Cows, Cliffs, and Conversation

Kfar Vitkin and Netanya

It’s Shabbat once again and its hard to believe another week has gone by. Last Friday Atar (Lew’s “boss”, the Director of Philanthropy at Sheatufim) invited us to her home in Kfar Vitkin for Shabbat dinner. She suggested we take an afternoon train (about a 20 minute ride) to nearby Netanya where she would meet us with her car. She arrived with her son Zeev (2 years 8 months) who had a lot to say about the train. We traveled the short distance to her moshav (cooperative village) where she and her husband, a “son of the village” rent a small home. En route she pointed out the closest beach and the hummos restaurant she suggested we might like to try. The village is located between the two main highways that run from south to north. In the past the primary enterprise of the residents was dairy production with each family, including Atar’s in-laws, maintaining milking cows behind their homes. Every day the milk would be collected and processed in a central facility and trucked out for distribution. Gil’s father still raises some cattle for beef and his mother makes cheese but these are hobbies rather than for income. The aroma of the barn still wafts over the village though. One child from each family is allowed to live in the community, which is how Atar and Gil are able to rent their home not far from his parents. They have a large yard with a garden and fruit trees and plenty of space for Zeev and his new puppy, Nano, to play. After a little tour, Atar sent us off in her car to explore until dinnertime.

Our first stop was the local hummos restaurant where a bevy of young, hippie-esque women served the customers who ordered from a colorful chalkboard menu. The restaurant’s motto, printed on the sign outside and on the check, is “Make Hummos Not War.” , Next we headed for Netanya, a large seaside town and home to a popular Ikea store (no, we didn’t stop there). We arrived just before the outdoor market was closing and got a good deal from the flower vendors on a bouquet to bring back to Atar. Parking the car, we headed down to the main plaza which is a huge open area lined with cafes and arcades, leading to the promenade that runs the length of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

Although Netanya is often called the Riviera of Israel, and apparently does have a lot of French-speaking residents, it put me more in mind of Santa Monica. The promenade is lined with beautiful, fragrant plantings, play areas, a roller skating area and an outdoor amphitheater. There’s even a glass elevator that goes down to the beach and closes at 6 p.m. on Friday for Shabbat. Across the street, lining the promenade and facing the sea, are the luxury high rises inhabited by wealthy Americans and others. We looked on the website for one particularly hideous new complex, built out of gray concrete and looking like industrial turbines, and found that the apartments sell for about a million and a half dollars.

We descended via an impressive stairway down to the beach and walked a couple of miles, enjoying the spectacular day and cloudless blue sky. At the far end of the beach, as we neared a resort hotel perched on the cliffs above, we came across a number of ultra-orthodox families and young couples. We wondered where they came from. After we hiked up to the hotel to use the facilities (and where we saw a banquet hall set up for a Tu B’Shevat celebration, the new year of the trees) we started walking back along the clifftop walkway. A short distance down the road we came to a very large yeshiva/school. On the corner was a sign marking the entry to a religious neighborhood and requesting that anyone who chose to enter should respect their customs and dress modestly. In an odd juxtaposition, this neighborhood is almost directly across from a huge seaside mansion, replete with its own helicopter pad. As we concluded our stroll on the promenade we passed many Russian-speaking couples and a group of oldsters sitting out in their wheelchairs enjoying the pleasant evening.

Then it was back to Atar and Gil’s home for Shabbat supper. We lit the candles and sang a few songs, then feasted on various appetizers such as kibbeh, pickled cabbage, grape leaves, nuts and dried fruits for Tu B’shevat, squash soup with a special middle eastern spice mix that we’ve since purchased, fresh cheese made by Gil’s mom, eggplant from their garden baked with tahini, chicken stew with curry, sweet potatoes, and Jerusalem artichokes, Russian style potato salad, green salad, rice, and, after a pause to digest a bit, fabulous carrot cake studded with sesame seeds and a tea infusion from lemon verbena freshly picked from the garden. It’s a good thing we took a long walk!

The conversation ranged from the current economic crisis, the need for corporate oversight/accountability and what role government should take, to questions about whom we supported and why in the recent U.S. presidential election. Gil, who has a business degree and works in high tech has a more positive view of the merits of capitalism, while Atar, the activist, weighs in on the side of the need to enforce social responsibility on corporations. Then we moved onto marriage, divorce and gender relations. Atar and Gil, not wanting to validate the Orthodox stranglehold on state-recognized marriages, followed the time-worn Israeli custom of leaving the country to get a marriage license in Cyprus (kind of like a quickie Las Vegas marriage) which the state accepts as valid. However, Atar also wanted a Jewish wedding so they had a lovely outdoor afternoon affair in her parents village, replete with chuppa and the seven blessings, conducted by a woman friend. Looking at the pictures and hearing about the event, we were struck at the similarity to our own wedding in Chapel Hill. When I asked about the prevalence of divorce, Atar said the rate is about 40%. She explained that whichever member of the couple applies for the divorce first, whether it be in a civil or religious court, the venue they choose will have jurisdiction. Men tend to choose the religious court because they will probably get a better deal there.

