It’s a Small World

My Aunt and I at the Market in Tel Aviv

My travels seem to be bursting with amazing encounters.  This week’s amazing event was that my aunt and uncle from California came to Israel for a holiday.  Uncle John John (my father’s brother) and Susan planned their trip to Israel before I knew that I would be here too.  When we discovered that we would be in Israel at the same time, we arranged that we would travel together.  We don’t see each other so frequently in North America, so, naturally, we would be able to meet and spend a week together across the world from our homes. 

I met them at the airport and then I stuck to their side like glue for their entire week here.  We had a very full itinerary planned, actually they planned; I was content to sit in the backseat and doze.  Our travels took us from Tel Aviv, to Kibbutz Barkai for a family birthday party, to Jerusalem, and to the most southern point of Israel.  

Family Ties

My Great-Aunt Rachel on Her New Scooter

Blood ties are strange things.  The fact that we are “family” holds such power over us.  We are absurdly loyal to family even in the face of damning evidence.  “Family” means we always talk on the phone, even when we are exhausted.  Historically, familial ties were the way to knit kingdoms and to forge alliances. 

For me, “family” is people who share my history and my ancestors.  We are still “family” even when we live across the world and have never met.  The knowledge of shared genetics links us and creates opportunities to meet and love people who are entirely different—people who have a different language, culture, and lifestyle.  Yet, we have the same nose; we are family. 

The Whole Family

My family in Israel are the children and grandchildren of my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister.  They are my second cousins and second cousins once removed (I had to figure that out just to say it here).  But how we are related doesn’t matter—my Israeli family has completely welcomed me into their lives.  I have always heard stories and legends, but now I have connected the tales to faces.  Because of the stories and my visit, I am starting to feel like I have known them forever. 

My Great-Uncle and One of my Fantastic Cousins

I have also become convinced that family-hopping is the best way to travel.  Hanging out with my family here has given me unique insights on Israeli life and culture.  I can ask questions about touchy situations and politics and about aspects of life here that completely confuse me.  Like why the bus and train ticket system is not integrated.  As a tourist, my opinions arise from my experiences living in Canada, and the particular biases that it brings.  Luckily, my family can also tell me what to think based on their experiences living here, which give me a very enlightening, and usually surprising, perspective.  My family is also made up of fantastic, warm people with whom I have fun hanging out.  I also always have a place to stay.  No matter how busy they are, my cousins always offer me a place in their homes and their lives. 

Photographs

It has come to my attention that there may be some confusion as to where I am getting the photos for my blog.  Unless otherwise stated, they are all my photographs.  When I have taken images off the web, like for the post about the Vatican, then I include a “sources” list at the bottom of the post.  I even try to give acknowledgment if I have taken the photos from my father or brother! 

I have also started to turn off the automatic setting on my camera so that I will learn how to take better photos.  I am trying to play with the exposure, the ISO, and everything else that I can manipulate.  This creates some dilemmas, like which setting should I be changing and when?  Normally I would ask my father, but he is in Vancouver and I am in Israel… so it is difficult to ask for specific advice as I am taking each photo.  As well, I have been focusing on the composition of each photograph, trying to make each one balanced and interesting.  Sometimes these endeavours work and sometimes they don’t, as you can probably tell. 

Call to Prayer

This is a movie I filmed on my little camera to give you an idea of what the Muslim call to prayer sounds like.  On one side of the wall is the new city of Jerusalem, the other side is the Old City.  It is not the best movie, but I hope it gives you an idea of how magical the experience was for me.

The People I Meet

Christian Pilgrims Carry These Crosses

I always want to know the facts about a place.  Other people may be interested in wandering lazily without any idea of the history and significance of a neighborhood, but I like to know all the details.  Not only do I like learning the facts, but I usually remember them.  This is why I decided to take a formal walking tour of the Old City in Jerusalem.  I had meant to do this with my mum, but we didn’t have enough time. 

The tour was fantastic—I got detailed explanations about churches, the four different quarters (Arab, Armenian, Christian, and Jewish), and general Israeli history.  The tour also gave me an opportunity to interact with other people, most of whom I would have been too shy to otherwise approach.  While I love hearing people’s stories, actually introducing myself poses a problem.  Meeting people on a tour, where many people from diverse backgrounds are haphazardly thrown together, is perfect for me.  I get to talk to people, but I don’t have to make the initial contact—the tour has already done that.  This post is a summary of the people with whom I talked, interspersed with descriptions of my most recent Old City adventures. 

