Otzma Chai
Friday, January 30, 2004
Reflections in the Desert
To make up for last week's super-short email, this one is incredibly long. My apologies. --sarah
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In this week's Torah portion (the section of the Bible read this particular week each year), the Israelites are freed from slavery in Egypt and begin their forty year wanderings in the desert. After this departure, the Israelites wandered throughout the wilderness for a generation. It is during this time, an entire lifetime for many of the Israelites, that the rest of the Torah takes place. The desert becomes a setting for both Biblical history and the reclamation of the land with the founding of the State of Israel. The past few weeks found me in various settings of the desert here in Israel, recalling the well known journeys of our ancestors, the beginnings of which we read this week.
Just like the geography of the land of Israel is very diverse, so too are the deserts in the south of Israel very diverse. Along the eastern side of Israel, between the Judean mountains and the Dead Sea, lies the Judean Desert. The Negev desert is located in the very southern part of the country taking up nearly half the land mass of Israel. The northern Negev is a region of low, sandstone hills, with some fertile plains furrowed with canyons and dry riverbeds. Towards the south, the Negev is drier and more mountainous, an area of bare rocky peaks with more canyons and dry riverbeds. Somewhat in between these two deserts is the small Tzin Wilderness/Desert, a rugged region cut by deep canyons. Believe it or not, these landscapes are quite varied: the mountainous red and brown rock formations around Eilat, the flat yellow sandy areas in parts of the Negev, the canyons and gulleys of the Judean Desert ranging from bright yellow to dull beige, and the salt formations near the Dead Sea.
Last month, I mentioned a Shabbaton I went on at Sde Boker, located in the heart of the desert, where the Negev meets the Tzin. This kibbutz was founded in 1952 by a small group of young, idealistic pioneers in the middle of the Negev. When the first Prime Minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion, was driving through the desert that year he came upon a group of young people camped out in what was seemingly the middle of nowhere. When he asked them what they were doing there, they responded that they were following through with his vision, determined to start a kibbutz and "make the desert bloom." Ben-Gurion, then Prime Minister, was so moved by these youth that he decided to move to their settlement when he was through with his term in office. He did so for a year, served a second term as Prime Minister, and then retired for good to Sde Boker, living there as a full kibbutz member until his death in 1973.
The Ta Shma Shabbaton program, as you may recall from a previous email, was phenomenal. However, one of the most incredible parts of the weekend was the location. After the evening's programming on Friday I decided a small walk was in order. From our rooms, I followed the edge of the canyon to the graves of David and Paula Ben-Gurion. I then continued to walk along the edge of the canyon, stunned by the absolute darkness that faced me. The gorgeous landscape I had witnessed there earlier in the day was completely swallowed up by the blackness in front of me. As I stood at what seemed like the edge of oblivion, the lights of the hostel and field school in the distance behind me, I tried to imagine what life must have been like for those early pioneers. The incredibly hard work with barely visible results didn't impress me as much as what I imagined their nights must have been like. There were no electric lights and heated hostel rooms behind them. They had only some tents, campfires, and each other's company to stave off the vast and seemingly infinite black nothingness that enveloped them each night. My mind completely in shock with the crushing solitude they must have faced, I gratefully returned to my room - complete with roommates, a proper bed, a full bathroom, and heating.
A week and a half ago, Otzma took us on a Shabbaton to Ein Gedi. Before arriving there, we stopped at Qumran, located in the Judean Desert on the North-Western coast of the Dead Sea. Qumran is famous as the place where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in the 1940s. Although much about the sect who wrote the scrolls is unknown, and modern criticism is beginning to doubt the commonly held belief, simply exploring the caves and ruins is phenomenal. The area of Qumran may have been inhabited by a isolationist group of Jews known as the Essenes from 150 BCE to 68 CE. The members of this sect were disillusioned by the corruption and Hellenization of fellow Jerusalemites and sought refuge and religious and spiritual purity in the sands of the desert.
