Posts From Jerusalem

Cruising

What's in a cruise?  A luxury ship upon the sea and ports of call.  And lots and lots of food, of course.  Amenities all over the place.  A liberal measure of pampering.   What could be bad?
We set out to answer that question on AACI's two week cruise of the Mediterranean, with 8 interesting ports of call, from Oct. 18-Nov. 1.   It turned out to be pretty good.

This, our first ever cruise,  was set up by the Americans & Canadians in Israel to be “Kosher friendly” and, of course, in English.    Kosher food is assumed on an AACI trip, but the several prayers a day occasionally put a crimp in the tour plans and time.  Perhaps the worst aspect of this,   although we docked in the port of Rome at midday Saturday, there was no provision for the non-observant to be taken into Rome for 4-5 hours of touring on their own--a sorely missed opportunity!
We had 8 ports of call:  Chania in Crete;  Catania in Sicily;  Salerna-Pompeii and Rome in Italy;  Nice-Monaco in France;   Ajaccio in Corsica;  Palermo in Sicily, and Heraklion in Crete.   This cruise appealed to us  principally because of both the places that would be new to us (Only Rome we had been to previously) and the pampering one expects on a cruise.  And, let’s face it, no travel poster or guide book can give you the experience of walking down some shabby streets in Palermo and, just as you’ve made up your mind that this one is a real waste of time and fuel,  you walk up the wide steps of the palace, through the moorish courtyard, and step into the stunning Palatine Chapel.  Its breathtaking mosaics tell the stories of the old and new testaments on the ceiling and decorate the walls and columns with fairy tale beauty.  There are even two stars of David on one column (no one knows why).  Being there, even for a few hours, is what makes travel worth the time, effort, and money.
Without actually stopping in Nice, I’d have never appreciated the rugged, almost Alpine mountains that make up southern France.  The city of Nice is neatly laid out on a coastal plain, with a postcard backdrop of hills and peaks.  Some 15 or so miles east of Nice, reached by a serpentine coastal highway, the “principality’ of Monaco is a risible irrelevance in the greater scheme of things.  But it is clean and pretty,  set in the coastal mountains with glorious views of the Mediterranean.  However, it is ironic that the royal palace, set behind a large parade ground and toward the hillside, is probably the only building in town that does not have any view of the sea!!! 
The two places that made the deepest impression were Pompeii and Heraklion.   The former, though well known to everyone, has always made me curious to actually see that Roman city.   Like the excavations of Roman cities we have seen  in Israel, the homes and stores are quite modest, except for one (restored) wealthy man’s mansion, with its many rooms, a fountain, frescoed walls, and ingenious white marble chips in the floor to assist nighttime navigation. 
Just outside the city of Heraklion (in Crete) we walked through the ruins of the second incarnation (c. 1700 BCE) of the Minoan king’s palace (perhaps King Minos?)   The original had hundreds of rooms on four or five floors and probably gave rise to the later Greek legend about the great labyrinth with the Minatour at its center.  Even as an excavation with some walls and rooms partially restored,  its size and remarkable water system (clay pipes bringing water from the hills lying across a river and several miles away!) dazzled us.
Rome, of course defied being “seen” in the meager seven hours we had.   Even with our previous visit, some 10 years ago, to augment what we saw,  it was more frustrating than rewarding.   We did have a tour of the Roman synagogue that we had only a look at last time;  and (it shouldn’t be a total loss), for lunch, we had the best thin-crust pizza we’ve ever eaten!
Each port of call had something of interest for us, including local history and a sense of how that fits into the ebb and flow of 2- 3000 years of our Western world.
I got sea sick once (when I didn’t take my pill soon enough)  We didn’t care much for most of the food, but we liked many of the people we met, two of whom we are still in touch with here in Jerusalem.
Bottom line?  We enjoyed much of the life aboard ship (good entertainment every night,  mostly good weather and the sea around us, very pleasant company in the dining room), and the variety of historical places we had never been to was definitely a large treat.  Another cruise?  Who knows?
Looking ahead,  since David and Cheryl have a bar mitzvah on Thanksgiving evening, we’re spending most of that week at a hotel at the Dead Sea (AACI trip) and then having our turkey dinner with the family during Hannukah.

Medical Moments

The 15th of October was a significant date in our calendar, since that was the soonest Arlene could see a hand surgeon here for help and advice concerning her renovated right hand.  Now, ....  Well, let me tell you about it.
The appointment was for 5 pm with Dr. Carol Pedhurz, in her offices at Hadassah Hospital in Ein Kerem--at the the western-most end of Jerusalem.   Two buses to get there, the second one of uncertain length.  So, I allowed an hour and a half to give us a chance at being on time.  And, as everyone knows, getting there is half the fun.

It turned out to be a nail biter.  The first bus didn't come for 15 minutes and then got stuck in downtown rush hour traffic.  The second took even longer to show up, so I called the doctor's office to assure them we were coming and to wait for us.

 The gods must have been smiling on us just a little, as we pulled in to Ein Kerem at 5:10 (to me, a blessed relief).  Of course, it took another ten minutes before we were on the 7th floor and walking into the correct area.

At this point, for those who were not with us on our several visits to Dr. Hotchkiss's office and the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan (the scene of Arlene's hand surgery),  let me describe the order of things in that pinnacle of American medical practice.

Dr. Hotchkiss's modern, tastefully decorated waiting room has comfortable seating for 15 or so people, including specially elevated chairs to accommodate patients with leg problems.    Behind ten feet of curved frontage,  a receptionist awaits.   Behind heer,  the woman who handles insurance forms occupies one of several small offices. (I'm certain that the other occupants are also working busily at something useful.)  When called, as you follow the nurse to one of several well-appointed treatment rooms, you can't help noticing several other nurses busy on errands or conferring (presumably about important things).  Naturally, there is an x-ray facility, with an x-ray technician (and, I'd bet big money, a back up, too). 