The conversation then segued into questions about the efficacy of real Arab-Israeli dialogue at the personal level. Atar shared her experiences with a group of Palestinian and Israeli women and the two ways of thinking that coexist uneasily in her: on the one hand she truly believes that all people have similar goals to love, be loved and live in peace, while on the other hand she has come face to face with the conflicting value sets, whatever their historical origins, which make it difficult, if not impossible, for members of each group to understand the other. She feels that this has become even more challenging as many of the brightest, most educated Palestinians have moved away. In response some Israelis have become cynical and just want to live their own lives, while others are sad and frustrated. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel hopeful knowing that this passionate and thoughtful young couple is committed to making a difference for the common good.

As the evening came to a close, Atar was curious about why we had decided to spend our sabbatical in Israel. Her question made me realize that aside from the a desire to be in a beautiful place, having lots of stimulating new experiences, I also wanted an opportunity to explore the many unresolved feelings I have about my relationship to this country. There is a big gap between the incredible summer I spent here as a teenager and our current sojourn. During those years Israel was mostly on the backburner for me. So now it’s time to reevaluate and deepen my understanding of life here.

Beyond the bubble of Tel Aviv

So far we’ve traveled twice to Jerusalem by bus, a very easy and convenient trip taking about 50 minutes and depositing us at the central bus station. From there it’s a pleasant walk down Jaffa Rd. past the enticing MahaneYehuda Market, a cornucopia of sights and smells—sides of beef, glistening fish, piles of vivid vegetables, breads and cakes, fresh and dried fruit, nuts, spices and herbs, coffee and teas, oils, cheeses. Who can resist lingering in the narrow lanes? There are even some trendy boutiques and cafes mixed in among the stalls, a sign of increasing gentrification. After picking up some quince paste and nutmeg we continued on down Jaffa, past the “Wal-Mart”-style bargain store (where we later scored a spatula and some dish sponges), past the numerous shoe stores, jewelry shops and clothing stores, and turned on to King George. Along this route, the presence of the black hat religious population is very prominent. I have a vivid image of one such gentleman, dressed in the long black coat and massive black hat, striding briskly along with a hot pink shopping bag dangling from one hand and a cell phone in the other. Somehow cell phones and cigarettes look out of place with 17th century garb.

Our destination the first time around was the Jewish Agency building where we met Becky Caspi with whom we had lunch. She gave us an overview of the Jewish Agency and its relationship to the alphabet soup of other organizations that assist new immigrants to Israel and Jews in need around the world (Joint Distribution Committee, United Jewish Communities, and others). I have to confess I still don’t understand exactly who does what but it was interesting to see the building which served as the first site of the government after statehood was declared.

On our second trip to Jerusalem, Lew had a lunch meeting with Steve Sager’s friend, Arnie, while I continued walking through the German Colony (a popular neighborhood for Anglos) to the Talpiyot neighborhood, the location of the Shatil office. It was a very warm and sunny day so I took my time strolling down Emek Refayim, a charming street lined with trendy clothing and jewelry stores, ice cream shops (of course I indulged) and many restaurants. The walk was very long, it was unseasonably warm and by the time I reached the street where the office was located I needed refueling. No surprise, there was a great felafel/hummos restaurant across the street, very crowded with locals and no English speakers—a good sign.

At Shatil I met with Elana Silver, a young woman who works on fundraising and development for the organization. She is originally from the states but met her Israeli husband when she was studying here and working as a waitress (he owned the restaurant). He is currently the night manager in one of the big hotels in Tel Aviv and commutes there from Jerusalem every day by train. She’s pregnant with her second child and laughs when some of her friends complain about the length of the PAID leave women receive after childbirth—14 weeks—in contrast to pitiful family leave policy in the states. Of course, the picture for women workers is not all rosy. Shatil just received a large grant from the European Union to address gender discrimination in the labor force. Elana is going to put me in touch with the project director so I can learn more about their plans for this project.

Later in the afternoon we made our way back to Emek Refayim to meet my friend Ruth Mason whom I last saw 44 years ago when we spent a summer together on an ulpan at Shefeya, a youth agricultural school near Zichron Ya’akov. She has been living in Jerusalem with her husband and three children for over twenty years, working as a journalist and now for Shatil. As I mentioned in an earlier post, she has become very involved with the Ethiopian community and has developed many projects to assist these immigrants. She had invited us to a presentation about the “From Risk to Opportunity” program at the Jerusalem Conservatory Hassadna, an impressive music academy founded in 1973. Ruth was instrumental in launching a scholarship program for Ethiopian children in 2005 that has grown from 10 to 35 children. Additional programs have since been added to include children from impoverished homes and to provide music education and music therapy to special needs kids with a range of physical and mental challenges. Recommended to the conservatory by social workers, teachers and others, including the director of the Jerusalem Battered Women’s Shelter, currently 65 disadvantaged children, (including10 children from the shelter), participate in the conservatory’s programs. Also among the 550 students are 35 special needs children (autism, Downs Syndrome, mental retardation, cerebral palsy, blindness) who receive individualized music therapy or therapeutic instrument instruction. There is a long waiting list.

