In Atlanta with my godson, Simon, who loves geography and knows all about flags.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Jesus and the Right of Return
During my time in Jerusalem, I encountered a number of Messianic Jews, or Jewish Christians, who sought to preserve their Jewish identity while also claiming the New Testament as sacred scripture and Jesus as their Messiah. One such group was the house church I encountered in Tova's apartment building. Their meeting left me with a cynical taste in my mouth. Since the leader told me that they were in Israel to convert Jews and help them recognize the Messiah when he arrives (again), I felt that their motives were less than honest and their "Jewish" identity quite artificial and deceptive.
This June 9 article from Haaretz discusses these groups in Israel, and attempts by group members to immigrate (or, "make aliyah") under Israel's Right of Return for Jews. It is a dicey game of line-drawing in this situation: What makes a Jew a Jew? Why are we (myself included) so uncomfortable with the blending of religious ideas and blurring of the boundaries of religious identity? In this situation, what are the implications for non-religious Jews (of which there are many) in Israel? If citizenship is granted on the basis of religious belief, and Christians of clear Jewish descent are turned away, then would non-practicing secular Jews really qualify?
Aliyah with a cat, a dog and Jesus
By Daphna Berman
They claim Israeli citizenship under the Right of Return; the state says they forfeited their rights to immigrate as Jews when they accepted Jesus as the messiah
A growing number of messianic Jews are seeking to immigrate to Israel by means of the Right of Return law that makes every Jew eligible for citizenship.
According to a Jewish Agency official speaking off the record recently, fewer than 100 self-identified messianic Jews seek to immigrate annually, but that number is rising.
"The messianic movement has a campaign for aliyah and our emissaries are approached [by messianic Jews] with increasing frequency," the official said.
The movement, also known as Jews for Jesus, is growing especially in the United States and Israel. The community is somewhat secretive because of its unpopularity with the Jewish establishment, so hard figures are difficult to come by. In the United States, there are an estimated 200 congregations with tens of thousands of followers. Locally, there are congregations in nearly every major city. A survey conducted within the local community in 1997-98 reported 5,000 active members. Representatives say this number may now be as high as 12,000, but experts call this a great exaggeration.
To read the rest of the article, click here.
This June 9 article from Haaretz discusses these groups in Israel, and attempts by group members to immigrate (or, "make aliyah") under Israel's Right of Return for Jews. It is a dicey game of line-drawing in this situation: What makes a Jew a Jew? Why are we (myself included) so uncomfortable with the blending of religious ideas and blurring of the boundaries of religious identity? In this situation, what are the implications for non-religious Jews (of which there are many) in Israel? If citizenship is granted on the basis of religious belief, and Christians of clear Jewish descent are turned away, then would non-practicing secular Jews really qualify?
Aliyah with a cat, a dog and Jesus
By Daphna Berman
They claim Israeli citizenship under the Right of Return; the state says they forfeited their rights to immigrate as Jews when they accepted Jesus as the messiah
A growing number of messianic Jews are seeking to immigrate to Israel by means of the Right of Return law that makes every Jew eligible for citizenship.
According to a Jewish Agency official speaking off the record recently, fewer than 100 self-identified messianic Jews seek to immigrate annually, but that number is rising.
"The messianic movement has a campaign for aliyah and our emissaries are approached [by messianic Jews] with increasing frequency," the official said.
The movement, also known as Jews for Jesus, is growing especially in the United States and Israel. The community is somewhat secretive because of its unpopularity with the Jewish establishment, so hard figures are difficult to come by. In the United States, there are an estimated 200 congregations with tens of thousands of followers. Locally, there are congregations in nearly every major city. A survey conducted within the local community in 1997-98 reported 5,000 active members. Representatives say this number may now be as high as 12,000, but experts call this a great exaggeration.
To read the rest of the article, click here.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Peace and Fury
I woke up today to this article in the New York Times. I think of my Palestinian driver, and his hidden hope that Hamas could find a way to foster peace in the region. I remember the angry voice of the merchant in the Muslim Quarter, shouting, "I will push your friends into the sea!" I am sad for the city I came to love so fiercely, and the peace I hoped might flourish there.
Instead, today, there is death and fury, threats of retaliation, and angry strides away from any chance for peace and reconciliation. The soft-white stone of Jerusalem's city walls, warm and ancient under my hands, seems so fragile now. It is possible that a third intifada is rising, and peace and the two-state solution are fading ever further into the distance. Let us hope that something may stem the tide, Inshallah, shalom.
Hamas Fires Rockets at Israel After Calling Off Truce
By STEVEN ERLANGER
JERUSALEM, June 10 — The ruling Hamas group fired a barrage of homemade rockets at Israel on Saturday, hours after calling off a truce with Israel in anger over an artillery attack that killed seven civilians at a beachside picnic in the Gaza Strip, according to Associated Press reports.
The end of the truce raised the prospect of a new wave of bloodshed and the resumption of suicide attacks that Hamas had suspended since reaching the cease-fire in February 2005.
The Islamic militant group claimed responsibility for at least 15 of the rockets fired after midnight, as well as a barrage of mortar bombs. The attacks caused no casualties, and the Israeli army said nearly all of them appeared to land inside Gaza.
"The earthquake in the Zionist towns will start again and the aggressors will have no choice but to prepare their coffins or their luggage," the Hamas militants said in a leaflet. "The resistance groups ... will choose the proper place and time for the tough, strong and unique response."
Hamas had officially been abiding by an intermittent 16-month-old cease-fire, but Friday's killing of five members of a family and two women at a beach picnic led to the shift announced in a leaflet and confirmed by the Palestinian government spokesman.
Israeli military officials expressed regret for any "strike on innocents," saying that it was accidental and that the shells were aimed at a target 400 yards away, which had been the launching ground for dozens of crude rockets fired by Palestinians at southern Israeli towns. The officials ordered a halt to shelling in the area and offered help to some 30 other Palestinians who had been wounded.
The Palestinian reaction was one of fury, with the deaths putting the ruling Hamas faction in an awkward political position, apparently unable either to protect ordinary Palestinians or pay them, given the halt in financing to the Hamas-run Palestinian Authority by Israel and the West.
To read the rest of the article, click here.
Instead, today, there is death and fury, threats of retaliation, and angry strides away from any chance for peace and reconciliation. The soft-white stone of Jerusalem's city walls, warm and ancient under my hands, seems so fragile now. It is possible that a third intifada is rising, and peace and the two-state solution are fading ever further into the distance. Let us hope that something may stem the tide, Inshallah, shalom.
Hamas Fires Rockets at Israel After Calling Off Truce
By STEVEN ERLANGER
JERUSALEM, June 10 — The ruling Hamas group fired a barrage of homemade rockets at Israel on Saturday, hours after calling off a truce with Israel in anger over an artillery attack that killed seven civilians at a beachside picnic in the Gaza Strip, according to Associated Press reports.
The end of the truce raised the prospect of a new wave of bloodshed and the resumption of suicide attacks that Hamas had suspended since reaching the cease-fire in February 2005.
The Islamic militant group claimed responsibility for at least 15 of the rockets fired after midnight, as well as a barrage of mortar bombs. The attacks caused no casualties, and the Israeli army said nearly all of them appeared to land inside Gaza.
"The earthquake in the Zionist towns will start again and the aggressors will have no choice but to prepare their coffins or their luggage," the Hamas militants said in a leaflet. "The resistance groups ... will choose the proper place and time for the tough, strong and unique response."
Hamas had officially been abiding by an intermittent 16-month-old cease-fire, but Friday's killing of five members of a family and two women at a beach picnic led to the shift announced in a leaflet and confirmed by the Palestinian government spokesman.
Israeli military officials expressed regret for any "strike on innocents," saying that it was accidental and that the shells were aimed at a target 400 yards away, which had been the launching ground for dozens of crude rockets fired by Palestinians at southern Israeli towns. The officials ordered a halt to shelling in the area and offered help to some 30 other Palestinians who had been wounded.
The Palestinian reaction was one of fury, with the deaths putting the ruling Hamas faction in an awkward political position, apparently unable either to protect ordinary Palestinians or pay them, given the halt in financing to the Hamas-run Palestinian Authority by Israel and the West.
To read the rest of the article, click here.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Security Grand Finale: O'Hare
We left Warsaw this morning an hour late, after the pilot reported “a little thing wrong with the plane” that necessitated returning to the gate. Later, he announced that the plane was “doing very, very well,” so we took off. When we arrived at Chicago-O’Hare Airport, it looked like I would probably miss my connection, but I hoped I could get through immigration and customs in time to make my flight.
