Apple Pie in Jordan

May 30, 2006 by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: Travel 

Sustainable Apple Pie writes about her exciting journey across the border:

As some of you know, about a third of my friends in the Middle East are Jordanian. I have studied with them in Israel and have grown as close to them as any good friend I could have. Which is crazy, when I think about it, because two years ago I would have been able to honestly tell you that I had never spoken to an Arab- Palestinian, Jordanian, Egyptian, American, or otherwise.

This weekend, however, I found myself crossing the border from Eilat to Aqaba and on a bus heading north to Amman. It was my first visit to Jordan and I was equally nervous and excited. Nervous because despite my many Arabic-speaking friends, my Arabic consists of only a few words: mabrook (congratulations), shukran (thank you), keif allik (how are you?/what’s up?), majnoun (crazy), salaam (peace). Excited because I was going to a wedding of a friend and was to meet up in Amman with ten other friends from Israel also there to celebrate the occasion.

I crossed the border in Aqaba with my friend Ruba (Jordanian, from Amman) and took the Trust Company bus to Amman. Arabic music and movies were shown with the sound at full blast the entire four hours. Arrived in Amman and was picked up by Ruba’s sister and husband and taken back to her home. Her family greeted me with kisses on the cheek (one on the left, then two on the right) and tried to feed me everything they had in the house. Then it was off to meet the rest of the group who had gathered at my new favorite bookstore Books Cafe. It is situated in an amazing building with the first floor an English and Arabic bookstore, the second floor a beautifully painted and furnished cafe, and the rooftop a bar with a fantastic view of the city. But Books is only open until about midnight, so we had to move ourselves to a new location. So it was off to the Dove Hotel’s Irish Pub. Irish, because the walls are painted green and they have pictures of Guiness on the walls. Drunk internationals mingle with locals, dance on the small dance floor, and puke outside on the street. Classy. At 2 am, we were all tired of the scene and ready for bed.

The next morning, we woke up early for a 9 am tour with our personal tour guide, Mohammed (an alum from our program) who took us through downtown Amman. We ate breakfast at Hashem, the restaurant in Amman which is now open 24 hours a day and incredibly popular with both tourists and locals because of its INCREDIBLE falafel. After that, we burned some calories by climbing the stairs to the top of the Roman Amphitheatre and sat at the top in the shade discussing environmental issues in Amman and Jordan (I have the most amazing friends!). Then it was time to tackle the souq (that’s shuk in Hebrew, or market in English). Blocks and blocks of fruit stands, meat, fish, clothing, housewares. Far too overwhelming for me to be able to purchase anything.

Back to another friend’s apartment, T., our main headquarters during our stay. T. is an American Jewish woman living in Amman and studying Arabic for the year. We completely took over her apartment, but she was an incredibly gracious host. But had no qualms with reminding us to conserve water and clean up after ourselves. In Jordan, every house receives water from the municipality for two hours each day. Almost every home has some sort of cistern in which to store that water so that there will not be a shortage, but it definitely happens from time to time. Our showers had to be about 2 minutes long, primarily rinsing off the sweat and grime that had accumulated over the course of the day.

We had one last outing before heading to the wedding. Rainbow Street, where every Friday there is a small craft market in which independent artists sell their wares to a much higher class than what we experienced at the souq. At the end of the market is the Royal Conservation Society of Jordan’s main headquarters, Wild Jordan. It is a gorgeous building highlighting the many nature reserves in the country, promoting eco-tourism, and has an incredible view of the city from it’s outdoor restaurant which serves healthy, fresh food. I ate a Strawberry Muesli Parfait from the dessert menu, yum!

Back at the apartment, we rushed to get ready for the wedding and it felt a little bit like prom: putting on each other’s make-up, sharing clothes, exchanging jewelry. We arrived at the hotel in time to see the bride and groom making their way up the stairs accompanied by family, friends, a group of drummers in traditional Syrian costume. All of it being videotaped in one of the most elaborate wedding videos I have ever seen. The bride and groom went to get photographed and the guests seated themselves at tables in the ballroom awaiting their return. When they came back the lights were turned down low and they began a night of dancing with a slow dance. Soon, the tempo picked up and we danced the night away to Arabic music that was so loud that it is still stuck in my head.

It was amazing. I know I have used that word way too much in this post, but that is about the only word I have to describe the night: Amazing. Amazing. Amazing.

The dancing ended at 1 am and we went out on the town for more fun (this time with a bit of alcohol). Got back at 3:45 am when the call to prayer started echoing across the city. Beautiful.

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The Height of Fashion

May 28, 2006 by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: General 

Now available at Old Navy and on sale for ten bucks!

