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On Friday I went to a funeral. A nonogenarian mother, grandmother, great-grandmother was brought to her final resting place. The daughter, my very good friend, said that she did not bring a written eulogy. It was written and carried inside her for the past decade – as her mother was undergoing the various stages of Alzheimer.
“Did she reach ‘good old age’,” asked the daughter? “On the 50th anniversary of the end of World War II my mother said: ‘If you were to tell me, when we were liberated from Auschwitz, that I will live to see a Country, an army, kids and grandkids roaming around free, I would have told you, you must be crazy.’ But she lived to see all of this, and more, so indeed, despite her illness, she was very blessed.
I stood and looked at about one hundred people standing in between the graves, waiting for the body to be lowered into the ground. (In Israel, the body is wrapped in special black cloth and lowered into the ground. A coffin is not used.) Between all the graves from decades past stood fathers and mothers, grandparents and grandkids, children and young adults.
Despite the sorrow and grief, here I witnessed growth and regeneration, hope and a future. Amongst the sea of people, I knew we have a right to be here, a flourishing, successful country. This is our homeland, our home and shelter. This is the only place to which we will always be welcome, no questions asked. This is the one place – G-d’s promise to our forefathers – where continuity is guaranteed.
Israel is the one place we must hold dear, protect and cherish.
I end by reminding us – myself and you who venture with me on this journey – that principles are not a question of timing or convenience. An entity – be it a person or a country – is much more respected when it can be trusted to stand up for its principles, no matter what. At the very least, it will respect itself.
Let us then embark on this travel between postcards, jumping between the various snapshots, visiting one picture then another.
Why Pay for Bottled Water?
Santa Ana conditions in Los Angeles, breezy and sunny in Israel. The last day of January; the winter is absent. The world is experiencing a drought, and we are still watering the sidewalks with fresh drinking water and fill our landfills with plastic bottles of the latest trend – water.
It was not that many years ago that no one would have thought of paying dearly for water in bottles – now water comes in all types of bottles, shapes, colors, tastes, and price ranges. Imports? Local bottling? Brand names? Spring vs. Drinking water? Just walk to the tap and turn the water on. Enjoy every drop that comes out, and you do not have to be dragged into the race of who is drinking the “coolest” water. Museum water? Shopping Center label? We just want an old fashion water fountain.
Does an eight dollar bottle of “artisan” water really taste different? Only to those who are willing to pour their hard earned dollars without a second thought. Where is our pride of our own water quality (in Beverly Hills, for example, water consistently ranks among the best in the region – results of blind taste tests)? Where is our common sense?
In Australia 39 degrees Celsius, 120 Fahrenheit. 22 people are dead from the heat. “Down under” it is summer time, a summer the likes of which few remember.
It seems like a very long time ago that guests from Australia sat with a former Mayor of Beverly Hills at one of the City’s world-renowned hotels. Joining them was the owner of that hotel. Water in tall, beautiful bottles was served (at $10 / bottle). Having served along with 25 other residents on the City’s Environmental Sustainability Topic Committee, I asked why would the hotel not offer the City’s own water (25% of our water supply comes from wells to our own underground water) – free of charge.
Imagine the wonderful effect of a waitress asking the guests – “May I serve some Beverly Hills Water? It is one of the best kept secrets of our City, and – it would not cost you a dime!” When the guest then returns to the room, rather than finding Evian bottles (also exorbitantly priced), the guest will find a note saying: it is perfectly safe to drink directly from the tap. Only in Beverly Hills! (Regrettably, the owner of the hotel decided to bottle water under the hotel’s name. The water is not local, but then who cares?)
We must not treat the most basic commodity with such largesse. We must conserve. Water is a scarce resource, becoming even less available with changing weather cycles and a population growth reaching explosion. Like anything else in life, we take water for granted, until one day it will not be available any more.
Anyone who cares about a carbon footprint must think twice before rushing to buy a bottle of Fiji Water, Avian or San Pellagrino. In fact, do not quench your thirst with local bottlings either; drink from the tap. The water is safe, it is highly regulated, and in Los Angeles we have some of the best water to be found anywhere in the USA.