I presented my passport to the officer, and he asked where I’d been.
Poland and Israel.
How long were you in Israel?
About two weeks.
How was it?
How was it?
Yeah, like how was it there?
It was pretty great.
So what, it was like a vacation or something?
No, research.
Yeah? What do you study?
Religion.
Okay, cool. So welcome back!
And that was it for getting back into the United States. Next I claimed my luggage and waited in line to go through customs. Earlier this morning, I had tossed an apple into my backpack at breakfast in case I wanted a snack, and then forgot all about it. While I stood on line, I listened to the announcement drone on and on: “To prevent the spread of foot-and-mouth disease in the United States, please report to customs officials if you are carrying any food, plants, or livestock in your bags.” Oblivious to my contraband apple, and confident that I had absolutely no livestock in my bag (does that really happen?), I kept moving through the line.
When I reached the front of the line, I saw that the luggage scanner was high off the ground. I had been flying for about sixteen hours at that point, and the bag was heavy, so I asked the customs official, a balding guy in his fifties, if he would help me lift it onto the conveyor belt. He was just standing around, and I asked very sweetly. But instead of grabbing a handle and helping me out, he looked over my documents.
Well, you’re thirty-three years old, so you should be able to handle your own bags.
What?
You can lift your own bag.
You’re seriously not going to help me?
Well, I would help you if you were pregnant.
(I just looked at him. He walked around the scanner, leaned over, and looked me up and down.)
Nope. You’re not pregnant.
I can’t believe how rude you are being to me.
Look, I only help old people and pregnant women. You should be able to carry your own bags.
By that time, I was livid. I mean, really. I'd rather be politely interrogated for an hour. I hoisted the bag up, threw my backpack on the belt with it, and walked through the metal detector. On the other side, I wanted just to grab the bags and try to make the connection. But then they discovered the apple. After scanning the bag, the customs girl asked me with raised eyebrows if I had any food in my bag. I suddenly remembered the apple, and tried to avert the situation by telling her, “Oh, the apple! I forgot about the apple, I’m so sorry, please just throw it away.” She wouldn’t just throw it away, though. She had to take the apple, along with my passport, to a special office at the other end of the security terminal. She was gone forever. I was still stung from the earlier customs guy. Now the clock was really ticking on my connection, and this apple was keeping me from going anywhere at all.
Finally, she came back, sans apple. Before she would give me back my passport, thought, she had to give me a little speech about how important it is to declare food items on the custom form. She paged through the passport and looked at every entry and exit stamp. “You’re a frequent traveler, right?” she asked. I nodded. “Then you should know better than this. It’s a $100 fine, but we won’t make you pay the fine today, but don’t do this again!” She reluctantly handed back my documents and let me go through.
By that time, there was no question that I had missed the connection. Fortunately, there was another one leaving in two hours, so I had time to check in for that flight, and then go back to the customs area and speak to the supervisor about the rude agent and his lewd pregnancy inspection. I don’t think that customer service is high on the agenda for the U.S. Customs Agency, but I thought someone should know what he had done. I told the supervisor that having been in the Middle East, I had encountered a lot of rude men, but none with the audacity of this guy. Apparently, he has some kind of history, because the other agents who were listening were shaking their heads and trying not to crack up. The supervisor apologized to me, pointed out that there were indeed designated agents to help with bags, and told me she would “look into it.”
So, after three weeks of security scrutiny, the final straw in the U.S. is one illegitimate Polish apple. I had been looking forward to being home, in a familiar culture, and able to understand signs and announcements and passing conversations. Then I passed a guy in the airport terminal whose t-shirt read, “If I gave a crap, you’d be the first person I’d give it to.” That was the end of my nostalgia for being able to understand everything in sight. Walking from one terminal in Chicago’s huge airport to another, I passed a stunning four Starbuck’s locations, finally giving in and spending $5 on a coffee drink. It was a good one, though.
After twenty-one hours of flying and waiting, flying and waiting, I finally arrived in Nashville. My mom was waiting there for me with smiles and comfort food, and that was the real welcome home. And also the end of the trip, and the story of the trip I've been piecing together here. As I do the formal work on the project with Tova, I'll continue to post writings and reflections in this space. To new friends in Israel and elsewhere, please stay in touch. My thanks to everyone who has followed along and kept in contact over the journey. Shalom, shalom.
mmr
I presented my passport to the officer, and he asked where I’d been.
Poland and Israel.
How long were you in Israel?
About two weeks.
How was it?
How was it?
Yeah, like how was it there?
It was pretty great.
So what, it was like a vacation or something?
No, research.
Yeah? What do you study?
Religion.
Okay, cool. So welcome back!
And that was it for getting back into the United States. Next I claimed my luggage and waited in line to go through customs. Earlier this morning, I had tossed an apple into my backpack at breakfast in case I wanted a snack, and then forgot all about it. While I stood on line, I listened to the announcement drone on and on: “To prevent the spread of foot-and-mouth disease in the United States, please report to customs officials if you are carrying any food, plants, or livestock in your bags.” Oblivious to my contraband apple, and confident that I had absolutely no livestock in my bag (does that really happen?), I kept moving through the line.
When I reached the front of the line, I saw that the luggage scanner was high off the ground. I had been flying for about sixteen hours at that point, and the bag was heavy, so I asked the customs official, a balding guy in his fifties, if he would help me lift it onto the conveyor belt. He was just standing around, and I asked very sweetly. But instead of grabbing a handle and helping me out, he looked over my documents.
Well, you’re thirty-three years old, so you should be able to handle your own bags.
What?
You can lift your own bag.
You’re seriously not going to help me?
Well, I would help you if you were pregnant.
(I just looked at him. He walked around the scanner, leaned over, and looked me up and down.)
Nope. You’re not pregnant.
I can’t believe how rude you are being to me.
Look, I only help old people and pregnant women. You should be able to carry your own bags.
By that time, I was livid. I mean, really. I'd rather be politely interrogated for an hour. I hoisted the bag up, threw my backpack on the belt with it, and walked through the metal detector. On the other side, I wanted just to grab the bags and try to make the connection. But then they discovered the apple. After scanning the bag, the customs girl asked me with raised eyebrows if I had any food in my bag. I suddenly remembered the apple, and tried to avert the situation by telling her, “Oh, the apple! I forgot about the apple, I’m so sorry, please just throw it away.” She wouldn’t just throw it away, though. She had to take the apple, along with my passport, to a special office at the other end of the security terminal. She was gone forever. I was still stung from the earlier customs guy. Now the clock was really ticking on my connection, and this apple was keeping me from going anywhere at all.
Finally, she came back, sans apple. Before she would give me back my passport, thought, she had to give me a little speech about how important it is to declare food items on the custom form. She paged through the passport and looked at every entry and exit stamp. “You’re a frequent traveler, right?” she asked. I nodded. “Then you should know better than this. It’s a $100 fine, but we won’t make you pay the fine today, but don’t do this again!” She reluctantly handed back my documents and let me go through.
By that time, there was no question that I had missed the connection. Fortunately, there was another one leaving in two hours, so I had time to check in for that flight, and then go back to the customs area and speak to the supervisor about the rude agent and his lewd pregnancy inspection. I don’t think that customer service is high on the agenda for the U.S. Customs Agency, but I thought someone should know what he had done. I told the supervisor that having been in the Middle East, I had encountered a lot of rude men, but none with the audacity of this guy. Apparently, he has some kind of history, because the other agents who were listening were shaking their heads and trying not to crack up. The supervisor apologized to me, pointed out that there were indeed designated agents to help with bags, and told me she would “look into it.”
So, after three weeks of security scrutiny, the final straw in the U.S. is one illegitimate Polish apple. I had been looking forward to being home, in a familiar culture, and able to understand signs and announcements and passing conversations. Then I passed a guy in the airport terminal whose t-shirt read, “If I gave a crap, you’d be the first person I’d give it to.” That was the end of my nostalgia for being able to understand everything in sight. Walking from one terminal in Chicago’s huge airport to another, I passed a stunning four Starbuck’s locations, finally giving in and spending $5 on a coffee drink. It was a good one, though.
After twenty-one hours of flying and waiting, flying and waiting, I finally arrived in Nashville. My mom was waiting there for me with smiles and comfort food, and that was the real welcome home. And also the end of the trip, and the story of the trip I've been piecing together here. As I do the formal work on the project with Tova, I'll continue to post writings and reflections in this space. To new friends in Israel and elsewhere, please stay in touch. My thanks to everyone who has followed along and kept in contact over the journey. Shalom, shalom.
mmr
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Opening Reception
At long last, Tova made it to the opening reception of her exhibit, "O milosci i smierci" (About Love and Death). She recieved endless bouquets of flower and was surrounded by photographers during most of the event. Every time I passed by, she would interrupt whatever Polish conversation she was having to call out, "Maria! I feel like a film star!" She was beaming.
