I've been stomping in my Z1s

After almost three months of wearing my Chaco sandals every day, I think that it is about time to reveal to the blog community the development of my sandal tan (a photo was leaked via e-mail earlier this week). Throughout the summer, I have periodically taken pictures of my feet to track its progress. Instead of the traditional "Ian wriiting a blog entry with words," I have decided to go with the "a picture is worth a thousand words theory" for this post.

A few points before the pictures:

Almost everybody that has seen my sandel tan has marveled at its beauty and overall sweetness, except for the people that I spend the most time with (Ari and Peter are very anti-Ian's sandal tan [and Ari also opposed the blister that developed on my big toe for the first half of the summer before it healed])

If I was asked what body part am I most proud of, the answer, without more than a second's hesitation, would be my sandal tan (Call my superficial if you want).

In previous summers, I would try to mix a multi-level sock tan with the Chaco tan (I play a lot of golf at home) but there is something about the simplicity of the "Z" that makes this year's version that special (I am not allowed to wear sandals at the ballpark, so my tan has also been hampered by that in year's past).

Someday, I plan to write a song called Z1's to parody my favorite hip hop song of all time (You couldn't get this tan pattern if you had a personal genie).

I hope that this is what Michigan punter Zoltan Mesko's foot looks like.

Each of these photos was taken after I took a shower or woke up in the morning because I believe that the tan you exhibit when you return from being outside does not present an accurate pigment.

I have refused the urge to use pigment-enhancing substances (take that Alex Sanchez, Floyd Landis, Justin Gatlin, Tim Montgomery, Matt Lawton, Rafael Palmeiro, Bryan Berard and many more).

Tisha B'Av in Jerusalem: kind of a downer

Yesterday was Tisha B'Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar. Many of the saddest events in Jewish history occured on this day: the destruction of the first and second temples, the end of the Bar Kochma Revolt, the declaration of the Crusades in 1095, the expulsion of Jews from England in 1290 and the expulsion from Spain in 1492.

Tisha B'Av is the culmination of a three-week period of semi-mourning. On Tisha B'Av you fast for 24 hours (actually a little bit more than 24) and you don't bath or wear leather.

I kicked offf the day by visiting the Kotel on Wednesday night to hear Ekah (Lamentations), which is the book that you are supposed to read on Tisha B'Av. I expected the Kotel to be much busier than it was. We went to the Southern portion of the Western Wall for the egalitarian service. The reading of the Ekha put me in the right mood, but they sang songs at the end of the service that kind of ruined the somber mood (I always thought that you weren't really supposed to sing on Tisha B'Av).

Yesterday afternoon, I walked over to visit Avery (he also had the afternoon off). It is the last time that I will see him in Israel becuase he goes home on Sunday. We caught up and shmoozed for a while. He gave me a tour of the youth village that he stayed at.

After visiting Avery, I went to Har Herzl for the funeral of Michael Levine, a 21-year old American from Philadelphia who made Aliyah, joined the Paratrooper division of the Israeli Army and was killed in fighting in Lebanon earlier this week. Although I didn't know him personally, I felt like I did by the end of the funeral.






The Jerusalem Post gives a better recap of the funeral than I could. If you click on the link, you will notice that many people have left messages.

"Today on Tisha Be'av here in Jerusalem, the place where our hearts have been breaking throughout Jewish history, they are breaking once again," Rabbi Allen Silverstein said Thursday, speaking to the hundreds of mourners who packed the Mount Herzl military cemetery Thursday evening to honor St-Sgt. Michael Levin.

Levin, 21, was one of three soldiers killed Tuesday in clashes with Hizbullah in the southern Lebanese village of Aita al-Shaab. An immigrant from the United States, he had been living in Israel for the last three years.

Silverstein, Levin's uncle, pointed out that his nephew was named for a relative who also fought bravely on behalf of his country, a decorated World War II veteran. Levin also had another link to the war, as his grandfather was a Holocaust survivor.

"We will all miss Michael," he said. "But we will continue to be inspired by his passion and his love of Israel."

That sentiment was reflected in the large crowd, mourners who endured a broiling sun despite fasting in honor of the holiday. Hundreds of American and Israeli friends, family from the United States and fellow soldiers from his paratroopers battalion came to pay Levin their final respects.

Among those present were his parents and two sisters, one older and one his twin, who arrived in Israel earlier on Thursday.

Those who knew Levin through the army praised his family. Tzviki Levi, who works with lone soldiers, said emotionally, "A Jewish family who lives on the other side of the sea, [whose son's life] ends as a soldier and a bearer of the red beret ... I will never, never forget you."

