Ohel-Na (Tent Please!)- Edible plants, climbing, and a boatload of new friends!

                Staff week is nearly over and it felt like a blur. Israel taught me my lesson, and I didn’t even start with the pictures. Incidentally, you can find some professionally done photos of the entire camp on the Ramah Outdoor Adventure Facebook page.

                First of all, it was a week of reunions and introductions. I got to finally see my Mia, who’s been missing from my life ever since I went “abroad” for the past semester in DC. One of my friends from WFR last year, Daniel Lerner, is my co-counselor for the summer and I could not be more excited. Both of us brought flags and tapestries, leaving the entirety of our bunk covered before the chalutzim (literally: pioneers, practically: campers) have even arrived. I’ve been continuing my Talmud study with Alex Hamilton an old friend from USY. Those are just a few of the familiar faces, and the week has provided me with many new ones. I’d list them, but I’d end up writing the names of all 60-80ish staff members.

                It’s been interesting being both a climbing instructor and a counselor. Each staff that I’m a part of has provided me with new, exciting experiences and have much to teach me. Bogrim (the age group that I’m  had a Masa (Literally: journey, practically: overnight camping trip) which involved some very spiritual circling, some sage burning, and some tasty cinnamon rolls. As I’m typing this, my hands are aching because I just completed my first crack climb on some wonderfully sharp Colorado pink granite.

                Shabbat was an incredible experience. My throat was raw, and my stomach was bursting. It’s really hard to explain except to say that I haven’t had a Shabbat with quite as much Ruach (spirit) and Kavanah (purposefulness) since I was a camper at Berkshires four years ago. I still miss Berkshires, but it’s safe to say I’m having the time of my life here. I’ve gotten chances to learn about edible plants, go running at an elevation of 8000 feet, and garden for the first time in my life.

                One last thing I want to mention is the kitchen. Here, everyone is a part of the community, including kitchen staff. Every day, every meal, everyone learns about what it is that they are eating. While it’s not always organic, free-range, local, sustainable, etc., much of the time it is. But more than striving for those attributes, the kitchen strives to make the community aware of what they are eating. Food, like the rest of the community, is done with incredible intention.

                When I’ve been asked to explain why I’m enjoying myself here, pretty much all I can say is that I’m spending two months living in a playground for hippies. And I can’t wait for my Chalutzim to get here. Until the next, Tizromu eem chaim (flow with life).

How to do Israel in 10 days on Significantly More Than $100 (Step 1: Stay in Tel Aviv)

      As I’m writing this, I am sitting in the Central Bus station in Jerusalem a good deal humbler than just a week ago as Birthright was ending. I was on top of the world, catching rides and taking names. Oh, how the cocky have fallen. But there’s plenty of story between now and then, so take a long sip of ice café (cue heavy Israeli accent) and appreciate listening to the lessons life taught me in just six short days. So much has happened, and so much has happened twice that the stories below might not be in chronological order. However, there is no chronological order in the Torah, and everything is Torah, therefore ipso facto ergo gelato bagel-o. And on that totally coherent note, enjoy.

A Kosher cup of love at Habimah, Tel Aviv

  Tel Aviv was a blur. I caught a ride with one of the Israeli soldiers from our trip, Assaf. Most of them had surprised us by showing up at the airport to see us off, which required special permission from the army. Since Assaf was heading back towards Tel Aviv anyway, he dropped me by Daniel Nassim’s place, where I was staying. More than anything, Tel Aviv taught me the hazards of underplanning. Thankfully, my parents have drilled into me the importance of having a solid place to stay and a sure way of getting there and back. Unfortunately, this type of plan is a little hard to arrange when you are dealing with a 7-hour time difference and a little scary to have it fall through when you are 13,000 miles from home. I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to meet up with people who I knew from the trip I just took, from high school, from camp, and not enough enjoying my time with the person I was with. There is a lot that I have to learn, and the first lesson is that I should try and put more effort into being comfortable where I am and appreciate who I am with.