This program is unique for a couple of reasons. First, the kids and their families get a lot of support to ensure that they can succeed in the program. The children are provided with full or partial tuition scholarships, free instruments, tutors who come to their homes to help them practice, and money for transportation costs. Also included in this network of care, the parents receive help to attend their child’s performances and are drawn into the school’s “family” so that they may encourage their children. Second, the inclusive philosophy of the conservatory builds bridges among all the children-- whether they are full-paying, special needs, Ethiopian, or at risk-- bringing them together to make music in various combinations. We witnessed the success of these efforts in four absolutely inspiring performances. First we heard ten year old Avraham, an Ethiopian boy from a severely distressed single parent family, play a movement of a Bach violin concerto. He has been playing the violin for two years. His enthusiasm and musicality captivated us and he beamed with pride when he finished. Next Ronit, a seven year old Ethiopian girl, played the piano with her tutor at her side. The school bought a piano for her home so that she could practice and her tutor visits her there every week to guide her practice. Malkamo, a shy Ethiopian boy, performed on the saxophone with a jazz combo comprised of mainstream students on piano, drums, and electric guitar. Although he has just begun his studies and could only play a limited range of notes, he definitely got in the groove and clearly enjoyed playing with the group. Finally, and perhaps most moving, we heard Rasha, a blind orphan with severe autism and mental retardation who is nevertheless a musical savant, play the piano. She played a duet with an advanced violin student while her teacher gently encouraged her with touches to her hands and cues sung along with the melody. Her performance was mesmerizing and she was visibly transformed by the music. The tour also included performances by some of the talented advanced students playing movements of chamber and solo works by Beethoven Rachmaninoff, Franck, Mozart and Bach. These students not only played beautifully but they also displayed an appealingly unselfconscious, down-to-earth manner.

The two young women who led the tour, Lena, a former teacher and now the Director of the conservatory, and Ronit, the Director of the From Risk to Opportunity Program, communicated their passion for and dedication to these kids and their families. Their enthusiasm and commitment to the continuation of the program are awe-inspiring. In sharing some of the many “unbelievable moments” they experienced daily, they certainly convinced me that this is a valuable endeavor. Now comes the sad part. Due to the recent economic woes and financial scandals, one of their main foundation supporters has cut their support for this academic year, leaving them with a $20,000 gap in their budget. They pay about $5000 each month to the Jerusalem municipality (who gives them no support) to rent a school building that is used during the day by a Waldorf-style school. Every afternoon they have to move their equipment into place and then put it all back at the end of classes. A full scholarship for an individual student comes to $2300/per year. They have put out a desperate plea for ideas about how to raise the necessary funds to allow all the currently subsidized students to continue their studies. I would love to hear any ideas about how to find more support for this incredibly worthwhile program.

Aleph Plus

I found it very humbling to attempt a Hebrew conversation with (almost) three-year-old Zeev on our Shabbat eve visit to the home of Atar and her husband Gil in Kfar Vitkin last week. Up until this point I had mainly been honing my Hebrew language skills with shopkeepers and bus drivers, not very elaborate exchanges. Now I was confronted with a loquacious tot who expected me to keep up with his ongoing flow of commentary about the new book we had just given him, Richard Scarry’s Big Schoolhouse Book. As we sat together on the couch with the book open across our laps, he shared his excitement in a stream of words, only a small portion of which could I comprehend. Like Charlie Brown listening to the words of his teacher, I heard “wah,wah, wah, wah…..” and then “nachon?” (correct). Of course, I would have been an idiot not to agree, “nachon!” My only other contribution to this conversation was, “Ma Ze?” (what’s this) as I pointed to the picture of the monkey driving the banana-mobile or the fox flooding the classroom with water from the garden hose. It’s a good thing Lew and I have signed up for twice-weekly Hebrew classes at Gordon Ulpan in Tel Aviv. Perhaps I will learn more words for fish, other than salmon-- pronounced something like “saulmoan” in Hebrew-- so I will be able to buy other varieties at the fish store. Or maybe the mystery of the Beseq phone tree will finally be revealed. On our many calls to get help with the internet service I have cycled through the choices on the recorded message over and over, grasping for clues about whether I should “menakesh” (press) shtayim (2) or arba (4) followed by the “sulamit” (little ladder, i.e. the pound key) to get to an actual person. When I am successful, usually by pressing 2 at every choice point, my first question is, “Atah Medaber Anglit? – Do you speak English?” For some reason the only language choices offered for this exercise in frustration are Hebrew, Arabic, and Russian. I’m not sure, however, whether mastering sufficient Hebrew will help us deal with the Byzantine world of Beseq. With four different responses for every inquiry, the best technique seems to be to ask until you get the answer you want in whatever language.