However, your consultation with the great doctor reveals some kind of ultimate in medical practice:  Dr. Hotchkiss is flanked by another doctor (not an intern, but an assistant of sorts).  And on the other side of the big guy is his physician's assistant (PA), very poised, pretty, smiling, perfectly coiffed, and very knowledgeable.  And a good thing, too.  The doctor has an opening statement, sends Arlene off for an x-ray, examines this in due time, devotes an efficient 3 minutes to describing what can be done, and leaves.  Then Kate, the PA, takes over.  Dr. Hotchkiss does the surgery part--and does it exceedingly well.  But, he has others to handle the strategy, appointments, questions, and small talk.

And the Hospital, just across the street, has more specialty offices, departments, and nooks than a honeycomb has cells of honey.  All shiny and modern, each manned by a receptionist and appropriate staff.

Now, get off the elevator with us on the 7th floor of Israel's best hospital, and turn right  toward the office of one of the country's leading hand surgeons.  Even allowing for the fact that Hadassah Hospital is a large facility, still under construction, once you leave its bright, shiny entrance-reception area on the first floor, things become drably utilitarian.   Some departments have nice prints adorning the walls and glass reception portals--some of the nice touches of modern architecture.  But most, including the 7th floor, where we take a little right-left turn, is austere to a fault. 

The waiting area (no room or receptionist) for Dr. Pedhurz, was the hallway outside her office.   The only concession to comfort on the dozen metal chairs lined up there was some slight padding on the seats and arms.  A few prints of Van Gogh and some lesser-known artist, in the simplest frames, vainly sought to reduce the institutional atmosphere.   A rub-rail ran down each side of the hall at chair-back height.  It and the three unmarked doors opposite the chairs were painted a despiriting shade of flat dark maroon.  As a somehow fitting garnish to the ambiance, a custodian cleaned the hall and nearby lavatories for the next hour.

Several people sat in the hall.  One of them suggested we check the names posted on he doctor's door to see when Arlene was up.  She was the last one on the list.  An hour and forty minutes later, it was our turn.

Dr. Pehurz's office was about the size of one of Dr. Hotchkiss's treatment rooms, but not so well equipped (though it did have a window).

But the good doctor was, indeed, good.   Pleasant (even charming), she looked over the notes the other doctor had sent, examined Arlene's hands (both of them), asked about what had been done, how it felt, etc., answered questions, and discussed what might be done with the left hand, should Arlene want to have that one "done," too. (More complicated, with a  wrist operation and then one for the hand).  Dr. Pedhurz was almost giddy when she found out that the "PA" in the notes stood for "physician's assistant".  "What a great idea!" she marveled--she who took her own notes, with the simplest necessities, and no assistants of any sort. 

As we left her office around 8:30, she asked Arlene to have her hands x-rayed downstairs at the imaging facility, so that there would be a record of her current status as a baseline for later observation and treatment.  But we were both very tired and put that off for another day at a facility nearer home.

Outside the hospital, as we looked around the bus stop area, a woman called to us.  It was Drl. Pedhurz.  She explained that she was concerned about the late hour, that we were obviously tired,  and the prospect of another long, unpredictable 2 buses back for us.  So she put us in her car and drove us home!  Amid the pleasant chit-chat on the way, we learned that she lived only 5 minutes from the hospital, but did not mind at all the few minutes it would take to get us to the German Colony.  Actually, it took about 25 minutes (she drove fast and deftly and directly).  And what a grand relief it was to be in bed by 9:30, rather than touring the city until 11:00!

By the way, when was the last time your specialist drove you home?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ruuth, Arlene's occupational therapist, is a cheerful, chatty, and competent
woman who emigrated from Canada a while back.  Her office is a nice 15 minute bus ride from us, and just down the street from the famous shuk (market).
At the end of Arlene's 3rd or 4th session with her, we were setting up the next four appointments, when Arlene noticed an interesting wall clock near the door of the scheduler's office.  It was strikingly simple and modern--just a glass face, with pendulum swinging beneath,  mounted on a vertical frame made of heavy aluminum wire. 
Why, you ask in amazed ignorance, should we find such a clock, or any wall clock, interesting?
Clearly, you have not participated in our latest quest :   that finishing touch for our living room, a wall clock , preferably one that is spring wound, chimes the hour, and has a pendulum.  And just one more thing.  It must go well with our modern decor.  We've looked in stores, of course, and scoured the web.  Oh, there are scads of wall clocks out there, but 98% of them are some variation on the traditional store/school clock (such as we have in our CT house) or grandly sedate wall versions of a floor (grandfather) clock.  The few modern ones we saw on line have serious aesthetic issues (i.e., butt ugly).

In a local antique store we did find a pretty French art deco wall clock, but it did not go comfortably with the rest of the room.  A real shame, but there you are.

So, you can understand why we lit up at the sight of the clock on the therapist's wall.  As we stood oogling and discussing, the scheduler commented, "That was a gift, but Ruth really doesn't like it much.  Why don't you ask her if you can have it?"  (!!!)  Ruth herself walked in at this point and confirmed her lack of enthusiasm for the thing.  "At least take it home and see if you like it," she urged.  So we did.  And it looks rather good.  Perhaps a little smaller than I'd like one to be.  And it doesn't chime (where is it written that a clock has to chime?)  But it is, indeed, neatly and interestingly modern.  And it does go with the room.

Well, Arlene's next session with Ruth is on Sunday, so we have at least until then to think bout it.

And, need I even ask the question:  when was the last time your medical practitioner, noting your admiration of some gew-gaw on her office wall, simply suggested that you take it home?

These events are hardly typical of what one should expect in Israel.  But these two warm the cockles of my heart.