Take your kids on an adventure instead – find out where the water is coming from, go and visit the open-air aqueducts, go to the water treatment plant in Beverly Hills or to the open-air lakes and reservoirs (there is one hidden among the hills of Hollywood, another in the center of Boston surrounded by a wonderful park). Continue this discovery by contacting your city’s department of Public Works. They will be delighted someone is calling them to learn more about what they do and will be very glad to share their knowledge and expertise. Then embark on a treasure hunt – find fountains and other public sculptures that incorporate water and use conservation methods.
In Beverly Hills, there are two unique underground water reservoirs: One looks like a mini-park, with large grass areas and some trees. Underneath there is a secondary reservoir. People driving along Sunset Boulevard, where the City is divided between the “good part” and the “estates part,” pass it every day but may not even recognize it for what it is.
Those who want to venture just up the hill to the Greystone Mansion – a park (free of charge to all visitors) – will end up parking on the roof of the main water reservoir of the City. Since it is a hillside, it is by definition a dam. After every certain-magnitude earthquake, a City employee takes a canoe and checks all the walls to ensure there was no damage to the structure. Very few residents have been taken down to see the reservoir. To be one of them, you must apply to Team Beverly Hills, a leadership program of the City. To all others – you are still invited to visit Greystone, a wonderful mansion and park.
Water is scarce and we need to treat it as such. Water is wonderful, and there are various ways to discover its many wonders. Treat it with care, treat it as a resource, as an adventure, and thus you will leave a legacy of care that your kids will carry with them and will impart to the next generations.
Why Stop for Pedestrians?
A boy and a girl walk home on the way back from school. He talks on the phone. She hums a song. The two walk in the middle of the street, oblivious to traffic. A mother with young kids in a car slows down to a halt. She rolls down the window and says: “You need to look when you walk on the street.” The boy, annoyed at the distraction, says “but we have not been run over.” The girl giggles and claps her hands.
This is the future: “I do what I feel like doing, and (absent a ‘please’ which seemingly is not in the vocabulary) do not dare to comment.” In fact, “who are you to tell me what to do – my mother?”
I walk in a street on Sabbath and four boys walk on the opposite side. One takes a package and starts peeling it off. First goes a plastic bag – onto the ground. Then another wrapper, followed by a third. For a second I thought it was a treasure hunt, and we needed to follow the remains – clues as to the general direction of progress. I then realized I was not dreaming and politely asked the kids to collect everything they had dropped.
I might have been daydreaming for a very brief while, but the kids were not. Not losing a second, their leader asked “Are you new to the neighborhood?” “No, I answered,” but you may want the neighborhood to look nicer.” The reply did not take long: “you do not know the crime here and the environment.” “Possibly not,” I answered (realizing for the first time it was not too smart to start with a local street gang), “but it is YOUR neighborhood. Whatever you make out of it is what we see here and what you will have.”
I am not sure they understood my meaning, but they somewhat unwillingly collected the different footsteps dropped seconds earlier. I know the boy and the girl who walked in the middle of the street completely ignored the momentary disturbances to their own little world (of cell phones and music and rude behavior).
Who is at fault? None other than we. I started crossing at a cross walk. It is not far from a school (junior high and high school combined) and in the vicinity of an elementary school and a yeshiva. I was carrying bags back from a grocery store and was not walking as fast as I would normally.
A police car, speeding in the residential neighborhood, saw me in the cross walk (it was a clear sunny day), but continued driving. The driver – in police uniform – had no intention of stopping. Since I did not stop myself, he had no choice but to stop (running me over with bystanders would not have looked well on his resume).
Not losing an opportunity to teach, he rolled down the window and shouted – “you did not grow up! How dare you walk rather than wait?” [I was well beyond the median.] I looked bemused at the car, with signs that it is assigned for the schools.
Indeed, I did not grow up yet – I am still expecting drivers to stop when a pedestrian is at a stop walk. I still demand from others what I demand of myself as a driver – respect and caution. Israel, though, is ranked among the worst in terms of stopping for pedestrians. Indeed, cars (force, strength, horn honking) take precedence over anything else. Speed is encouraged, and so Israel pays a very high price – more dead and injured in traffic accidents than in wars and terror activities.
