Berlin with Palm Trees

"Berlin with Palm Trees" -- that's how they sometimes refer to the vibrance of Tel Aviv. It's a bustling modern city with much to see. The full name is Tel Aviv-Jafo -- the latter referring to the ancient Arab port of Jaffa which sits at the southern edge of Tel Aviv. Photos are here.

I was fortunate to have my friend Honi to show me around. We walked the southern part of the city's shoreline, and spent time in Jaffa in search of the best hommus in town. When we found it, the line was way out the door -- also at the restaurant's second location, directly across the street.

Jaffa, an ancient port, has ruins dating to 1500 B.C. right in the middle of town. During Ottoman times, discrimination against Jaffa's Jewish population contributed to the founding of Tel Aviv in 1909, and incorporation in 1921 under British administration. The city expanded quickly until Tel Aviv and Jaffa grew together. The stories most often repeated tell of the struggles between Arabs and Jews during the growth of Zionism and the founding of Israel: stories, such as the mosque built way beyond the northern edge of Jaffa, in an attempt to contain the southerly expansion of Tel Aviv, and its minaret which became a deadly sniper tower during the 1948 war. But these stories don't do justice to the commitment to peace one sees today on the streets of Jaffa.

This land was indeed the site of some of the most serious conflicts -- but today Jaffa looks like a model of successful coexistence between Jews and Arabs. The cities are deeply entwined, with a unified administration. Jaffa is more or less evenly divided between Jewish and Arab populations, and everywhere you look there are people living in close proximity, going about business as if no conflict is relevant to their lives.

Elsewhere in Israel and the West Bank, many people identify their religious or ethnic group through their appearance, but here in Tel Aviv-Jafo, one sees a minimal amount of those clues. Friends who live here tell me even they can't always tell who is in which group -- suggesting that the Israelis who choose to live in this environment, both Jewish and Arab, are the ones who tend to be most interested in a unified coexistence within a secular state. And indeed, when you talk to Israelis they have strong preferences for Tel Aviv or Jerusalem -- representing two different ways of coexisting.

My second trip to Tel Aviv was spent mostly in the Museum of the Diaspora -- telling the stories of Jews all over the world, and the ways they lived before their return to their biblical and historical homeland. A nice treat was the special exhibit on the Jews of Iran. It brought up memories of my very special visit to Iran over the summer of 1978, just before the Islamic revolution.

You know, that Jaffa mosque could be seen as a parable of coexistence: although its minaret was misused as a sniper tower in 1948, the community resisted calls after the war to tear it down. And when 40 years later the minaret fell down of its own accord, it was rebuilt even taller. Such is the confidence of the people of Tel Aviv-Jafo in their shared future.

Photos are here.

"Olive Trees Will Be Our Borders"

This is the post I don't want to write.

We were supposed to be on vacation; perhaps one where work was done and professional relationships developed, but plenty of chances to learn and explore. Yet as much as I don't want to think about politics here, they didn't take long to find us. And everywhere you go, the landscape is drenched in history -- including the history of the recent conflicts.

Israelis have a sort of code; a set of abbreviations that get across a whole context for understanding whatever it is they're saying. ". . .in 1948" or ". . .until 1967" have very specific meanings. These refer, of course, to the War of Independence, and the Six Day War, the two events that most shaped today's Israeli society. It's impossible to look across the landscape without thinking about those wars, and envisioning how they were experienced.

And of course, there's the elephant in the living room, which is "The Wall": Israel's separation barrier that's keeping the West Bank Palestinians out of sight, if not out of mind. In America and across the world, The Wall represents, as one friend put it, "the face of evil, all across the world." I'm still trying to understand it.

So often the barrier is discussed out of the context of Israel's security. So often we hear claims that there are no credible threats, that The Wall is really just a land-grab, or just another way that bigotry against Palestinians is expressed. After coming here, seeing it, hearing the way Israelis (both Jewish and Arab) talk about it, going to the other side and talking to Palestinian Muslims and Christians -- I still feel hardly qualified to express an opinion, other than we in the West are clearly awash in cartoonish oversimplifications. There's nothing uncomplicated about the situation, and there's nothing ethical about reducing the moral framework of the conflict to a "one good, the other evil" discourse.

