Story of the Week - Jan. 14-18

Things That Need to Stop

We need to stop talking about Britney Spears. She's speaking in a British accent now? She didn't show up at the hearing to fight for her kids? She's in and out of a mental institution? None of this is surprising, all of this is sad, and stop forcing me to give a crap.

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The New York Post needs to stop doing things like this:

This is Lynsey Nordstrom (and yes, that's how she spells it). She's the 21-year old Jessica Simpson lookalike that "was brought to the game by The Post after news broke that Romo was angering Dallas fans by jetting off to Mexico for a seaside romp with girlfriend Simpson when he was supposed to be training in the days before the big game."

So if I have this right: After the Giants upset the Cowboys, the Post "reported" that the Jessica Simpson lookalike IT planted in the crowd shared some of the credit, AND that was the front page story! There's a name for a newspaper that has to invent its own front page stories - it's called The National Enquirer. No more, NY Post, you don't deserve to be called a reputable source. And stop wagging the dog anyway. As a giant fan, I'm embarrassed by the Post this week. As a human being, I'm embarrassed by it most other weeks.

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In a related story, NFL.com needs to stop doing this:

NO!
NOT!
YET!

I got this e-mail offer earlier this week and I lost it.
Why on earth would any sports fan EVER pre-order that? They haven't won anything yet!
Pre-order is for Harry Potter books, because there's no will it/won't it involved. The book is coming out. The Giants will win or lose. These shirts will end up all over the NY metro area, or all over some third world country, depending on what happens on Sunday. But until Sunday, i don't want to see or hear any of this. Don't jinx it!

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We need to stop referring to OJ Simpson as "Ex NFL star OJ Simpson." I think we all know who he is. And, if OJ were a Taboo word (I'm sure he is somewhere) his buzz words are probably:
KNIFE, BLOODY GLOVE, FORD BRONCO, JUDGE ITO, BUFFALO BILLS, and it's doubtful Buffalo Bills even makes the cut ahead of Marcia Clark, Johnny Cochran, Nicole Brown, Ron Goldman, even Hertz and the Naked Gun. And now OJ is back in big legal trouble because of a shameful scheme to steal back his own memorabilia. That's pretty disgraceful, and the NFL has enough problems with its current players.

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Hamas needs to stop firing rockets into Israel from the Gaza Strip. First of all, they suck at it. Those rockets have primitive technology, no aim, and they don't do much damage. Still, Israel won't tolerate Islamic militants firing into Israel unprovoked. So what does the Israeli military do? They retaliate with sophisticated weaponry, and they kill people. Israeli military strikes have killed 35 people since Monday. That's almost triple the number of Israelis who have been killed by Hamas rockets since 2001.

Secondly, Hamas is only hurting the people it claims to fight for by firing the rockets into Israel. Because it causes Israel to cut off the flow of food supplies and electricity and petroleum to Gaza. Very little makes sense in Israel when it comes to "the situation," but there seems to be a simple solution to this cycle of violence, and it must start with Hamas. Boys, put down your silly rockets that don't hit anything and Israel will stop destroying your buildings and killing your people and you can attempt to govern yourselves.

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Ok, Dennis Kucinich - it's time to stop running for president. When your campaign spends more time in the courtroom trying to get your name on the ballot and fighting your way into debates, it's time to hang it up and tell your supporter to vote for someone else.

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American Idol needs to stop humiliating talentless hacks, even if they ask to be humiliated. I'm not the only one who thinks this, either. Ratings for the season premiere were down from last year, an indication that people are tired of watching ridiculous people make total asses of themselves on national TV while Paula, Randy and Simon repeat the same 6 phrases they've been repeating for 6 years. The novelty of it all is about 5 years too old.

I have an idea. How about next season you take 500 of the best singers to Hollywood and you make it a real competition right from the start? I'd watch.

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The writers strike needs to stop. I'm watching too much Food Network. And American Idol sucks.

The Full Circle Comes Full Circle

The Full Circle has come full circle. My blog is a year old. And in honor of the (in?)auspicious occasion, I thought I'd treat my loyal readers (nearly a baker's dozen poor souls who are willing to admit they read on a regular basis) and any newcomers or passers by to a sampling of my favorites. I've chosen 5. Feel free to disagree or to pile on your own.

These are in no particular order:

My Camel is Broken - The Negev, Thursday December 21
It was hard to choose a favorite from my 11 part Birthright Israel series. If you haven't read the Israel posts, this is my writing at its best. The "Camel" post is maybe the funniest of the 11, so there it is, but the other 10 are good reads, too. Even the 2nd or 3rd time around.

The Most Important Story (story of the week June 4-7)
The number of U.S. military casualties in Iraq crosses the 3,500 mark, but the media is distracted by Paris Hilton. And I'm confused.

Spell Check and update (story of the week May 28-June1)
I set out to criticize home schooling and then nail ESPN for runining the appeal of the Scripps National Spelling Bee by upping the production value and exploiting its popularity. Kind of the way FOX is about to ruin American Gladiators. That's not why I'm including it in my top 5, though.
A week later, I offered an update when I confirmed that the 2007 National Spelling Bee winner, a home-schooled 13 year old named Evan O'Dorney, had Asperger's, further supporting my opinion that home schooling removes the important social component that a regular school provides. The update showed up on a couple of Asberger's related discussion websites, and I got some rare anonymous comments from passionate AS parents on both sides of the argument.

And Sometimes, It's Like This...
A great "impulse post" and the most concise answer I can come up with to the question "what do you do for a living?"

Foofaraw - President's Day Edition
Soon after The Full Circle was born, I came across the word "Foofaraw" and immediately regretted the title of my blog. I didn't change the title, but I did begin an irregular feature for the blog called Foofaraw - fusses over matters of little importance. This is the sheer best of that feature.

Can't believe it's been a year...

What was your favorite?

Story of the Week -- June 18-22

In the Middle of Everything

Palestinians, for a change, are killing Palestinians. In Gaza, a piece of land half the size of Washington D.C, utter chaos broke out, then Hamas (essentially, "democratically" elected terrorists) took control, then Mahmoud Abbas and Fatah dissolved one government and set up another. Then the sun set.

I mean, it happened that quickly. And now there's talk of 3 independent states in an area the size of New Jersey (I know, I'm getting carried away with the comparative size thing, but the point is these people are and have been fighting over a very tiny piece of the world) 3 states? Palestinians can't keep the lights on and the children fed in one state, now they want two because they can't get along with each other?

Thankfully, the rest of the world refuses to recognize a Hamas-only government, and have gone as far as to promise money and weapons to Fatah (careful there) so they can fight Hamas. Then, I guess, cause they hadn't done it in a while, Hamas launches a couple of Qassams into Israel, Israel does the whole retaliatory thing and at the same time they allow Gazans who need medical attention to get out of Gaza. And here we are, for now.

I'll be honest, the more I try to make sense of what's going on in Gaza and the West Bank and try to figure out what's good and what's bad for Israel, the more hopelessly confused I get.

But this I know: In the middle of everything, 3500 people marched in a gay pride parade in Jerusalem.

Long Live Israel.

As one columnist put it, "Israel may have more faults per capita than any nation in the world" but he was proud of Israel for having the parade in Jerusalem, even if there was some controversy attached to it. For me, I'm proud of it especially because there was controversy attached to it.

Israel is extremely diverse, and the Jews of Israel are divided by differences in heritage (askenazi vs. sephardic), religion (religious vs. secular), politics, social standing (sabras vs. immigrants, and then what kind of immigrant...) On top of that, they're all Jews. What's the old saying? put 10 Jews in a room together and you'll get 15 different opinions? It's like that. How could a gay pride parade in the holiest city on earth NOT evoke some controversy?

While the 3500 people were marching in the parade, some 1500 ultra-Orthodox Jews demonstrated against the parade. 7,500 policemen (that's 1/3 of the country's police force) were sent to Jerusalem to ensure a peaceful demonstration on both sides. At least a dozen of the ultra orthodox were arrested for anything from planting fake explosives to setting garbage cans on fire. And 23 others were arrested the night before the parade.