      Still, it was a phenomenal weekend. I never expected to meet up again with Emily Katzenstein, who recently made Aliyah. It was especially interesting because we both left Washington University at the same time, but for very, very different reasons. Both were life changing in their own way, and I was just as interested to hear about her studies to become a doctor in Israel as she was to hear about my semester working on the Hill. When Nassim joined us for a night slumming it in his basement (just ask him how he feels about the cockroaches), we had a nice long discussion about the funny places life takes you.

Emily Katzenstein, radiant as ever

      

The next day Nassim and I met up with Jonathon Sidlow. Sidlow is an old friend, but we haven’t really spoken since the end of high school. He is currently finishing up his service as an Israeli paratrooper, and hearing his story, why he committed nearly 2 years of his life to become a solider for a country most would say is not his own, is inspiring. It is hard for me to describe why, but knowing him since 7^th grade, it makes complete sense.

     

Sidlow and I spent Shabbat dinner near Shuk HaCarmelit (Carmel Market), at my Moreh Derech (Tour Guide) Itay Amir’s apartment. For those of you on Birthright who were wondering, yes, it is covered in Israeli flags. It was delicious, and it was really nice to see Itay when he was stressed out from yelling “yallah” at 50 Americans for half the day. After Sidlow fell asleep at the table (in all fairness, he had been awake for over 48 hours), we benched (said the after-meal prayer) and headed home.

      

A beach trip the next day gave a nice time to nap. At some point during the weekend, we passed by a street performer with the most captivating sound. He was playing some sort of steel drum that looked like a UFO. As he tapped it, it sounded like a bell, and he songs drew in a crowd. Sidlow sat for nearly half an hour and had the science behind the instrument explained to him. All I got out of the conversation was a nice few minutes of music, and some vague idea that drum was made in Russia.

      

Shabbat gave way to Havdallah, and the night began. Nassim took us to a café/bar/book store. It was honestly one of the coolest atmosphere’s I’ve ever been in, and if they had one in St. Louis, it would be my primary study spot. Afterwards, we dropped Sidlow off at home (he had to leave at 5AM) and left for the night. Nearly two days into my visit, I began to explore the life Nassim built during his semester abroad in Tel Aviv. We headed over to Clara, what I had been told was one of the best clubs in Israel. While I’m personally not a fan of clubs, I can attest that it was definitely loud and overpriced. On our way home, we met up with one of Nassim’s best friends from the semester and hung out in the park at Habima until almost 4AM.

      

At one point, Nassim and I walked along the beach until we reached Jaffa. There we saw Shuk Hapishpishim (the flea market), the artists area, and HaTachanah, an old train station that has been revitalized as an area for shopping and restaurants. (The next day, when Nassim was getting work done, I promptly took Blair and Hayley, two friends from Birthright back there. It was cute that they assumed I knew a lot about the place, but my first time there was only the day before.) I bought two nice shirts for Shabbat there, and a tapestry for my apartment next year for good measure.

One of a series of inscriptions at the hand and foot washing station outside a mosque in Jaffa. I would translate, but I don't understand them. Arabic tuition hard at work, Eema!

Some of the best salatim (salads) at the best Schwarma place I had in Israel. Jaffa, Israel.

      

We also went out to the Florentine, a hip area of Tel Aviv with lots of bars a long a beautiful street. It’s still strange to me that I’m able to buy drinks legally here (and even more strange that I’ll be able to do the same in America in 6 months). We met two great Israeli guys, and helped one celebrate his birthday. They were both real gevers (great guys).

      

All in all, the most interesting part about Tel Aviv for me was finally getting a chance to walk around it. I’ve been to all the main touristy areas before, but getting lost on foot is by far the best way to find out how to make my way between them. Knowing my way around is something I have learned to value in Israel. It makes it feel more and more like home. Getting to my destination the next night highlighted for me just how little I do know my way around. I must have asked for directions on the bus six or seven times. During the bus transfer, I was waiting for almost forty minutes. I started chatting with a nice Israeli girl who was helping me out, and learned that she was a Shlicha (Israeli working in America) at Ramah Poconos. Connections are really everywhere in Israel, if you look for them.

