America – Page 11 – Planting Roots Bearing Fruits

Hitchhiking on a Druze golf cart

Tonight was rough. I had an amazing Shabbat which included hosting American students, Reform services, Libyan food, the beach, and an Israeli techno party. After all that, I headed to the America Restaurant on Ibn Gvirol only to find all sorts of Trump-themed and racist paraphernalia. It was an unwelcome surprise for someone who came here to get away from that. I felt angry and typecast. The only good part was my excellent company and the mac n cheese. I headed home feeling deflated and wondering why I was here. It’s hard to be a Jew in America and it’s hard to be American in Israel.

After blowing off some steam, I decided to write about my trip to Daliat Al Karmel and Haifa. Because there, I felt the inspiration that can happen in Israel.

Let’s start in Daliat Al Karmel. A beautiful Druze village, I loved exploring every nook and cranny. I had heard there was a monastery nearby, so I made my way by foot. Each person I asked for directions told me it was 5 minutes away. I asked four people the same question, so needless to say it was more than 5 minutes away. After 30-40 minutes in the heat, I saw a golf cart heading towards me. I asked the man and his son in Arabic for a lift- and so I hitchhiked with the Druze family to the monastery.

This place is gorgeous. On top of the roof, you can see all of Israel’s North. It looks like this:

I felt at peace. Tel Aviv is a disgusting dirty city. It’s a fun place. It’s filled with youth and queer people and the beach and a million and a half cultures. But it’s gross. And loud. The North is peaceful. It is where I go to meditate and connect with God.

Realizing I was far away from the village bus and in need of a way home, I talked to the Druze guy who worked at the front desk. Since this is Israel, there is ALWAYS a solution. A priest from the monastery was headed back to Haifa, where I was staying.

I ran after his car and hopped in. The generous and kind Italian priest drove me the entire 45 minute ride. He spoke decent Spanish and I speak Spanish so we talked that way- in “Itañol” as he called it 🙂 . He works for a Roman Catholic church in Haifa that cooperates with Greek Catholics and Maronites- both of whom are also in communion with Rome. He loves life in Israel and wants to stay. He even did an ulpan- although he was frustrated that the teacher only explained things in Russian! 25% of Haifa is Russian so it makes sense. Kind of funny that the words he learned in ulpan were zdrastvootie and pazhalsta haha.

I then went out in Haifa to check out the nightlife. I connected with some Americans teaching English in Haifa, which was great. It’s nice to get a dose of the motherland once in a while 🙂 I was then headed home when I heard Arabic music blasting from a sushi bar. I immediately went inside and found an entirely Arab sushi restaurant singing and dancing. I joined in, started clapping and dancing. It is hands down the most fun I’ve had since arriving in Israel. And there’s wasn’t a Jew in sight. Because it would probably never occur to a Sabra to step foot in this place. I’m pretty fearless and open-minded, so I said what the hell.

The next thing I know, the music stopped and the bartender starts belting out some amazing Arabic tunes. And he. is. GOOD. Everyone starts swinging and swaying and banging on the bar.

It’s 3:30am and I head home. I can’t help but think now how my Americanness helped make these moments possible. My multilingual interactions. My trust of Druze and Arabs. My appreciation for all religious traditions.

Because my American identity isn’t a metaphor. And it’s not a Britney Spears concert or a goofy picture of Donald Trump or a selfie in Times Square.

It’s my appreciation for diversity. My willingness to listen. My open-mindedness and my love for my neighbors- Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, Buddhist, you name it.

When I made aliyah, some Sabras told me not to hang out too much with other Americans. Not to be too diasporic.

Bullshit. My American identity makes me a better Israeli. Quite a number of Jews here speak better German than Arabic and know more about Berlin than Kafr Qasem.

I intend to be part of the solution here as an American-Israeli. Instead of throwing shade, hop on the golf cart with me. We’ll climb atop a monastery in the middle of nowhere. We’ll stare out at the North and realize that anything is possible if you just let yourself dream. The American-Israeli dream.

A Kavkazi soldier died in battle today

Tonight, after a delicious dinner of Kavkazi dumpling soup, I met Ruslan Yosifov. Ruslan was killed 20 years ago today by a roadside bomb in Lebanon.

How did I get to meet this brave young man? Let’s start from the beginning.

I was walking around exploring Ramat Gan, an interesting and diverse suburb of Tel Aviv. I was feeling hungry after a day of trekking around so I got really excited when I saw the sign “Restaurant Uzbekistan”. It’s a Kavkazi-owned restaurant that serves Kavkazi, Georgian, and Bukharan food. I jumped in and ordered Dushpara. Honestly, it kind of reminds me of a Central Asian wonton soup with a little vinegar. De-licious!

I got to talking with a handsome young man who works in the restaurant. His name is Adam and he’s half Kavkazi and half Russian. He was born and raised in Israel but has relatives in Siberia and Vladivostok.

He just got back from a trip to Russia and he told how he had had an issue with his cell phone there but nobody in Russia would help him. He spent an hour just trying to get someone to help him fix his phone before boarding a train to Siberia. He told me this would never happen in Israel because we’re family here. If you need something, you just ask for it and people help.

I told him I’ve had the exact same experience. In the U.S., my experience is that people are more suspicious of each other. If someone asks you for help, you often wonder what their motive is, especially if it’s a stranger. To the contrary, today in Israel I hitchhiked for the first time in my life and it went…totally fine. I had a great conversation too! And to make things funnier, as Adam and I were talking about this, his phone charger wasn’t working so I simply took out mine and gave it to him. We laughed about how our conversation became reality.

Adam is 17 which means next year, he’ll be drafted into the Israeli military. Adam is an extremely fit guy- he trains twice a day (and if he could, he’d do more). He told me he wants to be in a combat unit- the most prestigious and risky choice. Prestigious because you’re serving your country with great honor. Risky because you’re more likely to die.

He’s a sweet guy with a really optimistic attitude. I noticed that everything he was wearing was made in America- his Billabong bracelet, his Adidas shoes, and his U.S. Marines t-shirt. He asked me how cheap McDonald’s was in America and I told about him about bacon cheeseburgers (he doesn’t keep Kosher- he was fascinated by this American creation that doesn’t exist here). He’s never been to America but wants to go one day, maybe after the army.

