Closing Remarks and final speech

I guess it’s about time, but I am beginning to realize its time to close up shop on Kivunim. I’ve eagerly anticipated the email that tells me which age group I am assigned to this summer, which will act as a nice buffer, but won’t quite do the trick. Going home will be sad no matter the transition.

The general feeling is definitely sentimental. Although we saw these last days coming, no preparation eases us into these closing moments. And it’s sad. There’s no doubt about this year. It was the single most profound, influential, educational and defining year of my life. I have grown accustomed to the quirks and habits and comforts of my fifty new friends. All of the brilliance, humor and idiosyncrasies that have made this program what it is.

When we reunited with the “forgotten 15” in the airport in New Delhi, I wrote in my journal: “time apart makes the heart grow fonder” even if only for two days. Joni Mitchell said: “You don’t know what you’ve got till its gone”. poems, music and literature, theatre. Much of the words, some of the greatest art is induced by the feeling of longing; a desire to be elsewhere with others in another time. I know already that this group, these experiences have occupied a substantial part of my heart that will be left empty, leaving me searching, sketching out the shape and size of that hole that it will leave.

How have I been changed? How did I grow? What was this year and why did I do it? The questions are endless and I am only getting the first tastes of them now. What ever sentimentality these moments create I am comforted by these few things. The first product of this sentimentality is that it only makes me want to soak up, slurp every last drop of this delicious treat. The second comfort is knowing that the effects of this year will be forever, and it will take me that long to discover all the ways it has changed me. But lastly, and maybe most sadly. As best articulated by Reb John Mayer

It’s really over.
You’ve made your stand.
You’ve got me crying, as well as you planned.
But when my loneliness is through, I’m going to find try to find another you.

However profound this year and the amazing experiences that come with it, I will find another group that will only help further this growth. I know I will never be able to replace this group of people. I just know that some of you will be at my wedding whenever that is. Like Reb Mayer, I can only hope I find another group to help me grow, “find another you” to do some of what Kivunim has done; Intellectually stimulate, think, love, appreciate, self reflect, laugh, be ambitious and passionate. I cannot thank you all enough for what you have given and what you have done.

It seems to me that this trip to India more than anything defined Kivunim’s goals in 9 days. There is a fundamental aspect of this program, a rock steady foundation, which speaks to the idea that you must not run away from that which makes you uncomfortable. We are asked to grapple with these ideas and then embrace some of them. Everyone on this program came from a place that they found themselves truly comfortable in. Yet, there we were. In the middle of a country with a language completely foreign to us; a population on a scale we could not possibly understand; a level of poverty that brought many to tears; a religion that our monotheistic cultures term ‘pagan’. We were surround by ideas and images that made us uncomfortable. And we embraced them. We took a step back and took a deep breath.We grabbed it close, and despite the scalding heat, we took a good long look at it.

And now, even in the closing segments of this wonderful year, we are letting all that we experienced, everything that was foreign, to sink in. There is little about this program that will sit lightly. There is little that we will have firm answers to. There is little that we will understand immediately. It will take days, weeks, months and even years to properly digest.

If I may offer an analogy: cows have three stomachs. Once the food goes down, straight to the stomach and it sorts through all the things it has just devoured, it needs a second stomach to reexamine, sort through all that it just let it in. And even then, when the cow thought that it had completely taken all the nourishment it could from the food, it discovers there is more to be gleaned from that tuft of grass it had nibbled on seemingly so long ago. Its not the poop that’s important here. But like the cow every time I thought I knew what this experience meant, there was more to be digested and then more again. And its not done.

Kivunim is an experience that has changed the way we think and the way in which we approach life. Coming back to North America will be strange. Paying for things in our own currency, speaking English, and standing in normal lines– we are after all going home. In leaving, a challenge to us all is processing the Kivunim experience.

As we have talked about so many times, this country is called Yisrael. Meaning to struggle with god. That Ben Gurion dude had some foresight. This entire year has been just that – a struggle. We have struggled with our Jewish identity; our relationship to Israel; our connection to the Jews around the world, and even to understand why that horse. We have spent the year soaking in everything. The beautiful views from Delphi, architecture in Sophia, the foreign sook in Marakesh, anti-Semitic graffiti in southern Spain, a Burger King with Minarets visible just beyond the top of the building in Istanbul, a place with a sinister, beautiful and haunting past in Berlin.

This is an Israel that we continue to discover, reexamine, embrace and push away, passionately love and embarrassingly reject; that we were unsure of the role it played in our lives and we wanted to approach it; an Israel we have learned to love as a lover: to know and explore every bit of a beautiful face, acknowledge its flaws, even when we know that sometimes she is mean, unfair or difficult, love it with every bit of our being.

We have taken it all in and struggled with every moment of it. Most every piece of this program has been difficult, with the rare of exception of a wander through the shuk. But we have grown. We have expanded our minds. We have matured. We entered with questions but leave with many more. I am sure when I say that there is not a single person here that has not been transformed by this program. And for that we are forever grateful. Grateful for the opportunity, the experience for this special moment to do this to our minds and ourselves. I cannot begin to thank you all enough for this year, for this experience. Every bit of this has been wonderful and will not end June 12th.

Unlike All I Know

(some days have been skipped, you’ll just have to ask me about them to find out)

Day 1 Mumbai

I need to begin this blog with my complete and utter disbelief at where I am. Right now, at this very moment, I am writing to you from Mumbai, India.

At 845 pm, Sunday May 31st, Kivunim took off on an El Al flight to Mumbai, India.
Immediately upon arriving, at 8am the onslaught began. Upon leaving the terminal and stepping outside, we felt the wave of 95 degree heat blowing towards us. Oh, its only morning, the weather gets better. We hopped on two buses and took off. From the airport, we were off to Aliba, a town just outside of Mumbai in an area where several towns exist, many with a few Jews. On the bus, the man that will be working with us the entirety of the trip, Ralphi, hit us with a few facts. Beyond the whopping 1.2 billion number that we had heard many times before he told us many new and mind blowing numbers.

75% of Indians go to temple every morning (that means 900 million)
there are over 300 dialects within India
Mumbai is home to 20 million people (that’s three times the size of Israel)
6,000 Indians are born each day
on each rupee bill, there are 15 languages for all the different dialects
in one month, 3.2 billion people ride the Mumbai trains (that’s half the world)

just thought I would leave a few stats to chew on.

The town of Aliba was founded in the late 17th century. Currently there are only five or six Jewish families living there though in surrounding towns, there are few other Jewish families. We walked through the town, until we reached a road sign ‘Israel Road’. As we walked down, the effect of India was already upon us: the colors, the beautiful Hindu garb, horses and goats walking through the street, people being extremely friendly. It was a perfect welcome to the other side of the world.

We finally reached our destination: the shul of Aliba. On the High Holidays and Shabbat they are able to scrape together a minyan. Almost thirty people show up to for these services and Jews from all over the area for various Jewish minhagim, bar mitzvot, brit mila etc. Near by is a Jewish cemetery that has existed for over two thousand years. The president of the synagogue, one of the six Jews in the town, spoke to us for a bit. He explained that they had recently started a project to reconstruct a synagogue in a nearby town that takes an hour to get to. Our guide, Ralphi, said what the president would not, that this is a truly incredible endeavor and an enormous mitzvah just to preserve a culture and community that is already dwindling. Although an physically, emotionally and time consuming-ly difficult mitzvah, he continues to help. This shul is still being used on a regular basis; just that day before we arrived there was a wedding.
The chazzan of the shul then stood up and sang a prayer for us. Of all tunes, the man chose to sing the prayer to the tune of Ha’tikvah. Ha’tikvah’s incredible meaning has only become more profound by two facts: the first that every time we sing the words “b’eretz tzion yerushalayim” we realize the incredible opportunity, the profound fact that we have spent the entire year living in ‘eretz tzion yerushalayim’; An opportunity that has been missing for the last two thousand years and cannot simply be taken for granted. The second is that in virtually all countries we have traveled to, if not all, the chazzan uses this tune as a way of united all Jews and inspiring hope in the Jewish. This is not simply lip service, this is a emotional reactions we all face every time the first few words of ha’tikvah are sung. He then gave us all a blessing, in Hindi, for health, prosperity…and a chance to return to India in the future.

As we walked out of the shul, there were cold drinks waiting for us. The drinks were from a factory owned by a very successful Jewish company in India. There were several flavors, but by the time I got outside, there was only one left. I was told it was ‘ice cream flavor’ but as I took a sip, I realized this tasted like nothing I had ever had before. The drink was lightly carbonated and tasted like rose water. It was extremely delicious. Very, very yummy.

Back on the bus to lunch. We ate in a small restaurant at a hotel in Aliba.
Lunch. Was. Amazing. We had hot tomato soup with croutons to cool us down (from the subsequent sweating we all did) followed by a buffet of paneer mutter, paneer makhanwah, pakoda, dal, na’an and rice. Boy oh boy was this a nice welcome to India.

We then went to nearby Navgoah, the ancient landing site of the Jews. Were they supposedly arrived from the west. Over 2000 years ago, the Jews were shipwrecked and only seven families survived. They swam ashore and lived in the surrounding villages. These seven families became oil pressers in their towns and, because of their Jewish tradition of not working on Shabbat, became known as the Saturday Oil Pressers.

