Trip to the Negev, etc.

First of all, the big news of the week is that I have decided to attend Columbia's Yiddish Studies PhD program next year - and I am very excited about it! I don't want to write much about it because the purpose if this post is to write about the tiyyul but please feel free to ask me questions about it as I'd love to describe the program to you if you are interested.

OK, so we arrived home on Saturday night from a terrific tiyyul and it's been a very busy week as we're scrambling to finish homework between social engagements and preparation for our trip to Moscow. Today I was at the preschool, where we talked about Passover, made charoset, tasted some matzah, and danced to "avadim hayyinu". Yesterday in Hebrew class we had a long and heated discussion about Pat Oliphant's political cartoon about Gaza that appeared in the New York Times on Wednesday- we discussed whether it was anti-Semitic, anti-Israel, or both (and if it's possible to be anti-Israel without being anti-Semitic), what the symbols used in the cartoon could mean, whether American Jews should have denounced it, if it should have been published at all, and we eventually got into a debate over whether American Jews should feel connected to Israel's political decisions and how they should express that connection. The conversation was particularly interesting because I was the only American Jew who took part in it - it was Europeans, some Jewish and some non-Jewish, an Israeli, several American Christians, two Koreans, etc. Some people were very certain that the cartoon was not anti-Semitic and some felt even more strongly than I do that it presented dangerously anti-Semitic images. My feeling is that I have no problem with the message of discomfort with Israel's actions in Gaza nor do I believe that a newspaper should not be allowed to publish such a thing, as I believe in freedom of the press, but I do think that the images in the cartoon were inappropriate, dangerous, and, yes, anti-Semitic. I think by equating Israel with Nazis, the cartoonist ignores the historical specificity of both the Holocaust and Israel's actions in Gaza and does both a disservice, and that by turning the Star of David into a symbol of destruction he suggsts more than that the state misused its powerful military presence, but that Judaism itself is a violent force in the world. By drawing the soldier without a head, Oliphant reverses traditional anti-Semitic cartoons of the Jew who controls the world through the power of his intellect, but that the Janus-faced opposite view of Israel as pure unthinking brute force is equally scary. And I also think that representing Gaza as a little old lady and a baby exaggeratedly unfair, even for a political cartoon. But I'm interested in hearing what you have to say. A political cartoon, after all, is supposed to be an exxagerated version of reality... Yesterday I also went to my two Yiddish classes - in one class we read a story about Jews in Eastern Europe moving to America, and in the other we discussed Tevye the Dairyman. On Sunday I had an interesting anthropology class in which we discussed the Religious Zionist singles scene and the pressures and forces that create the scene, the impact of the scene on the people within it, etc. In my literature class we discussed a story by Brenner titled "Nerves" which was not my favorite that we've read thus far but had some interesting points.



That brings me to Saturday, and to the tiyyul. Rather than going backwards in time in a disorganized fashion, I'll take it from the top, from Thursday morning when we loaded ourselves into the bus and left from HUC. We drove for several hours until we arrived at Ben Gurion's tomb, where we discussed Ben Gurion's leadership and vision, and the centrality of the dessert to an understanding of Israel. The Negev desert is 66% of Israel's area - over 6,700 square miles, and has an arid and semi-arid climate, defined according to average rainfall (2 - 6 inches), type of soil and natural vegetation.

After our initial discussion, we hopped on the bus and went to the Ben Gurion National Solar Energy Center, a research center to explore methods of collecting solar energy efficiently. A small soft-spoken man dressed in a thick sweater led us in the desert sun as he proudly described his facility. The testing center was established in 1985 to compare various alternative solar teachnologies, including one that uses solar energy to heat oil, which then creates electricity, a system of large parabolic mirror troughs used to heat water into steam, photovoltaic sysetems. In 1991 the center became a research facility that investigates new materials, the impact of solar energy usages on the enviroment, etc. The research facility also docuuments solar radiation in the negev in order to identify promising locations for new solar power stations. The speaker provided us with a lot of statistics that I have since forgotten with regard to how much energy different devices produce in comparison to the average energy used per household, etc. The Ben Gurion research facility also has the world's largest solar tracking dish, which is 400 sq.m. in area and capable of concentrating the sun's rays up to 10,000 times.

After a lunch break, we drove to Makhtesh Ramon for a hike. Hundreds of millions of years ago, the Negev desert was covered by an ocean. At the bottom was sand, followed by a layer of limestone formed from the bones of sea creatures. Slowly, the sea started receding, leaving behind a hill which was slowly flattened by water and wind. Approximately five million years ago, during the earthquake known as the Syrian-African rift, rivers changed their courses and began carving out the inside of the crater known as mackhtesh ramon. Once the layer of limestone eroded, the sandstone, which was softer, fell away at a much faster rate than the surrounding limestone walls, which gradually grew taller. At the bottom of the crater, more ancient rock was exposed - the oldest exposed rock in the crater is 200 million years old. Our guide showed us fossils of ammonites, an extinct group of marine animals that once lived in the makhtesh. The hike we went on was short but quite challenging, and the view was terrific.

After the hike, we drove to the Bedouin tent where we spent the night. We listened as a performer played Bedouin instruments and told us stories, had a filling dinner of salads, rice, and potatoes, and sang songs and played games around a campfire. We slept in sleeping bags on the tent floor and rose early to go on another hike.

One group went to Har Shlomo for a more difficult hike, but we decided to go to the easier hike at Timna Valley Park. We watched a high-tech video chronicling the history of the national park, which is located about 30 km north of Eilat. The park includes what are believed to be the oldest copper mines in the world. Archaologists once belived that they were mined by King Solomon, but they are now knoen to have been worked by Egyptians and Mideans, as well as Romans, Nabateans, and Ummayids. The park is also noted for its natural sandstone formations, including "mushrooms" - protruding rocks in which the bottom area has been worn away by particles lifted by the wind, to create a mushroom-like appearance (hence the name). We were amused by large signs pointing to "mushroom and a half" and other silly names. The hike was relatively easy, the weather was mild, and we had a great time walking, chatting, and enjoying lunch by a man-made lake.


Our next stop was Kibbutz Yahel, a Reform Kibbutz in the Aravah Valley, where we stayed for the next several nights. The kibbutz was founded in 1976 by young people from the US, Israel and around the world who identified with progressive Judaism. They make decisions based on religious knowledge and communal ideals. In the harsh desert climate they have created profitable agricultural operations - they grow their own dates, pomelos, peppers, and other produce, and they also have a flourishing dairy farm. We drove to the pamelo fields where we heard stories about cooperation and friendships that the kibbutz has formed accross the Jordan-Israel border (which the pomelo field is directly next to) over the years. We picked our own pomelos and returned to the visitors area of the kibbutz (they have a desert tourism branch were we stayed in very pleasant suites separated by grassy fields).

The next day we took a tour of Kibbutz Lotan, a Reform Kibbutz that was founded in 1983 by 20 Israeli and 20 American youths. It espouses values of sustainable living and creative ecology, and sees itself as an educator and leader in areas such as permaculture, sustainable architecture, and recycling. We went on a tour of the facilities and made seed balls that we are meant to take with us and throw (Johnny-appleseed fashion) in places that we think could use a little more plant life. We also listened to a talk about Israel's need for progressive Jews to make aliyah - the talk provided heated discussion on the bus ride that followed.

At the Coral Reef in Eilat several people went snorkeling, though the water was a bit too cold for me and we sat on the beach, read, and chatted with friends. The Eilat coral reef is the northern part of the Red Sea's 4500 km of coral reefs, and the most northern one in the world.

We returned to Kibbutz Yahel in time for Shabbat, and after we heard a short talk about the role of the Israeli rabbinical student who serves Kibbutz Yahel, several HUC students led a beautiful, music-filled service. After dinner, one of the HUC teachers led a small group in singing zmirot (songs) with gusto. One song after the other, we went through most of our shared repetoire until the head of the dining hall told us that we had to leave the building and we milled around the picnic tables as we continued to sing. We ended the evening playing board games with friends.