      

The next night I stayed by Adin Alpern, a friend from my middle school, Yeshiva Har Torah. He is currently a student at Bar Ilan University in Givat Shmuel and is planning on eventually making Aliyah. We talked all night about how we had gotten here from 7^th grade, and the next morning headed to Jerusalem bright and early. Since I was planning on hitchhiking almost the length of Israel in the next few days, now figured to be a good time to start. Adin already knew his way around, and started to teach me about the Israeli art that is “tramping.” Long since a dead practice in the United States, and once a vibrant form of transportation in Israel, tramping is well on its way to extinction. Still, with persistence and a light wallet, you can convince yourself that it is a desirable mode of travel. Everything went off without a hitch, and in only a few short minutes, we picked up a tremp outside the very religious town of Bnai Barak.

      

We never got his name, so I’ll call him Moishie. Moishie is a great guy. One of his parents is Sephardic, the other is Ashkenazi, and he is getting married at the end of August, god willing. Along the way, I asked for a bit of geography, and got quite my fill. He told me about each of the places we passed on either side, its names, its demographics, whether it was a farming or industrial community. Overall, a very comprehensive lesson in the local geography. While asking about our various majors, I continued my time honored streak of either not recognizing or not caring about proper social contexts and proudly stated that I was studying the culture and language of Islam. The car’s air got quite heavy with the silence for a minute. Then, Moishie managed a half smile and, voice ripe with personal worry, asked if I was not worried that by studying Islam, my faith in Judaism would fade and I would decide to become a Muslim. I answered him honestly: even though there is much that is beautiful and inspiring about Islam, and Islamic culture, the thought of conversion had never occurred to me. He shrugged as his half smile dissipated into a complete one and the mood lightened. To me it was truly amazing. Whether or not he knew it, I could tell from our conversation that we agreed about almost nothing. Our backgrounds were strikingly different, and I would have been able to count on one finger the political issues we agreed on, and he was able to accept me for who I was and what I cared about. Problems can seem intractable in this region because the people in it are so different and have such opposing world views, but put them in a room together and get them to really talk… they might not agree, but more often than not they’ll respect each other. At least that’s been my experience, and it’s one which gives me hope.

      

In Jerusalem, I learned a universal truth: white stains easily. The two nice shirts that I had purchased in Shuk Hapishpishim must have gotten acquainted with the bottom of my black converse. Philip Gibbs, a rabbinical student who used to go to WashU was hosting me, and was incredibly gracious in letting me use his washing machine, and especially his bleach, for about four cycles before my clothes were clean enough for Shavuot. And then, I was prepared for my first Chag (holiday) in Israel. Shavuot is the holiday on which, by Jewish tradition, God gifted our people with the Torah. Where better to spend that day than Jerusalem, and where better in Jerusalem than the Conservative Yeshiva? Davening, dinner, and study all felt incredibly familiar, less because of the fact that they were Conservative than because I have seen advertisements for the Fuchsberg Center on more occasions than I can recall. Have I really never before this studied in that Beit Midrash? In any case, I have now.

      

Props go to Miriam Sokolov of the great yeshiva that is Brandeis, for powering through the night of Talmud with me. Everyone seems to have their own method for bearing all-night study on Shavuot, ranging from cold water to hot water, coffee to tea, and single malt scotch to arak. Not being particularly picky, I just took whatever was offered, and over the course of the night that amounted to each of those drinks and a few in between. Miriam and I managed to finish 16 Dapim (double-sided pages of Aramaic) before the night was done. At first, we were moving at a pace of about a daf an hour. If you had asked me before the night if that was the pace I hoped to go out, I would have laughed. By 4AM, we were almost racing. And while both paces are useful for different things, and going slower at first wasn’t something I necessary expected or wanted to do, it has been awhile since I took a breath and experienced Talmud that way. In a way, it reminded me that there is more to learning than the way I’ve grown accustomed to doing it.