There was a good turnout to the reception, and it seemed that there was a substantial interest in her paintings. The event was a little tedious for me, though, since there were several speakers, all in Polish, and I couldn't really follow very much. I recognized one of the men who spoke from my first meeting with Tova two years ago in Oswiecim. All at once, he stopped talking and started singing, more like chanting, a really long song. Tova wiped tears from her eyes, and everyone but me seemed deeply moved. After his talk, I asked the guy next to me what the singing was all about. His English was marginal, but he managed to communicate "Bible," "Song of David," and "Jerusalem." Turns out, he was chanting Psalm 137 ("If I forget you, O Jerusalem").
Here is an excerpt from the exhibition catalogue:
At one point during the reception, Tova broke away from the crowd around her and made her way over to where I was standing. She leaned over and said furtively, "Jaga is a good girl, but I can't stand it! She is so imposing!" Jaga (Jadwiga), who is maybe around 70, is the woman she's staying with, the daughter of her friend Maryja. Referring to our earlier conversation, I said, "You mean she is very Polish, right?" Tova scowled, "No, she is more than Polish! She is awful." Apparently this woman has been making a career out of telling Tova what to do, watching her every move, and trying to control her activities. While I'm glad Tova has someone looking out for her, at the same time, I can sympathize with how annoying this must be. When I was visiting Tova at Jaga's house, she offered me cake and I declined. Then she brought cake anyway, and I declined again (I'm great at saying "no" and "enough" in Polish). She wouldn't let it go, trying to convince me to eat the cake. Since she was speaking to me in Polish, it was easy to just ignore her with a blank look, but it was sort of creepy how she was determined to get me to eat this cake. I really didn't want to eat it because it was a weird shade of yellow and instead of frosting it had some kind of neon-yellow gelatin on top and in between the layers. I would imagine that living with this kind of personality day in and day out is really grating on Tova's nerves. Tova is a very independent woman.
Anyway, in the midst of this opening reception, all eyes on her, this is what was on Tova's mind. She seemed to be feeling great, and stood at the microphone to give an animated talk (in Polish, of course). Thankfully, my friend Artur, who is the director of education at the Jewish Center in Oswiecim, was also there with his wife and young daughter, so I had someone to talk to in English from time to time. Artur's seven-year old daughter, Maja (pronounced "Maya"), latched onto me and we had fun saying "thank you" and "hello," and counting to ten in English. Then Maja would grab my hand, lead me away, and tell me long stories in Polish. I said, "Good!" in Polish at the end of every one, and this seemed to please her to no end.
There was one other English-speaker (sort of) there: an older man who does some Jewish tours in Poland who recognized me from a few days ago at the Jewish Center in Oswiecim. When he spotted me, he came over to sport his English skills. He tried to guess where I was from: Sweden? Germany? (I'm starting to wonder if I don't sound like a native English speaker or something. People never seem to guess an English-speaking country for me. One time in Israel, the first guess someone made was Greenland.) I told him where I was from, so of course he told me the requisite story about some family member or friend who has some kind of connection with the United States. As he was telling me this long story, he was also throwing peanuts into his mouth, which resulted in a shower of wet peanut particles on my face. I was grateful when Artur came over and I was able to escape the conversation.
I didn't get to talk to Tova very much during the reception, which was fine. I was glad for her to revel in all the attention she was getting, and so glad she was able to get here and be present at this event. Finally the crowd thinned out, and we said our goodbyes. "When will I see you again?" she asked me, and I gave her what I hope to be an honest answer: "Next year in Jerusalem."
Tova's friend Eugeniusz Daczyncki chants Psalm 137.
With Maja Szyndler.
Tova demanded, "Profile to profile!" for our last picture together, just before we said goodbye.
There was a good turnout to the reception, and it seemed that there was a substantial interest in her paintings. The event was a little tedious for me, though, since there were several speakers, all in Polish, and I couldn't really follow very much. I recognized one of the men who spoke from my first meeting with Tova two years ago in Oswiecim. All at once, he stopped talking and started singing, more like chanting, a really long song. Tova wiped tears from her eyes, and everyone but me seemed deeply moved. After his talk, I asked the guy next to me what the singing was all about. His English was marginal, but he managed to communicate "Bible," "Song of David," and "Jerusalem." Turns out, he was chanting Psalm 137 ("If I forget you, O Jerusalem").
Here is an excerpt from the exhibition catalogue:
The works by Tova Berlinsky on show here are a tangibly desperate struggle with light, which makes its way into her painting with visible difficulty. The painter bars access, shading her backgrounds with a thicket of dark lines. She does it with a vengeance, with a dogged perseverance of a person who wants the entire world to be buried under the dust of memories and freeze in mourning and sorrow.The text continues in this way, and it seems to me that whoever wrote this up is a little over-intoxicated with the drama of the black-flower paintings. Knowing Tova, I find it hard to believe that she would describe herself as "a person who wants the entire world to be buried under the dust of memories and freeze in mourning and sorrow." I do know that she paints flowers because she has no grave on which to place flowers for her family, and the black-flower paintings certainly are sad, but Tova just isn't this dark.
She dedicates the dark and often black flowers that are the subject matter of her painting to her parents who, like many Jews, departed in a tragic way and do not even have their own graves. Rather than bring out from darkness her stems, leaves, and petals, Berlinski, conversely, dips them in blackness and symbolically burns them to ashes.
At one point during the reception, Tova broke away from the crowd around her and made her way over to where I was standing. She leaned over and said furtively, "Jaga is a good girl, but I can't stand it! She is so imposing!" Jaga (Jadwiga), who is maybe around 70, is the woman she's staying with, the daughter of her friend Maryja. Referring to our earlier conversation, I said, "You mean she is very Polish, right?" Tova scowled, "No, she is more than Polish! She is awful." Apparently this woman has been making a career out of telling Tova what to do, watching her every move, and trying to control her activities. While I'm glad Tova has someone looking out for her, at the same time, I can sympathize with how annoying this must be. When I was visiting Tova at Jaga's house, she offered me cake and I declined. Then she brought cake anyway, and I declined again (I'm great at saying "no" and "enough" in Polish). She wouldn't let it go, trying to convince me to eat the cake. Since she was speaking to me in Polish, it was easy to just ignore her with a blank look, but it was sort of creepy how she was determined to get me to eat this cake. I really didn't want to eat it because it was a weird shade of yellow and instead of frosting it had some kind of neon-yellow gelatin on top and in between the layers. I would imagine that living with this kind of personality day in and day out is really grating on Tova's nerves. Tova is a very independent woman.
Anyway, in the midst of this opening reception, all eyes on her, this is what was on Tova's mind. She seemed to be feeling great, and stood at the microphone to give an animated talk (in Polish, of course). Thankfully, my friend Artur, who is the director of education at the Jewish Center in Oswiecim, was also there with his wife and young daughter, so I had someone to talk to in English from time to time. Artur's seven-year old daughter, Maja (pronounced "Maya"), latched onto me and we had fun saying "thank you" and "hello," and counting to ten in English. Then Maja would grab my hand, lead me away, and tell me long stories in Polish. I said, "Good!" in Polish at the end of every one, and this seemed to please her to no end.
There was one other English-speaker (sort of) there: an older man who does some Jewish tours in Poland who recognized me from a few days ago at the Jewish Center in Oswiecim. When he spotted me, he came over to sport his English skills. He tried to guess where I was from: Sweden? Germany? (I'm starting to wonder if I don't sound like a native English speaker or something. People never seem to guess an English-speaking country for me. One time in Israel, the first guess someone made was Greenland.) I told him where I was from, so of course he told me the requisite story about some family member or friend who has some kind of connection with the United States. As he was telling me this long story, he was also throwing peanuts into his mouth, which resulted in a shower of wet peanut particles on my face. I was grateful when Artur came over and I was able to escape the conversation.
I didn't get to talk to Tova very much during the reception, which was fine. I was glad for her to revel in all the attention she was getting, and so glad she was able to get here and be present at this event. Finally the crowd thinned out, and we said our goodbyes. "When will I see you again?" she asked me, and I gave her what I hope to be an honest answer: "Next year in Jerusalem."
Tova's friend Eugeniusz Daczyncki chants Psalm 137.