Let there be no mistakes – traffic accidents in Israel are NOT a function of general nervousness resulting from Israel’s continued fight for its existence. Nor are they a result of lack of will – when Israelis want, they know to behave according to the law. For instance, people would stand at a cross walk until the light turns to (little walking man) green even if there is no car in sight. But the minute the light is green and you have the “right of way,” be extremely careful of turning traffic. You still have no “rights” when it comes to a mass of metal and an impatient driver.
Not many years ago, a new Police Chief in Beverly Hills had plain clothes police officers crossing Wilshire Blvd. Between Palm and Maple Drive there is a cross walk, but anyone wishing to cross the street must be extremely patient. I wrote a letter congratulating the effort (hardly anyone bothered to stop, so warning were issued one after the next), which was duly covered by the local press. Does anyone remember that? No. On the other hand, as you drive down Wilshire Blvd. toward the ocean, observe the drivers: They stop for pedestrians, not when one has already started crossing, but as they get close to the side walk. This is training! This is education!
Here, too, lack of enforcement is the key to the status quo. When the price a person pays for not stopping, not yielding, for driving too fast or for driving under the influence is not high enough, when enforcement is irregular and infrequent, when the officials enforcing themselves act in the same manner, a new generation of drivers will grow, not yielding to pedestrians. I will continue being at risk as I walk, and the death toll will continue rising.
We must not look at excuses – education and behavior start at home, right with us.
My Mother’s Chicken Soup
For two weeks I was sick. I am not sure if it was a virus or if I needed antibiotics. I am sure, though, it was not unique. At first I attributed my condition to the frequent travel back and forth to Jerusalem. I would embark on the bus with a t-shirt and get off needing to add two more layers. Constant temperature changes, I thought, were the reason. But then I noticed others had exactly the same symptoms, and they did not visit Jerusalem.
So I looked for someone to blame, but I was too weak and the body needed to rest. I could have simply touched the light in the corridor of an apartment building or the seat in the bus or the door to the local bakery. One thing for sure, it goes around, and everyone is subjected to the same. Kids are the easiest conduits, they feel the most miserable, but they also recuperate the fastest. But then we, adults, are attacked by the same bacteria or viruses, and “it ain’t fun.”
I was eating plenty of fresh citrus fruits, and some kiwi, although it is out of season (it has more vitamin C), and onions (trying the sweet, purple version, and the white and the yellow) and garlic. I had honey and plenty to drink. What I did not have is my mother’s chicken soup. The soup works wonders for it takes all the miracle ingredients nestled within the chicken along with celery and carrots and some noodles and makes you recover.
I only found a Yemenite restaurant that serves chicken soup, and for me it was more a meat-soup with all the spices and heavy texture. My soup needs to be gold-transparent. It must be served very hot and seconds offered. And then I need to go back to bed and let the soup do its wonder and the body fight the trillions of invaders that keep multiplying until the definitive moment arrives beyond which recovery starts.
The soup at the Yemenite restaurant was undoubtedly with large parts of a chicken, and I asked for a second and was too delirious to notice what I was eating. It was not my mother’s wonder chicken soup, so it took me two weeks to start getting better.
When you next talk with a friend or colleague or a neighbor who is sick, go to the grocery store and bring that person two oranges or a pastry or – if you find or can make – an Ashkenazi chicken soup. [There are no delis here, the likes of which we are so accustomed to in the USA.] The person will be grateful – first for the attention, second for the food. Half the recovery is one’s own state of mind, and we all need to feel cared for.
Remember to wash your hands often, but do not be afraid. Almost all of us will have to deal with an outbreak of cold or a flu, each at a varying degree. So continue exercising, eat well, enjoy the outside (walk three times a week – or even better, more often) and bring laughter into your life.
Friday Evening in the Old City
& Come to Visit Israel, Now is the Time
On average, I have been to Jerusalem every other day during this eighteen week stay in Israel. There are parts of the City I know by foot, others by bus. I still get lost, and I still enjoy every new experience, the sights and sounds of Jerusalem. I board a bus and go, talking with a very religious person who sits next to me but does not recognize the country in which he lives. I listen to a discourse in English among young adults who are here for a few months or adults who have emigrated to Israel but still find no need to learn the language. I look at the bus driver, an Arab, who explains to a group of Arabic-speaking children the wonders of this big bus – an adult empowering the next generation.