On Shabbat morning we walked to a nachal (Hebrew)/wadi (Arabic) - a dry riverbed that contains rain once or twice a year during heavy rains. We held services under a tree in the middle of the desert, and during the time when there might usually be a sermon we were given time to wander off on our own and explore the surroundings. Following the service, some of us chose to go the long way home, climbing up into the hills before spotting the kibbutz and making our way back down.

In the afternoon, we took a tour of the kibbutz's dairy farm. Although Israel is known as the land of milk and honey, those terms originally referred to goat milk and date honey. Nevertheless, Israel is a leader in the modern dairy industry. They produce milk from a cow that is a cross between the German Holstein and a cow native to the Middle East, allowing the cow to withstand the high temperatures. Apparently the cows produce more milk because they are milked three times a day rather than twice, the food is brought to them so they don't waste energy finding it, they eat alfalfa (Arabic for the best food for cows) rather than grass, as well as because of the low altitude. Israeli companies have developed manufactured “high-tech” computer based management systems and dairy equipment, which are sold worldwide. These include pedometers that track the activity of the cows so that on the one day in the month when they are jittery the farmer knows that the cow is in heat, and on days when they are less active the farmer knows that they might be sick. We learned, actually, quite a lot about cows as one of the teachers in Daniel's program holds a masters in dairy farming (from Rutgers!) which he obtained for a previous career as a kibbutznik.

After a quick snack with some members of the kibbutz, we set off on the road for home. It was a terrific, relaxing, warm, and pleasant trip, and we can hardly believe that in a week from today we'll be flying away for another adventure - this time to Moscow!

PS: I posted pictures from the trip online, and you can see them here.

Language Partners Program

Today I met my language partner for the first time. We were paired up by the university to speak together in Hebrew and in English and to practice our languages together.
Dafna is in her fourth year studying computer science at Hebrew University. She is from Jerusalem and currently lives in an apartment with two roommates. She has a younger sister in the army and an older sister who is a pastry chef in Tel Aviv. Dafna's hobbies include seeing movies and juggling, and she is the president of the Hebrew University juggling club.
It is very hard to meet someone for coffee that you've been randomly matched with in order to form a friendship. We had to push hard to keep the conversation flowing. What music do you like to listen to? What movies do you watch? How do you like Jerusalem?
At the same time, we learned a lot about each other. Dafna never was in the army - she says that they told her that they didn't want her, so she spent a year working and juggling before going to school. She doesn't like school, but is a bit nervous about what comes next. She is very secular, has never been called to the Torah and isn't interested in Judaism at all. She has some cousins who were involved in a Reform community, but she seems to think that this was pretty strange. Dafna also told me that she has no friends who are religious, nor does she have any friends who are Arab. She then clarified for me, though, that she doesn't have that many friends to begin with, as she is pretty introverted. Dafna loves to travel, and after she graduates at the end of this year, she hopes to spend a few months travelling the world, couch surfing and sight seeing. She seems in some ways much more adventurous than I am, and in some ways much more conventional.
We'll meet every week, we think. We'll speak in English sometimes and in Hebrew sometimes. We are both excited at the possibility of getting to know one another - she says that it is hard to make friends outside of the world of computer science majors, and I am eager to make friends with a 'real' Israeli and leave the Anglo-bubble that is such a big part of my social life.
Nevertheless, can two people become friends just because they want to? Or does there have to be some kind of real shared interests between them? It seems to me that Dafna and I are very different, and that it might be hard to find topics to discuss for an hour every week. We'll see...

more on preschool

I was in the middle of writing an essay for another purpose when I composed this piece, very much a work in progress. Thought you might be interested.

The first time I entered the gan, I was greeted by a troop of three year olds chirping, "What's your name? in a language I barely knew. “Jessica,” I answered, and they repeated the unfamiliar “Dshess-ee-ca” hesitantly before encircling their tiny hands around my fingers and leading me to the toy trucks.

Just as my name is new to them, so too do I have trouble with their names, and just as sometimes I have trouble understanding the words they garble between lips new to speech, so too do they give me puzzled looks when I correct myself nervously while I speak. Still, somehow, we have a good time.

I had taught in a preschool before, and there I had used words freely and playfully to engage my students. “What is that?” I would ask them, and if they asked me the same question, I’d give a preposterous answer that would make the children shriek with gleeful laughter. At Gan Pshushim, where I volunteer for six hours every week, I am often silent.

Different types of students are drawn to me now than before, in America. When I was at an English-speaking preschool, the most outgoing students were eager to tell me a story or make-believe with me. Now, it is the quietest and smallest students who look at me through wide and trusting eyes. Like me, they don’t want to speak, they are afraid of making mistakes. I stumble over simple words as I ask them if they would like to play with me, to dance with me, to bake imaginary cakes with me in the sandbox. They nod, silently, and follow me wherever I go.

Ours is a wordless language, and as a writer, a literature enthusiast, and an avid Scrabble player, it was a language I had never used so fully until now. We put puzzles together without knowing the names of the objects we’re creating. We dance to songs with unfamiliar words. We ask for food by pointing, we read books by looking at the pictures.

The other teachers don’t speak our language. Whether they are asking in soft, soothing voices or chastising with harsh consonants and sharp tones, whenever they ask these children to speak, I can feel and understand their fear. They shake their heads, cross their arms, and shrink into themselves.

But when I don’t ask them to speak – how we have fun! Once I sat for a full half hour in the sand box, piling sand and sifting it between my fingers, two children on my lap and three by my side, in complete silence.

Sometimes we talk. I say something in Hebrew, probably incorrectly, and they process it slowly, and sometimes they answer me softly. If I had been busy with the more extroverted children, I may not even have heard their response.

And what have I learned? Is it a lesson about patience? About the ability to connect to people regardless of the divide? About perhaps the needlessness of language?

It’s even more simple than that, I think. It’s about seeing the students who are to shy to want to be seen, and about knowing that they have something to say, if only you ask the right questions, in the right way. Reaching out a hand might be just the question that they need, and even if I had all the words in the world, maybe it would still be the best question to ask.

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Incidentally, I do actually spend most of my time here not in preschool, though that might not come out in these blog posts. Today, for instance, I woke up early, went to class where I learned about the Holocaust - about more specifically the decision making process that led to the Final Solution and whether it is more a result of Hitler himself or the entire administrative and institutional apparatus. After that, I went to Hebrew class, where we read a bit of reportage by Amoz Oz. I stayed after to talk to my Hebrew teacher about the paper I had just turned in - the first paper I've ever written in Hebrew - which she offered to correct, grade, and then hand back before the deadline so that I can revise it and turn it in a second time if I would like. Over lunch I studied Yiddish, and in the afternoon I read a story by Abraham Reizen with my Yiddish class. The story, called "Feminine Fears" is about a woman who is losing her eyesight and is afraid her husband will divorce her as a result. I then went to my class on Mendele Mocher Seforim, where we compared "Fishke the Lame" and "The Travels of Benjamin the Third" - though as it turns out I'd read the wrong version of Fishke the Lame, so it was hard for me to follow the conversation. I came home very tired, cooked myself dinner and watched a little Israeli TV (OK, so it was American TV with Hebrew subtitles...) and then started writing this essay. All of this is by way of a clarification that I do, in fact, have a substantial life outside of the gan. (gan = preschool)

Interfaith Encounter in the West Bank.

