The weather was beautiful; blue skies unspoiled by clouds as I walked past the heavily guarded Prime Minister’s residence. The barrier is relatively modern and the police presence seems to have been increased greatly since I last passed. Following yesterday’s uncovering of a significant amount of explosives and the capture of a terror cell, I’d expect it to increase some more. I’m still in London by the way and looking forward to tonight’s flight back to Israel where I’ll be able to feel safe walking the streets with my Kipa on which I no longer do in (most of) the UK.
Although I lived in London for the best part of 22 years, I never really took advantage of all it had to offer. School holidays were spent sleeping late and seeing friends rather than enjoying the tremendous wealth of culture that is always only a train ride away. I never really grew tired of London, I just didn’t appreciate the riches on offer in the first place. This trip I resolved to take a small step towards correcting this aberration and randomly picked The National Gallery as an appropriate starting point.
Deciding to take a slightly round-a-bout route, I got off the train at Westminster Station, in the shadow of the Houses of Parliament and the world’s most recognisable clock. Strolling down Whitehall, it struck me that Britain has chosen to place monuments to its bellicose past at its historical heart; wartime leaders such as Churchill, Earl Haig and Viscount Montgomery are prominent; the Cenotaph memorial commemorating the dead is a constant reminder to the PM of his responsibilities. Most prominent however was the statue marking my destination: Nelson’s Column towering over Trafalgar Square. The monument to The Island Nation’s greatest hero, guarded by four lions, is truly magnificent. After a suitable admiring pause, I headed for the entrance to The National Gallery though I could equally have gone round the corner to The National Portrait Gallery. Entrance to both is free and highly recommended.
The National Gallery houses the treasures of centuries – I headed for the oldest paintings, displayed in a number of rooms, decorum preserved by visitors from elementary school age upwards. The collection is vast; a complete viewing would take at least a couple of visits. As with most galleries, in addition to the permanent exhibition, there are constantly changing exhibitions; currently El Greco; for which a fee is charged.
Having spent several hours admiring pictures from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, mainly with a religious theme, I decided to head for the open air. Stopping at a piece of bizarre performance art, currently situated under Nelson’s watchful eye, for not more than a couple of seconds, I headed for St. James’s Park. Situated alongside The Mall, the park provides an oasis of calm in the midst of the city. Its green lawns, punctuated by dancing daffodils heralding the spring, were filled with picnicking tourists, games of football and sun seeking office workers on their lunch breaks. The lake, which carries childhood memories of feeding the ducks for so many, was filled with ducks, geese, swans in both black and white liveries and even the odd pelican.
The far end of the park nestles up to Buckingham Palace which, despite appearing to be besieged by Japanese tourists, appeared to be guarded by only four soldiers in all their finery. Quickly losing interest, I continued my walk in the park, this time Green Park on the other side of The Mall, and wandered up to Piccadilly where I found a station and headed for home.
So often it’s the case that we don’t know the city in which we live as well as we should. Attractions are left to the tourists and it’s only when we have a visitor from overseas that we take advantage of what is on offer. I couldn’t tell you when the last time I visited the Kotel was and Jerusalem has many tourist attractions, particularly those holy to other religions that I have never set foot inside. It strikes me that this is a real shame and therefore I’m resolving to get to know my city better. I will look forward to blogging my exploits in the coming months.
Gilly
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Sunday, March 28, 2004
Whilst having Shabbat lunch with friends the other day, one of the company was bemoaning the difficulty that he had experienced whilst assisting his nephew in opening a bank account. No matter that the gentleman in question already had a business account, joint account and separate accounts for himself and his wife at the same branch, they still insisted on his bringing a Council Tax (Arnona) bill with his address on as proof of identity. Not an electricity bill, a water bill or gas bill you understand – only a Council Tax bill would prove sufficiently the gentleman’s identity to the bank.
We are all familiar with this type of “Only in Israel” moment. That’s the precise second where, we have one of those moments of jaw dropping incredulity at the sheer stupidity of the system, slap our palm to our forehead in disbelief and gasp “Only in Israel” (or “Rak BeYisrael” if you’ve been here a little longer).
Now in some cases, this sort of reaction is completely warranted but I often find myself getting rather cross at the other constant niggling complaints which have the “Only in Israel” label attached to them as if everything outside of Israel was absolutely perfect. The case that I have mentioned above actually happened in London rather than Jerusalem but I know that you all nodded your heads and tutted as you read it. Suitably inspired I’ve begun a collection of “Only in Israel” moments from around the world to show that these things happen on a frighteningly regular basis in other countries. I’m just going to mention a few below – recent and more high profile cases which were they to happen in Israel would have us beating our heads against the wall.
Here’s a cracker which appeared on the front page last Thursday – you’d have missed it if you’re a Ma’ariv reader as it was reported in Britain’s Daily Telegraph. A senior Brain Surgeon, having paid for his soup and sat down in the staff canteen at the hospital, returned to the self-service to grab some croutons which he had forgotten. As he didn’t pass through the cash point again, he was adjudged by technocrats to have stolen said croutons and was suspended for 3 days during which several operations were cancelled until someone saw sense and reinstated him. Only in Israel……
Here are a couple which should sound familiar. The best part of the entire Eastern side of our one remaining Superpower is completely shut down when its entire electricity supply goes down. People end up sleeping in shop doorways and train stations in scenes reminiscent of the Blitz (that’s the part of WWII that you don’t remember if you’re American!) Rumours that an Israeli electrician put in too small a fuse with the assurance “Yihye Beseder” have not been completely discounted by Federal investigators. And how about the 1 inch of snow which brought much of Southern England to a stand still last year? Or the “wrong type” of snow or leaves on the track, which have famously brought the train service to a grinding halt in the past?
These are classic “Only in Israel” moments and the only reason that they haven’t been recognised as such is that they happened to occur outside our (disputed) borders. There are many many more where these came from but these are more than enough to make my point. The grass is not always greener on the other side, these things don’t happen “only in Israel” and lets stop knocking the country for having faults which we can find anywhere else if only we bothered to look.
Gilly
We are all familiar with this type of “Only in Israel” moment. That’s the precise second where, we have one of those moments of jaw dropping incredulity at the sheer stupidity of the system, slap our palm to our forehead in disbelief and gasp “Only in Israel” (or “Rak BeYisrael” if you’ve been here a little longer).