The View of the New City from the Ramparts

Tour Assistant: He is a native from Jerusalem.  Although he has probably accompanied this tour hundreds of times, he still says he enjoys it and learns new things.  Each time he walks in the Old City he finds a new alley or side street and learns something new.  There are countless things to discover. 

British Uncle, Son and Cousin:  I asked what brought them to Israel and this tour and I learned that she, the cousin, had been praying to come here for years.  Now, God told her the time was right to visit, so she got cheap flights and is visiting the Holy City with her uncle and his son.  She called me “sweetie” and invited me to spend the afternoon with them.

A Street Outside the Ramparts

Montreal Couple:  I spoke to this couple as we were waiting for the tour guide at the Western Wall.  This couple just arrived two weeks ago and are going to be here for another three months!  They are volunteering at a church in exchange for room and board.  In their free time, they get to be tourists. 

The Old City from the Walls

Israeli schoolgirls:  Two Israeli schoolgirls also came on the tour.  They wanted to here about their city from an alternative perspective for a school project.  I think they were also conducting covert interviews with us tourists to discover what makes us “tick”. 

After the tour, I decided to do “The Ramparts Walk”.  This was also something I had intended to do with my mum… Oh well.  “The Ramparts Walk” is a circumnavigation of the Old City by walking on top of the city walls.  I imagined that I was following the path of centuries of patrols.  I could just picture myself putting my bow in the arrow slits and aiming at some invaders throat.  Or maybe not, I probably would have been cowering behind a chair in our house.  I walked the ramparts in complete solitude; this is probably why my imagination went into hyper-drive. 

Arrow Slit

I think my favorite moment of the walk was when the muezzin called the Muslim to prayer.  I was in a completely deserted area somewhere above the Arab Quarter and suddenly I heard one summons start.  Then another muezzin started his prayer to my right, then my left.  Soon, half-a-dozen calls were happening.  The prayers overlapped and created the most amazing aural textures.  These are some of the people I met that afternoon. 

San Franciscan:  As I was descending from the ramparts, I was presented with a dilemma.  The exit led into a section of the Arab Quarter where I could not see any other tourists.  I was uncomfortable walking back to the tourist area by myself, yet I didn’t want to walk for an hour and a half back along the ramparts.  I was wavering between turning around or bravely continuing to the Arab Quarter when I happened to see another tourist wandering through the streets.  I immediately exited the ramparts

Looking at the Arab Quarter from Above

and ran up to the tourist.  I walked with him until we were back into the area that I recognized, aka the tourist sections.  During our walk, I learned that he was visiting his family in Israel and was taking a day off to be a tourist in Jerusalem. 

Gaggle of Girls:  As I was heading to the bus, a group of Israeli’s asked me to take their photo.  They kept saying smile—did they want me to smile, or was I supposed to wait to take the photo until they were smiling? 

The Bus Passengers:  Getting off the bus in Mevasseret in the afternoon, I asked one person if she knew where I should get off.  She asked the couple across from us.  The people behind them overheard and offered their opinions too.  Then someone asked the bus driver.  Soon, the whole bus was discussing the best places for me to disembark.  Not only does it take a community to raise a child, but it also takes a community to help a tourist!

The Sun Shines on Israel

See the Plenitude?

Most of Israeli is hot and sunny—the typical Mediterranean and desert climates.  The city of Tel Aviv receives more than 300 sunny days per year!  In this climate, it makes complete sense to rely heavily on solar energy.  However, photovoltaics are not yet a trend here. 

A Solar Water Heater

What Israel lacks in solar panels, it makes up for in solar hot water heaters.  When I visited Haifa, I was shocked at the plenitude of bizarre protuberances on the roofs.  All the buildings appeared to be having a bad hair day.  Although the visual effect was messy, I was delighted when I realized that each building was covered in solar hot water heaters.  Once I had recognized the structures, they  became an exciting and pleasant sight—no longer an eye sore.  It is funny how my opinions can change so fluidly depending on the circumstances with which I formed them. 

A View of the Old City in Jerusalem

Since that day in Haifa, I have begun noticing solar hot water heaters everywhere.  In the Arab villages, silhouettes of water heaters mingle with the views of minarets.  The white water canisters sprout like fungi from roofs in Jerusalem.  The sight is so ubiquitous that no one mentions their presence anymore; they have been common in Israel for at least 25 years.  In fact, there are a staggering 0.56 m² of solar water heaters per person.  By comparison, the US only has 0.01 m² per person. 

