Yesterday was Yom HaZikaron here in Israel and for the Jewish people all around the world. The annual Remembrance Day stands to commemorate all those who have fallen while fighting for Israel, be that as a soldier in battle or a civilian in a terrorist attack. We spent the afternoon at Mount Herzl, cemetery covering an entire mountain in Jerusalem, which is the site where many of Israel's leaders and soldiers have been buried since Independence in 1948--unfortunately leaving it lush with the graves of tens of thousands of brave souls.
But the solemness day has a silver lining in that it leads directly into Israeli Independence Day, a celebration thick with fireworks and joyfulness. I have been looking forward to this pairing of days almost since arriving in the Holy Land in late August last year--but I will not be celebrating this year.
Checking my Facebook around 1 a.m. my news feed was wrought with prayers for those in Boston. Confused, I soon found a rapidly growing number of articles covering the horrific act of terror that shredded the peaceful nature of the worlds oldest annual marathon--an event that flaunts champions of numerous charitable causes and personal heroes. As someone who has friends who undertook the Jerusalem Half-Marathon a few months back, I know the courage those runners possess is inspiring. Unfortunately that strength was put to the test yesterday.
My heart is broken, looking to my country from halfway across the world and seeing it enveloped in flames. When I decided to live in Israel for the year, many close friends told me to be careful, watch for suspicious people, to stay safe. It seems I should have left them with the same advice. I am transported back to the era of Israel's intifada-period, where acts of terror via suicide bombings were a weekly occurrence on buses and in cafes. People were afraid to spend a night at the clubs, or even to ride the local line to work. Fear gripped the nation but never broke their resolve.
Tears fill my eyes as I browse the gruesome pictures from the scene. But those pictures also immortalize the heroic acts of the first responders and civilians leaping into danger to save lives. Whether offering their belt as a tourniquette or welcoming a displaced runner into their home, the strength of the Bostonian and American people is staggering.
Since leaving the United States months ago it seems Americans have been thrust into disarray. We must find some way to find peace among ourselves once again, to put an end to these violent shootings and terrorist bombings. Comedian Patton Oswalt wrote that the number of good people on this Earth more than exponentially outnumber the evil, and that we shall prevail over the darkness inside that minority--I cannot agree more. We must join together, as the brave people of Boston have, to prevent such injustices from recurring. My heart and prayers go out to all those affected by this tragedy.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Another One of Those Moments
A few times a week I work with Gil, a special ed student, who has been making huge advances in his reading and speaking. Sometimes the class is doing some fun activity or game and I do not want to take him out, so we sit together and I speak with him in English as much as possible. Yesterday was one of those days, as the class was just heading out to the school garden as I arrived, so it seemed best to just join in--it was the best decision of my life.
The school garden is a new venture and rapidly growing, bringing some much needed greenery to a very urban and low income school, and we were making room for some new trees coming next week. We set to removing the weeds, which happened to include lots of the dandelion flowers that have popped up all over Beer Sheva in the past few weeks; all of the kids had either hoes or rakes and we worked for about half an hour clearing the planter beds.
Since I do not normally work with this entire class the children are a bit shy at first. Although it is a special education class, most of the kids seem to have mild lacking in social skills and I guess being around "the American" can be intimidating. But in only a few minutes we had ceased working and circled up, about 8 kids in all, asking me how to say things in English; "Mah zeh perach?" ("What is flower?"), "Eich om-reem...?" ("How do you say...?"). I was having a blast with them, enjoying the sunny weather (winter in Beer Sheva is a joke) and getting to know the kids. Later, as we began packing away the tools a girl named Sapir came up to me and meekly held out a bouquet of yellow dandelions she had picked for me. Needless to say I was speechless and struggled to deal with the cuteness just to thank her repeatedly.
That was one of the best moments of these six months here, and I will carry that memory with me forever. It does not get much more amazing than that, to see a child blossom into a conversation and giving flowers freely--words can not explain the elation of that moment.
