Just Let It L'Chhhappen : Autumn in the Holy Land

It's starting to get cooler, finally. I thought my bike commute to work couldn't get any better, but now the crisp cool air is proving me wrong.

Autumn in Israel is a very festive season, with the New Year (Rosh Hashanah), Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), the Harvest Holiday (Sukkot), and Simchah Torah (when they...start the Torah from the beginning...or something like that). Makes me realize how much I've forgotten since I was a 5-year old in Holiday Happenings. I hosted my first Warmshowers guest recently, a touring cyclist from Italy, and I tried to explain Sukkot to him. "What you do, is first you build a little hut, and then you have this lemon on a stick, and you shake it and wave it around." He must have thought I was nuts.

It's a nice atmosphere. I hadn't realized how this is a string of holidays and festivals here, sort of like the Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Years season in the States. Lots of half-weeks off, and a full 10-day vacation for Sukkot. But it's nice to be back in the routine.

It was really interesting to observe the differences between the holidays here in Israel vs. home. Whereas in America Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are sort of grouped together as the "High Holy Days" or the "Days of Awe," in Israel they are quite different. Rosh Hashanah is not a very big deal in Israel. People mostly have dinner with their families on the Erev (eve), and see it as a time to spend at home with their loved ones. Some religious people go to Synagogue in the evening and / or morning, but not everyone. Lots of people go the beach.

This year for Rosh Hashanah, because the two-day holiday fell on Thursday and Friday, and the following day was Shabbat, it was three days of a sort-of limbo where lots of places were closed, some places were open, and I wasn't really sure what to do with myself.

This weirdness was furthered by the nature of the synagogues here. The vast majority (I'm guessing 99%+) of synagogues in Israel are Orthodox. The joke is that Israelis want the synagogue that they don't go to, to be Orthodox. And the far-reaching institutional influence of the Rabbinate in Israel has worked over the years to quell any expression of Judaism besides the one acceptable to it. This has extended not only to prayer but also to marriage: If you wanted to marry a person of a different faith (for instance a Jew marrying an Arab, or Christian marrying a Jew) or if you want to marry a person of the same sex, you need to catch a flight to Cyprus to have the wedding. And if you want to convert to Judaism, Orthodox is your only option. And if you're a woman and you want to pray at Judaism's most holy site, well, you can have a tiny spot in the corner on the right-hand side. (Fortunately, in recent years the control of the Rabbinate on such personal matters is finally beginning to subside. Just today, a coalition of several parties got a bill into the Knesset that lets more Rabbis oversee Jewish conversions.

This phenomenon has played out in parallel with the non-religious Kibbutzniks, who have as little interest in Reform Judaism as they do in Orthodox. For example, a co-worker of mine named Ziv, who grew up on a Kibbutz and is a high-ranking IDF Officer, proudly told me how his 6-year-old son eats a salami-and-cheese omelette every Saturday morning. When Ziv's friend came over and was shocked to find this boy eating an un-Kosher meal, the boy asked, "What is Kosher?" to his father's delight.

Anyway. For these reasons, I would describe the Reform movement here as "fledgling," at best. The movement in Israel didn't evolve organically over time from a foundation of secular German immigrants, the way it did in America. Instead, the movement is mostly influenced and funded by American foundations and followed by American Olim. But more and more Israelis are discovering Reform Judaism as a fulfilling alternative. This is a great article about a secular Israeli kibbutznik learning about Reform Judiasm and then becoming a Rabbi: Israelis shocked to discover: There is more than one Judaism

Ok, so what does all that mean for me? I didn't want to go to Rosh Hashanah at an Orthodox synagogue. I've done that before, when I studied abroad and also once here in Israel during Passover, and I wasn't comfortable at all. It's not the tradition that I grew up with and it's not meaningful for me. Plus, at this point in my 27-year career as a human, I'm repulsed by the idea of women and men sitting separately. I wanted to sit with Adi.

So I chickened out and didn't go anywhere. My Reform and Conservative friends from the program did the same thing. I went to a lovely dinner with Adi's family, and then a great lunch with my friends the next day, but my friends felt the same way I did: It's sadly ironic that we are skipping Rosh Hashanah services for the first time in our lives and we're in Israel for crying out loud.

