Day 5 – Mt. Herzl & Yad Vashem

Our fifth day in Israel, as I have previously mentioned, was spent at Mt. Herzl, in Yad Vashem, the new holocaust museum, and Israel’s national cemetery. We started the day, after breakfast of course, with a group activity where we shared our personal connections with the holocaust. Hearing the family stories of all these people who had quickly become my friends drove home how closely we were all related to the holocaust.

After packing up all of our belongs we loaded ourselves into the bus and headed out through the newer side of Jerusalem to Yad Vashem. Yet again the contrast to the day before, when the streets were devoid of traffic because of shabbat, was striking. Our hotel was not far from the museum, and the traffic was not bad, so we arrived before very long. We disembarked and gathered near the entrance to the museum. The courtyard where we waited overlooked a lush valley, but I could not concentrate on the view; I was too filled with trepidation about the journey before me.

Our tour guide, whom Shimi had been on a tour with before, was supposed to be excellent. He had completed his doctorate in history with a several month stay at Auschwitz before starting to give tours. English was his third language, with French being his first and Hebrew his second. That, combined with his English coming from his Welsh father, gave him the most interesting accent I’ve ever heard. Our appointed time arrived, we put on headsets and started our journey into the main exhibit of Yad Vashem.

The exhibit was built recently, completed in 2005, and attempts to show the stories of the Jews involved in the holocaust, the perpetrators of the holocaust, and the gentiles who risked their lives to protect Jews in Nazi Germany. When entering the museum you first look down a long open hallway, bracketed by two flat stone walls, which almost meet thirty feet above your head. Instead of them meeting, however, there’s a skylight that runs the length of the two hundred yard long structure. The path through the museum winds back and forth, crossing over the main hallway. As I’m sure the designers intended, the light streaming in from above serves as a distinct contrast to the dark and depressing exhibits on either side.

The individual exhibits start in the prewar era, and continue to the war’s conclusion. At the very end of the museum is the Hall of Names, a round room with thirty foot high bookshelves surrounding the exterior walls. Here, our guide explained, were all the names, along with as much information as had been gathered, of every known victim of the holocaust. More striking, to me at least, were the empty spaces along the wall where the museum had reserved space for the as yet unknown victims.

After leaving the Hall of Names we exited the main exhibit of the museum. As we walked out of the hallway the two sides of the building, previously leaning over us, spread to the sides to reveal a view over a valley in the suburbs of Jerusalem. Probably primarily because of the context, it was one of the most beautiful sights of the trip. We were all silent after leaving; I think we all needed to do some processing of what we had just seen. Before long though we set out walking across the grounds to the Children’s Memorial. This was small and simple, a handful of candles in a dark, mirrored room, and was all the more beautiful and powerful for it’s simplicity. It was the most moving, and upsetting, exhibit of the day.

We left the Children’s Memorial, trying to regroup, got on the bus, and headed to a nearby shopping center for lunch. I grabbed some felafel, the old standard, and sat alone, trying to process the day. Soon, we got back on the bus and headed back to Mt. Herzel.

Tree at Mt. Herzl

We walked up to the summit to the tomb of Herzl. Understand that Mt. Herzl would only be called a mountain in Israel, it was really just a glorified hill. Near the summit we sat and Shimi talked about Herzl’s life and his role in the foundation of the state of Israel. Then we paid our respects at the tomb, a simple rectangle standing three feet high and caved out of black marble. It’s only decoration was Herzl’s name, carved in relief on one end and painted gold. On top of the tomb lay a scattering of stones; in Israel it is customary to lay a stone on top of a tomb to pay respects.

Sunset in Helkat Gedolei Ha'Uma

Leaving the tomb we walked over to the National Civil Cemetery, which contained those citizens who sacrificed their lives for the state and it’s leaders. Starting in the leader’s section, Shimi gave us a brief overview of the public figures buried here. Like Herzl’s tomb almost all of the tombs were plain rectangles, set in pairs with the leaders resting beside their spouses. The only difference was Rabin’s tomb, which consisted of two flowing shapes. We stopped here for an introduction to Rabin, that Shimi promised would be expanded upon tomorrow, when we visited Rabin’s Square.

