caught in the spiral

A few days ago, I spoke at length with my friend Sharif, about whose sartorial excellence and skill on the dance floor I've written several times. "Sharif" is somewhere between a name and a title given to boys who can trace their patrilineal heritage to the Prophet Mohammed. There are a lot of Sharifs. It is a little bit like the Jewish names Levi and Cohen, which indicate a patrilineal descent from the Tribe of Levi, or from Moses' brother Aaron (the first high priest, or Kohen Gadol).

Anyway, Sharif is eighteen years old. He wants to study engineering at Teknion, a university in Haifa, in the north of Israel, that is well known for technology. In order to enter Teknion, Sharif needs to pass a Hebrew Equivelncy test. The test, much like the Test of English as a Foreign Language (TOEFL), would be difficult for native speakers of the language. The name TOEFL is already a bit ridiculous. I would never say (in English or any other language I "speak") "I have a test of the physics of motion tomorrow. Language equivalency requires a good deal of knowledge of the grammatical structure of the language. Native speakers don't learn structural grammar because they learn by mimicking their parents. The grammar is either instinctual or incorrect. For instance, I had no idea what the subjunctive was in English, or even if I used it until I learned French. The other example is the tendency of English speakers to finish sentences with "...and I," even in the instances when the correct grammar would be "...and me."

Sharif, and many of the Palestinian Residents of East Jerusalem who are in my Hebrew class speak excellent (if not completely fluent) Hebrew. However, it is a somewhat imperfect Hebrew, with snippits of Arabic, and a general lack of proper grammar. This is because many of them learn Hebrew as they grow up, but not as a primary language. They have the problems of native speakers and the problems of non-native speakers. Many of them end up taking Hebrew from the beginning in order to learn the grammar. It ends up being very good for me, I get pushed along by a class that has a similar grammatical skill but an infinitely stronger skill in the language.

My Hebrew, in contrast to theirs, is inflected with Biblical Hebrew Grammar. This mostly comes out in my pronunciation. Think of what you might do if you ran into someone who spoke like the King James Bible. The problem is that I can't keep straight which grammar belongs where, and so I default to the Biblical, which has much more stringent laws (in language alone, I respond to and appreciate rules). My Hebrew isn't incorrect, but it probably sounds a little stilted or just silly to a native speaker, especially given my extremely limited vocabulary. All this is an aside, I was talking about my friend Sharif.

Sharif and I have had a lot of really inspiring and wonderful conversation over the past five months. He often shares pita with zatar and olive oil. I try to and occasionally succeed in buying him a coffee. The first conversation we had, he told me that he thinks Jews and Muslims are brothers. We talked about how both religions have a central sacrifice story. And about how Abraham is the father of all of us. There have been many lighter conversations too, many discussions of movies we both like, etc.

But last week, we had the hardest conversation I've had with him. We talked about Gaza. He feels angry and hopeless. The same two emotions I have been feeling for three weeks and a couple of days. Sharif is a kind and reasonable young man. This is somewhat unique among eighteen year olds. I was neither kind nor reasonable at eighteen, nor were any of my friends.

The problem is that Sharif is feeling, very personally, the 1300 deaths in Gaza. And he is feeling very personally the fact that the civilian population of Gaza has absolutely no where to go. When London was in the blitz, many children were sent away from London to safety. No one can leave the 40 km by 8 km area that is the Gaza Strip. Sharif calls it a prison. He says that what is going on there is like bombing a prison.

As I said, he is a kind and reasonable young man, interested in building friendships. Through the course of the past three weeks, his moderation has started to give way to his anger. And a young man interested in friendship and the brotherhood of the children of Abraham has started to talk more about Hamas.

This is the absolute failure of violence as a form of conflict resolution. It destroys the hope of people who, against great odds, remain reasonable. The absence of that hope leaves a vacuum. That vacuum is exactly what Hamas waits for.