So the Jewish guilt set in. As I was moping around, Adi in all her sweetness went online and found a small Reform congregation in our neighborhood -- a branch of Beit Daniel, the only reform synagogue in all of Tel Aviv. We went on the second night of Rosh Hashanah and found a nice little group of people, with a warm female Rabbi who led the service in both Hebrew and English. Adi was really excited to see a woman on the Bima for the first time.

I was determined to be more proactive for Yom Kippur, so I became a member of the congregation and brought a group of friends back for Kol Nidre services. In America, you have to clamor to get seats for all the services during the High Holy Days, and most synagogues require an advance reservation ticket. So I rushed everyone there half an hour early, figuring there would be a huge crowd, considering this was one of the only Reform congregations in the whole city.

Nope.

We were some of the first people to arrive and we got seats in the front. The same happened for services the following day. Crazy!

In Israel, Yom Kippur is the most important day of the year and the only holiday more important than the weekly Shabbat. (Reference point: It is the only day of the year when even the AM-PM convenience stores are closed!) Adi had told me that Yom Kippur is a total "see-and-be-seen" event, when everyone is out and about in the streets all night and all day, in their best outfits, socializing and mingling. I found this hard to believe given the somber nature of the Day of Atonement. But it was true. Irreverent Tel Avivians couldn't care less.

There were no cars anywhere besides the occasional police car and ambulance, so gangs of children were riding their bikes all over the place. Even though I was fasting, Adi and I did a short bikeride on the 8-lane Ayalon Highway, just to say we did. It was sort of post-apocolyptic, but in a cool way!

We broke the fast the traditional Ashkenazi way, with lox and cream cheese, smoked whitefish, hardboiled eggs, lots of vegetable and fruit salads, and challah (we couldn't find bagels). Jonathan, my roomate, and Adi both come from Mizrachi households, and they were psyched -- they usually just break the fast with some cakes pastries. Jonathan totally plans on bringing this tradition to his family.

So in the end, I felt content that I embraced my traditions for the High Holy Days within a completely new and interesting context, in Israel, surrounded by other Jews doing their own thing - whether in Synagogue or out on the town.

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The Sukkot holiday was awesome. I went with my colleague Eran and his friends on a bike tour from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. Almost the entire route was off-road, connected by several trails and paths. It was my first tour since the big one, and it was incredible. It lasted two days, and we stayed overnight in a guest house in Neve HaShalom (translates to Village of Peace) where Jews and Arabs coexist side by side. See photos below.

One memory that stuck with me, though, was towards the end of the journey, making our way towards the outer suburbs of Tel Aviv, we rode by a group of twenty or so people, men and women of different ages, with sleeping bags and backpacks. I thought that this hilltop was a strange place to go camping, and then I saw a taxi-van below stopped on the side of the road. Eran saw my confusion and told me these were Palestinians who had come to Israel to work. Most likely, it's too difficult for them to get in and out of the territories each day, so they sleep on this hilltop. I'm not sure how many days they do this, or how often they get to go home. It was a difficult sight to see.

Anyway, right after the bike adventure, Adi and I went on another adventure to Prague! I spent a semester abroad in Prague and knew the place, and it was Adi's first time in Europe, so I was able to show her a great time. It was an action-packed four days. Photos below.

There's one ridiculous story from the trip that I think really showcases Israeli cultural uniqueness. Our flight was at 8:20 am, so I said we should get there at 6:15 am to be safe. That's 2+ hours, which is as early as I've ever shown up for a flight. We got there and got on the check-in line, and lo and behold, nobody showed up behind us. We were the very last ones, and because of this, we didn't get seats next to each other.

I couldn't believe how early these Israelis arrived. But then, when we got to our gate, it was empty except for one family with a baby. Where the heck was everyone? Shopping at the Duty-Free, of course. Apparently Israelis LOVE the duty-free. Even Adi was into it, and she bought some chocolate for her family for the same price as the same chocolate in the regular supermarket...

Anyway, they called us to board, and we shrugged and figured we'd get on the plane. Once on, we learned that it was actually open-seating, and being the first ones, we got third-row seats together!

But we knew the Israelis wouldn't be fooled twice. For the 2:30 am return-flight from Prague, we pushed and shoved to get checked-in, and then found everyone camped out in front of the gate, sitting on the floor closely together. When the attendant began taking tickets, it was a mad rush. But instead of getting onto the plane, we were just ushered into another room. For THIRTY FRICKIN' MINUTES.