With Maja Szyndler.
Tova demanded, "Profile to profile!" for our last picture together, just before we said goodbye.
Jewish Kazimierz
Kazimierz is the historical district of Krakow that was home to a large Jewish community from the fourteenth century until the World War II. The Jewish town was founded in 1335 by King Kazimierz the Great, who granted Jews fleeing persecution in Germany and elsewhere the right to settle in Poland. When Jews were expelled from western Krakow in 1495 to make room for the construction of Jagiellonian University, they were forced to moved to Kazimierz, which subsequently became a divided town with Christian and Jewish sections. Over time, Kazimierz became a main spiritual and cultural center for Polish Jewry. During the war, the Jews of Kazimierz were deported to the Podgorze ghetto just across the river, and most were later killed in German death camps in occupied Poland.
The synagogues that remain in Krakow serve primarily as museum exhibits and tourist attractions, such as the Old Synagogue and the High Synagogue, pictured below. The Remu synagogue, which also draws tourists and charges a fee for entrance to the building and adjoining cemetery, actually has a small but active Orthodox congregation. However, there is no rabbi serving the area, so the activity of the synagogue is limited.
It is only during the last three or for years that the district of Kazimierz has begun a dramatic renovation and resurgence in business and tourism in the area. There is construction everywhere (including just under my window this morning), and the area has become a popular destination for tourists, especially Jewish tourists who come here to see remnants of "the world that was." The above photo shows a detail from the original iron fence that surrounds the courtyard of the Old Synagogue (now museum).
These signs appear all around Kazimierz and direct tourists to sites of interest in Jewish history.
This area in front of the Old Synagogue was one of the main locations for the film, "Schindler's List." The scene of the liquidation of the ghetto was shot here.
Parts of the original wall and the Hebrew inscription are exposed here in the Old Synagogue.
Above: two exhibits from the musuem of Jewish life and culture in the Old Museum. The sculpture and photograph show a student working with a religious teacher. Below, pre-war marriage and divorce contracts are displayed. The marriage contract is called a "ketubah," and the divorce document, always granted by the husband to the wife, is called a "get."
The interior of the Old Synagogue.
At the Remu Synagogue, with a small active congregation (but no rabbi), a religious Jewish tourist kisses the curtain that covers the Torah scroll in the tiny meeting room.
The entrance to the Jewish cemetery adjacent to the Remu synagogue.
The cemetery is crumbling, but cared for by the community of the Remu synagogue.
During the war, Jewish cemeteries all over eastern Europe were demolished, and the gravestones were broken up and used to pave streets. Often, headstone fragments were transported to concentration camps, and prisoners were forced to use them to pave the roads of the camp. Here, pieces of headstones were recovered in Krakow after the war and preserved in this memorial wall.
The High Synagogue (or Tall Synagogue) was built in 1556-63. Today there is no congregation here, but the interior is preserved and serves as a small photography museum of Jewish life in Krakow before the war and today.
Detail of the original synagogue wall recovered in the High Synagogue. During and after the war, synagogue buildings were often used for other purposes and the walls were whitewashed. In the High Synagogue, an impressive area of color and inscription has been revealed.
The doorway of my hotel in Kazimierz. The hotel building was originally a Jewish home or establishment, and this is the original door frame. During the war, Jews were not allowed to display mezzuzot, so were forced to pry them away from the doorframes (or Nazi soldiers did it for them). Here you can see the indentation where there was once a mezzuzah. The preservation of such shadows of Polish Jewish life is common in Kazimierz.
Israeli tourists at the wall of the Old Synagogue.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The Sun in Another Sky
As we left Oswiecim this afternoon, the clouds parted and the sun finally appeared. It's still chilly, but not as bad as it was over the weekend. Here we are on the balcony of Tomek and Ola's apartment in Krakow enjoying fresh strawberries.
Krakow, Oswiecim
The main square in Krakow (the "Rynek Glowny") on Sunday afternoon. The blue-and-white flag is the official flag of the city of Krakow, and it was displayed everywhere because Sunday was the day of the city festival. In spite of the rain and cold, people were out and about, and at one point a big parade came through the square.
On Saturday, we drove to nearby Bytom for the flea market, where Tomek was shopping for Jewish antiques. On the street next to the market, these guys were passing around a bottle of vodka and a shot glass.
The main square of Oswiecim (pronounced "osh-VEEN-chem"). There is a lot of construction going on in the town these days, and the stone streets are new. In 2000, a discotheque opened in Oswiecim not far from the Auschwitz Museum to world outrage. It was ultimately closed, but today on the same site construction is underway for a large shopping mall.
About two miles from the Auschwitz Museum and the Birkenau memorial site is the Auschwitz Jewish Center, the small museum and restored synagogue where I did research and worked as a guide in 2004. Tomek is the director of the Center, and Ola manages the accounts and works as the office manager. It was here that I met Tova for the first time when she was visiting Oswiecim and came by to see the Center. She was the first and only person I encountered during my time there who had a jubilant reaction upon coming through the door and seeing the enlarged images of pre-war Oswiecim. "This is my city," she said that day, throwing open her arms. "This is my Oswiecim!"
Tova and I had planned to walk around the small city center and visit the site of her childhood home, her father's furniture store, and other places she remembered. Every time she visits Oswiecim, she also goes to the Auschwitz Museum and lights candles for the members of her family who perished there. She plans to stay three weeks, so I'm hoping her health will continue to improve and she'll be able to get out of the house and visit some of these important places of memory.
With Tova in her friend Jadwiga's home in Oswiecim. Ola and I visited with Tova again today, and she seemed to be doing better. When we arrived, she was working on her speech for the opening reception tomorrow night. She remarked again, "Maria, you were right, I shouldn't have come," and reiterated the thought in Polish to Ola and her friend. She seems happy to be here in Poland, though, so I'm not sure why she keeps saying this. Also, I never made any big effort in Jerusalem to talk her out of coming; I just wanted to be sure she had spoken with her doctors about it and followed their advice. As Ola and I were leaving, Tova's doctor was arriving for a visit, so I am confident that she is taking care of herself, and also letting others take care of her.
Monday, June 05, 2006
About Love and Death
The opening reception for the exhibition of Tova's paintings will take place at the Center for Jewish Culture in Krakow on Wednesday evening, June 7, at 6 p.m. The title of the exhibition is "O Milosci i Smierci" (About Love and Death). To see the listing for the event in the publication of the Center for Jewish Culture, click here.
I saw Tova today, and she seems to be doing better. She is definitely in good hands, staying with the daughter of an unusual childhood friend. Her friend, Maryja, was Catholic, and friendships between Jews and Christians were uncommon at that time. Maryja died some years ago, but Tova has remained close with her daughter, Jadwiga, and stays with her whenever she visits Oswiecim. It was interesting to see Tova in this context, since I have really only ever known her in Jerusalem. Jadwiga calls Tova "Gusta," something that was confusing until I remembered that Gusta Wolf was Tova's given name. When I asked Tova a couple of weeks ago why she changed her name, she told me that when she and her husband came to Israel, they chose to take on Hebrew names. "I wish I hadn't chosen 'Tova,' though," she sighed. I asked why. "'Tova' is from tov, which means good," she answered. "So I have a name that is good, but I am not always feeling like I am so good like my name." Even though she is sick, she is clearly happy to be here in Poland, to visit again her life and language as Gusta Wolf.
Tonight it is cold and rainy in Oswiecim. Tomek, Ola, and I had dinner and watched "M jak Milosc" (which translates to "L is for Love"), Poland's evening soap opera. I watched it with Ola last summer, and the odd thing about "M jak Milosc" is that everyone on the show is good. No one is having an affair, families are intact, and grandparents, parents, and children live happily under the same roof. The big drama tonight was that a guy hadn't been completely honest with his two female roomates about his profession: he's a police officer. Also, two children who had been hiding a dog in their bedroom were allowed by their parents to keep the dog. This show is wildly popular in Poland, for whatever reason. It comes on two nights a week and has a huge following.
Tomorrow we will spend the day at the Jewish Center here in Oswiecim, then leave in the afternoon to return to Krakow. I'll be at Hotel Karmel on Tuesday and Wednesday evening, leaving from there on Thursday morning for the airport.
mmr
The World that Once Was
In some of my work, I have been critical of March of the Living, a program for Jewish young adults that organizes travel in Poland and Israel around the time of the Holocaust Memorial Day (spent in Poland) and the Israeli Independence Day (celebrated in Jerusalem). I have questioned the message of trip, one in which groups tour all the death camps in Poland, march through Oswiecim en route from Auschwitz to Birkenau carrying Israeli flags, and arrive triumphantly in Jerusalem just as the holiday season is gearing up to celebrate the foundation of the State.