Most Orthodox rabbis publicly forbade violence against homosexuals in spite of their religious opposition to homosexuality and a demonstration of homosexual openness in Jerusalem, of all places. Instead, they went on Israeli TV and spoke out against the parade, and debated those who supported it, in the way public discourse is supposed to take place in a democracy with free speech.

The parade happened, the protests happened. No one was killed. In spite of all their differences, Jews are learning to live with other Jews.

Meanwhile in Gaza, Palestinians, divided politically and by little else, are killing each other.

http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/873728.html

Story of the Week - May 7-11

Hey Kids! Drink milk, study hard...and engage in violent acts of resistance against your Israeli neighbors and America!

Where are Al Sharpton and his outrage brigade when you need them? (Oh right, they're busy doing damage control after Al made insensitive comments about Mitt Romney's religious beliefs.) This one's right up his alley, or it should be.

A children's show produced by Hamas and aired on Palestinian TV called "Tomorrow's Pioneers" made headlines this week. The star of the show is Farfour, a Mickey Mouse-esque character who tells kids to drink their milk and kill the Zionist oppressors (How can you murder Jews without strong bones?)

Early reports said the show was cancelled or at least changed in response to widespread outrage, but Hamas defied the Palestinian government's request and aired the show anyway. A translation of the episode of course reached YouTube. And as if the material weren't controversial enough, the translation of one line in particular brought further controversy.

Farfour says "We will annihilate the Jews" according to one translation. But another translation said Farfour was really saying "The Jews are killing us." This is just one small line that hardly stands out from all the other hateful, dangerous speech aimed at children, intended to recruit suicide bombers and incite violent resistance.

But the conflicting translations struck me. Which is worse? Which is potentially more dangerous? Which, if you had to choose, would you rather have Palestinian children hear?

Right, neither. But for the sake of the discussion, let's explore.

"Annihilate" is a word I associate with Holocaust literature and sports writing. In the case of the Holocaust, it is used to try to quantify an incomprehensible number of lives lost. Also, it best describes Hitler's intention - he didn't just want to kill as many Jews as possible, he wanted to kill them all, to wipe them out. That is an annihilation.

In the case of sports, the word is hyperbole. The Red Sox annihilated the Cardinals in the 2004 World Series because the Cards lost all four games convincingly and never really had a chance to win the series. It was completely one-sided. It was an annihilation.

For Farfour, the usage of Annihilation feels like a combination of both connotations. The prospect of annihilating Israel is consistent with the grandiosity of many of the statements made in "Tomorrow's Pioneers," particularly those that preach a dominance of the Arabic language and global domination by Muslims. Scary as all that sounds, especially when you consider the audience of Palestinian children, it is mostly rhetoric. How are these kids, who hardly have food and electricity and are armed with rickety leftover Soviet rockets, supposed to annihilate anything?

That's why I think the second translation is far scarier. "The Jews are killing us" is the real propaganda and it can be very dangerous. Farfour the fake Mickey Mouse is telling these kids that they must kill or be killed, inciting a level of violence that is attainable for "Tomorrow's Pioneers." Instead of a grand fantasy of world conquest, "the Jews are killing us" is believable, and resistance is possible.

There is one bit of encouragement that comes out of this story. The Palestinian government attempted to block the airing of "Tomorrow's Pioneers" and edit the content so that it stressed the "drink milk, study hard" and pulled back on the "kill all the Jews." There is at least a faction of the Palestinian people that wants its youth to believe in peace in the region and wants to give them hope of growing up to do something other than blow themselves up in a crowded market.

Peace between the Israelis and Palestinians, and in the entire region for that matter, is incredibly complex. But instilling messages of tolerance and hope in the youngest members of the population could be a vital first step. With the right messages, the title "Tomorrow's Pioneers" could go from being sadistic irony to possible optimism.

Story of the Week - March 26-30 DO NOT READ THIS POST! DON'T DO IT!

DO NOT READ THIS POST

I saw a great ad on the Internet this week. It was a picture of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on a black background. Below, the words "DO NOT CLICK ON THIS AD - IGNORE THIS MAN" flashed enticingly.

Whether you try to ignore the ad or immediately recognize the point it's probably trying to make, you WILL click on it (just like you're reading this post in spite of the title) And I did, and it brought me to a page about the dangerous implications of giving this man a global stage.

Ahmadinejad has taken steps recently to take over the global stage yet again. He has been granted a Visa by the US State Department to come speak before the UN General Assembly. There, he will make his case against Security Council sanctions that will probably be passed and imposed on his country the moment he finishes speaking. Unless of course he halts Iran's uranium enrichment program. (Not. Likely.) Even Russia, long Iran's best customer and regional best friend, has started to pressure Iran to stop its nuclear activities, said it would vote for the UN sanctions and threatened to stop construction of nuclear facilities inside Iran.

Then there's this stand-off between Iran and Great Britain. Britons are being held under the claim that they sailed into Iranian waters. The British not only deny this, but they have photographic proof that the ship was well inside Iraqi waters. But it seems they can say anything they want. Iran took them captive to make a statement, and the propaganda coming from Tehran this week has been eerie and fascinating.

“To British People,” the latest letter, supposedly from one of the captives, said: “I am writing to you as a British service person who has been sent to Iraq, sacrificed due to the intervening policies of the Bush and Blair governments.”
“Whereas we hear and see on the news the way that prisoners were treated in Abu Ghraib and other Iraqi jails by the British and American personnel, I have received total respect and faced no harm,” the letter in her name said. “It is now our time to ask our government to make a change to its oppressive behavior towards other people.”

There is simply no way that a British sailor wrote this letter on her own. Just like there is no way that the British sailors were taken captive because of something they did wrong. Yet Tony Blair apologizes and continues to request the safe return of the Brits.

Blair is also hoping that the US stays out of the dispute. Why? Because that is exactly the opposite of what Ahmadinejad wants. He wants the US to "click on the ad," so he can declare the US as supporting aggressive imperialist oppression in the region and give him cause to continue developing nuclear weapons, maybe invade Iraq or destroy Israel or whatever else he has on his agenda.

One way to stop him is to ignore him. He has less control over his own people than he lets on, and probably had less to do with the British ship seizure than we think. But he is a master propagandist and a brilliant brinksman. And he is begging Dubya and company to overreact. And I pray that someone is telling Bush to keep his mouth shut and his hands tied. No matter how tempting it may be, we cannot click on that ad.

Israel Posts PUBLISHED!

I found a website, The Traveler's Pen, looking for contributors. All I had to do was register and get approval and I could start posting. And so I did.

After I sent about 4 of the Israel posts that I wrote for this blog, the editor of The Traveler's Pen emailed me:

"We decided to give you your very own section for your series. They are a lot of fun to read and want to encourage our readers to read them."

And so if you go to http://thetravelerspen.com you will find a link on the side for "Birthright Israel" and that's me.

So click on them, read them again even if you've read them already, and tell everyone you know! And thank you all for continuing to read my blog and for encouraging me to write those Israel posts in the first place!

Story of the Week - Feb 26- March 2

Have You Found Jesus Yet?

The man who brought you Titanic is now at the helm of a documentary called The Lost Tomb of Jesus. Cameron, along with director Simcha Jacobovici, has gathered suspect evidence from an archaeological site in Jerusalem and sculpted it to his liking just in time for a Lent-oriented hyped up release.

"There are six names in that tomb. One of them is Jesus, son of Joseph. There's two Marys. There's a Matthew. There's a Judah, son of Jesus." says Jacobovici. The whole gang appeared on Larry King Live for a session of slo-pitch softball.

Real archaeologists are, of course, highly skeptical. And if you think about it, you should be too, whether or not you believe in the gospel according to Dan Brown. And if you are like me, and most of your background on Mary Magdalene comes from the Da Vinci Code, you know that while based in truth, Brown's book is still a work of fiction, and is probably based on the same semi-logical probabilities on which Cameron is basing The Lost Tomb.

For one thing, Jesus, Mary and Joseph weren't exactly (still aren't) unpopular names. I'm searching for a "that's the same as." This is why they need analogies on the SAT.