Another soldier, who was fighting alongside Levin at the time of his death, told his blood relatives that their unit will "always [be] Michael's family, and you are, forever, one of us."

As the sun began to fade, a second member of Levin's battalion ended his remarks with a final word to his fallen comrade: "In the end, all that is left is the light - the light that is as bright as the sun, and the happiness that you brought to everyone with its rays. All of this will stay in our hearts forever, and will help us to carry on. Thank you, Mike, for being who you were."

After the funeral, I had a little more than an hour before than end of the fast. I decided to walk home from the cemetery to pass the time. I broke fast with a mango, some bread, labene and olive oil.

And my third decade begins

Some of you knew that I had a birthday this week. Others of you just found out (It was on the 30th).

I'm not one to make a big deal about birthdays but, nonetheless, I wanted to tell you how I spent it.

As I recall, the birthday is a 24-hour affair, so we must start at midnight. At 12:00, I was sitting in a pub in Jerusalem with Peter watching CNN on one screen and Mars Attacks on another screen, while recalling our daytrips from earlier in the day (I went to Tel Aviv and Peter went to the Dead Sea).

At about 12:15, we left the bar and went our separate ways.

I woke up at about 8:00 to help build another bench at a community garden, this one was in the courtyard of a school for kids with special needs. I left there at about 12:30 to go to work. I slaved over the Penske File until about 5:30 (Arthur Penske thinks I'm Penske material).

After work, I met Ari, Peter and Hy in Kikar Zion to walk to a restuarant by my apartment called Al Dente. It was a very nice Italian Restaurant. I ordered the pumpkin ravioli and was satisfied.

No offense to Mars Attacks (and its all-star cast and Jack Nicholson puts in an Oscar-caliber performance), the delicious meal or the bench building, but I would have to say that I capped off my birthday in the best way possible, watching my first Tigers game since I left the US.

From the restaurant, we went to my apartment to pick up my computer so that we could watch the Tigers-Twins game on mlb.tv using the free wireless on Ben Yehuda Street.


Win or lose, it was a special experience. We camped out on the benches in front of Moshiko Falafel and Shwarma (where you don't buy the falafel, the falafel buys you) and watched the game. Things looked great for the Tigers through seven+ innings. Brent Clevlen (I apologize but he doesn't have detroittigers.com profile yet) turned in a stellar debut, including a brilliant one-hopper from center to get Luis Castillo trying to tag home in the first that set the tone for the game. In the eighth, things didn't go so well for the Tigers, but I was too happy to be watching a Tigers game to have the result change my feelings Just a side note, the Tigers didn't lose their lead until 12:02 on July 31 (Coincidence. I think not).

By the end of the game, my computer's battery had run out, so we had to plug it in at Moshiko to watch the end of the game. Here I am paying for the electicity that I used.


If I would have been in Ann Arbor for my birthday, I would've gotten a free t-shirt, ice cream, car wash and dinner. In Jerusalem, I found no birthday discounts.

I thought single ply was out of style

I'm a messy eater. I'll admit it. In terms of the food on the fork to food that reaches the mouth ratio, I have one of the lowest numbers of people I know. It's no surprise that I rely heavily on the napkin and other absorbant paper goods when I eat.

Normally, I consider the napkin a standard request at restaurants. As in, if I buy a five-dollar sandwich, I feel entitled to as many napkins that I feel necessary, within reason, to ensure that the food stays off my clothes. Some restaurants even leave napkins out in the open so that people can take as many as the wish without disrupting the employees. Well, at least I'm used to those luxuries in napkin-rich America.

In Israel, it's a whole different story. Restaurants often provide few to no napkins, and the chances of a napkin dispenser are lower than Marty Morningweg's reputation as an NFL head coach (zing!). It's no wonder that I have ruined several pairs of pants and shorts with food stains that could've easily been avoided with ample napkin supply.


Even when they do give napkins, it's never more than two or three of the really light, single-ply (do I need a dash on single-ply?) paper ones that can handle about as much water as I can beer (zing again!). If I am eating a normal meal, no matter what I am actually eating, I require at least five to six of those.

A few anecdtoes:

I was eating lunch in the Central Bus Station food court a couple of weeks ago. While waiting for my food, the person ahead of me in line asked for a couple of napkins. The employee behind the counter took two napkins from a small pile that is well out of the reach of the customer. As he was about to hand them to the customer, he took one of the napkins away and only gave one napkin.

