26 September 2009

Just got back from the States yesterday, jetlagged as usual from a great trip of seeing friends and family, spending Rosh Hashanah in Cincinnati with relatives (the only way I know how to ring in the New Year), quality TV watching, and a much-needed pilgrimage up to New York after a two-year hiatus.

Wishing you and your family a Happy New Year, and your forgiveness for any wrongdoings I may have commited aagainst you in the past year.

For myself -- after a year of not taking advantage of the time I have to finish my thesis; of not keeping in closer touch with family, friends and colleagues; for letting opportunities slip by; not updating my blog more often; and for being too hard on myself when times got tough -- I'm resolved to a new year of potentials, finishing school, finding meaningful and profitable employment, and celebrating more being here in Israel.

G'mar Hatima Tova
Jay

24 July 2009

Two seemingly opposite Jewish events have been in my thoughts lately: Tisha B’Av and weddings.

The usual way these two are connected is through the breaking of a glass at the end of the ritual, preceded by the groom reciting “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem…” While inappropriately followed by applause from the audience, the symbolism here is a reminder that the world and we as a people are not complete as we await redemption, even on such a joyous day.

In this case, a friend of mine is getting married in several months and are looking for a rabbi. She’s from a family with a converted mother, went through an Orthodox conversion herself, and is being denied the right to be married by several rabbis because her fiancee is a Cohen (Cohens are not supposed to marry converts).

While I usually blog this time of year about how much I like Tisha B’Av, I wanted to link the day with something that’s always fascinated me: Cohens. The family name and its derivatives (Kahan, Kogan etc.) refer to those who descend from the Cohanim, the priests who tended to the daily sacrificial rite in the Temples. With their destruction (on Tisha B’Av), their priestly roles have been relegated to certain rituals and traditions. I can remember wondering what was going on when the rabbi would ask the congregation to lower their heads, at the risk of seeing what was happening on the bimah: Men, with their heads covered by their tallit, were reciting the Priestly Blessing while holding both of their hands like the famous hand sign of Mr. Spock. I always wondered if Mr. Spock was allowed to do that on national TV, why were we supposed to not look directly at the guys onstage?

Maybe I have an inferiority complex, as I’m considered “just” a commoner Israelite, or maybe the problem is that I think in such terms. Why do we need more boundaries between us Jews when the purpose of Rabbinic Judaism and Hasidism – not to mention Reform and Conservative Judaism as well – is to tear down such boundaries? In the absence of the Temple, whose rebuilding would require a massive physical ritual purification of Jews – not just Cohanim – why should theses title persist to the level they do?

Without disrespecting this and other Cohen- related rituals, it seems incredibly out of place in Rabbinic Judaism. The revolution that came with the founding of synagogues was that anyone who learned enough could be considered a community leader, potentially becoming a rabbi. The Pharisees, whose descendants are mainstream Jews, are the ones who outright rebelled against the Cohanim’s authority, claiming become too enmeshed in pomp & circumstance and less in the spiritual welfare of the people.

The same seems to be happening to a friend of mine, a tragic and maddening story. God Forbid they should build a Jewish house and family together, countering the rates of intermarriage that these same rabbis will happily rail against; and God Forbid two people so clearly in love with each other should want to marry each other if it risks the groom losing his ancestral title. Since when are rabbis in the business of preventing two Jews from getting married?

As always I’m inspired by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, who writes in his weekly commentary on the Torah portion that the longing for the Temple’s rebuilding is also (more so) about building ourselves as the light unto the nations we are charged to be by the prophet Isaiah. Jews haven't been in the business of listening to priests over prophets for a long time, why should we start now?

With that, with talk of weddings and to end on a slightly more hopeful note, here's a beautiful video sent to me today which put me in a great mood. Shabbat Shalom.



UPDATE: After thinking about it over Saturday, I decided to post the letter my friend wrote to explain her situation. It's best in her words, and I'm honored that she'd want it posted on my blog.

A seemingly simple question I posed recently to a friend getting married soon. “Who is performing the wedding?” I asked. “Oy, what a question,” she responded.
It all started more than 30 years ago, when my friend, we’ll call her B, well it all started when B’s parents, met, fell in love, from two different religio-cultural worlds. B’s father was Jewish; her mother was not. They decided, perhaps foolishly, that two religions and identities were invariably better than one, and that they would allow their children to determine their own identities.
Fast forward 15 years. Lo and behold, B did go on her own spiritual-cultural-identity quest as a teenager, embracing her Jewish heritage, upbringing (not to mention her Jewfro and Yiddish inclinations) and at the end of her journey, she embraced traditional Judaism, which eventually concluded in a dip at the mikveh and a certificate confirming her status as a Jewess. She was free to marry and flourish as a full-fledged Jew!
But alas, many years later, the foolish decision of her parents crept in to haunt B. She had been warned by rabbis that despite her piece of paper signed by the Orthodox Beit Din guaranteeing her status as a Jew, there were still restrictions: mostly, she could not marry a Cohen, and if she did, he would lose his status as such within the community.
But a Cohen is who she fell in love with. And though B warned her Cohen love interest of this potential gliche, he assured her, “it’s not a problem for me or my family! Is that even a rule anymore?”
Indeed it is still a rule, a black-and-white, unbending rule according to many. Shortly before B and Cohen became engaged, they started looking for a rabbi who would agree to bless their union. B started with the rabbi who had overseen her conversion process. His response, “I am sure the person you have chosen [as your future spouse] is a very worthy one; good luck.” Next, Cohen reached out to his family rabbi: “My hands are tied; there is nothing I can do.” And so proceeded conversations with another 30 “progressive” Orthodox rabbis, if such a thing really exists.
So what happens now?
Perhaps the most tragic occurrence to result from this situation is that two passionate, committed, educated Jews have now been turned away from the Jewish community in which they had hoped to raise a family one day. They now question in what kind of Jewish community they belong, and where their children will belong.
I know some of you reading this may think, well, according to Halacha (Jewish law), this is a forbidden marriage, so it is the right thing for these rabbis to refuse to marry the two.
In B and Cohen’s journey to find a rabbi, they met with many Torah-versed men, learning a great deal about this issue. In fact, one rabbi pointed out that according to some commentaries, B is considered “m’zera yisrael,” or, “of Jewish blood.” The next rabbi they spoke with helped to further this line of thinking, discovering a Tshuva by Rabbi Uziel, the First Chief Sephardi Rabbi of Israel, which stated that the marriage between a Cohen and a giyoret who is m’zera yisrael is indeed permitted since the real problem with a Cohen marrying a giyoret is that a Cohen must marry a woman of Jewish blood. B and Cohen presented this Tshuva to a few rabbis who all commented, “Well, that is interesting! Sorry, still nothing I can do.”
If this line of thinking still holds no appeal or credibility for you, I will leave you with a few thoughts to consider. The intermarriage rate in the United State nears 50%, and according to Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, 47% of all identifying Jewish students on North American college campuses have only one parent who is Jewish. So while B and Cohen find themselves without a solution for their upcoming nuptials, and now begin a new Jewish journey together as displaced Jews, I doubt that B and Cohen will be the last young Jewish couple to grapple with this issue. And if the American Modern Orthodox community fails to grapple with the reality of the American Jewish community’s makeup, they will not be the last young couple to find themselves without a Jewish home, at a time when numbers increasingly dwindle.

