The Day of Cows invasion*

* or, "they tried to kill us, they failed, let's eat."

In the United States there is Memorial Day. Ostensibly to honour our fallen soldiers, it has turned into the "official start of summer", the day to barbecue, the day the pools open, etc. Somewhere along the line, the "memorial" part of the day has been forgotten.

In Israel, we have Memorial Day (Yom HaZikaron), immediately followed by Independence Day (Yom HaAzma'ut). Yom HaZikaron, as I mentioned in my previous post, is a somber day. Even the boys' school where we have Ulpan, there was a ceremony honouring the fallen soldiers. Some of the boys had lost brothers and fathers; it was hard to see these normally boisterious, obnoxious, inconsiderate boys sobbing in the arms of their teachers and classmates. It was even harder to look around the room and wonder which of these boys was going to become a picture on the screen someday.

We mourn, we cry, we remember. Then we say "enough." Enough crying, enough pity, enough sadness.

במותם ציווי לנו את החיים
(basically, "By their deaths, they order us to live")

At the end of the day of Yom HaZikaron, we hand over the sadness to celebration, to Yom HaAtzma'ut. Benji Lovett of What War Zone says Yom HaAtzma'ut means, "go to a park and eat a cow." He's not far off. But before you barbecue, you party! In Modi'in, one of the parks was taken over by a stage, kiosks, popcorn stands, inflatable hammers (it's a thing), glowing necklaces, noisemakers - I felt like I was at a mini-Lallapalooza! We went to our friends' Dena and Moishe, whose mirpeset overlooks the park, giving us a bird's eye view of the whole event. The featured acts of the evening were Rita, one of Israel's most famous singers, and of course, meat.

The thing to understand about Yom HaAtzma'ut: it's all about the barbecue. Whatever can go on the BarB, does. Wherever you can fit a BarB, you do. The day of YhA (I'm tired of writing all that out), we went to my sister's in Jerusalem. Her husband stood behind the grill nearly the entire time cooking:

Goose breast
Chicken (both regular and tandoori)
Steak
Veal sausage
Chourizo sausage
hotdogs
hamburger

I've never seen so much meat in one place at one time.

To get to their house, we had to drive down Ben Tzvi, which is a major thoroughfare running alongside a large park, Gan Sacher. At one point, while marvelling at all the cars parked hither and yon - anywhere there was space - I thought there was a fire. A huge cloud of black smoke was billowing across the road. As we got closer, I realized the smoke was the result of about thirty bajillion barbecues all fired up at once. Seriously, Yom HaAzma'ut is the barbecue holiday. It sucks to be a vegetarian on YhA (although I was extremely impressed at the veggies a vegetarian friend of Pamela's brought to the barbecue! Impressed, and grateful).

After all that meat - and not being a big meat-eater, I limited myself - words cannot express how relieved I was that when we went to friends in Rana'ana for dinner on Thursday, they served fish!

What a way to experience our first Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAzma'ut in Israel. It was momentous. And I just can't think of a better way to honour and celebrate our fallen soldiers than by first, remembering them and thanking them, and then full-on enjoying the lives they protect and the land they defend to the absolute maximum.

One minute for a lifetime

Here in Israel, Yom HaZikaron - Memorial Day - takes on special meaning. When nearly everyone has served in the Israel Defence Force (IDF), when nearly everyone knows someone who has died defending this Land, when nearly everyone knows, or is related to, someone who has died as a result of attacks on our country, observing a minute of silence in the evening, and two during the day is a small offering nearly everyone is willing to give.

Tonight I experienced my first Yom HaZikaron for Israel's fallen soldiers. I've watched the videos on YouTube many times of how people rise to their feet and stop what they are doing. How cars come to a stop on the roads, and drivers get out and stand by their open doors. Tonight, as I stood in my window, listening for the siren, I watched as car after car pulled over, anticipating. As I stood listening to the sirens in my town, in the next town, in the town after that, it occurred to me that I wasn't watching the cars on a video, I was standing with them, honouring my soldiers, my fallen, my country.

As compared to Memorial Day in the US, the music on the radio is somber, the restaurants are closed, there are speeches and songs and events commemorating the fallen. It's a sober event, not a celebratory one. But in true Jewish fashion, after remembering and honouring, we then celebrate on Yom HaAzma'ut. But we'll discuss that later.

