Well Helllloooooooooooo, Laaa Laaaa Laaaaa

First off, I would like to welcome my younger brother (as you can tell from the photo, I can't use the word little brother anymore), Avery, to Israel. He will be here for five-six weeks on the Ramah Seminar program. He arrived in Israel early Tuesday morning after spending a week in Poland. I met him at the Kotel later that night. (Note: there is very little hair under that hat. And if you can't tell, he has a Detroit Tiger's hat on [My Tigers!]) He brought me a portion of a once-large salami and I brought him some fruit and rugelah.


For the past few years, my parents have participated in the Wheels of Love bike ride to support the Alyn Pediatric and Adolescent Rehabilitation Center and Hospital in Jerusalem. Monday morning, I went on a tour of the hospital to see what my parents have been riding for. Let me tell you that I was amazed.

They welcomed me with this big sign. However, I entered through a different door and didn't see the sign when I walked in. But my tour guide showed it to me, and I posed for this photo op.


The things that do with the kids are incredible. The hospital believes that every person should be given the chance to achieve their full potential, no matter what challenges they must overcome. Through countless forms of therapy (Physical, speech, animal, humor, music, swimming, etc.) and mixing education with rehab, the hospital staff does this. Some of the stories that my tour guide told me are amazing. Because there are some many inspirational things that I heard and witnessed, let me highlight the one that I found to be the most.

At the beginning of the tour, we walked through the educational wing and popped into some of the classrooms. In the auditorium, there was a group of kids on the stage rehearsing for a production of an Israeli play. Since all of the kids have unique restrictions, the staff finds ways for them to participate in the performance. The quadrapelic children used a device that allowed them to make sounds by pushing a button with thier chins. They were all wearing costumes too, which were draped over wheelchairs and crutches, and were also very cute. No matter how much a kid was limited by their disability, the musical therapist found a role for them in the production.

I was so enamored with Alyn after my tour that I decided I wanted to spend time volunteering there. Here I am putting together rider packets for next year's ride.


Some of the blog readers will get these packets in the mail, assuming I put them together correctly. In the future, I plan on working with the maintenance staff doing whatever they need me to do.

After my tour, I went to see the new Yad Vashem Holocaust museum. It was an impressive exhibit. I spent four+ hours trying to read and take in as much as I could, but I still feel like there was stuff that I didn't get to. I think that how they incorporate the individual testimonies within the greater exhibit adds a unique dimension. Even after touring the new wing, I still think that one of the most powerful parts of the museum is the memorial to the children.


After I finished touring the museum, I went to the cloakroom to pick up my back pack and ran into my high school Hebrew teacher, who was at Yad Vashem as part of a conference for educators and was eating in the cafeteria. Interestingly enough, it was in her class that I read Night by Elie Weisel and Dan Pagis's poem Written With a Pencil in a Sealed Cattle Car. It was great to see her, and she was very impressed with my Hebrew.

I also found time this week to sit in on a session of Knesset, Israel's parliament. I have spoken to some rather fluent Hebrew speakers who said that they couldn't understand what the ministers were talking about when they went, so I didn't go in with high expectations.

Here is what I got out of my 20 minutes watching from the public viewing area that faces the front of the room:
• They mentioned the prime minister several times.
• They mentioned the Gush Katif settlers and statistics about how they have fared since the pullout.
• I need to improve my Hebrew if I ever what to consider becoming an Israeli politician.

Noteworthy from my experiece walking through security: It was the first time in my life that I was simply called Jacob. For those that are not aware, Jacob is my middle name but nobody has every called me it. Each Knesset visitor must present their passport to the security desk, which gives you a sticker with your name and purpose. My sticker read: Robinson, Ian Jacob (except it was right to left and in Hebrew). Two theories about why he called me Jacob: He didn't know how to pronounce "Ian" transliterated to Hebrew or Jacob was the last name on the line so that was easiest. I will go with the latter.


Did you know that you are not allowed to bring books into Knesset? I walked through and forgot that my book was in my pocket. The security guard reminded me and told me to put it in the "cloakroom."

Searching for the mystic in me, among other things

It took three trips to Israel, but I finally visited Tsfat (the hub of mystical Judaism) this weekend (There are numerous acceptable and unacceptable English spellings of the city's name). I had no idea what I was missing.

Actually, I was supposed to be in Safed for the first Shabbat of my senior class trip but weather in New York delayed our flight one day and forced us to switch our plans.

Beware, flying stromels!

I met Ari (of watermelon-eating fame) at the Central Bus Station at 9:20 to take the 9:30 bus to Safed. But the website did not say that the bus loaded on the street across from the bus station instead of the terminals inside (or at least I don't think the site said anything). To make a short story even more consise, we missed the 9:30 bus and found space on the 10:00 one.

I chose my words carefully because by the time we boarded the bus, every seat was filled. So, we sat in the aisle. Ari and I shmoozed for an hour before he drifted back to sleep for some time. He was unexpectedly awaken from his slumber by stroimels that fell from the overhead storage space when the bus made a sharp turn.


Almost three hours into the 3+ hour busride, I heard a language spoken by the guys sitting above us that sounded familiar to me, and it wasn't English, Hebrew, or Spanish. It was Yiddish. For those who don't know, I took one semester of Yiddish at Michigan and fell in love with the language (Shmooze is looking to do more Yiddish-, Ladino-, and Farsi-related programming in the fall). Naturally, I told the guys that I spoke a bisl Yiddish, and we had a little conversation.

You need to get rid of that "s"

I made reservations for the Beit Binyamin Youth Hostel in Safod on Thursday night. Well, at least I thought that I did.

After 40 minutes of getting lost in and around town, we stumbled upon the hostel. We spent seven minutes looking for the entrance to the building before we realized that the car entrance and the pedestrian entrance were the same (which contradicts the sign to the left of the car entrance). We entered the office and told the man that we have a reservation to spend the night. Let me give you a transcript of the conversation (more or less):

Ian: I would like to check in for the night. Here is our confirmation number. I made the reservation last night on the computer.
Hostel worker: You see, we are religious in Safed, so you can't make online reservations.

We tried to mend the situation (and understand what he was saying), especially because I gave the website my credit card number, but I assumed that because they can't use the internet in Safed, they can't get my credit card information either. Then he told us how much it would cost to stay for Shabbat and eat meals (NIS 240 per person). That is not what I consider to be a hostel price. More of a hotel rate, if you ask me.

I would like to say that the Israel Youth Hostel Association should realize that it is falsely advertising the word hostel. According to my definition, no hostel rate in Israel should be over NIS 100 at the most. And even that should be a very nice hostel. This place was nice, but should be called a hotel instead of a hostel.

A bed, and maybe a toilet

After we left the hostel, we tried to get back to town. Unfortunately, the signage in Tsafed does not give the pedestrian the correct information about where to turn or not turn. So we took about 40 minutes to walk from the hostel the Old City (the hostel was near the Elite candy factory on outskirts of downtown [Ari hummed the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory theme when we passed by it]).

We saw signs for hotels on the main street and inqured about vacancy (they don't believe in vacancy/no vacancy signs in Sfat). We walked into one called the Tel Aviv Hotel, which seemed to fit our needs (place to sleep) but the woman turned us away because we were boys. She said that there were a lot of girls staying there and would prefer if we stayed somewhere else.