Politics found us as soon as we arrived: The taxi driver exited the main highway from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem; he seemed to want to show us something different, something not as visible from the main highway. He said something about traffic, but that seemed implausible when the smaller road we exited to were even more congested. "You will see -- there are two roads, one for Jews only. Which do you think is better?" Obviously this was wrong since I, not a Jew, traveled that road. The criterion for access to the better roads is a yellow license plate, signifying Israeli citizenship -- regardless of religion. The roads are segregated because of fatal attacks on Israelis and tourists. And for that matter, the "Israeli only" roads actually DO have some grey (Palestinian) license plates on them, an indication of the liberalizing policies of the last two years. Policies that, despite producing numerous and measurable improvements for life on the other side of the separation barrier, usually go unrecognized in our public discourse -- particularly by those who insist on discussing the separation barrier outside of the context that produced it.

Perhaps the best way to describe Israeli's separation barrier is through the eyes of people with whom I have discussed it:

The Taxi Driver (airport): A Moroccan Jew, this fellow clearly sees it much as the foreign critics do: as an unacceptable evil, and as the source of the current conflict. I have much sympathy for the position that violence is cyclical and self-perpetuating, and I fear for the children growing up on the other side of the barrier, who through isolation will become more vulnerable to extremism and xenophobia. Though our driver understood how the barrier perpetuates the cycle of violence, he was not unaware of its context. Why did they build the wall? "The Palestinians, they make a lot of trouble."

The Father: we had dinner in southern Israel with a family whose teenagers are at the age where they're stretching out and visiting other parts of the country, alone. This father is grateful for the security barrier, since he can allow his daughter to ride the bus all the way to Tel Aviv. Before it was too dangerous.

The Writer: this American freelance writer and orthodox Jew expressed gratitude for the separation barrier. It's the only thing that stopped the bus bombings, which were perpetrated not only by the Palestinians, but by militants from other countries who infiltrated Palestinian society, and who remain philosophically committed to the destruction of Israel and the Jews. The checkpoints continue to thwart attempts to smuggle explosives into Israel, so it's ludicrous to ignore that the barrier has been successful at preventing terror attacks.

The Merchant: for an Arab Christian whose Bethlehem (West Bank) shop caters to Christian tourists, The Wall has deeply impacted his way of life. He sees only a few customers a day, since the tour buses rarely venture to the Other Side. Because his family is wealthy and politically well-connected, he can afford to stay and wait for better times, but Bethlehem's Christian merchant class has beed devastated. He shows me a photo of an Israeli tank outside his shop, taken in 2000, and the damage it caused to the building.

The Shopkeeper: another Bethlehem merchant, a Muslim whose store is much smaller and less of an enterprise of the entire extended family. He's survived because his store is right on the walking path on the way to Bethlehem's main attraction, the Church of the Nativity. He still has many beautiful carved wooden figurines, carved by artisans throughout the West Bank. The selection is dwindling though, as those traditional craftsmen are less able to survive the isolation imposed by the barrier. (Economic pressures caused by Chinese souvenir imports couldn't be helping, either.)

The Taxi Driver (Tel Aviv): He went to Bethlehem on Christmas years ago, and regrets no longer being able to visit. He, his friends and family all loved going to Judea (the biblical and historical name of the southern West Bank), and spent a lot of money there, as many Israelis did, pumping money into the economy. Eighty percent of the Palestinians would have peace with us yesterday. Not tomorrow, but yesterday -- and yet the few on both sides of the political divide want too much, compromise too little, and perpetuate a separation that is good for neither side.

The Historian: The underlying problem is that the Palestinian leaders, and the leaders of the surrounding Arab states, have not come to terms with coexistence with the Jewish state. The Palestinians have been offered their own state several times, not the least significant of which was in 2000, when Arafat turned down a Palestinian state that included 91% of the West Bank, all of Gaza, and Israeli payments into an international fund to victims of the 1948 displacements. The current administration is correct in demanding Arab recognition of the Jewish state, since without this, no resolution can be achieved -- and since this is the main obstacle to peace.