Right now - may their memory be for a blessing.

Hello, hello birdie!

Two of these were in our backyard on Shabbat.


*picture from Wikipedia

"Backyard" being the field across from our house. And of course, since it was Shabbat, we couldn't take pictures. Instead, we stood mesmerised at the window for nearly an hour, watching the two enormous White Storks strut around the field. One took off and started circling the field, moving further away with each circle. We could not get over the wingspan of this bird. Seriously, it was huge.

Then Morey took Maimo for a walk and went down to the field. He didn't get close to the remaining bird, but from that vantage, he could definitely confirm the size of it. Huge! We watched the circling bird until we couldn't see it anymore, which because it was so large, was a long time. Then we watched the other one meandering around until we couldn't put off kiddush any longer.

Click on the link above to read about them. Their migration is interesting, and we were lucky enough to be in their path. Not knowing anything about birds, we Googled some images and thought maybe we had seen an albatross. After emailing Israbirding.com, we were corrected. The Albatross is an exclusive water bird. Neither of us has ever really been interested in bird watching, but we have so many beautiful birds here, that may have to change!

There's just no English word for it

Tiyul. It can mean a hike, but more often it means a particular type of trip that involves visiting a place or places. Usually a day trip, sometimes an overnighter. Always within Israel. The closest equivalent I can think of is if you live in New Jersey, and your cousin from Scottsdale, Arizona is visiting and you can take him or her on a trip to New York City to see the Statue of Liberty. That's a tiyul. Or, you live in New York and you and a bunch of friends drive to Central Jersey to go to Six Flags Great Adventure. That's also a tiyul.

For our most recent tiyul, we went to the desert. First stop, Sde Boker (home to David Ben Gurion, first Prime Minister of Israel) and Ein Ovdat National Park (home to Ben Gurion's grave) and walked to the waterfall. We had a wonderful guide, but wound up doing a lot of standing around to listen to him speak. I don't enjoy standing around, but the information was interesting. The area is beautiful. We only had time to do one route, though.

Then we went to Chan HaShayarot where we listened to a real Bedouin (that's what he said) give a very short speech about the Bedouin way of life. It's a tourist site, so it's not a real Bedouin tent, and he gives the same shpiel a few hundred times a day, but he was funny and it was interesting. I think I would like to visit a Bedouin family in their home to get the real story. The cool part was when he described the coffee routine and how it relates to hospitality. Making coffee for a visitor is very important, right down to how you pour the cup. Apparently, the polite way is to fill the cup about a third. If you want to send the message that the guest is not welcome, you fill the cup all the way. The Bedouin would send a call out to alert travellers that there was hospitality by grinding coffee.



Click here to see a particularly fancy coffee grinder. The drumming sound is made by knocking the pestle on the bottom and sides of the container.

This was followed by a camel "ride." The ride itself was a bit silly; we went from where we got on to a half kilometre away (if that) and back. It wasn't a trail, we didn't go anywhere, and the field that we walked to was literally covered with broken glass - bottle remains with bottoms facing up - and rusted tin cans. I jokingly said it looked like the remains of target practice, and then I noticed the holes in the tin cans. I know camels have hard feet, but still, it can't be comfortable trekking over shards of glass with 300 or more pounds on your back.

It also wasn't very comfortable for me, because my saddle was cracked through the middle and dug into my thighs. I also didn't like seeing the camel in the corral who hadn't been trained yet. Because camels are pack animals and what one does, they all do, a camel who hasn't been trained yet will take off after the convoy, so they keep it shackled by the front ankles. It can only take little shuffling steps. And to eat or drink, it has to get down on its knees. This is probably more humane than some trainers who hit their camels, but still, it doesn't look pleasant. I'm probably totally projecting, but the camel actually looked (and acted) lonely.

If I ever go on another camel ride, it will be to go somewhere.

On the other hand, the jeep ride through the desert was a blast! I truly love the desert and seeing it from trails was amazing. It's still a national park, and the trails are controlled (and well used), but it's nothing you'd enjoy from just driving the highways.

