements of the Pesach story that have to do with seeking vengeance and punishment such as the plagues visited on the Egyptians and Moses’ banishment from the promised land. My favorite, though, was the joke told by the father-in-law of someone in Edna's family, an older gentleman who came to Israel from Argentina many years ago. When he first arrived in Israel he asked some people where to find a seder to celebrate Passover. “Pesach, ma ze Pesach? (Passover, what's that?)", they asked. After going back and forth, one man exclaimed, “ah yes, I know Pesach” (spelled in Hebrew with the letter Pey for P, samech for S, and chet for the ach sound), “it means Protectzia (pays offs), Savlanut (patience) and Chutzpa (utter nerve).” That’s what it takes to adapt to Israeli culture and survive Israeli bureaucracy.


After the potluck meal---the familiar gefilte fish and matzo ball soup, brisket, chicken, salads and veggies, with a surprising addition of sushi(?)--the seder concluded with desserts and a sing-along of popular Israeli and American songs (Bob Dylan, We Shall Overcome). A highlight was the “Chad Gadya” performance, children and adults marching around the tables wearing masks—goat, cat, dog--- enacting the song's story by throwing water and wielding a cardboard ax. It put me in mind of one of my favorite Passover memories from our first seder after moving to Chapel Hill, in the spring of 1991 when Gregory had just turned 4. Sometime well into the reading of the Haggadah, as boredom set in, he disappeared from the dining room. A short time later he made a startling and hilarious reappearance decked out in swimsuit, goggles and green fins, prepared for crossing the Red Sea and, hopefully, gaining his freedom from the seemingly endless ritual!! Luckily for him, as you can read in his blog from Buenos Aires, his host family for this year’s seder favored a shortened version.

Yom Huledet Sameach Tel Aviv (Happy Birthday T.A.)

Last night we joined the masses to celebrate Tel Aviv’s 100th birthday at a huge bash in Rabin Square that kicks off a year’s worth of special activities. The spectacular event featured the Israeli Philharmonic with Zubin Mehta; Israeli pop and rock stars; opera singers; a children’s choir; drummers; dancers (some suspended from cables); a montage of historical and contemporary photos and videos of the city shown on huge screens, special lighting effects; and balloons, confetti, fireworks--shared by thousands of spectators of all ages crammed into the large plaza. Magnificently choreographed, the show celebrated this “first modern Hebrew city” and all of the wonderful elements that make it unique---the people, neighborhoods, architecture, beaches, parks, music, nightlife and soccer mania. No speeches, no politics, no hand-wringing---just plain, normal fun. I witnessed it all from a great spot smack in the middle of the dense crowd. Since we arrived early I had plenty of time to make some new friends---a very active retired teacher and her husband (who was born in Cairo) from Holon. She spoke English but was happy to hear about my efforts to learn Hebrew and wanted to know why we are here, what we are doing, and how we like it. I love making these connections and, though we may never meet again, I feel I have a lot of potential friends here. Around me, smartly dressed seniors rubbed elbows (literally) with parents carrying little ones on their shoulders while groups of enthusiastic young people took each other’s pictures. As the program came to a close with contemporary Israeli rock and sampling hits, accompanied by a wild light show, I made my way through the gyrating (and smoking!) crowd of kids and, miraculously, reuinited with Lew who had been observing from another vantage point.

As Gideon Levy wrote in HaAretz this morning, “ A villa in the jungle is our beloved city, Israel’s only island of normality and liberalism—call it a bubble if you like.”
Tel Aviv is Israel’s ‘enormous head’---70% of the head offices of financial institutions, 63% of the high-tech employees and 74% of the start-up companies are located here. On the arts and culture front, 76% of the artists and sculptors live in greater T.A. and a startling 89% of those involved in the performing arts. These stats are from a book edited by Baruch Kipnis, a Professor of Geography and Environmental Studies at Haifa University, to mark the first 100 years of the city. Another interesting fact about the city, which we can observe all around us, is that the city is becoming younger and younger in its demographic make-up. This is a hip, youthful city. The malls carry the latest trendy goods and gleaming high rises dot the landscape.

But for me the city’s charm lies in the old buildings, the numerous diverse neighborhoods, and the multitude of small establishments with whose shopkeepers we banter and connect while making our purchases—like the “chicken guy,” an older Polish man who sells rotisserie chicken from his tiny storefront on Barzilay St. Today, when I stopped to pick up a chicken for dinner, I asked him in Hebrew how long he has been here in this storefront. He said, “longer than you have been alive.” I laughed and told him how old I am. He looked very surprised (todah rabah, thank you for the compliment!) and said that he had been here 53 years. We are also well known to the staff at our favorite “15 salads” restaurant, to the formidable ladies at the supermarket, to the guys at Mana Mana (felafel) and to the owner of the terrific new Pizza/Pasta place on Yehuda Hamaccabi. Lew has a very friendly relationship with Hadassah, the proprietress of our laundry/dry cleaning establishment, and her daughter. And, of course, we can’t leave out Baruch the barber and Sharon, my excellent hairdresser. They day before yesterday, as we walked by the fruit, vegetable and flower stand where we buy flowers every Friday, the owner called out to us, “how are you?” in Hebrew and when I asked him in return he proudly announced that it was his birthday. Later in the day, Lew saw that he had decorated his stall with balloons and set out cake and drinks for his customers. I could describe dozens more encounters in bakeries, cafes, hardware stores, spice and nut shops and so on. Not to mention the sherut and bus drivers, many of whom we now recognize (and whose music preferences we know) on our favorite routes. I should also mention all the people who help us out on the street and in the shops when we need directions or help reading the labels. Tonight a charming older gentleman, who spoke “a little English” quite well, helped us choose butter without salt and then, overhearing our debate, directed us to the best—Israeli, not foreign --chocolate we should use to prepare our matzos-chocolate-almond dessert for the upcoming seder. All of these interactions humanize the day-to-day life and commerce of the city.

So, Happy Birthday Tel Aviv and let’s hope that gentrification and urban renewal does not obliterate all your charms.