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.

International Adventures

Oh boy is this overdue. I’m going to try and do my best though.

Morocco morocco morocco
Our whole adventure began with a late night flight out of Tel Aviv (as usual). For me, the adventure began two weeks earlier with a flight out of Tel Aviv to Rome, but that’s a story for another blog entry. Early am, we board a Turkish Airways flight to Istanbul. The same electricity that we felt before Greece and Bulgaria was in the air here too. Although our second international trip, the excitement paired with travel naivety was still very present. After landing in Istanbul we had a very quick layover to a flight to Casablanca. Oh Morocco. This was quite an experience. No one really knew exactly what was about to happen. We had just landed in Africa. In our first Muslim country. Our first Arab country. And here were were.
We first ventured to a Jewish museum with artifacts from shuls all across Morocco. The Jewish community there has existed since the second temple (two thousand years) with a large influx in 1492 with the expulsion of Jews from Spain. This museum was fascinating. Artifacts ranged from old torah scrolls and talitot to, sadly, photographs of what many of those very shuls look like today: empty and collapsing.
After our visit to the museum, we visited the local mosque. Oh boy. We had no idea what we were about to see. This mosque, Hassan II Mosque, is the third largest mosque in the world, only after Mecha and Medina. The building itself is immense. Covered in beautiful mosaics, incredible architecture, fountains; truly beautiful. The building can accommodate up to 25,000 worshipers. The courtyard is monstrous, absolutely huge; able to hold up to 80,000 worshipers.
We then left the mosque and headed to a small Jewish school, one of few that remain in Morocco. Most of the Jews of Morocco live, now, in Casablanca. This was experience has now fit in with a pattern of kivunim. Hebrew is the bonding tool we use with the dying communities. Its really amazing. In the states, the diapora Jews, do not all speak Hebrew, hardly any fluently. Yet, in all of our excursions, most every jew we have met has spoken to us in fluent Hebrew. Dying communities holding on for dear life to any Jewish connection they can grab. After the school we went back to our hotel and slept (waited) for an early morning wake up.