Back in Israel

Our precipitous exit from Westport in early September set off a scramble here in Israel for requisite medical attention (a hand surgeon and  therapist) for Arlene’s revamped right hand.  Our list of doctors was narrowed down to one really good one who also spoke English.  Finding the right hand therapist, however, was first a matter of sorting out the difference between “physical” and “occupational” therapists.  A false start with the former kind led eventually to the right one--and what a difference that made for her hand!
Of course,  what with calls, appointments, and the High Holy Days, nearly a month elapsed before Arlene was in the proper hands.  And she won’t see the doctor until October 15th. 
Her hand is coming along very well.  The need was for timely intervention with exercises that work the proper muscles in her fingers, to insure restoration of full movement--which she is now getting.   A recalcitrant pinky, which was a problem before the surgery, is still not completely in place, and it is sometimes painful.  That’s where the hand surgeon’s good offices will come in.
But, life is more than medical reports and challenges.  Under the heading of “back to normal,” we’ve spent several lovely Shabbats in Efrat with Cheryl, David, and the family.  Under the heading of “finally making a decision,” we joined the Conservative Synagogue (where we have enjoyed so many Monday evening forums) just before Rosh Hoshanah and attended services there.  And we (and all Jerusalem) have just finished Sukkot.    Each observant family (that can) put up a sukka, and so has nearly every restaurant.  Many (including David) have been off from work this week, and a festive atmosphere pervaded the city--lots of singing and sidewalk vendors, lots of decorations.
Appropriate to this spirit, Arlene and I were part of two wonderful family excursions this week.  On Monday, we drove up to Beit She’an, a farming and tourist center south of Lake Kinerit (Galilee).  We swam and lounged for a few hours in a large, spring-fed stream just west of the town (part of a national park). 
Just east of the town (and also a national park), we explored an excavated Roman city, one of the largest outside of Italy.  The colonnaded streets, intricately constructed bath house, mosaic floors,  and extensive home foundations are impressive enough. Then you realize that only a quarter of it has been excavated. Some of the buildings and streets have been partially restored to what it looked like just before/after the 749 CE earthquake that took down most large structures along the Jordan Valley (the northern end of the Great Rift that runs down to Lake Victoria in Africa).   It is the city’s stadium, however, that really catches one’s eye.  Built around 200 CE, seating 7,000 - 10,000 spectators, it has been excavated and restored (except for the upper tiers of seats) to show off its vast seating and its large stage and floor, where games and blood sports entertained an avid populace.  Except for the Coliseum in Rome and a huge, beautifully restored stadium in southern Turkey, I think this may be the most impressive example of a standard venue the Romans builtt throughout their empire.  Yonah was disappointed to be confined to a high seat in the stadium and not be able to perform on its stage!
The large hill or “tell” to one side of these excavations was impressive in another way.It is undeveloped as yet, but its layers house buildings and villages that date from early biblical times, and through the first and second Temple periods,  and then Roman and Byzantine periods.  Apparently the whole area suffered a decline in importance after the 749 earthquake destroyed the major cities of this area.  There is evidence of Crusader structures in the Middle Ages.  Aside from all this, the top of this tell provides us with a truly breathtaking view of the Jordan Valley and the mountains of Jordan beyond.
Let it not go unrecorded that we ate very well that day.  We lunched on the country’s (perhaps the world’s) best falafal  (spelling very uncertain!) at Zahava’s (no, not ours).  And we dined  in the gathering dusk in the  comfortable sukkah of a local restaurant.
A second family outing took us up the coast, north of Natanya, to a beautiful public beach.  Even with its broad expanse of fine, soft sand sloping nicely into the Mediterranean, and dozens of sun-shelters, and the usual amenities, it was not crowded.  So, we had a pleasant two hours there, Cheryl, Ariella, Yonah, Gilad, and David in the water, and Arlene and I lolling happily on the sand.
But we’d really come for a tour of the Carmel Winery, located just inland of the beach in the charming town of Zichron Yakov.    It’s Israel’s largest, we learned, founded by zealous but inexperienced Romanian businessmen in 1882, who struggled for 3 years and were bailed  out by big money from the Rothschild family.  The winery has grown and thrived ever since.    Where the Carmel brand was once known mostly for its sweet Passover wine,  the winery now makes a wide variety of reds and whites, some of them good enough to compete anywhere.
I’ve seen a dozen or more wineries in California, New York, and Connecticut.  So we were not taking the tour only to find out how wine is made.  Rather, to see the facilities and practices that mark Israel’s way of doing it.
Some of it is crudely simple, such as the stone-lined pit into which the trucks dump the grapes, and the 18” diameter screws that move the grapes inside the building for processing.  And like the large stone warehouses, whose 40’ high arched ceilings make them look like giant quonset huts, running into the hillside (for controlled coolness inside). 
But, the large stainless steel fermenting towers smack of modern technology.  And,  we learned, even more so are the laboratory buildings in which grapes are tested for sugar and tannen quality/quantity, in order to know exactly when to harvest and how to process them for the best wine.    At one time, the preliminary fermenting had been done in cement vats.  With new technology, of course, they turned to stainless steel vats.  However, several years’ experience showed them that they got better flavor with the old cement vats--which is now what they use.  Sometimes, the old technology is better.
We saw the stacks of oak barrels, heard about the way the wine is made in stages,  saw an informative film about the history of the winery, and then, of course, had a nice round of wine tasting.  (Yonah was quite happy with his bottles of grape juice, thank you.)  Afterwards, we had a delicious dinner at the winery restaurant, in their spacious sukkah, of course.
Since Yonah, the youngest, had been a wonderful trooper all week long, even during long, boring car rides, and during what for him must have been an interminable tour (even though he did love the grape juice!), he was given the treat of his first sleep over, (ever), spending Thursday night with his grandparents in Jerusalem.  Actually, it was also a treat for us.  He made no fuss, slept like a rock until 8  Friday morning, and, when he arose and had said a proper good morning to us, he went (unbidden) and got dressed, put his pajamas in the plastic bag, and put it by the door so he would not forget it.  He ate a hearty breakfast and even provided articulate conversation!  This is a guest we want back again!  Indeed, he has developed into a sweet, charming, and affectionate boy, some one really very special!
And now back to the real world of shopping, therapy, and the like.