Another Historian: After the failure of the peace process in 2000, the Bush Administration pressured the Palestinian Authority to accept Salaam Fayyed as Finance Minister, who rose through the PA leadership from there. Fayyed took the approach that it's up to the Palestinians to create a Palestinian state, rather than to waiting for Israel to recognize one. His approach: never mind what the Israelis are doing; let's build the state here with what resources we have, and in a few years we will be able to declare our own independence, regardless of what the Israelis want. It's a pragmatic and self-reliant approach, and one that's well on its way to success.

The Economist: the barrier is an extreme response to an extreme situation. We can talk about racism within Israeli society and how that affects policy, but little understanding can be achieved without an equal commitment to understanding how antisemitism continues to influence the conflict. Accusations of systemic racism are best disproved by looking around: every day you see Jews and Arab Palestinians living together in peace.

The Southern Israel resident: the barrier is a good thing from a psychological viewpoint, because it demonstrates to the Palestinians that they do have a state with borders, and that through separation they can learn self-reliance, both economic and psychological. Furthermore, it's allowed Palestinian money to be reinvested in building a Palestinian state, rather than being disseminated into Israel. The current hardships are a necessary step in establishing the fiscal autonomy needed by an independent Palestinian state.

Another Southern Israel Resident: the barrier can and should be criticized in places for its location, but keep in mind that it can and has been successfully challenged in the court system -- and that Israel's Supreme Court has in some cases ordered the location of the barrier to be changed, based on legal challenges from both Israelis and Palestinians. In the cases where the barrier is clearly causing unnecessary hardship, the correct response is to rely on the legal system to change it.

The Attorney: if you choose to describe this conflict in terms of race and racism, then you must realize that both the Palestinian Authority and Hamas intend for that same racism to be a central feature of the emerging Palestinian nation. They're talking about establishing a Palestine free of Jews, so we must decide whether to support racism in this context.

My sample of interviewees was clearly limited: I did not interview any Israeli Jews representing the religious right, and my sample of West Bank Palestinians and Israeli Arabs was limited.

Passing through eastern Jerusalem on the last day of our visit, we passed a house with a sign expressing hope for a peaceful solution that will not separate us from our neighbors: "Olive Trees Will Be Our Borders."

photos are here.

Eastern Jerusalem and the Muslim Quarter

Few parts of Jerusalem are as dynamic as the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. The sights, sounds and smells are exhilarating. To go right to the photos, please look here.

Our tour began with a taxi ride through the eastern part of Jerusalem. Palestinian Arabs call this "East Jerusalem," to set it apart from the rest of the city. While a walk through the western part of the city usually reveals a diverse mixture of Jews and Arabs, the eastern part of the city is almost exclusively Arab Muslim (although I don't think this was true before 1948). In any case, the reality is that Jerusalem offers everyone a choice to live in a diverse, pluralistic society much like the other parts of Israel I've seen, or to live in an almost exclusively Muslim culture.

Our taxi driver, a Muslim, is helpful and polite to the extreme. After some coaxing he comments on how he is seen as an "Arab Israeli," an indication that he identifies more as a Palestinian. In public discourse the word "Palestinian" is often used to wrongly imply that Jews and Christians are outsiders, but without a doubt the influx of Jews, returning in great numbers to their historical and biblical homeland, has created a backlash in the form of a Palestinian-Muslim national identity. Personally, I wish we could just all recognize that all three groups have been here for longer than anyone can tell, and that all deserve to live here in peaceful coexistence. But that will require a greater degree of flexibility and compromise than has yet been exhibited.

This was not to be (and will not be) the post about politics. Yet every vista, every new acquaintance, every new experience suggests multiple perspectives. This is the homeland of several distinct, ancient cultures, whose experiences have entwined, intersected and sometimes clashed. It's the crossroads of the conflict between between the new world and the old ways, between liberal democracy and authoritarianism, and between individualism and collective responsibility to family and community. In the Holyland, it's almost impossible to avoid the political.

