Let me take a break from blogging about my Sabbatical in Israel to comment about an equally important topic, American Idol. In particular, electronic voting on American Idol. In past years, I've picked the top two or three (as did everyone else), when there were around ten contestants left, and it was pretty obvious that we were all correct. This year, I picked (as I assume did most people) Casey and Pia as the top two, or at least two of the top three (along with James).
Now, American Idol airs in Israel several days after the show happens, so I have not seen this week's episode. But I have been following the excitement online. I have to say that one of two things (or both) must be true. Either I am completely out of tune with the American Idol audience, or something is messed up in their voting system. Interestingly, I'm just saying, American Idol adopted a form of Internet voting this time around (for a terrific description of how it works, see Ben Adida's blog posting). Unlike voting in public elections, people are actually encouraged to vote multiple times, up to a limit, and votes are not private.
So, a few weeks ago, Casey (touted by Randy as the most talented contestant ever on the show) was voted off early to everyone's shock. The judges saved him. Now Pia, my personal prediction to win the whole thing, was reportedly voted off. The judges have no more saves, but would clearly have saved her if they could. Is something going on with the voting? Who knows, but when Internet voting systems produce unexpected results such as this, questions will be asked. Personally, I'm very sorry to see her go, and I can't believe people really voted this way. I will miss Pia, and I am starting to doubt the integrity of the voting on American Idol. Or, maybe I'm just out of tune with pop culture. Yeah, that's probably it.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Friday, April 01, 2011
We're staying!!
This Sabbatical year has been a transformative experience for me and my family. While we always enjoyed our lives in Baltimore, there was always a feeling that something was missing. I was never able to put my finger on it. Was it a great, supportive community? No, we had that. Was it inner peace? No, we achieved that. Not until we spent some time in the holy land did we realize that what we were really missing was not a single, individual object or feeling, but something intangible, something bigger than all of us. There is an expression that you don't know what you had until it is gone (I think Shimon Peres said that about the Sainai desert.). In our case, we did not know what we were missing, until we had it. Humus on every street corner. Falafel on every plate. Shawarma wherever you look. But it's not just the food, it's the whole package. Israel completes us. They had me at "Shalom!"
So, it is with a heavy heart and a full stomach that I'm letting you know that we have decided to stay in Israel, and that we will be moving to Tel Aviv permanently. The heart is heavy because we will miss our home and our friends in the States. I will miss Sunday morning soccer, the Baltimore Ravens, poker with my favorite donkeys, the JHU computer science department, and two day weekends. Ann will miss her regular mahjong group, tennis league, Hadassa Gila meetings and events, ladies night out, and English. I would say what Elana is missing, but I'm having trouble finding out because we're currently not on speaking terms, and I've stationed a guard at the house and one at the airport to make sure she stays in Israel. The twins don't remember what it was like in America, so there's no issue there.
Since we're going to be in Israel, we have also decided to complete a lifelong dream and to become observant Jews. It is much more convenient to be religious in Israel, and given the shifting demographics in this country, we have decided to chose the team that is growing fastest and most likely to win. I'm not too thrilled about the whole not driving on Saturday aspect of this, or the daily leather straps, but I see advantages as well. For example, I've noticed an increasingly growing bald spot on the back of my head, which I will now be able to hide under my yarmulkah. As part of our transformation, we have decided to adopt more religious names. Going forward, Ann will be known at Tsirl. Please call me Mendl, and our kids will be Yentl, Tentl, and Bentl. We are also going to adopt a dog and call him Bob.
We are so excited about celebrating all of the Jewish holidays in Israel from now on. The only real downer, and it's a big one, is that April Fools Day is not observed that much here in Israel. It's always been my favorite holiday. The time of year that I get to say, in a loud voice: APRIL FOOLS!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Purim 2011 in Tel Aviv
Purim in Hebrew means "lots". Having lived in Tel Aviv now for over 7 months, I do not think it's unreasonable to celebrate parking lots. But actually, the story of Purim has to do with the evil haman (I prefer not to capitalize his name), who cast lots to determine on what day to kill the Jewish people. Queen Esther found out about it, and she and Mordechai managed to foil the plot. That's the abridged version, but there is literally a Megilah describing everything that happened. It is often said (and please forgive the cliche) that most Jewish holidays can be summed up in three short sentences:
They tried to kill us. They failed. Let's eat.
I wish I could be as brief, but my description of Purim in Israel requires a deeper exposition. This holiday in the land of the Jews is a complex cross pollination among multiple world events, with several mutations. Think Mardi Gras in New Orleans meets Carnaval in Brazil meets Halloween in the US, with a hint of Hanukkah and a dab of crazy. It's a week-long holiday filled with costumes, joy, parties, gift giving, parades, festivities, and rituals. A week I'm sure the kids will remember for a long time and will sorely miss in years to come. It's the Purim I grew up with as a young child in Haifa, and which is unique to Israel.
The week leading up to Purim was filled with holiday-related activities at school. The children dressed up in costumes one day, celebrated upside-down day another (I still haven't figured out what that means), wore special colors, and silly outfits yet another time. Every day had its theme. On the streets, people of all ages wore costumes the entire week. It was so strange to walk down a wide boulevard in downtown Tel Aviv and to encounter at least 30% of the adults in elaborate costumes, walking along as though nothing was unusual.
Like all Jewish holidays, the celebration begins at sundown the night before. On Erev Purim, we ate an early dinner with my parents and another friend from our congregation and then walked over to the community center that houses our conservative shul in Ramat Aviv Gimel. I was probably the only person not in costume. Even my parents surprised me by dressing up.
The primary ritual of Purim is the reading of Megilat Esther, the scroll containing the story of Purim. We arrived at services for the Megilah reading a bit early. The sanctuary consisted of a room with about 75 chairs by my estimation. By the time services were set to begin, it appeared that twice that many people showed up, including a delegation of high school students from the United States whose counselor was less than pleased about the accommodations. Our quick thinking Rabbi came up with a solution, and we began passing chairs from one end of the room out the window in the back, where someone received them and stacked them into piles. Soon, we had a side of the room with chairs for those who needed them, and most of the shul was standing room only. Ad libbing is one of the most crucial skills in Israel, and I give the Rabbi high marks.
The Megliah reading, if done properly, is one of the most entertaining and enjoyable activities in Judaism, and I dare say in the entire world, at least what I've seen of it. When I was growing up in Nashville, the congregants used to literally flip the Rabbi three times throughout the service, as the rest of the congregation cheered on. It is a mitzvah (commandment) to drink so much on Purim that you get drunk. In our Orthodox synagogue that I attended as a child, no mitzvah was observed with such dedication, fervor and enthusiasm as this one. After all, we were commanded to drink, so bottoms up!
As the reader recites the story of Purim from the Megilah, with a special tune that is only used on this holiday, the children are at the ready. Armed with noisemakers and groggers, they hang on every word waiting for that infamous name whose utterance will send the place into a wild and raucous frenzy. In my synagogue in Nashville, there was a game played where the reader pretended to try to say haman's name so fast that the children would miss it, and he would continue. Of course, the kids always caught him. But here, there was no such play. Before the first utterance of that evil name, the reader built up to a crescendo and exclaimed, "HAMAN!!" and then paused. And we broke loose. People shouted their boos, while others banged on anything that would make noise. The groggers spun while parents for once encouraged their children to make as much noise as possible. The remainder of the evening, every time the reader said, haman, the noise would repeat, the intensity rising, as the parents' enthusiasm for the noise level gradually decreased.
The Rabbi here added an interesting element to the reading. Between chapters, children performed Purim songs on various musical instruments. We were given two week's notice, but Benny and Tamara worked hard and prepared songs. Benny rocked the house with Chag Purim on the piano. It was actually pretty incredible. He played it loudly and really well, and the entire room sang along. I could see he was having a blast. Tamara decided to play her song on the recorder, an instrument that she learned to play in school here. She played the same song, and everyone sang along as well.
On Purim day, we went to the nearby city of Holon to view the largest Purim day parade in the country. The population of Tel Aviv is about 400,000, and it seemed all of them beat us there. I was unable to find legal parking, and rather than describe what I did with the car, let's just say that my photograph is hanging prominently in the Holon post office. Wanted! …for extreme parking behavior. We walked to the center of town where we utilized the cell phone algorithm to successfully find my parents, perhaps the latest in a string of miracles performed by God in Israel. It was the biggest parade I've ever witnessed. While I'm not a huge fan of crowds, this experience was worth it, except for the part where Elana and I freaked out as we were caught in a mob trying to go in the opposite direction of another mob. We were trapped for several minutes in a sea of bodies all seemingly with the intent of getting from one side of us to the other, with the incorrect assumption that going through us was quicker than going around us.
As fate would have it, Purim this year was also Elana's 12th birthday. We celebrated by going to dinner with my parents and our friends the Gevas. We had a long table at Max Brenners, and the kids (and their parents and grandparents) pigged out on chocolate-based delicacies. Outside, we were treated to a parade of party goers in outrageous costumes heading to a club next door where a high faluten Purim party was getting underway.
When we came to Israel for a year's Sabbatical, I anticipated that Purim, along with Independence Day, would be one of the highlights of our experience, and my expectations were exceeded. What a week!
They tried to kill us. They failed. Let's eat.
I wish I could be as brief, but my description of Purim in Israel requires a deeper exposition. This holiday in the land of the Jews is a complex cross pollination among multiple world events, with several mutations. Think Mardi Gras in New Orleans meets Carnaval in Brazil meets Halloween in the US, with a hint of Hanukkah and a dab of crazy. It's a week-long holiday filled with costumes, joy, parties, gift giving, parades, festivities, and rituals. A week I'm sure the kids will remember for a long time and will sorely miss in years to come. It's the Purim I grew up with as a young child in Haifa, and which is unique to Israel.
The week leading up to Purim was filled with holiday-related activities at school. The children dressed up in costumes one day, celebrated upside-down day another (I still haven't figured out what that means), wore special colors, and silly outfits yet another time. Every day had its theme. On the streets, people of all ages wore costumes the entire week. It was so strange to walk down a wide boulevard in downtown Tel Aviv and to encounter at least 30% of the adults in elaborate costumes, walking along as though nothing was unusual.
 |
| Cleopatra |
 |
| Ninja |
 |
| Sponge Tamara Square Pants |
Like all Jewish holidays, the celebration begins at sundown the night before. On Erev Purim, we ate an early dinner with my parents and another friend from our congregation and then walked over to the community center that houses our conservative shul in Ramat Aviv Gimel. I was probably the only person not in costume. Even my parents surprised me by dressing up.
The primary ritual of Purim is the reading of Megilat Esther, the scroll containing the story of Purim. We arrived at services for the Megilah reading a bit early. The sanctuary consisted of a room with about 75 chairs by my estimation. By the time services were set to begin, it appeared that twice that many people showed up, including a delegation of high school students from the United States whose counselor was less than pleased about the accommodations. Our quick thinking Rabbi came up with a solution, and we began passing chairs from one end of the room out the window in the back, where someone received them and stacked them into piles. Soon, we had a side of the room with chairs for those who needed them, and most of the shul was standing room only. Ad libbing is one of the most crucial skills in Israel, and I give the Rabbi high marks.
The Megliah reading, if done properly, is one of the most entertaining and enjoyable activities in Judaism, and I dare say in the entire world, at least what I've seen of it. When I was growing up in Nashville, the congregants used to literally flip the Rabbi three times throughout the service, as the rest of the congregation cheered on. It is a mitzvah (commandment) to drink so much on Purim that you get drunk. In our Orthodox synagogue that I attended as a child, no mitzvah was observed with such dedication, fervor and enthusiasm as this one. After all, we were commanded to drink, so bottoms up!
As the reader recites the story of Purim from the Megilah, with a special tune that is only used on this holiday, the children are at the ready. Armed with noisemakers and groggers, they hang on every word waiting for that infamous name whose utterance will send the place into a wild and raucous frenzy. In my synagogue in Nashville, there was a game played where the reader pretended to try to say haman's name so fast that the children would miss it, and he would continue. Of course, the kids always caught him. But here, there was no such play. Before the first utterance of that evil name, the reader built up to a crescendo and exclaimed, "HAMAN!!" and then paused. And we broke loose. People shouted their boos, while others banged on anything that would make noise. The groggers spun while parents for once encouraged their children to make as much noise as possible. The remainder of the evening, every time the reader said, haman, the noise would repeat, the intensity rising, as the parents' enthusiasm for the noise level gradually decreased.