Now in some cases, this sort of reaction is completely warranted but I often find myself getting rather cross at the other constant niggling complaints which have the “Only in Israel” label attached to them as if everything outside of Israel was absolutely perfect. The case that I have mentioned above actually happened in London rather than Jerusalem but I know that you all nodded your heads and tutted as you read it. Suitably inspired I’ve begun a collection of “Only in Israel” moments from around the world to show that these things happen on a frighteningly regular basis in other countries. I’m just going to mention a few below – recent and more high profile cases which were they to happen in Israel would have us beating our heads against the wall.
Here’s a cracker which appeared on the front page last Thursday – you’d have missed it if you’re a Ma’ariv reader as it was reported in Britain’s Daily Telegraph. A senior Brain Surgeon, having paid for his soup and sat down in the staff canteen at the hospital, returned to the self-service to grab some croutons which he had forgotten. As he didn’t pass through the cash point again, he was adjudged by technocrats to have stolen said croutons and was suspended for 3 days during which several operations were cancelled until someone saw sense and reinstated him. Only in Israel……
Here are a couple which should sound familiar. The best part of the entire Eastern side of our one remaining Superpower is completely shut down when its entire electricity supply goes down. People end up sleeping in shop doorways and train stations in scenes reminiscent of the Blitz (that’s the part of WWII that you don’t remember if you’re American!) Rumours that an Israeli electrician put in too small a fuse with the assurance “Yihye Beseder” have not been completely discounted by Federal investigators. And how about the 1 inch of snow which brought much of Southern England to a stand still last year? Or the “wrong type” of snow or leaves on the track, which have famously brought the train service to a grinding halt in the past?
These are classic “Only in Israel” moments and the only reason that they haven’t been recognised as such is that they happened to occur outside our (disputed) borders. There are many many more where these came from but these are more than enough to make my point. The grass is not always greener on the other side, these things don’t happen “only in Israel” and lets stop knocking the country for having faults which we can find anywhere else if only we bothered to look.
Gilly
Monday, March 22, 2004
I must admit that my reaction upon hearing that Sheikh Yassin, the spiritual head of the Hamas who is responsible for the murder of countless Israelis, had had an altercation with IDF helicopter gunships this morning, was euphoric. Just as Osama Bin Laden and Saddam Hussein are and were, primary targets, I see no earthly reason why fanatics amongst the Palestinian leadership who glory in sending suicide bombers to indiscriminately murder men, women and children, should not also be high on the hit list. There seems no logic to targetting the 'foot soldiers' whilst leaving those who indoctrinate, recruit and arm them, to go about their daily business.
My feelings are tempered somewhat by the uneasy feeling of waiting for the inevitable response. Action leads to reaction and with a personality as huge as Yassin to avenge, my fear is that the days ahead will be filled with blood and carnage. I, along with every other Israeli, am deemed a legitimate target by an enemy that does not discriminate when is comes to killing non-combatants.
The potential trade off is contained in the statement of intent that taking out such a high profile target makes. Israel has sent a clear message to the Palestinian leadership - "the gloves are off". Those who encourage and foment terrorism (with the possible exception of Arafat) are legitimate targets in the eyes of the Israeli government. The outcome of the attack will have been coldly weighed by the Government and the Military; the knowledge that Israelis will be murdered as a result of the attack is a horrific burden to bear but their conclusion must have been that it will lead to a reduction in future attacks. Mustn't it.......?
Gilly
My feelings are tempered somewhat by the uneasy feeling of waiting for the inevitable response. Action leads to reaction and with a personality as huge as Yassin to avenge, my fear is that the days ahead will be filled with blood and carnage. I, along with every other Israeli, am deemed a legitimate target by an enemy that does not discriminate when is comes to killing non-combatants.
The potential trade off is contained in the statement of intent that taking out such a high profile target makes. Israel has sent a clear message to the Palestinian leadership - "the gloves are off". Those who encourage and foment terrorism (with the possible exception of Arafat) are legitimate targets in the eyes of the Israeli government. The outcome of the attack will have been coldly weighed by the Government and the Military; the knowledge that Israelis will be murdered as a result of the attack is a horrific burden to bear but their conclusion must have been that it will lead to a reduction in future attacks. Mustn't it.......?
Gilly
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
I witnessed a rare natural phenomenon this week. During the course of an office day out, for which I was dressed in my summer wardrobe, we experienced torrential rain. If you are reading this in England, or even Israel, your answer is likely to be a very Jewish shrugged "so what"?! Rain in March? Nu - what's the big deal?!!
The answer, as so often is the case lies in 3 factors; Location, Location and Location! The Dead Sea, a mere 30 minute drive from Jerusalem, is most famous for being the lowest point on earth and is located in the Syria-Africa rift - the natural fault that was responsible for the earthquake that we experienced a few weeks back. It is however, also a part of the Judean Desert. The Judean Desert is unusual in that it is not part of the band of deserts that encircle the globe. Rather it is a rain shadow desert. In simple terms this means that clouds hit Israel's coast and as they proceed to climb uphill and cool, dump their rain on Jerusalem and its hills. By the time the clouds get over the top of Jerusalem, they are empty, thus the area to Jerusalem's west gets only 5 or 6 days rain per year. I knew there was a point to getting a degree in geography!
When rain comes down on the Desert, the result is impressive. Precipitation finds its way into a vast array of dry rivers, gulleys and streams. The various trickles quickly become a torrent as they bump into one another so that by the time they reach the road bordering the Dead Sea they are extremely powerful and carrying all kinds of debris with them. Chocolate coloured water rushes of the cliffs and floods across the road, and into the choppy sea, discolouring the water around at the shoreline. Stretches of the way are rendered impassable. The power of the water is impressive and evidence of the destruction wreaked in previous floods is strewn across the flood plain. Fortunately our timing was such that we were able to negotiate the roads - vehicles arriving only 1/2 an hour later would have almost certainly had to wait until the rain stopped and the water subsided.
Rain is always appreciated in Israel. The nature of our tiny, parched country means that every drop is a blessing which can be easily quantified as we watch the Kinneret's level rise throughout the winter. To witness rain on the desert is a true marvel however, a reminder of the way in which water has been and continues to be responsible for shaping the landscape that we live in.
It is perhaps natural that we are somewhat complacent about the way in which we manipulate the environment. No obstacle is so huge that it can't be bridged over, tunneled under or blasted through. Flight is taken for granted and even space travel is no longer the stuff of fantasy. Even at the peak of our achievement in terms of technology however, events such as earthquakes and flashfloods put us firmly in our places, serving as a reminder that the power of the natural universe often far surpasses what we are able to achieve.