Our driver took us to the top of the Mount of Olives, site of an ancient Jewish cemetery (political comment omitted). I got my first camel ride, and my first experience as the object of a Palestinian youth's anger. We continued along the Via Dolorosa and past the garden of Gethsemane, following Jesus' path to the Crucifixion. This took us into the Old City through Lion's Gate, and past several stations of the cross. I got to visit the birthplace of the Virgin Mary, and crawl deep into the crypts carved out of the stone underneath. Sometimes it's difficult to separate history from folklore, but as Nancy points out, historical accuracy is not the best way to measure the importance of religious sites or artifacts. Their importance derives from being recognized as a tangible connection to faith.

Nowhere else in Jerusalem have I encountered the level of crowding seen in the Muslim Quarter. Almost everyone here (except tourists) is in traditional dress, so unlike other parts of the city it's easy to identify almost everyone by their religion. . .at least most of the time. We did encounter a procession of men in white robes, followed by women in dark colors. They appeared to be members of a religious order, but I could not begin to guess more.

It's here in the Muslim Quarter that Jerusalem feels most like an ancient city, without the intrusion of the modern world.

Photos are here.

Jerusalem: The Jewish Quarter

The "Mandolins in the Negev" post got out of order, so look below if you missed it (and care).

My first visit to the Old City began with the Ramparts Walk, which ended at the Western Wall in the Jewish Quarter.

For photos of the Jewish Quarter, please look here.

I'll let the photos do most of the talking. But some highlights:

The Western Wall was crowded, as usual. I respected the rule against photography close to the wall, at least until I saw how many people were doing it anyway. Separate men's and women's sections were being undermined by all the women standing on chairs, leaning over the fence (some with cameras) as if the wall was holier on the other side. Evidently the viewing section of the wall sometimes becomes a point of contention between the ultra-orthodox, and others with less traditional views. I heard one story about a problem when a group of women showed up to worship at the wall with a Torah.

Other interesting sites abound in the Jewish Quarter. The Broad Wall is a recent archeological discovery, part of the ancient fortifications from the time when Jerusalem was the capitol of Judea, during the reign of King Hezekiah (2700 years ago, give or take). This is the sort of thing that draws religious people to Jerusalem: real, tangible artifacts from the Bible. It's a moving experience to feel like you're walking the same ground as Jesus, or Mohammad, or Abraham and the ancient Jewish kings. I have little attachment to the religious artifacts of any of these traditions, and yet the city is endlessly fascinating.

Several other archeological sites in the Jewish Quarter caught my attention, but there was not enough time to read up on them. I'll let the photos speak for themselves. (yeah, right, that's the second time you said that)

We're off this morning to the Old City, so more soon.

Jerusalem: The Ramparts Walk

To go directly to the Ramparts Walk photos, please look here.

My long overdue tour of Jerusalem's Old City began this morning with the Ramparts Walk, my only opportunity to walk atop the old walls of Jerusalem. They're not actually that old, having been built a mere 500 years ago. Generations of older walls were built and destroyed by successive conquerors, who proceeded to trash the place. You'd think they'd get used to doing without walls, just to avoid the extra damage caused by marauding conquerors. I used to have a friend who parked his car on the street in New York. He got used to leaving the doors unlocked, so robbers wouldn't smash the windows. It worked.

The Ramparts Walk begins at Jaffa Gate, a main entrance to Jerusalem's Old City. Ascending to the top of the wall, the first view was of our neighborhood on the adjacent hilltop. The views are breathtaking and beyond description, so I won't try. Link to photos is below.

My walk continued atop the Zion Gate, and ended on the perimeter of the Jewish Quarter. By accident I ended up at the Western Wall, which again defies description. More on that later.

One thought-provoking scene was evident from atop the wall: high over East Jerusalem, looking down into the densely-populated valley below, what caught my eye was: Israeli flags. Quite a few of them.

The media often talk about "Arab" East Jerusalem, and when they tell the history they usually go back only to 1967, when Israel conquered East Jerusalem, and the West Bank, in the Six-Day War. What they don't usually say is that Jordan had conquered the same areas in 1948, and proceeded to evict all the Jews. Previous to that, there was no "East" and "West" Jerusalem; those artificial divisions were created in 1948 along cease-fire lines. In all of its thousands of years of history, Jerusalem was divided for only 19 years.