I was wrapping up my meal when another man walked in, a relative of Adam’s. The man was showing Adam and another woman pictures and videos of something on his phone. Because this is Israel and it’s perfectly acceptable to nose your way into something, I asked what it was all about.

That was when I met Ruslan. Ruslan was Adam’s cousin. Ruslan was also a Kavkazi Jew. In 1997, at age 21, just one month before he was supposed to be released from the military, Ruslan was ambushed in South Lebanon and then killed by a roadside bomb. 20 years ago today. I was overcome with sadness and shock. Nothing like this has ever, ever happened to me in the U.S., especially not at a restaurant with people I just met. People here are very open and I was honored to have his story shared with me. I told them I would say Kaddish for Ruslan this week at synagogue and that I prayed his memory would be for a blessing.

I’m a fan of the teaching “pray as if everything depended on God and act as if everything depended on you”. Which is to say, prayer is important and so are actions.

So now it’s time to act. Ruslan was a brave soul who fought to keep Israel safe. His cousin Adam, even in spite of this loss, wants to join a combat brigade and put his life on the line for me and my country- my family.

Please keep Ruslan’s memory alive by writing a message of hope, blessing, or encouragement below. You can also check out his Facebook memorial page and post a note there. If possible, write in Hebrew, but if not it’s ok, I will reply to your comment with a Hebrew translation so his family can understand. I will share these hopeful sparks with his family on this tough day.

When I left the restaurant, Adam told me “we need more people like you here.” After dozens of people giving me all sorts of grief about making aliyah- even some telling me to turn back and go to America- this is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. It radiates kindness.

Let’s radiate some kindness back. Adam- I’m glad there are people like you here to welcome me and keep me safe. I’m glad your cousin was here and I’m sorry he’s not anymore. We may have just met, but as far as I’m concerned we’re family. We’re Israel.

Everything is Better in America

Israelis love, love, love to tell me how much better and easier things are in America. Aside from several seriously well-informed Sabras who understand the challenges of American healthcare, college education, crime, gun violence, public transportation (or lack thereof), and anti-Semitism, a lot of people here just don’t get it. On the other hand, a lot of Israelis (including some who say America is better, in an act of serious cognitive dissonance) like to tell me how awful the food is, how naive the people are, and how fake everyone is in the U.S.

In the spirit of shedding light and dispelling myths, here’s my take on what’s better in America and what’s better in Israel.

AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL

America is the most diverse country on the planet. 430 languages are spoken in the U.S. There are hundreds of Protestant denominations alone- not to mention Catholics, Jews, Orthodox Christians of all varieties, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Jains, Sikhs, Bahai, Rastafarians, Mormons, and Native American religions. It’s extremely racially diverse- there are twice as many Asians in the U.S. as there are Israelis in the world. And seven times as many Latinos.
Much more so than in Israel, Americans of different backgrounds work, play, pray, and learn together. On my high school soccer team, white Christian kids were a minority (and somehow almost all of them were blond!). Just on one team, off the top of my head 13 years later, we had kids from El Salvador, Korea, Iran, Israel (!), Georgia, Bulgaria, Peru, Cameroon, Brazil, Uruguay, Bolivia, Turkey, Russia, and a bunch of Jews. There were no organized co-existence activities- this was just our normal life!
Pluralism. In the U.S., thanks to the separation of church and state, religion is a personal rather than a legal matter. This even benefits the Jewish community, where over the course of my life I became friends with Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative, Modern Orthodox, and even Haredi Jews. Are there debates between Jews? For sure. But the relationships between communities are much deeper in the U.S. than here and there is far, far less vitriol.
Ethnic food. Yes, thanks to the tens of millions of immigrants from around the world, American food is amazing. I’m really sorry (not sorry) for my Israeli friend who posted about her office in Denver not providing her with suitable vegetables for breakfast (side note- nowhere I’ve been outside of Israel eats vegetables for breakfast). But the fact is, American food IS international food because we’re an international society. Don’t come to America expecting your (albeit delicious) Israeli cheeses, yogurts, and tomatoes for breakfast- that’s not what we do. But we do have immensely better, fresher, and cheaper Thai, Burmese, Indian (southern and northern), Vietnamese, Chinese, Mexican, Salvadoran, Cuban, Laotian, Korean, Nepali, Japanese, etc etc. Not to mention the best Jewish deli food in the world. The point is that unlike in Israel, where I grew up, these are not seen as exotic tastes of foreign lands. They become part of our diet and become American food. When I spent a summer in Spain, I didn’t miss hamburgers. I missed Chinese food.

ERETZ YISRAEL YAFFA – THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF ISRAEL

Healthcare – I’ve already written a blog about this which I recommend reading. Israeli health spending per capita is $2910 and in the U.S. it’s $9403. The number one reason for bankruptcy in the U.S. is medical expenses. Just two years ago, I had to spend $20,000 on medical care in one year- in addition to the $500/month I spent on medical and dental insurance. Israel’s healthcare system is ranked 4th for efficiency- the U.S. is ranked 46th. My friend Dave is battling a brain tumor and has to raise $68,000 for treatment, something unthinkable in Israel. Please consider donating (and stop whining about Israel’s healthcare).
College education – in the U.S., college education ranges from about $9410-$32,410 a year. And that doesn’t include thousands more dollars for housing or food. Some schools like Bates are charging over $60,000. The better the school, the better the job prospects. Israeli tuition is about…$3000 a year. Pretty sweet.
Fresh produce – yes I just touted American food, which is amazing. Truth be told, the fruits and veggies here are better. Perhaps because Israel is small and doesn’t ship grapes from California to New York, the produce is super fresh and extremely tasty. Other than farmers markets, fruit in America tastes watery. In Israel, it is full of flavor, inexpensive, and delicious.
Weather – this depends on where you are in the U.S. (I’m looking at you beautiful San Diego), but at least compared to D.C., the weather in Israel is much nicer. Yes it can get very hot, but there is a beach. There are beautiful rural places to escape to with nice breezes. When there is three feet of snow on the ground during a D.C. blizzard, Tel Aviv is 60 degrees Fahrenheit on a February day.
Caring for one another – this might surprise Israelis, but I find Israelis to be much more willing to trust one another and to help one another than Americans. I regularly see people step up and help people who are sick, lost, in need of a place to stay, etc- even if they’ve never met them. These are things that would usually be met with suspicion in America, but here are totally normal. If you have nowhere to go on Friday night for Shabbat, just tell someone and you’ll be eating a warm meal before you can remember their name.
Judaism – yes, the U.S. is pluralistic with a much bigger Reform community than Israel, but the fact remains that the entire country here is a synagogue. When I walked down the street today, my friend and I heard a shofar. There is biblical graffiti everywhere- done by hipsters. My favorite Israeli dancing songs play on juice bar stereos. All of my holidays are government holidays. I can go to the Western Wall in Jerusalem in the morning and a gay Orthodox Torah study in Tel Aviv at night. There is also unparalleled Jewish cultural diversity (and food!) here- with Jews from dozens of countries represented. My identity is validated over and over and over again even in ways Sabras don’t recognize. Here, I am normal.