Victims of Acts of Terror Memorial

As we left the leaders and entered the Victims of Acts of Terror Memorial the sun started to set, painting the sky, which had dull and overcast all day, with a brush of fiery reds and oranges. While the last few hours had been a welcome reprieve from the depressing mood of Yad Vashem, it ended with the memorial. The memorial is a square with two sides bordered by high walls. The other two sides look out onto the valley. Upon these walls the names of every victim of terrorism in Israel is carved, grouped by decade. We stood by the section of wall for the 2000s, and Shimi told of the names he knew personally on the wall, and some of their stories. Then he asked those soldiers who knew someone on the wall to raise their hands; they all did.

Graves in the National Military Cemetery

In the fading light we walked though the military cemetery. One thing I noticed immediately, and had been true about the entirety of Mt. Herzl, was that it was much more lush than Arlington, the only other national cemetery I know. While Arlington had a very simple beauty, grey headstones on rolling hills covered only in well cropped grass, the Israeli National Military Cemetery was nestled on the side of a mountain, with each grave containing a small planting of ivy and each area bordered with tall trees that reached over the graves. I felt that it gave the cemetery a more intimate and personal ambiance. The graves were organized simply by date of death, with no separation for rank, age, or unit. It was not uncommon to see soldiers who had died at sixteen and seventeen. Among the graves were two sections where we stopped to see the graves of unknown soldiers, and soldiers who were missing in action. The most moving monument was a tribute to a submarine which went missing with all hands.

Missing Submariner Memorial

Then we came to the section of the cemetery which contained the newest graves. We stopped at one section, and Shimi told us the story of two of his commanding officers in the special forces, officers who died on missions he was on. The story was so personal, so touching, so depressing, and told so well, that I think we were all touched. Then we walked over to even newer graves, where one of the soldier’s neighbors was buried. We gathered around the grave and listened to his story, and a letter written to him by his younger sister after his death. Our last stop was at the grave of Max Steinberg, an American who lost his life while serving in the Lone Soldier program, a program which allows jews with citizenship in other countries to serve in the Israeli armed forces. When he was killed his parents came to Israel for what they thought would be a small ceremony, they knew no one in Israel, at Max’s graveside but instead found Mt. Herzl filled with people. Thousands, most of whom didn’t know Max, came to celebrate the sacrifice he made for the country.

Grave of Max Steinberg

Seeing these graves and hearing these stories brought the Israeli struggle into a more personal light for me, and I imagine a lot of us. After leaving Mt. Herzl we got on the bus and headed north, to Netanya, where we would spend the night before heading into Tel Aviv. We got stuck in traffic, and our two hour drive turned into a four hour crawl. We didn’t get in until after nine, got some lukewarm dinner, and then had a reflection activity. Needless to say everyone was exhausted, physically and emotionally, so the activity didn’t receive a lot of participation. As soon as it was over I collapsed into sleep.

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Day 4 – Shabbat

Our fourth full day in Israel fell on Shabbat. I think we really lucked out by having Shabbat fall in the middle of our trip, it gave all of us a day to recharge and recover from the first half of the trip, not to mention the jet lag we were all suffering from to various extents. The first required activity was not until ten thirty Saturday morning, although we had to get up slightly earlier to get breakfast, so stayed up a bit later than usual. I think some people stayed up until the early morning, but I was not one of them.

I was still up by eight, and spent a long time grazing at breakfast and enjoying the terrible coffee with the few other early risers. Our first activity ended up being an icebreaker type affair where we shared how strongly we identified with various parts of a Jewish identity, for example how strongly we felt that we should marry someone Jewish. This wasn’t the most popular activity we did, to say the least, and I think we were all glad when it was finally finished.

From the hotel we went on a walking tour of the newer parts of the city of Jerusalem. While we had walked through many of these areas the night before, being out in the day, crossing deserted streets, really made the strangeness of the city keeping the sabbath hit home. To not see more than one or two cars on the road, and all the shops closed in the middle of the day was wild. It was more than wild. It was downright eerie.

We walked past a giant movie complex, they look exactly the same as back home, and then down to a plaza outside of the Supreme Court building. The Supreme Court and other government buildings were built with a lot of space between them, and away from Old Jerusalem, in order to protect them from the rocket attacks by the Palestinians. Yet another reminder of Israel’s history of being under siege.

After getting a history lesson on the supreme court, as well as the development of the government, we walked over to the the Knesset, Israel’s parliament building. Here we talked about the current political climate in Israel, which included some discussions in Hebrew between the soldiers (or arguments, I wasn’t able to tell). We also saw a giant sculpture of a candelabra, complete with many scenes from Jewish history, both biblical and modern.