The answer, as so often is the case lies in 3 factors; Location, Location and Location! The Dead Sea, a mere 30 minute drive from Jerusalem, is most famous for being the lowest point on earth and is located in the Syria-Africa rift - the natural fault that was responsible for the earthquake that we experienced a few weeks back. It is however, also a part of the Judean Desert. The Judean Desert is unusual in that it is not part of the band of deserts that encircle the globe. Rather it is a rain shadow desert. In simple terms this means that clouds hit Israel's coast and as they proceed to climb uphill and cool, dump their rain on Jerusalem and its hills. By the time the clouds get over the top of Jerusalem, they are empty, thus the area to Jerusalem's west gets only 5 or 6 days rain per year. I knew there was a point to getting a degree in geography!
When rain comes down on the Desert, the result is impressive. Precipitation finds its way into a vast array of dry rivers, gulleys and streams. The various trickles quickly become a torrent as they bump into one another so that by the time they reach the road bordering the Dead Sea they are extremely powerful and carrying all kinds of debris with them. Chocolate coloured water rushes of the cliffs and floods across the road, and into the choppy sea, discolouring the water around at the shoreline. Stretches of the way are rendered impassable. The power of the water is impressive and evidence of the destruction wreaked in previous floods is strewn across the flood plain. Fortunately our timing was such that we were able to negotiate the roads - vehicles arriving only 1/2 an hour later would have almost certainly had to wait until the rain stopped and the water subsided.
Rain is always appreciated in Israel. The nature of our tiny, parched country means that every drop is a blessing which can be easily quantified as we watch the Kinneret's level rise throughout the winter. To witness rain on the desert is a true marvel however, a reminder of the way in which water has been and continues to be responsible for shaping the landscape that we live in.
It is perhaps natural that we are somewhat complacent about the way in which we manipulate the environment. No obstacle is so huge that it can't be bridged over, tunneled under or blasted through. Flight is taken for granted and even space travel is no longer the stuff of fantasy. Even at the peak of our achievement in terms of technology however, events such as earthquakes and flashfloods put us firmly in our places, serving as a reminder that the power of the natural universe often far surpasses what we are able to achieve.
Friday, March 12, 2004
I consider myself to be in fairly decent physical shape. Certainly, after charging up and down the football pitch for 1 1/2 hours on a Monday night (every monday night without fail!) I'm puffing and panting less than most of my regular team mates. So when the idea of running the Jerusalem half marathon was suggested by a couple of friends, I reasoned that it would be a good chance to see how fit I really was whilst raising a few shekels for Tzedaka. I was a little worried by the short time scale - 2 1/2 weeks training time is not too long but after completing a 10km training run before signing up I was reasonably happy with my chances and set myself the target of finishing the race in 2 hours.
The weather in early 2004 has been unseasonally hot and so it proved to be on the day of the race with bright sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. Having negotiated the various road closures on the short distance between my flat and the start (it would have been quicker to walk), I met up with the two initiators of the idea at Givat Ram stadium. Two colleagues who had intended to join me were forced to pull out through injury which was a shame but hopefully we'll organise a larger group for next year.
There is a very obvious problem when it comes to planning a race route through Jerusalem; it is a hilly city. Knowing the area of the city in which it was to be run particularly well, I was aware that the 10km route which we would be running twice had large uphill sections which would be uncomfortable on the first loop and just plain nasty the second time around. Undaunted, 328 of us stepped up to the start line as the 10 km race which had preceded the main event drew to a close.
Looking around me I was amazed by the variety of runners - a few youngsters but also quite a decent sized contingent with grey beards(I note that I was beaten by at least 6 60 year olds!); mainly men, but quite a few women in the mix too; there was even a father who ran the route with his child in a push chair! Whilst the London Marathon is filled with people in fancy dress, running the race for charity, it seemed to me that this was more an issue of personal achievement and finishing in a good time - quite serious and certainly no-one running in a Pantomime Horse outfit.
Uri Lupolianski, Mayor of Jerusalem spent a long minute posing with the starting pistol for the cameras before he set the race into motion. The pack of runners slowly spread out, completing a lap of the stadium before heading out onto the streets of Jerusalem. The route took us down towards my home, past my local supermarket before heading up in the direction of town. A left towards the Central Bus Station took us down towards Gan Sacher which we looped around before heading up the oh so steep Rechov Ruppin, turning opposite the Israel Museum towards the Knesset. We ran past the entrance to the Knesset and on towards the beautiful Supreme Court building, around past the Foreign Ministry's new home and back down onto Ruppin for the run back past the Science Museum and the Israel museum where we rejoined the original route to take us back to the Stadium.
So far so good - I made it back to the stadium and through the 11 km marker in a few seconds over 52 minutes. I could feel myself slowing down already however - a combination of not enough training and the inclement weather (in previous years the race has been held later in the year - not a happy thought!) At the 14 km mark, a spasm in my left calf let me know that I was in trouble. For the next couple of kilometres, I half ran and half walked - determined to get to the end. From about 15 1/2 kilometres I was able to manage without further spasms until I hit 20 km - agonisingly close to the finish. I half limped and half ran up the hill to the end where I just missed my 2 hour target by 28 seconds.
Aching - I grabbed a litre of water and then returned to the finish to cheer on my mates who came in 10 and 27 minutes later respectively.
My sense of achievement is tempered by the fact that I'm very aware that had I trained a little more, I could have finished in a far better time - I will be aiming to do so for next year. I will also be sending out sponsorship forms a little earlier. Even so, I found myself amazed by the generosity of my sponsors and to date have received pledges totalling in the region of NIS 6500. Many thanks to all who contributed. The Charity that will be benefitting is Soadim, a Tel Aviv based non-profit that feeds some 400 needy people a day, helps fund medicines and medical treatment and provides educational assistance for disadvantaged children.
The weather in early 2004 has been unseasonally hot and so it proved to be on the day of the race with bright sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. Having negotiated the various road closures on the short distance between my flat and the start (it would have been quicker to walk), I met up with the two initiators of the idea at Givat Ram stadium. Two colleagues who had intended to join me were forced to pull out through injury which was a shame but hopefully we'll organise a larger group for next year.