.מפגש בין-דתים בגדה המערבית

On Thursday-Friday, Jessica and I participated in a large retreat sponsored by the Interfaith Encounter Association and the Hope Flowers School. There were approximately thirty participants: in addition to Jessica and I there were two Arab Christians, two overseas Christians, five Jewish students in the Hebrew University Middle Eastern Studies program, five other Jewish Israelis, and about fifteen Palestinians (I don't think there were any Israeli Arabs at this event although IEA also facilitates encounters between Jewish and Arab Israelis). The theme was The Binding of the Son of Abraham.

Our experience started on Thursday afternoon. Jessica's bus was delayed in getting her home, so shortly after she made it back from school, we left the apartment and hailed a cab, which would take us to the meeting location for the organized transportation. A road was cut off, so we were stuck in traffic and ended up having to walk. During the weekend, we heard two explanations for the traffic: The first was that a חפץ חשוד (chafetz chashud, "suspicious package") was in the road so traffic was stopped and the other that the army's forceful removal of settlers from their houses in Hebron had backed traffic up all the way to Jerusalem. Regardless, we were late arriving at the meeting point, but we still got there before the van did, and we didn't end up leaving for another half hour as we waited for the arrival of one more participant who was also delayed because of the closed road.

We rode in the van with the five Hebrew University students, a local Israeli woman, and an Arab IEA coordinator. We drove through East Jerusalem and ended up just outside the boundaries of the city, not far from Bethlehem and on the way to Gush Etzion, between Gilo and Beit Jala. When we got the old, sparse Everest Hotel, we entered a large dining room that also served as lounge and that had a large green tarp serving as the "walls" of a small conference room. We stood awkwardly in this dining room, not knowing what to do. In addition to the nine of us from the van there were also a dozen or so Palestinians already there - smoking hookah, playing music, watching TV, and talking. No one seemed like they were in charge, and most of the people milling around were already formed into groups. But we were here for the weekend, so we tried to settle ourselves in.

We made our way over to Bob, an Orthodox Rabbi who volunteers with IEA and with whom Jessica has done some work in her internship. He was speaking to a Palestinian--let's call him Sahib--and we joined them. Sahib and Bob discovered that they both had a passing interest in geology, and Sahib invited Bob to look at a special stone that he had with him.

Shortly after being left alone, a hotel worker started assigning rooms to our group, and we were taken up to our room. It had two small beds, a desk, a closet, a window with a view of the roof, and a medium-sized bathroom. Not too shabby. We dropped off our things and made our way back downstairs.

Still there was nothing happening downstairs, so Jessica and I sat down at one of the tables. Shortly thereafter, Bob, Sahib, and a friend of Sahib's from engineering courses at university--let's call him Rabi--joined us at our table. Sahib and Rabi were both very friendly and were telling us about their hopes for peace between Israelis and Palestinians. There's no need for violence, they said; most people on both sides want peace. In their opinion, the problem is almost entirely with the politicians (on both sides though moreso on the Israeli side), who don't adequately represent the majority of their constituents. Of course, Hamas and the extremist terrorists are a problem as well. However, in their opinion, most Palestinians want peace. It should be simple: Give the Palestinians their own country with Jerusalem as its capital (and not Israel's), and let the peoples go on their ways. When I pressed Rabi about why Jerusalem couldn't be the capital of both countries, he said that one city can't belong to two countries. "Maybe with a name change..." suggested Sahib, and Rabi grudgingly agreed that it probably wasn't so important that West Jerusalem not be the capital of Israel if East Jerusalem were the capital of Palestine. At least, that's how I interpreted their position.

Additionally, Sahib told us the story of his and his brother's imprisonment for a year and a half. He recounted that he had left his hometown with papers to go into Israel and was stopped at a checkpoint and asked to produce identity. He didn't have any ID, and a Shin Bet soldier gave him an option: Work for him on the Sabbath or go to jail. "Would you betray your people? There are some things that I will never do." Rather than subject himself to the arbitrary demands of the soldier, Sahib and his brother agreed to go to jail.

There, Sahib put his life on hold but underwent a significant personal blossoming. He learned how to make stones into small pieces of art using just a screw. He wrote poetry, drew pictures, and crafted all sorts of items for personal use and for his friends. I asked him, "If you were put into prison for a year and a half just for not having ID, why aren't you angry at Israel?" Sahib said that such a position isn't healthy for the individual. His time in jail gave him ample time to think, to learn, and to be creative, and he's grateful for the time he had to explore himself. I'm sure that contributors to The Sun have had similar experiences, but I was certainly surprised to meet a Palestinian with that mentality here in the West Bank.

We were encouraged to move into the "conference room" for the first session, and Bob pulled us aside. "I don't deny that Sahib's story could be entirely true; there are absolutely soldiers, especially Shin Bet agents, who would act exactly like that. But the chances of him and his brother being jailed for a year and a half just for not having ID are extremely low." Bob volunteers as part of border security and has a lot of first-hand experience with illegal border crossings. "There just isn't enough room in the jails for guys like him. We don't have enough room for the real criminals, so every day we round up literally truckloads of guys just like him and ship them back to the West Bank. It seems to me very unlikely that he would be locked up for no good reason; that just doesn't make sense to me. Maybe he was totally innocent--I'm not saying it's not a possibility--but maybe not, or maybe they were after his brother. His story could be entirely true, and I have no reason to believe that he's lying, but it's hard to believe that those are all the facts."

Jessica and I appreciated Bob's sobering perspective on Sahib's story and were faced immediately with a real, complex issue in this society. What happens and what he thinks happened and what they think happened and what "we" think happened are all incredibly varied and variable. Bob's probably right - there probably is more to the story than just the fact that Sahib and his brother didn't have ID (though Sahib is the proud owner of a new ID card). On the other hand, what's important to focus on is that Sahib doesn't hate all Israelis, that he wants peace, and that even being in an Israeli prison didn't sour him to life. I'm sure his story is very complex, but ultimately he seems committed to wanting to just live his life in Palestine free of foreign oversight as well as domestic disturbances.

We sat down in a circle of chairs for the opening remarks. Yehuda Stolov, who founded and runs IEA, introduced the program, and the representative from the Hope Flowers School introduced herself and translated Yehuda's English into Arabic. Yehudah emphasized that all participants were to feel that they can share honestly with one another and that they should keep an open mind throughout the proceedings. Also, politics was completely off the table. This was going to be a cultural and religious exchange; politics was not up for discussion.

We had a round of names and then we were challenged to line ourselves up in order according to birthday - classic icebreaker! Having completed the simple task, we arranged ourselves into groups of four and then were told to introduce ourselves to the group. After everyone started talking, Yehuda added that it would be good to answer a question based on the weekend's theme: "When was there a time that someone else sacrificed for you?"

If the leaderless, aimless wandering before the opening session hadn't been clue enough, we were now to have the first real taste of the laissez-faire leadership style that Yehuda adopts. Many groups stood around, uninspired to move, including ours. One of our Palestinian group members was talking to someone else, and I and an Israeli student stood awkwardly waiting for him to finish. When he did, he followed another group out of the conference room, and the second Palestinian quietly followed him. The Israeli and I followed suit and we saw that he had joined with a second group, which we also joined, forming a group of seven. Jessica and I weren't in the same discussion group for the entire weekend, but that probably turned out for the best.

Although the official language of this encounter was supposed to be English, we learned quite quickly that most of the Palestinian participants were only comfortable speaking Arabic. Luckily for us, there was a member of our group fluent in both Arabic and Hebrew with a fair amount of English as well. He helped us facilitate introductions. We had an Israeli student (Tomer), an orthodox rabbi (Bob), a Palestinian musician, and three Palestinian coworkers in government jobs. Our group definitely wasn't interested in answering the sacrifice question, and about halfway through the allotted time, our organized discussion broke up.