After I got my food, I realized that they didn't give me any napkins (no big surprise). So I decided to ask for a few napkins. The person behind the counter gives me two of those thin napkins that are best compared to doily. When I ask for a couple more napkins, the employee takes my request as a personal offense. He gave me one more.

(Hands on shoulders, let's take a 20-second timeout)

Does my 18 shekels for a sandwich not give me the right to as many napkins as I think that I require? Do I have to pay more to get a napkin? How did we become so frugal with napkins that we can't afford to provide customers with a satisfactory amount? Are the profit margins that slim that the company afford another box of napkins? Or am I crazy for having such radical ideas?

One of the best burger joints in town, Burger's Bar, is equally as frugal about napkins, which is weird coming from a restaurant that serves such napkin-intensive foods like burgers and fries. The napkins at Burger's Bar are all behind the counter, which means that you have to get the attention of an employee in order to get something to wipe that kethcup off you cheek with.

Last night I had my first Burger Ranch experience of the summer I'm not much of a fast food guy but I figured that it would be a shame to go through the summer in Israel, home of countless kosher fast food places, and not eat a burger at one of them. My "S" (I think it stood for "small") Meal inclluded a burger, small fries, medium pop and one single-ply napkin. (What the hell?)


At every meal that I eat, I find myself examining napkin availibility, which means that there is a clear napkin problem in this country. In fact, I have found myself doing exactly what the restaurant protect against: hording napkins when availible. When I eat a restaurant with a public napkin dispenser, I horde the napkins and put them in my bag so that I have them for future meals (What have I become?).

If you have any ideas on how to solve this problem, please let me know so that we can make Israel a more customer friendly (don't even get me started on customer service) to live and visit, one ply at a time.

I think it was the black and white cookie

This is a post that I never planned on writing, but things happen. If you're not into reading about throw up streaks, please don't continue.

(from The Dinner Party
JERRY: I feel like I'm going to throw up.

ELAINE: Hey, what about your vomit streak?

JERRY: I know, I haven't thrown up since June 29th, 1980. . . Fourteen years down the drain.

Now, I don't recall the last time that I threw up, which means it has been a long time (Right now, my best guess would be over 3300 days ago). The streak is not as long as Jerry's was, but I consider it impressive nonetheless.

Using my current estimate for the last time it happened, I have surpassed the Ironman himself by near 700 days. Cal Ripken played for 2632 straight games, but he got to take 200 days off per year. My stomach can't take days off. It has to go to work all the time.

Ironically, I mentioned my vomit streak in a conversation with a friend (it would be weird if it came up in coversation with a stranger) a few days ago. But I don't consider that a jinx because when the subject of vomit streaks arises, I don't hesitate to discuss my feat (I can get witnesses if you want).

So we start anew with the infamous day of July 25, 2006 (Should I add a "days since I last threw up" counter on the side of my blog? Probably not).

Oh yeah, I am feeling fine, no need to worry (I volunteered yesterday afternoon, worked at night [I took the morning off to allow my digestive system to reset] and went out after that). It must've been something that I ate (I can think of about five possible culprits that I ate in the 24 hours leading up to the moment that might have caused it).

Coming up for air

Before I write this post, I want to give you an update on my security situation. While the northern part of Israel is under bombardment from Hezbollah rockets, life in the center of the country is continuing almost as normal. Aside from the eastern Negev, I would consider Jerusalem to be one of the safest places in the country right now. Besides paying more attention to the news than normally and not riding buses, my life is not much different than before.

Now on to the most massive post of the summer (hey, I have to recap two weeks)

The last week has been hectic to say the least. Follow this equation:

Current situation in the north + Ian's busy schedule + no internet in my room on Wednesday or Thursday = limited time for blogging

Another possible to that solution is that I have plenty to write about. So let's get started.

We last left off (aside from an expose on the shuk bag phenomena) with the first meeting of the exotic fruit tasting society, which means that more than a week has passed since I updated you on what I am doing.

Let me take you back in time nearly two weeks to the Israel Track and Field Championships, which I covered for the Post. These were two exciting nights at Hadar Yosef Stadium in Tel Aviv. I wrote two articles for the paper. If you click on these links, you will find evidence of my work here, here and not here. Having covered the Michigan track team for two years, you get spoiled with following world-class athletes on a regular basis. In Israel, there are two track and field athletes that are competitive on an international level. So, it's a change of pace (literally).