There is a very obvious problem when it comes to planning a race route through Jerusalem; it is a hilly city. Knowing the area of the city in which it was to be run particularly well, I was aware that the 10km route which we would be running twice had large uphill sections which would be uncomfortable on the first loop and just plain nasty the second time around. Undaunted, 328 of us stepped up to the start line as the 10 km race which had preceded the main event drew to a close.
Looking around me I was amazed by the variety of runners - a few youngsters but also quite a decent sized contingent with grey beards(I note that I was beaten by at least 6 60 year olds!); mainly men, but quite a few women in the mix too; there was even a father who ran the route with his child in a push chair! Whilst the London Marathon is filled with people in fancy dress, running the race for charity, it seemed to me that this was more an issue of personal achievement and finishing in a good time - quite serious and certainly no-one running in a Pantomime Horse outfit.
Uri Lupolianski, Mayor of Jerusalem spent a long minute posing with the starting pistol for the cameras before he set the race into motion. The pack of runners slowly spread out, completing a lap of the stadium before heading out onto the streets of Jerusalem. The route took us down towards my home, past my local supermarket before heading up in the direction of town. A left towards the Central Bus Station took us down towards Gan Sacher which we looped around before heading up the oh so steep Rechov Ruppin, turning opposite the Israel Museum towards the Knesset. We ran past the entrance to the Knesset and on towards the beautiful Supreme Court building, around past the Foreign Ministry's new home and back down onto Ruppin for the run back past the Science Museum and the Israel museum where we rejoined the original route to take us back to the Stadium.
So far so good - I made it back to the stadium and through the 11 km marker in a few seconds over 52 minutes. I could feel myself slowing down already however - a combination of not enough training and the inclement weather (in previous years the race has been held later in the year - not a happy thought!) At the 14 km mark, a spasm in my left calf let me know that I was in trouble. For the next couple of kilometres, I half ran and half walked - determined to get to the end. From about 15 1/2 kilometres I was able to manage without further spasms until I hit 20 km - agonisingly close to the finish. I half limped and half ran up the hill to the end where I just missed my 2 hour target by 28 seconds.
Aching - I grabbed a litre of water and then returned to the finish to cheer on my mates who came in 10 and 27 minutes later respectively.
My sense of achievement is tempered by the fact that I'm very aware that had I trained a little more, I could have finished in a far better time - I will be aiming to do so for next year. I will also be sending out sponsorship forms a little earlier. Even so, I found myself amazed by the generosity of my sponsors and to date have received pledges totalling in the region of NIS 6500. Many thanks to all who contributed. The Charity that will be benefitting is Soadim, a Tel Aviv based non-profit that feeds some 400 needy people a day, helps fund medicines and medical treatment and provides educational assistance for disadvantaged children.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
This week has dissolved into a blur. The run up to Purim this year is also the run up to my birthday which means multiple party organisation. Throw in a wedding, regular Monday night football, training for the Jerusalem 1/2 marathon next week and work and it makes for busy times!
I took a stroll up to Machane Yehuda yesterday. Jerusalem's main produce market has always been one of my favourite places to shop and, although the atmosphere has changed as a result of a number of terrorist attacks, it maintains much of its character. Much of what makes it special is down to the people, both the stallholders and the shoppers, some of whom have been haggling over the price of cucumbers for decades. The narrow streets have a history and an attendant charm which I always enjoy. It is a riot of sound and colour. Sellers assault your eardrums, proclaiming their product to be the tastiest and the cheapest or more subtly draw your attention by making sure that their stall is immaculately set out; a work of art with fruit, herbs and spices providing the palette.
My favourite store to visit crams the smell of paradise into a 3 yard shopfront. Boasting a decor of large burlap bags and glass jars, the tiny space is filled with every spice under the sun, dried mushrooms and tomatos, rices, pulses, beans and miscellaneous delights for the pantry. I miss my Waitrose Red label tea and have found that I can squeeze a good cuppa out of the Ceylon Pekoe leaves that he sells loosely from a crate. The smell of the coffee as it comes out of the grinder is heavenly and there is something about having the blend that I want ground specifically for me - I always feel very spoiled by it somehow. Together with these regular purchases this is one of my sources for inspiration in the kitchen. As an amateur cook, I like to try new tastes and usually leave with some new spice and more importantly instructions for its use tucked into my bag.
I was at the market for fun food for my birthday - sweet stuff mainly but also nuts to help chase down the beer. Garinim are not merely toasted sunflower seeds, they are an essential part of the Israel experience. The snack of choice on the terraces at the football, they leave a spore of empty shells littering the floor - I'm hoping that my guests this evening will use an appropriate receptacle instead. After buying salted pistachios and coated peanuts I headed for home in the stunning Jerusalem sunshine - we've had a few glorious days and my short sleeved shirts have been getting an airing.
I was trying to think whether or not I wanted to make a point with this particular post but I think that there is a subtle one intrinsic to what I've written. The picture of Israel presented to the world is one of a warzone, suicide bombings, doom and gloom. If all that's bothering me on a sunny winter's afternoon is which store sells the cheapest penny chews then life here can't really be all that bad can it?
I took a stroll up to Machane Yehuda yesterday. Jerusalem's main produce market has always been one of my favourite places to shop and, although the atmosphere has changed as a result of a number of terrorist attacks, it maintains much of its character. Much of what makes it special is down to the people, both the stallholders and the shoppers, some of whom have been haggling over the price of cucumbers for decades. The narrow streets have a history and an attendant charm which I always enjoy. It is a riot of sound and colour. Sellers assault your eardrums, proclaiming their product to be the tastiest and the cheapest or more subtly draw your attention by making sure that their stall is immaculately set out; a work of art with fruit, herbs and spices providing the palette.
My favourite store to visit crams the smell of paradise into a 3 yard shopfront. Boasting a decor of large burlap bags and glass jars, the tiny space is filled with every spice under the sun, dried mushrooms and tomatos, rices, pulses, beans and miscellaneous delights for the pantry. I miss my Waitrose Red label tea and have found that I can squeeze a good cuppa out of the Ceylon Pekoe leaves that he sells loosely from a crate. The smell of the coffee as it comes out of the grinder is heavenly and there is something about having the blend that I want ground specifically for me - I always feel very spoiled by it somehow. Together with these regular purchases this is one of my sources for inspiration in the kitchen. As an amateur cook, I like to try new tastes and usually leave with some new spice and more importantly instructions for its use tucked into my bag.