Ok, that's the same as when I was in high school. There was a guy, David Siegel, two grades ahead of me, and on the first day of class, every year, some idiot teacher who had David Siegel would come to my name on the attendance sheet and say: "Oh, David Spiegel, are you related to David Siegel?"

"Oh, look, there's a family, and it's Mary and Joseph and Mariamene and Judas son of Jesus, it MUST be the same as THE Jesus! And it PROVES that Jesus had a son!"

As Jon Stewart said: the grandson of God? Talk about the most spoiled kid ever.

This is from The Lost Tomb of Jesus:
"According to statistics, if we were on a crowded street in ancient Jerusalem and called out the name Jesus, there would be approximately a 4 percent chance that a Jesus would be there. If we were to call out the name Mary, we would have a 25 percent chance of finding a Mary. Not bad odds. But what Feuerverger explains is that if we were to call out for Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Matthew and Yosef all at the same time, the chances of all those individuals being on the same street together are quite low."

There are clearly logic holes you can drive a truck through. I mean if you were in a Waffle House on a Sunday morning in South Carolina and called out the names Jim-Bob, Betty Sue and Ellie May, the chances of them all being there and being related are pretty low, too. But then again, maybe they're not.

But this is a TV special we're talking about, so the claim is more important than the evidence, and no silly logic hole will stop the quest for TV ratings. Nor will it stop Christian leaders from taking up arms against James Cameron, the Discovery Channel, and all of Hollywood.

"...every single Lenten season there's somebody, some author or someone of these TV magazine shows which puts out some doubts about the resurrection or Jesus' divinity," said William Donohue, the President of The Catholic League. And he's right. Lent is like the sweeps week of Jesus programming, most of which claims new evidence that either supports or refutes the Jesus' resurrection or his crucifixion or... his skin color. And it's irritating really, to think that someone like James Cameron has the chutzpah to think he can reverse 2,000 years of faith in a one-hour special.

It's more irritating to think James Cameron is forcing me to agree with someone like William Donohue. This is the same guy who said in 2004 that "Hollywood is controlled by secular Jews who hate Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular...I like families, I like children, they like abortions..." which is really just one step above saying Jews drink the blood of Christian babies. And let's not get into why and how the hell this guy still has his job and gets away with saying things like that. Replace secular Jews with "brown people" or "gays" and we probably have a new president of the Catholic league. And if a rabbi said the same thing?

But I digress. The sad fact that Donohue and his church of bigotry and inaccuracy have a valid point is cause for alarm, because the guy shouldn't have a job. The thing is that belief in Jesus, from my humble outside perspective, and belief in the resurrection, requires an act of faith. And that act of faith states that Jesus' bones ascended to Heaven and so there is no tomb. And if you truly believe that, a one-hour special isn't going to change your mind. So don't watch it.

And if you don't believe that Jesus was resurrected and ascended to Heaven, that's fine, but you're never going to be able to convince someone who believes it happened that it didn't. Not even if you're armed with James Cameron's inscrutable proof. So don't watch these specials.

And if you don't watch these specials, James Cameron and "Hollywood" will stop making them. And then I won't have to agree with William Donohue the open anti-Semite gay-bashing schmuck. Because it's only a matter of time before they blame the Jews.

Three people killed in suicide bombing at Eilat bakery

Islamic Jihad immediately claimed responsibility for the first suicide bombing in Israel since April 2006. Jihad called it a "natural response" to Israel's tactics. http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/819015.html

Strapping 8 kg of explosives to your own body, walking into a bakery and destroying yourself in order to kill innocent people is "natural"?

Read on: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/819042.html

Thank you, God, for not making me like them.

First One's Free - Final Thoughts from Israel

Not all free trips to Israel are created equal. While the Birthright program takes away the burden of cost, it does not take away a number of decisions regarding trip provider, trip dates, etc.

There are over 20 different trip providers under the Taglit Birthright umbrella, all with different missions, trip options, experiences, and agendas. I chose Israel Experts because they offered a trip for people age 22 and up, and this turned out to be a great decision. I've written a lot about how special the people on this trip were and are to me, and part of what made them so special is that they are all passionate, intellectual young adults old enough to appreciate the Birthright Experience and make the most of it.

What I also like about Israel Experts is its mission. Never on this trip did I feel like I was being imposed with a strong religious or zionist agenda. Nobody was forcing me to put on tefillin or even eat kosher food (though it's hard not to eat kosher food), nor was anyone pushing me to drop everything and move to Israel. Israel Experts' mission was more like "We love Israel. You will too. See for yourself."

Left to see for myself, I was able to explore my connection with Israel and Judaism and discuss it comfortably with people from all walks of Jewish life. I was able to draw my own conclusions.

I get it now. I understand why rabbis and cantors and Nancys have been pushing visits to Israel as long as I can remember. I get why its important to support Israel, if for no other reason than from the moment I got there I felt like I belonged there, that in spite of the fact that often I didn't know where I was, I felt like I was in a familiar place. I have an address.

From home, I want to maintain my newfound connection to Israel. One way I can do this is to keep in touch with everyone I met there. This is already happening, but the key is for it to continue.

I also want to make a more concerted effort to keep or at least acknowledge Shabbat, and I believe there are many ways this can be done. Observing Shabbat can be as simple as calling up friends and wishing them Shabbat Shalom. But I'd also like to make an effort to have more Shabbat get-togethers with friends and family, the type of gatherings that make Friday night special from all other nights of the week.

The Shabbat thing isn't all about Israel, but its observation as "something Jews do" around the world singles us out, in a good way. There's an old story, maybe it's from a movie, maybe I saw it on West Wing and somehow can't remember the exact episode, but there's an old story: an inmate at a concentration camp sees a man saying his morning prayers and asks what he prays for, what's the point? And the man says "I wake up every morning and thank God for not making me one of them."

100 years ago, Israel was a swamp and a desert, and Tel Aviv didn't exist. Today, Tel Aviv is a metropolis, the swamp is dry and grows bananas and oranges, and the desert blooms. Israel has a diverse, vibrant population and for the first time in thousands of years there are more Jews there than there are in any other country. Israeli society is based on great education, cutting edge technology, and the value of all human life.

I do believe that the majority of Palestinians and Arabs want to live side by side with Jews in peace, and that they hope for peace. But the people in power in the territories and in many of Israel's neighbors supress education, mislead their people, and are willing to kill innocent people, including their own, to reach their objectives. And I thank God every day for not making me one of them.

And I hope there will be peace, too. One of the most striking features of Israel is its obsession with hope. The arab Israeli girls who give peace a 20% chance have hope. So does the guy singing "Every Little Thing's Gonna Be Alright" at the bar in Tel Aviv that has been hit at least once by a suicide bomber. And the bar's manager who plays "The Times, They are A-Changing" when the guy singing goes on break. And there is hope in our voices when we sing "Imagine" in Rabin Square. Literally, the national anthem of Israel is Hope.

10 Days is not enough. I know I have only begun to understand this amazing country and it's inspiring people. Which means, of course, that I have to go back soon, and I'll be thinking of Israel every day until I'm there again. And after that.

One last thing that struck me about this deliciously complex and beautiful country was the graffiti. Everywhere - on bus stops and overpasses I kept seeing the same hastily-spraypainted phrase - Am Yisrael Chai. The rebellious, defiant vandals of the State of Israel take the time to announce "The Nation of Israel lives." Israel is on the front lines of the latest attempt by others to eradicate the Jewish people. So far, in over 5000 years, nobody's been sucessful.

Back home, I see bumper stickers and facebook groups proclaiming "wherever I stand, I stand with Israel." I know what that means now, and I do too.

May God bless Israel, and may I return there soon.

Eizeh Yom, Eizeh Yom, What a Day - Jerusalem, Sunday December 24

"8 days ago we were all learning each other's names at the airport. Now we're sitting half-naked in a giant hot tub giving each other massages? This is some trip."

I don't think you can summarize what it felt like to be nearing the end of the Birthright experience any better than that. After dinner on Saturday night, we put on bathing suits and went off to another kibbutz for a soak in a hot sulfur springs bath. Within minutes, a massage train snaked its way through the whole thing.