Off and Running

We added a new dimension this year to "the best laid plans of mice and men..." .
Last spring, when we set up our flight to the U.S. and return flight to Israel, we thought we'd like to have Thanksgiving with our east coast family for a change.  Toward that end, we were due to return on November 29th, with a leisurely fall in Westport
Several things conspired to trample that simple plan into dust.  First, a long-festering problem with some of our neighbors over our dogs came to a nasty head, souring us profoundly on the place, and reviving our desire to move back to NYC (as we almost did 4 years ago). 

Completely unrelated to this, Arlene's arthritic hands really needed fixing, so she finally had the joints of her right one replaced at the Hospital for Special Surgery
 in Manhattan in late July.  Val filled in heroically (many, many thanks!) as chauffeur to help us manage in the absence of a driver.

As we began to think about putting our house on the market, our real estate agent came up with a renter who needed a house from September to next May.  This was an unexpected opportunity to have the house cared for during the winter and make some serious money.  Too good to turn down!

However, a few bits of the logistical puzzle were not neatly in place.   The therapy for Arlene's splendidly refinished right hand was just under way, with months to go.  And, as it turned out when I tried to reschedule our return on El Al  for mid September, the only flight available was on September 6th (sort of rushing things a bit!).  Further,  with a renter coming in very shortly and the house going on the market next April, we had some packing to do before we left.

So, the last three weeks of August were a mad blur of packing, lease arrangements, packing, follow-up doctor visit, packing, therapy arrangements, packing,  car arrangements,  packing,  flight arrangements,  packing,  making the house presentable for the tenant, packing,  dumping and donating  clothes, packing, getting the dogs prepped for going abroad,  and, of course, packing. 

I think it was all taken care of when we left.  Not absolutely certain, but through the blur of events,  I have a sense that it was.

When we landed at Ben Gurion late on the afternoon of the 7th, it was like re-entering the real, solid, predictable world.  Even waiting  in the terminal for 45 minutes, with no David or Cheryl in sight, did not faze us in the least, since the dogs were walked, fed, and watered, and we were seated comfortably.  The kind folks at the information desk let us call David on his cell phone, where we learned that he had been held up for nearly 2 hours by a road closing and, of course, could not reach us to let us know.  But, by then, he was a half-hour out, and, anyway, we--no longer being scrambled in that crazy American chaos--were totally relaxed.

Then, Yonah beaming with outstretched arms, and David right behind him.  Everything was just fine!

After Passover

When it comes to spring, the calendar is just not reliable.   And the wonderful Purim silliness, that should be a prelude to spring, ...well, don't hold your breath.  Two or three really warm days in late  March were followed by a return to winter.  'Nuff said?
A few flowers sprinkled the trees and hedges where I walk the dogs.  But I resisted the temptation to assume anything.  A few more warm days and mild nights, and I was panting with bright-eyed hope, like Adelaide and Humphrey in the morning when they see me head for the dog food cupboard.  Perhaps it's really on the way!
And then winter returns again.  The light pj's go back in the drawer and we don our flannels again.
But, ... Passover is different.  It's the real thing.  The "spring cleaning" in preparation for Passover has to apply to something--no?  Maybe it's a state of mind.  Our fun, food-filled seder at Cheryl and David's was treat enough to lure that season of rebirth, re-warming, renewal, and matzos.  Spring would have come just on the strength of Yonah's splendid rendition of the 4 questions. In fact, spring would have felt privileged to stick around for Cheryl's seder dinner (and the  days of yummy leftovers that followed), not to mention her meringue chocolate chip cookies and mandel bread.   Throw in a family outing or two, and Passover is an end in itself!

Did I mention that Passover celebrates our liberation from Egyptian bondage?   And liberation is not just a spring thing or a Jewish thing.  

As a nice garnish on the season, our friends Rita and Allan Kropf (Amherst, MA and Jerusalem, with a daughter / son-in-law in  Efrat) came to dinner in Efrat the Shabbat following the seder.  It was a lovely evening of good food, conversation, and company.

So, by the end of Passover, especially a really good one such as this has been,  the weather just naturally cooperates, and it's spring.

The only glum aspect of this season was a little stomach bug that took turns tormenting Gilad, Cheryl, and David in turn, and finally laying Arlene low for a week.  But, as I write, all is well again.

Yes, it's after Passover, which means our May 7th departure for the states is coming up fast.  However, not before a May 4th date with Pincus Zuckerman "and friends" at the YMCA auditorium, for some more good chamber music.   Then, indeed, it's time to pack and run.

If all goes well, we'll be back to Jerusalem at the end of November.  Have a great spring, summer, and fall, everyone!

A Few Good Things

Among the latest in a series of very good events for us recently was a 12-day visit of Elizabeth, Maisie and Noa, who came during the kids' spring break.  And, although the weather was not so spring-like, they were as welcome as any spring we've ever had.

After their first weekend with us, including painting ready-made pottery at a downtown studio, they spent the following week  touring the Old City with  NYC friends (who happened to be in Jerusalem) (!), went to the Roman port of Caesaria with Cheryl and Ari, and to Masada and the Dead Sea with David and Gilad.

From Monday to Thursday, Arlene and I were on an AACI "Study Vacation" we'd signed up for 3 months ago.  (More on that later.)

We were all in Efrat for the next Shabbat, with David's famous hickory-smoked chicken and Cheryl's good fixings.

During the last few days, Liz, Ariella, and the girls spent a vigorous (and wet) day in Tel Aviv, and on another Liz, the girls, and I saw the "Jerusalam Time Elevator" (a wide-screen, seats-in-motion film dramatizing the history of Jerusalem from the time of King David to the present.

