3 posts tagged “israel”
Shabbat in Jerusalem is like nothing I've ever seen before. Four lane highways are completely deserted. The silence on the streets and absence of people seems like something out of a movie. We started the day late (by "late" I mean that we started around noon instead of 6 a.m. on other days), which meant we got to sleep in. Yay! Even though sleeping in meant more time in the teenist beds in the whole, wide world, it was still awesome.
Before we left, our guide told us that we had an opportunity to go into an ultra-orthodox enclave in the city, but that we needed to be wearing clothes that covered our knees and shoulders, much like when we went to the Wall the day before. We ventured out of the hotel on a walking tour of Jerusalem. We saw a couple of orthodox men on the street and a really heavily populated internet cafe (oooooh, shame!) but otherwise, the streets were pretty silent. We wound our way around the area near our hotel and ended up back at the market we visited on Friday. The difference that 24 hours makes was astounding.
After the market, we put our cameras away (using cameras on Shabbat on the orthodox 'hood isn't kosher, so to speak) and went deeper into the neighborhoods. Kids ran around eating popsicles and staring at us through barred stairways. I pulled on a skirt over my shorts and put a scarf around my shoulders (HOT!) and wandered around with all of my similarly overdressed cohorts. The biggest thing I remember is how quiet it was. We walked by the neighborhood mikvah and into courtyards of apartment buildings. The idea of families of seven, eight, maybe more living in these small apartments -- especially in the heat -- made me feel clausterphobic.
After we emerged from the neighborhood, we walked to a city park. The park was heavily populated with families relaxing and playing. On the field, a group of guys played soccer next to a suited othorodox man playing frisbie with two little girls. We all hunkered down on a slope and found one of the many ice cream trucks that would mark our trips through Israel. Seriously, those trucks are everywhere. On the side of the truck, a picture of Eva Longoria biting into a chocolate Dove bar stared at us seductively. We spent a couple of hours in the park, laying around, tanning and napping. This, I thought, is a great way to spend a Saturday.
Also, the park was the first taste we had of Israeli's general dislike for recycling and/or using proper trash cans. Everywhere in the park were pieces and spots of litter, and cans and bottles were piled high in trash cans. It never felt dirty, but cluttered. We would see this again and again in parks and on trails throughout the country.
When we finally packed everything up, we followed a trail up over a hill and found ourselves at the Knesset, the Israeli parliament. Many of the government buildings are in this area and, as we stood taking our tourist pictures, about six other Birthright trips converged in the same place. We all gave each other the hairy eyeball -- Why are you guys here? This is clearly my tourist spot. And why are all of the 18 year olds dressed up like they're hitting the club scene? -- and promptly ignored each other. For we are all very mature.
After our tour of government buildings, we headed back to the hotel for dinner and for (finally!) our first night out in Jerusalem. We did a quick change and scarfed down dinner before heading to Ben Yehuda street.
Ben Yehuda street, from what I could tell, is a tourist trap disguised as something remotely trendy. The pedestrian street was swarming with tour groups and vendors sold wares at huge markup. Our guide warned us before she unleashed us on the street that we should try to haggle down prices and, after seeing how clearly the vendors would take advantage of oblivious tourists, I embraced this wholeheartedly. Michelle and I wandered up and down the street, trying to find some decent trash and trinkets to bring home. We found some scarves and earrings, and I found a mezuzah for my sister. Overall, I think I knocked the prices down about 40% on each and I'm sure I still paid way more shekels that I should have. Note to self: next time, learn to at least fake the language enough not to get swindled.
In the middle of the street, a group of Korean students sang to the strum of an acoustic guitar. I have no idea why.
We also may have purchased some really awful booze that we smuggled back to the hotel. Brand name alcohol was obscenely expensive and some of the girls found an off-brand vodka that didn't break the bank. It got the job done, but it was not delicious. Yikes.
They gathered all of us up and we took the bus to our final stop of the night. The bus stopped in a back alley in what looked like an industrial area. We all joked uncomfortably that we were going to be kidnapped or otherwise taken hostage by Jerusalem mafioso (watch out for Schlomo!). Instead, we were led into a teeny black box theater for an interactive Comedia Dell'arte show. The whole thing reminded me of improve games with masks, and I slunk low in my chair. I never really liked improv (I know, I know), but the show was fun.