Today is Martin Luther King Jr Day (observed). My first posted reaction to the war was a quote from him. I re-read that quote last night and found it more powerful in the light of three weeks in this intensified conflict zone. It broke my heart to see my Israeli, American and Palestinian friends and their exact locations in the descending spiral.

I pray that Sharif is given other options. And I pray that the hopeless masses for whom the bombing seems like a good idea are given other options. And most importantly I pray that everyone will stop praying for peace, and begin to think creatively about solutions. If left up to Hamas and Israel, this war will only escalate. It is left to us to present other options to the reasonable people caught in the middle of so much hatred, in order that they not be dragged down by the flailing desperation that surrounds them.

Without wanting to be overstate it, here again is the quote from Doctor Martin Luther King Jr (z''l). I ask you to re-read it, and on his observed birthday, the day before the inauguration of Barack Hussein Obama, begin to think creatively about solutions to problems that don't involve bombs, rockets, guns, or coercive force.

"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it... Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate.... Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

gaza street

I live a hundred yards (or meters if you prefer) from דרך עזה (Derekh 'Azzah) or شارع غزة (Sha'ara' Gh'azza'h). The Hebrew translates to Gaza Way, the Arabic to Gaza Street. It leads ultimately to Gaza City, and from there one could travel on to Egypt. It is an ancient road. It is the road on which Joseph would have travelled to Egypt having been sold into slavery by his brothers. Later, his brothers would have travelled back and forth on the same path to buy grain from their brother. And finally, Joseph would have brought Jacob's body to Hebron by way of the street where I get my morning coffee.

In some ways it feels like Broadway, in New York. Not at all because of its size or scope (it has two lanes and is lined with a few bakeries, cafes, banks, and a vegetable stand). But because Broadway started as a Native American foot path. Through a series of twists and turns, it connected all the way to what is now Boston. It grew and grew. It isn't always easy to remember, but people walked along its route long before it had Times Square and Zabars (I know it's hard to imagine life before Zabars). In fact people walked along it long before the Europeans arrived.

Derekh Azzah is the same way. It connected the city that is now Jerusalem (it has had many different names) with the Gaza City, which has been known as Gaza from the time it was founded in the 15th century BCE. Around Gaza City, there were archaeological excavations of settlements dating back to circa 4000 BCE. Originally Gaza (or more properly transliterated from the Arabic 'Ghaz'ah) was the seat of the Egyptian Governor of the region.

The word Gaza in English comes from the Arabic, but it is something of a mis-transliteration (they always are). It is spelled almost the same way in both Arabic and Hebrew غ ز ز ة (Arabic) and עזזה (Hebrew). Both languages contract the doubled middle letter. The first letter is the only letter that isn't exactly parallel. In Hebrew, there is a letter called the Ayin (ע), most Americans learn the Ayin as a silent letter but many speakers of Modern Hebrew pronounce it. It is a deep guttural noise, like your soul trying to leave your body through your throat. Arabic also has an Ayin, ع which is the same as the Hebrew ayin. But when you add a dot to it, it gets a bit of a hard G sound as well غ (gAyin). Gaza is spelled with a gayin in Arabic and an Ayin in Hebrew (which doesn't have the equivalent of the gayin). A parallel example might be the n and the ñ (but I leave it to Spanish speakers to correct me).

The root of the word, is the same in both languages. It is the group of root letters (shoresh) for strength. Azzah ends up being something like Stronghold, or The Strong One. In Arabic it has an additional connotation. Prized, the Prized Stronghold, something along those lines.

This is by way of a very brief introduction to the history of a city that is torn up in conflict right now. Before last week, I knew absolutely nothing about the history of Gaza. It is fifty miles (and a hundred yards) from my doorstep, and I had absolutely no idea of how old it is, or that it was once a royal city, or that the Mohammed's father's tomb is in Gaza.

I meet a lot of people here who are unquestioning about this war. To hear their rhetoric is not to hear the heavy heart of a Just War, or a war for survival. It is to hear angry rage-filled cries for vengeance. Vengeance is the worst possible reason for war (a list that starts at bad). Many of them know exactly how many rockets have been fired from Gaza and the number of Israeli civilians injured or killed. But I wonder just how many people know even as much of the history of Gaza as I learned in ten minutes on Wikipedia.