22 July 2009

I went to see the new Harry Potter film last night in Tel Aviv. True, the humidity there was so awful that the moment one gets off the bus from Jerusalem all the moisture in one’s skin ends up soaking one’s clothes, but I had to see it. Despite admittedly not having read the books, the movies have progressively addicted me to the series – so much so I invariably watch one of the movies each week.

I tend to become engrossed in film criticism and finding symbolism between the frames, but I think the Harry Potter series has something invaluable to teach. The whole series is about a group of humans who are considered different from the rest of humanity. They lead different lives, though otherwise act and look just the same. They invariably fight among one another over who more rightly carries the mantle of tradition and authority, not to mention who truly is part of the community. At the heart of this intra-communal struggle is one wizard who’s left feeling even more isolated from his surroundings because of his disconnected family and people's assumptions about him. Yet in spite of this, he knows he has to carry on his family’s tradition and that of his school’s, ultimately bringing the redemption from the evil lurking all around his loved ones.

The idea of Self vs/ Other, fights over authority and tradition, deciding who is included and who isn't....the movies are so Jewish that the Hebrew subtitles from the Tel Aviv screening were superfluous.

An article published in the LA Jewish Journal, and carried by Haaretz.com, completely missed this angle and instead focused primarily on the Jewish identity of several actors in the film. While the article starts off talking about the films' dichotomy between full-bloods and half-bloods, that it proceeds to talk about the Jewish "heritage" of the actors makes this Jewish geography article out of touch with Jewish heritage itself. The themes prevalent in the series, when connected with Jewish identity, have the potential of connecting otherwise disconnected Jews to discussing their identity; instead, it's about who's "out" with their Jewishness, thus more connected with the antagonists' obsession than with the positive messages of the protagonist. As soon as the thesis is done, I'll start reading the books.

11 July 2009

After the incentive of having an out-of-town friend free on a Saturday afternoon, we wandered over to one of the sites of the weekly riots. Ever since Jerusalem Mayor Nir Barkat decided to emerge from his cloister since being elected in November, his agenda has been primarily occupied by the opening of a parking lot in the center of the city to ease congestion caused by tourists and out-of-towners looking for parking. That this parking lot was to be the municipal lot under City Hall and to be open on Shabbat caused several of the ultra-Orthodox factions to protest. After enough threats, political and physical in nature, caused the mayor to close the lot, a solution was found by having the Supreme Court to issue an injunction to open a private parking lot close to the Old City. The protests continue, quickly becoming riots.

As we got closer to the lot, under the shadow of the Jaffa Gate and the Tower of David, the din of the protestors was already echoing through the valleys surrounding the Old City. The scene was more comical than incendiary: Crowds of ultra-Orthodox men in their Shabbat garb, bedecked in crème satin robes and topped in sable shtreimels, ebbing and flowing with each pushback from what few policemen were there. Shouts of “SHAAAAAABBESSSSSS!!” bounced from the protestors on the street to their kin cowardly perched above, cheering them on but reluctant to join the spectacle. As they congregated near the parking lot entrance spectators were to be found all over, from tourists busily snapping away with their cameras along with photojournalists; Arab kids, laughing away at the scene while sipping from soda can and performing daredevil feats on their bikes; and Shabbat-observant families trying to reconcile their otherwise-peaceful afternoon walk with the noise of repressed ultra-Orthodox youth whose bottled-up energy manifests itself into shouts of “Nazis!” at police. Their tactic was to lie down in front of passing cars, causing the police to hurriedly drag the protestor to the sidewalk. This would go on for some time, with an occasional escalation like someone standing in front of a bus filled with tourists while another would climb under the bus to disrupt it.

It was more sad than anything else, especially after I fixated my then-hypnotized stares at one particular protestor. Fully bedecked in the finest of heat-absorbing garb, the sandy side-locked boy was slowly keeling over from shouting for hours on end. He was more in a trance than I was, yet determined to vent his frustration to whoever would hear it while being surrounded by his community. Here is a boy, who may very well be good at his studies in Yeshiva, but nonetheless due to familiar and communal pressure will remain in Yeshiva and collects welfare checks from the State, instead of making a living from him and his family. His only source of teenage-fueled energy goes into protest like this, lest they be spent in less wholesome way. Once Shabbat ends, the hordes go back to their beighborhoods and light garbage cans on fire, causing extensive damage and whose cleaning is paid for by the municipality (i.e. non-ultra Orthodox taxpayers, as ultra-Orthodox who study in yeshiva get their municipal taxes paid off in full).

The results of David Ben-Grion's decision at the advent of the State, when he allowed the then-miniscule ultra-Orthodox community to receive welfare and continue studying, ends at the parking lot adjacent to the Old City walls. An impasse for the State, now beholden to their political parties to keep coalition governments stable, and an impasse for Judaism, as these same protestors have a monopoly on the Rabbinate (and thus control over which resturants receive a certificate confirming they're kosher; whose overseas conversion is acceptable; and who gets to marry whom and when).

There's nothing wrong with being ultra-Orthodox, nor is there anything wrong with being ultra-Orthodox and working at the same time (West 47th Street in Manhattan, for example); but this form of ultra-Orthodoxy, and halachic Judaism as well, leaves little over which to celebrate, much less emulate. It's only too ironic that we've just entered the Three Weeks, a period of religious mourning which culminates with the commemoration of the destruction of the First and Second Temples (traditionally destroyed due to senseless hatred among Jews) on that most existential of Jewish days, Tisha B'Av. Albeit a jumbled-up view of Jewish history, my mind invariably has created an image of these protestors knocking down the walls of the Old City, only steps away from City Hall, much like the Babylonians and Romans of long ago. A truly sad occasion for a Jew to have such thoughts of fellow Jews.

15 June 2009

I usually try to find fault with Thomas Friedman op-eds, more than often not skipping over them entirely in favor of the New York Time Style section. The Middle East has been a life-long interest, and while it’s commendable for someone to try and translate what’s going on here for the masses who otherwise don’t care or have the time to learn, I often find his analyses too simplistic and too rosy-eyed (not that there’s anything wrong with being an optimist in the MidEast – hell, how else can one get through the day here?). This past weekend, his column on the recent elections in Lebanon and Iran made me for once resist moving the cursor away and read it. He wrote about the elections that took place in Lebanon and Iran in the past week, highlighting the transparency civilians brought to the whole process – from YouTube clips of political ads to Twitter alerts on alleged voter fraud – as well as the sprit of change that President Obama has brought to the region.

For the past two weeks I’ve been glued to every Lebanese news outlet and blog following the elections, not just because the country is the subject of my thesis. It’s a country that has fascinated me for several years, many have tried to argue that an Israel-Lebanon alliance would have the most logical regional partnership, and its multilayer trifle political system makes the sectarian politics of Israel look like store bought pound cake (I’ve been watching a lot of cooking shows on YouTube).

In short: there are 128 members of parliament, divided evenly between “Muslims” and “Christians” (before 1990, there were 99 members in a 5:6 ratio). The Muslim camp includes Sunni, Shiite, Druze, and Alawite. The Christian includes Maronite, Greek Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Armenian Catholic, Armenian Apostolic, Protestant, and “Other Christians.” Each sect gets a set amount of seats in the Parliament and a set number of members from Lebanon’s electoral districts. However, just because one a member of a certain sect does not mean one will always have the same political ideology as another member, leading to various political parties on top of the sectarian demands (not to mention family and clan obligations, regional affiliations, and the hovering presence of Iran, Syria and the West).