The surface implication of such activities is to draw a direct correlation between the events of the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel. Such an implication is problematic, in my view, because it seems to ignore the sixty-year Zionist project that preceded the Holocaust and laid much of the groundwork for the State of Israel. I have similar questions about the museum exhibit at Yad Vashem (the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem), because it tells the story of the Holocaust, building up to the story of the founding of the State and the eruption of the incredible view of the city from Mount Herzl. I was talking to someone in Israel about this issue and he asked me, "But do you think there could have been Israel without the Holocaust?" I don't know the answer to that, but I think also there probably couldn't have been Israel without all the Zionist thought and plans and Congresses that took place in the early twentieth century. To leave that out of the story is a problem, in my opinion.
Having never participated in the March of the Living, I don't know the details of the material they cover with the students on their trips. I only know the things I have seen on the surface, students marching with flags in Poland, planting tiny flags at Birkenau, planting trees in Israel. I know that in Israeli collective memory, Holocaust victims are referred to as "martyrs for the State of Israel," a distinction that many victims would never have willingly embraced, many of them being ultra-religious and therefore anti-Zionist to begin with. I am wary of drawing these definite connections between the Holocaust and the founding of the Israel, as though the State of Israel were some kind of consolation prize for humanity's worst crime against humanity.
Of course there is a connection, though, and it is an emotional and powerful one. At the end of my summer in Oswiecim two years ago, a group of Israeli soldiers arrived at our museum as part of a program called Witnesses in Uniform. The museum and restored synagogue, usually empty or echoing with the sounds of a few guests looking around, was suddenly filled with more than 100 soldiers, speaking Hebrew, wearing kippot, the Israeli epaulet affixed to their shoulders with the name spelled out in English and Hebrew. After a summer concentrating on the decimation of the Polish Jewish population and the disappearance of Polish Jewish culture, to see the State of Israel walk through the door in the flesh and to hear Hebrew as a living and vibrant language was an incredibly powerful moment. Before I gave a short talk to the soldiers, we were all crowded together in the stairway while the room was sorted out. I touched the epaulet of one of the soldiers and traced the letters in Hebrew from right to left. He carefully unfastened it from his uniform and pressed it into my hand.
Please don't get me wrong; the situation in Israel is an incredibly complicated one, and I am no wholesale supporter of all tactics against the Palestinians or biblical purist when it comes to the Land of Israel. However, I do believe that there should be a Jewish state. I have to pause here, because I can't follow that up with a good explanation why. Standing there that night two years ago with that epaulet clutched in my sweaty hand, I didn't exactly know why, but I felt why. Maybe it's not much different now.
I started off talking about the March of the Living because I am taking this trip with the opposite trajectory, from Israel and the light and the holidays to the rain and cold of Poland. I know now that however much I may disagree with the underlying messages of the program, the Poland-to-Israel heuristic is a powerful one. Coming here after Israel has had a deadening effect, not least because of the weather, which is of course just a matter of chance. To go from Poland's Jewish shadows to Israel's bright Jewish reality must surely accomplish the desired effect of the March of the Living, problematic as it may be. When Tomek and Ola and I were at the flea market last Saturday, Tomek was scouring the tables for old hanukiot, the candelabras used in Hanukah celebrations. I told him, "I wish I had known you were collecting hanukiot, and I could have brought you some old ones from Israel." "No," he answered. "I am not looking for ones from Israel. I am looking for ones from the world that once was."
And that is what Judaism is here, in spite of all the efforts to revitalize Jewish places and culture in Poland. The disappearances are everywhere. Doorframes where mezuzot had been pried away by the Nazis are now preserved and displayed. Jewish cemeteries in ruins and crumbling-down synagogues are marked as such and memorialized. The Jewish Cultural Festival takes place every summer, and this year there was even a new rabbi in Krakow, bringing the national total to two rabbis. (An update: the new rabbi ended up leaving Krakow, so now there is only one rabbi for all of Poland. He serves communities in Warsaw, Lodz, and New York.) This in a country that was once the center of world Jewry, a country that before World War II was home to more than three million Jews, ten percent of the population. Now it is just the world that once was. It is hard to look out the window at the cold, heavy rain and not wish to be standing again under the sun of the world that is.
mmr
The surface implication of such activities is to draw a direct correlation between the events of the Holocaust and the establishment of the State of Israel. Such an implication is problematic, in my view, because it seems to ignore the sixty-year Zionist project that preceded the Holocaust and laid much of the groundwork for the State of Israel. I have similar questions about the museum exhibit at Yad Vashem (the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem), because it tells the story of the Holocaust, building up to the story of the founding of the State and the eruption of the incredible view of the city from Mount Herzl. I was talking to someone in Israel about this issue and he asked me, "But do you think there could have been Israel without the Holocaust?" I don't know the answer to that, but I think also there probably couldn't have been Israel without all the Zionist thought and plans and Congresses that took place in the early twentieth century. To leave that out of the story is a problem, in my opinion.
Having never participated in the March of the Living, I don't know the details of the material they cover with the students on their trips. I only know the things I have seen on the surface, students marching with flags in Poland, planting tiny flags at Birkenau, planting trees in Israel. I know that in Israeli collective memory, Holocaust victims are referred to as "martyrs for the State of Israel," a distinction that many victims would never have willingly embraced, many of them being ultra-religious and therefore anti-Zionist to begin with. I am wary of drawing these definite connections between the Holocaust and the founding of the Israel, as though the State of Israel were some kind of consolation prize for humanity's worst crime against humanity.
Of course there is a connection, though, and it is an emotional and powerful one. At the end of my summer in Oswiecim two years ago, a group of Israeli soldiers arrived at our museum as part of a program called Witnesses in Uniform. The museum and restored synagogue, usually empty or echoing with the sounds of a few guests looking around, was suddenly filled with more than 100 soldiers, speaking Hebrew, wearing kippot, the Israeli epaulet affixed to their shoulders with the name spelled out in English and Hebrew. After a summer concentrating on the decimation of the Polish Jewish population and the disappearance of Polish Jewish culture, to see the State of Israel walk through the door in the flesh and to hear Hebrew as a living and vibrant language was an incredibly powerful moment. Before I gave a short talk to the soldiers, we were all crowded together in the stairway while the room was sorted out. I touched the epaulet of one of the soldiers and traced the letters in Hebrew from right to left. He carefully unfastened it from his uniform and pressed it into my hand.
Please don't get me wrong; the situation in Israel is an incredibly complicated one, and I am no wholesale supporter of all tactics against the Palestinians or biblical purist when it comes to the Land of Israel. However, I do believe that there should be a Jewish state. I have to pause here, because I can't follow that up with a good explanation why. Standing there that night two years ago with that epaulet clutched in my sweaty hand, I didn't exactly know why, but I felt why. Maybe it's not much different now.
I started off talking about the March of the Living because I am taking this trip with the opposite trajectory, from Israel and the light and the holidays to the rain and cold of Poland. I know now that however much I may disagree with the underlying messages of the program, the Poland-to-Israel heuristic is a powerful one. Coming here after Israel has had a deadening effect, not least because of the weather, which is of course just a matter of chance. To go from Poland's Jewish shadows to Israel's bright Jewish reality must surely accomplish the desired effect of the March of the Living, problematic as it may be. When Tomek and Ola and I were at the flea market last Saturday, Tomek was scouring the tables for old hanukiot, the candelabras used in Hanukah celebrations. I told him, "I wish I had known you were collecting hanukiot, and I could have brought you some old ones from Israel." "No," he answered. "I am not looking for ones from Israel. I am looking for ones from the world that once was."
And that is what Judaism is here, in spite of all the efforts to revitalize Jewish places and culture in Poland. The disappearances are everywhere. Doorframes where mezuzot had been pried away by the Nazis are now preserved and displayed. Jewish cemeteries in ruins and crumbling-down synagogues are marked as such and memorialized. The Jewish Cultural Festival takes place every summer, and this year there was even a new rabbi in Krakow, bringing the national total to two rabbis. (An update: the new rabbi ended up leaving Krakow, so now there is only one rabbi for all of Poland. He serves communities in Warsaw, Lodz, and New York.) This in a country that was once the center of world Jewry, a country that before World War II was home to more than three million Jews, ten percent of the population. Now it is just the world that once was. It is hard to look out the window at the cold, heavy rain and not wish to be standing again under the sun of the world that is.
mmr
Sunday, June 04, 2006
By Hook or by Crook
We called Tova this morning to check in and make plans for meeting up in Oswiecim tomorrow (Monday). Tomek spoke to her first in Polish, getting phone numbers and addresses, and then he passed the phone to me. "Maria!" Tova said, her voice hoarse and tired. "I am so sick. You were right. I should not have come here. I should not have come."
