22 March 2009
Tel Aviv
As I sit here writing my way through the week just passed, Danny the Technician is trying to put the washing machine back together. He's replaced the motor and solenoid for far more money than I would spend on a 10 year old machine but that was the owner's call. This is Danny's third and, hopefully, last trip to the apartment this week as, before we get anything fixed here, we need to work our way through a system compartmentalized into narrow, carefully protected jurisdictions on a level of hairsplitting that seems to be the G-d given talent of my tribe. Someone once said that a sign of Zionism's success would be when thieves and hookers are Jews speaking Hebrew. Perhaps of equal importance are the plumbers, technicians, electricians, building maintenance crews and the like who are Jews speaking Hebrew.
This week both our washing machine and our second toilet (for the second time) decided to break down. Getting something fixed in Israel needs to be approached with patience and good humor. Just consider it part of your Israel adventure and your blood pressure will do just fine. Part of the fun is the jurisdictional disputes. Say, for example, that you rent your apartment, the owner is out of the country and you have to go through the agent. The agent's first response will be to insist that you call building maintenance or the Va'ad (building board, everything here is a form of co-op) to see if they will handle it. Now some things really do belong to the building, like the mold that grew through the walls in our former abode. It’s not clear who owns the connection between the toilet and the main plumbing system. However, the inside flushing mechanism of the toilet is definitely the apartment owner's problem, unless the head of building maintenance is in a good mood.
The plumber was here last Friday to fix the leak around the base of the second toilet. Building maintenance had actually given this one a try earlier in the week. But merely laying down a new line of caulk was not enough. So the agent had to bring in an outside plumber at some substantial expense to the owner to reconnect the toilet and the main waste pipe. After he had completed the repairs, he informed us that we could not use the toilet until Sunday. He then unstopped the drain on the sink in the main bathroom. For this repair we paid 80 shekels. Liz thought it was high. Doing quick math in my head I realized that I was being asked to pay $20 for a plumber to make a house call. Have you called a plumber lately? If you have, then you know why I smiled, handed over the cash and said nothing.
But what seems to be outside the jurisdiction of all these experts is cleaning up after themselves. I got to dump out whatever awful mess came out of our drain and put away all the folding chairs, cleaning implements and buckets that had to come out of the utility closet so our washing machine could be put back into service. I can hardly wait to get back to New Jersey where, I'm told, I have one broken toilet and sliding patio doors damaged by a squirrel trying to dig his way out of the house.
Read more!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Artists, Architects and Plumbers - Part 2
17 March 2009
Lower Galilee Valley
Driving a car is like riding a bicycle. Once you know how, it comes back quickly, particularly if you need to get into the flow of traffic in Tel Aviv. Today was the day I had been looking forward to and Liz was dreading. We were going to do the single most dangerous thing you can do in Israel, drive a car. Despite the statistical fact that you have more to fear from Israeli motorists than Arab terrorists, I love getting mobile and taking a road trip. The weather was lovely, the roads in good shape and traffic not bad as we drove both ways against the rush hours. Our first destination was Kibbutz Hanaton, the only kibbutz affiliated with the Conservative Movement (Masorti in Israel), which is in the midst of rebuilding its membership and reviving its mission.
Hanaton sits atop a hill overlooking the Eshkol Reservoir in the Lower Galilee Valley. As the ads used to say, getting there is half the fun. The drive takes you out of the heavily built up coastal plain into the less populated rolling green hills of the Carmel range, past Zichron Yaakov, through Yoqneam, into the Jezreel Valley and up to Hanaton. Directly below the kibbutz is a new neighborhood, clearly more upscale than the modest kibbutz housing, being built on what used to be kibbutz land (part of the kibbutz's economic recovery plan). To the west, on a plateau looking down on the kibbutz, are the dairy and chicken sheds. The hillsides around Hanaton are also sprinkled with Arab villages. In this part of Israel the population is about evenly divided between Arabs and Jews.
The kibbutz was originally founded in the 1980s, with the goals of spreading religious diversity from the Diaspora to Israel, educating Israelis about Masorti Judaism and providing a Conservative alternative for Jews seeking to combine their aliyah with spiritual growth. Unfortunately, the original Hanaton was formed just in time for the general economic collapse of the kibbutz movement. Hanaton's original community did not take root and almost all the original members left. The kibbutz was saved from total collapse by an influx of members from other parts of the kibbutz movement. However, becoming a secular, socialist kibbutz was not what the founders had in mind.
And so began a tug of war that, after some litigation, an economic reorganization, and a renewal of support from the Masorti Movement, has led to a revival of the kibbutz along its original spiritual lines. This time around, however, Hanaton is a kibbutz mitchadesh instead of a kibbutz sh'tufee. A kibbutz sh'tufee is the old socialist model (from each according to his or her ability and to each according to his or her needs) where all property and income is shared. A kibbutz mitchadesh, literally a renewed kibbutz, involves some level of privatization depending upon the organizational structure adopted by the kibbutz members. These kibbutzim run the gamut from mainly socialist with some private property or earnings allowed to a capitalist style cooperative, indistinguishable from a moshav. Hanaton is going to fall somewhere in the middle with members owning their own homes, keeping income from their own jobs and becoming shareholders in the kibbutz businesses (dairy and chickens). Income from the businesses will first be used to maintain community property, like the swimming pool, education center and synagogue, and then be put into a fund to assist kibbutz members who have lost jobs or become disabled. The kibbutz is also looking into setting up an independent living facility for older members and perhaps, as has been done by other kibbutzim, opening it up to outsiders.
What initially attracted Liz' attention and gave me the chance for a road trip was Kibbutz Hanaton's solicitation for funds in Mercaz, the Masorti newsletter, offering a voucher for a stay at the kibbutz guesthouse correlated to the amount of the donation. So Liz contacted Yoav, Hanaton's newly appointed Rabbi, and made a date. When we arrived, Yoav was in a meeting and, as he had warned in advance, was to leave soon for more meetings in Jerusalem. Yoav is a 30-something Rabbi, married with children, who agreed last summer to take on the task of rebuilding Hanaton. He has succeeded in increasing the membership from about 11 to about 55, most of whom will be moving to the kibbutz starting next summer, as housing becomes available.
So Yoav suggested that we walk around to see the kibbutz for ourselves and he would call us on a cell phone when the kibbutz meeting broke up. The kibbutz consists mostly of one story homes with high loft ceilings, the requisite dining hall, administration building, an education center next to a hostel/dormitory and that rarity among kibbutzim, a synagogue. When our cell phone went off we returned to the education center where Yoav excused himself for another meeting but left us in the able hands of Steve, one of the few kibbutz members from our age cohort. Steve, a CPA from Boston, made aliyah 25 years ago and works in-house for Intel. His attachment to the kibbutz? His daughter married Yoav and his grandchildren are leaving Jerusalem to live at Hanaton. Having reached a point where he was considering career and lifestyle changes anyway, and clearly a professional married man who knows life is easier if his wife gets to live near the grandchildren, Steve decided to join the kibbutz.
Steve spent the better part of two hours telling us about the kibbutz, answering our questions and talking about his own journey from Boston to this hilltop. We sat in the sun on community meeting benches facing toward the reservoir. While we were speaking, a herd of sheep accompanied by a single, Arab shepherd came by. After a brief conversation with the friendly shepherd, Steve informed us that our visitors were from the village just north of Hanaton. The kibbutz members welcome the local shepherds' flocks, as the sheep keep the grass and shrubs nicely trimmed and everyone enjoys a day off much more without the noise of lawn mowers. At our urging, Steve hazarded a guess as to how much it would cost to join Hanaton. The guesstimate is about $250,000 since you have to buy and fix up a house plus buy into the kibbutz' jointly held property and businesses. If you're making aliyah, the benefits bundle will defray some of this, particularly by helping you get a low cost mortgage and the initial income tax breaks. (I later learned that the aliyah agencies are offering enhanced benefits for immigrants to agree to live in the north, which could make Hanaton an even better deal. Try getting something with two or three bedrooms, a nice view and quiet surroundings in Tel Aviv for $250,000.)
The central purpose of Kibbutz Hanaton is not the dairy business but a Conservative spiritual life joined to an educational program open to all. So joining is not just a matter of money. Members are selected based upon their compatibility with the Kibbutz' mission. This will also make it harder to sell your house since the Kibbutz has to approve any buyer as a member, which, in turn, could dissuade some banks from funding a mortgage. Among Hanaton's new members are six or seven Rabbis. Interestingly enough, three Rabbis are Orthodox and one of them is married to a woman who is about to become a Reform Rabbi. Just what form Kibbutz religious life will take is still not set in concrete. And that, I think, is the point. Yoav, who joined us at the end of our stay, is looking for people who want to engage in the search, who understand that, in classic Judaism, it’s not the final destination but the quality of the journey that matters. Back in the States we talk a lot about Jewish identity – what it is and, if you can figure that out, how to keep it or even pass it on to your children. The same sort of search is going on among Israelis. Secular Jews want to get more in touch with their roots. There's not a significant shift toward becoming religious; but there is a real desire to become more knowledgeable about, and incorporate more of the traditions into, Israeli culture. Yoav sees Hanaton as playing a role in this search. He envisions bringing in groups from Israel and the diaspora to learn and explore. Yoav also believes that many Israelis reject religion because the only religion they know is Orthodoxy or Hasidism. Teaching people about Conservative or Reform Judaism gives Israelis options long familiar to American Jews but very new to most Israelis.
All of which is very exciting. If we were twenty-somethings, Hanaton would be very attractive to us. If they ever get the guest house/retreat business going we will most definitely be back.
With the romance of kibbutz life restored to us, we left Hanaton and drove the 20 minutes to Kibbutz Yagur to meet my cousin, Avia, in the dining hall for lunch. Yagur, tucked into the north side of the Carmel Mountain a short distance southeast of Haifa, was founded in 1922. While maintaining much of its socialist heritage, Yagur members can have private cars, kitchens in their apartments and jobs outside the kibbutz. Avia's youngest daughter, Nili, who is thirty-something, was among the last children raised in the children's house. At the age of 10 she went to live with her parents.
The kibbutz dining hall has the feel of a college or summer camp cafeteria. It’s as much a social gathering hall as a place to get fed. Just in case you don't know who set up this establishment, there are soda fountain spigots dispensing freshly made seltzer. We were joined at lunch by Nili's father-in-law, Yagur's chief electrician, who didn't just know about Hanaton but helped install its new electrical system. After watching videos of Avia's recent trip to Vietnam and Cambodia and enjoying her most recent grandchild (Nili's first baby), we drove back to Tel Aviv.
