Communist style communites, getting hustled in Tel Aviv, and I'm going to JERusalem tomorrow!
I never thought that I would be saying this, but I’m going to Jerusalem tomorrow! I have no idea what it will be like or what to expect, but I can’t wait. The most sacred city in the world has, according to Wikipedia, been destroyed twice, besieged 23 times, attacked 52 times, and captured and recaptured 44 times. Today the Old City, which has been traditionally divided into four quarters—known since the early 19th century as the Armenian, Christian, Jewish, and Muslim Quarters. With Shavout (the Jewish holiday celebrating the reception of the Ten Commandments) on Tuesday, Jerusalem may be a bit hectic.
This weekend Ariel took us to his home near the kibbutz he used to live in. According to Webster’s a kibbutz is a noun as well as an Israeli communal form of agricultural settlement. Originally it was predominantly agricultural and practiced a very high level of sharing, including collective rearing of children. More recently (by 1998) industries have taken over a significant role in the Kibbutz economy, and the level of sharing has dropped significantly. The way that Ariel described it to me is ‘you give what you can, and you get what you need.’ You either work the communal fields or at the factory depending on the focus of the kibbutz. It was also very common for kids to grow up together in separate building from their family. This was one of Ariel’s favorite aspects of the kibbutz and I can see why. I would love to have sleepovers every night with my best friends. However he said that it can lead to distance between children and their parents to the point where some would prefer to call their parents by their first name (which is not so uncommon in the States either). There was also the question of who decided what you need, hence there were numerous issues that arose.
We arrived their Friday night for Shabbat, before dinner we took a stroll around his neighborhood. It was very similar to those in California. The designs were elegant and modest, and there were no McMansions to be found. He took us to the fields behind his backyard where the neighbors grow starter plants to be sold at nurseries. Ariel currently lives in a mashov, which is similar to Kibbutz in that it has equality and peace in its principles, but it is less extreme. In kibbutz Ariel explained if relatives visited and brought clothes and gifts they would often be taken so as not to create inequality and jealousy. In mashovs each family had their own homes and possessions but they helped each other out more.
For Shabbat we had delicious homemade lasagna, while Bjorn (whom is gluten intolerant and constantly concerned about his next meal, and always providing entertainment in his search) had some fish and rice. Ariel’s family is quite industrious and makes a ton of their own olives, jams, and tasty drinks.
After dinner we went to meet up with some of Ariel’s friends at his local bar called The Library. It was an ultra-trendy place that played real good music; although it was irritatingly loud to the point where you had to yell to your neighbor in order to carry a conversation.
The next day Ariel took us to the kibbutz he used to live in. It was comprised of simple dwellings that families lived in, some public meeting halls and cafeterias, a grocery store, and bar. He showed us where he learned to play volleyball, the kids building he grew up in, and then we visited his childhood friends house that still lives in the kibbutz.
Later that afternoon we had lunch with Ariel’s very funny aunt and uncle. First we started with a bunch of little snacks like olives, smoked salmon, and lots of other things I don’t like to eat. After stuffing my face with 6 pieces of homemade focaccia, I discovered those were just snacks when Ariel’s mother pulled out a massive shepherd pie J. Some interesting conversation and a food coma later we were headed to Tel Aviv to one of Ariel and Sean’s friend’s birthday parties.
We walked along the beach which packed with people. There were a number of volleyball courts with some aggressive jungle ball being played. We stopped by a version of a 3 card Monte, but it was played with 3 cups and a ball. All you had to do was follow the ball. I watched 5 hands and got 5 in a row! There was a seemingly unintelligent woman next to me who guessed the very obvious wrong cup twice. I couldn’t stand it anymore; I borrowed 40 shekels from Bjorn and threw my 100 shekels (30 USD or so) down. I don’t know how, but somehow I did not guess the correct cup. Ariel, our faithful local tour guide, just happened to be 5 meters away while I was letting it ride. Immediately after I had lost he came to impart the precious knowledge that they ‘work together’. Apparently my travels over the past year have not made me all very street wise. I spent the ten minute walk to the bar laughing and kicking myself…
The birthday party was fun; we got to meet a bunch of the guys’ former indoor teammates. We had a couple beers and a celebratory shot Arak, an anise liquor. After the party Ariel, Bjorn and I went to a delicious Thai restaurant. As we were enjoying our meal on the patio, one of the crazier and meaner looking bums I have ever seen came up to our table. He had a black eye forming and the blood around the cut on his eyebrow had crusted over. He set his unknown beverage precariously on the ledge centimeters from tipping into my lap, and then proceeded to push his hand into our faces asking for money.
Normally, I give homeless people a dollar or two if I have it but this guy was not winning any of us over. Bjorn and I had just bought 4 snickers each due to an outstanding deal at the corner shop; I reached for my snickers while holding his gaze. His eyes told me a few things: he was hammered, he was not right in the head, and he wanted something from us. I handed him a snickers and apologized for the lack of shekels. He looked at the other guys who diverted their eyes. Eventually he walked away and when he did, Bjorn and Ariel quickly walked inside. I was still sitting when he lifted up his shirt and started yelling and babbling at me in Hebrew. It looked like he was wearing an Israeli flag under his shirt?? He then took a few aggressive steps in my direction with his mystery cocktail slopping about. I thought I was going to take a cocktail shower…another hand in my face, and another apology and he finally left. That was the best snickers I never ate.
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