Back to the hotel for our final night in Jerusalem. Again, the 18 year olds were in the hallway and we finally snapped. A group of young, yarmulke wearing boys were smoking pot and drinking heavily (and noisily) in the hallway and in their rooms. Since we were all exhausted and knew we had a big day lined up on Sunday (Yad Vashem included), we napped. Michelle and I stormed down the hallway and, I'm proud to say, totally lost it on these kids. I'm pretty sure we scared the crap out of them. And then? Then one of the little 18 year olds -- seriously, I'm pretty sure I was taller than him -- told me to "Fuck off, bitch."
Well. Ahem. Yes.
Suffice to say that after that, there were a number of phone calls to people with the authority to deal with these brats. I am proud of my old lady status and the three of us girls celebrated in our room as we heard them get ripped a new one by their trip leader. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to smoke pot in your hotel room? There's a patio. Shit.
And that was our third day. Next up: Our last day in Jerusalem, Yad Vashem and traveling to Ein Gedi.
So before the third day of the trip officially began, we had a run in with some of our Birthright compadres in the hotel. We went to bed the night before around 11 (I think) and promptly passed out... only to be woken up by drunken, pot smoking, yarmulke wearing 18 year olds in the hallway. I popped my head out into the hallway and used my deepest Camp Counselor Voice to tell them that I didn't give a shit what they were doing, but that they needed to move it into their rooms. They slurred their way into the rooms, shut the doors and everything was good.
Until it happened again. And again. And again. Apparently, staying in the room is far too difficult, and the party kept leaking into the hallway. Sleep total: Less than 6 hours.
The morning of our third day, I woke up before my roommates to use the shower. The shower was... interesting. It was clean (thank God) (heh), but odd. It was a tub/shower combo, but instead of a shower curtain or a sliding glass door, it had half a glass wall and... that's it. So when you took a shower, water sprayed all over the bathroom. The bathroom that had no fan. So everything fogged up (including the glass counter). It was very awkward. Oh, and I forgot about the teeny, tiny beds! The beds were so, so narrow and teeny, we all felt like giants.
We meandered downstairs (where we encountered the loud 18 year olds and glared at them a lot) for delicious breakfast of french toast, pancakes, grapefruit and other fantastic things. After breakfast, we headed upstairs to meet Our Soldiers. I say it like that -- Our Soldiers -- because that is how we referred to them the whole trip. Joining us that day -- and for the next four days -- were eight Israeli soldiers (three girls and five boys). I can't say how fantastic and valuable it was to have them with us. Whenever I had a crazy offshoot question or didn't understand something or just wanted to know why the water heaters were on the top of the buildings in Tel Aviv, they could tell us.
After we met the soldiers, we were off to the market to pick up food for shabbat that night. Baklava, challah, chocolate, dates, fresh fruit -- it was like the best farmers market ever, with everyone yelling in Hebrew and no room to breathe, much less move more than two steps at a time. Dor, the soldier who was with our mini-group of six, navigated us through and negotiated for us, something that came in very handy as the market was one of the few places on our trip where signs were exclusively in Hebrew (which I can't read, write or speak, thank you very much)
After the market, we hopped on the bus and headed to the Old City. Standing outside of the archway entrance, I was amazed at how old it really was. I know that sounds cliche, but it really was incredible. The wall in front of us had slats in it (to shoot arrows at intruders!), the archway dated back thousands of years and I kept thinking "It's like 10th grade Western Civ! Only not boring!"
We headed through the entrance and into the Jewish quarter. We visited the Cardo and walked around the city, but I felt distracted since I knew our eventual destination was the Wall. The Wall is pretty much the only holy site in Judaism and, to put it mildly, kind of a big deal. It's the last remaining wall of the old temple, a place where battles were won and fought over hundreds of years (if you believe the bible, that is). As we rounded the corner to see it for the first time, it really did take my breath away. It's massive and intimidating. And crowded. The Wall has two areas -- one for men and one for women. You'll notice from the picture that the section for men is larger, has tables and chairs and, I can't confirm this, has air conditioning (I don't think I believe that one). The women's area is crowded and cramped and you have to wait for a spot at the wall.