We had Shabbos dinner with a friend who is an expert in ancient Jewish history at Bar-Ilan University. He told a story of his neighborhood just to the south of ours, which had been an Arab neighborhood full of beautiful, stately houses. When 1948 came, the entire neighborhood was traded for a Jewish neighborhood in what would become East Jerusalem. I'm guessing this trade was in the radar of the decision-makers because it was a wealthy area. Probably the great majority of Jews to the east of the Old City were not so lucky in 1948.

In 1967, (if you'll indulge just a little more history), the two halves of Jerusalem were reunited, and residents of East Jerusalem were offered full Israeli citizenship. Few accepted, although recent years have seen much greater numbers of East Jerusalem residents applying to become full citizens of Israel. Apparently most Arab residents of East Jerusalem prefer Israeli citizenship to becoming citizens of an emerging Palestinian nation.

And so the Israeli flags are waving over East Jerusalem. It may reflect lack of confidence in the Palestinian Authority, or the likelihood that a Palestinian government based on the PA's structure would not offer health care or other benefits comparable to those of Israel. In any case it's evident that those flags are intended as a political statement: as decision makers consider once again dividing Jerusalem and making those divisions permanent, some residents of East Jerusalem are expressing their concern by identifying themselves as Arab Israelis.

Photos are here.

Mandolins in the Negev

We went to Israel's southern desert, the Negev, because of Nancy's work with the Israel Studies Institute of Ben-Gurion University. But I also have professional connections there that could lead to who knows what: it turns out that the Negev is also the site of much mandolin music!

The central figure is Lev Khaimovich, a Russian/Lithuanian immigrant whose first instrument was the domra, a four-stringed Russian instrument closely related to the mandolin. He became a classical pianist, but upon moving to Israel it was his domra heritage that enabled him to find work as a conductor of the mandolin orchestra at the S. Rubin Conservatory in Beer-Sheva. Over nearly 30 years, Lev has mentored generations of new mandolinists, including several professionals who have developed an interesting and unique approach toward classical mandolin interpretation today.

Most of this I knew before arriving, thanks to my friend Ruth who grew up in Beer-Sheva, and played in the orchestra perhaps 20 years ago. Thanks to Ruth for the album photo, which dates to 1984! (BTW, Ruth is playing with my new group Boston Mandolins, which is sounding great. We're playing at the Mariposa Museum on Feb. 4).

Fortunately, maestro Khaimovich was very warm in welcoming me to Beer-Sheva. I went to hear the orchestra and to introduce myself. The photos I took of the orchestra show mostly kids playing, although as the evening progressed more adults joined. The blend of the orchestra was finely tunes, which evidenced Lev's long-term guidance. It was really quite impressive, along the lines of America's best mandolin orchestras. Also interesting was the use of a few woodwinds to complement the blend -- one flute and one clarinet, which were cleverly voiced in supporting parts to create the illusion of sustained sound from the mandolins. Lev's arrangements of classical and folk standards were elaborate and sensitive in their orchestration.

At one point they invited me to play, so I did a jazz-inflected improvisation on "St. Anne's Reel." They didn't seem to be familiar with fiddle tunes, but were very enthusiastic and interested. I played them my solo arrangement of "In My Solitude," which was warmly accepted. There are few connections to jazz mandolin here, so curiosity was high!

Afterward they investigated my instrument as if it was an oddity (which I suppose it is), and I got to try out one of the Kerman mandolins -- a wonderful invention played by the best Israeli mandolinists. It has an extra resonating surface underneath the top of the mandolin, suspended between top and back of mandolin. The sound was full and warm, although it lacked the full overtone spectrum of the Italian mandolin, or of my instrument. Undoubtedly that was at least partially because of the flatwound strings on the instrument I played.

We finished the evening by my joining the orchestra rehearsal, playing with the Mandolin 1 section. I was sightreading, which went pretty well although I gained a new appreciation for the wonderful musicianship of the players I'd been hearing. It was a fabulous experience overall, and I look forward to future collaborations. We discussed ideas for future concerts, so we'll see what develops!

Photos are here.

Communing with Ben-Gurion

Ben-Gurion is everywhere, it seems. Here in Sde Boker, Israel's first prime minister lived out the end of his life, reading, writing, and working the land. As I learn more about this beautiful land in southern Israel, I learn to recognize his legacy.