From Navgoah, we drove back to Mumbai proper for dinner. Frankly the place looked like Applebees for India but was delicious nonetheless. I had a paneer platter with na’an. Super yummy. It was getting to be late, so I decided to just explore the surrounding neighborhood a little bit. I walked around and found an atm and withdrew some rupees. Oh. Ghandi is on EVERY SINGLE BILL. The people I was with wanted to grab some ice cream to cool down from the, even at night, extreme heat. Following us almost from the moment we left our hotel for quite a while were two little kids. One boy and one girl. The girl was maybe the most adorable girl I have ever seen. Grabbing at our elbows and asked repeatedly, its hard not to give. Though, we know that the money would not actually go to the children but to the slumlord that they work for. At one point the girl even jumped up and tried to grab at the bandana I was wearing on my head. Although it was emotionally hard, I walked away.

There are close to 800 million people living in poverty or extreme poverty in India. Ben told me a funny anecdote from the Year course trip to India. They had a speaker come to talk to them who told them “we have a thriving middle class – 250 million people! That’s almost the entire population of the United States!” to which someone responded “what about the other 950 million people living in India?” “oh… well most live in poverty of course.”
We eventually made our way home, showered off the full day and dozed off to the humidity of Mumbai.

Its only been one day, only takes one day, to realize this place is like nothing. I. know. And I absolutely love it.
I am so completely fascinated with this place and cannot wait for more. Tomorrow early am we wake up for a flight to Varanasi with a stop in New Delhi and then soaking up even more of this incredible incredible place. My mom doesn’t like when I use the word incredible, she feels its too big of a word and is often used in ill-suited contexts. I can finally use it appropriately.
Sweet dreams from Bombay.

Day 3 Varanasi → Agra
We woke up this morning at four in order to get to the Ganges River by sunrise. Thousands, thousands of people are there, bathing, washing clothes, praying in the dozens of temples along the embankment. And there were– floating down the river watching it all. Here, religion is life. You live your life how you please. Nothing in Hinduism is truly mandatory per se as in the commandments etc. you arrange your life to fit your beliefs and way of life. My life matches up closer with this then the demands of monotheistic religion.

Oh the colors. Bright, vivid colors. Everywhere. Everyone is wearing magnificent colors. Also along the embankment are cows – symbols of fertility and life. In Hinduism, cows are sacred.
At a certain point in our flowing down the river, we are told to stop talking photos. We have reached the crematorium. It is here that at all hours of the day and night families come with their loved ones that have passed, grieve but also celebrate the cyclical nature of life. They pour the ashes into the river and watch as life continues even in death. The human body is simply a vessel with the spirit continuing through reincarnation. Swimming and bathing throughout the same river are thousands of men, women and children, old, young. Families come every morning to bath themselves in what can only be relatable as a mass mikvah. Though this comparison loses much of the unique, beautiful aspects of the Ganges.

Frankly, it was very difficult to grasp. There was never a doubt that we were experiencing something enormously profound, beautiful, amazing yet very hard to grasp. What is this place? This thing, this place, these people, this lifestyle, is so drastically and entirely unlike my own I was practically aghast in my own fascination. 75% of Indians go to temple every morning. I glimpsed just a quick window into that amazing, amazing culture.

As we snapped shot after shot of the Ganges and those bathing in it, kept feeling I was invading. Being very intrusive into this piece of their life. Yet, I have never felt so comfortable. Everyone, and I don’t just mean the beggers, have been incredibly welcoming, sweet and polite. The bathers would call out “hi” or if we were lucky enough “namaste”. I don’t get it. I wish I could but right now I am still gawking then steps behind. Utter fascination, awe of beauty, love, envy but not understanding…not yet.

We then went straight to Sarnath, the Sermon on the Mount for Buddhism. It was here that the Buddha gave his first sermon there is a sapling from the tree the Buddha was enlightened under that was brought here and planted. A temple was then built around it in the 1930’s. From there we went to a silk shop where they continue to make their own silk saris, tapestries, scarves etc. in the shop. With extremely old and delicate equipment.

After our lunch break, we had a session with a yoga specialist. We did several breathing exercises as well as meditative tools. although it was extremely fun and exciting, we had a train to catch.
The train station was simply put one of the most amazing moments of my life and certainly of this trip. We were told that our train had been delayed forty minutes or so. Immediately after disembarking from the bus, one could see the scene. 58 Americans all with luggage shuffling through an already packed Indian train station. What a sight. Never mind for just a moment this embarrassing sight of us, the entire place was amazing. A long the tracks were cows drinking from pools of water, monkeys running on the roofs of the stations and people. Oh the people.
When we finally all made our way to the right platform and settled with all our stuff, we realized how amazing this place was. Very quickly we realized the people around us are just as interested in us as are in them. And that’s an enormous amount. As we sat in the burning, humid heat, and our train got delayed and delayed again, we realized more and more of what was around us. First our madrichim got leeches from a vender in the station. Some ate, and the rest, Kivunim students gave to children hanging out on the tracks. Then when we got delayed again and even at 530 pm the heat was oppressive, our madrichim were nice enough to buy us ice cream cones. When there were leftovers, brene and I took them and gave toa few of the kids on the track and on the train that had stopped. I had been photographing a few people stopped right in front of us, so I felt I owed them something. Specifically ice cream. As I kept shooting these three people in particular (a beautiful woman in a blue sari, a woman with a young child and a young man) became very interested in us. All three called me over individually to ask where we were all from, I asked the same, we asked each others names and shook hands Purell-ed and took more photos.
Elie was called over to the train by the beautiful woman in the blue sari who asked elie to write down her name. she handed her a slip of paper with “elie” written on it. The woman grabbed the pen and paper and wrote her name “sarita”. Sarita then grabbed elies hand and slide on two golden bangles. Naturally this was followed by many more photos.

Finally, finally, finally, our train arrived and the 58 of us, luggage and all filed onto the train. Each car had several sections with three triple-decker bunk beds in each. It took a little while for everyone to settle in and adjust, especially to the strangers staring as we did so, but finally we all were settled in.

Although there was really very little room, I made the best of my ‘penthouse’ view from the top bunk. After photographing the strangers (a family with and adorable baby) I drifted off. I slept relatively well considering my waking a few times to keep my legs from being permanently cramped.
See you in Agra!

Day 4 Agra → New Delhi
What a day.

This morning I was woken up and told we would be at Agra in 30 minutes and hopped out of bed. I brushed my teeth with bottled water and bought a cup of chai a man was selling while we were parked at a station. Extremely yummy and hot – helps you cool down naturally (sweat). When it became clear, and it did so fairly quickly, that we weren’t getting to Agra in the next few minutes I sat with Hannah, one of our madrichim, with out legs hanging off the train photographing the scenery and any people we would see. Every time we arrived at a station snap snap snap – Hannah and I would click away. Lenders and beggers of all sorts would come and persistently do what they do best. We then sat and listening to some music that fir the mood: the kinks, james taylor, bob Dylan, and some Fiona apple.

This was adin at some of his happiest.

Leaning out of the train, I ripped off the paper roster put up on everyone train with the everyone’s names on it. Singh, Shapiro… we fit right in.

Oh the smile on my face.

Two hours after I was told 30 minutes, we pulled into Agra central train station. Again, 58 of us unloading from a train with luggage is quite the sight. The heat here is far drier that it was in Varanasi or Mumbai. And easily hotter. We navigated our way to the buses and took off for breakfast. I had put on a linen shirt I bought the day before and tried to prepare my self for what was about to come.

Agra is home to one of the wonders of the world: the Taj Mahal.

After breakfast, washing out face, drinking some water, it was time to head to the buses. To get the Taj you have to switch to an electric bus when you get relatively close to try and prevent pollution. The electric bus then lets you off just 100 meters from the eastern gate. We then got off and headed through the barrage of beggers and venders. We walked through the gate and already began to gawk at the ‘foyer’ – a massive entrance way to the Taj Mahal plaza. We then walked through the main gate and could already glimpse the magnificence that is the product of a 16th century Mogul architecture. Massive, beautifully symmetrically and immensely simple yet simultaneously complex, the white marble structure leave you in complete awe. That and jumping into various goofy poses for dozens of photos. Perfectly symmetrical, the mausoleum almost appears to be a master painting brush worked into the sky.

The entire complex is essentially the product of a romance between a 15 year old and a 13 year old. The emperor of the Mogul empire built the Taj, meaning crown, as a mausoleum for his wife Momtaz Mahal.

We garnered the strength in this heat, at the hottest moments of the day, to then tour the Agra Fort. The Fort, the home of all the Mogul emperors is an incredible conglomeration of architecture. The guide described it as a combination of Hindu and Muslim architecture. Why would there be Hindu architecture in a Muslim rulers home? e chose to marry a Jain, a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Muslim and a Persian to unite the people of India. Sure enough, as the guide is speaking about Moorish architecture, he says the peak of such design is “the Al-Hambra castle in Grenada. Have any of you been there?” He got a chuckle to say the least.

After the fort was a sag paneer lunch and then back on the bus for a five hour ride to New Delhi. I write this from the bus.
More soon.

We pulled into the Taj Palace hotel. Consider it the highest end hotel in India. The Ritz, MGM don’t stand a chance. After a luxurious shower and silk robes it was off to sleep in our beautiful beds.

