Trip to the Galilee

It seems as if I have a new audience; two of my housemates have learned about my blog, so I had better be careful about what I write.  One of them, at least, appreciated the complimentary mentions of his biceps and triceps; the other told me that I should reconsider the teaching career, and instead become an academic.
Monday and Tuesday, the Oranim participants from Ramla, Ashdod, Tel Aviv, and the other locations took a trip to the Galilee.  The preceding Sunday, though, was also a fairly eventful day.  In the morning, I visited the house on Havaradim, now that everyone in the house had returned from their visit to Jerusalem.  (I alone among the ITF participants did not go, because of my promise to my Savta to attend her breakfast following Yom Kippur.)  The gate was bolted, so I climbed over, half-wondering what the friendly sukah-builder next door would think of this.  I hung out a little bit, then Alex and I took a trip to the shuk together, where I needed to purchase my arbat minim, and he needed to purchase ingredients for a very exotic-sounding salad from his Jerusalem cookbook.  Natalie also wanted us to pick up ingredients for Israeli salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, and a lemon).  We had a good walk, and it was still early enough that the sun wasn't blazing hot.  There were several vendors who had set up tables to sell lulavim and etrogim, and I stopped by the first one we passed.  The man wanted ₪60 for all four, but I (truthfully) told him that all that I had in my wallet was ₪50.  He accepted this, much to my surprise, and even allowed me to pick out my etrog from all of those available.  I guess that this was the first time that I haggled in the shuk?  Cool, I guess.  But ₪50 was a pretty standard price, from what I could tell, based on what I heard from other people purchasing their arbat minim.  However, later the day, I spotted a poster advertising the set of arbat minim for ₪65, so I guess I got a pretty good price.  By the way, if it seems as if I'm too preoccupied over how much I paid, my interest is partially motivated by this article about international etrog-smuggling, according to which "Customs tariffs for importing etrogs are assessed at 2.7 shekels per kilogram, plus 18% value-added tax. Importers also require permits from the ministries of health and agriculture."  Also, I just saw "Ushpizin," in which the protagonist spends 1000 shekels on an etrog.  Alex got his and Natalie's ingredients, and we parted ways.  I returned to my apartment with my four species.  In the afternoon, the Oranim Ramla participants met at the English Center and the Campus to plan upcoming English-language activities children and young people in Ramla.  I ran in the early evening, and walked to the house on Gil'ad (which I had never visited before), where I had heard that there would be some low-level partying in honor of Perrin's birthday on September 17th (Becky had invited me).  People applauded me when I came in (they just really hadn't expected me to come, in spite of the invitation), and I spent a happy hour or so with the others before I returned to Yoseftal (I successfully didn't get lost on the way back in the dark).  I packed, showered, and went to bed.

I overslept through my 6:00 am alarm on Monday morning, and didn't get up until 6:37.  I was lucky, though, and just barely had enough time to finish everything that I needed to get done before leaving to catch the bus at the campus.  I walked with Noah, and we were actually the first to arrive at the campus, after Carmel.  We climbed aboard (it was already half-full with Oranim people from Ashdod, the other Oranim ITF location), and had a somewhat sleepy ride.  I sat next to Alex, and the two of us took turns reading and dozing.  I had brought my Kindle, where I had begun reading my complete works of Philo of Alexandria.  I'm finding it a little bit dull at first.  The preface noted that Philo might have been a Pharisee (i.e. a Rabbinic Jew), which doesn't seem very likely, given that his dialectic is not at all midrashic, at least as I have seen so far, and seems overwhelmingly influenced by Greek philosophy, which the Rabbis knew somewhat selectively.  Regardless, after a few hours (and a couple of rest stops), we arrived at a hiking trail in the Golan Heights, not far from the northern borders to Lebanon and Syria.  Now accompanied by another bus full of still more Oranim participants, we hiked down into the lush, verdant valley.  This area is incredibly abundant with water, especially compared with the rest of the country.  The Heights were captured in the 1967 Six-Day War, and many who have not visited Israel and seen this region probably don't realize just how many valuable water resources (including most of the sources of the Jordan River) Israel appropriated.  At one point, our group stopped to paddle around in one of the wading pools -- the water was cool, clear, and clean.  There were swarms of small black fish, ranging from the size of a baby carrot to that of a cucumber, that nibbled surprisingly aggressively at our feet.  Throughout the hike, I had several good conversations with Rose, Hannah, Noa, and several of the people from Tel Aviv and Ashdod.  Afterwards, we loaded onto the bus again, driving to... Tzfat.

