Photos: Tel-Aviv and Jaffa

I'm going to start out with some photos of our hotel in Tel-Aviv: the Art + Hotel on Ben Yehuda street. (To enlarge the photos, just click on them).

I had a single. You can see the bathroom and shower through the door on the right.


The room was small, but efficient:


Each floor's hallway had a different design by a different artist:


The lobby had a 1970s feel to it:


The floor of each stairwell had a video installation. This is the one just off the lobby:


My first room, on the second floor, had no view. My parents had a double room on the south-east corner. I thought the neighboring building was a classic Tel-Aviv apartment:



When we stayed in the same hotel at the end of our trip, my room was on the fourth floor and I had views. Looking northeast:


Looking west towards the Mediterranean:


The breakfast buffet


Rochelle, dad, and mom at breakfast:


We spent a lot of time walking around Tel-Aviv.

Here's the dog park:


This is Mersand, a cafe where we often ate lunch:


Mom and dad on the tayelet, the promenade along Tel-Aviv's beach:


We also spent a lot of time on the street where dad grew up: Ben Yehuda

Here's the window of his old apartment:


Here's the door to his old apartment:


While in Tel-Aviv, we went to the Haganah Museum to talk to the archivist. We also toured the museum.

Here's part of the museum, the home of its founder, Eliyahu Golomb:


This chart shows the organization structure of the Haganah:


Here are places where the Haganah operated in the 1920s-40s:


Here's the oath and gun used to induct people into service:


This map shows where dad served, in Bet Keren Hakayemet L'yisra'el (aka Bet Dej'n):


Dad's childhood friend and army buddy, Aryeh, took us out to where they served, along the key road running from Jaffa to Ramallah.

Here's the sign to the former base (now just a monument):


Here's the monument, with dad and Aryeh:


Here's Aryeh and dad, where the bunkers used to be:


The only surviving structure is the well:


A few blocks away from their old base is the former British police station, outside of which dad was shot in an ambush:


On the road back to Tel-Aviv, we passed Mikve Yisra'el. This agricultural school was the first one established in Palestine in 1870. Graetz (the subject of my dissertation), toured in 1872 and praised its work.

The school:


The gate:


I very much enjoy the old buildings put up in the 1920s and 30s, which are finally being restored.

Here are some from Bialik Street:






Bialik's house:





The old city hall, and surrounding buildings







Ben Yehuda Street:






Other parts of Tel-Aviv:






Both dad and I love the Carmel Market.

This is the oldest gas station in Tel-Aviv (just behind the entrance to the market):


The market:




















Near Carmel Market is the Nahalat Binyamin neighborhood, with its weekly crafts fair:














This is the former Berlitz School on Allenby Street. Dad remembers how in November 1947, they had loud speakers put up on the 2nd floor balcony, so the crowds could listen to the UN vote.



We also visited Jaffa and the flea market:

Mom and dad at Jaffa Harbor:








The Fishermen's Mosque:









The old city:






"Dr. Shakshura" (a restaurant in the flea market):


The Jaffa flea market:





The clock tower:



Finally, no trip to Tel-Aviv would be complete without spending some time at the beach.

Near the beach is this monument to illegal immigration to Palestine:


This is called a "hasakeh" (חסקה). Dad told us how he and his friends built one on the roof of an apartment.


Here's how it's used:

Summing Up

Now that I'm back home and (mostly) recovered from jet lag, I just thought I would put in a few final thoughts about the changes I saw in Israel that have taken place in the 11 years since I was last there.

Politically, the Russification of Israeli politics has been quite dramatic. The fear of the other, the demonizing and criminalizing of political opponents, all selective arrest and prosecution of peaceful protesters, all hallmarks of Putin's new Russia, and Lieberman's new Israel. I'm hoping that the courts will serve as a final bulwark to preserve Israeli democracy.

That's the Israel one sees in the Israeli papers. On the ground, the political and social turmoil are more muted and masked.

As a tourist, one sees a rather different Israel. For me, the most marked change was in the quality of the food in restaurants. When I first came to Israel in 1984, the food was almost uniformly awful. Israelis rarely ate out, meaning that most places catered only to the tourist trade. By 1998, things had improved immensely. As more Israelis traveled, the learned to expect better food. Israeli tv hosted cooking shows, highlighting Mediterranean cuisine. While there were still plenty of bad restaurants (e.g., almost anything serving Chinese or Thai), one could, without too much difficulty, find nice places to eat.

On this trip, we easily found excellent restaurants, using quality ingredients and creative preparations and pairings. And not just in Tel-Aviv. As for hotel food, the traditionally good Israeli breakfast buffet has been expanded, but more importantly, the dinner buffet is far, far better than a decade ago. Even in Ein Gedi, where the rooms still reflect the style of the 1980s, the dining hall was updated to the present.

In the past, the ubiquitous Italian restaurants served bland and forgettable preparations; now, they're more than just red or white sauce. From the pasta fagioli soup, to the fried stuffed zucchini flowers, to the fagotini crepes, we all were impressed by the quality.

Ten years ago, I was struck by how the beautiful bauhaus buildings of Tel-Aviv were run down and shabby; now I could see an active campaign to renovate them (mostly through facade-ectomies, in which the outer shell is preserved and the interior totally redone. There's still a lot of work to do, but the situation is improving.

It's hard to imagine what Jerusalem will be like when Jaffa Rd is closed to all traffic except for the light rail system. Hopefully, it will be a real improvement.

That's it for now.

Best Red Eye Flight EVER

Sure enough, we got into business class. Since this was an overnight flight, there was no dinner service, but I planned to sleep in any case. About an hour after take off, I took an Ambien, reclined the seat fully til it was nearly horizontal, and nodded off to sleep. I woke up once and went back to sleep. Around 6:30 am (Tel-Aviv time), I woke up and new that I wouldn't fall back asleep again. That means I slept for more than 5 hours; that's a record for me for sleeping on planes.

With the remaining time I finally watched Inception, which I enjoyed, and then Nanny McPhee Returns, which I didn't so much enjoy. I chatted in Hebrew with my neighbor, had the omelette breakfast, and then we landed.

It was still night, making me feel that we had somehow landed in Siberia where it's never day in the winter. The runways were lined with snow. We exited and quickly passed through immigration and customs. We waited about 30 minutes for Rochelle to clear (she was seated much further back on the plane), kissed her goodbye, and headed to our connection.

We had to take a shuttle bus to the next terminal, which means walking outside, where it's 20 F. The thing is that you have a kind of bubble of warmth around you that, as long as there's no breeze, can act as a kind of protective blanket for a minute or so. As a result, you don't really feel the cold as much as you would after say five minutes.

We're now in the business lounge at JFK waiting for our flights. They still haven't given us seat assignments; they can only do that at the gate about 30 minutes before the flight. We're keeping our fingers crossed.

En Route -- At Last!

Today was a great day in Tel-Aviv; it worked out far better than if we had planned it. However, none of us have any clean clothes left and we're all ready to get home.

We went back to Ernesto's for dinner tonight, and this time we all just ordered starter courses, two per person. As a result, we all had room for dessert, but I think dad and I enjoyed our strawberry tiramisu more than mom and Rochelle liked splitting the napoleon.

We got to the airport a little early, but that worked out great as we got ahead of one Taglit-Birthright group (but after another). Sure enough, we've been bumped up to business class for the flight to New York, and we've requested upgrades for the flight to San Diego too.

Right now, mom and I are in the Dan Lounge at Ben Gurion. Our flight boards in a half an hour. I'll update from New York if I can.

Last Day in Tel Aviv?

I slept much better last night, only getting up a little before 7 am. My hand is definitely better today: the swelling is down and is less painful.

I went down to breakfast where we discussed our plans for today and Rochelle expressed her concern about her long layover in New York (more than 10 hours). Dad was able to have his last Israel breakfast: lots of salads, bread, tomatoes, avocado salad, egg salad, etc.

We arranged for us to have a room where we could relax in the afternoon and store our luggage while we wait for our flight tonight. I moved my luggage into my parents' room and then my dad and I headed out to the Haganah Museum.

We walked along Allenby Street as far as Rothschild and then turned down to the Eliahu Golomb House. When we got in, they told us it was 15 shekels admission. My dad then said "I was in the Haganah," so they said his admission was free. I said I wasn't. I paid the 15 shekels.

Dad wanted to see the archivist about donating photos, but she wasn't there so the guard set up the movie for us. He told us to watch the computer rather than the screen since the image was better.

It was a rather heroic depiction of the Haganah, as you might expect, though I felt uncomfortable with their use of the term "special operations" to describe some of the activities of the Palmach against Palestinian Arabs. For anyone who teaches Holocaust, the phrase has some unfortunate connotations.

We found a map showing where dad served, but the exhibit seemed much smaller than in years past.