I don't want to come off as dismissive of the suffering of the south of Israel. It must be very hard to live somewhere that at any given moment an air-raid siren goes off. But that fear does not and can not justify the deaths of 900 individuals in the Gaza Strip many of who were civilians and children. The relatively high number of civilian casualties is because Hamas has dug itself into the city underneath civilian infrastructure. And it has done its best to use civilians to shield itself from the IDF. Hamas is unforgivable for attempting to use civilians as human shields. The Israeli Army is unforgivable for killing (even if by mistake or without intent) civilians used as human shields.

On that hopeful note, I'm going to grab some dinner.

a place holder

I'm having a huge struggle trying to write about the things that are happening in the Gaza Strip. I have a lot to say. And a lot of it is really important. But it is difficult to express nuance when writing about the complexities and simplicities of the nightmare that is unfolding in the Gaza Strip.

I've started something like fifteen different posts, on various subjects like language, history, conflict resolution, the just-war scenario, and almost everything you can imagine. Thus far, I've written nothing that seems worthy of publication (even on my insignificant corner of cyberspace).

Instead, as we approach the birthday of one of the great heroes of history, on January 15th, I'll just post a quote from him, to let you know that I'm thinking about things, and that I will work hard to post some analysis, or reaction, or critique, or cry for help or something in the next week.

"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it... Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate.... Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

--The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior (z''l, may his memory be for a blessing)

It is not naive to agree with him...

i drove under the suez canal...twice

I have a huge number of things to catch up on with the blog here. Like a couple of days spent in Bethlehem, Hanukkah in Jerusalem (and elsewhere), a beautiful wedding of some friends, and a recent trip to Cairo with my sister (who is visiting for a couple of weeks). Anyway, here's Cairo. Stay tuned for more soon!

Cairo is the largest city on the African Continent and in the Middle East. Roughly it is the size of New York, with 8.5 million inhabitants within the city limits and 18 million in the metro region (New York has 8.5 in the city limits and 19 in the metro region).

To get there, we took a bus to Eilat, at the southern tip of Israel, spent the night there, then crossed the border at the crack of dawn and took another bus on to Cairo. From this bus we had a view of Israel, Egypt, Jordan and Saudi Arabia all at once! Alas, there was no way to capture it on film. In Egypt, we drove under the Suez Canal. Somehow it had escaped my thinking that we would have to cross the Canal. Then when I did realize that this was a necessity, I would have figured a bridge, but I imagine a tunnel is just more practical in a lot of ways.

We went through a tour company, because otherwise we would have had many hassles at the border, and then trying to get across the Sinai Peninsula (which is not exactly safe nor is it replete with public transportation). It was great to have the tour company take care of these things, the rest of the things they took care of... Let's just say that neither my sister nor I will ever be going on a planned tour again. And really who were we kidding in the first place? Heckler children just don't behave themselves and listen to a tour-guide when they could be off exploring subways and street food.

Anyway, Cairo is vivacious, dirty, and full of people. Just the kind of thing a New Yorker (even one living in exile) finds beautiful in a city. Our guide, Mohammed had the theory that if you drive or walk past something, even if you don't notice it was there, you've seen it. This posed a slight problem to the residual five year old in me who thought King Tut was the coolest thing ever and could have spent hours looking at his funereal mask (eleven kilograms of gold). It also posed a slight problem for the ceramicist, who when in a room surrounded by Egyptian Faience (an interesting self glazing clay that is one of the earliest examples glazed ceramic) was told to hurry up. Nonetheless, I made a good time of it and got to see a good number of the artifacts from King Tut's tomb.

