Never duplicated

 Morning thoughts as I readjust to New Jersey. Why is it that I find myself drawn to Israel so much and Jerusalem so, so much. Sure, there is a religious element but I'd like to think that there is something deeper than a simple divine commandment. I assembled two ideas that probably aren't even mine, are not new, nor are they especially insightful. But mornings are for poorly thought out inspiration. It's like a rule of something.

The first is the idea of time and history. Israel on the whole and Jerusalem in specific exists both frozen in time and flowing with it. There is history there, ancient and modern and they are often at one and the same spot. And what is historical is also the future. The kotel is the nexus of the various time streams. It signifies the past, both biblical and recent, it is the essence of being in the present moment as connecting with it is an immediate, intense feeling, and it is a mark of a future temple, a promise that all is not lost. That pull back and forward and the need to see everything in the present is what Israel is all about. Drive the highways looking at battle fields from the last 75 years while looking at ruins from the last 3000 years. And then look at the people who live there now and making the desert bloom NOW and are leading the tech world into the future. All without leaving the passenger's seat. Drivers, focus on the road because there's a guy about to change lanes without a blinker. So that push and pull, that division and unity that city of contradiction and reconciliation, that stirs something in me that makes everything feel very real.

The second is a based on a little bit of word play and apologize to the linguistic purists who might (I haven't researched this) say that my "fast and loose" is too of both. One term for Jerusalem, at least part of it is Ir Ha'atika, the ancient city. This is often translated as the "Old City" but I think that that should be "Ir Hazaken/hazekeina"*. I'll stick with "ancient" for atik. When we aren't in Jerusalem, we use it as the basis for much of our thought (we must not forget Jerusalem!) Our synagogues are supposed to be a mikdash me'at, a "sanctuary in small" (a copy, as it were, of the holy temple in Jerusalem). So in any place where you find a Jewish community, you find a group trying to make for themselves a copy of Jerusalem. In a sense, Jerusalem is the most copied city in the world. In Hebrew, the word for copy (as a verb) is l'ha'atik and this word shares 3 consonants with "atok" (ancient) (ayin-tav-kuf). So the ancient city is also the copied city. It is where we all try to be even when we can't be there. So, as the title suggests, often imitated, never duplicated. To go there is to strip away the generations  and to see the original in its ancient and yet still vibrant and inspiring form. Going back to the source, the source of life and of identity is an experience that I enjoy.

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*based on wordplay, that would make it "the bearded city" because of the connection between old age and beards and their words in Hebrew. And yes, there are beards in Jerusalem but that's neither here nor there. Well, it is there, but whatever.

I took a midnight plane

 The house is sparkling and the children are all, spit-spot ready. They are sparkling as well. I walk with one of the boys to the synagogue of the president  (beit k'nesset hanasi) via Ussishkin. On the way, we see the Greenfield men heading to some other shul. People are crossing in every direction as it seems that there is a minyan in every pot. We are headed to the synagogue at which David's parents daven -- a very American style evening service. I am wearing a red sweater in a sea of people wearing suits and ties. Then back home.

Dinner guests are 4 seminary girls (when I heard the "sem girls" were coming over I thought we were having a Rolling Stones album party; I was wrong). Three are from Monsey (opa beis ya'akov style) and one is from Flatbush. They warm up to the family and love playing with the kids and arguing the subtleties of Harry Potter. Food galore and dessert to beat the band. After they leave, we all retire to our neutral corners. I woke up at 4:45 but there was a second show at 7AM. I readied myself for shul and we were off to Kol Rina. I got an aliyah but I'll forgive them for that. Then back to the house for lunch with David's parents. Deli, chicken, hot dogs, potatoes, veggies and probably other stuff I forgot. Wonderful conversation. Then I walked down to the end of the block to watch life in and around Gan Sacher. N, D and I all chatted, trading memories and thoughts. Mine were the depressing ones - my niche is known. My traveling jones neuroses started kicking up by mid afternoon but I held them off until after mincha, when the pacing began in earnest (a small town in Israel, I think). I started wondering about exactly how I was going to get to the airport. My plan had been simple -- as soon as shabbat was over, I would walk up to the train station and then, in 25 minutes, I'd be at the airport, plenty early and able to decompress, process and prep.

According to all accounts, though, that was not to be. The first train was not scheduled to leave the station until (get this...are you getting?) 8:40PM. Now, with shabbat over by 6PM it seems strange that it would take over 2.5 hours to turn the ignition key on a train, especially if anyone had a clue about the fact that all of Bergen county (nay, the NY metropolitan area) was planning to get out of dodge and they all needed to get to the airport. But, nope. 8:40. This would not do, thought I. Options? The bus has been mostly replaced by the train, so that's out. A cab would cost close to 80 dollars but a shared bus (up to 10 passengers but the driver drives around to pick people up at their houses) was only 71 shekel (somewhere in the range of 21 dollars, which is less). But you are supposed to reserve a spot by Friday morning, which had just recently become the distant past. Nomi called anyway and dealed the wheels so that Samer would make the pick up at some point around 8. I was ready to leave for the 3 minute walk to the pick up location at 6:45, just to be sure. I forced myself to stick around until 7:50 ish.

Side note -- the service that provides these mini-buses is called Nesher and the buses are know as a "sheroot" (service). But I saw an article last week in which the English used to name/describe them was "share route." Though completely wrong, this is still pretty much completely right. Cool beans etc.

We waited at the stop with Nomi in frequent contact with the driver, ironing out the exact location. She also explained to me why there were so many strange regular buses on her street. There are protests a block over so the buses have to use plan B and go around the protests. All very practiced. Anyway, we continue to wait and Samer says he is 7 minutes away. Then, in 6 minutes, a garbage truck appears and parks right in front of me. I take NO hint. But I do worry that the Nesher will not see us with this huge truck emptying dumpsters. Nomi speaks to Samer one more time and coopts the garbage truck for her nefarious purposes. She tells him that we are next to the truck, turning it not into a hinderance but into an asset - a visual cue! Genius! The mini-bus shows up at 8:25. Remember, my flight is at 12:05 AM. By my standards I am already viciously late. Then, then sherut does not leave town. Instead it climbs another hill and twists and turns and makes another pickup in some neighborhood on the far side of Baghdad. Finally, we go back down the hill and get on to the highway. We needn't have worried -- the traffic jam waited for us. As I slowly have a panic attack, we sit and look at brake lights. The driver actually gets off an exit and then comes back up the next entrance ramp hoping to bypass the traffic to some degree. Eventually we get to the accident (fully off to the shoulder, so nothing but whatever the Hebrew equivalent of rubbernecking is) and are able to move on. I have stopped looking at my watch and hope that the flight crew will also not look at theirs and forget to take off until I arrive.

When you drive into Ben Gurion, there is a security stop. Every car is stopped and so are buses. Often, a soldier comes on and picks someone at random, asks for a passport, and then disappears for a while and the bus pulls over to wait. Guess whose passport has the name "random"? Yay, I finally won a lottery. So now, I'm that guy slowing the whole thing down. This is doing nothing for my anxiety. Another soldier returns, confirms that the passport is mine and starts the security game show of "answer the questions about your trip." Normally, I'm quite good at the game, but when he started, has asked "English or Hebrew" and my answer was something north of "gibberish, please." The questions weren't tough (why are you here, where did you say, what's the square root of 89) but I completely forgot how to listen, think and speak. He asked how long I had been in Israel and I (seriously) forgot how to do basic subtraction, so I guessed -- heck he had my passport,. Why didn't he just check for me instead of making me feel stupid? It was, as they say, the straw that drank the camel's Coke. He returned my passport, convinced that I, as a certified imbecile, was no threat to anyone as long as I left the country as quickly as possible. At 9:30 we arrived at the terminal and I paid the driver, grabbed my stuff and ran inside to find a line that would make Disney World cry.

First line is the pre-screening line. I am quickly losing hope that I will ever get to any airplane, ever. I find out that behind me there is another family (mom, dad and two very littles) who are on the same flight, so I figure, if we all miss the plane, I can defray the cost of a new ticket by picking up a babysitting gig. The line behind me has (no exaggeration) doubled already, and is still growing. Had I gotten there a few minutes later, I would be teaching class via Zoom on Monday. By 9:54 I finished the prescreening and was allowed to move into the line for check-in. I noticed that the family that was behind me has somehow made it onto a separate line labeled "staff" and are all the way through already. My source of reassurance and ready cash is gone. I made it through check-in, weave around the oversized line for oversized luggage, and towards the next security check. This starts with a screening to see if you are moral enough to go to the next screening. After a couple of these, you get to the "choose your own adventure" part of the show where no one directs you, you just pick a security line. The instructions say to take off your outer layer of clothing. I'm wearing a suit and a winter coat, so I take off the winter coat. I also put my bag on the conveyer as I have in the past. But the rules have changed! The bag goes in a bin, shoes stay on and the suit jacket has to come off. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. And, when you put the suit jacket in the bin, it has to go UNDER the carry on, and not on top of it. We have rules, people. Otherwise, what separates us from the animals? On through the metal detector after I confirm to repeated questioning that my pockets are completely empty and, no, I am not wearing a belt. The detector agrees with me and I move through, trying to collect my various stuffings from bins 1 through 4. I am really shocked that more people don't lose/miss/forget more stuff there. I feel like they make us doff so much and pile it in bins in order to make us lose things that they can then sell to support the hiring of more metal detectors.

