Ilana and Paul's Trip

Lucerne, Switzerland – A Taste of the Alps

Ilana and Paul — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 18:03:10 +0000

Ilana: We are sitting at what feels like the top of the world. Literally, and perhaps figuratively too. We are at Mt. Pilatus, a mountain in the Swiss Alps near Lucerne. At 7000 feet above sea level, surrounded by 360 degrees of jagged Alpine snow-capped peaks in the horizon, the view is breathtaking. The mountains around us seem to be in motion, stretching up to the sky, pausing to laugh at clouds below, and then continuing upwards towards the vast expanse of blue above. Below, Lake Lucerne lies like a liquid mirror, placid and still. The scene is serene and majestic—a silent, lonely bird’s eye view of an enchanting world. It snowed one meter here yesterday, and evergreen branches are drooping with the burden of snow, and howling wind tosses the powder up into a frenzy that glitters in the sun. But even the thick layer of packed powder cannot conceal the sharp, grey cliff rocks that are almost violent evidence of the collisions of earth that took place millions of years before. These peaks are admirable from the safety of the ground, but when dangling from a wire in the cable car up to the summit these same pointy peaks just seem…a little terrifying. The precariously steep 20 minute cable car that bobbed its way up the mountain, trembling shamelessly with every gust of wind, took my breath away as much from fear as from appreciation of the stunning vistas. But once up top, the view is so beautiful, I could sing – except I’m a little scared of causing an avalanche.

It’s also a little cold up here. I’m wearing virtually all the clothes I have with me (t-shirt, turtleneck, fleece, sweater and jacket), but my toes, who just 48 hours ago wiggled in the warm sand of the Mediterranean, are now my weak point, and so our trip to Mt. Pilatus has somehow become a trip to the café at the peak of Mt. Pilatus, where I warm my toes and my belly, and admire the beauty of the mountain from the cozy safety of the indoors. In our defense, with the big snowfall of the last 24 hours, all the hiking trails have been shut down and so we’re left with a little loop around the peak that we did several times…between hot soup and hot chocolate breaks…

The city of Lucerne twinkles below us. We arrived in the city yesterday afternoon amidst rain and dense fog, and so it was only this morning when the clouds parted that we could fully appreciate the beautiful city. Surrounded by Alpine peaks, on the banks of an Alpine lake, and with ramparts and fortress walls encircling, this medieval city feels almost a movie set. Cobblestone streets weave through narrow 4-5 story buildings that are painted with medieval flair. Add a bunch of chocolate shops, outdoor markets, and an overabundance of swans in the lake, and you have a Swiss city that is so charming, a new English word might have to be invented…

Tel Aviv, Israel – Hopes and Fears

Ilana and Paul — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 15:16:43 +0000

Paul: In Israel, our conversations with locals invariably turn to politics. We are often reminded that, aside from the United States, Israel does not have many friends in the world. This is a fact that I’ve always known to be true, and yet continues to surprise me. Countless books have been written by similarly surprised Jews, pleading the case of Israel. I do not intend to rehash here their many arguments, but I’d like to discuss a simple, but important fact that should motivate us to cherish and safeguard the country: Israel is a very unique country.

There are twenty two Arab countries in the world, comprising over 13,000,000 km² of land. That’s twenty two countries where Arab language and culture predominate. In total, there are over fifty countries with a Muslim majority – fifty countries where mosques can proliferate, hijabs can be worn and Ramadan can be celebrated as the people see fit.

Compare this to singular Israel: Just a little more than 20,000 km² (about the size of New Jersey), Israel is the only Jewish country in the world. It is the only country where street signs, newspapers, and even the graffiti are scrawled in Hebrew. It is the only country where businesses close early Friday to welcome the Sabbath, and Yom Kippur is a national holiday. Accordingly, since its creation in 1948, Israel has fulfilled a unique role as the only reliable refuge for threatened Jews around the world, including most of the Jews from the Arab world.

