Well readers, it's been an unbelievable year filled with life-changing experiences. This week was no exception.
As some of you know, I live on a major road in Jerusalem, Derech Hebron, which leads to, as you may guess, Hebron. Hebron is one of the holiest cities in Israel (along with Jerusalem, of course, and Shechem, where Joseph's tomb is). Over three thousand years ago, Abraham purchased a large piece of land in Hebron to bury his wife, Sarah, who died at the age of 127. This transaction is recorded in the Torah and is one of the first witnessed land purchases in history. Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and Leah are buried in Hebron. Today, Hebron is a largely Arab city (only 20% are Jewish Israelis). In 1929, there was a massacre in Hebron which killed almost 70 Jewish people, and since then, tensions in Hebron have been high. It is a part of the West Bank, technically (it is beyond the security fence) and requires passing several checkpoints to move between Hebron and Jerusalem. We traveled in a bulletproof bus from "our" side of Derech Hebron to the end, where we reached what looked like an abandoned heap of boarded-up shops, desolate roads and army vehicles. This is Hebron. Where the IDF patrols on regular intervals (we saw them marching up the streets as we walked along, from the patriarchs' tombs to one of Hebron's few synagogues, which was originally a Hadassah hospital building), where streets are divided - one side for Jews, another for Arabs, and where peace seems like a very foreign goal. As I walked on the streets, a low wall (approximately reaching my hip, so it went up to everyone else's knee) ran up the middle; barefoot children on the other side waved and held out their hands for money, screaming "Shalom!" I could barely see them over the dividing wall; I wondered if they knew why it's there.
On a lighter note, this week was also the beginning of the 50th Annual Israel Festival, a collection of arts and music performances that go on in Jerusalem for three weeks. On Monday, one of my friends and I were walking downtown, past Ben Yehuda street and toward Safra Square, where we saw a huge stage and endless folding chairs being set up. When we stopped to ask what was going on there, we were told that the Bolshoi Ballet was giving a special performance with the Israel Ballet of Giselle. I almost passed out. We asked if we could get tickets, what time the show started, etc. Naturally, since this is Israel, we got a different answer from every person we asked. Eventually, we got lucky and some poor guy was stuck with three tickets that I'm guessing his girlfriend purchased without his knowledge (he didn't exactly look like the type to be going to a ballet without her - or with her, for that matter) and now, for whatever reason, wasn't there to claim them, so we grabbed them. It was unbelievable. The dancing, the stage, the fact that the Bolshoi prima who looked like she weighs twelve pounds (in her costume) wasn't taken over by the wind while balancing on pointe - it was unreal. Perhaps one of the funniest (and it wasn't meant to be comedic, but it was) parts of this experience was noticing that a Tuborg beer stand was set up along the side of the square, along with a guy selling pretzels and hot dogs. At a ballet?! Only in Israel would ballpark fare be found at a fine arts function. Ha!
I've spent a lot of time this week saying goodbye to places and things. To the Old City and the Kotel, to Emek Refaim, to the Central Bus Station where I go every Thursday and Saturday night in my travels to Tel Aviv, to Aleh and all the girls in the Bogrot class, to ulpan, to falafel, to my teachers. I said goodbye to Tel Aviv and its beaches, to Nahalat Benyamin and the artists there who have come to know my name, to Dizengoff and Rothschild and all the places that have become my stomping grounds. It's hard to say goodbye, to leave places that you love, but knowing that I'll be back makes it slightly easier. This is me saying goodbye to Israel for now, at the end of this adventure, but not forever.
It's strange, this leaving business. It's the end of so many incredible things and experiences and people, but at the same time, knowing that it happened makes me so grateful and happy. As I look back and remember to the beginning, to the Bat Yam apartment I flooded within an hour of being there, to the gan in Arad and all that happened in Rwanda, and now to the beauty of Jerusalem, I realize all that has changed, all that I've learned and become. I won't be speaking Hebrew or fighting my way onto overcrowded buses, exploring and seeing all that I can, but in my return home, things will be new - I have a new appreciation for all the things and people I once took for granted, for the life I once thought was so natural and normal. It is the end of something wonderful, something unforgettable, but it's also the start of something equally great.