The Rabbi here added an interesting element to the reading. Between chapters, children performed Purim songs on various musical instruments. We were given two week's notice, but Benny and Tamara worked hard and prepared songs. Benny rocked the house with Chag Purim on the piano. It was actually pretty incredible. He played it loudly and really well, and the entire room sang along. I could see he was having a blast. Tamara decided to play her song on the recorder, an instrument that she learned to play in school here. She played the same song, and everyone sang along as well.
On Purim day, we went to the nearby city of Holon to view the largest Purim day parade in the country. The population of Tel Aviv is about 400,000, and it seemed all of them beat us there. I was unable to find legal parking, and rather than describe what I did with the car, let's just say that my photograph is hanging prominently in the Holon post office. Wanted! …for extreme parking behavior. We walked to the center of town where we utilized the cell phone algorithm to successfully find my parents, perhaps the latest in a string of miracles performed by God in Israel. It was the biggest parade I've ever witnessed. While I'm not a huge fan of crowds, this experience was worth it, except for the part where Elana and I freaked out as we were caught in a mob trying to go in the opposite direction of another mob. We were trapped for several minutes in a sea of bodies all seemingly with the intent of getting from one side of us to the other, with the incorrect assumption that going through us was quicker than going around us.
As fate would have it, Purim this year was also Elana's 12th birthday. We celebrated by going to dinner with my parents and our friends the Gevas. We had a long table at Max Brenners, and the kids (and their parents and grandparents) pigged out on chocolate-based delicacies. Outside, we were treated to a parade of party goers in outrageous costumes heading to a club next door where a high faluten Purim party was getting underway.
When we came to Israel for a year's Sabbatical, I anticipated that Purim, along with Independence Day, would be one of the highlights of our experience, and my expectations were exceeded. What a week!
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Four months left
Parking at Tel Aviv University (and in this city in general) is not unlike my favorite hobby of playing poker. It requires patience, skill, and a decent amount of luck. In fact, for the last six months, getting into the parking lot at work was a test of wits. I arrived at the university gate armed with my letter from the Dean of Engineering stating that I am a visiting professor here. Most often, that did the trick. However, at times, the security guard was particularly prickly and would not accept the letter. "No sticker, no parking!" he would declare, sounding a bit like the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld. As the line of cars behind me grew, along with the volume of their honking, I would reason with him. "Listen, I am a visiting professor here. I need to get in to do my job. This is no way to treat visitors." Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Either way, I drew satisfaction from knowing that I was developing my negotiating skills in Hebrew, an important capability for day to day survival in Israeli society.
When I first arrived at the computer science department back in August, I filled out some paperwork requesting a parking sticker. I was warned that it takes some time because the bureaucracy is a bit slow (like Charlie Sheen is a bit nuts). After one month, I inquired about the parking sticker and was told that the form I submitted was no good as the process for obtaining parking stickers had changed, so I needed to fill out a different form. I happily complied. Two months later, as fate would have it, our rental car company offered to replace our car with a brand new one with 8 Km on the odometer, and I felt fortunate not to have received my decal yet. I inquired about the parking sticker and mentioned that I had a different license plate number. Well, that rebooted the entire process. Filled out forms again. Kept waiting. Mostly biked to work.
Last week, we had heavy rains, and I drove to work. My ability to negotiate and charm apparently faltered, as I was not allowed into the lot. After complaining to an administrator in the department, I was assured that my parking sticker would arrive shortly. Amazingly, on Sunday, I was told that my sticker was available for pickup at the university security office. I was working from home that day, but was so excited about the parking sticker, that I went into work. As I approached the campus security office, a little voice inside my head told me that it is never, ever this easy in Israel. I put the odds of my actually ending the day with a parking sticker near zero. Sure enough, while the security office was open, there was a sign that stated that parking stickers can be picked up on so and so days at such and such hours, and of course, I had missed the window for Sundays.
After only six and a half months in parking limbo, the story has a happy ending. I noted the hours for Monday and made sure I was at the campus security office at the right time. I received a beautiful blue parking sticker which I proudly affixed to the windshield of my car. That will get me in the gate from now on, I hope. Finding a spot once inside, well that's another problem. Meanwhile, I'll celebrate the small victory.
My experience overall at the university has been positive. I'm currently advising a masters student here, and the other day we had a meeting scheduled. He told me that he was in the miluim, which is the army reserves, so he would be a bit late. In Israel it is very common for people to have to suddenly leave their jobs or whatever they are doing and serve in the army for days or weeks at a time. It is part of society, and they are used to it. So, this student shows up in my office in full army uniform, and we had our meeting. When he turned to leave, I noticed that he was wearing a holster around his waist with a handgun. I couldn't help but think how different the dynamic would be with my students back at Johns Hopkins if they were packing heat. Lab meetings might have quite a different dynamic.
We now have less than four months left until we return to Baltimore. Elana is doing much better. She has a small group of nice friends, and is particularly close to one girl. I drove them to a Bat Mitzvah party last night (a weekly occurrence these days), and they were in the back seat giggling and yapping most of the way. She communicates with her friends mostly in Hebrew, and I think Elana is starting to enjoy being here. She is very excited about her upcoming birthday. However, she'll probably be the one most anxious to return home when this is over. Here is a picture of Elana and Tamara on the Tel Aviv Tayelet (boardwalk).
Ann is continuing her Hebrew studies at the Ulpan, and I've noticed now when we shop at the shuk (market), she often speaks Hebrew with the vendors when their English appears weak. Benny is enjoying his chess club and his soccer training and appears to be totally comfortable in Hebrew with his friends. Here is Benny leading a parade of Fulbrighters in the Lower Galilee.
Tamara has fewer activities now because her jewelry making teacher and piano teacher each gave birth and subsequently took breaks from their activities. Still, she has some very nice friendships. Each of the kids seems to have found a "best friend" that they hang out with a lot, and the nice thing is that most of the time we can walk to their houses. Here are the twins in the lobby of our building.
The last couple of weeks have been particularly fun because my parents are visiting. They have a great apartment downtown, and we spend time virtually every day either at their place or ours. Besides touring around, visiting the Nemal and the Shuk, we play a lot of bridge with them, and all I can say is that I'm glad poker is played for money and that bridge is not because my skills at the latter are quite lacking. My mom loves Israeli dancing, and she leads an Israeli dance troupe in Nashville at Vanderbilt University. Here is my Mom dancing along the Tayelet last weekend.
We are now very much looking forward to the upcoming holidays of Purim and Passover. These holidays are something special in Israel, and being here to celebrate them will be a highlight of my Sabbatical. In addition, my nephew, Ari, is having his Bar Mitzvah at the Western Wall in Jerusalem in a few weeks, and much of my family will be here for that.
We are planning a four day trip up North in about a month and a half to visit Akko, Rosh Hanikrah and the Golan Heights, places Ann has never been, and where I have not been for years. In May, we will visit with the Schechter 8th graders who will be on their Israel trip, and we've enjoyed the steady stream of visitors whom we have had the chance to meet and hang out with.
So, our trip is not quite winding down, but the finish line is in sight. We're in no hurry, but we'll be very happy to return home to our normal lives, and to see all our friends again.
When I first arrived at the computer science department back in August, I filled out some paperwork requesting a parking sticker. I was warned that it takes some time because the bureaucracy is a bit slow (like Charlie Sheen is a bit nuts). After one month, I inquired about the parking sticker and was told that the form I submitted was no good as the process for obtaining parking stickers had changed, so I needed to fill out a different form. I happily complied. Two months later, as fate would have it, our rental car company offered to replace our car with a brand new one with 8 Km on the odometer, and I felt fortunate not to have received my decal yet. I inquired about the parking sticker and mentioned that I had a different license plate number. Well, that rebooted the entire process. Filled out forms again. Kept waiting. Mostly biked to work.
Last week, we had heavy rains, and I drove to work. My ability to negotiate and charm apparently faltered, as I was not allowed into the lot. After complaining to an administrator in the department, I was assured that my parking sticker would arrive shortly. Amazingly, on Sunday, I was told that my sticker was available for pickup at the university security office. I was working from home that day, but was so excited about the parking sticker, that I went into work. As I approached the campus security office, a little voice inside my head told me that it is never, ever this easy in Israel. I put the odds of my actually ending the day with a parking sticker near zero. Sure enough, while the security office was open, there was a sign that stated that parking stickers can be picked up on so and so days at such and such hours, and of course, I had missed the window for Sundays.
After only six and a half months in parking limbo, the story has a happy ending. I noted the hours for Monday and made sure I was at the campus security office at the right time. I received a beautiful blue parking sticker which I proudly affixed to the windshield of my car. That will get me in the gate from now on, I hope. Finding a spot once inside, well that's another problem. Meanwhile, I'll celebrate the small victory.
My experience overall at the university has been positive. I'm currently advising a masters student here, and the other day we had a meeting scheduled. He told me that he was in the miluim, which is the army reserves, so he would be a bit late. In Israel it is very common for people to have to suddenly leave their jobs or whatever they are doing and serve in the army for days or weeks at a time. It is part of society, and they are used to it. So, this student shows up in my office in full army uniform, and we had our meeting. When he turned to leave, I noticed that he was wearing a holster around his waist with a handgun. I couldn't help but think how different the dynamic would be with my students back at Johns Hopkins if they were packing heat. Lab meetings might have quite a different dynamic.
We now have less than four months left until we return to Baltimore. Elana is doing much better. She has a small group of nice friends, and is particularly close to one girl. I drove them to a Bat Mitzvah party last night (a weekly occurrence these days), and they were in the back seat giggling and yapping most of the way. She communicates with her friends mostly in Hebrew, and I think Elana is starting to enjoy being here. She is very excited about her upcoming birthday. However, she'll probably be the one most anxious to return home when this is over. Here is a picture of Elana and Tamara on the Tel Aviv Tayelet (boardwalk).
Ann is continuing her Hebrew studies at the Ulpan, and I've noticed now when we shop at the shuk (market), she often speaks Hebrew with the vendors when their English appears weak. Benny is enjoying his chess club and his soccer training and appears to be totally comfortable in Hebrew with his friends. Here is Benny leading a parade of Fulbrighters in the Lower Galilee.
Tamara has fewer activities now because her jewelry making teacher and piano teacher each gave birth and subsequently took breaks from their activities. Still, she has some very nice friendships. Each of the kids seems to have found a "best friend" that they hang out with a lot, and the nice thing is that most of the time we can walk to their houses. Here are the twins in the lobby of our building.
The last couple of weeks have been particularly fun because my parents are visiting. They have a great apartment downtown, and we spend time virtually every day either at their place or ours. Besides touring around, visiting the Nemal and the Shuk, we play a lot of bridge with them, and all I can say is that I'm glad poker is played for money and that bridge is not because my skills at the latter are quite lacking. My mom loves Israeli dancing, and she leads an Israeli dance troupe in Nashville at Vanderbilt University. Here is my Mom dancing along the Tayelet last weekend.
We are now very much looking forward to the upcoming holidays of Purim and Passover. These holidays are something special in Israel, and being here to celebrate them will be a highlight of my Sabbatical. In addition, my nephew, Ari, is having his Bar Mitzvah at the Western Wall in Jerusalem in a few weeks, and much of my family will be here for that.
We are planning a four day trip up North in about a month and a half to visit Akko, Rosh Hanikrah and the Golan Heights, places Ann has never been, and where I have not been for years. In May, we will visit with the Schechter 8th graders who will be on their Israel trip, and we've enjoyed the steady stream of visitors whom we have had the chance to meet and hang out with.
So, our trip is not quite winding down, but the finish line is in sight. We're in no hurry, but we'll be very happy to return home to our normal lives, and to see all our friends again.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Halfway & Hummus
A year is a long time. It may not seem so in the abstract, but it is enough time to really feel we are living somewhere and not just visiting. Now, halfway through our trip, most of the novelty is gone, and our lives have taken on a familiar set of routines, establishing a status quo. The kids have their regular activities, school, piano, jewelry making, soccer, chess club, and scouts. I have poker night; Ann has a book club starting next week, and we've begun attending events with the Israeli Michigan alumni club. Friday night is Shabbat dinner, and we've started a new tradition that is sure to continue when we return, date night on Tuesdays. So far, we've savored over a dozen of Tel Aviv's nicest restaurants, and we've got a list that should get us through the rest of our stay.