We won’t even get into the economics of things, because while Israelis decry how much more Americans make, the fact is things are a bit more complicated. The average Israeli household earns a net income of $56,892 a year. In the U.S., the figure is $55,775. For sure, there’s variation by region and industry, and there are different tax burdens. But the point is- not all Americans are rich (most aren’t) and especially when you consider that significant sectors within Haredi and Arab societies here don’t work, there’s not as much of a gap between Americans and Israelis as some people here think.

In the end, I’m not writing this blog to declare victory or to engage in endless debate. That feels a waste. There are beautiful things in America and beautiful things here. And shitty things in both places. And I could give many more examples of both.

I chose to be here not because it would be easy, although in some ways it is easier than America. I made aliyah because it would be meaningful, it would be validating, and it would be inspiring. In short, because I think it’ll make me happy. Much like this famous scene from Monty Python, let’s not bicker about who’s right. Let’s just respect each other’s choices, including mine to become an Israeli. Because in the end, I’m not asking for your approval or your advice. I’m here.

Kosher Curry in Ramle

This morning, I felt like crap. Making aliyah is hard. I’m far away from my friends and my D.C. Jewish community. I’m alone. I’m adapting to a new culture and country.

To shake off the blues, I decided to go on a tiyyul (trip) to Ramle (which can also be spelled Ramla). A small and fairly poor town, it’s not usually on Israeli or foreign tourist maps. I went several hours without seeing a single tourist. And that’s exactly what I needed- somewhere a little quieter and off the beaten path to unwind from the hectic and exciting energy that is Tel Aviv.

First off, Ramle reminds me of the D.C. suburbs where I grew up. It’s quiet, has about 70,000 residents (almost identical to where I lived before Israel), it’s calm, and it’s diverse. Much like Montgomery County where I’m from, there are mosques, synagogues, and lots of churches. I kind of miss seeing churches sometimes. Ramle is a “mixed city”, meaning there are significant Jewish and Arab populations (and even Karaites!).

I started my adventure at what American Jews might call a “tchotchke store”- odds and ends. What immediately caught my eye were tons of cheap CD’s- of music I adore. For 10 NIS a piece ($2.80), I bought Jewish music from Iraq, Tunisia, and Morocco. As I paid for my CD’s, I noticed all sorts of amulets knows as hamsas. Some were in Hebrew, obviously for Jews. Yet I noticed some in Arabic. I asked the store owners, who themselves were Russian Jews, whether the Arabic hamsas were for Arabs or Mizrachi Jews or both. They gave the most beautiful answer: “they’re for everyone. Jews, Muslims, and Christians all need protection from the evil eye.”

I then made my way to an Indian restaurant owned by Indian Jews. It’s vegetarian and closed on Shabbat, which makes it Kosher in my book, but I’m not sure if it has a teudat kashrut. I badly miss the ethnic cuisines of America- especially Thai (no, the Thai food in Tel Aviv is not that great), Chinese (cheap, delicious Chinese food of Rockville Pike), and Indian. As soon as I entered the place, I knew I had made the right decision. The smells wafted over me as I began to smile. I sat down by myself and ordered pakora, palak paneer, and naan. The waiter’s Hebrew wasn’t strong so I spoke to him in English.

At this point, a woman came over to me and asked if I was American. Turns out, not only is she American too, she’s a half-Persian half-Indian Jew from…Bethesda, Maryland! Exactly where I lived before making aliyah! And she knows one of my rabbis from D.C. The odds of this happening are infinitesimally small. She’s a tourist, I don’t even live in Ramle. There are 6 million American Jews and over 326 million Americans spread across 50 states. What are the odds! Reminds me of that famous Hebrew school song “Wherever You Go, There’s Always Someone Jewish“. It’s cool to be part of an international 3,000 year old club.

After this amazing coincidence, I walked through a bustling marketplace, where unlike in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv there are no tourist traps. Just lots of grapes and candy and tomatoes. I stumbled upon a Turkish synagogue and then a Tunisian one. Without asking permission (because that’s how we do in Israel), I just walked in and talked to the janitor who is also a congregant. His name is Zion and he grew up in the synagogue. He made aliyah from Tunisia at age 5. He showed me an original Torah scroll, hundreds of years old, brought from Tunisia. He also handed me a book which had all the traditional Tunisian Jewish piyyutim (liturgical poems). Everything in the synagogue was handcrafted and beautiful, including the stained glass. I told him maybe I’d come pray with them some day. What a treat.

As I walked by a Crusader monastery, I heard a car blasting Middle Eastern music. I thought it was Arabic music, since the town is 20% Arab. But as I listened more closely, I realized it was Mizrachi music, the music of Middle Eastern Jews. That’s Ramle for you- a town where you don’t know exactly whose culture the music belongs to. Where ethnic boundaries are blurred and mixed. Where Russians sell Arabic amulets, where Tunisian Jews pray next to Turkish Jews, where mosques and churches dot the landscape next to synagogues. Where Indian Jews prepare American olim kosher curry.

Some people might say there’s not a lot to see in Ramle. To which I’d say I suppose it depends on what you want to see.

As my bus headed back, all I know is my eyes gazed more towards the fields around the town than towards the skyscrapers awaiting me on the coast.

A gay Reform Jew goes to Bnei Brak

Today, I went to Bnei Brak and had a good time.

Bnei Brak is an almost entirely Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) city of nearly 200,000 people right on the footsteps of Tel Aviv. It is the sixth most densely populated city in the world. Door-to-door, it was a half hour ride. Culturally, it’s a million miles away from the bikinis, hip-hop street performers, and pride flags of Tel Aviv. Inhabited by a variety of Hasidic and misnagdic sects, with a smattering of Modern Orthodox, there are a lot of black hats, swaying peyos, and tons and tons of children.