In this election, the parties and sects were split between two camps called “March 8” and “March 14” (one of whose clever ads, above, was featured in bilboards across the country and on various internet sites). After PM Hariri was assassinated in 2005, the country was divided over Syria’s role in the attack: Those who participated in the March 8 rally were (roughly speaking) pro-Syria while those in the March 14 rally were anti-Syria and pro-West. The latter rally, with over a million participants, largely led to Syria’s military withdrawal from Lebanon.
March 14 won the Lebanese elections, attributable to at least five different reasons all of which would take several more posts to explain; but saying “they won” is like saying Kadima won the 2009 Israeli Knesset elections. Technically they did, but what matters more is the coalition building that needs to take place to form a stable government. Just as Kadima was unable to form one, March 14 might have to implode in order to form a stable coalition, will most likely have to form a coalition with Hizbullah and possibly continue the policies backed by the other Arab nations that have ironically given more power to Hizbullah. Not much has changed, despite Friedman’s optimism.

Yes, I did follow the Twitter updates on the elections and they allowed someone like me, only several hours’ away, to feel in the midst of it all. But the underlying question, like with all uses of Web 2.0 technology, is “What’s next?” Does the constantly updated-nature of this technology lead to action (including, but not limited to voting in elections) or is it providing a sought-after online soapbox for those more comfortable ranting from their homes? Here’s to embracing subtlety when ruminating over trends in the Middle East.

I watched PM Netanyahu’s speech on Sunday night via Channel 10’s website, which was also running a Facebook groupchat alongside the video box. There were few noteworthy comments, but I also kept asking “What’s next?” to those users who took the time to watch and respond simultaneously –assuming they were all in their 20’s and 30’s, are they going to relegate politics as their usual pastime or take an active stand in our government?

03 June 2009

So much happens on a day-by-day basis, not just because news from two hours ago is already history in this part of the world, rather because my mind constantly makes multi-chapter stories out of the seemingly smallest of occurrences. Not even obsessive status updates on websites like Twitter and Facebook can seem to keep up, giving more credence to the fact that time seems to be accelerating.

A month ago, I was on my way back from the latest trip to the States. Since then I’ve been sick with what most likely was the H1NI/swine/Mexico flu (obtained after a day-long layover in Madrid), received money back from the National Insurance Institute, written sizeable chunks for my thesis, and laid the foundations for a much-needed tan.

That all being said, and for holding down two jobs and in school, my life feels anything but busy; almost like it’s been in hiatus for the past few years. Not that I haven’t been living, but it’s not quite the same when disposable income and time are personally lacking in the land of one’s dreams. Even my once-hyperactive imagination has been slowing down, satiated by an endless YouTube stream of cooking shows and African-American sitcoms from the 1990’s.

I’m back, more focused than ever on being done with school and finding a job, which will hopefully mean more regular updates on this blog (even if they sometimes lack the pithiness I’d like to bring).

20 March 2009

I've discovered a new illness affecting many people I know, and probably untold more. After going through senioritis in high school and college, I've moved onto Chulitis. Chulitis (CHOO-lie-tis, "ch" as in the Scottish loch (the usual point of reference for this sound)) is an affliction ("-itis") which magnifies one's existing problems with Israelis and intensifies one's longings for Diaspora ("Chul-," a Hebrew abbreviation for 'outside the country'). Usually occurs within several weeks of a planned trip to Diaspora. For me, nomal symptoms include increased listening to country music, introduction of southern drawl in speech, and complaining more than usual (e.g., "Ugh, does he have to be talking so loud on a cellphone while wearing lime green Crocs and a bright red sarape?!").

Purim has come and gone, leaving behind a trail of broken beer, bottles, unexploded firecrackers, and one too many cowboy hats. In its immediate wake come the Kosher for Passover makeover in every supermarket. Mine is packed with all the usual culprits and some new ones: Packaged "cakes" and "cookies" that absorb every last drop of saliva in one's mouth; bottles of plam oil so saturated the fat globules are visibly suspended in solution; gefilte fish making their annual pilgrimage out of the dusty corner; sweet chili sauce and soup almonds; and so many other products made kosher only for Kitniyot eaters that the inevitable "Why can't I eat anything here?!" gets shouted in a Long Island accent at least every half-hour.

At least twice a day, I pass the Prime Minister's Residence and whatever protest of the day that has set up shop alongside the security gate. The current one has been for the release of Gilad Shalit, now approaching his 1,000th day in HAMAS captivity. The entire scene is bizarre, especially after his family moved into the protest tent. Amidst banner calling for his release, buses of supporters pull up to an otherwise heavily-guarded area with business suit-and-M16-clad guards on patrol. Across the street is a counter-protest tent of the families of terror victims, plastered with placards calling fo no terrorists to be release in exchange for Gilad, understandably empty. Having someone like Gilad's father, often in the media, become the local celebrity is creepy. The discomfort that comes from watching people recognize him on the street and getting stuck behind him on the sidewalk is anything but comparable to what he's suffering, but at least has the capacity to humble the rest of us and remember the freedom we have.

That's it for now, have to finish some schoolwork before even thinking about packing for my trip to the States in a week. Campus is redolent of orange blossoms, jasmine, eucalyptus, and energy drinks guzzled down by students who star in their own fashion ads everytime they move and the hordes of Christian pilgrims are going to start rumbling in the streets with the twice-a-year holiday crowd who never fail to constantly speak slowly and loudly in English to anyone who remotely looks local.

18 February 2009

The lack of relatively cold weather this winter has made its arrival in February feel more like December, and with it a resumption of nostalgia for an American December. It comes and goes, the other night so burdensome I watched several episodes of Christmas cooking shows online. When it’s this cold, we deserve snow.

Voting the other week felt very anticlimactic, despite the fact it was pouring rain and I still hadn’t decided who would get my vote as I left for the polls. No lines, as only one person is allowed into each polling room at a time; no complicated machinery or drawing necessary, as all one does is drop one slip of paper into an envelope; and no sticker that says “I Voted.” If I ever get into politics, getting that into the electoral budget will be my first piece of legislation. To hell with a new F-16, Israelis deserve a sticker that sets them apart from the maddening crowds in the malls who didn’t fulfill their democratic obligations.

I’m surprised more people haven’t asked from who I voted. Outside of immediate friends and colleagues, the conversation never gets to that specific topic which is good since I’ve been hesitant to approach the topic. Not that I’m embarrassed about my vote, but I wonder to what extent it’s the business of particularly those who don’t have the right to vote in Israel. I’m all for blurring the lines and complicating Israel-Diaspora relations to the extent it complicates notions of identity and belonging; but I also believe in the sanctity & sovereignty of a state and its definitions of who is a citizen. Until the Jewish States decides to take the Law of Return one step further and automatically give it to all Jews regardless of where they live, thus expanding the voter eligibility to my family and friends, my vote stays within these borders.

One of only a few great articles about the 2009 Elections: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1233304810588&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull

I’m doing my damnedest to focus on school work, but it’s hard when there’s a long break.

05 February 2009



An update and current events


-For Inauguration Day, the eexatriate branch of the Democratic Party organized a party in Jerusalem with a live viewing of the ceremony and speech. Amidst hordes of viewers and watching Frace 24's live coverage, we cheered and cried. I got filmed for the website of Yediot Aharonot, Israel's most read newspaper. You don't need to understand what's being said (especially since they didn't use my quotes), it's just me in front of the camera. Here's the link.



As soon as I came back from the party, in my mailbox was waiting the official announcement from the Interior Ministry ocnfirming my eligibility to vote in the upcoming elections.