I would love to rent a 4-wheel drive (oh, the irony of having had a 4wd in Vancouver. Trust me, it got used on the logging roads, but still...) and cruise through the desert by myself, without the constraints of a tour (by "by myself" I mean with Morey, of course, but he's afraid of scorpions) and camp overnight. There are tons of ruins in the desert, some set up for tourists, some just there, that I would love to explore.

This wasn't the best organized tour I've been on, or one that made the best use of the time available, but I am so grateful that Nefesh b'Nefesh, the city of Modi'in, AACI and so many other organizations make these trips available to new olim. We've gone to places I just wouldn't think to go to, or gone to places we normally couldn't afford. I can't wait for the next trip.

For falling off the face of the earth is a big trip

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't blogged in awhile. So I checked, and holy cow! It has been awhile. Many apologies. There was much going on, including my sister getting married! Said event entailed the following:

• mom coming for a visit. She decided to spend the first of her 3 weeks with us.
  
• however, since said sister was getting married, there was a lot of happy shlepping into Jerusalem.
  
• and visiting other relatives who were gradually making their way in.
  
• and the tichel party
  
• and dad arriving
  
• and the "groom's family meets the bride's family" cocktail party
  
• followed by wedding supply shopping
  
• followed by Shabbat, which was in the Old City, where we were staying with my sister
  
• which included the Shabbat Kallah; the sister's friends coming over for Seudah Shlishit
  
• followed by wedding preparation stuff
  
• and the day of the wedding, and all the girlie stuff that goes along with that
  
• and all the emotional stuff that weddings bring out
  
• then visiting the police because my mother's jewellery was stolen
  
• which happened before the first Sheva Brachot
  
• and the 100 degree fever I came down with that day
  
• which was the day before we were hosting 40 people for the second Sheva Brachot
  
• after which we spent a casual day in Jerusalem having lunch with the new couple and the parents (for the first time this visit)
  
• where we discovered the jewellery had been returned, coincidentally right after the police informed the hotel staff that they would all have to take a polygraph test
  
• which was good news for my parents to return to the States with,
  
• which was followed by Pesach cleaning
  
• which involved one - count 'em, one! - seder.

I missed a lot of ulpan. But I had a lot of taxi drivers to speak Hebrew with!

For recovery purposes, we resolved to do absolutely nothing this Chol HaMoed. Nothing. And the beautiful thing about being in Israel is almost everyone is on vacation. During Chol HaMoed - the days between the first and last days of Pesach - schools are closed (no ulpan!), many businesses are off, and a sense of festivity abounds. Since you aren't supposed to do any laundry during Chol HaMoed, I had no chores, so I sat around and read and played on the computer and finally caught up on my email. The only problem was, with Shabbat in the middle, and 7 days instead of 8, it seemed like there was hardly any Chol!

We had a trip on Monday, which was our only concession. I love the desert, and this was a trip to the desert, to hike through a canyon, ride camels, and go on a jeep ride through the desert (the best part!). So I happily gave up a day of doing nothing for that.

More on that in the next post...

6 pound frame on a 2 inch toe

So 12 days ago, I noticed that someone shoved our large wind chimes into a moving box for artwork that holds a large painting (I won't name the husband who put the chimes there). I was afraid the wind chimes would scratch the frame, so I pulled the them out of the box.

What I didn't know was the wind chimes were holding up some smaller frames that had also been shoved into the box (again, by the same unmentioned husband). The 6-pound frame (that held the diploma of some guy-who-lives-here) dropped from a height of four feet. Onto my big toe.

After screaming bloody murder, and having a good, hard cry (it HURT!), and icing it, I elevated it and watched the toe turn all sorts of pretty shades of purple (yes, I was having flashbacks to the ankle I sprained years ago. Pretty, pretty colours.)

It hurt for a few days, then went away. Then two days ago, still slightly bruised, it started aching. And I realized I couldn't touch it. I hemmed and hawed, and finally got scared into going to the doctor by a friend of mine who started talking about blood clots and such (thanks, Claude!).

The point of all this prelude is that we managed to navigate our way through seeing a doctor without an appointment, getting an X-ray, getting a diagnosis, and getting my toe taped - which was the longest part of the whole process (the nurses' clinic was closed that day, so the doctor had to do it), and was something I could have done myself, being that I used to be an EMT. And we did all this mostly in Hebrew.