Last year, I spent two and a half weeks studying in Tzfat.  For those who don't remember me blogging about this experience, I was rather unusual in the group of students at the Yeshiva, in my lack of any real Kabbalistic inclination.  This made me feel somewhat intellectually isolated, because I felt as if I could not freely share my thoughts about the texts we were reading, and felt pressured to give explanations and interpretations in which I did not really have my full heart. Nevertheless, I kind of hoped that I would be able to find some of the students or instructors that I had known in Tzfat, and when the bus dropped us off, I walked down the familiar long rocky staircase into the Chassidic neighborhood.  I stuck out enormously, in my swim trunks and turquoise Taglit t-shirt, but just ignored all of the stares that I received from the modestly-dressed children, and the black-dressed men with long peyot.  My former dormitory had apparently been converted into someone else's living space, and the Beit Midrash was open, but in the process of being cleaned.  I asked the woman mopping the floor if Rav Asi (the instructor of whom I had the fondest memories) was around, and she directed me to the Chabad House.  I met there, of all people, the custodian of the Beit Midrash, the only person in the building capable of speaking English.  I remembered him (I think that his name was Eliezer, maybe?), but he didn't remember me; nevertheless, he completely believed me when I told him my story.  I asked about the Rabbis and about Yosef-Yitzchak, an Israeli student with whom I had gotten along tremendously well.  He allowed me to call Rabbi Gorenstein on his cellphone, and I told the Rabbi that I had stopped by in order to thank the Rabbinic staff for giving me such good instruction, also letting them know that I had remained observant even after leaving Tzfat (last year, a lot of the other students, in fact, had not-so-subtly implied that they thought that I wasn't legitimately invested).  He told me that he remembered me, and invited me back for a future Shabbat!  I left the district for the Artists' Colony, quite happy.  I also found Natalie wandering around the same district -- it seems as if she, too, spent time in Tzfat last summer, and our visits might even have coincided.

Tzfat has a number of artists who work in a number of media.  Most of their art is somewhat spiritually-influenced, probably because only a very pious Jewish artist would choose to live in Tzfat, one of the poorest cities in Israel proper.  There's a fairly large tourist draw for the art, some of which is quite interesting.  Alex and I browsed the shops looking for cheap postcards.  We found some very poor-condition and aged cards (celebrating Israel's 40th anniversary, for instance) going for ₪3 each, a little pricy for me, and some very high-quality cards going for ₪5 each.  I bought one of the latter, and have since sent it to its destination in the states.  We passed by the Zionist Teimani felafel-maker (I remembered him from Taglit).  Alex and I were also drawn aside by a very aggressive artist trying extremely hard to pressure us into buying his art.  He was trying to sell me a piece of micro-calligraphy, all of Shir Hashirim in the shape of a red rose (I didn't count the petals, but there were probably thirteen).  The price tag read ₪90, but at the end he was trying to push it onto me for just ₪20.  He didn't seem to understand that we were volunteers, and genuinely uninterested in buying his art, regardless of how much he dropped the price.  He was amazed that we weren't receiving a substantial salary, and that we didn't really care if we lacked the funds for going out to clubs, etc.  I insisted to him, quite earnestly, that we had everything that we needed (an apartment, food, high-speed Internet, a house full of friends right around the corner, and a job that we loved -- a very great deal, when you think about it).  He, after all, was the Kabbalist, and I was the American tourist.  After a brief stop by Yosef Karo's synagogue, Alex and I hung out a little bit with the other Oranim participants while waiting for the bus.  We heard about painful Taglit experiences; one person reminisced about how two of her groupmates had been involved in sexual foreplay in Yad Vashem (Israel's Holocaust museum, located on Har Herzl), saying that this was the epitome of Taglit.  I remember similar levels of sexual fever during my own Taglit experience in January 2012 (the version of my Taglit journal entries published on this blog is highly expurgated from the original), but never anything so disrespectful.  But, really, what else can you expect when you put together 40 young middle-class Americans and half-a-dozen IDF soldiers the same age, and give them some of the greatest freedom they've ever had in their lives?