I like to think I've come a long way from the first day I went grocery shopping at the Super Douche in Bat Yam and, not knowing how to ask for chicken breasts, grabbed my chest and pointed to the butcher case. There are so many memories I've made here, and I will miss it, cats and grocery trollies and Hebrew-screaming and all. I know I'll be back, though, and when I return, I will have a whole new view of this place I've come to call home. It's never easy to say goodbye, but I know my life and my adventures will go forward, that I will continue to explore and learn all I can, and to find love and passion wherever I go.
Thank you for following me on this journey. It's been a life-changing one that has taught me more than any book I could ever read. I hope you've all learned something, too, and I can't wait to share more with you as the next part of my journey, wherever it may take me, unfolds.
All the love in the world from Israel, one last time,
Elana
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
We Cry, We Sing, We Dance, We Eat.
Hello readers! I hope this post finds you all well. It’s difficult to believe, but I have just two full weeks left in my adventure; time has truly flown. Here is an update of the past nearly two weeks. It’s been an eventful time in Israel, a time that has brought tearful remembrance and joyful celebration right up against one another, which makes for an emotional rollercoaster.
Sunday, May 2 was Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel. Year Course was invited to the national tekkes (ceremony) at Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum and the world’s leading Holocaust research center. We arrived by bus and then were shuttled to the museum entrance, where we were met by what appeared to be unending lines of security – metal detectors, questioning, pat-downs. It took over an hour just to enter the building. Guests numbered in the thousands and live translation via headsets was given in four languages (English, Russian, French and Spanish). The ceremony’s featured speakers were President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu. Both spoke of the importance of Israel in the world, despite the very real and ever-looming threats posed to it by other nations. Most of all, their messages were clear: the Jewish people survived the atrocities of the Holocaust and then came to Israel to make a new start, to begin a new life in freedom. We cannot lose that vision for whom so many died, we cannot lose our dream of the land in which we began thousands of years ago, and which renewed our hope in our darkest times of struggle Without Israel, we return to being a lost and dispersed people. It is our goal, our aspirations, our essence.
In addition to Peres and Netanyahu, six Holocaust survivors were featured in the memorial ceremony. Each lit a memorial torch, one for every million Jews who perished in the Shoah. Every survivor was accompanied by a friend or family member, and before they lit their respective torch, a short film played on several large screens displayed throughout the courtyard in which the ceremony took place. The films were perhaps the most moving part of the ceremony; every survivor told his or her story of fear, persecution, near-death and eventual survival. They told of watching their brothers, sisters and parents die, of the death marches in winter, of Auschwitz and the tattoos on their arms which became, but did not remain, their identity. Immediately, I was reminded of my time in Poland, of all the horror and hell that I saw. Then it became even more real: here were people describing the places I visited, their time surviving in what is now a historical site. My stomach turned and the tears flowed freely down my face. There was no stopping them.
Exactly one week after Yom HaShoah is Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s national day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The night before Remembrance Day, thousands gather at several ceremonies around the country. We attended one at Ammunition Hill, a pivotal battle site in the fight for Jerusalem in the 1967 Six Day war. The tekkes was a beautiful one – the Hill was lit in blue and white, Israeli flags hanging from every possible tree and light pole. The ceremony featured the stories of seven lost young people – six of whom were soldiers, and one, a 15-year old girl named Malki, who died in the Sbarro suicide bombing in the 2001 Intifada. Days like these bring the entire nation, and the Jewish world, together. It is a time to mourn losses to remember heroism and greatness, and to be increasingly thankful for being and living in Israel.