And, of course, there was some serious hanging out at our apartment.  We capped Liz's visit with a dinner for the whole family at our favorite dairy restaurant.  After a fine time (and certainly a nice change of scenery), Liz and two amazingly cheery girls left us at 2:15 am Thursday morning for a 5:30 am flight home, via Amsterdam.

The AACI trip, mentioned above,  took us  to the area north of the Gilboa Mountains (roughly, the southern Gallil), in the fertile Jizreel and Harod Valleys.  The kibbutz where we stayed (Nir David) had several enterprises, in addition to the usual agriculture, including a small zoo of Australian animals and birds, riding stables, and beautiful guest cabins done in knotty pine (our home for three nights), each complete with a jacousie.  The whole well-landscaped area was divided by a small, scenic river (with pretty bridges connecting the two sides).

Our travels around the area took us to two art museums, a showplace home for people with special needs,  a national park, the excavation of a 4th-C synagogue, a pile of gorgeous scenery, and two agricultural kibbutzim.  We also learned about and visited the last home and the grave of Jehoshua Hankin, a local hero.   From the mid-1880's to 1920's, he helped purchase most of the land in the two valleys from the Ottoman landholders;  these parcels became Jewish settlements for early Zionists.

One of many striking moments of the trip occurred as we stood on a high point in the Gilboa range,  first looking west to the outlines of towns on the Mediterranean coast, and then turning around to the east where we could see the Jordan River valley and the mountains of Jordan beyond.  It was a visual lesson on the strategic importance of these mountains--not only in Israel's 3 wars in modern times, but all the way back to the days of King Saul.

The several kibbutzim we visited demonstrated  the variety of products and services that  have helped make them economically viable through decades of change since their inception, from (among other things), making plastic parts,  maintaining a thriving dairy industry, and raising poultry and beef, to processing their own produce.  But I was most impressed by one kibbutz's collective ingenuity. 

In the late 1970's, after many years of successful farming, an outbreak of strange illnesses revealed poisoning from the pesticides and fertilizers they were using.  This led them to go entirely organic--no pesticides or chemical fertilizers at all.   Organic fertilizers were no problem, but without pesticides, some pests became a serious issue.

The med fly (Mediterranean fruit fly) was the major threat to their orchards.  Taking a lead from the U.S. solution--breeding sterile male fruit flies and releasing them  to NOT fertilize the female's eggs , so that they never hatched.   Within a few cycles, the med fly was no longer a problem.

But there were small rodents in their fields going after the crops.  One of their members researched small rodent predators and came up with the barn owl.  To attract this night prowler, another kibbutznik thought up simple windowless boxes, with a small entrance hole, for barn owl nesting.  These were put up on poles in dozens of spots around the kibbutz.   "If you build it, they will come," worked for them, controlling the rodents for a while---until the rodents got smart enough to start foraging during the day, when their predators were sleeping.  Someone pondered this one and came up with a daytime predator, the kestrel (a kind of falcon).  To attract and keep them, nesting platforms were put up on tall poles around the kibbutz.  Sure enough, the kestrels came and enjoyed the daytime crop of rodents, while the owls still got those coming out at night.

In each case, the solution had to be environmentally friendly and neutral, i.e., both safe and non-disrupting.    And, in the case of the sterile male med flies, the kibbutz went the U.S. Dept of Agriculture one better (the U.S. buys its sterile males from a factory in Nicaragua) by producing them more efficiently and selling their surplus to other farmers in Israel and  Europe.  In fact, each of their innovations, where possible, became a new product, thus increasing the earnings of the kibbutz. 

There was an interesting side problem when the barn owls were first settling in to do their job.   This kibbutz is only a few miles from Jordan to the east and the Palestinian West Bank to the south.  The Arabs, unused to both the white faces and scary hooting of these birds in the darkness, took to shooting them.   After thinking the problem through, the kibbutzniks first tried education on their neighbors.  So a delegation toured the Arab villages of nearby Samaria and Jordanian farmers across the valley, pointing out to them what the birds were and the benefits of their night time foraging.  Within a few weeks, the shooting stopped and the barn owls were safe to do their good work throughout the area.

To me, the best of their green solutions dealt with: what to do about the grass growing among their date palms.  Their date plantation covered hundreds of acres, the ground was uneven to accommodate the irrigation hoses and to ensure troughs of water for the tree roots, the grass grew fast with the encouragement of the irrigation water, and using machinery to cut the grass threatened to cut the hoses and never did a good job due to the uneven ground.  What do you do about all that  unwanted grass? 

That was almost a no-brainer.  Find an animal to graze on the grass!  But which animal?  Sheep are good, but they need tending and are almost certainly going to be stolen by their neighbors.  Goats have many potential ailments requiring expensive care--and are also likely candidates for theft.  But donkeys are hardy,  healthy, self-sustaining (all they need is water), and gentle.    All that was needed, beyond the initial stock, was the light fencing of the date palm plantation into sections (to contain the herd in a particular area until that area was "mowed").   Not only has this worked well, but their herd quickly increased, giving them several groups (a few females and their young with one male) to keep the grass under control.  And, as their stock increases beyond their needs, they sell the surplus to other plantations and to people who want a pet donkey.  And this means more revenue for the kibbutz.   Collective ingenuity at work!

Another interesting aspect of life on this kibbutz (for Arlene and me) is their flexibility in dress.  All the members are religiously observant, but there is no formal or informal requirement as to what is "acceptable".  Thus, most, but not all men wear kippot, and the women wear pants or long skirts as they please

Here in Jerusalem, we rarely lack for interesting lectures at the Great Synagogue (about once a month) and the
Conservative Synagogue on Monday evenings.  During the run-up to the Israeli elections on February 10, we listened to representatives of the major parties and analysts of Israel's problems and prospects.  All of this influenced our two votes.  There was, of course, analysis of Operation Cast Lead in Gaza and of the new Israeli government's prospects under Netanyahu. (Only now, more than a month later, has the new government been formed and sworn in!)