Afterwards we went downstairs and met Orly, the archivist. She showed us the photos they have for the base at Bet Keren Hakayemet, but they were only of the Palmach unit that set it up in 1947; nothing from 1948 when it was run by Givati. I told her that I would e-mail her my dad's photos next week. She was excited to expand their collection.

From there we walked back down Allenby and then turned aside to visit Robinson's used bookshop. I'm looking for a book by David Kroyanker that gives architectural information for buildings throughout Jerusalem. I lost my copy and its now out of print. They have a huge stock of floor to ceiling, plus an adjacent warehouse, but no luck.

After that we went back to Allenby and then turned onto Bialik St. This is a quiet, beautiful street, lined with houses built in the mid 1920s to early 1930s. At the far end was the old city hall building, including Mayor Dizengoff's residence. We saw Bialik's House, Rueven Rubin's house, and the Bauhaus Museum (all from the outside). After that we headed back to the hotel.

We met mom and from there caught a taxi to the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. This is next to the music center where we ate last night. We went in but oddly, there's no map or plan of the museum available. We found the coffee house downstairs and mom and I had the avocado sandwiches.

From there we made our way through various collections. Unlike other museums, the Tel Aviv Museum of Art is not organized thematically or by period, but by donor. We all really enjoyed the Helena Rubinstein collection of miniatures. These were scenes from homes from various centuries, with all the furniture and decorations in miniature.

Up on the first floor, we found the impressionists and post impressionists. They have some very nice Kandinskies, Miros, and Chagalls. I particularly liked one called "The Lovers," which showed a rather chaste couple embracing at night with an angel flying overhead. Mom loved the Sisleys while dad really liked one of the Russian avante garde pieces.

The exhibit eventually led to a special exhibition of contemporary German neo-Expressionism, but my parents really didn't care for it. "That looks ugly," dad (loudly) announced in front of one large painting. I told him not to be shy but share what he really felt.

We left and walked back to Dizengoff Center. I left them there in order to meet my friend Ofer near Kikar Rabin and see his new place. We were supposed to meet in front of a cafe called "Book Worm," but either I missed him or he didn't show. I got a kafeh hafukh and sat out front, but never saw him.

At 4 pm, I decided to walk to the beach and watch the sunset over the Mediterranean. I saw some people on one of the "hasakeh"s my father used to use when he was growing up. Then I walked back to the hotel. Our flights are still confirmed (yay!) and we're going out for a last dinner and then at 9pm it's off to Ben Gurion (and New York and California, I hope).

On the Mend

As you probably have noticed from my recent postings, I continue to have problems with my left hand. On Saturday, when we had to change the tire, I had to lift up both the flat tire and the spare, which put a lot of pressure on the stitches. I don't think the sulphur water helped any either.

By Sunday, the area had started to be tender, and by Monday morning, there was no question of infection. Last night I reached Ofer, who recommended a doctor, but I couldn't call him until this morning. In the meantime, the area around the stitches had become red and swollen and was very painful to the touch.

I slept quite fitfully and woke up early (5 am). I ate breakfast early and called the doctor as soon as his office opened at 8 am. When the receptionist realized that I wasn't on the kupat cholim plan, she had me speak to the doctor and he said to call back at 3:15 pm to find out when I could come.

In the meantime, we began the process of checking out of the hotel. Dad and Rochelle arranged to keep their rooms late, and I moved my stuff into my parents' room. Then, all of us except Rochelle piled into Aryeh's car for a tour of his and my father's war-time exploits. It was sort of exciting, with Aryeh veering from lane to lane, narrowly missing cars, trucks, and mopeds, all while speaking with both his hands animated, and off the steering wheel.

He'd brought along a book of their brigade's exploits. Soon enough we were in south Tel-Aviv, looking for the road to Bet Dej'n. Along the way, we saw dozens of Sudanese day laborers lining the roads. These are economic refugees fleeing the violence and poverty in the Sudan. They come into the Sinai, but the Egyptian border guards shoot and kill them if they try to cross into Israel.

In the winter of 1948, Aryeh and dad were stationed in Bet Dejn (no Bet Dagan) also known as Bet Keren Hakayemet. This was the main road running from Rammaleh to Jaffa, and the Haganah wanted to intercept the communications and control this strategic route. It was just south and east of Tel-Aviv, next to Mikve Yisrael. This was, they said, an area of 15,000 Arabs, with 15 Haganah fighters in this post.

Mikve Yisrael is a major part of early Zionist history. Founded in 1870 or there abouts, it was run by the Alliance Israelite Universelle as an agricultural school. Heinrich Graetz visited in 1872 and wrote a glowing report about their activities. By 1948, most of the school had either enlisted or been evacuated to Tel-Aviv.

Bet Dej'n consisted of a house adjacent to the road, a well, and "bunkers" in the back. Every night, the Arabs attacked, and every day, the phone line crews arrived to repair the damage from the night before. These work crews were Arabs, so the Haganah told them the courtyard was mined and they had to carefully walk through it to avoid being blown up. They then did an elaborate pantomime of how they had to walk. In fact, there were no mines in the courtyard.

At one point, before the bunkers were finished, the Arabs rolled a barrel with explosives into the building. All the photos I've seen of it show a partially blown off front facade, but I don't know if that was a result of the barrel.

Twice a day, the British drove up and down the road and no one touched them. One time as the British approached, one Haganah soldier dropped his sten gun from the balcony and it landed right in the middle of the road. The Australian commander stopped the convoy, picked up the gun, handed to the Haganah soldier and said "here, you're going to need this." Both Aryeh and dad agreed that the Aussies and the Scots were better than the Brits.

Almost none of the base remains. There are the ruins of the well, but all that remains of the house is a monument to the Haganah soldiers who fell here. Aryeh told us how one time the Arab fighters were led by a German. He called out in German: "you have until 10 to surrender or we will attack." Then he counted down in German: "Zehn, neun, acht, sieben..." When he got to zero, everyone held their breath. Silence. He was bluffing. One time someone through a grenade at the building and it got caught in the protective bars on the window. One of the soldiers hit it, so it flew off and exploded harmlessly.

From there we drove past the police station (just a few blocks away), outside of which dad was shot. It was a Scottish patrol that took him to the hospital.

After that we drove back to Tel-Aviv. On the way we passed what looked like a prison, but which dad and Aryeh said was an army training base. Dad described how they would sometimes go AWOL, by throwing a blanket over the barbed wire and climbing out. "How would you get back in?" I asked. By standing at the front gate and pretending they were trying to leave. "The army wasn't very organized," dad explained.

When we got back to the hotel, we learned that our Delta flight back to the State had been cancelled. Dad took a taxi off to Jaffa to the Delta office, while mom and I grabbed lunch at Mersand. Since dad wasn't there, I got the salami sandwich with mayonaisse (delicious), while mom again got the goat chese with vegetables.

One the way back to the hotel, I was surprised to see dad, who looked very impassive. He has a good poker face. Thumbs up or thumbs down, I signed. Thumbs up. We have tickets for the same flight but one day later, but even better we've been bumped up to business class! While dad got a ticket for Rochelle on the same flight, there were no business seats available. Even worse, she has a 9.5 hour layover at JFK. None of us has dared tell her yet about the difference in the quality of the seats. Even so, she's very upset about the layover and is going to try to change the plans tomorrow.

Dad and I then walked down to the Carmel Market. I missed Mahane Yehuda in Jerusalem, so this was a real treat. I love markets, but here I was able to buy clean socks for tomorrow. Dad pointed out the first gas station in Tel Aviv and a few buildings that held very cheap movie theaters. We looked at all the vegetables and olives, and marveled at one shop for hummus that looked like a synagogue devoted to the stuff. I remembered there was a used bookstore in the area and eventually found it, but it was closed for the day. I'm going to try again tomorrow.

On the way out of the market, we stopped at a building that dad said used to be a Berlitz school in 1947. In November 1947, this was the place where the UN partition vote was broadcast. Dad said that the entire square was full and no one could drive past on Allenby. After the vote, every one danced and partied.

Back at the hotel, we caught a taxi to my doctor's appointment. I was the last patient and he took down my details. He decided to take out the stitches, but couldn't find the equipment. "The nurses usually do this," he explained. Since he was literally moonlighting by taking me as a private patient, he didn't know where they were. Finally, he took out some scissors for cutting paper, swabbed the area to disinfect it, and tried to cut it. Unfortunately, the stitches were pretty tough, so he tried to search again, in vain. I told him to go ahead with the scissors he had, and this time he got it. The first one was the hardest, as the area was the most inflamed, and the second one went quicker.

He gave me prescriptions for antibiotic ointments and pills, and I asked if I should cover the area with a bandage. "No," he said, "just a plaster." The doctor was South African, and in Israel they follow the British Commonwealth practice of calling bandaids "plasters." It's been about 4.5 hours and the area is still sore, but not sharply painful as it was earlier today. Hopefully, I'm finally on the mend.