Some of the passengers gave up and sat in the chairs, but most held tightly to their place in line. Then two buses pulled up outside, and the doors opened, and it was another frenzied dash. The prior order of the line was completely abandoned.

When we were on the bus, everyone was jockeying for position near the doors, so we were crammed really tight even as the middle of the bus was free. Finally, after another ten minutes of waiting beside the plane, the bus door opened (I think they may have timed the two buses to open at the same time) and it was like the starting gate of the Kentucky Derby. Adi, being small and lithe, maneuvered through the madness and scored us two good seats, so after two hours of cramming from one line to the next, we got what we wanted. All the previous queuing in line was for naught: the young and strong were victorious, while the old and infirm were left in the trenches.

Was it worth the effort? I'd say yes, since I got to put my head in Adi's lap and then I passed out for the entire four-hour flight. Adi, who was stuck upright without any way to sleep, might give you a different answer :)

I think this says a lot about the Israeli "not-gonna-be-a-sucker" attitude. I was surprised how few Israelis complained on the first flight, since they had arrived at the airport so early to get their seats, only to find that those seat assignments didn't matter. And I was utterly shocked at how few complained while waiting to board the flight home. I was actually one of only three people who complained, and believe me, I gave them a piece of my mind.

I wonder if the airline, which usually operates only in Hungary (many planes are specially chartered for the Sukkot holiday) had ever dealt with this sort of behavior from passengers. And I also wonder how Americans would behave, if confronted with what is essentially the Southwest Airlines 24-hour online check-in frenzy, dramatically played out in real f***ing life.

My guess is that a lot more Americans would have complained, and plenty would have had all-out temper tantrums. The Israelis, on the other hand, even though they were crammed like sardines, and even though it was 2 am, kept their cool, and even had an attitude of camaraderie, as if they were all pals from District 12, about to go into the Arena. When one guy took a selfie, everyone raised their hands and cheered.

Crazy son-of-a-bitch Israelis, I'll tell you what.

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Work is still going well. I'm getting more responsibility and am delving deeper into projects, and the people are great mentors and teammates.

We are currently working with the government of Suriname to deploy innovative Israeli agriculture projects in the country, and they recently sent over a delegation of university students to see the technologies and methods first-hand. I was tasked with accompanying them for a few days of the visit, since it would be my first time seeing many of the farms and technologies too. What a cool experience. I got to see high-yield dairy farms, processing factories, greenhouses, and a jojoba oil farm (Jojoba is an oil used in many cosmetics and beauty products, and Israel produces something like 90% of the jojoba in the world).

But the coolest experience by far was visiting Kibbutz Hatzerim, near Beersheva, right where the terrain starts to shift from fertile coastal plain into the dry, rocky desert of the Negev. In this unfertile, unforgiving climate, pioneering scouts came and set up a thriving farming village in 1946. Drip irrigation was invented here in 1965, and there is still a major production plant on-site.

Now, the agriculture and technology were of course super cool, but my keenest interest was in the socioeconomic aspects. It was fascinating to learn about this Kibbutz and its company called Netafim.

You enter Kibbutz Hatzerim and you feel like you're in another world -- a summer camp in real life, a picturesque, edenesque even, agrarian commune. The dining hall serves delicious food -- the best Kibbutz food I've ever eaten -- and people ride their bikes along the paths through manicured lawns (no cars are allowed). Children run around freely from cottage to cottage.

This is the Kibbutz setting that many of my adult colleagues remember from their youth. But today, Hatzerim is the exception. As Israel has evolved from collectivist to capitalist, and as the country reckons with the world economy, this idyllic life doesn't really exist anymore. Hatzerim exists because of Netafim.

Indeed, Hatzerim is well-endowed. Today, the Kibbutz owns approximately 30% of Netafim, which has thousands of employees and factories all over the world. That means the Kibbutz's members have a gigantic source of revenue. While many kibbutzim (plural for kibbutz) have shifted partially or fully away from collectivism, Hatzerim is still completely socialist.

The next day my colleague Zeca, who has lived at Kibbutz Hatzerim for 20 years, explained: "It's easy to be socialist when you have a lot of money."

Many Hatzerim members work in the fields or at the Netafim factory, but they don't receive a salary. The factory manager does not receive anything more or anything less than the line worker. Others, like Zeca, work in outside jobs, and their salaries and (and bonus) go directly into the kibbutz's coffers.