I started to cry. All of a sudden, it seemed like Tova might not survive this trip. She sounded so old and sad and sick, and it was the first time she had ever said anything about not coming to Poland. It's not going to be possible for her to come to dinner with Tomek and Ola and me tomorrow night, because the doctor has forbidden her from leaving the house. "What about the exhibit opening on Wednesday night in Krakow?" I asked her. "I don't know if I will be able to come," she said in a small voice, so I asked her if she would like me possibly to say something on her behalf. It seems that I am really the closest thing she has to family here, and the only person who will be there who knows her well. She thought about it, and made a fast reversal. "No, no, I will go to Krakow. From car to museum to car, it should be ok," she said. Then, with more emphasis: "I will go to the opening! By hook or by crook, I will go there!"
There is no arguing with Tova, so we'll see what happens. She has seen a doctor here, and seems to be well taken care of by her friends in Oswiecim. She is worried that she is a burden on them, though, and so I know she is unlikely to ask if she needs something. I'm not sure what's going to happen about the opening on Wednesday night. I will already be back in Krakow by that time, so I won't be making the car trip with her from Oswiecim (which takes about an hour and a half). I will see her tomorrow at the home of her friends, and we'll hammer it out then. If she can't go, I'll prepare some remarks for her (and find a translator, since the audience will be primarily Polish), and do my best to have her presence felt there. I hope she can come, but her health seems to be seriously waning.
Today, Ola and I will spend the afternoon in the Krakow city center, and then we will leave tomorrow morning for Oswiecim. We come back to Krakow at the end of the workday Tuesday, and then on Wednesday is the opening exhibition and I'll be back at the Hotel Karmel since Tomek and Ola are leaving for Warsaw on Wednesday morning. I'll try to post another update soon.
mmr
I started to cry. All of a sudden, it seemed like Tova might not survive this trip. She sounded so old and sad and sick, and it was the first time she had ever said anything about not coming to Poland. It's not going to be possible for her to come to dinner with Tomek and Ola and me tomorrow night, because the doctor has forbidden her from leaving the house. "What about the exhibit opening on Wednesday night in Krakow?" I asked her. "I don't know if I will be able to come," she said in a small voice, so I asked her if she would like me possibly to say something on her behalf. It seems that I am really the closest thing she has to family here, and the only person who will be there who knows her well. She thought about it, and made a fast reversal. "No, no, I will go to Krakow. From car to museum to car, it should be ok," she said. Then, with more emphasis: "I will go to the opening! By hook or by crook, I will go there!"
There is no arguing with Tova, so we'll see what happens. She has seen a doctor here, and seems to be well taken care of by her friends in Oswiecim. She is worried that she is a burden on them, though, and so I know she is unlikely to ask if she needs something. I'm not sure what's going to happen about the opening on Wednesday night. I will already be back in Krakow by that time, so I won't be making the car trip with her from Oswiecim (which takes about an hour and a half). I will see her tomorrow at the home of her friends, and we'll hammer it out then. If she can't go, I'll prepare some remarks for her (and find a translator, since the audience will be primarily Polish), and do my best to have her presence felt there. I hope she can come, but her health seems to be seriously waning.
Today, Ola and I will spend the afternoon in the Krakow city center, and then we will leave tomorrow morning for Oswiecim. We come back to Krakow at the end of the workday Tuesday, and then on Wednesday is the opening exhibition and I'll be back at the Hotel Karmel since Tomek and Ola are leaving for Warsaw on Wednesday morning. I'll try to post another update soon.
mmr
Friday, June 02, 2006
Profiling
I didn't realize it at the time, but the reason I was pulled aside and questioned in such detail on both entering and leaving Israel was because I matched one of their profiles for potential terrorists: women traveling alone. El Al (Israel's national airline) uses profiling in their security screenings, and if you fit one of these descriptions, apparently you can be detained for hours. Here is an excerpt from the U.S. Department of State Consular Information Sheet for Israel, the West Bank, and Gaza:
SAFETY AND SECURITY: Israel has strict security measures that may affect visitors. Prolonged questioning and detailed searches may take place at the time of entry and/or departure at all points of entry to Israel, including entry from the West Bank and Gaza. Travelers with Arabic surnames, those who ask that Israeli stamps not be entered into their passports, and unaccompanied female travelers have been delayed and subjected to close scrutiny at points of entry.This Washington Post article sheds some light on the reasoning behind the focus on single women. This helps me understand a little better why I was considered with so much more suspicion than any of the other non-Israeli travelers around me. It is understandable, even necessary, but still, it's a scary experience to be targeted like that in the middle of the night, pulled out of line, and questioned so extensively.
A Familiar Krakow
After sleeping all day, I met up with my friends Tomek and Ola for dinner. Sad as I am to leave Jerusalem, it is nice to be in a familiar city with familiar people. This afternoon when my room was finally ready, I stopped at the front desk to take care of registration, payment, etc. The clerk waved me away, "We know you. Don't worry about it. Go to sleep and we will do it tomorrow." It's a good feeling to be known, at least in a small way, in a place so far from home. I have the distinction of having been the first-ever guest at this hotel when it opened back in 2004 and all but two rooms were still under construction. It's sweet that they remember that.
Tomek met me at my hotel, and we walked down the street (in the cold rain) to meet Ola at the restaurant. It was fun to talk and laugh and catch up with everything from the past year. We had a really nice time, and it is so good to be with old friends again. Tomorrow we are going to the flea market together. Also, Ola is going to come up with a coat for me, since my thickest sweater, featured in the photos below, doesn't offer too much protection from this weather.
Tomek met me at my hotel, and we walked down the street (in the cold rain) to meet Ola at the restaurant. It was fun to talk and laugh and catch up with everything from the past year. We had a really nice time, and it is so good to be with old friends again. Tomorrow we are going to the flea market together. Also, Ola is going to come up with a coat for me, since my thickest sweater, featured in the photos below, doesn't offer too much protection from this weather.
Eleven Degrees
That's what the sign said this morning outside the John Paul II International Airport in Krakow. 51 degrees fahrenheit, windy, with dark clouds. Welcome to Poland.
It was a long and difficult trip, but we finally arrived. Tova's friends met us with tears and flowers at the airport, and once I convinced the marginally English-speaking son of her friend that I didn't want to go to their house, that I would be happier taking a cab into the city, they sped away and I was alone again. I will see Tova again on Monday in Oswiecim, and hopefully by then I'll be rested and in a better mood. Not sleeping is about one of the worst things I can do to myself.
I had e-mailed the hotel from the airport in Tel Aviv, so when I got here this morning, they had reserved a room for me, available at 2 p.m. I looked at my watch. No problem, only three-and-a-half hours to go. Then I found out that Poland is an hour behind Israel. So, okay, four-and-a-half hours to go. I called Tomek and Ola to let them know where I was and what's going on. Tomek spoke to the receptionist and got my rate reduced (he's friends with the owner), and we planned to meet for dinner later tonight. Aside from lack of sleep, I'm feeling a lot better just being in a familiar place all by myself. Hotel Karmel happily provided me with a chair and a desk, along with an ethernet cable, so I can work on the computer a little as I while away the hours.
Never ever ever again with the whole flying in the middle of the night thing. I don't mind so much the overnight flights because I can usually sleep just fine, but this whole getting to the airport at 3 a.m., being interrogated as a potential terrorist, dealing with luggage and tickets and wheelchairs and passports and security: these are not things I want to cope with in the middle of the night. I will never know why Tova chose this flight (it wasn't because it was cheap, at least on my end). I know from when I made my reservation that there were flights leaving later in the day.
I am seriously nostalgic for Jerusalem. The weather was in the 80s or 90s every day, hardly a cloud in the sky, all different kinds of people, a certain electricity in the air everywhere. It is a really difficult place to leave. Arriving in Poland on a cold, dark day like today really drives home the contrast, and also illuminates the specialness of Jerusalem that I just can't put into words.