To many of my more secular friends, the idea of a day trip to Bnei Brak is at best a waste of time and at worst, nauseating. Please allow me to share what I, a gay Reform Jew, actually found to enjoy in this fascinating city:

Delicious Ashkenazi food – I sorely miss American Jewish food, which is almost entirely Ashkenazi. I love me some jachnoon and falafel, but it is not what I grew up on. I had delicious matzah ball soup tonight and it hit the spot. Ashkenazi culture for secular Israelis has become nearly invisible. This is due to repression from more hard line Zionists in the early years of the state, when Yiddish theaters and newspapers were shut down by protestors, and due to a desire to fit in in Israeli society. For the majority of American Jews, Ashkenazi-ness is an essential part of our Judaism and I was happy to see people keeping it alive here.

Hot guys – perhaps it’s from growing up in a more religious Jewish community (progressive American Jews as a whole are more religious than left-wing Jews in Israel), but I find a cute non-bearded guy dressed in 17th century Hasidic garb and a kippah…hot! I love that he’s boldly Jewish, that he loves Torah, and that he has a certain softness to him. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some strong Zionist men, but seeing a Hasid here reminds me a bit more of the Jews I know from home in the Diaspora. Which is perhaps why they bug the h*ll out of secular Jews who don’t want much to do with the “old Jew” of the shtetl.

Good music – I love me some Hasidic music. I bought a compilation of Vizhnitz niggunim sung by artists from Bnei Brak. I found a really cool music store which has hundreds of different artists, mostly in Hebrew, but some in Yiddish. Some of the artists were American Hasidim like Lipa Shmelzer who I knew from the U.S. Quite a number of Mizrachi artists were popular in the store, like Zion Golan and the Revivo Project, which is interesting and shows there’s more cultural fusion going on here than meets the eye. In general, I noticed more Mizrachi Jews in Bnei Brak than I expected to see and quite a number of shwarma joints, something you’d never find in Williamsburg.

It’s a city – I’ve visited Hasidic Brooklyn (Borough Park, Crown Heights, Williamsburg). You can read some of my thoughts about that community and my visit there in this blog. One of the big differences between Hasidim there and in Bnei Brak is that the former is a community intertwined with its neighbors. There are Jamaicans and hipsters wandering through. It is a neighborhood, not a city. Bnei Brak is an entire Haredi city and it is really cool to see. I saw boys and girls playing together. Both men and women were friendly and willing to talk to me (and I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt). I had found it a bit more difficult to get people to open up in New York, especially women (even though I also speak Yiddish). I couldn’t help but think that maybe if Hitler hadn’t succeeded, there would be cities like this all over Eastern Europe. And I’m grateful that Bnei Brak is a living testament to our fearlessness and our willpower to survive despite antisemitism.

Are there problems in Bnei Brak? Sure. I saw a sign today with pictures of hellfire admonishing women to avoid evil and wear headscarves instead of wigs. I also saw a sign lamenting secular education. And there are almost no pictures of women anywhere for reasons of modesty.

At the same time, I saw tons of Haredi women wearing the wigs despite the signs. I also saw secular people and foreign workers wearing short sleeves without anyone batting an eye. I actually saw a Chinese guy completely shirtless in the middle of the street. And yes, I saw a young woman in a sleeveless shirt and shorts walking down the street with no harassment.

I’m not here to tell you Bnei Brak is a bastion of progressive thought. Or that there aren’t problems or that there aren’t Haredi people who are radical or violent. These things exist (and not just among Haredim). At the same time, I am concerned because I think the rest of the world tends to paint this community with a broad brush. I am concerned that some of the anger towards Haredim in Israel isn’t about policies (like Shabbat laws, which are a real issue), but rather about longstanding ideological feuds among the Jewish people and, frankly, prejudice.

Just like any other group of people, there are Haredim who are more friendly, who are more open-minded. And there are others posting signs admonishing women about their hair styles. And many people who are somewhere in between. In the end, we are people and when we start generalizing about hundreds of thousands of people, we are bound to foment prejudice rather than understanding.

I went to Bnei Brak today so that I could observe and I could learn. Because I believe that if my only source of information about people is the news, then I’ve already lost. Because my day ended not with stones being thrown at me for immodesty, but rather with a Hasidic guy winking at me and walking into a wedding where the band played beautiful Yiddish music. Music I understood. Because Israel is a 2,000 year old delayed family reunion. We’re just getting to know each other. Step outside your comfort zone and meet your relatives. If a gay Reform Jew could find something to like in Bnei Brak, I bet you could too.

What America can learn from Israel

Tonight, in the span of 5 minutes, I saw what Israel has to teach the world about tolerance and diversity.

Walking back from an outdoor movie in Yafo (which overlapped with the Islamic call to prayer halfway through), I heard a man on a microphone.

The man was talking to a crowd at a restaurant on the roof of a building. He started to sing. I figured it was just a guy playing music for tourists.

Then I started to recognize traditional Jewish wedding music, saw a chuppah, and realized it was My Big Fat Jewish Wedding. People started to dance and shimmy as the music blared. Definitely the only time I’ve ever walked by a rooftop restaurant and discovered it was a Jewish wedding- on a Wednesday!

Then I headed to a great spot where you can look out at the sea, just meters away. And there I saw a group of Korean Christian tourists with a guitar singing their songs of praise. A crowd of secular Jews, Orthodox Jews, and Muslims watched with great interest. Women in hijabs swayed back and forth as the Koreans sang their hymns. Everyone applauded at the end while the song leader said “God bless you” to all of us. It was beautiful.

As I headed over to a dessert shop, I could hear the ululating (in Hebrew “kululu”, in Arabic “zaghrada”) from the Jewish wedding.

The dessert shop is run by Arabs. For the first time, I tried malabi, a creamy Israeli pudding dessert likely of Turkish origin. It was de-licious.

As I chowed down, I noticed the shopkeeper, Zidan, was blasting “Shav El Admati” (I return to my land), a famous Zionist Mizrachi music song about Jews returning to Israel. So this was an Arab man singing at the top of his lungs a Jewish song about returning to Israel. While I, an oleh chadash (new immigrant), am singing all the words with him because I learned them while pining for Israel in America.