Day 5 Agra → Dharmsala

ADIN LENCHNER AND DANIEL STAROSTA HEREBY AGREE TO REFRAIN FROM ALL HISPANIC, MEXICAN AND OTHER UNACCEPTABLY OBNOXIOUS “LEGALITY HUMOR AS WELL AS ANY AND ALL AERIAL, PROPELLER PLANE AND/OR PLANE-CRASH HUMOR RESPECTIVELY. the aforementioned stipulations have been agreed upon by both irrational, questionably, moral parties. With each’s signature, this contract becomes legally binding henceforth until further negotiations are made. Breaker of said agreement is subject to ridicule (one time) and a slap in the face
Adin lenchner Daniel starosta

Ha. Ha. Ha. So last night we were told today was a flight to Dharmsala. They then told us this morning our flights consisted of two charted flights to the north. That means one flight was one hundred percent Kivunim – a 43 seater. I figured “uh oh, I’ve don’t small so it’ll suck but I’ll be ok”. As we pull up to our place on the bus on the tarmac, I see an unexpected but just lovely surprise. The place has propellers. Bad news for adin. I don’t like that. Too bad. File on board to a plane quite a bit less wide then most rooms in my house and certainly less long than my living room. I look out the window and two men spin the propellers to prepare for take off. Uh oh. Start taxing. Uh oh. There are at least six of us anxious-ers plus those that are now desperately reading tfillat ha’derech as we taxi. Propellers go, take off, there’s no turning back. We’re up. Rough start. Bouncing around. Norwegian wood tries to calm me. mid-lift off, I promise to dance when we finally level out and reach cruising altitude. Sure enough, safe and sound, the beep for the safe to walk around goes off and its time to dance. I grab my seatmate Rachel and we’re up. Slow dancing to the sounds of the propellers, we twirl, dip, spin and laugh. Those with camera accessible had a field day. Then, we cool sat down and here I am documenting the affair. I can guarantee that upon landing I will give my self a pretty substantial pat on the back. Oh. And when we land, we’re being greeted by the Tibetan Buddhists we will spend Shabbat with. The Prime minister of the Tibetan exiled government will be there too. And the Dali Lama’s personal students and friends. Nice. Ill keep you posted. I have to stop now, the turbulence has kicked in and other anxious-ers need my hands.
Till then.

Straight from the tarmac, we got to the Tibetan cultural center directly under the Himalayas. Here we were given a tour of the complex. We saw where they produce beautiful Tibetan cultural art, carpentry, and clothes. I am sitting writing from the shrine and the complex moments after meditation. The extreme natural and cultural beauty is immense. I am completely overwhelmed. But more importantly, immersed in this cultre. Mmmm. Or should I say ohmmm.
This just in, the second flight with 10 students plus 5 staff had to turn around mid- flight because of Monsoon storms. They are now in New Delhi and may very well be stranded there. We’re still trying to figure out what will happen – if they’ll meet us in Dharmsala Sunday and we’ll stay longer or what.

Just a short while ago, we checked into our hotel in Dharmsala and explored the town. It is very touristy, but extremely interesting being in the mountains this place is indescribably beautiful. The ethnicity of the people here is also fascinating. Some Indian, some Tibetan, some Arab, Kashmir, southern Asia, China and on and on. Many went and indulged in Tibetan, Indian chatchkeys. While I had serious buyers regret from having not bought authentic prayer/power/meditation beads from the cultural center. Its all surreal. I am about to get dressed to go do Kabbalat Shabbat with the prime minister of the Tibetan exile government.
What am I to think? More soon…

Day 7 Dharmsala → New Delhi → Jaipur

Today unfortunately is a day of travel. We woke up early, at six, to get our with breakfast in our stomachs by 730. At 730 our buses took off in the direction of Chandigarh. Just so happens we were in Dharmsala on the most auspicious day of the year for Buddhists. Today is the day of three special events. Siddhartha’s birth, the day he reached enlightenment and the day he achieved nirvana. Buddhist pilgrims and interested tourists travel from all over to see the festivities. Unfortunately our time was up. Because of the special day, Dharmsala airport is close. So we had to drive six-plus hours to the nearest airport. From Chandigarh it was straight to the airport and our flight to New Delhi, where I am currently writing to you from, and where we will grab a connecting flight to Jaipur. This is the unfortunate consequence of both traveling a huge country and the desire to see so much. We try and minimize the loss of time in commute, but it is often inevitable. For example, night trains are a great way to minimize that time, but they aren’t always available especially at longer distances.

In the time we reached cruising altitude, when I stared writing, to now, I’ve already been asked to put up my tray table. That’s a 45-minute flight for you.

Sitting in Indira Gahndi international airport, waiting for the connection, I am beginning to realize its time to close up shop on Kivunim. I’ve already eagerly anticipated an email that tells me which age group I am assigned to this summer, which will act as a nice buffer, but wont quite do the trick.

The general feeling is definitely sentimental. Although we saw these last days coming, no preparation eases these closing moments. And it’s sad. There’s I no doubt about this year. It was the single most profound, influential, educational and defining year of my life. I have grown accustomed to the quirks and habits and comfort that comes with these fifty. All of the brilliance, humor and idiosyncrasies that have made this program what it is.

We just reunited with the group that got stranded in New Delhi. Kivunim hasn’t even ended and we’re already having reunions. “time apart makes the heart grow finder” even two days. “ you don’t know what you’ve got till its gone” poems, music and literature, theatre. Much of the words greatest art is emoted by the feeling of longing; a desite to be elsewhere with others in another time. I know already that this group, these experiences have occupied a substantial part of my heart that will be left empty, leaving me searching, sketching out the shape and size of that hole. How have I been changed? How did I grow? What was this year and why did I do it? The questions are endless and I only am getting the first tastes of them now. How ever sentimental these moments create I know a few pieces of comfort. It is only making me want to soak up, slip every last drop of this delcious treat. The knowledge that the effects of this year are forever, and will take me just that long to discover all the way its done just that. But lastly, and maybe most sadly, as best said by Reb John Mayer

It’s really over.
You’ve made your stand.
You’ve got me crying, as well as you planned.
But when my loneliness is through, I’m going to find another you.

How ever profound this year and the amazing experiences that come with it, I will find another group that will only help further this growth. I know that some of these people will be at my wedding, standing by me on the alter. Some of these people I hope will be long lasting friends and keep helping me grow and themselves grow. I can only hope I find another group to supplement the growth, find another you to do all Kivunim has done and then some. Intellectually stimulate, think, love, appreciate, self reflect, be ambitious and more passionate to all I love. I cannot thank this year enough for what it has given and what it has done.
My flight to Jaipur is off soon, so too must I be. Another flight, another experience.
Loving it. More soon.

Oh. Whoopdeedo. “no don’t worry it’s a full size jet”. Nope. Its another small propeller plane. Yippee kiyay. I did it once I can do it again right? Guess so.
Talk to you soon.

Day 8 Jaipur
Today was, as usual, an early morning wake up. We hoped on the buses and headed straight for Jaipur. However, we had to make a little bit of a pit stop. As we stopped to look at the winter palace whaddya know – an elephant comes walking down the street. We naturally migrate to the enormous animal, all of us in awe. We pet and admire, but no rides we’re told. As we get to the fort, we get a surprise. Everyone gets an elephant ride from the base all the way up the hill to the fort. Wow. The size, power of them is amazing. Sounds goofy describing them, no? leaving us all either giggling or simply in shock, some of them painted by all of them totally beautiful.
As we get to the top of the fort we find ourselves amazing. We now have explored numerous forts and castles and they never fail to impress. The extraordinary aesthetic beauty of the palaces, the massive estate, the incredibly ornate detail is continually amazing.
From the fort we drove a little to the water palace. A massive castle built seemingly in the middle of a lake. Unfortunately our time at the lookout was disrupted by countless peddlers and beggers. And yes, this has becoming a running theme.
Of all aspects of India, the most impressionable is the fact that virtually everything is unrelatable. From the foreign architecture, cows in the streets, EXTREME poverty, mass population and ubiquity of religion, the colors every where; it’s all unrelatable.

there is no question that this was the peak of our international adventuring.
a concluding blog is just to follow (never mind the many more in reflection after June 12th)

Deutschland

Germany Germany Germany

Welkommin. Germany was an extraordinary emotional, intellectual, aesthetic and tasty treat as well as a struggle. There is an enormous amount to say, so I suppose ill just dive right in. This blog is going to look a little different from the rest. There is going to be much more of just straight stream of consciousness and a lot of talk of my struggle being in Germany and less straight itinerary.

To start it off is a piece of writing we all had to do right before our trip in which we discussed why it was that we were coming to Germany.

You need to not simply pay lip service to these things you need to really struggle with it all
There exists in the Jewish world a stigma surrounding Germany. After World War II, there subsequently formed a taboo to buy German products, support German companies, visit Germany, or in its most severe forms, to even discuss Germany. The end result is both a self-imposed ignorance and an alienation of knowledge. Thus making the importance of visiting and learning about Germany even more important. . We must not allow ourselves to become passively myopic to the world and actively escape our, for lack of a better word – or perhaps most pertinently, ghetto. This is a fundamental aspect of Kivunim’s philosophy and is one I have come to embrace. It is for these two reasons, the importance of distancing myself from the harmful stigma and remaining an active member of the international community, that this international trip is so important.

It is of extreme importance not to fall into the ghetto, the stigmas and taboos. It is far too easy to put up those walls, the temptation is great, but the dangers are far greater. There are those on this trip that have allowed themselves, or their parents have, to fall into that stigma. In my mind, the only thing that this creates, is a self-imposed limited thought; self created myopia.
Right after getting off the plane, I ran up to one of my madrichim Hannah and was bouncing with excitement. Seeming less excited, I asked her what was up. She said “I’m really uncomfortable with it all”. The moment the plane landed, simply seeing German writing was very weird for her. Right next to our hotel was a Kosher café called Beth Café. In a conversation later that day with Hannah, she admitted that she almost expected there to be broken class in the Beth café window.