We took our pictures, then went to find a bathroom. The entire trip could be broken down into travels between toilets. We ended up in a park where we got some active yoga (I did not risk death by trying this) and a game of ultimate frisbee going. I thought that having some experience with touch football would prep me for ultimate; little did I know we had almost two teams worth of people who played competitively. We did our best to split the skilled players up evenly, however it was my team that ended up getting shut out. Despite getting stopped I had a lot of fun; we all did. I also discovered that ultimate is much more demanding on the cardiovascular system than football, with none of that pesky downtime between plays. Sadly it started drizzling after a half hour or so and we packed up to go back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel we closed Shabbat with song and prayer, then went inside for dinner. After dinner we had an activity cooked up by the soldiers, the Israeli version of hot potato which was nothing at all like any hot potato I’d ever seen. We passed a package wrapped in layer upon layer of newspaper around in a circle and whenever the music stopped we would unwrap a layer.. On each layer was a dare we had to perform, which ran the gamut from a dance off (our resident break dancer won this) to a clothes swap. It was a great time.

To end the night we had our free night. On every trip the organizers try to plan a night out in one of the cities. Unfortunately the only night that they could arrange was the night before we went to the holocaust museum, the only night we were not allowed to drink even after all activities for the day had finished. Still, we were able to get dinner and go to some shops in Jerusalem, so it wasn’t a total loss. I got a lox and bagel, which wasn’t nearly as good as the ones I get at home, before wandering around the shops. Like the old city most of the shops were filled with tacky tourist crap, and those that weren’t were far out of everyone’s price range. I saw a choir singing christmas carols in Chinese; talk about a strange sight. We stayed out until ten thirty before going back to the hotel and to bed.

Day 3 – Old Jerusalem

So I’ll admit it, my plan was ambitious, and ultimately an overreach. The trip itinerary was jammed packed, and the only way to get enough sleep was to not socialize. If you decide to socialize, which I did, there was zero time to maintain a blog. However now, up at three in the morning while attempting to adjust to the time change, I’ve got the time to relive our travels and set them down here.

The third day was my first getting a full night’s sleep, so full I slept through my alarm and almost missed breakfast. Luckily I was able to throw on some clothes and get ready without missing much. Soon after breakfast we filed onto the bus for one of our shortest trips. We closed the blinds of the bus as we left the hotel parking lot and Dvora and Arielle, our group leaders, handed out our official Taglit shirts. Under orders we fashioned these as blindfolds, to varying degrees of success, so we could have a proper first look at the city.

Before long the bus stopped and we slowly walked out. I was towards the front of the bus and so was one of the first to be lead out by one of the group leaders, or possibly Ido, I couldn’t tell. Then I was left alone, which I have to the admit is a very isolating experience. After a few minutes, and plenty of shuffling, we grasped hands with the two people on either side of us and walked to where we would see the city for the first time. We ended up leaning against a low wall, but still without any ideas about where we were. Finally Shimi told us to take off the blindfolds and greet the city.

Group overlooking Jerusalem

As much as trying to walk blind was frustrating and getting all of us in the right spot took time, I wouldn’t have wanted to see the city for the first time any other way. Below us the city of Jerusalem spread across several hills. Towards the center of our view, and immediately catching my eye, was the golden dome of the Temple Mount After taking in the view for a few minutes Shimi explained that we were standing on the very spot where when the Jews were last exiled from the city they stood and swore to return. It was in that moment when I really appreciated the way we approached site. Like a microcosm of the trip we started out alone, then came together, taking comfort from one another’s touch, and finally experienced the wonder of Jerusalem as a connected group.

Zion Gate

After spending several minutes appreciating the wonder of the city we reboarded the bus and headed to the gates of the old city. I could not keep my eyes off of the city as we approached, the magic held me captive. We got off the bus and went into the city through the Zion Gate. It was such a juxtaposition when a car came through the gate, barely making the turn, as I was trying to get a picture. The walls around the Zion Gate were pockmarked with bullet holes from the fighting in the War of 68. Even hundreds of years after they were built the walls of Old Jerusalem still see blood spilt on them.

Random Balcony

Walking through the old city was an experience in over-stimulation. Every few paces an alley or courtyard opened up, all in the standard pinkish limestone. The uniform color of the buildings simply make any color pop out. I could have wandered the streets all day simply exploring.