Although I had been included in the conversation up to a certain point, once it became clear that the group was no longer on topic, most of the participants began conversing in Arabic together. I sat and listened for several minutes before Tomer asked me a question about living in Israel. I moved over to sit nearer to him, and two Palestinians joined in our conversation. We talked about Middle East studies at Hebrew University and in Israel in general - Tomer doesn't have a single Arab teacher (not even for Arabic language), and he thinks it's a big problem. I was later to learn that Tomer believes that Arabic language should be mandatory in all Israeli schools (officially it is, but it's not enforced at all) and that he might be interested in trying to institute such a change.

Our conversation was going well, but before long we were pulled into dinner. There was a natural separation of ethnicities at the dinner tables (not entire but sufficient), and we were served standard Middle Eastern fare (pita, hummus, babaganoush, peppers/tomatoes/cucumbers, onions in tomato-y sauce, cauliflower/pickles/carrots, etc.). The "vegetarian option" was a scoop of brown rice with a pea or two stuck inside, but the veggies on the table were good enough for a regular meal.

After dinner, we had our first "social activity." In addition to the religion-based discussion groups planned for the following day, general time to be and talk with one another was also deemed of high importance, and this first evening activity was intended to help people get to know one another. The musician from our group (as well as a couple other people) took turns playing the oud, a pear-shaped fret-less lute that reminds one of a guitar. According to Jessica, the instrumentalists were playing individual notes--rather than chords--on the strings (which were grouped in pairs), which would be significantly more difficult than playing the guitar. The music was interesting and soothing, and Jessica and I were fairly tired by this point, so we called it a night.

Although we hadn't specifically noticed that no one had taken their coats off during the entire retreat so far, it became extremely and painfully evident that there was no heat in this building and that our room was pitifully poor at retaining heat. Layers of clothes and multiple blankets couldn't keep the chill out, and the night passed slowly and uncomfortably. Sadly, the next day would also be plagued by the everpresent cold that had set in overnight.

Jessica and I went to breakfast the next morning at about 8:30. Believe it or not, I had a hard-boiled egg and pita, hummus, and falafel for breakfast (no veggies). Low budget but fairly tasty. There was nothing to drink, though luckily I had a water bottle in my backpack. During breakfast, Jessica and I sat with an Israeli Conservative Jew (and were later joined by Bob). This Jewish woman gave Jessica and me a primer of what different kippot/clothes signify in Israel and what you can learn from someone by looking at what they dress. From what I recall:

• black, velvet kippah = ultra-orthodox (with the clothes to boot)
• non-black knit kippah = (modern) orthodox
• big kippah that fits entirely over the head = modern religious (goes for men or women)
• small knit kippah = raised religious but might not fully participate in those circles anymore
• no kippah = secular OR "kippah in the back pocket" (the latter even more of an option if you have a beard)
• a mixture of any of these categories = "outsider" to a specific group

There are, of course, multiple variations but this was, as I said, a primer.

After breakfast, we went to the conference room for "The Jewish Perspective" on the Binding of Isaac. A rabbi from a nearby community (black beard, Sephardic accent, non-black knit kippah) made the following points about the story without running through the basic plot or characters of the story but more or less just jumped right in. (He was speaking in Hebrew, so while I believe that I got everything, I may have missed a few points.)

1. A believer is willing to sacrifice himself if there's a need. Similarly, he would rather die than go against his most basic principles (which would entail killing, engaging in illicit sexual acts, or committing idolatry). But, what if he's asked (by God) to sacrifice someone else to preserve these basic values, especially if that person is his son who represents the entire Jewish future? Of course, the sacrifice itself would both support and contradict the basic values: while remaining true to God, one would be mimicking the idolaters who practiced human sacrifice.

2. Abraham was promised that he would be the founder of a strong nation. Going through with the sacrifice of his future would be working against God's previous word. There seems to be a choice between valid options here, and any normal person would therefore choose what was easier and more comfortable for himself.

3. God doesn't want Isaac to be sacrificed; rather he just wants to see Abraham's willingness to sacrifice all that's dear to him. We see this because in the text, Abraham is told to "offer up" his son rather than to "sacrifice" him.

Upon completion of this third, somewhat unrelated or significantly supported claim, the rabbi ended his short presentation. Yehudah announced that we should combine our discussion groups from yesterday with a second discussion group and ... discuss. As I said: laissez-faire.

When we finally got our large group together, we sat and talked for a little while. We reiterated that there are several similarities to the Quranic version of the text and reaffirmed everyone's commitment to keep lines of communication open. However, the conversation didn't get very deep. Every once in a while, I'd try to get a more personal question in, but by the time it was translated into Arabic, no one wanted to answer. Once or twice, Bob answered my question, and that seemed to satisfy everyone. In-depth conversation was very difficult in this group setting.

Someone suggested we go outside into the sun (remember the deep-seated cold), and we did that. However, as soon as we got outside, our "translator" started taking various pictures of our group until one of the Israeli students insisted we sit down and continue the conversation. Once we were outside we had a bit more luck. Bob brought up some thoughts about sacrifice being a metaphor for getting in touch with our deeper selves, but no one wanted to reflect on this. There were several side conversations in Arabic or Hebrew, and while normally this would have frustrated me, I kept reminding myself that the point of this encounter is not to discover the hidden meanings of the Akeidah (which I think was a poorly-chosen topic) but rather to get Israelis and Palestinians talking to one another and getting to know one another as human beings. This was definitely happening despite the derailment of conversation, and when we broke for coffee, I was much less dissatisfied than I otherwise might have been.

Jessica and I checked out of our room during the coffee break, and when we came back, it was time for "the Muslim perspective" on the Binding. The speaker they had arranged for "the Muslim perspective" couldn't make it, so one of the Muslim participants had to pinch hit. This is what she reported (as translated into English by the Hope Flowers School representative):

1. Abraham's trials were harder than other prophets'.
2. Abraham didn't have children for 100 years and then Hagar gave him Ishmael.
3. Abraham had a vision to sacrifice his son.
4. Abraham told Ishmael and asked him what he thought. Ishmael told Abraham to do what he had to do.
5. Abraham was about to sacrifice Ishmael, but his knife stopped. God spoke through the angels and told Abraham that he had passed the test.
6. God sent a sheep for the sacrifice instead of Ishmael.
7. As a reward for God's faithfulness, God granted him the birth of Isaac.
8. To this day, a sheep is slaughtered on Eid al-Adha (which is this Tuesday!), the holiday remembering Abraham's faithfulness. (1/3 of the sheep is retained by the slaughterer, 1/3 goes to the family, and 1/3 goes to the needy.)

Upon coming home, I've done some extra research. Here are the relevant verses from the 37th surah of the Quran:

"37.100": My Lord! grant me of the doers of good deeds.

"37.101": So We gave him the good news of a boy, possessing forbearance.

"37.102": And when he attained to working with him, he said: O my son! surely I have seen in a dream that I should sacrifice you; consider then what you see. He said: O my father! do what you are commanded; if Allah please, you will find me of the patient ones.

"37.103": So when they both submitted and he threw him down upon his forehead,

"37.104": And We called out to him saying: O Ibrahim!

"37.105": You have indeed shown the truth of the vision; surely thus do We reward the doers of good:

"37.106": Most surely this is a manifest trial.

"37.107": And We ransomed him with a Feat sacrifice.

"37.108": And We perpetuated (praise) to him among the later generations.

"37.109": Peace be on Ibrahim.

"37.110": Thus do We reward the doers of good.

"37.111": Surely he was one of Our believing servants.

"37.112": And We gave him the good news of Ishaq, a prophet among the good ones.

"37.113": And We showered Our blessings on him and on Ishaq; and of their offspring are the doers of good, and (also) those who are clearly unjust to their own souls.

Although it's not explicitly stated in the Quran, Muslim tradition holds that the "boy" in verse 101 is Ishmael. I'm not sure where the "midrashic" additions of the vision, the angels, and the sheep come in (but the sheep obviously holds as a strong tradition as evidenced in the holiday).