The kibbutz pub is closed so we make our own party. More vodka and tapuzim and shitty Golan Heights wine. We huddle close together with blankets and we take pictures and we put off packing for one more hour. By next morning we're singing and dancing on the bus with regular frequency. We can't get enough of each other. I'm obsessed with these people.

"Dani, do you have 'Don't Stop Believing' by Journey on your iPod?"

Of course he does. What kind of trip leader would he be without it?

"Just a city boy. Born and raised in South Detroit." I don't really use song quotes in my writing. I guess that's an example of why. Let me try again.

"Yerushalayim shel zahav, v'shel nechoshet, v'shel or, halo l'chol shirayich ani kinor. Jerusalem of gold, of bronze and of light, behold, I am a violin for all your songs."

After a week of experiencing Israel, we have returned to Jerusalem, awakening to the light reflecting off the stone and the sound of Naomi Shemer's anthem to the holy city. It's one of those perfectly timed moments that I won't forget.

Our first stop of the day is Mount Hertzl, where we will begin our formal tour of Jerusalem (last week, it seems, was just a quick, post-Shabbat glimpse) Mount Hertzl is Israel's version of Arlington. I like the sign that reads "to the tombs of the great leaders of the nation." In addition to the great leaders of the nation, there are hundreds upon hundreds of military graves from all of Israel's wars, of which there are too many.

At the top of mount Hertzl is, well, Theodore Hertzl. Hertzl was the man who, in the late 19th century, first envisioned the modern state of Israel in his 1896 book Der Judenstaat (The Jewish State) and is credited as the father of the Zionist movement. He also wrote a romantic Zionist vision, Altneuland, "Old New Land" in English, or "Tel Aviv" in Hebrew. Hertzl died in 1904, more than 40 years before his dream was realized by David Ben Gurion and the crowd at Independence Hall in the city that took its name from his book.

Hertzl proved to be an accurate predictor of the future of the state of Israel, and for that reason he is Israel's Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson and you name who else all in one. And it is also for that reason that his bones were moved to Mt. Hertzl in 1949, according to his wishes.

"I hate this place," Rami says to me, as we are walking among the hundreds of military graves. The modern reality of "this place" is that every Israeli knows somebody buried here. Rami visits Mt. Hertzl 3 or 4 times a year. "To visit friends," he says. As we leave, Rami stops us. "You have to wash your hands. To get the...to wash it off." We wash our hands, and leave Mt. Hertzl.

I call Annie when the bus pulls in near the Zion Gate to the Old City. As we plan a place to meet, I walk past literally dozens of tour buses, some birthright, some other tours, and I feel like I just stepped off of a cruise ship, except I'm not being hustled into a taxi. But the purpose is similar.

One of the reasons the Israeli government has continued to contribute to Taglit Birthright Israel is what's about to happen here in the old city - shopping time. Each year, Birthright participants pump millions of dollars into Israel's economy by buying stuff. And I have found I'm happy to spend money on food and things to bring back all in the name of helping Israel. The free trip helps loosen the purse strings, too.

The best part of the trip to the old city for me, though, is getting another chance to see my best friend and wander around with her for a couple of hours. It isn't hard to see that this place is very special to Annie, and I'm thrilled she was able to share that with me.

We say our goodbyes, and I rejoin Double One for our tour of the Old City.

The archaeology of the Old City is fascinating. All around evidence of past civilizations in Jerusalem has been uncovered and left exposed as a living tribute to the city's history. There are roman columns and old walls and all sorts of other markers serving as reminders that this city has been the center of everything for a long, long time.

We see the new Menorah, ready to be placed in the Third Temple just as soon as it's built, which won't happen in my lifetime and probably won't happen in my children's or grandchildren's lifetimes either. The reason why is waiting to greet us upon our return to the Western Wall.

The Western Wall, or the Kotel, is all that remains of the Second Temple destroyed by the Romans in 70 C.E. (The First Temple, for the record, the one built by King Solomon, was destroyed by the Babylonians) Above the wall, sitting on the site of the altar from the Temple, is the Dome of the Rock, an Islamic monument and holy site. And that's why I'll never see the Third Temple built. So we have the Kotel.

A week before, I stood at the Kotel in awe, not quite knowing what to do, eventually approaching the wall, putting my note in between the stones, saying a short prayer and walking away. Now, a week later, with a full week of new experiences to consider, and with a new love of Israel and a deeper understanding of my own Judaism, I still don't quite know what to do here.

So instead I follow Oren and Cobi to the far left edge of the wall, the part closest to the location of the Holy Ark, pick up a prayer book, and participate in a Mincha (afternoon) service led by a man who walks around chanting the prayers and nicely helps others do the same. It's an incredible experience. Every now and then I glance up from the book and look up at the wall and think "wow." Then I look at the book and realize I've lost my place (it's very hard to keep up) and Oren points me back to the program. It all goes so fast, and in about 10 minutes I put the book down and walk out, thanking Oren and Cobi for their help.

And that was it. We had some time at an outdoor market where I picked up some chocolates and things to bring back home. Then some hot chocolate at a little cafe and back on the bus to our farewell dinner at Moshav Tirosh, where a Moroccan food-poisoning awaited some of us. For others it was just more hummus and pita and chicken.

Then it was time for some final reflections, tears, hugs, one more bus ride to Ben Gurion airport, more hugs, and a 12 hour flight back to New York.

I'll have some final thoughts, but it is my intention to leave this as an open-ended experience. I plan to return to Israel eventually, and not just once. I plan to stay close with my new friends from Bus Double One. And I plan to keep the silent promises I have made myself and to Israel.

As Ran tells us, "Remember, in Israel, you don't say goodbye, you say L'hitraot - I'll see you again soon."

L'Hitraot.

Conversations with Israelis - Mashabe Sade, Shabbat December 23

I got two questions over and over again when I came back from Israel.

1. How was the trip?

Read my blog.

2. What was your favorite part?

Shabbat.

Shabbat in Israel is special. It's not just a religious day of rest, it's a weekly national holiday. All over, people wish each other "Shabbat Shalom", and you can feel that this day has been set apart from the other six.

On this Shabbat, after the hike at Masada and floating in the Dead Sea and the greatest shower ever, we convene to welcome in the day of rest and to look back at the week gone by. Last week at this time we were strangers. This Shabbat we are family.

In talking to our Israelis, I learn that family is the key to Shabbat in Israel. Above whatever degree of religious ceremony each individual chooses, Shabbat is about coming home to have dinner with family and spend time with friends.

I remember what Shabbat meant to me at Syracuse. It had that feeling of coming together, praying and singing together and having dinner together. And what it meant at Tranquillity, when we got dressed up, wished each other Good Shabbos, had what was usually the best meal of the week, and recited the same service they've conducted there for generations. Now, whenever I celebrate Shabbat at home, I will feel a connection to Israel in addition to those things. And that is, I think, one of the most important things I will take away from this experience.

After our service and Shabbat dinner on the Kibbutz, we reconvene for an Oneg Shabbat, an activity. We are broken into groups of about 5 Americans and an Israeli, and Bill, the Israel Experts program director, offers a number of discussion questions.

"I'm Jewish because__________." Most of us begin this answer with "because my parents are, and my grandparents are." But then we expand. I'm almost 24 and I know that I'm not just Jewish because mom and dad said so. It's hard to describe, but I feel Jewish in the sense of a deep-rooted connection to people in my life and the Jewish world as a whole. In America, I discover, you have to seek out this community and this connection, and you have a choice at some point whether or not to seek it out and feel the connection. So I am Jewish because I personally choose to seek out and feel a connection to the Jewish community. In Israel, you are connected. Period. What you do religiously is a different choice. But the sentence "I'm Jewish because I live in Israel" makes sense. It's easier to be Jewish in Israel.

"Shabbat is _________." The overwhelming answer from Israelis was "family." For the Americans it was totally mixed. It's much harder to keep Shabbat here. I want to do better, to separate the weeks from the weekends and from the other weeks, and to feel that weekly connection to Israel, to my friends, to my family, to everyone. Shabbat is special to me, now more than ever. And it is my short term and long term goal to at least acknowledge Shabbat each week, and to observe it as much as possible.