Surprisingly though, North America is farther advanced than Israel in terms of plastic awareness.  While plastic bags are being phased out from large megastores in Canada, plastic bags are still proffered everywhere in Israel.  Each type of fruit needs its own plastic bag.  Then, after everything is weighed and bought, it is all stuck in another plastic bag.  Don’t worry though; this bag is a different colour so it will make the garbage pile look cheerful. 

Cats Are Ubiquitous and Feed on Human Garbage

At Adamama, we meticulously sorted all our garbage into different categories: recycling, compost etc.  We produced very little garbage destined for the landfill.  But this, I’ve realized since re-entering mainstream culture, is highly unusual for Israel.  This observation came as an almost physical shock to me.  I keep looking for the recycling bins.  Outside of the hippie permaculture movement, everything appears to be tossed carelessly in the garbage: organic waste, metal, plastic, and glass.  I know the recycling systems do exist here, but there seems to be limited cultural awareness or drive to utilize them.  Reuse, Reduce, Recycle—there seems to be no catchy translation. 

The Capital of the Negev

“Be’er Sheva is at first sight highly disappointing for any visitor” says its Wikitravel article.  Perhaps this is true, if you arrive on a day when the wind has whipped the dust into a malignant haze.  And since Be’er Sheva sits in the middle of the Negev desert, there are a lot of potential particles available to clog the air. 

Bedouin Market

I happened to arrive on just this type of windy, dusty day.  However, I liked the way the dust obscured the skyline.  To me, a girl from the rainforest, the dry desert wind made the city feel exotic and foreign.  I couldn’t wait to explore the streets hidden from my view. 

I was lucky to be hosted in Be’er Sheva by the mother of our Israeli neighbour in Vancouver.  Dalia has lived in Be’er Sheva for 50 years and has countless stories about the city and surrounding area.  As Dalia picked me up from Adamama, she even showed me the tree under which she used to sit and wait for the bus 57 years ago.  I loved talking to her and learning about her life in the Negev. 

My day to explore Be'er Sheva with Dalia was the polar opposite of the day prior.  There were no clouds in the sky and the dust had settled back to the ground.  The city looked shiny and new coming out from behind its layer of airborne particles. 

Dalia and Me

Be'er Sheva has quite an interesting history.  It was built by the Ottoman Empire in order to control the rebellious Bedouin communities and to be able to place taxes on those communities.  The old city is the only one that is planned on a grid, which is great for us directionally-challenged individuals.  Most of the British/Ottoman battles took place around here with the two armies vying for control of this city and its water sources.  Now, Be'er Sheva is known as the “Capital of the Negev” and has a “lively student community” and “vibrant culture and history”.  I didn’t experience the student life, but Be'er Sheva certainly has the best falafel I have ever eaten.  It was light and delicately flavoured—difficult to accomplish in deep
-
fried fast food.  

At the Be’er Sheva bus station I said a mournful good bye to Dalia and lugged my stuff onto the bus.  I learned that it is impossible to travel light and carry around a violin too.  For this reason, it is better to travel with a family member; they can take the extra bag if the two backpacks, purse, and fiddle become too unwieldy. 

I am staying with friends right now—Barry and Isella—in Mevasseret.  Barry grew up on the same street as my mum and they were childhood friends.  When she was still here in Israel we had visited them, but I decided I wanted to see them again.  They are such wonderful hosts—perhaps I will move in permanently (don’t tell my mum!). 

Mevasseret is kind of like a suburb of Jerusalem, except that it has its own cohesive community and center.  From Mevasseret it is an easy bus ride into Jerusalem, so I shall be able to continue my touristic behaviour from here.  I think that I have actually taken the public transportation system more in Israel than I ever have in Vancouver.  I shall try to remedy that when I return to Canada. 

Tahini Fervour

I am not Israeli—I don’t put mountains of tahini on everything I eat.  Here at Adamama, tahini is the condiment of choice for salads, soups, pasta, sandwiches, and spoons.  A large bowl of Tahini is mixed with water and spices and eaten at every opportunity.  Instead of buying normal tahini jars, of say 2 Liters, the tahini container is half a meter tall!  There is even a special tahini ladle placed beside the bulk storage to solicit removal. 

This is a Full Sized Bucket

I am truly trying to incorporate tahini into my meals like I would with salt, but I keep on forgetting.  I am sorry, but it doesn’t occur to me to eat Tahini with a spoon for breakfast. 