I was very interested in this version of the story, especially the gift of Isaac as the reward for Abraham's faithfulness. Unfortunately, all the Muslims in my discussion group seemed satisfied with the story as told with no need to further elaborate. I tried even harder to spark some in-depth religious conversation but was thwarted at every turn. People were chatting, sitting outside, and taking pictures so again, I wasn't entirely frustrated, but from a personal perspective, I feel I definitely could have learned more.

After I sat and listened to Arabic conversations for about five or ten minutes, Tomer moved over next to me and engaged me (in English!) in a conversation about Reform Judaism. We talked a lot about Reform Judaism, Israel, and Israeli education. Our conversation was terrific and shows that I was able to learn not only from Palestinians during this retreat!

Before lunch, I made my way to the conference room where Jessica's group had broken into smaller discussions. Jessica was talking one-on-one with a Palestinian history professor, and I joined them. She told him that she was studying Yiddish, and he perked up. He knew about Yiddish! Yiddish, he said, began in 1881 as a response to pogroms in Russia; since the Jews needed a way to communicate among themselves without being understood by the Russians and since they had been forced to live together in remote locations, they had and were able to create a language for use only among the Jews. When Jessica told the professor that Yiddish dates back to 1200, he was confused. He said that he'd read in a history of Judaism (or Zionism) that the language was created to confound the Russians. We insisted that that wasn't the case and pondered aloud the perspective of the book he'd read - was it a pro-Hebrew account denigrating the history of Yiddish? A loss in translation? (My thought is that he simply misunderstood what he had read.) After this slightly disorienting conversation, Jessica and I went to lunch.

There, we sat with one of the Christians who had been in Jessica's group. Apparently, they had been discussing the question of why bad things happen to good people - some in their group had said that such events are punishments (including Hurricane Katrina), and that made Jessica and this American Mennonite very uncomfortable. We talked about the issue and about the conference throughout lunch, and we had the pleasure of talking with Amy, a student from the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College whom we had met while visiting Alanna and Rebecca in Philadelphia.

Following lunch was a drumming circle that was interesting and engaging. About a dozen drums had been rented, and the conference participants were encouraged to play them. As soon as I walked into the room, the drum-master pulled me into the center of the drums and got me to start dancing. I had no idea what do to, so I kind of clapped my hands and walked in a circle. A tall Palestinian joined me in the center, and I followed his lead for a minute (he was doing a kind of male form of belly dance without the belly) before exiting the circle. I wasn't nearly as embarrassed as I would have expected.

This tall thin Palestinian seemed to feel comfortable taking charge of the situation. He danced a lot in the middle of the drums (at one point joined by a female Israeli student who was able to dance as well as he), and when he was done dancing, he took over the lead drum. Certain Palestinians tried to lead songs with the drums, and while that worked for a little bit of time, it eventually died out. Jessica was loving the drum, and I got into it a little, too. While the music wasn't great and people didn't exactly feel like they were creating rhythm together, we were all in the same situation together, and no one stopped smiling for the hour that we were drumming. People were taking pictures and movies all over the place, and in general, everyone seemed excited to have this inter-cultural opportunity.

The drum circle came to a close, and several Palestinians left. The musician who had been in my discussion group shook my hand and gave me four kisses - a remarkable and touching gesture! A fair number of Israelis and other Palestinians had already left as well, so we were down to about half our original number by this point. There was still about an hour before the next part of the retreat, so Jess and I found a corner to work on some crossword puzzles. At one point, the Conservative woman who had given us the kippah lesson told us that there were Shabbat candles we could light if we were so inclined, and we did so on our own. After finishing our second crossword, we went back into the conference room for prayers.

We started with Kabbalat Shabbat, led by a Hebrew University student. Several Muslims watched us pray with hushed voices and minimal spirit; I was somewhat embarrassed, but then I recalled that this is the Judaism that most of their neighbors experience. The silent prayer, the songs that people half-heartedly join in on - that kind of prayer is far from foreign in Israeli synagogues. I wish we could have shown them terrific religious leadership and real, meaningful prayer, but it wasn't to be - and this perhaps was more educational.

Then, six Muslim men prayed and we were allowed to witness. It was explained to us that before any of the five daily prayers, a Muslim must wash his hands, arms, feet, face, hair, behind his ears, and his hands again unless there's been nothing to break his cleanliness (going to the bathroom, sleeping, etc.) since his last prayer. Women prayer as men do but standing behind the men. One of the men stood in front and led the prayers, which lasted about ten minutes. Afterwards, I spoke briefly with the prayer leader and learned that anyone can lead prayers, but he has to have the relevant passages of the Quran memorized. Generally, among a group of Muslims, the most knowledgeable leads the prayers.

Our conversation was interrupted by Yehudah inviting everyone to participate in or witness the Ma'ariv service, which again was fairly lackluster. All this aside, though, I think that sharing a prayer space was incredibly important on a theoretical level, especially as this was the first time many of the participants had seen prayer of the others. As prayer in itself can be very intimate, I was glad that we were able to open up to one another even if the prayer itself wasn't that meaningful for the individual participants. (And really, who am I to determine whether the prayer was meaningful for anyone else? I could be the only one who wasn't satisfied with the prayer experience!)

After prayers, we had closing remarks wherein everyone shared a few sentences about their experience. Everyone had very positive things to share, and my strongest sentiment was joy at seeing everyone's smiles, especially during the drum circle. A Jewish Israeli shared that the entire retreat could be summed up by the four-kiss farewell given to him by our Palestinian musician, and in many ways, I agree with him. We were asked to brainstorm about the next retreat (this is, apparently, the first in a series of four), and several of the Palestinians strongly advocated to meet in Jerusalem to further explore the prayer spaces of each of the religions. Yehudah said he'd look into it, and personally, I think it would be incredible.

During dinner, Jessica and I made sure to sit with some Palestinians. I'd been trying to have mixed seating for every meal, but self-segregation was a powerful force. I saw a few Palestinians eyeing our chairs at the "Palestinian table," but we held our ground - and it was a good thing we did! One of them spoke very good English and engaged us in a lot of conversation.

We learned that this woman--let's call her Manab--volunteers at a cultural center where handicapped women make hand-crafts to sell. She studies social work or something like that and works very hard in school, though she wishes she had more time to devote to the handicapped women. Sahib shared more artwork and poetry with us, and they were each interested to hear about our hobbies. I told them that I loved to act, and they asked for a sample. Put on the spot, I could only think to recite a few stanzas of The Raven, which I'm sure they didn't understand (though I know they could see that I was definitely playing a character of some sort). Jessica said that she likes to sing, and they asked her to demonstrate. She began singing Autumn Leaves and immediately the entire table got silent and applauded when she was finished. She was an instant hit! They asked her to sing again, and she obliged them - though this time she was recorded by two cell phones! Manab told her she could make a career out of her singing, and everyone, of course, agreed.

We told jokes (I told a joke that Rabi had heard in Hebron) and laughed a lot, shared pictures, and entirely enjoyed one another's company. The same Israeli who had shared his reaction to the kiss-farewell played the harmonica and led some bodily-healing exercises - everyone was bouncing around and massaging their faces. Sahib showed me some magic tricks, and I showed him one. It was a terrific time! This was by far the best part of the entire conference. Sadly, all of the Hebrew U. students and most of the other Israelis were still talking at the "Jewish table," totally missing out. But, I don't think the effect was lost on the Palestinians.

Jessica and I were asked if we knew how to play the cardgame Tricks, and sadly we didn't. We were, however, invited to watch four of the Palestinian men play, and we gladly accepted. Having watched the game for about twenty minutes, I can tell you the very basic gist, but I have no idea what the individual rules are. The game seemed extraordinarily complicated, but the men played with carefree ease and lots of laughs. Jessica and I watched until our ride arrived to take us home. We said good-bye to the Israelis and to the Palestinians, shook many hands, grabbed a cookie for the road, and headed out.