I was at the market for fun food for my birthday - sweet stuff mainly but also nuts to help chase down the beer. Garinim are not merely toasted sunflower seeds, they are an essential part of the Israel experience. The snack of choice on the terraces at the football, they leave a spore of empty shells littering the floor - I'm hoping that my guests this evening will use an appropriate receptacle instead. After buying salted pistachios and coated peanuts I headed for home in the stunning Jerusalem sunshine - we've had a few glorious days and my short sleeved shirts have been getting an airing.
I was trying to think whether or not I wanted to make a point with this particular post but I think that there is a subtle one intrinsic to what I've written. The picture of Israel presented to the world is one of a warzone, suicide bombings, doom and gloom. If all that's bothering me on a sunny winter's afternoon is which store sells the cheapest penny chews then life here can't really be all that bad can it?
Sunday, February 29, 2004
The other day I took a journey to another country - or maybe even another world. I didn't require a passport, nor some sort of time machine or any other means of transportation. I left my world at 17:00 and was back by 18:30 the same day. All this was done by taking a walk up towards the centre of Jerusalem and, having reached the junction of King George and Jaffa Streets, rather than turning left towards the Souk or right towards the pubs of Mamilla, I simply continued walking into a straight line.
As King George became Strauss, a magical transformation occurred; men, who in the world that I had left behind wore T-shirts and jeans, were dressed in suits and hats; women no longer showed their belly buttons, cleavage or even their wrists for that matter and children played together, totally unaware that the dictates of the modern world would have frowned on their lack of blonde hair dye, tattoos or multiple piercings.
Its been a long time since I had a wander around the black neighbourhoods of Jerusalem. Black here, refers not to the colour of skin but to the predominant colour of the dress code. Black bearded men, almost without exception, wear black suits, black hats and black shoes which I guess makes it fairly easy to decide what to wear in the morning. The neighbourhoods are fairly well defined with Jaffa and Nevi'im Roads being the border between Jerusalem's more open, secular society and the ultra orthodox areas.
As I continued along Strauss, the nature of the shops changed. Here was a world where chain stores didn't seem to exist, where consumerism was not rampant and lurid advertisements were non-existent - a case of "Sex doesn't sell"?
I reached Shabbat Square and turned into Malchei Yisrael Street, one of the main thoroughfares leading off it (the other being Mea Shearim Street). The street was packed and bustling in a way that I haven't seen in 'my' Jerusalem for a long time. Whole families with children immaculately dressed and behaved marched the streets. Mothers with their strollers thronged the pavements (some sort of road markings might be an idea to prevent crashes) with small children hanging onto their coat tails. A team of Bretslav Chasidim had parked two vans on opposite sides of the street, music joyfulling blaring as they danced on the pavements whilst pedestrians passed by as if it was the most natural thing in the world (which I guess it was).
As I revelled in what for me was a carnival like atmosphere it struck me that many of the values that I was witnessing in this often reviled section of the population, were those which I also hold dear. At the ripe old age of 29 (only just but enjoying it whilst it lasts), I have found myself joining the ranks of those who complain that "kids have no respect" and bemoaning the lack of importance placed in the family unit. I ascribe to my father's assertion that blatant suggestiveness is anything but sexy and stand amazed at the way in which parents indulge their kids with the latest computer game whilst not being overly concerned whether or not they ever pick up a book. Here I was - suddenly surrounded by kindred spirits!
I, like many other Israelis, am often guilty of making sweeping, mainly negative, generalisations regarding the religious community. By taking a short walk, I quickly disspelled my perception that I had absolutely nothing in common with an entire sector of Israel's population. Certainly the way in which I put my values into practice may be very different and on many basic issues I have absolutely nothing in common with the ultra-orthodox community. There is however an important undercurrent of similar values which remains once all else is stripped away. It is necessary now more than ever to seek out these shared ideas through interaction rather than demonisation if we are to stand any chance of reaching some sort of understanding which will go some way towards mending the fabric of our society.
As King George became Strauss, a magical transformation occurred; men, who in the world that I had left behind wore T-shirts and jeans, were dressed in suits and hats; women no longer showed their belly buttons, cleavage or even their wrists for that matter and children played together, totally unaware that the dictates of the modern world would have frowned on their lack of blonde hair dye, tattoos or multiple piercings.
Its been a long time since I had a wander around the black neighbourhoods of Jerusalem. Black here, refers not to the colour of skin but to the predominant colour of the dress code. Black bearded men, almost without exception, wear black suits, black hats and black shoes which I guess makes it fairly easy to decide what to wear in the morning. The neighbourhoods are fairly well defined with Jaffa and Nevi'im Roads being the border between Jerusalem's more open, secular society and the ultra orthodox areas.
As I continued along Strauss, the nature of the shops changed. Here was a world where chain stores didn't seem to exist, where consumerism was not rampant and lurid advertisements were non-existent - a case of "Sex doesn't sell"?
I reached Shabbat Square and turned into Malchei Yisrael Street, one of the main thoroughfares leading off it (the other being Mea Shearim Street). The street was packed and bustling in a way that I haven't seen in 'my' Jerusalem for a long time. Whole families with children immaculately dressed and behaved marched the streets. Mothers with their strollers thronged the pavements (some sort of road markings might be an idea to prevent crashes) with small children hanging onto their coat tails. A team of Bretslav Chasidim had parked two vans on opposite sides of the street, music joyfulling blaring as they danced on the pavements whilst pedestrians passed by as if it was the most natural thing in the world (which I guess it was).
As I revelled in what for me was a carnival like atmosphere it struck me that many of the values that I was witnessing in this often reviled section of the population, were those which I also hold dear. At the ripe old age of 29 (only just but enjoying it whilst it lasts), I have found myself joining the ranks of those who complain that "kids have no respect" and bemoaning the lack of importance placed in the family unit. I ascribe to my father's assertion that blatant suggestiveness is anything but sexy and stand amazed at the way in which parents indulge their kids with the latest computer game whilst not being overly concerned whether or not they ever pick up a book. Here I was - suddenly surrounded by kindred spirits!
I, like many other Israelis, am often guilty of making sweeping, mainly negative, generalisations regarding the religious community. By taking a short walk, I quickly disspelled my perception that I had absolutely nothing in common with an entire sector of Israel's population. Certainly the way in which I put my values into practice may be very different and on many basic issues I have absolutely nothing in common with the ultra-orthodox community. There is however an important undercurrent of similar values which remains once all else is stripped away. It is necessary now more than ever to seek out these shared ideas through interaction rather than demonisation if we are to stand any chance of reaching some sort of understanding which will go some way towards mending the fabric of our society.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Its a situation that we're all unfortunately familiar with. People pop in and out at a party held in a bar and run up the tab. Some leave money, others either leave to little or don't bother at all for reasons best known to themselves. The result is that you don't want to be the last man standing because you're going to be footing someone else's bill.