Next up, Biometric Passport Control. No BioImperial, I notice. Fascists. There used to be a sign that told you to use biometric if you can, though no one told you if you could or couldn't. Now they just have everyone smile for a camera in order to open the little gate things. No piece of paper (an exit visa) is issued so had I the time, I would worry. But, alas, I will have to save that for another trip. Down the big ramp to the main hall and all the shops and food and such. I have a pretty advanced case of nausea already so I figure that some food would be a great idea -- one must have something in his stomach to be able to throw up really spectacularly, right? But time is not on my side. It is after 10 (I'm not sure exactly what time it is because my watch is in a pocket of something I put in a bin and I can't figure out which one so I just keep moving. There is a clock but I have lost the ability to read it (digital) and can't comprehend what time means anymore; there is only the now and the late error. I'm too bundle-of-nerves to slow my rolling bag on the way to gate C6 so no food is good food at this point. I settle in at C6 at 10:42 (boarding is at 11:10). I am finally able to do the math -- curb to gate in about an hour and quarter and the 5 years off of my life. I buy a beer and a bag of chips with my remaining Israeli money (there is a tip jar that says, "Afraid of change? Give a tip." I like it so much I give them one shekel) and try to relax.

At 11:08, no announcement has been made about boarding so there is already a line. In our community, everyone is special, so when they finally ask those with special situations to queue up, we are already there. I have no platinum status, preferred traveler, purple badge or whatever the really special people have, and I notice that some of the reg'lar folk are being pulled out of the pre-boarding security line to go to a faster one. I am about to get angry about it when I realize that I'm already being a jerk for lining up well before my group is due to board. So I shut the ol' gob and wait my turn. I like to board early because, you know, 12 hours of flight time on a plane isn't enough. I want that extra 30 minutes to make sure that I'm really uncomfortable. Seat 26H beckons so I situate myself, put my carry-on in the carry-on place and observe. At this point, I have seen a couple of students who have given me the smile-and-wave, but not the mass of them that I thought would be flying home tonight. Until the Kramarsz family comes on board! I'm a fan of theirs so this provides some good fun (man do THEY have a story...I won't tell too much of it, except for the wrinkle that this wasn't their flight, but they showed up 12 hours early for their flight because they misread AM for PM so they hopped onto this one -- I do like the idea of being 12 hours early for a flight...). Next coincidence -- remember when I said that we had Shabbat dinner with sem girls? One asked me if I knew a specific Frisch student. It happened to be she asked about Sivan Kramarsz! I was planning on finding Sivan on Monday and telling her but, wow -- she got the seat directly across the aisle from me so I told her then. That left just the next 12 hours to kill with awkward conversation!

It turned out, by the way, that the seat to my right (the middle of our little row of three) was unused so there was a little more room to breathe the recycled air. Yay! The plane's thermostat was set at an uncomfortable 78 degrees (F, you know) so there was that also. We took off at 12:25 and the skies were ours. I took a benadryl and watched "The Dead Don't Die". Weird movie -- I'm not sure if it was good or just amusing and bizarre. Either way, it was on my list so I got to check that off. I made the decision not to eat any dinner and I think this was prudent of me because I feel that a classroom teacher loses some of his authority if he throws up on his student. I wasn't especially hungry anyway so I moved to the next stage of the flight -- the shifting of position and inability to be comfortable while I try to sleep. The turbulence was minimal so there's that. I did as much tossing and turning as the limited space and my aching body would allow and slept on and off and in and out for a bunch o' hours. At the 8 hour mark of the flight (after semi-sleeping for 5.5 hours or so) the captain made an announcement "Cabin Crew, please be seated." I checked the chart and we were approaching Iceland. I assume this was some sort of local custom, to sit when one nears Iceland. Otherwise, it was a coded way of telling the crew that we were going to hit heavy turbulence. Good luck falling back to sleep after that! So I stayed up and fretted. No turbulence ensued but this did waste another half an hour of my life. I did get a little more sleep but not really any "rest". Or maybe it is vice versa. I can't tell any more.

I did opt for breakfast (they asked if I order the "really kosher meal" or not. I said "I'll take whatever you have" and I got an omelet, a roll, a "white cheese" a fruit jam, a yogurt, a biscuit, a fruit bar a cup of water and a bag in which there was just the most adorable group of tiny veggies -- an orange pepper, a small cucumber and a tomato. I ate the dry omelet, drank the water, and had the cuke and pepper. I saved the biscuit and fruit bar for the future and let the rest sit there. Then a small cup of coffee (my final caffeine hurrah...it was about 3am, NJ time so I hope I am able to sleep by Wednesday). The usual end of flight routine (solicitation for duty free, asking for donations of pocket change to the "Small Change, Big Dreams" charity, thankyouforflying etc. The noises of flaps and engines and such, plus the lights start getting brighter. No mention is made of customs declarations. In the olden days (gather round kids) we had to fill out a declaration about what we were bringing in. There was worry about truth and lies, about what counts for what, and no one had a pen anyway. This time, nothing.

With 40 minutes left the captain announces that we are at 10,000 feet and will begin descending soon. This must be some important developmental milestone but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. We are now going only 282 mph because maybe there is a cop outside or something.

Landing at 4:46AM and off the plane, through passport control (why are all airport workers so grumpy?) and by 5:05 I am at carousel 6, waiting for the baggage to come out (the sign says "15 minutes" but that reflects neither when the bags actually start coming out (5 minutes) or when MY bag comes out (30 minutes)). Then to the cab line to get me a ride home.

Laundry is being done. Much stuff has been put away. I am down and safe. Papers to grade, grades to compute, humans to interact with, last ditch carbs to eat. I sign off and remain ever, humbly yours.

Yom Chi-chi

 When we last left our intrepid hero, he was getting ready for dinner. The choice was "Black Iron" whch serves neither. This is a fanou cy place which is from the Latin root "unnecessary and expensive." The saving grace is that the food is tasty. My appetizer is called Pani Puri or something like that. Little globes of taco shells, full of pulled brisket. Supposedly exotic or ethnic or esoteric or I don't know what. It was served in a bowl of uncooked black beans. I was reassured that I didn't have to eat them. I figure, I paid for 'em so I should be able to take them home. The restauranteurs disagreed. It was tasty but at what price? At. What. Price. I could tell you, actually but I won't.  Let's keep sopme mystery in our relationship, shall we? Suffice to say, "a lot."

Then a steak. They had prime rib, delmonico, Denver, wagyu and like that. They had words from many languages all meaning "dead cow." I bought one. The side (beyond the crystal salt, chimichuri dish and the garlic cloves) was a bowl of the creamiest mashed potatoes ever. There was a pit in the middle filled with gravy -- I initially thought it was a series of pineapple rings. It wasn't. It was good (not an epiphany, but nice). The Aarons ate their steak with lumpy potatoes. Or maybe chunky potatoes. Something unflattering. They were pieces of potato, punched in the face and then cooked a few times in different ways. The end result is potatoes. Huzzah. We shared a bottle Yarden Pinot Grigio 2020. That was nice, even the part Avrum spilled on himself. Actually, that was even nicer! I joke but blame it on the wine, and wine not? The Aarons had a dessert of caramel (parve) ice cream served with some topping and some other topping. Something involved pecans and that was my cue to turn the other check. I live in fear of dessert in this country. Overall, it was a very nice experience and the company was what made it exceptional. Yay Aarons! We caught up and now I know all there is to know so I hope they don't do anything else because then I'll be behaind again.

