So far today, I've stood in warm sunshine, been caught in torrential rains, walked back into sunshine, felt a drizzle of rain, crossed the street into sunshine but under a cloud emitting lightening bolts and thunder claps. In Israel, if you don't like the weather, you can always wait a few minutes or simply cross the street. The place is small, complicated, interconnected and constantly changing.
Yesterday, some psychotic killer planted a bomb at one of the busiest bus stops in Jerusalem. Today, the south Tel Aviv soup kitchen where I'm a volunteer had no meat or substitute protein to serve. Why? It seems the IDF is the main source of meat or meat substitutes for La Sova and similar institutions. Only today the IDF is busy trying to intercept the next bomber or missile launcher before more people get hurt. This resulted in the cancellation of the social service activities of a number of Israeli soldiers. So, the clients of a south Tel Aviv soup kitchen had to do without. Like I said. Israel is small, complicated, interconnected and constantly changing.
My cousin, Meir, and I have been planning a family outing for this Saturday in Tel Aviv. Meir was awakened Wednesday morning by a missile striking near his Be'er Sheva apartment. Our conversation turned from walking tours to "the situation." He suggested that, for now, Liz and I should avoid crowded areas. I was ready to take his advice (one should not ignore advice in these matters from a veteran Israeli) but did point out that the area we are planning to walk through this Saturday will probably be crowded. Meir said, yes, but that's a couple of days from now. So I booked a walking tour, made a reservation for lunch and began hoping for sunny skies. After all, just because today it may be raining or something may be exploding is no reason to cancel future plans. Like I said, Israel is small, complicated, interconnected and constantly changing.
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Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daily life. Show all posts
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Debbie Friedman of Blessed Memory
Debbie Friedman changed the world of Jewish music, providing the soundtrack for much of the Jewish world, particularly among American Jews. Even if you don't recognize her name, if you've been in a temple or synagogue, Jewish summer camp or any service or event aimed at young families during the past 3 or 4 decades, you've heard and can probably sing some of her songs. While much of her work was for the Reform movement (she began as a song leader at NIFTY camps), she has performed, or had her music performed, just about everywhere in the American Jewish world.
Debbie's style of playing and composition could best be described as coming out of the great urban folk music revival of the 60's. Her music always reminded me of Peter, Paul and Mary. This notion changed into a certainty when I was privileged to hear her jam with Peter Yarrow during the 1990 CAGE conference at Ohio State. She used modern, urban folk music as settings for prayers and other expressions of spirituality that form the soundtrack of many lives. Other than Levandovsky (whose liturgical music has been a mainstay of Ashkenazic Judaism for almost 200 years) and Carlbach (whose Hassidic-inspired melodies are the only body of work to rival Debbie's during the last half of the 20th century), I can't name anyone whose music has permeated the spritual lives of so many Jews, including me and my family.
Debbie Friedman suffered from complex ailments which ate away at her body but never dampened her spirit. She went on with her life and her life's work in spite of the physical toll it took. I guess her body had finally had enough, long before she or any of the multitude she has inspired, had had enough.
May her memory be for a blessing. Read more!
Debbie's style of playing and composition could best be described as coming out of the great urban folk music revival of the 60's. Her music always reminded me of Peter, Paul and Mary. This notion changed into a certainty when I was privileged to hear her jam with Peter Yarrow during the 1990 CAGE conference at Ohio State. She used modern, urban folk music as settings for prayers and other expressions of spirituality that form the soundtrack of many lives. Other than Levandovsky (whose liturgical music has been a mainstay of Ashkenazic Judaism for almost 200 years) and Carlbach (whose Hassidic-inspired melodies are the only body of work to rival Debbie's during the last half of the 20th century), I can't name anyone whose music has permeated the spritual lives of so many Jews, including me and my family.
Debbie Friedman suffered from complex ailments which ate away at her body but never dampened her spirit. She went on with her life and her life's work in spite of the physical toll it took. I guess her body had finally had enough, long before she or any of the multitude she has inspired, had had enough.
May her memory be for a blessing. Read more!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Hot Tuna - Part 2 - In Which Eytan and Jack Speak
My cousin Danny, a Young Judaean who made aliyah during his college years, is a guitar player. He supports his family by working as a respected and respectable professor of plant biosciences at Tel Aviv University. I haven't a clue what it is he does. All I know is that, after getting a tour of his lab, I kept thinking of the The Thing (James Arness as a giant plant monster from outer space who takes vengeance on a bunch of plant scientists at the North Pole for experimenting on his earth-bound relations).Danny brought his son Eytan and one of Eytan's band mates to the Hot Tuna concert, because as a guitar playing, tenured professor, he could not allow this great educational opportunity to be missed. You might remember Eytan, the back of his head is on the right in the photograph above, from the stage dive video I sent around last year. In between high school and the army, he's doing a year of service leading teen programs for the Toronto Jewish community. Eytan is a wonderful young man who tolerates us old people very well, particularly when his Father is picking up a hefty ticket price.
We stood as close to center stage as we could get. Standing with us were several of Danny's guitar playing buddies and fellow academics. Before the band began to play, Danny and the other guitar players were talking to the two young musicians about what to watch and listen for. The guitars Jorma would use, his seemingly effortless bends and his style of picking, among other things. My contribution was to tell Eytan to watch Jack's eyebrows. By way of authenticating my credentials to engage in such high level analysis, Danny helpfully added that I had been at Woodstock and still had my tickets. I just love it when we can fulfill the mitzvah of teaching the children.
Early in the set, during a pause between songs, some members of the audience began to sing "HaYom Yom Huledet." This is the Israeli version of Happy Birthday with a melody and lyrics very different from the American song. Jack stepped to the edge of the stage and, with a look and a bit of body English, asked what the audience was singing. Eytan yelled, in English, "They're singing Happy Birthday." Jack looked right at my cousin, nodded his thanks and stepped back to begin the next song. Danny could not have been a prouder parent. It was that sort of night.
The concert audience spanned an age range of many decades. There were people as old as the musicians and some of us who clearly dated back to the Airplane days. The crowd included aging hippies who had clearly become baalei teshuvah, making aliyah from yurts in rural America to some of the older neighborhoods in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv, with tsitsit hanging out from flannel shirts and women wearing modest length, home spun style dresses and scarves. I remember thinking how one of this group looked like a cross between Jerry Garcia and Mr. Natural, just as that familiar, sweet smell of smoke went wafting by. As for the rest of the alleged grownups in the crowd, remember your stoned roommates who disappeared into the high tech bubble? Some of them may be alive and well in Tel Aviv.
But what really struck me was the large number of Isrealis who had clearly not been born when Hot Tuna got started. Israel has come a very long way from the country that prohibited a Beatles concert because rock music would subvert the morality of the nation's youth. The country has grown up and become musically hip. As cousin Danny said in mid-concert, "Isn't this a great country." I agreed. Reading3 is a 5 minute sherut ride from my apartment. This is why I come here every winter.
I would be remiss is I ended this blog without mentioning Barry Mitterhoff, Hot Tuna's mandolin player. In addition to his huge musical talent, Mr. Mitterhoff is surely the most versatile mandolin player on the planet. Danny and I had never heard anyone play serious rock music on a mandolin. How many mandolin players have you heard who can trade licks with Jorma Kaukonen? Far out, man.
When not playing with Hot Tuna, Mr. Mitterhoff plays a combination of blue grass, klezmer and swing jazz as one of The Boys in Margot Leverett and the Klezmer Mountain Boys. Some of my readers were fortunate enough to hear Margot and The Boys play at my eldest daughter's wedding. Unfortunately, Mr. Mitterhoff was on tour with Hot Tuna at the time but was very ably replaced by one of his students.
I have two unmarried daughters. They know that I know that I have no say whatsoever as to whether or when either of them gets married. But they do know that I have some very strong feelings about the musicians who will play at their weddings. The way I look at it, I'm not at risk of losing daughters, I've got two more chances to hire Barry Mitterhoff to play for my guests. How cool would that be?
Photograph by Danny Chamovitz. Used with his permission. Read more!
Friday, December 24, 2010
Hot Tuna Rocks TLV
I'm from the 60's and one of the greatest bands of that era was the Jefferson Airplane. Of all the guitar heroes ever to play The Music, you can count on one hand the ones who can play with Jorma (and that's without additional fingers from drug-induced retention of vision). The man hardly moves while his fingers create cascades of complex riffs, teasing dozens of notes out of a single position on the guitar neck with those luxurious bends.
Jorma's life long friend and bassist, Jack Casady, is a show unto himself. I learned over 40 years ago that you have to get up close to the stage at an Airplane or Hot Tuna concert so you can watch Jack's bouncing eyebrows and facial expressions, accompanied by his talking or singing, Just when you think he's lost in his trance, Jack strides to the edge of the stage, making eye contact with the audience and letting us all in on the cosmic joke.The magic underlying The Duke Ellington Orchestra was that he kept the same players together for 25 or 30 years at a time. Musicians who play together for long stretches just know, without looking or speaking, what their band mates are going to improvise in the next instant. Improvised riffs played by masters who still really love what they're playing sound spontaneous and fresh even though you may have heard pieces of them before. (Hey, even Beethoven would recycle themes and phrases.) Whether Ellington wanted to experiment with his avant-garde sacred music or just play Take the A Train, the orchestra was right there with him.
Jorma and Jack were in a high school band together 52 years ago. After their years in the Airplane, they formed Hot Tuna to throttle back a bit and play the music they really like - a mix of blues, folk and rock. Which is also music I really like. They still clearly love what they're doing. And I still clearly love to watch them do it. At a few points in the set they'd just look at each other, play something that sometimes sounded like an old Airplane riff, and smile. There is nothing so satisfying as watching people do the only thing they ever wanted to do and doing it as well as it can be done.
Photo Credits: All photographs are by Danny Chamovitz and used with permission. Read more!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
So Near And Yet So Far
The good news recently has been the condemnations of the recent Rabbinical edicts forbidding Jews from allowing Arabs, Africans and other Gentiles to move into Jewish towns or neighborhoods. It is, as one commentator put it, mortifying to live in a country where Rabbis would say such a thing. So I'm pleased to note the condemnations of the Rabbis' racist rants and the defense of Israel as a democracy that have been coming from all directions (even from a few prominent Haredi Rabbis, though they seem to be saying that the anti-Gentile edicts should not stand because they prove to be bad for the Jews -- don't ask.) Add to this the schadenfreude of watching black hats in Bnei Brak, who have recreated Brooklyn without any of "Them" around, discover, to their horror, that the schvartzes are moving in and the good guys seem to be winning this one. Well, almost.
