Back and There Again

Jerusalem if I forget you
Let my right hand forget what it’s supposed to do

-Psalm 137:5, and more popularly, Matisyahu's "Jerusalem"


Before the arrival of my family, I found myself ready to leave Israel.  It isn’t that my time here has been anything but tremendous, only that I would very much like to see my family, friends, and dogs back at home.  As I sit here and write this final entry regarding this magnificent journey that I have undertaken, we are in the middle of the week (actually it is Wednesday, July 4^th), and the image of departing from the Land that I have been shown remains an unthinkable fact that I have grown conscious of but cannot completely comprehend.  I am beginning to realize the intense attachment I hold towards this state, towards Jerusalem, towards all of the shops, restaurants, and bars that I frequent, towards the pride I feel when I walk down Jaffa St., towards the awe that I am still overcome with when I walk through the gates of the Old City, and to the humility instilled in me every day when I learn amounts of information sufficient to fill libraries.  I love the United States with all my heart and will rejoice upon my return, but the zealous passion I have for Israel will make for an extremely difficult departure.


I suppose I must begin this last entry right where I left off with the prior one, although honestly, our week is only halfway past and already we have seen, traveled, and accomplished more in a few days than some people do in months.  This entry will be a doozy, but for my last hurrah, its time spent writing (and hopefully reading) will surely be worth it.  As I previously predicted, we began Sunday with one last trip to Tzfat.  Our first stop there, the acclaimed Candle Factory, certainly offered an aesthetically pleasing environment, with its handmade artisan candles, each multicolored, each shade and hue in contrast with the next.  The wide array of colorful wax is quite a sight to behold, but in my opinion, each display within the shop takes a back seat to their two-foot by three foot rendition of Noah’s Ark, made completely from wax, in which revered Disney cartoon animals such as Winnie the Pooh, Mickey Mouse, Simba, etc., sit atop as passengers aboard the vessel. 


After walking through the galleries one last time, we left Tzfat en route to Caesarea, King Herod’s famous ancient port city.  Constructed to provide leisure to Romans who had made a long trek over to Eretz Yisrael and had some time to kill before their return, three main arenas satisfied their entertainment needs: an elaborate gymnasium and spa, a wide hippodrome overlooking the sea where charioteers would race in front of crowds of thousands, and an immense amphitheater where some of the era’s most heralded dramatic productions took place.  We then refreshed ourselves at a nearby restaurant before beginning our journey back to Jerusalem.


Anticipation had been building within me for three days.  I eagerly awaited our arrival to Yerushalayim.  The Land of Israel is as eclectic as they come, both in terms of topography and demography, but in my mind, it is the representative of Israel as a whole, and I was a bit uncomfortable having shown them other cities prior to Jerusalem.  I did not want those to be their first impression of the country. 


We rolled into town in the early afternoon, took a light walk, and settled for the night.  Well my family settled at least.  Sunday night marked the Euro Cup Championship, with Espana pitted against Italia.  With my friends Josh, Lauren, and Daniela, I ventured downtown to my favorite watering hole, Bell Wood, to watch the futbol match.  The downtown area was packed, the bar zone strewn with spectators seated bumper to bumper.  We crouched in the corner by an outdoor screen, my arms flailing in the air, my voice calling loudly, full of excitement, and inevitably melancholy, as I witnessed Italy, the team I had taken a gamble on, dismantled, routed, and reduced to rubble by the superior Spanish team.  Still, out with friends and amid a crowd of thousands, watching the game was a good time and offered its share of thrills.


I must declare that over the last six months, I have seen, done, and learned a tremendous amount spanning myriad realms; however, it is necessary to state just how much knowledge I have acquired over my last week in Jerusalem.  Monday morning marked the magnificent milieu of means and modes that have mounted the map of my mind.  It was on that day that we toured the Old City, possibly Jerusalem’s most treasured offering.  At 9:30 AM, we met up with our tour guide, Nikki, outside of the Jaffa Gate entrance.  At my behest, Nikki first led us up to the Temple Mount, the only region of the Old City that I had yet to see.  The Temple Mount, which was fortified by King Herod before the Common Era, housed the Second Temple.  It now stands as the third holiest site in the world for Muslims, behind Mecca and Medina.  Atop the mount sits the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock.  Constructed with solid gold, the dome stands as one of the most conspicuous features of the city, and with its bright blue, meticulously detailed tiled walls, it stands as an excellent piece of engineering and design. 


Next, we descended down to the Western Wall, the only original remnant of the Second Temple.  In a world where materialism and Hedonism are ubiquitously manifest, we made acquaintance with two of the most spiritual and esoteric places that could be found on our globe, all within fifteen minutes of each other.  After we had spent sufficient time at the Kotel, Nikki led us away from the Old City and into the Ancient City, the City of David.  Constantly being excavated, this site could stand as any archaeologist’s letter to Santa.  A hotbed of antiquated remains, the City of David features as its main attraction Hezekiah’s Tunnel.  Multiple kilometers long, this narrow, underground water tunnel was built by King Hezekiah millennia ago as a as a mechanism by which the Jews could transport water while stealthily evading Assyrian combatants.  The most enigmatic asset of the tunnel is the paradoxical manner in which it flawlessly meets in the middle, being that it was built by two teams digging from either side.  To this day, archaeologists and historians are still perplexed as to how either side knew where to converge with the other.

By the time we navigated through the tunnel, a long day’s hike caused our stomachs to rumble, and so we ascended back up to the Jewish Quarter of the Old City and lunched on Schwarma laffas.  After promenading though the streets, we ventured over to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Christian Quarter.  Designed with the darkest of colors and filled with tourists moving lethargically, the church engenders a somber mood.  Before long, one comes to the places where Jesus is said to have been crucified and where he is said to have been buried.  Once we had viewed all of the major attractions within the church, we walked around the Arab market.  I helped Sydney haggle, and when we had purchased our desired items, we departed from the Old City and said farewell to Nikki.  Yes, that was all in one day.

On Tuesday, our day’s major events were Yad VaShem and the shuk.  Yad VaShem, Israel’s Holocaust museum, always renders intensely morose emotions from its patrons, with my family equally subject to abject despondence.  In the twenty one years of my life, I have never seen my father cry.  But when he attempted to enter the Hall of Names, the museum’s ultimate vestibule, an emotional barrier forced an impasse between him and the hall, and tears streamed down his cheeks. 

In a petrified stupor, we left the museum and headed towards the shuk.  The first feeling of pleasure felt after leaving Yad VaShem is always an ambivalent one.  A person can never know when it is appropriate to allow themselves enjoyment.  I felt almost guilty giving them a grand tour of Mahane Yehuda, but it was something I had looked forward to since the trip’s inception.  We sat at a little cage in one of the labyrinth’s main corridors and had a nice lunch, again somewhat of a guilty pleasure.  That night was an early one, for Wednesday marked our most arduous section of the week’s itinerary.  But I did manage to make it out for a bit to say goodbye to my friend Lauren, who was staying in Israel for the remainder of the summer as a camp counselor but was leaving Jerusalem on that night.  One would think that I would be a pro at “goodbyes” by now, but they never get much easier.


