John the Baptist Was Here & The Day I Was Born

It's been so long since I've written, and much has happened--all of it, unforgettable; some of it, regrettably so.  I've finally got my migraines to go quiet and have been headache free for almost two weeks.  How glorious things are when seen through eyes that don't ache!
I was reading in Luke a few weeks ago and was struck anew by the nearness of the Bible here.  Luke 1:39 says:

 "At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, 

where she entered Zechariah's home and greeted Elizabeth.  ...  

Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home."

This "town in the hill country of Judea" is called Tzuba.  And it is from here that I write.  

A Sunburst above Tzuba 

 This has washed over me several times while I've been here, most profoundly while wandering in the hills of Tzuba.  On one such wander on June 30th, some of our fellow students at our language center decided to hike about and visit a nearby archaeologic site that some archaeologists were excavating.  (This has become commonplace to me.  My first time seeing a "dig" I was beyond excited and felt it was all very romantic, and now I walk past them, barely seeing.)   Our friend, Blaine, led the way and off we went.  He took us to the site about 5 minutes walk from us and we were suddenly in the middle of a well-ordered wine press. The men and women would walk down stone steps into a vat, and then begin crushing until the juice of the grapes (the talesh) would run through drains into other vats where they would be bundled up and then allowed to ferment.

Blaine, center in red shirt, and
the rest of our little group from school

Steps down into a wine press

They had built some seats into the side of a cliff where they could take a rest between squashing.  Beau and I, as ever, displayed great restraint here as I pretended the seat was a toilet.  Some of us decided to keep on wandering and we did so.  It was beautiful evening and we were all caught up in the romance of imagining John the Baptist touching this particular tree; resting on this rock here; or seeing the same view we were taking in.  It was a great, relaxing time.  Tzuba is beautiful in an unconventional way, and I always feel that's the best kind of beauty.  At any rate, it's usually the most memorable.

Birthday Flower Surprise from my mom and dad

2 Jul Sat - My Israeli birthday arrived!  Hooray!  I have been looking forward to celebrating a milestone in Israel and finally it was upon me.  I woke up excited for the day and then the excitement slowly drained away as I realized my perfect husband meant it when he said he didn't have anything planned.  We spent the whole day inside; he studying on the terrace, and I reading in my room.  Eventually I wandered out to him and asked if I could plan something for that evening, perhaps stay the night in Jerusalem?  (We had already ruled out going to Mt. Carmel at this time because it was too expensive.)  One of the things I had on my list of "things to do in Israel" was to find some really delicious kosher Italian food.  So I began to plan my birthday evening in the city I loved eating the food that is the tastiest at a fun hotel.  I thought I had accomplished all these things and so we got dressed up, packed a bag, and headed to reception to order a taxi to our hotel.  (I have to say, we were feeling very proud of ourselves and very expensive.  We were not the cheap, hiking shoe-wearing couple we usually were; we were The McCarthys who had reservations.)  

Immediately, our little bubble of great expectations popped, as reception was afraid to get a taxi to the area of our hotel because the week before had seen 2 lynchings of Israeli taxi drivers to that area.  We quickly said that perhaps we should not be going to such an area either, to which they responded that it was perfectly safe.  (This is perhaps the best way to describe the situation in parts of Jerusalem.  It is absolutely dangerous; You will be fine.)  We finally got a taxi to agree to take us to our hotel, and off we went.  I think it is a bad sign if one's taxi driver does not know where he is going.  Presumably, this is  the main gist of the job.  However, our taxi driver had skipped this part of training and was content to just qualify at the driving part of the job.  We finally got him to our hotel and were dropped off.  We were back to our hopeful selves.  The flowers in my hair were a little wilted but all in all, we were in top form.  

Shame on you, Addar.