I asked Ofer to recommend a good, light restaurant, and he suggested Hadar ha-ohel next to the New Opera House. I asked what type of restaurant it was and he said "new Israeli cuisine." I met everyone at happy hour in the hotel breakfast room and they agreed. The concierge made us reservations and told us that the restaurant's chef is a young, famous, up-and-coming chef.

Rochelle wasn't entirely pleased, thinking that this would be like one of the restaurants at the Music Center, but it was much nicer. Basically, they take traditional Israeli foods and reimagine them in interesting ways. The starters were all great: the grilled cauliflower was tart and tasty, the beet salad was very citrusy, and the veal kubeh was delicious. Dad was ecstatic over the very seedy fresh bread. Mom absolutely loved her veal stew, while dad very much enjoyed his lamb kebab. Rochelle had the schnitzel, while had the chicken scalloppini. It was very good (and I particularly liked the garlicky flat beans), but the portions were all too big, and none of us finished our meal.

After that we came back to the hotel to prepare for tomorrow. Dad and I will go to the Haganah museum in the morning, and mom and I will go to the Tel Aviv Art Museum in the afternoon. I'm hoping to meet Ofer at 3 pm, and then tomorrow night, God willing, we'll be on our flight back to the States. I hope so, because after tomorrow I will have no more clean clothes.

Back to Tel-Aviv

We decided to eat dinner in the kibbutz restaurant last night, although Rochelle did not join us as she was too tired. A good selection, though at first I thought it might not be kosher as one staffer described the meat as khazeer (pork). We later found that he meant the eggplant (khazeel). At first, I thought I had just misheard him, but another guest thought he said it was pork, too.

While most Israeli restaurants do not serve pork, given that this was a kibbutz founded in part by members of Habonim, a labor-zionist youth movement, they were more likely than others to do it. It turned out to be beef.

The rooms were very comfortable and we all slept well. This morning was rather cold and overcast (a low of 5), and given how cramped the car was for dad and Rochelle in the back, they voted to skip Tel Dan and Tsfat and head straight to Caesarea. Even though I was disappointed, this was for the best. Even though we left before 10, we didn't reach Tel-Aviv until late afternoon.

We drove via the Kinneret, and when we reached Tiberias, we turned onto route 77 (not that it was signed or anything). I remembered that yesterday at this intersection I had intuited I needed to go right. This time, I intuited I need to go hard left. Up and up we climbed, until we had a great view of where Salah-al-Din defeated the Crusader armies in the 12th century. Eventually we reached the 65, which we took all the way to Hadera, and from there to Caesarea.

I've alway enjoyed Caesarea, though I don't get too excited over it. It has great Crusader and Roman ruins, the remains of the hippodrome, the amphitheater, etc. We watched the opening 10-minute English language "Time Trek," which tells the story of the city in rather hokey images. Most of the audience was a large group of Taglit-Birthright participants. We skipped the tower (and the shopping opportunities it presented), to grab a lunch at the harbor. I went with my usual shnitzel, while mom had the sweet potato ravioli, and dad had ice cream. We all enjoyed our meal and then walked along the Roman section.

Above the hippodrome, there were the remains of several structures with mosaic floors. I realized I could tell Caeserea was a Roman/pagan city, not a Jewish one, since none of the buildings or floors listed their donors.

From there it was back to Tel-Aviv. Given the navigational problems we've been having, I said that only one person would be permitted to navigate for me. That ended up being dad. No one else would be permitted to say a word about directions. I didn't care if we ended up in Timbuktu; I'm not driving through screaming hysterics.

We made our way into Tel-Aviv, but got turned around and ended up on a no-left turn/no u-turn road to Ramat Aviv. Eventually we were able to turn around and got back to downtown Tel-Aviv. The hardest part was unloading the car. There was no place to park in front of the hotel and with only one lane heading south, I wasn't prepared to block all traffic. After much more additional screaming, I parked and blocked the road. Eventually, all suitcases, bags, papers, coats, and mom and Rochelle were left in front of the hotel, while dad and I now began our search for Hertz. As it turns out, mom thought we left her a block from the hotel and didn't realize for a while where she was (the hotel's sign is only visible from across the street). Eventually, they got all the luggage inside.

Meanwhile, dad and I searched for Hertz. He knew it was on Hayarkon, but he'd left his map with his suitcase. He wanted me to pull over so he could ask at Avis, but I suggested we try the Sheraton instead. The bellboy pointed south on Hayarkon, which I doubted since we had already driven it without seeing it, but back we went. This time, I dropped my dad at Avis. As I was circling back to pick him, I saw the sign for Hertz. All Avis could tell him was that it was north on Hayarkon, but by then I had the street address.

Surprisingly, Hertz also doesn't have a place to leave cars, so I pulled as far onto the sidewalk as I could. We filled out a report on the puncture and headed to the pharmacy.

The area of my hand with the stitches has been hurting for about a day now and it clearly has become infected. The pharmacist drained some of it, poured on some iodine and said I needed to see a doctor. He recommended the guy across the street, but he turned out to be closed for both this afternoon and all day tomorrow. We went back to the hotel to see what the situation was.

I'm going to contact my friend Ofer, who lives in Tel-Aviv and see if he can recommend someone who can give me a prescription for antibiotics. Then I can have Kaiser fix everything when I get home on Wednesday.

For dinner, we all went back to Brasserie on Ibn Gvirol. Rochelle and I split the blini with salmon, and the crab ravioli. Mom had the chevre chaud salad. For the maincourse, mom had the sole menuiere, while Rochelle and I both ordered the steak au poivrewhile dad had the beef filet. He didn't touch his bone marrow, and Rochelle ended up leaving over half her steak. The chef came out to check to see if there was a problem, but she explained that she was just full.

Mom and Rochelle kept trying to say in earshot of the waitress that it was one of their birthdays, though I told the waitress it wasn't true. We ordered the crepes suzette, which were excellent, and then the waitress brought us a large chocolate cake for "the birthday girl" and handed it to mom. We ended up taking over half of it home in a "doggy bag."

There was some interesting people watching at the restaurant, what with the male purses, and one woman outside who looked suspiciously like she was an escort for a gentleman who looked like Ariel Sharon's younger, and slightly healthier brother. Mom lingered before leaving to make sure our waitress got our tip, since one oddly dressed gentleman at the bar seemed to be eyeing the money we left on the table.

Tomorrow, I'll hopefully resolve my health situation and then go with dad to the Haganah Museum. Then late tomorrow night it's back to the U.S.

Rolling Again

I woke up a little early this morning, worried about the car and how we're going to visit places with our luggage visible in the backseat. We ordered a midsized car and they gave us a Subaru Impreza. Far too small. The people in the back are cramped, and the boot only can fit three suitcases (we have four, plus bags).

On the bright side, I did dream some in Hebrew last night. Sometimes people ask if I'm fluent in Hebrew and I never say yes; I'm far too aware of my limitations. I would describe myself as having the vocabulary of a 4th or 5th grader, depending on the subject. One thing I've also noticed is that I sometimes get a brain freeze. I can move between Hebrew and English fine enough, but if I meet someone with whom I speak German, things get more complicated. I can't easily switch back to Hebrew. Instead, my brain freezes and I can't say anything at all, as I can no longer figure out what language I should be speaking.

Sunrise was beautiful this morning, so I walked around the kibbut perimeter, seeing Nahal Arugot lit up in the rising sun. The air was so still and clear, I could hear a car door close half a mile away. My father got up, so we walked around for a while. We couldn't get the car repaired until 8 am, after which we would join my mom and Rochelle in the dining hall. We drove up to the garage and found someone. He asked me to take the tire out, but it's still very hard to lift heavy items on my right hand due to the stitches. Eventually we got the tire out and headed to breakfast.

Today I had some cereal along with my regular mix of tomatoes, yoghurt, bread and butter. We stayed for about an hour and then dad and I headed back to the garage (after negotiating a difficult turn to avoid an oncoming truck). Unfortunately, they still had not managed to get the tire off the room. There was a problem with the machine and the guy whose task it was had trouble figuring things out. He seemed quite sweet, but more than a little slow. Eventually, the moved everything to the older machine and plugged the puncture. 40 shekels later we were rolling again.

By 10:30 am, we had the car loaded and we headed north. Our first stop: Bet Alpha. This ancient synagogue from the 6th century has a beautiful mosaic floor, with a large zodiac display in the center, the sacrifice of Isaac at the bottom, and an ark and candelabras at the top. In the middle of the zodiac is a striking depiction of the sun god Helios driving his chariot across the sky (and at the very bottom, a description of the donation that paid for it, by the villagers).

There was a short film in which they recreated the planning and execution of the mosaic, which was far too unrealistic in depicting a strikingly nonacronistic debates over the mosaic design, so inconsistent with my experience of organized Jewish life.