We found a great piano teacher for the kids. She's so good, that I started taking lessons again, and I practice just about every day. After taking lessons for 12 years, I had 26 years off, but I'm highly motivated and taking it much more seriously than I ever did when I was forced to play as a child. Meanwhile, our kids are thriving on the piano, and they had a really nice recital a few weeks ago. As luck would have it (bad for us - good for her), our teacher gave birth to a baby girl recently, and she is taking a couple of months off. Our first attempt at a replacement seemed decent enough, but the kids objected to his lack of personal hygiene, and having come in contact with him, I appreciated their position, and so we are continuing to look for a temporary replacement.
The kids are getting more acclimated to their school, but they really miss home. They work with a tutor who comes to our house four days a week to help them understand and complete their homework. We were very proud when Tamara received a 95 on a science test that was entirely in Hebrew, the same exact test taken by the rest of the class. We're not sure how much Benny is getting out of this year academically, but he's made a lot of friends and is constantly playing at other kids' houses and inviting friends over. He's even starting to speak to them in Hebrew on occasion. Elana made a determination to speak Hebrew to her friends, and this has helped her socially, although she still longs for Baltimore and her close friends back home. Parents are asked to volunteer in the carpool line. Here I am, ready for service:
Although we are at the halfway point of the trip, the first month or two were spent adjusting and so the next five months should be much more normal and productive than the first half of our stay here. Also, in a few weeks, my parents are visiting for six weeks and getting an apartment downtown, so it will be great to spend time with them - more time than I've spent with them since I left home in 1985. Ann & the kids are also very excited that they are coming. In March, my sister is having her son's bar mitzvah in Jerusalem and most of my family is coming to Israel for a couple of weeks. So the second half will definitely be much more interesting and fun.
The kids' Hebrew is getting noticeably better (mine too). I also find that I'm rarely using the GPS to get around town, and navigate pretty easily around most of downtown. A typical day begins around 6:45 when the kids start getting ready for school. I head down to the gym next to our building and kibbitz with the regulars there. By the time I get back upstairs, the kids have already left for their 10 minute walk to school, and Ann is getting ready to leave for her Ulpan class downtown. After showering and breakfast, I usually practice the piano for a while and then head to the university. I either bike (13 minutes), walk (30 minutes), take the bus (12 minutes) or drive (5 minutes). I love having these choices. I also work at home quite a bit, an even shorter commute. On Sunday nights, I play poker at an apartment downtown and usually get home around 1:30 or 2 a.m. So, Monday I'm usually tired and sometimes take a nap in the afternoon. Tuesday night, our tutor comes in the evening, and Ann and I celebrate date night.
Around 4 or 5 pm, I start receiving loads of email from the States. Most evenings, I spend quite a bit of time over Skype with colleagues in the US, and often I find myself working past 10:00 pm, my preferred bed time. At first I had a tough time dealing with this schedule, but I've gotten used to it. One thing I look forward to when I return to the States is having more relaxed evenings.
Now, let me say a few words about a very sensitive topic. It's such an important and yet delicate topic that I hesitate to even go there, at the risk of alienating my Israeli friends who might read this posting. But, a good journalist does not shy away from the truth, no matter what the risks. The topic is, of course, Hummus. There, I've opened up a can of worms, let the genie out of the bottle and closed the barn door after the horse already escaped.
I had no idea how important the topic of Hummus was before I came to Israel. The first hint of the gravity of this subject matter came when we first arrived, while we were waiting for our luggage at Ben Gurion airport, but we were not in tune enough to register the import of the discussion. A gentleman standing beside me struck up a conversation. "Where are you going? For how long? Where will you be living? Oh, Ramat Aviv Gimel, that's a great place. Pause. There is an excellent Hummus place there." A seemingly benign observation. From my perspective, he might as well have said, "There is a great pizza place there," or "There is a good coffee house in Gimel." Only now, with the benefit of hindsight do I realize how he went out on a limb with that comment. He took a position; drew a line in the sand. Indeed, those were fighting words. You do not praise a Hummus place lightly in Israel.
Over time, I came to realize that while there are many religious debates raging in this part of the world, few are as ferocious or as universal as the wrangling over Hummus. Take Rosh Hashana. We were invited over to the Israeli parents of friends of ours for one of the evening meals. Before dinner, we're sitting in the living room, and one of the locals declares that the best Hummus in Israel comes from an Arab village outside of Jerusalem. This was followed by a silence that would have made E.F. Hutton uncomfortable. It was eventually broken by a somewhat timid and yet defiant Israeli who opined that while that Hummus was definitely above the bar, it was nothing compared to his place of choice in Yaffo. Everybody stopped what they were doing and looked back at the original speaker. This was a critical moment. The fate of our evening seemingly hung in the balance. I was nervous, but also curious to see how this would play out. The battle lines were clearly drawn, and neither side seemed likely to concede an inch. Fortunately, the host was able to dissolve the tension by declaring that dinner was ready, a sure fire tactic for breaking up any confrontation among Jews.
The Rosh Hashana Hummus debacle was a forerunner of things to come. One day, I noticed that our corner grocery store had dozens of Hummus containers with every flavor one could imagine.
I took a picture with my phone and posted it on Facebook musing that there were so many types of Hummus to be found, "And none of them are any good!" was an immediate comment posted by one of my Israeli friends, causing a chain reaction of replies that made me wonder if the topic was going to end up on Mark Zuckerberg's desk and cause a change in Facebook's tolerance policies.
Perfectly reasonable people continuously surprise me by their passion for Hummus and their close mindedness with respect to anything but the Hummus that they believe in. On several instances when I had lunch with faculty at the university, the topic turned to Hummus, and I observed reasonable people discussing the ins and out of this delicacy (who knew that Hummus had ins and outs?). How Hummus should be prepared, how it is served, where to buy it, how long it keeps. The level of intensity and passion people bring to this subject is stunning. Thus, it was no surprise to me when I mentioned to a colleague that I sometimes bike to Yaffo in the morning, that he sent me this link to his favorite Hummus place there.
One of the funniest moments came when Ann and I were in services during the high holidays. The Rabbi was giving his sermon and making some announcements in Hebrew. I was simultaneously translating for Ann. At the end of the speech, the Rabbi announces that on Sukkot, there is going to be a potluck dinner. He then went into some detail about how there was a need to coordinate what dishes people bring because "we can't have everybody bringing Hummus". Clearly this had been a problem in the past.
I actually really like Hummus. But to me, it all tastes the same. I'm sure that for writing this, I am now on a Mossad watch list, and that a more heretical statement could not be made. Ann tells me Hummus is fattening, so I'll be limiting my consumption, to the extent that it's possible to do that in Israel.
If you visit Israel, you should look forward to having great Hummus as well as great Hummus discourse. I'm told that it's much better than the packaged stuff you get in the US. I wish I could taste a difference.
We found a great piano teacher for the kids. She's so good, that I started taking lessons again, and I practice just about every day. After taking lessons for 12 years, I had 26 years off, but I'm highly motivated and taking it much more seriously than I ever did when I was forced to play as a child. Meanwhile, our kids are thriving on the piano, and they had a really nice recital a few weeks ago. As luck would have it (bad for us - good for her), our teacher gave birth to a baby girl recently, and she is taking a couple of months off. Our first attempt at a replacement seemed decent enough, but the kids objected to his lack of personal hygiene, and having come in contact with him, I appreciated their position, and so we are continuing to look for a temporary replacement.
The kids are getting more acclimated to their school, but they really miss home. They work with a tutor who comes to our house four days a week to help them understand and complete their homework. We were very proud when Tamara received a 95 on a science test that was entirely in Hebrew, the same exact test taken by the rest of the class. We're not sure how much Benny is getting out of this year academically, but he's made a lot of friends and is constantly playing at other kids' houses and inviting friends over. He's even starting to speak to them in Hebrew on occasion. Elana made a determination to speak Hebrew to her friends, and this has helped her socially, although she still longs for Baltimore and her close friends back home. Parents are asked to volunteer in the carpool line. Here I am, ready for service:
Although we are at the halfway point of the trip, the first month or two were spent adjusting and so the next five months should be much more normal and productive than the first half of our stay here. Also, in a few weeks, my parents are visiting for six weeks and getting an apartment downtown, so it will be great to spend time with them - more time than I've spent with them since I left home in 1985. Ann & the kids are also very excited that they are coming. In March, my sister is having her son's bar mitzvah in Jerusalem and most of my family is coming to Israel for a couple of weeks. So the second half will definitely be much more interesting and fun.
The kids' Hebrew is getting noticeably better (mine too). I also find that I'm rarely using the GPS to get around town, and navigate pretty easily around most of downtown. A typical day begins around 6:45 when the kids start getting ready for school. I head down to the gym next to our building and kibbitz with the regulars there. By the time I get back upstairs, the kids have already left for their 10 minute walk to school, and Ann is getting ready to leave for her Ulpan class downtown. After showering and breakfast, I usually practice the piano for a while and then head to the university. I either bike (13 minutes), walk (30 minutes), take the bus (12 minutes) or drive (5 minutes). I love having these choices. I also work at home quite a bit, an even shorter commute. On Sunday nights, I play poker at an apartment downtown and usually get home around 1:30 or 2 a.m. So, Monday I'm usually tired and sometimes take a nap in the afternoon. Tuesday night, our tutor comes in the evening, and Ann and I celebrate date night.
Around 4 or 5 pm, I start receiving loads of email from the States. Most evenings, I spend quite a bit of time over Skype with colleagues in the US, and often I find myself working past 10:00 pm, my preferred bed time. At first I had a tough time dealing with this schedule, but I've gotten used to it. One thing I look forward to when I return to the States is having more relaxed evenings.
Now, let me say a few words about a very sensitive topic. It's such an important and yet delicate topic that I hesitate to even go there, at the risk of alienating my Israeli friends who might read this posting. But, a good journalist does not shy away from the truth, no matter what the risks. The topic is, of course, Hummus. There, I've opened up a can of worms, let the genie out of the bottle and closed the barn door after the horse already escaped.
I had no idea how important the topic of Hummus was before I came to Israel. The first hint of the gravity of this subject matter came when we first arrived, while we were waiting for our luggage at Ben Gurion airport, but we were not in tune enough to register the import of the discussion. A gentleman standing beside me struck up a conversation. "Where are you going? For how long? Where will you be living? Oh, Ramat Aviv Gimel, that's a great place. Pause. There is an excellent Hummus place there." A seemingly benign observation. From my perspective, he might as well have said, "There is a great pizza place there," or "There is a good coffee house in Gimel." Only now, with the benefit of hindsight do I realize how he went out on a limb with that comment. He took a position; drew a line in the sand. Indeed, those were fighting words. You do not praise a Hummus place lightly in Israel.
Over time, I came to realize that while there are many religious debates raging in this part of the world, few are as ferocious or as universal as the wrangling over Hummus. Take Rosh Hashana. We were invited over to the Israeli parents of friends of ours for one of the evening meals. Before dinner, we're sitting in the living room, and one of the locals declares that the best Hummus in Israel comes from an Arab village outside of Jerusalem. This was followed by a silence that would have made E.F. Hutton uncomfortable. It was eventually broken by a somewhat timid and yet defiant Israeli who opined that while that Hummus was definitely above the bar, it was nothing compared to his place of choice in Yaffo. Everybody stopped what they were doing and looked back at the original speaker. This was a critical moment. The fate of our evening seemingly hung in the balance. I was nervous, but also curious to see how this would play out. The battle lines were clearly drawn, and neither side seemed likely to concede an inch. Fortunately, the host was able to dissolve the tension by declaring that dinner was ready, a sure fire tactic for breaking up any confrontation among Jews.
The Rosh Hashana Hummus debacle was a forerunner of things to come. One day, I noticed that our corner grocery store had dozens of Hummus containers with every flavor one could imagine.
I took a picture with my phone and posted it on Facebook musing that there were so many types of Hummus to be found, "And none of them are any good!" was an immediate comment posted by one of my Israeli friends, causing a chain reaction of replies that made me wonder if the topic was going to end up on Mark Zuckerberg's desk and cause a change in Facebook's tolerance policies.
Perfectly reasonable people continuously surprise me by their passion for Hummus and their close mindedness with respect to anything but the Hummus that they believe in. On several instances when I had lunch with faculty at the university, the topic turned to Hummus, and I observed reasonable people discussing the ins and out of this delicacy (who knew that Hummus had ins and outs?). How Hummus should be prepared, how it is served, where to buy it, how long it keeps. The level of intensity and passion people bring to this subject is stunning. Thus, it was no surprise to me when I mentioned to a colleague that I sometimes bike to Yaffo in the morning, that he sent me this link to his favorite Hummus place there.