To assess our level for Hebrew classes, Lew and I made our way to Ulpan Gordon one Sunday evening to take a test with a roomful of aspiring Hebrew speakers, mostly young, from all over the world---Turkey, France, U.S., Eastern Europe and China. I chose the level one/two test and, since we were told to “try really hard”, I patiently waded through the questions (written without vowel markings!) and answered or guessed to the best of my ability. The best of my ability turned out to be Aleph Ploos (First Level Plus), as evaluated by a very kind young woman who glanced for two minutes at my paper and conducted a short oral interview with me in Hebrew about where I had studied, where I lived, and what work I did. I struggled to explain that I had studied Hebrew at university a long time ago (!). She could probably tell it had been awhile because she announced that, “You know something, but it’s not systematic.” No kidding. That’s pretty much echoed what my instructor in college said, “It’s there but you need to let it come out.” My first class is this coming Sunday. I’m eager to meet Edna, my teacher, and the other students and to get more practice thinking/speaking on my feet in Hebrew.

Just as I finished writing the last sentence above, the doorbell rang. This rare event usually produces a moment of panic for me as I wonder if I will be able to respond appropriately to the visitor. I opened the door to find a young boy of about 10 smiling hopefully and holding a small coupon or receipt book. He rattled off a barrage of words that ended with a question. “Lo Mevena,” (I don’t understand) I replied. Luckily, my neighbor opened her door to see what was going on and was able to help out. She asked with surprise, “You don’t speak Hebrew?” I had to confess that I only knew kzat (a little). Between her limited English and my limited Hebrew she managed to convey that the boy was collecting money to benefit kids with autism. I said, “Oh, tzedakah”, which is commonly used in the U.S. Jewish community to refer to doing a righteous act by giving your time or money to help others, but she said no it was “truma,” meaning contribution or offering. Lew and I are curious about this distinction. Nevertheless,it sounded like a worthwhile cause so I told the boy, “rega” (wait a minute) and went to get 20 shekels (about $5.00). But I only had a 100 shekel bill and he didn’t have change so we had to get Tzipi to come up with some change and complete the transaction.

Gregory and I have been comparing notes via email about the travails of communicating in another language. I complained that I seem to have one space in my head for the “not English” language of the moment, whether it be Hebrew, Spanish, or French. If I’m hearing one of these repeatedly and then suddenly hear another (for example, listening to a group of women speaking Spanish on the bus to Jerusalem) the words get all shuffled together. Similarly, he reported running into two Israeli guys in his hostel in Cuzco and trying with limited success to recall his Hebrew vocabulary. He says that there are many Israeli travelers in Peru and that there are Hebrew language restaurant signs and menus and Israeli flags on the tourism offices. Like me, he’s finding it a challenge to avoid all the English speakers. Here's another peeve of mine: I get really mad when, after carefully sounding out something in Hebrew, it turns out to be an English word written in Hebrew letters--- Clean Shop (our local laundry), Aroma (a cafe), for example.

To Haifa By Train

We’ve begun to pierce through the bubble of Tel Aviv to points beyond---Haifa, Jerusalem, Netanya and Kfar Vitkin. As our friend Atar’s husband Gil put it, “There’s the country of Tel Aviv and there’s the rest of the country.” To start the tour….

Recently I made my first solo trip by train to Haifa, departing from the station near the university for the hour-long ride up the coast. I checked the timetable and waited for the announcement of the train’s arrival on platform #1. A number of trains came and went near the expected departure time but I waited until I heard the right destination. Just to be sure, when I entered the train I looked for a friendly face and queried, “Haifa?” “Keyn” (yes), answered the solid looking older woman with gray hair, her gold teeth gleaming. She motioned me to take one of two open seats facing her across the table. The train started up and almost immediately her cellphone blasted the Torreodor Song from Carmen. She answered, “Da, Da” in Russian and continued to talk for a few minutes, a scene that was repeated periodically during the trip. Next to her sat a quiet young woman in jeans, while behind her lounged a gregarious group of young men listening to Arabic music and bantering alternatively in Hebrew and Arabic. One member of the group spent a good deal of time speaking in Arabic into the cell phone plastered to his ear beneath his hoodie. About half way through the trip he stood up and it was then that I noticed he was wearing army khakis and carrying a rifle. Possibly he was one of the many Druze youth who serve in the army traveling home to a village near Haifa. Across the aisle sat two young men in casual attire wearing kippot and in front of them two secular Israeli guys carried on a spirited exchange in Hebrew. A polyglot microcosm of Israeli society. There are three stops in Haifa. As we neared the first stop at Hof Carmel, across from the beautiful beach a forest of high rise buildings suddenly appeared sporting the logos of familiar high-tech companies- Microsoft, Siemens, Phillips, Google,etc. As the train pulled into in the port area hesitated slightly, wondering if this was the central Haifa HaShmona stop I needed. My Russian friend piped up, “Haifa, Haifa”, so I quickly made my way to the exit.