In Bat Yam, a Rosh Yeshiva-led demonstration protested the influx of Arabs into the town. The Rabbi and his warped minions were particularly upset by what they claim is the proclivity of Arab men to seduce Jewish women. Ah, miscegenation libel, haven't heard that one in many a decade. The anti-Arab demonstrators were met by a larger, counter demonstration of local residents who support maintaining good relations among neighbors, whatever their backgrounds. This was followed quickly by a strong statement from Bat Yam's Mayor saying that the Rabbi's group does not represent or speak for Bat Yam.
It's good to be reminded that there are plenty of people, Jews and Gentiles, in Israel who know the difference between right and wrong and are willing to say so publicly. I'm just not so sure that one sign held up by the Bat Yam counter demonstrators was entirely consistent with the intent of the pro-human rights crowd. The sign read: "If your sister is as ugly as you are, who would want to hit on her?" So near and yet so far.
Read more!
In Bat Yam, a Rosh Yeshiva-led demonstration protested the influx of Arabs into the town. The Rabbi and his warped minions were particularly upset by what they claim is the proclivity of Arab men to seduce Jewish women. Ah, miscegenation libel, haven't heard that one in many a decade. The anti-Arab demonstrators were met by a larger, counter demonstration of local residents who support maintaining good relations among neighbors, whatever their backgrounds. This was followed quickly by a strong statement from Bat Yam's Mayor saying that the Rabbi's group does not represent or speak for Bat Yam.
It's good to be reminded that there are plenty of people, Jews and Gentiles, in Israel who know the difference between right and wrong and are willing to say so publicly. I'm just not so sure that one sign held up by the Bat Yam counter demonstrators was entirely consistent with the intent of the pro-human rights crowd. The sign read: "If your sister is as ugly as you are, who would want to hit on her?" So near and yet so far.
Read more!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
"my next car is going to be an electric car"
Or so reads the bumper sticker from "Better Place" the exhibition center for Shai Agassi's grand scheme to bring all-electric cars onto the world market, starting, over the next few years with Israel and Denmark (plus taxi fleets in Tokyo and San Francisco). But what's striking about Agassi's business model is not the purchase of the car itself (think mid-sized sedan run on a battery instead of gasoline) but your ongoing relationship with the company. Better Place plugs you into a network that provides you with services to recharge or change your battery, maintain or repair your vehicle and all the digital entertainment, information and communication you'd expect in the car of tomorrow.
How? Through the smart card that starts your car's systems and let's you plug in to the recharging or battery changing stations. The car's computer and GPS keep you in constant contact with the Better Place network and can, for example, guide you to the nearest charging or battery changing station with the shortest line. Unlike existing car companies who sell you a car and then leave you on your own to get gasoline or digital communication services, Better Place sells you a car with an all-inclusive monthly service plan. Your bank account gets debited monthly. In other words, your relationship with your vehicle will be pretty much the same as with your cell phone.
Agassi figures, and I think he's right, that Israelis will love this. The market consists of several million tech savvy, upwardly mobile people who are perpetually plugged into their digital devices, pay over $6 a gallon for gasoline and would love to breath cleaner air while simultaneously f*****g the Arabs. Agassi's pitch is clear and to the point: Want to live better and stop funding terrorists? Get yourself an electric car. And, just in case you slept through the slick multi-media presentation, the symbolism of building the exhibition hall and test track on the ruins of the Pi Glilot complex, just north of Tel Aviv, is not lost on any of the locals. Pi Glilot? Oh yeah, that's where all the oil and chemical tanks used to be.
The New York World's Fair of 1964-65 featured such futuristic wonders as fiber optic cable from DuPont and video phones from AT&T. It took a few decades but that future really has arrived. What neither the World's Fair nor Better Place mentioned is what happens if the system crashes. I got a personal lesson in how the digital age can also taketh away when we first arrived for this winter's sojourn in Israel. On the day we arrived in Israel, our cell phones would not work. Cellcom, the largest cellular communications company in Israel, suffered a total network crash for reasons that have yet to be made public (probably to spare them the embarrassment of admitting to having been hacked by a couple of 16-year-olds who got tired of playing beer pong).
But, on the giveth side, Liz and I have installed webcams on our laptops and use both Skype and Gmail video chat to see and speak with the children. Shades of the World's Fair. It being Chanukah, I moved my computer to put the candles between the webcam and the parents, enabling us to light candles and sing songs with children in Chicago and in Hoboken, NJ. We could see the smiles on everyone's faces. Just like the families in the GE House of Tomorrow. Read more!
How? Through the smart card that starts your car's systems and let's you plug in to the recharging or battery changing stations. The car's computer and GPS keep you in constant contact with the Better Place network and can, for example, guide you to the nearest charging or battery changing station with the shortest line. Unlike existing car companies who sell you a car and then leave you on your own to get gasoline or digital communication services, Better Place sells you a car with an all-inclusive monthly service plan. Your bank account gets debited monthly. In other words, your relationship with your vehicle will be pretty much the same as with your cell phone.
Agassi figures, and I think he's right, that Israelis will love this. The market consists of several million tech savvy, upwardly mobile people who are perpetually plugged into their digital devices, pay over $6 a gallon for gasoline and would love to breath cleaner air while simultaneously f*****g the Arabs. Agassi's pitch is clear and to the point: Want to live better and stop funding terrorists? Get yourself an electric car. And, just in case you slept through the slick multi-media presentation, the symbolism of building the exhibition hall and test track on the ruins of the Pi Glilot complex, just north of Tel Aviv, is not lost on any of the locals. Pi Glilot? Oh yeah, that's where all the oil and chemical tanks used to be.
The New York World's Fair of 1964-65 featured such futuristic wonders as fiber optic cable from DuPont and video phones from AT&T. It took a few decades but that future really has arrived. What neither the World's Fair nor Better Place mentioned is what happens if the system crashes. I got a personal lesson in how the digital age can also taketh away when we first arrived for this winter's sojourn in Israel. On the day we arrived in Israel, our cell phones would not work. Cellcom, the largest cellular communications company in Israel, suffered a total network crash for reasons that have yet to be made public (probably to spare them the embarrassment of admitting to having been hacked by a couple of 16-year-olds who got tired of playing beer pong).
But, on the giveth side, Liz and I have installed webcams on our laptops and use both Skype and Gmail video chat to see and speak with the children. Shades of the World's Fair. It being Chanukah, I moved my computer to put the candles between the webcam and the parents, enabling us to light candles and sing songs with children in Chicago and in Hoboken, NJ. We could see the smiles on everyone's faces. Just like the families in the GE House of Tomorrow. Read more!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Forever Stamps or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Postal Rate Increases
Millburn, New Jersey
19 July 2010
Everyone laughed at me two years ago when I spent $820 to buy 2,000 Forever Stamps. But I'm the one laughing now.
I'd known about Forever Stamps for perhaps three years but was wary of buying them. You buy a stamp today at today's first class rate and it's good forever, no matter how high the first class rate goes. At first glance, a great hedge against one of life's certainties - postal rate increases. It's like death and taxes. Right? Since 1958, the frequency of rate increases has gone from 5 years down to less than two years (1958 was the first increase in 26 years, the current 42 cent rate will be in effect for a mere 20 months). The typical increase used to be a penny, now its at least two cents - that's a 100% increase in the amount of each increase. Given the increases in both the frequency and the amounts of postal rate hikes, Forever Stamps could be one of the greatest inflation hedges since common stocks and home ownership. And even us disabled, retired guys have better things to do than counting stamps, buying small stamps and sticking two or more stamps on every letter to use up our pre-increase stamp supply. Nevertheless, my brilliant analysis seemed to put Forever Stamps into the category of "if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." After all, for the inflation hedge to work you'd need to buy enough stamps to last through some number of rate increases. What if the spread of electronic communications really does force the Post Office to close it's snail mail services? Let's be real, who would go out and buy a supply of more than one year's worth of stamps? Would you? Would anyone you know, even your friend who owns the business that advertises and ships by mail? Heck no. Only some wacko would go out and do something like that just to beat some hypothetical future rate increase imposed by an agency that some people, many of whom are decidedly not wackos, think is going to disappear.
And so, on May 1, 2008, 12 days before first class rates increased from 41 to 42 cents for the first ounce, I walked into the town Post Office and officially became the town's resident wacko.I asked the clerk if he had Forever Stamps. He said he did and also, on further inquiry, said he did not sell many and could not understand why more people did not use them. Figuring there must be a catch to what seemed, to me, like a great deal, I asked if there was a limit on the number I could buy. He said the limit was whatever amount he had in stock. As it turned out he had a pack of 2,000 stamps (that's 100, 20-stamp strips). And so, I impulsively invested $820 in 2,000 Forever Stamps, knowing that in a mere 12 days my stash would increase in value all the way up to $840. The clerk gave me a look like he wasn't quite sure whether to take my credit card or push the button that brings the Postal Police in to subdue customers who go off the deep end. People waiting on line behind me gave me lots of room when I turned to leave.
Returning home in triumph, I told my Beautiful Wife what I had wrought and, without looking up from her laptop, she said, as lovingly as she could manage between the chortles, "That's nice dear, you now have something to leave the children since you will die before using up the stamps." Now I will admit to making the purchase on impulse without actually calculating my stamp usage. So, for your amusement, here's how the math worked out. Most of my monthly bills are paid electronically and most of my correspondence is by e-mail. As a result, my actual need for stamps has fallen dramatically (which, multiplied by millions of Americans, is probably why the Postal Service needs more rate increases). Being generous, let's say the Beautiful Wife and me use ten stamps a month. Since we regularly spend 4 months a year in Israel, our "US Stamp Usage Year" is only 8 months long. That's 80 stamps a year. Divide 2,000 by 80 and you have enough stamps for 25 years. Given my multiple heart conditions, to say that in 2008 I had a life expectancy of 25 years would be generous.
The next week, the Beautiful Wife was standing on line in the Post Office. The clerk who made the sale was regaling a few people with the story of how some wacko had come in the week before and bought 2,000 Forever Stamps. The Beautiful Wife, always quick to defend her loved ones, shouted out, "That wacko is my husband!" The clerk started to apologize but she cut him off saying I had lost it years before and this purchase was no surprise. She then rushed home to tell me that I had become a town celebrity.