The ride home was fairly uneventful except for our being asked to pull over at the checkpoint into the Jerusalem area. Jessica and I had thought to bring our passports, and I was extremely relieved that we had them (it's illegal not to carry ID in Israel), though thankfully we didn't need them. The glove box and trunk of our car were inspected, though of course nothing was discovered. The driver was supposed to take us to the original meeting point from which we had departed, but since the other two people who were supposed to be in the car had arranged to leave earlier, we were able to work out paying him 20 shekels to drive us to our apartment (which worked out incredibly well for us). We got home at about 10:45 pm on Friday and immediately put on sweatshirts - we'd been cold for the previous 30 hours!

All in all, I think the retreat was an excellent opportunity. It could have been much more smoothly organized and operated without sacrificing any of the social opportunities, but for the most part, I think that the primary goal in my eyes (getting Israelis and Palestinians to enjoy one another's company so that they can extrapolate this feeling of acceptance to other members of the appropriate group) was met. I came in contact with some very interesting people, I learned some significant lessons about life in Palestine, and I became much more comfortable with Arab culture. Hopefully there will be follow-up opportunities that Jessica and I can attend. In the meantime, I'll file away all those Palestinian smiles in my memory and try to share them with those who need to hear about them in the months and years ahead.

Hidden Dangers in Multiculturalism: Identity, Culture and Education in the Liberal State

This post is by no means as interesting as its title makes it sound. It is a post about a course that I have decided to take in place of the previously mentioned sociology course which was held at an inconvenient time. The Multiculturalism course is part of the curriculum for the MA in Jewish Education, and the students are all future and current educators of various ages. The professor immigrated from Argentina many years ago - he has a wide smile, very severe sarcasm, and he carries a pocket watch that must be somewhat imprecise, as he constantly has to ask the students to tell him the time, even after he's already looked at his timepiece.
Although I hadn't done the reading for the class as I was showing up at its second session, I found the conversation deeply interesting and am looking forward to spending my Sunday afternoons talking about what I think is one of the most real and important issues of our and all time: identity, and how we can acknowledge our own and others' identities respectfully and truthfully. Our teacher defines multiculturalism as "the call to overcome the way we think about each other that is so natural to us that we don't even think about it."

We talked about the historical transformation in the Western World from defining oneself solely according to a fixed social position to a recognition of citizen dignity as social heirarchies collapsed during the time of the French Revolution and thereafter. Suddenly (or perhaps more accurately, over the course of a long time) sense of self depended on one's personal definition and less on birth - people were able to chose more about themselves, and Dignity was grante to all, rather than the notion of "honor" being granted to some. St. Augustine declared that G-d is in everything you see, and therefore G-d is in everyone - this upgrades humans - all humans - to partially divine.
We discussed how the nation-state requires a different kind of organization and sets of loyalty and identity. Rather than kings identifying with kings, members of a particular nation-state identify as citizens of that nation-state and have obligations to that nation-state. In Feudalism, the idea was that the nobility had a respobsibility to the lives of the peasants, and poverty was a personal problem of the nobility that they could chose to act on, or not. In a more modern society, there is the notion of human rights, which changes things, if not entirely, then at least substantially, because citizenship is not about depending on someone else's honor or goodness, but about being granted certain rights by law (and having legal recourse if you aren't receiving them). Of course, this was, and is, not always the case, even in a nation-state (think women, slaves, etc.)
We talked about how the principle of universal identity (that is to say that everyone has an identity that is valuable) can be interpreted in two very divergent ways: everyone is equal because everyone has a valuable identity, and therefore everyone should be treated the same OR because everyone has a valuable and different identity, everyone is different and should be treated differently. Both interpretations can be used for good (as in universal education or recognizing the special needs of different individuals) or for bad (as in not recognizing special needs or talents, or treating people unfairly and attributing it to their difference). It can be argued that if schools in particular treat everyone the same, there isn't space to create a unique identity. But at the same time, if schools treat students differently, they may not all have access to the same opportunities.
We spent a long time on the difference between the public and the private sphere - the idea that one should or is permitted to act differently at home than elsewhere (like Jews of the Emancipation who were 'Jews in the home, but not in the street') We imagine that there is a clear separation between the public and the private, and that no one cares what you do in your private life, but in the public sphere you need to behave with the rules of the public. However, the lines are not nearly so clear (for instance, what I do on my computer, in the home, is actually rather public). And there is a big question about when it is appropriate for the government to interfere in the private. For instance: take the case of domestic or child abuse. In some cultures, it is frowned upon for the government to step in to what is seen as such a private issue, while in others it is seen as immoral for the government NOT to step in. And one student in the class noted that the public sphere intrudes into the private sphere much more often with regards to lower class or minority people - the government might more quickly intervene in the home of an immigrant family than an Anglo family because they are quicker to assume that abuse is happening (whether or not it actually is). In other words, the government might participate in racial or socio-economic profiling and assume that they need to step in more often in lower-income areas or areas with cultures that are different than the mainstream, and as a result those sectors of the population have much less separation between private and public than groups of people that are considered less threatening or suspicious.
We talked about the notion of "social cohesion" - if difference is allowed or encouraged in the public sphere, what is the glue that holds a society together? It is this question that leads some to argue that there needs to be a "core curriculum" in schools so that children are all taught the same "cannon" and form the same values and cultural referents, which makes them all a part of the community. On the other hand - what gets to be the cannon, and which community are the students being socialized to join? And is that fair?
Our teacher encouraged us to recognize that whatever seems natural to us is cultural, including the values of democracy, separation of state, etc. and to know that "liberalism is also a fighting creed" - when liberals wish to create a space that is accepting of everyone, they are forcing (or socializing, or encouraging) their values of respect for all cultures onto people who perhaps don't have those values. And who gets to say that their values are the right ones? On the other hand, if you reject all that seems to be natural to you, then you have no basis on which to base your opinions, or even your life. So you have to stick to what you believe in, but be aware that others might not share your values.
Some more interesting quotes from today's class include:

"Minority has nothing to do with numbers - it has to do with marginalization."
"The problem with immigration is that bodies move faster than minds"
"Our language gives us tools for racism that we have stopped noticing because of our need to communicate."


Anyway, it seems like it is going to be a great class, and I'm sure you'll be hearing more about it in the future.

Second Day of Classes

The day started off on the wrong foot, when I woke up too late and had to rush out of the apartment in order to get to class on time. Daniel, ever supportive, packed my lunch as I frantically put notebooks and pencils into my backpack.
I caught the 7am bus to Hebrew University, and arrived in my Historiography of the Holocaust classroom at 7:45. There were already a few students seated in the classroom - they were all second year Masters students and there was something very intimidating about their comfort with the classroom, the program, and even the professor (whose class they had also taken the previous semester). A few more students entered, and eventually there were about ten of us, in addition to the professor. He began by asking us each to introduce ourselves, and then he explained the basic information about the class: we will read about fifty pages a week and write a final paper, class will mostly consist of discussion of the reading, etc. He then lectured a bit on the beginnings of Holocaust Historiography, which he says occurs at the moment when historians, commentators, etc. start noticing that Hitler's antiSemitism is different from previous forms. The lecture walked us through what this difference was by describing the first two written documents of Hitlers that historians have found that discuss "the Jewish Question." Unlike Jew-hatred of the Middle Ages, which was based on the idea that Jews had killed Jesus, had poisoned wells to cause the plague, were smelly, crude, etc. and antiSemitism of the 19th century in which Jews were hated on the basis of what were believed to be inherrent racial characteristics (and the solution to the "problem" of the Jews was believed to be antiSemitic legislation), Hitler's vision was apocalyptic and required a much more drastic "solution." Hitler believed that not only did Jews want to take over the world, but because they were pests and incapable of creative thought, even if they did take over the world and were the only people left alive in the whole world, they would eventually die out themselves because they would be incapable of supporting themselves. Humanity would cease to exist, and the Jews would be at fault. Therefore, pogroms ("emotional antiSemitism) was not the "solution," as it was merely a mechanism for catharsis and did not solve the "problem" that Jews' very existence posed. Hitler believed that a "rational" solution must be found, that the Jews must be gotten rid of. We don't know if, in his earlier writings, this meant killing Jews or simply sending them to another place or isolating them or who knows what. It was a very dark and depressing class, as I expected a class on the Holocaust to be, which I think is why I've been avoiding them thus far. The Holocaust is not a fun topic to learn about. But I think it is an important one, and one in which I am seriously lacking background, so I think this will be a good class for me. The teacher seemed nice and understanding and interested in helping his students to learn and to succeed - he offered to meet with us outside of class, said we could always send him e-mails, and will be e-mailing supplemental reading to those of us who think we could use a little extra background in the history of the Holocaust before we proceed further.