The ride between Tel Aviv and Yagur is now easy and scenic. You don't have to go through Haifa any more: Route 70 runs southeast from Yagur Junction, through the valleys between the Carmel Mountains and out to the sea: Route 2 runs along the sea and becomes Namir Street in north Tel Aviv. To top off a fun day, I got to park a car in the private, underground space that comes with our apartment. Have I told you that we've rented the apartment for next winter? Did I mention the part about the beach?
Read more!
Lower Galilee Valley
Driving a car is like riding a bicycle. Once you know how, it comes back quickly, particularly if you need to get into the flow of traffic in Tel Aviv. Today was the day I had been looking forward to and Liz was dreading. We were going to do the single most dangerous thing you can do in Israel, drive a car. Despite the statistical fact that you have more to fear from Israeli motorists than Arab terrorists, I love getting mobile and taking a road trip. The weather was lovely, the roads in good shape and traffic not bad as we drove both ways against the rush hours. Our first destination was Kibbutz Hanaton, the only kibbutz affiliated with the Conservative Movement (Masorti in Israel), which is in the midst of rebuilding its membership and reviving its mission.
Hanaton sits atop a hill overlooking the Eshkol Reservoir in the Lower Galilee Valley. As the ads used to say, getting there is half the fun. The drive takes you out of the heavily built up coastal plain into the less populated rolling green hills of the Carmel range, past Zichron Yaakov, through Yoqneam, into the Jezreel Valley and up to Hanaton. Directly below the kibbutz is a new neighborhood, clearly more upscale than the modest kibbutz housing, being built on what used to be kibbutz land (part of the kibbutz's economic recovery plan). To the west, on a plateau looking down on the kibbutz, are the dairy and chicken sheds. The hillsides around Hanaton are also sprinkled with Arab villages. In this part of Israel the population is about evenly divided between Arabs and Jews.The kibbutz was originally founded in the 1980s, with the goals of spreading religious diversity from the Diaspora to Israel, educating Israelis about Masorti Judaism and providing a Conservative alternative for Jews seeking to combine their aliyah with spiritual growth. Unfortunately, the original Hanaton was formed just in time for the general economic collapse of the kibbutz movement. Hanaton's original community did not take root and almost all the original members left. The kibbutz was saved from total collapse by an influx of members from other parts of the kibbutz movement. However, becoming a secular, socialist kibbutz was not what the founders had in mind.
And so began a tug of war that, after some litigation, an economic reorganization, and a renewal of support from the Masorti Movement, has led to a revival of the kibbutz along its original spiritual lines. This time around, however, Hanaton is a kibbutz mitchadesh instead of a kibbutz sh'tufee. A kibbutz sh'tufee is the old socialist model (from each according to his or her ability and to each according to his or her needs) where all property and income is shared. A kibbutz mitchadesh, literally a renewed kibbutz, involves some level of privatization depending upon the organizational structure adopted by the kibbutz members. These kibbutzim run the gamut from mainly socialist with some private property or earnings allowed to a capitalist style cooperative, indistinguishable from a moshav. Hanaton is going to fall somewhere in the middle with members owning their own homes, keeping income from their own jobs and becoming shareholders in the kibbutz businesses (dairy and chickens). Income from the businesses will first be used to maintain community property, like the swimming pool, education center and synagogue, and then be put into a fund to assist kibbutz members who have lost jobs or become disabled. The kibbutz is also looking into setting up an independent living facility for older members and perhaps, as has been done by other kibbutzim, opening it up to outsiders.
What initially attracted Liz' attention and gave me the chance for a road trip was Kibbutz Hanaton's solicitation for funds in Mercaz, the Masorti newsletter, offering a voucher for a stay at the kibbutz guesthouse correlated to the amount of the donation. So Liz contacted Yoav, Hanaton's newly appointed Rabbi, and made a date. When we arrived, Yoav was in a meeting and, as he had warned in advance, was to leave soon for more meetings in Jerusalem. Yoav is a 30-something Rabbi, married with children, who agreed last summer to take on the task of rebuilding Hanaton. He has succeeded in increasing the membership from about 11 to about 55, most of whom will be moving to the kibbutz starting next summer, as housing becomes available.
So Yoav suggested that we walk around to see the kibbutz for ourselves and he would call us on a cell phone when the kibbutz meeting broke up. The kibbutz consists mostly of one story homes with high loft ceilings, the requisite dining hall, administration building, an education center next to a hostel/dormitory and that rarity among kibbutzim, a synagogue. When our cell phone went off we returned to the education center where Yoav excused himself for another meeting but left us in the able hands of Steve, one of the few kibbutz members from our age cohort. Steve, a CPA from Boston, made aliyah 25 years ago and works in-house for Intel. His attachment to the kibbutz? His daughter married Yoav and his grandchildren are leaving Jerusalem to live at Hanaton. Having reached a point where he was considering career and lifestyle changes anyway, and clearly a professional married man who knows life is easier if his wife gets to live near the grandchildren, Steve decided to join the kibbutz.
Steve spent the better part of two hours telling us about the kibbutz, answering our questions and talking about his own journey from Boston to this hilltop. We sat in the sun on community meeting benches facing toward the reservoir. While we were speaking, a herd of sheep accompanied by a single, Arab shepherd came by. After a brief conversation with the friendly shepherd, Steve informed us that our visitors were from the village just north of Hanaton. The kibbutz members welcome the local shepherds' flocks, as the sheep keep the grass and shrubs nicely trimmed and everyone enjoys a day off much more without the noise of lawn mowers. At our urging, Steve hazarded a guess as to how much it would cost to join Hanaton. The guesstimate is about $250,000 since you have to buy and fix up a house plus buy into the kibbutz' jointly held property and businesses. If you're making aliyah, the benefits bundle will defray some of this, particularly by helping you get a low cost mortgage and the initial income tax breaks. (I later learned that the aliyah agencies are offering enhanced benefits for immigrants to agree to live in the north, which could make Hanaton an even better deal. Try getting something with two or three bedrooms, a nice view and quiet surroundings in Tel Aviv for $250,000.)The central purpose of Kibbutz Hanaton is not the dairy business but a Conservative spiritual life joined to an educational program open to all. So joining is not just a matter of money. Members are selected based upon their compatibility with the Kibbutz' mission. This will also make it harder to sell your house since the Kibbutz has to approve any buyer as a member, which, in turn, could dissuade some banks from funding a mortgage. Among Hanaton's new members are six or seven Rabbis. Interestingly enough, three Rabbis are Orthodox and one of them is married to a woman who is about to become a Reform Rabbi. Just what form Kibbutz religious life will take is still not set in concrete. And that, I think, is the point. Yoav, who joined us at the end of our stay, is looking for people who want to engage in the search, who understand that, in classic Judaism, it’s not the final destination but the quality of the journey that matters. Back in the States we talk a lot about Jewish identity – what it is and, if you can figure that out, how to keep it or even pass it on to your children. The same sort of search is going on among Israelis. Secular Jews want to get more in touch with their roots. There's not a significant shift toward becoming religious; but there is a real desire to become more knowledgeable about, and incorporate more of the traditions into, Israeli culture. Yoav sees Hanaton as playing a role in this search. He envisions bringing in groups from Israel and the diaspora to learn and explore. Yoav also believes that many Israelis reject religion because the only religion they know is Orthodoxy or Hasidism. Teaching people about Conservative or Reform Judaism gives Israelis options long familiar to American Jews but very new to most Israelis.
All of which is very exciting. If we were twenty-somethings, Hanaton would be very attractive to us. If they ever get the guest house/retreat business going we will most definitely be back.
With the romance of kibbutz life restored to us, we left Hanaton and drove the 20 minutes to Kibbutz Yagur to meet my cousin, Avia, in the dining hall for lunch. Yagur, tucked into the north side of the Carmel Mountain a short distance southeast of Haifa, was founded in 1922. While maintaining much of its socialist heritage, Yagur members can have private cars, kitchens in their apartments and jobs outside the kibbutz. Avia's youngest daughter, Nili, who is thirty-something, was among the last children raised in the children's house. At the age of 10 she went to live with her parents.
The kibbutz dining hall has the feel of a college or summer camp cafeteria. It’s as much a social gathering hall as a place to get fed. Just in case you don't know who set up this establishment, there are soda fountain spigots dispensing freshly made seltzer. We were joined at lunch by Nili's father-in-law, Yagur's chief electrician, who didn't just know about Hanaton but helped install its new electrical system. After watching videos of Avia's recent trip to Vietnam and Cambodia and enjoying her most recent grandchild (Nili's first baby), we drove back to Tel Aviv.
The ride between Tel Aviv and Yagur is now easy and scenic. You don't have to go through Haifa any more: Route 70 runs southeast from Yagur Junction, through the valleys between the Carmel Mountains and out to the sea: Route 2 runs along the sea and becomes Namir Street in north Tel Aviv. To top off a fun day, I got to park a car in the private, underground space that comes with our apartment. Have I told you that we've rented the apartment for next winter? Did I mention the part about the beach?
Read more!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Maybe Some Things Have Changed
Spring has sprung in the Holy Land. Today, the first day of daylight savings time, has been sunny and windy but not too cold. Liz and I set out early (before noon), walking first to the Lehem Erez on Ibn Gvirol where we bought a chocolate halvah cake for the middle daughter. The schlep to Ibn Gvirol was necessitated by the closing of the Lehem Erez on Ben Yehuda, another victim of the recession. We then went to the Tel Aviv Port for what was advertised as free, live music by some alternative rock bands.
Except for some misplaced high rise towers, Tel Aviv is an architectural marvel, featuring small parks tucked in between blocks of low rise, international style apartments and tree-lined boulevards with wide, central pathways. So the walking and the sitting on strategically placed benches was great.
The bands were a bust as they were playing inside a portable TV studio set up by Channel 24, a music video channel. TV gnomes were ushering groups of young people inside to be the live audience as the various musicians played their latest hits. They could be seen on a large outdoor screen but the sea proved far more interesting. Liz and I sat out in the sun for a while and finally walked the short distance to the Speedo Cafe.
Speedo is one of several cafes set up on the port's wide boardwalk with cushioned chairs facing the sea. Thanks to the large umbrellas we were able to sit in the shade and gaze out at the sea. Today the sea was a beautiful aquamarine with just enough waves to make things interesting. As I sat, drinking my cafe hafuch (cappucino in Italian) and eating apple pie with chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla, I thought about some recent Facebook communications I've had with three Gay men.
