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.