The following day, which was actually Yom HaZikaron, a group of Year Coursers went to Har Herzl, Israel’s military cemetery. There were thousands of people there, honoring lost family members and attending ceremonies. On our way there, a siren sounded – it went off at 11 AM, all across Israel – and the entire country stopped. For several minutes, no car moved, no pedestrian walked, no vendor sold anything. We were on a bus on our way to Har Herzl, and happened to be stopped at the Mahane Yehuda shuk. In a millisecond, the market went from its usual bustling craziness to perfect silence and stillness. The bus stopped and everyone riding it stood up. Then, minutes later, just as the alarm had sounded and everything had stopped, just as quickly, the siren ended and the day resumed as normal.
When we arrived at Har Herzl, we were handed water bottles to give to people at the cemetery who, in the unrelenting heat, were spending their day mourning and remembering. A friend and I came across a woman named Leila whose story is actually very unusual. She is a Lebanese Christian and her husband is Jewish (they’re originally from New York). They are visiting Israel for several months; she is a writer and her husband is a photographer. She has been staying in Ramallah, an Arab village in Israel, where her mother’s family now lives, while her husband does his photography work throughout Jerusalem. Something she said that really made an impression on me was that her mother’s family loves living in Israel, but the reason people in Lebanon and in Palestinian territories support terrorist governments is that they promise to provide for people who have nothing; when you are threatened, you want to support those who swear to protect you. In 2006, when Israel fought Lebanon in the Second Lebanon War, Leila’s Lebanese family was cheering as they watched Israel’s planes fly over their country, hoping the metal birds with the blue stars on the side would end their suffering under a tyrannical government. But when, after two weeks, nothing changed, and Hezbollah promised Lebanese civilians protection if they would pledge their support, most, in fear for their lives, believed their “government” would save them. This, of course, did not happen, and since, Leila and her family remain staunch supporters of the peace process. Not only that, but on a day when Israel and Jews the world over mourn their losses, Leila stood next to us, supporting her Jewish friends and neighbors, experiencing what she called a most emotional and moving day.
As the sun sets on Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s biggest party of the year, Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day, begins. The country is turned into one giant celebration. Everyone dresses up in their finest blue and white apparel, complete, if you’re me and my friends, with blue face paint and, of course, all-important glitter. We made our way to the Mahane Yehuda shuk party, which, twelve hours earlier, had come to a complete stop, but was now alive as ever. Light towers, DJ booths and food stands were set up along the main artery of the shuk, along with, of course, several temporary bars. The scene quickly became craziness – dancing on the shuk stall countertops, thousands of people crowded into the market, all singing and dancing and keeping the bartenders quite busy. A little after midnight, we decided to walk down the hill to Ben Yehuda Street to see the celebration there. I have never seen Ben Yehuda that busy or crowded ever; there was literally no room to move. So, to avoid being crushed by crowd, we escaped to one of Ben Yehuda’s many side sreets, which happens to be home to the best waffles in Israel: Babbette’s. A tiny hole in the wall on a street otherwise cluttered with larger restaurants and shops, it’s easy to miss or walk right past, thinking nothing of it. Well, if you find yourself wandering off the main artery of Ben Yehuda, find Babette’s and order the best waffle you’ll find anywhere. It seats about 10 people comfortably, and of course, the night of Yom Haatzmaut, thirty were cramming inside, pushing their way to the register to order waffles with every dessert topping imaginable. Once I was in a chocolate and sugar coma, I headed home.
The following day is a national day off – businesses close (except for most cafes and restaurants), and everyone spends the day having barbecues (al ha-esh, in Hebrew, which means “on the fire”). I went to Tel Aviv to see Roi and his family and enjoyed a delicious lunch with them. A few too many kebabs and loads of salad and pita later, we wandered into the downtown area (buses run on Yom Haatzmaut). Ibn Gavirol, a major street of Israel’s financial district, was hosting several street barbecues and parties, so we wandered through those, stopping for drinks, snacks and some impromptu dancing. We also saw the air show happening near the port – fighter planes decorated Tel Aviv’s cloudless blue skies, zooming and booming above us. After wandering for quite some time, it began to get dark and I returned to Jerusalem.