Having been raised in a family where political discourse is a form of blood sport, I sometimes forget that I'm communicating with real people who may be justifiably sensitive about certain topics. So, when I suggested that the life of LGBT people in America had progressed since the days of the Stonewall Riot I was castigated by a 20-something Gay man. To make matters worse, I threw into a defense of Israel's self-defense a suggestion that if he didn't like Israel he should go try being Gay in an Arab country. At this point he, quite correctly, verbally ripped me a new orifice. Remembering how angry I used to get when, during a protest against the War Against Vietnam, some clueless middle-aged asshole would hold up a sign suggesting that if we didn't love America we should go live in Russia, I realized that I had gone too far and deserved what I got. If he reads this he can hopefully take some solace from being one of the very few people to ever get a public apology from me after a political brawl.
However, in spite of it's unartful expression, I'm not convinced that my observation is wrong. Is America racist? You betcha. But we have gone from murdering people trying to register African Americans to vote, to voting for or against Obama based on what he had to say about being President. I think that's progress. I think a similar statement can be made about LGBT people. Is America homophobic? You betcha. But too many LGBT people are living openly and living well to say that nothing has gotten better since the Stonewall Riot.
I was reading my young FB Friend's quite accurate litany of all the abuses heaped upon the LGBT community in America when a new posting hit my Home Page. It was a video of another Gay FB Friend's son performing in the second grade class play at our local Jewish day school. This FB Friend is also both a real flesh-and-blood friend and my personal expert on the LGBT world. (The man has the patience of a true tzadik, tolerating the really stupid questions I ask him. He's going to make a very good Rabbi.) He's also married and lives near me in the suburbs with his husband, three children, a minivan and a mortgage. The video was quickly followed by a picture of my friend's husband hugging the smiling, triumphant young man. The joyful comments soon filled the page.
So there I sat, contemplating the juxtaposition of the first two sets of postings, when a posting from a third Gay FB Friend showed up. Titled "Yes, the 'Q' in Quiznos Stands for Queer" he sent his review of a Quiznos ad, complete with a video of the ad. In the ad, the Quiznos oven gets a young man to purr the price of a more than foot long sandwich, the Toasty Torpedoe. The ad ends with a screen filled with hands holding aloft rigid, foot long sandwiches. Have you seen this ad? If not, here's the link to his blog (the ad is also on YouTube): http://www.artsjournal.com/outthere (The blog is Jeff Weinstein's Out There on Arts Journal). The ad is the gayest and funniest bit of film I've seen since West Side Story on singalong night at the Castro Theater in San Francisco.
So, maybe, over the past 50 years or so, some things have changed and maybe some of that change has been for the good. I'll let you figure this one out for yourself. For now, I need to figure out where we are going for dinner tonight.
Read more!
Except for some misplaced high rise towers, Tel Aviv is an architectural marvel, featuring small parks tucked in between blocks of low rise, international style apartments and tree-lined boulevards with wide, central pathways. So the walking and the sitting on strategically placed benches was great.
The bands were a bust as they were playing inside a portable TV studio set up by Channel 24, a music video channel. TV gnomes were ushering groups of young people inside to be the live audience as the various musicians played their latest hits. They could be seen on a large outdoor screen but the sea proved far more interesting. Liz and I sat out in the sun for a while and finally walked the short distance to the Speedo Cafe.
Speedo is one of several cafes set up on the port's wide boardwalk with cushioned chairs facing the sea. Thanks to the large umbrellas we were able to sit in the shade and gaze out at the sea. Today the sea was a beautiful aquamarine with just enough waves to make things interesting. As I sat, drinking my cafe hafuch (cappucino in Italian) and eating apple pie with chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla, I thought about some recent Facebook communications I've had with three Gay men.
Having been raised in a family where political discourse is a form of blood sport, I sometimes forget that I'm communicating with real people who may be justifiably sensitive about certain topics. So, when I suggested that the life of LGBT people in America had progressed since the days of the Stonewall Riot I was castigated by a 20-something Gay man. To make matters worse, I threw into a defense of Israel's self-defense a suggestion that if he didn't like Israel he should go try being Gay in an Arab country. At this point he, quite correctly, verbally ripped me a new orifice. Remembering how angry I used to get when, during a protest against the War Against Vietnam, some clueless middle-aged asshole would hold up a sign suggesting that if we didn't love America we should go live in Russia, I realized that I had gone too far and deserved what I got. If he reads this he can hopefully take some solace from being one of the very few people to ever get a public apology from me after a political brawl.
However, in spite of it's unartful expression, I'm not convinced that my observation is wrong. Is America racist? You betcha. But we have gone from murdering people trying to register African Americans to vote, to voting for or against Obama based on what he had to say about being President. I think that's progress. I think a similar statement can be made about LGBT people. Is America homophobic? You betcha. But too many LGBT people are living openly and living well to say that nothing has gotten better since the Stonewall Riot.
I was reading my young FB Friend's quite accurate litany of all the abuses heaped upon the LGBT community in America when a new posting hit my Home Page. It was a video of another Gay FB Friend's son performing in the second grade class play at our local Jewish day school. This FB Friend is also both a real flesh-and-blood friend and my personal expert on the LGBT world. (The man has the patience of a true tzadik, tolerating the really stupid questions I ask him. He's going to make a very good Rabbi.) He's also married and lives near me in the suburbs with his husband, three children, a minivan and a mortgage. The video was quickly followed by a picture of my friend's husband hugging the smiling, triumphant young man. The joyful comments soon filled the page.
So there I sat, contemplating the juxtaposition of the first two sets of postings, when a posting from a third Gay FB Friend showed up. Titled "Yes, the 'Q' in Quiznos Stands for Queer" he sent his review of a Quiznos ad, complete with a video of the ad. In the ad, the Quiznos oven gets a young man to purr the price of a more than foot long sandwich, the Toasty Torpedoe. The ad ends with a screen filled with hands holding aloft rigid, foot long sandwiches. Have you seen this ad? If not, here's the link to his blog (the ad is also on YouTube): http://www.artsjournal.com/outthere (The blog is Jeff Weinstein's Out There on Arts Journal). The ad is the gayest and funniest bit of film I've seen since West Side Story on singalong night at the Castro Theater in San Francisco.
So, maybe, over the past 50 years or so, some things have changed and maybe some of that change has been for the good. I'll let you figure this one out for yourself. For now, I need to figure out where we are going for dinner tonight.
Read more!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Artists, Architects and Plumbers - Part 1
16 March 2009
Beersheva
I, and everyone else who is either being paid to do it or, like me, has too much time on their hands, have been speculating about what the new governing coalition will look like and whether it will be good or bad for the Jews. Once Bibi II takes office, we will immediately begin to speculate about when the new governing coalition will fall and the outcome of the new elections. I've been drafting a blog on the subject and just getting depressed. So let me spare you. Long-term readers of my blogs (both of you can trust me to keep your dirty little secret) know that I think that handing education, welfare allocations, housing and immigrant absorption over to the religious and settlers' parties is a far greater existential threat to Israel than anything the Arabs or the Persians can conjure up. So let's move on to what's good about this country: art, architecture and plumbers. To say nothing of religious pluralism and electricians.
Last Monday, Liz and I finally took the train down to Beersheva to get a tour of Ben Gurion University of the Negev (“BGU”). About two years ago Meir, my cousin-by-marriage, offered to give us a tour of the campus, the engineering labs and the city itself. One faculty strike, a war and a winter cold later, Meir met us at the north Beersheva train station. We walked over the Mexican Friends of BGU Bridge and onto one of the more beautiful college campuses we have been on, both in Israel and the US. (Having to get 3 daughters through college, I've walked my fair share of college campuses.) BGU has grown substantially over the past 10 years (tripling enrollment to over 18,000 students). Its newer buildings are concrete or stone reflecting the colors of the surrounding desert. Inside are atrium lobbies with wooden railings on spiraling staircases. The lobby of the administration building featured an art exhibition by area high school students. The exhibition theme was desert art with some really inspired pieces by both Jewish and Bedouin students showing slices of life in the south.
Meir then took us to meet Asher, his former teacher and now colleague, in the life science laboratories. Asher, an engineer, leads a team of engineers and biochemists doing research on organic methods for cleaning water. He is, according to his wife, a Mahandas Caca (crap engineer). Which, he concedes, is a fair description as his researchers are looking for ways to use bacteria to eat crap on a massive scale. Finding practical ways to transform waste and polluted water into water that can be consumed by humans, animals and plants is, obviously, a real big deal in a country roughly the size of New Jersey, half of which is desert. The research is done in “reactors” which looked to me like a bunch of test tubes and beakers with bubbling liquids that I'm really sure I would not care to drink, hooked up to a variety of devices and computers producing the researchers data. Individual projects can take two to three years to complete and may result in someone receiving a PhD or turn out to be, well, a beaker of crap.
Israel's survival and growth is very dependent upon Israelis' intellectual capacity. On a per capita basis, Israelis publish more research papers and obtain more patents than most other developed countries. This drives the key military and civilian high tech industries which keep the country in business in any way you want to take that phrase. The key, of course, is to maintain a steady flow of high quality students into Israel's universities and colleges. BGU has been working hard on this and has improved its standing in international rankings by attracting students and faculty not just from within the country (Meir and others were recruited from leading research institutions like the Technion) but also from around the world. The role of universities is not just to produce graduates who will go on to get good jobs but to help form new enterprises which create jobs. This will not be enough, however, if its graduates do not remain in the country and give it the benefit of their brilliance. The cutting edge high tech so vital to Israel is, as noted by Bernard Avishai in The Hebrew Republic, is carried in people's heads and those heads can as easily rest on pillows in Silicon Valley, Europe or Mumbai as in Beersheva, Haifa or Rehovot.
You might think that any government, left or right, would have the quality of education and the environment (quality of life) at or near the top of its agenda. These are, after all, the key underpinnings of the two top priorities for the incoming government – security and the economy. What we have instead are a bunch of whining Likud Mks who are angry that Bibi is giving away the “good” ministries to coalition partners, leaving Likudniks positions in Education and Environment that they do not want to fill. Why not? Because these ministries are usually the last in line for budget and job allocations. In Education Bibi is going to allow Shas to control the budget and curriculum for Haredi schools. This will strip more resources from public schools and assure that 20 to 30% of Israel's school children will receive little or no math or science education Since they're being raised to not do national service or go out and get jobs, this doesn't trouble Shas and the Haredi Rabbis. But Israel can't go on indefinitely living off the Soviet school system's emphasis on math and science while trying to support a theocratic, welfare state-within-a-state. Yes, I know I promised no political rant but its hard to remain silent when I'm standing looking at what ought to be the real triumph of Zionism and know that people claiming to be the only authentic Jews may make it into a mere facade.