As the song ended, Zidan gave a Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) Jew directions to the nearest Kosher restaurant. When the man didn’t understand, the gay Reform Jew (me) showed him the restaurant.

All of this happened in a one-block radius in 5 minutes. It was the best part of my day.

At a time when America is suffering, I can’t help but think that perhaps my former country has something to learn from Israel. I’ve often spoken of ways Israel can learn from America, but I think it’s time to turn the tables for a moment.

Tolerance and coexistence don’t just happen at big elaborate ceremonies or through proclamations.

They happen in our day-to-day lives, when people least notice or expect it. Organically, not by way of grandiose announcements or gestures. If you put yourself out there in your own surroundings, you’d be surprised what you can find.

In some ways, Israelis are much better at this than Americans, probably better than Israelis even realize. I’d love to see my fellow Israelis appreciate the miracle we’re living in.

At a time when Americans are struggling, understandably, to figure out how to repair their society, my advice from Israel is this: living your values in your day-to-day life is the best way to make change. Forget the speeches and the rallies- there may be a time and a place for them, but their impact is temporary and can’t sustain long-term change.

Be the Korean Christian singing for Israelis. Be the Muslim woman swaying to their music. Be the Haredi guy asking directions from an Arab shopkeeper. Be the new immigrant exploring new foods and new cultures.

There’s a lot you can’t control in life, but what you can- enjoy the hell out of it. Look around you, there’s miracles happening everywhere. Just look.

American Nazis, Syrian refugees, and baklava

Today on many levels was just a normal Israeli day. I ran around doing errands, dealing with Israeli bureaucracy, hearing my favorite songs blasted from cars on the streets, and walked down the beach to Yafo.

That is exactly what made today so weird. In America, today was not a normal day. As I could tell from post upon post from my friends in the States, something big was happening. Neo-nazis and the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) held a rally in Charlottesville, VA, a beautiful, musical college town which I have fond memories of. I’ve been there twice, heard great live bluegrass music, and hiked in the nearby mountains.

One of the Nazis literally drove their car over a counter-protestor, killing the woman.

On the one hand, this was shocking. I lived in the U.S. almost my whole life and I’ve never heard of a massive Nazi rally, even in the most conservative parts of the country. Estimates are that 1,000 people came. For something that’s supposed to be fringe, that’s a shockingly large number of people to come to a random town in rural Virginia. For any Israelis shaking their heads saying this is “overblown” (מוגזם), you are naïve and literally know nothing about America other than Britney Spears and Times Square in New York. You complain all the time how Americans are so “polite” and never say what they think. So if that’s true that we keep our opinions to ourselves, then 1,000 Nazis showing up at a public rally (not approved by the police) is a very big deal. Get your heads out of the sand and realize that if this phenomenon grows in the U.S., it’s going to affect Israel and the rest of the world big time.

While this rally was shocking, it was not surprising. I’ve experienced a lot of bigotry in the United States. I went to a sleep away camp in North Carolina for many years and I actually met a camper who told me he was in the KKK youth group. I told him I was Jewish and he said “I don’t mind the Jews as much, I just hate those n*ggers”. While riding the Metro in D.C. I’ve been called a spic. At my progressive liberal arts college, Wash U, my roommates once had to defend me from a fellow student who was homophobic and trying to attack me- in my dorm. At the same school, I wanted to go with another gay guy to a dance and the people there told me “it’d be better if you didn’t, they won’t like it.” At my diverse suburban high school, a girl once told me “you’re cool, you’re not like the other Jews who are all loudmouths and stingy.” I was holding hands with a guy once in the D.C. area and a man followed us yelling “faggot” until we snuck into a restaurant. As recently as a year ago, I was literally thrown out of a taxi cab by an evangelical pastor for being a gay Jew. To this day, I still find it hard to wear the rainbow yarmulke I wore on my head in that car. And that makes me sad.

The examples I gave above- I could give many dozens more. I think every minority in America can.

That’s because Nazism and bigotry are not new to America. There was a pretty strong Nazi Party in America in the lead-up to World War II, to such an extent that many believe it caused Franklin Roosevelt to reject Jewish refugees who were later sent to death camps. Of course the Ku Klux Klan has been murdering minorities for 150 years- African Americans, Jews, Catholics, Latinos, you name it.

My point is this- while in some ways we’re witnessing a new and scary phenomenon, in other ways, it is a revival of long-standing American social movements. What this means is this is not about any one person alone, it is about a movement. You can’t extinguish a movement with an impeachment or an election. You have to solve deep-rooted societal issues (I think many of which are economic and addressed by neither political party) and ultimately extinguish the hatred.

To my friends in the U.S.- my heart is with you. Remember that with all the anger, it can be easy to misdirect it towards people who might otherwise be open to your message. Practice self-care and keep an open heart as you try to build a better society. Focus on what you can control and accept that there are things you can’t.

I found it strange today. I couldn’t figure out why I was so upset. I knew I was upset about what was going on in America- that I was worried for my friends. But things were great here. The sun was shining, I was eating a delicious chicken shnitzel, and I felt safe. Everywhere around me were Jewish songs, Jewish signs, Jewish policemen, Jewish everything. While Nazis marched in America, I couldn’t have felt safer.

I felt all sorts of conflicting feelings. The pride for having predicted this would happen. The relief and happiness that come with having made a good choice to make aliyah to escape these problems. Deep sadness for the state of America. Fear for my friends’ safety and well-being. Anxiety for my non-Jewish friends who can’t make aliyah and hoping they’ll find a sense of security.

Overwhelmed with emotion, the 103 degree heat index, and the LOUDNESS of every Tel Aviv street, I raced towards the beach.

The beach at night is perhaps the only (fairly) quiet place in Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv is a city smaller than D.C but with the energy of three New Yorks. Sometimes, I just want some friggin’ peace and quiet.

I hopped on the phone with my friend Shadi, a Syrian refugee living in Erbil, Kurdistan in Iraq. Shadi is my Arabic conversation partner, even going back to when I lived in the States. Through the organization Natakallam, I pay to practice my Arabic and Shadi earns a living.

Shadi is awesome- he’s Kurdish, so we love talking about our minority experiences. He’s also extremely open to my Judaism and my gay identity. Whenever I’m in need of some positive energy and affirmation, I hop on Skype.