Before our sun’s rays penetrated Jerusalem’s skies, we awoke on Wednesday morning for a physically taxing day.  Our day, complete with a hike up Masada, a walk through Ein Gedi, and a float in the Dead Sea, would be quite exhausting, and with the sun beaming down onto Masada at un-hikable temperatures by late morning, we began our journey up the snake path at 7:30 AM.  The trek rigorous, the path rocky, the steps incessant, we hufflepuffed up the mountain, but after slitherin’ our way up the snake path, where we saw many a raven claw, we emerged victorious over the mountain, and did not require the Nimbus 3000 (the cable car) to secure the victory.

Our guide, Cliff, excelled at leading us about the mountain top, educating us on its extensive history, pointing out historic edifices, nooks, and crannies, and facilitating us back down the mountain, this time on the Nimbus 3000.  Already exhausted from a full day of work (all before 11 AM), we walked through Ein Gedi for only a short duration before stumbling upon its first waterfall, quickly refreshing ourselves in its basin, and heading to the Dead Sea, where we would first have a well-earned lunch at its entrance.  Once we made it to the super-saline sea, we floated for a bit, but before long, Cliff found a spot where we could scoop up clumps of mud and rub them over our bodies, thereby supposedly exfoliating our pores or moisturizing our skin or something (Sydney would know).  All I’m certain about is that it was fun.  When we sensed we were sufficiently salty, we crawled out of the sea and headed back to Jerusalem.  On the way back to Jerusalem, we stopped at a gas station where camel riding was commercialized.  Naturally, I could not pass that opportunity up, and sat perched atop its back while led on a short walk.  It was a thrilling way to end a thrilling day.

That night, being the 4^th of July, one of my most cherished American holidays, I met up with a few friends at the most American location in the country, Mike’s Place.  The basement, where most people fill up their cup, was draped with American flags and a live band proceeded to play Country music.  Naturally, I requested Sweet Home Alabama, and it was accepted.  We sat there for hours drinking Samuel Adams and sharing stories of past Independence Days.  Towards the end of the night, I spotted my friend Jackie.  Not only had I not seen her in a year, but I wasn’t even aware she was in Israel.  She was accompanied by Liz, another friend of mine.  Both Liz and Jackie were on my Israel trip last summer, and randomly seeing them in Mike’s Place was quite a thrill.  After catching up for a while, we parted ways.  There was one last necessary component of any July 4^th that we had not yet checked off of our list, eating hotdogs.  But we could not find many options in terms of frankfurters in Jerusalem that night, so we ended the evening at my favorite final destination, New Deli, where we did manage to procure the hotdogs we so desperately quested after.

Thursday was an exciting day for me, for it was the morning where I would get to give my family a tour of my old stomping grounds (my Kfar HaStudentim and the Hebrew U campus).  The campus is gorgeous.  I often refer to it as a botanical garden where they happen to hold classes. When walking through the quad area, one is lost in a sea of green, albeit amid a dearth of sharp reds, oranges, purples, pinks, and yellows as well.  As our tour came to an end, my father and I cabbed over to the Israel Museum while the girls went shopping at Mamilla Mall.  Although I had been there a few months prior, patronizing the museum helped fortify my knowledge of ancient history, an always welcomed opportunity.

Earlier in the week, my friend Ilana had proselytized an upcoming concert, an Israeli rap band called Balkan Beat Box, and I submitted to her advertisement.  The concert took place on Thursday night at Gan HaAzmaut.  Although very talented, I was a bit put off by the band’s performance.  Accompanying their music was a visual presentation, most of its material regarding rebellion against some political entity.  We never learned who the angst was directed towards or why it was felt in the first place, and the aimless discontent left me a bit uncomfortable.  However, the lively crowd still made for a fun night, and it was a great last night spent with Ilana and my friends Rachel Levin.  Later that night, I met up with my friend Josh for one last hurrah around the bars.  Sydney came with as well, and it was a great pleasure to show her Jerusalem’s nightlife.  We of course made our way to Bell Wood, and eventually New Deli.  It was sad to head back, that being my last night out in Jerusalem, but I cannot complain about the great fun that the area offered to me for six months.

Yet another goodbye was in order on Friday afternoon, this time with my friend Rachel Groetsch.  Her camp had an excursion to the shuk, and since I needed to accumulate a few amenities for Shabbat dinner later that night, our paths crossed seamlessly.  We walked around for a while before I had to make good on our Euro Cup wager.  After sitting at Aroma for a while, enjoying a cup of coffee, it was time for another goodbye, or l’hit, as I prefer to refer to it as.

After Rachel had to go, I took my last light rail ride over to my last Old City session.  Walking through its corridors, breathing in all I could, I acknowledged how much a part of me the sum of all of Jerusalem’s parts had become.  I happen to have prosperous, wonderful lives back in Chicago and Madison, where Millenium Park and Camp Randall serve as my playgrounds, but leaving Independence Park and Camp Yehuda in my wake has proven the most challenging of tasks.


When I arrived back at the apartment, I rested up and set the table for our upcoming Shabbat dinner.  Just after 6:30 PM, we cabbed to the Old City and proceeded immediately to the Wall.  I had been to the Kotel for services once, a year ago, but I did not remember Kabbalat Shabbat to be such a zoo there.  There were more black hats there than those worn by White Sox players over the course of the team’s history.  In solitude (my dad stood back in the plaza area with Jamie and Sydney), I conducted Kabbalat Shabbat and Ma’ariv to the Carlebach tunes I enjoy so much.  


After services, we headed back up toward the Jaffa Gate, but not before I encountered a surprise run-in with my friend Bari, which inevitably led to another goodbye.  I think I have run into ten or so friends randomly in Jerusalem over the last two weeks.  Only in Jerusalem could that happen.  Back at our apartment, a lavished feast awaited us, its aroma seeping out of the oven and through the front door, all the way to the hallway.  Each of us salivating by this time, we gorged ourselves over studded vegetables, schnitzel, roasted veggies, challah, wine, and ruggalah.  Carb comas coming on, we then crawled to our quarters and counted sheep.


Saturday was the day I had been dreading for a while.  It was the day when my time in Jerusalem would come to a culmination.  We drove to Tel Aviv in the late morning.  As my walls closed in on my time in Jerusalem, I felt them inching ever closer in on my time in Israel.  When we entered the city, we met up with family there, Sharon and Ido, in a fun neighborhood within the city called Neve Tzedek.  After a great lunch and quality time spent with family, we got back to our hotel, the Lusky Suites, where we had stayed our first night of the trip, promptly set our bags down and headed towards the beach.  I caught a few z’s out by the sea.  


