"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.

Excursions with Edna, Part I: Inside Tel Aviv

Photos
Top row: waiting in line on Gilboa St.; tour of apartment, Edna's mom to the left, view of crowd through window;
Second group: Puppet in artists' studio; Edna, Shaula, Hedva walking in Salame neighborhood; children touring rooftop daycare
Third group: Hedva, Edna and Shaula on tour: entrance to main building of Inbal's school; courtyard, Inbal's school; Inbal studying


For the second year in a row, the city of Tel Aviv organized a two-day citywide open house of over 100 venues ranging from renovated apartments, to historical homes/buildings, artists’ and designers’ studios, the central bus station, neighborhood synagogues, gardens, high rises, and scores of interesting sites all over Tel Aviv and Jafo. Although some of the guided tours placed a limit on the number of participants and required pre-registration, there were many other opportunities that simply required showing up and standing in line. My friend Edna generously offered to include me in her entourage for an excursion to check out a few of these.

On Saturday morning I crossed the street and piled into Edna’s car along with her mother, Hedva, who lives in Jerusalem, and her older sister, Shaula, a computer expert who lives in a Tel Aviv suburb. Both of these family members were missing from the seder we celebrated at Pesach with Edna’s other family members: her mother had stayed in Jerusalem and her sister was visiting her son and his family in Boston (and traveling with them to Costa Rica). Edna circled some choices and we optimistically set out for our first stop, an apartment on Gilboa, a beautiful street just behind Rothschild where we had walked on our Bauhaus tour. Along the way Hedva, an energetic and trim 87 year old woman who still swims every day, regaled me with stories of her girlhood in Tel Aviv. Although she has lived in Jerusalem for a good part of her adult life when she was not serving with her diplomat husband in posts around the world, she still prefers Tel Aviv (we are kindred spirits in this regard). She came here from Europe with her parents in 1929 when a good part of the city lacked sidewalks and the streets were still surrounded by sand. As we turned from Rothschild to reach Gilboa St., she pointed to the building on the corner and indicated the second floor apartment where she had once lived.

Edna dropped us off while she and Shaula searched for a parking space. When they rejoined us several minutes later, we hadn’t progressed very far in the long line snaking towards the entry. They were letting about 10-15 people at a time into the small apartment for about 5 minutes so the going was slow. There was some discussion about whether we should stay, but in the end we waited patiently for our turn. As we edged closer, Shaula explained this was not the typical Israeli response to waiting in line. “Do you know the word “frier?”, she asked. “No Israel wants to be taken for a frier (pushover). They always think, is the wait worth it? Will I be taken advantage of? If they encounter a long line for the restroom, as you do in the States, they would use the men’s room or the handicap stall or find a nearby restaurant or other place.” However, in this instance the crowd was surprisingly mellow and docile. After we spent our allotted five minutes viewing the attractively renovated apartment, the home of a young couple and their baby, we exited and were handed gift boxes of Nestle “Fitness” cereal (Nestle coffee also offered at a stand in the backyard) and a plug in air freshener. Then it was back to the car to drive down to an industrial area in the southern part of the city that hasn’t yet been gentrified but is home to a number of art and design studios. We visited an unusual rooftop space that serves as a day care for children of immigrant workers on top of a building filled with artists’ and designers’ workshops. As we wound our way down through the studios, I couldn’t help myself and, with Edna’s encouragement, bought a gorgeous handcrafted bag in soft red leather (an early birthday present from someone?).

At this point we met up with Orna (Edna’s other sister) and traded passengers—Shaula continued touring with Orna and we brought Hedva back to Edna’s apartment where Lew and I enjoyed a lively Shabbat lunch with the family. Among the topics of conversation: is the Israeli scout movement an elitist organization that discourages pluralism and reinforces uncritical Zionist and military values? Do they have too much influence in the schools? Edna thinks yes but Lee feels she may be overstating the case. Eli didn’t like the scouts and Inbal chimed in that the local girls were “white trash.” We weren’t sure this term translated well from its use in the States and we tried to come up with something that captured her depiction of them. Basically we understood from her that they are only interested in superficial things like clothes and status (Far from shallow herself, Inbal is a talented artist who is fascinated by philosophy). Apparently our neighborhood has a mix of wealthy residents and well-known celebrities as well as families who aspire to higher status. Mainly what we notice are scores of young families with small children who pass by our windows on their way to and from the community day care center or congregate in the park where the ice cream truck appears daily. At lunch we also learned that there are few organized sports teams or music programs in the schools and that these are mostly extra-curricular activities arranged by the parents. Eli, for example, plays on a baseball team that is not connected to a school or city recreational program. An impressive exception to the norm is the extensive music education program in Kfar Saba schools created by a non-profit music foundation established by a local pediatrician in cooperation with the city and the school system.