One of many problems here is that the only thing my generation is taught about Germany is 1933-1945. First reactions to the German language are fear. Thoughts of Berlin are sinister. Few of my generation can think of a Germany separate from that of the perpetrator of the horror stories they have heard from their relatives. This is just another one of the many problems of the vicious cycle. When we as a people continue to teach only the Holocaust, don’t buy German products, and don’t visit the country we are only stirring up and fostering more and more animosity, and creating stereotypes that we, ourselves, continue to be victims to.

We have an enormous amount in common with German youth. Both Israeli youth and, I’m sure, the German youth are feeling:

Stop with the holocaust. We get it. We have acknowledged its enormous influence on our lives, our history, our society and our people but we need to allow it to influence and not take over. We need to take it and grow from it.

Much of the German youth are saying that they are done having it be a burden on our souls. Germans have been the subject of animosity, pity, hate and destruction for the past 100 years. ‘We have had enough of that. Let us grow from this without it overwhelming our being. Berlin especially is a city reborn. 20 years old. Israel is only 60. ‘
So too, Israelis feel similar things:
Stop with the holocaust. We get it. WE ARE NOT VICTIMS. We are not the people that were in the camps. We are sabras. Stop treating me like that my grandparents, or even great grandparents.
the two groups share a wish to be reborn.


Day 1
Our first day in Berlin we spent mostly doing a bus tour through the city. Among other sites, we visited the famous Berlin memorial to the Holocaust. The memorial is different from most. It consists of thousands of cement pillars set up in relatively straight lines. The pillars are arranged at different heights and the floor is also crooked and at oscillating heights. It’s extremely overwhelming. As you walk through, you see how huge it is, how the giant pillars looming above you are imposing. You feel slightly sick to your stomach and very overwhelmed.
A few of the reasons this memorial is different from others: there is no clear sign signifying what the memorial is to. There is an explanation of sorts to the memorial, but it requires going downstairs, underground, and there is no real direction to do so. Therefore, most people either have to figure it out on their own, or already know what it is to.

The second, seemingly simple but profound, difference is that the Berlin memorial is to ‘the murder Jews of Europe’. This contrasts with, for example, the Washington memorial which is to ’11 million victims of Nazism’. Many memorials struggle with how to phrase the remembrance. The Berlin memorial is a direct phrasing: Jews were murdered. Near by is a memorial to the homosexuals murdered during WWII. That memorial consists of a giant concrete block in a nearby park with a small hole. As you peer into the hole you see a looped video clip of two men kissing. The theme of the Berlin memorials is simplicity.

As I was walking through the memorial, I had flashback to my experience in Poland. I remember thinking as I walked out of the gas chambers of Majdonik, how I felt that nature was mocking me. As I walked out of the most miserable place in the world, I saw dandelions and green grass; the sun was shining and it was a beautiful day outside. From the inside of a terrible place, from the center of a shockingly overwhelming and powerful memorial, all you could see were the tall, beautiful green trees that surrounded it.

Just around the block from the memorial is the space where the Nazi’s headquarters buildings once stood. Almost immediately after the fall of the Nazi party, Berliners knocked down every Nazi building. This exhibits a sentiment that the Germans have been feeling for decades: shame, partially out of the animosity of the world, and seeking pity. The very land surrounding the memorial was once inhabited by the SS headquarters, Hitler’s bunker, the Foreign Affairs office was nearby, as well as the headquarters of the Gestapo.

After seeing the Holocaust memorial, we went west into west Berlin. There we visited a long lasting department store called KaDaWe. Before Kristalnacht and the Nuremburg laws, it was here that the Nazis first targeted the Jews. Many of the stores of this famous department store were owned by Jews with overtly Jewish names. However, this was not a sociological, or historical lesson; it was for exploring. I sat down for a glass of wine and a cheese sampling plate as well as some Culatello mairalarte. Super delish.

Day 2
Our second day in Berlin started with a local walking tour of the Jewish quarter. From here we visited local shuls, holocaust memorials put up by Berliners, not the government, and explored a little. We discovered very quickly that Berlin is an extremely beautiful and modern city. For many it was their first time seeing such a place. Yet, there was something very odd about being there. Never mind the Nazi aspect, from across the city one could see the spire of the New Synagogue. This shul was damaged years and years ago to be rebuilt in the 1960’s. an incredibly ornate and beautiful shul, it stands quite, quite tall and proud in Berlin’s new city.
Across Berlin there are many Holocaust memorials. Some as overt as the one I just described and some as simple as a brick on the street. Literally. All over city, and over the country, there are memorial bricks on the sidewalk with the names and those Jews that were taken from that particular building. Instead of a large, imposing blast to the horribleness, these bricks serve as a more creeping reminder of the people that died. As a I said before, its required that we remember names not numbers, and this type of memorial does just that.

I decided on this walking tour that I was going to write my end of the year essay about European Jews, with a focus on German Jews, and the stigmas and taboos that surround them as well as, what I would describe as the hypocrisy towards the attitude regarding them. I would describe how the attitude towards these Jews is simple: take your culture and leave; come join us in Israel or the States but leave your home. This approach is often a passive idea. Yet at the same time there is a very active, aggressive town taken towards the area. There is often very aggressive rhetoric used: There is rising anti-semetism in Europe and we need to fight it, and if we don’t battle it off we shall perish as Jews. Similarly the approach to German Jews is passively learn about the Holocaust and encourage Jews of Germany to immigrate but to actively hate the Germans and boycott their country. Just a few thoughts.

One thing you notice immediately about Berlin is an enormous amount of light. Unlike NYC, which as one Kivunim participate described as ‘a city of hallways’, there is a huge amount of open air and tons of light flooding the city. I suppose its similar to other European cities and I’ve just fallen in love, but it’s a very aesthetically and emotionally pleasing effect.

Day 3
Oh boy. Today was a day. Today I saw the entire city of Berlin, or so it felt.
First we walked across the city to go to a beautiful new shul. The shul was massive. Only finished in the last few years, the place was incredible. After shul we were off to luch.We had lunch with German-Jewish youth at the Lauder foundation in Berlin. After lunch, we went to the Pergamon museum. This place is huge. Much of the contents of the museum are acquisitions Germany sought in the late 19th century when a national pride became competitive with that of France and England. In order to compete with the Louvre, Uffizi, Museum in London, Germany had to both amass a respectable amount of art and history as well as establish itself as a culture beacon in Europe. Besides for the hugely enormous and hugely magnificent remains of the Temple at Pergamon (a roman fort in what is now Turkey), there are two other incredible sights. The more amazing of the two (in my opinion) is the gate of Babylon. Never mind the sheer size of the gates and inner walls, the beauty is literally breath-taking. The walls are a rich blue with yellows and reds. The walls look like a massive mosaic composed of colored bricks. The gate was given to Germany, that had been excavating the site in Iraq by the Iraqi government as a gift. And boy is it some gift.

Immediately after the museum we were off on another adventure. Given a few hours of free time, I recruited a group to go explore the Berlin wall, or at least what remains of it. I was also fortunate enough to bring along our teacher and guide Shalmi. We began to walk towards the Potsdamerplatz, a very modern area with, among other things, a few sections of the Berlin wall. We followed a path that snakes throughout the city, two bricks wide, that traces where the Berlin wall stood. From the Potsdamerpltaz we went to the nearby Sony Center. This beautiful piece of architecture was built in the midst of Berlin’s rebirth. In trying to rebuild the city and establish itself as a modern society, there remained a large plot of land that was completely abandoned. As part of this effort redevelop east Berlin, the famous architect Helmut Jahn was brought in to design a project funded by Sony. The finished product is simply stunning.

We then continued to walk around East Berlin, allowing ourselves to get lost. We indulged ourselves in some of the best ice cream Berlin has to offer before strolling back in the general direction of home. On our way we walked past another expanse of the wall, this time practically a full city block long. The wall is very powerful, even now in its shambled state. Right behind this expanse of wall, is the site where the Gestapo headquarters was. Throughout my trip I would play with the idea of what the city would look like decorated with Nazi flags and with soldiers patrolling the streets; Gestapo running around and, most embarrassingly, myself with a yellow Jewish star pinned to my chest. This made experiences such as visiting the ruins of old headquarters buildings extremely interesting. Here were the ruins of the very scenes I was picturing in my head.

We finally get back to the hotel after a long day on our feet. We then do havdallah in the hotel courtyard. Now this could either go without commentary or a mental meltdown at the profundity of it all – ill go for the short commentary. The fact that a group of American-Jews living in Israel were singing at the top of our lungs niggunim in BERLIN, the hub of the most evil atrocities ever committed against Jews, only 64 years after the fall of Nazism is quite profound.
After Havdallah Ben and I decided we wanted to find meat for dinner. We asked one of our guides where we should go. She said we should walk to Alexanderplatz, to a restaurant called Block House and implied it was right around the corner. So we walked. And walked. Then asked directions. Then walked. Then asked directions again. Then walked. After about an hour of walking our legs collapsed beneath us in front of the giant TV tower at Alexanderplatz. With our legs in pain, ben with a stiff neck, we finally finally found our restaurant. As we plop down, our waiter comes over and asks us where we’re from. ‘oh! The states! You must try our German beer! Try this wheat beer, its very delicious.’ Who are we to say no? as the beer arrives we notice on the mug it says Paulener. We think – ‘no, it must just be the mug’. After our first sip we were sure it was in fact Paulener.
We drink Paulener as our beer of choice at the bar around the corner from us Jerusalem.
We just traveled across the world and city… for a Paulener.