This sort of behaviour is clearly obnoxious; you order something, make sure you pay for it and don't forget to tip - if in doubt leave an extra shekel or two - it really won't kill you. Most recently we were NIS 100 short on a bill of NIS 600 which means that a lot of our friends had been none to friendly.
It is a fairly accepted truism amongst certain sectors of Israeli society, that one third of the people pay taxes, one third of the people serve in the army and do reserve duty and one third of the people do all the work. The trouble is that its the same third. This third knows that they are subsidising the other two thirds and are often regarded as "freierim" (mugs) as a result.
Of the other two thirds, some turn up and do a little bit - often the bare minimum, others choose to do nothing at all. They do this, safe in the knowledge that someone else will pick up the bill - usually in the form of higher taxes, because someone has to. But how long can this go on for before this hard working minority turns around and says "enough"?
Tensions within Israeli society have always existed but have been exacerbated over the years. In particular, a wedge has been driven between the ultra orthodox and the remainder of Jewish Israeli society. The percentage of ultra orthodox males in the work force is low and participation in the military virtually non-existent whilst at the same time, they control certain institutions of State such as the right to marry. Political horse trading has proved to further tarnish the image of the religious community and at the last 2 general elections, secular Israelis have cried out against this sector by voting for the fiercely secular Shinui party.
At a time when Israeli society needs unity more than ever before, it is increasingly being driven apart due to a difference in attitudes, primarily towards the concept of paying the way through working, that has no parallel in Jewish or any other history. At a micro scale it is clear that this behaviour is unacceptable. On the macro scale it seems that the message being sent is different.
One of the conditions for being a part of society must surely be to take an equal responsibility for the workings of that society. In order to take, common decency requires that there is an element of give too. Increasingly it appears that those who give don't take and those who take don't give - an inherently unhealthy situation. The malaise, if not treated promptly will quickly cause the patient to fast deteriorate until those clamouring for a free drink find that there is no-one left to foot the bill.
Gilly
This sort of behaviour is clearly obnoxious; you order something, make sure you pay for it and don't forget to tip - if in doubt leave an extra shekel or two - it really won't kill you. Most recently we were NIS 100 short on a bill of NIS 600 which means that a lot of our friends had been none to friendly.
It is a fairly accepted truism amongst certain sectors of Israeli society, that one third of the people pay taxes, one third of the people serve in the army and do reserve duty and one third of the people do all the work. The trouble is that its the same third. This third knows that they are subsidising the other two thirds and are often regarded as "freierim" (mugs) as a result.
Of the other two thirds, some turn up and do a little bit - often the bare minimum, others choose to do nothing at all. They do this, safe in the knowledge that someone else will pick up the bill - usually in the form of higher taxes, because someone has to. But how long can this go on for before this hard working minority turns around and says "enough"?
Tensions within Israeli society have always existed but have been exacerbated over the years. In particular, a wedge has been driven between the ultra orthodox and the remainder of Jewish Israeli society. The percentage of ultra orthodox males in the work force is low and participation in the military virtually non-existent whilst at the same time, they control certain institutions of State such as the right to marry. Political horse trading has proved to further tarnish the image of the religious community and at the last 2 general elections, secular Israelis have cried out against this sector by voting for the fiercely secular Shinui party.
At a time when Israeli society needs unity more than ever before, it is increasingly being driven apart due to a difference in attitudes, primarily towards the concept of paying the way through working, that has no parallel in Jewish or any other history. At a micro scale it is clear that this behaviour is unacceptable. On the macro scale it seems that the message being sent is different.
One of the conditions for being a part of society must surely be to take an equal responsibility for the workings of that society. In order to take, common decency requires that there is an element of give too. Increasingly it appears that those who give don't take and those who take don't give - an inherently unhealthy situation. The malaise, if not treated promptly will quickly cause the patient to fast deteriorate until those clamouring for a free drink find that there is no-one left to foot the bill.
Gilly
Monday, February 23, 2004
Ambulance sirens make me nervous. When I hear one I instinctively stop and listen to make sure that it is just the one. More than one in Jerusalem generally means a bombing. My office backs onto Derech Aza where the bombing was three weeks ago. Aza is also one of the main routes between Shaarei Tzedek hospital and town. I used to live around the corner and have become "used" to sirens heralding more evil tidings.
Yesterday morning I heard a siren. It was quickly joined by many others. The phone started ringing almost immediately as friends and colleagues called to check that I was where I was supposed to be. On a Sunday morning, family in the UK were still asleep. I decided not to wake them. Mum eventually texted just to be sure.
Another bus bomb, 8 dead this time and scores injured. A little further afield - but then I suppose they couldn't get much closer than the last one. I found myself replying, a little too glibly, that this one was "at least a 7 minute walk away". On a major route, which I drive by several times a week. Many of my friends live in the area and I still haven't relaxed completley although I figure that had someone been involved I would have heard by now. What are the odds? A bus coming from the German Colony should statistically have someone I know on it. How many times can it happen before there is someone I know amongst the dead or wounded?
And still the international community condemns Israel for building a fence to protect her citizens. What other country would be so restrained in taking measures to stop children from being blown up on their way to school? We are truly living in Chelm.
I hate being so desensitized to it all. I should sit, crying for each and every one of the dead and wounded. But there have been so many. And there will be many more before the sirens stop causing me to jump out of my chair. Just to check......
Yesterday morning I heard a siren. It was quickly joined by many others. The phone started ringing almost immediately as friends and colleagues called to check that I was where I was supposed to be. On a Sunday morning, family in the UK were still asleep. I decided not to wake them. Mum eventually texted just to be sure.
Another bus bomb, 8 dead this time and scores injured. A little further afield - but then I suppose they couldn't get much closer than the last one. I found myself replying, a little too glibly, that this one was "at least a 7 minute walk away". On a major route, which I drive by several times a week. Many of my friends live in the area and I still haven't relaxed completley although I figure that had someone been involved I would have heard by now. What are the odds? A bus coming from the German Colony should statistically have someone I know on it. How many times can it happen before there is someone I know amongst the dead or wounded?