The school garden is a new venture and rapidly growing, bringing some much needed greenery to a very urban and low income school, and we were making room for some new trees coming next week. We set to removing the weeds, which happened to include lots of the dandelion flowers that have popped up all over Beer Sheva in the past few weeks; all of the kids had either hoes or rakes and we worked for about half an hour clearing the planter beds.
Since I do not normally work with this entire class the children are a bit shy at first. Although it is a special education class, most of the kids seem to have mild lacking in social skills and I guess being around "the American" can be intimidating. But in only a few minutes we had ceased working and circled up, about 8 kids in all, asking me how to say things in English; "Mah zeh perach?" ("What is flower?"), "Eich om-reem...?" ("How do you say...?"). I was having a blast with them, enjoying the sunny weather (winter in Beer Sheva is a joke) and getting to know the kids. Later, as we began packing away the tools a girl named Sapir came up to me and meekly held out a bouquet of yellow dandelions she had picked for me. Needless to say I was speechless and struggled to deal with the cuteness just to thank her repeatedly.
That was one of the best moments of these six months here, and I will carry that memory with me forever. It does not get much more amazing than that, to see a child blossom into a conversation and giving flowers freely--words can not explain the elation of that moment.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Welcome to the Program
This past week we have been on a seminar discussing and learning about Zionism. What is Zionism? How has Zionism changed from the pre-founding of Israel to now? We also were welcoming a new group of people from the Kiryat Shmona volunteering group affiliated with our provider. I was asked to welcome them to the program and help them learn a bit about what it is we do in Israel Teaching Fellows. This is the speech I delivered for them:
"Each and every one of us in this room has been given an opportunity—an amazing chance to live in an extraordinary place. Some of us have been on this journey for over half a year, while for others it is just beginning. But the most important thing to know is that your time here is what you make of it.
My name is Josh. I am here representing the Beer Sheva Israel Teaching Fellows group and would like to start by welcoming the new Kyriat Shmona group. It is very exciting to see so many new faces and I am eager to meet each of you in person. Over the next five months here in the Holy Land you will travel, volunteer, and explore—and you will be challenged each step of the way. The language and culture are obstacles that impede even the most basic transactions at first; there is no such thing as a line, and arguing is a way of life. But we came here to take on a new venture, and each day proves to be just that.
Both the Beer Sheva and Netanya group members volunteer in elementary schools teaching English—or at least attempting to. I think I speak for most of us by saying that Israeli schools are a world apart from those we grew up in; fighting, swearing, and blatant disrespect for teachers are commonplace. Teaching English here has been one of the hardest challenges in my life—and simultaneously one of the most rewarding. For the first few months it seemed impossible to actually improve the English level at my school, but I soon began taking pride in the little victories that have become more and more prevalent.One of my happiest moments so far happened just yesterday, when a group of my 5th and 6th graders performed a short play at our English Purim Day celebration. After weeks of stress and worry, they blew me away and the performance was “mamash mammash tov!”—and even though many of the younger students may not have understood all of the lines, their enjoyment was plain to see.
I also feel that I have become a member of the Beer Sheva community. The city is an eclectic mix of Sephardic and North African Jews fused with Ethiopian, Russian, and Arab cultures. At this point it would seem odd not to hear Mizrahi music blasting at all hours of the night on Shabbat, and I have a wonderful orthodox Sephardic host family. They have fed me more spicy Moroccan fish and Tunisian meatballs than a human being should consume in his entire lifetime—yet no matter how much I eat, the dishes keep piling up around me.
When we are not toiling to make English fun or stuffing our faces with host families, we are working directly in the community. My school is a religious elementary located in one of Beer Sheva’s worst neighborhoods, so I volunteer with a local organization that establishes gardens in low-income communities. Others help out with the elderly and handicapped, and some even teach in Bedouin and Ethiopian villages—and EVERYONE comes away with extraordinary stories.
Since arriving here in August we have formed bonds with the local university students, and found hidden gems nestled away in our respective cities—in Beer Sheva we boast a top notch schnitzel shop and I dare you to find a better one. We know shuk vendors by name, and I even have a pita guy in the old city who knows me as his number one customer. And despite all of these amazing memories I have made, there remains so much to delve into. It is impossible to see and do everything that Israel has to offer in a few short months, a year, or maybe even in a lifetime, but that should not stop you from embarking on the adventure. I encourage you to learn about new cultures, eat strange foods, and put yourself in uncomfortable situations. This country is small but it has so much to offer; so seize this opportunity and take control of your journey."