Now, whenever I get the chance, I remind the postal clerk, and everyone else who scoffed at me, that I'm the wacko who loaded up on the Forever Stamps. Only I do it with a note of triumph in my voice. When I first bought these stamps the second person I told about my brilliant idea was my good friend, Allan Sloan, a nationally prominent financial journalist. Allan, who does this for a living, had a jolly time mocking me and pointing out that he had written almost two years earlier that Forever Stamps might be a convenience but were certainly not a better inflation hedge than money market funds, Treasury paper or CDs. Of course, what Allan and everyone else who wrote me off as a wacko overlooked is that past performance really does not predict future results. Today he, like all those people who gave me lots of room at the Post Office, my children and even my Beautiful Wife, are not scoffing quite so loudly (or, more accurately, have found other good reasons to mock me). Why? Throughout the worst financial collapse since the 1930s and a recovery that may take most of the coming decade to return us to where we were before the housing bubble burst and the banks started doing the dead cat bounce, my Forever Stamps have done nothing but increase in value. Come next January 2, when first class rates go up to 46 cents for the first ounce, the value of my remaining stamps will have increased three times, gaining more than 12% (that's an annualized return of roughly 4.4% for the 32 months from May, 2008 through December, 2010). Not exactly pre-bubble bursting day trading profits but slow, steady, reliable and not too shabby under the circumstances. How's your portfolio been doing? Read more!
19 July 2010
Everyone laughed at me two years ago when I spent $820 to buy 2,000 Forever Stamps. But I'm the one laughing now.
I'd known about Forever Stamps for perhaps three years but was wary of buying them. You buy a stamp today at today's first class rate and it's good forever, no matter how high the first class rate goes. At first glance, a great hedge against one of life's certainties - postal rate increases. It's like death and taxes. Right? Since 1958, the frequency of rate increases has gone from 5 years down to less than two years (1958 was the first increase in 26 years, the current 42 cent rate will be in effect for a mere 20 months). The typical increase used to be a penny, now its at least two cents - that's a 100% increase in the amount of each increase. Given the increases in both the frequency and the amounts of postal rate hikes, Forever Stamps could be one of the greatest inflation hedges since common stocks and home ownership. And even us disabled, retired guys have better things to do than counting stamps, buying small stamps and sticking two or more stamps on every letter to use up our pre-increase stamp supply. Nevertheless, my brilliant analysis seemed to put Forever Stamps into the category of "if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." After all, for the inflation hedge to work you'd need to buy enough stamps to last through some number of rate increases. What if the spread of electronic communications really does force the Post Office to close it's snail mail services? Let's be real, who would go out and buy a supply of more than one year's worth of stamps? Would you? Would anyone you know, even your friend who owns the business that advertises and ships by mail? Heck no. Only some wacko would go out and do something like that just to beat some hypothetical future rate increase imposed by an agency that some people, many of whom are decidedly not wackos, think is going to disappear.
And so, on May 1, 2008, 12 days before first class rates increased from 41 to 42 cents for the first ounce, I walked into the town Post Office and officially became the town's resident wacko.I asked the clerk if he had Forever Stamps. He said he did and also, on further inquiry, said he did not sell many and could not understand why more people did not use them. Figuring there must be a catch to what seemed, to me, like a great deal, I asked if there was a limit on the number I could buy. He said the limit was whatever amount he had in stock. As it turned out he had a pack of 2,000 stamps (that's 100, 20-stamp strips). And so, I impulsively invested $820 in 2,000 Forever Stamps, knowing that in a mere 12 days my stash would increase in value all the way up to $840. The clerk gave me a look like he wasn't quite sure whether to take my credit card or push the button that brings the Postal Police in to subdue customers who go off the deep end. People waiting on line behind me gave me lots of room when I turned to leave.
Returning home in triumph, I told my Beautiful Wife what I had wrought and, without looking up from her laptop, she said, as lovingly as she could manage between the chortles, "That's nice dear, you now have something to leave the children since you will die before using up the stamps." Now I will admit to making the purchase on impulse without actually calculating my stamp usage. So, for your amusement, here's how the math worked out. Most of my monthly bills are paid electronically and most of my correspondence is by e-mail. As a result, my actual need for stamps has fallen dramatically (which, multiplied by millions of Americans, is probably why the Postal Service needs more rate increases). Being generous, let's say the Beautiful Wife and me use ten stamps a month. Since we regularly spend 4 months a year in Israel, our "US Stamp Usage Year" is only 8 months long. That's 80 stamps a year. Divide 2,000 by 80 and you have enough stamps for 25 years. Given my multiple heart conditions, to say that in 2008 I had a life expectancy of 25 years would be generous.
The next week, the Beautiful Wife was standing on line in the Post Office. The clerk who made the sale was regaling a few people with the story of how some wacko had come in the week before and bought 2,000 Forever Stamps. The Beautiful Wife, always quick to defend her loved ones, shouted out, "That wacko is my husband!" The clerk started to apologize but she cut him off saying I had lost it years before and this purchase was no surprise. She then rushed home to tell me that I had become a town celebrity.
Now, whenever I get the chance, I remind the postal clerk, and everyone else who scoffed at me, that I'm the wacko who loaded up on the Forever Stamps. Only I do it with a note of triumph in my voice. When I first bought these stamps the second person I told about my brilliant idea was my good friend, Allan Sloan, a nationally prominent financial journalist. Allan, who does this for a living, had a jolly time mocking me and pointing out that he had written almost two years earlier that Forever Stamps might be a convenience but were certainly not a better inflation hedge than money market funds, Treasury paper or CDs. Of course, what Allan and everyone else who wrote me off as a wacko overlooked is that past performance really does not predict future results. Today he, like all those people who gave me lots of room at the Post Office, my children and even my Beautiful Wife, are not scoffing quite so loudly (or, more accurately, have found other good reasons to mock me). Why? Throughout the worst financial collapse since the 1930s and a recovery that may take most of the coming decade to return us to where we were before the housing bubble burst and the banks started doing the dead cat bounce, my Forever Stamps have done nothing but increase in value. Come next January 2, when first class rates go up to 46 cents for the first ounce, the value of my remaining stamps will have increased three times, gaining more than 12% (that's an annualized return of roughly 4.4% for the 32 months from May, 2008 through December, 2010). Not exactly pre-bubble bursting day trading profits but slow, steady, reliable and not too shabby under the circumstances. How's your portfolio been doing? Read more!
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Everyone's Egyptian Grandmother
Tel Aviv
11 March 2010
Julie Ozon cooks Egyptian food just like your grandmother would if your grandmother was from Cairo. This is a line I often use to describe some wonderful hole-in-the-wall ethnic restaurant. This time it so happens that Julie, the owner and chef, is an Egyptian grandmother. Her cooking is truly sublime. Located in the Yemenite Quarter just down a narrow street from Shuk Hacarmel (corner of Yom Tov and Malan), Julie's is perfect for anyone who missesmiss eating lunch in their grandmother's kitchen.
Julie's family was driven out of Egypt (with most of the rest of the Egyptian Jewish community) in 1949. Their property (which included houses in Cairo and Alexandria) was confiscated. They spent time in a refuge camp in France and finally made their way to Israel, then a country with not much of anything, that had to absorb hundreds of thousands of refuges from Arab countries who came with the clothes on their backs. After the peace treaty, Julie made about seven trips back to Egypt to find the few remaining family and friends and take a look at where she had lived. But her trips, she says, are over. Israel is her home and here she will stay. You stroll in and become one of the family.
Julie's cooking is strictly home style, as is the service. Don't bother asking for a menu. Just ask what's for lunch. Julie or one of her assistants will stand behind a counter and describe (in any of several languages) what's in each pot. She will gladly make you a plate of what she thinks is good for your lunch (between Liz and I we got to sample something of everything and went back for seconds).
The central ingredient is ground meat with a variety of spices. Some of the meat is stuffed into vegetables (today we had eggplant, zucchini and artichoke heart), made into kubeh, meatballs or fried in a burger shape. These were topped off with a mix of sauces that included just enough harif so you know you're in the Middle East but not so much as to cloak the tastes of the spices. The problem with this style of cooking is that it can easily become too greasy. Not at Julie's.
She had two kinds of rice (saffron and white, the white with fresh vermicelli, the saffron with some chick peas and whichever sauce Julie decides to put on it). Added to this were green pea pods in a light sauce cooked so soft they almost needed a spoon instead of a fork.
It being a hot day we passed on the soup but had the Arabic coffee with cardamon and the tea with cloves, washed down with basbousa,a sweet cake made with semolina, honey and lemon syrup.
Once again we are reminded why we come to Israel and why we will miss this place so much when we are back in New Jersey. As we walked off to the shuk to shop for Shabbat dinner (company is coming) I called our agent to see if we can have the apartment for next winter. Read more!
11 March 2010
Julie Ozon cooks Egyptian food just like your grandmother would if your grandmother was from Cairo. This is a line I often use to describe some wonderful hole-in-the-wall ethnic restaurant. This time it so happens that Julie, the owner and chef, is an Egyptian grandmother. Her cooking is truly sublime. Located in the Yemenite Quarter just down a narrow street from Shuk Hacarmel (corner of Yom Tov and Malan), Julie's is perfect for anyone who missesmiss eating lunch in their grandmother's kitchen.
Julie's family was driven out of Egypt (with most of the rest of the Egyptian Jewish community) in 1949. Their property (which included houses in Cairo and Alexandria) was confiscated. They spent time in a refuge camp in France and finally made their way to Israel, then a country with not much of anything, that had to absorb hundreds of thousands of refuges from Arab countries who came with the clothes on their backs. After the peace treaty, Julie made about seven trips back to Egypt to find the few remaining family and friends and take a look at where she had lived. But her trips, she says, are over. Israel is her home and here she will stay. You stroll in and become one of the family.
Julie's cooking is strictly home style, as is the service. Don't bother asking for a menu. Just ask what's for lunch. Julie or one of her assistants will stand behind a counter and describe (in any of several languages) what's in each pot. She will gladly make you a plate of what she thinks is good for your lunch (between Liz and I we got to sample something of everything and went back for seconds).
The central ingredient is ground meat with a variety of spices. Some of the meat is stuffed into vegetables (today we had eggplant, zucchini and artichoke heart), made into kubeh, meatballs or fried in a burger shape. These were topped off with a mix of sauces that included just enough harif so you know you're in the Middle East but not so much as to cloak the tastes of the spices. The problem with this style of cooking is that it can easily become too greasy. Not at Julie's.
She had two kinds of rice (saffron and white, the white with fresh vermicelli, the saffron with some chick peas and whichever sauce Julie decides to put on it). Added to this were green pea pods in a light sauce cooked so soft they almost needed a spoon instead of a fork.
It being a hot day we passed on the soup but had the Arabic coffee with cardamon and the tea with cloves, washed down with basbousa,a sweet cake made with semolina, honey and lemon syrup.