the pyramids

Annabelle could have skipped them I think, in favor of more walking around Cairo. That residual five year old I mentioned earlier was really excited about them. Rather than post two many photos (you've seen them all I'm sure), here is a photo of Annabelle and me in front of the Pyramid of Khafre. And a photo of the same pyramid, without the siblings. The Egyptian Antiquities Authority has done a good job of preventing the area directly around the Pyramids from becoming the disgusting tourist trap I thought it would be. Not to say there weren't plenty of men on camels trying to sell us things (no, really), but the whole place was relatively quiet. Immediately outside the gates... Not so much.

the market and the food


We wandered around the Bazar. I've probably posted more than enough photos of markets, but this one was really beautiful. Here are some of the shops we walked past. I didn't include a few, like the live chicken store, or the haberdasher, who was busy making traditional and contemporary hats with a coal fired steam table. But here is a beautiful little coffee shop, the charcoal vendor, some pottery fresh from the wheel drying in the open, and a textile merchant. I'm kicking myself a little that I didn't purchase any of the textiles.

And what would a Travel Blog from Paul be without some notes about food?

An Egyptian staple is called Qoshari. It consists of noodles, lentils, other noodles, rice, chickpeas, a spicy spicy tomato sauce, and crispy onions. The cart pictured below sells Qoshari.

The dude with the deep frier was making felafel and fries, and fish cakes. I had some felafel. The photo (credited to Annabelle Heckler) does a pretty good job of describing my feelings about it.


the minarets



Cairo has been a muslim city since the tenth century. It is called the City of a Thousand Minarets. I think the City of Ten-Thousand Minarets might be more accurate.

The Mosques in the old city of Cairo were filled with life. The Madrassas (the same root as the Hebrew Midrash, and the same idea as the Jewish Beit Midrash) were full of young men studying (there were several Madrassas for women as well, but I wasn't welcome to enter). I think that Muslims and Jews must use the same printers to publish their holy books. They had the same red blue and green leather bindings, and similar patterns on the pages. To anyone who doesn't know the difference, the barefooted men in skullcaps studying in a Madrassa couldn't possibly look all that different from their shod cousins in a Beit Midrash. In point of fact, I do know the difference, and yet was struck by how similar everything was.

I didn't go into the prayer hall. Something about being a tourist where people pray makes me uncomfortable. This might come as a surprise being that right now I live in one of the prime locations for religious tourism, but there it is.

I could have stared all day at the repeating geometric patterns that are basis for the architectural elements of the Mosques I went in or walked past. I probably would have if Annabelle hadn't dragged me away.

life on the streets (and roads)

Almost every intersection in Cairo has a traffic light. Most of the traffic lights just blink orange all the time. Some of them actually go through the proper cycles. No one seems to pay any attention to any of them. We were given advice by many people on how to cross the street. The advice differed, but ended the same... Take a Deep Breath and Pray. People just kinda walk along the highways, and cross where ever they'd like (with a tinge of fear in their eyes). Everyone uses their horns continuously, although it isn't the angry "get the hell out of my way" horn usage one sees in Israel. It is more of a conversation. One driver starts "I'm here," another chimes in "You're THERE?" "Yes I'm here," replies the first "Oy, I'll move," finishes the second. And what a collection of vehicles! From the tinted window Mercedes with armed guard, to the refurbished 1950's Peugot still sporting the French license plates (under the egyptian ones), to the vintage vespa, to the truck that I can't even begin to describe. And yes, there were even a few donkeys and camels.



Driving back, we went under the Suez Canal again, and enjoyed the stars, which, even from the inside of our van, were brighter than I've seen in years. It was a bit a of a whirlwind. But oh, how about that Qoshari? Oh, I nearly forgot about the subway. I didn't really get a good photo of the subway itself. But here's the sign...

this past week in photos and anecdotes

In Jerusalem, the curbs are painted different colors. Blue and white means pay to park, red and white means don't park, black and white means don't park or stand or even think about slowing down because it's a main thoroughfare and we'll tow your ass (more or less).

Imagine my surprise the other day when I discovered yet another color scheme on my walk to Ulpan. I'm not sure what this one means. Parking for princesses only? Perhaps it's an attempt to make new a tired old color scheme?