We stopped in Bet Shean for lunch. Mom and I got some felafel from a roadside vender in what looked to me like the kind of Bet Shean community I saw here in 1984. Then it was back on the road to Belvoir. This amazing crusader castle in 6 kilometers UP a long, narrow, badly rutted, winding road. Whenever we were passed by a car coming down, I got to the side of the road and stopped. "Isn't it the cars coming down who should stop?" mom asked. "They're not stopping and I'm not passing on the shoulder," I answered.

The castle itself is beautiful and it has great views. Mom walked across the moat with difficulty (she had to run and avoid looking), but the weather was cold, overcast and threatening rain, so we didn't stay long.

It was getting late, so we headed right to Kibbutz Kfar Blum, arriving here around 4 pm. The hotel is quite nice and the rooms, plush and modern. They all went to take naps, while I went to the "spa." It actually isn't bad. They have feet jaccuzzis, a "hammam," a Finnish sauna, and a "rain cave." In the later, the water is triggered as you walk in, and you are bombarded by jets of warm and cool water from all directions, with different levels of strength. It wasn't bad. At one point I went out over tea, and then did another round.

We're meeting for dinner in a bit, and we will head back to Tel-Aviv tomorrow. I'm not sure of our itinerary yet.

Sh'fanim in Ein Gedi

Last night's dinner in the kibbutz dining hall was very good. A much nicer selection than I remember before. The starter salads were all excellent, and the selection of entrees were great. We all enjoyed our meals.

Afterwards, we could see they were setting up for a concert on the lawn by the baobab tree. The musicians were doing sound checks, so mom and I sat out and listened. When they finished, I asked when the concert would be and they said 9 pm. We decided to stay and wait, as it was only a half an hour. Dad joined us, but Rochelle went back to her room to sleep.

As we waited, more and more cats began to arrive. The kibbutz is thoroughly over run with them. At one point, I counted over a dozen sitting on the large carpeted area in front of the stage. Many would come up and nuzzle in the hope of getting food (I've seen guests put out food for them). There were two dogs wandering around that occasionally chased them.

With the exception of the sound system, which never worked properly, the concert was great. There were four musicians: two were Israeli Jews, and two were Israeli Arabs (father and son, I think). The concert was of Hebrew and Arabic songs, sometimes alternating, sometimes together. They opened with shalom aleichem in Hebrew, then switching to Arabic lyrics half way through. Sometimes they would sing Arabic songs in Hebrew, other times, Arabic songs in Hebrew. We stayed for about an hour, but dad was nodding off so we went back to our rooms.

I slept ok. The bed was comfortable, but I had headaches (probably from dehydration at the spa, but I've been having a few problems these last couple of days). The breakfast buffet was good this morning, and afterwards, we drove to Nahal David. Some drama getting tickets as a large group had just arrived only to find the power had gone out. Eventually we got in, and no sooner than that we saw a shafan in the tree. They don't exist in America, but they are sometimes called "rock hyraxes." They look sort of like rabbits, only without the long ears and bushy tale, and apparently they are distantly related to elephants. They live in trees and under rocks.

Just up the path from the shfanim (plural of shafan), we saw our first group of ibexes: a mother with two small kids. They just wandered across our path a few feet in front of us. We took lots of pictures.

After a few minutes we reached the lowest of the David waterfalls. Mom and Rochelle decided to wait, while dad and I walked up to the middle falls. At that point, dad was ready to go back, so said, let's cross the stream and walk down the other path. He didn't understand and chose not to follow me, going back the way we came. Unfortunately, that meant he missed the small pools and falls along that other path.

We met up with mom and Rochelle, went back to the car, and headed to the old synagogue. This was built in the 2nd-3rd century, C.E., and mostly it's just the large mosaic floor that remains. I had to photograph the list of donors on the side, just to show my development director how ingrained this cultural tradition is among Jews. The main sanctuary floor was decorated with mosaics of peacocks. It was really beautiful.

We had a little time before lunch, so we headed to Mitzpeh Shalem to the Ahava store. Mom, Rochelle, and I bought some souvenirs from the factory distributor and then we headed back to Ein Gedi. Mom and I went to the cafeteria for lunch,while dad and Rochelle rested. My plan was to go back to the spa for the afternoon, but when I went out to the car around 2pm, I saw that the front tire had gone flat.

I went to the front desk, where I waited 20 minutes while a German guest made the clerk add up each and every charge for their four days in the hotel (twice!) just to confirm his quote (it turned out to be accurate). I couldn't remember how to say in Hebrew I have a flat tire, but as I described it he said "yesh lekha puncture?" and I said yes. They have a garage, but it's closed until Sunday morning.

I got my father and told him the problem. We jacked up the car, took off the front tire, and put on the spare. He went to call Hertz, while I took the shuttle bus to the spa. Hertz, apparently, does not care about flat tires, saying they are the responsibility of the renter. We're going to have it fixed by the kibbutz during breakfast.

The spa was a little quieter today. I still did the sulphur pools twice, but the mud pits once (it's cold outside and even rained today!). The sulphur water is a rather toasty 37 to 40 Celsius, far warmer than the outside air (probably 18-20).

I caught the last bus back. It was already getting dark, and there was a spectacular sunset as the hills of Edom turned red as the sun went down. Dinner was good, though much of it contained left overs from the lunch.

Tomorrow we head north, so no more shorts and t-shirts. Our plan: Beit Alpha synagogue, Belvoir, and Kibbutz Degania, and finally Kfar Blum.

Pools of Sulphur

Now that I'm in Ein Gedi, I have access to a much nicer (and cheaper) computer. There are many things about the Dan Boutique that I like, but there internet service is not one of them. First, it's very expensive (35 shekels an hour or $10). Second the keyboard keys stick awfully, meaning that my fingers get a real workout when I type.



I left off yesterday on my way to Yad Vashem. I caught the bus from the German Colony and we wound our way through downtown Jerusalem. They are really remodeling the city; I can't imagine what it will be like when Jaffa Road is closed to traffic and the light rail system is up and running. We went past Mahane Yehuda, and I wished I had time to get off and wander through the shuk, but this was my only free afternoon.



Traffic was pretty bad, but suddenly the bus came screeching to a halt. Cries of "ma kara???" (what happened?) echoed through the bus. As people found out (a driver decided to grab an open parking space by cutting off a long, full tandem bus moving at high speed -- we barely missed him), I started hearing "azeh teepesh!!!" (what a fool!) "ayn milah l'teepesh k'mo zeh" (there is no word for such a fool).



I got out at the Calder statue on Mt. Herzl, and that really brought back memories. When I first came to Israel in 1984, I lived for three months in a youth hostel in Moshav Bar Giora, located on the road from Bet Shemesh to Jerusalem, via Ein Kerem. Our bus came into the city past this statue. I wish I could smell the pine scent that always was so strong here, but in winter, it just wasn't there.



I walked down to Yad Vashem to see the remodeled museum. Since I had so little time, I could only do the main walk through. It's really improved over the original. It still has the zig zag pattern walk, but now it's much longer and more nuanced. They really have a much better presentation, one I think strongly reflects the influence of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum in D.C. I realize this is probably heresy, but I still think the D.C. museum is better, but it isn't as stark a contrast as it was in the past.



One big addition is the use of video testimony. I wish I could have stayed and listened, but I ran much too short of time. One thing that hasn't changed is the underlying Zionist message of the museum. The main path still exits on to a view of the Jerusalem hills, implicitly creating a narrative of resurrection. This implicit narrative is even more explicit in the quote one sees as one exits Yad Vashem. It's from Ezekiel's dry bones vision (I think) and it is the prophecy that God will resurrect the Jewish people.



I only had time to peak my head into the exhibit on Holocaust art, which looked quite good. I saw a sketch for the staging for The Kaiser From Atlantis, an opera composed in Terezin, which one of our students will perform in two months as part of his master's project.



Any way, then it was back to the hotel. As we passed the Mamila Mall, I saw I a little more time than I thought, so I jumped off and walked through it. This has been rubble since 1948, and I've been wondering for years what they were going to do with it. Originally one of the main commercial streets in West Jerusalem, it became a no-man's land between the Israeli and Jordanian sides of the city. Finally rebuilt, some of the buildings have each stone numbered, marking how the moved the building when it was restored and put each stone back where it came from.



I wasn't really interested in the stores, but stopped into the Steimatsky's in the hope they had the guide book I couldn't find in the German Colony. No luck. Several nice and expensive-looking restaurants line the street and it ends just before the Jaffa Gate. I decided to walk the rest of the way and made it back to the hotel in no time.



Earlier, I told my parents that I would like have my last dinner in Jerusalem in Shanty, so we met around 7 pm and took a taxi. We were the first people in the restaurant, but it soon filled up. Located in a back alley in Nahalat Shiva, my roommate had turned me on to it 12 years ago, and I had taken my father here a couple of times when he visited. It was a little cold when we arrived, but it warmed up quickly as it filled up. It's not mentioned in a lot of guide books, and it seems to mostly attract a secular, Israeli clientele, but if you're looking for it, just follow the signs to Tmol Shilshom, and then turn right.