A week from Thursday, I volunteered with the maintenance staff at Alyn Hospital again (Did I even mention the first time?). This time I painted the door to the generator room. Here is my mindset: I am happy to paint the door because people who would paint it otherwise have more important things to do and can't be bothered with this type of minutia.

The next day, Avery arrived for his weekend off. He took a cab from the youth village to my apartment to drop off his bags. We picked up another cab and went to go see Pirates of the Caribbean (for those that remember an earlier post of mine, I ranked this as one of the most highly anticipated movies of the summer). I don't think it lived up to the hype, but then again, how many sequels aside from D2 actually do?

After the movie, which was in the industrial neighborhood of Talpiyot on the other side of town from my apartment, I decided that a pleasant stroll through the city would give us the forum to shmooze for a while and allow Avery to see the city. After the trek, I took him to the four shekel falafel place before we went to the shuk.


For those that don't know, Avery is an expert when it comes to the kitchen. He knows his way around the kitchen almost as well as my dad knows his way around Detroit, which made this excursion to the shuk one of the most highly anticipated shuk visits of the summer (There were posters up and down Agrippas announcing Avery's arrival right next to the Shneersin Messiah posters). Avery was in heaven and the only way that he could have had a better time in the shuk would've been if there wasn't a language barrier. Nonetheless, let me recap what we purchased:

Half watermelon, three kilos red grapes, mangos, dried apricots, prickly pineapple, little pear, hummus, labane, pita, and probably something else (hey, it's been two weeks). This was also the site of Ian taking pictures for the shuk bag feature.

After the shuk, we went to Shabbat services at Shirah Chaddashah, a cutting-edge orthodox synagogue in the German Colony. We followed that up with the Shabbat dinner with some friends at their hotel (thank you very much, once again). Avery and I both reached the state of food coma.

We went back to my apartment after dinner and convened the second meeting of the exotic fruit tasting society. Ian and Ari tasted dragon fruit, little pear, and prickly pineapple. In conclusion. the prickly pineapple is the best pineapple we have every eaten. The other two weren't so great. Sorry about the lack of pictures from this event, we didn't want to ruin the spirit of Shabbat. After the dessert tasting, we went to a tish in Mea Sha'arim, which is one of the most interesting things you will every see. Sorry about the lack of pictures, I didn't want to lose my life by snapping a closeup of the rebbe.

On Saturday, we slept in until 12:15. I guess we needed the sleep or something. For lunch, we went to some other friends' hotel (thank you very much) and again achieved the state of food coma. In the afternoon, we went for a walk to the kotel.

On Saturday night, we went to get some good hummus, saw the satire Thank You for Smoking at the last night of the Jerusalem Film Festival and went to the Marakiah (a soup restaurant that doubles as a bar). We (Ian, Ari and Peter) had been searching for this ever-elusive establishment for a couple weeks, which made finding it that much sweeter. (Let's just say that since that first night, we have been back there twice and plan to go again tonight)


Avery went back to his group on Sunday morning. On Sunday night, I covered another

On Tuesday my friend Hy, who staffed the Detroit Teen Mission before it ended prematurely becuase of the current situation, spent the night on my floor. Hy is better known at the former bat boy for Groves High School baseball and one of the most talented cowbell musicians in the world. After I volunteered at Alyn again, we went out to dinner with Erick and his family (thank you very much).

Wedenday morning, Hy and I volunteered at one of the community gardens that I have been working at all summer long. We worked with a group of 40 kids from a neighborhood day camp to make a bench out of rubber tires and mud. Despite Hy's aversion to getting dirty, we had a great time (except when the kids decided to throw stones at Hy).




On Thursday, I woke up early to catch a bus to Ben Gurion Airport to welcome a Nefesh b'Nefesh flight of Americans making Aliyah. I was supposed to meet the bus at 6:45, but some alarm issues arose and I didn't get out of bed until 6:55. I sprinted to the entrance to the city and caught the bus before it got on the highway.

The welcoming ceremony was under a canopy in the middle of the runway at Ben Gurion. After the passengers deplaned, they came to the site of the ceremony where they hugged and kissed family who came to meet them. It was a very emotional experience, especailly considered the current situation. Bibi Netanyahu addressed the new Olim and stressed the importance of Aliyah.




That night, I went to dinner at Luigi's with the rest of the Jewish Academy (my high school) contingent in Israel. The food was good, the company was even better (which says a lot considereing the quality of the food).