We dined later that night by the picturesque Old Jaffa Port, but not before struggling to find our intended restaurant of choice, Aladin which inhabited a 600 year old building.  We never did find it for dinner, but sat down instead at a fancy seafood restaurant overlooking the sea.  After a delectable dinner, we took a relaxing stroll through Old Jaffa, and with serendipity on our side, stumbled upon Aladin.  Too coincidental to pass up, we entered the antiquated edifice for dessert.  Because it was a lovely night and a sedentary day, I decided to walk back to the hotel while my family took a taxi.  About a forty minute walk, I was reminded of my walk back from the King David Hotel where I lunched months ago, also a relaxing stroll. 


On my last full day in Israel, we kicked off the agenda with a trip to the Diaspora Museum at Tel Aviv University.  Another great lesson in history was succeeded by a belt-loosening stop at the Max Brenner Chocolate Shop.  A couple thousand calories later, we walked back to our hotel and rested up for another night on the town.  I walked to Old Jaffa and met my family in front of Aladin, but we soon made our way down to a famous eatery there called Dr. Shakshuka.  The feast that they placed in front of us was too large and too delicious for words, but it included a wide variety of dips and salads for appetizers, shakshuka of course, meats galore, and couscous with stew to put on top.  I needed another walk back afterwards, and so I got my cardio on once again.  Then I spent my last night in Israel for a while. 


As I finish this final entry, I am back in the States.  In fact, I have been here for a few days.  I miss Israel a ton, but relish the time I have back here with my family and friends.  The title of this last post will be synonymous with the book that I will turn this blog collection into: Back and There Again.  It is a play on Bilbo Baggins’ “There and Back Again”.  I am not sure where back is and where there is.  All I know is that I now call two countries home.  When I am back, I’m there, and when I’m there, I’m back.  If I may offer a parable, home is an upside down parabola.  With Israel on one end and the US on the other, they converge somewhere in the middle.  That is my state of mind.  Each is inextricably linked to the other, and when I reside in one, I’m a bit homesick for the other.  


I have had without a doubt the most incredible semester of my life in Jerusalem.  I am so lucky to have had that opportunity.  I have made wonderful friendships that will last a lifetime, acquired a great wealth of knowledge, grown leaps and bounds as a person, and settled into a new home.  I cannot think of anything greater in life, nor could I ask for more.  So this is it, my last entry.  I have so very much enjoyed writing these posts, and I know that down the line, I will always be able to look back to them and remember just how astounding my time in Israel was.  I will be back, hopefully sooner rather than later.  But until then, I must say goodbye.  Here’s to wishing that each semester can be as fruitful as my last one was and that each day can be just as fulfilling.

The End (of a life changing journey),

Zac

My Family Comes from Kfar Away

It is unfathomable that my adventure here in Israel is quickly coming to a close.  Like many people on my program have already stated, this semester has been like a dream.  It is a struggle to clasp on to the last bit of  the present when the line between the present and memory becomes a tightrope.  I have spent my last days in the Kfar HaStudentim b’ Har HaTzofim, and I am quite ambivalent about the issue.  On the one hand, I have spent the greatest semester of my life within its bounds, and my experience there has been invaluable.  But in turn, when nearly all of my fellow study abroad students returned to their respective lives, the real ones where you don’t wake up to a view of the Dome of the Rock, our student village hadn’t been the same.  In fact, it was somewhat lonely.  If not for the few people from my program left in Jerusalem, I’m not sure how my time would have been occupied.

As I sit here and begin this entry, I am reunited with my family, and we are pacifically resting in our hotel in Tel Aviv!  The others are taking a nap, quite understandable as the jetlag from the flight over here acts as a stubborn inhibitor to any thrills one hopes for on the first day here.  Before I write at length about my reunion, I will first delineate the events from this past week leading up to this exciting occasion.  I have found that often, when I find myself struggling to vividly recall memories from the semester, I go to my blog entries and I can see those memories before my eyes, vicariously living through myself, if that is possible.

The apex of my week, before the arrival of my family of course, was a day trip to Ashdod with my friends Lauren and Sara.  Ashdod, one of the most active port cities here, is home to a beautiful beach.  When we arrived there, we walked around in search of the beach, but first encountered a playground, though not any old playground.  This one was a marvel of civil engineering.  With its fifty foot slides, towering jungle gyms, and dizzying merry-go-rounds, I felt like I was six again.  But after the sun beamed down on me a bit longer, I also felt it was time for the beach.  It was Lauren’s birthday, so we first sat down for a nice lunch before spending a few hours laying out on the sand and swimming with the tide.

Another staple of my week was going out with friends to my favorite watering hole in Jerusalem, Bell Wood Bar.  A classy bar with a great drink selection, Bell Wood played host to the Euro Cup games, and that is where we would watch.  I have bet my friend Rachel a schwarma that Italy wins it all.  She has Spain.  I’m feeling that gelato will reign supreme.

I woke up early on Thursday, my last morning in my student village.  After gathering all of my bags, I checked out of the kfar, took a light rail to the bus station, then a bus to Tel Aviv, then a cab to the hotel where my family had been awaiting my arrival.  Our reunion was long anticipated, and when it finally came to fruition, it was warm, nostalgic, and revitalizing.  Because our hotel room would not be ready until hours later, our first move together was to grab a bite to eat, which we did on the beach.

After sufficiently stuffing our faces, Jamie and Sydney napped on the beach, and my father and I found a nearby Oasis Mexicano and got ourselves a few cervesas.  But soon enough, the room was ready, and a light snooze on the beach turned into deep slumber within the confines of our room.  When we first arrived in Tel Aviv, we were alerted that we had luckily chosen a great night to spend there.  Lady Serendipity materialized in the form of “White Night”, an all night, extravaganza that spanned all of the city, from various concerts all along Rothschild St., to a fashion show off of Allenby St., to a late night dance rave on the beach.  Lack of sleep had gotten the better of my three companions, and so we missed most of the evening’s events, but our night did include a great dinner on Rothschild amid the various bands warming up and a glimpse of the fashion show. 

The next morning, we booked it out of the “City of Hangovers” and made our way to the city of Tzfat, the “City of Mysticism, Art, and Psychedelic Drugs”, but before doing so, we stopped at Shuk Carmel, Tel Aviv’s version of Machane Yehuda, the Jerusalem Shuk.  Unlike the labyrinth that is Machane Yehuda, Shuk Carmel is one long alleyway.  In contrast with Jerusalem’s rendition of the market, I found Tel Aviv’s shuk to lack personality and flavor.  Its blandness made me homesick, but not for Chicago or Madison, for Jerusalem.  The entire time we walked through its main corridor, I wished to bring my family to my home here in Israel, Jerusalem.

After purchasing some fruit and nuts at Shuk Carmel, we left the borders of Tel Aviv en route to Tzfat.  Our first stop there was at the famous artist galleries, where one finds dozens of craftsmen and artisans displaying their work.  Afterwards, we walked around the city, falafel in hand, and enjoyed the people watching, those scurrying along in order to close up shop and freshen up in preparation for Shabbat.