On my way into those holy hills, I found myself remembering all that has happened in the past months. I’ve lived in different cities, on different continents, spoken new languages and made new friends. I’ve met new challenges, taken new risks and set new goals. I’ve fallen in love with a culture, a place and people. Loving something or someone makes it even harder to leave, but I know my time here has been special and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Just as I made a change in coming to Israel nine months ago and began this journey, in two weeks, I will make a change yet again, returning home to the next chapter in my life.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned this year is to fall in love with as many things as possible. So, I urge you all to fall in love with something or someone special, to find your passion and live it.
All my love, see you soon,
Elana
Sunday, May 2 was Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel. Year Course was invited to the national tekkes (ceremony) at Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum and the world’s leading Holocaust research center. We arrived by bus and then were shuttled to the museum entrance, where we were met by what appeared to be unending lines of security – metal detectors, questioning, pat-downs. It took over an hour just to enter the building. Guests numbered in the thousands and live translation via headsets was given in four languages (English, Russian, French and Spanish). The ceremony’s featured speakers were President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu. Both spoke of the importance of Israel in the world, despite the very real and ever-looming threats posed to it by other nations. Most of all, their messages were clear: the Jewish people survived the atrocities of the Holocaust and then came to Israel to make a new start, to begin a new life in freedom. We cannot lose that vision for whom so many died, we cannot lose our dream of the land in which we began thousands of years ago, and which renewed our hope in our darkest times of struggle Without Israel, we return to being a lost and dispersed people. It is our goal, our aspirations, our essence.
In addition to Peres and Netanyahu, six Holocaust survivors were featured in the memorial ceremony. Each lit a memorial torch, one for every million Jews who perished in the Shoah. Every survivor was accompanied by a friend or family member, and before they lit their respective torch, a short film played on several large screens displayed throughout the courtyard in which the ceremony took place. The films were perhaps the most moving part of the ceremony; every survivor told his or her story of fear, persecution, near-death and eventual survival. They told of watching their brothers, sisters and parents die, of the death marches in winter, of Auschwitz and the tattoos on their arms which became, but did not remain, their identity. Immediately, I was reminded of my time in Poland, of all the horror and hell that I saw. Then it became even more real: here were people describing the places I visited, their time surviving in what is now a historical site. My stomach turned and the tears flowed freely down my face. There was no stopping them.
Exactly one week after Yom HaShoah is Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s national day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The night before Remembrance Day, thousands gather at several ceremonies around the country. We attended one at Ammunition Hill, a pivotal battle site in the fight for Jerusalem in the 1967 Six Day war. The tekkes was a beautiful one – the Hill was lit in blue and white, Israeli flags hanging from every possible tree and light pole. The ceremony featured the stories of seven lost young people – six of whom were soldiers, and one, a 15-year old girl named Malki, who died in the Sbarro suicide bombing in the 2001 Intifada. Days like these bring the entire nation, and the Jewish world, together. It is a time to mourn losses to remember heroism and greatness, and to be increasingly thankful for being and living in Israel.
The following day, which was actually Yom HaZikaron, a group of Year Coursers went to Har Herzl, Israel’s military cemetery. There were thousands of people there, honoring lost family members and attending ceremonies. On our way there, a siren sounded – it went off at 11 AM, all across Israel – and the entire country stopped. For several minutes, no car moved, no pedestrian walked, no vendor sold anything. We were on a bus on our way to Har Herzl, and happened to be stopped at the Mahane Yehuda shuk. In a millisecond, the market went from its usual bustling craziness to perfect silence and stillness. The bus stopped and everyone riding it stood up. Then, minutes later, just as the alarm had sounded and everything had stopped, just as quickly, the siren ended and the day resumed as normal.