"One thing I'd like to say to Israelis/Americans is________." Most of what we heard from Israelis was "you're welcome here" and "Israel is as much your home as it is ours." I continue to be amazed by how a place halfway around the world where I had never been before can feel so safe and so much like home. And I can't return that favor to them. In America they would feel like foreigners. But they are welcome here, of course. In fact, it wouldn't bother me at all if they all booked their flights here tomorrow. Seriously guys, we visited you, now it's your turn.

We said plenty of that to them. But the one thing I wanted them to know, I really had no idea I wanted them to know until it came out of my mouth. I said: "I'm not in a position to pick up a gun and stand next to you, but I want you to know that I'm right behind you."

I hope I can keep that promise.

The conversation continued. For an hour and a half or so we discussed, and then in more informal settings throughout the weekend, I got to learn more about my Israeli brothers and sisters.

On our tour of the Kibbutz, Ma'ayan and I had this discussion of race in America:

Me: Ma'ayan, where are your parents from?

Ma'ayan: Why?

Me: Are you Yemeni, or like half-Yemeni?

Ma'ayan: Yeah, Yemen. Why do you ask?

Me: Because, your skin, you have a very olive complexion. It's nice.

Ma'ayan: I have a what?

Me: An olive complexion. Your skin color, we call it olive.

Ma'ayan: I'm olive?

Me: Yeah.

Ma'ayan: An olive is green.

Me: No, yeah, I know, but your skin, we call it olive, but it's not green.

Ma'ayan: So why do you call it olive?

Me: I don't know. Anyway, it's really nice.

Ma'ayan: So I'm olive. Is anyone else olive? Like, what's that?

Me: she's white.

Ma'ayan: And he's--

Me: He's white.

Ma'ayan: So i'm the only one who's olive?

Me: Yeah. It's ok, it's a good thing. We're not gonna make you go sit in the back of the bus or anything.

Ma'ayan: I have been sitting in the back.

Me: No, I mean. It was a...ok, in the 50s in the south in the US, they used to make black people sit in the back of the bus, and drink from different water fountains and stuff. And that was the reference I was making.

Ma'ayan: I've heard about that. That's terrible.

Me: Yeah, it is. But they don't do it anymore.

Ma'ayan: Thank God!

Me: Yeah.
I think we put way too much thought into skin color in the US.

Ma'ayan: Yeah, they really do. It's stupid.

The cultural diversity of Israeli Jews is phenomenal. Maya's (and Maya, correct me if I get this wrong, cause I probably did) parents are Finnish/Iraqi and Polish/Moroccan, which led me to say: so you're an "Iraqi Moroccan Eastern European Scandinavian Israeli Jew who used to live in Dallas??"

"No." she says. "I'm Israeli."

Rami and I find common ground flipping through channels -- bad reality TV. "This is a funny one," he says. It's called "Who wants to be a SuperHero" and it's so bad that I don't think it made it past 1 or 2 episodes in the US. But we sold all of it to Israel. We sell a lot of our TV to Israel. A lot of them like Six Feet Under. They have good taste. I find out that this is why they have no trouble pronouncing our names - they hear them all on TV.

They do have trouble pronouncing Massachusetts. But that I understand. I try to explain the electoral college to Rami, and he tries to explain the Knesset to me.

Even though we lit the menorah for the last time Friday night, Shabbat is the perfect day for the Israelis to teach us Chanukah songs and show us some of the games they play at Chanukah time. Either that or it was their chance to put our faces in flour, spin us around and make us look silly under the pretense of Chanukah games. Whatever the motive, we had a blast. And after that we got to poke some fun at each other, breaking up into groups and performing skits about the trip.

The skits were funny, to us, all inside jokes of course. And you pile up a lot of them on a trip like this.

We closed Shabbat with Havdallah, separating the week spent in Israel from the week in which we would return to the United States.

But first, there would be one more day.

L'yom haba'ah b'yerushalayim!

Sun, Sweat, Salt, Shabbat - Masada and The Dead Sea, Friday December 22

I'm alive. The gas leak in our tent was contained, fixed, and it didn't happen again, and the men and women of double one are all alive and awake at 4:30am. Ready to race the sun to the top of Masada.

It's our first real hike of the week, and it comes at 5am after 3 hours sleep, and it's a steady uphill trudge. And I'm loving it, because I'm finally doing one of those things I've been told "you have to do this" for the better part of a decade. Luckily, I haven't really been told why I have to do this or what it is I have to do. That I get to find out for myself.

What I find as I arrive at the top is a magnificent pre-dawn view of the Dead Sea and the surrounding mountains, the same view that the Jewish King Herod saw when he built Masada, that the Romans saw when they conquered it, that the Jewish martyrs saw before they died on it, that my friends saw when they came here for their first times.

And then the sun arrives, peeking out over the horizon beyond the Dead Sea and Jordan. All around cameras are at the ready to capture this moment. But the moment is beyond photographs, the pictures don't do it justice. Nor do words, because hundreds of thoughts run through my mind, but really it's hard to describe.

After a while, we gather together and say these words: shehechiyanu, v'kiyemanu, v'higiyanu lazman hazeh. - thanking God for keeping us alive, sustaining us, and bringing us to this moment. That's at least the 2nd time we've said these words together, at least the 5th time I've said these words to myself since landing in Israel.

We tour the ancient fortress of Masada, built by King Herod during the Roman occupation and eventually seized by the Romans when they felt threatened by the Jews. It has remained remarkably in tact, a much higher testament to Israeli archaeology than our visit to Tel Maresha. We are frequently told "don't stand on that wall. It's 2,000 years old." You don't hear this kind of thing in America.

The tour is followed by the hour-long hike down the snake path to the bottom in the early morning sun. Awaiting us at the bottom is a well-placed fresh squeezed orange juice stand and a box breakfast that feels like lunch. It's barely 9am. The day has just begun as we depart Masada.

Amazingly, it does get hot in the desert, and I have shorts on at Ein Gedi. Here, we take a short hike to a beautiful little waterfall to sit and relax and take in the beauty of the desert oasis. Some even go for a swim and a dunk in the waterfall, others stay on dry land. I went for the middle ground, walking around in the shallow cold water that feels good in the now blazing morning sun. This is the prelude to the much larger body of water at our next destination.

By the time we arrive at the Dead Sea, it's no longer so hot in the desert, and the sun is obscured by patchy cloudcover. But that won't stop us from invading the changing rooms and hitting the beach for a dip in the famed Yam Hamelach - the salty sea.

Two things I learned about the Dead Sea that I never knew. For one thing, it's beautiful. The word "Dead" refers to the salt content and the fact that it can't support any animal or plant life, but it has nothing to do with the sea's appearance - which is a diverse mix of deep, rich blues surrounded by mountains. And the other thing I learned is that in December, the water is pretty cold.

Very cold, actually, and no, you don't get used to it the longer you stay in. Still, we stuck it out, because we were there. I wasn't about to pass up a chance to float in the Dead Sea just because might catch hypothermia. The water may have been cold, but the floating is so cool! You literally can't go under the water, and you wouldn't want to, because (as one of us found out) you pretty much can't open your eyes for 5 minutes after you do. It's also hard to stand up once you're on your back, because you just end up floating on your stomach.

Once I was satisfied that I had explored all of the floating possibilities, I exited the sea and rinsed off the salt that was starting to settle into some as yet unknown cuts I apparently had on parts of my legs. The rinse was inadequate at best, but there was little time and I was hungry for yet another felafel lunch.

And in no time, it was back on the bus to race the falling sun to Kibbutz Mashabe Sade, where Shabbat candles and a much-needed shower were waiting.

The timing of this day and its orientation to Shabbat created an unmatched spiritual experience. A week of staying up late and waking up early, with the earliest wake up the most recent. A week of bus rides, tours, speakers, discussions, museums, shopping, circle games and more, and a day of hiking and swimming from sun-up to sun-down all leading to Shabbat, the day of rest and reflection. But before Shabbat, a shower, to wash off what feels like (and probably is) a week's worth of dirt, sand, camel hair, more sand, sweat, and Dead Sea salt.