We started to walk out of the alley to continue the quest. At that moment a miracle took place. We passed by a sign that said cheap rooms. I thought that it might have had a halo around it, but Ari disagreed. Halo or no halo, we went inside an inquired about a room. The old woman gave us a rate, and at about 2:30 in the afternoon, we would accept anything under NIS 100. She showed us our accomodations, which included another all-in-one bathroom, which is used for optimum efficiency.


After 90 minutes of wandering around Safed with the sun beating down on us, we were a little sweaty and a little hungry.

We found a nice place off Jerusalem St. that was just about to close for Shabbat before our empty stomachs entered the room. Like most other Israeli establishments, this restaurant seemed to struggle with the English language. But this one seemed worse than others. A few examples to prove my point. Carrot spelled carotte. Moroccan spelled Marrocan. I ordered "kabab," while Ari ordered chopped liver.

With our appetites satisfied, and a few hours remaining before Shabbat, we noticed that the masses were flocking to a stone building on the hillside next to the cemetery. The Mikveh.


For those of you that don't know what a mikveh is. It is a ritual pool that Jews dip themselves in for purification purposes. It is often done at conversions, before holidays, and before the Sabbath. And the Safed mikveh is not ordinary mikveh. It is known as the Ari mikveh, named about Rabbi Isacc Luria (a famous rabbi). It is said that anybody who enters its waters will not die without making teshuvah (repentance).


Inside of the mikveh there is the equivalent of a locker room, but with tsitsit, stroimels, kippot, and other forms of clothing strewn around the cubby holes. In the back there is the entrance to the mikveh, which is much smaller than I expected. There is space for three people at the most, and there is a long line of naked men waiting to get in.

As I get to the front of the line, a naked guy cuts me in line. I didn't have my glasses on so I couldn't see who it was, but I suspect is might've been Ari (He might have taken responsibility for the action later). If it wasn't Ari, the move would show how Israelis are pushy in any line, even the mikveh line.

After we mikvehed, we returned to our room to play cards and get ready for Shabbat.

Searching for Shabbos dinner (rhymes with Seaching for Bobby Fisher)

We went to the 16th century Abuhav Synagogue for Kabbalat Shabbat. It was a sephardic service, so we had a little trouble following along (The chair in the back of the room has been host to circumcisions for over 200 years). The chazan (prayer leader) lead services from a pulpit in the midde of the sanctuary. After the service, we asked around to see who would host us for a shabbat dinner. Finally, we found our way to the rabbi who accepted us as guests.

He led us from the shul, through the narrow streets. As we walked, crowds sang and danced in the middle of the streets in celebration of the Sabbath's arrival. Before we went inside, he led us to a railing that looked over the opposing mountains. The last rays of sunshine were glowing off the summit of this hills creating a magnificent sight. The rabbi led us into a builing with a large table set for about 20. He led us to a small table away from the 20-person table and told us to wait and that this would be our own private meal. We didn't know what to think about this, but we went along with it. We asked the rabbi if there was anything we could do to help.

We continued to wonder why we were sitting at a separate table as people began to enter the building. The rabbi asked us to set up places and get salads on the tables. We did kiddush a few minutes later and began dinner. It took about 40 minutes for the big table to fill up. The rabbi worked in the kitchen the whole time helping to serve the meal. The food was good, but as good as it is to eat Shabbat dinner with Ari, the atmosphere was a little lacking. Then Ari noticed a sign on the wall that said "soup kitchen." How am I supposed to feel?

Did the rabbi sit us separately from the others because he knew how many people were coming? Did he think we would be uncomfortable around the other diners? Who were the other diners? All questions that I won't be able to answer for you. The rabbi was very nice, and we were very appreciative of him hosting us for Shabbat dinner.

We went back home, played cards on a street corner, and took a brief stroll through town before turning in for the night. On the way back from shul, we passed this seeminly insignificant alley, just don't tell that to Grandma Yocheved, whose house is at the end of it. The abnormally narrow alleyway is known as the narrowest alley in town. Grandma Yocheved believed that when the messiah comes, it will surely walk through her alley.

How do they wake up so early without alarms?

In the morning, we slept in a little bit. There was a miscommunication the night before about what the person who wakes up first is supposed to do with regards to waking up the other person. As a result, we did not leave our room until after 10:00. By that time, every service was finished.

At the Abuhav synagogue they announced that morning services would be at 4:30 with a later service at 7:30. We took this to be the exception, rather than the rule. I guess we were wrong.

And you do this every week?

When we accepted the fact that we missed Shabbat morning services, we began our search for a place to eat lunch.

We asked the old woman who we rented the room from if she knew of anywhere that accepted guests for lunch, She said that a man named Ben David always had people over, but she didn't know where he lived. We wandered through the streets asking people for Ben David until we ran into one of his "neighbors" who showed us to the door. When we got there, there were two tables set up in Ben David's living room with about 17 people seated there. Within five minutes, tables were unfoled, chairs set down, benches erected, and 20 more people had places to eat. Almost all of them wore black hats when they entered the room. Then they each found a unique place to put their hand and coat so that they would remember it when they left because everybody's hat and coat looked alike. (Note: Ari was the only person in the room not wearing white, black, or a kaftan)

Again, the pushiness of orthodox Jews showed when Ben David put the food on the table, WIthin seconds, whatever food or beverage was set out was all gone. The hummus from our table was "borrowed" by the next table and emptied within seconds. They didn't even return the container. For dessert, Ben David served watermelon. Not everybody got a piece of watermelon because some people hoarded it. One person took four sections of watermelon.

I have a fashion question. Since when is the short, fat, loose tie with unbuttoned shirt in style? I have seen it on countless orthodox Jews, and I don't understand it. I can see myself wearing my tie loose and shirt unbuttoned on the way home from dinner or shul, but not at shul or at someone's house.

Ben David is big into Rabbi Nachman of Braelov. There were constant references made to Uman (the site of Rabbi Nachman's grave) and songs sang about him.

At one point, Ben David welcomed his American guests by doing a James Brown impersonation, or at least that is what it sounded like. (Do you all feel good?) I find it incredible that he hosts 40 people to his house for Shabbat lunch every week. It is a great mitzvah to welcome guests into your home. And people like me (people without a place to eat Shabbat lunch) are most appreciative of people like him.

After lunch (1:30), we went across the street to pray mincha (afternoon service). When we finished mincha. we went back to the room to read and sleep for a couple of hours. Then, we went for a walk through the Citadel Park in the middle town.

Then, we went searched for a place to eat Seudah Shlishit (the third meal of Shabbat). While waiting for services to begin, Ari unleashed this gem of a comment.

Ari: Where are you frum? Everywhere. (frum means Orthodox)

We went to the Kosov shul, where we prayed the mincha service once again (reaching the three service total, though an irregular combination).

We sat down around a table filled with small rolls for motzi. Then somebody threw bags of sunflower seeds. almonds, and popcorn. Then somebody put out plates of kugels (wouldn't cut is at the kugel-off). A few minutes later, they put a vat of cholent in front of me an Ari. However, there were no plates for the first few minutes. When the choluent came out, there weren't spoons.

When there is one pot of cholent for about fifty people, how picky can you be about getting only the vegetables or meat pieces that you prefer? I'm looking right at you, first-guy-to-take-from-the-pot-and-took-three-of-the-seven-pieces-of-meat guy.

This cholent was pretty good, too. I think that it would have finished in the top five of any Iron Blech competition and if the chef knew that it was going to be in a contest, top three for sure.

Did I do that?

After havdalah (service that brings Shabbat to a close), we hustled to the bus station to beat the post-Shabbat rush back to Jerusalem. We did.