We walked into the Addar Hotel and Suites and I loved it.  It was an Arabic hotel and the interior was done up in the way you'd stereotypically expect a Sultan's palace to be: good, shabby furniture in traditional Arabic style; many different colors all adding up to a sense of luxury; and a startling chandelier of colored glass hanging from a moroccan-styled tile ceiling.  I marched up to the desk and said we were checking in.  The attendant had the quietest voice I've ever heard.  It could be that it was so quiet because everyone is so loud in Israel, but I genuinely think his voice was in a frequency level reserved for the non-human.  His English was okay, our Arabic is horrible, and for some reason, when I am trying to communicate to someone who doesn't understand, I start speaking beginner's French.  Between the 3 languages, remarkably little was understood.  Suddenly he was explaining that there were no rooms left, so he was sending us to an equivalent hotel and the taxi was coming and we would not have to pay for that and we were to leave now and get in the taxi.  We voiced opposition, but in the end suspected he was no longer speaking, but just moving his lips, and so we got in the cab to go to the other hotel.  

     As soon as we pulled up, we knew this was a mistake.  The hotel was all kinds of shabby and not in a chic way.  I am a (surprisingly) good sport but I was wary of this place.  To begin with, it was obviously not just an Arabic hotel, but a Muslim one, and there were no women to be seen.  Conversation stopped when we entered the hotel.  We were taken to a room that was all kinds of sadness complete with Israeli twin beds.  We decided we were going back to Addar and having a proper argument over this.  Finally, we got a cab, told him he'd be paid by the Addar and so to charge as much as he wished, and back we went.  

     Beau was fantastic here.  He was patient but extremely authoritative.  He spoke clearly in a low voice almost without a trace of his slow Missouri drawl.  I saw we were being the strongest versions of ourselves and so I decided to be the hysterical over-reacting version of me.  Although not helpful, it was the strongest part of me at that moment.  I shook my head dramatically; I spoke my pigeon French with tears in my eyes; I searched the lobby looking at invisible allies and gesticulating hopelessness; finally, I took to a brave silence with a faraway look on my face of "I will suffer nobly all that this world holds." Sort of my "Betrayed Princess Diana" face.  Fortunately, one of us was still actually speaking and so Beau finally got the attendant to agree to refund us...in theory.  When the attendant further explained he did not know to do this in real life, we were finished.  We demanded he pay for our taxi back to Tzuba so we could just go home and sleep.  It was almost 10pm and we were giving up after 2 hours of utterly wasted time.  The attendant said this was impossible.  We ended our time with him and walked outside.  

Our Hero.

On the other side of the street was the famous 5-star hotel The American Colony.  I had read about this hotel and heard their customer-service was unparalleled.  I suggested we go to their concierge and ask for their help to book another hotel.  We walked over there and entered their compound.  I was walking as if I was on my own Via Dolorosa ("Path of Sorrow") and Beau was starting to feel like he needed to remind me that all that had happened so far was that we couldn't get a hotel.  I responded that we couldn't get a hotel because we were cheated.  This kind of injustice was dramatic and I was up for it.  We walked into this stunning hotel which had the quiet luxury of someone who has been wealthy all his life and therefore has no need to flaunt it; it's merely his custom.  I sank into a chair in the reception as my legs would no longer hold me and the weight of my disappointment.  My flowers were thoroughly droopy now and I added to this effect by resting my chin in my hand, like the only child not invited to the birthday party.  

     The concierge swept us up in his pure capableness and next thing we knew Beau was renting a room for a ridiculously low price.  I found a friend to share my sorrows to in the lobby named Mary Ann, who had just retired and was anticipating the vacation of a lifetime at the famous American Colony Hotel.  Her chipper attitude and sympathetic motherly utterances of comfort had their effect and I couldn't hold onto my wounded persona any longer.  We chatted about what to see, where to eat, and which shops to buy in.  We talked about where we had visited, where we were from, and our families.  I was completely restored to myself.  Further restoration came when the concierge brought out champagne for everyone in the reception area in honor of my birthday.  I clinked my glass to the sounds of many "mazel tovs" and I was a happy traveler again.  The concierge had also arranged for a room upgrade to one with a private terrace.  It was so wonderful.  He understood from Beau my desire for an Israeli-Italian restaurant, so he booked a reservation at a restaurant that was too cool for us and called for a taxi.  All our troubles were over!  We were saved!  We had the most amazing sweet potato ravioli and chestnut mushroom gnocchi I've ever eaten paired with a perfectly chilled Coke. 