I went straight from Historiography to Hebrew class, where I met my other Hebrew teacher, Batia. I like her A LOT. The teacher from yesterday spoke a little too slowly, and Batia speaks a little too fast, though by the end of class I felt used to it and acclimated to her speech. We covered a lot of material - some verbs, vocabulary, and a reading from an Amos Oz book. Batia, as it turns out, taught at UVA for a semester, right before my Hebrew teacher replaced her. She was pleased to hear that I was from UVA and told me that I'm the first UVA student she's taught at Hebrew University. She asked after several of my professors, and says she looks forward to reminiscing more about Charlottesville with me in the future. Batia is also the author of our Hebrew textbook, which is pretty awesome.

I had a long lunch break, during which I ate lunch, went for a walk in the Botannical Gardens, and bought some Hebrew textbooks, and did some Hebrew homework. I then went to Advanced Yiddish, a course in the Humanities department of "regular" Hebrew University (as in not the international school, so the students were all Israeli).

I was so nervous about the Yiddish class - I really want, and in fact need, to take Yiddish, and there are only two levels here: beginner and advanced. My grammar, writing, and speaking are all very poor, though my reading and listening are OK, and I wasn't sure if I would fit in an "advanced" class. However, the class seemed to be at just the right level for me. The teacher spoke mostly in Yiddish, translating some things into Hebrew if he felt that the class didn't understand (a bit of a problem for me, but usually I understood either the Yiddish or the Hebrew if not both). He spoke slowly and clearly. He wrote the book that we are using, and explained to us the format of the text - each lesson we will read a piece of literature that is about two pages long, do some grammar exercises, and read some poems. The grammar exercises were hard for me, but I think will prove very useful, as grammar is probably what I need most. I am quite excited about this class - it will be hard but I think I will learn a lot.

My next class was also in Hebrew University itself, and was a class on Sholom Aleichem and Mendele Mocher Seforim, two Yiddish writers. I wasn't sure what to expect, but quickly came to find that the class is taught in Hebrew, and that the texts are all in Hebrew, translated from the original Yiddish. I understood the whole lecture, but I think the readings will be almost impossible for me to complete - so I'm thinking about purchasing a Hebrew and an English set of the books, so I can be on the right page while in class, but read the text in English at home. I don't know if I will stay in the class - I understood and enjoyed the lecture, but I imagine that it will only get harder as we start discussing the reading. If I do manage to stay in the class and keep up with it, it will do a world of good for my Hebrew, but I'm not sure if it is too much of a challenge or not. I'd like to audit the course and just do what I can. I think I'll try to do the reading for next week and then talk to the professor after class and see what he says about reading English transltions, auditing, etc. If he is amenable, I'll try to stick it out.

I arrived home at about 7pm, gabbed with Daniel for a little while (he went to Qumran and Masada today with his school), and cooked dinner (breaded eggplant, pasta, green beans, tomato sauce). Now, it's 9:00 pm, and I am tired, a little overwhelmed, and certainly not in the mood to do homework, though I think I'll do some anyway. Monday will by far be my hardest day - tomorrow I have one class, and it starts at 4:30 pm.

I think it's going to be a great semester: challenging, interesting, new. Hebrew U has so much energy now that all the students are there and not just the summer ulpan classes. I really feel like I am sort of a part of it all, and I am excited to see how the semester progresses.

Interesting E-mails

A translation of an e-mail I received yesterday:

Dear Students,

We are a number of days before the opening of the new academic school year - but to our great dismay the year once again won't begin.

Not only won't the school year begin, also because of the situation, in the upcoming days there will be no choice but to close the entire university: there won't be administrative workers, there won't be researchers, the classes will have disappeared!

The school year won't begin because the government of Israel scorns the system of higher education, and because of this nothing is standing, for the best six years the government has cut the amount of money requested by hundreds of millions of shekels.

The system of higher education today stands on the side of one leg to attack! (clearly I had trouble translating this sentence...maybe it is idiomatic...)

We, representatives of the student body, heads of the student associations, call together wit the heads of the research universities to the Israeli prime minister, to minister Livni and to the minister of finance and ? the labor party, to the minister of education, the government and the Kinesset to save higher education, to restore to research universities the budged that was cut and to allow the academic year to begin once more.

It is up to us to stress that we are against the school year's not opening. The student body has suffered from the disruption of the school year for each of the past three years. Given this, it is clear that if they don't flow in a speedy fashion to restore the system of higher education, universities won't be able to continue their shared activities and to supply higher education at the level that existed in Israel in the past.

In this letter we have compiled a collection of e-mail addresses of the prime minister, the minister of finance, minister of education, and members of the committee of finance and committee of education in the Kinesset. We ask each of you to forward personal mail ? the struggle and call upon them to act to save higher education and open the academic year at the university in an orderly manner.

Signed,

The head of the student association
The president of Hebrew University
the head of the national student organization??


And another:

As a result of the decision and (something?) that they won't begin the upcoming school year, tens of students obstructed the rode together with the president of the university. The demonstrators called with one voice to guard to turn the struggles over the budget for higher education and to end the crisis in order that the academic year can begin in an orderly manner.

As a result, the demonstration of the students will begin the negotiations and they don't intend to stop demonstrating

Tomorrow, Wednesday 10/29/08 the demonstration will begin
For the sake of higher education and to save the academic year
5:00 pm in front of the ministry of finance



I don't know if this effects the Rothberg School (though my Yiddish classes are outside Rothberg so one way or another it will affect me). As you can tell from these e-mails, higher education in Israel has been in turmoil for the past few years. If you're interested, I'll send you some newspaper articles about it - just leave a note.

Vistas, Visas, and Vocabulary

Today I stopped in the grocery store on the way home from school. I was wearing a black skirt that didn't quite cover my knees and a black and white pinstriped sleeveless top - not a very Israeli outfit. The security guard who checked my bags at the entrance to the store (side note: all the big stores and restaurants have metal detectors and security guards) said "how are you?" to me in Hebrew, and before I had a chance to answer he changed his mind and said, "We can speak English. English, yes? Or Francais? How are you?" And I responded in English "Very well thank you, and you" and went about my way. As I was in the store, one of the people who was shelving food said "How are you" in Hebrew to me, and I responded in Hebrew, and then he said, "Comment ca va?" (French for how are you) So I responded with a smile, "Ca va bien, merci" and went about my way. As I left, I heard him saying to a co-worker, in Hebrew, something to the effect of "I can always spot the French ones." I thought that was pretty funny - and relevant to an earlier post where I noted how much clothing defines people here - because I'm dressed a little nicer than usual I don't fit the stereotype of the jeans-and-tshirt American, and therefore must be French. (Another side note - there are a lot of francophones in Jerusalem!)