As we walked among the ruins and climbed the narrow paths that clung to the mountains it was easy to see why someone seeking solitude would find himself dwelling in this desert. As I stopped to sit on a stone outcropping in the path, I looked out across the desert, to the Dead Sea and beyond to the mountains of Jordan. Sitting alone, I thought about the tradition of vision quests among many peoples, and how this particular location could draw people seeking seclusion and reflection. And for those looking for a more pure connection with G-d and the commandments like the Essenes, running away to a desolate place seemed like the perfect way escaping from daily life.
From there we continued to Ein Gedi, also in the Judean Desert along the Dead Sea, where we would spend Shabbat. That night, after dinner and some activities I decided I wanted to take a walk. However, I couldn't seem to find my way out of the hostel property so I ask Udi, a Tel Aviv University student, and he helped me. We walked together a bit, until the lights were mostly in the distance, and then sat on a small rift and watched the stars. We talked about life and G-d and faith and relationships and terrorism and the afterlife and families and everything in between. Clouds came over and covered the stars for a bit, and we continued talking. When the clouds had finally passed I was shocked at how far the stars had shifted in the sky.
The next morning I slept in and missed the scheduled hike, but went off on my own after lunch. I followed a dirt road up a mountain a bit before sitting down to look below me. And there it was - desert. Between the sand and rocks close to me and the mountains in the distance was the dull sheen of the Dead Sea. I also couldn't ignore the somewhat incongruous Dead Sea highway, a thin strip of black with a white belt that wound its way along the edge of the sea and the desert. But mostly what I saw was sky. The endless blackness had been transformed to endless blue, everywhere I looked I saw the pale blue of sky. No buildings or trees or mountains or even clouds to break up the expanse of blue. The Hebrew word for sky is shama'yim, the same word used for heaven. Never did it seem so appropriate.
My final desert adventure took place last weekend when I went down to visit Becky in Arad. Arad is a true desert town, smack in the middle of the Negev, six miles from Jordan. That weekend was incredibly windy throughout all of Israel, which translated into a soofa chol (sand storm) in the desert. Taking the bus through the desert I noticed that there was a surprising amount of green across the hills, I rare sight in the desert. This region gets about one inch of rainfall a year, and only during the winter, yet the plants have adapted so that what is a completely brown landscape during the winter becomes surprisingly colorful in the winter. The other thing I noticed on the desert drive were the yellow diamond shaped signs every mile or so with a camel on it. Camel Crossing!
I had a great Shabbat and Saturday afternoon Becky and I decided to brave the soofa chol and walk to "the point." The point is a lookout spot past the outskirts of the town. We sat out there for a while, being able to see the difference between the low, sandy hills and the rocky mountains in different parts of the desert. Supposedly on a clear day you can see to Hebron and the Dead Sea and Jordan. This weekend, all we could see was more desert. But sitting out on some stones, seeing the desert in almost every direction, I thought about how influential the desert has been for the Jewish people. Our patriarchs dug wells, our matriarchs met their husbands at wells. Moses led the Israelites throughout the desert for forty years. During the time of the Temple, groups of Jewish isolationists ran away to the desert. And more recently with the birth of the State of Israel, Ben-Gurion's vision for making the desert bloom became a Zionist dream. And today, with hikes and towns and trails crisscrossing the arid landscape, the desert is again become an accessible getaway.
Friday, January 23, 2004
Sometimes You Just Want to Stay in Bed
Sometimes I just want to stay in bed, huddled under my warm blanket in our slightly moldy and mildewy apartment. This week, the rest of the world seemed to agree with me. I'm at a bit of a loss for things to write about because this week has been surprisingly boring.
At the elementary school where I volunteer, the English teacher has asked me to translate a forty page power point about their school into English for her. So instead of helping out in the classroom I've spent hours in front of a computer doing mind-numbing translating and reformatting.
This week many of the eleventh and twelfth graders in Israel have state Bagrut exams. Therefore about half the students in the high school don't need to show up for classes. So we go to the classroom with the teacher we assist, see that nobody is there (the administrators consistently forget to inform the teachers when the students will not be present), and go back to the teacher's room.
The library has been much quieter. Instead of busying myself with art projects (none of the girls have shown up) and shelving books (too few people have ventured out to return their books, letting them go overdue instead), I have been repairing broken spines and ripped pages of well-loved books.