Early am wake up for a bus to Marrakesh. We spent the day going the medina of Marrakesh and exploring the medina quarter. This was one of many of a series of experiences of first contact with something I had never really experienced before. I’m not sure there is a word or term for it, though many would simply slap on the buzzword ‘third world’. That may even be the most accurate term, but it certainly was not what came to mind. Walking through the medina was incredible. Among other amazing sights was a giant cart with a cage on the back filled with chickens being pulled by a mule. These cages provided the city’s chicken supply. Giant mountains of spices , smells of freshly cooked bread, motor bikes zooming past. Morocco was a full sensory attack, constantly blasting your eyes, ears, nose and mouth with everything new. We then walked into the Jewish cemetery where some graves were marked hundreds of years ago and a synagogue that has been preserved for over five hundred years.
Like clockwork we jump on a bus in the early am and drive 14 hours to Warzazat, a small town in southern Morocco on the edge of the Sahara desert. However, Warzazat is not accessible by bus. So. About 45 minutes from the town the bus stops. As one might imagine we are pretty loopy from the bus at this point. Too bad. We jump into a dozen or so 4x4 jeeps and drive the rest of the way through the desert to the town. There’s not much nightlife on the edge of the Sahara so we hit the hay as soon as we can. ‘Oh wait, before you hit the hay we’re waking up at 4:30 to watch the sun rise. And dress warmly it’ll be cold’. How nice. 4:30 am, I crawl out of bed and walk about 10 minutes to a group of camels. Kivunim boards the beasts of the desert and shuffle up a sand dune just in time to watch as the sun rises above the vastness of the Sahara. Indescribably beautiful. We all sit together, huddling for warmth as we watch a once-in-a-lifetime sight. Who would have thought the might Sahara would be so cold? Time to go, back on the camels. Pack up our things and back in the 4x4s. This time we take the long route through the desert. Awe-some. So incredible. As far as you can see desert. Yet every now and then we see a boy on the side of the road with an addidas shirt or a new york yankees hat; classic signs of globalization. Finally we reach the edge of the desert and re-board our chariot of a bus.
Twelve more hours on this bus. At this point we have figured out tricks for the buses, ways to stay sane. We tell each other stories about our families, watch movies (spliters are a must!), games like geography. We finally arrive, at night, to a very small town called Teluet in the Atlas Mountains along the old caravan trail from the Sahara back towards Marrakesh. Before I continue, I cant stress how amazing of an experience it was to in one moment be in the heart of the sahara desert, notorious for its oppressing heat, and the next in the Atlas Mountain covered in snow. It does a number on your brain. As we arrive we are greeted with tea and dinner. Delicious couscous, soup. Very yum. Pitom (suddenly) a group of Moroccan singers come out, followed by a group of musicians with drums and cymbals to perform for us. We sang, quite literally, late into the night. They called kivunimers up to sing and invited us to dance with them. Some took over drums but all had fun. When it was time for sleep, the boys and girls were split up; the girls to one large room with individual beds and the boys upstairs. At this point, and do remember: we are high up in the Atlas Mountains, it is FREEZING. I end up sharing a bed with a friend of mine and having to sleep fully clothed for fear of waking up an ice cube (or not waking up at all).
Once again, early a.m. wake up; only this time, the entirety of our surroundings is covered in snow. Everything is white and boy, is it pretty. We have a walking tour of the Casbah in the town, still ornately designed and beautiful preserved. Time to go. We hop into smaller buses, fitting 12 or so to a car, and start to head through the mountains back home. As we’re heading through the mountains, we come to a halt. Sure enough, as if in a story, we’re stuck. Kivunim is stuck in the Atlas Mountains, surrounded by snow in the middle of Morocco. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How scary! Classic movie set up: The Morocco Chainsaw Massacre. But in classic Kivunim fashion, we all jump out of the vans and start playing in the snow. Snowmen, snowball fights and games galore. After about 45 minutes of stuck in the snow, we’re back on our way – continuing our 12-hour journey to Marrakesh.
One thing I’ve failed to mention, and I’m not sure how it is I have, is our entourage. Since the 2003 Casablanca bombings on several Jewish sites, every Jewish community center, every shul, every Jewish gathering is protected by the Moroccan Federal Police. That means that whenever we go anywhere, we have our own personal army coming with us. We show up to a shul – the street is blocked off and there are 4-5 police cars waiting to escort us inside. Quite a feeling. Imagine that. A country of 34 million people and there’s a private police escort for a miniscule minority of FIVE THOUSAND JEWS. Really remarkable.
Moving on. To wrap up our trip in Morocco we spent three days in Marrakesh. The night we arrived we had an excursion to the shuk, or the marketplace. WOW. Ill talk more about the shuk when I talk about our day trip there. We spent much time visiting different shuls and various Jewish sites in the city. The shul that we spent Shabbat at was really interesting. As a Jew, raised in New York City, gone to an essentially Conservative day school, a Conservative summer camp, it’s a very interesting experience to both see how incredibly different the service is (these Jews are not only Sephardim but pieces of their service are lead in Arabic and pieces in French – certainly the d’var Torah), but how incredibly similar it is. Much of our trip is seeing the different world Jewish communities and how unique there are while at the same time seeing what unites us all. Seeing our amazing nuances (sometimes not so subtle) and our binding connections.
In the shuk, we had time to simply go explore ourselves. I walked around with a friend named Micha to go buy authentic Moroccan shoes. After a series of serious haggles, we were simply strolling when something interesting happened. A man yells out ‘hey, where you guys from?’
Us: Los Angles, New York
Man: ah yes! America, Kentucky fried chicken! Yum yum. No but seriously what do you guys think about your government?
Us: well, we don’t like bush but now we’ve got Obama so we’re pretty happy
Man: yeah, you know theyre all the same, we hate your government.
(man turns around to show us the writing on his back GAZA SUPPORTERS….)
Man: you know, its all just the zionists. Everyone knows Israel and the States are one in the same. The Jews control the senate, everyone knows that.
At this point we slowly walked away.
Shortly there after I had a monkey thrown on my shoulder. One thing to explain about the shuk. Everything – EVERYTHING- and everyone in the shuk is centered around getting money. If you stop to look at an entertainer – pay me money. You get a monkey thrown on your – pay. You talk to someone – pay. Knowing this I willingly accepting the monkey for the sake of an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Once again, early am we drive north for a ferry to Spain. We drive to Tangiers and grab the ferry. Allowing Kivunimers to say we have every type of stamp in our passport: plane, boat, train. The works.