Maybe they just ran out of red paint, but then why did the municipality have pink curb paint on hand?

This week included a four day festival Muslim festival, Aid al Adhan (with lots of guttural inflection). It is the festival of the sacrifice, honoring the story in the Koran where Ibrahim (Abraham) was supposed to sacrifice his son Ishmael (whose name is about the same in Hebrew and Arabic). It differs from the Judeo-Christian story where Isaac is the son bound on the alter. The rest of the story is about the same, an angel stays Abraham's hand, and his son goes on to find a mighty people.

Anyway, the point is that many of the students in my Hebrew class are Muslim, and they took the time off from school in order to celebrate. With our class at less than half it's normal size we had a slightly different game plan, including small conversations in class about whatever topics we wanted (I talked at length about Psalm 92). The next day included a walking tour of Jerusalem with our teacher, who, it turns out also has a certificate in Jerusalem guiding... Go figure.

Having heard of the walking tour, several of the Muslims made their way back to class to hear what Renana had to say about Yemin Moshe, an old neighborhood overlooking the old city. Sharif, the young man who starred in the moonwalk of my last blog entry, was dressed to the nines in order to honor the holiday. Here we are.

i loving learning languages...i just hate memorizing vocabulary

So I realized it has been almost two weeks since I posted anything! Deepest apologies, I've been insanely busy.

Here are a couple little anecdotes about my Hebrew class. Hopefully they'll tide the hypothetical you over for a couple days when, hopefully, I will be able to post something more substantial.

Anyway, we've been doing oral presentations in Ulpan. These are in order to prepare us for a ministry of education test that includes an oral component. This test, which I will probably write more about as time comes certifies me as having taken roughly the equivalent of two years of college level Hebrew. A useful piece of paper indeed.

I figured that the best way to get through my presentation would be to speak about something that in English I would still be able to speak about after a root canal (which is more or less where my Hebrew is). This left two options, pottery or restaurant work. I went with pottery, figuring it was more professional than some of the stories I could tell about my restaurant jobs. And so I spoke, for five minutes, with photographs to support me, about pottery through history and then my own work. It went okay.

But today's presentation really took the cake for creativity. Sharif, a friend of mine who lives near the Mount of Olives, speaks English, French, Arabic and a lot more Hebrew than I, and is eighteen years old. He spoke about the many different styles of dance in the world, starting with Dabket (which is worth youtubing), a traditional Lebanese dance which has seemingly migrated throughout the Muslim World. He moved on to a discussion of breakdancing, which included a demonstration (complete with music blaring from his cellphone). And most importantly, American pop. It featured non other than the King of Pop, MJ, singing Billy Jean (again from Sharif's cellphone). Learning about the moonwalk from a young Arab Israeli man in Hebrew language class might not be exactly the experience that the Jewish Agency was thinking of when it gave me the scholarship to come here. But really I think it's a lot better this way. Besides, Sharif really rocked the moonwalk better than I've seen in a long time, maybe ever?

some lighter notes

In lieu of yet another heavy political post here are some photos and anecdotes from the past week or three.

The vegetable that kicked my ass...

This is called a snake gourd. It's really beautiful, it looks and feels like something between a cucumber and a zucchini... It tastes like no such thing. I've tried roasting it, braising it, sautéing it, currying it, eating it in salads. Nothing works, it's just weird.


Lots of dates (the edible kind)...

Here are some almost ripe ones (a little late in the season) they turn that dark luscious carmel color as they dry. The dates here are amazing.




A nice view of Jerusalem-Al Qudds...

This is a view of East Jerusalem from just above where the Nof Tzion (View of Zion) planned community (read settlement) is under construction... Okay maybe in lieu of heavy politics was a misleading subtitle for this entry. You'll forgive me I hope.

Just to the left of center is a gold splotch. It's the Dome of the Rock and the Old City. Between that splotch and the foreground is Silwan, the village through which I walked and posted my first mamoth blog entry. You can also see the Mount of Olives to the right of that. It was a spectacular view