Two of girls I tutor individually also decided to stay in this week instead of meeting with me to go over their reading comprehension.
However this week I did start working individually with a new student. Her name is Tanya, she moved to Israel from Russia four years ago, and she's currently in tenth grade. She dreams of being a lawyer but she knows her English needs serious improvement. We met quite accidentally but now she wants to work with me five days a week. I told her that's a bit much, especially on top of all my other volunteering, but we could probably do three times a week.
Last night when we met she took out this long piece of paper and showed me that she had written a whole essay using the new words we'd learned Tuesday. How incredible! So we went over her essay, learned new words and grammar, did her homework, and talked a lot. After an hour and a half, she put away her work and I took out mine. She's been teaching me Russian! Loads of fun!
I'm sorry this email's so short - I just can't think of much else to say. (Suggestions for future emails are always welcome.) Now I'm off to run catch a couple buses so that I can spend Shabbat down in Arad with Becky and all the WUJS people.
All the Best,
Sarah...
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Nine Representations of Israel
I participate in a graduate seminar on Alternatives in Jewish Education which meets every month in Jerusalem. This month we were instructed to bring with us nine objects that represent Israel for us. As I gathered them together, I thought you all might be interested in what I chose, even though I don't yet know the final purpose of the project. It should be noted that, along with everyone else, I tried to figure out a way to include a mangy cat in the group. After all, what do you think of after living in Israel if not the thousands of dirty, hungry, howling cats absolutely everywhere. But alas, it was not to be. Here are my nine items, sans-chatul (without cat).
First item - the Emblem of the State of Israel. Maybe this is a cop-out, or maybe this is exactly what the assignment was looking for, but I'll admit this was actually the last item I added to my list. I realized that many of my other items dealt with the people and daily life in Israel, yet I had completely ignored the state itself. The emblem, if you're unfamiliar with it, is blue and white, with a menorah at the center, olive branches on each side, and "Yisrael" (Israel) written on the bottom. For me, this emblem demonstrates that Israel is a Jewish state that strives for peace. Although this may not always be true, the emblem embraces an ideal it strives for.
Second item - a Tangerine. This tangerine, bought for about five cents at the shuk (market) represents the shuk and therefore Israeli society. The shuk is the place to buy the freshest produce around, not to mention clothing, meat, linen, baked goods, music, household appliances, spices, paper goods, school supplies, and everything else you could ever dream of. And the price of every single one of those items is bargain-able. But the best part of going to the shuk is watching everyone else there. Not a single religious, ethnic, or economic group of Israeli society is not represented. And they're all busy pushing and shoving and arguing and yelling at each other on the battle to the perfect tangerine.
Third item - a Squeegee. Though it would've been nice to bring a large squeegee, it wouldn't fit in my backpack so instead I need to use this baby, counter-top squeegee as a representation. As I made explicitly clear in the last email, I have wholeheartedly embraced the Israeli love affair with the squeegee. These incredibly useful tools make your floors and counters and tables gleam, and they're so much fun to use! Not a single Israeli household would think of not having at least two. And besides, where else do you get to regularly dump a bucket full of water on the floor and call it work?
Fourth item - a Fork. This item may be the most obscure on the list, but I use it to represent the hundreds of meal invitations we are swamped with regularly. We are invited into the homes of both religious and secular families for weekday, Shabbat, and holiday meals on a regular basis. And unlike invitations elsewhere, the inviters truly want you to come. If, on the off chance that you need a meal and don't happen to have a home to match it up with, it's not even considered rude to call someone up and ask/state that you'd like to join them - they'd honestly be honored by your request. It's truly a genuinely hospitable country.
Fifth item - an old Kartisia. A kartisia, or bus pass, is an incredibly valuable investment as I discovered a few months ago. Not only does it make bus travel even less expensive, but how were you planning on getting from place to place, anyway? Less so than the shuk perhaps, the public buses are also a leveler of Israeli society. Everyone needs to get places, and public buses are the most affordable way to do so. In fact, at a conference in Jerusalem a few weeks ago, their main skit poking fun at Israeli society took place on a bus. How perfect.