      

As a group, everyone at the Conservative Yeshiva walked to the Kotel for a sunrise davening at Robinson’s Arch. I tried to walk with them, until I ran into Mike Hirsch and the Schechter seniors walking in the same direction. Had a great time catching up with Mike. Unfortunately, davening was a little underwhelming. It lasted about 4 hours, though I was only conscious through hallel. At some point, not sleeping at all catches up to you.

      

After almost a full day of sleep, some nice talks with Philip, and a full night’s sleep, it was time to make my way to Kibbutz Ketura for Shabbat. I tried tramping it, but learned relatively quickly that going for a half hour hitchhike with someone who knows what they are doing is very different from a three-hour trip alone. I got into an Israeli soldier’s car who promptly told me where he was going. I nodded like I knew where it was and hopped in. When I explained where I wanted to go, the solider tried explaining to me at 60kph that I needed to get out because he was heading to Tel Aviv (literally the opposite direction). My Hebrew isn’t bad, but that was a little tough, especially jumping out of the car and grabbing my stuff before another car came down the single lane entrance to the highway.

      

I got in another car going the right direction right on time for an encounter that I can easily count among the strangest I have ever had. The man who picked me up barely spoke a discernable form of Hebrew, let alone a lick of English. Dressed like a religious man and sporting a Bluetooth, he spoke quickly. He asked where I wanted to go and almost before I’d said it he assured me that he was travelling in the same direction. After trying to learn the word in English for his profession (real estate agent is a tough one), he gets on the phone and tries to book a class to learn the language. Stopping only to ask me for a few shekels for gas, he brings me farther and farther from anywhere I recognize but, amazingly, still into places in Jerusalem. He drops me in a town in the middle of Jerusalem with a curt “this is where you need to go,” and drives away. I’m by Kever Shimon HaTzadik, which, funnily enough, is nowhere near my destination (and not in the greatest part of the city, either). At the advice of an American who made Aliyah 30 years before and now serves as a police officer in Jerusalem, I gave up and took a bus. Hence, the sitting in a bus station in Jerusalem, and the great reminder of humility as a virtue. Moral of the story: tramp with someone who knows where they are going.

      

While waiting for the bus, two interesting things happened. I met an elderly man who just wanted a place to sit while waiting for his bus, and I asked him about his life story. He told me the same story that I’d always heard in the abstract, but never about anyone in particular. Born in Romania, he grew up during the Holocaust. After going through many terrible things, he moved to Israel, and lived on a kibbutz for many years. When he retired, having worked thirty years in a factory in central Israel, he moved to Rishon LeTzion to be with his family. While hearing his story was interesting, it was also wonderful how excited he was about my own travels, and hearing his input about what I wanted to do with the next ten years of my life.

      

I also met a British girl, who boosted my self-esteem, just a little bit. “Do you speak English?” she asked politely. I responded by asking her what it is that she needed. She mentioned something about how to pay for a bus, and once I directed her to the information booth she thanked me and started to walk away. As she did, she turned and complemented me on my English, noting that I spoke “almost without an accent.”

Now that is all I would have written had I had internet and been able to post it. But I’m back here at home, and I figure I should fill everyone in on the rest of my trip. I made it down to Ketura in one piece, and discovered that I have an Israeli twin. Her name is Rafaela, she is in the Israeli army, and she has family in Ketura. But there is where the dissimilarities end. It is actually a little uncanny; we have the same jokes, the same illnesses, the same political views, we read the same book. The list goes on. So that was an interesting way to spend a five-hour bus ride.

When I finally made it to Ketura, Ciara Sidell (an old friend from camp and the original inspiration for this blog) was nowhere to be found. All of her friends chuckled and said they’d wondered if I would make it there alive. Turns out I had lost Ciara’s number and hadn’t been able to give her a warning that I would be late because the bus station had no internet. Either way, eventually I found her.