Once again we are reminded why we come to Israel and why we will miss this place so much when we are back in New Jersey. As we walked off to the shuk to shop for Shabbat dinner (company is coming) I called our agent to see if we can have the apartment for next winter. Read more!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
More Stuff I Can't Make Up
Today's news reports are just full of things that I could not make up. No matter how snarky I'm feeling.
First, we have the Moldovan Orthodox Church, one of whose priests led a mob chanting anti-Semitic slogans in tearing down a public Menorah erected by the Jewish community in the Moldovan capital, Chisinau (no, this is not an old Mission Impossible rerun). Obviously inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the Church leaders said that the "cult" should have erected its Menorah at a Holocaust memorial and not in a public square of historical importance to Moldovans.
Next, it seems that the US Congress, the SEC and now the New York Times is shocked, shocked to discover that there is gambling going on on Wall Street. The Times has finally picked up the story, which I think began either in Rolling Stone or one of the blogs, that Goldman Sachs and other banks, but Goldman in particular, had created and sold collateral debt obligations to customers which securities could only increase in value if the real estate market continued to rise in value. At the same time it seems that Goldman, among others, had concluded that the real estate bubble was about to burst and began shorting the very same CDOs they were selling to their customers. Goldman et al made fortunes, the customers lost big time, the credit markets collapsed and you know the rest.
Third, as one Jewish observer has put it, we may have gotten Jimmy Carter back but lost Garrison Keillor. I'm not so sure. Carter issued the sort of apology that you get from someone who knows he's in trouble but is not quite ready to confess to his misdeeds. But, hey, it was a start. Today we learn that Carter's grandson (are Amy and I really that old?) is running for the Georgia State Senate in a district loaded with a significant Jewish presence. What a coincidence.
Garrison Keillor, meanwhile, is being raked over the coals for an otherwise innocuous rant about how Christmas in America is being secularized (and he figured this out when?), in which he goes off on cheesy Christmas music written by Jews. This, to some, makes Keillor the anti-Semite of the week. Personally, I think that pumping Irving Berlin tunes into malls is the Jews' revenge on the Christians for anti-Semitism. Given that we were inflicted with pogroms, cheesy Christmas music is a wimpy form of retaliation but, like Carter's apology, it's a start. Keillor's problem is he figured it out and wrote about it without first turning into a snarky Jewish blogger.
Of course, we could state the obvious, which is that anyone seeking a spiritual Christmas will find it at home and in church and should simply stay the hell out of the malls. Even better, let Keillor and the rest of the "War Against Christmas" crowd come to Israel for the holiday.
And, finally, there is the report, based on recently released Israeli government documents, that Maale Adumim, a West Bank settlement located about half way between Jerusalem and Jericho, and the area between Maale Adumim and Jerusalem (known as E-1) were intended to be annexed as part of Jerusalem back in 1975, when the community was first being planned. Yes, you fans of Labor, that's two years before a Likud-led coalition gets a majority in the Knesset. Oh gee, what a surprise. Read more!
First, we have the Moldovan Orthodox Church, one of whose priests led a mob chanting anti-Semitic slogans in tearing down a public Menorah erected by the Jewish community in the Moldovan capital, Chisinau (no, this is not an old Mission Impossible rerun). Obviously inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the Church leaders said that the "cult" should have erected its Menorah at a Holocaust memorial and not in a public square of historical importance to Moldovans.
Next, it seems that the US Congress, the SEC and now the New York Times is shocked, shocked to discover that there is gambling going on on Wall Street. The Times has finally picked up the story, which I think began either in Rolling Stone or one of the blogs, that Goldman Sachs and other banks, but Goldman in particular, had created and sold collateral debt obligations to customers which securities could only increase in value if the real estate market continued to rise in value. At the same time it seems that Goldman, among others, had concluded that the real estate bubble was about to burst and began shorting the very same CDOs they were selling to their customers. Goldman et al made fortunes, the customers lost big time, the credit markets collapsed and you know the rest.
Third, as one Jewish observer has put it, we may have gotten Jimmy Carter back but lost Garrison Keillor. I'm not so sure. Carter issued the sort of apology that you get from someone who knows he's in trouble but is not quite ready to confess to his misdeeds. But, hey, it was a start. Today we learn that Carter's grandson (are Amy and I really that old?) is running for the Georgia State Senate in a district loaded with a significant Jewish presence. What a coincidence.
Garrison Keillor, meanwhile, is being raked over the coals for an otherwise innocuous rant about how Christmas in America is being secularized (and he figured this out when?), in which he goes off on cheesy Christmas music written by Jews. This, to some, makes Keillor the anti-Semite of the week. Personally, I think that pumping Irving Berlin tunes into malls is the Jews' revenge on the Christians for anti-Semitism. Given that we were inflicted with pogroms, cheesy Christmas music is a wimpy form of retaliation but, like Carter's apology, it's a start. Keillor's problem is he figured it out and wrote about it without first turning into a snarky Jewish blogger.
Of course, we could state the obvious, which is that anyone seeking a spiritual Christmas will find it at home and in church and should simply stay the hell out of the malls. Even better, let Keillor and the rest of the "War Against Christmas" crowd come to Israel for the holiday.
And, finally, there is the report, based on recently released Israeli government documents, that Maale Adumim, a West Bank settlement located about half way between Jerusalem and Jericho, and the area between Maale Adumim and Jerusalem (known as E-1) were intended to be annexed as part of Jerusalem back in 1975, when the community was first being planned. Yes, you fans of Labor, that's two years before a Likud-led coalition gets a majority in the Knesset. Oh gee, what a surprise. Read more!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
2010 - A Good Year To Die - Unless You're Gilad Shalit
Tel Aviv
23 December 2009
2010 is a good year to die. At least it is if you are subject to the US Internal Revenue Code and have a taxable estate. Why? In 2010, the estate tax and its evil spawn, the generation skipping tax, completely disappear for one year. (Trust me, if you don't have an estate worth more than $3.5 million and grandchildren to whom you want to give very large gifts you don't want me to explain the GST. If you do then you've already hired good tax counsel and don't need me to tell you about the GST but you are definitely picking up the check when we next have lunch.) In 2011, the estate tax and GST rise again, as from the dead, like a movie's bad guy who just won't die in the last reel. And, like the bad guy who comes back but short a limb, the two taxes come back with a much lower exempted amount. In sum, unless Congress changes the law, if you die and/or make gifts to grandchildren in 2009 you can exempt up to $3.5 million from the two taxes, in 2010 you get a free ride and in 2011 the exemption drops to a mere $1.5 million or so. As they say in the trade, this leaves us with numerous planning opportunities, especially if you can time someone's death.
And so, as I write this, good tax attorneys are faced with the somewhat ghoulish but necessary task of telling people who hold the health care proxy of a parent or grandparent on life support that, to best effect their loved one's wishes regarding the estate (which is lawyer talk for keeping the money out of the hands of the government), they might want to consider spending one last New Year's Eve with mom or grandpa, before pulling the plug. Absent a change in the law, which Congress keeps promising but failing to do, the conversation during the last week of 2010 will be even more ghoulish as pulling dad's or grandma's plug before the new year begins leaves more money for the grieving loved ones.
This sounds pretty cold but death is something that can't be avoided. The only questions are who and when and what are the consequences. Which brings us to Gilad Shalit.
The current debate raging in Israel makes the estate tax and GST conundrum look like fun and games. The Israelis are not talking about money, they're talking about lives. Their lives and the lives of their children. Lives already lost and those that may be lost in the future. As of this writing, the Israeli Prime Minister has allowed his negotiators to send, through a German mediator, Israel's response to what Hamas has described as its last demands (they may say "offer" but these are not people interested in bargaining or who really give a damn about human life). The media reports that Israel is ready to agree to release about 1000 Palestinian prisoners in return for the safe return of Shalit. This includes about 100 convicted murderers who have no regrets or remorse and are (if past experience holds true) very likely to just go back to terrorism once they are set free. Israel is asking that the worst of the worst be exiled, either to Gaza from the West Bank or out of the territories to other countries. Hamas has said it will take a few days to consider a reply. And so we wait.
The arguments for and against the deal are all correct. In arguing against this deal many have pointed out that freed terrorists go back to terrorism, and Jews die. Hamas is demanding freedom for men who are not just good soldiers but leaders of Hamas and similar groups. If denied the opportunity to go back to blowing people up in Israel or the West Bank, they'll blow people up wherever they can. While everyone fears for the safety of Gilad Shalit (what happens to him if no deal is made?) those opposed to a deal see it as merely substituting one victim for other victims.
Furthermore, every terrorist group will have further proof that Israel will pay a huge price for the return of an Israeli. What other conclusion could they draw if Bibi Netanyahu, a man who made a political career out of being tough on terrorism, gives in to Hamas' demands? Doing the Shalit deal will inspire further attempts at kidnapping Israeli soldiers and civilians and, sooner or later, one or more will succeed.
Finally, doing the deal will give Hamas a significant political victory. Palestinians will dance in the streets, cheering the group who drove Israel to its knees, honoring their returning heroes and calling for the next wave of "resistance." The deal will set in concrete Hamas' rule in Gaza and give them a good chance of taking over in the West Bank should Abu Mazen ever be so foolish as to allow free elections.
And on the other side of the debate, we have an entire country run by for and about Jews, who value human life above all. Jews who do not raise their children to be martyrs. A majority of the Israeli public seems willing to pay any price to bring Shalit home. For his Mother's sake. And because those being asked are Jewish parents who want to know that their children would also be ransomed if taken captive. The bottom line is that every life is precious and, even if the price is terrible and risks more deaths, that life has got to be saved. Israel does not leave soldiers behind on the field and should not do so now.
Those who want Shalit home by doing the deal will tell you that Hamas, Hezbullah and their ilk will try to kill or kidnap Jews, whether or not Gilad comes home. So we may as well bring Gilad home. The weight of the survival of Israel should not be put on his narrow shoulders.
As for Hamas' political victory from the deal, Israelis arguing for the deal will tell you that Hamas will have its moment in the sun but then, a few months from now, with no end of the Israeli blockade of Gaza in sight and no reconciliation with the PLO, it will be a matter of "what has Hamas done for us lately."