-Elections for the 18th Knesset are this coming Tuesday and I still do not for whom I'm voting. Here's a basic understadning of how elections work:

~ There are 33 eligible parties, each with their own interests and concerns that range from the environment, workers' rights to the decriminalization of marijuana (two different parties' platforms).
~Each eligible party is given an allotment of time on radio and TV for their campaign ads, based on how many seats in Knesset they currently have, which are broadcasted in blocs starting 2-3 weeks before Election Day.
~The Central Elections Committee has to approve each ad that is slated to air on the same day. They also determine by lottery the day's schedule of ads.
~If you're really that curious, Israeli Election Laws in English can be found here. The site also have a GREAT cartoon about how Election Day works, put together by the Interioir Ministry and the Central Elections Committee (in Hebrew): http://www.bechirot.gov.il/elections18/heb/home.aspx

Nevermind how this compares with American electoral laws: the ads are one of the best forms of entertainment in this country. Every night, so long as I'm not working, I make sure to catch at least one of the TV broadcasts streaming online (the three network channels show the blocs at different times each night, except on Shabbat). After the introduction to the night's broadcast, which is a picture of the Knesset building, the ads are introduced by a blue screen with hte party's full name and its 1-3 letter symbol used on the ballot slips.

Each party has opened their own channel on YouTube with their clips, allowing for repeat performances of some of the best and worst in ads. Some of the ads have been translated by one of my jobs here, with a lot more still out there.

I've been simultaneously commentationg on some of the ads while they are broadcast, and so I present to you (with the help of YouTube) highlights from ads thus far:

Best Jingle: Habayit Hayehudi (The Jewish Home), formerly Mafdal (The National Religious Party). Voted as having the best jingle of all time by Reshet Gimmel, which is running an Election Day broadcast of the best jingles from Israeli history.
The electric guitar, the darbuka, the ay ay ay's, the spinning lazy susan of items that apparently epitomize Religious Zionism, a spokesman in a purple shirt and kippah: wow. Hebrew only.



Best Use of Only Attractive Supporters: Hadash, which partially consists of the Israeli Communist Party (a fact many of their supporters would have you forget). Between the last two wars, candidate Dov Khenin's candidacy in the Tel Aviv-Yafo mayoral elections, and general malaise, they're poised to get a good number of seats. Hebrew & Arabic, English subtitles added.


Most Deservedly Talked About Ad: Shoah Survivors & Green Leaf Graduates. An unlikely combination for a party, including non-supporters of the Pensioners' Party and non-members of the Green Leaf Party (a marijuana legalization party). "Sorry, but there's no credit for this number" is the line wirtten after the scene in the market, and "The Moral Choice" written under the, well, cannabis leaf. Hebrew, with English subtitles.

Finally, at least for the next few hours until the poll open, the two aesthetically best ads:

Koach L'hashpia (Power to Influence), advancing the issues of those handicapped and Da`am, a workers' party with the woman speaking as its head

Da'am: http://babelbear.com/player.php?v=dKgiRfK8mjk&s=99 Hebrew & Arabic, with English subtitles

Koach L'hashpia with the caption "There are people who automatically remain outside" at the end:



We're also expecting a major thunderstorm to coincide with Election Day, so stay tuned to developments.

10 January 2009

I feel the need to start off this post by saying that I’m physically and mentally OK. After two weeks of living through my first war living in Israel (one of many means of marking time in this country) I’m relatively sane. Even though it’s going on 2-3 hours away by car, and every day the news is nonstop coverage, normal life goes on in Jerusalem: tourists still abound, tractors still plow up the main street to make way for the light rail, bills keep appearing in my mailbox.

The center of the country where the majority of the population resides and works is referenced as “from Hadera to Gedera” after the northern and southern towns which mark the terrain. The phrase is also poignant as they are the borders of the area immune from rocket attacks from Lebanon and Gaza as the 2006 Lebanon War and the current war have proven. “The bubble” of Israel’s center is getting more and more solidified, with the only possible opening coming not fromthe influx of residents from the South, but rather the Center’s willingness to think about those other than themselves.

I wrote the following several days after the beginning of the war to illustrate what’s going on in the rest of the country:

I restarted watching live news from the Israeli network channels’ websites the other day. Not having cable and reception on my TV leaves much to be desired for my otherwise-TV addicted lifestyle, but I decided radio and news websites weren’t filling the involuntary need for information during the current war/operation/whatever in the South.

After about 20 minutes of watching the reporters in various locations and manners of field dress, the bright graphics and headlines, and listening to sentences with syllables so punctuated with emphases the spit practically came through the screen, I had to turn it off. I’ve had my fill in the past of being glued to the TV in times of crisis, from 9/11 to the 2006 Lebanon War.

I saw “Waltz with Bashir” the other night in Tel Aviv as part of my new internship. After sitting through the artistically amazing and emotionally devastating movie, I couldn’t help but have the strongest flashback to 9/12/01 at NYU. After spending the night inside and watching the news, I ventured outside to find a newspaper commemorating the attacks. Having nothing to do, as everything below 14th Street was declared a “dead zone” and no businesses were to be open, I went with a few friends to the nearby movie theater to watch whatever was playing for free. Every movie was packed; the only seats available were for “Apocalypse Now.” While it’s an incredible film with artistic importance and a moral regarding human behavior in times of crisis, it perhaps wasn’t the best choice during that period of time; this point was furthered when we got outside, introduced for the first time to the smoke from the ruins now entering the city northwards and military humvees patrolling the streets.

While leaving Dizengoff Center didn’t have the same feeling, the environment definitely felt changed. The chilled air which normally pushes pedestrians faster down the sidewalks was balanced with stopping every few meters for the latest news update beaming from a TV or radio inside a market. After ducking into an incredibly well-stocked organic market, I crossed the street for a drink with friends. If there’s one lesson I learned from 9/11 and living through a disaster, it’s to be sure to surround oneself with friends (and drink with them).

16 December 2008

Sorry to interrupt the usual gap between posts, but this is an Op-Ed too important to not read:

"The Shas version of Obama's 'yes we can'" by Alex Sinclair

If you haven't read this yet, do so. The Americanization of Israel is a topic I never find for lacking (as would any reader of this blog); but this example is so cynical and repugnant, it helps remove the so-called "post-Zionist" label given to writers like Tom Segev and Benny Morris and bestow it to its real recipient.
I have a lot of descriptions of Shas , an ultra-Orthodox political party that claims to represent Israelis of all the various Sephardi and Mizrahi communities yet was founded and is still run by Moroccans who went to yeshivot run by Lithuanian-originating ultra-Orthodox; and who claims to represent the interests of Jews of color discriminated by the ruling Ashkenazi elite, yet dress not like their own ancestors but rather those from 17th century Poland.

There's a term for this kind of whitewashing of oneself, taken from American culture, that while applicable is too American-centric to use here. For an actual example of the intersection of politics and the interests of these communities, check out the Black Panthers in Israel.