Sanding at the Wall was really incredible. Some people were crying around me and praying and clutching it, and some were silent and reflective. All I can say is that it felt really calm, right there, just for that second. Behind me, I heard a woman sobbing. I turned around to find an older woman -- in her 80s or 90s -- struggling to stand. I gave her my spot and found ofne of the many plastic chairs that were laid out to sit and write for a bit.
After we left The Wall, it was time to head back to the hotel. It was shabbat at sunset, which in Jerusalem meant that everything was going to shut down. We hopped back on the bus and back to the hotel, where I met up with my aunt and uncle and my two cousins. They all live in Jerusalem (with their many children and grandchildren) and because of the tour's tight schedule (and rules), this was the only time we could get together. They looked great, but I was so disappointed to not get to see everyone. The last time I saw all the kids, I was 13 and now half of them have kids of their own. Sheryl and Ellen brought pictures, but it's just not the same.
We had dinner, eating all of the fabulous treats we bought at the market earlier that day, and then settled in for the night. Again, the rules were cramping our style, as we were now stuck in the hotel and it was barely 8 o'clock. After many negotiations, we were shut down and were pretty much on lock down for the night. As you can imagine, this didn't really go over well with all of us. The bratty 18 year olds were upstairs in the hallway being loud and drunk, and all of us were hyped with Getting To Know Everyone energy.
All of this led to many card games, reopening the bar in the lobby (much to the chagrin of the manager) and some drunken political conversations that I stayed out of (a first!). When we did finally go to bed, it was a repeat of the night before, with the loud kids and all of us old ladies yelling at them. It would get worse the next night...
Next up: Shabbat in the Holy Land, crazy protesters and the foreign theater
Okay, I've been back in Portland for a full month and have been dreading blogging about my trip to Israel. Not because it wasn't fun, but because 1.) it's going to take a lot of time 2.) I'm really bad about finishing these kinds of projects and 3.) it was a lot of fun and work is really work-y lately and, really, I kind of want to go back.
Alas. I am caving to the pressure (thanks guys!) and I'm going to suck it up.
Day 1 and 2: Portland to LA to Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in 30 Hours or Less!
I got up at 3 a.m. on Wednesday to fly to LAX. Joe was still in Minnesota and I had the dog, so it was a little stressful. Westely had eaten his way through his new kennel the night before, so I had to pack him up in his tiny kennel and leave him until Joe got back at 1 p.m. the same day. Westely was already unhappy with me and the tiny kennel didn't help. Mom picked me up bright and early at 5 o'clock and, boy, that was awesome.
The flight to LA was uneventful and we landed early, which I would usually say is great. Except. Except that I had, per the instructions from the agency I was traveling with, scheduled my flight to arrive in LA four hours before our departing flight. So now I was at LAX five hours before our departing flight. By myself. At 8 a.m. So that was awesome.
I wandered around and asked all kinds of lost-looking strangers "Excuse me, but are you going to Israel?" Um, no. None of them were. And not only were none of them going to Israel, but then all of them started looking at me like I was some sort of moron. I gave up and sat outside for an hour and called into work to relay instructions to my intern. Yes, that's right. I called into work. Day 1 of vacation and I was on the road to success!
After an hour, I went back in to the terminal. People from our group were finally starting to arrive and, as such, I started judging who I would like and who I wouldn't like. Oh, I kid, I kid. But I did spot this girl with curly hair and a Berkeley sweatshirt and I thought "Hmm, we could be roommates. I bet she has good hair products." This ended up working out very well in the end.
The El Al ticketing counter opened up exactly four hours before our flight. There were a ton of employees there in suits and a couple with Secret Service-esque earpieces and, of course, the guys with really big guns. Very James Bond. It reminded me of Logan airport after September 11th. Which was oddly comforting, in a really big gun kind of way.
They made all of us stand in line as the interviewed each of us one by one. And not just the usual "Did you pack your bag? Do you have any knives with you?" kind of thing. But rather "What is the name of your rabbi? Where did you go to college? What denomination are you? Are both your parents Jewish?" kind of thing. Yeah, it was a little intense. I made it through quickly with a mention of being Sephardic and going to Brandeis (whoo! Jew cred!), but some were not so lucky...