I slept from 11-1 again and then had the requisite nightmare and stood no chance of falling back asleep for a long while. I signed up for the 5AM to 9AM sleep shift and left it at that. In the morningk I took 3 boys to Sam's Bagels so they could have a tourist for breakfast, or something like that. They got pizza bagel sandwiches which are nothing like pizza bagels. We also bought an extra muffin for David and a bagel and a coffee-slushie for Nava who could not join us. We did arrange to meet her at the shuk so I decided to save myself for Coffee. We weaved ourway through the crowds, mostly tourists who aren't actually doing any cooking for shabbos but need to take pictures of themselves blocking traffic. So very spiritual. We made the handoff and I said my goodbyes to Nava and then across the street to the Power Coffeeworks for some daddy medicine. I ordered 2 decafs (Americano) and sat outside to drink it while the boys played the board games. Eli and Rafi started playing Backgammon by what seemed like Calvinball rules. The games were fast which is the saving grace because backgammon is essentially a dumb game. Yoni invited himself into a chess game and I ignored that because chess is essentially a dumb game. I searched in vain for a Chutes and Ladders board but somehow, they forgot to stock that. We ran in to Gil Tannenbaum! That was unexpected and nice. He split off to play chess as well. We left Yoni there to play while we crossed again to visit the nearest liquor store and buy a six pack of something. There are so many brands but I don't know most and don't want to learn about them. Heinekin it is.

Now back to N+D to start preparing for shabbat. I have to pack up my bags so that I can exit stage left even as soon as Shabbat is over. Yes, that will get me to the airport early but when was that ever a problem for me?

I might have a chance to write at Ben Gurion but I need to start assembling my thoughts in a summative sense. This has been a vacation marked by incredible relaxation, and a nice mix of the familiar and the new. I'm not convinced that spontenaity is really for me, but when you have no reason to be any place, this was a good use of my time. I still have papers to grade but I am relaxed about not having done so. Yay?

Good shabbos all.

Lunch, with grave-itas

 Dinner on Wednesday night was a walk back to Ben Yehuda because, by law, I have to eat at Moshiko's on each trip at least once. V'chol hamarbeh, harei zeh meshubach. I marbe'd. Felafel in a pita with chumus, a little spice, Israeli salad, techina, pickles and cabbage (green, not purple, because I thought it was lettuce and it wasn't but once I asked for it, I would have been showing weakness if I changed my order). It was wonderful especially with a Carlsberg beer. Then, repeat as necessary and man, was it necessary. Back to the house and sleep. I got three hours, then sat up and read for an hour and a bit, then almost 5 more hours of sleep. Call it a win!

Up and moving around -- a walk to Agrippas to watch the trucks negotiate turns where they have no chance of turning. And yet, magically, and this is one of the talmudic miracles of Jerusalem, they make the turn. Coffee at Power CoffeeWorks, the best decaf shekels can buy. Apologies to those who think otherwise, sorry but I gotta be right. A friendly place with lots of English speakers with many accents. This was the place I went to last year because they had donuts that were nut-free. No donuts this time (some cookies in a jar but I skipped that) but 2 cups of dark roast decaf. Coffee is the ikkar but the caffeine fix was filled days ago so I decided not to have the regular.

I got a text from Steve saying he was unable to make lunch. This is sad because it is always nice seeing Steve but when God closes a door he opens a different door. Not a window. What help is a window. Why would you think "window" anyway? Ridiculous. Jeff said that he would be able to take me to Har Hamenuchot to visit my parents' grave. So that's a win in a weird sort of way.  The guys in the stores across from the coffee place are arguing (as apparently, the often do) over something, maybe parking spots or table space...who knows. The people in the coffee place say that they argue until the police come. So I get coffee and a show. What a deal!

A woman walked in and went behind the counter, fixed an apron on herself and started making a cup of coffee. As she worked, a customer came in and told her his order - Americano with oat milk. She looked at him blankly and said "sorry, I don't work here." The other guy behind the counter corroborated this. She just went there to make herself a cup. That's the kind of place it is. And the music is beyond reproach for an old man (Monkees, Aerosmith, Badfinger, the Archies and then "Our House" by CSN). I wanted to buy more coffee and listen to more music but enough is enough sometimes. But not always. This time it is. Sort of.

I walked up Agrippas. I didn't go into the beauty shop because I don't need any more beauty, eh? (that was for all the Bob and Doug fans). I took me to the candy shop (first I went into the Columbia outlet, not because I wanted a remaindered degree but because I am considering replacing my fleece with an exact duplicate, but the price was more of a fleecing than the coat so I left). I passed Marzipan and the bees smelled delicious. At the candy shop I stocked up on chocolate bars and caramels (Mamtakei Ami Chayim). Then into the belly of the beast by way of the left nostril. The goal of wandering the shuk is to get completely lost, secure in the knowledge that can't really get lost. Eventually you und up on Agrippas or Yaffo. But in the meantime, having no sense of where you are is fun. You walk what might be the same path you walked already but because of the sensory overload and similarity between stores, you can't tell. Hatch was closed (it was 11:30 AM) so I couldn't get a morning beer. I shall survive. I felt disoriented enough just trying to figure out where I was so the buzz wasn't necessary. I had so many places not to shop at to choose from. 

While I prepped myself for lunch I reconnoitered dinner. I'm neurotic like that and like other ways, but also that. I just wanted to know that I would know where to be when the time came to eat more. Chatzot is at 123 Agrippas so I figured that the dinner place would be on the other side of the street either up or down from there. So I walked in one direction and quickly saw the odd number increasing. I turned around and walked the other way. I got to the 71 range and decided to cross and go back down a little find 80, my goal. There was no 80. I looked and looked. I saw numbers approach 80, but never actually reach it -- it was Zeno's address. I kept walking, seeing no 80 and realized I was across from Chatzot at 123. That didn't make any sense so I walked back, figuring that I missed it. I did the whole exercise a few times until I just kept walking past Chatzot and found 80. It was on the even side but lower down, beyond 123. The new math, I guess. Also, the name on the storefront was not "Black Iron" or whatever the name is. I saw that name when I read the te'udah (I wasn't questioning their kashrut, but a certificate was bound to have an address on it, right? Actually, not always, but in this case, it had the name).

I often saw soldiers, male and female, in and out of uniform, walking around, shopping and eating. People say you have to get used to seeing people carrying machine guns but the truth is, I am beyond getting used to it -- now I get uncomfortable when I don't see it. It is an essential part of the cityscape.

Chatzot was very nice. I started with crispy cauliflower, then had an entrecote salad (lots of veggies, and steak tips, but the good kind). I drank a Carlsberg and all was right with theworld. Jeff and I chatted and caught up and I enjoyed that immensely. Yes, I missed Steve, and hope he feels better but I still had a great meal with great company. We left and stopped at Marzipan so Jeff could buy some bees, nuts (that was for Julie and Hillel) and cookies for Shabbat. Then well into the shuk to find strawberries that were not yet packaged (because they cover the yucky ones with good ones, so you have to find them loose) and then to a few different guys until we found oregano. The guy who stocked fresh oregano is on Pri Etz road. Tell him Dan sent you. He won't know what you are talking about because I didn't speak with him, but those little moments of confusion are fun. Then back to the parking garage (we stopped into an incredible looking butcher with steaks and such -- Jeff said it was an Argentinian place but I didn't hear the cows moo so I can't be sure. It looked really good. Down the elevator to the lowest sublevel (-6) and the car. Jeff then braved traffic and weird directions to take me to Har Hamenuchot.

I keep a tab open on my phone with the location of my parents' grave. It assumes 2 things -- one, that you can get to the cemetary entrance, and two that you can realize that the map it provides is woefully incomplete and occasionally wrong. There is constantly new construction being done at the cemetery so the more things change, the less they stay the same. This time, I walked in, convinced I knew where I was going -- we were in the right section (49) but the sub section was wrong (27 and we needed 17). The next level down was 26, so we were headed in the right direction, but there were only 4 more "downs" to be had. We took the elevator to the bottom level -- yes, elevator) and saw a bunch of people (and a cool "indoor" section carved into the mountain). I found a worker and showed him where I needed to be and he said that if I waited 2 minutes he would take me there. And he did -- very nice of him. I spent some time at the grave, cleaning it off and putting rocks on it spelling "Hey now". Why "hey now" you ask. Because I put a heart on it once and when I came back, the heart was gone and other people put hearts on theirs. I put "mom" and "dad" on it and I came back and other people copied that as well. Let's see who copies "hey now." It was not a Crowded House reference. 

Jeff told me a very funny story (before we got to the cemetary -- at a cemetery, funny stories are not allowed, just bizarre behavior). He explained that his daughter in the army successfully petitioned the army to let her wear men's pants. Why men's? Because women's (later edit, women's non-combat) army pants have no pockets. That may be the single funniest, saddest and weirdest example of engrained sexism as you will ever hear. I figured to pass it along to all youse.

Back up the elevator and I took pictures to remind me next time of the wrong way to go, as I figure that by then, they will have built something else making this path obsolete. Then Jeff drove me back to basecamp. Big thank you to Mr. Oshin and another "sorry not to see you" to Mr. Lauderdale!