The most recent treat for us was a benefit for "The Ethiopian National Project", held at the Begin Center, a pleasant walk from our place.  With two friends, we enjoyed  a lively, colorful, and very entertaining evening.  We entered the auditorium to the sounds of two musicians.  One played a small harp, the other bowed a 3-stringed instrument about the size of a large guitar.  Fingering rapidly, and maintaining a steady rhythm, they sang along in Ethiopian.
There were speeches by community leaders (in both Hebrew and English) explaining the "Project" -programs for Ethiopian teens to foster educational and career opportunities.  But most of the evening was given over to fine entertainment.
Dancers in traditional robes moved in rhythmic steps, accentuating with flourishes of their sashes, and finally accompanying the dancing with traditional songs.
After a few sets of dancing and singing in Ethiopian, they moved to original songs, in Hebrew, including some nifty-sounding rap numbers.

The energy, talent, and grace of the performers were phenomenal.  But one group of actors (a man and two women, dressed in baggy suits and large hats, displayed surprising sophistication.  Their routine  was in Hebrew, which was intelligible to most of the audience who laughed at the jokes and satire, only  little of which came through for us.  But the underlying import of these beautiful black Israelis was simply that they were Jews, Israeli Jews;  they were now part of Israeli society--though still finding their own integration.  The very need for an "Ethiopian National Project" suggests that their integration into Israeli society has not been as smooth or as complete as one could wish.  Still, the talent on display there was Ethiopian--speaking Hebrew (more than I can do), along with mosst of the audience, black and white.  Whatever the social impications, this was a highly enjoyable event for us.

With Pesach just ahead and two more chamber music concerts to come, wonderful events are not all behind us!

(Our) Election Day in Israel

February 10, 2009, began at 6:25 am, when I arose to walk the dogs in wind-driven sprinkles under a forbidding sky.  The idea was to be at the polling place as soon after the 7 am opening as possible, so as to avoid the long lines  later in the morning. After some O.J. and an inspirational message about civic duty, we were out of the apartment by 7:15. 
The polling area, a large room in a local school, was familiar to us from the November municipal elections (where our votes propelled the current mayor to victory--think about it!).    The official postcard we'd received in the mail told us and poll clerks which of the two districts (represented there) we were supposed to vote in.  Behind the screen, each of us in turn located the slip of paper bearing the Hebrew letters of our chosen party (out of 34 possibilities!), and put it in our voting envelope, and  slipped the envelope into the big blue ballot box. 
Thus, we voted and were back home, really ready for breakfast, by about 7:45.
I am somewhat inured to being up and out early, but Arlene.... Let's put it this way, the government of Israel should understand what this performance (without complaint) demonstrated about her civic commitment. 

Home was really worth coming back to tis particular morning.  It was a rare opportunity to have Gilad sleep over, since Election Day is a national holiday--hence, no school. (Ariella stays over on Sunday nights and most Wednesdays, so we have her company regularly.) (Gilad's giutar and Tai Kwan Do lessons have not left any convenient time for him to visit alone.)  Well, he had promised to make us a breakfast  Even though we hated to get him out of his warm bed, he gallantly insisted on getting up and making his famous scrambled eggs with grated cheese.  He did and they were perfectly delicious!

With David off from work, too, the family had planned some kind of outing, depending on the weather.  Sunny and warm, we'd have headed for a beach on the Mediterranean.   Overcast and cool, we'd hike in a park or outdoor landmark.  In the E. A. Poe sort of day that was in progress, David (wisely) suggested a drive over to Jaffo, where we could browse among the stores and galleries, catch a view of the wild sea waters, and have dinner at a highly recommended and virtually unique family restaurant.

By the way,  this current  "rainy season" has been strangely mild and fair--to the point of drought conditions.   Given this,  the rainy day we were experiencing was no cause for complaint.

So, in late morning, David picked up the dogs and us.  We left the hounds at their place in Efrat (where a dog walker would get them out while we were away), and piled the family into their trusty Pueguot wagon for the hour ride west, through intermittent rain,  to the ancient town of Jaffa.

The rain had stopped by the time we left the car in a parking garage and walked a few short blocks to a shabby "business district" of Art Deco stores and junk shops --the delectable kind where you might find ANYTHING, from bronze (real and fake) candle sticks to (reproduction) posters from the 1925 Paris Expo to "jewelry" of all sorts, and, of course, all kinds of furniture, from elegant pieces out of the 1930's to dusty coat racks (that might or might not stand the weight of a coat).  Many, many other Israelis seemed to think this was a fine destination, too.  And so on we browsed.

Then we cruised the labyrinths of clothing (old and new) and souvenir stalls, where Gilad found two neat warm up jackets, each rejected due to stains that some previous owner could not get out (!). Our perusals were interrupted by a sudden squall that sent us and other shoppers dashing into the nearest stall, and vendors covering their merchandise with plastic sheets. 

When the rain stopped ten minutes later, we were off again, carefully avoiding the streams dripping off awnings and roofs.

A snack bar reminded Yonah and Gilad that they were hungry, which prompted the rest of us to heartily agree.  As we debated the merits of different size snacks, common sense prevailed and we headed directly for Dr. Shakshuka's "Tripulitan Oriental Resturant."

The main dining area was a barn-like room the size of a small city building lot, with pairs of 8' long tables laid out the length of it.   Framed pictures and posters of various sizes hung on the walls, most of them too anciently dark to be discernible.  From the ceiling, on long wires, hung dozens of 19-C kerosene stoves of every imaginable shape and size (the main cooking device before modern stoves took over the job).  It was as interesting as an exotic bazaar and as comfortable as a pub.

But it was the food that brought people there in droves.  The house specialty was a pan-fried eggs and tomatoes concoction,  which you customized by adding any of dozens of other ingredients--spices, meats, etc. (almost anything but cheeses, of course).  I had mine with spicy South African sausages, served in an individual, properly battered frying pan--amazing! as Gilad would say.  Some of us also had a bowl of a bean and beef soup, savory with gentle Middle Eastern spices, and a chunk of tender stew beef.  Oh, what a treat!  Even Yonah did not need any prodding to clean his plate.