Perhaps tomorrow the Moslem nations will act like mensches and say, “We’re done fighting – take your tiny strip of land, and let’s live in peace…” And maybe tomorrow the sun will rise in the West. In the meantime, the rest of the world should support diversity, and strand strong with Israel. As a first step, Europe might realize that you cannot recognize a country without recognizing its right to self defense. I do not suggest that Israel is infallible, and I do not expect the world to write a “blank check,” allowing Israel to do anything to achieve its aims. However, it is ridiculous that Europe considers itself the authority on the “appropriate” amount of force that Israel should use in response to suicide bombers or missile attacks from its neighbors.

The most urgent help that Israel requires is in dealing with Iran. The Islamic Republic has repeatedly called for the destruction of Israel (this started before Ahmadinejad), they have already fought Israel through their client Hezbollah, and now they are developing atomic technology… for peaceful means, of course. A lunatic regime threatens a large population of Jews, and Europe glances away, quietly whistling – no big surprises there. This is a time where we need the United States to rally Europe into action. I voted for Obama in the hopes that he would bring reconciliation with Europe after too much American unilateralism (by an administration that went to war with the wrong “Ira-”), allowing the West to work together against such shared challenges. Hopefully he will straighten his back, stand tall and assume a leadership position. I came to Israel believing all this to be true, but now I leave Israel, reminded of the urgency of the situation.

Jerusalem, Israel – Looking Below the Surface

Ilana and Paul — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 16:47:17 +0000

Ilana: We may have been lured to Jerusalem initially by her unparalleled history, but we were compelled to return and linger by her mesmerizing present. We quickly found that the two more days we planned for Jerusalem were not nearly enough. This time we also had my parents to impress, although the city needs no help with its awe inspiring.

On this second glimpse of Jerusalem, I was able to appreciate finer details. The reassuring buzz of new construction everywhere in New Jerusalem. The smell of street schwarma wafting irresistibly through the air on Ben Yehuda Street. The large number of art galleries that I had somehow managed to ignore the last time we were here. The orthodox men rushing to bless strangers on the approach to the Western Wall. The occasional reminder of the security situation, usually lurking in the back of my mind, but brought to the front by the presence of guarding soldiers with machine guns casually draped on their sides—a sight both worrying and comforting.

But once again, it was the Old City and the Western Wall that struck a chord deep inside… tugging at my soul with a fierce grip I didn’t realize stones could have. If Jerusalem is the heart of Israel, then the Western Wall is where it might skip a beat…

This time, we decided to take a tour of the Underground Tunnels. While the Western Wall stands proud above ground at 19 meters high and 57 meters across (this is the part of the Wall most accessible to visitors, although it continues in length in areas inaccessible to the public), archeologists discovered a large portion of the wall is buried underground beneath the rubble of centuries, seemingly perfectly preserved, to be admired in a labyrinth of tunnels several meters below the current ground level. The tour was spellbinding—a walk through history, in dark, slightly dank alleys that twist secretly underground, lined by the Wall itself.

Underground, the Wall is more intimate. I found myself gripping the Wall obsessively along the walk, unable to leave a stone untouched, indulging my greediness to try and feel as much of the “Divine Presence” that is said to be concentrated at the Wall, as possible. I traced my fingers along the Herodian stones, the same stones that stoically observed as pilgrims made their voyage to the Second Temple two thousand years ago, stones that fought to stay standing when the Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D., stones that have since begrudgingly changed ownership too many times, witnessed the horror of battles, felt the stickiness of blood, absorbed the dampness of tears, echoed the sounds of laughter and joy, listened to endless prayers and dreams, and have throughout all, given hope to those who rest their weary shoulders against the golden-white limestone.

Even underground, folded and crumpled papers are crammed into crevices of the wall, filled with prayers captured from so many hearts and pinned down in ink. Surrounded by so much spirituality and prayer, even without fully grasping the historical and religious significance of the site, it is not hard to feel that this is a holy place.