11 December 2008

I’ve always been one to make the most out of the seemingly small things in life. Like how amazing the main street nearby my apartment has four cafes, a sushi bar, two bakeries, two gourmet food stores, and a 24-hour market -- and yet everything shuts down on cue for Shabbat. Or getting stuck in traffic for three hours.
After spending the night trying to finish schoolwork, I got my things together and slumped out the door to the bus station. I figured I could sleep the whole way from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, the 45-minute ride affording at least a 40-minute nap. After promptly passing out after finding a window seat, I wake up at some point looking at the airport and the sensation that the bus isn’t moving. Thinking it has to do with the police-escorted convoy zooming alongside the bus on the shoulder, and that we’ll be moving in a moment, I try to go catch a few more minutes of sleep before we enter Tel Aviv. But the bus still isn’t moving. My tired eyes can just make out the shapes of hundreds of cars not moving on the highway, stretching way into the western horizon.
Everyone else on the bus awakes from their respective slumbering to find out we’re stuck in traffic that has started a lot sooner than usual. Then come the cellphone calls and news updates: a truck crashed into a traffic sign bridge on the northbound side of the Ayalon Freeway, closing off the otherwise-packed-at-rush hour-thoroughfare and rerouting all northbound morning traffic. People paced up and down the aisle, heaved big sighs, and watched as the bus driver took us on a scenic tour of Central Israel. We drove on highways and through towns that I always hear about, usually on the radio in the course of traffic reports, but seldom visit. The country always gets bigger with each small discovery like this one. Three hours later, we alighted and landed in Tel Aviv.

In retail news, it’s now official: GAP and H&M are slated to open stores here within the next two years. The two developments were such big news that they each garnered a headline on the front-page of the free daily paper and the news websites. As several people have said in a half-joking manner, “now there’s one less reason to travel outside of the country.”
Whether either or both of the chains will do well remains to be seen, as the Israeli consumer can be incredibly cheap and have expensive taste all at once. If something looks expensive AND has the logo of an American company that can regularly be shown off, Israelis will jump on it; but if it’s marked down to Three for 100 NIS, you’ll need a bat and sharp elbows to keep the competing customers at bay.
Starbucks failed, not because of its logo being unknown, but because the prices were too high and Israelis were already used to high-grade coffee chains. There’s only so long before a Starbucks disposable cup in the hand of an Israeli becomes refuse; but a T-shirt with the logo of Old Navy? That’ll get worn even after it has been stretched well beyond its original size.
Hanes does well because it’s cheap and American. American Apparel (at least in Jerusalem) does not do well because it’s expensive and American. Coffee Bean does well, despite being expensive, because of its free refills, free WiFi and comfortable chairs.

In cultural news, the new musical director of the Israel Opera started his tenure the other week. In his first interview since taking the job, the unofficial ban on publicly performing works by Richard Wagner was upheld. Although he cited artistic reasons for doing so, the ban on Wagner is a time-tested tradition that all conductors in Israel have to uphold, lest they be booed off the stage. Several years ago, the often-controversial Daniel Barenboim began to perform Wagner, only to have audience members boo him and leave the theater (Wagner was a well-known anti-Semite and his works were celebrated by the Nazis).

Why is this issue important?
One, cultural re-appropriation has been an effective tool for different cultures in combating legacies of hate and discrimination. “Black is Beautiful” is but one of numerous examples, such as the TV clip (zoom to 4:07 for the relevant part) of turning the tables on stereotypes and prejudices. American Jews have yet to learn this, instead enabling and internalizing the continuance of stereotypes (the whiny JAP on “The Nanny,” the emasculated man who marries a non-Jew on “Mad About You,” Paul Newman playing the hero in “Exodus”), but that's part of a much longer rant of mine.
Israel has seen some progress in this, albeit sporadic and of questionable taste. True, one sees a lot of kinky-haired folks running around; but there are also plenty of Mizrahi girls who’ve straightened and bleached their hair. There are the “Stalag novels" from the first decades of the State and a bounty of self-deprecating jokes. But as shown from my second point below, we're too busy Americanizing ourselves here to care.

Second there is the issue of aesthetics. I’m less interested in the ban on performances of Wagner as related to freedom of expressions as to the general state of Israeli culture. After the ordeal of the Israeli version of “Survivor,” we’re now suffering through a localized “Big Brother” that is the topic to discuss. When in doubt of a word’s existence in Hebrew, all one has to do is say the English equivalent with an Israeli accent and everyone will understand. One could be dropped off on any thoroughfare in any moderate-sized town and fine the same sight: three different store fronts on the same block, all hair stylists, all decorated with chandeliers and overgrown fleur-de-lis stencils climbing up the walls. All about external appearances, little about our insides.

We’re willing to Americanize ourselves to extents that viscerally blur distinctions, and yet vociferously denounce anything that even remotely touches upon our own history and identity as Jews, much less individuals. A Jewish orchestra playing Wagner to a Jewish audience in a Jewish country seems to me to be an initial small step in moving beyond our past tragedies and focusing on our potential futures.

In the meantime, the Israel Opera is performing "Carmen" in the spring and there's always the following to satiate any potential Wagnerian stirrings whilst in Der Judenstaat:

From 5 & 12 November 2008

A Tale of Two Elections

I've had the song "Oh Happy Day" stuck in my head since Wednesday morning. Despite fivethirtyeight.com's electoral prediction, which was after all accurate, I'm in shock. I cannot believe America not only elected a Black man as President, but elected him in a very clear majority. He got more Jewish votes than Kerry did in 2004. He won Ohio. He won Virginia. HE WON INDIANA.

After a long time waiting, my official ballot finally came in the mail. I rain off to send it back to DC, only to face a barrage of questions from the female clerk at the counter (whose hair, along with that of Arab teenage boys, further proved my theory that the Middle East is the final repository of the Jheri curl). “Wow, this is for the elections! Isn’t it late to be voting now?” began the barrage of questions in Hebrew: “Who are you voting for?” “Why?” “How do you say official results in English?”
Then the questions turned into personal favors, the clerk knowing better than to release a native English speaker before she’s satiated her linguistic needs. “What is this term in English?” explaining a phrase that seemed rather important to her job yet up until now totally unknown in English. I had never heard of it, so I passed. “Wait! I have one more question. Can you translate this thing I got and tell me what it’s for?” She proceeds to get her purse and extract two samples of Clinique moisturizer. I tell her they’re both skin moisturizers, even though the round container looks like it should be for eyes. She thanks me and I flee the scene.

Election Day commenced with work, a much needed nap and off to watch the results with friends. After a few episodes of The West Wing and some political but civil jabbing at one another’s presidential preferences, I offered a toast over kosher Spanish sparkling wine, celebrating democracy on America's election day and Israel's civil anniversary of Yitzhak Rabin's assassination.

It wasn’t until Pennsylvania was called, then eventually Virginia and Ohio that reality began to sink in. Watching CNN's live coverage from Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta and then Obama's speech in Chicago, choked up and at a loss for words at 7am, I came up with the following senitment I thought I would never say, certainly after the last eight years: I have never been more proud to be an American.

Exactly one week later, it was my first Election Day as an Israeli ctizen. Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and most cities & towns were to go to the polls to elect their mayor, town- and regional councils. In Jerusalem the stakes couldn’t have been higher, though most polls predicted a win for Nir Barkat, the “secular” candidate, a businessman from the hi-tech industry.