We took the hint and temporarily exited the city as well.  Our place of residence for the next two nights would be the Dream Time Hotel, located in the nearby village of Amirim.  Finding the place was no easy feat, even with the assistance of Kate, the kindly British woman whose voice echoed from our GPS.  Deep in the middle of nowhere, through many a twist, many a turn, many a zig, and many a zag, and over many a speed bump, we discovered our sleeping quarters.  They turned out to be quite nice, two large bedrooms, a great living room, full kitchen, breakfast service, and a porch that overlooked the mountains.  We freshened up and eventually journeyed back to Tzfat for Shabbat.

When I had originally told my family about the splendor of Shabbat in Tzfat, I raved about the singing and dancing that goes on in the streets on Friday nights in the summer.  That is what I wanted to show them most.  We got in contact with a lady there named Sara Chava who was happy to feed and entertain us for the night, but learned that we would be davening at their synagogue in the city, one of the Breslev sect, and would not get our groove on in the streets.  As fun as it would have been to let loose out there, we accompanied Sara Chava’s husband Chaim, who did not speak any English, to his synagogue.  Although I did not care much for services, his temple was stunning, crafted from Jerusalem stone, with a hand-carved ark, portraits, and pictures decorating the walls, and a baby blue sky covering the ceiling. 

Our dinner there with Chaim and Sara Chava, was also memorable, full of conversation and good food.  We stayed until nearly 11:00 PM, which was hard for everyone else as the presence of jetlag was still in the picture.  But then we said our goodbyes and twisted and turned back to Dream Time where it was time to dream.

At 9:00 AM the next morning, we were greeted by the tour guide we had booked to show us all around the north.  Dor, our guide, was an Israeli not much older than myself.  Actually, we went to high school together, though we had never met each other.  He was a senior at Stevenson High School when I was a freshman.  After school, he joined the IDF and has been living in Israel ever since.  He took us many places, first to a cave, then to Baram National Park, where a synagogue dating back to the 3^rd century was located, then to Tel Dan, a stunning park where we enjoyed an hour long walk through the woods.  Along the way, we witnessed a river of rapids, salamanders and crabs on the ground, and Syria and Lebanon in the distance. 

If Tel Dan wasn’t the greatest place he took us to, then his lunch selection was.  After walking for so long, we had all built up an appetite, and boy did it come in handy.  Salad after salad, laffa after laffa, skewer after skewer, food was brought out in such abundance that I felt full afterwards, and that is a rarity for me.  The meal came with complimentary Turkish coffee and baklava for dessert, and after loosening our belts a few notches, we made our way to the Kinaret.  A sight to behold, the Kinaret, or Sea of Galilee, is a beautiful body of water, completely enclosed within Israeli borders, and offers those coming from far and wide a picturesque view.  Dor knew a great spot to see the sea, and we soaked up the sun  for a few moments before driving down to a nearby beach for a closer look.  We said goodbye to Dor shortly after that, and returned to our cabin for a relaxing night. 

Tomorrow we are finishing our tour of Tzfat, trying our best to make our way to see the ruins of Caesaria, and then finally driving down to Jerusalem where we will rent out an apartment for the week.  I cannot describe what a luxury it is to have my family with me here, nor can I put into words how eagerly I am awaiting my time in Jerusalem with them.  I’m enthralled with the prospect of playing tour guide there, and showing them my favorite hotspots and eateries has dominated my thoughts since their arrival here.  And so to family, and to Israel, I say L’Chaim.  To Life.

Next year (or rather tomorrow) in Jerusalem!

Zac

Sing for the Moment

The week after returning from a grand trip, such as my days spent in Greece, is always an ambivalent time.  By the end of such trips, especially ones with armadas of mosquitoes, the prospect of sleeping in one’s own bed appears as one of life’s greatest pleasures.  Still, adjusting back into the swing of things is not an easy feat.  And since my mosquito bites have not completely subsided, I find myself itching to go back.  The beauty of written words and pictures is that they impeccably capture many of the illustrious scenes that the mind cannot recreate only a short time later.  But my family will be on their El Al flight in four days, and I’m also scratching myself until they get here.

With the vast majority of Rothberg students evacuated from the premises of the kfar, the last men and women standing have been growing ever closer to each other, trying to salvage each last day in each other's presence.  Possibly the most fun I’ve had this week was when a group of us ventured off to the city center for a late night karaoke excursion.  Most did not leave until 5 AM, although I departed about an hour before that, for I had still had finals and essays to complete.  Until nearly dawn, we sat there, taking turns at ballads and chart toppers, and even a couple of Eminem songs.  But after losing ourselves in the music (Lose Yourself was one of the songs I rapped), sleep beckoned, and I was glad that I had my own air-conditioned, pest-free room to return to.

When I arose the next morning, it was time to begin work on my law essay.  The concept of taking it had only been a dreadful fantasy for some time.  When it became incumbent upon me to undertake the task, I labored for hours to complete it.  I’ve never written one of those before, so we’ll see how it goes.

The rest of the week was pretty low key.  I’ve played a lot of basketball, which has been tremendously cathartic.  I’ve gone out just about every night with my remaining friends.  Two shuk trips have become manifest in my week, an always welcomed rarity.  In order to acquire the necessary ingredients to cook Shabbat dinner, I returned there on Friday afternoon with my friend Bari.  I purchased all needed accoutrements, i.e., chicken, wine, challah, veggies, etc., to throw a lavished Shabbat dinner with my friend Dana.  I further honed my couscous skills, and there we sat at Shabbat dinner, munching away, conversing, and trying hard not to fathom that the walls were closing in on our time in the student village.  It would be both of our last Shabbats in the kfar. 

It’s funny, my shortest blog entry runs parallel to the week that there are the fewest people left here.  I think it goes to show that life’s greatest and deepest experiences are inextricably linked to the people that help make them.  At this point, I’m counting down the hours, instead of the days, until my family’s arrival here, with eager anticipation mounting with each glance at the clock.

My roommate and great friend Roee leaves Jerusalem tomorrow, and after that I’ll be left to my own devices.  This upcoming week, until my family reunion that is, I’ll be savoring each breath here, doing some last minute gift shopping, cleaning (A LOT!), and hopefully journeying to Ashdod for a day on the beach with my friends Lauren and Eleenor.  My second ending in Middle Earth has been realized, and while in limbo here, I have been prescribed great advice from the real Slim Shady: to sing for the moment.

L'hitraot,

Zac

Zeus' Bolts= Greeced Lightning

For roughly half of my college career, I have lived on Langdon St., one of Greece’s plethora of American subsidiaries.  While the aforementioned avenue isn’t the most cultured or authentic of Greek colonies, its residents assuage any lack of authenticity by prefacing many of their utterances with “my, big fat”.  One luxury afforded to this Neo-Greek community is the possibility of temporarily leaving its bounds to continue studies in a far away land.  And while away from the colony, one can make a hajj to the motherland.  This week, I was fortunate enough to make such a pilgrimage.