Roman Market

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your perspective, we run a tight schedule and were soon off to the ruins of the Roman market. Jerusalem is a city of layers, each civilization seemed to build on those that came before. Shimi spoke about the layout of the Roman city, and how every effort was made to erase the religious significance during the first Roman occupation.

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Next we went to an open square overlooked by the Hurva Synagogue, which had been recently been rebuilt for the third time. While Shimi was talking I have to admit to being at least partially distracted by a bird call filling the square. What can I say, it runs in the family; at least I wasn’t driving while trying to bird as my grandfather was prone to do. Luckily my obsession with audio books prepared me to listen to the lecture while searching out the bird; a search that eventually proved futile. After our history lesson we were released on the area. I zeroed in on some decadent looking donuts, along with a half dozen of us, set up on some tables along the main way. I may have covered the back of my camera with powdered sugar, but it was worth the trouble. We did some shopping, but most of what we saw screamed tourist to me so I bought a bare minimum, all the while regretting the missed opportunities in Tzfat’s artist’s alley.

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After learning about the city in its Roman guise we walked up to the roofs of the old city. In front of us we could see the Dome of the Rock, and behind us was the Holy Sepluka. We talked about the formation of the city and it’s division into quarters. While we were talking the bells from the Christian quarter started tolling. I wandered towards the back of the group to take a picture of the Holy Sepluka, but couldn’t find an angle without barbed wire in the picture. It was quite a statement to me that the three holiest sites in the world, at least for the Abrahamic religions, have to be divided like a war zone. Before releasing us Shimi showed us the third incarnation of one of the most famous synagogues in the city. It was a very recent construction, only ten or fifteen years ago it was only represented by an arch.

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Finally we were on to the main attraction, the Wailing Wall. We got our first look from an overlook, but before we were able to appreciate the wall we were sidetracked by a proposal taking place in front of us. I was towards the back of the group so I didn’t see the event, but based on the crowd of suddenly cheering, dancing, and signing people I can only assume the answer was yes. Within seconds a mob of girls, presumably friends of the bride to be, ran out of a nearby alley and caught everyone up in an infectious display of singing and dancing. The spontaneity and joy of the moment made it one of my favorite on the entire trip.

We left the happy couple to share the moment with their friends and family and started towards the wall. After passing through security we took a moment to appreciate the wall from a distance, wrote notes to put in the wall, and set a meeting time. Then we went to the wall. The wall is segregated, with different sides for the men and women. To show proper respect those of us without hats, myself included, put on yamakas before entering the area next to the wall.

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Whether or not you’re religious, I’m certainly not, the Wailing Wall emanates power. Standing beneath it, looking up at two thousand years of history, is a humbling experience. The stones were cool to the touch, and worn smooth by the touch of untold millions. When you learn the history of the religious significance of the wall, at one point Jews secretly prayed in an alley that ran alongside the wall, the weight seems even greater. I think most of us placed a note in the wall, and stood at the wall, either in prayer or quiet reflection.

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As we prepared to leave the wall there was one more obligatory task: the group photo. I handed my camera off to another tourist and the guys gathered around (remember the men and women are segregated at the wall). Before a photo could be snapped this old man, dressed in a black hat and long black coat, and sporting a very impressive beard, ran into the picture. He stood in front of me, saying that the picture wouldn’t be authentic without him. We were all laughing as the picture was taken.

While we were standing around under the wall we had one more spontaneous experience, and yet another as we were leaving. At the wall we saw a boy getting bar mitzvahed, and after asking around we discovered that anyone can come to the wall to get bar mitzvahed, no reservation required. Then, while leaving, we saw a very young boy getting his upsherin, or first haircut in a small plaza overlooking the wall.

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Leaving the Wailing Wall we headed to the shuk, an open air market where the city was doing it’s last minute shopping before Shabbat started. One of the market goers actually complained that we, the birthright group, were going to the shuk right before Shabbat since we would only get in the way. A group of us went into a side alley and got falafel, somehow my first of the trip. As always we had our trusty guard Ido there to help translate. While the falafel was delicious, it was made better by the chaos of the market surrounding us. After finishing it I spent some time wandering the shuk, simply taking in the sights and sounds of the place. It fulfilled my every expectation, and then some, of what an open air market should really be like. The people were jammed packed, I was constantly jostled, and conversation and laughter rang. Luckily the soldiers were there to help us haggle; a major part of the market life.