We left Asher and went off to lunch in the faculty dining room. I used to wonder if faculty ate better than us students. They do. Try the shwarma and broccoli with pasta if you get the chance. On our way there we walked through the central campus which features a garden with a stream flowing between concrete banks that expand and contract along the way, creating nice, Zen water sounds. We also stopped in at the main campus library. The building features terraced archways with windows, all facing north. Inside, the library floors are open with lots of natural light but no heat from direct sun. Each floor is terraced back from the one below, creating balconies that look down to the main floor.
After lunch we took a city bus from the new campus to the old campus, where Meir's department is housed. First thing you notice at the bus stop is the large number of Arabs (probably Bedouin given where we were) at the bus stop. About 20% of Israel's population is Arab but it is not evenly distributed around the country. In Tel Aviv and the “center” surrounding Tel Aviv you rarely see Arab faces. Go up north or down south and they can be half the people you meet. My unscientific survey of BGU, based on who was sitting in the library and student union, is a fair-sized representation of Arab students. Israel is struggling with integration but, at least in some places, there seems to be some progress.
We also got a look at, but unfortunately did not have time to go into, Siroka Medical Center, a leading trauma facility and the main hospital for southern Israel. BGU has an outstanding medical school (I know because they produced my Israeli cardiologist) affiliated with Siroka.
BGU's construction engineers are housed in a former hotel complex which looks to have been built in the 1950s. Meir introduced us to Eddie, a Russian who really was an engineer in the old country. Eddie walked us through labs where students study the effects of wind sheer, torque, earthquakes and the like on support beams. In one lab students design their own concrete beams and building blocks, complete with rebar. The students actually make the beams and then get to try to destroy them by applying excessive amounts of weight or tension. Eddie says destroying things is the fun part.
We walked out of the old campus and stepped central Beersheva. Twenty or thirty years ago, Beersheva was still largely an oasis with a Bedouin market bordering a dowdy settlement town. Forget it. This is a modern city with all the accoutrements. We walked by the city courthouse and administration building, built to look like a opened, Sephardic-style Torah scroll. As we strolled along Liz spotted dresses on sale which looked like suitable gifts for the daughters. (We can't go away for 4 months and come home empty-handed, no matter how old they get.) So, as Liz searched the racks, Meir and I took in the street scene. Parading out from the courthouse were a number of lawyers (anyone in a black suit and tie carrying a court robe on a spectacular sunny day has to be a lawyer as there was no nearby psychiatric facility). They reminded me how much I love being retired.
The downside of Beersheva is its reputation for being a place that people prefer not to live in. Despite the tremendous growth of the university and hospital, the town has had a decrease in population. Many of the students and faculty are commuters. (Meir and his family live in Tivon, near Haifa. He works from home 1 or 2 days a week.) Young people leave for lack of jobs. A high tech industrial park might help but who knows if one will ever be set up.
After a stroll through the shuk Meir left us at the central train station for the ride back to Tel Aviv. Actually, the train ride alone is worth the trip. You can watch the ground change color as everything becomes greener as you head north (or more yellow and white as you head south).
Read more!
Beersheva
I, and everyone else who is either being paid to do it or, like me, has too much time on their hands, have been speculating about what the new governing coalition will look like and whether it will be good or bad for the Jews. Once Bibi II takes office, we will immediately begin to speculate about when the new governing coalition will fall and the outcome of the new elections. I've been drafting a blog on the subject and just getting depressed. So let me spare you. Long-term readers of my blogs (both of you can trust me to keep your dirty little secret) know that I think that handing education, welfare allocations, housing and immigrant absorption over to the religious and settlers' parties is a far greater existential threat to Israel than anything the Arabs or the Persians can conjure up. So let's move on to what's good about this country: art, architecture and plumbers. To say nothing of religious pluralism and electricians.
Last Monday, Liz and I finally took the train down to Beersheva to get a tour of Ben Gurion University of the Negev (“BGU”). About two years ago Meir, my cousin-by-marriage, offered to give us a tour of the campus, the engineering labs and the city itself. One faculty strike, a war and a winter cold later, Meir met us at the north Beersheva train station. We walked over the Mexican Friends of BGU Bridge and onto one of the more beautiful college campuses we have been on, both in Israel and the US. (Having to get 3 daughters through college, I've walked my fair share of college campuses.) BGU has grown substantially over the past 10 years (tripling enrollment to over 18,000 students). Its newer buildings are concrete or stone reflecting the colors of the surrounding desert. Inside are atrium lobbies with wooden railings on spiraling staircases. The lobby of the administration building featured an art exhibition by area high school students. The exhibition theme was desert art with some really inspired pieces by both Jewish and Bedouin students showing slices of life in the south.
Meir then took us to meet Asher, his former teacher and now colleague, in the life science laboratories. Asher, an engineer, leads a team of engineers and biochemists doing research on organic methods for cleaning water. He is, according to his wife, a Mahandas Caca (crap engineer). Which, he concedes, is a fair description as his researchers are looking for ways to use bacteria to eat crap on a massive scale. Finding practical ways to transform waste and polluted water into water that can be consumed by humans, animals and plants is, obviously, a real big deal in a country roughly the size of New Jersey, half of which is desert. The research is done in “reactors” which looked to me like a bunch of test tubes and beakers with bubbling liquids that I'm really sure I would not care to drink, hooked up to a variety of devices and computers producing the researchers data. Individual projects can take two to three years to complete and may result in someone receiving a PhD or turn out to be, well, a beaker of crap.
Israel's survival and growth is very dependent upon Israelis' intellectual capacity. On a per capita basis, Israelis publish more research papers and obtain more patents than most other developed countries. This drives the key military and civilian high tech industries which keep the country in business in any way you want to take that phrase. The key, of course, is to maintain a steady flow of high quality students into Israel's universities and colleges. BGU has been working hard on this and has improved its standing in international rankings by attracting students and faculty not just from within the country (Meir and others were recruited from leading research institutions like the Technion) but also from around the world. The role of universities is not just to produce graduates who will go on to get good jobs but to help form new enterprises which create jobs. This will not be enough, however, if its graduates do not remain in the country and give it the benefit of their brilliance. The cutting edge high tech so vital to Israel is, as noted by Bernard Avishai in The Hebrew Republic, is carried in people's heads and those heads can as easily rest on pillows in Silicon Valley, Europe or Mumbai as in Beersheva, Haifa or Rehovot.
You might think that any government, left or right, would have the quality of education and the environment (quality of life) at or near the top of its agenda. These are, after all, the key underpinnings of the two top priorities for the incoming government – security and the economy. What we have instead are a bunch of whining Likud Mks who are angry that Bibi is giving away the “good” ministries to coalition partners, leaving Likudniks positions in Education and Environment that they do not want to fill. Why not? Because these ministries are usually the last in line for budget and job allocations. In Education Bibi is going to allow Shas to control the budget and curriculum for Haredi schools. This will strip more resources from public schools and assure that 20 to 30% of Israel's school children will receive little or no math or science education Since they're being raised to not do national service or go out and get jobs, this doesn't trouble Shas and the Haredi Rabbis. But Israel can't go on indefinitely living off the Soviet school system's emphasis on math and science while trying to support a theocratic, welfare state-within-a-state. Yes, I know I promised no political rant but its hard to remain silent when I'm standing looking at what ought to be the real triumph of Zionism and know that people claiming to be the only authentic Jews may make it into a mere facade.
We left Asher and went off to lunch in the faculty dining room. I used to wonder if faculty ate better than us students. They do. Try the shwarma and broccoli with pasta if you get the chance. On our way there we walked through the central campus which features a garden with a stream flowing between concrete banks that expand and contract along the way, creating nice, Zen water sounds. We also stopped in at the main campus library. The building features terraced archways with windows, all facing north. Inside, the library floors are open with lots of natural light but no heat from direct sun. Each floor is terraced back from the one below, creating balconies that look down to the main floor.
After lunch we took a city bus from the new campus to the old campus, where Meir's department is housed. First thing you notice at the bus stop is the large number of Arabs (probably Bedouin given where we were) at the bus stop. About 20% of Israel's population is Arab but it is not evenly distributed around the country. In Tel Aviv and the “center” surrounding Tel Aviv you rarely see Arab faces. Go up north or down south and they can be half the people you meet. My unscientific survey of BGU, based on who was sitting in the library and student union, is a fair-sized representation of Arab students. Israel is struggling with integration but, at least in some places, there seems to be some progress.
We also got a look at, but unfortunately did not have time to go into, Siroka Medical Center, a leading trauma facility and the main hospital for southern Israel. BGU has an outstanding medical school (I know because they produced my Israeli cardiologist) affiliated with Siroka.
BGU's construction engineers are housed in a former hotel complex which looks to have been built in the 1950s. Meir introduced us to Eddie, a Russian who really was an engineer in the old country. Eddie walked us through labs where students study the effects of wind sheer, torque, earthquakes and the like on support beams. In one lab students design their own concrete beams and building blocks, complete with rebar. The students actually make the beams and then get to try to destroy them by applying excessive amounts of weight or tension. Eddie says destroying things is the fun part.
We walked out of the old campus and stepped central Beersheva. Twenty or thirty years ago, Beersheva was still largely an oasis with a Bedouin market bordering a dowdy settlement town. Forget it. This is a modern city with all the accoutrements. We walked by the city courthouse and administration building, built to look like a opened, Sephardic-style Torah scroll. As we strolled along Liz spotted dresses on sale which looked like suitable gifts for the daughters. (We can't go away for 4 months and come home empty-handed, no matter how old they get.) So, as Liz searched the racks, Meir and I took in the street scene. Parading out from the courthouse were a number of lawyers (anyone in a black suit and tie carrying a court robe on a spectacular sunny day has to be a lawyer as there was no nearby psychiatric facility). They reminded me how much I love being retired.
The downside of Beersheva is its reputation for being a place that people prefer not to live in. Despite the tremendous growth of the university and hospital, the town has had a decrease in population. Many of the students and faculty are commuters. (Meir and his family live in Tivon, near Haifa. He works from home 1 or 2 days a week.) Young people leave for lack of jobs. A high tech industrial park might help but who knows if one will ever be set up.
After a stroll through the shuk Meir left us at the central train station for the ride back to Tel Aviv. Actually, the train ride alone is worth the trip. You can watch the ground change color as everything becomes greener as you head north (or more yellow and white as you head south).