Sweet Potato Ravioli at Colony Restaurant

Chestnut Mushroom Gnocchi at Colony 

Colony 

The entrance to The American Colony Hotel

 Life was good.  We went back to our hotel and sank into the most luxurious bed I've ever slept in.  We watched a movie in English on a premium channel and fell asleep, knowing this was the nicest hotel we would ever stay in.  And that was the end of my birthday.  Dramatic, Emotional, Luxurious, Stylish, with a touch of Snobbery.  Exactly my idea of a great birthday.

If These Walls Could Talk/These Boots Were Made For Walking (pick one)

Hands and Prayers at the Western Wall

Where Beau got his bagel/cheese danish.

A Coke is always worth it.

So (Sunday 26 June) Beau and I went to Old City, Jerusalem.  (We had already been to New City--in a fancier/trendier area called Mamila--when we went to replace items from our delayed luggage.)  We left Tzuba at around 11am and were dropped off via bus at City Center, a 25 minute walk from Jaffa Gate.  Before we went in at Jaffa, Beau stopped to get a bagel and I took that moment to get myself a Coke.  I know enough Hebrew to ask for a Coke, know how much the teller is asking and, of course, if it is a good price.  (Although, I, personally, consider it a point of honor to pay whatever someone asks for Coke.  To bargain for Coke is like bargaining for a house: too low a bid or too high an ask makes the house lose value.  So it is for Coke.  Don't pop the bubble; pay what is asked.)  Whilst waiting for Beau to get his food, I wandered the City Center a little, which is sort of like if the Oakland Mall were underground and in Israel.  Meaning, the fact that it is underground and in Israel is the only thing that makes it cool.  Here, as everywhere, are many pieces of Judaica to purchase, especially mezuzahs.  Mezuzahs (a marker of blessing for a dwelling, that also holds a script of Torah, usually) are everywhere in Israel and it is a sign of respect to touch them before passing through a doorway.  I was lucky enough to find some lovely mezuzahs that I can only guess are aimed at children and adults who should know better.

Mezuzahs 'R Us

Jaffa Gate is very narrow.
Makes Bible's description of very wide gates of heaven that much more comforting.

Beau on the Ramparts.

Beau fake-shooting from Rampart.

Me, pretending to be Female Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom.

We went to Jaffa Gate and signed up for a combo-tour.  We took what is called the Rampart Walk, which is exactly as it sounds: a walk literally up along the ramparts of Old City.  We opted to take this alone as Beau and I are not good on tours, as we soon discovered.  The Rampart Walk is great, but perhaps less so when one walks it at high noon.  We found ways to amuse ourselves as we tripped along.








From the Walk, one gets a great view of the city outside the walls and the city within.  I particularly liked the statue on top of the Notre Dame Hospice Center which depicts the usual Madonna and Babe, but in this instance, the Madonna is holding the baby Jesus aloft (a la Lion King), which is startling and beautiful.

Madonna and Jesus statue on Hospice of Notre Dame

We exited from the Ramparts at the Roman Plaza, where we descended into an olive press from the time of Arabic control under the leadership of Suleman.  We were naturally respectful of the history and acted normal here.

Blurry Beau abusing tour privileges.