A very short hour later we reboarded the bus and headed back to our hotel to do our own preparations for Shabbat. We showered and dressed up, then walked back to the old city. This time we left all technology in the hotel, or tucked discreetly into our pockets, to respect the orthodox tradition. After carrying my camera around constantly, of course not something I regret for an instant, it was nice to simply live in the moment for a while. Getting to the Wailing Wall took almost an hour, and it astounded me how much it had changed since we had been there during the day. On the men’s side, I can’t speak for the women’s, there was singing and dancing. Overall it was an incredibly joyous affair. First going in the guys stayed together, I think we were all slightly intimidated by the commotion. Before long we were swinging around in circles singing songs in Hebrew to which we didn’t know the words. I distinctly remember seeing an old man, easily in his seventies if not eighties, crouching over to join a circle with two young boys, laughing and smiling as he lead them through the circle. While the Orthodox Jews we saw seemed very serious during the day, we saw them laughing and singing and relaxing at the wall. It was an eye opening moment for me, and I think many others.

We walked back through the old city, where almost every doorway was lit up with a menorah and shabbat candles. It gave the city the glow of life. Back at the hotel we lit our own candles before eating dinner and doing some group activities.

Day 2 – Tzfat

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   This morning, in what is becoming a tradition, or just a symptom of jet lag, a group of us again got up early to watch the sun rise. This morning there was some scattered cloud cover, which lead to a beautifully pink sunrise. While I was relaxing with my morning coffee talking Israeli/U.S. politics, which is much easier to do at six when you’ve been up since three or four, our active Navy officer was showing the rest of us up with a two hour insanity workout and our yoga instructor was holding class. One of these days I’ll stop being so lazy and join one or the other.

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   As this was our last day in Tiberias we all packed up our rooms before heading down to breakfast and onto the bus for yet another forty five minute journey to Zefat, our day’s focus. As always watching the land provided ample distraction along these trips, as well as picking up some of the local lingo from both the staff and our medic. Before too long we pulled into Zefat and walked up to the monument which gave us one of the first of the many vistas of the day. In the lower left of the scene is a yellow flag with writing on it that says messiah, referencing the belief that on his way to Jerusalem the messiah will travel through Tzfat.

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     After hearing Shimi’s introduction we started towards Defenders Square, stopping to pull out more money from a rare ATM along the way. Next door was a little marketplace; I’m constantly astounded by the amount of fresh produce here. In Defender’s Square was one of the last bastions of resistance of Tzfat’s defence in the Independence War. On the last night of the siege by Arab forces, with ammunition, supplies, and hope running low, all of the Jewish defenders gathered in the temple to pray, while at the same time, unknown to them, an Israeli unit was infiltrating through the Arab siege lines. In the morning, the resupplied and reinforced defenders broke the siege. If you look closely at the stonework throughout the town you can see the repairs from the damage caused by the fighting.

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As we continued through Tzfat we stopped at what had to be one of the narrowest alleys in the country. Like everything else in this country it had a story, and like everything in Tzfat it was mystical. The alley got it’s name from a story of an old woman who used to always light a candle in her window. When a visitor went to ask her about the light one night he found her sitting at the table by the door with two cups of tea. When he asked who the tea was for she replied that it was for the messiah; the hike up to Tzfat was steep and she was sure that he would be thirsty and appreciate a rest along the way. Then he asked why she made two cups of tea, to which she replied that she wasn’t sure if the messiah would prefer regular tea or mint tea, and she wanted to give him options.

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   Our next stop was into a small amphitheater where we gathered to listen to the music of Agadetah, a band reviving the Jewish musical traditions. We began with a song featuring the santur, a stringed instrument that is the distant ancestor of the piano. Instead of individual hammers and keys the artist holds a hammer on either hand and strikes the individual strings. The amount of coordination is astounding. Accompanying the santur was the kamancheh, a four stringed instrument from which the violin was derived. The kamancheh is played on the knee, and is swiveled back and forth in a socket. I’m not sure if this is simply to create more travel for the bow across the strings or to affect the sound. During one of the songs Shimi joined in playing the drum. At the end our host pulled out the pantam, a unique new instrument from Switzerland and played an enchanting song. As he said, the music is already in the pantam, he was just releasing it to the world.
   When we left the musical side of Tzfat we traveled down the hill some more to learn about the Mikvah. Here we split by sex, and I’ll only be able to tell you about the men’s experience. Our guide through this was David, a Canadian by birth who had changed direction in life from a club promoter to a rabbi. David brought an energy and speaking ability that I could only admire. He spoke at length about finding purpose in life, focusing on the present and not letting the intellectual side of yourself to take a backseat to the baser desires in life. After this introduction we went to see the men’s Mikvah in David’s synagogue, and then down to the original Mikvah in a cave below Tzfat where many of us experienced the act of Mikvah.