I am indebted to historian (and friend) Paula Kabalo for the private lectures, tours, and explanations of what Nancy and I have seen.

When David Ben-Gurion decided to leave political life, he applied to join a kibbutz in what at that time seemed to Israelis like the end of the earth: a kibbutz on the southern reaches of Israel. Deep in the Negev desert. But the young people who had chosen this life so far from the bustle of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv wanted nothing to do with it: an old man, the Prime Minister, wanted to join them. Why would they want the attention, the press, the interference in their lives? Isn't this what they left to get away from?

In the end, they really didn't feel comfortable saying "no." And so they gave him the hard jobs like shoveling manure, hoping to break his will to stay. Clearly they didn't know Ben-Gurion. Armed guards might have to watch over him, but he remained in the fields working. As time went on, he became a valued member of the kibbutz, though he spent most of his final years reading and writing in his study, decorated with symbols of the world leaders he respected the most: Ghandi and Lincoln.

Ben-Gurion's friends brought an architect to design his final home, a gorgeous modern building, well-equipped for the stream of visitors who came to see him. Perched on the rim of the canyon adjacent to Sde Boker, it offered a spectacular and inspirational view. But B-G would have nothing to do with the new building, which would eventually house his archives. He would remain on the kibbutz; close to the land and to the people.

Ben-Gurion's legacy is felt here not only in his personal artifacts, but in the expression of his ideas. The grounds surrounding his home showcase quotations regarding his views of the Negev. Here is where the Jewish people will be tested: in their ideas and ideals; in their mastery of science and technology; in their strength and perseverance. And so it's here in the Negev that Ben-Gurion University houses its research institutes: this is a center for technology research.

The main gate of Sde Boker carries the quotation: "We will bloom the desolate land and turn the spacious Negev into a source of force and power, a blessing to the state of Israel." It's a quotation often taken out of context to support any number of negative interpretations. Taken in the context of Ben-Gurion's passion to create a safe haven for the Jewish people, and against a backdrop of the persecutions and resulting refugee crisis of Ben-Gurion's day, the quotation seems more about collective self-reliance and safety.

Ben-Gurion expressed repeatedly his intention to include the Arabs of Palestine in the new society he was building -- and the importance of doing so. And so it's probably no coincidence that at the university that bears his name, Muslim women are highly visible in their numbers. They're Bedouin women, attending on special scholarships set up by the government to help ease the transition from their extremely traditional, insular societies into a modern lifestyle -- however the Bedouin communities will come to define that. I also learned about extensive civic services being provided by the government to Bedouin communities, only some of which have adopted official status as towns.

I found it very moving, the degree to which Israel is reaching out to help these communities. Humanitarianism is of course not the only reason; there's also self-interest at work, and the desire to ameliorate a bad situation and prevent future conflict. But Israel's willingness to do so flies in the face of the sort of those cynical accusations we hear. So does the experience of daily life in the Negev. But more about that later.

For now, I have to say that for all we hear about the shortcomings of Israeli society, Ben-Gurion's vision of a pluralistic, modern society is alive and well in the Negev Desert.

Photos are here.

Southern Israel: Sde Boker

Finally we arrived in Sde Boker. Israelis consider this southern Israel, although looking at the map it looks like the middle. I guess that's because it's all desert from here to the southern tip of the country, Eliat, on the Red Sea.

Sde Boker is the site of the Israel Studies Institute of Ben-Gurion University, where our good friend Paula Kabalo teaches. It's also the site of Ben-Gurion's archives, last home, grave, and a dramatic canyon that draws hikers from far away. When we arrived, a whole herd of mountain goats, known here as the ibex, had come out of the canyon looking for water. After some debate, we agreed the plural of ibex should be ibices, much as when you pluralize "index."

This is an incredibly small spot on the map, and it's full of incredibly smart people. There's a community of scholars here working on Holocaust studies, as part of the Israel Studies institute. There's also a center for solar energy research, a center for desert studies, and probably more. There's one supermarket, one gift store, one incredibly fabulous falafel place, and not much more. But tour buses are always coming through, to visit the desert, or the Ben-Gurion sites.