Whenever I am in the vicinity of the Old City, I change my schedule and go to the Western Wall. There I find wonders every time. From the antiquities exposed to the sun and the weather, to the City of David excavations a short three minute walk down the hill, to the hills covered with graves, all overlooking a particular gate, awaiting the end of days for the Messiah to bring the return of the dead, to men and women dressed modestly to young soldiers who are here for the very first time. Glimpses at past and present and future, all encapsulated in a single visit, never boring, never the same as the previous – or the next – visit.
In my mind’s eye, I see an ordained city, one toward which we pray, facing East. Here I stand in this very City, and I know I do not need to turn any more. I am right here at its center. In each major holiday (and more often) we sing “for next year in unified, built Jerusalem” and promise “if I ever forgot you, Jerusalem, ….” I look around, take a deep breath, hold it as long as it lasts and then I exhale, only to breathe again, to give thanks, to savor the moment.
Jerusalem is a city like no other. If you have not been to Israel, now is the time to start planning. Israel is safe. It is a wonderful vacation spot. It is not dangerous, and the time to visit is now. From Biblical times to historical events to recent achievements, Israel is a miracle – a place for all of us to experience. Young and old, disabled and not, Christians and Jews and Baha’is, white Caucasians and blacks, religious and secular, this is the country for you!
In Israel past and modernity intersect. Remains from Biblical times alongside new architecture, the birthplace of the cell phone and the computer, drip irrigation and solar power harvest fields, a body of water which is almost extinct (the Dead Sea) and another which has been disappearing (the Sea of Galilee). Warm water of the Mediterranean, even when it is raining outside (no real winter this year), five minute walking distance from the heart of Tel Aviv with its coffee and other hangout places. A bounty of fresh fruits and vegetables and flowers, Israel sees millions of birds migrating through this tiny country on their way to or from warmer lands. Join them for a short visit – you will become a regular too!
Israel and its diversity of people, foods and locally produced wines is a wonderful place to visit. So come an enjoy, savor the moment.
Of all my journeys to Jerusalem during this stay, my very first opportunity to be at its very heart on a Friday night happened just two weeks ago. I was staying in the City over the weekend (i.e. Friday midday when public transportation stops to sunset on Saturday, when public transportation resumes) and was invited to a Friday night dinner in the Old City.
This was a rare glimpse at a different way of life, at great wealth that is used in a particular fashion and at the good will of total strangers.
Earlier on during the afternoon, when there was still light of day, families were walking through the Damascus Gate toward the Western Wall. I did not feel safe there, and was looking to see the Border Security and Police officers patrolling the streets wearing full gear. The families, with young children, put their trust in G-d and walked for a Friday night prayer at the holiest place in the world for us. It is our City, it is G-d’s City, it is Jerusalem on Friday night.
It was after sunset when we arrived at the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. We stopped twice to ask about our destination, a private home at the center of the Quarter. Everyone knew where we were headed, there was not a need even to ask, and we were told exactly how to proceed. When we arrived, the door was locked. It was Friday night, so we did not use the door bell. We knocked once and twice.
Two women approaching in the narrow alley: “Are they expecting you? You are invited to join us if you would like,” one offered. “We are invited for Shabbat dinner,” we answered. A complete stranger will invite you to her own for the most important meal of the week, only because you were standing at the doorstep of a locked door as Shabbat entered. I knew there was good in the world, that a special treat was in store for me.
The door finally opened, our knocks were not strong enough. We entered a three or four story home and were invited to the roof, to look at the Old City’s roof tops, directly across from the Western Wall with the Golden Dome and Al-Aqsa Mosque in the background against a full moon. Jews, Christians and Muslims – why is it that we can live together in Israel and yet the Muslim world wants to destroy this one and only Jewish state? I savor the moment, the lights, the quietness in the air. The week has ended, time to rest, to welcome Shabbat.
Entering back into the house, I look around. It looks like a military museum, with dozens of unit tags, with plaques covering every open space. On one side of the very large room boxes – for the soldiers fighting in the South (it was the night before Operation Cast Lead was to come to a unilateral ceasefire). I am amazed, for I realize that each tag, each plaque, represents a good deed, another unit of soldiers bestowed with the same kindness we were about to experience.