Read more!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Get Your Kicks on Sherut 66
22 Feb 2009
Tel Aviv
Today we went wireless. Not by choice. We'd been having internet problems for a couple of weeks. I awoke today (Sunday) to discover that my favorite tactic of shutting down the computer and letting us both get 8 or 9 hours sleep did not work. I also try this tactic with broken toilets and angina pains with equally spotty results. Liz reminded me that fixing the computer was one of my primary duties in our marriage (along with taking out the garbage and international relations – she gets the easy stuff like planning and preparing meals, keeping our social calendar and finding places for us to live). Today she was off without me to ladle soup at Lasova, leaving me to the tender mercies of Bezeq Tech Support. The day, however, ended not only as a technological triumph but also with shwarma, kubeh soup and chocolate.
Getting through to someone in Tech Support who can actually help you is always a challenge. But here I have the added burden of trying to find someone who can speak computerese in American English. The first thing to know about calling Bezeq is that you will get to choose from among three languages – Hebrew, Russian and Arabic. Do all those Anglos in Israel use another service provider? Are all Bezeq Techies multi-lingual so it doesn't matter which button you push? Hitting "0#" did not take me out of the loops and to a human being. So I took my best guess and selected 1 for Hebrew. I tried listening for a couple of words that might point me to the correct selection such as technai or sherut (technician and service). Nothing. So I just kept hitting “1” until, after a long wait, a human being answered. She only spoke enough English to tell me I had reached billing, I needed tech support and to call back on 166 and select option 4.
In Israel there are shortened telephone numbers that can be called toll free for certain services. For example, 100 is for the police, 101 calls an ambulance (Magen David Adom) and 102 is to report a fire. I tried 166, discovered there was no option 4 and decided, again, to just keep hitting 1. After another long wait a real person answered, said she did speak English and told me that I had reached billing at 199, not Tech Support at 166. This time, however, she offered to have an English-speaker from Tech Support call me back. Taking this as a friendly gesture I gave her my phone number. While waiting for the call back, it occurred to me that I may have dialed a wrong number so I tried 166 again, slowly and carefully.
During my third trip through recordings I didn't understand, my call waiting started to beep. The caller was a very nice person who said he was returning my call but that he also was from billing. I thanked him and went back to my telephonic wanderings. And so, about 45 minutes into my search, I reached a person who said she didn't speak much English but offered to transfer my call to someone in Tech Support who does speak English. In most call center systems being transferred is usually the kiss of death. Anyone who has ever tried to get help from Dell for a Windows problem knows what I'm talking about. But here in the Holy Land a miracle occurred. Yossi got on the line.
Yossi, who's English was great, quickly diagnosed our problem. Your modem is fried, he said. We'll have to give you a new one. Ah yes, first the miracle and then the black clouds come back. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Having visions of being modemless for a couple of weeks (Israel is notorious for installation delays), I said I couldn't wait. Yossi said that's no problem. I could do it today, myself, as long as I took the old modem and wires to a Bezeq store. And where is that? Yossi looks it up and says – Ibn Gvirol. Since I know Ibn Gvirol is a few kilometers long I insisted on a street number. Yossi said 108 and the clouds began to part again. The Bezeq store is near the Municipal Building on a stretch of Ibn Gvirol packed with restaurants, kiosks and chocolate shops. The day suddenly had potential. All I needed to do was get there.
Getting there meant going outside into the winter that had finally arrived in Israel. Winter in Israel comes with what folks from Maine would call “weather”. Not one giant storm but a series of squalls accompanied by bolts of lightning and thunder claps of Biblical magnitude. In between the squalls are clear skies and warm (if you're from New Jersey) breezes. One minute it's raining heavily and the next the sun comes out. Go to the north and you also get hail the size of golf balls, and snow. The upside of “weather” is that Israel is going to get very very green in a big hurry, flowers will bloom, crops will grow and, maybe, water won't be rationed this summer. The downside is this is a place where storm sewers and flood control projects are purely academic concepts.
The news is featuring stories about how Israelis are flocking north to look at the snow and watch water fall down rock faces (if you live in the desert this is a big deal – come from New Jersey and you spend these days sitting at a computer writing your blogs). These stories are quickly followed with the stories of hikers' cars skidding off roads and being washed away in the flood waters. Think of New Yorkers watching a tall building burn. The thought that it may fall on their heads never seems to deter the crowds. So I put on my waterproof, hooded jacket and walking shoes (schlepped here from the USA just for a day such as this) and set forth on my expedition.
Sheruts are a great, cheap way to get around Tel Aviv. These group taxis seating 12 to 16 riders follow bus routes. Only, unlike the buses they shadow, the sheruts will stop anywhere along the route, provided, of course, that you distract the driver from his simultaneous conversations on a radio, two cell phones and with the good looking woman in the second row. My life in Israel has been lived mainly along the 4, 5 and 16 lines. These lines run north – south and connect the port with the bus station and Hatikvah via Ben Yehuda, Allenby, Dizengoff, Rothschild and some South TLV streets you really don't want to walk on anyway. I have not used an east-west line, until now. I could have done the day's journey on foot but rain, hunger and the need to get the modem fixed before Liz got home from the soup kitchen took precedence over any guilt about needing the exercise.
Liz had told me about the Route 66 sherut a couple of weeks ago. She said the 66 crosses Ibn Gvirol at Arlozoroff, which I knew would be close to the Bezeq store. Even better, I could waive one down very close to the apartment. After all, I wouldn't want to take this going outdoors in the rain business any further than absolutely necessary. It turned out that the 66 passes a number of places we frequent such as Dizengoff Center (mall and movies), the Supersol on Arlozoroff (nicer store than the one on Ben Yehuda) and, after crossing Ibn Gvirol, the central train (and bus) station. In less than 15 minutes I arrived at the Bezeq store ready to swap modems.
The Bezeq store turned out to be pleasant to deal with. Sometimes privatization, deregulation and competition can be a good thing. They were even expecting me, thanks to Yossi's note on the account file. Before I left the apartment, I had given Dafna the Agent a head's up that I was trying to fix a modem problem and she got me in touch with the owner's cousin, whose name is on the account (don't ask). The cousin gave me his cell phone number and said to call from the store if I needed his help. So, when the Bezeq CSR told me I could have a free upgrade to a wireless modem if the account holder would agree to extend the contract, I put her on the phone with the cousin. The cousin not only took the upgrade for my apartment, he took one for his home. With a satisfied look on her face, the Bezeq CSR took the fried modem and gave me a new wireless modem. I asked if the instructions were in English. She said no but if I had any problems I could call 166. Oh great. Trek home through the rain and cold to spend another 45 to 60 minutes trying to get through on 166. Clearly it was time to load up on comfort food and worry about the internet later.
So off I went, south on Ibn Gvirol thinking about whether I would head to the shwarma stand just north of Hadassa (which is just north of Gan Ha'Ir (City Garden, a mall just north of the Tel Aviv-Yafo Municipal Building) or hit the ultimate winter comfort food of soup and chocolate tortes in Judith's Hungarian Cafe inside the mall. Oh, decisions, decisions.
The fact that it was now raining and the shwarma stand has only outdoor tables was not an issue due to the architecture of Ibn Gvirol. The International School buildings that line the avenue have their upper floors built out over the sidewalk. Resting on square pillars, the fronts of the buildings form a long archway ending a few feet in from the street. Set back under the archway are kiosks, restaurants, cafes and stores. With a few strategically placed space heaters, most establishments offer year-round, day and night, outdoor seating. The net effect is to create a shady walkway that keeps diners and shoppers cool in the summer and dry in the winter while indulging their base, primitive needs for food and household appliances.
Having been to Judith's twice this trip, I decided on the shwarma. After all, those of us whose main contribution to Israel is to come here and spend money have an obligation to move our business around. For those of you who live too sheltered a life, shwarma (similar to the Greek gyro) is a huge slab of mystery meat, allegedly lamb or, more typically, turkey with lamb fat melted over it, rotating on a tall skewer in front of an electric grill. The meat for your sandwich is sliced off the skewer with the traditional long knife or an electric slicer that looks like it came from a Popeil TV offering. The shwarma stand I favor on Ibn Gvirol has a choice of both and is always busy (a critical factor when eating this sort of food). They also slice the meat with a long knife which somehow convinces me that this is the authentic Middle Eastern fast food I crave. Today I went for the lamb rolled in laffa (a large, flat Yemenite pita) with salads and chips but no harif (hot sauce).
Having downed the shwarma I stared at the wireless modem in its box inside the Bezeq bag and realized that I could not possibly continue without chocolate. And there was also the question of what, besides chocolate, could I bring home for Liz on this chilly, rainy day. Fortunately the next two blocks going south on Ibn Gvirol include some of the best chocolate shops in Israel plus the Kubeh Bar, purveyor of a variety of soups accompanied by kubeh and rice.
My contemplation of which chocolate shop to hit first was interrupted by the crowd of video and still photographers standing around the Memorial to Yitzhak Rabin. Built on the spot where Rabin was assassinated after attending a peace rally, the Memorial consists of broken blocks of black stone surrounding a plaque and eternal flame. Tel Aviv being the regional capital of fashion shoots and Indie filmmaking, a gathering of photographers and people with pads and clipboards is a daily source of street theater. So I stopped and joined a group of other pedestrians prepared to take time out from walking in the rain to gawk at whatever was about to happen. What happened was two men, one in a nice suit and another in a jacket and pants that did not quite match, walked up accompanied by functionary types holding umbrellas to cover the two men and what was obviously a memorial wreath with a sash. The better dressed of the two laid the wreath on the memorial and the two men stood still for the photographers to record the event. The well dressed man turned out to be the Mayor of Berlin, accompanied by the “fashion-don't” Mayor of Tel Aviv. That the Mayor of Berlin was honoring a Jewish martyr is the sort of thing that makes the 6 o'clock news in this town (and entertains those of us looking for any excuse not to get back on the phone with Tech Support).
I decided to pick up the chocolate first since the soup would be the heaviest part of my growing collection of things to carry and I was craving a really good chocolate cherry. So first I hit Daskalides, Belgian chocolate importers who have the real deal when it comes to chocolate cherries. A rich dark chocolate surrounding a decent liqueur in which floats a real cherry (be careful about the pit). I ate one while walking and brought two home to share with the wife. Next was Cardinal, whose proprietor makes his own chocolate right there in the store. The variety of individual pieces or slabs varies with the moods of and the fresh ingredients acquired by the proprietor. As I walked in today his assistant, a good looking young woman who was up to her wrists in chocolate, smiled and asked if she could help me. I soon had two decent sized slabs of dark chocolate – one with candied orange rinds (that was mine) and one with chili peppers (Liz' favorite).