Nancy's been working hard and being well-received, teaching a class and giving a lecture for her colleagues here. Audiences are lively, engaged and very appreciative. Every night we're invited to dinners, where after socializing the primary entertainment seems to be arguing politics. Israelis don't seem bound to ideological camps; no matter how much they identify with one camp or another they don't hesitate to borrow ideas from the other side. Last night ideas from socialistic to neo-conservative were debated and defended.

Everyone wants to know what we think of Obama. They sense our disappointment. We hear in the media about Israelis not having a good relationship with Obama, but the people here seem to have deep respect for the President, and high hopes for the future.

Tonight we had dinner at the home of an academic who just finished a book called "Settling in the Hearts: Jewish fundamentalism in the occupied territories." I suggested he'd have to teach me about Palestinian nationalism; he suggested that would take "about five minutes." Someone produced a mandolin, and group singing became the next order of business.

The outside world hardly seems to intrude here, without even the distraction of a coffee shop in town. It makes me wonder what it would be like to live in a place like this, with stunning natural beauty, an academic community, and nothing else to do. I'll bet lots of good work gets done here.

Photos are here.

(the above link goes to a slideshow, so you don't have to click to advance the pictures -- if it works correctly!)

New Jerusalem: Walking on Shabbos

"New" Jerusalem is all we've seen so far: somehow, in four days we never got to the Old City. The famous part so sacred to Jews, Muslims and Christians. It's been a scant 120 years or so since people started building outside the walls of the Old City, so everything we've seen feels relatively modern, even if it's been there for a century.

Walking through a few neighborhoods to a Shabbos lunch, we saw some beautiful sights. Our route took us past the Knesset and down Balfour Street, past the Prime Minister's house and several consolates in what may be Jerusalem's most upscale neighborhood.

We spent afternoon and evening socializing with two different old friends: a former neighbor, and someone I went to school with eons ago. Evidently their stories are common: Americans who move to Israel, find a comfortable niche, and stay.

Next: on to the south of Israel and the Negev Desert.

Photos are here.

Christmas in Bethlehem

CHRISTMAS IN BETHLEHEM: a beautiful, tranquil occasion. A deeply spiritual experience. A peaceful, inspirational moment when religious pilgrims return to a place of great significance, to see the place where Jesus came into the world and experience what it must have been like, in the town that has hardly changed since.

Not.

Try this: Palestinian soldiers with automatic weapons are posted every 100 feet or so along the road, glancing quickly as vehicles pass, always on the lookout for signs of terror. Crowds of Palestinian Arabs, mostly males, swarm through the old streets toward Manger Square, where live cameras will broadcast a live Christmas event, complete with big blow-up Santas and "Merry Christmases" everywhere. A handful of religious pilgrims clutch their handbags dearly and try to scurry safely past the barriers and into the Church of the Nativity, hours in advance of the beginning of the evening's big event: the Parade of the Patriarchs.

Security is so tight, we wonder if Abbas, President of the Palestinian Authority, is in town. Perhaps no one worries more about terrorists than do the PA authorities, who live in close quarters with Hamas and other rivals. Thus the Palestinian soldiers, whom I barely made eye contact with, let alone dare to photograph.

Christians were almost no where to be seen. Palestinian soldiers profile the crowd, preventing local Christians from entering; the main religious sites were open only to tourists. Symbols of Christmas -- the commercial as well as the religious -- mixed together in a way that was haphazard, and under other circumstances might have been hilarious. Tonight the birthplace of Jesus was full of tension; while there was a tenuous Peace on Earth there was very little Good Will Toward Men.

The political and cultural conflicts between Muslims and Jews serve as an omnipresent backdrop, but tonight, on Christmas eve, here in Bethlehem, other conflicts are more palpable: Palestinian government vs. rival factions, political Islam vs. Christianity. Christmas Eve seems to have become mainly a carnival for Bethlehem's largely non-Christian residents.

Evidently Christians have been largely driven from their historical homeland here. Some say it's because Israel's security barrier has devastated the local economy, all but eliminating a whole class of merchants. We spoke to a shop owner who complained the tour buses don't come anymore, and why would they? The pressure cooker we saw is not for the casual tourist. But clearly there's also truth in the opposing view, that the PA is inciting extremism through its policies. I worry that a whole generation is being taught to resist coexistence with Israel. We saw those whimsical historical maps several places, supposedly proving that Palestine (with modern Israeli borders) is an ancient Muslim nation. This is scary to me; I can only imagine how threatening this must be to the local Christian population.