Time to prepare myself for dinner! Best cruise ever!

Wall, E-world

 Another night's wake -- I dozed from 11 to 1AM and then that was prett much it. I started another book, and watched sports highlight videos and movie bloopers. I listened as the world woke up and I eventually decided it was time to stop pretending to be asleep and just pretend to wake up. That was 7:30 local time. I chatted with Nomi and David for a while and then went to shower but accidentally fell back into bed and actually slept! For 2.5 hours! I woke up again, got out of bed, again, dragged a comb across my head, again. At some point I showered and got humaned. Then it was out to share my humanness with the masses, washed and unwashed.

As is my wont, I headed down to Ben Yehuda. With all the world my ktchen I prepped myself for some combination of breakfast, a 10AM meal and lunch. It was going to be huge! But as is my wont, I got a cup of fresh pomegranate juice and felt very happy with that. I made it to the confluence of Ben Yehuda and Yaffo and sat in the sun, listening to a heavily bearded man play electric guitar to a backing track (like the regular song but somehow washed of the lead guitar track). He was playing for coins but he was really good.When I showed up, he was working through a long version of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb. Then some Elvis. Next, he cued his electronic sound system up to the lead in to the guitar solo of Hotel California and played that. Polite applause all around.

There is an equal amount of English and Hebrew in the area because this is tourist central. There is also Spanish, Chinese, Russian, Italian and a bunch of languages I'm not expert enough to identify. I still had nothing that I needed to buy so I walked past the jewelry, the books, the home goods and the cell phones and did nothing in particular other than enjoy the sunshine, the music and the juice. Onwards towards the Yaffo Gate. Past a trumpet playing guy playing Halleluyah (you know the one -- from Shrek) and then another guitarist, this one bald and with tatoos, playing Money for Nothing. I gave him no money because somehow I though that that was the underlying message. Jerusalem is a musical city, Public pianos and music blaring from inside each store. Next up was a chasid strolling by the gate singing a capella. I kept moving. I passed through the gate and into the Old City. It has its own musicbut it never gets old.

I walked through the winding but familiar paths to the kotel. I watched the complex mix of religious students, young and old, unaffiliated Israelis coming to reconnect even if just for a moment, tourists of all stripes, some pilgrims, some merely curious. For the religious folks, some were visiting from abroad and some were locals, for whom the kotel is less a thing to stare at and more a place to exist most fully. I don't know where and how I fit in to all of it. Some people ignored me, some spoke to me in Hebrew and some sussed me out as a tourist quickly and spoke in English (the Armenian store owner who tried to get me to follow down an alley to his shop, and a Yiddish speaking chasid with his 5 children). Groups of students (Israeli) of various levels of religiousity were shepherded towards the wall. Is the wall to them like the Statue of Liberty? An interesting and singular experience? Or is the visit designed to spark more visits and more time? Should I be heartened that they have access to the holiest site we have or disheartened that they go there because of a scheduled class trip?

To get to the wall, one must pass a number of beggars -- some hawking red threads, some offering blessings or playing music and some just sitting, shaking a cup and hoping for donations. Do I help one? All? None? It all makes me sad. Here I am, a spoiled tourist walking to a remaining retaining wall from a destroyed culture, being asked for spare change by a clarinetist. Something about all of this seems wrong. I stood at the wall for a while, hoping for some mystical or even supernatural and ecstatic epiphany. Though that didn't happen, I do feel that I recharged my spiritual batteries, so that's nice. As I sat and contemplated, I was approached by a man whom I did not recognize. He introduced himself as Eric Cohen and said that I was his 11th grade English teacher some 25 years ago. He told me a story of how I threw him out of class and how that led to a particular nickname (Anshi). He did say nice things also, and has gone into education, so I couldn't have screwed him up too much. I hope.

I watched as non-religious boys (wearing the white, plasticky kippot) walk backwards away from the wall. Though they know very little, the still understand, somehow and maybe innately, how to act respectfully at the wall. I sat a little longer and then went inside the covered area in the corner of the wall and saw the revolving series of minyanim. I was quickly recruited for a mincha service which was made "real" by the presence of a small child being held and not held by his father, who cried and screamed "mama" the entire time and was planted directly next to and slightly behind my right ear. Then a quick last word with the wall and I started walking away. I shan't spend too much time on the family of 2 parents and 6 children (American tourists, religious) who acted very disrespectfully and inappropriately at the wall. Most uncool. On the way out I donated my pocket change to a couple of poor people (but not to the ange for a family of accordion lady or the clarinet guy). I saw the Greenfield family on their way IN (in 3 groups, strange for a family of 5) and running late for the tunnel tour. I stopped at Papa Di Pizza for a couple of slices (their motto is something like "money can't buy happiness but it can buy pizza and that's pretty much the same thing"). The pizza was servicible and the music playing was the 74 minute dance remix of Disco Inferno.

Outside the gate, the solo singer now had backing tracks to work with and he was singingAni Maamin and Ashrei to the music of "Heaven" by Bryan Adams. Karaoke gone wild, indeed. The guitarist was ripping through Sweet Child O Mine while young men were walkinig, wearing tefillin at 2 in the afternoon. Up Yaffo to shop for the two esentials that make Maddie's life happy: chewing gum and headbands. I had her on video so that I could be sure to buy the right thing. Saw a Weisbrot, some Bodoffs and (I think) a Hourizadeh. Mr. Candy for gum and Bandana on King George for head accoutrements. Fatherly duties thusly discharged, I headed back. I might read some, maybe grade a paper or two and/or head to Moshikos later for dinner. The possibilities are finite but seem endless.

Take a the train

 Andi showed up at 4:40 (earlier than expected) and we chatted for a bit, and with Heidi, all of us celebrating Andi's 15th birthday! YAY ANDI! Then she and I talked about our dinner and my egress options. We decided to eat sushi (and pay). We walked down to Herzl (no, the other one) then to something like Simnaski Street and then there was another turn or two and we found Simaki, the sushi place. We were offered menus in French but I de-mured. I guess I give off the French vibe but I don't know if that's good or bad. Andi got a bowl of noodles and stuff called the Hong Kong (interesting note, the fish place is actually a meat restaurant so you can have certain dishes wth chicken or beef if you don't want fish). I ordered the "Hot Combo" because, you know, me (and "Hot Mess" didn't test well). It was a roll of fried sushi (salmon, avocado, sweet potato and rice covered in black sesame seeds), a roll of fried sushi (same things but in tempura batter), sushi balls (a ball of rice, salmon, avocado and maybe somthing else in tempura but in a ball shape) and also sushi rice balls filled with rice and tuna salad (weird but true) and coated with something and fried. On the table, there were 2 bottles, both labeled "soy sauce" but one had a red top and the other, a green one. I played a little Chinese roulette and discovered that one was soy sauce and the other, teriyaki. I just couldn't remember through the meal which was which. Fun! There were also containers of "spicy mayo" which was neither spicy, nor mayo. Discuss.

We ate up and paid up and then walked back (taking the scenic route which allowed us to see a totally different set of shoe stores and fruit stands). Outside the stores the smells alternated between "freshly cleaned bathroom," "cigarette," and "hobo with a stomach ache." All very exotic. The people strolled along oblivious to the fact that they were strolling along and some of us wanted to get somewhere else. We saw little dogs and children, some of them on leashes. I'll leave it to you to decide which. Imagination time!

I chatted with Andi about living in Israel (she generally likes it) and about how it has made her very independent and mature but is also difficult because she struggles with the language. She is able to navigate the pubic transportation (she is self-effacing and credits her moovit app, but she has some real street smarts on her own). We made it back to the apartment with enough time for us to take a bus together. Andi debussed (she was well composed at the time) at a stop near the mall so she could hop the bus to Kfra Saba and Josie and I stayed on until the train station. I had my passport ready so the security guy could see that I am the guy in the passport, and then he asked me if I had anything dangerous on me. I didn't say anything about the pen being mightier. I'm not picking fights with nice young Russian-Israeli security guys. Eventually we got through to the right track and boarded the southbound train. There, we chatted about her education and her experiences and like that. She is also a fantastic kid so the evening was pleasant.  I detrained at Sividor Merkaz but I don't know what that means. It is somewhere near north Tel Aviv so have at it, party people.

I waited for the 771 (on the same track -- this is why I got off there, so that I wouldn't have to track down another track). I could already sense a difference from Netanya. Some of the announcements were in English and I heard more English being spoken on the platform by the passengers. I know I shouldn't celebrate this, but it really is comforting. Except that the main guy speaking English just WOULD NOT STOP.