The day started off like any other, with me reluctantly getting out of bed after only a few hours’ of sleep and going to work. Hoping to vote before work so as to volunteer with the one of the candidate’s campaigns, I instead enjoyed a post-work Belgian waffle with coworkers and raced home to vote. Patrolling the streets were white vans with print-outs of how many people had voted by 4pm based on total number of eligible voters and whether they were “Haredi” (ultra-Orthodox) or secular.” The driver emphatically pleaded to the pedestrians via loudspeakers to vote, lest the Haredi candidate win.
I picked up my Interior Ministry voting information postcard, which had a print-out of my polling station’s address. My polling place is a religious public elementary school around the corner from me. The narrow road was packed with voters’ cars and booths of the various parties running for city hall. The security guard at the gate was checking bags and directing traffic to two different poll stations, mine and another school on the same campus. Once I entered the school, I was further relegated to a classroom that corresponded to a specific sub-category under which my vote is placed. One voter is allowed into a room at a time, with the setup featuring a table with four people and a sky blue science fair poster board display, behind which, is the voting booth.
After verifying my identity and checking me off in the roster, I was given two empty envelopes and instructions how to vote: the yellow ballots were for mayor, the white for city council. Only one yellow ballot was to be placed in the yellow envelope and only one white ballot in the white envelope. I went behind the science fair board, which had the official voting laws posted in small Hebrew print. Beneath it were multiple wooden cubbies with various white or yellow slips. The yellow slips had the names of the mayoral candidates in Hebrew, with only one listed in Arabic as well (the other official language of Israel). The white slips had the names of the parties in small type and one to three letters above it in large type for each party for city council. As Israel is a nation of immigrants, many of whom had to grasp Hebrew as a new language very quickly, measures were taken to ensure that anyone could understand how to vote. The large-type letters were understood to be easy enough for anyone eligible to vote to remember, and they’ve stuck for all this time.
I stuffed the correct envelopes left, dodging an array of electioneers and screaming voters trying to park on a one-way street. Initially planning to help volunteer on my candidate’s campaign, I was too tired to move and slumped into a chair, listening to the coverage on TV and radio. With the exit polls confirming my candidate would win, I joined friends at one of the many parties for people who voted. Eventually we ended up at my candidate’s official party in a hotel on the west side of town. The venue couldn’t have been better picked: on the other side of the road is the entrance to Mount Herzl, Israel’s national military cemetery, and on the other was the entrances to a Haredi neighborhood. In limbo between two worlds, the supporters inside waited all night for the first official results to come in from City Hall.

Not only did the Municipality post the actual results as they came in, but have a breakdown of votes by polling station. According to the results, my station saw 53% of its registered voters, 86% of whom voted for Nir Barkat. As for city council, the top four parties are a great demonstration of my neighborhood’s demographics: “Wake Up, Jerusalemites!” won the most (composed for secular and religious 20- & 30-somethings), followed by Meretz (non-socialist left wing party), “Jerusalem Will Succeed” (Barkat’s list), and a combined Mafdal/National Unity list (right-wing and Modern Orthodox).

Pictures from the day: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2400595&l=19d9a&id=818841

Here's to two of my candidates winning in the Trifecta of Democracy: The American Presidency and Jerusalem's Mayor.
Next race: 10 February 2009, Israel's National Elections.

01 November 2008

The months of September and October in Israel are exhausting. Around every corner is another holiday waiting to start, just when you’re finishing digesting the meals and liturgy of the previous holiday, with a hangover haze just barely vaporizing away.

Yom Kippur, as always, is so unique in Israel – from no cars on the otherwise lethal roads to services that are less dirge-filled and more upbeat in nature and sound to the popular newspaper including in their pre-holiday edition a translation of “Into the heart of Darkness.”

Halloween has come and gone with little fanfare here. In line behind a few American tourists at the supermarket, who were trying to explain Halloween to the cashier in broken Hebrew, she asked semi-rhetorically why they were buying individual beers and why we didn’t have Halloween in Israel (or as she called it at first, “Holi-day,” ironic because she had an Indian last name). I explained that we already had Purim, which is just as crazy of a celebration. Incredulous at myself for defending Halloween’s absence in Israel, I gathered my items and sulked out of the store.

My taste in Halloween television specials has changed, due to the absence of American television channels (or television altogether). This year I did not watch “A Garfield Halloween,” which was always the scariest special, or the movie “Hocus Pocus;” nor did I watch the annual specials on The Simpsons or Roseanne, mainly due to their blocked statuses on YouTube. This year was devoted to “A Disney Halloween,” which proves The Magic Kingdom can tap into a darker side; and an episode of Little Mosque on the Prairie entitled “Swimming Up Stream” which is hilarious for its un-PC nature (Hallaloween, ‘nuff said).
Then there’s the ubiquitous but never disappointing “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” It’s such a classic that it deserves watching again and again, savoring the title sequence, Snoopy’s insane laughter and hallucinogenic voyage through the World War I French countryside amidst a horror film-worthy soundtrack. I could go on and on about it, but thankfully someone at Slate.com summed up its uniqueness.

Another October holiday is my birthday. After deliberating how best to celebrate, political & musical serendipity came into the picture. The Saturday night following my birthday held in store two important events: the town hall meeting in English of candidates in the Jerusalem mayoral elections, and a monthly dance party at a local bar with my type of music being played. The elections take place 11 November, exactly one week after a certain other election day.
I got to the event 15 minutes before it was planned to start and it was already packed to the rafters. Housed at the Great Synagogue’s social hall, every native English speaker squeezed him/herself into the massive hall. Seemingly the only non-Orthodox person under 70 years old and not from the NYC metro area, a BBC reporter latched her eyes onto me and asked me about my preference for mayor. Having prepared a question for the ultra-Orthodox candidate in advance, I gave her a 7-minute response that seemed to impress her. Finding a place to stand near the industrial air conditioner, I had a direct line of sight with the dais. Jerusalem Post Editor David Horovitz was the moderator and I didn’t envy his job for one second: Between the candidates who unanimously opted to speak beyond their allotted 15 minutes and an audience who got more and more ornery with each comment that didn’t exactly match their personal opinions, the scene was more like a general meeting at a kibbutz 60 years ago that some might find quaint and nostalgic but I found embarrassing. The ultra-Orthodox candidate doesn’t speak English, so his associate was asked to translate into English – only he thought he could give a paraphrased translation. “Translate what he said!” was the audience’s response. The Russian oligarch spoke meanderingly, accidentally using the word “Palestine” in describing the eastern part of town and where few of those in attendance would dare be caught frequenting. Actual booing and hissing was the audience’s response. Then the candidate I’m backing got up to speak and his eloquence got me all weak in the knees. Is if there wasn’t any one else for whom to vote this 11 November, his words was a much-needed relief to my ears.

I left early to start the second part of the celebrations, indie rock dance party in the city center. Far less drama and a lot of needed fun.

I’ve had a lot of conversations with people from various walks of life about the American elections, some of whom are cognizant of the issues and can argue intelligently. And then there are those who find it acceptable to use unsubstantiated arguments that at best make themselves sound dumb and at worst a racist.
I give native-born Israelis a lot of credit for their complicated national and local politics, not to mention all they endure in life. But before one more Israeli tries to convince me that Obama is some closeted Muslim out to destroy Israel, I have the following response: Instead of giving you an intelligent reason why he is none of those things nor do they matter if he actually was, take a look at how our collective culture views people of color and whether that has any thing to do with the garbage you’re about to talk about Obama:

Here's to the next two weeks' worth of elections that will usher in the change we so desperately need in the world.

20 October 2008


That there was no on-board entertainment on the flight from Tel Aviv to Amsterdam allowed me to sleep for the majority of the flight. Although I was sitting next to a very attractive woman who ordered the kosher meal, piquing my interests, I was too tired to move my head out of the space between the window and seat to say anything.

I was on my back to the States for two weeks of refreshment and celebrating Rosh Hashanah with family. The previous months had been filled with endless bouts of procrastination in finishing papers for school, endless hours at work, and endless job interviews, all with little self-apportioned measures of success. While I still had work to finish during this trip, hopefully the change of scenery would accelerate its end.