The starters were enormous. My French Onion soup was good and hot. Very hot, in fact, and remained so until I finished. Mom had the liver salad and was amazed again at how good the liver is that she's had in Israel. "No veins at all!" For the main course, mom had the burani rice with chicken, while dad and Rochelle had enormous t-bone steaks. Dad said this steak was better than the one he had in Jaffa (when I stabbed myself). I decided to risk the entrecote, but neither stabbed myself again, nor had any difficulty cutting the meat.



I told everyone that I didn't want to have dessert here, because there was one other place I wanted to visit. Back on Yoel Moshe Salomon Street, we found the small hole-in-the wall placed called Hagigat shel Babette (Babette's Feast). They specialize in Belgian waffles. When I came to Jerusalem in 1998, several people had told me to visit the "waffle woman" in Emek Refaim, but I had found to my disappointment, that she had moved. I eventually found the new location at the Rehavia Mill, but then they moved again to Nahalat Shiva.



I ordered one with whipped cream, while Rochelle ordered one with powdered sugar. She treated me to the dessert, and later changed her order to sugar and halvah, when she saw that was an option too. I forgot that you get two waffles with one order, so I had difficulty finishing mine. Rochelle split hers with dad.



After that we managed to squeeze our now-bloated bodies into a taxi and make our way back to the hotel.



This morning, dad and I went to pick up the rental. The clerk who had made the order forgot to tell us which agency, so I had this morning's clerk check for us. It turned out to be Hertz. After picking up the car, dad and I returned to the hotel where, with difficulty, we managed to cram all our luggage into the subaru (and this was a midsized car). After that, I told everyone to pray, and we managed to get out of Jerusalem in one piece and make our way down the road to the Dead Sea.



We managed to get to Ein Gedi in less than two hours. When we arrived, however, our rooms weren't ready yet, so they suggested we go to the spa and have lunch and rest. The spa restaurant is basically a cafeteria, so I got my Israeli cafeteria standard: schnitzel. After that, I went into the spa, and I think that mom, dad, and Rochelle almost immediately left.



I soaked for 20 minutes in the sulphur pools and when I came out, my skin was really red. Then, I went down to the mud pits and covered myself (as best as possible when one can't use one's left hand) with dark grey mud. After it dried, I washed off with the sulphur water. That stings when you get it in your eyes, so I made my way to the sweet water showers (which are cold). Then it was back to the sulphur pools.



The second time you go in, it tends to sting. That because all your pores have now been opened. I floated in the water for a half an hour, and when I got out, my skin was red again and itched from being in the hot water for so long. But it's really good for your skin. Then I went back to the mud pits one more time, and used the mud to exfoliate. I let it dry and then washed it off one more time. Then I got dressed and went back to the kibbutz to move into my room.



We're meeting for dinner in an hour. Everyone else is napping. My skin smells faintly of mud and sulphur and I feel a little light headed (the pools can dehydrate you, so I'll have alot of water with dinner). I had a small kafe hafukh in the outdoor bar, watched the hills of Jordan turn red (they're called harei edom for a reason) and even saw a rainbow over the Dead Sea.



Dad just came in, dressed for dinner, so I'll let him go online and check his stocks. I'll update again tomorrow afternoon.

Old and New

Rochelle spoke to the concierge last night and he recommended a restaurant called Rossini in the Old City. It's in the Christian Quarter, just inside the Jaffa Gate, and specializes in French and Italian food. Right out of the taxi, I had someone coming up to me "yes, my friend, can I help you, my friend." "No, I'm not interested." "A guide? Are you looking for restaurants." "Go away," I told him. Meanwhile, Rochelle asked him something.

Eventually, we navigated the traffic and got in. It had Christmas lights and a Santa Claus, so I figured it was Christian. Someone had asked if it was kosher, but once I saw the shrimp cocktail, I knew the answer to that. Rochelle and I split two appetizers, and we both ordered the beef stroganoff. I actually liked it better than the goose at Colony, but the others weren't as thrilled with their meal.

Rochelle wanted to split some desserts, so I agreed to split the creme brulee with her, while dad and she would split the tiramisu. Unfortunately, they were out of tiramisu, but instead of one creme brulee, we got three small pot de creme, one of which was creme brulee, one espresso pudding, and the third mango custard. Rochelle wanted to know where the crepes suzette were. It seems that in all the confusion of telling the waiter to bring three spoons and who wanted what, she forgot to tell me that she wanted to change desserts, while the waiter thought we wanted the trio of desserts. I decided to ignore them all and eat.

I liked the creme brulee and mango. Rochelle ordered the crepes, which I didn't care for, particularly the vanilla ice cream, which I found cloying, but dad devoured.

Mom and Rochelle took a taxi back to the hotel, while dad and I walked from Jaffa Gate (only 20 minutes).

The plan for today had originally been to walk through the German Colony, but mom decided she wanted to visit the southern wall excavations and the city of David, so we did that instead. Lots of traffic as today was Coptic Christmas, and traffic was blocked for the Coptic Patriarch. Eventually, we made it to the Dung Gate. Thursday is one of the prime bar mitzvah days, and they had them all lined up. The bar mitzvah boy under a chuppah, with two musicians in front, with the family following and singing along. We watched a couple of them as they made their way to the Western Wall, and then we proceeded to the excavation.

We saw the road at the base of the Temple Mt and the massive stones from the portico that crashed on to it when the Romans destroyed the Temple. We made our way through the ruins of the Ummayad palace to the Hulda Gates, where dad and I walked up the original stairs of the Temple and stood at the threshold.

Then we made our way out and across the road to the City of David. We could see where they were currently excavating, and we eventually made our way to the overlook for "Area G," a 1st Temple Era house and fortifications. We didn't want to climb down the stairs and then back up, so we caught a taxi to Emek Refaim, near the German Colony and had lunch in Caffit.

I ate here maybe half a dozen times when I lived in the neighborhood, so I had recommended it. I had a wonderful cream of leek and potato soup, while mom and dad had tuscan vegetable soup, and Rochelle had the grilled eggplant. They all split the fried sweet potato patties, which they enjoyed immensely. Rochelle didn't care for the bread, but didn't know what other kind she might want, but in any case, she didn't like the other choice (black). Afterwards, dad and Rochelle browsed some stores while mom and I walked back to the hotel.

After that I took the bus to Yad Vashem. It was great to be back at Mt. Herzl. It brought back memories of 26 years ago, when I took this road to Moshav Bar Giora several times a week. Yad Vashem has been completely redone. I think I will have to describe it in a later post since I'm almost out of time. I don't know when I will have access to a computer again, but we leave for Ein Gedi in the morning. Tonight we're having dinner at Shanty, which used to be one of my favorite restaurants in Jerusalem. I hope it's still as good as I remember.

Walking the Old City

I slept much better last night. I didn't wake up even once, and slept until 6:15, meaning I got 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Also, my hand has much more mobility. Sunday night I couldn't button my pants or get the toothpaste out of the tube; today, I can do almost everything with almost no difficulty (carrying heavy sacks is still painful, though). The scar is about 3/4 of an inch, with two little threads tying it together. I'm using this paper tape to hold it in place, but it gets kind of ragged at the end of the day, and that bothers Rochelle, so I'll change the tape this evening.

I liked the breakfast buffet at the hotel, though there were some odd things: Tang instead of orange juice, cold falafel instead of hot, and the eggs were either powdered or strange. Good bread and veggies, though.

We took a taxi to the Jaffa Gate, and I played tour guide for mom, dad, and Rochelle. We walked down the road through the Armenian Quarter, turning left to go to the Jewish Quarter. Someone had left a door open, so I told them to peek inside to see what's behind all the walls. I wanted to go to the Old Yishuv Court Museum, which dad liked so much the last time (he recognized alot of the household items from when he was growing up), but it didn't open until 10, and there was no way I could get everyone to wait for 20 minutes.

Instead, we walked down to the overlook of the Cardo, the Roman main street from the 3rd Century, CE. Then we turned and walked to the Zion Gate to see all the bullet wounds were there was intense fighting in '48. The Israelis controlled Mt. Zion and kept trying to break through the gate to reach the defenders of the Jewish Quarter.

From there we headed by a slightly different path that allowed to walk along another portion of the Cardo. We traced the road from its Roman roots, to the covered Crusader era store fronts, all the way to the current Arab shuk.

I knew there was a stairway leading to the roof, so I took them through a side path and up. There is a wide expanse above the Old City shuk where you can walk around. There are nice views of the Dome of the Rock. Getting back down was a little trickier. I try not to retrace my steps, since I wanted them to see as much of the Old City as possible. We came down a very narrow and low-roofed, covered staircase that had power cables running along side. "Am I going to get electrocuted?" mom asked. I suggested she steady herself on the wall, not the cables. "How many tours come this way?" I heard Rochelle ask, in what sounded to me like "who in their right mind would ever go this way?" I told them I was showing them Jerusalem off the beaten path.