Because my stay in the Land of Israel has been extended several weeks, during which my class schedule remains somewhat barren, my friend Roee and I decided that our days liberated from class work would best be served in Greece.  A few weeks ago, we planned the trip, allowing for two and a half days in the historic metropolis of Athens and another day in the picturesque isle of Mykonos.  We took a sherut (shared taxi) to Ben Gurion Airport on Tuesday morning at 3 AM and boarded our flight to Athena’s commonwealth at seven.  Our flight touched down at nine, and we embarked on our big, fat, Greek journey.

Thanks to my time spent in Europe with Sydney Wolfson, traveler extraordinaire, I have grown quite adept at navigating my way around a city’s landscape by way of metro.  The city of Athens often catches a lot of flak from tourists who object that it isn’t that aesthetically pleasing.  Before I object to those allegations, I’d like to point out that I believe that this city puts well over half of its total income into its metro system.  Not only is it incredibly quick and easy, but each train, and each station, was remarkably well put together, clean, shiny, new, the whole nine yards. 

After the metro spit us out at Omonia Sq., where our hostel was located, we quickly found a sunglass stand and spent only a small Bobby Ray band on a pair of faux Ray Bans (see B.o.B’s “Ray Bands” for the reference).  With the sun’s rays banning our full visual capacities san the Bans, we intuitively purchased them.  They also proved a good investment because with them on, you can’t see past my shades (see B.o.B’s “Past my Shades”), and with sleep ever elusive, they proved to be quite effective at masking the bags beneath my eyes.

Upon arriving at Hotel Efesos, our inn for the night, we refreshed ourselves and metro’d to Monistiraki Sq., for a bite to eat.  We sat there for a bit, enjoying people watching and soaking up the Greek sun.  As our next day would begin with a ferry to Mykonos, and because we were not fully acclimated with our surroundings nor were we fully cognizant of the most expedient route to the ferry, we set out on a two hour, heavily stressful wild goose chase to obtain all of the necessary details of the trip.  We ran like Jesse Owens and Usain Bolt, the fastest of Olympians.  Tempers flaring, we eventually garnered such information and decided it best to cab to Rafina, where the port was, before sunrise.  Across the street from the ferry we would find our tickets and ensure ourselves sufficient time to acquaint ourselves with the area and board the boat.  After our anxiety subsided, we transcended back into vacation mode and took the metro to the prize of Athens, the Parthenon. 

Within the confines of the ancient Greek Acropolis lay a multitude of ruins, edifices constructed to engender favor with the Olympian and Titanic deities.  First, we encountered the Theatre of Dionysis, an amphitheatre where many of the acclaimed comedies and tragedies were held.  Amid a mosaic of remnants of ancient life, we ascended a steep hill that seemingly led to the heavens.  At the apogee of the mountain stood the Parthenon, the greatest of all Greek constructs.  With its towering spires and monstrous platform, the illustrious complex stands as one of the great wonders of early-historic life.  These ancient democrats built the temple as a worship place for Athena, who emerged victorious over Poseidon’s piercing trident and obtained the city’s namesake.

After leaving the Acropolis, we headed down to its museum for further insight into the mystery that was left in the wake of its creation.  Besides offering a wealth of knowledge, the museum also offered air conditioning, and because the city was scorching hot, any place with circulating Freon was an apt place to take refuge.  We left the museum once our thirst for knowledge and refreshments had been quenched, and sat down at a nearby restaurant to spend some euros on some gyros.

It was still light out when we decided to call it a night.  Our alarm would be set for 4:30 AM the next morning so that we could catch the ferry.  But before knight fell, we played a quick game of chess (as we had done by the Parthenon), before we arose at the crack of pawn.

Our cab transferred us to Rafina bright and early, just early enough to see the sun rise over the mountains when we arrived at our destination.  The ferry was a titanic ship and reminded me much of the cruise ships I had sailed on in my own antiquity.  Parking ourselves next to a window, a façade of blue tides and green mountains graced our lines of sight for four hours.

After a smooth, but nearly sleepless boat ride, we anchored at the isle of Mykonos.  Tel Aviv is often referred to as “the White City”.  Indeed, there is a conspicuous absence of color that layers the buildings of Tel Aviv, but if “the White City” is an apt name for it, then “the White _____ (Island, Village, or insert any other appropriate locale)” is a well suited nickname for Mykonos (and most other Greek isles I suspect, at least from what I have seen from pictures).  Unlike the “the White City” that Daniel Burnham constructed over a century ago, there was no devil there.  There are beaches.  There is sun.  There is relaxation.  I suppose though if el diablo did manifest himself on the island, he would have taken on the form of the relentless mosquitoes whom I will expound upon later.

After busing to our hostel, we relieved ourselves of our luggage.  Roee, reluctant to immediately partake in any activity other than sleep, took a few hour siesta while I sat out by the pool that our hostel housed and set out on a mission to finish reading Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. After considerable time and book pages passed, I heard the beach calling my name.  Upon getting Roee to his feet, we walked over to sand land (which was literally adjacent to our hostel).

In photographs and films, certain aspects of scenes can be accentuated so as to offer an audience an ideal aesthetic experience.  The Aegean Sea, however, had not been photo-shopped or doctored in any way, and its natural beauty far surpassed any scene one could hope to see on a postcard or the Travel Channel.  If it should be said that one has never really had a hot dog until they’ve come to Chicago (which is true), then I had never seen the color blue until my time spent in Mykonos.  For hours, we laid there reading, snoozing, and swimming, and by dusk, I had turned a great profit: a nice tan and a new novel and author to add to my list of favorites.

When day became night, we took a bus into the commercial area for a night on the town.  Mykonos is often considered the party island of Greece, and our experience in the city did nothing to defer that reputation.  Before hitting the club scene, a late night gyro was in order.  Because I did not spend enough time in Oslo, we went to a club called Skandinavia Bar.  The nightlife in Mykonos is really hoppin’, and the greatest pleasure of the night (other than the gyros) was the people watching.

Because sleep had evaded us for the last couple of nights, we headed back to the hostel somewhat early.  With a few drinks in us, we fell asleep with relative ease, but our attempt to rest was soon thwarted.  Our hostel was more of a campsite, our room a bungalow.  And inside its walls, one had a much more difficult time distinguishing it from a sauna than deciphering Coke from Pepsi during the Pepsi Challenge.  That was only problem number one, and may have been the less arduous of the two.  

Possibly more rigorous than sleeping in a steam room was sleeping with the swarm of mosquitoes that feasted upon us.  Their merciless infliction of affliction made the possibility of sleep but a fiction.  If that room was hell, then the collective of blood-hungry mosquitoes was the devil in the White City.  But even with the innumerable constellations of inflamed bumps that bulged from my entire body the next morning, I have very fond memories of my time spent in Mykonos and thoroughly enjoyed the island.  Anyway, our efforts to feign ignorance to our predators were to no avail, and at 4:30 AM we opted not to donate any more blood and instead watch the sun rise over the mountains.