A few hours wandering the Amsterdam airport before the transatlantic leg was already proving to be restoring. Being around a diversity of people is a pleasure for me, creating life stories and final destinations for fellow passengers.

Stuck on the plane for several hours with numerous choices for movies, I decided to lift a self-imposed ban and watch Adam Sandler’s latest movie You Don’t Mess With the Zohan. I saw Borat in Israel and laughed hysterically at the anti-Semitic jokes, acknowledging the irony of watching a Jewish comedian in Israel. But Zohan just didn’t appeal, because it was Adam Sandler and perhaps because it wouldn’t reach the social nuances that Borat had.
I was definitely wrong. I thought of the movie as not a satire of Israelis, but rather a satire of American perceptions of Israelis. The image of the hirsute, omnipotent, womanizing Sabra is an archetype still held by many, including American Jews and the title character was a caricature of all the ideals Americans want to see in the pioneering Israeli; that he wanted to lead a different kind of life, including with a Palestinian, was less a call for coexistence as it was a symbolic shattering of this mythical figure. Maybe I was over-analyzing the movie, having lots of time to spare on the flight; but if I was right, I’d have to give Sandler credit for creating a great piece of satire. Granted, it was still Hollywood and full of the requisite teenage humor expected in one of his movies.

Landing in the States, I felt like I hadn’t been away for the five previous months. The last time I had felt the same way, I was arriving in Israel to staff a Birthright Israel trip five months after a previous one. I enjoy and look for this kind of border-blurring, but it was still initially disconcerting.
A few days pass and there was little culture shock to overcome: still no heightened security on public transportation, still the same amount of overweight people as before, still the same amount of clueless tourists who stand in the middle of a Metro escalator, still the same simultaneous feelings of cultural affinity and separation.

Had I had any residual culture shock, the packed flight to the Dayton International Airport at 21.00 on a rainy night would have absorbed the last bits of it. No pushing to get a seemingly better seat for these folks, no overweight baggage or screaming at security for confiscating liquids. What a bunch of suckers, the Israeli passport in my carry-on bag sneered.
Time with family becomes more and more treasured, a fact not lost on anyone. That being said, it’s also treasured time to see the Halloween junk alongside the Christmas junk at the local Target: My mouth watered as much as it does for my grandmother’s brisket, my cousin and I pushed every moving and talking toy, I eventually constrained myself. A few days later and it back on a plane heading for Israel. It’s not so much that time flies as it escapes.

The holiday season is almost over, the few trees whose leaves change color are in full display, and the hours of sunlight have dramatically reduced to what seem like bursts of warmth and an extended dusk each evening.

Some little kid likes to scream for his mommy at the top of his lungs, particularly on Saturdays. He voice sounds like Damien from The Omen: demonic and British. “Mammmay!” “Mamaaaaaaaay!” reverberate through the stone walls of my apartment and give me the shivers, his diabolic demands likely to split open the ground with legions of macabre figure pouring out from the bowels of the Earth. Walking home today I finally found him screaming yet again at his front door – three blocks away, around the corner and up a hill. I took a quick glimpse at him, hoping to avoid his inevitably piercing eyes and the cue to some unseen dirge-droning choir. Man, I miss Halloween.

07 September 2008



The other evening it got so cold that when I got home the classical radio station was playing the entirety of The Nutcracker Suite, or as literally translated into Hebrew " Suitat M'fatzeach HaEgozim" (The Suite Of He That Cracks The Nuts, in my too-literal translation of the Hebrew).

A Tale of Two Festivals: Jerusalem's Wine Festival begins the summer and its Beer Festival brings it a slow close. I got there early to avoid paying the entrance fee and to make it feel like a Happy Hour back in DC. Some of the beers from last year were notably absent, including the one brewed by Palestinians and one that claims to use nitrous oxide. We stuck with the local microbreweries with such names as Dancing Camel, Golda and Herzl. This was a much younger and more Hebrew-sepaking crowd than the wine festival, albeit with the same amount of parents pushing their babies around in strollers amidst the drunkards.

Anyways, back to my hermitic lifestyle, writing four papers that aren't due until the end of the month, but I want to get them all done before my flight to the States in 1.5 weeks (yikes!).

25 August 2008

You know it’s getting towards the end of summer here when there are reports of rain in the North, pomegranates slowly reenter the markets, and the newspaper has a report on how many kilograms of books the average child carries per day.

The end of the summer is also the height of the French tourism import industry. There are stretches of town and hours of the day in which one only hears the language of Zola, Sartre and Truffaut, albeit screamed aloud by family clans from Marseilles wearing v-neck t-shirts and tanned to ‘racial profiling’ levels. The Israelis complain about the annual influx of French Jews, who supposedly numbered around 100,000 this summer, complaining that they’re rude and obnoxious tourists, who care nothing about their surroundings and only about themselves; the French call their hosts inhospitable and barbaric, reminding them they continue to come here even when American Jews get scared; and everyone else laughs at their respective accusations since both nationalities fare pretty low on the Most Affable Tourist scale, somewhere near American tourists in DC.

Alongside the swarms of French downtown is the demolition of Jaffa Street, the main thoroughfare that connects the western entrance to town and the Old City. Except for one lane, the entirely of the street has been torn up in order to lay tracks for the light rail that someday will arrive and give old ladies another venue to push otherwise hospitable people like me. Tractors roam the blocks-long ditch, separated from pedestrians and incoming traffic by a chain link fence, that for those with a short-term memory of the past two attacks in Jerusalem leave little to the imagination.
The most recent attack in Jerusalem had more to do with the French than some would like to admit, as the man operating the bulldozer was working on a massive apartment complex near the King David Hotel. Luxury apartment buildings are sprouting up in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, intended not for the locals but largely for the French and American Jews who come here twice a year (Passover and Rosh Hashanah through Sukkot). These people have no intention of renting their homes while abroad, evidenced by my downstairs neighbors whom I’ve never met in person, but am well acquainted with their alarm system that goes off with every cat in heat that finds its mate alongside their flat’s side entrance. When Haaretz.com showed live video of the bulldozer driver being shot to death by a civilian, it was introduced by an ad for one of these luxury apartment buildings.
There seem to be three connected results of all this construction, two awful and one still up in the air. There is very little housing available in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv that can be considered livable and affordable (I’m staying in my apartment, despite just being able to afford it). I know at least five different people looking for apartments that began their searches months ago. These massive buildings, since dependent on foreign investment, often stay vacant. With the dollar relatively weak against the shekel (who’da thunk that’d happen?), Americans are more reluctant than usual to invest in real estate. Huge buildings are being built with potentially few tenants, creating luxury ghost-towns in the middle of town. As if terrorism wasn’t bad enough, soon enough we might be facing crime-waves of burglaries.
The third result is related to yet-to-be-described picture up top. The picture is of a Help Wanted sign at the upscale shopping mall near the Old City for a store that will sell the clothes of the companies listed in English. I chanced upon it one day and almost fell over. Sure enough it has opened, and except for the lack softcore art on the walls, it’s a store that could be in any mediocre American mall. The store, like the mall in general, caters to the out-of-towners, but nonetheless pulls in a local crowd.

Slight digression: The other week I went with a friend for a self-guided night tour of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, a spooky enough of a place in daylight. Aside for very dim lighting, some unseen organist was tuning his church’s organ, holding each key down for five minutes apiece until it began to screech. After our early encounter with Halloween we walked back into town through the aforementioned mall, heartened to see it both full with people in general, and especially with so many Arab families.
If the change we need here, which can only come from North Americans (government accountability, quality of life, etc.), starts with Abercrombie and Fitch next to the Old City walls, then reluctantly so be it. At least the Help Wanted sign wants applicants who have already done their service in the Israeli army.