Israel does not handle this sort of crisis like other nations. (Of course, most other nations don't have their citizens routinely subject to acts of terrorism.) Before responding to Hamas, Bibi and his closest aides met with all the military, intelligence and political leaders you'd expect a Prime Minister to consult with. But they also met with Shalit's parents. (An easy meeting to arrange since the Shalits and their supporters have been camped out in front of the Prime Minister's residence in Jerusalem for close to a year now.) They also met with the survivors of the victims of those who might now be freed and with the leaders of a group representing the parents, spouses and children of Israelis murdered by terrorists set free in earlier deals. The press reports that the Prime Minister spent most of the meetings just listening to the real people who will be affected in very real ways by whatever he decides to do.
Will the deal get done? No one knows for sure. Hamas is run by at least four different factions (the political and military wings in Gaza, the political wing in Damascus and the prisoners who are the very subject of the negotiations). One of the reasons that a deal has not yet been made is that every time the parties get close, one or more of the Hamas factions finds an excuse to back away. My own theory is that some of the Hamas leadership is reluctant to make the deal because giving up Shalit means giving up power. (Yeah, I know this sounds like the behavior of a 4 year old but remember, we are dealing here with politicians and religious zealots, so what's the difference?) Maybe they've figured out that any victory will be fleeting (see above). For it's part, the Israeli government is very badly divided on the deal and there's no guarantee that a "Yes but" reply from Hamas would generate a positive Israeli response.
Whatever happens, the "resistance" will continue. And, either angered by the lack of a deal or encouraged by the making of a deal, someone is going to go out and express his inner terrorist by killing a Jew. And then Bibi is going to have to deal with the consequences which will likely include explaining to the victim's Mother why he made the deal, or didn't make the deal, that led to the death of her child. Which is why I think Bibi will find a way to bring Gilad home. Given his low opinion of the Palestinian leadership, he's going to conclude (if he hasn't already) that no matter what he does a Jew will die, so he'll at least take the opportunity and save Gilad Shalit.
And so Bibi, like our tax attorney, is faced with the prospect of timing someone's death. The big difference is that the tax attorney knows who is going to die, knows that that death is unavoidable and has helped the soon-to-be-deceased plan for the consequences. Bibi gets to decide without knowing the ultimate outcome and has to deal with the consequences as they arise. Personally, I'd rather be the tax attorney.
Read more!
23 December 2009
2010 is a good year to die. At least it is if you are subject to the US Internal Revenue Code and have a taxable estate. Why? In 2010, the estate tax and its evil spawn, the generation skipping tax, completely disappear for one year. (Trust me, if you don't have an estate worth more than $3.5 million and grandchildren to whom you want to give very large gifts you don't want me to explain the GST. If you do then you've already hired good tax counsel and don't need me to tell you about the GST but you are definitely picking up the check when we next have lunch.) In 2011, the estate tax and GST rise again, as from the dead, like a movie's bad guy who just won't die in the last reel. And, like the bad guy who comes back but short a limb, the two taxes come back with a much lower exempted amount. In sum, unless Congress changes the law, if you die and/or make gifts to grandchildren in 2009 you can exempt up to $3.5 million from the two taxes, in 2010 you get a free ride and in 2011 the exemption drops to a mere $1.5 million or so. As they say in the trade, this leaves us with numerous planning opportunities, especially if you can time someone's death.
And so, as I write this, good tax attorneys are faced with the somewhat ghoulish but necessary task of telling people who hold the health care proxy of a parent or grandparent on life support that, to best effect their loved one's wishes regarding the estate (which is lawyer talk for keeping the money out of the hands of the government), they might want to consider spending one last New Year's Eve with mom or grandpa, before pulling the plug. Absent a change in the law, which Congress keeps promising but failing to do, the conversation during the last week of 2010 will be even more ghoulish as pulling dad's or grandma's plug before the new year begins leaves more money for the grieving loved ones.
This sounds pretty cold but death is something that can't be avoided. The only questions are who and when and what are the consequences. Which brings us to Gilad Shalit.
The current debate raging in Israel makes the estate tax and GST conundrum look like fun and games. The Israelis are not talking about money, they're talking about lives. Their lives and the lives of their children. Lives already lost and those that may be lost in the future. As of this writing, the Israeli Prime Minister has allowed his negotiators to send, through a German mediator, Israel's response to what Hamas has described as its last demands (they may say "offer" but these are not people interested in bargaining or who really give a damn about human life). The media reports that Israel is ready to agree to release about 1000 Palestinian prisoners in return for the safe return of Shalit. This includes about 100 convicted murderers who have no regrets or remorse and are (if past experience holds true) very likely to just go back to terrorism once they are set free. Israel is asking that the worst of the worst be exiled, either to Gaza from the West Bank or out of the territories to other countries. Hamas has said it will take a few days to consider a reply. And so we wait.
The arguments for and against the deal are all correct. In arguing against this deal many have pointed out that freed terrorists go back to terrorism, and Jews die. Hamas is demanding freedom for men who are not just good soldiers but leaders of Hamas and similar groups. If denied the opportunity to go back to blowing people up in Israel or the West Bank, they'll blow people up wherever they can. While everyone fears for the safety of Gilad Shalit (what happens to him if no deal is made?) those opposed to a deal see it as merely substituting one victim for other victims.
Furthermore, every terrorist group will have further proof that Israel will pay a huge price for the return of an Israeli. What other conclusion could they draw if Bibi Netanyahu, a man who made a political career out of being tough on terrorism, gives in to Hamas' demands? Doing the Shalit deal will inspire further attempts at kidnapping Israeli soldiers and civilians and, sooner or later, one or more will succeed.
Finally, doing the deal will give Hamas a significant political victory. Palestinians will dance in the streets, cheering the group who drove Israel to its knees, honoring their returning heroes and calling for the next wave of "resistance." The deal will set in concrete Hamas' rule in Gaza and give them a good chance of taking over in the West Bank should Abu Mazen ever be so foolish as to allow free elections.
And on the other side of the debate, we have an entire country run by for and about Jews, who value human life above all. Jews who do not raise their children to be martyrs. A majority of the Israeli public seems willing to pay any price to bring Shalit home. For his Mother's sake. And because those being asked are Jewish parents who want to know that their children would also be ransomed if taken captive. The bottom line is that every life is precious and, even if the price is terrible and risks more deaths, that life has got to be saved. Israel does not leave soldiers behind on the field and should not do so now.
Those who want Shalit home by doing the deal will tell you that Hamas, Hezbullah and their ilk will try to kill or kidnap Jews, whether or not Gilad comes home. So we may as well bring Gilad home. The weight of the survival of Israel should not be put on his narrow shoulders.
As for Hamas' political victory from the deal, Israelis arguing for the deal will tell you that Hamas will have its moment in the sun but then, a few months from now, with no end of the Israeli blockade of Gaza in sight and no reconciliation with the PLO, it will be a matter of "what has Hamas done for us lately."
Israel does not handle this sort of crisis like other nations. (Of course, most other nations don't have their citizens routinely subject to acts of terrorism.) Before responding to Hamas, Bibi and his closest aides met with all the military, intelligence and political leaders you'd expect a Prime Minister to consult with. But they also met with Shalit's parents. (An easy meeting to arrange since the Shalits and their supporters have been camped out in front of the Prime Minister's residence in Jerusalem for close to a year now.) They also met with the survivors of the victims of those who might now be freed and with the leaders of a group representing the parents, spouses and children of Israelis murdered by terrorists set free in earlier deals. The press reports that the Prime Minister spent most of the meetings just listening to the real people who will be affected in very real ways by whatever he decides to do.
Will the deal get done? No one knows for sure. Hamas is run by at least four different factions (the political and military wings in Gaza, the political wing in Damascus and the prisoners who are the very subject of the negotiations). One of the reasons that a deal has not yet been made is that every time the parties get close, one or more of the Hamas factions finds an excuse to back away. My own theory is that some of the Hamas leadership is reluctant to make the deal because giving up Shalit means giving up power. (Yeah, I know this sounds like the behavior of a 4 year old but remember, we are dealing here with politicians and religious zealots, so what's the difference?) Maybe they've figured out that any victory will be fleeting (see above). For it's part, the Israeli government is very badly divided on the deal and there's no guarantee that a "Yes but" reply from Hamas would generate a positive Israeli response.
Whatever happens, the "resistance" will continue. And, either angered by the lack of a deal or encouraged by the making of a deal, someone is going to go out and express his inner terrorist by killing a Jew. And then Bibi is going to have to deal with the consequences which will likely include explaining to the victim's Mother why he made the deal, or didn't make the deal, that led to the death of her child. Which is why I think Bibi will find a way to bring Gilad home. Given his low opinion of the Palestinian leadership, he's going to conclude (if he hasn't already) that no matter what he does a Jew will die, so he'll at least take the opportunity and save Gilad Shalit.
And so Bibi, like our tax attorney, is faced with the prospect of timing someone's death. The big difference is that the tax attorney knows who is going to die, knows that that death is unavoidable and has helped the soon-to-be-deceased plan for the consequences. Bibi gets to decide without knowing the ultimate outcome and has to deal with the consequences as they arise. Personally, I'd rather be the tax attorney.
Read more!
Friday, December 11, 2009
On The Road In Appalachis - Part 3 - Getting There Is Half The Fun
It's one thing to say you'll be at the elementary school in McRoberts, Kentucky at 8am on Monday, November 9, 2009. Its quite another to actually get there. My first instinct was to just get in the car on November 8 and drive. But I was told that it would be better for us to fly and rent a car. Just this once, I turned out to be right (and I will be the first to admit how rare an event that is).
McRoberts is one of those places to which you cannot get from here. We had to fly on US Airways, which us northeasterners know as the successor to such stellar enterprises as Mohawk and Allegheny. The nearest serious airport to McRoberts is in Charleston, West Virginia, to which one flies from Newark by changing planes in Charlotte, North Carolina (where Naomi, Liz and I were to meet up with Ranya). From Charleston we planned to drive a rented car two hours to Whitesburg, Kentucky, the Letcher County seat, leaving us about 30 minutes southwest of McRoberts.
Why bypass McRoberts to go on to Whitesburg? Whitesburg has the only motels close to McRoberts. The crown jewel of these is the Super 8 next to the truck stop. In addition to checking into our home away from home we would be joined by Vinny Green and Debby Singer, Jewish educators from California who, in all their spare time, work on Ranya's distributions. At least, that was the plan.
There's a reason US Airways is more remembered for emergency landings in the Hudson River than on-time performance. Our flight from Newark to Charlotte went well enough given the rough weather. We even met up with Ranya as planned. But when we got to the gate for the Charleston flight we were told that it had been canceled. No reason. No warning. Just canceled. But, not to worry, US Airways has programmed its computer to automatically find alternative flights for passengers they have just stranded. I guess they got tired of doing this by hand. Our new boarding passes were printed and ready when we arrived at the gate. One small problem. We were booked on a flight the next day.