Tonight I have my birthday party and I'm really looking forward to welcoming guests into our home, and to spending time with people and getting to know them socially. It seems like there will be a small group of rabbinical students (about 8?) coming, as well as one of my friends from ulpan, and a friend that I met several years ago when I was on birthright. I already had a little birthday party last night when Daniel took me to the fabulous restaurant accross the street - it was seriously really really good - and gave me more presents than I know what to do with! Daniel sure knows how to do birthdays...

As you can tell from the title of the post, there are three topics that I was hoping to have time to tell you about before I start cooking for the potluck tonight (roasted potatoes and home-made baked beans, if you must know): Vista, Visa, and Vocabulary. I'll go in that order and I apologise that each of these topics has very little to do with the other.

VISTA:

Yesterday our class went on a tour of Hebrew University, Mount Scopus campus (the campus where I am studying). It was really exciting to be able to learn so much information, all in Hebrew! It was also great to see how are class is starting to feel comfortable together – we could casually enter conversations with each other while walking about, make side comments and jokes – it all seems to be getting much more comfortable.

But outside those aspects of the tiyul, it was also thrilling to learn about Hebrew University and to have an opportunity to explore a bit without feeling that I was in danger of getting lost! I learned so much – I’ll share with you a little bit – though don’t take my word for it as all of this is my translation of the Hebrew I may or may not have understood:

In 1903?, the Zionist Congress purchased the land on Mt. Scopus from Sir John Gray Hill, who had a villa there and was willing to sell it as he supported the Zionists who wanted to build the university. At the time, universities throughout Europe had quotas as to how many Jews could study there, so the idea was to build the first ever university taught in Hebrew and to thereby provide education and opportunities to many Jews who otherwise would not have these opportunities. However, at the time Israel was still under the Ottoman Empire, which did not give its permission for the building of the University. In 1918 the first cornerstone of the university was laid, and in 1925 the university opened its doors (Israel was at the time under British rule). The founder of the university, Chaim Weizmann, later became the first president of Israel, and there were all sorts of important people involved in the university’s founding including Hayyim Nachman Bialik, Albert Einstein, Sigmound Freud, and Martin Buber.

At the botanical gardens of Hebrew University, which only has plants that are native to Israel, we learned that during the construction of the garden, workers found a cave. Archaeologists were called in and they found bones, as well as an inscription indicating that this was the grave of “Nicanor from Alexandria.” Nicanor from Alexandria is described in the Gemara. I found the following information online as it was interesting and I didn’t remember all of it: “As the Gemara (Yoma 38a) describes, Nicanor traveled from Alexandria to bring gates for the Second Temple. He loaded two bronze gates on a ship, but a large wave threatened the vessel. Nicanor cast one gate overboard into the sea but the sea continued to rage. Then, he declared that he should be thrown into the sea with the second gate. Suddenly, the sea became calm. By nothing less than a miracle, the first gate appeared when the ship arrived in Akko. Some said that a sea monster spit it out. Others claim that the bronze gate became attached to the underside of the ship. In any event, the Gates of Nicanor were installed on the western side of the Women's Section in the Second Temple. By the accounts of Josephus, the gates were truly impressive. Estimates are that they stood 40 cubits wide and 50 cubits high.” The sarcophagus is no longer in the cave – it is currently in London. However, currently buried in the cave are Michael Usishkin, one of the leaders of the Russian Zionists, and Leon Pinsker, the founder of the Lovers of Zion (Hovevei Zion) movement. Usishkin wanted Pinsker buried there because he envisioned a national pantheon of the graves of the great Zionists on Mt. Scopus – which is why he himself is also buried there. However it was decided that Mt. Scopus was to be a university and not a graveyard, and most of these Zionist leaders are buried now at Mt. Herzl instead.

We walked to the Frank Sinatra building – the area for international students. On May 14, 2001, a bomb exploded in a cafeteria in the international student area, killing/injuring several students (I don’t remember the number). The teacher showed us the memorial to those students – a very subtle monument. It is a tree that was damaged by the explosion, but continued to live. It grows out of a crooked area in the ground and is supported by a lot of wires, etc. to keep it up as it is tilted at about a 45 degree angle to the ground, but it is still living and thriving. This is to show that while life at the university was shaken by the event, the university still thrives.

The teacher talked quite a bit about the architecture of the buildings. At Mt. Scopus there are two kinds of buildings – those that were built in the 1920’s at the establishment of the university, and those built in the 1970’s and thereafter. After the War of Independence in 1948, East Jerusalem became a part of Jordan, and while Mt. Scopus remained under Israeli control, it was an island that was cut off from Israel proper, making it impossible for studies to continue there. Instead, a second campus was built near to where Daniel and I live, called Givat Ram – also a second campus of Hadassah hospital was built for the same reasons. After the Six Day War (1967) East Jerusalem became part of Israel, and construction started on Mt. Scopus so that it could be re-opened in 1980. The older buildings have rougher stone, ivy, arched windows, and domes (kipot!) on top. The newer buildings are smother with straighter lines.

The last place we went to on our tour was the Hecht Synagoge, in the Humanities building where we have class. It is the reason why this section is labled Vistas – Har HaTzofim (Mount Scopus) literally means Mountain of the Views – because the view is magnificent! The Hecht Synagogue faces this view, and is constructed in a minimalistic fashion (no pictures on the wall) to emphasize the beauty of the view itself. The window is cut into three parts to look like an open Torah scroll, the bimah is lowered so that instead of seeing the hazzan the congregation sees the view. The pews are constructed to look like a menorah. From the window you can see all of Jerusalem. The teacher pointed out different areas and buildings to us – which was pretty great.

VISA

Yesterday afternoon I set out to the Ministry of the Interior to get a student visa. Long story as to why I don’t have one already, but suffice it to say that I need to get one. So I didn’t know a lot about how to get one – I looked it up on the internet but otherwise didn’t have much guidance. I found the address for the Ministry of the Interior online and Daniel helped me figure out which bus to take to get there. I had to switch buses and really circumnavigate the city to get to the area where the government buildings are. After inquiring at several buildings I finally found the ministry of the interior. But when I got there, the guard told me that to get a student visa I need to go to the other ministry of the interior building, which happens to be about a ten minute walk from our apartment. So, I waited about a half hour for a bus – and spoke to a very nice woman who helped me figure out where to get off the bus and gave me directions – and I went to the other ministry of the interior building. When I got there the person at the visa desk told me that it was closed for the day and I should come back at 8am the next morning. I didn’t want to miss ulpan but didn’t have much of a choice so I e-mailed my teachers that I would be coming late and I went this morning. When I approached the visa desk, the woman asked me if I had an appointment. I said no and she gave me a form to fill out and told me to go through some doors. There were no other directions posted and when I asked someone how to get a visa, she asked if I had an appointment. When I said no, she said I needed an appointment and I needed to call to make one. I had tried to do that on numerous occasions but no one ever answers the phone. Eventually she directed me to a room, and I knocked on the door only to have the person in the office say that the office was closed and would I shut the door. I waited some more and finally went into the office and stood there until the woman was done talking on the phone, at which point she asked me what I needed and I said I wanted to get a student visa but had no appointment. She made me an appointment for Sept. 9, in the morning – so I’ll have to miss more ulpan, but I hope I’ll actually get the visa!

VOCABULARY

I particularly didn’t want to miss ulpan today because we had a pretty serious test today – as well as a lot to do in my literature class. I’m sorry I missed so much of literature today because there were some poems we were supposed to read that I didn’t entirely understand. But it is really cool to be reading literature in Hebrew, and for sure my vocabluarly is rapidly improving. We had 81 vocab words to learn for this week’s test, and we’ve only been in ulpan for a week! It’s going to be a really intense, hard course. For homework this weekend I have to do an exercise, read a newspaper article and write about it, write an essay, and read the first page of a novel, all in Hebrew! Wish me luck…