Before our great star took its place in the heavens, we laid down on the beach.  With iPod in hand, I flipped on REM so that even if I could not obtain it unconsciously, at least I could listen to the audio version.  But even without sleep, Mykonos proved a relaxing and pacific excursion, and at 1:00 PM, we ferried out from the isle en route back to Athens

Between the ferry and the bus ride from the Rafina port back to the city, we got back to our hostel around seven that evening, quickly showered, changed, and refreshed ourselves before enjoying another night on the town.  First, we went out for a bite to eat just outside of Monastiraki Sq., where we found a great, little restaurant.  The food was good, but its venerable qualities were more a function of its optimal location, just below the Acropolis.  With the sun setting, we had a surreal view of the ancient forum. 

As dinner concluded, we paraded about the city, stopping at one bar for a glass of scotch and another for a beer.  Ya, I live the life.  Both watering holes featured a presentation of the Euro Cup.  In this particular match, the Land of Tapas uprooted the Land of Guinness.  Although it blatantly pales in comparison to real football, watching futbol in Europe is pretty fun.  After leaving the bars, we returned to the hostel and were finally extended the freedom to doze off into an early summer night’s dream. 

Friday was our last day in gyro country.  Out of the hostel by 10:30 AM, our first stop was the National Archaeology Museum.  There, we witnessed a time capsule that encapsulated many of early civilization’s greatest feats, from tools, to jewelry, to art, to architecture.  Halfway through our tour, I thought I saw a familiar face about to exit the vicinity.  “Is that Liora?”, I excitedly asked Roee.  At once, Liora Jaffe turned around, at first a bit befuddled, but quickly pleasantly surprised. 

Liora, along with two other girls from our study abroad program, had been traveling around Greece for the last week.  We were all aware of each others’ travel plans but realized that our itineraries would most likely not coincide.  There would be no overlap with Melissa and Ilana, the other girls with whom Liora was traveling, but because she was staying behind an extra day in Greece before a solo trip to Turkey, there was the possibility that our paths would cross with Liora.  Still, with no way to contact each other, the opportunity for our paths to cross was negligible.  After exchanging greeting and the details of each other’s experiences in Greece thus far, we parted ways but planned to meet again in a few hours to go sightseeing together. 

After completing our circle around the museum, Roee and I left for Monastiraki Sq. and grabbed some food.  A nearby crepe stand sated our appetites, and I was quickly reminded of my days in Paris.  Kitty corner from the square stood a little shop called “The Poet Sandal Maker”.   My friend Kait had recommended to me that I stop by the shop if time permitted, and since time did permit, I took a look in.  I have never owned a really nice pair of sandals before, and so when my eyes caught the enormous archive of artisan footwear that decorated the walls from floor to ceiling, intrigue took hold of me and I browsed through the catalogue.  Pantelis Melissinos, the proprietor of the sandal stand, is the third generation of ownership.  His grandfather had founded the establishment long ago, and as time elapsed, a full list of whos-who, such as John Lennon, Barbara Streisand, Sarah Jessica-Parker, and Jill Biden, had purchased this famous footwear.  I decided that I would rather fancy sporting a pair, so I chose which design I favored most and returned half an hour later once they were formed from scratch.  Liora, who we met up with during this time, flipped open her wallet, flopped some money on the table, and chose a pair as well.

With the open-roofed shoes in our possession, we exited the store and quested after the ancient Agora.  Learning that we would need more time there than we could let pass, for Liora had to leave shortly after to catch a plane to Istanbul, we instead chose to see the temple of Zeus.  Although time and the human condition had eroded the juggernaut’s pagoda since its inception, the temple stood as yet another testament to spectacles originating from the human intellect and materialized by human hands.  While there, I was half expecting to see Greeced lightning, but we neither saw nor felt and John Travoltage.

After Liora was forced to relinquish us from her company, Roee and I were left to do some last minute gift shopping.  In a downtrodden economy such as Greece’s, one would not expect the country’s most heralded attractions to close before five, but they do.  This was ok, as gifts were a necessary component of the schedule.  One token I had personally yearned for since the trip was planned was a copy of Plato’s Republic in Greek.  In Paris, I acquired a French version of Voltaire’s collected works, and so I figured that the Republic would be a cherished asset to my personal library.  Desperately, I had searched far and wide for Plato’s grand work.  At last, I made it to the largest of Athens’ bookstores and finally set eyes upon the treasure.  Once within my grasp, my mission was accomplished.  Our week came to a Greek end, and it was time for the weekend. We returned to Hotel Efesos, collected our luggage, and made our way back to the airport. 

As I complete this entry, I am sitting at the Aroma Café near the Hebrew U campus.  My European circuit will have to take an indefinite hiatus.  Still, I have ventured to that continent four times over the last three months, spending at least three days in five different countries.  I am astounded by the wealth of knowledge and wisdom I have come across throughout my travels.  I cannot begin to describe how lucky I feel, and I couldn’t ask for more.  The countdown has begun until my reunion with my family.  Right now, it’s at eleven days.  How exciting!  May life always be so sweet.

L’chaim

Zac

L' (Reb) Chaim: Take Two

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. 

“Nothing Gold Can Stay”- Robert Frost

Shining even brighter than Lil Wayne’s teeth, my experience here in Jerusalem has been golden.  Even the lows have been serendipitous, for they have paved the ways for new ascents.  On Thursday night, I faced the lowest of the lows that I have come into contact with here thus far.  It was that evening when the group flight captured an overwhelming portion of my friends here in the Kfar HaStudentim.  Upon their departure, the mood here in our student village was somber, and there was an air of all-encompassing melancholy.  My only consolation is that during the six days of Creation, God set in place the laws of nature that would allow for the innovations of Facebook and Skype.  Baruch HaShem for those!

And Baruch HaShem that the days preceding Thursday were not nearly as morose, and in fact were actually quite blithe.  During the week, many a palatable repast graced my plate.  Goodbye week does a doozy on one’s financial status as final meals at heralded restaurants are on everyone’s bucket list.  Over the course of this past week, I have eaten at Kadosh again, Tmol Shilshom (the café I referred to as Europe a few months back), HaMoshav 54 (a great meatery), my favorite falafel place, and my favorite Schwarma place.  Food is always a great way to drown one’s sorrows.   

I also had the pleasure of seeing my roommate Gil perform with a few friends at a local bar’s Jam Night.  They really rocked the place.  Their jam sesh ran parallel to my experience with a chocolate ice cream cone: when it was over I was left wanting more.  Oh, and that reminds me, that same night was the one that a few friends and I ate at Tmol Shilshom, and in between dinner and the concert, we stopped at Babette’s, a nearby waffle bar, for dessert.  Waffle bars are all the rage here in the Land of Milk and Honey.  On both of my squares I ordered hot chocolate sauce.  One square was topped with berries, the other with a scoop of chocolate ice cream.  Did I mention that I’ve been eating really well here?

Because the Israel Links season has commenced (the Israel trip that I went on last year), I will not be able to spend Shabbat with Yossi and Chaya, who organize the trip, any time in the near future.  This is a quite distressing realization, but nevertheless, the Shabbos must go on.  And so this week I put in a call to Reb Chaim, the man whose house that I dined at a few months ago.  This was the cooky rabbi that blessed all of us for five minutes and tried convincing my friend Robyn that her father was the proprietor of a store. 