Arriving a bit early for my meeting at the Shatil offices, I wandered up and down HaAtzmaut (Independence), the main boulevard in the port area. The Shatil office is located on HaAtzmaut directly across from the train station in a building that also houses other social change organizations such as Economic Empowerment for Women and Mahut, a hotline and employment training project for women workers. Shatil, an empowerment center connected with the New Israel Fund, provides training and support for social change organizations in Israel. With branches throughout the country, they support projects that address human/civil rights, democracy, religious tolerance, women’s issues, socioeconomic equality and environmental justice and they promote coalition building to address these issues. I had an appointment with Liora Asa and Fathi Marshoud, the director of the Haifa office. Liora, a woman in her 40’s, wearing brown jeans with a flowered pattern and a colorful top, greeted me warmly with an Anglo accent. While we were waiting for Fathi to become available we started playing Jewish geography. It turns out we are connected by less than six degrees of separation. We discovered that Liora’s mother graduated from Hamilton High School in Los Angeles, my alma mater, eight years before me. And, she lived on the same street as my grandparents! Liora grew up in Fullerton (Orange County) where her father was the rabbi at the Reform synagogue. Like me, she also went to UC Berkeley for her undergraduate degree. It’s hard to beat that for coincidence. Liora and Fathi filled me in on the various projects or organizations they support or know about that are doing good work on sex trafficking, migrant workers’ rights, domestic abuse, women’s economic development and employment discrimination. Fathi and the director of the Jerusalem Shatil office are working on a proposal for a project to increase Arab women’s participation in the Israeli labor force. From Liora I got some good suggestions about folks to contact to see if they could use some volunteer help.

As we finished and I reached for the door handle to leave, it swung open and Elana Dorfman entered. A woman of my generation, she was a founder of the Battered Women’s hotline and shelter in Haifa, and more recently, started Mahut, a hotline and support project for women workers. She is a longtime member of Isha L’Isha (Woman to Woman) a pioneer feminist organization in Haifa. We hit it off immediately and found a lot of common interests. Serendipity struck when she remembered an online presentation on sex trafficking which she thought might be happening that afternoon. She invited me to return after lunch to participate in this online event.

I spent about an hour strolling through the nearby German Colony at the foot of the impressive Ba’hai Gardens that rise up the steep hill from the port. As I made my way back down Ben Gurion, a street lined with interesting looking restaurants, I spotted a sign in Hebrew in front of Fattoush, a restaurant with a lovely patio and appealing menu: “Forbidden to enter with weapons.” Although I supported this request, I didn’t have enough time to linger over my lunch so I enjoyed a toasted cheese and vegetable sandwich, Israeli salad and olives, and a cappuccino at a small café a few blocks from the Shatil office. I returned to Shatil where Elana and I signed in for the webinar on “The Jewish Response to Sex Trafficking,” organized by the Jewish Community Relations Council and the New York/Jerusalem Experts Exchange. The first speaker was Rita Chaikin, the Anti-Trafficking Project Coordinator at Isha L’Isha . She is a vibrant young woman who has been instrumental in raising public awareness and prodding the Israeli government to adopt policies to combat sex trafficking and assist victims. Sex trafficking had become a big problem here with Eastern European women being trafficked into Israel through Bedoin trade routes (guns and women are profitable commodities). Rita, the Israeli Women’s Network and a coalition of 15 NGO’s and human rights organizations began working on this issue over ten years ago in 1997. Finally in 2000 the government passed a law against trafficking for the purpose of prostitution, but only after a U.N. report put Israel in the third (worst) tier of countries for trafficking in persons. The situation has improved due to the coordinated effort of the women’s organizations and Isha L’Isha is still working to get more legal and financial assistance to the women who want to escape the business but fear deportation. They are also working with Eastern European organizations and consulates to facilitate safe return without deportation for those who want to go home. They want to make sure that the women have access to rehabilitation and compensation after they return home. Another big effort is being made to distribute leaflets in public places to make potential clients aware of how they can help the women and to ensure that punishment of traffickers is enforced. Currently the flow of women trafficked from Eastern European countries has declined but the traffickers have become more sophisticated and buy private apartments to reduce visibility. Also, there has been an increase in trafficking from China and trafficking of Israeli women within the country and to Europe. Rita’s presentation gave me a lot to think about.

I was glad I had the chance to meet Elana and hope to return to Haifa to visit with her and meet more folks from Isha L’Isha. The return trip to Tel Aviv on the train was uneventful except for the fact that I sat across from another Russian woman, this time blonde and middle aged, wearing an eye-catching pair of black leather pants with a design cut into them with alternate strips of see through material.

The Write Stuff

I just finished reading a classic, if rather quirky, book. If You Want to Write: A Book About Art, Independence and Spirit, was originally published in 1938 and reissued in 1983, two years before the author died at the age of 93. According to the inside notes, the author, Brenda Ueland, was born at the turn of the century in Minneapolis to a lawyer father and suffragist mother. She spent some time in New York hanging out with the bohemian crowd in Greenwich Village before returning to the Midwest to write, edit, and teach. There are two great pictures of her on the inside cover. The photo from 1938 (age 47) shows her from the side in an austere suit jacket and plain white blouse, looking quite serious and yet dreamy as she gazes at some distant point. In the photo taken for the second edition (age 91) she's wearing a boldly stripped jacket with her bow tie askew and her hair rather wild as she looks directly into the camera with a quizzical half-smile on her face. It looks like a lot of living went on between those two pictures. The book is an odd mix of spiritual, feminist, and practical insights about the personal value of expressing one’s divine creativity through writing. Her main point is that, “everybody is talented because everybody who is human has something to express.” She believed that everybody has something original to say if he/she speaks the truth from his/her true inner self. She encouraged her students to get out of their own way and write what they knew and felt without laboring over the words. She was a big advocate of “living in the present moment”, long walks and making time for solitude, all of which she felt opened one up to creativity. She urged women to avoid being consumed by attention to housework and catering to everyone else’s needs. Sounds very modern! I wonder what Brenda Ueland would think of blogging if she were alive today?