I was clean, I was awake (no small miracle having been up for 14 hours already), and I was about to spend Shabbat on a Kibbutz in the Negev Desert in Israel. And I thought to myself shehechiyanu, v'kiyemanu, v'higiyanu lazman hazeh.

My Camel is Broken - The Negev, Thursday December 21

By now, Bus Double One is experiencing two inevitable consequences of putting 40 Jews on a bus for 10 days; nicknames and sickness.

On this bus, there are 2 Davids, 2 Jens, Dani, a girl, and Dani, a guy, plus a Dan and a Daniel, a Maya and a Ma'ayan, and, just for fun, 3 Matts. And since Matt B, Matt G and Matt M is the lame 3rd grade teacher way of solving these identity crises and Bus Double One is a creative bunch, the nicknames were inevitable.

I was spared a nickname because the other David became "Tony" or just "Dave." Though I should say, we were confused a number of times so maybe one of those nicknames needed to stick better. We also had a girl take on the nickname of "Gypsy", though I'm not 100% sure why. As for the Matts, one took his last name, another was identified by his association with his best friend, as in, "Which Matt? Oh, Matt and Will Matt." And the last became known as "Bubonic."

Why Bubonic? (I ask, sliding seamlessly into inevitable consequence #2) Well, Bubonic arrived on our trip with a hacking cough and sore throat, and gave it a dozen others, and by the time we departed Tel Aviv for the Negev on day 6, the plague had spread, and I was guzzling Airborne every morning.

We all know the perfect cure for hacking cough and sore throat and everything else - get a partial night sleep in a tent with 80 other people, ratty old sleeping bags and no pillows in the middle of the desert in December.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The day in the desert began in the blazing sunshine at Tel Maresha, where we participated in an Archaeological dig. Now, almost everything on this trip that I thought would be really cheesy turned out to be great. That is, with the exception of the Archaeological dig.

Here we learned about the Edomite civilization and the underground caves that they destroyed when Jews captured the town around the time of the Chanukah story in 120 B.C.E. Then we went into one of the caves and dug for artifacts, and in about 20 minutes managed to come up with some pieces of pottery and animal bone. One person even dug up a handle. But the whole time, I had trouble believing (as did many others) that we had actually discovered anything important or even anything that hadn't been discovered already.

My skepticism was verified after our debriefing. The guide showed us some impressive pieces already recovered, cleaned and catalogued from the Maresha dig and explained some of the archaeological process. Then she offered us a chance to buy an official "we dig Israel" t-shirt (get it?) as well as take home a few pieces of pottery found in the site, pieces that are too small to be of any use to them. Pieces remarkably similar to the ones I'd dug up just a short time before. So, what I found either gets cleaned or put back into the dig? Glad I could help.

I appreciate the importance of archaeology in Israel, for sure. The entire country is "one huge archaeological site" as our American staff, Dani, put it. But our archaeological experience was on an elementary school level. Which explained all the grade-school kids I fought my way around in order to wash my hands, get back on the bus and get on to Kibbutz Sde Boker.

Imagine for a second, President George W. Bush decides to leave Washington, eschewing most of his duties to go live a simpler life on a farm somewhere in, say, Texas. It's...hard...to imagine...isn't...oh...

Well this is sort of what David Ben Gurion did back in the 1950s. He resigned as Prime Minister and went to live on Kibbutz Sde Boker, claiming that it was the kibbutznik that made Israel what it was. Eventually, Israel demanded his return to the Knesset and he did go back, reluctantly, but his heart was in his Kibbutz. And on Thursday, so were we.

Sde Boker overlooks the beautiful Zin Wadi, a cavernous, Grand Canyon-like desert valley mentioned in the bible many times. Ben-Gurion's tomb also overlooks this magnificent vista, and we stopped to pay our respects to the man who stood in Independence Hall in Tel Aviv and declared the establishment of the Jewish State.

"OK," says Ran, "Back on the bus, quickly. It is already getting dark, and we can't ride the camels in the dark."

The sun was down when we arrived at the Bedouin village of Kfar Hanokdim, and we were just in time for the camels.

It's hard to recreate what it's like when 40 eager 20-somethings bound toward a pack of stubborn, not very happy camels, but let's just say there's a smell, there's a lot of yelling (from us, from the camels, from the camel handlers), and a lot of movement. I got caught up in the frenzy as our group members paired off and mounted camels and the camels lifted off the ground, and all of a sudden me and a dozen others are left without a camel to ride.

"If you don't have a camel, get on a donkey! You'll switch later!" somebody shouts, it's hard to tell.

Oh, good. A donkey.

So what's the best part about riding a donkey? Ass puns.

"Does my ass look a little big to you?"

"Hey, did you touch my ass? Get off my ass!"

"Hey, Dani...nice ass."

And that's about all they're good for. The second best part was when my donkey (they're all tied together, by the way) snuggled up behind the one in front of me, and my leg was put in a very compromising position. Had the donkey in front of me decided to relieve himself, well let's just say I would have preferred the plague.

It came time to switch, and I got off my ass (there's another one!) and onto a camel. This is one of those things everyone talks about when they come back from Birthright. It's like a Birthright right of passage. Did you ride a camel? Of course I rode a camel, I was on Birthright.

Once the novelty wears off, the camel experience becomes a little unpleasant. Especially since my camel had an itch under her right shoulder and kept scratching it with her right front leg, leaving me eight feet off the ground on an uneven humped tripod. When the leg didn't work, the camel started trying to bite or lick whatever was bothering her. "Hey, pay attention to the road!"

The final challenge is getting down off the camel, which means the camel has to sit down. The camel does not like doing this. Clearly the up and down all day long and the walking around in circles all day doesn't make this camel, or any other camel, very happy. The camel lets out a loud and agonizing noise as she lowers herself to the ground, and then I graciously, but not gracefully, dismount. End camel adventure.

Begin the Bedouin experience. We pile our stuff into our evening accommodations - a large but somehow cozy looking tent - and head to a different tent across the way to hear about the Bedouin way of life. The Bedouins are historically nomadic, but Israeli Bedouins found themselves restricted by political borders and have adapted to modern ways of life. At Kfar Hanokdim, they are trying to preserve the heritage of the Bedouins.

We heard about the tradition of Bedouin hospitality, and had a musical presentation from a Bedouin musician who played a predecessor of the Lute and who was working on a PhD in music. All of this was followed by a traditional family-style dinner of kabobs and rice (nothing sharing a plate with 3 other people to keep that plague from spreading) and Chanukah candle lighting night 7.

After dinner, the evening was spent mingling with each other and with the other groups of young Jews there from all over the world. I found myself having a spirited conversation with a couple of young Jews from England, studying in Israel for the year. Meanwhile, our tent was evacuated because of a gas leak that robbed the sicker among us of some valuable rest. I missed all of that, well engaged in a deep conversation about Iran, the Holocaust and the Jewish world. You know, nice light campfire talk. (More on this to come, by the way.) It was almost midnight by the time I made my way back to the tent.

Whoever told me to bring a pillowcase with me to Israel - thank you. Bedouins don't provide pillows, only ratty, worn out sleeping bags and thin mattress pads. But somebody told me to bring a pillowcase, and I stuffed all of my clothes into it and created a makeshift pillow, wrapped myself in the sleeping bag and settled in to attempt a few hours sleep before our 4:30am wake-up call and the full and unforgettable day ahead.

Instant Gratification Day - Tel Aviv, Wednesday December 20

Somebody give me a freakin' orange.

For three days now we've been talking about how amazing the produce is here, how proud Israel is of its agriculture, of it's oranges. And we've been driving past huge orange groves and banana forests and every morning at breakfast and every night at dinner all I see is that goddamn salad with the cut up cucumbers and tomatoes and hummus! My goodness, don't you people ever get sick of all the hummus!

We had lunch at this Druse village Tuesday afternoon, before Dir el Asad. The Druse are...well they're some other religious group that lives in villages in Israel and we didn't learn much about them, we just ate in their village. And they had oranges the size of my head, but only for juicing. I don't want juice, I want the orange. I can say it in Hebrew, will that help? Ani lo rotzeh mitz, ani rotzeh hatapuz. Nope.