The Markets of Old City 

We abandoned the blisteringly hot Ramparts and went to the market area of Jerusalem.  The streets all have a very distinct Bazaar-feel.  Shopping, shopping, shopping.  We made one attempt at purchasing a Creche in olive wood, but walked away from the deal when we felt it was not worth the price. (We'll keep trying, Debbie!  But you would have been proud to see Beau bargain!)  We left with the shopkeeper still yelling after us.  One of the greatest tasks of these shopkeepers is to actually get you to enter the shop.  There is usually one guy who sort of yells at the passersby in an effort to lure them in.  Once inside, you're given over to the shopkeeper who then tells you all sorts of flattering lies about himself, you, and his wares.  It's actually very fun and everyone we interacted with was very friendly and funny and not too angry when we wouldn't stop or would leave without buying.

Beau's face after haggling.

When we entered the Arab Quarter, it seemed like someone upped the ante. The Baits (my term for the guy who needs to lure you in) were hilarious and way more vocal. Several times I was approached by a man with a concerned face who said, "You are lost! Ah, no! But I found you, and here is the shop you were looking for!" Their faces would break into wide smiles and we'd all laugh, and move on. The Baits got funnier and funnier. Never aggressive in a scary-way, more in a flirtatious, come-hither way. Everyone sells the same thing. Literally. So the salesman is really all you're paying for. Best to be "gotten" by a good one.

The wall where Jesus' handprint is meant to be.

The announcement of God's Presence

Women at Western Wall

Me, covered head-to-toe.

We walked a little of Via Dolorosa (the way of the cross) and Beau put his hand in the supposed spot where Jesus is meant to have supported himself when he struggled beneath the weight of the cross. These stations are not like traditional Stations of the Cross on church grounds, where it is solemn and removed from the building a distance. They are just smack dab as one walks along. We would look up and see Number 7 and then move on pass the shops selling Hebrew Dora the Explorer beach balls. Sort of anti-climatic. But again, we weren't on a tour; we were by ourselves, just enjoying the wandering. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant highly recommended by tour guides and tours alike. (Um, by accident.) It was immediately before the Western Wall entrance. We passed through another security area (there are many in Old City) manned largely by People-Taking-Naps-Whilst-Performing-Jobs-of-Importance. I stopped before leaving the passageway and threw on my Modesty Kit: long-sleeved shirt, long skirt, and a head covering. Some people did not heed the "please dress modestly for this holy place" signs, but I definitely did (see photo), and I did it because I saw that when women were not covered, they posed a distraction to those who were truly trying to connect with God. The Western Wall is very quiet. That is the most imposing thing there. The Wall? Eh. Like most walls. But the emotion was very real and unique. I was caught by a sign that announced "The Divine Presence Never Leaves Here" and I felt like it was scary and then my soul was comforted upon remembering that I, too, have a mark on me that says "The Divine Presence Never Leaves Here".We split up to go pray at the Wall. My side (the women's) was very emotional and then randomly comical at the same time. There were old women and young teens alike pressing their foreheads against the wall and pushing their requests in the cracks. Then there were middle-aged women saying, loudly, (conversation at the Wall is discouraged) "My Gawd. Take the picture, Rosie. I. Am. Going. To. Melt." and another, "I guess this is it, then? Whaddawedo, lean on it or something?" "Who has a pen?" In response, eventually, a severe-looking lady would begin shushing and then everyone was shushing like it was assembly time in the gym and we're the kindergarten class. I managed to get a "spot" and pressed my forehead against the Wall. I thanked God for many things, mostly that my hope does not come from this Wall. I then exited without turning my back on the wall, as is the tradition. Beau and I met up again underneath the flagpole in the center of the plaza.

Not-fully-excavated-yet
Pool of Shiloh

The Watermark Guide
to show whether your child is tall enough to walk
 Hezekiah's Tunnel without drowning.