"Each and every one of us in this room has been given an opportunity—an amazing chance to live in an extraordinary place. Some of us have been on this journey for over half a year, while for others it is just beginning. But the most important thing to know is that your time here is what you make of it.
My name is Josh. I am here representing the Beer Sheva Israel Teaching Fellows group and would like to start by welcoming the new Kyriat Shmona group. It is very exciting to see so many new faces and I am eager to meet each of you in person. Over the next five months here in the Holy Land you will travel, volunteer, and explore—and you will be challenged each step of the way. The language and culture are obstacles that impede even the most basic transactions at first; there is no such thing as a line, and arguing is a way of life. But we came here to take on a new venture, and each day proves to be just that.
Both the Beer Sheva and Netanya group members volunteer in elementary schools teaching English—or at least attempting to. I think I speak for most of us by saying that Israeli schools are a world apart from those we grew up in; fighting, swearing, and blatant disrespect for teachers are commonplace. Teaching English here has been one of the hardest challenges in my life—and simultaneously one of the most rewarding. For the first few months it seemed impossible to actually improve the English level at my school, but I soon began taking pride in the little victories that have become more and more prevalent.One of my happiest moments so far happened just yesterday, when a group of my 5th and 6th graders performed a short play at our English Purim Day celebration. After weeks of stress and worry, they blew me away and the performance was “mamash mammash tov!”—and even though many of the younger students may not have understood all of the lines, their enjoyment was plain to see.
I also feel that I have become a member of the Beer Sheva community. The city is an eclectic mix of Sephardic and North African Jews fused with Ethiopian, Russian, and Arab cultures. At this point it would seem odd not to hear Mizrahi music blasting at all hours of the night on Shabbat, and I have a wonderful orthodox Sephardic host family. They have fed me more spicy Moroccan fish and Tunisian meatballs than a human being should consume in his entire lifetime—yet no matter how much I eat, the dishes keep piling up around me.
When we are not toiling to make English fun or stuffing our faces with host families, we are working directly in the community. My school is a religious elementary located in one of Beer Sheva’s worst neighborhoods, so I volunteer with a local organization that establishes gardens in low-income communities. Others help out with the elderly and handicapped, and some even teach in Bedouin and Ethiopian villages—and EVERYONE comes away with extraordinary stories.
Since arriving here in August we have formed bonds with the local university students, and found hidden gems nestled away in our respective cities—in Beer Sheva we boast a top notch schnitzel shop and I dare you to find a better one. We know shuk vendors by name, and I even have a pita guy in the old city who knows me as his number one customer. And despite all of these amazing memories I have made, there remains so much to delve into. It is impossible to see and do everything that Israel has to offer in a few short months, a year, or maybe even in a lifetime, but that should not stop you from embarking on the adventure. I encourage you to learn about new cultures, eat strange foods, and put yourself in uncomfortable situations. This country is small but it has so much to offer; so seize this opportunity and take control of your journey."
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
The Dying Sea
Just a little note about awareness of the state of the Dead Sea. I took this picture a few weeks ago; this sign shows the water level as of 1985--just 18 years ago! But because of all of the diversions of the Jordan River and using the Sea for body products, etc. have drained the already stagnant body lower and lower. Let's do our best to preserve this wonder of the world!
Sephardi Shabbat
A few weekends ago I spent Shabbat with my Sephardi host family and and a blast. Having not been there since the beginning of my trip, it was nice to be invited back for a relaxing Shabbat and I had a blast! I had already experienced some of the differences between Sephardi and Ashkenazi (typically Jews from Central and Northern European) culture from my previous stay but was a bit unprepared for what lay in store.