Obviously, we had to choose the seats where the air conditioner could not be adjusted because the part was missing. So after an hour of cold air blasting our faces, Ian solved the problem by jamming his t-shirt in the vent to prevent the cold air from blowing into his face.


An hour later, Ian was awaken from his slumber by a panic on the bus. I turned around to see what was happeneing. There was smoke coming out of the back of the bus and people were unloading from the front of the bus, and taking all of their things with them. It was a little weird that the bus driver did not open the back door, but I guess that if it were really an emergency he would've. It turns out the bus was overheating.

We walked away from the bus as two more stopped on the side of the highway to pick us up. We were about 20 minutes outside of Jerusalem on Highway 1, so there were a lot of buses driving by.

I can't help but think that my t-shirt jamming the vent might've contributed to the bus overheating. Hopefully not.

Culture, sinus clearing, clothes, and the Cup

The cosmopolitinization of Ian took a huge step forward last night at the Jerusalem Jazz Festival. The event, which ended tonight, brought in internationally recognized musicians, including Morris, who is considered by some to be the world's best trumpet player.


Wait a second, Ian. You don't like jazz. Do you?

I have never really experienced jazz before last night. And to tell you the truth, I enjoyed it.

The concert was at the Yellow Submarine in the industrial area known as Talpiyot. The group that I saw was the British-born, Paris-based Damon Brown.

Although I am musically challenged (before yesterday, I had no clue what a flugelhorn was), I got into his show. I like how every jazz song has a personal story behind it. Some of his songs were about a meeting with a landlord, back pain, jousting, or his sister. Altough I might not associate the song with medeival sports or the landlord-tenant relationship, I like the stories, the song titles, and how each song affects each person differently.


After Damon Brown played, there was a jam session that went on for a few hours. Some local artists played, as did some of the groups from the festival, including Morris.

I went to the show with Ari and an Israeli friend of mine.

(If you were in History 383 or 384, you would understand this comment. If not, skip this next paragraph)

Even the Jews of Bordeaux would be proud of my acculturation. Am I making the transition from an Alsace-Lorrain Jew to a Bordeaux Jew? We'll see?

This afternoon I ate lunch at a deli on Helena Ha-malka, next door to the SPNI offices. I ordered a corned beef sandwich. It was delicious. Wait a second, Ian. There has to be more to this story. Why are you just telling us about your sandwich?


Oh, yeah. The deli has been around since 1795. Originally from Basle, Switzerland, the Hess family opened up a restaurant in Jerusalem around the turn of the century. I don't know how many businesses I have dealt with that are over 200 years old. How many countries that are around today existed when this deli opened? I think they are in the eighth generation of Hesses to work at Hess the Sausage King's.

I didn't expect my sandwich to have horseradish in it. My inability to consume large amounts of horseradish without sweating profusely relegates it to a once-a-year food. Well, make it twice this year. There probably wasn't any more that a shtikel in my sandwich, but it cleared up my sinuses all right.

In preparation for my internship, which starts in two weeks, I went to the mall today for the first time to "enhance my wardrobe." I bought two polo shirts for 99 shekels (less than $11/ shirt): an orange one and a blue one. For some, that might be a modest day of shopping. For me, this is monumental.

Later in the day, I went to a pub to watch the U.S. soccer match. After the refs handed the game over to Ghana, I was actually upset. But, on a positive note, the U.S. soccer fan in me can go back into hibernation for four years until the next World Cup.

I would like to welcome my friend Ari Mendelson to Israel. He arrived today and is maintaining a blog of his trip as well. To clarify which Ari I am talking about in my blog, I will refer to this one as Mendel in the blogosphere.

A Galilee Tail: Ian Goes Northwest

After a two-day excurion to the wild northwest and two days to recover, I am here to recap by trip.

I took the train from Tel Aviv to Akko after work on Sunday night and stayed at a hostel in the old city. I took a cab from the train station to the hostel. After I told the driver that I wanted to go to a hostel, he started driving before I could close the door. So, like any passenger would do, I closed the door. Then when I closed the door, he told me that I shouldn't slam the door so hard. Hold on. Doesn't the door to a moving car close harder than a door to a stationary vehicle.

As we drove through the old city to the hostel, every kiosk or restaurant had chairs set up outside and flat screen tv's on the wall to watch the World Cup games. It is very weird to see this type of technology (I mean tvs, not chairs) in the four thousand-year old city, but it shows you how much people love their futbol.

I arrived at the Akko Gate Hostel and met my roommate, Iain (apparently, that is the original spelling of my name), who is English. He was a nice guy with an interesting story (investment banker turned journalist turned lawyer). (Mike Donelley: I got dibs on top bunk. Steve Dodds: Okay.)


I found the bathroom situation at the hostel to be most fascinating. In the bathroom, there is a sink, toilet, and shower. That's normal, right?

But there were no dividers. You could, realistically, shower and poop at the same time (multitasking).

In the morning, I toured the tourist attractions in the old city (crusader castle, Museum of Heroism, sea walls, Templar Tunnels, shuk, city walls, mosque). I was a little peeved by the amount of construction going on at some sites (notably the crusader castle and Museum of Heroism), but I didn't let it detract from my overall experience.

I started my tour in the castle. Here I am in the "reflectorium." Some think it was used as a cafeteria, I believe that crusader knights used this room for deep thinking or at least that's what I used it for. (Good things don't end with "eum" (or "ium"), they end with "mania" or "teria")


After I mozied through the castle (with my hands at my sides), I searched for the Museum of Heroism, which is in the old prison. Like any logically thinking tourist, I asked a local where this museum was located. After asking about ten people to give me directions, which were wrong, I got this classic response from a kiosknik just outside the entrance to the crusader castle.

Ian: Where is the Museum of Heroism?
Kiosknik: I am a local (whose shop is a block away from the museum), why would I know where the museum is?

Lest we forget that most of her income is dependent on museum goers and tourists.

Eventually, I found the prison and toured it, at least what I could tour. Only two rooms of the prison were open for visitors, the rest of the facility was under construction, including the cell that Zeev Jabotinsky stayed in and the cell of the founder of Ba'hai. The Museum of Heroism pays tribute to the Zionist prisoners hung in the prison and the Etzel members who died during the prison break in 1947. (How many Exodus references can I make in my blog? 17? I am going up to Safed for Shabbat, which is near Mt. Canaan, so expect another reference in that post)


For those of you that don't know, I am fascinated with the shuk. I love the hustle and bustle, the smells, the deals, the fact that you can buy anything, and, as I learned in Akko, the people you see. While rounding a corner in the Akko shuk, I ran into my friend Jeff from home. I didn't know that he was going to be in Akko. And, unlike Jerusalem, Akko isn't the place where you would expect to run into someone you know.


On the subject of shuks, maybe it's me who thinks the notion of a barber shop in a shuk is a little weird. Because so far, I am 3-for-3 in finding barber shops in shuks.

Another part of the shuk experience that I enjoy are the restaurants embedded within the shuk. The place that I ate at, Hummus Sa'id, even has their own website, but I can't find the address right now.

At one of the shops, a kid tried to sell me a copy of The DaVinci Code on DVD with the sales pitch "it's still in the theater." This would've been my chance to watch the movie without an intermission, but from what I know about bootleg videos, which I learned from Seinfeld, they are not typically the best quality.

In the early afternoon, I realized that I did a number on the Old City of Akko and decided it was time to advance northward. I wanted to stop at the Ba'hai Gardens on the way to Nahariya, but the bus driver didn't tell me when to get off, so I took the bus to Nahariya instead (that gives me a reason to go back to the Akko region, along with visiting the prison when they finish construction).