And, did I mention the near-miraculous service?  Within 7 or 8 minutes of taking our order, the waiter was back with food for all 7 of us (even bringing Yonah's dish first)!  And everything was done with pleasant good humor.

While we ate to fullness, inside, the storm raged outside (good timing, eh?).  As we pushed away from the table with smiling palettes and rounded bellies, however, the rain stopped (excellent timing-no?). 

Since each of us needed to walk off our early dinner, and, since we had not yet made it to the water, our little tribe trudged westward to the
sea walled promenade.  Ahead, beyond the beach and rocks, stretched a half mile of white surf.  To our right, beyond an indentation in the coastline where Jaffa ended and Tel Aviv began,  modern hi-rises stood in clumps, looking out over the endless beaches of Israel's fun city.  With the wind whipping us, we turned left along the end of the promenade and up stairs and ramps into a park that overlooked the sea.  Further south,  lay a boat basin and beyond that the modernized incarnation of (probably) the oldest port at this end of the Mediterranean.

But we were seeking shops and galleries, not ships.  Ironically, the same national holiday that had freed up David to take his family on this outing had also closed the public buildings and many of the stores and galleries (!).  However, we did find a few open, as well as some fascinating window displays in some of the closed ones.  And, of course, the walk was a large part of what we were there for--through
 nicely landscaped park areas and down, up, and around gentrified stone alleyways, past elegant doorways.   This part of Jaffa seemed like a section of a medieval town, but freshly washed, with glass windows and modern furnishings inside, as well as a lot of new iron work grills and gates.  When we finally emerged onto the street, how prosaic everything looked!

Further south, we knew, lay a few more miles of the everyday Jaffa, with several streets of authorized antiquary shops, and  where people lived and worked.  But the day was waning, the sky was getting dark again, and we wisely headed back toward the parking garage.  Even as the first pelting drops were driven into our faces, we scampered inside. (Oh, yes, timing is everything!)

We drove through some rain for a while, and then through mist as we climbed into the Judean hills.  The Efrat Bogners disembarked at home.  Arlene and I claimed our dogs, and David drove us back to Jerusalem.  I am certain everyone slept well Tuesday night.

And the election?  Well, Livni's Kadima party seems to have 28 seats and Netanyahoo's Likud 27,  But a new government needs at least 61 seats, which leaves us several days of horse-trading and deals until one of them can cobble together a viable coalition.   Israel badly needs a "Post-Election National Holiday", say, the day after the new government is finalized, in which the populace can celebrate (or bemoan) another successful democratic outcome.  In this country, an election is only the beginning of the fun and the suspense. 

I Was At The Inauguration (and other miracles, small and large)

No, I don't have an Obama button or banner to prove it.  Nor did I have to seek first aid for my frostbitten fingers.   And I have no stories, humorous or calamitous, about the impossible crowding, the camaraderie, or  security to the 10th power
.
Well, if truth be told, I was there....but only in spirit...like so many others who claimed a vicarious share of this astounding and satisfying moment in American history. 
No need for me to describe for you what, undoubtedly, you saw for yourselves and have since read and heard endless reprises of.  For me, a few things stick in my mind.

The moment of Chief Justice Roberts' ineptitude in administering the oath of office will always be silently cherished (Obama 1, Roberts 0, so to speak).

And the inaugural address (not Churchilian, as I deep down would have liked) was a fine piece of rhetoric, well shaped for this daunting time. 

One aspect of Obama's campaign, election, and inaugural (echoed by Arlene) is the fact that I don't see him as a black man.  I know that he is African-American, as are his wife and children.  But his racial identity has faded into a mere  descriptive  category, along with his height and good looks and charisma. 

This might be the finest part of his victory.  I fee certain that Dr. King would think so.

Now we're stepping forward (schlogging through the economic muck?) into the harsh light of this new era.   President Obama seems to be doing all the right things, even if the 'loyal opposition' in Congress doesn't think so.  (They've been so-o-o-o wrong these last eight years, you'd think they'd welcome any new approach!)  Well,..."let's go, team!"  We could use a few more miracles!

A Few Hours in Yad Vashem

I'd been putting this off for a dozen years or more.  The Holocaust is something I often think and dream about.  So the graphic reminders of the most horrendous calculated crime against a people in human history was not high on my priority list. 
But, very innocently, the time came on the second Sunday of January.  My granddaughter Ariella had a large project for school, creating a family tree, gathering family stories,  recording important moments in the lives of family members, that sort of thing.  With Sunday off from school, she stayed over with us Saturday night, and spent Sunday morning interviewing her grandparents for names and details.  After lunch we all went over to Yad Vashem to use their data base of names, countries of origin,  and photos, with which possibly to trace farther back than our memories could go.
Ariella had already been to this Holocaust memorial on a school trip.  With this trusty guide leading the way, it was time for Arlene and me to look in.
Before reaching he data base room, we walked through the carefully worked out galleries of displays, photos, videos,  recordings of long-ago doings, everything to give the visitor a sense of what had been, what had been lost, and how it had been done.  There was far too much to see, including additional museums, for us to do more than skim on this trip.  But we had a good taste of it.

In the data base room, Ari looked for our family names, Bogner, Galinson, Ostrowsky.  We could not make any new or positive connections, but we found dozens of each name among the victims of the Holocaust, each a potential distant relative, since we don't know (for certain) which country our grandparents came from.

The complex of buildings, gardens, walks, and plazas, in western Jerusalem, is deliberately set on a wooded hillside and valley, well away  from city streets and daily life.  The larger task of this memorial is (I would assume) to render an awareness of specific human beings who lived and then were murdered, rather than merely the mind-numbing concept of 'six million'.  One cannot emotionally grasp that huge number, even as a pile of corpses.  Rather, we need to see faces and families and gatherings.  Toward this end, apparently, there are two rotunda-like halls.  In one, a few candles are magnified by mirrors and other devices to give the impression of vast numbers of little lights.  The symbolism takes the viewer quickly beyond seeing  a sky full of stars to being aware of  many, many souls.  A large difference!