Shabbat began with a nice trip to the local synagogue and some Kabbalat Shabbat to welcome the Sabbath before sitting down to the evening meal. Having only been at the Cohen's house for Yom Kippur the amount of food was quite shocking--in a good way. We started the meal with prayers and challah accompanied by the customary plethora of Israeli salads and hummus. Next came the spicy fish in red sauce, fried cicken schnitzel, spicy Tunisian beef meatballs, meaty burrito-things, and what seemed like dozens of other dishes. We shared this meal with Tzvia's (the matriarch's) family and I spent a majority of the meal and aftermath trying to comprehend the Hebrew zipping around the table. After the post-meal tea and sunflower seeds I headed to bed, already sedately entering a food coma.
In the morning we headed back to the shul for morning prayer, where I got a healthy dose of Sephardi tunes that made me feel as if I had never attended a service in my life. The influences of their middle-eastern and north African heritage run deep and although the words are the same, the fluctuating tunes escaped my singing abilities. I was surprised to find out that our post-prayer activity would be attending a wedding celebration from the previous week, and guess what that meant? MORE FOOD! David, who was hosting me, told me the intricacies of Sephardi and Ashkenazi wedding traditions, particularly that the previous celebrate the Shabbat following the wedding while the European Jews typically celebrate the preceding Shabbat. I tried to prepare myself for a family gathering that seemed reminiscent of My Big Fat Greek Wedding, especially since the relatives lived kitty corner from my hosts and loosened my belt in preparation.
Once again the food was in large supply, but the dish that caught my eye here was a Moroccan-style cholent (a sort of beans and potato stew). The beef was tender and the beans delicious, but what made this version unique from previous experiences were the hard-boiled egg and mystery dumpling on the plate. With slow-deliberate Hebrew David explained the dumpling to be some mixture of animal fat, oil, and some sort of meal (corn?). Not being a shy eater and certainly not wanting to offend my hosts I dug in--it was edible, but I found it to be the dryness that was off-putting, yet certainly worth a try.
Following the wedding feast I waddled back to my temporary home and settled in for the end of Shabbat. As a parting gift from my hosts I came home with two huge jars of homemade olives, two loafs of challah, bourekas, some of the spicy Tunisian meatballs I love so much, and a bag of the delightfully lemony herb Tzvia grows that makes a divine tea.
As someone who does not keep the Sabbath in the traditional sense I find myself longing for experiences such as these every now and then. I get to experience a different culture first-hand, Hebrew becomes my only form of communication and forces me to practice, and I get a healthy dose o both family life and free food. I feel a closeness with the family that only comes from sharing such experiences, and the open invitation to return for Passover and any other Shabbat is more than enough to fill my heart with warmth--the kind of warmth that flourishes beautifully here in the desert.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
The Pho-tastic Voyage
These past few months have really challenged my cooking prowess, especially because our kitchen consists of a double-burner hot plate--and nothing else. This hardware lackage has pushed me to try out some new dishes previously left on the back burner. I have experimented with turnip latkes, nearly perfected sweet potato gnocchi, dabbled in Udon noodles, and most recently delved into the world of soup. One of my longtime goals has been to make soup stock from scratch and the opportunity presented itself quite magically this past weekend.
My friends Stefan and Aaron, whom I met during my week in Tzvat, came to visit Be'er Sheva and see how the non-Tel Aviv crowd of Masa participants live. Aaron happens to be a trained chef who had a hankering to make 2 kilos of beef bolagnaise pasta for our weekly Shabbat-luck (group pot-luck dinners) and the Russian butcher in the shuk bestowed two beef bones upon us as a parting gift--the cooking gods were smiling upon us that day. I got a few pointers from Aaron while acting as his sous chef, but those beef bones in the fridge kept crossing my mind. Even the next morning as we cooked burgers and eggs, which was also phenomenal, all I could think about was making some beef stock for some Pho (Vietnamese noodle soup).