It wasn't that late of a night, though. I had to catch a 7:15 bus to the south, where I spent shabbat. We did a brief tiyyul at Ein Ovdat (next to Sde Boker [site of David Ben Gurion's grave and house]). Check out this sweet sign on the trail.


Afterwards, we went to Beer Sheva for lunch and to hear a speaker talk to use about how Ethiopian Jews maintian aspects of their culture, instead of completely adopting Israeli culture.

For Shabbat, we stayed a hostel in Yerucham, a development town directly in the middle of nowhere (it's about 15 minutes from Dimona and 40 from Beer Sheva). Yerucham is known as one of the poorer devleopment towns in Israel and has a very large immigrant population. On Saturday afternoon, we went for a walk around the town in which our tour guide explained to us different strategies the city has employed to vitalize. (A brief aside: The Shabbat food was not very spectacular, maybe even worse than Fayetteville, Ark where they had trouble comprehending the term "vegetarian")

On Saturday night, we got back to Jerusalem at about 11:30. I went to Zion Square to drink tea and people watch with Peter.

Yesterday, I had a track meet to cover in Tel Aviv. After the meet, I went out with Peter and Erick (who went home this morning) to a really cool bar called D1. It was as if the owners just took an abadnoned building, threw in chairs, tables, a bar, and some record covers on the wall. Erick taught me and Peter how to play Shesh Besh (backgammon).


Boy, this post turned boring for the final five or six days. I promise to blog more often. By now, I just want to use this post as a reference to remember what I did during these last two weeks. In the next week, I promise a post about movies that I have seen, an explanation about what I do at work and another expose about a troubling part of Israeli society.

The latest in open-air market fashion

Some things never go out of style in Israel.

Black tefillin, wrinkled white shirts, black hats, obscene English t-shirts, talking politics, and..... plaid shuk carts?

If there is one staple in Israeli society it is the Al Borland-style bag to wheel around your shuk purchases.










Every time you enter that wonderland of Mahane Yehuda, you are greeted by a few things; the smells of the spices, the shopkeepers yelling out their best deals, the stench of dead fish (no it's freedom, no it's fish), and the customers walking through the crowded alleys dragging around a plaid-patterned cart.

Let's be honest. None of the shuk bag patterns actually look good. They are hideous. If a fashion designer really wanted to hit it big in Israel, he or she woluld open up a designer shuk bag outlet at shuk prices to compete against this guy.




I guess that the shuk bag is a once-in-a-lifetime purchase, along the lines of a stroimel or sabra fruit. But the funny thing is that there are only about six different patterns for shuk bag that you see in the market. They are also the only ones that they sell in the outlet store (it's located near the Agrippas entrace on the main drag).

It also raises the question of how the plaid Shuk bag took off like Beanie Babies a few years back but has the staying power of Corn Flakes.

In our investigation, we did discover that some people have boycotted patters all together, preferring to go with the cage instead. But, let's remember that things fall out of holes, no matter what size. If someone's liche falls out of their cage bag, I can't be held responsible.


Check out this person. They are trying to think outside the box by thinking inside the cage. Bottom line: There is still plaid.


That is why we are proposing that a revolution in Shuk fashion. What about striped? Spotted? Plain-color? Berbery? Famous paintings? Pictures of shuk bags on shuk bags? Anything but plaid.

Viva la revolucion.

Where the wild fruits are sold

Before watching the World Cup last night, Ari and I decided to explore Mahane Yehuda (the shuk down the street). Since we both live a stone's throw (rather, a drive and chip shot) away from there, we have an understanding of the physical geography of the shuk. I wouldn't say that I know the area like the back of my hand, but I still know it very well.

So what is there to explore?

As well as we know the shuk with our sense of direction, our taste buds are often lost. Whenever we walk through the shuk there is a type of fruit or vegetable that I pass that I think to myself "I have never seen that before" or "I walk by that everyday, I wonder how it tastes." Last night, Ari and I took a walk on the wild side.

The one rule: If you have never eaten it before, you need to buy it.

It was getting late, so the selection was not as impressive as it would have been earlier in the day but there is nothing we could do. We scoured the area and found four types of fruit that neither of us were very familiar with (frutis only, vegetables maybe for a different day).

The four species included: Liche, green plum, sabra (or cactus), and kiwi on steroids.


We walked back to Ari's yeshiva, washed them, said the shehechiyanu (the prayer you say when you eat a fruit for the first time), and gave our taste buds a chance to experience something new.

After extensive tasting, Ian and Ari came to the same conclsuions.