A mosaic with Ketura's symbol right outside the Chadar Ochel (eating hall)

The weekend was mostly uneventful, which after three weeks of travel is about the most exciting thing you can ask for. I had some very meaningful conversations with Ciara’s classmates. It turns out the Arava Institute has an even division among Israeli, Arab, and international students. While I’m sure the types of conversations I had were going on all semester, they certainly weren’t going on during my trip, and my experience is richer for having had them.

The morning sun on some palms in the middle of the desert.

On Sunday I made my way up to Kibbutz Yad Mordechai and spent the night by my family friends, Shalom and Miriam Cohen. It was incredibly relaxing, and good to see the kibbutz again after 8 years. The night ended watching the Israeli version of the Voice and before I knew it, I was awake and driving towards Ben Gurion airport.

Morning at Ketura. This place is the definition of Chutzpa. Making the desert really bloom. They even have a pool.

Thankfully, this time there was no issue getting me a ticket, and I made it to the plane fairly quickly. The flight back was nice; I was in the back row with newfound friend Julia Seigel, and when we weren’t both passed out, she was teaching me about music. The flight was over, customs was done, and finally I’m back at home. It’s not too long before I leave for Ramah in the Rockies, but I still feel like I’m in Israel.

It will be awhile before I understand how this trip has impacted me, if I ever really understand. Heck I’m not really sure if get how my last visit in 2011 impacted me. But in any case, I’m ready to move on and I trust that the experience has made me a little bit more of who I am today. 

How to do Israel in 10 days on 3 hours of sleep a night: a collection of thoughts from a whirlwind of a trip.

            Wow, that trip went by quickly. Someone asked if my blog was only supposed to last two posts, and I guess through a combination of late nights, packed days, abhorrent wifi and a nonexistent work ethic, I’ve managed skip blogging on about seven days of a ten day trip. Well, wait no longer! In terms of pictures, the realization that both my camera and my proficiency with said camera are not very good have convinced me to abandon taking pictures. If you’d like, there are a bunch from my trip posted on the St. Louis Hillel Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.529904283780467.1073741844.410256415745255&type=3

            Last Thursday our group had a very meaningful day, with a trip to Har Herzel, the cemetery for Israeli soldiers and heads of state. Afterwards, we walked to Yad Vashem, the national Holocaust museum. The feelings inspired by both are hard to describe. Each time feels different, even though the information presented does not necessarily change. Specifically at Har Herzel, visiting Michael Levin’s grave again was difficult, possibly because so many more of my friends are currently bravely serving in the IDF. Somehow, it felt more real this time. He wasn’t someone whose life existed only in a documentary or a presentation. He was my friend.

            That night we ended up in Teveria (Tiberias) on the banks of the Kineret (Sea of Galilee).  At night we listened to a performer, Gilad Vital from Shotei Hanevua, who sang many childhood favorites of mine, such as “Ein ani” and “Kol Hayeladim Koftzim Rokdim.”

            Waking up early, we head out for a short hike, the first on our trip. And thank god. I had been starting to believe that the trip provided by Israel Outdoors was a special variant called Israel Indoors. Next was rafting on the Jordan River, which, for those of you who have not been there, is astoundingly small for a river that provides water irrigation, drinking water, and essentially all of the water in the Dead Sea. Either way, it was a nice slow ride down the holy rivulet, chatting with Israelis, catching some rays, and definitely not paddling as much as I should have been.

            Shabbat in Israel is always an experience, but this Shabbat was a different one for me. I’ve been going through a bit of a flux religiously recently, from keeping Shabbat to very much so not observing its requirements, and back again. There has been very little in between. Here though, it was difficult, because I felt the pull of my past practices in Israel, and the push of the way that the community around me was observing Shabbat. It was difficult to navigate; I still have a long way to go before I find a comfortable place for myself spiritually. However, a few of the other participants and I knew some Shabbat songs and had the chance to teach them to the rest of our trip. Everyone participated, and it reminded me of Shabbatot past in USY and Ramah.