We also squeezed in a visit to the Tower of David Museum, which consisted of a clear delineation of the history of Jerusalem, as well as an archeological site. It seems as though the more we saw, the more we realized we had to see, but as our trip is (gasp) drawing to a close, we are left comforting ourselves with the Passover phrase “Next year in Jerusalem” –and if not next year, then we hope sometime soon…

Masada, Israel – Dramatic Scenery, Dramatic History

Ilana and Paul — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 18:21:07 +0000

Paul: On our second day at the Dead Sea resort, we managed to pick ourselves up from our floating and feeding to visit the nearby Masada archeological site. An ancient fortress perched on a mountaintop plateau (the geological equivalent of Vanilla Ice’s haircut), Masada offers scenery as spectacular as its history.

Unfortunately, my photographs do not convey the otherworldly grandeur of the site. Similarly, my words will fail to convey the full force of the history, but allow me to try:

The Romans conquered the Jews in 63 B.C., bringing to an end eighty years of Jewish independence under the Hasmonean (i.e. Maccabee) dynasty. Originally, they allowed the Hasmonean Kings to continue governing Judea, but after a few insurrections, the Romans appointed Herod, a Roman loving Jew, to be king of the Jewish province. Being the puppet king of a fiercely independent people, King Herod was acutely aware of his poor job security (and equally poor neck security). He addressed this insecurity on two fronts, using two incredible building projects: To protect his job, he attempted to gain his subjects’ love and admiration with a magnificent remaking of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. To protect his neck, he devised an escape plan by fortifying the remote palace of Masada, where he could hide away in the event of a revolt. However, Herod managed to maintain the calm throughout his rule, and he used Masada only to escape the chilly Jerusalem winters.

But about sixty years after Herod’s death, the Jews did indeed revolt against their Roman rulers. In 70 A.D. the Romans conquered Jerusalem and destroyed the Second Temple, crushing the Jew’s political and spiritual center. However, at least one bastion of Jewish resistance remained… at Masada.

Earlier in the war, Jewish rebels had captured Masada from a Roman garrison. As the war wore on, these rebels were joined by others, who came fleeing from failed battles. Even after the fall of Jerusalem, the rebels at Masada continued to use their desert fortress as a base for staging attacks. About 1000 Jews were living in Masada in 72 A.D. when the Romans finally came and laid siege. Using Jewish slaves, they built an enormous ramp (which still stands today), to reach the high plateau. After breaching the walls of the fortress, the Roman soldiers found that all of the inhabitants were already dead. Rather than live as slaves, the rebels chose to die at their own hand. The story was told by two Masada women, who escaped the fate of their neighbors by hiding in a cistern.

Visiting Masada, I had a hard time reconciling the silent beauty of its scenery with the violent sorrow of its history. But then again, throughout our trip in Israel, the threat of war has cast an ominous shadow on this otherwise beautiful country.

Dead Sea, Israel – Salty and Sweet

Ilana and Paul — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 22:24:45 +0000

Ilana: Descending into the Dead Sea is a little like what I imagine an excursion on another planet to be like. The landscape is serene, barren, and dusty. Copper mountains eerily hold still in the distance and the sea below mirrors the sky, air melting with water in a mesmerizing mercury-silver hazy mélange at the horizon. The laws of gravity are mocked in the Dead Sea itself, the lowest point on our planet, where the world’s saltiest body of water challenges the boundaries of buoyancy.

We spent our time at the Dead Sea immersing ourselves in the salty, greasy water, bobbing up and down and giving in to the bizarre lift that water gives you. True swimming is impossible, as the dense water thrusts you upwards, giving you no choice but to indulge in a lazy float, trying not to lick your lips and get a years worth of sodium intake, and making sure your eyes don’t get water in them to avoid temporary blindness. The water is blissfully oily, and with skin noticeably softened by the salt and undetermined minerals, it is easy to believe that the water is healing. That’s the only explanation I can give for why herds trample each other to get a handful of the coveted Dead Sea Mud, brought out, appropriately, in troughs, and then slather the mud all over their bodies in a glistening, greasy, muddy heaven that pigs around the world would fight for. I was, as you might expect, not only part of the stampede, but one of the first one to get a fistful of the squishy mud, and was within seconds covered from head to toe in black Dead Sea mud, a walking, smiling advertisement for Ahava products.