So, carrying chocolate and the wireless modem it was time to get serious about the soup. Kubeh Bar is just across Frishmann from the southwest corner of Rabin Square. Their menu is easy enough to learn. There's the red soup, the yellow soup and the green soup. The red soup has a tomato base. I don't know what's in the yellow and green. The guys behind the counter will let you taste each one before ordering so you really don't have to get hung up on ingredients. Kubeh is a thick layer of starch around either mystery meat or entrecote chopped and cooked in, well, kubeh spices. It's Middle Eastern workers' soup, perfect for chilly, rainy days. I like the yellow and Liz likes the red so these, with a mixed grouping of kubehs and a bowl of rice all went with me back up Ibn Gvirol to wave down a 66 sherut heading back towards Allenby.
Arriving back at the apartment with my supplies I proceeded to install the new modem. Here's where standardization and globalization can actually be of use. Having installed a wireless modem in the New Jersey house I had a clue that certain things had to be hooked up to certain other things in a certain, nonintuitive order. I also found the “quick install” instructions, written in Hebrew but with 5 numbered steps and pictures. So I followed the pictures and, on the 5th step observed an Internet Explorer icon. So, having plugged the DSL line, the modem and the computer into one another I clicked on the web browser and found myself at a site to log onto Bezeq's internet service. Using the existing login words I actually got onto the Bezeq site but then hit a wall of Hebrew. So, fortified with the dark chocolate with the candied orange rind I again made contact with Tech Support. Ivan was kind of impressed that I had gotten as far as I had without crashing the system. He walked me through all the things on the ISP's website that no mere end-user could ever figure out on his or her own and here I am, well fed and blogging to you.
Read more!
Tel Aviv
Today we went wireless. Not by choice. We'd been having internet problems for a couple of weeks. I awoke today (Sunday) to discover that my favorite tactic of shutting down the computer and letting us both get 8 or 9 hours sleep did not work. I also try this tactic with broken toilets and angina pains with equally spotty results. Liz reminded me that fixing the computer was one of my primary duties in our marriage (along with taking out the garbage and international relations – she gets the easy stuff like planning and preparing meals, keeping our social calendar and finding places for us to live). Today she was off without me to ladle soup at Lasova, leaving me to the tender mercies of Bezeq Tech Support. The day, however, ended not only as a technological triumph but also with shwarma, kubeh soup and chocolate.
Getting through to someone in Tech Support who can actually help you is always a challenge. But here I have the added burden of trying to find someone who can speak computerese in American English. The first thing to know about calling Bezeq is that you will get to choose from among three languages – Hebrew, Russian and Arabic. Do all those Anglos in Israel use another service provider? Are all Bezeq Techies multi-lingual so it doesn't matter which button you push? Hitting "0#" did not take me out of the loops and to a human being. So I took my best guess and selected 1 for Hebrew. I tried listening for a couple of words that might point me to the correct selection such as technai or sherut (technician and service). Nothing. So I just kept hitting “1” until, after a long wait, a human being answered. She only spoke enough English to tell me I had reached billing, I needed tech support and to call back on 166 and select option 4.
In Israel there are shortened telephone numbers that can be called toll free for certain services. For example, 100 is for the police, 101 calls an ambulance (Magen David Adom) and 102 is to report a fire. I tried 166, discovered there was no option 4 and decided, again, to just keep hitting 1. After another long wait a real person answered, said she did speak English and told me that I had reached billing at 199, not Tech Support at 166. This time, however, she offered to have an English-speaker from Tech Support call me back. Taking this as a friendly gesture I gave her my phone number. While waiting for the call back, it occurred to me that I may have dialed a wrong number so I tried 166 again, slowly and carefully.
During my third trip through recordings I didn't understand, my call waiting started to beep. The caller was a very nice person who said he was returning my call but that he also was from billing. I thanked him and went back to my telephonic wanderings. And so, about 45 minutes into my search, I reached a person who said she didn't speak much English but offered to transfer my call to someone in Tech Support who does speak English. In most call center systems being transferred is usually the kiss of death. Anyone who has ever tried to get help from Dell for a Windows problem knows what I'm talking about. But here in the Holy Land a miracle occurred. Yossi got on the line.
Yossi, who's English was great, quickly diagnosed our problem. Your modem is fried, he said. We'll have to give you a new one. Ah yes, first the miracle and then the black clouds come back. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Having visions of being modemless for a couple of weeks (Israel is notorious for installation delays), I said I couldn't wait. Yossi said that's no problem. I could do it today, myself, as long as I took the old modem and wires to a Bezeq store. And where is that? Yossi looks it up and says – Ibn Gvirol. Since I know Ibn Gvirol is a few kilometers long I insisted on a street number. Yossi said 108 and the clouds began to part again. The Bezeq store is near the Municipal Building on a stretch of Ibn Gvirol packed with restaurants, kiosks and chocolate shops. The day suddenly had potential. All I needed to do was get there.
Getting there meant going outside into the winter that had finally arrived in Israel. Winter in Israel comes with what folks from Maine would call “weather”. Not one giant storm but a series of squalls accompanied by bolts of lightning and thunder claps of Biblical magnitude. In between the squalls are clear skies and warm (if you're from New Jersey) breezes. One minute it's raining heavily and the next the sun comes out. Go to the north and you also get hail the size of golf balls, and snow. The upside of “weather” is that Israel is going to get very very green in a big hurry, flowers will bloom, crops will grow and, maybe, water won't be rationed this summer. The downside is this is a place where storm sewers and flood control projects are purely academic concepts.
The news is featuring stories about how Israelis are flocking north to look at the snow and watch water fall down rock faces (if you live in the desert this is a big deal – come from New Jersey and you spend these days sitting at a computer writing your blogs). These stories are quickly followed with the stories of hikers' cars skidding off roads and being washed away in the flood waters. Think of New Yorkers watching a tall building burn. The thought that it may fall on their heads never seems to deter the crowds. So I put on my waterproof, hooded jacket and walking shoes (schlepped here from the USA just for a day such as this) and set forth on my expedition.
Sheruts are a great, cheap way to get around Tel Aviv. These group taxis seating 12 to 16 riders follow bus routes. Only, unlike the buses they shadow, the sheruts will stop anywhere along the route, provided, of course, that you distract the driver from his simultaneous conversations on a radio, two cell phones and with the good looking woman in the second row. My life in Israel has been lived mainly along the 4, 5 and 16 lines. These lines run north – south and connect the port with the bus station and Hatikvah via Ben Yehuda, Allenby, Dizengoff, Rothschild and some South TLV streets you really don't want to walk on anyway. I have not used an east-west line, until now. I could have done the day's journey on foot but rain, hunger and the need to get the modem fixed before Liz got home from the soup kitchen took precedence over any guilt about needing the exercise.
Liz had told me about the Route 66 sherut a couple of weeks ago. She said the 66 crosses Ibn Gvirol at Arlozoroff, which I knew would be close to the Bezeq store. Even better, I could waive one down very close to the apartment. After all, I wouldn't want to take this going outdoors in the rain business any further than absolutely necessary. It turned out that the 66 passes a number of places we frequent such as Dizengoff Center (mall and movies), the Supersol on Arlozoroff (nicer store than the one on Ben Yehuda) and, after crossing Ibn Gvirol, the central train (and bus) station. In less than 15 minutes I arrived at the Bezeq store ready to swap modems.
The Bezeq store turned out to be pleasant to deal with. Sometimes privatization, deregulation and competition can be a good thing. They were even expecting me, thanks to Yossi's note on the account file. Before I left the apartment, I had given Dafna the Agent a head's up that I was trying to fix a modem problem and she got me in touch with the owner's cousin, whose name is on the account (don't ask). The cousin gave me his cell phone number and said to call from the store if I needed his help. So, when the Bezeq CSR told me I could have a free upgrade to a wireless modem if the account holder would agree to extend the contract, I put her on the phone with the cousin. The cousin not only took the upgrade for my apartment, he took one for his home. With a satisfied look on her face, the Bezeq CSR took the fried modem and gave me a new wireless modem. I asked if the instructions were in English. She said no but if I had any problems I could call 166. Oh great. Trek home through the rain and cold to spend another 45 to 60 minutes trying to get through on 166. Clearly it was time to load up on comfort food and worry about the internet later.
So off I went, south on Ibn Gvirol thinking about whether I would head to the shwarma stand just north of Hadassa (which is just north of Gan Ha'Ir (City Garden, a mall just north of the Tel Aviv-Yafo Municipal Building) or hit the ultimate winter comfort food of soup and chocolate tortes in Judith's Hungarian Cafe inside the mall. Oh, decisions, decisions.
The fact that it was now raining and the shwarma stand has only outdoor tables was not an issue due to the architecture of Ibn Gvirol. The International School buildings that line the avenue have their upper floors built out over the sidewalk. Resting on square pillars, the fronts of the buildings form a long archway ending a few feet in from the street. Set back under the archway are kiosks, restaurants, cafes and stores. With a few strategically placed space heaters, most establishments offer year-round, day and night, outdoor seating. The net effect is to create a shady walkway that keeps diners and shoppers cool in the summer and dry in the winter while indulging their base, primitive needs for food and household appliances.
Having been to Judith's twice this trip, I decided on the shwarma. After all, those of us whose main contribution to Israel is to come here and spend money have an obligation to move our business around. For those of you who live too sheltered a life, shwarma (similar to the Greek gyro) is a huge slab of mystery meat, allegedly lamb or, more typically, turkey with lamb fat melted over it, rotating on a tall skewer in front of an electric grill. The meat for your sandwich is sliced off the skewer with the traditional long knife or an electric slicer that looks like it came from a Popeil TV offering. The shwarma stand I favor on Ibn Gvirol has a choice of both and is always busy (a critical factor when eating this sort of food). They also slice the meat with a long knife which somehow convinces me that this is the authentic Middle Eastern fast food I crave. Today I went for the lamb rolled in laffa (a large, flat Yemenite pita) with salads and chips but no harif (hot sauce).
Having downed the shwarma I stared at the wireless modem in its box inside the Bezeq bag and realized that I could not possibly continue without chocolate. And there was also the question of what, besides chocolate, could I bring home for Liz on this chilly, rainy day. Fortunately the next two blocks going south on Ibn Gvirol include some of the best chocolate shops in Israel plus the Kubeh Bar, purveyor of a variety of soups accompanied by kubeh and rice.
My contemplation of which chocolate shop to hit first was interrupted by the crowd of video and still photographers standing around the Memorial to Yitzhak Rabin. Built on the spot where Rabin was assassinated after attending a peace rally, the Memorial consists of broken blocks of black stone surrounding a plaque and eternal flame. Tel Aviv being the regional capital of fashion shoots and Indie filmmaking, a gathering of photographers and people with pads and clipboards is a daily source of street theater. So I stopped and joined a group of other pedestrians prepared to take time out from walking in the rain to gawk at whatever was about to happen. What happened was two men, one in a nice suit and another in a jacket and pants that did not quite match, walked up accompanied by functionary types holding umbrellas to cover the two men and what was obviously a memorial wreath with a sash. The better dressed of the two laid the wreath on the memorial and the two men stood still for the photographers to record the event. The well dressed man turned out to be the Mayor of Berlin, accompanied by the “fashion-don't” Mayor of Tel Aviv. That the Mayor of Berlin was honoring a Jewish martyr is the sort of thing that makes the 6 o'clock news in this town (and entertains those of us looking for any excuse not to get back on the phone with Tech Support).