One of our fellow travelers had a very large box with him. The interviewer looked at him and asked, "What is this?"
"A box," he replied.
"And what is in it?"
"Stuff."
"Did you pack it?"
"No."
Oh, no. That didn't go so well. He, like many others on our trip, got a little sticker put on his bags that indicated that all of his stuff would be confiscated and searched. Including his carry on. About five or six people on our trip got their carry ons taken away (all men -- El Al knows not to mess with Jewish women, apparently) and some didn't get them back until our second or third day in Jerusalem. Lesson: Don't fuck with El Al.
After checking in, we had time to wander around the international terminal at LAX. Wow, it's super boring there. And the food blows. We gave up and went to sit at the gate, which was a whole different kind of disaster. I've never been to Calcutta, but I imagine it's similar to the international terminal gates. It was crowded. Really crowded. And kind of smelly. And really disorganized. And there were tiny cars that would beep at you and then run over your foot anyway. And no one spoke English except for us and those that did were talking into intercoms that we couldn't hear. (Yes, this is how I envision Calcutta. Though I also imagine cows there and, thankfully, there were no cows in our terminal. At least, none that I could see.) It was so disorganized that our flight ended up leaving close to two hours late.
Not that we knew that when we got on the plane. Yes, that's right. Two hours sitting on the plane. Oh, wait, but I forgot. First you have to take a bus from the international terminal to a special terminal to get on the plane. And the bus has a police escort. And then the plane has a police escort until it leave the ground. Lesson: Don't fuck with El Al, part II.
They shoved most of our trip on the back of the plane -- affectionately dubbed The Back of the Bus -- which was very smart. Having forty twenty-somethings who just met on a plane for a 14 hour flight (and a two hour wait before that) must have made the flight attendants want to bail out somewhere over Italy. But it worked out fairly well for all of us.
The flight itself wasn't bad. There was lots of food -- and most of it good -- and everyone just kind of wandered around and hung out in the kitchen for a lot of the flight, which was great. One of the guys on the trip and I started trying to identify That Guy -- you know, That Guy! -- and made our official predictions for the trip. There were really bad movies and Friends reruns and lots of hot pita bread and nice blankets. The flight attendants were way nicer than most American flight attendants and happily fed you on command (yes!) and refilled your water bottle and gave everyone lots of free booze. Not bad, really, for a really, really long flight.
Eventually, we landed at Ben Gurion. The luggage situation got even better at that point. One of the guys on our trip, Anthony, was waiting with me and Michelle (the curly haired girl with the Berkeley sweatshirt) for his bag. He couldn't find it until, finally, it came off the carousel. Empty. Just a bag. With nothing in it.
And then came the box. A box with all of his stuff in it. That's right. El Al had not only searched his bag, but had unloaded all of his possessions into a box. Somewhere, there are some really great pictures of Anthony and his really sad box. Anthony was not the only one on our trip who met this fate, but he was definitely the most amusing about it. Poor Anthony and his sad box.
We met our guide, exchanged our money, picked up our cell phones and got on our bus that would become our home base for the next 10 days. We were so late, we did some quick rescheduling and went to a park that overlooks Jerusalem. We got there right before sunset and had our first real look at the city. They gave us nasty wine for a kiddush and then we piled back onto the bus to head to our hotel.
At the hotel, we left our luggage in the lobby (safe!) and had dinner first. And that dinner, it was fantastic! The food at our hotel -- plug: The Jerusalem Gold Hotel -- was some of the best on our trip, despite the rooms and beds being very, very tiny (more on that later). As we sat down for dinner, a group of Russians at the other end of the dining hall started singing. Loudly. In Russian. It was like crazy Russian dinner theater just for us.
After dinner, we picked our roommates -- Michelle and I found another curly top, Laura, to bunk with us -- and headed to our aforementioned tiny rooms. It had been 30 + hours since leaving Portland and I was so exhausted. Good night!
Next up: Obnoxious 18 year olds, the Old City, davening in Burberry and much, much more!
