Dearest Blog readers,
I apologize for my lack of writing this past week. Starting
last weekend I began traveling from the North to South of this awesome country,
and I had the brilliant idea NOT to bring my computer. In retrospect this was a
silly idea, because now the memories only burn dimly in my mind, but I promise
to give it my best.
Starting from my last entry I will give you the highlights.
First, Orly’s husband corrected me that his name is in fact not Saul, but Saar.
To the untrained American ear the ‘L’ sound at the end of Saul is almost
guttural, or as guttural as the language gets. So when I heard “Saa” and then a
guttural noise I assumed it to be a ‘L.’ Pretty insulting when in hebrew Saar
is the word for storm, and easy enough for a baby to say. Oops. I apologized
and then tried to say Saar giving my ‘R’ the noise I was hearing. Alas, the ‘R’
is a difficult transition, most American speakers do not pronounce the Hebrew
‘R’ and most Israelis cannot pronounce the English ‘R.’ So, I met this crossroads
with the utmost grace and said, “Yes! Sir Saar (pronounced like SARS)”.
Besides this hiccup, Orly and Saar took me to the Sea of
Galilee and to where Jesus was baptized. The river was blue and cloudy, like
that of the water at a theme park. It sat calmly, undisturbed, say the brown
beaver, rat-pig creatures paddling around its shores. Yes, I have found one of
the ugliest creatures, and it has made its home in the holy land. How do I
describe this mammal? First, it is small and brown. From afar I thought it
might be an otter. Yet, when I approached its body was that of a beaver. But,
one essential beaver feature was missing, the wide tail. Instead of the
comforting tail I had known from childhood I saw an extremely large rat tail.
Further examination led me to find that this horrid animal also had a piggly
snout and orange beaver teeth. What would Moses say, I ask! This thing (the Copyu)
is proof of G-d’s existence or perhaps the opposite.
A few days later, we were all looking forward to going to
Eric’s (Aryeh) for a Chanukah party. Aryeh, his wife (Yael), and their two
beautiful girls (Leah and Yudid) live in Bet Shemesh. Now if you are a news
savvy individual or live in Israel you know that this area has had some issues
lately. Primarily, it is a rather religious community. Recently, there was a
small group of religious men who have been clamoring about on the public buses
demanding that all women sit in the back and only men in the front. It got so
bad that when a religious young woman refused to move she was covered by all
the newspapers and celebrated, reminding me of what it might have been like for
Rosa Parks in the more liberal newspapers. These same men have continued their
harassments of women on the bus and now have started spitting on women that are
not properly dressed (fully length skirt, long sleeves, no skin showing but
hands, neck and face). Everyday there seems to be a new story on these jerks.
They do not represent the majority, but do put a foul taste in the mouth of the
non-religious people of Israel. Despite the religious troublemakers we were
excited to have the family together.
Before making our way to their home we when to a stalagmite
cave. Of course we have these in America, but I had never seen one in person.
It was amazing. Huge rock formations surrounded us. As we walked through we
imagined how each looked, some like ice cream others like lovers embracing.
Constantly each of us would say, “Hey! Look there!” There was a beauty there
indescribable by words and given no justice by picture. Then I say, when given
the chance, go to such a place and be amazed that it takes 30 years for one
drop to make its way from the ground to the bottom of the cave below. After
this, we left for Aryeh’s.
Dressed in their orthodox attire Aryeh and Yael welcomed
everyone to their home. While we waited to eat and for the other guests Aryeh
had us play an intelligent game. He asked a question of each person and if
their answer was correct they received a chocolate, golden coin. Typical of a
Jewish family, make any activity a learning experience about the Jewish people
and rewarding (and or ending) with food. All the dishes were with dairy,
because during Chanukah we eat dairy and not meat. The reasoning behind this is
strange, basically some guy ate dairy and then he was murdered by this lady… So
we eat dairy. Alright, I’m not giving the story justice, but you get the
picture. After eating our fill and lighting the candles, everyone said their
goodbyes. I was spending the night, and was glad to greet bed. The next morning
I spent time with the little girls. At the ages of four and two these little
ones would chat up a storm, with no care that I couldn’t understand. Most of
our conversations involved me repeating several key words: ken, lo, lahchon,
tov, bay-sader, mazay (yes, no, right, good, ok, what’s that). Sometimes I
would repeat what they said, but I was always be corrected. “Lo!” they would
say, then they would repeat the word again. I would try to mimic and yet again,
‘LO’ would be the result. Ok, I would say or I would ask the adults to
translate. Even with our large language barrier, the girls and I bonded. They
would hold my hand and we would play simple games, like making faces. That’s
the best thing about children they don’t even need words to love something.
Once we had gotten a packed lunch together and dressed
everyone we set out to take the bus to Jerusalem. Leah fell asleep in my lap as
I watched the countryside go by. This area of Israel is very hilly, but there
is so much chalk rock and limestone here it seems that they would qualify as
small mountains. Communities hug the top of each hill, like fudge on a scoop of
ice cream. There are many religious people, and I supposed I looked the part.
Out of respect I had worn a long skirt, tights, long sleeve shirt and a jacket.
The city had recently been revamped, I was told, and the streets, light-rail,
and bus station were new to make things more efficient. And they were! But I
didn’t feel like I was entering a holy city, but a great flea market, farmers
market, and outdoor mall. Aryeh led us towards the old city, where the
buildings were close together. The ground and walls were the same like a
labyrinth of stone that guided us to underground markets and then to the
western wall. This particular wall is the outer wall of what used to be “the
temple” in the jewish religion. It is the most holy of places, but religious
jews dear not go closer than the western wall because it is too holy and they
are seen as impure. To become pure you would need a red cow to sacrifice and
then with its ashes and some ritual, and then would be pure enough to approach
such a place. Unfortunately, we are fresh out of red cow. The original temple
is gone now, and its exact location is up to some debate. Ironically, the current
building in its stead is a mosque. I watched as men and women split into groups
with a small wooden barrier between them. The voices of men chanting, talking,
and praying were heard bouncing off the stones, but the women were quiet. Many
women held a sedur (a prayer book) and were reading a prayer rocking back and
forth towards the wall as they prayed. Closer to the wall women would press
their heads against the stone, as if whispering a secret to a person on the
other side. A defensive line of praying bodies protected the wall. My intention
was to reach the stones, but six feet from the towering holy place I stopped.
Even now I cannot explain why I didn’t go forward to touch the wall. I think
that I would have felt guilty. Had I gone and touched it, it would have been
nothing to me, but a large wall of stone. So I stood, hoping that some sign or
compulsion inside me would make me step closer, but I never moved. The women
around me dressed in wigs, long dresses, or army attire prayed and once done
walked backwards, insuring they never turned their back on the most holy of
places. Satisfied with my people watching I also retreated backwards.
It was then time to find the bus to return home. The first
bus was terribly full, and little Yudid sat on my lap. So happy and playful,
American people would ooh and aw over such demeanor, but in Israel she was
asked to be quiet. Leah, in her father’s arms, asked why the bus was stopping
and going. He responded that it was pkock (traffic). The word PKOCK in hebrew
has several meanings, traffic, cork, and bottle cap. A little while later Leah
asked her father, where the coca-cola was that this pkock was attached. So
cute! Perhaps because of the holiday it took us three hours to return home.
Typically it was a 30 minute trip. The children stubbornly went to bed, and we
ate our dinner in the quiet. The next morning Aryeh and I would meet with
Debbie and I would go home with her.