Sixth item - my Cell Phone. Though I never had a cellphone in the States, it's impossible to function here without one. In my cellphone is every single phone number of every single person I know in Israel, or so it seems. (I just counted, there are 144 phone number there.) My phone also functions as my way of keeping in touch with the outside-world, and their way of keeping in touch with me. It's also a good extra measure of security in this not-quite-the-world's-most-stable-environment. My cellphone also includes games for when I'm bored out of my mind and functions as my alarm clock, the only one I have or need. Unlike money or my house-keys, I truly never leave my apartment without my cell phone.
Seventh item - a Letter. This is not just any letter, but a letter written by one of my elementary school students to a pen-pal in Canada. Although adorable in it's childish handwriting and simple sentences, the reason I selected it was for three specific sentences. Leo, age 11, wrote "I can speak Hebrew, English, and Russian. At school we study Hebrew, English and Arabic. What languages do you know?" Not many 11 year-olds that I knew in America studied three languages by sixth grade, not to mention speaking a different one at home. The fact that this is considered normal in Israel, and that he assumes that his pen-pal in Canada will also know a number of languages to some extent, is why I chose the letter. Talk about multi-lingual.
Eighth item - a Photograph. The photograph is of Beit Canada, the absorption center we lived in for three months at the beginning of Otzma. I chose this because, even more so than multi-lingual Leo, it shows that Israel is an immigrant society. In my opinion, that's what gives Israel its distinctive flavor, that nearly everyone here has grandparents born in another country. The fact that they could all come together to build new lives in a new land - that's what makes Israel special.
Ninth item - a Drawing. Given to me by one of the Ethiopian girls I work with at the children's library here in Beit Shemesh, this picture is colored in with creativity and patience. Most importantly, on the top of the paper reads in her second grade Hebrew handwriting, "L'Sarah Mi'Rivkah" (To Sarah From Rivkah). This represents the personal connections I've been making with Israelis since I've gotten here. I'm not just a tourist, nor am I really a student. I'm not an Israeli, but I'm proud to say that I'm a volunteer. I'm here for year, I'm here to help, I'm here to make a difference. And the best part is, along the way, I get to make friends. I can't think of any program other than Otzma that would allow me to do this, and I'm so grateful for the opportunity.
All the Best,
Sarah...
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Seminar - Arabs this Side of the Green Line
Remember that Hanukkah Seminar we had weeks ago? Well here's my last email about what I learned there (better late than never, right?). So we heard lots and lots of speakers. We traveled to the West Bank and met with a settler there. For many, the issue about the West Bank is cut and dry, clean and clear. But even for those folk, other concerns about the relationship between Jews and Arabs in Israel can muddle the picture.
An area no one will let you forget is Jerusalem. Not the Jerusalem that I spend my evenings in, full of young people and movies and clubs and shows and bars. Nor the Jerusalem of the postcards, filled with holy religious sites, pilgrims, and sacredness. This is a divided Jerusalem filled with fear, animosity, and ignorance. This Jerusalem faces poverty daily as the poorest city in Israel. This Jerusalem deals with the constantly intensifying struggle between its Jewish residents, half of whom are secular, traditional, or Modern Orthodox, and half of whom are ultra-Orthodox. But mostly, this is a city divided from East to West.
In West Jerusalem live Jews, constantly fighting amongst themselves, yet for the most part being heard. In East Jerusalem live Arabs, fully one third of the city's population. As Jerusalem residents, these Arabs can vote in municipal election. However, while they are considered municipal residents, they are not considered Israeli citizens. Arabs living in East Jerusalem have the right to vote in city elections, but due to their status, they cannot vote in national elections. Looking at the make-up of the current Jerusalem city council, you would never guess that Arabs are allowed to vote at all. Of the 31 members, 21 are religious Jews, 10 are secular Jews, and none are Arab. Huh?
Yes, even though they are allowed to vote in Jerusalem, they do not. Many refuse to vote because they believe it would be a symbol of their acceptance of the Israeli occupation. Likewise, many refuse to recognize a government not their own. Additionally, very many Arab Jerusalemites would like to vote in the elections, but cannot out of fear for themselves and their families. Those who believe Arabs should not vote in a Jewish government do not make it easy for Arabs who wish their voices could be heard. Consequently, with no Arab representatives on the council, the municipal prejudice goes unchecked. East Jerusalem's roads, public services, and community buildings are in a constant state of disrepair. And nothing is changing.