And still the international community condemns Israel for building a fence to protect her citizens. What other country would be so restrained in taking measures to stop children from being blown up on their way to school? We are truly living in Chelm.
I hate being so desensitized to it all. I should sit, crying for each and every one of the dead and wounded. But there have been so many. And there will be many more before the sirens stop causing me to jump out of my chair. Just to check......
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Yesterday, I once again found myself in awe of the range of sights, climates and history that exist around this tiny country. My girlfriend had suggested a day out and a good friend had recently recommended Hamat Gader which I had always thought of as a crocodile farm. The last time I had visited was when I was 12 years old and I suppose with hindsight I probably wouldn't have been particularly interested in hot springs and jacuzzis at that age. A visit to the elegant website (http://www.hamat-gader.com) assured me that this was the most visited attraction in Israel so off we headed.
We left Jerusalem headed eastwards at about 9:30. Dropping rapidly towards the lowest spot on earth, we turned north a little before reaching the Dead Sea and headed up the Jordan Valley, newly carpeted in green from the winter rains. 1 1/4 hours later saw us at the Tzemach junction at the bottom end of the replenished Kinneret. I know what you're thinking - and the policeman who kindly let me off with a warning to slow down would agree with you! Another 10 minutes drive in the shadow of the Golan Heights saw us pulling into the parking lot; already full of cars and buses carrying works outings and tour groups.
Hamat Gader is an eclectic collection of attractions; the biggest crocodile farm in the Middle East is maybe the best known but guests also come for the spa, the restaurants, the ancient ruins and the petting zoo. We had come for the famous hot pools - bath-hot water enrichened with minerals, bubbling up from deep within the earth. Had I thought to call ahead of time to book, we could have taken advantage of one of the package deals including entry to the more secluded section of the site, massage or other holistic treatments and a meal at one of the restaurants - all for a little over NIS 200 per person - around the £25 mark.
We paid the extra for the secluded area which included a towel, robe, slippers, soaps, locker hire and not having to fight for a lounger - definitely worth the money. The main area is made up of two large pools, and a number of smaller pools at different temperatures; the more secluded area has two small pools, tastefully surrounded by vegetation and with relaxing music piped in.
The day was spent running between the hot pools, the sauna and the sun loungers. The winter sunshine and temperatures 10 degrees hotter than in Jerusalem surprised me by adding some colour to my pasty skin. Sinking into the water, I felt the stress flowing away from my shoulders and back as I left the worries of the world behind. The day was to continue in this vein until the late afternoon when it started to cool down. Whilst in the water, you are scarcely conscious of the outside temperature. It is not advised to stay submerged for longer than 10 minutes however and even taking a liberal interpretation of time, we felt obliged to leave the water eventually and found ourselves shivering. At this point we decided to head on to find sustenance in the ancient city of Tiberias.
After showering, we once again headed north and shortly found ourselves settled in elegant surroundings eating Chinese at a restaraunt built over the Kinneret. The water level of Israel's main reservoir has given cause for concern in recent years, so to find it lapping at the original banks after the winter downfalls was extremely reassuring. I had last eaten at this particular spot some five years ago during sheva brachot for good friends - who as chance would have it, we will be visiting this weekend. The excellence of the food and the peaceful ambience have not changed one iota.
As we headed for home, I reflected that in the space of a day we had traversed millenia and seen many geographical wonders within a 2 hour drive of Jerusalem. A short drive further north could have seen us ski-ing on the Hermon, looking out over the arena of one of the bloodiest tank battles in history, or retracing the footsteps of Jesus around Galilee. Driving past the lapping waters of the Kinneret, we passed by Deganya, the first kibbutz, the ruins of Beit Shean, along the Roman road past Ein Hanatziv, "my" kibbutz, down the Jordan valley and past Jericho, the oldest inhabited City in the world, turning away from the Dead Sea towards the Holy City of Jerusalem and home
Almost eight years ago, I decided to make my home in Israel. I find myself constantly being forced to re-evaluate why it is that I am here. Our trip allowed me to see things from a different perspective and to be reminded about aspects of the country which I wouldn't otherwise usually contemplate. I feel very privileged to be taking my part in the history of this wonderful country, despite the difficulties of doing so at this particular moment in time; under attack by our enemies and with a much weakened economy making the day to day aspects of life so tough for a growing part of the population. With my love of the country reinforced, I look forward to facing the challenges which tomorrow will bring.
Shabbat Shalom
Gilly
We left Jerusalem headed eastwards at about 9:30. Dropping rapidly towards the lowest spot on earth, we turned north a little before reaching the Dead Sea and headed up the Jordan Valley, newly carpeted in green from the winter rains. 1 1/4 hours later saw us at the Tzemach junction at the bottom end of the replenished Kinneret. I know what you're thinking - and the policeman who kindly let me off with a warning to slow down would agree with you! Another 10 minutes drive in the shadow of the Golan Heights saw us pulling into the parking lot; already full of cars and buses carrying works outings and tour groups.
Hamat Gader is an eclectic collection of attractions; the biggest crocodile farm in the Middle East is maybe the best known but guests also come for the spa, the restaurants, the ancient ruins and the petting zoo. We had come for the famous hot pools - bath-hot water enrichened with minerals, bubbling up from deep within the earth. Had I thought to call ahead of time to book, we could have taken advantage of one of the package deals including entry to the more secluded section of the site, massage or other holistic treatments and a meal at one of the restaurants - all for a little over NIS 200 per person - around the £25 mark.
We paid the extra for the secluded area which included a towel, robe, slippers, soaps, locker hire and not having to fight for a lounger - definitely worth the money. The main area is made up of two large pools, and a number of smaller pools at different temperatures; the more secluded area has two small pools, tastefully surrounded by vegetation and with relaxing music piped in.
The day was spent running between the hot pools, the sauna and the sun loungers. The winter sunshine and temperatures 10 degrees hotter than in Jerusalem surprised me by adding some colour to my pasty skin. Sinking into the water, I felt the stress flowing away from my shoulders and back as I left the worries of the world behind. The day was to continue in this vein until the late afternoon when it started to cool down. Whilst in the water, you are scarcely conscious of the outside temperature. It is not advised to stay submerged for longer than 10 minutes however and even taking a liberal interpretation of time, we felt obliged to leave the water eventually and found ourselves shivering. At this point we decided to head on to find sustenance in the ancient city of Tiberias.