Then, after more exploration of the other Gates (including a visit to the already-made Menorah for when the Temple is rebuilt), off we went for the next part of our combo-tour package: a tour of the City of David, and Hezekiah's Tunnel.  Both are too hard to explain, (you actually descend beneath the city and wade thru mid-calf to mid-thigh water of the Gihon spring, and end up at the Pool of Shiloh, a significant part of Sukkoth) but fascinating and definitely a good thing to do in the city.  (Thanks, Sally!) I think most tours' success lies in the hand of the tour guides.  Our tour guide was not my speed.  Literally.  He was a 5mph type of speaker and a redundant teacher.  I never used to think there could be redundancy in teaching--the whole point is reiterating until understanding comes.  But if one reiterates to the point of canceling out the original thought, and you're just left with sounds, then you have met my tour guide.  (For the record, Beau wasn't as annoyed.  Per usual.)
An example would be this:  Our guide, Sarel, points to a weird shaped stone with an almost perfect small hole in the center.
He asks, "Can anyone tell me what this is?"
One person says "toilet".
Sarel: "Toilet? Really?? C'mon guys!  Another suggestion?  What IS this thing?!?!"
Us: (Silence.)
Sarel: "Shout something out, guys!"
Us: "A drain."
Sarel: "No, it is a toilet!  Hard to guess, yes?"
Us: (murmur of discontent.)

Then Sarel would spend so long going over and over the same information in different sentences,  that the next tour would come along.  Instead of seeing this and hustling along, Sarel would ask them to go ahead and we would wait, silently, till they had all trouped through before Sarel began telling us again that this room would have held the seals for royal letters, and then, later, the seals for royal letters would have been in this room.  We made it through and befriended some beleaguered Aussies also sharing the tour.  After it was wrapped up, we went back to the main center for the City of David and watched an informational, completely computerized movie in 3-D.  It featured all sorts of necessary 3-D elements, like an inexplicably Italian-accented fake archaeologist who "stands up" in your face; seagulls who start to fly out at you, but then are chopped in half because the projector's range is only 10 feet; and lots of swirling around helicopter-views that go into a dive suddenly and plow into a computerized ancient-times man chipping at stone.  All good stuff.
After the tour, Beau and I went to famous Ben-Yehuda street which is equivalent to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, but way cooler.  We got some yummy falafel sandwiches and sat in the street talking and eating with hundreds of other people.
I absolutely loved it.  I loved everything about Jerusalem.

This morning I woke up with a Level 5 migraine, but felt strangely happy because at least I was here.  In Israel. Tov. (Good.)

P.S.  I seem to have lost control of the formatting of this blog.  I have also lost my attention span for fixing it.  So sorry it's a little confusing/difficult to read.

P.P.S.  I would also like to state that--despite spending the hottest/sunniest hours of the day outside--I am still "Winter" pale.  Skin cancer is real, folks.  Campaign for Pale is the New Tan!

Pictures from Tzuba, Israel!

Welcome to Hotel Tzuba!

This is what I call a "Beau-on-a-bench". Everyone should get one.

We live beneath the stairs in #142.

This car or truck whips around the compound like nobody's business.  Beau would like to own it.  It is his favorite thing.  He shakes his head in admiration everytime it roars past us (probably because it has no brakes).

The vineyards at Tzuba.  Admittedly not impressive in this photo, but in real life all of Tzuba is vineyards and all of it is quite pretty.

Beau and I went for a walk up Mount Tzuba and found this little cave (which is actually really large and endless on the inside).  Naturally, we pretended it was Jesus' tomb and so Beau showed me how the angel would have rolled the stone away.

We are in a change of clothes! New underwear! New pants! New attitudes!

My delicious food at Tzuba.  This was like a yummy grilled teriyaki chicken with a wonderfully seasoned mushroom/onion pasta.  This is standard fare at Tzuba.

Beau, crafting his ridiculously over-sized pitas.  With ridiculously too much hummus.  Someone mail us gum.

The cold salad station #1.

The hot main course station.

The cold salad station #2.

The cold salad station #3

The warm vegetable station.

Our apartment kitchen.

Our dining/homework area.

Our bedroom.

Our terrace.

Here We Go!