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After coming back up we stopped at an authentic candle shop, where all the candles are made on premise. This hilarious old Jewish woman then explained to us the candle making process. Scattered among the shop were wax sculptures of everything from Noah’s arc to a Jewish captain America fighting mechaHitler. Outside we grabbed some crepes, made to order, before heading on.

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   Next we tried to stop into a synagogue. I say tried because at first a very angry attendant tried to prevent us from entering. I was towards the back of the group, but I can only assume Shimi turned on the charm because the next thing I knew we were heading into the synagogue. All the men had to don hats, it’s still strange to me that wearing a baseball cap is not a sign of disrespect, and we processed into a forty foot square room, dominated by an arc and a large raised platform. We slowly circled through the room, admiring the arc, which had been intricately carved out of olive wood. Quickly we were chased out by another group of tourists, which was difficult when you consider the single door of the synagogue.

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  And now to my favorite part of the day; lunch. Arielle, one of our group leaders, talked up a Yemeni shop for it’s fancy cheese creation. It started out containing five different types of cheese, by the time we were gathering for lunch it was up to ten. Needless to say we were stoked. Though we first met up outside the Yemeni shop we had to walk down through the artist’s quarter. This was really a small alleyway filled with tiny shops. We hurried through with the promise that we would have more time to explore later. Once we walked the twenty minutes to the one end of artist’s alley, and spend another ten or so trying to count out (not one of our greatest skills), we split up and headed back towards the promised food. The walk was all uphill, the line was long, and the seating was limited, but the food was worth all of that and more. The four cheeses were more than enough, and augmented with fruits, veggies, and spices. They say Tzfat is a spiritual place, and with all the music, mysticism and history it certainly is, but to those heavy hitters I would also add this meal. I was just devastated that I could only eat one.

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To close the day we went to see a mystic artist; Abraham. Once an American college student named Robert interested in asian meditation, Abraham discovered the world of the Kabala, which eventually brought him to Tzfat, it’s home. He took time explaining the basics of his journey into the Kabala, and the pictures that he painted to encapsulate the ideas exemplified within. The best way to describe Abraham is chill. I feel that he would be very at home in the seventies, surrounded by a group of other free spirits. Afterwards we boarded the bus and began the long ride to Jerusalem.

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    In talking about Abraham, David, and Rachel (the woman who lead the women through their introduction to the Mikva) afterwards several people mentioned that they had never met people that appeared so content and fulfilled in their lives. All were doing things that they loved and it showed. 

Day 1 – The North

  

As I sit down to write about all that we did yesterday I’m astounded we managed to pack so much into one day. I’m also glad I’m endeavoring to write it down, because otherwise I’m afraid I would forget. After rolling into the hotel around seven last night, and playing ice breakers until nine, most of us went straight to bed. A few people had a drink at the hotel bar; I was not among them. I was, however, among the group of us who woke up at six to watch the sun rise.
  Stepping out of the hotel was my first shock of the day, unknown to us the night before our hotel overlooked the Sea of Galilee. In the quiet of the morning, if you really listen, you can hear the lapping of the water against the rocky shore. The hotel is up on a hill that rises steeply from the water, climbing to almost vertical beyond the hotel. My room is in on the third floor, and because it’s in the rear of the building it’s at ground level.
  It is interesting here, the sun rose far before six, but because of the hilly land we didn’t see the sun above the horizon until after six forty five. Of course once the sun first peeks above the horizon it is up in what seems like a matter of seconds.
  After watching the sunrise we headed back inside for some breakfast. Loads of veggies, fruits, salted fish, yogurt, honey, jams; I could very easily pack on the pounds. We loaded up on food, then packed some water and hopped on the bus for a forty five minute drive (we would later realize that everything in Israel is forty five minutes away by bus) to Nahal Banias for a canyon hike.

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Ruins of the Roman Temple

  Banias was an old Roman town, once centered around a temple to Pan. Before starting the hike our guide, Shimi, explained the situation that precipitated the Maccabean revolt by having two of the group members act out a play, staged in a bath house, of course. It was an entertaining look at a serious situation. After talking about the Greek influence we moved on to the Roman history of the town. Then we got a chance to look at a bunch of those ruins; my first Roman ruins. It’s awe inspiring to think that we are standing on ground that has harbored civilizations for so long.