One of the funniest moments came when Ann and I were in services during the high holidays. The Rabbi was giving his sermon and making some announcements in Hebrew. I was simultaneously translating for Ann. At the end of the speech, the Rabbi announces that on Sukkot, there is going to be a potluck dinner. He then went into some detail about how there was a need to coordinate what dishes people bring because "we can't have everybody bringing Hummus". Clearly this had been a problem in the past.
I actually really like Hummus. But to me, it all tastes the same. I'm sure that for writing this, I am now on a Mossad watch list, and that a more heretical statement could not be made. Ann tells me Hummus is fattening, so I'll be limiting my consumption, to the extent that it's possible to do that in Israel.
If you visit Israel, you should look forward to having great Hummus as well as great Hummus discourse. I'm told that it's much better than the packaged stuff you get in the US. I wish I could taste a difference.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Hanukkah in the Negev
Israel is beautiful. The splendor of the Nevada desert, the awe of the grand canyon, the tranquility of summer in Aspen, Colorado, and the beauty of Monterrey, California are all packed into the Southern portion of this country, known as the Negev, in an area smaller than half of New Jersey. (Everyone always compares the size of Israel to New Jersey, and who am I to differ?) For Hanukkah, we took a family road trip to the Negev for six days. A full photo album of the trip can be found here.
The first day, we picked up the kids from school and drove two hours to a Beduin tent camp site situated about halfway between Sde Boker and Mitzpeh Ramon. I'm not one for roughing it, so we opted for the heated cabins over the communal tents. Dinner was served Beduin style, on rugs in the sand in an open tent. As soon as we were seated a tray containing the entire dinner arrived. The food consisted of roasted chicken, pita bread, hummus, potatoes, rice, and various salads. I was expecting to eat with our hands, but there was plastic silverware.
After dinner, we walked around the camp site and huddled around a large fire they had built. Then, we went back to our cozy cabin, grateful we did not have the idea of roughing it and sleeping in the open tents. It was quite cold out. Before bed, I explained to the kids how to put their socks over their shoes so scorpions would not get in. This was totally unnecessary, but I got a perverse pleasure from their seriousness on this matter. I learned this trick from my survival days in the desert, or maybe it was from a movie I saw, I can't remember.
The Beduin village (a.k.a. tourist trap) boasts a herd of about 20 camels, and the next morning, we took a ride on these large, gentle, awkward animals.
After our camel ride in the desert, which lasted about 30 minutes but left a pain in my buttocks for a bit longer than that, we drove to the Mitzpeh Ramon crater, Israel's version of the Grand Canyon. We took a short hike and then made several stops on our way South.
At one point, there was an area with mounds of colored sand that the children used to fill test tubes in artistic fashion.
After Mitzpeh Ramon, we headed South again, with our sights set on Eilat, a resort town on the edge of the Red Sea, bordering Jordan and Egypt. The trip took about two and a half hours from our last stop at Mitzpeh Ramon.
Eilat is known for its fancy waterfront hotels, expansive coral beaches, underwater observatory, and great nightlife and restaurants. We stayed at a place called Isrotel Agamim, about a 10 minute walk from the water. We opted for the half board option, which included breakfast and dinner. We arrived there on Friday night, and I was pretty disappointed with the dinner. However, my opinion changed on subsequent nights when the food was nothing short of gourmet, and Ann observed that since the restaurant was kosher, Friday night dinner consisted of food that had to be prepared in advance because no fire or electricity could be used on Shabbat. This explained why the options were so limited that first night.
The hotel had a ballroom reserved for lighting Hanukkah candles each night, and we were given the candle lighting times. I expected everyone to show up and light as a community, but strangely, each family picked a spot and a hanukkiah of their own and said the blessings themselves. There were parallel renditions of Maoz Tsur throughout the rooms, sung in various keys and intonations. It was quite a sight. We took turns with a different family member lighting each night.
On our first day, we went snorkeling in the coral reef area, with spectacular underwater views. This picture was taken from the underwater observatory.
The next day, we took a glass bottom boat tour for an even better view of this precious underwater phenomenon.
Here are some more pictures showing the beauty of Eilat.
We spent one of our afternoons and evenings in Eilat in Timna park, which needs to be added as a "must see" to anyone traveling to Israel. This park consists of some incredible natural desert sights, and several man made ones. The area was used in ancient times as a copper mine, and there is access (for those with less claustrophobia than I have) to the underground caves. The rock formations are like nothing I've ever seen before, and driving from one spot to the next, we felt that the views could not be more spectacular. The rock below is called the mushroom, for obvious reasons.
These rock formations are known as Solomon's pillars, although we were disappointed to learn that King Solomon was not actually here, nor was he in historic times.
Here is Benny, pictured after climbing through the hole in the rock at the top of the picture.
This view of a naturally formed bridge in the rock is stunning.
Timna park was historically significant in large part because there was an oasis of water, which made it habitable. The children filled platic jars with colored sand in front of the Timna lake, and later everyone at the park participated in a Hanukkah candle lighting ceremony.
After three fun filled days in Eilat, we headed due North (the only direction to drive and stay in Israel) and stopped at the Hai Bar nature preserve. The place provides refuge for and rehabilitates endangered species. We took a driving tour through the park, guided by a CD, which explained the history of each of the species of animals in the park.
We stopped in Mizpeh Ramon for lunch, and then visited an alpaca farm, where the children rode alpacas and their father tried to ignore the smell.
After the farm, we headed further North and spent the night in a Kibbutz, where we had booked sleeping accommodations for two nights. At dinner time, the food in the dining room was our least appetizing meal of the trip, and we made a note not to eat there again the second night.
The next morning, we drove to a national park called Ein Avdat. This is one of the real national treasures of Israel. Unfortunately, the park has a hiking path that becomes one way about halfway through. There is a steep climb in the rocks, and given that 1,500 people take the hike in one day, they do not allow you to backtrack. Most tour groups have their bus drop them off and then meet them on the other side. As we were there with our car, once we reached the halfway point, I had to backtrack, get the car and drive to the other side to meet the family. Backtracking was very difficult, as there were several steep stairways carved out of the rock, full of Israelis who did not appreciate me going against traffic. Some of them expressed this to me in colorful language that I'd rather pretend I did not understand.
Ein Avdat has some of the most breathtaking views anywhere.
This stone staircase below is the one I had to navigate against traffic. I made my way bit by bit as people passed me and gave me a hard time. It was pretty scary. At one point, an Ibex startled everyone by running up the cliff side. The animal was disoriented by all the tourists, and it was actually quite scary. So much so, that everyone below him went back down, and everyone above him went back up. The animal left, and I got to start my descent against traffic from the beginning, with a bigger backlog of people at the bottom. It took me 45 minutes to get down.
In the afternoon, we drove to nearby Sde Boker, which is where David Ben Gurion spent his final years, and where he is buried. We visited his tomb, which overlooks the desert crater.
And, behind the tomb, we took one of the few family pictures with all five of us.
We returned to our Kibbutz, which had an indoor, heated pool, quite rare in Israel, and the kids swam and played for a while. Then, we decided to drive to Be'er Sheva for dinner. We found a great Asian restaurant which was quite better than the Kibbutz food, and then went back to the Kibbutz for our final night. In the morning, we drove a couple of hours home to Tel Aviv, and two days later the first storm of the year, a massive one, hit the country. Pretty good timing!
You cannot and should not visit Israel without a tour of the Negev. It's natural beauty is compelling, and all the major sights are within short driving range. One would have to purchase several airline tickets and budget several weeks of travel in the US to see a comparable, diverse set of marvels that can be seen in a six day trip with easy, short drives, in Israel.
The first day, we picked up the kids from school and drove two hours to a Beduin tent camp site situated about halfway between Sde Boker and Mitzpeh Ramon. I'm not one for roughing it, so we opted for the heated cabins over the communal tents. Dinner was served Beduin style, on rugs in the sand in an open tent. As soon as we were seated a tray containing the entire dinner arrived. The food consisted of roasted chicken, pita bread, hummus, potatoes, rice, and various salads. I was expecting to eat with our hands, but there was plastic silverware.
After dinner, we walked around the camp site and huddled around a large fire they had built. Then, we went back to our cozy cabin, grateful we did not have the idea of roughing it and sleeping in the open tents. It was quite cold out. Before bed, I explained to the kids how to put their socks over their shoes so scorpions would not get in. This was totally unnecessary, but I got a perverse pleasure from their seriousness on this matter. I learned this trick from my survival days in the desert, or maybe it was from a movie I saw, I can't remember.
The Beduin village (a.k.a. tourist trap) boasts a herd of about 20 camels, and the next morning, we took a ride on these large, gentle, awkward animals.
After our camel ride in the desert, which lasted about 30 minutes but left a pain in my buttocks for a bit longer than that, we drove to the Mitzpeh Ramon crater, Israel's version of the Grand Canyon. We took a short hike and then made several stops on our way South.
At one point, there was an area with mounds of colored sand that the children used to fill test tubes in artistic fashion.
After Mitzpeh Ramon, we headed South again, with our sights set on Eilat, a resort town on the edge of the Red Sea, bordering Jordan and Egypt. The trip took about two and a half hours from our last stop at Mitzpeh Ramon.
Eilat is known for its fancy waterfront hotels, expansive coral beaches, underwater observatory, and great nightlife and restaurants. We stayed at a place called Isrotel Agamim, about a 10 minute walk from the water. We opted for the half board option, which included breakfast and dinner. We arrived there on Friday night, and I was pretty disappointed with the dinner. However, my opinion changed on subsequent nights when the food was nothing short of gourmet, and Ann observed that since the restaurant was kosher, Friday night dinner consisted of food that had to be prepared in advance because no fire or electricity could be used on Shabbat. This explained why the options were so limited that first night.
The hotel had a ballroom reserved for lighting Hanukkah candles each night, and we were given the candle lighting times. I expected everyone to show up and light as a community, but strangely, each family picked a spot and a hanukkiah of their own and said the blessings themselves. There were parallel renditions of Maoz Tsur throughout the rooms, sung in various keys and intonations. It was quite a sight. We took turns with a different family member lighting each night.
On our first day, we went snorkeling in the coral reef area, with spectacular underwater views. This picture was taken from the underwater observatory.
The next day, we took a glass bottom boat tour for an even better view of this precious underwater phenomenon.
We spent one of our afternoons and evenings in Eilat in Timna park, which needs to be added as a "must see" to anyone traveling to Israel. This park consists of some incredible natural desert sights, and several man made ones. The area was used in ancient times as a copper mine, and there is access (for those with less claustrophobia than I have) to the underground caves. The rock formations are like nothing I've ever seen before, and driving from one spot to the next, we felt that the views could not be more spectacular. The rock below is called the mushroom, for obvious reasons.
These rock formations are known as Solomon's pillars, although we were disappointed to learn that King Solomon was not actually here, nor was he in historic times.
Here is Benny, pictured after climbing through the hole in the rock at the top of the picture.
This view of a naturally formed bridge in the rock is stunning.
Timna park was historically significant in large part because there was an oasis of water, which made it habitable. The children filled platic jars with colored sand in front of the Timna lake, and later everyone at the park participated in a Hanukkah candle lighting ceremony.
After three fun filled days in Eilat, we headed due North (the only direction to drive and stay in Israel) and stopped at the Hai Bar nature preserve. The place provides refuge for and rehabilitates endangered species. We took a driving tour through the park, guided by a CD, which explained the history of each of the species of animals in the park.
We stopped in Mizpeh Ramon for lunch, and then visited an alpaca farm, where the children rode alpacas and their father tried to ignore the smell.
After the farm, we headed further North and spent the night in a Kibbutz, where we had booked sleeping accommodations for two nights. At dinner time, the food in the dining room was our least appetizing meal of the trip, and we made a note not to eat there again the second night.
The next morning, we drove to a national park called Ein Avdat. This is one of the real national treasures of Israel. Unfortunately, the park has a hiking path that becomes one way about halfway through. There is a steep climb in the rocks, and given that 1,500 people take the hike in one day, they do not allow you to backtrack. Most tour groups have their bus drop them off and then meet them on the other side. As we were there with our car, once we reached the halfway point, I had to backtrack, get the car and drive to the other side to meet the family. Backtracking was very difficult, as there were several steep stairways carved out of the rock, full of Israelis who did not appreciate me going against traffic. Some of them expressed this to me in colorful language that I'd rather pretend I did not understand.
Ein Avdat has some of the most breathtaking views anywhere.
This stone staircase below is the one I had to navigate against traffic. I made my way bit by bit as people passed me and gave me a hard time. It was pretty scary. At one point, an Ibex startled everyone by running up the cliff side. The animal was disoriented by all the tourists, and it was actually quite scary. So much so, that everyone below him went back down, and everyone above him went back up. The animal left, and I got to start my descent against traffic from the beginning, with a bigger backlog of people at the bottom. It took me 45 minutes to get down.