Today, I told Shadi all about what was going on in America. How I felt happy in Israel and how I felt scared for my friends. How I felt guilty for feeling happy with my life here while my friends suffered. I compared notes with how his experience was as a refugee.

And then he opened up. Turns out, Shadi’s mom and dad still live in Qamishli, Syria where he grew up. Four years ago, he fled to Erbil, a Kurdish city in Iraq, both because of the civil war and because his wife has leukemia. Apparently, treatment is much less expensive in Iraq. So as to allow him to focus on helping his wife with chemo, his daughter stayed seven months with his parents in Syria- in the midst of a civil war. Thankfully his daughter is reunited with him and his wife now and he is learning coding so he can be a computer programmer. One day he hopes to return to Syria.

Interestingly, Shadi and I both chose to escape bigotry (there is intense persecution of Kurds in Syria) by going to places where our peoples are the majority. There’s something about living in a place where you’re normal that’s healing and gives you a great sense of security and validation.

I don’t share Shadi’s moving story to try to minimize my own pain or that of my friends in the U.S. Rather, I share it to put things in perspective. Things are bad in America right now. Fortunately not yet to the extent that they are in Syria, which makes me count my blessings and helped calm my anxiety.

Yet things in America will get worse. Several years ago, when I told my friends Donald Trump would become President, they thought I was nuts. Putting aside the question of whether you support him or not, my prediction was correct. All the babbling idiots on CNN and MSNBC and the pompous writers in the Washington Post didn’t see it coming because they live in a bubble.

Now they ponder how the courts or the elections or this and that will help. It won’t. Time to accept reality- American democracy is unraveling. Either it will be stitched back together by an engaged and powerful citizen movement. Or it will die.

To my American friends- I’m praying for you. Even as I write this. I love you and I want you to be safe. You have to decide how to move forward. Want to stay and fight for a better America? Absolutely your right and your choice and I applaud you. Want to get the hell out and build a life elsewhere like I did? I totally support you. Just understand what’s going on so you can make an informed decision. I think there is a substantial possibility that the U.S. is headed for a civil war or intense civil strife. I hope to G-d almighty I’m wrong, but just be prepared that this is a real possibility and plan accordingly. If there’s any way I can help, in particular for those considering aliyah, I’m here.

To my Israeli friends- wake up and smell the coffee. I’ve talked to several sabras (native-born Israelis) today and nobody seemed to get why this was a big deal. Even on the website of Yediot Achronot there was no mention on the front page, although there was an article about a woman who became a Jewish food guru. What happens in America affects us- our foreign aid, our diplomatic support, aliyah (I’d bet there was a spike in applications today), etc. An America where Nazis are gaining power is bad for Israel and bad for American Jews. Start paying attention and realize that listening to Rihanna and having a cousin in L.A. doesn’t mean you understand America. Read JTA, Huffington Post, even the radical left-wing Socialist Worker and the right-wing Washington Times. You could even go further off the deep end and look for extreme right-wing blogs, but I won’t recommend that on my blog 🙂 The point is be informed because this affects our friends, ourselves, and the world. I’m always happy to suggest resources or chat.

After my conversation with Shadi I made my way to Yafo, enjoying the summer breeze as it hit my face. I made my way to my favorite baklava spot, hung out with my friend Sager who works there, and bit into a delicious slice of heaven. I could’ve sat for two hours telling him all about America, but I just relaxed and soaked in the fun. The tension in my body faded and I felt safe.

Something I hope my friends in America will feel soon too.

One Night in Jerusalem

Tonight in Jerusalem was the most jam-packed, exciting night I’ve had in Israel.

It all started with an act of startling generosity. I was checking out some artists’ studios in Jerusalem and found this particularly beautiful one. I talked with the artist about her work- including this amazing painting where at first you don’t notice there are people built into the painting and then as soon as she pointed them out, it became obvious. She said she was inspired by the Exodus from Egypt. When I told her I was an oleh chadash (new immigrant), she congratulated me and told me “you’ve already made your Exodus”, perhaps the nicest thing anyone has said to me about my aliyah. She told me she made aliyah from Russia when she was six years old and I felt an instant bond.

We talked about art- I told her I was a poet and a singer and we connected on Facebook so she can see my work. She asked if I drew and I said I have done a little bit but nothing serious because I hadn’t been taught the techniques. She said one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. She said when you’re looking for an art teacher, don’t look for technique. Look for someone who can help you deliver a child. That sounds strange in English but beautiful in Hebrew. “Leyaled” in Hebrew means “to midwife”. Her point was that the person who teaches you art is supposed to help bring something out that already lies within you and needs to be discovered and nourished. To help you give birth to a new sense of creativity. I love it!

On my way out, she gave me a free handmade notebook she had created so I could write my poetry. I made a new friend in the course of 20 minutes in a way that could take literally years in the U.S. If you’re reading this Dina, thanks for making my night great 🙂

Then, I asked for directions to the central bus station, but I noticed there were lots of police cars. I asked the security woman what was going on and she said there was a concert. I asked who and she said “Shlomi Shabat“, one of my all-time favorite Mizrachi singers. I bought a ticket immediately and headed to the concert with a new sense of energy and excitement. Also, the concert was held in a stadium inside a 2,000 year old pool called Breychat Hasultan (The Sultan’s Pool). So it pretty much doesn’t get any better than that.

Except it does. On the way to the concert, you have to walk downhill. On the way, I discovered there was some sort of international festival going on. There were vendors from all over the world- just off the top of my head, I saw artisans from Panama, Uzbekistan, Zimbabwe, Mexico, the Czech Republic, and so much more. I made a special point of stopping at the Spanish-speaking countries’ booths because I miss speaking Spanish and Latin culture.

I spent a good 15 minutes speaking with a Chilean woman who was really amazed at the cohesiveness of Israeli society. This is interesting because a lot of Israelis feel we have a very divided society. She pointed out that a lot of countries in Latin America feel unstable and on the brink of civil war. She talked about Venezuela and how she feared the country would descend into further chaos (a conflict Americans know little about even though it’s in their own hemisphere). That she felt there wasn’t any glue that bound that society together. It’s an interesting thought- that for all the conflict here, there is most definitely a strong social connection here that keeps things together despite the tensions. I think the United States would benefit from such a glue right now, because I had the distinct feeling when I lived there that there wasn’t really anything that united us. There are sociological reasons for it, but I hope that Americans can learn something from Israel which is that a sense of social solidarity- even with people you don’t always agree with- can help you overcome difficult moments in history.