With the Christian exodus, only one town in the entire West Bank, Taybeh, has retained its Christian majority -- at least that's what the New York Times said when they wrote about the Khoury family, Arab Christians whom I remember from the days they ran a liquor store in our neighborhood in Brookline. Before they opened the first Palestinian brewery, in Taybeh. The only place they could gain acceptance, since alcohol is considered forbidden by most Muslims. More recently they've been doing well in Muslim markets, selling a new non-alcoholic brew. Maybe we'll get a chance to explore Taybeh, and meet the former neighbors.

Getting to Bethlehem. . .and the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians. . .that's another story, I'll have to save for later. In fairness, I must mention that Ha'aretz had a very different, and very positive, impression of the same event. Maybe we left too early. Or maybe we just aren't accustomed to life the way it's lived here. Anyway, check out the other view.

Photos are here.

Around Jerusalem

Today we stayed close to home, our new apartment in Jerusalem. It's a vibrant area, close to the old city and full of things to see! More photos here.

Last night there was a guy on the street playing an Arabic oud, a big bowl-backed instrument that's no doubt an ancestor of the mandolin. And this morning, an old fellow was on a nearby corner, playing Hebrew and Russian songs on a mandolin. He had it strung with four strings, like a Russian domra, another hint that he might be one of the huge numbers of recent Russian immigrants. His prominent photo of Rebbe Schneersohn identified him as a Lubavitcher.

Everyone talks about how much Jerusalem has changed in recent years. There's construction everywhere, and a new city is emerging with modern buildings everywhere. A new light rail system is going in, for the first time. Nightlife (once hard to find) is growing, although the way people dress is, well, let's say you wouldn't confuse it with Milan or Paris.

All of Jerusalem seems to be built of the same stone, a beige limestone said to come from quarries in the West Bank. Some buildings though are made of concrete, and textured to look like limestone -- indicating they were built between 1948 and 1967, when Jordan occupied the West Bank and did not make the stone available. Some buildings look very old, so I have to remind myself that nothing was built outside of the old Jerusalem walls until late in the 19th Century! So, for old you really have to go to the Old City -- a big adventure we'll have to save a little bit longer.

There seems to be a bit of a rivalry between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem -- Israelis seem to have a preference for one or the other, one representing a secular, modern way of life; the other closely connected to religious and cultural traditions. There's so much to see here it's not clear how we're going to find time!

We met an old neighbor of Nancy's for lunch, and learned more about life in Jerusalem. The neighbor visited Israel as a teen, and told a story about how she reached the decision to move: it was just before the first Gulf war, and it was hard to get a flight home because of the crowding. Everyone knew the war was about to start, and many who had other places to go were leaving in advance of the beginning of hostilities. In the midst of all of this, a young American woman recognized her privilege: that she had another place to go, and that most people staying behind (and risking being attacked by Iraq's missles) had no such opportunity. Suddenly it seemed more important to stay and help the community which, as during the time of Israel's founding, was needed to ensure a safe harbor for the world's Jewry in times of persecution. That made me think about more recent mass immigrations, such as from Ethiopia, which have demonstrated again that this founding purpose is still relevant.

Arriving: Through the Doorposts

Arriving in Tel Aviv, one of my first impressions was of the public artwork. The airport walls displayed beautiful modern art which was both impressionistic and representational. It reminded me of photos of ancient works I've seen, reminders of the Jewish kingdoms of antiquity.

I found myself very moved by one piece: entering the main hall of the airport, we passed through a wide doorway marked by an enormous mezuzah. It's as if these are the doorposts of all of Israel; a warm welcome to let travelers know they are home.

Traveling to Jerusalem was an unexpected experience, but I'll write about that later. We arrived in Jerusalem, and found our apartment easily. We're staying near the Old City, in a vibrant area filled with the wonderful sights and sounds of a diverse population. The real exploring begins tomorrow!

More photos here.