1. Kiwi on steroids

Per Ari's recommendation, I now believe that kiwi is not meant to be peeled. The fruit was so big and so delicious. There was an explosion of flavor with every bite (almost like the Shmooze cholent in the Iron Blech competion, except this one fnished first). It took me forty minutes to finish half of it, just because I wanted to savor the flavor.


2. Liches

On the outside, it looks like a spiky, painful fruit. On the inside, it is a soft, juicy, lovable fruit with a hard pit in the center. Just proving that you can judge a fruit by its shell or a book by its cover. Overall a positive experience, and I can see myself buying a crate of them in the future.


3. Green plums

Because of my experience with plums in the past, this fruit was handicapped from the start. But because I had never eaten a green plum before, it qualified for the competition. If I had never eaten a plum before in my life (what a shanda that would be), the plum would be near the top of this list.


4. Sabra

This prickly pear cactus tastes like a combination of honeydew and cucumber. But it is the effort that it requires to get to the inside that led to this fruit's demise in the competition. Ari complained all night long about pricks getting in his hand. The proper way to handle this in the future would be to peel the fruit with a knife and hold it with either gloves or a plastic bag. Or you can be a soldier and tough it out.


The game!! The Game!! Ian, I think he said "that's game."

For the first time since the 1994 World Cup (Brazil won at the Rose Bowl), the champion was decided by penalty kicks. I watched, along with more than a billion other people at the Italians, who are in the midst of a massive match fixing scandal that could ruin the credibility of the domestic league, defeated a the French, who nobody seriously wanted to win.

I went to Safra Square (City Hall in Jerusalem) where they set up a massive projection screen, and hundreds of people turned out to watch. There are four flag poles at the entrance to the massive square. Last night, an Israeli, Italian, French, and Jerusalem flag waved in the air (bad light = no picture of it).



(Look, I found another Ari)

If someone insults you in the 115th minute of the last game of your international career, which also happens to the be the World Cup final, what do you do? (I can really only think of two ways to react in that scenario)

a) Play on as if nothing happened because the result is more important than your pride for those few seconds.
b) Run a few steps in front of the player that insulted you so that you can get a running start to headbutt him in the chest.

If you are Zinidine Zidane, you would choose the latter. If you are the rest of humanity, the former.

I don't know if H. Jose, my co-worker at the Daily wrote his column before the game about how there is no limit to the stupidity of professional atheltes, but this would be another perfect example.

Great Lake, Great Times

After a last-minute change of plans, I went to the Kinneret (Sea of Gallilee) this weekend (In Israel, weekend= Friday and Saturday). Unlike my other outings which were heavy on sight-seeeing, this adventure was more about talking to people and vacationing.

Aside from simply being a lake, which is not so common in the Middle East, and its historical significance, the region holds a special place in my heaert. After the War of Independence, my Papa Jules, who fought in the Hagannah, lived at Kibbutz Ein Gev, on the shores of the Kinneret, for two years before moving back to America. Since he died last year, I wanted to see if anybody at the Kibbutz remembered him or if there were any records of his time there.


After taking the bus to Tiberias and another one to Ein Gev, I arrived there around noon. I went to the main office to see if someone there could direct me where to go. Luckily, two people were having a meeting and they told me that one person still lived on the Kibbutz that has lived there since 1941.

I went to this man's hut and was greeted by his wife. I told her the story of why I came to Ein Gev, and she told me to have a seat and offered me some fruit. Her husband came home a few minutes later, and I explained to him my story. He did not remember anybody by the name of my grandfather (I guess in 60 years of living in Kibbutz where volunteers come and go, it is difficult to remember everyone).

Although he didn't remember my papa, the man and his wife were happy to talk to me about a whole array of subjects. They wanted to know where I was spending the night. When I told them that I didn't have any plans, they made some calls to see if there was space at the Kibbutz for me to stay. Unfortunately, the hostel and volunteer lodging were full. After that, the man took me to the cafeteria and gave me lunch, which was pretty good and more than I'm used to eating.

After lunch, I went back to the road to wait for the bus, which came about 20 minutes later. I decided that I would spend Shabbat in Tiberias, which is a city that I have never really visited. In fact, until Friday afternoon, I had never been in the Kinneret (On my high school trip, we did a disco boat but is more on the Kinneret than in it). My guidebook said that there were plenty of hostels in the area, so it wasn't a problem to make plans on the fly like this.

On the bus to Tiberias, I sat next to a soldier that I met while sitting at the bus stop. She came to Ein Gev with two other friends to spend their day off from the army. Did you know that Israeli soldiers in uniform can ride every bus in Israel for free, except for the ones going to Eilat?