Sunday May 3rd
Early in the morning, we took off for the Wannsee villa. About an hour outside of Berlin, it was here that the Nazi Party met to decide on a solution to the so called Jewish question. The coated euphemism of the ‘final solution to the Jewish Question’ was a term used to deliver to the German public as clear propaganda by Goebbels. Here, 15 men stood around a table at the request of Görring, the Nazi Party’s second in command, and conceived of a pragmatic, efficient and thorough plan to eliminate 11 million Jews of Europe. Adolf Eichman, deputy of the SS proposed ideas and needed the support and political co-operation of the other 14 Nazi leaders. Among other pieces of information, he provided the other men with a list breaking down the countries and areas of Europe and the number of Jews in each. A page, distributed at the conference, instructed that ‘after your breakfast, please join us in the conference room for the meeting’. After a light meal, the 15 men decided the murdering was the only effective means. The Nazis had tried to encourage immigration to other countries. It was not the real intent of the Nazis, at least originally, to kill the Jews. They simply wanted the Jews to not be in Germany; to disappear. Many Germans, although may have been happy if they could get the professorial job they were hoping for that the Jew got and would be pleased if the Jew was gone, did not want a extermination of the Jews. The majority of Germans, and even Nazi Party officials, were not overtly anti-Semitic. However, after war (especially with the invasion of Poland) they were forced to find a more effective means of ‘handling’ the Jews and it was decided at this conference, that the best way of doing this would be systematic killings.

From the Wannsee Villa, we traveled straight to Track 17. It was from here that the majority of Berlin Jews were sent to concentration camps all around Germany and annexed German land. Right along side the platform were metal plaques identifying the number of Jews sent, the date and where they were being sent to. A typical plaque would read “May 3rd 1942 / 31 Juden/ Auschwitz”. I experienced a very serious Poland flashback; Images and memories from my trip to Poland and the true horror that still exists there now. It was from this point, families said goodbye; where cultures, generations and whole societies disappeared. It is memorials like this that are extremely powerful reminders of the enormity of the atrocities. 6,000,000, a impossibly foreign and un-relatable number, can only be grasped, and even then the difficulty is enormous, if the number is substituted for names and stories. Not 6 million, Slomi, Rivka, the Perlsteins, the Lenchners.
That night we went out for a Middle Eastern dinner of salatim, pita and hummus. It may as well of been Pizza Hut. Psh. I substituted this meal for a bratwurst and a German beer or two or three. Erdinger, Shöfferhöffer and a Weihenshermaner.

Monday May 4th
The morning started with a walk to the Foreign Ministry. There we met with a man named Dr. Benedikt Haller. He is the special envoy for relations with the Jewish communities at the German Foreign Office. Dr. Haller is a robotic diplomat. Over the course of our session, we asked personal questions, intellectual questions, tough questions, easy questions, and every answer got from him was as though he was an emotionless bureaucrat. It was as if we would ask him a well thought out, thought-provoking question and he were to thinking ‘ah. Well this question is similar to this sort of question that I would rather he ask so ill respond to that’.
After the meeting with the man from the foreign ministry, I got caught up in a conversation with Ben, among others, about bureaucracy and the importance and dangers it holds. We spoke about how it was that this man, someone with a clear head on his shoulders could completely leave himself out of, leave his identity and worldview, out of such a job; how he could respond to a question about Darfur with complete and utter political suave and ease.

Later we went to a Jewish cemetery in Berlin. However, I was still caught up in a conversation I was having with ben earlier. We drove right into the enormously profound struggle that people go through, but more specifically the balance that politicians must find between being passionate about their ideology and true to their identity while at the same time being a pragmatic and emotion-free decision maker. We went through countless examples and endless mind scenarios about this struggle; how do we fix it? Can we? What is the right balance?
It was only suiting that a piece of the conversation was dedicated to the holocaust. The men and women that were responsible for the deaths of so many people was possible in part because of an removal of a human aspect as a result of an assembly line of power. Because of the bureaucracy of the matter, people could kill and do terrible things and simply think of it as their job, their duty, and something that should they not go through with it, could be punished by their superior.

We then discussed two things that terrified us: Firstly, that the people that we place in the roles of enormous power and influence, our politicians and leaders are just people. No different then us. They are just as susceptible to mistakes, error, misjudgment and negative influence as the rest of us. We too often like to think those leading us are some how better. But the second piece, knowing that these real people need to make extraordinarily profound decisions that effect us all, is the scariest. Knowing that its someone just like you somehow terrifies us. Knowing that a person is responsible for deciding whether or not in a high pressure, high stress moment torture is acceptable. In what context? With what exceptions if any? What about waterboarding? Is it torture? There are real men and women, elected by us, to decide these extremely profound decisions.

In 1963, Stanely Milgram did a series of experiments to test whether or not people were capable of inflicting terrible pain on people if there was a level of disconnection and if an authority figure told them to. Milgram went into the test with a personal hypothesis, shaped by the Holocaust and WWII, that the Nazis were a different breed; that they must have been a special type of person and that normal people were incapable of doing such atrocity. The results of the experiments were the contrary. Milgram proved that everyday people were more than capable of doing such terrible things when placed in such a context.
For me – when I hear such a story, such a shocking truth, I feel physically uncomfortable. I feel ill. I described it to Ben as feeling like there are ants under my skin – like there is something inherently wrong with people. What the experiment proves is that each and every one of us is capable of evil and by implication it is up to all of us to personally combat that evil. Sounds rather biblical, no?

But most importantly, we came to this point. There was a philosopher, his name is escaping me, that believed that for any leader to launch a nuclear bomb, he must get the detonator from inside the chest cavity of the living person. He should not be able to kill faceless others without seeing the cruelty of the implications of what he would be about to do. The same logic is applies to the public wanting public officials to experience the horror of torture if they are to inflict it on others. Yet we came to the conclusion that we would never want anyone in charge of making the decisions to feel the ants under the skin that I felt. And at that we had gone full circle: those same people must find a balance between the emotion and the pragmatism. The passion and the ideology.

We then traveled from the cemetery to the Jewish Musuem of Berlin. Simply put, this museum is unlike all other museums I have seen. Certainly unlike all other Jewish museums I have seen. The building was designed by Daniel Libeskind, and is truly amazing. Shocking, but amazing. The buildings shows a Jewish people left shattered by the Holocaust. the architecture is such that the building is shaped like a lightening bolt, constantly cracked and diverted.
The museum is decided to work as a historical timeline, documenting the history of the German Jewish community. Much of the museum is scary for one reason: it truly highlights exactly how assimilated the German Jewish community was pre-WWII. Often when thinking of the holocaust, we think of a stereotypical Polish Jew – peyes, black hat and black jacket. Wrong. The German Jewish community was completely assimilated. I’m sure ill touch on this later in a Hungary blog, but the same was true of the Hungarians. These Jews dressed, acted, worked, and lived the same as all other Germans. Many of them converted, changed their names and disassociated themselves from the Jewish community. There was one particular exhibit that showed a Jewish living room with a piano, family photos and a Christmas tree.

So what exactly is so scary about this? In short, (if you choose to look at it this way) it means that we as Jews are never fully safe. The leading belief at the time was to assimilate; blend into society and no one will know you're a Jew. Remove any ‘other’ aspect of yourself and you’ll be safe. Sorry to be the Debbie downer. Or the cynical sally.

The only way to access the museum is from an underground tunnel coming from the museum’s baroque wing. In the basement of the museum, is a room called the ‘Holocaust tower’. This tower is a solid concrete room, eight stories tall, with no heating and only maybe 10x30 feet. The moment you walk in, an employee of the museum shuts the door and you immediately feel terrified. You feel claustrophobic, cramped, and uneasy. You feel like you’re in a gas chamber.
Another tunnel leads to what is called the ‘garden of the exiles’. This consists of 49 pillars of concrete, each with an olive tree growing the top. The floor is slanted, at a rather sharp angle, leaving you feeling quite literally sick and, again, uneasy.

After the exhibit, Ben was walking around and asked a man working there where the bathroom was. The employee of the Holocaust museum responded ‘the bathroom is just down there to the right. Though there aren’t any showers’. At first ben just walked away, confused. After he left the bathroom, he began to realize exactly the implications of what he had said. We then went into a conference room to hear a Holocaust survivor tell his story but as the man started speaking Ben realized exactly how inappropriate and tasteless the comment was. He stood up and went outside, approached the man and simply said “what exactly did you mean by that?” by the end he determined that this was simply a very inappropriate, terrible attempt at humor. We were talking afterword about how in some sense it was expected. This man, growing up in a society where you are constantly taught about it, remembering it and learning about it but cant speak about it, is working at a museum where he is faced with the Holocaust every moment of everyday. Yet, he can never really talk about it because of its social taboo status. Nonetheless, ben and everyone that heard the story was shook up just a bit more.
Ended the day with Klezer music turned jazz and German beers. Yummy.

Tuesday May 5th
Tuesday we woke up early and headed off to Potsdam Castle. It was here that Truman, Stalin, and Churchill met to discuss the ramifications of the outcome of the war. Very similar to Versailles, the place is also a magnificent scenery; beautiful and ornate. After a tour of the grounds, which truly are breathtaking, we sat down for lunch. Lucky for us, it was asparagus season.