I brought my friends Roee and Lauren along with me, fortunately, both of whom are still here for a while.  When we got there, we learned that Reb Chaim would be incapacitated for the night as a stomach flu had gotten the better of him.  With the rebbitzen at his side, it was just us and a pack of yeshiva boys to enjoy the great meal that they had cooked.  Reb Chaim’s presence, along with all of his dogmatic divinations, would have been a great treat, but those of us still in commission enjoyed stimulating conversation over delicious food all through the night.

Our Shabbatathon continued on Saturday when Roee and I went over to Lauren’s to make lunch.  By the time we sat down to eat, the table was covered by a collage of colors, a medley of mouthwatering dishes.  We made two types of chicken, pasta, veggie couscous, and downed a bottle of wine that I had accumulated in France.  The storm that we cooked up was temporarily sedating, but in short time, I accrued enough energy to go play some basketball. 

Tonight, two of my roommates, Gil and Benji, are evacuating the premises.  My roommate Steven departed a few days ago.   Nature’s first green has maintained its hue for five months now.  It has been one incredible ride.  As the original Eden sinks, we are forced to derive a new one.  But with a trip to Greece only days away, and the arrival of my family sitting just beyond the horizon, I know that a new Eden awaits.   Plus, I still have my shuk trips and my million dollar view from my apartment bedroom.  So while this golden experience could not stay, it will leave some great treasures in its wake.

Stay classy Rothberg 2012,

Zac  

The Nerd is the Word

You see I hood a lot, and yeah I nerd some
Hood’s where the heart is, nerds where the words from
Don’t represent either because I merged them

-Lupe Fiasco, "I'm Beamin"

For those that know me well, it is no secret.  In fact, it is clearly written on my face.  I’m a nerd.  I love being in school, and when I’m home for break, I find myself as a lost soul.  I love the structure, I love the learning, I love the meeting of the minds.  But most of all, I adore the way that stimulating, provocative ideas are able to revolutionize the way I see the world.  You define yourself by the way you think, and so when I am able to engage in this form of cognitive restructuring, I find myself awed, humbled, and buzzed simultaneously.

This past week represented somewhat of an au voir to the Rothberg International School at Hebrew U where much of my time is occupied.  I have learned an immense amount here about the history of Judaism, Israel, and the world around me.  But most of all, I learned about Maimonides, and I think it safe to say that I have a new favorite philosopher.  As we speak, I am supposed to be writing an 8-10 page final on what I have learned about him.  My paper is already at 11 pages, and I’m pretty sure I could extend it as far as 25.  He and Professor Breuer (who teaches the course) have redefined the way that I view Judaism and the rest of the world. 

Anyway, on Thursday night I had a banquet for the Spring in Jerusalem program that I am enrolled in.  Fun filled the faculty lounge as food and fluid flowed into my stomach. Flustered, I then forced myself to flock to the fitness facility to free myself of fortuitous flesh.

On Friday, my friend Amanda and I patronized a downtown eatery called Kadosh.  The bright aesthetics and lofty aroma of freshly baked treats reminded me of a café that I would have sat down at in Paris.  I am very glad that she brought me to that homely establishment, as I one, found the best coffee I’ve had in Israel yet, and two, found another place to sit down and read during time off.  Again, I think in terms of these things.  I’m a nerd.

Afterwards, we strolled over to the Old City to purchase last minute gifts.  Well, at least Amanda bought such gifts as she will be departing in only a few days.  I, on the other hand, will be staying for another five weeks.  As she was buying her final gift, it hit me.  My closure to my Israel adventure runs parallel to the conclusion of the Lord of the Rings films.  At the end of the Lord of the Rings, there are three or four times when you are absolutely certain that the story will conclude.  But Peter Jackson has something else in mind, and continues with the plot for another fifteen minutes until you think you are certain that it is going to conclude again.  And each time, there is yet another (long and packed) conclusion.  That is until Samwise Gangee returns to the Shire to expound upon his own journeys right where Bilbo and Frodo left off.

Here in Israel, I am in the midst of my first ending: the departure of all of my friends in the Rothberg International School program (which is most people here).  But my story will continue for another few weeks until my next ending: the conclusion of my courses offered at the Hebrew University.  The last day of courses there is held on June 22^nd, and so for six days, I will actually be in a state of limbo, that is until my family comes to visit on June 28^th.  And this will connote the very final chapter of my study abroad experience.  Once I leave on July 9^th, my ship will depart from Middle Earth as my flight departs from the Middle East.

Friday night marked the last time I would enjoy the incredible hospitality of my friends Yossi and Chaya Witkes with the rest of my Rothberg friends for Shabbat dinner.  It was sort of a “farewell” to our program.  The conversation, atmosphere, and of course the food, were actually were better than ever before.  After dinner, my friend Brandon and I sauntered through the streets of Jerusalem on our way back to our apartments, and for the entirety of our walk, I reflected on the philosophy of the great Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon (Maimonides).  I loved every minute of it.

As I sit here and write this, I realize that key aspects of my ending here have already been dictated.  I have a set time for my finals work, I have a set time for my Greece adventure, and I have a set itinerary when my family joins me here later in the month.  Lucky for me, itineraries never entirely work out as planned, and so I will get to co-author the ending to my story, my precious (alright enough of that).

Shavua Tov,

Zac

A Brazillion Pounds of Meat

For roughly ten years of my life, I was a vegetarian.  Those were the ten dumbest years I have spent here on Earth.  I never had a Chicago hot dog, I never had Popeye’s chicken, I never had a juicy burger, and certainly never the Kobe beef steak that I absolutely adore.  And if I had never crossed over to the dark side, I wouldn’t have enjoyed my dinner on Tuesday night nearly as much as I did.  That night, the students and staff from my Poland trip had a reunion dinner hosted at an all-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse called Papagaio.  For the record, this is one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, and besides devouring heinous amounts of grilled meat and chicken, one of the greatest pleasures of the night was filling our bellies free of charge.  The dinner was sponsored by a man named Asher Milstein, an incredibly generous donor to some of the programs here on campus who also funded that venerable King David Hotel lunch a few months ago. 

Once dinner began, entrecote was brought to us, then grilled chicken, then kebab, then teriyaki chicken, then more steak, then more kebab, and well, you get the picture.  Each dish was more succulent than the next, and before long, although our stomachs were on the verge of total annihilation, they brought out five different dessert dishes.  Meat was eaten in such obscene quantities that we joked that our stomachs wouldn’t be milchig (kosher for dairy) again until Shavuot later that week.   Warm (pareve) mousse cake, pies, sorbets, etc., then entered through us and further inhibited our hunger for the next three days or so.  The dinner served as a perfectly sweet way to complete a perfectly bitter trip. 