The soldier that I sat next to works in the office of a mechanic shop for tanks. She finishes her army service in a few months and is planning on taking a trip like most other Israelis after the army.

Once I got to Tiberias, the first thing that I needed to do was find a place to spend the night. I found a hostel on Ha-shiloach St. a few blocks from the beach that offered a bed for 40 shekels for the night (less than 10 bucks/night). It passed the Ian test for whether he can sleep there (Does it have a bed and a toilet? [Actually, the toilet is not always required]).


I had three roommates. Two were from Holland taking a holiday from work for three weeks to travel around Israel. The othe was a Washingtonian who has spent the last two years traveling around Africa and Middle East. All three were very cool and had interesting stories (especially the American).

After getting my bearings set, I headed down to the beach to take my traditional pre-Shabbat dip/shvitz. Most beaches in Tiberias are not free, as in it will cost you a few sheks to bake in the sun. Luckily, I found the one free beach near the downtown.


While I was sitting in the water, I met a nice couple from Netanya who was up in Tiberias for the weekend. They are currently between their after the army trip and beginning university. In the meantime, the woman is working in customer service for the cable company, and I didn't find out what the boyfriend did.

After the beach, I went back to the room and got ready for shul. I went to the Sephardic shul next to the Sheraton on the promenade. For those that don't know, Sephardic Jews are Jews who trace their ancestry to the Jews of Spain. After the Inquisition, they were scattered throughout North Africa and Southern Europe. Some of their traditions and rituals are slightly different from Ashkenazic Jews (Central and Eastern Europe). It was the first time that I had ever been to a shul that recites the Song of Songs between Mincha (afternoon service) and Kabbalat Shabbat (welcoming of Shabbat service). I really enjoyed it.

After services, I told someone there that I didn't have anywhere to eat and asked if there is anybody at this shul that accepts guests for dinner. He said that I would have better luck at the Karlin Synagogue next door.

A man named Yossi, who is an elementary school teacher, welcomed me into his house for dinner. It was a long walk from the shul to his house (probably about a kilometer or about .62 miles). The walk was pleasant and pretty quiet. It was interesting though that we walked at such a slow pace. There was a group of religious Jews walking about 50 meters ahead of us. And, if that group stopped to chat, Yossi would slow down to a snail's pace as not to get closer. It also seemed that we were walking on side streets, while they would walk on the main road. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe it wasn't. (At times, we were walking at such a pace that I worked on my mozie, but it's just not the same without six-shooters at my side)

Dinner was delicious and the company was great. Yossi lives with his family of five kids under the age of nine (another is on the way) in an apartment. His mother-in-law was also there. Since everybody in Israel also learns English in school, the kids were excited to have a native English speaker at the house who they could talk to and show off their English with.

Yossi had never been to Detroit before, but he did mention that a famous Hassidic rabbi is buried there. He sadi that every year thousands of Hassidic Jews come to the rabbi's grave. I told him that the neighborhood that the rabbi is buried in is the most Jewish of places and that it is interesting to see all of these Hassidic Jews descend on this town.

After dinner, I went back to the hostel before heading out for a stroll (some witnesses reported a sashay) of the promenade. It was the busiest that I have ever seen and Israeli city on a Friday night. There were street vendors and music playing. I found the Dutch guys who were staying in my room at a bar on the waterfront and decided to hang out with them for a while. Afterwards, I continued my tour of the Tiberias Friday night life and met some kids from Herzaliya who just graduated high school. They are waiting to go into the army and came up to Tiberias for the weekend. After hanging out with them for a bit, I decided to call it a night.

In the morning, I slept in a little bit (Hey, I'm on vacation).


After I woke up, I headed to Mt. Arbel, which is a few kilos from town to do some hiking. I took a cab there and was banking on hitching a ride with some fellow hikers that I found at the trail. Because the place is so isolated from the main road, there is one road to take back and it goes to the main highway to town. I hiked around and met an Israeli couple who had just finished the army. There had slept on the eastern shore of the Kinneret the night before and were doing some hiking before returning to Tel Aviv. The're getting ready to go on a trip to New Zealand.


They offered to give me a ride back to the highway, and I walked into town from there.

I went back my hostel and met a group of law students from York University who are doing a program where they stay at Hebrew University in Jerusalem and study Israeli law. I went to lunch with one of them and the Washingtonian who slept in my room. We ate at Big Ben's restaurant on the promenade.