There is ongoing debate here about the declining quality of public education. As I mentioned in another post, Edna and Lee have chosen “alternative” schools for their kids. Last week I had an opportunity to visit the campus of the arts and music magnet high school that sixteen-year old Inbal attends, as did older brother Udi. The campus in a quiet residential neighborhood in Givatayim is open and inviting. I wandered through the main buildings and outlying bungalows viewing the very creative multi-medium artwork of the graduating seniors that was on display. Inbal, seated on a bench in the courtyard studying for exams, directed me where to go and thanked me for coming. Universally, teenagers can be so charming when someone is not their parent; earlier Edna had stopped by the school to see the exhibits and missed half of them because she did not want to risk Inbal’s ire by approaching her. And of course, Inbal was mad that she missed some of the art!

Beethoven with the Maestro

“I give you all my fire, but you don’t burn, “ says Maestro Kurt Masur in frustration as he coaxes the members of the Tel Aviv University symphony orchestra to put more intensity into a passage of Beethoven’s Third Symphony (the Eroica). For two and a half hours the almost 82 year old conductor gives his all to a group of aspiring musicians and expects the same in return, at one point urging them to “play with your whole heart to the bottom.” Although his hands shake with palsy, once the music starts he sways, hops, stoops and jabs the air for emphasis, singing along to illustrate the phrasing and dynamics he wants to hear. His right hand, with long elegant fingers extended, looks like a bird hovering and swooping as it maintains the rhythmic pulse of the music. After working very intensely on the first two movements this elderly gentleman asks the young musicians, “Are you tired?” and when they indicate they are not he continues leading them through the last two movements. It is clear he has a deep passion not only for the music but also for teaching young people. The students, as well as the audience for this master class in the small intimate music school auditorium, listen intently as he interpreted the emotional content of Beethoven’s music and translates his vision into very specific ideas about bowing, phrasing, dynamics. In one memorable instance he has a visceral reaction to the entry of the oboe, as if the note hurt his ears. He and the oboist engage in quite a lengthy back and forth, he insisting her A is too low, she explaining the problem, he suggesting she choose a shorter reed and asking the concertmistress to retune the orchestra to match her tuning. Finally, after he is satisfied and they play through a section featuring a very lovely oboe motif, he says, “you know, you really are very good!” He is no easy taskmaster. When he likes what he hears, he says, “Much better, but I have to work so hard. Don’t make an old man work so hard.” If he doesn’t like the way a particular phrase has been played, say by the string basses or the bassoons, he sings it exactly how he wants to hear it, shaking his lowered head from side to side while muttering, “I don’t give up; I must have patience”. Then, if he feels they are still not getting it, he threads his way through the stands, planting himself directly in front of the offenders and working face-to-face with them until he has achieved the desired outcome. When he is pleased with the results he touches his fingers to his lips and send them a kiss, declaring, “I love you.” When they reach the slow movement, he again refers to his age in a very direct way to illustrate the depth of the feeling they must convey. He says, “Have you ever really loved someone and then they are gone? You have no tears because you died with them. I am a bit older than you but you should know the feeling. You will all die; we all will die.” This is a very heavy message but one that is part of his personal experience as he lost a young wife and child in a car accident many years ago. I found it very powerful that he used this metaphor to elicit an emotionally charged musical response. To me it speaks to the very heart of music as a universal language. As Maestro Mazur counseled the orchestra, the audience must feel Beethoven’s music was written yesterday, not 200 years ago. As it happens I have some history with this symphony. As a young viola player, I spent hours with my music stand in the woods practicing the challenging passages for our performance of this piece at Idyllwild Music Camp. Later, I spent a semester studying Beethoven’s symphonies in a music class at Berkeley. Yet as I listen to Maestro Mazur work through the nuances of the music, it sounds fresh to my ears. The audience must feel so too, because when he finishes they give him and the student musicians a standing ovation. He asks the wind and brass sections to rise, then the strings, shaking hands all around. He seems overcome with emotion and offers this praise: “It is impressing that the students can play at such a high caliber. But I am not surprised because you have no problem here in Tel Aviv. In Israel the audience for classical music is 11% of the population while elsewhere it is 1%. This is wonderful because music makes you healthy and happy.” I am sure Maestro Masur will make many people happy this coming week when he conducts the Israel Philharmonic in a series of programs of music by Beethoven, Mendelssohn and Schnittke. In addition, he will say a few words at the Docaviv (Tel Aviv Documentary Film Festival) premier of a new documentary about his life and career. As for me, I can definitely say I feel healthier and happier for all the musical experiences I have been enjoying in Israel.