Now, while I'm sure that Charlotte is a real happening place on a Sunday night, we could not fail to reach McRoberts as scheduled. Naomi explained to a Customer Service Representative that we were on a humanitarian mission. The CSR offered us a late flight the same day that would, with only one stop, get us to Charleston around 10 pm (after the car rental counter closes). Even if we could get a car we'd get to Whitesburg after midnight. This would leave us with enough time to get four hours' sleep before driving the last leg into McRoberts. No thanks. When we were 19 or 20 road trips could be done with little to no sleep. But that was 40 years ago. Today, my traveling companions and I need things like sleep and showers to function. So, Naomi decided to rent a car and drive to Whitesburg, cutting our travel time down from over 12 hours to about 4.
Appalachia is among the poorest parts of the country but it is also among the most beautiful. Our drive from Charlotte skirted the southwestern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains and took us into the Cumberland Mountains with their closely spaced ridge lines. The narrow, wooded valleys between the mountain tops are known as hollows, pronounced "hahllers", which is a really accurate description of the topography. There are those who think that replacing coal with tourism would both preserve Appalachia's natural beauty and provide a serious number of long-term jobs for the locals (something coal long-ago ceased doing).
If you've never driven through this area, do yourself a favor and get it on your itinerary. You'll need to lower your expectations about cuisine and hotels, for now, but the scenery alone is worth the trip. Except for the strip mines opened by blowing off mountain tops, which we'll get to in Part 4. You can drive into the hahllers but be careful. Our hosts warned us that we might be met by a resident with a shotgun. Moonshine and meth labs are material to the local economy and the proprietors do not take kindly to strangers. And there are some folks who just don't care for tourists gawking at them. If they liked crowds, they'd move down out of the hahller into the valley.
After a pleasant ride in good company (I'm leaving out the gossip, to protect the guilty), we finally arrived at the Super 8 where we were joined by Vinnie and Debby. The next morning we would make our way to McRoberts.
[To Be Continued]
Read more!
McRoberts is one of those places to which you cannot get from here. We had to fly on US Airways, which us northeasterners know as the successor to such stellar enterprises as Mohawk and Allegheny. The nearest serious airport to McRoberts is in Charleston, West Virginia, to which one flies from Newark by changing planes in Charlotte, North Carolina (where Naomi, Liz and I were to meet up with Ranya). From Charleston we planned to drive a rented car two hours to Whitesburg, Kentucky, the Letcher County seat, leaving us about 30 minutes southwest of McRoberts.
Why bypass McRoberts to go on to Whitesburg? Whitesburg has the only motels close to McRoberts. The crown jewel of these is the Super 8 next to the truck stop. In addition to checking into our home away from home we would be joined by Vinny Green and Debby Singer, Jewish educators from California who, in all their spare time, work on Ranya's distributions. At least, that was the plan.
There's a reason US Airways is more remembered for emergency landings in the Hudson River than on-time performance. Our flight from Newark to Charlotte went well enough given the rough weather. We even met up with Ranya as planned. But when we got to the gate for the Charleston flight we were told that it had been canceled. No reason. No warning. Just canceled. But, not to worry, US Airways has programmed its computer to automatically find alternative flights for passengers they have just stranded. I guess they got tired of doing this by hand. Our new boarding passes were printed and ready when we arrived at the gate. One small problem. We were booked on a flight the next day.
Now, while I'm sure that Charlotte is a real happening place on a Sunday night, we could not fail to reach McRoberts as scheduled. Naomi explained to a Customer Service Representative that we were on a humanitarian mission. The CSR offered us a late flight the same day that would, with only one stop, get us to Charleston around 10 pm (after the car rental counter closes). Even if we could get a car we'd get to Whitesburg after midnight. This would leave us with enough time to get four hours' sleep before driving the last leg into McRoberts. No thanks. When we were 19 or 20 road trips could be done with little to no sleep. But that was 40 years ago. Today, my traveling companions and I need things like sleep and showers to function. So, Naomi decided to rent a car and drive to Whitesburg, cutting our travel time down from over 12 hours to about 4.
Appalachia is among the poorest parts of the country but it is also among the most beautiful. Our drive from Charlotte skirted the southwestern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains and took us into the Cumberland Mountains with their closely spaced ridge lines. The narrow, wooded valleys between the mountain tops are known as hollows, pronounced "hahllers", which is a really accurate description of the topography. There are those who think that replacing coal with tourism would both preserve Appalachia's natural beauty and provide a serious number of long-term jobs for the locals (something coal long-ago ceased doing).
If you've never driven through this area, do yourself a favor and get it on your itinerary. You'll need to lower your expectations about cuisine and hotels, for now, but the scenery alone is worth the trip. Except for the strip mines opened by blowing off mountain tops, which we'll get to in Part 4. You can drive into the hahllers but be careful. Our hosts warned us that we might be met by a resident with a shotgun. Moonshine and meth labs are material to the local economy and the proprietors do not take kindly to strangers. And there are some folks who just don't care for tourists gawking at them. If they liked crowds, they'd move down out of the hahller into the valley.
After a pleasant ride in good company (I'm leaving out the gossip, to protect the guilty), we finally arrived at the Super 8 where we were joined by Vinnie and Debby. The next morning we would make our way to McRoberts.
[To Be Continued]
Read more!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
On The Road In Appalachia - Part 2 - Ranya the Shoe Lady
Uncle Bernie would have loved Ranya Kelly. Ranya once described herself to me as an ordinary suburban housewife, leading an ordinary life and not making much of a contribution to the world around her when, in 1991, she went to a mall and had what I can only describe as an epiphany. Ranya noticed a dumpster filled to overflowing with hundreds of shoe boxes. The next thing she remembers is dumpster-diving for boxes of what turned out to be new shoes. Ranya asked the shoe store about the shoes and was told that, at the end of a season, the shoe store simply threw out unsold inventory. And, no, they didn't mind at all if Ranya wanted to take their overstock and give it away to poor people. And so, Ranya Kelly, suburban housewife, became Ranya the Shoe Lady.
Ranya began working to develope networks of shoe stores and organizations serving shoeless people. She also discovered that it wasn't just shoes that were being thrown out. As word of her new-found life work spread, Ranya, receiving requests for help from all over, went national. Today, the Redistribution Center, Inc., Ranya Kelly, Founder and President, gathers and distributes millions of dollars worth of food, clothing, building supplies, toys, furniture, household goods, school and office supplies and, of course, shoes (Ranya long ago abandoned all hope of ever going out of the shoe business.)
Somewhere along the line Ranya met the Jews. One of the stereotypes of the Jewish world is that we all know each other and, working through various formal and informal organizations, networks and extended families, provide for the needs of our less-fortunate brethren (while, of course, doing business without much regard for things like borders). While most sterotypes arise from mindless prejudice, this one does have some truth to it. After a couple of centuries of living in ghettoes, exiled from our homeland, we learned to provide for ourselves. The Jews have gotten pretty good at moving money, goods and services around to help one another. But it's more than that. Central to the Jewish tradition are three things - study of Torah, prayer and acts of loving kindness. The latter is ingrained in us from an early age. Everyone, no matter how rich or poor, is obligated to do tzedakah (roughly translated as, "charity"). If you've got nothing yourself, you give a penny or you provide volunteer labor. If you've got a million bucks to spare you may as well ante up now because the Federation will find you. The obligation to do good works goes beyond fellow Jews. We have obligations not just to our brethren but also to to "the stranger within our gates", which is to say anyone in need. In the United States, this tradition has led an affluent community to direct its efforts toward any number of community-based organizations, without regard to religious affiliation.
For Ranya and the Jews, it was love at first sight. She found numerous kindred spirits, to say nothing of more sources of donations and targets for distributions. She also became a sought-after speaker at conferences and synagogue programs, delivering her message that what she does can be replicated in other communities. All you need to do is ask around and be ready for some creative dumpster-diving. Having been adopted by the Jews, Ranya met Naomi Eisenberger
Naomi is the Executive Director of the Good People Fund (having held the same position with a predecessor organization). The Good People Fund raises money for small groups and people in the US and Israel who work, usually on shoe-string budgets using volunteer labor, to do some good in this world. The Fund, which is small by US charitable organization standards, works mostly with community-based organizations for whom a $10,000 grant is a major gift. Naomi's Fund also makes donor-advised gifts to organizations approved by its Board. Naomi runs the Fund out of her New Jersey home with the occasional road trip to vet potential grant recipients or get involved in projects. Naomi has known Ranya for years and both directs cash donations to the Distribution Center and connects Ranya with local groups who could use her help.
Liz recently began to volunteer to help Naomi, handling some administrative tasks and helping to edit communications. The two are kindred spirits in that they have the talent to bring together people who, working together, can make a real difference in the lives of people who could use a break. Yes, dear reader, this is going to be one more tale of my wife doing good while I show up in time to eat.
Naomi has been working with an Appalachia-based organization called Family-to-Family and, through them, was introduced to people from a community center in McRoberts, Kentucky. McRoberts was a coal company town until the 1950s when the industry began to wind down and switch from deep tunnel mining to strip mining. Today any mining in the area involves blowing off the tops of mountains, spewing debris into local streams and creating lakes of sludge from the water and solid waste left over from refining coal. This leaves places like McRoberts with few jobs but lots of polluted drinking water and the occasional flood from a sludge lake. The coal companies and the politicians they own will tell you that all of this is safe. I'm not sure than someone whose land has been covered by a sludge flood would agree.
Economically-speaking, McRoberts is poor. The per capita income is about half that of the state average. Drug abuse is rampant (this is oxycontin country). Lots of people need clothing and basic household goods. These needs only increase in the winter as kerosene heaters burn down the houses they were supposed to just heat. But McRoberts is rich in its sense of community. Rich in people willing to help each other as best they can. People in McRoberts may. like Israelis, know that things can always get worse but, like Israelis, that doesn't stop them from getting on with their lives. And that's what got them onto Naomi's radar screen.
Naomi suggested to community representatives a distribution of needed items trucked in by Ranya the Shoe Lady. Naomi knew this could be done. But Naomi's audience consisted of people who have heard lots of promises from lots of outsiders that were never fulfilled. So when this Jewish lady from New Jersey (and, trust me, this is not a common sight in McRoberts) promised that someone known as Ranya the Shoe Lady from Denver would deliver enough clothing, shoes and hosehold goods to help dozens of families, the locals were understandably skeptical. Nevertheless, they agreed to the distribution, setting a date, lining up a location and identifying volunteers to do the heavy lifting. Naomi called in some of her own regular helpers and asked Liz if we would like to help out. And that's what got me on the road to McRoberts.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Read more!