We eventually made our way back to the Muslim Quarter (you could tell which homes housed someone who had made the Hajj by the distinctive decorations on the walls and doors). From there we went back to the Jewish Quarter and saw the Broad Wall, which King Hezekiah built to defend the city from the Assyrians in 701 BCE (see Isaiah for the details). Nearby is the restored Hurva Synagogue, and next to that is the Herodian Mansions Museum, our next stop.

These are the remains six spectacular homes from 2000 years ago. On some, only the basement level has survived, but on at least three there are two or more floors (ground floor and basement). There are signs saying no photos, but since no one was around, we snapped to our hearts' content. Beautiful frescos, mosaics, and columns.

My basic plan was to slowly descend our way down the hill towards the Temple Mt. We exited the archaeologic dig just above the Western Wall plaza. Mom and Rochelle went to the women's side, while dad and I went to the men's. "Why is the women's side so much smaller?" Rochelle asked. She wanted to leave a note in the wall, so we helped her. On the men's side, it was pretty quiet (after shakhrit and before minkhah) . I wasn't sure if I could snap some shots in the area under the arch, but after I saw one kind in payes taking flash photos, I figured it was ok.

On the way out I said a quick prayer for my extended family's health and well being, and then quickly added in a request for world peace. Then we were all a little tired, so we stopped in a cafe ("Al Buraq") in the arches north of the security checkpoint. I ordered falafel and decided to try the sakhlab (a kind of steamed milk sweetened with rose water - it was pretty good), while Rochelle ordered falafel. She didn't want the hummous or the french fries and asked to substitute baba ganoush instead. They wouldn't do it. They did, however, agree to cut her pita in half.

She asked me what sort of people ran the restaurant and I said they were Arab. She said "that's why they won't let me substitute. If they were Jewish they would have." I told her I didn't think so, but she was convinced that was the reason.

I could sense dad and Rochelle were getting a little tired so I suggest we exit the city via the Damascus Gate. We crossed the Via Dolorosa and the Austrian Hospice (which has a great cafe, but we had no time) and eventually reached the gate. I suggested that dad and Rochelle go back to the hotel, while mom and I would go to the Israel Museum. We all agreed and split up.

I was surprised to see they're building a light rail system down Jaffa Road. It's supposed to open in 4-5 months, at which time it will be closed to cars, buses, and taxis. At the Israel Museum, we started with the fine arts collection. They have small, but very nice, impressionist and postimpressionist selection, and they have a nice wing on modernism, grouping the art by theme (space, color, dreams). They have a few very nice fauvists and expressionist works, and a lot of dada. We saw the Magritte that dad liked when he saw the poster of it in the gift shop yesterday. It's of a giant stone boulder with a castle on top floating over choppy sea.

We went upstairs and saw some contemporary video works and then made our way to the judaica. I suggested we just see the synagogues. We started with Italian, which, inexplicably had what sounded like Ashkenazi music. I forgot to look at which community this served, and now I see that it was an Ashkenazi synagogue, so the music was appropriate. From there we went to the Cochin synagogue and then the one from Paramaribo in Suriname. This one only has only just been opened to the public. It was quite beautiful. Finally, we ended with the German.

I wanted to just quickly walk through the archaelogical wing to see how it has been changed since I was last there. I'm hoping to take students there next winter (if the CSU lifts the ban on organized student travel to Israel). Mom's legs were starting to wear out, but I did get her to agree to quickly walk through the Shrine of the Book. Then we caught a taxi to Emek Refaim in the German Colony.

The book I wanted came in, but it wasn't the one I was looking for. I bought an English edition, but it's still not what I want. I'm going to try again later. Mom and I then stopped by Aroma; she had hot chocolate and a cheese/apple tarte, while I had kafe hafukh and an alfajore (an Argentinian cookie with dulce de leche). Afterwards, we walked half a block to my old apartment and then caught a taxi back to the hotel. Everyone is now resting. I'm not sure where we're going to dinner.

Old Neighborhoods

When we left Tel Aviv this morning, it was raining pretty heavily, but the skies cleared before we even reached Latrun (which is good, since Rochelle didn't bring an umbrella with her). Dad and I chatted with the driver in Hebrew, while mom and Rochelle talk with each other.

Dad told stories about his uncle who ran a coffee shop. He didn't have a watch or a clock, and one time he went to bed and then woke up a short while later thinking he had slept the whole night. He went to the shop to open it for breakfast, but none of the rolls had been delivered yet. He went to the post office where there was a clock and discovered it was 2 am. He decided to go to sleep in the store and then overslept, only to be wakened by early morning workers demanding their daily coffee.

He also told us how everyone on his base was afraid of the commanding officer, because if he didn't like them, he could transfer them to a base farther from their families in Tel-Aviv. Since dad didn't care about going back to Tel-Aviv, he was the only one not scared. The officer had a dog and walked with a stick and one night when dad was on sentry he heard the officer and his dog coming from a distance. As they got closer, he put one bullet into the chamber and called out "who goes there." The officer heard the bullet being loaded and answered immediately. Dad didn't get in trouble since he was only "doing his job" and following protocol.

The driver had trouble finding the hotel (you have to take a few sharp turns), but we eventually made it. It was only 11 am, so only Rochelle's room was ready. As I was trying to check Rochelle and then dad asked if I could get them down pillows, like I know the word for "down" in Hebrew. It's a rather specialized vocabulary word that I've never needed before. I didn't even know the word for feathers, but I learned a new Hebrew word today: pookh.

We dropped off all our luggage and took a taxi to the Israel Museum. Unfortunately, it opens late on Tuesdays (4pm), so we had lunch in the cafe. The sandwich was better than the soup, and one of the managers was kind enough to find mom a roll without seeds.

After that I suggested we go to Ben Yehuda pedestrian mall, so mom and Rochelle could shop for various items. In one store, the staff were from Argentina, so mom and I spoke with them about various places (e.g., "El Palacio de la Papa Frita").

After that we walked to Nahlat Sheva, stopping off at Tmol Shilshom (bookstore/cafe) and we checked out the opening times for Shanty, where dad and I had some very good meals 11 years ago. After that, we walked through this very historic neighborhood of small, connecting courtyards surrounded by old stone houses until we found El Gaucho, an Argentinian steak restaurant that dad liked from his last visit. I don't know if my left hand is strong enough to cut steak yet.

After that they were all pretty tired, so we took a taxi back to the hotel, where our rooms were now ready. Rochelle, mom, and dad all went to take naps; I decided to walk to my old neighborhood in Emek Refaim. The street has really gotten much nicer. It was pretty nice back then too, but it just looks better. Nicer stores, and cafes.

I stopped off in one bookstore to look for a guidebook to Jerusalem I lost many years ago. It's in Hebrew and contains walking tours with architectural and historical descriptions of houses along the way. I think it's by David Kroyanker. The store ordered me a copy, and it should be in tomorrow afternoon.

I wanted to have a coffee at Aroma for old time's sakes, since I used to go there every afternoon when I got home from the archives, but they were gone! Turns out the moved a block away to what used to be a Burger Ranch. A vast improvement in the neighborhood, as anyone who's ever suffered through a meal at Burger Ranch can attest.

I ordered a small kafe hafukh, (like a cafe au lait) found a copy of Yediot Akhranot, and relaxed for a bit. I tried to follow the story which printed transcripts of some recordings done of Moshe Katsav's conversations with the woman he assaulted when he was President, but my Hebrew is definitely weaker than it used to be.

After that, I walked to my old apartment building and then headed back. I stopped to take a photo of the sign for Graetz St (the subject of my dissertation) Then I went to the Cinemateque and got their schedule for upcoming films.

Back at the hotel, I rented a (tiny) laptop to check my email and post this blog. At 5:30, I met my parents and Rochelle to discuss dinner plans. I suggested either Jan's or the Armenian Tavern, but they couldn't decide and wanted to ask the concierge. The hotel sends all its guests to the Colony restaurant, about a 10-minute walk away. It was cold and windy, and we mostly walked through a long, dark, unpaved parking lot, but we eventually found it.

It was nice and pleasant inside, with a heavy dose of tourists. We all enjoyed the starters (mushroom croquettes, gravlax, focaccio with a mezze setting, and sweet potato ravioli), but agreed that the ravioli was the best. Mom, Rochelle, and I split a boutique Israeli cabernet by Gustavo & Jo, that we all liked. Dad ordered the lamb kabobs, while mom and Rochelle both got the sauteed chicken livers with a sauce made from apples and caramelized onions. I had the slow-roasted goose leg. I love goose, but the sauce (red wine) either was too salty or to weak. Cranberry sauce would have been better. None of us could finish our meal (though mom came closest).