We also are staying at an all-inclusive resort spa—a modern hotel meets the ambience of the Catskills circa the 1950s (Dirty Dancing comes to mind). The hotel goes under the guise of being a health spa, but with 3 buffet meals daily, a nightly midnight buffet, and unlimited alcoholic beverages, this place is only healthy for those with steely resolve. For the rest of us, this entails leaving each meal with a defeated belly, and keeping a persistent blood alcohol level over 0.01 (no heavy machinery for me). Combine this with enough 20 minute stints in the water to feel like one look in the wrong direction might just turn me into Lot’s wife, and I think I’ve made the most out of this little mini-vacation.

Tel Aviv, Israel – Anatomy of a Successful City

Ilana and Paul — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 22:48:51 +0000

Paul: Many architects contend that, just as buildings are shaped by people, people are shaped by their buildings in a reciprocal fashion. Granted, having never even skimmed a book about architecture, I’m a poor spokesman for the field, but I’ve definitely heard such things bandied about. I do agree that different architectural styles can elicit different moods or feelings. However, visiting many cities throughout Europe has reinforced my belief that the style of buildings is less significant than their relation to each other – that is, the layout of a city is far more important, and really does shape the lives of its inhabitants.

Tel Aviv is a great example of this concept. The city is not beautiful. I actually love the modern Bauhaus style employed throughout the city center, but the problem is that 80% of the buildings need a paint job, and another 10% need a wrecking ball. No, the city is still way too dilapidated to be called beautiful. And yet it’s wonderful. There are doubtless many reasons why Tel Aviv thrives even as its buildings sag, but I think great city planning is one of the most important.

Of course, the first step in planning a city is choosing a location, and (ignoring the fact that it’s ringed by bellicose neighbors) Tel Aviv has been blessed with an incredible location alongside a balmy Mediterranean beach. As with many seaside spots, the ocean’s waves are somehow transmitted to the air as an easygoing vibe that permeates the city.

This laid back feeling is reinforced by the low-rise development that characterizes much of the city – the original town plan restricted buildings to a height of four-stories, and this fosters a relaxed, village-like atmosphere in the older sections.

The city center is compact and very walkable. The major commercial streets, such as Dizengoff, have relatively wide sidewalks, accommodating innumerable sidewalk cafes (that accommodate innumerable schmoozing Israelis). Several of the major boulevards, such as Rothschild, feature two automobile lanes separated by a wide “leisure lane,” which includes paths for walking and bicycling, canopied by the trees that line both sides. This last element might be my favorite feature of Tel Aviv city planning – lush, shady trees line most streets, infusing the city with a rich, healthy vigor that is echoed in its people. It’s incredible to think that seventy years ago, these trees, like the city, were just saplings, trying to take route in a hostile desert – it’s a pleasure to see that both have blossomed.

Tel Aviv, Israel – Simple Pleasures

Ilana and Paul — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 21:54:09 +0000

Ilana: At this point in our travels, our months of trekking around Europe have left us with skills other than how to get two months of wear out of one small suitcase of clothes. We have perfected the art of…well, the art of doing not a whole lot. This well-honed formula involves getting up reasonably early (before 9am is considered early if you have nothing to do), and wandering leisurely until Paul’s caffeine needs kick into high gear which seem to average about ½ hour after waking up. We settle down over coffee, with the big decision of the morning deciding between iced or hot coffee (hot almost always wins, but I enjoy toying with the options). We sit and read or write for awhile, sometimes I even make Paul talk to me, and then the rest of the day is squeezed between lazy, lingering meals, with lunch stretching into dinner, interrupted only by a long walk to a different neighborhood, a jog along the beach, or the occasional errand…

We have also made a habit out of going for a sunset jog along the beach. Even me, whose legs haven’t seen a treadmill in longer than I’d care to admit, and who in the last two months of travel has only used running as a means to catch trains, am loving this tradition. There’s something inspiring about running on the beach. Ocean mist permeates the breeze and the smell of the sea is comforting. The waves collide with boulders, sending sea spray into the air to play with the sunlight before plopping on the boardwalk and occasionally on me. The sun sets romantically and dramatically each evening, the story never getting old even though we know how it’s going to end. And then, once the sun has closed the curtain and dipped beneath the horizon, she still gives life to the clouds above with a lingering warm amber hue and a silver tint to the scant clouds above in a tribute to the day gone by and a reassurance that tomorrow will bring more of the same.