22 July 2008

First off, I’m OK. I was at home when a second tractor driver in three weeks went on an attack before being shot dead by a civilian and a Border Policeman. We can only hope and work for happier days ahead, not just because of today's events.

Looking through the job classifieds has become a morning ritual as commonplace as drinking my cup of instant coffee. It’s a long and arduous process, sifting through the innumerable ads of hi-tech companies, with slim pickings for a graduate student like me who’s only in school twice a week and is looking to use his brain while working.

The group of us who were friends at NYU and moved to Israel started a new tradition of kidnapping each other on our birthdays and going on a road trip. ‘Kidnapping’ being a relative term in this region, of course. After lots of deliberation on the destination, we decided to take a trip to Nazareth, with me playing the role of “unofficial tour guide” (lest be accosted by licensed tour guides and possibly fined by a roving Ministry of Tourism official). After a quick ride up, we climb the Lower Galilee mountains, getting lost in the terracing roads. For a major tourist destination, singage in any language is at a serious loss.
Nazareth is the largest Arab city in Israel and as such one sees stark contrasts between the sites connected to the Annunciation and Jesus, and the Muslim majority population that has displaced the traditionally large Christian population. Coming from Jerusalem, the small streets and sprawling outdoor market look practically the same, albeit without the security precautions. I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t bring a camera to capture the poster of an Arab summer camp sponsored by the Israeli Communist party (a bright red poster in Arabic with a picture of a swimming pool underneath a hammer-and-sickle) and a poster for an Islamic fundamentalist group just under the Roman Catholic Basilica of the Annunciation. After sightseeing and a short tour, we climb upwards to a lookout over the entire area. Being the summer the 30-minute, 30 degree ascent left us exhausted yet satisfied from the view of the entire area, with me in typical tour guide fashion pointing out the sites we could see “on a clear day.” Back down the hill for food, we ended up at one of the most famous restaurants in Israel, enthralled by endless salads (my picks: fried cauliflower in tehina and baby spinach with sesame oil) and a perfectly juicy lamb dinner prepared right in front of us. Yummmm.

A few days later it was time for Jerusalem’s annual wine festival. Located in the Israel Museum’s sculpture garden, the event epitomizes yuppiness in a city which is quickly replacing its yuppie population for the ultra-Orthodox crowd. The last time I was there, live jazz set the scene for would-be connoisseurs who strolled around with their all-you-can-drink glasses, trying to look dignified with a wine buzz. This year, on a Tuesday night, it was yuppie bedlam: the ticket line wrapped around the barriers like the most popular roller-coaster at an amusement park; and the event was mobbed with people, from the “Gimme whatever’s red!” guy to the attempting-to-be-a-oenophile to the “I’m so drunk!” reveler. There was another photo opportunity lost, just like in Nazareth and just as culture-shocked: While one gentleman offered his date his jacket to fend off the cool Jerusalem night, another man offered his talit katan to female friend as a scarf. Only in Jerusalem?

The night was the followed in the morning by the media spectacle that was the exchange for the Israeli soldiers Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev. I managed to wake up in time, with little residual effects from the previous night, to watch the live coverage. It was as if the last two years led up the few seconds when, answering a “reporter’s” question about whether the two soldiers were alive or dead, the Hizbullah spokesman in melodramatic fashion answered “Let’s find out” and out come two coffins. A huge thud followed by mournful violins went through my mind at the savagery of it all (kidnapped from the Israeli side of the border, no word on their fate for two years, exchanging the shameless Samir Kuntar without more concrete word on Ron Arad), finally coming to an end. I think every Israeli, regardless of their origin, wanted an American fairytale ending to this sad chapter in our history, hoping at least one of the two would be alive or that the bodies in the coffins would prove to not be those of Ehud and Eldad. While their families deserved an end to their misery and “Redemption of Captives” is a commandment in Jewish tradition, no one wanted an ending as sad as this one.

Happy and sad, light and dark, it's a bipolar kind of life here. I’ll do my best to keep up with the updating.

02 July 2008

In case you have't heard the news, a bulldozer driver deliberately plowed into a bus by the central bus station in Jerusalem, turing the bus over on its side. The latest update is that two people were murdered and 30 injured. The location was on Yafo Street, a main thoroughfare here. The street is being torn up to make way for the light rail, so there are lots of bulldozers on the street on a regular basis.

I'm OK and was at home, nowhere near the attack. For more news, check www.haaretz.com and www.ynetnews.com

I'm with you, I hate these kinds of updates.

24 June 2008

I walked out of the house on the way to work and I couldn't move. Not only was it incredibly hot outside, but there was enough humidity in the air to transport me back to summertime in DC: the inability to breathe outside, the need for constant air conditioning....yet no thunderstorm at the end of the day.

Other bits of DC in this sweltering capital city:

-http://www.foreignaffairs.org/20080701faessay87402/walter-russell-mead/the-new-israel-and-the-old.html


I came across this article via Haaretz. Their reporter who covers American politics and the Jewish community rhaphsodized about it, and after reading the first page, I voraciously read it in one sitting. An excellent read for US History fans, anyone still wondering what an Obama presidency will do/not do for US-Israel relations, and/or those who think lobbysists are the begin-all, end-all for dictating Congressional support for Israel.

-The other evening, as the temperature finally began to recede and the winds from the coast started to pick up, I walked up the street towards the Prime Minister's house. I've been avoiding that part of the street ever since being stopped again by hte police a few weeks back; this time, however, nothing would stop me. Freshly haven, I joined the hundreds of people gathered on the street to mark the two years since Gilad Shalit was kidnapped by HAMAS. Hundreds swelled to more than a thousand, casuing the police the close off the street and redirect traffic and at least five bus routes for the rally. While I've been keeping up with the developments surrounding possible deals to release Gilad, as well as a deal with Hizbullah to release Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev, it wasn't until the rally that I felt a sense of anger towards the government. It's been two years and in that time the current PM has chosen political suvivability over leadership as his MO, using the redemption of captives (an action on which Jewish tradition places a very high value) to keep himself in office amidst one political scandal after another.
My burgeoning rage was checked by that of Gilad's father, a friend of Ehud, the head of an organization for former POW's, and everyone else who attended.
It was great to be at a rally this important. Check out http://www.habanim.org/en/index_en.html for more info.

The dedication ceremony of the "Bridge of Strings," a bridge designed by Santiago Calatrava at the entrance to town that one day will carry the light rail, turned into yet another example of Jerusalem shying away from its status as an international capital. The Pride Paradce came and went with the usual ultra-Orthodox form of protesting -- setting garbage on fire in their own communities -- but the political machinations that became evident at the dedication ceremony are just too much, all the more reason for me to stay here, create a life, and vote in the upcoming municipal elections. That teenage girls have to cover themselves in quasi-Iranian style, lest they turn on the apparently always-horny ultra-Orthodox man, says as much about the community's apparent lack of self-control as it does about the general decline in Jerusalem's leadership (which arguably capped at Teddy Kollek z"l and has been on a steep downturn since Ehud Olmert).

The sun's setting, the temperature's dropping, the fan's been on for several hours now, and the weekend's bringing a little bit of calm and civility into the city. Even if the tranquility hangs around just for Shabbat, it's a welcome respite.