Images, Buildings, and Names

With all due respect to Garrison Keillor, it has not been a quiet few weeks in eretz (land) war-be-gone. We have been very busy, continuing to soak in the sights, sounds, and smells of Tel Aviv and branching out by bus and train to Jerusalem (both of us) and Haifa (me).
Last week we made a Shabbat afternoon excursion to the Tel Aviv Art museum which houses an extensive permanent collection of impressionist and post-impressionist art donated by a Jewish Swiss family. Two special exhibits were also on display. “Art at Home, the Home as Art,” featured mixed media by Israeli and international artists, including a fabulous garden-themed bed designed by Max Ernst and a beautiful modernist set of silverware incorporating design elements from the violin (the curves, f-holes and bridge). Also amazing were the tapestries by Agam and other artists with abstract and figurative motifs (scrolls, ladders) in vibrant colors. Another special exhibit, “The Mound of Things” showed the work of Tsibi Geva, a multi prize-winning artist who epitomizes mainstream Israeli taste (according to a critic writing in HaAretz). Canvases (some very large) from several of his themed series of paintings done over the last twenty years of terrazzo floors, birds, flower, keffiyeh (head covering) and abstract designs of backgammon boards, fences, and shutters or window grilles were arrayed around the perimeter of the gallery space. I could see that the paintings were trying to address issues about Israeli identity-- the land, nature, people, constructed habitats and the meanings with which Israelis have imbued these things--but the exhibit as a whole didn't move me. In the center of the gallery stood a formation of high wall built of grey concrete construction blocks in the shape of the Hebrew letter “het” (looks like a square with the bottom side open). The newspaper critic in HaAretz wrote that this was a pale echo of a stone wall by Sharon Keren and Gabi Klasmer shown at the Israel Museum in 1975 and built for the artists by Palestinian construction workers. Obviously, the artist was making a political reference with this current construction but his rendition of the wall wasn't particularly illuminating for me.

We had another opportunity to think about the cultural and historical construction of the country at the Eretz Yisrael (Land of Israel) Museum. This museum consists of a number of exhibit pavilions scattered over a large park area near the university. We strolled through the grounds planted with native trees, plants, and herbs and viewed the somewhat quixotic collection of exhibits: a history of coinage from ancient to modern times; the history of postal service before and following statehood; ancient ceramics/ pottery; a judged show of contemporary clay works; artifacts and photos tracing Edmund Rothschild's travels to Palestine and his contribution to the building of several towns and the development of the wine industry in pre-state Israel; artifacts and tools from an excavation of a copper age site; old and modern glassworks; a collection of sundials; and, in the ethnography and culture pavilion, ritual and household objects from Jewish life around the world (menorahs, marriage contracts, Shabbat candlesticks, Kiddush cups, and a fabulous restored ark from an 18th century Italian synagogue) organized around the yearly cycle of holidays. Perhaps the most unusual display at this museum was in the "Song of Cement" exhibit. Outside the pavilion stood a cement mixer and inside, ranged around the walls, were photographs depicting the role of cement in building the state of Israel from the pioneer days to the present. In a small area to the rear behind a partial partition was a group of photos of the “separation” walls done by contemporary artists. These large color photos had more overtly political themes. Their inclusion created an interesting juxtaposition to the other black and white documentary photos and highlighted the tensions around the multiple meanings of “construction” in Israel.

This got me thinking about how certain versions of history and culture have become part of the physical reality of the country. In a previous message I jokingly suggested that Bavli sounds like Beverly, as in the “Beverly Hills of Tel Aviv”. What sacrilege! During a long walk in HaYarkon park, Nitzana, our landlady’s daughter, enlightened me about the meaning of Bavli and the derivation of the street names in the neighborhood. I had already noticed that many streets were called Rav (rabbi) so and so, as in Rav Toledano at our corner. Now it all became clear. Bavli refers to Babylonia, as in the Babylonian Talmud (Talmud Bavli), and some of the streets are named after the scholars who contributed to this work. Other streets are named for the Jerusalem Talmud (Talmud Yerushalmi), Sanhedrin (supreme court of ancient Israel) and Knesset Gadol (great assembly in ancient Jerusalem). All the major boulevards in Tel Aviv are named after men who were prominent in the history of the city and the state- Dizingoff (first mayor of Tel Aviv); Allenby (British general who led force that conquered Palestine), Ben Yehuda (reviver of Hebrew as a modern language), Rothschild (Jewish philanthropist and businessman) and a host of others.