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Shabbat Afternoon Hatikva

May 25, 2006 by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: General 

We were sitting on our third floor terrace on a warm Shabbat afternoon. It was one of the perfect Jerusalem days – not uncomfortably hot, not borderline cold; the air just lapping lightly at your skin with no unwelcome humidity to mar the moment. My wife Jody and I were reading the paper, eight-year-old Aviv was kicking a ball around in the courtyard downstairs, and the older kids were playing the card game Set.

Then I heard it. An amplified sound that echoed off the buildings incoherently in a language I didn’t immediately recognize. Imagine the “blah-blah-blah” voice of the adults in the old Charlie Brown cartoons – that’s pretty much what I was listening to.

My first thought was it was an emergency announcement, a policeman on a blowhorn warning people to stay away from some area where a suspected terrorist was loose. But there were no sirens and the voice sounded more enthusiastic than stern.

Maybe it was from one of the local muezzins – the loudspeakers that sit astride area mosques and call the faithful to prayer five times a day. Depending on where you live in the city (and your religious preference), this call can be quite inspiring – or rather jarring, especially the one that goes out across the eastern part of the city before dawn.

But now the amplified voice began to take shape – it was clearly Hebrew. And I began to discern other sounds in the background: a crowd, cheering.

The proverbial light bulb went off over my head: the audio reverberating all through southern Jerusalem on this sunny Shabbat afternoon must be coming from far away Teddy Stadium where a local soccer match was being played. The excited voice I heard…that was the announcer probably introducing the players as they strode onto the field.

Soccer on Shabbat…it’s as American as apple pie. But this is not America, it’s Israel, and instead of apples, here it’s a political hot potato.

Shabbat afternoon soccer is a desecration of the holy day, say some. It’s a perfect way to spend the day following synagogue and a family meal, say others.

For immigrants from the U.S., the debate is mostly moot; we didn’t grow up in a rabid soccer-playing culture like our Israeli fellow citizens, or for that matter like our English-speaking cousins from the U.K., Australia and South Africa. So we look on, like the bemused outsiders we so often are, as proposals make their way to the Knesset that go so far as to ban Shabbat soccer…or, alternatively, to move Israel’s weekend to accommodate Israelis of all religious persuasions.

Shifting the weekend to a more Western-standard Saturday-Sunday (vs. Israel’s current Friday-Saturday that gives us only four days of overlap with most of our overseas workmates) would not only solve the soccer dilemma, but the shopping one too. Both soccer and shopping could be concentrated on the newly created Sunday day off.

It sounds attractive though I’m not holding my breath. Given the importance of Shabbat to so many Israelis (no matter how they celebrate), most people would probably take off early on Friday afternoons to get home before sundown. That would leave us with a four and a half day workweek, making Israel the productive equivalent of, well, France (not exactly a model of hardworking inspiration).

As I sat on my terrace and debated the trade offs between work and play, it occurred to me that all these discussions were missing the point. Because for at least one neurotic oleh (Hebrew for immigrant), the booming narrator and the amplified crowd were doing only thing really well: disturbing my relaxing Shabbat afternoon of leisure. Politics shmolotics, this was just annoying.

I tried to ignore the uninvited surround sound, but some underused part of my brain was doing laughable Hebrew-to-English translations in the background while I tried to read the weekend paper.

I was just about ready to head inside and shut the door on a beautiful day when, suddenly, the loudspeakers began to blare a new tune. Someone was singing now. My universal translator stepped up to the plate.

As long as deep in our hearts
The Jewish soul sings
And forward to the East
To Zion, looks the eye

I can name that tune…it was the Hatikva. Bouncing off the rooftops, from luxury apartment building to 1950s-era tenement and everything in-between sounded the proud words and melody of the Israeli national anthem.

Our hope will not be lost,
The hope of two thousand years
To be a free nation in our land
The land of Zion and Jerusalem

As the music ended and cheering erupted from far away, I realized I had unintentionally stood up to face the direction of Teddy Stadium. So then, this time very consciously, I turned slowly, nearly180 degrees, to orient myself in the direction of the Western Wall at the heart of the Old City of Jerusalem.

Yes, the sounds from the stadium had certainly been annoying. But where else in the world can these inspirational words envelop an entire city? A Shabbat afternoon Hatikva might not have been the exact reason we moved to Israel in the first place…but it was a pretty good reason to stay.

To all who are celebrating Yom Yerushalayim – Jerusalem Day – today, chag sameach…happy holidays. And next year…in Jerusalem!

———-
This article was cross-posted at This Normal Life.

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Police state

May 22, 2006 by · Leave a Comment
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After 21 years here, I received my first jaywalking ticket today.

Yup, my picture’s going up on the post office wall, coming on the heels of another brush with the law a few months ago which I’m too embarrassed to talk about here. Let’s just say I have lawbreaking in my blood.

My friend Harry has always warned me about crossing Jerusalem streets with the little red guy lit up, saying that the police were always lurking around corners. I sort of paid attention, but generally, if not traffic was approaching, would take my chances.