Spain, I regret to say, was disappointing. We spent at least 80% of our time on buses. We visited Cordoba, Toledo and Granada. In Granada we explored the Alhambra Castle, a beautiful, beautiful piece of incredible history. Cordoba, showed us the roots of Sephardi Judaism and Maimonides’ home of study for many years. Toledo unfortunately only gave us a panorama view and a hotel room. In all three cities we had dinner outs and the opportunity to help ourselves to all the gazpacho, paella and sangria we could enjoy. Although it was upsetting we couldn’t spend more time in spain, I will remember it as an amazing tease of a visit. Delicious, beautiful, interesting and fun. I suppose I’ll just have to go back.

Until next time!

My Weekend Get-Away: Across the Border

I decided with a two friends to make a break and head over to our neighbor Jordan for a free weekend. The beginning was tough as it is because the official security notice says that it is unsafe to travel and we should just wait it out. The program’s stance was that if we wanted to go to Jordan we would have to sign a waiver that essentially un-enrolls us from the program so they don’t have any liability should something go wrong. So sure enough, a little bit of research and three waivers signed, im off to Jordan.

Day 1
To get to Jordan there are three boarder crossings: one in the Golan, one due east of Jerusalem in the West Bank and one just off Eilat in the south. Because we wanted to see Aqaba, we decided to go to the crossing in Eilat. We woke up at 5:45 to get to the Tachana Mercazit (central bus station) to get a bus down to Eilat at 7 am. The moment we get there we are told the bus at 7 is sold out and we have to wait for the 10 am bus. This puts a bit of a damper on our plans. We decided to wait it out. What else’s to do? Five hours later, we tell the bus driver to let us off on the side of the highway so we can walk over to the crossing. We walk over and get through the crossing with no problems (besides for a highway robbery of an exit fee from Israel). Though the boarder guard police were very impressed with our dabble of Arabic. We then walk to get a taxi on the Jordan side. As we’re driving we see sand storms sweeping along side us. After about ten minutes of driving, the cab pulls over and we switch to another cab on the street. From the moment we get in the second cab the driver tells us that the weather is terrible here and there is no way we would be able to get to our destination of that night, Petra. He tells us that the weather is so terrible, so so so terrible. The man is quite persistent. We keep telling him that we’ll play it by ear but thank you. We then hear “do you want to die?” the man continues with his shtick. Finally, we get off alongside the beach and breath in the day. We begin to walk on the beach and eventually through the city, with our Arabic knowledge proving to be quite helpful. We finally find a place to go scuba diving. Even as we begin talking, a little boy brings us all tea. The man is very nice and speaks fluent English. Only after we can finally all agree that we’re willing to spend the money to go diving does he tell us the weather is bad and the water will be too choppy. He then also tells us that the weather is so bad that we wont be able to get to Petra and that the police have blocked all the roads. Now we’re screwed, we think. With Mr. Scuba’s help, he sets us up with a cab driver to drive us to a cheap near-by hotel. We begin speaking with the driver, Ahmed we learn, who is also very nice. We get to the hotel which is nothing fancy at all to say the least. We tell Ahmed to come pick us up from a restaurant scuba-man suggested later on that night and we go off wondering through Aqaba.
As we wonder through the city, which for those who don’t know, is on the Red Sea and shares the beach with its Israeli counterpart Eilat. We pick up some street snack, two different bags of roasted beans with sauce, lemon and salt: absolutely delish. We then stroll into a small bakery and buy a few assorted pastries that we save for later. In our wandering, we find a small hookah shop. We follow a man down the street and he brings us to what looks like a parking lot filled with plastic chairs and three tvs showing three different programs: WWE wrestling from at least 5 years ago, an Arabic film from Egypt, and a generic action Hollywood movie. We sit down and again, tea (Shai in Arabic). With our tea we get a strawberry hookah and sit and watch WWE reruns. The experience was truly fantastic. To order in Arabic and enjoy this evening, not doing something we ourselves would typically