In the US and Canada (probably in England & SA, too, I assume?), when you get an X-ray, the technicians are extra careful about asking if you're pregnant, and putting the big lead vest on you, and explaining what's going on.

Yeah. Not here. When my name was called (along with something sounding like "codor regel" which made no sense to me, because "codor regel" means football, and I certainly wasn't there for field goal tryouts), no one was waiting for me, I was facing 3 doors that said X-ray, none of which were open, and when I asked the woman in the one office that was open which room I should go into, she responded with the Israeli equivalent of, "how the hell should I know?!"

Eventually, someone came looking for me, asked me what was being X-rayed, put my foot in the camera field, tossed a very small lead sheet at me and left. Good thing I knew where to put the sheet. He came back, moved my foot, and left. He came back into the room, said, "zehu" (that's it) and left for the final time. Left me lying on the table with the lead sheet. Okey dokey, then.

I should mention that he slammed the door each time, and he reeked of cigarettes. Welcome to Israel :)

The very cool thing is they gave me my X-rays on a disc, so I was able to look at them myself when I got home. And you can, too!


And of course, what did we learn in Hebrew class today, the day after I needed to go to the Kupat Cholim (health clinic)? All about going to the Kupat Cholim.

Thanks. Now I'll know for next time.

Joooos on Skiiiiis

Y'know, Jews aren't famous for their sports abilities. Sure, there have been some famous sporty Jews - Hank Greenberg, Sandy Koufax, Daniel somebody-the-boxer? weightlifter?, and I'm sure a few football players out there - but our talents out on the field are not things we are known for.

That was very evident yesterday when we were at Har Hermon, Israel's ski resort.

Yes, Israel has a ski resort. A very nice one, in fact. The *resort* itself isn't much to look at, but the slopes look nice. The "bunny hill" was packed with people. Mostly falling down and trying to get back up. The area where you put on your rented skis and head out to the slopes was a writhing mass of bodies tripping over each other, sliding into each other and pretty much falling down or struggling very hard to stay upright. There was also a noticable lack of ski etiquette.

Eh, I'm being unfair in giving the impression that Jews can't ski. There were plenty of Arabs there (judging by the massive number of kaffiyehs), and they sucked just as bad. Although, come to think of it, I didn't see too many of them actually on skis...

At one point, I look up the hill at one of the "expert" slopes, and saw about 5 or 6 people swoop beautifully around from behind a hill. For a brief moment I thought, "now that's skiing beauty." Then they all wiped out. Every one of them.



But the important thing was every one (nearly every one, there were a few cranky kids here and there) was having fun. Whether on skis or snowboards or sleds or nothing at all, everyone was smiling and laughing and having fun in the snow. And there was LOTS of snow!

We only had a few hours, and Morey doesn't ski ever since that tree jumped out of the woods and cruelly accosted him without any provocation whatsoever, so we had lunch by the toboggan ride (which we would have gone on, except the car wasn't big enough for two adults and we weren't enthusiastic enough to stand on a long line when we couldn't ride together), tried to remember how to climb a hill in the snow, stood in a really long line for the chair lift (here it's called a cable car) to take us to the top, had rum coffee while taking in the spectacular view, watched some charedi men sledding with their kids (I think the kids were just an excuse!), then laughed through the bitterly cold ride down while oohing and aahing over the amazing scenery.



Har Hermon is right at the border with Lebanon and Syria, and because of its height is obviously a very strategic location. It is surrounded by military bases, and we actually passed a unit that must have been doing some training. They were climbing along the side of the mountain in winter camouflage. The road to the ski resort continues past the resort, but it is closed to civilians. There are soldiers all over the place, and in fact, when we were at the top, I looked off in the distance, which looked like it was just a barren swath of land, and saw two soldiers coming out of the mist. It was like a scene from a movie.



We also had to go through a security checkpoint to get up the hill to the ski resort, and then had to go through security/metal detectors to get into the site. Israel is a very different place.

It was a long trip; 4 hours up and 4 hours back. But When you live in a desert, every appreciates the novelty of snow, and travelling 8 hours to spend 3 1/2 playing in the snow doesn't seem like such a strange thing to do!

More pictures here at Facebook.