Think of preparing a meal for thirty guests. Better yet, ask your wife about doing it. Now think of hosting fifty to a hundred guests at your home for diner, serving a meal worthy of Shabbat, the most special time of the week in Judaism. It must start with a home baked Chala bread (a twisted bread baked especially for Shabbat), followed by a selection of appetizers. The meal is then to continue with a generous serving of a home made soup. If you are now full, you must be a fool. The main dishes are to be served, wine and soft drinks flow, and the best is still to come – a selection of fruits and desserts. The utmost care and attention has been paid to every little detail: the plates, the flower arrangements on the table, the quality of the food, the way it is served.
Of the fifty some guests, forty were female soldiers who just started their service two months earlier. The following week it would be a group of male officers from the combat engineering elite unit of the IDF. The other guests were, on this occasion, all from Los Angeles.
The hostess and host open their house every week to a different unit from the IDF. There are always other welcomed guests. They emigrated from Los Angeles very wealthy, and they use their money to say thanks to each and every soldier, for what the IDF does and for that which it represents – a strong defense force to protect this little country called Israel, the Jewish only homeland.
With the food and wine the discussion flows, each person standing up to introduce oneself. We talk about what it means, in our own lives, to be Jewish. We venture into the future and back to the past. We recognize, for one brief moment, that Israel is a melting pot, that it is the shelter and the homeland for a Jew wherever from she or he may come. We feel connected, united, One People in its country.
The diversity of thought, the backgrounds covering the world over, offer a unique look at what it means to be Jewish in Israel. For me it offers a unique treat – my very first time in Jerusalem at the Jewish Quarter on Shabbat.
Knowing One’s Principles
I am reminded of an elected official who wanted to appease everyone, thinking that this would increase her chances of getting re-elected. I cannot forget a major human rights organization which, in its ninth decade of fighting against bigotry, racism and prejudice would not take a clear stand against the Armenian Genocide so as not to undermine its good relationship with the Turks.
If Jews who came to the brink of extinction in World War II do not know to define what a Holocaust or Genocide is – due to the conveniences of the moment – who is expected to stand firm? Who will ever believe them when issues of shifting conveniences determine positions and not facts on the ground?
The last administration in the USA was often criticized for forcing Israel to do things which are not in Israel’s interest. The answer arrived with little delay: “There is no leadership.” It was probably said more diplomatically, but the essence is correct: Stand up for your own, your values and your principles rather than blame others for your own downfall.
Pastor John Hagee, during a visit in Los Angeles, was confronted by a very respectable Rabbi who claimed Pastor Hagee was attempting to proselyte young Jews. Pastor Hagee, not blinking an eye, replied: “Teach your young ones that in which you believe, and then nothing I do will bear any fruits.” The message was loud and clear: do not look for others to fault, start with yourself, look inward, see if you provide the correct education, the path in which and footsteps to follow.
The Turkish Prime Minister told in no uncertain terms during the past month its country’s position vis-à-vis Israel and the Hamas/palestinian’s attempts to destroy the Jewish State. One did not have to wait for President Peres’ meeting in Switzerland to hear it loud and clear. But we still do not want to pay attention: Anti-Semitism has reached a point of no return. We are on a path to a new World War, and we must stand strong.
Twenty years ago I served as a first lieutenant under a lieutenant colonel. After finishing the service, our ways parted, but we met during a conference in Jerusalem. He now works at the Turkish Embassy in Israel. Enjoying the fact we reconnected, I sent him my series “Postcards from Israel.” During Operation Cast Lead I received a request from him – to please refrain from sending any “political” articles. I was using his office e-mail address – that of the Turkish Embassy. My article “The Hamas Death Factory” did not bode well with his position at the embassy and with the Turkish Prime Minister’s position against Israel.
I stopped sending my articles and learned a very important lesson. One must always stand for what one believes, especially when it causes some (or great) inconvenience. Otherwise one would not be treated seriously and with respect. Flip flopping, wishy-washy attitude or the basic lack of respect for oneself due to issues of momentary convenience are lapses in judgment which should not be tolerated.
It is not the same as not acting. One may still know exactly where one stands and be clear on the direction and content of the way, and yet not take action. At the very least, one would be more respected – by one’s self and by others.