Their menu could have been one of the most unintentionally funny things that I have ever read. Here is the best example.
House Salad- It's full of goodies.
Big Ben (I think it was sandwich, but it didn't say)- It's big and full of goodies.

It doesn't say what's in the salad, just that there are good things. The Hebrew didn't help either, because it said the same thing. I decided not to order the house salad or the Big Ben.

We sat at the table for a couple of hours and just shmoozed (read: heard incredible stories from this guy's trip through Africa). After lunch, I decided to head down to the beach. I read my book for a few minutes, worked on balancing out my gardener's tan, and jumped in the water. It was not as busy as it was on Friday afternoon. Luckily, I went back to the free beach next to the old city wall.

As the sun was starting to go behind the hills of the Galillee, I went back to the hostel and saw that the people from York were leaving. They said that there was a 5:30 bus to Jerusalem (I didn't know tha the bus company operated on Shabbat). So, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to ride on a bus on Shabbat in Israel, plus I don't know what I would have done in Tiberias if I would've stayed. So, here I am getting on the bus.


A few quick hits from my trip:

Every shop in this strip sells falafel. That is eight stores. Since it was Friday afternoon, some were already closed so I couldn't do an effective price comparison.


Caution! Parents chasing after children.

Hey cabbie! Quit killing yourself, myself, and my faith in society!

As I got in a cab today after work at a garden, I noticed a sign in front of my seat that said "please don't smoke." That's normal.

In the front seat, I noticed that the driver with an ignited cigarette in between his lips. Also a normal occurence.

After spending a month and a half in Israel, you start to get used to the fact that people of all ages smoke all the time, but given his sign that requests that passengers not smoke, I thought it would be appropriate if the driver would follow his own rule.

If I did smoke, I would light one up in the back seat and see if he noticed. Actually, what I would have done was ask him if he had a light. But, since I don't smoke, there was one possible solution to this situation, requesting that he extinguish his cigarette.

After I voice my request, he tries to explain to me how the open windows in the front seat mean that none of the smoke, or carcinogens from his cigarette found their way into my lungs. However, the smell of the car didn't support his claim. I insist that he put out his cigarette, which he tosses out the window. There was a cold silence the rest of the ride (Was is something I said?).

Now, I could have asked him to put out his cigarette simply because I didn't want the the smoke getting into my lungs (That was part of it). Now, I could have told him to put out his cigarette simply becuase he is killing himself (That was part of it, too). But mostly, I did it because of the hypocrisy of the situation.

What will cause more damage to me in the long run? The smoke. What will ruin my faith in society and make me wonder why there are rules at all? The hypocrisy of the situation.

If I could take a line from Mitch Weaver in Bob Saget's classic film Dirty Work (slightly differennt context but the message is clear):

Do you know what hurts the most? It's the lack of respect. That's what hurts the most. Actually, it hurts the most. It's the lack of respect that hurts the second most.

Thiry Years Since Entebbe

As some of you might know, yesterday marked the 30th anniversary Operation Yonaton, the IDF raid of the Entebbe airport in Uganda to free more than 100 hostages. Thinking about how little preparation that soldiers had for this mission (just over two days of planning and one day of exercises) and how successful the mission was (pre-mission estimates were about 20 casualties, according to my book) makes you realize how impressive the event actually was.

One must also think about how great of a risk Israel took by sending in this unit. Not only was Israel sending a group of soldiers thousands of miles away into the heart of Africa in a hostile country, but Israel was sending its best group of soldiers. If this mission did not succeed, it wouldn't only be seen as a military failure. It could have demoralized the entire country, forced the current government to resign, and put the country into a position that it might never have recovered from.

Despite the tremendous success of freeing the hostages, the mission is also famous because the commander of Israel's most elite group of soldiers, Yoni Netanyahu, was killed in the raid. But he was more than just an elite soldier.

In fact, I just finished reading Iddo Netanyahu's (Yoni's brother, also brother of Benjamin Netanyahu) book Yoni's Last Battle, which documents the planning and execution of the mission. Iddo had access to IDF records and interviews with the participants that paint a clear picture of exactly what happended before and during the operation.

In addition to finishing Iddo's book, I have also read Yoni's letters, which portray him as someone who had a passion for Israel, life, family, and knowledge. He was truly a unique individual. On my senior class trip to Israel, I chose his diaries as a book that would I bring because I felt that it would help give me a deeper connection to the land.

Being named Yoni, I feel a connection to Yoni and am proud to share a name with him. He is also on my list of people that I admire the most.