Let me tell you one thing about Nahariya. It is not the most exciting town in Israel. The beach city about 15 km from the Lebanon border offers little more than retirement homes, a beach, a tourist office that is only open in the mornings, an ancient Canaanite synagogue, which I couldn't find, and more retirement homes. I spent a couple of hours searching for a cheap place to spend the night, but the closed tourism office hampered my search.

It was getting toward the mid- to late- afternoon, and I decided to head up to Rosh Hanikra to catch the sunset. Without a place to spend the night and not worrying about it, I boarded a bus up to the cliffs at the Lebanon border. I reasoned that if I needed to, I could hitch a ride back to Nahariya and get a train back to Tel Aviv if I needed to.

As the daylight hours began to dwindle and turned to daylight minutes, I sparked up a conversation with a family, who was also watching the sunset. A husband and wife from south of Haifa were having a picnic with their son, who was doing reserve duty at the border station. They were very nice people and offered me something to eat. I explained to them my situation, and they told me that they would give me a ride to a cheap place to stay a few kilometers down the coast.


The couple dropped me off at this place called Eliavivi. It is a little beachside campsite that also has a hostel, restaurant, archaeological museum, and probably many other things that I don't know about. Some of the other people staying there described it as "Sinai without the security problems." I met a very nice, newlywed couple from the Jordan River Valley and their six-month old daughter. They were very hospitable and offered me dinner when I arrived.

Instead of sleeping in the hostel or borrowing one of Eli's tents, I thought that is would be cool just to sleep outside in my sleeping bag. Considering the hard ground and hard rock that blasted through the night from a wedding next door, I slept pretty well. There is something to be said about waking up in the morning and being so close to the sea that you worry that you didn't roll into it during your sleep.


In the morning, I jumped into the sea, read some of the my book, and kibbutzed with the Jordan River Valley residents before heading up to Rosh Hanikra again, this time to walk around the grottos.

I decided to walk along the few kilometers on the shoreline to Rosh Hanikra instead of catching a bus or taxi. It was pleasant, relaxing walk along the sandy shores. My original plan for the day was to walk along Nahal Keziv, which goes inland, but a suggestion from the people at Eliavivi changed my mind.

At Rosh Ha-Nikra, I did the grottos tour, nothing particularly notable aside from the overall sweetness of water caves.

Presser #4

Judging by the overwhelming response from the request for more press conference questions, I have decided to convene the press corps right . . . . now.

Stoney and Wojo: What's your beef?

Ian: Well, as you know, I always try to look for the positives in my performance (in life). Sometimes, things get on my nerves. Normally, I feel that it is difficult to get me angry, but it is possible. Unlike Marge Simpson, who writes a list of things about Homer that make her mad and then tears it up and puts it in his food, I will reveal mine to the world. I am going to go through this list without naming any names, so as not to spread "lashon hara."

1. ______'s refusal to buy a map of Jerusalem. Therefore, they constantly get lost anytime they have to leave their four-block comfort zone.
2. ______'s digestive system. That's about all I am going to say about that.
3. _______'s water bottle. It constatly falls out of their backoack, ruining the flow of converstaion.

That's about it for now. Oh, we all know about Ian's relationship with the bouncer at a certain club in Tel Aviv. That would be at the top of the list.

Blog-obsessed Jewish mother: Ian, I know you went to a K'veesa. Did you meet your beshert (soul mate) there? Things like that happen in laundromats.

Ian: No I did not meet my beshert at the laundromat, but I did meet a telemarketer who revealed some of the ins and outs of the telemarketing industry. Maybe I met my beshert industry? I learned that, if you sell an exciting product, telemarketing can be a lot of fun. You can really bang on someone's tea kettle (hock people's chainiks).

Troubleshooting: Which summer blockbuster that are you most looking forward to but may not be able to see because intermission might ruin it?

Ian: I am going to have to say Pirates of the Caribbean. I have learned that there are movie theaters that do not take intermisions. Let's hope that Pirates plays at a theater that does not feature ten minutes of dead time in the middle of the screening.

Down on The Corner: Thoughts on the announcement of Tiger Stadium's demolition. Who's your Tiger?

Ian: If the project will contribute to the economic reviltalization of Detroit, I will support it 100%. However, I would like to see how the plans commemorate the history of the site. I would like to see a museum erected and the field preserved.

Right now, my Tiger is Wilfredo Ledezma. He has been one of my favorite Tiger prospects, but other fans have doubted his abilities. Hopefully, he is on the team to stay.

Inventory: Refrigerator update.

Ian: Half watermelon, nine apriots, eight plums, two mangos, hummus, three liters of nectar. (i recently removed some week-old grapes)

Book worm: Book(s) on your nightstand update?

Ian: I am currently learning about how Ari ben Canaan became Ari ben Canann in the Leon Uris classic Exodus. I have already completed Primo Levi's Survival in Auschwitz. On the subject of Exodus, I am planning a two-day trip to Acco (Acre), site of the infamous prison rebellion from Exodus.

Ian: To conclude this press conference, I would like to release an official statement on the subject of Shmooze at Festifall.

Late last week, I received an e-mail confirming our participation at this year's Festifall event. It has been a longer-than-expecteed process, but we are in. I have been running up and down Ben Yehuda Street screaming and celebrating the announcement so much that the women who claims that she is the messiah thinks I am crazy. As discussed at the final Shmooze meeting of the spring, the Shmooze booth will have traditional Jewish cultural foods and flyers about what Shmooze is (let's pose the question of how many times I can use the 20-second Shmooze pitch at Festifall?)

I would like to remind you to continue sending you press conference questions. Just click on the link on the top right.

One of the best bumper stickers I have ever seen

It would be better if it was on a store front, but I'll accept it.

Has it really been four days since I blogged?
Yes, it has.

Let me give you a recap on what I have been up to. I would also like you to continue to send you press conference questions. I would like to convene the media sometime this weekend. Please get your questions in.

If you have already read about my press conference idea, skip to the next paragraph. If not, continue reading (wow, this is like a choose-your-own-ending novel). In my two years working for the Michigan Daily, few things have fascinated me as much as the press conference setting. Plus, it allows the person conducting the interview to answer questions about anything the media wants to know (or avoid questions about anything the media wants to know). As part of living my dream and providing you with the information you want to know, I will periodically hold a press conference. I need a few more questions before I have enough to hold a presser. Send you questions here..

For the past four days, I have been pretty busy and all over town. Let me give you the highlighhts.

On Monday night, I had my first Burger's Bar (est. 1999[I find it weird that they already have it written on the back of their shirts]) experience. I went with my Burger's Bar tour guide Ilana (you might remember her from Pistons games). Burger's Bar is a Jerusalem-based burger joint that serves up not-undelicious burgers and fries at not-unfriendly prices in a not-unpleasant atmosphere (I also ate there yesterday morning and set a record for the earliest burger I have ever eaten [11:30]. There is something about eating meat before noon that I have never really understood.)


Speaking of unpleasant, I watched the U.S. Soccer team decide not show up in Gelsinkirchen while eating my burger. At least I was eating delicious food while watching 6-8 power forward Jan Koller find the back of the net five minutes into the game instead of sitting somewhere without a burger in front of me.