But what about the Arabs who are considered citizens of Israel? Though I was given a shining view of Arab-Arab coexistence in the city of Shefar'am during Sukkot, I soon learned that Arab-Jewish coexistence in mixed cities within 'Israel proper' is not as picture perfect. At the end of the seminar, we visited the cities of Ramla and Lod, located near Tel Aviv. [Don't confuse Ramla, a Jewish/Arab city within the Green Line, with Ramallah, the infamous Palestinian city not far from Jerusalem.]
Currently, of the 70,000 Israelis living in Lod, 27% are Arab. Yet the Arabs can't get building permits to build legally. There is no legal urban plan for the Arab sections of Lod, so the Arab residents are forced to build illegally. In the past 55 years, permits have been allotted for a total of only 300 new apartments for all of Lod's Arab residents. In as many years, the Israeli government has demolished about 2,000 illegal houses. This isn't a very cost-effective solution because within a few weeks after a house has been demolished, a new one is built in the same place for about half as much as the government spent demolishing the first. [Keep in mind, these houses are not demolished for the same reasons building are demolished in the West Bank. There, houses, apartment buildings, and warehouses are often used to train terrorists, construct bombs, shoot civilians, and conduct other illegal activity. In Lod, homes are demolished because they lack a building permit.]
Arab Lod is also known throughout Israel for being at the center of drug trafficking. The walls surrounding apartment buildings have holes in them every block or so. The holes are drop off points for the exchange of money and drugs. The Israeli government was effective in removing the problem of drug trafficking from nearly all parts of Israel - instead everything now occurs in Arab Lod. Apparently it's so common that you can take a cab for a "Flight to Lod" from the Tel Aviv central bus station to the heart of the drug market for less than five dollars.
In Ramla, we visited an area known as Shchunat HaRekevet, The Train Neighborhood. The 200 Arab residents of this small neighborhood are located literally on a small triangle of land between two major highways and the train tracks. This is not a shantytown of cardboard homes or corrugated tin roofs. This is a true neighborhood with houses, yards, and a new playground erected by a volunteer group. The only difference is that to get from this neighborhood to school, work, or any other part of Ramla, you have to cross the train tracks. This, also, is unfortunately common in Ramla and Lod. The growing rail system passes directly through both cities. However, in the Jewish areas of the town, there are stop signs and pedestrian bridges over the tracks. In the Arab areas, you just look both ways and cross the tracks. Seeing as 200 trains pass daily, it's no wonder that trains kill 8 people a year.
As we finished our tour of Ramla and Lod, it was hard to remember that these cities were part of Israel. We talked about the similarities between life here and in American inner-cities. It was still hard to make a connection. Some Otzma-niks have spent summers working in South America and they were able to compare the areas we had visited with the third world countries where they had volunteered. Yet these cities were located in Israel, home of software start-ups and technological initiatives. They were located side-by-side with a booming technological industry and one of the world's most advanced militaries. Yet no one could be bothered to build a pedestrian bridge over the train tracks that lay next to an elementary school. While nano-technology is given a front seat, hundreds of children walk from their illegal homes to their caravan classroom schools, passing drug dealers and heroin drop-off points and crossing train tracks and six lane highways.
How can this happen? Are these two groups of people so fundamentally different? Doesn't every parent just wish the best for his son or daughter? Why doesn't anyone else realize this is such a huge problem? How can the Jewish residents of these cities turn a blind eye to their fellow city resident? And what can we do about it?
These were the questions we were left with as our Politics and Society Seminar came to an end. I don't know where I can begin to find the answers, but at least I have begun to question. I am no longer ignorant of the huge, yet too-often ignored, issues within Israeli society. I am grateful for the experience of the seminar, for being shown that which is never included in the "Zionist Dream Tour," as my friend put it. Although it's easier to form opinions when you're far away, I can think of nothing more important than trying to see things as they are.