In the afternoon, we drove to nearby Sde Boker, which is where David Ben Gurion spent his final years, and where he is buried. We visited his tomb, which overlooks the desert crater.
And, behind the tomb, we took one of the few family pictures with all five of us.
We returned to our Kibbutz, which had an indoor, heated pool, quite rare in Israel, and the kids swam and played for a while. Then, we decided to drive to Be'er Sheva for dinner. We found a great Asian restaurant which was quite better than the Kibbutz food, and then went back to the Kibbutz for our final night. In the morning, we drove a couple of hours home to Tel Aviv, and two days later the first storm of the year, a massive one, hit the country. Pretty good timing!
You cannot and should not visit Israel without a tour of the Negev. It's natural beauty is compelling, and all the major sights are within short driving range. One would have to purchase several airline tickets and budget several weeks of travel in the US to see a comparable, diverse set of marvels that can be seen in a six day trip with easy, short drives, in Israel.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Elementary School in Israel
It would be an understatement to say that the schools in Israel are different from those in the States. Our friends Peter & Tammy Stone spent a Sabbatical here a couple of years ago, and their children are close in age to ours, so we were well briefed on the Israeli school system in advance of our trip.
In Baltimore, we have a wealth of choices for educating our children. There are, of course, public school, but also enough private schools to meet every budget and for virtually every religious denomination. In Israel, unless you want to send your kids to the English speaking International school or to special religious schools, they most likely will attend public school. The schools vary in quality, mostly based on the demographics of the neighborhoods, as children are zoned for a particular school, and it is very difficult to get them into a different one. This circumstance is not without its merits, as it is common for elementary school children (grades 1-6) to walk to school and to live among their classmates in the same buildings or in adjacent ones.
When planning where to live during my Sabbatical, our first priority was finding the best school for the children. Several of our friends recommended the schools Nitzanim and Aruzim in Ramat Aviv. However, we had trouble finding housing that met our needs (more accurately our wants) in that neighborhood. Furthermore, upon inquiring, we were informed that the third grade at Nitzanim was likely to be full, and as we have two children in that grade, the likelihood was that we would not be able to register them there.
There is a neighborhood called Ramat Aviv Hahadasha that looked promising, but the school there was one to be avoided, according to various sources. Ultimately, we ended up in Ramat Aviv Gimel at the Gimel elementary school. The process of registering the children involved obtaining a lease to prove that we are Gimel residents and getting a notarized power of attorney letter giving Sharon Geva the authority to register our children. After several hours of my life (that I will never recover) at the Israeli embassy in Washington, I obtained the letter, mailed it to Sharon, and she took that and our lease to the city government building in Tel Aviv. Then, our kids were officially enrolled in school.
Ramat Aviv Gimel is the largest elementary school in Tel Aviv. The very popular long-time principal is on Sabbatical this year, and a young, energetic new interim principal is in her place, an ambitious young man who appears determined to make his mark. I estimate that Ilan Grossman is in his early 30s, and I predict that by the time he is 50, he will be in a senior administrative position in the Israeli department of education.
Shorlty after we arrived, we received a call from a woman named Anna, declaring that she was Tamara's teacher, and that she was interested in meeting all of us. We came to the school that same day, and met a delightful, young, energetic and charming teacher. She is originally from the Czech Republic and has been in Israel for about 14 years. She went over the curriculum with us and showed us what books Tamara needed to buy. She reassured us that Tamara would do fine in her class, and I believed her. We've been unbelievably impressed with Anna, and frankly, she may be one of the best teachers that I've ever known. She sends the parents weekly email updates about what is going on in the class, and she went out of her way to make sure Tamara had friends in the class, encouraging other parents to call Tamara for play dates. Thanks in large part to Anna, Tamara is having a very positive experience in school. She has regular play dates with classmates, occasional sleepovers, and to my delight, she is even developing a bit of an Israeli accent in Hebrew.
Elana and Benny are not faring quite as well, but for different reasons. Elana's teacher, Gila, is wonderful. She does not speak any English, which is probably a good thing for Elana's Hebrew, although she cannot communicate with Ann, so everything goes through me. Gila is on the verge of retirement. Apparently, the only person who retires more often than her is Brett Favre. The last time I spoke with her, I asked if she was coming back next year, and she sighed and said, she was retiring, but that maybe she would come back. She wasn't sure. Gila is very conscientious and has made a substantial effort to get other girls in the class to call Elana and to include her in activities. However, 12 year old girls are quite different from 8 year olds, and it's taken Elana a bit of time to integrate into the class. Of our three children, Elana is the only one without a classmate who speaks English fluently, and she has had to survive on her (rapidly improving) Hebrew alone.
But, I think the biggest problem for Elana has been the structure of the Israeli school system. Elana loves learning. She is constantly reading, looking up topics that interest her on Wikipedia. School for her has always challenged her and satiated her thirst for knowledge and understanding of the world. Whenever we encounter the need for a fact, before we consult Google, we ask Elana (who we nicknamed "encyclopedia") and very often she knows the answer, on many different topics. Learning is not always easy to come by in an Israeli classroom. Class sizes approach 40, with one teacher, and Israeli children tend to be much more wild and unruly than their American counterparts. For a child who cherishes learning and information, school here does not provide the kind of outlet that she is used to at Schechter, and it is sometimes very frustrating for her.
Whereas most of the girls in her class tend to wander around Ramat Aviv Gimel arm in arm with their girlfriends whom they've known since infancy, Elana does not have a strong friendship like she does back home. However, recently, things have begun turning around for her. There are girls who regularly come get her when it's time to go to out of school activities, such as the Scouts (Tsofim), and they walk her home. She often has lunch on Fridays with her friends from school in a shopping center near our house, and last night she attended a Bat Mitzvah party for one of her classmates and had a very good time. She got a ride there with one girl in her class and a ride home with another. In Gimel, a Bat Mizvah resembles a sweet 16 party, except it's for 12 year old girls. There is no religious component to it. Just, every girl gets a big birthday party when she turns 12, and it's called a Bat Mitzvah. Elana is turning 12 here on this trip, but we're planning an American style Bat Mitzvah for her next year in Baltimore. She'll have an aliya, read from the Torah, give a sermon, and if she does a good job, we'll let her have a party.
And now Benny. Oy, Benny. For the first month and a half that we were here, Benny decided he was on vacation. We did not realize this at first, but after a while, we grew suspicious of his claim that there was no homework, given that Tamara was getting a couple of hours worth a day in her class. We tried contacting his teacher, Ronit, and asking why Benny never comes home with homework. Ronit said that the homework was too hard for him because Benny does not know any Hebrew, and so she is giving him a break. She also delicately asked us if Benny had any learning disabilities or perhaps attention deficit disorder.
Deep breath. Here's more or less how we responded to her, through clinched teeth. Okay, first of all, Benny knows plenty of Hebrew. He knows how to read and write, and speaks it at least as well as Tamara. (It was helpful to have a twin in another 3rd grade class to make our point. We knew that Ronit could never compete with Anna in terms of the attention that she gives each student, but we felt she could try a little harder.) No, Benny does not have a learning disability. Sure, every parent thinks their kid is a genius, but based on his results at Schechter we are confident that he's well above average in every aspect of learning ability and cognition. Sure, he has trouble sitting still, but Benny is a very smart kid. And in this case, he's decided to apply his talents towards getting away without doing any work. Would it be too much to ask you to make sure he copies down the homework every day? We have a tutor at home that we hired to help the kids understand their assignments, but we need to know that he copies them down. That's all we're asking.
Her response was to refer us to the principal. Ann tried to reach Ilan on his cell phone number, which he had given me in case I ever had any questions. Don't hesitate if you need anything, call me, he had said. The principal answered and asked her if this was an emergency. He then gave her a lecture about calling him on his cell phone for non-emergencies. At this point we were wondering if his constant apparent concern and involvement was just an act. But, in truth, this was a while ago, and I've since formed the opinion that he must have been caught on a bad day. Israelis tend to be much more direct than we're used too, and they can easily offend Americans without realizing it. Anyway, the principal began by asking if we've had Benny tested for learning disabilities. We patiently explained that we believe that the problem is that he's getting away without doing any homework because his teacher has decided that it is not worth the effort to give him any assignments because he can't do them and because we're returning to the States next year. All we want is for the teacher to make sure he gets his assignments. The principal said that the only way to resolve this is to meet with Ronit.
The meeting was held the next day, made a bit awkward by a long, flaming email message that I sent her the night before. I couldn't help myself, and in hindsight, it was the wrong move. She started out very defensive. At Ann's urging, I profusely apologized for my message and said that I'm sure she's doing everything she can, and that all we want to do is something simple. When Benny comes home from school and says, as he always does, that there was no homework today, we want to know if it's true. She showed us where she writes the assignment on the board every day, and that gave me an idea. Every day, Benny has to copy the assignment from the board and get her to initial it or write a check mark. If he comes home without the check mark, then he will be punished. If there is no homework, then he needs to write "no homework" and get the teacher to sign or put a check mark. Ronit agreed to the plan.
I then had a long and serious talk with Benny about the importance of education, school and responsibility. I can tell you that I would not have enjoyed being on the receiving end of that talk. I probably would have hated it more than Benny did. It was the kind of "talk" that I had on a few memorable occasions when my Dad was less than pleased with me, and I'm still traumatized by those encounters. I explained to Benny that his vacation was over, and that he was going to have to get serious about work. Then I laid out the consequences of him coming home without the check marks. Without going into details, let's say that he tried it once or twice, and then realized it wasn't worth it, and since then, he's been getting his assignments and doing his homework.
Socially, Benny has been doing great. He is an extremely confident and social kid. I went on a class field trip to Jerusalem with him and saw that he was at the center of attention every step of the way. On the bus, all the kids wanted to sit with him. Walking to the Wall, he was the leader of the pack, and I noticed at one point that a couple of the girls offered him candy. He mostly speaks English to the other kids who answer him in Hebrew. The language does not seem to be a barrier for him. He is constantly on play dates and sleepovers, and if he had his way, I doubt we'd see much of him on weekends. I don't think he has an insecure bone in his body.
Much of the communication from the school to the parents happens over email. My Hebrew reading skills are not on par with my speaking ability, and this has resulted in some misunderstandings. For example, we received an email saying that we were supposed to meet with all of the kids' teachers for parent/teacher conferences. We decided that only I would go because Ann would not be able to understand what the teachers were saying anyway. I made the 3 appointments. Elana's was first, and so on the indicated day, I took off from work, went to the school, and met with Gila. She closed the door and said, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" I was confused and said that the email from the school said to make appointments with the teachers. She said that I misunderstood the message, and that it was just saying that such meetings are going to be held in the future. Oh. So, anyway, we had a nice discussion about Elana, and then I called the twins' teachers and cancelled the meetings, although Anna said she'd be delighted to speak about Tamara anytime. Later this week, we have the real parent/teacher conferences (I think), and I'll find out more about how they are doing.
Overall, the school system in Israel is disappointing. While I believe we ended up in one of the very best public schools, with two out of three exceptional teachers, I can't help but wonder how this country, which values children so much, got its priorities so wrong. Children in these schools who cherish learning are out of place. And, from what I hear, most other schools are a lot worse. Violence among the children is apparently commonplace, although we have not seen much of this first hand.
I understand that Israel has to spend a tremendous proportion of its GNP on security. The country has a great public transportation infrastructure. Wonderful parks. Great public beaches. And, while the economy lags behind the US and some other countries, Israel appears to be in pretty good shape. But, they are killing their seed corn. One of the greatest resources here is the talent level of the people. Israel's impact on high tech, medicine, biology is legendary. And, rather than nurturing their young minds and encouraging academics at an early age, the school system is ridiculously under funded. Instead of 40 screaming kids per teacher, they should have 15 (without the screaming). Magnet schools should be set up, and a program should be in place for identifying gifted and talented kids at an early age. Israeli children are in school from 8 a.m - 1:30 p.m. six days a week. That system needs to be re-examined. No other country in the world (to my knowledge) practices these hours. If American middle schoolers can handle 8 a.m. - 4:00 p.m., so can Israeli kids. The teachers are each given one day off during the week, so they effectively have a 5 day work week. On the days that their teachers are off, the students are occupied by a hodgepodge of activities, including origami, playing with animals, and other non-educational subjects. It is a true shame that a country that I believe boasts more brain power per capita than any other is letting the opportunity to nurture this potential go to waste.