That is not to say that I am not glad to be here, and looking forward to seeing my friends this evening and spending time with Tova in Oswiecim next week. I have always loved Krakow, especially this little neighborhood I'm staying in, Kazimierz. It has really come alive over the two years I've been coming here, and it's nice to see the attempt to revitalize the Jewish culture and origins of this part of Krakow. The Jewish Cultural Center where Tova will have her exhibit is also in this section of the city. Tomek, Ola, and I are meeting at eight at my favorite restaurant in Krakow, Fabryka Pizzy, which is just a block down from my hotel and something I've really been looking forward to. But first, sleep. Three hours to go.
mmr
It was a long and difficult trip, but we finally arrived. Tova's friends met us with tears and flowers at the airport, and once I convinced the marginally English-speaking son of her friend that I didn't want to go to their house, that I would be happier taking a cab into the city, they sped away and I was alone again. I will see Tova again on Monday in Oswiecim, and hopefully by then I'll be rested and in a better mood. Not sleeping is about one of the worst things I can do to myself.
I had e-mailed the hotel from the airport in Tel Aviv, so when I got here this morning, they had reserved a room for me, available at 2 p.m. I looked at my watch. No problem, only three-and-a-half hours to go. Then I found out that Poland is an hour behind Israel. So, okay, four-and-a-half hours to go. I called Tomek and Ola to let them know where I was and what's going on. Tomek spoke to the receptionist and got my rate reduced (he's friends with the owner), and we planned to meet for dinner later tonight. Aside from lack of sleep, I'm feeling a lot better just being in a familiar place all by myself. Hotel Karmel happily provided me with a chair and a desk, along with an ethernet cable, so I can work on the computer a little as I while away the hours.
Never ever ever again with the whole flying in the middle of the night thing. I don't mind so much the overnight flights because I can usually sleep just fine, but this whole getting to the airport at 3 a.m., being interrogated as a potential terrorist, dealing with luggage and tickets and wheelchairs and passports and security: these are not things I want to cope with in the middle of the night. I will never know why Tova chose this flight (it wasn't because it was cheap, at least on my end). I know from when I made my reservation that there were flights leaving later in the day.
I am seriously nostalgic for Jerusalem. The weather was in the 80s or 90s every day, hardly a cloud in the sky, all different kinds of people, a certain electricity in the air everywhere. It is a really difficult place to leave. Arriving in Poland on a cold, dark day like today really drives home the contrast, and also illuminates the specialness of Jerusalem that I just can't put into words.
That is not to say that I am not glad to be here, and looking forward to seeing my friends this evening and spending time with Tova in Oswiecim next week. I have always loved Krakow, especially this little neighborhood I'm staying in, Kazimierz. It has really come alive over the two years I've been coming here, and it's nice to see the attempt to revitalize the Jewish culture and origins of this part of Krakow. The Jewish Cultural Center where Tova will have her exhibit is also in this section of the city. Tomek, Ola, and I are meeting at eight at my favorite restaurant in Krakow, Fabryka Pizzy, which is just a block down from my hotel and something I've really been looking forward to. But first, sleep. Three hours to go.
mmr
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Unbelievably Serious about Security
Tova and I arrived at Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv at 3 a.m. First stop: security. Since I was traveling with Tova and she was obviously a bit sick, we went to the front of the line. Tova went straight through. Then the questions started for me:
How long have you been in Israel?
Sixteen days.
Why were you in Israel?
On a research grant.
What kind of research?
I'm interviewing Tova about her experience as an early Zionist and losing her family in the Holocaust.
How do you know her?
We met in Poland two years ago.
Why were you in Poland?
I was working as a guide in a museum.
So for two years, how did you have contact?
Letters.
Like once a month, once a year?
Like three or four over the two years.
Do you have other friends in Israel?
I do now.
Like who?
You mean names?
Yes.
Well, I have a friend named Orit, her husband Amiram, and also Yoav, and Yali, and Porat -
Okay, so do you have family in Israel?
No.
Do you know Hebrew?
I know some biblical Hebrew.
For reading?
For reading.
You can speak some Hebrew?
No.
Maybe you learned some Hebrew as a child?
No.
This went on for awhile. Then a more official-looking security guy was called in from somewhere else in the airport. He scrutinized my passport and took over the questioning.
What kind of research were you doing?
Interviewing Tova about her experience as an early Zionist and losing her family in the Holocaust.
How did you do this research? By recordings?
Yes.
Where are the recordings?
In my bag on my computer.
So we got out the computer to see that I actually had recordings. After some more questions, he approved me to go through, but I received a different color sticker on my bags than anyone else around me (including other Americans and non-Israelis). My big bag, sloppily packed late last night, went through the x-ray machine. After a short walk, we arrived at another security station. Tova went straight through, but I was stopped again. The girl scanned the sticker on my bag and a picture of its contents popped up on her screen. She was particularly interested in the books in the bag, and wanted me to pull them out. They were at the very bottom of the heavy bag, so it took awhile to wrench them out.
Did you receive any gifts in Israel?
No.
Anyone give you something to take on the plane?
No.
You know everything that is in the bag?
Yes.
Do you have any weapons?
No.
Anything that looks like a weapon?
No.
Anything that could be a weapon?
No.
This was all starting to sound very familiar. The first time around, it was novel and interesting to see how Israeli security works. This time, though, it was the middle of the night, and the questions seemed never to end. Also, I had Tova with me, who can't hear well enough to understand the line of inquiry, but offered her own commentary anyway, holding up the whole process.
I was already pretty cranky when the taxi picked me up at 2 a.m. I don't know why I ever thought it was a good idea to leave Jerusalem in the middle of the night to fly to Krakow, except that this was the flight Tova had chosen, and I just arranged to travel with her. By 4 a.m., I was finally through security, and just completely exhausted. Traveling with Tova is frustrating because even though she is old and sick, I have to coerce her to let me push the luggage cart (heavy), ask for special consideration with lines, get a wheelchair, etc. And as I was trying to deal with people from security and passport control (both completely proficient in English), she is convinced that somehow I don't know what's going on and she will help by saying something entirely unrelated in Hebrew. I think she is really excited about finally going to Poland, and a little bit on the wound-up side. Which is understandable, and I am happy for her that she is excited about the trip, and so glad that she wasn't too sick to go (although she's sounding pretty sick at the moment).
I, however, am not on the wound-up side. It's getting to be 5 a.m. here at Ben Gurion airport (which has wireless internet access, at least). Our plane should board around 5:15, and then it's four more hours to Krakow. The plan originally was that I would spend some time with Tova's friends during the day and then meet up with Tomek and Ola in the evening and stay at their apartment. The new plan that is taking shape in my head is that I will arrive in Krakow, say hello to Tova's friends at the airport, get some cash, and then take a taxi to a little hotel I know and go to sleep. All day long.
mmr
How long have you been in Israel?
Sixteen days.
Why were you in Israel?
On a research grant.
What kind of research?
I'm interviewing Tova about her experience as an early Zionist and losing her family in the Holocaust.
How do you know her?
We met in Poland two years ago.
Why were you in Poland?
I was working as a guide in a museum.
So for two years, how did you have contact?
Letters.
Like once a month, once a year?
Like three or four over the two years.
Do you have other friends in Israel?
I do now.
Like who?
You mean names?
Yes.
Well, I have a friend named Orit, her husband Amiram, and also Yoav, and Yali, and Porat -
Okay, so do you have family in Israel?
No.
Do you know Hebrew?
I know some biblical Hebrew.
For reading?
For reading.
You can speak some Hebrew?
No.
Maybe you learned some Hebrew as a child?
No.
This went on for awhile. Then a more official-looking security guy was called in from somewhere else in the airport. He scrutinized my passport and took over the questioning.
What kind of research were you doing?
Interviewing Tova about her experience as an early Zionist and losing her family in the Holocaust.
How did you do this research? By recordings?
Yes.
Where are the recordings?
In my bag on my computer.
So we got out the computer to see that I actually had recordings. After some more questions, he approved me to go through, but I received a different color sticker on my bags than anyone else around me (including other Americans and non-Israelis). My big bag, sloppily packed late last night, went through the x-ray machine. After a short walk, we arrived at another security station. Tova went straight through, but I was stopped again. The girl scanned the sticker on my bag and a picture of its contents popped up on her screen. She was particularly interested in the books in the bag, and wanted me to pull them out. They were at the very bottom of the heavy bag, so it took awhile to wrench them out.
Did you receive any gifts in Israel?
No.
Anyone give you something to take on the plane?
No.
You know everything that is in the bag?
Yes.
Do you have any weapons?
No.
Anything that looks like a weapon?
No.
Anything that could be a weapon?
No.
This was all starting to sound very familiar. The first time around, it was novel and interesting to see how Israeli security works. This time, though, it was the middle of the night, and the questions seemed never to end. Also, I had Tova with me, who can't hear well enough to understand the line of inquiry, but offered her own commentary anyway, holding up the whole process.