Through the street names you can trace the history of Tel Aviv, the state of Israel, and the Jewish people. The significance of these names, however, is lost on some young Israelis, according to a recent article in the Jerusalem Post. In the seaside town of Netanya not far from Tel Aviv a local survey found a sample of the city’s teens to be woefully ignorant about the historical figures after whom a number of major streets are named. According to the Post, over one third of the 160 teens who took the survey thought that Rehov Dizengoff (Dizengoff St.) was named after Israel’s first shopping mall, the Dizengoff Center in Tel Aviv, rather than that city’s first mayor, Meir Dizengoff. More than half said Rehov Ramban was named after “a well-known hospital” in Haifa (Ramban Hospital) rather than the medieval scholar Rabbi Moshe Ben Nahman (Nahmanides). For Rehov Tel Hai, a street that has a lion statue to commemorate the 1920 battle at Tel Hai in which Joseph Trumpeldor and other Jewish fighters lost their lives, 75% of the teens chose the response, “a garden of statues which contains a famous statue of a lion.” Aghast at this ignorance about Jewish and modern Israeli history , a local councilman is calling for the city to put up signs to explain the history behind the names of the local streets. The city already put up about 30 signs on major streets but the councilman thinks these are insufficiently detailed and “an insult to the intelligence of residents.” He wants the city to reallocate the 500,00 NewIsraeli Shekels (about $125,00) currently earmarked for statues to put up "more respectable and prominent" signs. He said, “Those who do not know their past are likely to lose their future.” Wow! That statement opens up a can of worms. Whose past? What version of the past? To be continued……

A New Week, A New Look

It’s Sunday, the first day of the week here in Israel. The weekend spans Friday afternoon through Saturday night, then it’s back to business as usual. It’s nice to have that little oasis of calm every week, however brief. The busses stop and the stores are closed, though some cafes and restaurants remain open. The art museum is open (with children’s activities making it a popular place for families) and there are concerts and other cultural activities as well. We see a lot of extended families together, especially on Shabbat, but also during the week when we see bubbes wheeling strollers or picking up children from school. Given that the birthrate is not so high here, we are seeing a surprising number of babies and, of course, they are all adorable. Some examples from friends and relatives have reinforced our impression that family is very important. For example, Atar lives in the small community where her husband grew up and his parents live nearby. Her father-in-law picks up her three year old from preschool and keeps him until she returns from work. Tsipi, our neighbor across the hall, frequently has her grandchildren and children traipsing in and out. Rekefet, the young assistant at Sheatufim, told Lew that she and her husband barely know how to cook because her mother-in-law brings them food constantly. When I told my cousin Ruthie that Gregory would be in Buenos Aires this semester and that Rachel lives in Washington, she laughed with disbelief in her voice and said, “that’s how it is in America,” which I assumed meant that we are all scattered to the winds (which of course we are at the moment). Meanwhile, for those who can afford it, many people depend on Filipino women for child and elder care. In the park we see groups of older people in wheel chairs with their Filipino caretakers, the Filipino women visiting amongst themselves while their charges socialize and enjoy the sunshine. Also on the subject of domestic help, Lew reported a conversation amongst the young women staffers the the office about difficulties getting their husbands to share the housework. They expressed a familiar mantra, “I tell him something needs to be done but he doesn’t see it!” After asking Lew for his suggestions (!), one of the women chimed in with the solution, “Get a Filipino.” I’m very curious about how this particular conduit for immigrant workers developed.

Meanwhile we continue to explore the city. I am in love with HaYarkon park where I can run or walk for miles past open expanses and through groves of eucalyptus, palms, and olive trees towering above emerald green carpets of grass and groundcover. In the distance rise the new high towers of the bustling city, seen especially well from a hill with an unobstructed panorama. The main path is helpfully divided into two lanes, one for bike riders/roller bladers and the other for pedestrians, though not everyone obeys the rules. Passing me are hand-holding couples, young and old, groups of kids—sometimes in their scout uniforms, joggers of every age, parents wheeling strollers, and pairs of walkers deep in conversation. I am particularly fond of two grey haired gentlemen, perhaps in their early sixties, I see in the late afternoon. They are wearing shorts with matching long sleeved white t-shirts and talking animatedly while vigorously striding along at a fast clip. I observe all this as I bop along to the Temptation and the Four Tops or mellow out with Thelonius Monk on my Ipod and life is grand.

Speaking of Ipods. I am listening to a beautifully read novel at the moment (available in print as well, of course). The book, “The Clothes on Their Backs,” was short-listed for the Man Booker prize last year. The author, Linda Grant, a 57 year old novelist and journalist, was born in Liverpool to Russian/Polish immigrants. This book, set in London in the 1970’s, tells the story of a young woman in her twenties who uncovers the secrets of her immigrant parents’ former lives in Hungary through her hidden contact with a disreputable uncle from whom her parents have attempted to shield her. I also recommend another of Grant’s novels, “When I Lived in Modern Times,” which takes place in Tel Aviv in the late 40’s and describes the early years of the state of Israel (I think this book received the Orange Prize). She also has written a travelogue about Tel Aviv, “The People on the Street,” which I haven’t read yet.