I have no doubt that the kids will return to Schechter in Baltimore next year and will hit the ground running. They have kept up with the math from back home, in addition to learning the math that is taught here, and whatever little they might be behind in some of their English subjects is more than compensated for by their life experience and their advancement in Hebrew subjects. Overall it is a big win, and while the kids are finding it challenging and at times overwhelming, I believe that the risk we took coming here for a year has definitely paid off.
In Baltimore, we have a wealth of choices for educating our children. There are, of course, public school, but also enough private schools to meet every budget and for virtually every religious denomination. In Israel, unless you want to send your kids to the English speaking International school or to special religious schools, they most likely will attend public school. The schools vary in quality, mostly based on the demographics of the neighborhoods, as children are zoned for a particular school, and it is very difficult to get them into a different one. This circumstance is not without its merits, as it is common for elementary school children (grades 1-6) to walk to school and to live among their classmates in the same buildings or in adjacent ones.
When planning where to live during my Sabbatical, our first priority was finding the best school for the children. Several of our friends recommended the schools Nitzanim and Aruzim in Ramat Aviv. However, we had trouble finding housing that met our needs (more accurately our wants) in that neighborhood. Furthermore, upon inquiring, we were informed that the third grade at Nitzanim was likely to be full, and as we have two children in that grade, the likelihood was that we would not be able to register them there.
There is a neighborhood called Ramat Aviv Hahadasha that looked promising, but the school there was one to be avoided, according to various sources. Ultimately, we ended up in Ramat Aviv Gimel at the Gimel elementary school. The process of registering the children involved obtaining a lease to prove that we are Gimel residents and getting a notarized power of attorney letter giving Sharon Geva the authority to register our children. After several hours of my life (that I will never recover) at the Israeli embassy in Washington, I obtained the letter, mailed it to Sharon, and she took that and our lease to the city government building in Tel Aviv. Then, our kids were officially enrolled in school.
Ramat Aviv Gimel is the largest elementary school in Tel Aviv. The very popular long-time principal is on Sabbatical this year, and a young, energetic new interim principal is in her place, an ambitious young man who appears determined to make his mark. I estimate that Ilan Grossman is in his early 30s, and I predict that by the time he is 50, he will be in a senior administrative position in the Israeli department of education.
Shorlty after we arrived, we received a call from a woman named Anna, declaring that she was Tamara's teacher, and that she was interested in meeting all of us. We came to the school that same day, and met a delightful, young, energetic and charming teacher. She is originally from the Czech Republic and has been in Israel for about 14 years. She went over the curriculum with us and showed us what books Tamara needed to buy. She reassured us that Tamara would do fine in her class, and I believed her. We've been unbelievably impressed with Anna, and frankly, she may be one of the best teachers that I've ever known. She sends the parents weekly email updates about what is going on in the class, and she went out of her way to make sure Tamara had friends in the class, encouraging other parents to call Tamara for play dates. Thanks in large part to Anna, Tamara is having a very positive experience in school. She has regular play dates with classmates, occasional sleepovers, and to my delight, she is even developing a bit of an Israeli accent in Hebrew.
Elana and Benny are not faring quite as well, but for different reasons. Elana's teacher, Gila, is wonderful. She does not speak any English, which is probably a good thing for Elana's Hebrew, although she cannot communicate with Ann, so everything goes through me. Gila is on the verge of retirement. Apparently, the only person who retires more often than her is Brett Favre. The last time I spoke with her, I asked if she was coming back next year, and she sighed and said, she was retiring, but that maybe she would come back. She wasn't sure. Gila is very conscientious and has made a substantial effort to get other girls in the class to call Elana and to include her in activities. However, 12 year old girls are quite different from 8 year olds, and it's taken Elana a bit of time to integrate into the class. Of our three children, Elana is the only one without a classmate who speaks English fluently, and she has had to survive on her (rapidly improving) Hebrew alone.
But, I think the biggest problem for Elana has been the structure of the Israeli school system. Elana loves learning. She is constantly reading, looking up topics that interest her on Wikipedia. School for her has always challenged her and satiated her thirst for knowledge and understanding of the world. Whenever we encounter the need for a fact, before we consult Google, we ask Elana (who we nicknamed "encyclopedia") and very often she knows the answer, on many different topics. Learning is not always easy to come by in an Israeli classroom. Class sizes approach 40, with one teacher, and Israeli children tend to be much more wild and unruly than their American counterparts. For a child who cherishes learning and information, school here does not provide the kind of outlet that she is used to at Schechter, and it is sometimes very frustrating for her.
Whereas most of the girls in her class tend to wander around Ramat Aviv Gimel arm in arm with their girlfriends whom they've known since infancy, Elana does not have a strong friendship like she does back home. However, recently, things have begun turning around for her. There are girls who regularly come get her when it's time to go to out of school activities, such as the Scouts (Tsofim), and they walk her home. She often has lunch on Fridays with her friends from school in a shopping center near our house, and last night she attended a Bat Mitzvah party for one of her classmates and had a very good time. She got a ride there with one girl in her class and a ride home with another. In Gimel, a Bat Mizvah resembles a sweet 16 party, except it's for 12 year old girls. There is no religious component to it. Just, every girl gets a big birthday party when she turns 12, and it's called a Bat Mitzvah. Elana is turning 12 here on this trip, but we're planning an American style Bat Mitzvah for her next year in Baltimore. She'll have an aliya, read from the Torah, give a sermon, and if she does a good job, we'll let her have a party.
And now Benny. Oy, Benny. For the first month and a half that we were here, Benny decided he was on vacation. We did not realize this at first, but after a while, we grew suspicious of his claim that there was no homework, given that Tamara was getting a couple of hours worth a day in her class. We tried contacting his teacher, Ronit, and asking why Benny never comes home with homework. Ronit said that the homework was too hard for him because Benny does not know any Hebrew, and so she is giving him a break. She also delicately asked us if Benny had any learning disabilities or perhaps attention deficit disorder.
Deep breath. Here's more or less how we responded to her, through clinched teeth. Okay, first of all, Benny knows plenty of Hebrew. He knows how to read and write, and speaks it at least as well as Tamara. (It was helpful to have a twin in another 3rd grade class to make our point. We knew that Ronit could never compete with Anna in terms of the attention that she gives each student, but we felt she could try a little harder.) No, Benny does not have a learning disability. Sure, every parent thinks their kid is a genius, but based on his results at Schechter we are confident that he's well above average in every aspect of learning ability and cognition. Sure, he has trouble sitting still, but Benny is a very smart kid. And in this case, he's decided to apply his talents towards getting away without doing any work. Would it be too much to ask you to make sure he copies down the homework every day? We have a tutor at home that we hired to help the kids understand their assignments, but we need to know that he copies them down. That's all we're asking.
Her response was to refer us to the principal. Ann tried to reach Ilan on his cell phone number, which he had given me in case I ever had any questions. Don't hesitate if you need anything, call me, he had said. The principal answered and asked her if this was an emergency. He then gave her a lecture about calling him on his cell phone for non-emergencies. At this point we were wondering if his constant apparent concern and involvement was just an act. But, in truth, this was a while ago, and I've since formed the opinion that he must have been caught on a bad day. Israelis tend to be much more direct than we're used too, and they can easily offend Americans without realizing it. Anyway, the principal began by asking if we've had Benny tested for learning disabilities. We patiently explained that we believe that the problem is that he's getting away without doing any homework because his teacher has decided that it is not worth the effort to give him any assignments because he can't do them and because we're returning to the States next year. All we want is for the teacher to make sure he gets his assignments. The principal said that the only way to resolve this is to meet with Ronit.
The meeting was held the next day, made a bit awkward by a long, flaming email message that I sent her the night before. I couldn't help myself, and in hindsight, it was the wrong move. She started out very defensive. At Ann's urging, I profusely apologized for my message and said that I'm sure she's doing everything she can, and that all we want to do is something simple. When Benny comes home from school and says, as he always does, that there was no homework today, we want to know if it's true. She showed us where she writes the assignment on the board every day, and that gave me an idea. Every day, Benny has to copy the assignment from the board and get her to initial it or write a check mark. If he comes home without the check mark, then he will be punished. If there is no homework, then he needs to write "no homework" and get the teacher to sign or put a check mark. Ronit agreed to the plan.
I then had a long and serious talk with Benny about the importance of education, school and responsibility. I can tell you that I would not have enjoyed being on the receiving end of that talk. I probably would have hated it more than Benny did. It was the kind of "talk" that I had on a few memorable occasions when my Dad was less than pleased with me, and I'm still traumatized by those encounters. I explained to Benny that his vacation was over, and that he was going to have to get serious about work. Then I laid out the consequences of him coming home without the check marks. Without going into details, let's say that he tried it once or twice, and then realized it wasn't worth it, and since then, he's been getting his assignments and doing his homework.
Socially, Benny has been doing great. He is an extremely confident and social kid. I went on a class field trip to Jerusalem with him and saw that he was at the center of attention every step of the way. On the bus, all the kids wanted to sit with him. Walking to the Wall, he was the leader of the pack, and I noticed at one point that a couple of the girls offered him candy. He mostly speaks English to the other kids who answer him in Hebrew. The language does not seem to be a barrier for him. He is constantly on play dates and sleepovers, and if he had his way, I doubt we'd see much of him on weekends. I don't think he has an insecure bone in his body.
Much of the communication from the school to the parents happens over email. My Hebrew reading skills are not on par with my speaking ability, and this has resulted in some misunderstandings. For example, we received an email saying that we were supposed to meet with all of the kids' teachers for parent/teacher conferences. We decided that only I would go because Ann would not be able to understand what the teachers were saying anyway. I made the 3 appointments. Elana's was first, and so on the indicated day, I took off from work, went to the school, and met with Gila. She closed the door and said, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" I was confused and said that the email from the school said to make appointments with the teachers. She said that I misunderstood the message, and that it was just saying that such meetings are going to be held in the future. Oh. So, anyway, we had a nice discussion about Elana, and then I called the twins' teachers and cancelled the meetings, although Anna said she'd be delighted to speak about Tamara anytime. Later this week, we have the real parent/teacher conferences (I think), and I'll find out more about how they are doing.
Overall, the school system in Israel is disappointing. While I believe we ended up in one of the very best public schools, with two out of three exceptional teachers, I can't help but wonder how this country, which values children so much, got its priorities so wrong. Children in these schools who cherish learning are out of place. And, from what I hear, most other schools are a lot worse. Violence among the children is apparently commonplace, although we have not seen much of this first hand.
I understand that Israel has to spend a tremendous proportion of its GNP on security. The country has a great public transportation infrastructure. Wonderful parks. Great public beaches. And, while the economy lags behind the US and some other countries, Israel appears to be in pretty good shape. But, they are killing their seed corn. One of the greatest resources here is the talent level of the people. Israel's impact on high tech, medicine, biology is legendary. And, rather than nurturing their young minds and encouraging academics at an early age, the school system is ridiculously under funded. Instead of 40 screaming kids per teacher, they should have 15 (without the screaming). Magnet schools should be set up, and a program should be in place for identifying gifted and talented kids at an early age. Israeli children are in school from 8 a.m - 1:30 p.m. six days a week. That system needs to be re-examined. No other country in the world (to my knowledge) practices these hours. If American middle schoolers can handle 8 a.m. - 4:00 p.m., so can Israeli kids. The teachers are each given one day off during the week, so they effectively have a 5 day work week. On the days that their teachers are off, the students are occupied by a hodgepodge of activities, including origami, playing with animals, and other non-educational subjects. It is a true shame that a country that I believe boasts more brain power per capita than any other is letting the opportunity to nurture this potential go to waste.
I have no doubt that the kids will return to Schechter in Baltimore next year and will hit the ground running. They have kept up with the math from back home, in addition to learning the math that is taught here, and whatever little they might be behind in some of their English subjects is more than compensated for by their life experience and their advancement in Hebrew subjects. Overall it is a big win, and while the kids are finding it challenging and at times overwhelming, I believe that the risk we took coming here for a year has definitely paid off.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Dealing with Medical Issues
One of the most intimidating aspects of spending a year abroad is the prospect of dealing with a foreign medical establishment. Everything is different. Expected wait times, dealing with insurance, doctor-patient relations. I knew that it was impossible to go a whole year without some medical issues, and sure enough, in the first 3+ months, we've had our share.