Lo alecha ham'lacha ligmor. V'lo ata ben chorim l'hibatil mimena.
It is not your duty to complete the work. But you are not free to cease trying.
--Pirkei Avot 2:20,21
B'Shalom,
Sarah....
The Joys and Pitfalls of Tile Floors
"Sarah!" you may ask, "Why haven't you been writing to us? Haven't we told you that we enjoy your emails?"
On the other hand, you may ask yourself, "Huh? She hasn't been writing to us? Wow, I totally didn't notice. I've just been so busy lying back and enjoying this break that they don't get in that far away land I didn't even realize I was being neglected. But now that you mention it.... Sarah, start writing!"
I'm on it. Sorry about the lack of previous emails. We didn't have internet for a while. Edit - We still don't have internet. But I forced myself to buy some disks so I can write to you all and hopefully find some internet cafe to send these off. If you receive this, I was successful. If not, then we'll just have to keep this a secret between us, okay?
So we moved. We're now living in an apartment on the other side of Beit Shemesh. It's closer to the center of town, closer to many of our volunteer sites, and probably a nicer place overall. However, there's no internet. And possibly even worse, it's freezing. No one in Israel has central heating (not that they don't all need it), so when winter creeps around, everyone busts out their electric space heaters. We had two in the old place, and though they weren't enough, they sufficed. Another difference between this new apartment and the old one is that here everything is tile. While it makes cleaning the floors a breeze (more about that later), the carpeting made a huge heating difference as we're now discovering. So the main room, bathroom, kitchen, and my bedroom are cold all the time. We are currently lobbying for more heaters. Meanwhile we wear coats inside the house except for in the other two bedrooms.
On the up side, I've fallen in love with cleaning the floor Israeli-style. We've lived here a week and half and I've already washed all the floors three times. My roommates aren't complaining. A brief lesson in Israeli cleaning methods: it's all about the squeegee. Israelis have mastered the art of squeegee. Small ones are used on counter-tops and tables. Larger ones are used in the bathroom post-shower. Their main use, however, is as a broom/mop. To clean a floor: First, put on some good music. Next, take a bucket of water. Fill it with cleaning liquids if you feel like it. Pour some out on the floor. Using the squeegee, start moving the water around. Make sure every part of the floor gets wet. Then bring the dirty water back into a pile and direct it out the front door. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Somehow, I love this. I could clean the floor all day. I know, it's sick. And yet oh so clean.
The past few weeks have been crazy for the Otzma-niks in Beit Shemesh. To begin with, we can review the residents of this apartment - Alisha, Betsy, Lara, Terez, and me. First, Lara spent a week and a half back in the states. Terez decided that sounded like a good idea and left a few days later. A few days after that, Alisha left for South Africa. Next, Lara returned to Israel, her boyfriend in tow. On the same plane was Betsy's sister, visiting her for a week. Then Terez came back. This week, Betsy's sister and Lara's boyfriend will return to the states. Then Alisha will return from Zambia. And then thing will be back to normal. Theoretically.
Though it was somewhat lonely being the only one not going anywhere or having anyone visit, I went to a conference in Jerusalem for a couple days in the end of December. I forget the title, something about Global Student Leaders who are Jewish having a big Summit in Jerusalem. But more succinct. Although the workshops weren't very exciting, the people certainly were. The workshops were geared towards college students in charge of the Jewish life back on their campus. Interesting, just not terribly applicable. But of the hundreds and hundreds of representatives from twenty-four different countries, I literally ran into thirty people who I had no idea were even in Israel right now. I saw people from high school, my old youth group, my old camp, college, alternative spring break, and conferences I'd been to in college in Pennsylvania and LA. Also, there were people there from literally every single Israel program I've ever been on. (For those of you counting at home, that would be NFTY with Camp Harlam, Jewish Leadership Institute, Hebrew University, UJC's Mission to Ukraine and Israel, and Otzma.) Wow for amazing people. Yay for Jewish Geography.
And now, it's back to work. Not that I don't love volunteering, it's just that at the hotel in Jerusalem there was heat.
Shivering-ly Yours,
Sarah....