Afterwards, we drove to Degania, the Kibbutz where we stayed the night.  The "guest house" was pretty much a hotel, and a surprisingly nice one, too.  Each room had its own TV, bathroom, linens, etc.  This was a far cry from the dumpy European hostels where I spent last summer -- a far cry indeed!  I was rooming with the same three gentleman with whom I live on Rechov Yoseftal in Ramla -- Ben, Ben, and Noach.  I ran to the swimming pool, paddling around with some of the other Ramla participants for about 10 minutes before the pool closed.  It was fun.  Then, I showered, and we all went to dinner in the cheder ochel, which I managed to located along with my newfound friend Lily, an Oranim Israel Teaching Fellow in Ashdod.  I ate an enormous amount -- I hadn't had anything that day except for the pair of apples that I had thrown in my backpack before scooting out the door.  I even managed to get some vegetarian food, by speaking the magic words (yesh lecha ochel tzimchoni?).  I sat with Hannah and Natalie, and, later, my housemates Ben and Noah. 

After dinner at the kibbutz, we had karaoke and salsa dancing, starting at 8:30 pm.  Carmel sang for a few seconds (how do we continually make this poor guy do so much for us?!), then there was a song signup.  Salsa dancing occurred in the middle of this; one of the participants, Felix (I think from one of the Tel Aviv programs) tried to get as many of us out dancing as possible.  I've never danced salsa before, and did my best to practice the 7-part step that Felix was demonstrating.  Then she wanted us to find partners -- and told the men not to pick women (why, to prevent aggression?!).  I was all ready to dance by myself, because the girl I was randomly assigned to refused to dance with someone like me, but then, first Becky, then Veta, from Ramla, felt some sympathy, and took me as a partner.  I was really grateful, especially because Veta actually pointed out what I was doing wrong with my feet (I was forgetting to join my feet together again, between the forward and backwards steps), and then showed me how to indicate an upcoming spin to a dance partner.  I of course thanked my two partners, and, the next day, thanked Felix, too, for giving me the opportunity. 

[NOTE: This post previously contained some upsetting material involving karaoke.  I have expunged it, as well as a short paragraph at the end of this post, to avoid any hurt feelings].

The song I had hoped to sing was "All the Small Things" (no surprise, right, Jacob?).  The unexpected rebuff made me think of a lyric by the same band: "I traced the cord back to the wall / It seems that it was never plugged in at all."

I was up early the next morning.  After our 7:00 am breakfast, our tour group headed out for another hike.  I sat with an Ashdod ITF participant, Sam, so as not to be forced to look any of the Ramla ITF participants in the eye.  We had been told to wear some form of footwear that was suitable for hiking in water.  I have nothing, either in Israel or back home in the United States, that matches this description (no Crocs, no water shoes, etc.), so I just walked in my shoes, and removed my socks.  The trail went directly through a river.  It was kind of a novelty, but I would have much preferred a hike with some historical or archaeological significance than one that simply took us through the water.  There was a lot of splashing going on, which, had I not been wearing my backpack with my electronics, I might have been more willing to enjoy.  I was mostly just worried about being the victim of collateral damage, a phrase that I taught to our tour-guide Revital.  Afterwards, I sat a little bit with Jessica (from Gil'ad) and my housemate Ben, waiting for everyone to rinse off their feet.  I had brought my towel, and, after drying my feet, putting on my dry socks, and shaking out my shoes and inserts, felt almost as if I had dry shoes.