Then, I headed to the concert. It was amazing! Thousands of people singing and cheering. Israeli flags waving. Song after song that I’ve sung- some of which I remember listening to on a CD in my living room as a 13-year-old- 18 years ago! Some Israelis like to hate on Mizrachi music. I can understand that everyone has different tastes, but for me it is literally the best music on the planet. It’s danceable, it’s full of religious imagery, it’s fun, it’s upbeat, and it’s full of emotion. Here’s a song I like by the artist I saw tonight to give you an idea of what it sounds like.

After the concert, I grabbed a cab to the Central Bus Station. The driver was Arab, so I spoke to him in Arabic, which made him very happy. Ahmed and I talked about dialect differences between Yafo and Jerusalem, his relationship with Jews (pleasant but not very deep because their neighborhoods are so separate in the city), and the importance of language in building relationships (he decided to learn Hebrew to learn about his neighbors). We talked about how crappy politicians are and that the real key to building peace is what we were doing- talking to each other. I tried to give him a tip but he wouldn’t let me. A truly kind and open-minded person.

Before getting on the bus to Tel Aviv, I heard loud music. Sure enough, behind me were a bunch of Breslover Hasidim dancing to techno music about their patron rabbi, Nachman of Uman. I started filming them and then just joined in. Because life is fun if you jump in!

I then headed to the bus. Now this part sucked at first. The ticket people oversold the bus- and this ride is over an hour long- so some people were standing or sitting in the aisle. I was one of those unlucky people. The bus was bumpy and it felt really unsafe. Frankly, it was the most unsafe I’ve felt in Israel. Which is interesting consider how the news media obsessively cover the Israeli-Palestinian conflict when really bad drivers are a way bigger threat to security.

Things in Israel often rapidly shift from amazing to awful and back to amazing again. My evening had been going great and then BOOM this was my plummet downwards. Once I got tired of my head banging against the seats as I sat, I stood up and started talking to the people in front of me. I chatted with one woman who, when I told her I was an oleh, told me her niece just moved here from New York. She said she is a soccer player and doesn’t know anyone here. Turns out she lives around the corner from me and I offered to show her around. A new potential friend. The woman also told me I had great Hebrew, which helped lift my spirits. Meanwhile, the young woman next to her was worried about missing her train back to Haifa at 1am, so the woman I was speaking with simply offered her a place to stay. They literally just met on the bus.

And just like that, my spirits began to lift as we approached the bus station. Any time I feel down in Israel (which, to be honest, happens almost every day at some point), I remember that things here turn on a dime. And that if I’m feeling sad or angry, things will turn for the better quickly and suddenly. And it works. It really happens.

This is a place with some serious sense of social solidarity, generosity, and kindness. Not words you’d typically associate with the Middle East, but they are absolutely true so please stop reading the New York Times and just come and experience it yourself.

A free notebook. A Mizrachi concert. Chileans. An Arab cab driver learning Hebrew. Dancing Hasidim. And new friends on a bumpy bus.

One night in Jerusalem.

Free baklava as the police sirens wail

Today, I had a stressful day.

I lost my debit card in the Golan Heights, my phone’s data plan stopped working, and I had a long bureaucratic meeting at the Ministry of Absorption. And that was all before noon.

It ended up working out, but I just felt exhausted and stressed. So, as has become my custom, I went for a walk by the beach. I called my friend Jack in Minnesota to wish him a happy birthday and made my way down the boardwalk to Yafo.

I miss Yafo. I’ve since moved to a new apartment in another part of town, but I used to live right by this beautiful 10,000 year old city. Every time I went, I just felt the stress lifted off my shoulders as I stared at the Mediterranean, listened to the waves, and talked with the people.

After eating some delicious schwarma, I headed to the Abouelafia bakery, site of my first in-depth Arabic conversation in Israel which you can read about here. I was in desperate need of a good talk with my friend Adnan but instead I found his much younger coworker Sager who I had met with him.

When I first met Sager a few weeks ago, he was quiet. I tried to engage, but Adnan and I did most of the talking and Sager looked uninterested.

When I came back this time, from the second our eyes met, Sager looked excited to see me.

He invited me in and we got to talking.

Over the past week, there has been rioting in Yafo. There have been Arabs protesting against the police, sometimes violently. I honestly don’t know all the details because I hate listening to the news.

Sager didn’t wait one moment to tell me his opinion. He is an Arab Muslim. He is from East Jerusalem. And in his experience, the police do ethnically profile here and it is quite unpleasant. At the same time, he is furious with the protestors, who are burning things and causing problems. He feels that they are unnecessarily damaging relations between Arabs and Jews, who he views as brothers. In addition, he is concerned for the livelihood of the bakery’s owners and his own job. If Jews and tourists are afraid to visit Yafo, then there won’t be any business. This pain will also hurt the dozens of Arab businesses in the area.

We talked about our shared hatred for extremism on all sides. How the rest of the world likes to obsess over every last problem between Israel and the Palestinians but the world is silent when hundreds of thousands of Syrians are butchered. I shared with him an Arabic poem I wrote in the Golan overlooking the Syrian border, which he loved. In his words, the Golan Heights it the most beautiful place on the planet and I think I agree with him.

We talked about what it’s like to be a minority. Most Jewish Israelis don’t know what it is to be a minority as a Jew. Part of that is a good thing- it’s a product of Zionism and it’s part of the blessing of having one small place on this planet where we are normal. Part of it is problematic- I think some folks here have lost sight of the Jewish experience and the sensitivity we’ve often had for other minorities. My minority identity, which was undoubtedly a burden in the U.S., is to my advantage here. I can enjoy all the blessings of a validated identity while showing empathy and kindness to the minorities I share this country with.

In between us singing Nancy Ajram and dancing dabke together (yes, this actually happened), Sager thanked me for speaking Arabic with him. Our whole conversation was in Arabic and while, like in any second language you speak, there were times I didn’t remember this or that word, we got our points across. My speaking Arabic has made living in Israel a much, much richer experience and frankly I think every Israeli should speak it. A fifth of the population already speaks it as a native language, not to mention our millions of Palestinian, Egyptian, Jordanian, Syrian, and Lebanese neighbors. You don’t have to speak it perfectly to speak it well- give it a shot. When you speak to someone in their language, their heart opens up. You will do more for peace by getting to know your neighbors than any lobbying effort or protest.