As they departed Aaron gave me some last minute suggestions from the bust station steps, inspiring me to take the plunge into making soup from scratch. Making stock is actually remarkably easy; I filled a pot with the beef bones (marrow exposed for its flavorful goodness), onion, smashed garlic, fresh dill and cilantro, and celery greens for some extra flavor. After bringing the pot to a boil I set it to simmer overnight, in total about 10 hours. This allowed the natural flavors in the bones to seep into the broth until it reached a nice caramel-brown color and beefy taste. Although it is difficult to get the deep flavors I was seeking without charring/browning the bones and vegetables in the oven, I was happy with the end result.
I was also happy to share it with another visiting friend. We feasted that night on bowls (okay, they were Tupperware but I'm a volunteer so deal with it) stocked with rice noodles, fresh and sauteed chilies, broccoli, cabbage, bean sprouts, all with a sprinkling of fresh herbs and chives and swimming in homemade broth. The sriracha and soy sauce added some nice complexity to the flavors as well and helped bring together a delicious meal!
My friends Stefan and Aaron, whom I met during my week in Tzvat, came to visit Be'er Sheva and see how the non-Tel Aviv crowd of Masa participants live. Aaron happens to be a trained chef who had a hankering to make 2 kilos of beef bolagnaise pasta for our weekly Shabbat-luck (group pot-luck dinners) and the Russian butcher in the shuk bestowed two beef bones upon us as a parting gift--the cooking gods were smiling upon us that day. I got a few pointers from Aaron while acting as his sous chef, but those beef bones in the fridge kept crossing my mind. Even the next morning as we cooked burgers and eggs, which was also phenomenal, all I could think about was making some beef stock for some Pho (Vietnamese noodle soup).
As they departed Aaron gave me some last minute suggestions from the bust station steps, inspiring me to take the plunge into making soup from scratch. Making stock is actually remarkably easy; I filled a pot with the beef bones (marrow exposed for its flavorful goodness), onion, smashed garlic, fresh dill and cilantro, and celery greens for some extra flavor. After bringing the pot to a boil I set it to simmer overnight, in total about 10 hours. This allowed the natural flavors in the bones to seep into the broth until it reached a nice caramel-brown color and beefy taste. Although it is difficult to get the deep flavors I was seeking without charring/browning the bones and vegetables in the oven, I was happy with the end result.
I was also happy to share it with another visiting friend. We feasted that night on bowls (okay, they were Tupperware but I'm a volunteer so deal with it) stocked with rice noodles, fresh and sauteed chilies, broccoli, cabbage, bean sprouts, all with a sprinkling of fresh herbs and chives and swimming in homemade broth. The sriracha and soy sauce added some nice complexity to the flavors as well and helped bring together a delicious meal!
 |
| Aaron's Beef Bolagnaise sauce |
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| The Pho Spread I shared with Jacob Raskin |
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| Turnip Latke with Spicy Broccoli and Cabbage |
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| Jacob & Josh's un-Pho-gettable Feast |
Little Victories
After almost four and a half months of living and about 3 months teaching in Israel, each day brings new adventures and delights. I have traveled to Tzvat, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Netanya, and a handful of other cities, floated in the Dead Sea and hiked in the Golan--but the greatest adventure by far is teaching. My school, Hazon Ovadia, is a small religious school in Schunah (neighborhood) Gimmel, which is notoriously one of Be'er Sheva's lowest income areas.
To understand the atmosphere of Hazon Ovadia close your eyes and imagine a fenced off quad with one large building housing most of the classes, another for the office and teachers' lounge, and yet another that serves as both synagogue and auditorium. Now layer onto that shouts of children playing soccer (they call it football) and teachers arguing with each other the way only Israelis can argue; Yitzik the school security guard prowls the blacktop keeping a watchful eye over the questionably safe antics happening in every corner of the yard. This doesn't change much when the bell rings to signal the next class, as most of the kids seem to come and go as they please. And the inside of a Hazon Ovadia classroom is not much different from the yard. I have seen chairs thrown, teachers kicked, and constant battles between peers. Students flagrantly ignore teachers' pleas for order and too frequently the halls ring with the crying wails from the loser of some pointless fight.