find ourselves doing, but instead enjoying it how someone from Aqaba might. In the middle of the program, call to prayer comes on and the owner comes out to mute the tvs. Surprisingly, not a single man prayed. After our hookah, we walked to the restaurant that was suggested to us. We enjoy a local Jordanian beer (Amstel bottled in Jordan) and local seafood which we’re told is a specialty here. Sure enough at exactly the time we told him, Ahmed showed up to bring us back to the hotel. We drive through Aqaba blasting Arabic music, singing and enjoying ourselves. We even begin to sign a song we learned in our Arabic class. We get back to the hotel and arrange for Ahmed to pick us up in the morning to go to Petra. (Bukra tisah foondook – tomorrow nine hotel) What a day.
Day 2
We wake up at 8 o’clock to wander a little bit before Ahmed picks us up for our ride to Petra (which interestingly enough is pronounced Betra in Arabic). Moments after getting in the car and singing the Arabic song we learned in class (Baba Fein) we pull up to a car repair shop where Ahmed explains he needs to fix something and it will only take a minute. As we wait, he gets the mechanic to make us tea. As we sit and drink tea we decide to go get more of the pastries we ate the night before. So we run to pick up more and get back just in time for our departure. We picked up some baklava of sorts, some Jordanian drinks and a delish knish-esque snack. The drive to Petra is about 2 hours. Once we arrived in Petra, Ahmed tried to convince us that he should stay with us in Petra, in our room, and that he would drive us to Amman the next day. Although he was persistent, we said thank you, paid him and walked to our hotel. Once we arrived at the hotel we were greeted with tea. The hostel was surprisingly very nice and the staff were very helpful. We walked the 20 minutes to the Petra ruins. WOW. Beautiful. Awestruck. The ruins are absolutely incredible. An entire city built out of the mountains. The mere idea of the city is mindboggling. Naturally we sang the Indiana Jones music as we approached. We hiked up a mountain in Petra and had the most incredible view of the area. Truly amazing. By sunset, all of Petra turns a bright red, giving it its name ‘the rosy city’. We walked back to our hotel and had a full Jordanian buffet which was very delicious. Unfortunately for us, the hotel decided to cut their power at 7:30. So no heat. No light. No hot water. We went to bed at 8:15. The hotel staff told us the roads to Amman should be open in the morning and a bus would leave at 6am. So up we were at 5:30 am.
Day 3
We woke up at 5:30 am, shivering in our beds, positively freezing. As we walk downstairs read to go to the bus station the hotel staff tells us that all roads are closed. Outside it is sleeting and raining. Terrible weather. No cabs, no 4x4 no bus. We hang tight in the hotel, waiting for news. The hotel staff comes to the lobby and tells us that the roads will likely be closed all day. I decided this would be a good time to call my councilor from kivunim, seeing as we need to be home that night at 10 pm. At 10 am, finally, they decide the roads are open. We jump on a bus, but only after debating with the driver in Arabic over the price of the bus for 15 minutes. The roads are beautiful, covered in snow. Snow covered mountaintops in every direction. At the hostel we had made friends with a man named jo-jo, a 20-something year old German man who lived in Cairo for four months studying Arabic and is now traveling the region. Incidentally he should be staying at our hostel in Jerusalem tonight (a day after Jordan) as a leaping pad from the Golan to the south. Once we arrive in Amman, we explore the shuk with Jo-Jo and sit down for a delicious meal of pita, hummus, ful and yummyness. After lunch we need to make a dash to the border. We take a cab to the middle border crossing. After the one hour drive we learn the border crossing is closed and we need to head north quickly before that border closes too. So we do just that. After getting to the north (after another 2 hours) we need to take another cab across the boarder (highway robbery) and then a bus from the Jordan side to the Israeli. At Israeli customs I am told that because my dad is Israeli I should get citizenship and vis-à-vis be recruit to tzahal. How nice. Now that we’re in the north we need to take a cab to Beit Sha’an and then a bus from Beit Sha’an to Afula and finally a bus from Afula to Jerusalem. Once we arrive in our home city, theres a 30 minute walk in the pouring rain to be had. Finally. Home sweet home, but what an adventure it was.