Finally, as we wrapped up, I wanted to head home and get some rest after a long day. I kept trying to pay, but he was attending to other customers. I was getting a little annoyed but he’s a good guy so I waited.

Then the sirens came. Firetrucks and police cars drove by, racing down the street and wailing. Sager told me they were dealing with the protestors again. Our hearts sunk for a moment.

Honestly, I felt pretty safe. In fact, I felt safer than in most areas of D.C. where I am originally from. Yeah I might choose to read the news a bit more, but also I might not. There’s some sense of tranquility with just being able to live in the moment and trust your instincts.

My instincts said that Sager was a good guy. I tried to pay for the baklava but he just nodded his head and told me to take it for free. We smiled at each other, gave each other a bro-ish high five, and I grabbed a cab home (better not to mess with buses when there’s rioting).

That’s Israel for you. Intercultural dialogue. Baklava. Racial profiling. Rioting. Sirens. Kindness. Brotherhood.

You can have your quiet suburb of Kansas City. I’ll take a place where a piece of baklava means so much more than Baskin Robbins.

Bombs during dinner

This weekend, I went to one of the most beautiful places on the planet, the Golan Heights. Please don’t bother reading the Wikipedia article, it’s a bunch of political nonsense and needs to be edited.

In short, the Golan Heights is the northernmost part of Israel. Once it was a part of Syria, but after Syria invaded Israel in 1967 and lost the war, Israel pushed back the Syrian soldiers and gained the Golan. The Golan is important strategically because it is high ground and for the first two decades of Israeli history, the Syrian Army used that advantage to pummel Israeli villages below in the Galilee.

Now, the Golan is home to both Jews and Arabs, with a slight Jewish majority. Arab communities include Druze, Muslims, and Alawites. The Arabs often identify as Syrian, although a number of them have adopted Israeli citizenship. It’s a very rural area and extremely green and beautiful. It’s kind of reminiscent of a Middle Eastern Vermont or Switzerland. Before I get into my story, here are some pictures to give you an idea (I visited the picturesque Galilee along the way so I’ll throw in a few from there too):

Friday afternoon, my friends and I went for a hike in the Galilee. A park ranger told my friend Jordan to get out of the creek and then told me I was wondering too far away. As with almost all tense situations in Israel, the awkwardness immediately dissipated when I started to talk to the guy. Turns out Muhammad is a Muslim Arab from the Golan, meaning his roots are in Syria. I spoke with him in Arabic and he started to open up to me. Turns out, Arabs in the Golan are afforded the very unique opportunity to go to college in Syria (this is astonishing because Syria and Israel are technically in a state of war and Syria doesn’t even recognize Israel. But as with all things in the Middle East, you find loopholes). He studied medicine in Damascus for a year, but then had to flee because of the civil war. He decided he didn’t like medicine (despite his parents’ wishes that he become a doctor- does this sound similar, Jewish friends?) and became a park ranger and enjoys being in the peace of the outdoors. He definitely had some delusional ideas about how great life is in Syria for its meager remaining Jewish community (after all, there is a reason almost all of them have left). That being said, he was also clearly a very open-minded and tolerant person open to people of all backgrounds. He is a person forging his own path (pun intended), something I can identify with.

After our hike, we went to a kibbutz to spend the night. To say this place was magical is an understatement. It’s the most romantic, scenic, and peaceful place I’ve ever been. And I’ve been to the Alps. It is a rural, progressive Jewish lifestyle, something that is almost non-existent in the United States. Not only is most of rural America conservative (whereas kibbutzim have socialist origins and still lean left), but also Jews as a minority need to be around lots of other Jews in order to make for a rich communal life. This partially explains the high concentration of Jews in New York, Boston, DC, Chicago, Miami, LA, San Francisco, Atlanta, etc. The same could be said for gay people, which is a big reason why I, as a gay Jew, have stuck to major urban areas in the U.S.

This is not the case in Israel. You can enjoy a progressive rural lifestyle and feel at home. No rednecks here 🙂

I have a deep love for nature and tranquility so I found the experience awe-inspiring and thoroughly relaxing. I wandered around the kibbutz and nearby and just felt at peace. I have a strong inclination to raise my family in a place like this in the future- somewhere safe, Jewish, open-minded, and surrounded by God’s beautiful plants and animals.

After singing “Lecha dodi” by a lake as the sun set over the mountains much like the first kabbalists in Tsfat, I came back to the house for Shabbat dinner. As we laughed and relaxed around the table, we heard a boom. And then another boom. And many more. We realized that those were bombs being dropped in Syria’s civil war. The border is just a few kilometers away. It was a somber reminder of the violence raging oh so close by. It’s one thing to hear about the civil war and quite another to simply hear it. I prayed to God for the safety of my brothers and sisters just across the border.

We then had a lovely dinner and I wandered around alone afterwards exploring the kibbutz, praying, dancing, just unwinding. I looked up at the moon and talked out loud to God. “God, thank you for this beautiful Kibbutz. God thank you for Shabbat and for the beauty of nature. God thank you for the opportunity to visit the Golan Heights. God, thank you for the gift of being an Israeli. For the gift of living in this place, for bringing me here. Where despite the news and despite the booms off in the distance, I feel safer than I ever have in my life. Help me to grow stronger and heal and to make your name great. To strengthen your people and to bring peace. Amen.”

I went inside, talked to a really hot Lebanese guy Ameer on Tinder across the (other) border, and got the best night’s sleep I’ve had in Israel yet.

That’s life in Israel- radically accepting that there are some things you can’t change (war and borders), and then thoroughly enjoying all the amazing things in front of you (trees, lakes, mountains, Judaism, good food, friends, and more). Never taking life for granted and, while things can be sad or scary, rather than being paralyzed, just enjoying the hell out of the blessings you’ve got.

It was a little scary and sad to hear those booms in the distance. At the same time, I can honestly say that I actually felt safer at this kibbutz than in America. Here, I feel my identity is validated, that I’m a part of a big national family, and that I’m enjoying life to the fullest. It’s worth the risks because life here is so much better for me.

And who knows, one day maybe Ameer and I will be able to cross the border and pick up where we left off last night 😉

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