We then came back into Berlin and had some time to walk around before watching a movie with Jewish youth. I took the time to find a bratwurst and a German beer. Totally delicious. Then, sure enough, after the movie was more german beer and bed. You could say today was pretty low-key.

Last day in Berlin
Our last day in Berlin, ill will call Yom Politics. We spent the day being fortunate enough to meet with many different political figures, one from the Foreign Ministry, one from the Israeli embassy and one who is currently a member of the parliament.
The man from the Foreign Ministry, Dr. Schluffer, was just fantastic. An incredibly knowledgeable man, experienced and eloquent, Dr. Schluffer gave us a short introduction about himself before answer dozens of questions from the group. He currently works in Berlin for a government program working on conflict prevention. In this post-Cold War era, the challenges are entirely new, he said, and in order to meet the challenges the world needs to work together. His program works not only on prevention but on peace keeping, peace building and peace establishing. Problems don’t simply go away after ‘peace’ is created, he said, and there are measures required to maintain that peace. Perfect examples he said were Afghanistan and Pakistan, which he termed a world danger. Don’t we need more people like this in the world? Good news: the Germany government is heavily helping with this project. They just recently gave 109 million euros to the project to support, essentially, peace. The hippy inside me smiles just little bit more when I hear things like that.

After giving us his introduction, Kivunim let him have it. Asking questions ranging from Darfur, to how to battle extremism, Germany’s thoughts on U.S. foreign policy in Iraq, what to do about Pakistan, Kivunim got our money’s worth. Being very well versed in much everything foreign policy, he gave us thorough, thoughtful and eloquent answers.
We then took off for lunch with the Media Liaison for the Israeli embassy at Humboldt University. I’m simply not going to speak much about him. He left very little impression. Again, we were faced with a political bureaucrat, who admitted about himself that he took the job because of the pay and the chance to live in Berlin. Although I acknowledge the need for such people in the workplace, I just hope they stay away from jobs as important as improving Israelis image in the world (that this man happily admitted is one of the most pressing issues facing Israel today).
From lunch we were off to the Reichstag building and met with, Hans Ulrich Klose a member of the Bundestag, the German Parliament. Once again, we were able to have an incredible talk with an expert in their field. This man was a true pleasure to hear, speak with and learn from. Sharing much about Germany’s position in the modern world, its economic and foreign policy role in Europe and many experiences from his many years of his seasoned political career, we couldn’t have ended Berlin better.
We then hoped on the bus and headed east to Dresden. But that, that is for another blog entry.

Sderot for the Afternoon

Wednesday afternoon, I decided that my time here in Israel would be incomplete if I did not take it upon myself to visit Sderot. For those who don’t know, Sderot is a town less than a mile from Gaza and has been an ongoing target of rocket fire for the last 8 years. The residents of Sderot have a security system that can warn the citizens when rockets have been fired; a siren goes off and they have 15 seconds to find the closest shelter. So what exactly did I see?

The first and most overt sign of the situation, are the ubiquitous shelters. The idea in Sderot is that because there are only 15 seconds to run to shelter, there is no stretch of street without a shelter within close running distance. As a precaution, the bus stops were turned into shelters. Just to give some imagery, a shelter is essentially a giant slab of concrete, held up by four concrete walls and just enough room for maybe 8-10 people. I had an amazing opportunity to happen to walk by a large, empty parking lot where the city had created a graveyard for the old bus stops. After walking through the city, and noticing the fact that the bus stops had been replaced, it was especially profound to see the swap. My dad asked me after I returned if Sderot looked like any other city, or if it felt different in anyway. This city feels like a suburban Floridian town. Beautiful houses, palm trees, and with a profoundly nefarious twist. Schools have no windows, playgrounds have painted shelters, there are notices all over the city explaining what to do should a ‘tzevah adooma’ goes off (red warning).

Before going, we were told there are three must-sees: the police station, which stores hundreds of qassam rockets that have hit the town, a specific playground, and a hill on the edge of town that has a view into Gaza. Unfortunately, the police department doesn’t allow visitors to see the rockets (except for our friends that had pleaded with the officers) so we were unable to see the collection. However, just 30 feet from the station were two exploded rocket shells, propped up by metal wiring on the street. Although its truly impossible to get a real sense of what life is like living in this town, every piece like this helps. Just looking at the rocket, you see how crude of a weapon it really is. With explosives that can be made of everday materials, the shell itself can be, and is often, simply a pipe.

At one point, in trying to find the police station, danny (my roommate) and I asked a few people on the street where the police station was. We asked ‘where is the misrad mishtarah (police office)? We heard there are rockets there’. A man responded ‘well… theres a qassam over there. And another right there. And one more over here.’ Although he was not actually pointing us in the right direction, he was making a comment about the ubiquity of the attacks; that no spot in Sderot has been left unfazed by the rocket fire.
At some point danny and I began to navigate our way towards the hill with the view of Gaza. Unfortunately, this spot is on the absolutely opposite end of the city. On our way across the city, I noticed myself doing something: without even really thinking about it, I would be looking as to where I could run should a rocket fall at the particular moment. At one expanse, there were no shelters and I thought, well, there’s a concrete house to my right, I could jump in there. Along the way, we saw a playground with a large caterpillar and snake structure in the middle. We walked into the playground and quickly saw that they were in fact giant concrete shelters painted to appear, a little more aesthetically pleasing, as a caterpillar and snake. This cat and mouse game has become a day-to-day routine for the residents of Sderot – this is extraordinarily terrifying.

As we got to the top of the hill, we were exhausted. We plopped down and glanced up. Directly in front of us, less than a kilometer was Gaza. I have at this point, experienced this phenomenon many times. Sitting at the top of a mountain and looking into Lebanon, or the point where Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel and Egypt meet, or staring into the West Bank – it never becomes less profound. This is a phenomenon that thankfully Americans never have to experience; Most of the world never has to experience – staring down the throat of your enemy, wondering if they will attack you at any moment.

I spent much of my time on the way home to Jerusalem reflecting on how heavy an experience I had just been through. I hope I never become too jaded to brush off the profundity of such a place.

languages

sorry for the short tid-bits of blog entries, but here's another piece i wrote a while ago on languages:

I want to share I sentiment I’ve been feeling, that I think will stay with me for quite some time.
To properly share what I’ve been thinking I’m going to share three anecdotes.

I’m sitting in a train compartment, with five other people including Tal Kita (an administrator on the trip), and a Bulgarian train director comes to collect our tickets. We discover that we do not have tickets but rather reservation slips. However, we certainly did not discover this by the director telling us. Very quickly we learn that the director speaks very, very little English, and is trying to convey his point in Bulgarian. Tal knows half a dozen words in Bulgarian and is trying to explain our case. She does so with few words and many more hand motions. Standing next to the director is a woman that speaks German and Bulgarian, and asks us, in broken English, if someone speaks German. Through all the ruckus, we are speaking Hebrew in our compartment as to not tell the Bulgarian woman our situation; as well as to mock them both. We then find two students on the trip, Micha, who speaks some Yiddish he learned from his family, and Ariela, who speaks German she learned in high school. Between them, and various hand motions, we finally are able to understand one another.

In Bulgaria, we visited a city called Plovdiv. Plovdiv is the second largest city in Bulgaria and was home to a large Jewish community before WWII, when the majority of the Jews made aliyah. In Plovdiv we visited a Jewish old age home and listened to the stories of the residents. Most of the speakers only knew Bulgarian and some Hebrew, so they required translators for the groups to understand. However, one group had a sweet woman that somehow knew Spanish. My roommate Danny, who was in that group, whose parents (from Venezuela and Mexico) spoke Spanish in the house, was able to communicate with the woman in Spanish. It then came out that the woman also spoke French, and was able to communicate with Natannah, who spent months there on an exchange program. Between the Hebrew (which most of the group could understand), Spanish (which Danny could translate), French (which Natannah could translate), and broken English, the entire group was thrilled to hear and understand her story.

The last anecdote took place last night. A Moroccan Jew came to speak to us last night with a tremendous life story: he was born in Morocco, went to college in France, studied Hebrew in college, made aliyah, and spoke to us in English. At the end of his lecture, I asked him a question. “I’m curious. You were raised speaking Darija (the Moroccan dialect of Arabic, with some French influence), you spoke French and Arabic at home, you studied in French and Arabic in France, studied Hebrew in college, speak Hebrew in Israel, are speaking to us now in English with a French-Israeli accent… what language do you think in?” He said a few very interesting things. He said, “When I read, I mostly read in French. When I speak to my family, I insist they speak in Darija. At work I speak in Hebrew. If I were in Morocco and talking about my feelings, I would speak in French. If you were to read my journal, sometimes I write from left to right and sometimes visa versa. If I stay in France for any more than a week, I dream in French. I dream in Hebrew now.”

There are countless conversations of language on Kivunim. How could there not be? After spending time in Greece, where efharisto, thank you and merci are all acceptable ways to say thank you, after experiencing such profound experiences as the ones I just shared, and living in a place where the street signs say welcome to Jerusalem, مرحبا بك في القدس, and bruchim ha’ba’im l’Yerushalim. It simply amazes me. I spent my entire life living in Manhattan, where I rarely was forced to encounter much else other than gracias at my corner bodega. And now here I am, speaking in Arabic to a kitchen staff member and my dorms, Hebrew to my councilor and English to my friends. What a world this is. In each country we go to, there will be no overlapping languages. Morocco – Darija, Spain – Spanish, Greece – Modern Greek, India – Hindi, the prospect of such a thing is mind-boggling. It was perhaps those moments that I mentioned above that really opened my eyes to the idea that people simply cannot communicate without language. Hold on. Don’t worry, I understand the simplicity of that statement. But the repercussions are tremendous.

