Public Transport Troubles

The light rail in Jerusalem is up and running, and has quickly become the symbol of modernity in this ancient city.

For me, on my ten minute joy ride on the tram each day to base, has become a microcosm of the schisms which exists in my home town.

Full article:

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/political-israel/

Let's Talk About Sects

Orthodox Shabbat services in Jerusalem have become all too dry for my liking. The endless mechanic recitation of psalms and piyutim makes me feel like a devout Christian ordered to say a thousand Hail Marys until he is absolved.

I live in Jerusalem so the variety of places of worship are by no means limited. So recently I’ve taken myself shule-shopping, it is fitting as this week we read the section of the Torah where God commands Abram to leave his comfort zone.

I don’t have a top 10 list as yet, but I have experience based reactions.

The first, is ‘Raz’ minyan, in the heart of nest of the hairy hippy organic cotton wearing suburb of Nachlaot you will find a small room with a mauve vibe turned into a shule. The minyan is for those who like to sing and is only recommended if you are in the mood. I have a friend who used to take a book and get through a good chunk of it during the service. The community is dedicated, there is a gender separation, and the Rabbi who leads the service sometimes creates the tune to the prayers as he goes along.

A favourite of mine is the infamous Shira Chadasha of who the Melbourne minyan of the same name is based.

Here you can feel an educated orthodox community who have struggled with Halakha and have found a way to make room for a solid female role in the service. They try to have a 10 and 10 minyan (men and women). They have great after-service treats and the singing is very spiritual.

At Shira Chdasha the community really is the choir, which actually means you have to be careful where you sit. I sat in front of an enthusiastic youth once and have been hard of hearing in my left ear ever since.

Lately I have been getting an itch in this service caused either by the length or the nagging question of “why did they stop there with halakhic leniencies when they could be doing so much more to incorporate both genders?”

Baqa Shivyoni (Egalitarian), is a new favourite of mine, it is similar to Shira Chadasha but the congregation is built of more Israelis. Also, where Shira Chadasha stopped pushing the halakhic boundaries, Baqa Shivyoni continued but they have still kept the prayers the same, and the Berlin mekhitza still remains.

The one I went to last Shabbat was by far the most exhilarating. It was Renewal Minyan called Nava Tehila and was a real step out for even the most liberal of Jews. This minyan only happens once a month, before the new moon makes its debut and it the product of Woodstock survivors and hippy rabbi’s .

The Rabbanit (female Rabbi) walks amongst the concentric circles or seats relating each upcoming prayer to love and peace with a loose link to the week’s Torah portion. The inner most circle is filled with guitarists, two people packing African drums, a harpist, a clarinet player for that traditional shtetl feel and a woman jamming on a Chinese Erhu.

The congregants have glazed grins pained on their faces and sway to the songs with their eyes closed and hands in the air, one woman displaying her arm pit fuzz.

Jerusalem in the Summer

Jerusalem is about to start buzzing with culture and music and I'm getting exctied. The Shuk is going to buzzing till late at night with the smell of parsley and the buzz of poetsm live bands and I'm sure the odd screaming chanting prophet here and there. That's one thing Jerusalem seems to keep recruiting - screaming prophets.

Most of the prophets though tend to profess the present though. With dread locked bears and dirst smeared faces they grumble "AHHHH! Its HOT today! No chance of rain! And Wo unto those who dont slip, slop, slap! Thou shalt get burnt! That is thy Lord who burns you! AHHHRRGGGG"

The last couple of week my local ancient city was lit up with light instilations thoughout the city for the Jerusalem Light Festival. It was cool to see on the backdrop of ancient stones with 80's disco lights. STAM! It wasnt tacky, it was actaully really cool.

This is some examples of the instilations.

Ice Cream

Finding a job and a place to live has been great, I move in in a week and I’ve already been working for a week. I really enjoy being a part of the Ben Yehuda back drop. Seeing Birthright groups come and go and satisfying pregnant women’s craving for Snickers ice cream and Coconut sorbet. I have to admit I have started to find the work a bit mind numbing.

Two days ago I did an 11 hour shift. Which means I probably wiped sticky ice cream of the tables 55 times, scooped 123 ice cream cones (give or take) which is about 356 balls of ice cream (give or take), made 14 waffles, 12 milkshakes, 5 take away tubs of ice cream, and 4 lattés (they were for me).

Now after you’ve tasted the 26 different types of ice cream three times, you already feel a little sick, so you need a latte for some savoury. Then your mind starts playing tricks on you. You forget who ordered what ice cream and end up giving whisky flavour to a 3 year old (which is fine, they’ll just sleep well). You forget what language you meant to be speaking to the customer (Hebrew, English or French). You even forget what languages you speak. It ends up sounding like this:

  Customer: Shalom

Me: Errr…

Customer: Can I try the Twix ice cream

Me: Errr…. Weh

Customer: That’s delicious

Me: Tu vous gutey encoure?

Customer: What?

Me: Oh, סליחה, רוצה לטעום, I mean, ah, what?

<then I blame my confusion on the noise>

Me: Sorry the music’s so loud, what can I get you?

Customer: What music?

Me: … (I don’t have an answer) …We don’t have that flavour.

Customer: … (silence) Can I try the mint chocolate chip…

You get the point

I was worried that my mind was going to melt like a little boys ice cream in the Middle Eastern sun, I was worried my mind was going to get smeared all over some hungry kid’s face.

I decided to start playing mind exercises to make sure I don’t lose mine.

When I whipped down the tables I estimated how long the ice cream had been smeared over the table for. There are a lot of factors; temperature, humidity, sun/shade, thickness of the blob, even the sugar content of the flavour.

As I used my finger nails, brute elbow grease, and a thousand sprays from the Windex equivalent I turned physical labour into actuary.

It gets a little worse.

Yesterday I found myself speaking to the ice cream. “C’mon Ferrero Rocher, get in the cone, I’m always so good to you, whenever people ask me for my recommendation you’re my go to guy, why are you being difficult”.

I looked up at the confused customer, and fade out surreptitiously and faded back in with the words of the song playing in the background pretending I was singing it all along…

Besides the worry that I’m losing my mind, I also worry that I might have lost my bandaid in a scoop of strawberry sorbet.

Other than that, I get lots of visitor which is fun, and I think I’ve mastered waffle making.