When we arrived at Har Herzl, we were handed water bottles to give to people at the cemetery who, in the unrelenting heat, were spending their day mourning and remembering. A friend and I came across a woman named Leila whose story is actually very unusual. She is a Lebanese Christian and her husband is Jewish (they’re originally from New York). They are visiting Israel for several months; she is a writer and her husband is a photographer. She has been staying in Ramallah, an Arab village in Israel, where her mother’s family now lives, while her husband does his photography work throughout Jerusalem. Something she said that really made an impression on me was that her mother’s family loves living in Israel, but the reason people in Lebanon and in Palestinian territories support terrorist governments is that they promise to provide for people who have nothing; when you are threatened, you want to support those who swear to protect you. In 2006, when Israel fought Lebanon in the Second Lebanon War, Leila’s Lebanese family was cheering as they watched Israel’s planes fly over their country, hoping the metal birds with the blue stars on the side would end their suffering under a tyrannical government. But when, after two weeks, nothing changed, and Hezbollah promised Lebanese civilians protection if they would pledge their support, most, in fear for their lives, believed their “government” would save them. This, of course, did not happen, and since, Leila and her family remain staunch supporters of the peace process. Not only that, but on a day when Israel and Jews the world over mourn their losses, Leila stood next to us, supporting her Jewish friends and neighbors, experiencing what she called a most emotional and moving day.
As the sun sets on Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s biggest party of the year, Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day, begins. The country is turned into one giant celebration. Everyone dresses up in their finest blue and white apparel, complete, if you’re me and my friends, with blue face paint and, of course, all-important glitter. We made our way to the Mahane Yehuda shuk party, which, twelve hours earlier, had come to a complete stop, but was now alive as ever. Light towers, DJ booths and food stands were set up along the main artery of the shuk, along with, of course, several temporary bars. The scene quickly became craziness – dancing on the shuk stall countertops, thousands of people crowded into the market, all singing and dancing and keeping the bartenders quite busy. A little after midnight, we decided to walk down the hill to Ben Yehuda Street to see the celebration there. I have never seen Ben Yehuda that busy or crowded ever; there was literally no room to move. So, to avoid being crushed by crowd, we escaped to one of Ben Yehuda’s many side sreets, which happens to be home to the best waffles in Israel: Babbette’s. A tiny hole in the wall on a street otherwise cluttered with larger restaurants and shops, it’s easy to miss or walk right past, thinking nothing of it. Well, if you find yourself wandering off the main artery of Ben Yehuda, find Babette’s and order the best waffle you’ll find anywhere. It seats about 10 people comfortably, and of course, the night of Yom Haatzmaut, thirty were cramming inside, pushing their way to the register to order waffles with every dessert topping imaginable. Once I was in a chocolate and sugar coma, I headed home.
The following day is a national day off – businesses close (except for most cafes and restaurants), and everyone spends the day having barbecues (al ha-esh, in Hebrew, which means “on the fire”). I went to Tel Aviv to see Roi and his family and enjoyed a delicious lunch with them. A few too many kebabs and loads of salad and pita later, we wandered into the downtown area (buses run on Yom Haatzmaut). Ibn Gavirol, a major street of Israel’s financial district, was hosting several street barbecues and parties, so we wandered through those, stopping for drinks, snacks and some impromptu dancing. We also saw the air show happening near the port – fighter planes decorated Tel Aviv’s cloudless blue skies, zooming and booming above us. After wandering for quite some time, it began to get dark and I returned to Jerusalem.
On my way into those holy hills, I found myself remembering all that has happened in the past months. I’ve lived in different cities, on different continents, spoken new languages and made new friends. I’ve met new challenges, taken new risks and set new goals. I’ve fallen in love with a culture, a place and people. Loving something or someone makes it even harder to leave, but I know my time here has been special and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Just as I made a change in coming to Israel nine months ago and began this journey, in two weeks, I will make a change yet again, returning home to the next chapter in my life.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned this year is to fall in love with as many things as possible. So, I urge you all to fall in love with something or someone special, to find your passion and live it.
All my love, see you soon,
Elana
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