            Mais tout le monde amor soir Samedi. Havdallah, the dividing service between the holy and the mundane, Shabbat and the rest of the week, was beautiful and followed by my first opportunity to legally purchase alcohol (Take that, 21^st birthday!). I met up with Daniel Stecker, a family friend from way back who by some crazy random happenstance was also on a Birthright trip in Tveria that night. I also made friends with the most suave bartender in the whole of the holy land, so if you are ever in the Galil and meet Rafael, give him my regards.

            The next morning, earlier than most of the trip might have liked, everyone hopped on a bus to Tzfat. As it was described to us, if Jerusalem is the religious center of Israel, and Tel Aviv is the cultural center of the country, Tzfat is its spiritual center. We learned about the place long the home of Jewish mystics and the texts into which they delved, all while sitting in a 750-year-old cave where all of this studying by the Mekubalim took place. David Friedman showed us another aspect of the city, the intertwinement of mystical religious enlightenment with art. A hippie in the truest sense of the word, David grew up in Colorado and discovered Zohar, the primary text of Kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism. Inspired, he delved deeper into his studies and applied them to his passion, art. He then moved to the most natural place: the center of Jewish mysticism and there he has been ever since. I can’t do justice to how much meaning each piece of his conveys or the layers upon layers of overlapping symbols, but suffice it to say that he blew my mind, picked up the shrapnel and blew it again. If you feel like seeing some art that will take you on a trip, check out his website: http://www.kosmic-kabbalah.com/. I left with his homage to a Grateful Dead album cover to put on my wall next year.

            After our time in Tzfat was over, we began the long drive to the Negev, the Israeli desert in the south. Gigantic mountain views slowly gave way to cities and farms, which gradually thinned out until into the Arava, the rocky, weedy landscape that at one point characterized 70% of Israel. Finally, we arrived at the Bedouin tent. Honestly, it was a nice group bonding experience, and yes, the camels made for some nice pictures. However, I have some serious moral qualms about this type of portrayal of Bedouin culture as its stereotypes, and at that only those that are commercially viable. There’s a lot more that I could say about this issue, but this blog isn’t a political forum so if you’d like to hear about that, let me know and we can talk some time.

            Masada was a nice hike, but by far the best part was trekking down the Snake Path with another WUSTL person that I met on this trip, Jordi. It’s interesting because our conversation was sparked by the fact that Masada has become somewhat of a garbage dump. Bottles, gum wrappers, cigarette butts, shoe soles, canned food that may or may not have been from the fifties, you name it, it was there. Israel has a long way to go with Leave No Trace principles if it wants to preserve its national and world heritage sites that are millennia old for generations to come. Jordi and I had a great heart to heart about environmental issues and our different personal solutions. Afterwards, my lifelong aversion to swimming continued as I napped on the beach of the Dead Sea. It really is amazing how you can watch people float there.

            One of the most powerful places that we visited was in Tel Aviv. Our group made a stop at Rabin Square. While the memorial there and the story it tells are always meaningful, this time what struck me most were the bumper stickers. We were so close, so close to peace. “Friend, you are missing,” read the notes stuck to columns and walls nearby. While Yigal Amir’s crime, the tragedy of Yithak Rabin’s assassination has defined the political culture in Israel since. Shalom, Chaver.

            Due to a schedule muck up, our group had some extra time on the drive up to Haifa, which we spent chilling with our tour guide Itay’s family. Making pita and hummus and singing songs. Since I was incredibly full from lunch (discovered the miracle that is Chamshuka: chummus and shakshuka in the same bowl, all for less than 25 NIS) I took the time to chat in Hebrew with his family. His father was very proud of all the military service in the family. An especially interesting comparison was that both Itay’s father and older brother had engaged in electronic military warfare. But while that meant interfering with enemy radio communications for the father, it meant piloting drones for the son. Itay’s sister is an OT in Israel, and I had a long conversation about how proud I am of my sister Jillian for her work in the Neonatal Care Unit and her upcoming completion of her Masters in occupational therapy from Thomas Jefferson University. Finally, I taught his youngest sister a little bit of English: YOLO. As always, I’m a terrible influence.