I decided to pick up the chocolate first since the soup would be the heaviest part of my growing collection of things to carry and I was craving a really good chocolate cherry. So first I hit Daskalides, Belgian chocolate importers who have the real deal when it comes to chocolate cherries. A rich dark chocolate surrounding a decent liqueur in which floats a real cherry (be careful about the pit). I ate one while walking and brought two home to share with the wife. Next was Cardinal, whose proprietor makes his own chocolate right there in the store. The variety of individual pieces or slabs varies with the moods of and the fresh ingredients acquired by the proprietor. As I walked in today his assistant, a good looking young woman who was up to her wrists in chocolate, smiled and asked if she could help me. I soon had two decent sized slabs of dark chocolate – one with candied orange rinds (that was mine) and one with chili peppers (Liz' favorite).
So, carrying chocolate and the wireless modem it was time to get serious about the soup. Kubeh Bar is just across Frishmann from the southwest corner of Rabin Square. Their menu is easy enough to learn. There's the red soup, the yellow soup and the green soup. The red soup has a tomato base. I don't know what's in the yellow and green. The guys behind the counter will let you taste each one before ordering so you really don't have to get hung up on ingredients. Kubeh is a thick layer of starch around either mystery meat or entrecote chopped and cooked in, well, kubeh spices. It's Middle Eastern workers' soup, perfect for chilly, rainy days. I like the yellow and Liz likes the red so these, with a mixed grouping of kubehs and a bowl of rice all went with me back up Ibn Gvirol to wave down a 66 sherut heading back towards Allenby.
Arriving back at the apartment with my supplies I proceeded to install the new modem. Here's where standardization and globalization can actually be of use. Having installed a wireless modem in the New Jersey house I had a clue that certain things had to be hooked up to certain other things in a certain, nonintuitive order. I also found the “quick install” instructions, written in Hebrew but with 5 numbered steps and pictures. So I followed the pictures and, on the 5th step observed an Internet Explorer icon. So, having plugged the DSL line, the modem and the computer into one another I clicked on the web browser and found myself at a site to log onto Bezeq's internet service. Using the existing login words I actually got onto the Bezeq site but then hit a wall of Hebrew. So, fortified with the dark chocolate with the candied orange rind I again made contact with Tech Support. Ivan was kind of impressed that I had gotten as far as I had without crashing the system. He walked me through all the things on the ISP's website that no mere end-user could ever figure out on his or her own and here I am, well fed and blogging to you.
Read more!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Some Days I'm Right, So How Come I'm Not Rich?
Once upon a time, before Obama was elected, before Paulson bamboozled Congress into giving him TARP, I wrote a blog, which I'm adding to my Archives on this site, suggesting that the way out of the mortgage debacle would be for the government to buy up mortgages on the cheap, renegotiate them to payments that homeowners could afford and, at the end of the day, make a very nice profit on taxpayers' money while keeping hundreds of thousands of homes from going into foreclosure. Today The New York Times has published an article describing how former executives of Countrywide, the mortgage company at the eye of the current storm, are buying up and renegotiating defaulted mortgages. Just as I suggested, these guys are paying around 20 cents on the dollar, offering the homeowner a fixed rate at around 5% (which the homeowner gratefully takes to avoid foreclosure) and earning around 25% on their money. See http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/04/business/04penny.html?hp
Yes, the story gets a headline because its about how the bad guys who started the problem are now profiting from their misdeeds. But there are other players in this game. The former head of the Federal agency that cleaned up and sold off assets from failed Savings & Loans in the 1990s is now working with a vulture fund buying up toxic assets and getting a good return. Yes, evil rich people are going to get richer. So, what else is new? But part and parcel to these deals is that its the sort of relief the housing market needs. Remember, this isn't a morality play, its about making money from real estate, one of the most amoral aspects of life on this planet I can think of.
So the real question for you and I is whether, when these renegotiated mortgages are securitized (bundled into a new security backed by the mortgages) and offered to us at 40 to 60 cents on the dollar (more than doubling the original investors' money while still offering us double digit returns), do we buy? I don't know. This is why my Financial Advisor gets the not-so-big bucks.
Read more!
Yes, the story gets a headline because its about how the bad guys who started the problem are now profiting from their misdeeds. But there are other players in this game. The former head of the Federal agency that cleaned up and sold off assets from failed Savings & Loans in the 1990s is now working with a vulture fund buying up toxic assets and getting a good return. Yes, evil rich people are going to get richer. So, what else is new? But part and parcel to these deals is that its the sort of relief the housing market needs. Remember, this isn't a morality play, its about making money from real estate, one of the most amoral aspects of life on this planet I can think of.
So the real question for you and I is whether, when these renegotiated mortgages are securitized (bundled into a new security backed by the mortgages) and offered to us at 40 to 60 cents on the dollar (more than doubling the original investors' money while still offering us double digit returns), do we buy? I don't know. This is why my Financial Advisor gets the not-so-big bucks.
Read more!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Daniel's Tekes
18 Feb 2009
Golani Junction
The variety of landscapes in this small country always amazes and thrills me. A day trip out of The Bubble can take you to rolling farmlands, small villages, wooded hilltops or desert wilderness. Circumstances both within and without our control have limited our touring during this year's sojourn. There have been some bus rides to Jerusalem but we've been missing serious trips to where the green stuff dwarfs the dull, white concrete. So we were very happy to be invited to go with Mauricio and Nurit to the graduation ceremony (tekes, in Hebrew) of their son, Daniel, as he became a full-fledged member of the Sayeret Golani.
Sayeret Golani is the elite unit of the IDF's Golani Brigade. Sayeret Golani's official name is the 95th Reconnaissance Company (sayeret literally translates as reconnaissance unit) but they call themselves the Flying Tigers and do a lot more than just look around and report back. The ceremony took place on the parade grounds at - wait for it - the Golani Junction.
Golani Junction, the intersection of two major highways, the north-south 65 and the east-west 77, sits in the Lower Galilee Valley, surrounded by rolling hills and farmland, less than one-third of the way from Tiberias to Haifa. We'd been here twice before and I blogged about it both times. Three years ago, on our way from Zippori to eat at Makom Sejera, a great restaurant on Route 65 at the entrance to Moshav Sejera, the first place David Ben Gurion lived in Palestine. The second time, two years ago, we were dropped off by a Federation Mission bus. The Metrowest Diversity Mission returned to Jerusalem while we explored the bathrooms at the McDonald's and waited for the Haifa-bound bus. To reach the McDonald's, you can walk up stairs through the outdoor tables or go up the “McDrive” - a phrase that looks even sillier in Hebrew. But if you look to the right or behind the yellow arches, you will see the entrances to the Golani Brigade's Memorial, Museum and the Parade Grounds.
Israeli military units often hold ceremonies at symbolic national sites such as the Kotel, Masada, Latrun or Ben Gurion's grave. Golani holds its ceremonies in the midst of the region it was assigned to protect when Ben Gurion first formed the Brigade on February 28, 1948. Golani troops have since been moved to wherever the front lines may be including Eilat in 1948, Rafah in 1956, the Golan Heights in 1967 and Mt. Hermon in 1973. For the past three decades, Golani may have spent more time in Lebanon, Gaza and the West Bank than inside Israel.
Sayeret Golani was formed in 1951 as a reconnaissance unit for the Brigade. But the unit regularly engages in commando and special forces operations. Think Green Berets or Rangers, though Sayeret Golani soldiers will tell you that they're tougher than that. Sayeret Golani conducted reprisal raids into Arab countries in the 1950s, took Mt. Hermon in 1967 and retook it in 1973. The unit also took part in the 1976 raid on Entebbe. According to the SpecWarNet website, Sayeret Golani uses a grueling selection process that can end at any time--washouts are sent to the regular units to serve out their commitments. Upon completion of the Gibush (selection phase), potential commandos are trained in a vast array of necessary skills. Training is said to last about a year and 8 months. The curriculum includes a broad array of new techniques to learn and master. Skills such as parachuting, demolitions, escape and evasion, survival, and intelligence work are covered. The soldiers of Sayeret Golani are expected to be proficient with all of the weapons used in their area of operation. Due to the nature of their operations, they also have their own urban warfare training center, known as hell town.
Golani has a reputation for die-hard soldiers, esprit de corps, and initiative. It also has a reputation as a dumping ground for other units' rejects and disgruntled recent immigrants. But when it really matters, Golani is always among the first troops sent into battle. Daniel spent his pre-Army teen years as a soccer rowdy – standing with the caged fans at the Tel Aviv Maccabee end of the stadium. The pre-Army Daniel I knew was one of those kids who never seemed to eat but thrived anyway. (Direct intake of nutrients through his skin?) He rarely spoke to nonparental adults and eye contact was not his strong suit. His high degree of intelligence was a semi-secret shared by his immediate family and a few fortunate teachers. So Daniel and Golani would, at first glance, appear to be a good fit. Daniel certainly thought so as he volunteered not just for Golani but for Sayeret. You have to earn your way into Sayeret. Which Daniel proceeded to do.
On most days, the McDonald's is the only sign of human life at the Golani Junction. On ceremony days, the parking lot is jammed with buses, vans, cars and motorbikes filled with soldiers, their families and friends. The picnic areas fill up fast and, of course, the burgers and fries are flying over the counter. The ceremonies at which soldiers first receive a weapon and a Tanach or Tanakh (The Holy Scriptures to Members of the Tribe; the Old Testament to the rest of you), advance from basic training to full duty or become officers, are conducted with pomp and circumstance and end with cap-tossing, singing and dancing. (Yes, happy Israelis really do dance in circles. I think its some biochemical reaction to the intake of fine grains of sand and olive oil.) All this under the loving gaze of family and friends who cheer, take pictures, give hugs and kisses and make a serious effort to put back all the weight lost by the soldiers in training. Beneath the veneer of modernity this remains a nation of Jewish Mothers.