Daliat-al-Carmel: Druze, Views, Food (Traveling North, Part 3)

Photos: Imat's twins and friend; Imat and Lew; Daliat-al Carmel market; view from Carmelite monastery; views from Haifa, Ba'hai Gardens


We spent our second night in the north in the Druze village of Daliat-al-Carmel enjoying the incomparable hospitality of our host Imat Halaby, a master stonemason who has transformed the lower level and garden of his home into a fairy-tale zimmer (bed and breakfast). It’s worth a look at the website to see the remarkable stone-work in the bedroom/bath suite and the living areas. While I knew about the Fauzi Azar Inn from Lonely Planet and other sources, I stumbled on Imat’s place in a post on a Trip Advisor Middle East webchat. A truly lucky find! From the moment he met us in the main intersection of town to guide us with his car to his home, until the moment he handed Lew and Norman their own set of prayer beads (he fingers his while he talks) as a parting gift, we were swept into the orbit of his enthusiastic and generous nature. Imat, a well-educated and worldly man in his 50’s, regaled us with stories of his family, travels, and Druze history and customs. Drinking tea served to us on the patio by Nawal, Imat’s attractive wife, we learned about his immediate family, including Hatim, his 21-year old son who is studying at Technion University, his 18-year old teenage twin girls Imab and Rabab, two brothers (one a lawyer) who live in houses next door, and his very active parents who still tend their olive orchard (father) and prepare homemade cherry jam (mother). The larger clan of 7,000 constitutes almost half of the villages’ 15,000 residents, a tight-knit community that discourages intermarriage with non-Druze (violators are shunned and relatives are not supposed to associate with them). Imat’s views represent a mix of modernity and tradition. He strongly encourages education, driving his girls to a centralized elite Druze high school in another town about an hour away; he is highly entrepreneurial and sophisticated in marketing his work; he has traveled widely to Europe and elsewhere. Yet, he keeps a close watch on his children and retains Druze customs and beliefs. The Druze, who are loyal citizens of Israel and serve in the IDF, differ from Muslims from whom they broke away hundreds of years ago. According to Druze custom, their religious leaders are the only ones allowed to read the sacred text (Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law is considered the central prophet) and interpret it for the lay population. Prayer services are held twice weekly in unmarked temples (historically, to avoid persecution by Muslims), in contrast to the five times a day Islamic prayer ritual. The Druze believe that all existing persons are reincarnations of past souls, a belief Imat illustrated by sharing some complicated stories of coincidences experienced by relations and friends. When I asked Imat to tell me about some holiday customs or home observances (like lighting Shabbat candles) he couldn’t really think of anything. I’m not sure if he understood my question or if there really aren’t many other than frequent family gatherings, engagement parties and weddings. Even death is not ritualized much—no special burial customs or markers on gravesites—due to the belief in reincarnation.

When we inquired about a good place for dinner, Imat personally led us in his car to a nearby restaurant and ordered a sumptuous meal for us—chicken and rice with cinnamon and spices, chicken and onions on flat bread, tabbouli salad, rocket salad, hummos, olives, pita with zatar, and other small salads/relishes. I must add that the freshness of the tabbouli and rocket salads in Daliat-al-Carmel and in Nazareth is something to write home about. When we returned to the zimmer, Imat appeared downstairs carrying a huge bowl of fruit --pommelos, oranges, apples, offering us pieces as he expertly peeled and cut them, and engaging us in frank and friendly discussion about the history and current status of relations among Arabs, Palestinians, Druze and Jews. The next morning he brought down a huge breakfast spread prepared by Nawal and again remained to share stories about his travels in Europe. My attention was equally riveted on Imat and his mother’s cherry jam. As we said our goodbyes we felt as if we were leaving an old friend whom we hoped to see again soon.

At Imat’s suggestion we set out to visit the nearby Carmelite monastery before leaving town. On the way, however, we just happened to pass the outdoor Saturday market, a very popular place for locals and visitors from Haifa. Of course we had to stop to admire the colorful people, fabulous food and everything else you can think of from soup to nuts to underwear to barbeque grills. When we finally reached the monastery we were not disappointed. The view from the roof is spectacular, stretching from the sea to Mt. Meron (Israel’s highest peak) and down the length of the Jezreel Valley. It was a beautiful day as we drove through the Druze village of Isafiya and on to Haifa, capping our journey north with a visit to the overlook of the perfectly manicured Ba’hai gardens and lunch on the shaded patio of Fatoosh in the German Colony. Then, following the coastline, we admired the sparkling blues of the sea as we drove back to Tel Aviv.