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Views along the hike

    After taking a quick look at the roman ruins, though I probably could have stayed there for at least another hour, we started the hike through the canyons. Calling it a hike is a bit of an embellishment; it was really a relaxed stroll through the woods. Don’t let that diminish the hike, while not strenuous it was beautiful. The wildlife and fauna is so different from anything I’ve seen back home. We stopped along the way for some Druze pita; I got mine with Lebanon, a type of yogurt with spices and olive oil. Other people got honey, chocolate, or both on their pitas. The hike ended at a waterfall, where we got our first group picture; I think to prove to our families that we are in fact still alive and having a good time.

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The waterfall at the end of the trail

   Back on the bus for another forty five minute trip Shimi talked about the Druze people in the area, the Six Days War, the Yom Kippur War, and the crusades. It tied together, I promise. Along the way we drove past a crusader castle; I would have loved to get out and explore. There’s so much history here. I know I’ve said it before, but continues to blow my mind. Driving along these roads it seems as if every turn brings a new ruin, each with it’s own story.

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Syria - Damascus is in the upper left

  At the end of the journey; with our bus barely making it up the last hill, we arrived at Mount Bental, a volcano overlooking the Syrian border. Though in the past few years it’s been mostly turned into a tourist attraction, Mount Bental was an active military outpost, and is still staffed by the U.N. We looked out over Syria, all the way to Damascus. Shimi said that in the past he’s seen explosions and heard gunfire from the fighting in the capitol. The war has quieted down, or at least moved away from Damascus, so we heard nothing. Still, the views were amazing, and really drove home how compact the area is.
   We spent some time in the bunkers on the top of the Mount while Shimi told several stories from the wars. While the stories would be powerful in any setting, there was something about listening to them while in a pitch black room under tons of Earth that added some potency.
   After coming down from Mount Bental we stopped for lunch at a small shack. We ended up ahead of schedule, so we were able to stop at a near by olive oil factory. This was the only bus ride of the day that wasn’t forty five minutes. They gave us the full tour, including a cheesy introduction video with ridiculously high production values. The company also makes skin care products from the remnants of the olives, and gave us samples of an exfoliating cream and a hair treatment. I was skeptical at first, but eventually had to admit my hands have never been quite so soft. After the tour we sampled their four different types of olive, all of which tasted worlds better than anything I’ve had in the states.

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It felt "disgusting but amazing"

   Next on the agenda was a trip to the hot springs. These ended up being right next to the hotel, so we were able to walk back after our time there. While the springs are natural they have been tamed. It seemed to me like a giant bathtub, with pools inside and out, filled with salt water. Technically it was mineral water, but it had the same sort of smell. Don’t get me wrong, the hot springs were relaxing, and the two trips I took to the sauna (both wet and dry) were equally so. We spent about two hours there before heading back to the hotel, though not before a couple of the guys got the fish foot treatment. After changing we had dinner and then did a group activity.
  Tomorrow we will meet the Israelis assigned to our group, so Arielle, one of our group leaders, assigned us to groups, gave us the name of the Israeli we are assigned to, and had us draw a picture of what we thought they would look like. We were instructed to include as many stereotypes as possible. Not being familiar with Israeli names we had no idea if ours was male or female, so we started out drawing an androgynous person. This quickly turned into a hairy man, that I got to model for, with duck face. I can’t wait to see the reaction.

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  To close out the evening a singer from a famous Israeli band came to sing to us, and tell us his personal story. We heard about his father’s experience in the holocaust, and then his own in a town frequently attacked from Lebanon. He tried to keep the mood light,  but given the subject matter, and also how exhausted all of us were, it was difficult. I think most people only had a beer or two before calling it a night.