So.  We set off for our flight to Amsterdam, excited for the 9 hour layover (before heading to Tel Aviv) and seat upgrade we had paid for to ensure we sat next to each other.  Within the first 3 minutes of our check-in process a little sparkly thing was held out in front us: vouchers.  Mmm, vouchers.  Yes, please.  Oh, they come with Business Class upgrade? Guaranteed to sit next to each other?  Fly to Paris? Mais, oui! We'll take two.  Next thing we know, we are "chosen" (special, unique, desired--all good words) and off we race to a new gate for our frugal, yet posh exchange.  The Paris flight is already boarding.  They tell us we are not sitting together.  There is no upgrade.  They laugh in our faces.  I burst into tears in their faces.  Beau tries to explain, with the least amount of insanity, that I have Transportation Anxiety, yes, it's a real thing, sure, she has medication, but...we're very upset, can she sit next to me in any possible way?
I moved over to the vacant sitting area and started to have trouble breathing.  I called Kerith because everyone knows it is not scary at all to receive a phone call from someone who is hyper-ventilating and crying.  Kerith calmly said all the right things "you'll be fine, there are movies! you get out of your seat and walk around!  it will all work out!"  Every once in a while she said "just keep breathing".  I said nothing, but wheezed in her ear "IT WILL NOT WORK OUT BECAUSE I HAVE DECIDED I AM TRAUMATIZED."
We boarded the plane and a nice young girl sitting next to Beau switched seats with me and after about five minutes of Modern Family I was sound asleep.  Like an infant, I awoke to eat and go to the bathroom and occasionally smile at Beau.
We landed in Paris and decided against venturing out into the city for a quickie visit.  I was very excited to, but Beau kept saying things like "it sounds stressful, maybe we should just relax, I want to lie down" and so we did that.  I fell asleep again and then we went and got something to eat.  Beau picked up a few espressos and I randomly had a french manicure and then Au Revoir, Paris.  (Quick shout-out to my jr high French teacher, as my french served me well and only once did I say "I want to go to the right" instead of "You're hurting my nail".  We landed in Tel Aviv only to discover that our bags had transportation anxiety, too, as they had never left Detroit.
We get a cab and I try to use all my Hebrew words to try to connect with him.  So at various points in the conversation did I try to say my numbers in Hebrew ("in English please, madame") and worked in L'Chaim, Elohim, Shabbot, Emunah, and Shalom.  Beau looked at me with a face "what are you doing?" and I responded by saying shalom one more time.
We got into our apartment on the Kibbutz at about 3:30 in the morning.  Our place is awesome and bigger and nicer than we had thought.  Reception apologized because they thought we were brother and sister and so had arranged for twin beds.  Beau seemed very quick to say it was absolutely fine (surely, I had not exhausted him) and we got into bed thanking God for everything, especially the 2 TVs  in our apartment (a TV in the bedroom as well as living room! how fancy!).   Beau put on the Cosby Show and we fell asleep to the sound of Mr. Huxtable telling the girls they could not ride the subway at night, and there it was: We had traveled to Israel.  L'Chaim.

Shalom!

This blog was created to keep family and friends informed whilst Beau and I (Carmel) are studying Biblical Hebrew--immersion-style--about 20 miles outside Jerusalem. We are staying at a kibbutz called Hotel Tzuba. We will be here for 6 weeks. The first 4 weeks, we will be studying at the Beginners level and during the last 2 weeks, we will be studying at the Intermediate level. Aside from the occasional class field trip, we will be in class Monday thru Friday from 8:30am-12:30pm, with afternoons and evenings free for homework and personal-time.

We are prepared to be un-prepared. We look forward to getting lost. We can't wait for our first attempt at driving in Israeli traffic. We anticipate Beau eating everything in sight and Carmel grimacing at the baby lamb covered in figs on her plate. We hope we stay nice to each other for the largest percentage of the trip. We believe this will be a time for us that is like no other time before. And we are excited that we get to shout, "This Year in Jerusalem!"