            In Haifa, we only got a cursory look at the Bahai gardens, but it was a quite a nice view. You can literally see the entire coast for miles and miles. We also had a lecture on the development of Bahai religion and thought, as well as how Israel became the holy land of yet another religion.

            Our last night in Haifa was fun, and as our last activity, we wrote each other nice notes to be placed inside a balloon, unread. Next time you need a pick me up, just blow up the balloon, pop it, read the note, and feel great about yourself. Repeat steps 3 and 4 as needed. The next morning felt surreal. No one could really believe the trip was over. But hearing how much the trip affected everyone, hearing how they believed it had given them their first substantial connection to Judaism, their first real connection to Israel helped me appreciate the value of the experience to me. I hope to come back, and I also hope to find a chance to lead a Birthright trip next summer.

            Now the rest of my trip starts…. This should be interesting. Hopefully I can call the next blog post “How to do Israel in 10 days with under $100.”

No, Do You Really Know What You're Eating?

            Today is the sort of day that I remember from tours in Israel. Incredibly long, unbelievably full, and chock full of new ideas. We began the morning by meeting the seven Israeli soldiers who will join our group for half of the trip. Each of them serves a different role in the army, and all of them have different aspirations. Most significant to me is that we are around the same age. I believe that it is the first time that I’ve ever met an Israeli soldier younger than myself. 

Blair, holdin it together real well for the camera

Oh, and Blair's last name is Elias. So that's cool.

Alexandra and Hallie both made the Blog!

Beautiful roadside camera shot.           The tour of the Old City was interesting, mostly because I avoided hanging around the tour guide and tried to stay near Lauren, one of the Israelis on our trip. Her job in the army is to give tours of Jerusalem to soldiers in order to deepen their understanding of Israel’s capital city. She appreciated the opportunity to speak in Hebrew, and I appreciated the opportunity to hear stories and perspectives that aren’t normally a focus of the tours that are given to Americans. Some of spots we visited were the site of the last supper and a balcony overlooking the courtyard of the Western Wall.             I always appreciate a trip to the Davidson Center, specifically Robinson’s Arch. Recently, finding inspiration for prayer has been a struggle, but the desire for a fervent, authentic egalitarianism really does motivate me. When I asked for a few minutes to daven Minchah (recite the afternoon prayer), my tour guide was surprised. “Why not pray at the Western Wall?” he asked. “We’re going right after this and it looks much nicer.” After debating how best to answer the question, I mentioned my upbringing as a Conservative Jews.             Although the other participants on the trip have a variety of backgrounds that are different from my own, I love their curiosity about different aspects of Judaism and Israel to which they have had less exposure. At various points throughout the day, I had the chance to explain some of the basics of Jewish sacrifices and ritual purity in the time of the Temple, the tradition of wearing tefillin (phylacteries), and the outlines of the Kidron Valley Watershed project. Everyone seems to be incredibly open-minded and willing to learn.             Afterwards, we head to the Western Wall, and allowed some time to meditate. Of course, the Chabad representative asking participants if they had put on tefillin that day asked us if we knew Rabbi Hershey from the Chabad in St. Louis, which was a nice coincidence. Speaking of, if you're reading this, Rabbi, Shmuely Weiss sends his regards. The Tower of David (I still need to do some work on that whole "exposure setting" for the camera)

Miriam wearing that gorgeous smile!

External shot of Mount Zion Church.

Some of the Israelis on our trip.

Arabic plaque at the site of the Last Supper (I can make out some letters?)