Of course one can tell I am not Israeli for other reasons too.  When I am talking on the phone, and am told that I should call back later to talk to the volunteer coordinator, I say “thank you” and hang up.  An Israeli wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.  My cousin told me that the first “no” does not really mean “no”.  I concluded that it means that I should ask again and again until I get what I want.  My nice, polite Canadian sensibilities aren’t so compatible with this. 

I also apologize excessively.  Oh, you’re feeling sick today—I am so sorry!  For what I am not so sure as I didn’t have anything do with your virus.  Sorry?  I didn’t quite catch what you just said.  Or “sorry!” because I once washed dishes in the wrong sink.  I also receive odd looks when I apologize for walking into people on the street.  I don’t push my way into line and I am not pushy when I am buying tickets.  I am definitely not Israeli. 

Adamama's Website

Here is the link to Adamama's website.  Unfortunately, the Hebrew version has more information, but this is still interesting. 
http://www.adamama.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=86&Itemid=65
Enjoy!

Adamama

Since arriving in Israel nearly four weeks ago, I have been sightseeing, exploring, and visiting with my family.  I was lucky enough to have spent the first two weeks traveling with my mum.  We had a great time together getting lost, sharing falafel, and meeting the family here.  Unfortunately, she had to fly back to her normal life, so she left Israel on December 27^th. 

My Alfalfa Patch

The day after she left I started volunteering.  For the previous two weeks I had spent every available moment searching the web and asking friends about volunteer opportunities.  I was picky; I wanted to do something environmental or political and I wanted to be a part of a community.  I didn’t want to be working on a project that could be happening anywhere.  I wanted to be able to experience Israeli culture. 

I even found a place that fit my exacting criteria.  Adamama is a small educational farm in a Moshav called Nir Moshe.  “Educational farm” means that their main goal is to demonstrate permaculture and green building practices, rather than to produce food.  People come from around Israel to get tours of this farm to learn about composting toilets and grey water systems. 

My PVC Creation!

As well, a community of about 10 people live here permanently.  This particular community has been here since September exchanging work on the farm for their right to live here.  I know it must be hard for them that volunteers flow in and out of their lives.  For instance, we even change the daily patterns of who makes dinner.  However, everyone has been very welcoming of my presence here.  I instantly felt like another member of their extended family.  I have never lived as part of a commune before and I have learned about cooperation, sharing work, and how everything is decided basically without a discussion.  This took me a while to get used to.  I didn’t know that I would have access to such a wonderful community, but this was exactly what I was looking for.  I have made many friends here and I will miss everyone when I leave. 

The Chicken and Geese Enclosure

During the day I have been doing a variety of tasks.  Every morning I feed the chickens by dumping boxes of dirt and worms in their enclosure.  I have also been planting alfalfa seedlings (adorable), weeding, and constructing a recycling organizer from reused PVC pipes. 

The food here has also been entirely vegan vegetarian.  Not eating cheese took some adjusting, but now I love the diet.  Every meal I eat is made entirely from scratch, with a large focus on greens and dried legumes.  Interestingly, I feel very different with this diet.  These aren’t quite the right words, but I almost feel cleaner and lighter.  I definitely want to keep this feeling after I leave, but I am not quite sure how.  I’ll sleep on it. 

"Power" Spots

Graves on the Mt. of Olives: these people will be resurrected by the Messiah first

Do you know the theory about “Power Spots”?  Some people believe that there are places on our wonderful planet where everything seems to happen.  Wars can be fought over the “Power Spots” for no apparent reason.  People congregate in these areas and religions, civilizations, and beauty rise up out of seemingly worthless land.  One of these acknowledged “Power Spots” is the Four Corners Area in the USA where the edges of New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah all meet.  Another such recognized area is Jerusalem. 

View of the Wall Around the Old City

I don’t think I believe this specific theory, but there is some unexplainable magic in Jerusalem that both my mum and I felt.  Nowhere else in the world is it possible to stroll through the streets and see the extraordinary mixing of tourists clutching cameras, orthodox Jews avoiding eye contact, and Arabs smoking nargillah. 

The old city of Jerusalem is like a petri dish.  In bacterial cultures, there are higher concentrations of life and activity than in any normal environment.  This is the same in Jerusalem.  As we entered through the Jaffa Gate into the Arab Market, we could have stepped through a portal into another world. 

Scarves Anyone?