Tuesday night, after the Druse, after Dir El Asad, after another fruitless dinner, after the Israeli dancing, we sat in circles and evaluated the trip so far - what we like, what we don't like, what we want more of, what we want less of. And before the circle gets around to me, Jess says "we keep hearing about all the fruit they grow here, and we haven't had, like, any of it."

I could have kissed her, but I didn't, 'cause I know her husband and all he talks about is Brazilian jujitsu and cage fighting. But anyway, she asked about fruit, too. There were other requests for more physical activity and less sitting on a bus all day, for optional hikes or walks, for shorter lunch breaks and more shopping time. Ran addressed our wishes, promising to try to make the reasonable ones come true. "We'll get some fruit for the bus."

The next morning, after another breakfast without oranges, we left for our day in Tel Aviv. We began at the Independence Museum, where we learned about the beginnings of Israel and the city of Tel Aviv.

The city of Tel Aviv was built out of nothing. Really. Outside the walled Arab city of Jaffa, there was sand. And in 1909, a small group of Zionists left the walled city, scraped together $50 million or so, and began building what is now the most modern city in the Middle East and the center of Israeli urban life.

The museum itself is the former home of Meir Dizengoff, Tel Aviv's first Mayor (and our guide presented this information in all of its homophonic glory) In 1948, while Jerusalem was blockaded by Arab armies, the home became the temporary seat of the Israeli government, and the site from which David Ben-Gurion declared Israel's independence.

We sat in the room where Ben-Gurion declared the establishment of a Jewish state and listened to an impassioned speech from our guide, as he connected us as American Jews to the formation of the Jewish homeland. For thousands of years, he said, Jews all over the world were without an address. Now, they have one. You have one. For many in that room, this was the defining moment of the Birthright experience. Something clicked, and it made sense why we felt at home even though we'd never been here before. Then we heard Ben-Gurion's speech fill the room, followed by the playing of Hatikvah - "The Hope", and the national anthem of Israel.

If this had happened in Philadelphia, it would have gone like this: some guy in a Ben Franklin costume would read the words of the Declaration of Independence in a phony voice and rant about liberty and all men are created equal. Then the same schmoe would make everyone stand up and recite the pledge of allegiance while I rolled my eyes.

But here in Tel Aviv, we stood and we listened. I started to sing along when I heard the Israelis behind me start to do the same. I saw people tearing up. "You have an address here, always." Dude, you had me at "Mayor Meir."

As we leave Independence Hall, Ran asks me to carry something outside. It's a box of fruit (cue heavenly angel music)! But before I can get the chance to grab and devour an orange, I am handed something entirely different.

"This is the traditional Israeli winter snack," says Ran. "It's called a Crembo, and you eat it like this. You open it up the foil, and there's a cookie at the bottom for later, and you bite into the top and then, you just...eat it." Double One-ers reading this can match Ran's voice to his very detailed instructions. The rest of you, well, I guess you had to be there. But anyway, the Crembo was worth putting off my orange craving for a few more minutes. Instead I walked back to the bus experiencing the sheer deliciousness of the Israeli winter snack. We need Crembo in the U.S.
And then, I got my orange, and thoroughly satisfied my craving on the short bus ride to Jaffa, the Arab city adjacent to Tel Aviv. There, at the port, we met our Israeli soldiers - 7 of the nicest, sweetest, most compassionate people in the world. They quickly inserted themselves among the 36 Americans and we were whisked off to a park for more circle games, link tag and a picnic lunch, oranges included. (somebody ask for physical activity? picnic lunches?) The instant gratification continued as we had time to shop (too much time) the Jaffa flea market for piles of junk, and more importantly, acquaint ourselves further with our new Israeli friends.

After Jaffa, we took our more-crowded bus to Rabin Square, the site where Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995. Anat, one of our soldiers, remembered being in that place for the Peace rally in 1995, singing the songs, then watching the Prime Minister leave the stage and take his final steps. Every Israeli remembers where he/she was when it happened.

The day has been a roller coaster of serious and fun, as we go from Rabin's assassination to - snack time, it's very strange. But this is normal in Israel, I'm learning. So we enjoy our Sufganiyot in honor of Chanukah and Will's birthday (second birthday of the trip, we celebrated for Emily back at Kibbutz Gonen) as the sun starts to set on our long day in Tel Aviv.

And of course, when the sun sets in Tel Aviv, the day is just beginning. This is Israel's city that doesn't sleep. We have an optional walk to the beach to watch the sunset (somebody ask for optional walks?), hardly an option, why would you miss out on that? And later we return to the Tayellet, Tel Aviv's boardwalk, for dinner and drinks. Our group has gelled by now, these are my 40 new friends I'm out with, remember?

Even the bus driver can't resist the spirit of the amazing Double One. And this is how I'll end this report on Tel Aviv, with a joke, as told by Surin, our faithful driver. It goes something like this:

"A rabbi and a bus driver die and meet God at the gates of Heaven. The bus driver goes in right away, but the rabbi has to wait."

[long pause]

"Hang on, that's not the end. I got confused cause you used to be able to turn left here but now I can't...one second."

[he turns right]

"Ok, so, the rabbi says 'why does he get to go in, who is he? He's just a bus driver.'"

[pause. some laughter]

"Wait wait, that's not the end, I just have to make this turn...OK, so the rabbi says 'why, he's just a bus driver. I pray every day and I keep kosher and I lead my congregation, all he does is drive a bus.' And God says 'In your synagogue, you lead the service and all the people fall asleep. But when he drives them around the Golan Heights, they are all praying! That's the end."

5 days gone by...
more importantly: 5 more days to come.

Dir el Asad - The North, Tuesday December 19

"We're going to Moshav Shorashim to learn about Israeli Arabs."

That's all we were told. OK, fine, sounds interesting, Ran. Whatever. See, there's a lot I didn't know about Israel. Like, 20% of the population is made up of Arab citizens. Not Palestinians living in the territories. Arab citizens. 1 out of every 5 people in Israel is a Muslim or Christian Arab with full Israeli citizenship.

There's a lot I didn't know about Israel.

At Moshav Shorashim we met Marc Rosenstein. He had a time line on an easel that looked like some old 4th grade project that my dad would have made me redo. Bad visual aid aside, this guy knew his stuff. He had a complex understanding of the relationship between Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs.

The oversimplified history goes something like this: At the time of the formation of the State of Israel in 1948, Arabs living within the borders of the new state had a number of choices. One choice was to leave Israel for Lebanon or Syria or Egypt, etc. etc. And some did this. But others remained in Israel, where they were soon granted full citizenship and found they were allowed to practice their religion and live by their own religious laws while taking advantage of the superior education and public services offered by the new Israeli government. Ask an Israeli Arab today if he'd rather be living in Gaza, and most will say no.

Most will say no. But the truth is, there's no one solid position that the Israeli Arab community takes on anything. "The best way to get a feel for what it's like to be an Israeli Arab is to meet them and talk to them," Marc says. And that's exactly what we did.

SURPRISE! A 15 minute ride took us from Moshav Shorashim to the Arab Muslim village of Dir el Asad (Arabic for "Lion's Den") and to a school where a group of Arab Israeli teenage girls were waiting to meet a pack of American Jews.

We broke into small groups and were given a few guidelines for our conversations. "Try not to jump right into political stuff." was one suggestion. But, given limited time, it's hard not to ask the tougher political questions.

Still, with the first panel, my group kept it light. The language barrier was significant, but there was just enough Hebrew and English to go around. We talked about American movies, and asked simple questions like "where is your family from?" Mostly Syria. For us, mostly eastern Europe. "If you're Jewish," they asked, "why don't you live in Israel?" Nobody's ever asked me that before.

Then Jeff asked the girls "what are your dreams?" I think it's possible that nobody's ever asked them that before. Jeff clarified, "what do you want to do with your life?" One girl said, "to get married and have a family." Another wanted to study psychology before returning to her village to start a family. In America our dreams are much bigger, more daring.