I got ready to relax on the train but was asked to join a maariv minyan. It had to be timed for right after the doors closed at a particular station so the guy who was throwing it together had everyone wait until he confirmed 10 and the train was in the right place. A soldier (who really looked 16 years old) led the prayers and there was a wonderful mix of people -- tourists, chareidim, locals, all trying to pray and not fall all over each other when the train sped up or went around a curve. By the time I got back to my seat we were almost in Jerusalem so I gathered my stuff and moved towards the door. Knowing I had my big bag, I decided to try something new and take the elevator. The first was fairly small, the second (which was not right next to where the first left us off) was larger, and there were 3 of them. There was a third but I had gotten so annoyed by then that I toughed it out up the escalator. Then it was simply a matter of pretending I knew where I was going. I loaded a map up and pretended to be doing something other on my phone than being helpless. Never show fear. They can smell fear. And feet. They can smell feet also. While, yes, I had to figure things out, I felt much more comfortable because I generally knew where I was. That's an unusual feeling for me.

I made my way in the world today with everything I had and found Nomi and David's and am settling in. Good night moon, good night brush, good night Saigon.

Butcher and Sundancer, together again

 Just a short note to catch everyone up:

I took the afternoon to do a lot of nothing (or a little of something -- same coin, all sides). I read, I napped, I chatted with Talia and Julie. I watched some "Good Girls" with Josie. It was, as they say, a chill afternoon.

Brian drive in from Tel Aviv so Josie stepped up and called a restaurant called 3 Butchers and made a reservation. Could I have done it in my beyond broken Hebrew? Maybe. But she did it and sounded all authentic and not even a little bit pathetic. She's my hero. He parked outside and we walked and talked. The conversation was about Israel, kids, politics, friends, kids, growing older, schools, kids and then, for a change of pace, football and then kids. We settled in at the restaurant and reviewed the menu. Netanya is not Jerusalem or Tel Aviv. They offered no English menu. That didn't faze Brian and I refused to let it bother me. My Hebrew might be rudimentary but my English is good so I could ask Brian to explain things to me. His Hebrew is fine and my exploiting available resources is legendary.

I started us off with chicken wings in a SWEET chili sauce, emphasis on the sauce. They were good. We also got all the customary salads. There was chummus, and baba ganoush, and beets and purple cole slaw and olives and carrots and some red stuff and some orange stuff and some other eggplant stuff and about 13 other "salads" for us to fill up on before we dove into the wings. Then we each got a steak (measured in grams, like a drug, which is not that far off) and he got a seltzer and I got a Heinekin. My steak was good but (truth be told and I'm telling) not great. It was a bit fatty and lacked flavor. Like me, but more or less. It was of sizable nature but nothing off the charts, assuming you have a large enough chart. It needed salt and flavor. The garlic and other stuff served along with it didn't add much, but the sizzling platter was a nice touch. Brian got an Americano coffee and I avoided dessert for the allergy's sake. We walked back.

That's pretty much it for the evening. Now I shall wind down, read a bit and (I hope) get a reasonable night's sleep. Tomorrow AM includes such hits as "grade papers" and "walk somewhere to grade papers" and then "eat something ill-advised. Then a birthday dinner with Andi!

Today I am a mean

 Monday morning and I awoke to the sound of not very much. I attended to my morning toilet as all the classic literary characters did and prepared to galavant. It might be a little less formal and it might be a get-together-vant but whatever, I shall vant, I say. Vant. This morning's plan included a walk to the shuk and then grading papers somewhere. Exotic and deserving of much conversation, no doubt. I wandered lonely as a clod in the same direction as yesterday but I turned down Milchemet Sheshet Hayamim and over towards the central market (the shuk). I took a left on Zangwill because it isn't called Zangwon't, so I thought I had to.

Nine 45 in the AM and the place was still working on waking up so I walked quietly. It wasn't glamorous or loud or even "nice." In fact I'm not sure if certain places were part of the shuk, and independent flea market, someone's garbage being picked through by dogs, or a homeless camp. was the water on the ground from a sound washing or a sleeping hobo? Who knows? This is the mystery of life. I had no interest in buying a kilo of chicken, lightbulbs (single use, no doubt) or  a hot water pot and am currently fixed for 1970's era broken telephones so I backed away slowly. The produce there (and there was a lot of produce there) looked beautiful, even and especially the items I could not name nor did I recognize. I headed back on Zangwill to Barth and back towards the mall.

As I neared the mall, I took off my bag, ready to surrender it to the elderly gentleman so he could make no show of checking it while he waved me through. This time, though, there was another senior citizen standing at the other side of the metal detector. As expected, I buzzed so I though he would take out o wand and give me a more thorough going over/. I lifted my arms so he could but instead he looked at me and said something smarmy about my assuming that position. I assume it was smarmy but he made the classic error of speaking to me in Hebrew. I stared at him blankly while he repeated himself and then I said "I got nothing." I meant both that I was carrying nothing problematic and that I had no answer to whatever he said. I let the proper amount of disdain creep in, took my bag from the sitting guy and walked away leaving the annoying-genarian staring in more confusion than he expected. Nerts to him and points to me. Off to Aroma.

I used the machine standing outside of the store to order myself a cup of tea and went inside to wait for my name to be called. I also hovered, hoping to find a seat. There were ample seats in the smoking area but that wasn't the aroma I was going for and I specifically ordered my tea without the emphysema. Israelis smoke less than I remember but they are still pretty hardcore about it. One woman (I'm not making this up) was rolling her own cigarette at her table. I hope she knows that they DO sell them prerolled. I cose not to tell her as she was engrossed in her work. Eventually a woman shifted in her seat and I took that as a hint that she was done, so I dumped her into the garbage and sat down. My name was called (though confusion ensued when it turned out that another guy sharing my name also ordered tea...what are the odds? If you answered 1:1 then you are right) and I chose Earl Grey because I always choose Early Grey.

I sat and grey-ded papers. See what I did there? HA! 

It isn't that I particularly like malls but I find that if I don't want to buy anything then it is easier to have everything I don't want in one place. Also, it is all inside so even though the weather is approaching nice, inside is known for the lack of wind, sun and bugs. Today, I knew with certainty exactly what I didn't want to buy so I was able to move through the mall with purpose, being more efficient in my non-purchases. A guy tried to get me to buy something at a phone kiosk but I looked him solidly in the eye and said "I'm good" and he, taken aback, abacked away. Stupid American tourist FTW!

Once it was 11AM somewhere I headed to the lower floor to get me some lunch. Sure, the quaint random places on the street are more interesting but this chain is called Burger-Ranch so how could that be bad? I went over to the automated machine and knew enough Hebrew to choose the buttons marked "induce heart attack here." I like these machines because they have pictures and don't require that you pretend to try and speak Hebrew while the under-employed teenagers behind the counter giggle. I got to the end and indicated how I wanted to pay. The machine told me to take my reciept. I heard a print head moving, but no receipt showed up. Strange. I sat down and waited. The lack of movement concerned me. Some places have screens that allow you to see the status of your order by tracking the nuber on your receipt.

I didn't get a receipt so I was sort of stuck. I was reluctant to order a second time because either it wouldn't work again and I would feel doubly foolish, or both orders would go through and I'd be on the hook for 2 lunches. Not that I mind that, but some people don't know me and might think that eating a double lunch is somhow "gross. The fools. I also didn't want to go up and strike up a complex conversation about how the machine, which has as its central purpose the ability to avoid striking up complex conversations wasn't working. This was a bind, so I sat a-wishing and a a-hoping. Eventually my hunger got the better of me so I went to the OTHER automated machine and put in my order again. I sneaking didn't change my name so maybe if both orders came through, that other guy from Aroma would up one. Again, the sound of printing. Again, no receipt. THis time I marched up to the counter and looked incredibly helpless. I could hear teenager eyes being rolled like so many Hebrew R's and when I explained my predicament to the young women behind the counter, she checked her computer and knew exactly what I had ordered. This leads me to wonder, if my order was in the system, why did it take my prompting for her to check and begin preparing it? Isn't that exactly what the computer is supposed to do so I don't have to? I chose not to ask. But to recap, I mouthed off to the security guard, shook my head "no" when asked for a cigarette by a passing stranger, didn't buy anything from the phone guy and successfully asked for help at the food court. For me these are signs of incredibly maturity and emotional growth so, yay vacation! Yes, I'd rather avoid human interactions but if I have to do it, I feel confident enough that I can do it poorly and with limited effect.