Ha'Shukim

this was a small creative piece I wrote for class reflecting on the two shuks:
The grand bazaar. Enormous, ornate and modern as hell. I almost felt like I was in a mall in the States. I had built up so much excitement after hearing how huge it was that I was torrentially let down when I finally saw it. After experiencing the shuks of Marakesh, Jerusalem, and Amman, and frankly any other in the Arab world, I was shocked to see a bazaar that paled so enormously in comparison. This is not to say it was not fun, exciting or aesthetically stimulating, but seeing it after Marakesh was psh. Even relative to the shuk of Izmir I was let down. Now, to go beyond the shock for a moment and some actually reflection. I am hardly surprised. Istanbul, the simple of the straddling of east and west, modern and tradional, European and Middle East, would naturally have a shuk to reflect that struggle. Sure enough, there it was.

oh boy – Machane Yehuda. Quite literally my favorite place in Jerusalem. If you really twist my arm, you may just get me to say my favorite place, period. Everything about the shuk (except for the Aroma) is genuine. The smells, the people, the yelling, the pushing. Every Friday afternoon since October 24th and our arrival in Jerusalem, I have visited the shuk at its most bustling moment. And, boy, is it wonderful. From the moment you walk up Agripas and catch a whiff of Marzipan, to being screamed at to buy oranges you know you’re in Israel. In Jerusalem it is all to easy to live in the bubble, totally naïve to the fact that you're in Israel. You can speak English constantly and never meet and Israeli. Consider this my window even if all too brief.

Ataturk our national hero! Hazzah!

Day 1
Today we got off the plane at 815ish and immediately split into buses to head to the blue mosque. The mosque itself is absolutely incredible, huge and ornate. The surrounding courtyard is a mountain of historical tidbits piled one upon the other. The courtyard used to be a horse/chariot racing ring with several monuments in the center. Three of those monuments still exist. One of which is a giant obelisk given two thousand years ago.
Then we were off to the Grand Bazaar. Ah yes. And how awe-some it is. The grand bazaar is essentially an ancient shuk. Indoors, there are close to 5000 shops. Truly amazing. As always, I am shocked by the universalization of English. We have just enough to time to wander around and buy any little thing we might want. To be honest, though, I was underwhelmed by the Grand Bazaar. It was in my mind too similar to a mall. It was all modern and the shops are all, frankly, western. Very, very very different from the shuk in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Casablanca, Sophia or any other market I have been too. It was a MASSIVE indoor shuk with a mall flavour. Extremely interesting though. I sat down for a lunch of burekas and tea at a small shop. Very yummy.
For dinner Gabi, a madrich, and Gaby, a friend, walked through what is essentially the Times Square of Istanbul. And although it was raining the streets remained packed. We wandered around the city, which reminded me, perhaps too much, of any classic western city. What was so interesting is that there would be a burger king, and just above the roof you could see a minaret from a mosque peaking out. We ended up, due to time constraints, ate some quick food at a shwarma-esque joint which was delish delish. But as with all of our days, it was a quick stop and we were off to the buses for another adventure.
We drove an hour and a half to the edge of the city to a JCC where we were scheduled to have an ice-breaker of sorts with the local Jewish youth. We showed up but in the end there were only three or four Turks. Hmmm. There was free cold beer and music. I guess it was worth it. I am writing this all from my Istanbul hotel room with an official count of….29 hours of no sleep and 29 hours of constant activity. Sweet dreams, ill blog more as I explore more.

Day 2
This morning we woke up at 745 and went down for breakfast at our hotel before taking off for a full day in the city. Our first stop was a meeting with the chief rabbi of Istanbul. A short, older gentlemen, wearing black and purple robes (frankly looking like something out of harry potter) came strolling in. He began to speak to us in Hebrew with the help of a translator (our councelor Gabi). This man was fantastic. He was an adorable man that spoke to us of how it was that he became chief rabbi. He explained that he started his work in Turkey as a teacher and spoke to us of the importance of education and the power it holds. The Rabbi spoke of how the role of a teacher can perhaps be as influential and loved as a parent. The moment he chose to follow the direction of chief rabbi and leave education, he cried, knowing this would mean leaving the role he held so dear to him. He then touched on what he called the poison of the Jewish people, assimilation. I asked him in Hebrew at the end of his address what he thought of, the admittedly large, question of how he viewed the relationship between Israeli Jews and world Jewry. He first chuckled by asking why it was such a large question, then went on to explain the importance of the state of Israel while at the same time having a powerful Jewish community abroad to strengthen the Jewish world. He explained, with a point that I had spoken about on Kivunim and the General Assembly in the past, is the idea that without world Jewry, The world would know no Jews; only sustaining anti-Semitism and the root of the cause of stereotypes. I truly enjoyed by experience with the Chief Rabbi and wish I could have spoken with him in more depth.
After the chief rabbi, we left to the only Jewish school in Turkey. The school has kids from kindergarten until 12th grade. However, because of the secularization of Turkey under Ataturk, the school cannot be blatantly Jewish. Therefore, they teach Jewish law and customs under the blanket class ethics. The school taught currently 46% of the Jewish community’s kids. Really remarkable. We then had a short Q&A with the principal of the school; an intellectual of sorts that stumbled upon the job. He fielded questions about the Jewish community in Turkey, its homogeny, the strong culture, and its connection to Israel and if they teach Israel in the school (he responded by saying, ‘no we do not, it would be like saying do we have a United States class’. Very interesting answer.) After eating lunch in the cafeteria, we went back to the hotel to get changed for Shabbat services and dinner.
The shul we attended for Friday night services Kabbalat Shabbat and Mariv was the only Ashkenazi shul in Istanbul. We may very well of been in the shul for only 25 minutes. For those who frequent synagogue less, that’s a very quick service. Kabbalat Shabbat is typically a service with joyous melodies, welcoming Shabbat. This service was speedy quick, as they say, and without tune. Shortly thereafter, we headed to an old-age home for dinner. After a delicious Turkish-Jewish dinner of local sea bass in an lemon and egg sauce and a vegetable stew with beef, we sang Jewish songs with the residents and then headed home by foot, taking the wonderful opportunity to drink in the city on the way home.

Day 3
Naturally, an early am wake up was in order. Off we were, walking down the street, all dressed up, to services. Naturally we were the only group of people, certainly the only Americans, walking down the street dressed to the nines early Saturday morning. Just as Friday night services were over almost as soon as they began, so too were Saturday morning services. I am more and more so discovering that the magic that came with camp prayers, and the strong spiritual connection I might find there, is actually very closely connected not to the prayers or to god but in fact to the tunes, the atmosphere and the people. So sure enough, when all three are missing, as they often are throughout the year, I find myself in spiritual AWOL. We then walked from services to the old-age home for lunch. I forgot to mention that from the old-age home, specifically from the 4th floor dining room from which we ate, we had a 270 degree view of Istanbul and boy, was it beautiful.
After lunch we had some free time to relax after our exhausting travel and long days. I took the time to investigate the sauna, pool, and jacuzzi of the hotel. Yum. Although I have done a fair amount of traveling at this point this year, and have become an expert packer, have started to adapt to the hopping from one hotel to the next and the constant changing environment, I have not yet learned how to stay on my toes with little sleep. Maybe that will never change. Anyhoo, this time to relax was much, much needed.
Just after hopping out of the Jacuzzi and showering, there was a special presentation of ‘dreaming of the world to come’ by our very own Peter Geffen. I’m not sure if I have discussed this piece of Kivunim at all, but dreaming of the world to come is a very interesting part of the trip. It is a group of kids that come together twice a week to read various inspiring texts, depending on the topic of discussion for that meeting, and talk about what we change we would like to see in the world. In some sense it’s a forum to discuss thoughts and provide discourse to feed our minds. However, one of these meetings every week is dedicated to a presentation by one participant about their own personal worldview, what brought them to that place and what they would like to see themselves doing in the future. Oh boy is it interesting. So, as you can imagine, Peter’s World (we refer to each presentation by this clever name. my presentation for example would be ‘adin’s world’.) would be very insightful. He talked about how he came to the place he is now. Many of the anecdotes I had heard before, but much of it I had not. He talked about the role his dad, a rabbi, played in his life. Various texts he had read as a teenager and different experiences that inspired him to lead his life in the direction. He spoke about how the 60’s’ atmosphere led him and many of his generation to a place of idealism; a mentality that you could accomplish or influence anything you wanted to. You can be sure that a man like Peter has many-a-anecdote and many-a-powerful-a-anecdote at that up his sleeve. If you ask really nicely, ill let you see my notes from adin’s world.
After Peter’s World, we had dinner and headed off to a party, being thrown by the local Jewish community for Purim. This party was for all intents and purposes an open bar and techno music. Not really much bonding with the Turks, primarily because we were both being fairly anti-social drunks. The maybe the most interesting piece of the night, besides of someone throwing up on my back (how fantastic that was), was the security and architecture of the building (the same as all Jewish buildings in the city). From the outside, quite frankly, they look like prisons: walls with barbed wire at the top and plenty of cameras watching the streets. You would have no idea that these buildings are Jewish from the outside if no one told you. After a few deep breaths and a few people to help, you could yank open the seemingly tons-heavy door. After getting through the first door, you enter a narrow hallway with security and a security booth with one-sided mirrors. Once you hand them your passport and they let you go through the metal detector and x-ray machine, you need to enter the second enormously heavy door. I have asked every Jewish official, the chief rabbi, the school principal, and museum curators if they feel Istanbul to be hostile to Jews and they all answer no. Sort of a curious answer considering the security. Anyhoo.