I should point out that I viewed my potential interaction with medical treatment in Israel both as a consumer, and as a researcher, as my Fulbright project involves working with the Israeli HMOs on medical record security. So I approach each health challenge with some degree of curiosity, along with the anxiety that always accompanies such experiences. When I injured my wrist (described below), my host at Tel Aviv University, Ran Canetti wondered if this was my way of embedding myself in this issue, the way I became en election judge when working on e-voting.
Our first interaction with the Israeli medical system came when Benny managed to split open his foot running through the apartment. We were worried that he needed stitches because the cut would not close. Coincidentally, I had a meeting with one of the doctors at the Maccabi headquarters that day. Maccabi is the largest HMO in Israel and services over 2 million patients, just under 30% of the population. Ann and I spoke by phone, and she decided to take him to the Maccabi clinic near our house. They dressed and closed the injury, but when Ann was ready to pay, they were surprised to learn that we were not registered with Maccabi, and they said they did not have a mechanism to collect payment. The doctor wanted Benny to be re-examined a couple of days later, but the administrators at the clinic said that we could not be seen unless the children were registered.
Ann called me on my cell phone during my meeting at Maccabi, and a few minutes later, the clerks at the clinic were speaking with a senior official from their HMO. However, they were adamant that unless we were registered, they could not treat us, and apparently going over their head had no impact. Meanwhile, I obtained the number of a private doctor for Benny. Ann called the doctor who informed her that he did not see patients outside of the HMO, but that she should just get into a cab and ask him to take her to Magen David Adom, which provides emergency medical services and runs an ambulance service. I can just picture the wide open eyes of a Tel Aviv taxi driver as a frantic, American mother enters with her wounded child and asks to be taken to Magen David Adom. That cab ride would probably put him in more danger than his injury. We began looking for another private doctor, but in the meantime, Benny's foot healed.
Having a general purpose clinic right near our home is a great feature of living in a city like this, but not if they won't treat you, and I did not like our chances when it came to sneaking each kid in until it was time for payment and then being kicked out. I figured that this only works once. So, I went to the clinic and was forced to wait about an hour in the waiting room before I could meet the head administrator and request to register our family in the clinic. She said that only Israelis can be registered. I pulled out the childrens' and my Israeli passports and said that we were in fact Israelis. She frowned as though this was not what she was expecting nor hoping for, and sat down at her computer. After punching her keyboard for a few minutes, she looked up and said that I have to go to the bituach leumi, which means national insurance before I can register myself and the kids. I tried in vain to argue with her, but she said that without a visit downtown to the bituach leumi, there was nothing she could do.
I know the drill in Israel, so I decided it was worth wasting a few hours, or maybe days, of my life to take care of this. I called the bituach leumi office several times before I managed to speak with someone, and that person told me that it would not be a problem. She said I should bring my letter from Tel Aviv University regarding my appointment, all of our passports, Israeli and American, my Fulbright award notice, and anything else I could think of. I realized that what she was saying was that I would probably not be greeted with cooperation, and that I need to be prepared to make my case.
Feeling like a lawyer heading to argue his first case before the Supreme Court, I collected all of the relevant materials and headed downtown to the bituach leumi offices. The entrance to the national insurance office, once I got past security, was a complete mob scene. I was mentally prepared to spend my day there and to deal with a slow uncooperative bureaucracy, but I was still taken aback. There were people everywhere. I wanted to get in line somewhere, but I could not find a line. I saw a security guard, and I asked him where I'm supposed to go for . . . but before I could explain what I wanted, he stated that he was just security and had no idea. I decided that this was one of those moments when I had to put my manners and all of my cultured upbringing aside. I looked at the part of the mob that seemed to be going most aggressively in a particular direction and decided that this is more likely to be the right mob than the other ones. I started squeezing my way to the front. People yelled at me and asked me to get behind them, and I said that I just had a question. People replied that they all had questions. That made sense, but I pushed on ahead. Several times I was yelled at, but I just yelled something back. After about 45 minutes, I ended up near the front of the mob, and I managed to approach the desk. I explained why I was here, and of course, I was told that I was in the wrong line, and she pointed to another collection of people at the other end of a long hallway.
I went down there and discovered that there was a number dispensing machine. So, I took a number. I looked up at the board with the numbers, and saw that my number was several hundred higher than the displayed number. So, either they already called my number a while ago, or something was wrong. I asked one of the people waiting what the deal was with the numbers, and he explained that everybody is keeping track of when they came because the number dispenser is not working. I asked him how in the world I'm supposed to know when it was my turn. He looked up and yelled very loudly, "Who is last?" And some woman in the back yelled, "I am". He turned to me and said, you are after her. Over the next hour, people showed up and they seemed to know what to do. They yelled "who is last?" and got the reply. And thus, when it was finally my turn, I went right after that woman who had responded initially. Peculiar system, but it works.
When I finally got to meet the clerk at the bituach leumi, I started explaining that I'm a visiting professor on a Fulbright, and I pulled out all the evidence and laid it out. He asked me what I wanted, and I said that I and my children are Israeli citizens, pulling out further evidence, and we wanted to register with Maccabi. He looked at me and said. "That's impossible." Just like that. I knew that I was expected to argue with him, and I did not want to let him down. But, nothing worked. I asked to see his supervisor, and he said that he was the supervisor. I was feeling desperate, so I said to him, "Here's the situation. I'm in this country for a year. I have three young children. What am I supposed to do if they get sick?" I know that Israelis are super-sympathetic to children. I even showed him their picture on my cell phone. He said that he was very sorry, but that there are private doctors who will see them if they are sick. I said that when I called on the phone, the person told me that I should bring all this stuff, and that it would work out. He rolled his eyes and launched into a lecture about how the people on the phone are college students in Beer Sheva who don't know anything, and how frustrated he is with them always giving out wrong information on the phone.
I gave up and left.
Shortly after that experience, I injured my foot playing soccer. At first I thought it would heal on its own, but when I was still limping 3 weeks later, I decided to have it seen. I asked around, and a friend of mine recommended a private hospital in Herzeliya called the Herzeliya Medical Center (HMC). I called them up and made an appointment to see an orthopedist. He was American and seemed very good. He ordered x-rays, and told me I had a bone contusion (bruise), and that I was fine, and I could do anything but use pain as a guide. It was a good interaction and not that different from how such a doctor's visit would go in the States. Furthermore, the HMC accepted my Seven Corners health insurance that I received as part of the Fulbright program.
But, luck was not on my side. A couple of weeks ago, I fell off of my bike riding to work. I missed the ramp from the sidewalk because I was looking to see if any cars were coming, and I happened to go off the curb over a sewer drain, which was a bit high up. My front wheel collapsed, and I hit the ground hard. I put out my left hand to break my fall, and when I finally got up, my hand and wrist were killing me. I went home and immediately drove to HMC. Lucky for me, there was a hand surgeon there. Unlucky for me, he was not nearly as nice as the orthopedist who saw my foot. I ended up spending 6 hours there, about 3 minutes of which were with the doctor. He made me wait outside in the hall while he met with other patients and performed surgery. I was told that he had squeezed me into an already overpacked schedule, and I was grateful, although I was not happy about the service I was getting. In my brief meeting with him, he told me that the x-ray was inconclusive, but that he did not see a fracture. However, he thought I may have broken my scaphoid, a small bone that usually required surgery to repair. He said that I should wear a brace all the time, and that he wants more x-rays in 2 weeks to determine whether or not there is a fracture. I was supposed to take it very easy with my hand.
So, for 2 weeks, I wore the brace, did not ride my bike, and took it very easy. I was optimistic that the bone was not broken because after a few days, the pain went away, and there was only the discomfort of wearing the brace all the time, even to sleep. On Sunday, I went back to have the repeat x-rays taken, confident that I would be told I was fine. The doctor was not there, so I left my cell phone number for him to call me with the results. Ann and I had plans at a very nice restaurant that night. As we were leaving the house for dinner, my phone rang, and it was the doctor. He said that he saw a line that looked like a fracture. He asked me where I lived, and I said Tel Aviv. He said that in that case, he wanted to see me again next Sunday because he was not going to be in Tel Aviv until then. And he hung up. I was in complete shock. If my wrist was broken, shouldn't it be in a cast? Am I supposed to wear the brace? There's no way I'm waiting a week to take care of this.
Ann and I went to the dinner, and while I enjoyed the food, I was absolutely miserable. I faced the prospect of 6 of the next 7.5 months in Israel in a cast, possible surgery in this country, and an unpleasant recovery. I was particularly disappointed because I had convinced myself that my wrist was fine before that call came in.
The next morning, I made my mission to find the best hand surgeon in Israel and see them right away. In hindsight, nothing could be more naive. I pulled out all the stops and wrote to everyone I knew here in Israel asking for recommendations. Several people started making phone calls on my behalf. The big breaks came from the doctors I had met here as part of my research, including a private doctor and some doctors at Maccabi. I also had an orthopedic surgeon in Baltimore and my uncle who is a famous doctor on the case. By the end of the day, I had the names of two well regarded hand surgeons who practiced in Tel Aviv, among other places.
I called one of them, and the earliest appointment I could get was for December 21. I begged and pleaded and explained the urgent nature of my situation. I had a potentially broken wrist with no cast on. I needed to be seen by a specialist ASAP. The receptionist would not help me. So, I googled the doctor and found her email address through some of her research publications. I wrote her a long desperate email, invoking my professor position at Johns Hopkins, hoping that she would make the association with medicine. But, she never answered. In the meantime, I called the other doctor and sent her a similar email message. The other doctor, Dr. Hagar Patish responded to my message in the afternoon and said she could see me the next evening at her house where she has a clinic. Bingo!
I had to go back to HMC to pick up the x-ray so that I could bring it to Dr. Patish. Tuesday morning, I drove to Herzeliya and retrieved the CD containing the x-ray. The receptionist there told me that there was a report with the x-ray. I said that I knew that, and that I had spoken to the doctor. She suggested putting the report in the case with the disk. On my way to the car, I opened the report to read it, and to my surprise, it said "no fracture found" and it was signed by a radiologist. What?!?!? A wave of relief swept over me, but I still was a bit nervous. What was that doctor who called me talking about? Tuesday night could not come quickly enough.
I don't remember much about Tuesday (yesterday). All day long I was preparing for the meeting with the hand surgeon. I was barely able to eat. At 4:45 pm, I drove Benny to soccer practice and then proceeded to enjoy an hour of Tel Aviv traffic as I headed to the doctor's house. Ann went to get Benny when his practice was over. Dr. Patish greeted me warmly. She asked me some questions and then pulled up the x-rays on her monitor. It was the friendliest experience I can ever remember having with a doctor. She showed me every aspect of the x-rays, and pointed to a line on the scaphoid on the first set of x-rays. She said that this line could indicate a fracture, but that strangely, the line continued past the bone, so maybe it was just something on the picture. She then pulled up the x-rays from two weeks later and we went over them. She took several minutes and told me that she saw no evidence of any fracture, and that she was pretty comfortable ruling out a broken scaphoid. She said that if there were a fracture from the first x-ray, two weeks later it would be magnified. She then performed a physical exam (does this hurt? does this hurt?) and said that she was even more certain that the wrist was fine. She also said that I absolutely should have been in a cast immediately after that first set of x-rays. If the scaphoid was broken, and there was reasonable evidence that it might be, it would be very serious not to have it in a cast. Yet more evidence of how much of a loser that first doctor was, and a lesson to me about finding the right doctor early when something serious is going on.
After the examination, we launched into about a 40 minute discussion of electronic medical records, about my research, patient privacy and about her opinions of medicine in Israel versus the US. Finally, I asked her if she could take the Seven Corners insurance or if I should pay and then get reimbursed from my insurance back home. She responded to me, "You are my guest here." At first I did not understand, but then she explained that she was not going to charge me for the visit. I was embarrassed and muttered something like "Are you sure?" and tried to protest, but she would have none of it.
Only in Israel.
On the drive home, I was just amazed at the quality of treatment I had just received. No doctor had ever explained to me my condition and all the potential ramifications as clearly or thoughtfully as she had. She showed me the x-rays and discussed them as though I were a medical student and she was my professor. And in the end to not charge me. I know from some of my phone calls on Monday that most orthopedists in Israel when treating a foreigner as a private patient charge 800 shekels (a bit over $220) just to say hello.
I'm not thrilled about the prospect of dealing with whatever medical issues come our way in our remaining time in Israel. But, the knowledge that there are doctors here like Dr. Patish, even if they are hard to find, is very comforting.