After I ate my angus burger and onion rings (actually, pretty darned good for a near-fast food experience) I vacated my table so that the old woman and her family had a place to sit. I'm cool like that. I decided to wander back by way of a park. The picture on google made it look like it had tree lined paths and miles (in kilometers, that's "kilometers") of greenery. I used my phone maps and found my way to the playground/dog run/mini park. It had some interesting kids rides -- some you pedaled, some pushed and other forms of activity. That got me thinking -- I know that in Sesame Place, there are cycles connected to generators that show you how your effort can light up a lightbulb. Well, why aren't all the kids playthings connected to a storage battery so their unending energy can be stored? I'm sure that any one kid's playtime won't amount to much, but imaging hundreds and thousands of kids playing for hours each day. That has to add up. The energy can be stored or put into the grid or whatever people do with energy these days. Just an idea. I had a picture but it got lost in the interwebz.

I moved through and followed the map back up to Harav Reines (but well beyond the apartment). I found a few restaurants and stores and chatted with Talia via technology before I made it back to #18. Now to plan the afternoon. Later, taters.

Evening activity

 A quick summary of the afternoon and evening so that those of you hanging on my every move will be placated. I assume very few people really care about what I'm doing, but I write this stuff down so if someone says, "so, nu, what did you do when you were on vacation?" I can say "Learn to read, jerk." I won't, but I can.

I returned to the Ira place and realized it was so nice outside that I wanted to try the roof out in the sun. Glorious. I took many pictures and then came back downstairs. And decided that I wanted to go back to the roof and lie down in the sun. So I did. I didn't really nap much because it was already starting to get a bit breezy but I enjoyed the feeling of absolute relaxation -- no where to go, nothing to do. I like it. Eventually I came back down and sat on a chair and tried to doze there. I was equally unsuccessful, yet still very relaxed so I'm counting that as a win and you can't stop me.

Josie confabbed with her mom and we all decided that the best place to go to dinner was a dairy place right by the entrance to the beach (where I had walked earlier), so we waited until it was an appropriate time and worked our way down there. A lovely walk with a lovely young lady. She is my favorite Josie as far as I remember. If someone reminds me that I know a better Josie then that could change but I'm old, and remembering details like that smacks of effort so I'll pass. We went to Jony Forno. That's what it is called. They had personal pizzas (but no business pizzas...strange), pasta dishes and other things that combined tomato sauce, starch and cheese. I ordered rice balls with a cream sauce and we shared them. Yum. Then each of us ordered a margharita pizza -- mine with mushrooms and hers with kalamata olives (gross) and jalapeno peppers (ow). She got a seltzer and I got a diet Sprite and then a glass of Chenin Blanc. We both put red pepper flakes on our respective pizzas so if you had money on that, you win. We came, we saw, we ate. Along the way, we chatted about life and family and pizza. It was excceding pleasant, our waiter was nice, the ambience was great. I recommend the restaurant; it has a good beat and you can dance to it. The prices were reasonable as well.

For dessert, we went to Tony, an ice cream place. I shy away from desserts in Israel because of my nut allergies. Anything with chocolate probably has nuts and they aren't especially careful about cross contamination, so I eat double main courses and skip the sugar. But this time we spoke with the employees abouhey gave us an honest accounting of the flavors with nuts (the coffee ice cream had nuts...who knew? They did. Ha!). I opted for the Cream Caramel in a cone because I find alliteration delicious. There had been a freezer problem earlier so it played out almost like soft serve and tasted great. Josie got some fruity sherbert thing. I didn't approve but she was not intimidated. She had already ordered seltzer and kalamata olives so clearly she was going to get whatever she wanted, regardless of the gross factor.  Josie also struck a conversation with a new Olah who was working in the store (she is from Canada) so that was nice. We walked and ate and made it back to the apartment in record time (the fastest time the two of us returned after eating ice cream in the winter on a Sunday night).

Tomorrow, I may wade through the local shuk and see what else I don't need, then swing by the mall and have coffee at Aroma instead of Roladin, grade papers and then come back to go out to a meal with Brian! Jam packed, my days are.

Beach Bumming Bingo

 

Let's talk for a bit about McDonald's. I know it isn't "good" but a vast majority of metrics, but I also know I don't like the metric system so I shan't be slave to its judgmental whims. I totally get the predictability of comfort food. Order bland, get bland. Just like mom used to tell us not to eat. And kosher, by the way. A mall in Netanya and there I was eating a double McChicken sandwhich made of highly process near-chicken type food on a roll with lettuce and some sort of sauce. How can that be bad? Well, they find a way, but it was interesting at least. And at most.

I got the aforementioned double mcchicken sammich with fries and a side of onion rings. Shades of brown punctuated by a darker brown diet Coke. I felt so rustic. I ordered on a machine, was informed via machine that my food was ready and ate like a machine. Yes, I had to walk a half mile to find someplace to wash (a problem that didn't seem to plague the other religious people there, but I don't judge except when I do), but when I returned, my food was magically still boring. It was mostly tasteless, lukewarm and full of fat, just like me! I really did enjoy it because ot was like the forbidden fruit but without the concern that I was actually wasting calories on fruit.

I had to connect to a separate wifi network (the system repeatedly disconnected me with no explanation so that was annoying) but the idea that I was cruising the internet on a network called McDonalds made me happy. Eventually, I shall go off wifi and use my travel pass but math wise, I have to limit that to 3 24-hour periods so I will be careful to stay in airplane mode when I can.

I was on my way to leave the mall when I reallized that along with the entry level and the upstairs, there was also a downstairs! I had no idea. There was a store I had no interest in but also a full supermarket and a coffee place, a burger place, a pizza place and a falafel place. That's a lot of places all hiding from me. Amazing! I left as I had just super-sized my belly and needed to walk more than I needed to sit and eat more. I headed down Herzel and eventually, it turned into a pedestrian walkway (well, maybe it was a little nicer than pedestrian, but still, just medium) filled with stores selling stuff I didn't need. Refreshing! there was also a surplus of construction and destruction all around with the city being both torn down and built up simultaneously. Thanks Lior Suchard! There was a large square designed for pigeons and tourists and I found myself to be both. Next, the million stair staircase down to the beach. I walked down, still accoutered in my winter coat for a proper January day on the beach. From the water's edge, I watched a bunch of people surf as the sun started pounding down, making the day passable! The sun was out, but the soldiers didn't wait re: their guns. Those are out regardless of weather. It warmed up and the streams turned into puddles which turned into steam. The circle of life continues amidst cigarette butts. A brisk wind both on and off the water helped me rationalize my heavy coat but I still felt silly as I watched ten year olds run into the water wearing shorts. Things were relatively quiet as it is out of season so only the hardcore bugs tortured me.

Back up the staircase and the return walk. I stopped off at a store to buy a gift for Ira and his apartment. I, it is in the pantry off the laundry room. You're welcome. I strolled back, paying attention to everything and remembering nothing. It was very relaxing. Then I went up to the roof of the apartment building and sat iin the sun for a little while. Quite nice. Next up, the rest of the day.

Mall-ning edition

 Yes, I woke up at 4AM local time but I decided that I could force myself to sleep a little more so I bit the bullet and closed my eyes. It worked. I slept. Next thing I know, it is 7 in the morning and it is pouring outside. An auspicious beginning. I turned the dood on (you have to give the hot water some lead time, especially when there was a blown breaker over Shabbat, so you have to find your way into the hall, to the breaker box and reset the one labeled "Dood"). Then time to daven and review the world while it slept. That done, I took a shower and got myself all ready for a day's adventure. I reviewed the map, spoke monosyllabically to my niece who was hard at work, and girded myself for the walk.

And then I, on my own and without a net, headed to the mall. Crazy, I know. I made it here in record time. Well, any time would have been a personal record because I have never been here before, but let's celebrate victories and stop being so difficult, shall we? I walked in past the elderly gentleman who was the security guard. I had trouble removing my bag for his inspection and he seemed a bit impatient. But I figured it out eventually and gave him my bag and then I walked through the metal detector. It beeped but he gave me my bag and told me to move along. It sounded poetic in Hebrew. Directly by that entrance is a Roladin -- a coffe place with food but I wasn't interested in food. So I got on line and prepared myself to order in hebrew. When it was my turn, I confidently said "black coffee please" in perfectly accented English. I lost my nerve and interest. Either way, I paid my 10 shkalim and gave my name. I settled in at a table with a perfect view of the security guard and waited the minute it took for them to pour my drink. They never called my name. Instead they announced "black coffee" but in Hebrew. This is fine except, who knows if anyone else ordered black coffee! Isn't that the whole point of giving a name? Regardless I wandered up to the counter and confidently looked helpless. The woman releated "black coffee" in hebrew and looked at me. I took the coffee. If anyone else is waiting still for a cup, sorry bub.