After that we bundled up and made our way back to the hotel (only stopping to look at the view of the Old City walls lit up at night.

Much Nicer Dinner

The weather was much warmer yesterday, so I wore my shorts. In the afternoon, I went down to the beach and stuck my hand (the uninjured one) in the Mediterranean. It was tepid, but still warmer than the Pacific in August. By the lifeguard station I saw some of the giant surfboards my father remembers from when he grew up here. He and his buddies built one on the roof of an apartment building and then lowered it through the stairwell. I think he called it a "kheseke."

Around sunset a headed back to the hotel for happy hour. They have a nice spread in the breakfast room around 5 pm, and so my mother and I had some white wine, and then some cava. We didn't want to eat too much since we were going out to dinner at 6. Dad joined us at 5:30 and Rochelle came in about 15 minutes later. We decided to try Brasserie for dinner, as this has a very good reputation. I asked the front desk to make us a reservation, and while it was a little difficult, we got one.

The taxi driver turned out to be an Iraqi Jew from Kirkuk, so we chatted about the experience of Iraqis in Israel. I had to smile as he bragged that among all the groups of immigrants to Israel, only the Iraqis had a reputation for truth and honesty.

The restaurant is on Kikar Yitzhak Rabin, near the City Hall. It's a french restaurant, very popular, and very good. The waitress was extremely helpful, coping with the numerous questions. In the end, we started with three portions of the crab ravioli (excellent, we all agreed), and one of the herring. "Is this matjas?" dad asked. It was also very, very good.

For the main course, I had to stay away from anything that required cutting, so I went with the fish meunierre (I'm not sure what the english name for mosar is, but the waitress described it as a white fish from the Atlantic, very juicy and fresh). My mom had the same, dad had the roast chicken, while Rochelle had the linguini with clams. We all enjoyed our meals immensely.

For dessert, Rochelle and I ordered the crepes suzette, while the waitress told us she was going to give us a second dessert as a treat and a surprise. It turned out to be milles feuilles. (which none of us could figure out how to pronounce), which is one of mom's favorite desserts. The waitress called it by its Hebrew name: krem shnit (Polish/German actually, for "cream slice"), when we asked her what its name was. We loved both. The crepes had a brandy orange sauce and homemade vanilla icecream. The milles feuilles had strawberries in the bottom layer.

After dinner we walked across to the Rabin memorial and then took a taxi back to the hotel. After breakfast this morning, we're taking a taxi to Jerusalem.

There Will Be Blood

This will be a rather difficult entry, not so much because of the subject matter, but because my left hand is wrapped in bandages, and I'm used to typing with all ten fingers.

We took the taxi to Yoezer Wine Bar last night. Neither dad nor the taxi driver knew the address, so I had him drop us off by the clock tower in Jaffa. The bar is across the street from it.

We were the first to arrive, so we had plenty of time to read the menu and ask questions of the waitress. The lawyer, Yaron, and his wife, Miri, arrived next and we chatted. It wasn't clear how much English they spoke, but mom had told me that she knows she would just smile at whatever anyone said. Finally, Aryeh and his wife Rachel arrived. She's in a wheelchair, so we picked this restaurant because it was easier for her to get in and out of. It became clear that both of them have trouble hearing. I said, in Hebrew, "nice to see you again. Do you remember I came to your house for seder." Aryeh responded "nice to meet you." Later, I said it again slower and louder. "Oh, yes, yes, I see."

Mom and I each ordered the starter of 40 egg yolk noodles (40 yolks per kilo flour), hers with butter and parmesan, mine with truffles. She said it reminder of her of the lokshen noodles her mother made for her when she was sick. I very much enjoyed mine. For the main course, dad and I both got the entrecote steak, while mom got the salad nicoise. The restaurant was so dark that she couldn't really enjoy it since she couldn't see her meal clearly and she's always worried when she can't see what she's eating.

Dad and I both ordered the steak, and I think we were the only ones who did so. The lawyer had recommended this restaurant because he knew my father liked steak. Before the accident (this is called "foreshadowing") I was able to hear various stories from Aryeh about growing up with my father. There was the time they stole the car and were arrested by the Haganah (Aryeh got away, dad was caught -- they released him immediately since they had to go to the front the next day). Aryeh wants to pick us up next week when we're back in Tel Aviv to take us to the place where he and dad served in the haganah.

It turns out that the unit they were in was for the defense of Tel Aviv. When dad tried to enlist with them, they wanted to put him in a different unit, since he was slightly older (he had turned 18 three months before). He said he wouldn't do it if he couldn't be with all his buddies. They agreed. They were stationed in Beit Dej'n (now, Bet Dagan), just outside Tel-Aviv. Here they could intercept messages between Jaffa and Ramallah, and try to take over the British fortified building down the road (that's where dad was shot in the ambush).

In the midst of one of these stories, my knife slipped out of my hand and started to fall to the ground and I instinctively grabbed it. It was an extremely sharp steak knife and I stabbed myself in the middle of my palm. I knew that it was serious and so I immediately put pressure on it and ran to the bar in the front. One guy said "the bathroom is over there," misinterpreting my hurry, but I said "no, I've injured myself." The maitre d' came over, looked at it, and put a napkin containing ice on it. My father came and urged him to go back to the table. Then my mother came and I urged her to go sit down too. The maitre d' asked if I would like some wine while we waited for the bleeding to stop, so I said, "Ok. But I think a red would be appropriate" (we were drinking cava at the table). Eventually, the bleeding slowed down and she put iodine solution on it and then bandaged it up. I asked her if I needed stitches, but she said no, she sees more serious cuts than this in the kitchen all the time.

I went back to the table and had my father cut up the rest of the steak (with another knife) and I proceeded to finish the meal. Yoran asked me how the steak was, if it was too cold, so I said it was "a little bloody." We all laughed. The rest of the meal, I mostly spoke with Miri and my mother, we me translating the conversation so she could participate.Yoran drove us back to the hotel, and my dad and I walked up to the pharmacy to find out if I needed stitches or not. We got there just as they were closing, but the pharmacist looked at it and said I need stitches, and so I need to find a Magen David Adom station. This meant the emergency room at Ichilov Hospital.

We took a taxi and arrived around 10:15. After some confusion of where I needed to check in, they sent me to Orthopedics. There they took my blood pressure, gave me a tetanus shot, announced I needed stitches, and sent me to urgent care with the note that I didn't have an orthopedic problem. There I had a very nice doctor, who spoke both English and Hebrew, and she was training an American medical student from Wisconsin, so we had no communications problems.

One doctor came over to look at the wound to see how deep it was. He stretched it, reopening it, and then put it down. I said to the other doctor that it was now bleeding profusely. Not to worry, they would stop that soon. They cleaned it (not painful), anaesthetized it (rather painful), and then I listened as she explained to the student how to suture a wound. She put in two stitches and then bandaged it up. I have to keep it dry for 24 hours and then wash it with soap and water. I'm not sure if I need to put a new bandage on afterwards (it wasn't in the instructions), so I'm heading back to the pharmacy in a little bit to ask. After 10 days, the stitches should be removed, but I'll be back in the States by then.

After that, they wrote out a report for me in English so I can present it to Kaiser when I return and I went to the front desk to pay: $265. We were in and out in just over an hour. In America, it would take that long just to fill out the forms.

The taxi driver back to the hotel seemed to be on drugs (he couldn't tell where major streets were, or precisely how much the fare was), but somehow thought we should hire him as a guide. I took some tylenol and went to bed (with difficulty).

This morning, I had more mobility in my fingers, but I'm still not able to open things (or close them). That meant I couldn't button my shorts, so I zipped them up as high as I could and then closed the belt over them. That seems to work.

We had breakfast with Rochelle and told her what she had missed last night. Then I walked with her to the minimarket to buy some items and check out a gift shop nearby. Back at the hotel, she waited for her cousins, while mom, dad, and I took the bus to Jaffa.

We walked around the old port, saw Andromeda's Rocks (where she was to be sacrificed to the kraken before Perseus saved her), and then went through the artists' colony. Dad wanted to sit and have water and I finally found a place in the shade. It turned out to be Dr. Shakshuka, a famous restaurant specializing in meat dishes, particularly the "shakshuka," which looks like a meat and tomato stew with two egg yolks floating on top. Dad had water, I had tea, and mom had a lemonade.

We then walked to the Jaffa flea market (shuk hapishpetim) and I found a store with a collection of old junk. Dad loved the old radios, scales, and photos. "Look, here's a picture of the Moughrabi Theater" or "You see this scale? You put the various weights on one side and the thing you were waighing on the other. One time, I hung the tiniest of the weights on one side, so it read slightly lighter than it was. They went crazy trying to figure out why it was off. Once they found it, the knew it was me."