But once you get used to all that insanity, the kids are really no different than American kids. They all want hugs and high-fives; to hear their efforts praised and a smiley face sticker brings a priceless smile to faces of all children alike. After a few months as a member of the faculty I am no longer a distraction when in class, but that doesn't mean much in terms of establishing widespread order. Walking the halls I now know what a rockstar feels like with dozens of fans swarming at any given time; hardly a moment passes without a high-five or answering "what's up?" numerous times. That alone seems to make my job worth it. Knowing that my presence can make these kids, many of whom come from broken families, feel special is an amazing feeling.
These last few weeks, however, I have really been able to see the fruits of my labors. A dyslexic 4th grader I work with has become drastically more confidant in his reading abilities and continues to tear through each new story. This morning I had a run-in with his mother, who confessed that she had seen a visible change and that he enjoys our sessions together. Although most of the Ethiopian immigrants at HO speak very little Hebrew, I am fortunate enough to work with a few of them during the week. Masrasha, a 5th grader with some of the best English in the school has had a few literal "aha!" moments of realization--the types of moments that make being a teacher worth it. On my way home today he shouted my name as his bus passed by, waving wildly with his head halfway out the window. Needless to say I love my job.
Every time someone asks about my experiences so far I tell them flat out this is the most challenging thing I have ever done in my life. I have never had an "easy" day at school. I have become invested in these kids, and although some days I dread those difficult students, it is just another obstacle to overcome in the process of inspiring them. During the first few weeks of teaching there was serious doubt in my mind it was possible to truly make a difference; most of the kids speak little to no English and there is virtually no desire to learn. But each of these small victories have assured that is just not the case. The days I teach one student a new letter, or another how to pronounce "Wednesday"--these kids make it all worth while.
To understand the atmosphere of Hazon Ovadia close your eyes and imagine a fenced off quad with one large building housing most of the classes, another for the office and teachers' lounge, and yet another that serves as both synagogue and auditorium. Now layer onto that shouts of children playing soccer (they call it football) and teachers arguing with each other the way only Israelis can argue; Yitzik the school security guard prowls the blacktop keeping a watchful eye over the questionably safe antics happening in every corner of the yard. This doesn't change much when the bell rings to signal the next class, as most of the kids seem to come and go as they please. And the inside of a Hazon Ovadia classroom is not much different from the yard. I have seen chairs thrown, teachers kicked, and constant battles between peers. Students flagrantly ignore teachers' pleas for order and too frequently the halls ring with the crying wails from the loser of some pointless fight.
But once you get used to all that insanity, the kids are really no different than American kids. They all want hugs and high-fives; to hear their efforts praised and a smiley face sticker brings a priceless smile to faces of all children alike. After a few months as a member of the faculty I am no longer a distraction when in class, but that doesn't mean much in terms of establishing widespread order. Walking the halls I now know what a rockstar feels like with dozens of fans swarming at any given time; hardly a moment passes without a high-five or answering "what's up?" numerous times. That alone seems to make my job worth it. Knowing that my presence can make these kids, many of whom come from broken families, feel special is an amazing feeling.
These last few weeks, however, I have really been able to see the fruits of my labors. A dyslexic 4th grader I work with has become drastically more confidant in his reading abilities and continues to tear through each new story. This morning I had a run-in with his mother, who confessed that she had seen a visible change and that he enjoys our sessions together. Although most of the Ethiopian immigrants at HO speak very little Hebrew, I am fortunate enough to work with a few of them during the week. Masrasha, a 5th grader with some of the best English in the school has had a few literal "aha!" moments of realization--the types of moments that make being a teacher worth it. On my way home today he shouted my name as his bus passed by, waving wildly with his head halfway out the window. Needless to say I love my job.
Every time someone asks about my experiences so far I tell them flat out this is the most challenging thing I have ever done in my life. I have never had an "easy" day at school. I have become invested in these kids, and although some days I dread those difficult students, it is just another obstacle to overcome in the process of inspiring them. During the first few weeks of teaching there was serious doubt in my mind it was possible to truly make a difference; most of the kids speak little to no English and there is virtually no desire to learn. But each of these small victories have assured that is just not the case. The days I teach one student a new letter, or another how to pronounce "Wednesday"--these kids make it all worth while.
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