It wasn't the biggest cup I have ever had, but it had the grounds still in it like a cup of turkish, just sans sweet so I enjoyed it while I graded papers. There is an amazing consistency here -- every single person who came into the mall set off the metal detector and the guard let every single person in. What an amazing country! I worked my way through the coffee and papers, savoring one and dreading the other, but by 10:25, I was finished with both. This gave me some time to reflect -- here I am actually on vacation. I was done with my work for the day. I have no futher plan other than to go out to dinner in a bunch of hours. I can wander through the mall and do nothing. I can sit and do nothing. I can even walk and do nothing. I choose to do none of the above and just do nothing. Glorious and freeing. The thing is, I'm in Israel doing nothing. Everywhere I look, Israel. It feels nice. It would feel nicer if the temp was a bit higher but when the sun comes out, it feels almost 60 degrees (that's 4 stone and a rock in metric, I think) and pleasant. So I'm just soaking in my aimlessness as a strange man in a strange land, but one in which I feel comfortable feeling out of place. It's nice. Hard to describe, but nice.

I wandered through the mall. Israeli malls have certain similarities with American malls. There is nothing I want to buy in either one. The music is insipid (though in more languages). I walked past the children's clothing stores and the jewelry kiosk. past the toys and the hair removal place (which is right next to the hair restoration place). I watched the small children with their parents, the elderly with their adult children and the middle aged people with both. I heard Hebrew and Russian and the occasionaly English (which was when I said things like "black coffee please"). I passed the food carts -- sure they have a candy cart. Sure, there is a fruitjuice cart. But there is also an open air "dried fruits, nuts and spices" guy and, of course, a "roasted potato bar with 6 ovens and a display of potatoes so you can choose whichever one you want to get cooked. Does YOUR mall have a roasted potato bar? I think not. Score one for Netanya. The thing is, though, the mall is not especially large. One can get through the drug store (think CVS) and the homewares stores in no time flat. I don't need too much time to see that there are no headbands or intimates that I desperately need and I already have a phone, thankyouverymuch. It doesn't take long to confirm that one is not in need of anything in particular.

I spotted the McDonald's which is my lunch target and found that there were a bunch of tables nearby, so I sat there and started typing. A few minutes later and the same family (current student, father was the one I sat next to on the flight) as they headed to visit a seminary for their daughter. We exchanged pleasantries which was unnecessary for I have need of those either, but pro forma and all that. I shall surf the internet on the wifi labeled "McDonalds" until I decide to order something and then I shall reassess my afternoon.

Strange Daze and Black knights.

 It is Saturday night and I'm ready to catch up so here we go:

Yes, there was maariv. A meager minyan was scraped together and I found this fascinating. usually these flights are over full of the religious sort but I guess that most people were concerned about landing 3 hours before Shabbos so the hardcore fanboys too the ealy AM flight so they could get home and watch other people shop and cook, Those of us with faith stayed in the US a little later and had to pull ourselves up by our relatively less frum bootstraps. Fortunately, it was a valid minyan. This was determined by the presence of two small boys running through and screaming while their father prayed and did nothing to discipline them.

Boarding began on time with an announcement that the elderly, people with disabilities and those with small children should board first. One thing it is important to note is that there are things that people flying to Israel don't care about. Tops on that list are such items as "waiting your turn" or "standing politely on a line waiting your turn." I, being a rule follower, allowed the rule of mass confusion to hold sway and I got on line also. What zone am I in? Your mother. That's what zone I'm in. Now take my boarding pass and move away. In Hebrew, that's like poetry. I figured I would ensure myself some overhead bin space by jumping the gun. I was partly right. The plane was mostly empty but miraculously, people not sitting in my row had already filled the bin dedicated for my seat. So I took someone else's spot. Tough nerts to them, I guess. The plane is a 787-9 Dreamliner and I was in 23H (an aisle seat, so I have freedom of egress and room to stretch one leg, but I get repeatedly smacked by anyone and anything walking by).

The preferred seat section does afford a little more leg room and a bit more reclining and it turned out that the seat next to me was empty so I had a bit more elbow room. Huzzah. There was a dog on board also but if he didn't complain about me, I figured I wouldn't complain about him. In the window seat in my row was the father of a current student. So we had an impromtu parent-teacher conference and I'm writing the whole trip off as a business expense. Winning! We taxied very slowly from the gate and did 30 minutes of extra waiting because there was a traffic jam ahead. Damn turnpike. Random thought? The Lior Suchard video needs to be changed. Maybe seeing once (twice) is amusing, but I have seen it too many times -- I'm starting to understand the Hebrew. Time to shake it up. 8:35 local time, we took off.

A lot of turbulence early on but after a bunch of minutes, that resolved. I put a blanket over my head and dozed. Truth is, maybe it was still turbulent after that, but I didn't notice. Dinner was served at about 10PM local (NJ) times. Rice with peas and carrots in it, plus 3 meatballs. Both parts of that word should be in quotes. Nuff said. I ate the chummus a bialy before I read the piece of paper that said that the bialy was real bread and not mezonos. So, um, oops. I skipped the mousse for fear of nuts. That made me sad. Then, blanket back on my head, extra pillow on my right and between the turbulence, the warm, full belly and the benadryl, I fell asleep. I'm sure I was smacked repeatedly by people passing but God is good and gave us the gift of antihistamines for just such an occasion. 

Fast forward to 4:30 AM (NJ time). Breakfast service. I was awoken by my internal clock which told me that something was happening and I was right. Something was happening. I let them serve me my food and then I got my tallis and tefillin and found a corner to daven in. There were certainly more than 10 men davening, but no one with anyone else so that was that. Maybe I missed the minyan they had anticipated at 3AM but if so, then so did everyone else. Back to the seat for breakfast. The tuna was the consistency of chopped liver, a definite "meh." The omelet was not the worst thing I have eaten. I enjoyed the water and a little bit of fruit and eschewed the bagel (once bitten, twice not). By the time I was cleaned up, brushed teeth etc, there was nary an hour left to the flight! I had watched nothing. I missed my chance for a cuppa but merrily we fly along. Life at 39,000 feet (or 2.2 mililiters) and -56 degrees fabrenginright was pleasant because at 587 mph (or $45 QVC) everything had best be pleasant. I was still tired (Benadryl hangover) but 5-6 hours of sleep is standard for me so I was ready for that feeling.

All that went through my groggy head was this line from the end of The Shawshank Redemption,

 "I find I am so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain"

OK, we're back to reality now.

A guy who finished davening walked around asking visibly less affiliated Jews if they wanted to put them on. He didn't ask me. I'm ok with that.

I'm 53 years old and I don't understand "duty free". Once I get on an airplane do I suddenly decide that I want to spend $295 on a watch, or buy 15 different types of perfume? Or maybe I want to buy a bottle of vodka for no less money than it would cost in any corner liquor store when I land? Am I sitting at 39 thousand feet realizing, "wow, I could really go for some face revitalizing serum? I hope there is a catalogue from which I can order it and use it tomorrow."

Deplaned relatively quickly and scooted into the terminal. On the way to somewhere I saw the biometric machines. There are no signs telling anyone "you have to stop here first no matter who you are" but I gave in to peer pressure and stopped there and had the machine give me a piece of blue paper. Note to self in the future -- do this. You need that blue paper.

I made it through passport control and various other obstacles and got my luggage (not quite the last, but late in the game). The airport was not really that busy so Jeff and I walked past the not-real cab drivers who wander through the arrival area whispering "ride? ride?". I can't call them gypsy cabs because I don't know where they are from. We were the only people in line so we got a real cab quickly and gave the gentleman the address. He made a little small talk (I only know short Hebrew words) but he negotiated the various traffic jams expertly (Israelis also don't hold from "lanes" when driving) and our ride was from 1:56 do about 2:50.He was expert in invasive driving. Not bad!

Arrival at 18 Harav Reines in Netanya. Pay the man, I do and then into the world's smallest elevator. Jeff and I went separately and my bag complained that I was squishing him. I should have put the elevator in the bag.

We played "meet the family" and I introduced myself to baby Tzofia. She cried, so I know she understood who I am.

I got a tour of the apratment, checked my email via wifi, and got ready for Shabbos. I slept in Josie's room and am appreciative of her largesse in giving it up.

I went to bed at around 11PM af ater a rollicking meal at which we watched a substantial amount of lightning far away -- the sky kept lighting up, but there was no sound. Weird. I had a clock in the room and a shabbos lamp. I fell asleep with the lamp still open which made the next part all the more confusing.

I woke up and I heard cars and voices. OK, that happens. I wake often and life goes on. I looked at the clock, nothing there. I wasn't exactly sure where I was but recalled that it was dark. Too dark. I founbd my watch and tried to see the time. I couldn't because, you know, dark. So I made my way back downstairs, only almost falling once. I fell because it was also dark in the hallway. Now I knew something was wrong.