Inscription reads: "If I forget Jerusalem, may I forget my right hand."

First glimplse of Al Aqsa mosque this trip. Marissa and Miriam: trip leaders in action.

Marissa and Miriam: no longer in action, but plenty of smiles.

In case you could not find a photo of the Western Wall juxtaposed with Al Aqsa mosque online, here you go.

Robinson's Arch at the Davidson Center.

The small hole in the wall on the right is said to have been left when Muhammad tethered his flying horse to the wall during a trip to Jerusalem.

Our Medic, Itai, and the ever radiant Gaby Dinkin. Itai, our tour guide, explaining the world.

             Machaneh Yehuda, a market place in Jerusalem, is empty compared against the balagan that I remember from the last few visits. On the way over, I ran into Dr. Rogoff (pictured below), the scholar-in-residence for Camp Ramah at the Berkshires. This was a nice coincidence, particularly because on of his accomplishments, finishing Daf Yomi (a seven and a half year cycle of learning a page a day of the Talmud) motivated me to begin the very same process of learning. I'm still only about a third of the way in (and twenty pages behind) but it has so far had a major impact on my life, the way that I approach study, and my Jewish identity.

             And he was only the first of many friendly faces that I ran into today. Aliza Yaillen, Rebecca Leeman, Jessica Schwartz, Eliza, Julia, Talia Brilliant and Rivka from Mishlachat and others were among the people with whom I managed to stop and have a conversation. Some live in Israel, and some are at the tail end of their Nativ experience. It's still just wonderful seeing the reaction when people who know me realize that I am on Birthright. I guess the rule change still hasn't sunk in.

             Lunch was... adventurous. Eating at a place that I remembered from Machaneh Yehuda during my time on Seminar, Azurah, a few friends and I sat down to one of the most satisfying meals I have ever had the pleasure of ordering. Once the food arrived, the manager ran over to our table and told the waitress to wait. "Do you really know what you are eating?" he asked. I replied with a curt "yes." Shaking his head, he continued, "No, do you really know what you are eating." And in Hebrew I managed a quick, "yes, I know that I ordered the lungs." At which point he threw his hands into a shrug, rolled his eyes and walked away. Half expecting me to take a bite and push the plate away, he kept a watchful eye and reminded me that if I did not like the dish, I could always return it to the kitchen and order something else. Not a chance. Though the texture was a little bit strange, I would not have traded it for anything else on the menu. The meat was very, very tender, and very flavorful.

Surprise meet up with a personal inspiration, Dr. Jason Rogoff, on the way to Machaneh Yeduda Market

Lunch in Machaneh Yehudah was delicious. You'd never know it was cow lungs.              Now I thought that my day had ended with group photos on Haas Promenade overlooking Jerusalem and a group discussion to prepare for our day tomorrow, but the best was yet to come. Pulled away from writing this, I went for a walk with a few friends. We sat down with some of the people living where we are staying for just one more night. Although we had been told that Neve Shalom was an integrated community, the implications of that hadn't been explained. Neve Shalom, or Oasis of Peace, is a village that was jointly founded by Jews and Palestinian Arabs of Israeli citizenship who were seeking a way to reconcile differences between groups and approach life in a contested land in a balanced, sensible way. For over an hour, we had a frank discussion of life in Israel as an Arab, and the sense of displacement that residents of Neve Shalom feel in both Jewish and Arab communities. I encourage everyone to learn more about this truly progressive community at their website: http://wasns.org/              Tomorrow is a heavy day, with trips to both the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum and the Har Herzel military cemetery. So, I believe now would be a good time to pack, since we're leaving Neve Shalom as soon as I learned what it was all about, and I'd like at least four hours of sleep tonight.

And you'd never know this sugary treat from Aroma is what Israelis call and Iced Coffee

I know white is in style for Yom Kippur, but I may have found my new Rosh Hashanah Kittle.

Not a great photo, but I managed to capture the edge of the Fuchsberg Center, AKA Beit Nativ.