There are some complications, though. For instance, Zeca has a company car that he uses to get to the office, and he can use this car in the evenings and on weekends as he pleases. But other members of the Kibbutz can only reserve and use cars from the Kibbutz. So Zeca gets this personal benefit that others don't get, and this is an issue they have to deal with: a lack of equality.

Then there's the issue of being a socialist entity, but competing in the global economy. As I mentioned, Netafim is a for-profit corporation, and Hatzerim only owns 30%. The majority of Netafim's ownership is made up of private investors. Hatzerim prides itself on educating its youth in agronomy, engineering and business, to take up the mantle of managing Netafim into the future. But in order to maintain its edge, Netafim must also employ global talent -- talent that needs to be compensated.

This blurriness can also be seen at the local level: the factory we visited, which churns out endless strips of tubing for its drip irrigation systems, was not just staffed by Hatzerim members, but also by people commuting in from Beersheva and surrounding towns -- and these people receive salaries.

Kibbutz Hatzerim had an incredible appeal, especially to a nature guy like me. Living and working outside, being part of a tight-knit community with so much common ground...it would be a wonderful life. But then I wonder how long I could tolerate the food in the mess hall before wanting something more. And I think how I'd like to take my family on nice vacations, and maybe own a car and a nice bike, with the money I earn. A lot of young Israelis feel this way, and they leave the Kibbutz for the city. But a surprising amount of young Israelis stay. As long as this foundation exists, the ethos of the Kibbutz will remain a substantial part of Israel's identity.

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Otherwise, things are going well. I've been studying hebrew with a private tutor and I'm slowly improving. It's tough, because most people in the street or at shops immediately switch to English even when I'm trying my best. Adi's mother is my best teacher -- she doesn't know much English, so talking with her is a great way to practice my Hebrew. Plus, it's nice because I can disagree with her or tell her how I really feel, and everyone just awkwardly laughs and says how great my Hebrew is, but the conversation can't go any further than that. It's awesome!

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Months ago, soon after I started the program, I was talking to an American who had made Aliyah. I asked him what compelled him to do it. He told me that in his case and the case of many other thoughtful people, you don't have some big wonderful epiphane and shout from the hilltops "I love Israel, Israel is my home!" Instead, in his words, you sort of "get stuck." I've talked to friends who have the same mindset. They say that after about 5 years, they start telling people that they live in Israel rather than the United States, and have already accumulated all their stuff in Israel, and realize they're here to stay.

But now, having been here for nearly a year, I don't think "getting stuck" is the right description of this sentiment. Instead, I think a person slowly, over time, comes to terms with a sense of obligation, a sense of urgency, a sense of being part of something greater than him or herself in a very tangible way. It's different than, say, climate change (my usual cause celebre) or even more human issues like poverty in Africa, because it's just so immediate. So familiar and so intimate, and so messy. The Jews are a very tiny group of people, and they're still alive and kicking, and against all odds they now they have this tiny piece of land where they can determine their own future. I know it sounds cliche, but history is being made here every day. And you don't fully realize that until you live here for a while. Once you're part of this thing for a year or two, other places start to seem, well, sterile.

Now don't get me wrong. I still totally plan on coming home. For me, the draw of family is very powerful. But I do acknowledge the pull.

Jewish Quarter Cemetery, just as beautiful and stirring as I remember. The Jewish Quarter of Prague had even more meaning this time, after living in Israel.

Posing next to the Franz Kafka statue during our city tour. We had an awesome tour guide named Jean Paul, and he had a loud, clear booming voice, which was important so Adi could understand him :) We took another tour of Prague castle with him because he was so great.

Prague Castle at sunset, seen from Visehrad Castle

Visehrad Castle

We went to Cesky Krumlov, a little medieval Castle village on the Czech Republic / Austria border. It's one of my favorite places in the whole world, and it was sweet to return with Adi

Cesky Krumlov

Un-Kosher pork heaven. Despite a lot of peer pressure from me, Adi stuck to her roots and refrained.

The Cathedral at Prague Castle

At Prague Castle

Wenceslas Square at Night

Jewish Quarter of Prague

Cycling on the empty Ayalon Highway on Yom Kippur!

Hanging out with our good friend Riki

My company had an awesome re-branding party at one of Tel Aviv's swankiest restaurants. Cool, right?

My cycling shoes after the tour from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. After 8,000+ miles and 18 countries, it might be time for new ones. I'll spare you the photo of my chafed butt cheeks, which were in even worse shape.