Our next stop was the Mekorot plant.  Thanks to many a shiur with Eliana and Rav Ami, I know that mekorot are literally "sources;" in Rabbinics, this implies textual sources in a halachic lesson.  The "sources" that we were visiting, however, were the sources of Israel's water supply.  Our guide at the water pump plant was Shani, an engineer with excellent English skills, despite his incredibly heavy Israeli accent.  In addition to Lake Kineret and a couple of aquifers, Israel also makes great use of both recycled sewage water and desalinated water from the Mediterranean Sea.  Israel, it turns out, is far and away the global leader in its sewage-water reclamation, recycling of 80% of its sewage water, mostly for use in irrigation (Spain ranks second, recycling 17% of its sewage water).  I also learned that Israel uses small, highly-sensitive fish to monitor its water levels; if the water quality drops significantly, these fish will notice immediately, and the water pumps will shut off in less than a second.  Israel has international enemies that might be eager to attack its water supplies, but Mekorot provides water to both the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, and most of Israel's international enemies might hesitate to take any action that would hurt these populations (not because they genuinely care about their condition, but because it would reveal just how little they truly care about these populations).

The last destination on Tuesday afternoon returned us to the arear near Tzfat.  We had previously planned to have a visit to a winery on Monday, and have free time in Tiberias on Tuesday.  The winery trip had been cancelled, only to have it restored on Tuesday, in place of the visit to Tiberias.  Although I've never before been to Tiberias, and would like to visit sometime, I would rather have some form of set activity.  Our tour-guide delivered disappointingly few facts and points of interest (nothing at all like Avishai on Taglit, who was just bursting with information), so a visit to a winery at least would mean information, rather than empty time spent wandering and wondering in an unfamiliar city.  Dalton winery produces kosher wine, and employs at least one worker with excellent English skills, who led our tour of the vineyard and the associated fermenting facilities.  Wine production has a very ancient history in the land of Israel.  But even in terms of only the modern State of Israel, wine has an important place in labor history.  Because of its ritual importance in the ancient world, there are many (Rabbinic, not Toraitic) strictures of kosher wine production and handling in Jewish law.  One stringency is that all workers in the production process (but not necessarily any of the shipment or retail) must be observant Jews.  The Jews of Second Aliyah, the Bilu'im, desperately wanted to unionize agricultural workers, but there were not only too many Jews available for the limited number of jobs, but also an almost limitless number of disenfranchised landless Arabs.  The Jews of the First Aliyah who were lucky enough to operate vineyards insisted that their wine be kosher, which severely limited their pool of potential employees.  It was a then-young David Ben-Gurion who managed to initiate a successful strike for higher wages among the Jewish grape-treaders in Palestine.  The pious Jews saw their comeuppance, and had to shell out.  Anyway, I don't have a very discerning palate, but, when it came to tasting, I'd give the wine a B, or, maybe a B+.  It was rather unexceptional in quality, and about half of the people at my table didn't even want to finish most of their glasses.  I am extremely reluctant to waste food, and offered to finish several of my neighbors' glasses for them, rather than see the wine go to waste.  I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and, as expected, was feeling a mild buzz by the time the tasting of the four wines (rose, white, red, and dessert) was over.  We had a long bus ride ahead of us, and I was well-hydrated, so I wasn't too concerned about my health.  With alcohol-induced glibness, I began to talk to Alex (not Coco; the other Alex) about my international experiences in France and the rest of Europe, and, in retrospect, I wonder if he could tell that I was under the influence (note: this was my second experience with alcohol in the past few weeks; the first was Saba's scotch on Shabbat Teshuvah)  Regardless, it was an easy trip back to Ramla, and by the time we reached our destination, I was entirely sober.

The next day, Erev Succot, I will describe tomorrow.  Right now, it's Thursday night, and for the first time, I'm experiencing that strange phenomenon, the one-day Chag.  I'll talk all about it, and my wonderful host family, in the next post.

Shabbat Shalom, and Chag Sameach!

~JD