Tuesday morning I did some work at the SPNI office before heading off to the Hebrew Book Week Festival at the old train station. Unfortunately, the book festival was an evening-only affair. So we decided to head down the street to the Menachem Begin Heritage Center to go through the Begin musuem. Unfortunately, you need to make a reservation to go to the museum.


With a few hours to kill, I decided to show Ari one of the gardens that I work at. On the way, we each picked up a quarter of a watermelon from a corner fruit stand. It was 2:30 in the afternoon at this time and the guy working the store was wrapping tefillin (phylacteries [oh so phylacteries doesn't help you understand what tefillin are, that's weird]).

We sat on a bench across the street from the Belgian Consulate and endulged in some watermelony goodness. Miraculously, I did not make a mess on myself.




On the subject of the book fair and Begin Center, redemption was but a few hours away.

We returned to the Hebrew Book Week Festival. The place was packed with the who's who of the Hebrew publishing scene. We circumnavigated the whole show, and it took us (Ian and two friends) two hours — and almost all of the books were in Hebrew. I think we would still be there if the books were all in English. I would say that of the books that were available in English, we bought about ten percent of them.


I bought a book about Jewish gangsters in America called "But He Was Good to His Mother," one about the Entebbe raid by Iddo Netanyahu, and a book about the Jewish Agency's role in the immigration of Jews from the Soviet Union and Ethiopia (Ian, your appetite for knowledge is about as big as your appetitie for apricots).

On Wednesday morning, I went with Ari to catch the 9:30 tour at the Begin Center. Begin might have been your grandfather's favorite knesset member, but this is not your grandfather's museum (unless, of course, your grandfather owns the museum or is technologically adept). The museum is a tour through the life of the former Israeli prime minister's life from his birth and childhood in Brisk and as a member of Beitar, through his time in a Russian work camp in Siberia, his time in the Irgun, his time as opposition leader in the Knesset, and as prime minister. One of the rooms in the museum was moved piece by piece from his apartment in Tel Aviv. If you have an hour and fifteen minutes in Jerusalem (and know about this free time beforehand), the Begin Center is a great idea.

Late night in Zion

As some of you might know, Matisyahu opened for Sting on Thursday night at the National Stadium. As very few people knew, Matisyahu played a much more intimate concert last night at the Barbi Club in Tel Aviv.

There were no advertisements for the show. The only reason I knew it was happening was because I read a blog late last week that made a brief mention.


Before I describe the concert, let me tell about my experiences getting into the building.

I don't know what other people think of me, but I generally consider myself to be a pretty friendly guy. The list of people that I don't get along with is very short (possibly non-existent). After last night, the list had a new entry.

Let me introduce the bald, sleeveless t-shirt wearing, tough-guy, we-don't-take-no-prisoners, we-don't-take-no-shit-from-anyone bouncer at the club. As is commonplace in Israel, they search you bag before your go inside of a public building. I give him my backpack to check (I had my bag with me because I spent the day at the beach in Tel Aviv and I had to carry around a few day-at-the-beach essentials). As he is looking through my bag, he pulls out my Nalgene waterbottle (For those of you not familiar with the summer season in most parts of the world, it gets very hot and maintaining an optimal amount of water in your system can stave off dehydration)(If you are not familiar with the Nalgene waterbottle, it is the type that you are meant to keep for a period of several years).

One person not very familiar with either of these ideas (or the English language for that matter): the security guard (the bottle was empty). He tells me to throw out the waterbottle. I explain to him how I would be very reluctant to throw out the waterbottle. Then he tells me to put my bag in my car, which I explain to him is a few thousand miles away.

I ask him to clarify what one is allowed to bring into the club and what is forbidden (the don't have a Dan Dickerson recording like at Comerica Park [Please be aware that bats, balls, and other object may go into the stands. The Tigers are happy to let you keep a ball that is hit into the stands but please do not interfere with a ball that is still in play]).

The next words out of his mouth are: you can't come in.

I decide to step away from the entrance to plan my next step (aside from arranging English lessons for the bouncer). If I were the Barbi Club, and I was hosting a concer where a large majority of the audience is American, I would ensure that my staff understood and could speak English). As I move away from the gate, a guy apporaches me and tells me that I can keep my bag in his car until after the show. I accept his offer. He was a nice guy, and I didn't have anything too valuable in the bag. I got the bag back after the show, no problem.

I go back to the door to walk inside (this time without my backpack) and I go through the security check without any problems. After the bouncer seaches me, he moves one foot to the side to allow me to walk through the door. But he still stood in the middle of the entrance between the wall and the table that he uses to search people's bags. As most of you know, I can walk through narrow spaces quite easily. Yet, this space was too narrow for me to walk through without bumping into one side. As I pass through the entrance, I bump into his table. He tells me to wait on the side. After I wait on the inside, like he told me, he asks me why I am waiting (and is quite mad). I decide to walk inside and get my tickets. Although we had about half an hour before the gates opened and could've left the alleyway to get something to eat, I refused to leave to prevent another run in with the bouncer.

As someone familiar with the crowd management industry (although I normally work in customer service, my job often requires me to dabble in the crowd management sector) with experience working the floor at hip-hop shows, I don't believe that this bouncer handled the situation as well as he could've. He also accused me of being drunk because I walked into the table, but it was completely his fault (and I don't drink).

As you can see, this bouncer had a personal vendetta against me.


Just another brief point.

Most places that have a will call booth are organized according to last name. Not Barbi. Will call tickets are divided up by first name.


Now let me tell you about the show.

The old warehouse on the south end of town could hold no more than a few hundred people. Although I have never been there, I would assume that Barbi is like the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor. Barbi is often referred to as the best place to watch a concert in Israel (a title given to the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor).


The crowd was mostly American with a few Chabadniks and a high percentage of kippah wearers.

After the Rastifarian opener finished, cheers of "we want mashiach now" took over as the crowd waited with great anticipation for Matisyahu's entrance. His band came on stage first and played a simple rhythm for a few seconds before the front man came on.

Let me tell you. The place erupted the moment that he came on stage and started playing.

He played for about an hour and a half. The place was electric throughout.

The best moment in the show was when his drummer went off stage and Matisyahu displayed his talent in making percussion sounds with his voice (like he was doing a rendition of the Stoney and Wojo theme song). To quote an article I read earlier this year talking about another band "he puts on a fucking good show."

At one point, broke out into the Chabad song and a rendition of the Shema (I don't know if the Shema is normal at his shows or not, but it was pretty cool).

These guys were standing at the exit singing songs about how they want messiah now.


I had received questions earlier in the week of why I would choose a Matisyahu show over a Matisyahu and Sting show. Well, how many times do you get to see the biggest Jewish face in the music world take the stage at a small venue like Barbi, which I loved aside from the bouncer.

After the show, we (along with the two friends i went to the concert with) wandered around Tel Aviv for a couple of hours before deciding (at 3:30) that is was about time to get back to Jerusalem. When we got to the bus station, we waited for 40 minutes before the van filled up. By the time, I went to sleep it was 5:20.

From Japan with Love and Peace (actual title of the event)

There are certain types of people that this world needs more of. At the top of that list, I would put the kinds of people who try to find cures to diseases, those that search for alternative energy sources, those that that devote their time to improving the quality of life in third-world countries, and . . . those that think two really fat guys should wrestle and that the event should hold spiritual and cultural significance. (It is amazing to think that this guy came up with the idea over 1500 years ago)

Yesterday, I witnessed the fruits of this man’s imagination at the Japan Sumo Masters Series event in the Roman Amphitheater in Caesarea (a site whose history dates back to before the origins of sumo) on the shores of the Mediterranean. (I want to know how many people died competing in gladiator events at this site and whether Maximus ever showcased his talents here on his comeback trail)


Before I offer my observations of one mankind’s greatest cultural events (right next the Malka and Elimelech Kugelov Kugel-off), let me tell you that Caesarea is the most difficult, large-ish city to get to from Jerusalem. We had to take a bus from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, then a train from Tel Aviv to Caesarea, and a taxi to the amphitheater (just wait until the end of the night for how I got back to Jerusalem).