Men yelled their prices, and young boys ran helter-skelter clutching teacups full of sloshing liquid.  The brilliant merchandise spilled from doorways and hung overhead blocking the light.  The filtered sunshine created the sense of permanently falling dusk.  I felt like I was peering into the secrets of some forbidden castle, or like I had wandered accidentally onto private property. 

Made in China...

As we passed each shop, we would be enticed to “come inside and see the fine handmade pillowcases”.  But we never did, we were always on a mission.  Usually, our quest was to leave the sections of the market thronged with eager tourists.  The tourists tended to stay on the main streets where the air was brighter and the exit more obvious.  The stores reflected their customers; they highlighted glitzy jewellery and cloth made by a machine in China. 

Steps Worn Smooth by Thousands of Feet

My mum and I searched out the deserted streets where our muffled footfalls echoed in the shadows.  In these less touristy sections, my mum and I were ignored as we wandered dazedly through the twisting streets.  Men sat and gossiped, hoping for customers, but really more intent on their pipes.  Here, I could take photos without worry of offending some religion, and we could gape at the spices and fabrics without being convinced to buy them. 

Here too, away from the tourists, we found the nicest people.  When we got lost, which maybe took thirty-seconds, I would have always asked the nearest, nicest looking person for directions.  My mother always asked the most interesting person.  She has a talent for creating conversations with complete strangers whom I would shy away from.  I love this skill of hers; I get to listen and learn without actually needing to talk. 

The View of a Very Famous Mosque From the Roof

The Jewish scribe told us how he used to have a store in the Jewish quarter, but the rent was too high so he moved to a stall in the Arab Market where the rent is lower.  Now business wasn’t as good; he said many tourists were afraid to venture here.  He told us how the names of objects in Hebrew represent their characteristics and how to determine which verses from the Torah correspond to people’s names.  In Hebrew, each letter in the alphabet is numbered, so the first and last numbers of your name indicate your own personal verse. 

The Bounties of a Warmer Climate

Three young Arab men gave us detailed instructions on how to climb to the roof of the market and get a spectacular view most tourists miss. Their enthusiasm infected us and we raced to find the stairs, stopping to ask for more directions on the way. 

Some Cinnamon

The “new” city of Jerusalem is just as magical as the old.  I especially loved exploring the Shuk—the biggest outdoor market in the new city.  I love the standards of age in Jerusalem: this market feels young, but it was actually created in 1887, which would be considered ancient in Vancouver.  This market full of bright colours and sounds is where my family in Jerusalem does their shopping.  I am so envious that they don’t have to enter a sterile supermarket every week to buy Persimmons. 

They're Donuts

Upon entry to the market, the smell of exotic spices immediately fills the air and wafts into to our nostrils from the unstable towers of zatar, paprika, and coriander.  Figs and dates are piled unceremoniously in boxes and everywhere people hawk their wares.  The streets of the Suk are crammed with people hurrying to buy fresh sufganiot (jelly donuts for Chanukah), the best persimmons, or simply on an unperceivable mission.  

I Swear, the Halva is Better in Israel

Halva is stacked in appealing configurations or arranged in bulk on shelves.  Halva in Israel is not like the Israeli halva that we buy in Canada.  I think they export their poorer quality products and keep the best for themselves.  I don’t like halva in Vancouver, but I love it here.  I can’t seem to eat enough of it, unfortunately. 

In the Suk, I saw religious Jews mingling with secular people.  The sea of people is a mottled patchwork of long black coats, headscarves, and the bright colours worn by the non-orthodox.  Women walked past with averted eyes and scarves concealing even the smallest tendrils of hair.  Men wore long black coats.  Girls also ambled past with garish piercings and skin-tight jeans.  Men with shaved heads and baggy pants hoisted crates of fruit into stalls.  Here, inexplicably, the two worlds seem to mingle daily. 

Spices of Life

For the outsider, like me, walking past ultra-orthodox male Jews poses a quandary.  I always want to stare at them, as if I am hoping to see a sign that explains their logic that turns women into meek creatures whose role is only to raise children.  However, I don’t stare.  It would be very rude, especially considering that it is against their beliefs to look a woman in the eye.  The other option is to avert my eyes, but then I feel as if they have won, and that I have put myself in a subservient position.  I try to be respectful, but I won’t pander to sexism.  I have decided to ignore them and just steal frequent glances from the corners of my eyes.  This is my act of internal defiance that is (hopefully) still outwardly respectful.