I should point out that I viewed my potential interaction with medical treatment in Israel both as a consumer, and as a researcher, as my Fulbright project involves working with the Israeli HMOs on medical record security. So I approach each health challenge with some degree of curiosity, along with the anxiety that always accompanies such experiences. When I injured my wrist (described below), my host at Tel Aviv University, Ran Canetti wondered if this was my way of embedding myself in this issue, the way I became en election judge when working on e-voting.
Our first interaction with the Israeli medical system came when Benny managed to split open his foot running through the apartment. We were worried that he needed stitches because the cut would not close. Coincidentally, I had a meeting with one of the doctors at the Maccabi headquarters that day. Maccabi is the largest HMO in Israel and services over 2 million patients, just under 30% of the population. Ann and I spoke by phone, and she decided to take him to the Maccabi clinic near our house. They dressed and closed the injury, but when Ann was ready to pay, they were surprised to learn that we were not registered with Maccabi, and they said they did not have a mechanism to collect payment. The doctor wanted Benny to be re-examined a couple of days later, but the administrators at the clinic said that we could not be seen unless the children were registered.
Ann called me on my cell phone during my meeting at Maccabi, and a few minutes later, the clerks at the clinic were speaking with a senior official from their HMO. However, they were adamant that unless we were registered, they could not treat us, and apparently going over their head had no impact. Meanwhile, I obtained the number of a private doctor for Benny. Ann called the doctor who informed her that he did not see patients outside of the HMO, but that she should just get into a cab and ask him to take her to Magen David Adom, which provides emergency medical services and runs an ambulance service. I can just picture the wide open eyes of a Tel Aviv taxi driver as a frantic, American mother enters with her wounded child and asks to be taken to Magen David Adom. That cab ride would probably put him in more danger than his injury. We began looking for another private doctor, but in the meantime, Benny's foot healed.
Having a general purpose clinic right near our home is a great feature of living in a city like this, but not if they won't treat you, and I did not like our chances when it came to sneaking each kid in until it was time for payment and then being kicked out. I figured that this only works once. So, I went to the clinic and was forced to wait about an hour in the waiting room before I could meet the head administrator and request to register our family in the clinic. She said that only Israelis can be registered. I pulled out the childrens' and my Israeli passports and said that we were in fact Israelis. She frowned as though this was not what she was expecting nor hoping for, and sat down at her computer. After punching her keyboard for a few minutes, she looked up and said that I have to go to the bituach leumi, which means national insurance before I can register myself and the kids. I tried in vain to argue with her, but she said that without a visit downtown to the bituach leumi, there was nothing she could do.
I know the drill in Israel, so I decided it was worth wasting a few hours, or maybe days, of my life to take care of this. I called the bituach leumi office several times before I managed to speak with someone, and that person told me that it would not be a problem. She said I should bring my letter from Tel Aviv University regarding my appointment, all of our passports, Israeli and American, my Fulbright award notice, and anything else I could think of. I realized that what she was saying was that I would probably not be greeted with cooperation, and that I need to be prepared to make my case.
Feeling like a lawyer heading to argue his first case before the Supreme Court, I collected all of the relevant materials and headed downtown to the bituach leumi offices. The entrance to the national insurance office, once I got past security, was a complete mob scene. I was mentally prepared to spend my day there and to deal with a slow uncooperative bureaucracy, but I was still taken aback. There were people everywhere. I wanted to get in line somewhere, but I could not find a line. I saw a security guard, and I asked him where I'm supposed to go for . . . but before I could explain what I wanted, he stated that he was just security and had no idea. I decided that this was one of those moments when I had to put my manners and all of my cultured upbringing aside. I looked at the part of the mob that seemed to be going most aggressively in a particular direction and decided that this is more likely to be the right mob than the other ones. I started squeezing my way to the front. People yelled at me and asked me to get behind them, and I said that I just had a question. People replied that they all had questions. That made sense, but I pushed on ahead. Several times I was yelled at, but I just yelled something back. After about 45 minutes, I ended up near the front of the mob, and I managed to approach the desk. I explained why I was here, and of course, I was told that I was in the wrong line, and she pointed to another collection of people at the other end of a long hallway.
I went down there and discovered that there was a number dispensing machine. So, I took a number. I looked up at the board with the numbers, and saw that my number was several hundred higher than the displayed number. So, either they already called my number a while ago, or something was wrong. I asked one of the people waiting what the deal was with the numbers, and he explained that everybody is keeping track of when they came because the number dispenser is not working. I asked him how in the world I'm supposed to know when it was my turn. He looked up and yelled very loudly, "Who is last?" And some woman in the back yelled, "I am". He turned to me and said, you are after her. Over the next hour, people showed up and they seemed to know what to do. They yelled "who is last?" and got the reply. And thus, when it was finally my turn, I went right after that woman who had responded initially. Peculiar system, but it works.
When I finally got to meet the clerk at the bituach leumi, I started explaining that I'm a visiting professor on a Fulbright, and I pulled out all the evidence and laid it out. He asked me what I wanted, and I said that I and my children are Israeli citizens, pulling out further evidence, and we wanted to register with Maccabi. He looked at me and said. "That's impossible." Just like that. I knew that I was expected to argue with him, and I did not want to let him down. But, nothing worked. I asked to see his supervisor, and he said that he was the supervisor. I was feeling desperate, so I said to him, "Here's the situation. I'm in this country for a year. I have three young children. What am I supposed to do if they get sick?" I know that Israelis are super-sympathetic to children. I even showed him their picture on my cell phone. He said that he was very sorry, but that there are private doctors who will see them if they are sick. I said that when I called on the phone, the person told me that I should bring all this stuff, and that it would work out. He rolled his eyes and launched into a lecture about how the people on the phone are college students in Beer Sheva who don't know anything, and how frustrated he is with them always giving out wrong information on the phone.
I gave up and left.
Shortly after that experience, I injured my foot playing soccer. At first I thought it would heal on its own, but when I was still limping 3 weeks later, I decided to have it seen. I asked around, and a friend of mine recommended a private hospital in Herzeliya called the Herzeliya Medical Center (HMC). I called them up and made an appointment to see an orthopedist. He was American and seemed very good. He ordered x-rays, and told me I had a bone contusion (bruise), and that I was fine, and I could do anything but use pain as a guide. It was a good interaction and not that different from how such a doctor's visit would go in the States. Furthermore, the HMC accepted my Seven Corners health insurance that I received as part of the Fulbright program.
But, luck was not on my side. A couple of weeks ago, I fell off of my bike riding to work. I missed the ramp from the sidewalk because I was looking to see if any cars were coming, and I happened to go off the curb over a sewer drain, which was a bit high up. My front wheel collapsed, and I hit the ground hard. I put out my left hand to break my fall, and when I finally got up, my hand and wrist were killing me. I went home and immediately drove to HMC. Lucky for me, there was a hand surgeon there. Unlucky for me, he was not nearly as nice as the orthopedist who saw my foot. I ended up spending 6 hours there, about 3 minutes of which were with the doctor. He made me wait outside in the hall while he met with other patients and performed surgery. I was told that he had squeezed me into an already overpacked schedule, and I was grateful, although I was not happy about the service I was getting. In my brief meeting with him, he told me that the x-ray was inconclusive, but that he did not see a fracture. However, he thought I may have broken my scaphoid, a small bone that usually required surgery to repair. He said that I should wear a brace all the time, and that he wants more x-rays in 2 weeks to determine whether or not there is a fracture. I was supposed to take it very easy with my hand.
So, for 2 weeks, I wore the brace, did not ride my bike, and took it very easy. I was optimistic that the bone was not broken because after a few days, the pain went away, and there was only the discomfort of wearing the brace all the time, even to sleep. On Sunday, I went back to have the repeat x-rays taken, confident that I would be told I was fine. The doctor was not there, so I left my cell phone number for him to call me with the results. Ann and I had plans at a very nice restaurant that night. As we were leaving the house for dinner, my phone rang, and it was the doctor. He said that he saw a line that looked like a fracture. He asked me where I lived, and I said Tel Aviv. He said that in that case, he wanted to see me again next Sunday because he was not going to be in Tel Aviv until then. And he hung up. I was in complete shock. If my wrist was broken, shouldn't it be in a cast? Am I supposed to wear the brace? There's no way I'm waiting a week to take care of this.
Ann and I went to the dinner, and while I enjoyed the food, I was absolutely miserable. I faced the prospect of 6 of the next 7.5 months in Israel in a cast, possible surgery in this country, and an unpleasant recovery. I was particularly disappointed because I had convinced myself that my wrist was fine before that call came in.
The next morning, I made my mission to find the best hand surgeon in Israel and see them right away. In hindsight, nothing could be more naive. I pulled out all the stops and wrote to everyone I knew here in Israel asking for recommendations. Several people started making phone calls on my behalf. The big breaks came from the doctors I had met here as part of my research, including a private doctor and some doctors at Maccabi. I also had an orthopedic surgeon in Baltimore and my uncle who is a famous doctor on the case. By the end of the day, I had the names of two well regarded hand surgeons who practiced in Tel Aviv, among other places.
I called one of them, and the earliest appointment I could get was for December 21. I begged and pleaded and explained the urgent nature of my situation. I had a potentially broken wrist with no cast on. I needed to be seen by a specialist ASAP. The receptionist would not help me. So, I googled the doctor and found her email address through some of her research publications. I wrote her a long desperate email, invoking my professor position at Johns Hopkins, hoping that she would make the association with medicine. But, she never answered. In the meantime, I called the other doctor and sent her a similar email message. The other doctor, Dr. Hagar Patish responded to my message in the afternoon and said she could see me the next evening at her house where she has a clinic. Bingo!
I had to go back to HMC to pick up the x-ray so that I could bring it to Dr. Patish. Tuesday morning, I drove to Herzeliya and retrieved the CD containing the x-ray. The receptionist there told me that there was a report with the x-ray. I said that I knew that, and that I had spoken to the doctor. She suggested putting the report in the case with the disk. On my way to the car, I opened the report to read it, and to my surprise, it said "no fracture found" and it was signed by a radiologist. What?!?!? A wave of relief swept over me, but I still was a bit nervous. What was that doctor who called me talking about? Tuesday night could not come quickly enough.
I don't remember much about Tuesday (yesterday). All day long I was preparing for the meeting with the hand surgeon. I was barely able to eat. At 4:45 pm, I drove Benny to soccer practice and then proceeded to enjoy an hour of Tel Aviv traffic as I headed to the doctor's house. Ann went to get Benny when his practice was over. Dr. Patish greeted me warmly. She asked me some questions and then pulled up the x-rays on her monitor. It was the friendliest experience I can ever remember having with a doctor. She showed me every aspect of the x-rays, and pointed to a line on the scaphoid on the first set of x-rays. She said that this line could indicate a fracture, but that strangely, the line continued past the bone, so maybe it was just something on the picture. She then pulled up the x-rays from two weeks later and we went over them. She took several minutes and told me that she saw no evidence of any fracture, and that she was pretty comfortable ruling out a broken scaphoid. She said that if there were a fracture from the first x-ray, two weeks later it would be magnified. She then performed a physical exam (does this hurt? does this hurt?) and said that she was even more certain that the wrist was fine. She also said that I absolutely should have been in a cast immediately after that first set of x-rays. If the scaphoid was broken, and there was reasonable evidence that it might be, it would be very serious not to have it in a cast. Yet more evidence of how much of a loser that first doctor was, and a lesson to me about finding the right doctor early when something serious is going on.
After the examination, we launched into about a 40 minute discussion of electronic medical records, about my research, patient privacy and about her opinions of medicine in Israel versus the US. Finally, I asked her if she could take the Seven Corners insurance or if I should pay and then get reimbursed from my insurance back home. She responded to me, "You are my guest here." At first I did not understand, but then she explained that she was not going to charge me for the visit. I was embarrassed and muttered something like "Are you sure?" and tried to protest, but she would have none of it.
Only in Israel.
On the drive home, I was just amazed at the quality of treatment I had just received. No doctor had ever explained to me my condition and all the potential ramifications as clearly or thoughtfully as she had. She showed me the x-rays and discussed them as though I were a medical student and she was my professor. And in the end to not charge me. I know from some of my phone calls on Monday that most orthopedists in Israel when treating a foreigner as a private patient charge 800 shekels (a bit over $220) just to say hello.
I'm not thrilled about the prospect of dealing with whatever medical issues come our way in our remaining time in Israel. But, the knowledge that there are doctors here like Dr. Patish, even if they are hard to find, is very comforting.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Poker in Tel Aviv
I've written a blog entry about poker in Tel Aviv, but I'd rather not post in on my public blog. If you are interested and did not receive it from me by email, please let me know, and I'll be happy to email it to you if I know and trust you.
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