Apart from a few Hebrew lessons that left me feeling like a kindergartener struggling with every word while Paul effortlessly glides through 1^st grade conjugations, we have been free to enjoy all that this wonderful city has to offer. With my parents joining us soon, I look forward to a flurry of reunions with long lost relatives to break the coffee-humus-run-coffee-dinner-drink-sleep trend—although I’ve been loving it.

Tel Aviv, Israel – Lashon HaKodesh

Ilana and Paul — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 01:43:19 +0000

Paul: Theodore Herzl, the father of Political Zionism, is a fairly well known historical figure. Sadly, Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, the father of Modern Hebrew, is not. Please allow me to right this wrong:

Eliezer Ben-Yehuda was born Eliezer Yitzhak Perlman in Lithuania on January 7, 1858. As a child, young Eli might have said something like, “Ikh vil essen blintze.” He definitely would not have said, “Ani rotzeh le’ehol blintze,” – Eliezer’s native language was Yiddish, not Hebrew. In fact Lashon HaKodesh (the holy tongue) had not been anyone’s mother tongue for nearly two thousand years, since the Romans crushed the Bar Kochba rebellion and expelled the Jews from Israel. No, Hebrew was never a “dead” language, but it definitely went into hibernation, continuing as the holy language of the synagogue, but disappearing from the daily language of the street. Enter Eliezer. Inspired by the Bulgarian struggle for independence from the Turks, Eliezer dreamed of independence for the Jews. Like Herzl, Eliezer thought that the scattered Jews must be united in their ancestral homeland. But Eliezer added that they must also be united by their ancestral language… and he had the chutzpah to believe he could make this happen.

Eliezer began his work in Europe, where he started the process of modernizing Hebrew. It turns out the Bible never mentions fire hydrants, and it is similarly silent on the subject of ice skating – Eliezer had to invent new Hebrew words to make the language capable of describing the twentieth century world. In 1881, he moved with his wife to Jerusalem, where he hoped to realize his dream. A year later, the couple had their first child, and Eliezer decided that the boy should hear nothing but Hebrew. If a house guest spoke Yiddish (or Russian, or any language that was actually spoken at that time), the boy was sent to bed. This linguistic experiment proved a success – after four mute years, the child finally opened his mouth, and out came Hebrew. Children proved to be key to the resuscitation of the language. Eliezer worked tirelessly to ensure that Hebrew was the exclusive language of Jewish schools throughout the land, and through these efforts, a generation of Hebrew speakers emerged.

Since arriving in Tel Aviv, Ilana and I have taken a couple of Hebrew classes, but the results have been less than miraculous. So far, about the only thing I can communicate is, “I want to go to the beach,” and, “I want to eat hummus.” Of course, what more should I say? Regardless, I love hearing Hebrew spoken everywhere. As I look out the window of our apartment on Ben-Yehuda street, I can see storefront signs written in Hebrew – I imagine that these mundane footprints of a living language would be poetry to Eliezer Ben-Yehuda.

Tel Aviv-Jaffa, Israel – Humus Hunting

Ilana and Paul — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 22:37:04 +0000

Ilana: If only peace in the Middle East could be forged with a mutual love for humus, falafel and schawarma. We tried to do our part by heading into the old city of Jaffa, an Arab neighborhood in Tel Aviv rumored to have cute streets and a legendary humus haunt. It is a scenic half hour walk along the beachfront from downtown Tel Aviv—a walk that will take you past countless surfers battling the waves, fisherman attempting to bring home dinner, tanners mocking skin cancer science, and other fortunate ramblers who have nothing else to do on a weekday afternoon other than go for a beach stroll. The sun is bright and hot, any sound of cars nearby is drowned by the ocean’s gentle roar, and the walk is invigorating. When the sun’s rays become too challenging, a brief detour inland brings you to the Carmel Market — an incredibly bustling produce market where Bubbies jostle with young hippies in the crowd in search of the perfect head of cabbage and an unbruised organic apple.