Into the living/dining room. Still dark and all the appliances, usually so forthcoming with the time, were dark as well. I figured that I had somehow triggered a fuse and broken Israel. So I laid myself down on the couch and looked outside. The sky still flashed and it was still dark outside. Eventually, my eyes adjusted enough for me to guess that it was 5AM Israel time.

At 5:30 I heard baby Choo-Chi (yes, that's what they call her) crying. Then, she stopped. A little while later, her father trudged downstairs to make her a bottle of something. We exchanged 5:45 AM pleasantries (with such witticisms as "what time is it" and "the power's out.") He went back up and I stayed on the couch, watching the darkness and an occasionaly UFO (struth).

I couldn't fall asleep but then at 6:30 went back upstairs. Then the rain came. That helped me sleep until 9:30 ish when I went back downstairs. I was pouring and the thunder and lightning continued (throughout the day - no walks were taken). The powere had come back on and we discussed the halachic implications of the outage (which, it seemed, was specific to this apartment and not a neighborhood problem).

Lunch was et, toys were thrown, stories interrupted and multiple naps taken. All by me. Shabbos ended at 5:40-something and many people went many ways.

I have made some tentative plans for my week -- tomorrow, I will try to find somewhere to drink coffee and grade papers. Then dinner with Josie. Tuesday is dinner with Andi, then she will escort me part of the way back to Jerusalem where I will stay with Nomi and David.

At least that's the plan. Stay tuned.

Meet the Newark, Same as the Old Ark

 As per my earlier post, I needed to deal with a mass of neuroses in a relatively short time so I doubled up and didn't sleep in order to maximize my crazy time. I started pacing at about 6AM after not sleeping. I also had both coffee and tea. On the plus side, both were delicious. On the downside, I may never sleep again. You do what you can I guess.

We left the house at 4PM which scratched my crazy just right. 3:30 would have been even scratchier but I have to learn to take a deep breath and be reasonable. Old dog, meet new trick. At the airport by 4:35 for an 8PM flight. That works. Then we start waiting on lines. The first thing (and if you didn't know this, you wouldn't go there) was the pre-check in security line. The nice El Al people ask questions about where you are from, where you are goping and if you packed your own bag. I answered honestly and I got waved through because my profile is just plain smashing!

Then we check in. New thing -- they were weighing ALL carry on bags and enforcing a limit of 8 Kg (which is about 1 and a half pounds I think). In my carry on, I had a game, a picture, a belt, my tallis and tefillin and not much else. That was over by 2 Kg (18 pounds). The woman offered to check in my carry on or I would have to move things. I moved the game and the picture, shmooshing (technical jargon, I know) them into my luggage and hoping they don't get destroyed. That lowered my weight to 8.6 Kg (4 stone and a rock) but she let that go. My tallis and tefillin won't fit in my personal bag so what was my choice? It is tough to be a Jew.

Then we go to the security line at which we doff our shoes and coats and empty our pockets. Some things go in bins, some don't but whatever you do, you are doing it wrong. So I did it wrong, got corrected, scanned, patted down, x-rayed and spoken down to. It was fun. Then I moved my stuff off to the side so I could get dressed and move things to the proper pockets. Gate B62, here I come. I settled in and noticed that my carry on bag is breaking. This might be its last hurrah which is sad because the built in table is incredibly useful. They are making an announcement about the limitation on overhead space and, again, asking if anyone wants to check bags in. I'm sticking to my guns on this. I wonder if there will be a maariv in the terminal.

More updates as events unfold.

Surprise Jitters

 A lot can happen in 24 hours. Like an entire day's worth of stuff can happen and often does.

This week we begin mid-year vacation, when the entire of Bergen County decides to get out of Subaru and head to sunnier climes. I eschew that for very important reasons -- I'm frugal-cheap and I prefer this place when everyone else leaves. The last thing I want is to travel somewhere and be surrounded by the same people I'm surrounded by when I don't go anywhere. But then, with Talia visiting the holy land, I started getting the jones, that Israel-itch. Talia had mentioned a flight credit with United...El Al was hawking a sale and we have points and a voucher, and I had no plans other than "go to Dunkin and, at some point, slog through 150 papers."

So a few mouse clicks later I was looking at flights. I didn't want a trip that was too short. To spend any money/points and have to come back a few days after arrival made no sense. The United flights would still cost $500 out of pocket beyond the voucher and the El Al flights, if they even had seats, might get me in to TLV too close to shabbos. But we powered through. Dammit, if I'm going to be spontaneous then I have to plan for every eventuality.

We decided that it made more sense to leave the United voucher for Talia to use to travel somewhere, and I would use points. This meant I couldn't use the extra $188 voucher I had, but that's OK, because the flight would be all paid for anyway. So I used the Chase app and, after checking with big brother to make sure that his apartment would be available (it sort of is, though initially, I'll get the sofa while all the other house guests sleep in beds...this is OK because sofa, so good), I purchased tickets. I went to choose seats. I found one available on the way back and NO seats available on the way there. Weird I thought, they sold me a ticket but have no seats. So I called Chase and asked "what the hey?"

In short, they had no answer until they found that there were seats, but they cost $100 extra. If you have read through my earlier trips then you know that I swore to myself that on all future trips, I would spend the extra money to get the slightly bigger seats. So this was a fine alternative as I wanted to do this anyway. And (get this) to do so, I had to buy through the El Al website -- Chase couldn't sell the better seats. I HAD to use the El Al site which meant that I could use my voucher! So I bought the slightly bigger seats using the voucher and ended up spending 10 dollars out of pocket for the entire round-trip ticket. Not bad, considering that I also got better seats.

Now, of course, I have to cram 6 months of worrying and planning into 24 hours so I'm pretty much freaking out. More updates as my blood pressure allows.

Prayer

 

I was watching a student who is, unfortunately, currently saying kaddish. He was there, in davening, and he said kaddish with a reverence and a fervor which was admirable. But when he wasn't saying it, he was also wandering around and schmoozing. So I admire his dedication, but only when he is dedicated.

I have seen a similar issue with other students. They seem as into their prayers as one should be, swaying and rocking, standing and sitting and poring over the text. But then, during the in-betweens, laughing with their friends, talking and acting like there is nothing else to do.

The problem, I figure, is that we teach students from a young age that prayer is a chance to talk to God. This isn't inherently wrong, but it is woefully incomplete. Students take from it a reasonable lesson -- when I pray, I am talking. When I am not praying, there is nothing going on. But that's wrong.

Prayer is, at the least, a conversation, and a conversation requires listening, and active listening at that. It requires paying attention and, if one believes that there is a force listening to the prayer, being able to accept that that other participant also has something to say and it takes even more attention to understand the return message. And no, no one said that this was easy but it is an important context.

And when we pray in a minyan, a collective quorum, we also have to listen when others speak. The prayer leader who speaks on our behalf - if we don't pay attention when he is speaking for us, then how can we feel included? And when the person next to us is spending more time in his personal petition, if we are not trained to help him by staying respectful and quiet, then how can we expect that anyone will do the same for us?

I have, over the years, tried to create all sorts of metaphors to help students understand the place of prayer in their lives so that their behavior befits the moment. They wouldn't show up late to a movie, or talk straight through the film, would they? They wouldn't walk out of a professional sports event with 2 minutes left, would they? Or worse, they wouldn't walk out of a game they are playing in, or even take off the uniform with time left on the clock. They wouldn't make noise during the SATs or a math test, and in a tech-high school setting, no student can make math optional just because it doesn't seem relevant to him. The same is true of prayer in a religious school. Would a student make his case to the judge and then pull out a soda, or chat with a friend while the judge weighs what was just said? Or would he sit on the edge of his seat, silently waiting for the right moment to continue to petition?

But all these allegories never seem to convince students and I think that is because the baseline understanding is "I'm in it when I'm in it but when I'm done, I'm done." The fact is, if we are people of belief, then we need to buy into the entire of the event and see our selves as part of a whole. A group petitioning a king speaks as individuals, members respectfully let others speak as individuals, and all listen when the leader of the group speaks. And then all listen quietly for the thin, still voice, recognizing the presence of the divine speaking answers directly to our hearts. If we make noise, we miss all of that and we might as well not be doing anything.

Conversation. Dialogue. Discourse. These are not solitary activities even when others are being quiet. Speaking is balanced by listening. Wishing to be paid attention to requires that we pay attention in return. Prayer is the action which seems self-centered but is actually the most selfless activity in which we engage because it demands that we put ourselves aside even when we can't (in a traditional sense) hear anyone else speaking.