After we got to the site, we realized that the entire Japanese community in Israel has descended on this event. And if you have never heard a Japanese-Hebrew accent before, it’s very interesting. In fact, one of those very nice Japanese Israelis took this picture.


Now, I have too many observations to make, so I will start……….. now.

Before I give you my thoughts, I will lay out some ground rules (they also apply to sumo).
• No pulling of the hair
• No poking eyes
• No punching in the face.

I guess I lied before. My observations will start now.

The first thing that we saw was a man on top of the stadium playing a giant traditional drum.

Thirteen wrestlers from the Sadogatake Stable (I thought that stables were found in Kentucky for training and breeding horses) traveled to Israel as part of the mission. They live together in these “stables,” honing their skill under the tutelage of Hamato Yoshi for the day they can face off against his former master Oroku Saki. From what I surmise, sumo wrestlers live in stables and ninjas in dojos.

For those familiar with the film Beverly Hills Ninja, you know about the Legend of the Great White Ninja (One day, a white ninja will appear that will become the greatest ninja of all time. It turned out to be Chris Farley.). Apparently, there is a similar legend in sumo because the top competitor is from Bulgaria, which raises the question of how a Bulgarian child is recognized by a stablemaster for his sumo potential. Which raises the even-more pressing question of how sumo talent is measured, scouted, and recruited? Is there a Tom Lemming of sumo wrestling who tracks the recruiting process scours through databases of names or do the masters just go to a fast food restaurant and pick up fat kids?

As is traditional with sporting events, the night began with the national anthems of both countries. Oddly, the first time I sang Hatikvah in a communal setting in my three weeks in Israel was at a sumo wrestling competition.

After the national anthems, there was a brief explanation of sumo rules and traditions. Did you know that there is a special ritual regarding how the wrestlers hair is supposed to be straightened and braided? The organizers of the event felt that it was necessary for a fifteen-minute demonstration of this? Which raises the question of whether the sumo hair stylist has another job in the stable (I pose the same question about the ritual drum player or did they pick somebody up off the street to do that?) How does one become a sumo hair stylist? Are they wrestlers that didn’t pan out or are do they have their own stylist stables where they train?

At the end of the hair styling, the sumo bowed to his hair stylist? Would you do that? It must be a cultural thing.

After the wrestler got his hair done in the middle of the arena, a group of Israeli kids from an Israeli sumo club (I think) dressed in sumo diapers came out for exhibition matches against the sumos (I took a video with my camera, you can watch it here). This ranks in the top 20 funniest things that I have ever seen. If you ever get the chance to watch a kid try to wrestler someone about five times his size, take advantage of it. The kids tried as hard as they could to push the wrestlers out of the ring, but they wouldn’t budge. Then, with a flick of the hand, the kids would be on the ground or in the third row of the stands. At times, I questioned the legality of how the wrestlers were treating the kids. By the end of the exhibition, it was ten kids going up against one sumo wrestler. The kids managed to get him out of the ring but I believe that the match was rigged. The sumo didn’t event try.


After the kids, there was a karate demonstration. Is this normal at sumo events or did the organizers think “this is the highest profile Japanese cultural event that will ever come to Israel, we better find a way to incorporate the Israeli karate scene? The two highlights of this included a guy breaking 11 concrete brick tiles with his palm (he did set up 12 bricks, so I was slightly disappointed) and another guy breaking a wooden board by hitting another guy with it in the hip.

There was a young couple sitting behind us at the amphitheater: an Israeli guy with a Japanese girl. This was the perfect date night for a couple like this.

I’ve been a Kotofugu fan since the day I was born. My parents contend those were my first words.

Did you ever hear of the Jewish sumo wrestler Santiharo Koufazuki? He chose to observe Yom Kippur instead of competing in the opening day of competition of the biggest event of the year? He returning to competition that night just after break fast (with his digestive system completely out of sorts) and won the competition to be named Yokozuna. (I made that story up.)

The crowd of about 3,000 strong was graced with the presence of sumo master and the 53rd Yokozuna Kotonawaka (Yokozuna is world champion). He sat in a wheelchair in the front row. Every time the action switched to a different section of the floor, they would rotate his wheelchair so that he was facing the action.


How you treat a false start in sumo. Is there some sort of five-yard penalty? Actually, it turns out that it is simply a redo. But, while we are thinking of football, do you think that any linemen ever seriously considered switching to sumo or vice versa. Could you imagine Lloyd Carr taking recruiting camps to stables in Japan in search of the next Steve Hutchinson?


While watching a sumo match, I learned the proper word to yell out is Gambare pronounced: Gom-bar-ay). It is the Japanese equivalent of “knock that 300-pound guy on the mat or out of the ring.”

Did you know that the Japanese were the first people to have an on-deck circle? In fact, they one up baseball by also providing facilities for the person that is “in-the-hole.” Just outside of the ring, on both sides,, there are three pillows set up. The one in the middle is for the judge, which the other two are for wrestlers waiting to compete.

At the beginning of every match, there is the ceremonial throwing of salt on the ring for purification. It is also a way for the wrestlers to build up tension. If they don’t think that it is pure enough, they back out there stances, regroup, and throw more salt on the ring. It is like a pitcher delaying just to unnerve the batter. He can call time to regroup. Sometimes, a wrestler gets a little peeved at the other one and gives him a little staredown when he goes to get salt from the corner. Also, a wrestler can show his emotion by picking up a lot of salt and tossing it emphatically.

Do their bathrooms have to be equipped with special toilets? Do they have to outfit airplanes especially for them as well?

The Bulgarian ended up winning the competition. He only lost one match the entire tournament. But the biggest takedown of the night was when Kotominsky’s over the back throwdown of Shokiku in the final round. It was a special night the Bulgarian because he parents were able to travel to the tournament.

Sumo is one sport that would not be allowed at Jewish high school. There is not modesty. Why is it all right for 300-pound wrestlers to walk around in that little clothing, but it’s weird if other people do it? Actually, it’s weird if anybody does it. Just a side note: Some of the wrestlers weighed as many kilograms as I do pounds, which means there are 2.2 Ians in some of the wrestlers.


Now, I promised that I would tell you how I got back to Jerusalem after the wrestling. We asked the security guards and they told us to take the bus. Fine. So we called the bus company at 11:02. Their customer assistance line closes at 11:00. There is no computerized help either. We ask the security guards what would be another way to get back. They suggested tremping (hitch hiking). If I was alone, I wouldn’t tremp, but because there were two of us, we felt safer. We stood outside the gate to the amphitheater for 15 minutes as thousands of cars poured out, nobody stopped. Then we got a ride with two people, about our age, to the gas station a few kilometers up the road.


This restaurant was at the gas station a few kilometers down the road. Too funny.

At the gas station, we met a TV reporter and cameraman. They said they could give a ride back to Tel Aviv, which was all we could’ve hoped for. I don’t know what we would’ve done if we didn’t find this TV crew (probably overpaid a taxi back to Tel Aviv).