As my intern Abby recently pointed out, Israeli crosswalks are kinds of screwed up. One side of the street turns green and you can walk across to the median strip, but the other side is rarely synchronized, so you’re stuck on the median for another minute or two with cars whizzing past.

As I was approaching the intersection, I noticed to my amazement that both sides of the road had been green, but that the close side had just that instance turned red, with people still in the middle of the crosswalk. I took a couple running steps to catch up with my fellow pedestrians, to take advantage of the far green side.

Feeling great that I had managed to cross the road without having to stop in the middle, a young policewoman stood up, and walked over to me.

“Why did you cross on red?” she asked.

Another thing Harry had told me was that if you’re ever stopped in a situation like this, pretend that you don’t speak Hebrew. The cop will just get frustrated and let you go.

“Sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” I responded in my best Johnny Depp/Willy Wonka imitation.

This cop was very dedicated and patient, because she switched to very broken English and explained my transgression and explained that she was giving me a ticket.

While I was standing there waiting for her to write out the megillah ticket, her partner caught two other saps, making me feel a bit better.

Leaving the scene with my 100 shekel fine, and feeling like a convicted felon, I continued to the office, where nearby construction work has made the sidewalks and the roads a potential land mine with people and cars darting in and out. Weaving my way between cars, pedestrians and the road, I looked back at my friendly, patient cop and waved.

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Indie Rock – with an Israeli edge

May 18, 2006 by · 2 Comments
Filed under: Pop Culture 

As someone who is perpetually engaged in a love affair with music, and with indie rock in particular, as I planned my move to Israel last year, I was hesitant to leave Montreal’s lively music scene. I didn’t particularly want to trade in my Arcade Fire homecoming shows for, well, I didn’t know what. It might sound silly, but lack of good concert going experiences was high on my list of reasons not to go to Israel.

As it turns out, my fears were completely unfounded – Indie and Punk Rock do in fact exist in Israel, and are doing just fine.

Ironically enough, now my newfound love for a number of Israeli bands is high on my list of reasons to stay. Monday night I had the distinct pleasure of being exposed to a night of indie rock, with four up and coming Israeli indie bands who blew me away.

With the full album of only one of the four bands, I was mildly hesitant as I dragged a number of my friends from Jerusalem to the show with me in Tel Aviv’s Heineken Habima club. I wasn’t exactly sure how indie rock would translate from North America to Israel, and I wasn’t completely confident that bringing a number of friends with me to find out was the best decision that I could have made. I became increasingly nervous as we entered an entirely too nice building, and bought tickets from a friendly elderly man dressed in a full suit and tie (a rarity, itself, in this country). I reminded my friends not to hate me, we bought our tickets and headed to the door.

As we walked down the badly painted stairs, and the ratio of painted versus exposed concrete began to increasingly favor the latter, that sense of familiarity that I have spent the year searching for began to surround me. The carpeted hallway of the entrance gave way to metal flooring, and the neat white walls sequenced into the token black walls of any good rock venue. Hidden beneath the clean-cut entrance was just what I had been hoping for – a grungy, dimly lit room, a mish mash of tables and chairs, and plenty of room to dance.

And let’s just say that the music didn’t disappoint the venue. Though I didn’t particularly enjoy Anat Damon, Geva Alon, Primo Levy and the Genders all put on impressive shows. Israeli punk rock offers a new edge, and it’s a new edge that I’m certainly a fan of. The Genders self described ‘punk ‘n roll’ uses the political situation in Israel to perfectly recapture the rebellious, mildly offensive, and usually humorous style of American punk rock in the ’90s. They know how to rock, and are certainly not to be missed on the Israeli music scene. Geva Alon and Primo Levy, too, though less up front indie rock, put on equally enjoyable shows. Alon’s bluesy folk rock and Primo Levy’s pearl jam-esque sound would both undoubtedly translate well in the US.

Music in Israel seems to be ubiquitously poppy, and though it is clear that the bands were not mainstream by Israeli standards, minus the Genders, as one of my fellow show goers pointed out, it is arguable whether or not they would be considered indie rock in the US.

It was this point that I found particularly interesting. Walking into this scene, there was no question that it was an indie show – it perfectly fit the bill. Had I simply been handed Geva Alon or Primo Levy’s album, however, neither indie rock, nor even emo, would have made the list of adjectives used to describe it. The music was unfamiliar, but the scene was second nature.

It’s cliché, but it’s amazing how music – and even a music scene – can translate so well universally. Lost in the underground world of the Heineken club, listening to the indie/punk/garage band stylings of the Genders, I wouldn’t have been surprised had the bar tender responded to me in French instead of Hebrew. My Montreal nostalgia was in full force, but truth be told, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. More so than ever, Israel really felt like home.

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