Ranya began working to develope networks of shoe stores and organizations serving shoeless people. She also discovered that it wasn't just shoes that were being thrown out. As word of her new-found life work spread, Ranya, receiving requests for help from all over, went national. Today, the Redistribution Center, Inc., Ranya Kelly, Founder and President, gathers and distributes millions of dollars worth of food, clothing, building supplies, toys, furniture, household goods, school and office supplies and, of course, shoes (Ranya long ago abandoned all hope of ever going out of the shoe business.)
Somewhere along the line Ranya met the Jews. One of the stereotypes of the Jewish world is that we all know each other and, working through various formal and informal organizations, networks and extended families, provide for the needs of our less-fortunate brethren (while, of course, doing business without much regard for things like borders). While most sterotypes arise from mindless prejudice, this one does have some truth to it. After a couple of centuries of living in ghettoes, exiled from our homeland, we learned to provide for ourselves. The Jews have gotten pretty good at moving money, goods and services around to help one another. But it's more than that. Central to the Jewish tradition are three things - study of Torah, prayer and acts of loving kindness. The latter is ingrained in us from an early age. Everyone, no matter how rich or poor, is obligated to do tzedakah (roughly translated as, "charity"). If you've got nothing yourself, you give a penny or you provide volunteer labor. If you've got a million bucks to spare you may as well ante up now because the Federation will find you. The obligation to do good works goes beyond fellow Jews. We have obligations not just to our brethren but also to to "the stranger within our gates", which is to say anyone in need. In the United States, this tradition has led an affluent community to direct its efforts toward any number of community-based organizations, without regard to religious affiliation.
For Ranya and the Jews, it was love at first sight. She found numerous kindred spirits, to say nothing of more sources of donations and targets for distributions. She also became a sought-after speaker at conferences and synagogue programs, delivering her message that what she does can be replicated in other communities. All you need to do is ask around and be ready for some creative dumpster-diving. Having been adopted by the Jews, Ranya met Naomi Eisenberger
Naomi is the Executive Director of the Good People Fund (having held the same position with a predecessor organization). The Good People Fund raises money for small groups and people in the US and Israel who work, usually on shoe-string budgets using volunteer labor, to do some good in this world. The Fund, which is small by US charitable organization standards, works mostly with community-based organizations for whom a $10,000 grant is a major gift. Naomi's Fund also makes donor-advised gifts to organizations approved by its Board. Naomi runs the Fund out of her New Jersey home with the occasional road trip to vet potential grant recipients or get involved in projects. Naomi has known Ranya for years and both directs cash donations to the Distribution Center and connects Ranya with local groups who could use her help.
Liz recently began to volunteer to help Naomi, handling some administrative tasks and helping to edit communications. The two are kindred spirits in that they have the talent to bring together people who, working together, can make a real difference in the lives of people who could use a break. Yes, dear reader, this is going to be one more tale of my wife doing good while I show up in time to eat.
Naomi has been working with an Appalachia-based organization called Family-to-Family and, through them, was introduced to people from a community center in McRoberts, Kentucky. McRoberts was a coal company town until the 1950s when the industry began to wind down and switch from deep tunnel mining to strip mining. Today any mining in the area involves blowing off the tops of mountains, spewing debris into local streams and creating lakes of sludge from the water and solid waste left over from refining coal. This leaves places like McRoberts with few jobs but lots of polluted drinking water and the occasional flood from a sludge lake. The coal companies and the politicians they own will tell you that all of this is safe. I'm not sure than someone whose land has been covered by a sludge flood would agree.
Economically-speaking, McRoberts is poor. The per capita income is about half that of the state average. Drug abuse is rampant (this is oxycontin country). Lots of people need clothing and basic household goods. These needs only increase in the winter as kerosene heaters burn down the houses they were supposed to just heat. But McRoberts is rich in its sense of community. Rich in people willing to help each other as best they can. People in McRoberts may. like Israelis, know that things can always get worse but, like Israelis, that doesn't stop them from getting on with their lives. And that's what got them onto Naomi's radar screen.
Naomi suggested to community representatives a distribution of needed items trucked in by Ranya the Shoe Lady. Naomi knew this could be done. But Naomi's audience consisted of people who have heard lots of promises from lots of outsiders that were never fulfilled. So when this Jewish lady from New Jersey (and, trust me, this is not a common sight in McRoberts) promised that someone known as Ranya the Shoe Lady from Denver would deliver enough clothing, shoes and hosehold goods to help dozens of families, the locals were understandably skeptical. Nevertheless, they agreed to the distribution, setting a date, lining up a location and identifying volunteers to do the heavy lifting. Naomi called in some of her own regular helpers and asked Liz if we would like to help out. And that's what got me on the road to McRoberts.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Read more!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
On The Road in Appalachia - Part 1 - Remembering Uncle Bernie
Uncle Bernie died on Thanksgiving Day. Uncle Bernie was a great uncle. He was funny, compassionate, committed to human rights and the mass consumption of good food, booze and, of course, the best cigars that could be found around the globe. Bernie was a photographer both for love and for making a living. Every photograph, slide and home movie had the same artist's touch that could be found in his professional work. If you ever see a news reel from WWII of a tank rolling over the cameraman, that was probably Uncle Bernie, lying in a ditch somewhere in Italy. Or the stills from Quo Vadis, shot while Bernie was back in Italy on a Fullbright Fellowship. Once, when walking through the wooden corridors of the Larchmont Beach Club lockers, Bernie stopped and pointed out a certain corner under a certain skylight. "I always liked the light at this spot," he said. "I used to take pictures of Amy [his younger daughter] right here."
To the rest of the world, Uncle Bernie was Bernard Birnbaum, a legendary producer for CBS News. He was compassionate and cared deeply for and about not only his family and the people he worked with but also many of the people whose lives he covered. At the age of 89 his big heart finally gave up. With my cousin Debbie's permission, I missed the funeral in order not to miss my flight to Tel Aviv. This is not so unusual in our family. Uncle Bernie would sometimes miss family gatherings because he would be in Italy, India, Vietnam or a few dozen other places.
Bernie went to work for CBS in 1951 and stayed for over 40 years. He didn't just produce TV news, he was one of the people who invented it. If you're old enough to remember shows like Omnibus and Camera Three or when the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite went from 15 to 30 minutes, then you remember what I knew as Uncle Bernie's shows. You young folks may have noticed his credits on Sunday Morning. During his career he covered serious topics like political conventions, the civil rights movement, the Eichmann trial, Vatican II, the Kennedy and Oswald assassinations, the Vietnam War and most of the rest of the history of the second half of the last century. But he also produced shows in a lighter vein, like the report on the Bossa Nova craze sweeping up from Brazil to the USA. Or stories about ordinary people living their lives which came to full fruition with the series "On The Road with Charles Kuralt." Bernie was famous for thinking of what would make a story hit home and then getting it on film. Like the mother of a Boston auto rental clerk who lived in fear of the Boston Strangler or a live interview with Marina Oswald just days after the assassination. The latter made Dan Rather into a national star (and a life-long friend).
Bernie never admitted how he got Mrs. Oswald on camera but his usual technique involved a lot of charm and winning someone's trust. Or sometimes it was just reverting back to his Brooklyn roots. Like that time he set up his film crew on a Jerusalem street across the street from the courthouse where the trial of Adolph Eichmann was about to begin. A man who objected to CBS News cluttering up his sidewalk leaned out from a balcony and started yelling at Bernie, first in Hebrew and then in Yiddush. That did it. Bernie says he told the guy a few things, also in Yiddush, using some expletives that we will delete here. Not 15 minutes later, Bernie, now lighter by two cigars and $50US had rented the balcony for his camera crew. Bernie thought the shot would be better from one story up.
One of the stories Uncle Bernie told me starts with Bernie having breakfast in a bar (a number of his stories start this way). This particular breakfast took place in late November, 1963 in Dallas. Bernie was having breakfast with Fred Friendly, then head of CBS News. They were discussing how best to cover the ongoing story of JFK's assassination. The networks' national news crews were packing up to follow the story from Dallas to Washington for the funeral and the start of the Johnson Administration. But Fred and Bernie concluded that the arrest and trial of JFK's alleged assassin was also major news worthy of leaving a national crew in Dallas with the resources to broadcast live. When word got out that CBS was staying, ABC and NBC also decided to stay. And so, Lee Harvey Oswald became the first person to be assassinated on live television. And, thanks to the then-high tech device of kinescope, his was also the first assassination to be shown on instant replay.
Uncle Bernie also had some of the character traits of an absent-minded professor (this amused the children while exasperating my Aunt Ronnie). For example, there was the time Uncle Bernie sat with Liz and I in his Larchmont living room and told us that he once had the opportunity to get a real insider's take on what had really gone on in Vietnem. Bernie having breakfast in a bar in Bangkok with a four-star general. The general said to Bernie, "You know, most people don't understand that Vietnam........" I never heard the rest of the story. Uncle Bernie suddenly remembered something that needed his attention, stood up, walked up the stairs and never came back to the story.
Bernie produced numerous documentaries over the years. But the one that gets referred to most often is "Christmas in Appalachia." With Charles Kuralt in front of the camera, Bernie brought into millions of homes the horrors of crushing poverty and environmental ruin wreaked upon people living in the wake of the coal industry. Christmas in Appalachia didn't just win Bernie his first Emmy award, it also helped stir a public debate that lead to the Johnson Administration declaring a War on Poverty.
Unfortunately, that war and much of its good intentions got lost in the jungles of Vietnam. Today, over 40 years after Uncle Bernie's show was broadcast, not all that much has changed. I got a lesson in poverty and compassion in early November when I went On the Road in Appalchia with Ranya the Shoe Lady.
[To be continued.] Read more!
To the rest of the world, Uncle Bernie was Bernard Birnbaum, a legendary producer for CBS News. He was compassionate and cared deeply for and about not only his family and the people he worked with but also many of the people whose lives he covered. At the age of 89 his big heart finally gave up. With my cousin Debbie's permission, I missed the funeral in order not to miss my flight to Tel Aviv. This is not so unusual in our family. Uncle Bernie would sometimes miss family gatherings because he would be in Italy, India, Vietnam or a few dozen other places.