After that we walked back to Yefet St. where there was a big street bakery. I had the big sesame ring, while mom had a pretzel. She thought it was salt, but it was sesame, so she had to scrape off the seeds. We couldn't find the bus stop back so we took a taxi.

Dad and I then went back to the cafe on Ben Yehuda for dessert. He had the dried fruit cake (which he loved), and I had the Gerbeaud cake, and cafe au lait, and both were great. After about half an hour, mom joined us. Then we returned to the hotel so they could nap. I may take a nap too (after I take another tylenol). We're meeting Rochelle later and going to dinner around 6pm. No more steak for me. I can only order food that doesn't need to be cut.

Negating the Diaspora

We all enjoyed the breakfast at the Art+ Hotel, where we're staying. It was a nice buffet, with lots of fresh veggies, cheeses, yogurt, breads, and fruit. We all skipped the pastries.

Afterwards, dad went to see the lawyer, Rochelle waited for her cousins to pick her up, and mom and I headed to Bet Hatfutsot (the Diaspora Museum) at the University of Tel-Aviv. I asked at the front desk where we could catch a bus, and they said that the bus we needed stopped opposite shuk hakarmel (the Carmel Market). It was a 15-minute walk, past where the Moghrabi Theater used to be. My grandmother used to live just around the corner from it, but it was torn down nearly 20 years ago (my father still can't get over that "crime").

One thing that really stands out when you're in Tel-Aviv is the number of small shops that line the streets. They haven't yet been killed off by Walmart or the big malls. That and the fact that the streets are socially integrated with people of different ages and classes (unlike in most US cities, where we have separate neighborhoods for the young, middle aged, and elderly).

When we got to the Museum, I asked my mother if she wanted to hear my take on it (negative) or just experience it on her own without my editorializing. She said she wanted my point of view. At the start of the museum, there is a quote from Abba Kovner explaining that the Jews are part of one family and one nation who only wanted to return to the Land of Israel. This is my problem with the museum. In the end, it's really about negating the diaspora (shlilat hagalut), not seeing it as something with value in its own right. Hence, the decision to start the museum with a replica of pieces of the Arch of Titus, implying that the diaspora was created when the Romans forced the Jews into exile.

Left unsaid and ignored (unless you know you're Bible) is the fact that the diaspora has been part of Jewish history from the very beginning. When the 12 tribes left Egypt and entered the wilderness, 2 and a half chose to remain on the other side of the Jordan (in exile). During the time of the 1st Temple, Hebrew mercenaries lived in Egypt. Of course, the largest community in the diaspora was formed after 586, with the destruction of the temple by the Babylonians. When that exile ended, however, most Jews chose to remain in Babylon and Persia rather than return to Israel. Even before the Romans destroyed the Temple (the start of the Diaspora Museum), most Jews already lived there.

The first floor explores how Jews shared a common culture in Diaspora, even though there were local variations from time to time and place to place. The second floor looks at Jewish synagogues throughout history, and mom really enjoyed the various models. When we were looking at the model for the Altneuschul in Prague, a volunteer docent came over and asked if she could tell us about it. We said yes, and mom was struck by a similar experience she and dad had had in Prague when visiting a synagogue (not the same), where a guide volunteered to help them (in German), because they were Jewish.

The third floor presents the history of the Jewish people chronologically from the Roman conquest to the recreation of the state of Israel. Afterwards, we stopped at the Aroma cafe for something to drink. We ordered hot chocolate and mom asked for no whip cream, so I said bli katsefet, which turned into bli ketsef or no foam. I'm getting better with my Hebrew, but I keep forgetting odd words (like menu), or fumbling over the niceties (saying bitte or proze rather than toda).

We took the bus back to see if dad wanted to join us for lunch. He was napping having spent 3 hours walking from the lawyer's to the bank back to the hotel. Turns out the bank refused to break his antique shekel note, saying he would have to go to the Bank of Israel to do that. He wanted to continue to nap, so mom and I walked up the block to Mersand.

This cafe was highly recommended for its coffee and pastries, neither of which we ordered. We were fortunate to get a table outdoors (the weather is wonderful) and so we had sandwiches. Mom and I people watched the flow of cars and pedestrians. We also chatted with a couple also staying in the hotel. Mom particularly liked her sandwich of goat cheese, grilled eggplant and zucchini. I had specifically ordered her sandwich without nuts or seeds, and so she got a very nice, whole wheat bread. I had the toastim with yellow cheese and tomato on a bagel. Israel is the only country I know of where cheese is regularly sold as "yellow" or "white."

After an hour and a half we walked back to the hotel to find out the name of the restaurant we're going to tonight (Yoezer Wine Bar). It's on my list of the 10 best restaurants in Tel-Aviv and I was hoping to go there. It's in Jaffa and we're meeting the lawyer and dad's friends Ari and Rachel. Rochelle left us a note saying she was having dinner with her cousins so we'll find out about her day when she gets back.

Dad, mom, and I took a walk on the tayelet (the promenade) along the Mediterranean. We walked as far as the formerly empty area by the mosque, while dad talked about what the area was like in the Mandate. As we passed by one building he said that was where the Austrailians had their military police (up until 1943). As we looked at the memorial to aliya bet (the illegal immigration of Jews to Palestine in defiance of the British blockade), he talked about the time a ship beached itself and all of Tel-Aviv ran out to protect the immigrants. By swapping clothing, the British couldn't tell who was illegal and who was a resident. He also told us how he and his father had gone to Jaffa the day before the Arab Revolt had broken out in 1936. After that, he was forbidden to go there ever again (he was only 6 at the time). We asked if he ever went back (before statehood). He said he went with a group of buddies in 1947 (they had safety in numbers).

After that we came back to the hotel so they could rest before we go to dinner in an hour or so.

Rainy Arrival in Tel Aviv

What a surprise! Our Tel Aviv was mostly empty. We each took a row and lay out. Rochelle gave me an ambien, which I took right after dinner. I fell to sleep pretty quickly and slept for over four hours, only waking (briefly) twice. This is twice as long as I have EVER slept before on a plane.

Eventually, I got up an finished the novel I brought for the plane: The Girl With the Dragon Tatoo. I had missed all the excitement about these novels as I was on vacation when they went mainstream. I very much enjoyed it, and guessed part of the solution.

The flight was uneventful. Food service was awful. Just terrible. Shame on you Delta International.

When we landed, the surly gentleman in the row behind me got up to take things out of the overhead compartment, earning a scolding from the flight crew (he had no shame). I decided to let my passive-aggressive side show. When the seatbelt light went off, I leapt to my feet to get my jacket out of the overhead. He kept trying to push past me and I pretended he didn't exist. I just kept maneuvering my body so he couldn't get by. He never said a word. I finally let him past when I saw the row in front was completely full. Then I noticed he dropped his cell. I picked it up and asked if was his. He took it and never uttered a single word or sound.

If only that feeling of triumph could have lasted once we were inside the terminal. Terribly long line at passport control, with two people pulled out of my line for special investigation. Mom, Dad, and Rochelle all get in before me.

No problems getting to the hotel, but the would not take dad's 100 shekel note as it was over 30 years old and no one recognized that bill marking any more (he found it in a desk). The hotel is nice. Rooms are cozy (read small), but artistically furnished.

We all showered and changed for dinner and went to Ernesto's, an Italian restaurant about four or five blocks north on Ben Yehuda. It had rained earlier, but cleared so we had no problems. Rochelle and I split the fried zucchini flowers, while I had a little of dad's salad caprese. Rochelle ordered the eggplant appetizer for her main course, but it was quite large. Mom had the soup, which she very much liked, and the fagotinni (a type of fried manacotti crepe). I don't think any of us finished our main courses as they were so large. The food was good.

One gentleman, seated in the corner of the restaurant, looked like he was wearing a tribble on his head. Rochelle asked if I thought it was a toupee, and I said if you have to ask it almost certainly is. He was using his scarf as a combination bib and cravat. I told Rochelle I thought he was an old-style yeke.

When we got back to the hotel, the clerk told me that I had a phone call. I thought she meant I had a message, but no, my friend Ofer was calling. He suggested I come over to visit, and even though I was exhausted, I thought I better since I didn't know when I might be able to do so again.

It was a 45-minute walk to his apartment near Kikar Hamedina. I had to be very quiet entering, since his 1.5 year-old son Yannai was asleep and feverish. "He has a 39.5 degree temperature," Ofer told me, "so he won't be going to kindergarten tomorrow." That works out to about 103 F. We talked for quite a while about the difficulties of being adjunct faculty in Israel, and he ordered dinner. I declined to share it as I was so full from earlier. Finally, around 10 pm, I said I was too tired to stay awake, so he gave me advice on how to get home.

I hoped to take the bus, but after waiting 25 minutes, I grabbed a taxi instead. I got back to the hotel in no time and went right to sleep. I only woke up twice from jet lag and now it's off to breakfast.