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!