Bernie went to work for CBS in 1951 and stayed for over 40 years. He didn't just produce TV news, he was one of the people who invented it. If you're old enough to remember shows like Omnibus and Camera Three or when the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite went from 15 to 30 minutes, then you remember what I knew as Uncle Bernie's shows. You young folks may have noticed his credits on Sunday Morning. During his career he covered serious topics like political conventions, the civil rights movement, the Eichmann trial, Vatican II, the Kennedy and Oswald assassinations, the Vietnam War and most of the rest of the history of the second half of the last century. But he also produced shows in a lighter vein, like the report on the Bossa Nova craze sweeping up from Brazil to the USA. Or stories about ordinary people living their lives which came to full fruition with the series "On The Road with Charles Kuralt." Bernie was famous for thinking of what would make a story hit home and then getting it on film. Like the mother of a Boston auto rental clerk who lived in fear of the Boston Strangler or a live interview with Marina Oswald just days after the assassination. The latter made Dan Rather into a national star (and a life-long friend).
Bernie never admitted how he got Mrs. Oswald on camera but his usual technique involved a lot of charm and winning someone's trust. Or sometimes it was just reverting back to his Brooklyn roots. Like that time he set up his film crew on a Jerusalem street across the street from the courthouse where the trial of Adolph Eichmann was about to begin. A man who objected to CBS News cluttering up his sidewalk leaned out from a balcony and started yelling at Bernie, first in Hebrew and then in Yiddush. That did it. Bernie says he told the guy a few things, also in Yiddush, using some expletives that we will delete here. Not 15 minutes later, Bernie, now lighter by two cigars and $50US had rented the balcony for his camera crew. Bernie thought the shot would be better from one story up.
One of the stories Uncle Bernie told me starts with Bernie having breakfast in a bar (a number of his stories start this way). This particular breakfast took place in late November, 1963 in Dallas. Bernie was having breakfast with Fred Friendly, then head of CBS News. They were discussing how best to cover the ongoing story of JFK's assassination. The networks' national news crews were packing up to follow the story from Dallas to Washington for the funeral and the start of the Johnson Administration. But Fred and Bernie concluded that the arrest and trial of JFK's alleged assassin was also major news worthy of leaving a national crew in Dallas with the resources to broadcast live. When word got out that CBS was staying, ABC and NBC also decided to stay. And so, Lee Harvey Oswald became the first person to be assassinated on live television. And, thanks to the then-high tech device of kinescope, his was also the first assassination to be shown on instant replay.
Uncle Bernie also had some of the character traits of an absent-minded professor (this amused the children while exasperating my Aunt Ronnie). For example, there was the time Uncle Bernie sat with Liz and I in his Larchmont living room and told us that he once had the opportunity to get a real insider's take on what had really gone on in Vietnem. Bernie having breakfast in a bar in Bangkok with a four-star general. The general said to Bernie, "You know, most people don't understand that Vietnam........" I never heard the rest of the story. Uncle Bernie suddenly remembered something that needed his attention, stood up, walked up the stairs and never came back to the story.
Bernie produced numerous documentaries over the years. But the one that gets referred to most often is "Christmas in Appalachia." With Charles Kuralt in front of the camera, Bernie brought into millions of homes the horrors of crushing poverty and environmental ruin wreaked upon people living in the wake of the coal industry. Christmas in Appalachia didn't just win Bernie his first Emmy award, it also helped stir a public debate that lead to the Johnson Administration declaring a War on Poverty.
Unfortunately, that war and much of its good intentions got lost in the jungles of Vietnam. Today, over 40 years after Uncle Bernie's show was broadcast, not all that much has changed. I got a lesson in poverty and compassion in early November when I went On the Road in Appalchia with Ranya the Shoe Lady.
[To be continued.] Read more!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
The Recession Is Over
Millburn, New Jersey
29 October 2009
Today, the 80th anniversary of the Stock Market Crash of 1929, the US Government announced that the recession of 2008-2009 is officially over.
So, if you or anyone you know is still unemployed and about to lose benefits, owns a small business that is about to go under, has a home heading into foreclosure or can no longer afford to maintain health insurance, stop whining. or tell your friend to stop whining. Haven't you heard? The recession is over. Read more!
29 October 2009
Today, the 80th anniversary of the Stock Market Crash of 1929, the US Government announced that the recession of 2008-2009 is officially over.
So, if you or anyone you know is still unemployed and about to lose benefits, owns a small business that is about to go under, has a home heading into foreclosure or can no longer afford to maintain health insurance, stop whining. or tell your friend to stop whining. Haven't you heard? The recession is over. Read more!
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Preparing for Passover
Back in the Western Hemisphere, Liz and I are preparing for Passover. This means getting the house and cars cleaned, intensive shopping and cooking (by Liz) and the participation in a series of bizarre, irrational rituals (by me), all leading up to the two Seders of the Diaspora (one for her family and one for mine). This year, in addition to being a fasting first born, I am expected to get myself up on a local hilltop to join the Rabbi and a small, hardy band of co-congregants in blessing the rising sun. Jewish tradition has it that once every 28 years you have to get up before dawn on the same day you are expected to attend, if not lead, a Seder until close to midnight. Why? Well, every 28 years, on the 14th day of the Hebrew month of Nissan the sun rises in the same position it was in on the fourth day of creation. That's the day on which G-d created the sun, moon, stars and time as we experience it. After the sun blessing I will wrap myself in leather straps and study a sufficient amount of medieval text to be allowed to break my fast. We will then adjourn to the synagogue parking lot to make a bonfire out of uneaten bread, crackers and the like while contemplating the fact that some people are starving.How the Rabbi knows the position of the sun on the fourth day of creation, a day that began before there was a sun, moon and stars by which we measure time, was not included in the synagogue bulletin. Nor can anyone really explain the bit about the leather straps. But, after all, its a religion (tradition if you're a secular MOT) and some things have to be taken on faith. Its like believing that a microscopic bit of leavened bread, left for months on the heating element of a stove, can eat its way through over a quarter inch of solid aluminum and contaminate a gallon of chicken soup with hometz (the evil stuff of leavened bread). Which brings me to the lovely picture above.
This year marked a real breakthrough in our lives in Israel. Liz finally dared to buy meat in the Hatikvah shuk. Not just any meat and not, to my disappointment, red meat. Nostalgic for her Grandmother's soup, Liz needed not only a chicken but also chicken feet and unborn eggs.
Liz' hesitation to buy unidentifiable slabs of dead animal with patches of fur still on them is not totally unreasonable. However, most of the butchers have identifiable chickens, chicken parts, and cuts of meat that just scream "Grill Me." OK, the cow heads complete with teeth in their mouths are a bit gross but the fillets looks wonderful. From my perspective, the Hativah Shuk's butchers all keep clean stalls, have adequate refrigeration, the meat generally looks appetizing (except the stuff with the fur and the cow heads), its all certified as kosher and a neighborhood of Yemenite, Russian and Ethiopian immigrants does not appear to be suffering from an e-coli epidemic. But to me, the winning argument is that this is the source of meat for Busi, our favorite grill restaurant. Shows you what I know.
Liz remains unimpressed by any of this seemingly flawless logic. Liz remarked that the meat in Busi is already cooked when placed in front of her. For those of you reading this who are not professional married men, pointing out to your wife that the meat she would buy from the same source as her favorite grill restaurant would also be cooked, under her strict supervision, before being placed in front of her for consumption is right up there with suggesting that she join you in a beer while watching the game. Such silliness only gets you the look that says you have permission not to be an idiot. So let's move on.
To me, chicken feet are what crazy old ladies in Brooklyn feed to stray cats. To my wife, its the magic ingredient that makes ordinary chicken soup into her Grandmother's chicken soup. For those of you who have never prepared chicken feet to go into soup, get someone else to do it for you if you can. You have to soak them in warm water, chop off the end of the toes (you really don't want toe nails in your soup no matter what that guy on Food Channel's Bizarre Foods tries to tell you) and then carefully remove the outer leathery surface with a sharp knife, without cutting into the thin flesh or delicate bones beneath. Liz seems to be able to do this with ease. I destroyed two feet and was assigned other kitchen duties.
Unborn eggs are just that. Unfertilized egg yolks, covered by a membrane instead of a shell. They're found inside a slaughtered chicken and are one of those peasant delicacies guaranteed to increase your cholesterol to dangerous levels. Unlike fertilized eggs, which for purposes of kashrut, are pareve (neutral foods that can be eaten with anything), unborn eggs are meat. This is probably because they were not become sufficiently separated from the chicken to suit certain medieval Rabbis. Of course, the chickens they are part of do not fit the Biblical definition of meat (no split hooves, no chewed cud) are nevertheless classified as meat. Chickens are meat because the same medieval Rabbis concluded, after a long debate and a vote, that they know meat when they see it and chickens are meat. Many years later, US Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart would apply this same reasoning to define pornography. Unfortunately for generations of Jewish housekeepers, Justice Stewart added "and this isn't it," whereas the Rabbis decided just the opposite. Clearly, no woman who shopped or cooked for these guys was in the room. They were all probably at home getting ready for Passover.
And so, as we approach the evening on which occurs the Seder, a tradition that attracts participation by more Jews than any other event on our calendar, I wish you and yours a Hag Sameach Pesach (a Happy Passover Holiday) or, if you, like me, were raised by members of the Arbeiter's Ring (Workmen's Circle), a zisn pesach (a sweet Passover - though what's sweet about nondairy desserts made from matzah meal escapes me at this moment). As my gift to you, here's a recipe for Liz' Grandmother's chicken soup as dictated to me while I cut. chopped and brought it all to a simmering boil:
1/2 large, fresh chicken, cut the long way
16 chicken feet (about 1/2 kilogram)
unborn eggs (enough)
1 medium sized onion with the outermost skin peeled off
Carrots - cut thick (about 3/4 inch) - enough
Parsnip = 2 or 3 (optional and apparently not grown in Israel during the winter)
Fresh Dill - about half a bunch (or dry, chopped to taste)
Salt - none if your husband is a chronic heart patient, otherwise, to taste.
Place chicken and chicken feet into the largest pot left by the owners of the apartment you are renting. Cover them with water (this is a bit tricky as the feet float but 2/3 to 3/4 of the pot will do). Cook on high heat until you get scum on the water. Skim off the scum and turn the heat down to a simmer. After one hour add the veggies. After another hour, add the dill and unborn eggs and let it all cook for another 20 minutes. During cooking, if the soup starts to boil, turn down the heat. If you get more scum or more fat than you care for, skim it off the surface.
Serve with sea or kosher salt for those who want to salt up something made with double salted kosher meat. And don't forget the Israeli soup nuts or, if its Passover, the matzah farfel.
Again, a zisn pesach to you all. Read more!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Artists, Architects and Plumbers - Part 3
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!
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!
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.
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