When it came time for the second group to sit with us, we were more comfortable, and so were they. And this group had more English, so the conversation was easier. That is, until Marc walked in to check on our progress and asked "what about the war? Tell them about the war this past summer" and then walked away. So much for "try not to jump right into political stuff." I saw one of the girls squirm a little, then with some encouragement she said "my friend was killed by Ketyusha. Two of my friends."

Dead silence.

I mean, what do you say? We never heard this part of the story from (dare I say it) CNN, or anyone else over the summer. But Hezbollah was lobbing rockets over the Lebanese border into northern Israel and killing...Arabs! Arabs with family in Lebanon and Syria, who aren't required to fight in the Israeli army because it's wrong to force someone to shoot at their own relatives, are being blown up by rockets coming from Lebanon paid for by Syria.

The war over the summer was terrible for everyone involved, and sitting in that classroom in this Arab-Israeli village I could sense the frustration from a group of people that might have the most cause to be frustrated. Somehow, the stunned silence was the right reaction, and from that point on, no subject was off limits.

"Do you have family in Syria?" we asked.

---"Yes"

"Do you ever get to see them?"

---"We can go to the border and shout to them, but we don't really do that."

"You can't go to Syria?"

---"No." (Imagine you have family in Ontario, and the only way you can ever see them again is if you stand on opposite ends of Niagara Falls...)

These girls feel caught in the middle. In Israel, they have better educational opportunities than they would have in any Arab country, and they have the right to vote, drive, work, etc as full citizens. But Israeli Jews are naturally skeptical of their presence in Israel (the same way Americans felt about Japanese Americans during World War II, with one important difference - no internment). And Arabs in other countries are, at best, jealous of them, and at worst think they are traitors for living among and supporting the enemy. So, are they proud to be Israeli? some of them are. Some of them aren't sure. The questions continued.

"Do you want the Palestinians to have their own country?"

One girl says yes. The others don't know.

"Would you live in Palestine?"

---"No."
---"Never."
---"Maybe."

"What do you think of America?"

---"We Love America."

That answer made me wonder what kind of answers we would get from Arab boys of the same age. The role of women in the Arab world is a controversial and well-documented subject in the west. But Arab Israeli girls are different. These girls, are not only allowed to go to University, they're encouraged to go. They still seem to stick to tradition by marrying early and having large families, but before that they can experience living and working and learning in cities like Haifa or Tel Aviv, while the men enter the construction trades or other industries, like their fathers before them.

Later, when we returned to Moshav Shorashim to debrief with Marc, one of us opined that the entire program was a waste of time since we didn't talk to the boys. "If you want to invoke change," he said, "you have to involve the men, because they're the decision makers in Arab culture." There was loud disagreement. Marc rebutted, "If more women were involved in decision making in the Arab world, we might not have as many problems. I'm all for empowering the women." Absolutely.

We had one more question. "Do you think there can be peace between Israel and Syria? with Lebanon? The Palestinians?"

---"I think there's a 20% chance."
---"Maybe."
---"Maybe."

Then all three together

---"We hope."

There's a lot I didn't know about Israel.

Doom! Hass! Tak! Together!

I take a break from the chronological order of the trip to talk about how a group of 40 Jews in about 5 days became a group of 40 very good friends.

Bonding as a group had a profound effect on the Birthright experience. Many people on the trip were like me - coming alone and on the assumption that I would meet people. But this doesn't happen automatically, and I will admit that I had my doubts in the early days of the trip about the group as a whole. Today, I can't believe I'm writing that sentence, because I can't get enough of the post-trip emails and the plans for more reunions and get-togethers like the one we had this past Saturday night.

How did it happen? Foremost, our guide, Ran, gave us an identity. We couldn't be Israel Experts Discover Israel 22+ Bus 2 because that doesn't fit on a t-shirt. And we couldn't be Bus 2, because that implies that there's some group that's better than we are. And so, we are "Double One." How Double One grew into its new identity was the result of a very carefully constructed chemical reaction that went something like this:

First, we Drum.

Night 2 at Kibbutz Gonen featured a lesson in Darbouka playing. The Darbouka is a traditional Arab drum played to perfection by our instructor for us, as well as for the Israeli Philharmonic Orchestra. He also does Jewish summer camps and, of course, Bar Mitzvahs.

Sitting in a circle, each with our own drum, I watched as our group gave this man its undivided attention, getting more and more enthusiastic about the music we were making together. It began with a simple beat in the center of the drum, the Doom! Then the Tak, a higher-pitched rap on the rim. And finally the Hass, a quiet muted thud on the upper rim of the Darbouka. The actual musicians among us took an immediate liking and found they had a knack for this drum. But they had nothing on our instructor, who took the time to show off.

At the beginning of the lesson, we were told that CDs were available, and many of us scoffed at the idea. At the end of the lesson, we bought everything he had. One of us even took home an actual Darbouka (I got one for my brother, Adam, later in the trip) What I saw here was that we were becoming comfortable with each other. There was no longer a concern that this was too cheesy, or that someone among us might think we're not cool or something.

Next, we Drink.

Yes, there was some alcohol involved in the process of becoming a group. But it wasn't just the mere act of drinking or getting drunk that brought the men and women of bus Double One together.

On night 2 at Kibbutz Gonen a group of three guys took advantage of the well-equipped accommodations and threw a "house party." Instead of being slave to the music, beer, and mixed company of the Kibbutz disco for a second night, we gathered cups, vodka, tapuzim (orange drink) and Israeli wine (a step above Manischevitz - a small step) from a mini-mart in the Golan Heights and brought it back to Cabin 109 for a Double One-only fiesta.

Putting 40 Jews in a room with alcohol was a start, but it was the game of Kings-turned-never have I ever that destroyed whatever ice was left among us as a group. The game wore on, and we got more and more comfortable and revealed more and more about each other.

It turned out that the game was just the beginning. Once the game dissolved and we were through learning about the physics of dance-floor sex and exactly what type of disorderly conduct will get you arrested, the floodgates were opened. We were free to share anything with anyone at anytime, and I don't believe there is a truer definition of friendship than that.

But the process wasn't quite complete.

Then, we Dance!

Naturally, the events of the party in Cabin 109 were pieced together and re-examined the next day - a day that included a return to Zefat and a visit to an Israeli Arab village that was, for me, an unexpected highlight of the trip. (I'll come back to this, I promise)

By nightfall, we were in Tel Aviv and our trip was half over, amazingly. Candle lighting for night five of Chanukah was followed by a surprise Israeli dance lesson from Dani, one of our American staff.

There are two ways this dance lesson could have gone:
1. We all could have thought it was cheesy, that Dani was a total dork, and that we were too old, too cool, too whatever, to have any fun with a silly Israeli dance. You mean, we're in Tel Aviv and instead of going out, we're in the basement of a hotel doing this??

2. We could learn the dance, get really into it and have a lot of fun.

I think earlier in the trip the possibility of #1 was much greater. But by Tel Aviv, after the Darbouka and the Never Have I Ever, nobody was too cool for a little Israeli dancing.
So we got into it, big time. The spirit in that room was awesome. And I don't think I ever thought I could have so much fun Israeli dancing, and I think everyone would agree.

Ran, our guide, was most impressed with our enthusiasm, and I think it set a tone with everyone for the rest of the trip. We'll dance in the Bedouin tent, we'll dance on the bus in the middle of the desert, we'll all massage each other in a giant hot tub, we'll put together a giant map of Israel with the energy of a group of third graders at recess. And we won't be embarrassed about any of it. Why should we be embarrassed? We're among friends.

Finally, add Israelis. Mix.

The timing was perfect. By Wednesday morning in Tel Aviv, the newly minted friends of Bus Double One were about to meet 7 of the nicest people on the face of the earth - our Israeli soldiers.

Every Birthright trip is supplemented with a group of young Israelis who board the bus about halfway through and stay a while. Our soldiers joined us in Tel Aviv and immediately fit into the comradery we developed over the previous five days. And they joined us in time for all the things you wouldn't want to do with strangers, like sleep in a giant tent or hike at sunrise, or dance up and down the aisles of a bus.

So the trip really wasn't half over. More like we still had 5 whole days left. And there I was, on a hill in a park looking out at the Mediterranean Sea, having lunch with all my new friends.