Back on the beachfront promenade, as you approach Jaffa, the historical port and mosque jutting out into the sea loom larger, and the sky scrapers of Tel Aviv behind you fade into the haze. On closer inspection, the historical part of Jaffa has been recently redone, tidied up into a tourist-friendly package, and now a popular stop for tour buses. Despite the mini-market, offering names written on grains of rice, and other non-Middle Eastern Generic-Tourist-Souvenirs that are pushed onto the unwitting, this historical part of Jaffa is beautiful. Framed against the ocean, yellow-white stones of the old church, synagogue and museum shine brightly, and the contrast with more modern Tel Aviv glittering in the distance is well-appreciated.

But, leave this historical part of Jaffa and within seconds you are in a very different city—run down apartment complexes and little bodegas that have all the ambience of… the South Bronx. To be fair to Jaffa, we didn’t have directions, a map or any guidance, and so when faced with this dilapidated area we quickly spun around and headed in a different direction. We never did find the famous humus joint or area with cute streets in the Arab quarter. What we did find, by walking inland and towards Tel Aviv, was a charming mixed neighborhood with a shabby allure—plenty of quaint cafes with patios filled with threadbare sofas and rickety tables creating a homey feel to accompany delicious overflowing salad platters and home-made lemonade, as well as a flea market of captivating antique junk, and a few beautifully renovated homes that gave a glimpse of what is coming, and has already come, to this area.

Having received so many restaurant and café recommendations in Jaffa, and glowing reviews in general about that area, I think we’ll have to give it another chance… but this time I think we’ll take directions…

Tel Aviv and Jerusalem – Israel’s Yin and Yang

Ilana and Paul — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 17:48:01 +0000

Paul: On our first day in Israel, we picked up a free guidebook (although, “free” is a poor description for what’s essentially an instruction manual on how to spend our money). The guide’s theme is the purported rivalry between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. And indeed, since we’ve been here, many people have underscored the contrast between these two cities. There’s no doubt that, despite being separated by a mere 36 miles, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem are opposites in many respects. Tel Aviv lies on a Mediterranean beach filled with modern buildings, housing hip cafes, overflowing with secular liberals. Jerusalem flows over arid hills filled with ancient buildings, housing kosher cafes, overflowing with religious conservatives. But you see, the tendency to draw contrasts has me oversimplifying and exaggerating, just like the guidebook. The truth is that there are plenty of yarmulkes floating around Tel Aviv, and many of those kosher cafes in Jerusalem are pretty hip. Rather than call the cities “opposites,” I consider them “compliments,” and it’s the unusual fortune of Israel to have two wonderful, complementary cities sitting so close together. At its best, Israel manages to harmonize the two trends represented by these cities, creating a culture that is modern and innovative, while continuing to honor history and tradition. As if to illustrate this point, while sitting on a park bench, writing this blog, I was passed by a Hassidic man on roller skates, talking on his cell phone, his payas flapping in the breeze (where’s my camera when I need it??).

This year, Tel Aviv is celebrating its 100^th birthday – it is unbelievable how quickly a city can emerge from the sand. Perhaps because they live in such a new city, many Tel Avivans seems to suffer from an urban identity crisis. When we tell locals we’re from New York City, they often respond with (read with an Israeli accent): “Ehh, many peoples, ehh they say Tel Aviv is like Manhattan, only smaller.” No, it’s not. I say Tel Aviv is like Tel Aviv, only bigger. If you must find an American comparison, Miami Beach is the obvious choice – both are easy going beach towns filled with modernist architecture from the 1920s and ’30s. But let’s drop these needless comparisons. Despite its young age, Tel Aviv has a unique, precocious, delightful personality…