Thursday night, I booked a trip to Greece with my friend Roee.  For four days and three nights in Mid-June, we will be exploring the city of Athens and the island of Mykonos.  I am highly anticipating getting in touch with my philosophical roots and navigating through the city where Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle cemented their place in history. 

For Shabbat this week, ten friends or so and myself cooked up a slew of the finest tasting meats and side dishes prepared outside of the kitchens of Papagaio, Yossi and Chaya Witkes, and Jamie Glass-Pestine. This was our second-to-last Shabbat together on campus, and so we wanted to make sure we crafted a memorable repast, complete with pizzazz and shebang.  My cooking prowess is severely underdeveloped, so I took it upon myself to make couscous, a simple, yet delicious stomach stuffer.  The room filled with cheers as we each sampled the food and drink that each other had brought to the table and filled our stomachs to the brim with challah, meatballs, chicken, grilled sweet potatoes and carrots, salad, the aforementioned couscous, and of course, lots and lots of wine.

Around this time last year (on the Hebrew calendar), I was just getting home from a trip to Israel.  I remember it specifically because it was just prior to the Jewish holiday of Shavuot, when the Israelites received Torah at Mt. Sinai, and on Shavuot, my cousin Althea and I stayed up until the wee hours of the night learning Gemara.  On Shavuot, it is custom to eat gross quantities of cheesecake and pull an all-nighter studying Torah.  This year, Shavuot fell on Saturday night.  I celebrated the chag (holiday) by taking advantage of a Conservative yeshiva program run downtown.  A series of lectures, all of which were enlightening and well-orated, ran from 10:30 PM until 3:30 AM, with short breaks in between to stretch our legs and eat junk food. 

At four in the morning, our group, as well as thousands of other Jews, walked to the Kotel to daven Shacharit as the sun rose.  Interestingly, because this was a Conservative group, we held services at the Southwest Wall instead of the Western Wall, where there is no mechitza (divider between men and women).  I never knew such services existed over there.  It was quite thrilling to watch the sun rise over the Kotel.  Afterwards, we walked back to our dorms (it was roughly 7 AM by the time we got back), where I immediately took a necessary snooze.

Since I’ve been here in Israel, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience Purim, Passover, Lag b’Omer, Holocaust Remembrance Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Jerusalem Day, and now Shavuot.  But in the British sense, every day here is a holiday.  I’m still in that island in the sun.

Aloha,

Zac 

Oh my Ghosh, Hummina Hummina Hummus!

To start off, I am quickly approaching a bittersweet chapter in my life here.  My Facebook newsfeed has been usurped by my peers who have undertaken separate study abroad journeys and who have returned or are soon returning to their respective homes.  My regular program here does not end until June 7^th, and my special Hebrew U program does not conclude until June 22^nd, so my expiration date here is still a long ways away.  Meanwhile, it seems like a lifetime ago that I spoke face-to-face with my family and friends, played with my dogs, stepped foot in my bookstore, or heard Ken “the Hawk” Harrelson shout “You can put it on the board…Yes!”.  This is the bitter part. 

Now please, do not misconstrue my sentiments, for the sweet part is identical to the bitter part: I still have nearly two months here to live, learn, explore, relax, and enjoy all that Israel has to offer (which happens to be a lot).  On Sunday, May 13^th, I had an average day.  I, accompanied by my great friend Roee, walked through the market in the Old City, saw beautiful scenery, smelled some of the most amazing aromas that one could hope to sense, donned tefillin at the Western Wall, and went grocery shopping at the shuk (where I have haggling for pita down to a science).

I refer to this as an average day because here in Israel, this is an average day for me.  Sans the Kotel visit (which I actually do make somewhat frequently), this is my Sunday routine.  I cannot imagine having access to these kinds of pleasures on an everyday basis anywhere else in the world.  And so while I am stuck thousands of miles away from one home for a lengthy bit of time, I get the special opportunity to appreciate my home here for the same length of time.   How sweet.

On Wednesday, I went with a few friends of mine to a town called Abu Ghosh, which resides about ten minutes outside of Jerusalem proper.  Abu Ghosh is especially notable for its unwavering loyalty and patriotism towards the state of Israel.  During the War for Independence, Abu Ghosh was one of the few Arab villages in all of Israel to take allegiance with the Israeli side of the conflict.  Abu Ghosh is also revered as the town that buys all of Israel’s Chametz during before Passover, roughly $150 million worth of carbohydrates.

While there, we walked about the main road of the town and picked a spot at a welcoming, yet classy restaurant.  Together, we ordered a twelve-salad dish, and of course all-you-can eat pita and hummus came complimentary.  Abu Ghosh might be particularly acclaimed for their pacific relations with the Israeli government, but they are also famous for the hummus.  It is a great export for the town as Abu Ghosh hummus is ubiquitous in supermarkets around Jerusalem.  Rest assured, we had a great lunch, with splendid hummus.  Afterwards we loosened our belts a few notches and marched through the streets of the town.

My Shabbat dinner this week came in the form of a trip to the Jerusalem Soul Center, a Kabbalistic forum hosted by Rabbi Ezra Amichai, a hipster rav that has accompanied me on both my Prague and Poland excursions.  In contrast to most Jewish institutions that hold Shabbat dinners, this was not one exclusively for students.  In fact, students were overwhelmingly outnumbered that night.  The guest list was as diverse as I have yet to see.  The recipe of middle-aged, frum hippies, businessmen, college students, and yeshiva boys was certainly a concoction that produced excellent conversation.  It was fun to see such a different crowd, people who you otherwise would generally never see congregate together under one roof.  It was a wonderful experience, and the walk back to the student village, on a warm but breezy night, was a pleasure as well.

On Sunday the 20^th, I again ventured back to the Kotel and the shuk, but this day was not average, for it was Yom Yerushaliyim (Jerusalem Day).  Masses packed to the streets (and the light rail) to enjoy a beautiful day and show their affection for our glorious city.  It’s hard to imagine a time in the future when I feel like going to the Kotel or getting some dried figs at the shuk, and instead of hopping on the light rail for fifteen minutes, I have to hop on a plane for twelve hours.  It’s actually really sad to think about.

Sunday night marked the beginning of Yom HaStudent (Student Day).  Obviously there are tens of thousands of colleges and universities that I have not been to, and thus I am ignorant of their customs.  But as it stands, I do not know of any other school in the world that organizes a student day where school is off and an all night concert is facilitated in the park.  It’s actually really funny that Hebrew U has put these events on (the Purim party, the Yom HaAtzmaut party, and now Student Day), where, at each venue, there are five or six large bars set up that serve alcohol all night long to students.   The concert was really fun, albeit really cold.  It gets very chilly here at night, and my attire was anything but apropos given the wind chill.  But we had a great time nonetheless.

It is hard to fathom that most of my friends here will be departing in only two and a half weeks.  In my mind, I’ll be here for another six months (with my friends, family, dogs, bookstore, and “Hawk” all coming to stay with me during that time).  Ok, I guess that’s a long shot, but a boy can dream.

Shalom,

Zac