Presser #3

Maybe the greatness of the word "presser" is starting to wear off, and I need to find another way to title my press conferences. I'll think about it. In the meantime, I have been blogging quite a bit recently so there is no real need for an opening statement. I will open the floor right now.

The "A" From "From 'A' to 'Z': What is the weather like?

Ian: Every day is pretty much the same. Eight-five degrees without a cloud in the sky. At night, it gets down into the 60s.

Until recently, it has been pretty difficult to sleep because of the heat, but my landlord brought me a fan the other day that has allowed me to sleep more peacefully. Before the fan arrived, I would wake up before 8 a.m. simply because of the heat. Now, I wake up with my alarm.

I have worn shorts and a t-shirt every day and the same pair of sandals. Please don't ask about my sandal tan. I am not ready to discuss that.

Blog-addicted Jewish mother: Regarding the club scene in Jerusalem, can you give us your take?

Ian: Actually, I have yet to go to a real "dance" club. So I don't feel that I could provide a good answer to that question.

Blog-addicted Jewish mother's sister: I have a follow up to that. I know how much Israel cherishes its land and can't imagine it using it for this ...pleasure, but I was wondering if you have covered any golf events. I know that you are a golf enthusiast, but wondered what kind of following it has in Eretz Yisrael?

Ian: I know that there is a golf course in Caesarea on the Coast but I have not been up there. It looks like I won't hit the links this summer.

In fact, there is a sumo wrestling tournament in Caesarea tomorrow night that I might attend. Let me ask you how many chances do you get to watch a sumo wrestling match in the Roman Amphitheater? As long as I can find a way there, I plan on attending.

The "A" From "From 'A' to 'Z': Are you working out at all? And whose idea was it to use horse manure to create a marvel of nature?

Ian: I haven't spent any time in the weight room, but I do play basketball at the park, played soccer once, and walk all over town. Plus, I have been doing some pretty rigorous gardening. I compare some of the work in the gardens to working out.

I have always read about how kids who grow up on farms develop strong arms because of the labor and become great pitchers, like Bob Feller. Maybe I can restart my baseball career after doing some intense gardening this summer. On the other hand, I don't see my baseball career going anywhere (I'll stay in school)

Most of the people who I work with in the gardens attend environmental and outdoor classes. I assume that they learned about this technique in one of their classes, but I don't know who first thought: "Oh look, there's some horse manure. Maybe we can mix it with rocks, water, and some natural clay mixture to create a firepit?" Personally, that's not the first thing that I think about when I see horse manure on the ground.

Next question. You with the face paint, national team kit, and good luck charms, and Carlsberg in your hand.

Hooligan: Now Ian, the World Cup is just around the corner. Who do you like? Do you plan on engaging in any hooliganary (sp.? word?)?

Ian: Well, I would have to say, using my formula of "team with the highest ratio of players that are called by just one name" Brazil is the favorite (There is probably a cultural phenomenon that I don't know about because naming someone simply Fred in America wouldn't fly: Dido, Cafu, Cicinho, Cris, Gilberto, Juan, Lucio, Luisao, Edmilson, Emerson, Juninho, Kaka, Ricardinho, Ronaldinho, Adriano, Fred, Robinho, Ronaldo). Plus, they have more talent than anybody else.

At the same time, I think there are about five or six other teams that could challenge for the title. For a World Cup, it is very difficult to bet against the home team. South Korea made the semifinals in 2002, France won it in 1998, and Italy reached the semis in 1990 (The U.S. hosted it in 1994 for those that recall, and the U.S. didn't field a strong team at the time). On six occasions, the host has won. (That was too serious of a breakdown, I apologize)

Then again, how much do I really know about the World Cup? Not very much. Once the ball hits the pitch, you never know what's going to happen. I believe that is what is so great about the World Cup.

Acts of hooliganary aren't things that I normally partake in, but if the U.S. makes it through the second round of the tournament, you better believe that someone's face/body will be painted for the next game (If you look at who the U.S. would face in the third round assuming they finish second in their group, I believe that millions of Americans would become believers in hooliganism [sounds like it should be a religion, so I made it one]). To save you a Google search or two, the answer is Brazil.

Now for a closing comment. I went to the Supreme Court and Israel Museums toady. I hope to be able to blog about them tomorrow, if I have time. If I don't have time, I hope to squeeze them in the sumo wrestling post, but as you know sumo wrestlers (and describing their competitions) take up a lot of space.

A little game of "catch me if you can"

I spent the better part of today trying to run away from King Saul in Ein Gedi. Instead of going to Nahal David like King David (I figured that Saul would search that trail first), I hiked up Nahal Arugot and chilled around the Hidden Waterfall and Upper Pools.

I woke up at 6:00 to catch the 7:00 bus from Jerusalem to Ein Gedi. I went with my friend Mike, who goes to school with me at Michigan. As soon as we got off the bus, I thought that Yul Brenner got in right in Cool Runnings when he said, "It's not the heat that will kill you, but the humidity." (He was talking about Calgary in the heart of winter, but the point is still relevant) It was in the high 30s today.

One point of interest from the bus ride. About halfway through the ride, a woman got on the bus (normal) with her dog (not normal). Apparently, the Egged" bus rules don't take issue with dogs on buses, but somebody with a dog allergy might.

We walked from Highway 90 to the trailhead for Nahal David to buy waters (Don't worry, I already brought a liter. I just thought it wouldn't hurt to bring another liter and a half) and tickets. By the time we reached the building, I felt as if I had spent fifteen minutes in the shvitz at the CCRB.

We walked the kilometer to the start of the Nahal Arugot trail and set out on our adventure. It was only about 8:30 when we hit the trail, but the temperature, sun, and humidity made it felt like noon.


On the way up, we took the river trail which winds through the river up to the waterfall. For about 20 minutes, actually walk in the river. For the rest of the time, you walk along the banks. The scenery is spectacular. Nestled in this desert canyon is a lush riverbed with trees, plants, bugs, and plenty of ibex.

As you can see, we took a hafsakah (break) at the waterfall before continuing our trek. It took us a little bit over an hour to reach the falls.


After we swam for a few minutes, we continued up the Upper Pools. The Upper Pools are pretty much what the name says, a few pools that are higher up on the mountain that the waterfall. It is very peaceful and serene up there.


When we returned to the base of Nahal David, I ate the best, terribly tasting pastrami sandwich ever. With our level of hunger, anything would taste great. Unfortunately, the only non-fleishig sandwich left when I ordered was an egg sandwich. Normally, I enjoy eggs in most forms, except sandwich.

For those not so familiar with the region's geography, Ein Gedi is located on the shores of the Dead Sea. Obviously, we had to stop by for a dip (more of a float). Among the parts of my body that let me that there is a high salt content in the Dead Sea: the cut on my toe, the cut on my elbow, my thighs, and the cut on my wrist. I would like to thank them right now for the sensation that these body parts sent me.


This photo is almost as standard as person simply floating in the sea, but it would've been a hassle to arrange that shot. So, we stuck with simplicity.

When I set out on journey this morning, I had contemplated staying at the Ein Gedi Youth Hostel for the night but after 30 minutes at the Dead Sea, I realized that I didn't have to spend any more time in the area.

On the bus back to Jerusalem, the bus driver pulled over to the a kiosk at the Lido Junction for a hafsakah. I had never been on a public bus that took a break like this, so it was interesting. Luckily we stopped because I got to take a picture of this sign.


At about 3:00, I felt that Saul had called off the search for me, and it was safe to return to Jerusalem.