In the other hall, the dome over the visitor displays the name of every victim and photos of as many as are available.  And below, one looks into a hole with many descending levels, apparently bottomless.  And so, each and every victim is remembered and accounted for, while they and the visitor look down into the depths--of what?  Loss?  Barbarism?  Human nature? 

It is hard to come away from even a brief experience at Yad Vashem without some  pondering of these things past.

I would assume that this Holocaust memorial and others, such as the one in Washington, DC, will serve to keep fresh (as much as this is possible) the hard-to-imagine details of the Holocaust.  As long as possible, as the 1930's and WW II slip farther into a text book past, we try to make them distinguishable from museum artifacts, much more personal and real than, say, the Christians fed to the lions in the relic of a Coliseum in Rome.
Also, I am sure, keeping alive this most horrific genocide in recorded history will help prevent other genocides.  Such memories, sadly, did not avert the blood bath in Ruanda and has not yet stemmed the slaughter in Darfur.  And, standing ghoulishly on these modern sidelines, a host of Islamic fundamentalists (and their enablers) openly seek to wipe out the state of Israel, and would shed no tears if all Jews went, too.  Naturally, they deny there ever was a Holocaust.
But we keep the memory alive and we hope. 
In more than a mere afterthought to this discussion, I am glad that Israel is as strong and so able to defend itself against implacable enemies.  Given sufficient opportunity, they will commit another Holocaust, probably without Hitler's methodicalness and with far more ferocity.
These are some of the thoughts I am left with after a few hours in Yad Vashem.

Svat's New?

That heading is more than a joke.  You see, this small city in north central Israel, sitting atop a large hill and home to many Kabbala-niks, has a variety of spellings:  on one map it is 'Safat'.  In our guide book, it is (in different places) 'Zvat',  'Sefad',  and 'Sfad'.  How do you say it?  Try for something like:  tsvat and folks will know what you mean.
Of course, we did not drive three-plus hours each way to study  Kabbala.  In fact, guided by Cheryl, we were looking for something suitable to adorn our living room walls, and the artist colony in Svat, with scads of galleries, seemed like a good place to look.

And so we did, for about four hours, getting lots of exercise on the stairs up and down its hillside.  I did find the worst pasta I've ever eaten, at lunch.  (Why did I eat the stuff, you wonder?  Hunger, man, hunger!)

And art?  The best of it was too large or too expensive (naturally).  But we did find two pieces,  each attractive, aesthetically interesting, and affordable.   But......   So we left with a business card, determined to look further in the galleries of Jerusalem. (Late breaking news:  On the following Thursday, I called the gallery and bought one of those prints.  It's on the way as I write.)

Part of the reason it was such a pleasant day was that Yonah was a real trooper, earning our compliments and kisses.  But his finest reward came that evening in a MacDonalds kids dinner box--a small plastic animal figure from "Madagasgar" that, when shaken properly, gave off a song from that movie  He was one happy camper, and truly deserving!

CATCHING UP

Ever since the election, I've been a bundle of laziness and inertia.  So a lot of the good things going on here have not gotten written up.  This includes two fine chamber music concerts at the YMCA, a half-dozen marvelous talks (Monday evenings) at the Conservative Synagogue, a typically fire-brand lecture from Caroline Glick (the outspoken columnist at the Jerusalem Post) at the Great Synagogue, and an eye-opening 3-day trip (AACI) to Givat Haviva.

This institute, on a pleasanty landscaped campus a few miles north of Natanya, uses research, courses, and art to foster understanding between Israeli Jews and Arabs.
This is no small challenge, given 1.5 million Arabs
 living within Israel, much innate hostility on the part of Jews due to past attacks by Arabs, and increasing anti-Israeli militancy by Israeli Arabs toward the State.  The building of Israel's security fence has exacerbated bad feelings in places where it divides Arab areas and  farms, and  where it sets up long, roundabout routes through check points for Arabs traveling between Israel and the West Bank.  Givat Haviva's teachers, speakers, and researchers are not starry-eyed do-gooders of the left;  they seem aware of the difficulties but very determined to bring Jews and Arabs together, promote dialogue and contacts, and keep an accurate record of the numbers and details.

Our group saw some of the campus, heard some of its excellent speakers, and visited two homes in an Arab town.  A tour of one particularly twisted part of the 'Green Line' and security fence showed us just how these intruded on everyday life among Arabs, in and out of Israel.

The dialogue and mutual understanding that these people are working toward are extremely worthwhile, perhaps even essential.  However, one of the realities (readily admitted by these folk) is the growing feeling among Israeli Arabs, despite having full citizenship with all its perks, that they are not loyal to the state and don't want to participate in any process (such as national service) that would involve them as citizens.  They do not stand for the national anthem, don't think of the Israeli flag as 'theirs', and their MK's (yes they have representation in the Knesset) loudly lead resistance against any service to the state.  On the other hand, they don't want any part of becoming part of a new Palestinian state (by 80%).  This leaves them, a significant part of Israel's population, wanting neither the responsibilities of full citizenship nor full identification with Palestinians or their new state.  It's hard for me to be too sympathetic to slights against them when they turn their backs so emphatically on being part of Israel the nation.

Now, in this shiny new year, with Israel finally trying to eliminate Hamas's rockets,  Israel cannot count on the loyalty of 1/6th of its people!  So, I wish much good luck to the work at Givat Haviva, but I fear that their efforts are much too one-sided to effect real change. Like so many other efforts at reconciliation between Jews and Arabs, not much thrust comes from the Arab side of the problem, and the Jews cannot make real peace by themselves.

Happy New Year to all of you!