Day 0 – The Journey’s Start

  For the next ten days I’ll be reporting on my own travels through Israel as I embark on a birthright trip. After my younger sister went on the trip this summer she told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t allowed to pass up this opportunity. I saw her pictures and listened to her stories, and had to agree. I got my act together, finally got my passport, and applied for the program.
    Four months later I’m sitting on a plane to Tel-Aviv while the rest of my group sleeps through the night. I started the trip at noon yesterday, leaving from Baltimore on the train. Traveling by train was also a first for me, and I’ve got to say it’s the way to travel. Two minutes after getting dropped off I was ready to board, no security, no lines, it was great. Then I got two large seats to myself in the quiet car, and was able to write and read without distraction while we sped north. The travel time might be longer than by plane, but overall I probably spent less time than if I had flown, was much more comfortable, and paid half the price.
     The train dropped me off in Penn station, though it left me with some sort of allergen that I’ve yet to shed. I tell you, sneezing every five minutes sure makes a great first impression. At least I won’t be forgotten. Penn station was an interesting experience, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but when I found a subway map, not a trivial task mind you, I spent only thirty seconds studying it before a native asked me where I was trying to go and gave me directions. I never expected NYC to be such a friendly city.  The ride on the subway was also interesting, the breadth of cultures jammed into such a tiny space was astounding. Another hour of travel later and I was at JFK.
    Beyond the terminal we had no meeting spot, but I found several other people from the trip, who were also wandering around looking lost. Eventually we found where the group was gathering and got the all important nametags. Then it was off through security and to the gate, where we would wait another two hours before boarding the flight. I stopped at Panda Express before hitting the gate to get my last taste of some traditionally American food for the next few weeks.
   At the gate a group of us started talking, and we established that we were all at the top of the age range; and were all glad to meet one another. I know I was worried about being the only twenty six year old in the group. After unofficially getting to know one another the trip leaders brought us all together to go over some announcements and do some icebreakers. Unfortunately the airport’s PA system had other ideas. The leaders forged ahead, but I think most of the group only caught most of the words. When it came time for us to do icebreakers I gained new appreciation for their ability to project; I don’t think I even heard a third of the introductions. Still, I’m sure we’ll be introduced several more times before the trip is over.
     Soon we found out that we would be going through yet another security checkpoint, after passing through the gate. The security is much tighter going to Israel than I’ve ever seen. We passed through the checkpoint and started waiting once again, we were on the plane an hour before we were scheduled to take off. I went to fire up True Detective, my planned entertainment for the trip, only to find that I had only put episodes four through eight on my tablet, forgetting the third episode, the next one I needed to watch. With my original plan killed by my carelessness I resorted to the kindle through takeoff, then promptly fell asleep. It’s a testament to my exhaustion that the discomfort of airline seats barely disturbed my sleep.
   In thirty minutes, give or take, I’ll be stepping off the plane into a new county, for the first time in my life. I couldn’t be more excited. 

Willful Child – Steven Erikson

I’m not even sure what compelled me to pre-order Willful Child by Steven Erikson, at the time I had never read anything of his. (Don’t worry, I’m actually working my way through the first Malazan book now.) Actually like so many other things I had totally forgotten about it, so I didn’t even know what I was getting into when it arrived. I started reading, and struggled to stop. It’s not often that I’ve laughed this much while reading. The whole book is a roller coaster, jumping from one thrill to the next.
Willful Child is a homage to the glory days of Star Trek: The Original Series. The book follows Hadrian Alan Sawback the captain of the Willful Child “bravely going where they really shouldn’t.” Hadrian is a standing for Kirk, although he takes all of Kirks traits and magnifies them. You could almost argue that it’s the way any rational outsider would look at Kirk, at least if they, like myself, had only watched the highlights of TOS.
Willful Child starts with a Hadrian receiving a commission on a new top of the line ship, with a hand picked crew. In this case hand picked refers to Hadrian choosing only the most attractive women in the service to serve under his command. He spends a large portion of the book trying to sleep with various members of his crew. Given orders to investigate a counterfeit sports apparel smuggling ring, (Can you think of a better way to set the tone for this book? I sure can’t.) the Willful Child departs Earth’s solar system only allowing for a brief delay to transform a group of alien colonizers of Neptune into sendoff fireworks.
Hadrian brings chaos, and an unparalleled willingness to engage the enemy in fistfights wherever he goes. He refuses to use a personal shield because without danger life’s no fun. His preferred method of subduing an enemy ship is to teleport to the bridge and fight the enemy captain, ignoring trivial matters like size discrepancies and reasonable tactics. Obviously, Hadrian brings this same attitude to every situation he faces to incredible results. And I mean incredibly entertaining, not incredibly effective.
Erikson creates a hilarious homage to the Star Trek universe with Willful Child. If you liked Redshirts, if you grew up with Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, or if you just love Star Trek you’ll enjoy Willful Child. I can’t suggest strongly enough that you get your hands on a copy. You’ll thank me.