Shavuot without blintzes and (real) cheesecake is like a "q" without "u"

It's been a few days (a few busy days, plus my internet was down when I planned on blogging). Let me catch you up on things that have happened since that magical night at the cinema. Did I mention that I had to walk about a kilometer (I mean 0.62 miles) to the bus stop after the movie because the security guard pointed me in the wrong direction?

You look familiar, did I see you at Sinai? (My new favorite Judaica-related pick-up line)

It was my second shavuos in Jerusalem (I was there two years ago on my high school senior class trip). Since that magical morning, I have raved about how there is nothing like walking to the kotel on Shavuot. I got to relive that thrill on Friday morning, when I walked with thousands of my brethren to those hallowed grounds in the Old CIty.

Before I describe that scene, let me give you a rundown of my Shavuot night. After a sudden shift in plans, I was without a festive meal, place to study, cheesecake, or blintzes. What did I have?

[Homer in the Navy reference, please skip down if you don't remember that episode. (Homer: Enough of what's out. What's in? Moe: Iced-mocha lattes and David Shwimmer)]

Leon Uris (I started reading Exodus), pita, hummus, mish-mesh (according to my friends. I have been pronouncing it wrong all along), pomegranate nectar, and a few carrots.

I decided that I would keep things local. I went to the shul under the street (I learned that it is actually a bomb shelter) to see when shiurim (lessons) began. The sign said that shiurim in English would be held at the Mayanot Yeshiva down the street, starting at 11:30. One of the traditions associated with Shavuot is to spend the entire night studying Torah, praying Shaharit at sunrise, and sleeping through minha (afternoon service). It is supposed to commemorate the day that the Israelites received the Torah at Mt. Sinai (One is supposed to feel as if they were at Sinai receiving the Torah with the rest of the Jewish people)

There were four one-hour talks given but let me highlight the two that stood out in my mind.

Rabbi Shlome Gestetner posed the question of whether there is room for indivual expression while living a life of Torah? He said that each person is given their individual talents and should apply Torah through these talents (like a musician, maybe?).

Rabbi Daniel Wise spoke about relationships in the Book of Ruth. He brought in literary terms to describe the various characters and used the Book of Ruth as a literature for the starting point of his lecture.

The lessons finished at 4:30, and I headed to the Kotel on a slightly empty stomach (I ate a small section of cheesecake that one would buy from the store, which I don't believe fulfills the tradition of eating cheesecake).

As we walked through the city centre (you might recognize this word "center"), some people were still at the bars from a long night of partying but the mass of people was flocking to the Old City. Jews from every denomination, every nationality (I didn't check, but I assume that most were covered), and every background walked as one group in a semi-quiet procession for a sunrise pilgrimage to the Western Wall.

We entered the Old City through Jaffa Gate and marched through the narrow alleys of the Bazaar that runs along the edges of the Armenian, Muslim, and Christian Quarters to The Wall. The sun was just beginning to rise over the walls of the Muslim Quarter as we entered The Kotel plaza, rather we inched into the plaza.

While I have always claimed that walking to the Kotel on Shavuot is one of the most inspirational and greatest experiences on my life, actually being at the kotel on Shavuot isn't that great. With everybody pushing and shoving trying to get closer, it is very uncomfortable and claustrophobic. I remember from the first time at The Kotel on Shavuot getting run over by a table. I decided to stay in the back this time and marvel at the crowd. It was interesting to see the entire women's side wearing primarily black clothing while the men's side of the mechitza was all white becuase they were all wearing tallitot.

I ran into some friends who were headed to the southern part of the Western Wall in the Davidson Center where they held an egalitarian service. There was room to breath and spread out. There was even enough room to lay down if you fell asleep. If I didn't run into these friends, I would have headed back home without davening shaharit.

The service ended at about 7:45 and was in bed at 8:18. Aside from some tampering with the fan that my landlord gave me before the chag, I woke up at 3:18. One of my friends claims to have slept from 6:30 until 7:30 (that would be thirteen hours, not just one) and woke up just in time for Kabbalat Shabbat.

I, on the other hand, headed to the park for an afternoon of recreation.

Gan Soccer (Notice the play on transliteration)

I decided to play some real futbol for the first time in Israel. In addition to not liking soccer (aside from what I like to call the "soccer elite") Americans (me in particular) are not very good at soccer. I do enjoy watchhing soccer when national teams are playing because I like the passion of the fans and players (excitement level for the World Cup: 8.4).

If you weren't on the JAMD Class of 2004 senior trip, you won't understand this paragraph, please start reading at the next paragraph. I mean, I can beat a bunch of first and second graders at Kibbutz Ketura. "I got this guy." He was a five-year old. I stole the ball from him and when I was done, he was on the ground. Some call it an agressive and possibly dirty play, but I call it competing the only way I know. You might remember that the game hadn't started yet. Actually, by the time we started the game, it was past the kid's bedtime.

I guess that the rest of world realizes American ineptitude with futbol because when they chose teams, I was the last person picked. You might want to know that there was a ten-year kid about a foot shorter than me, who weighs about the same as me, and wore a Dr. Scholls t-shirt that read "happy feet" that got picked before me. He only spoke Spanish and cherry-picked the entire game.

They put me in goal. I guess they thought that would be the position where I would create the fewest problems (Scores of games that I played goalie: 5-1, 5-1, 5-3). Wow Ian, your a brick wall! Oh sorry, that should read: 1-5, 1-5, 3-5. Let me just say that I did score a goal.

There was also a language barrier. The Israelis thought that I spoke Hebrew. My telling them that I also spoke English didn't help because there only spoke Spanish aside from Hebrew.

What does a barber in a religious neighborhood do during the omer? (religious enough that they don't cut their hair during the omer but not so religious enough that they would never cut their hair)

As some you might know, it is customary for Jews not to cut their hair between Pesach and Shavuot, except for Lag B'Omer. That is a 49-day stretch. How do these barbers get by? (I am working on the assumption that the vast majority of their business comes from religious clientele)

On Lag B'Omer, do the barbers even get to enjoy the bonfires or are they cutting hair for 24 hours straight? I can imagine them being open all night long for people to stop in during or after the bonfires.

Do they go on vacation? Do they spend the time studying in Yeshiva?

On the subject of barbers in Israel, I found the barber the I will go to if I get my hair cut in Israel. Actually, i have established two places as the site of my haircut in Israel, if it happens. The first on the list is located at the entrance of Mahene Yehuda. I found the second one in my wandering around the Old City on Shabbat. There is a guy similar to the one in Mahene Yehuda, but in the Arab Shuk. Both would be priceless experiences and possibly some of the best covered events on this blog. I would interview the barber and witnesses and take before, after, and during photos. Who know what else I would do to cover this event? We might even bring in a guest columnist.

Oh, on the subject of my wandering through the Old City on Shabbat I came across this classic sign.


Do they montior the tourist's actions, the locals' interactions with the tourists, or tourists that are acting too much like locals and don't know their role?

Situation: American tourist buys a kippah for 30 shekels that should only have been 10 shekelsl, and the vendor knows it. Enter the tourist police. Who do they apprehend? What's the punishment?

Situation: American tourist bargains vendor down from 30 to 10 in an Israeli-Hebrew accent? Do they get apprehended the vendor for buying into the American's scheme or the American for not acting like a tourist?

I will be in Ein Gedi/Dead Sea region tomorow. When I return, I will provide a full recap of my experiences. My first real tiyyul. The excitement is building.