The most significant and impressive parts of Daniel's ceremony were the presentation of the pins and caps. The Golani Brigade symbol is a green olive tree with deep roots on a yellow background. Green and yellow are the colors of the original Galilee Valley home of the Golani. Yellow is also for the southern lands on which the Brigade has fought. Golani was originally composed of farmers and new immigrants, thus the symbols linking them to the land. Golani caps are brown for the same reason. With most Israeli military units wearing colorful pins, patches and berets, Golani's earth-tones make a powerful statement about attachment to the land. Daniel received his pin with everyone else. But when it came time to present new caps, the unit's NCOs passed him by. Daniel was standing alone, looking a bit forlorn, when his drill instructor stood at attention in front of him and put his own cap on Daniel's head. A special cap for a special soldier. Daniel had a huge grin.
After the ceremony, we got down to the serious business of lunch. My readers know that lunch with Mauricio isn't just a meal, it's an event. This one did not disappoint. Out came the salads (eggplant, hummus, tahina, cucumbers), breads and sodas while Mauricio set up two disposable mangals (barbeque grills). Disposable mangals are aluminum foil pans covered with a thin cross-hatched grill of indeterminate material over charcoals wrapped in paper soaked in what arson investigators refer to as accelerant. Light it up and use it once. Encased in a cloud of smoke, Mauricio cooked beef and chicken kebabs to feed 10 people, so we had enough for the five of us.
Nurit brought desert, cookies and fruit for us and a large box of munchies for Daniel to take back to his base. While it's true that soldiers appreciate M&Ms, it's mainly due to M&Ms being a convenient delivery system for chocolate. They're not the be all and end all of IDF cuisine. What really fuels the modern Israeli Army are Oreos and Bamba. The classic Oreo is a meal in itself. Bamba is a horrid combination of cheese doodles and peanut butter whose popularity among Israelis is something I could never grasp. But apparently if you weren't into them before the Army, you get hooked with all the free bags you get while in the Army.
Over lunch we finally had the chance to chat with Daniel and discovered that the actual result of surviving a course of training designed as much to make him give up as to teach him to be a good soldier is something pleasantly unexpected. Daniel, it turns out, not only can speak, he seems to enjoy speaking. He is friendly, gracious and has a gentle sense of humor. He now eats just about anything and everything in vast quantities. He is in incredibly excellent physical condition (hiking 100 kilometers wearing a full backpack and carrying a weapon will do that to you). When asked what comes next he says, “another year of training.” Sayeret Golani appears to have brought forth a better, albeit a very dangerous, person.
I think his commanders will encourage him to become an officer (more testing, training and an extra year or two of mandatory service). I'm certain he would be a good leader. His parents are very proud of him but will be very happy when his service is finished.
And so, carrying a Golani Brigade bumper sticker, a gift from Daniel, and a baseball cap saying Golani Sheli (My Golani), Liz' impulse purchase, we rode back south watching the sun set over Mount Tabor and darkness settle in on the Lower Galilee. Tel Aviv was still there when we returned, better defended than ever.
Read more!
Golani Junction
The variety of landscapes in this small country always amazes and thrills me. A day trip out of The Bubble can take you to rolling farmlands, small villages, wooded hilltops or desert wilderness. Circumstances both within and without our control have limited our touring during this year's sojourn. There have been some bus rides to Jerusalem but we've been missing serious trips to where the green stuff dwarfs the dull, white concrete. So we were very happy to be invited to go with Mauricio and Nurit to the graduation ceremony (tekes, in Hebrew) of their son, Daniel, as he became a full-fledged member of the Sayeret Golani.
Sayeret Golani is the elite unit of the IDF's Golani Brigade. Sayeret Golani's official name is the 95th Reconnaissance Company (sayeret literally translates as reconnaissance unit) but they call themselves the Flying Tigers and do a lot more than just look around and report back. The ceremony took place on the parade grounds at - wait for it - the Golani Junction.
Golani Junction, the intersection of two major highways, the north-south 65 and the east-west 77, sits in the Lower Galilee Valley, surrounded by rolling hills and farmland, less than one-third of the way from Tiberias to Haifa. We'd been here twice before and I blogged about it both times. Three years ago, on our way from Zippori to eat at Makom Sejera, a great restaurant on Route 65 at the entrance to Moshav Sejera, the first place David Ben Gurion lived in Palestine. The second time, two years ago, we were dropped off by a Federation Mission bus. The Metrowest Diversity Mission returned to Jerusalem while we explored the bathrooms at the McDonald's and waited for the Haifa-bound bus. To reach the McDonald's, you can walk up stairs through the outdoor tables or go up the “McDrive” - a phrase that looks even sillier in Hebrew. But if you look to the right or behind the yellow arches, you will see the entrances to the Golani Brigade's Memorial, Museum and the Parade Grounds.
Israeli military units often hold ceremonies at symbolic national sites such as the Kotel, Masada, Latrun or Ben Gurion's grave. Golani holds its ceremonies in the midst of the region it was assigned to protect when Ben Gurion first formed the Brigade on February 28, 1948. Golani troops have since been moved to wherever the front lines may be including Eilat in 1948, Rafah in 1956, the Golan Heights in 1967 and Mt. Hermon in 1973. For the past three decades, Golani may have spent more time in Lebanon, Gaza and the West Bank than inside Israel.
Sayeret Golani was formed in 1951 as a reconnaissance unit for the Brigade. But the unit regularly engages in commando and special forces operations. Think Green Berets or Rangers, though Sayeret Golani soldiers will tell you that they're tougher than that. Sayeret Golani conducted reprisal raids into Arab countries in the 1950s, took Mt. Hermon in 1967 and retook it in 1973. The unit also took part in the 1976 raid on Entebbe. According to the SpecWarNet website, Sayeret Golani uses a grueling selection process that can end at any time--washouts are sent to the regular units to serve out their commitments. Upon completion of the Gibush (selection phase), potential commandos are trained in a vast array of necessary skills. Training is said to last about a year and 8 months. The curriculum includes a broad array of new techniques to learn and master. Skills such as parachuting, demolitions, escape and evasion, survival, and intelligence work are covered. The soldiers of Sayeret Golani are expected to be proficient with all of the weapons used in their area of operation. Due to the nature of their operations, they also have their own urban warfare training center, known as hell town.
Golani has a reputation for die-hard soldiers, esprit de corps, and initiative. It also has a reputation as a dumping ground for other units' rejects and disgruntled recent immigrants. But when it really matters, Golani is always among the first troops sent into battle. Daniel spent his pre-Army teen years as a soccer rowdy – standing with the caged fans at the Tel Aviv Maccabee end of the stadium. The pre-Army Daniel I knew was one of those kids who never seemed to eat but thrived anyway. (Direct intake of nutrients through his skin?) He rarely spoke to nonparental adults and eye contact was not his strong suit. His high degree of intelligence was a semi-secret shared by his immediate family and a few fortunate teachers. So Daniel and Golani would, at first glance, appear to be a good fit. Daniel certainly thought so as he volunteered not just for Golani but for Sayeret. You have to earn your way into Sayeret. Which Daniel proceeded to do.
On most days, the McDonald's is the only sign of human life at the Golani Junction. On ceremony days, the parking lot is jammed with buses, vans, cars and motorbikes filled with soldiers, their families and friends. The picnic areas fill up fast and, of course, the burgers and fries are flying over the counter. The ceremonies at which soldiers first receive a weapon and a Tanach or Tanakh (The Holy Scriptures to Members of the Tribe; the Old Testament to the rest of you), advance from basic training to full duty or become officers, are conducted with pomp and circumstance and end with cap-tossing, singing and dancing. (Yes, happy Israelis really do dance in circles. I think its some biochemical reaction to the intake of fine grains of sand and olive oil.) All this under the loving gaze of family and friends who cheer, take pictures, give hugs and kisses and make a serious effort to put back all the weight lost by the soldiers in training. Beneath the veneer of modernity this remains a nation of Jewish Mothers.
The most significant and impressive parts of Daniel's ceremony were the presentation of the pins and caps. The Golani Brigade symbol is a green olive tree with deep roots on a yellow background. Green and yellow are the colors of the original Galilee Valley home of the Golani. Yellow is also for the southern lands on which the Brigade has fought. Golani was originally composed of farmers and new immigrants, thus the symbols linking them to the land. Golani caps are brown for the same reason. With most Israeli military units wearing colorful pins, patches and berets, Golani's earth-tones make a powerful statement about attachment to the land. Daniel received his pin with everyone else. But when it came time to present new caps, the unit's NCOs passed him by. Daniel was standing alone, looking a bit forlorn, when his drill instructor stood at attention in front of him and put his own cap on Daniel's head. A special cap for a special soldier. Daniel had a huge grin.
After the ceremony, we got down to the serious business of lunch. My readers know that lunch with Mauricio isn't just a meal, it's an event. This one did not disappoint. Out came the salads (eggplant, hummus, tahina, cucumbers), breads and sodas while Mauricio set up two disposable mangals (barbeque grills). Disposable mangals are aluminum foil pans covered with a thin cross-hatched grill of indeterminate material over charcoals wrapped in paper soaked in what arson investigators refer to as accelerant. Light it up and use it once. Encased in a cloud of smoke, Mauricio cooked beef and chicken kebabs to feed 10 people, so we had enough for the five of us.
Nurit brought desert, cookies and fruit for us and a large box of munchies for Daniel to take back to his base. While it's true that soldiers appreciate M&Ms, it's mainly due to M&Ms being a convenient delivery system for chocolate. They're not the be all and end all of IDF cuisine. What really fuels the modern Israeli Army are Oreos and Bamba. The classic Oreo is a meal in itself. Bamba is a horrid combination of cheese doodles and peanut butter whose popularity among Israelis is something I could never grasp. But apparently if you weren't into them before the Army, you get hooked with all the free bags you get while in the Army.
Over lunch we finally had the chance to chat with Daniel and discovered that the actual result of surviving a course of training designed as much to make him give up as to teach him to be a good soldier is something pleasantly unexpected. Daniel, it turns out, not only can speak, he seems to enjoy speaking. He is friendly, gracious and has a gentle sense of humor. He now eats just about anything and everything in vast quantities. He is in incredibly excellent physical condition (hiking 100 kilometers wearing a full backpack and carrying a weapon will do that to you). When asked what comes next he says, “another year of training.” Sayeret Golani appears to have brought forth a better, albeit a very dangerous, person.
I think his commanders will encourage him to become an officer (more testing, training and an extra year or two of mandatory service). I'm certain he would be a good leader. His parents are very proud of him but will be very happy when his service is finished.
And so, carrying a Golani Brigade bumper sticker, a gift from Daniel, and a baseball cap saying Golani Sheli (My Golani), Liz' impulse purchase, we rode back south watching the sun set over Mount Tabor and darkness settle in on the Lower Galilee. Tel Aviv was still there when we returned, better defended than ever.
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