Day 4
Today started with a bus ride to the Jewish museum of Istanbul; only established after a 1980’s bombing by the PLO on a synagogue that prompted the US to ask if there were even any Jews living in Turkey. The museum documents the Turkish Jews’ history, which for the most part begins in 1492 with the Spanish Expulsion of Jews. There were various decrees given at the time by the sultans regarding the Jews; many of them really remarkable. One of which was as extreme as to say ‘if anyone treats these refuges poorly, they could be subject to the death penalty’. Not even Israel provides such a serious protection of the Jews. Never in the history of Jews up until that decree and since has there been such a statement.
From the museum we drove to Topkopi Palace, the palace of the sultans of the Ottoman Empire. Easily the most interesting piece of the palace was the building that houses the holy relics. In this building the palace claims to house many incredible relics ranging from Abraham’s soup bowl, King David’s sword, John the Baptist’s arm and piece of his skull, a foot print of Mohammed, Moses’ staff, and many hairs and teeth of Mohammed himself. Very interesting stuff. Obviously its all up for debate as to whether one believes this to be the real deal or not but certainly interesting to look at nonetheless.
From the palace we walked to the cistern of Istanbul. Not in use anymore, normal folk like us can simply walk in and explore the vast underground mansion that held the city’s drinking water. It was a nice touch that as we walked around we got large drops of water on our heads.
Back on the bus and off to a lecture about Sephardi culture in Turkey, its history and Ladino music. We learned a song or two, including the classic Ocho Kandalikas, and learned about the history of the Ladino (or Judeo-Spanish). For dinner we ate at a mall’s food court. Really? I would think Kivunim could do a tad better. The highlight of such an experience was a fierce debate between Ben and me in front of a Burger King. It began with such prompting one another about who would win in an election for public office. Ben happens to be one of most skilled public speakers and intellectuals I have ever met so you might think this would be tough. Our friend Nanus provided the questions for debate. The questions were as follows: some of Burger King’s sandwhiches are longer and more rectangular while others, like the Whopper, are more circular and smaller. Some are calling for all sandwhiches to be the same size. What is your position on the matter and what would you do if elected the Burger King? Some feminist groups are complaining that the Burger King is a sexist institution, what is your position on the matter? There are many items on the Burger King menu, such as chicken fries in phallic shapes. They are damaging our children’s fragile, virgin minds. What would you do to stop such madness? The blind are complaining that they can’t enjoy the food completely because they cannot see what they are eating. They say that there should be brail pictures. What is your stance?
Of course all answers involved answers relating to the power of American freedom, liberty, justice, how the other was denouncing American freedom and justice and the whole nine yards.
I write this all to you from a train from Istanbul to Ankara.
I’ll fill you in as I go along.

Day 5
After waking up nice and early to the sound of the breaks of the train. We have to immediately grab our things and run off the train before it hops out of the station and goes one stop closer to its destination of Damascus. Running off the train, its back on the bus. As the bus pulls away, we can see a GIANT poster of Ataturk hanging from the top of the train station. Maybe 60 feet high. The admiration, a very public admiration, for Ataturk is entirely unparalleled. In such a democratic, secular country it comes as a shock, but even the kivunim crew was chanting his name by the end of the trip.
Our bus pulls up to our hotel to give us a chance to drop off our things, have breakfast and even get some shut eye if the train didn’t quite do it for you. After we recovered a little bit we headed off to the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, a truly incredible place exhibiting artifacts from the rich history of life in Anatolia. Although an amazing place, we were just too exhausted and our attention lagged pretty quickly. Making a game-time executive decision, the itinerary was changed and we were given free time to go explore Ankara, or sleep, or whatever our heart desired.
I chose to wander around with two friends and one of our madrichim. We wandered and wandered and wandered, our goal to find a restaurant that served something tasty looking and beer. After much searching (being picky), we finally gave up and walked into the closest restaurant. Unfortunately for us, or maybe fortunately, no one in the place spoke English. That means we had to engage in a game we had at this point in our international experience mastered: the hand signals and vocal intonation signals game. Two of us told the waitress to order what she thought was good. We got two dishes that were fairly exciting. They consisted of doner kebab (much like shawarma) and fries, for the most part. Very tasty.
After that it was back home to get some rest.

Day 6
Finally, a real night’s sleep. The first stop of the day was to the old city of Ankara, which any self -respecting historian knows is at the acropolis. That means we got an incredible view of the city. The entire city drenched in snow, as we were experiencing hands-on, was truly beautiful. Our next stop was maybe the best of the trip: Mustafa Kamal Ataturk’s mausoleum and museum. This place is like nothing you’ve ever seen. The monument is HUGE. There is a giant pathway leading to the mausoleum itself and once you see it you're breathless again. There is a huge square in front of the monument itself. Once you walk in to the building, with incredible ceilings all covered in beautiful mosaics, there is a small monument at the back of the room. Our guide tells us it is a must-see for any and all diplomats visiting Turkey. Lucky us, we got there just in time for the changing of the guard. Outside every building in the complex are two glass cases. And sure enough, inside are two soldiers. Six new soldiers and their commander come marching in making a good point of making sure their boots smash against the tiles to create the dramatic sound they’re looking for. We then walked into the Mustafa Kamal museum, a place dedicated to his belongings and documenting his life. REALLY incredible. Everything from his first passport, to a teacup, to his swords; everything, truly everything. Of course, there was then the gift shop, selling everything from Ataturk ties, to Ataturk posters, books, keychains and every tchotchke you can think of.
We then took off for our next destination: Afyon, a small town between Ankara and Izmir. As if the day needed another plus, in the basement of our hotel is a hammam (Turkish bath). Because the hotel insisted on having first a time designated to girls and then to boys, the guys had some time to kill. So in the meantime we enjoyed the pool, which is kept at jacuzi temperatures and the sauna. By the time we were allowed in the Turkish bath room, which consists of a large circlular stone in the middle of the room and several alcoves with faucets of hot and cold water. The order of events for a Turkish bath is to first go to a ‘warm room’ where you are to loosen your skin and sweat (for us the sauna), then go to a ‘hot room’ which we substituted with hot water from the faucets, and then cooling yourself off with cold water. After all that you get scrubbed down and massaged. Sounds nice, no? Because there was only one man to scrub and massage, the rest of us had to sit on the side and continue to enjoy the hot and cold waters (how terrrrrible). We would pour practically scalding water over our head before pour ice cold water. Really fun, and feels amazing. Finally it was my turn to get scrubbed down by the funny looking older Turkish gentleman. And boy was it amazing. Essentially he rubs you down with a loofah-glove. Mmmm. Then he pours warm water on you and lets you just lay there. You then turn over and he scrubs down the other side. Finally, you get off the stone and sit down next to one of the sinks and he actually washes you with soap water then rinses. Being pampered is something I could get used to.
And as if I needed to end the day better, we then went upstairs for a delicious dinner and a cold beer.
Needless to say, I slept well that night.

Day 7
This day was rather low key. We jumped on the bus to Sardis, an incredible site of roman ruins. Pertinent to us because the site was a roman gym, pool, and school before being handed over to the local Jewish community and having a synagogue built at the same site. After some thorough restoration, you have never seen a more incredible sight. The synagogue is one of the most ancient and well preserved in the world. Of course kivunim then put on the annual frigidarium swimming races in the ruins. We arrived just at sunset making the lighting on the already incredible structure, just perfect. We then continued to Izmir, the third largest city in Turkey. We then had the opportunity to meet Turkish youth. In the small world of small worlds, this group of Turkish youth happened to be traveling to new york in two days. Youll never guess where they’re visiting: Heschel. Where are they staying? Heschel families. Where are they praying? B.J. the world is small but the jewish world is tiny. We ate dinner with them and they put on a dance show (the reason for their trip to the States). Back to the hotel and bed.

Day 8
We began the day by going to the sea and taking an elevator up to a view point. Wow. The view was tremendous. The view of the Aegean sea and the city was breathless. From there we visited several shuls in the area. Right next to the bazaar are six shuls. SIX SHULS. Not even in Israel are there so many in such proximity to one another. Although there are no longer enough jews to fill all six regularly, they use all six for different occasions.
Then we had my favorite time: bazaar explore time. Just enough to pick up some yummy treats and delicious lunch. I truly love the bazaar, shuk, market, take your pick. It is my favorite part of Jerusalem, and virtually every city we’ve been to.
A drive one hour south led us to Ephesus, an ancient roman city. The city has been incredibly well preserved and carefully restored. AWE-some. Never before have I felt this way about ruins. You truly feel present in the roman city. You feel the bustling streets and the screams from the shops on the sides of the streets, you see the houses just above the shops, the water flowing from the fountains scattered across the city. Really amazing.
Back on the bus to the airport. Just then we’re told that our rooms at Beit Shmuel (our home in Jerusalem) are not yet ready and we’ll have to stay at a kibbutz that night. Wonderful news. We first fly to Istanbul before grabbing a connecting flight to Tel Aviv.
And then our trip ended just as it began: homeless in the middle of the night, flying from city to city, exhausted.