I was already pretty cranky when the taxi picked me up at 2 a.m. I don't know why I ever thought it was a good idea to leave Jerusalem in the middle of the night to fly to Krakow, except that this was the flight Tova had chosen, and I just arranged to travel with her. By 4 a.m., I was finally through security, and just completely exhausted. Traveling with Tova is frustrating because even though she is old and sick, I have to coerce her to let me push the luggage cart (heavy), ask for special consideration with lines, get a wheelchair, etc. And as I was trying to deal with people from security and passport control (both completely proficient in English), she is convinced that somehow I don't know what's going on and she will help by saying something entirely unrelated in Hebrew. I think she is really excited about finally going to Poland, and a little bit on the wound-up side. Which is understandable, and I am happy for her that she is excited about the trip, and so glad that she wasn't too sick to go (although she's sounding pretty sick at the moment).
I, however, am not on the wound-up side. It's getting to be 5 a.m. here at Ben Gurion airport (which has wireless internet access, at least). Our plane should board around 5:15, and then it's four more hours to Krakow. The plan originally was that I would spend some time with Tova's friends during the day and then meet up with Tomek and Ola in the evening and stay at their apartment. The new plan that is taking shape in my head is that I will arrive in Krakow, say hello to Tova's friends at the airport, get some cash, and then take a taxi to a little hotel I know and go to sleep. All day long.
mmr
Shalom
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!
Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
above my highest joy.
Psalm 137.4-6
let my right hand wither!
Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
above my highest joy.
Psalm 137.4-6
Procession
Late in the afternoon today, I decided to walk into the Old City to wander around one more time and have dinner at the lemonade place with the excellent view. As I walked up the hill toward the Jaffa Gate, traffic was especially congested, but not really that unusual for rush hour. However, once I passed through the gate, I saw that something was definitely going on. The road was closed, television crews were set up along the street, and there was a huge crowd of priests and nuns and other excited onlookers.
Just at that moment, the cameras turned toward the gate, and the crowd erupted in applause. A procession with children holding scepters and the cross, accompanied by bagpipes and drums, began to move slowly down the street. Behind them, a black car pulled in slowly. The guy next to me looked like he spoke English, so I asked him what was happening. "The Armenian patriarch is here," he said. Well, he was close. It was actually the patriarch of the Melkite Greek Catholic Church (not to be confused with the Greek Orthodox Church), an Eastern branch of the Catholic Church which acknowledges the pope in Rome as its head. This was a huge deal for all the Greek Catholics around. Nuns were crying, priests were gripping each other's shoulders, women were ululating wildly.
The procession inched down the street, and I found myself in the middle of it, near the front. The music was beautiful, and so were all the children dressed in processional gear who would eventually smile if you grinned at them long enough. We turned left into a narrow alley, Greek Patriarchate Road, and headed up a long hill. I still wasn't sure what the procession was all about, but I surmised that we were headed to a church, so I dug in my bag for my emergency long-sleeve, holy-place-visiting shirt and covered up my tank top so that I wouldn't get kicked out of the parade. Once we were in the church, a choir was singing above the din of the crowd, something akin to the Armenian music but not quite as lovely. I stayed near the back of the church, and shortly a priest came and stood next to me. I asked him what the occasion was. He told me that the patriarch was here for the installation of a new bishop, and I think this was meant to be the ordination service (or some preparatory service for the ordination).
Here are some images from the afternoon. Being swept up in a procession on the streets of Jerusalem was a lovely farewell.
The Greek Patriarch, Gregory III Laham.
Just at that moment, the cameras turned toward the gate, and the crowd erupted in applause. A procession with children holding scepters and the cross, accompanied by bagpipes and drums, began to move slowly down the street. Behind them, a black car pulled in slowly. The guy next to me looked like he spoke English, so I asked him what was happening. "The Armenian patriarch is here," he said. Well, he was close. It was actually the patriarch of the Melkite Greek Catholic Church (not to be confused with the Greek Orthodox Church), an Eastern branch of the Catholic Church which acknowledges the pope in Rome as its head. This was a huge deal for all the Greek Catholics around. Nuns were crying, priests were gripping each other's shoulders, women were ululating wildly.
The procession inched down the street, and I found myself in the middle of it, near the front. The music was beautiful, and so were all the children dressed in processional gear who would eventually smile if you grinned at them long enough. We turned left into a narrow alley, Greek Patriarchate Road, and headed up a long hill. I still wasn't sure what the procession was all about, but I surmised that we were headed to a church, so I dug in my bag for my emergency long-sleeve, holy-place-visiting shirt and covered up my tank top so that I wouldn't get kicked out of the parade. Once we were in the church, a choir was singing above the din of the crowd, something akin to the Armenian music but not quite as lovely. I stayed near the back of the church, and shortly a priest came and stood next to me. I asked him what the occasion was. He told me that the patriarch was here for the installation of a new bishop, and I think this was meant to be the ordination service (or some preparatory service for the ordination).
Here are some images from the afternoon. Being swept up in a procession on the streets of Jerusalem was a lovely farewell.
The Greek Patriarch, Gregory III Laham.
Overcast
Today is my last day in Jerusalem, and it is also the first cloudy day I have seen here. It is still hot, no doubt, but the sun isn't beating down so hard like it usually does, and the heat feels somehow heavier. I checked out of my room at 11 a.m., but the taxi doesn't pick me up for the airport until 2 a.m. tonight. After more than two weeks of nonstop activity, not much sleep, and constant stimulation, today I am really, really exhausted. I'm camped out in the hotel library for the afternoon, and maybe later when it is not so hot I will go up to the Old City and walk along the top of the wall, something I meant to do and never got around to.
Tonight begins Shavuot (lit. "weeks"), the Jewish holiday that marks the end of a seven-week period of counting after Passover. It is a festival holiday and businesses are closed, and since it begins at sundown, the day before basically acts like a Friday, when everything shuts down around 1 or 2 in the afternoon and opens back up on Sunday. With that in mind, I'm almost reluctant to venture out this afternoon and try to do anything because chances are, most museums, etc. are closed.
In the meantime, I wanted to finally include some pictures and people that didn't make it onto earlier posts:
Louis Berlin and his daughter Naomi (a student at Tufts) stayed here at the Guest House for most of the time I was here. I am grateful to them for their kindness in helping me figure things out here, chatting with me and sharing a bottle of wine at the end of the day here in the library.
I met Richard and Lily, the father and daughter from Alaska, on Jerusalem Day last week. A few days ago, I went to dinner by myself at an out-of-the-way restaurant in the Christian Quarter, and as I was finishing up, they walked in. We had a lovely evening together walking down to the German Colony and having coffee at an outdoor cafe. Many thanks to Richard and Lily for spending their last evening in Jerusalem with me.
The biggest thanks, however, goes to the guys who work at the hotel: (l-r) Jack, Ramzi, Rimon, and several others not pictured here. They have been so helpful to me in countless ways, answering questions, arranging transportation, and answering more questions. I am delighted that my first trip to Jerusalem included a stay at this really beautiful and warm spot. I will miss it here.
Tonight begins Shavuot (lit. "weeks"), the Jewish holiday that marks the end of a seven-week period of counting after Passover. It is a festival holiday and businesses are closed, and since it begins at sundown, the day before basically acts like a Friday, when everything shuts down around 1 or 2 in the afternoon and opens back up on Sunday. With that in mind, I'm almost reluctant to venture out this afternoon and try to do anything because chances are, most museums, etc. are closed.
In the meantime, I wanted to finally include some pictures and people that didn't make it onto earlier posts:
Louis Berlin and his daughter Naomi (a student at Tufts) stayed here at the Guest House for most of the time I was here. I am grateful to them for their kindness in helping me figure things out here, chatting with me and sharing a bottle of wine at the end of the day here in the library.
I met Richard and Lily, the father and daughter from Alaska, on Jerusalem Day last week. A few days ago, I went to dinner by myself at an out-of-the-way restaurant in the Christian Quarter, and as I was finishing up, they walked in. We had a lovely evening together walking down to the German Colony and having coffee at an outdoor cafe. Many thanks to Richard and Lily for spending their last evening in Jerusalem with me.
The biggest thanks, however, goes to the guys who work at the hotel: (l-r) Jack, Ramzi, Rimon, and several others not pictured here. They have been so helpful to me in countless ways, answering questions, arranging transportation, and answering more questions. I am delighted that my first trip to Jerusalem included a stay at this really beautiful and warm spot. I will miss it here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)