With the war in Gaza winding down, the elections here are heating up. During the conflict all campaigning was temporarily stopped but now its back to politics as usual. We are following the best we can by reading the newspapers (Ha’Aretz and Jerusalem Post in English; I have Ha’Aretz as my home page). Unfortunately, the more hardline Likkud party (Netanyahu) seems to be destined to win the most seats. Although we didn’t hear a great deal of dissent during the heat of the Cast Lead operation, we did read some interesting exchanges and editorials that raised issues about the efficacy and conduct of the Gaza operation. If you are interested, I recommend you check out the exchange between A.B. Yehoshua (contemporary Israeli novelist) and Gideon Levy (journalist), and additional editorials by David Grossman (another novelist) and the recent column by Levy (“Twilight Zone, The Next Step”, on the Ha’Aretz website. If you read these and the comments that are posted in response you will get a good idea of the tensions in the debate here. On his website www. Gregmargolis.com, Gregory has put some of his reflections on the issues with links to columns he has found thought-provoking.

No matter what your view, one can only be dismayed by the lack of vision in the leadership. Where are the young leaders? Atar, who previously directed a community development organization in Carmiel that promoted dialogue with the Israeli Arab population, was very unhappy that none of the speakers at the conference on civil society we attended mentioned anything about empathy for Palestian casualties while expressing the usual support for the troops. She says that some of her Arab friends from her previous job are reluctant to come to events sponsored by Sheatufim because they are afraid they will not be welcome, a situation which disturbs her. During the conflict, the government tried to ban Arab parties from the election but the Israeli courts said this was illegal. Tel Aviv feels like a bit of a bubble, away from the more in-your- face conflict in the south, Jerusalem and the West Bank, and the northern border. Yet, the entire perimeter of Tel Aviv University is encircled with fencing and there is controlled access through turnstiles and gates manned by security guards. Also, in the middle of the city, directly across the street from the cultural center of the city (the art museum and the opera/theater complex) and the a few blocks from the Tel Aviv medical center, is the fenced off compound which houses the headquarters of the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces).

Back to more mundane observations/experiences:
A message from me would be incomplete without some mention of food! On evening last week we were strolling down Dizengoff St. in the heart of the city when the most incredibly enticing aroma wafted our way. We were literally led by our noses to a small shop from which emerged a line of patiently waiting customers. In the window a young woman was rolling out dough, cutting it into strips, and linking these strips in a continuous chain around a cylinder with a long handle. After brushing these with what I assumed was butter, she put them in an oven. When finished and taken off the cylinders what emerged were beautiful hollow tubes of exquisite tasting pastry, some flavored with cinnamon, others with chocolate and halva or other goodies. Crispy, hot and chewy, this Hungarian rugelah is sensational! For a good description and some pictures, go to www.kurtosh. co.il. Of course, the best part of the story comes next. We were given our prize after waiting our turn, told to let it cool in the open bag and then transfer it to another plastic bag and tie it closed with a bit of ribbon we were given. We left the shop and decided to catch a bus home. As we were nearing our neighborhood we determined that the pastry tube had cooled sufficiently so we started to ease it out of one bag into the other one, trying not to crush it. In the middle of this delicate operation I happened to glance over to the window ledge where I saw an intrepid cockroach scouting his territory.
Luckily we completed our transfer without mishap and at that moment reached our stop and exited the bus. With any crumbs we left behind, I say to the cockroach, “B’tayavon” (good appetite!).

Finally, here is the story of my new look. I decided I needed my hair cut and the color refreshed. Strolling the streets I saw many, many small hair salons, some looking very fancy, others full of older ladies. Walking around I’ve noticed a lot of women with bright red hair, sometimes tinged with purple undertones and sometimes veering towards orange. I was pretty sure I didn’t want that look. At random I walked into Sharon Chen’s small place on Yehuda HaMaccabbi, the main business street near our neighborhood. Sharon, the young man who owns the salon took me in hand and, with the Israeli confidence I mentioned in my last installment, decided he knew exactly what I needed. His lovely tall blonde assistant (probably Russian) applied the rich, brown color (“not too dark, I pleaded”) and, after I agreed I wanted “short” hair but “not too weird,” he spent about 45 minutes meticulously sculpting my head, leaving me with about 1” of hair or less all around. Actually, I’m very happy with how it feels and how little care it takes! Take a look and let me know what you think. Also check out new pictures on flickr (www.com/photos/linda-lew).

On Wednesday I’m off to Haifa to meet the director and some other folks in the Haifa office of Shatil, the training and support branch of the New Israel Fund. They are going to introduce me to some of their projects and explore what organization might be able to use some volunteer assistance from me. Next week, we’ll be going to Jerusalem to visit my friend Ruth, with whom I was on ulpan as a teenager 44 years ago. She is a former journalist who also works for Shatil. She is particularly interested in the challenges facing Ethiopian immigrants in Israel. She has arranged for us to visit to a music and dance conservatory where she started a scholarship program to enable Ethiopian kids to attend. She is also raising money to enable Ethiopian high school students to join their classmates on a trip to Poland to learn about the Holocaust and she is making a film about the derivation of Ethiopian names. I will send two letters describing these endeavors. I’ll have more information after we spend time with her in Jerusalem.

Well, time to stop for now. It’s lunchtime and I’m starving. The huge chunk of manchego cheese I bought from a vendor in the middle of the fancy Azrieli shopping center with the beautiful atrium (why there? Don’t ask!) awaits me, as does the fresh pita we purchased on our return trip to the HaCarmel shuk.