After showering, we once again headed north and shortly found ourselves settled in elegant surroundings eating Chinese at a restaraunt built over the Kinneret. The water level of Israel's main reservoir has given cause for concern in recent years, so to find it lapping at the original banks after the winter downfalls was extremely reassuring. I had last eaten at this particular spot some five years ago during sheva brachot for good friends - who as chance would have it, we will be visiting this weekend. The excellence of the food and the peaceful ambience have not changed one iota.
As we headed for home, I reflected that in the space of a day we had traversed millenia and seen many geographical wonders within a 2 hour drive of Jerusalem. A short drive further north could have seen us ski-ing on the Hermon, looking out over the arena of one of the bloodiest tank battles in history, or retracing the footsteps of Jesus around Galilee. Driving past the lapping waters of the Kinneret, we passed by Deganya, the first kibbutz, the ruins of Beit Shean, along the Roman road past Ein Hanatziv, "my" kibbutz, down the Jordan valley and past Jericho, the oldest inhabited City in the world, turning away from the Dead Sea towards the Holy City of Jerusalem and home
Almost eight years ago, I decided to make my home in Israel. I find myself constantly being forced to re-evaluate why it is that I am here. Our trip allowed me to see things from a different perspective and to be reminded about aspects of the country which I wouldn't otherwise usually contemplate. I feel very privileged to be taking my part in the history of this wonderful country, despite the difficulties of doing so at this particular moment in time; under attack by our enemies and with a much weakened economy making the day to day aspects of life so tough for a growing part of the population. With my love of the country reinforced, I look forward to facing the challenges which tomorrow will bring.
Shabbat Shalom
Gilly
Sunday, February 15, 2004
I woke from my Shabbat afternoon nap yesterday to find Jerusalem under a blanket of snow. Actually it was probably more like a sheet of the stuff - only a couple of centimetres deep but that was immediately deemed to be enough for the schools to call a snow day and the Mayor to announce a snow man competition.
Counting on more snow coming down last night to prevent me from making it to the office this morning, I trudged into town to meet a friend over a couple of beers. Shanty, a charming little pub hidden just out of site of the Ben Yehuda precinct in a lovely old building hosted our little soiree. It turned out to be the first time my friend, hailing from California, had seen this much snow. Last week's earthquake in contrast, was not even considered to be worthy of comment. We were joined by a friend of hers from the States - a Conservative Rabbi here on a conference and proceeded to put the world to rights over a couple of beers.
It had been a bitterly cold couple of days and had seemed a perfect opportunity to prepare the first Cholent of the season. Cholent, together with chopped liver and gefilte fish makes up the holy trinity of kosher foods. Jewish Law (Halacha) forbids certain acts of work on Shabbat. Cooking is amongst the tasks that is strictly prohibited and every Jewish community around the world therefore developed its own variation of a dish which is cooked before Shabbat and then left to keep hot in an oven or on a hot plate until lunch time. Sephardi Jews (North African origin) eat Hamin or A'dafina; Ashkenazi Jews (European origin) eat Cholent. The route of the word is uncertain; one of the most accepted explanations is that it comes from the French Chaud Lent (Hot, slow) although it has also been suggested that it is a bastardisation of "Shul end".
Cholent is traditionally made with beans, potatoes, beef and bones but in fact everyone has their own variation. I use plenty of onions and garlic, a good piece of beef, potatos, sweet potatos, barley, date honey and kishke (stuffed intestine - a glorified sausage) together with various herbs and spices and either wine, beer or stock as the cooking liquid. The aroma pervades the house for a full 24 hours as I generally start cooking early in the day on Friday.
It comes out differently every time but this week was superb. The meat, having cooked for a full day can be eaten with a spoon; the date honey gives the dish an amazing golden brown hue and the smell is wonderful - manna from heaven. Served with some French mustard and a cold beer it is the ultimate winter fuel and the left overs can be blitzed into a tasty soup - although an old friend regularly gets his Sunday mornings off to a fighting start by digging into the leftovers for breakfast.
This morning the roads were clear enough to get to work (of course). Damn that beer!
Gilly
Counting on more snow coming down last night to prevent me from making it to the office this morning, I trudged into town to meet a friend over a couple of beers. Shanty, a charming little pub hidden just out of site of the Ben Yehuda precinct in a lovely old building hosted our little soiree. It turned out to be the first time my friend, hailing from California, had seen this much snow. Last week's earthquake in contrast, was not even considered to be worthy of comment. We were joined by a friend of hers from the States - a Conservative Rabbi here on a conference and proceeded to put the world to rights over a couple of beers.
It had been a bitterly cold couple of days and had seemed a perfect opportunity to prepare the first Cholent of the season. Cholent, together with chopped liver and gefilte fish makes up the holy trinity of kosher foods. Jewish Law (Halacha) forbids certain acts of work on Shabbat. Cooking is amongst the tasks that is strictly prohibited and every Jewish community around the world therefore developed its own variation of a dish which is cooked before Shabbat and then left to keep hot in an oven or on a hot plate until lunch time. Sephardi Jews (North African origin) eat Hamin or A'dafina; Ashkenazi Jews (European origin) eat Cholent. The route of the word is uncertain; one of the most accepted explanations is that it comes from the French Chaud Lent (Hot, slow) although it has also been suggested that it is a bastardisation of "Shul end".
Cholent is traditionally made with beans, potatoes, beef and bones but in fact everyone has their own variation. I use plenty of onions and garlic, a good piece of beef, potatos, sweet potatos, barley, date honey and kishke (stuffed intestine - a glorified sausage) together with various herbs and spices and either wine, beer or stock as the cooking liquid. The aroma pervades the house for a full 24 hours as I generally start cooking early in the day on Friday.
It comes out differently every time but this week was superb. The meat, having cooked for a full day can be eaten with a spoon; the date honey gives the dish an amazing golden brown hue and the smell is wonderful - manna from heaven. Served with some French mustard and a cold beer it is the ultimate winter fuel and the left overs can be blitzed into a tasty soup - although an old friend regularly gets his Sunday mornings off to a fighting start by digging into the leftovers for breakfast.
This morning the roads were clear enough to get to work (of course). Damn that beer!
Gilly
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Jerusalem experienced an earthquake yesterday - and for once there was no metaphor involved whatsoever. Sat at my desk, at 10:16 the room began to shake. Once my caffeine starved brain had computed that there had been no bang, I immediately figured what was happening. After a 25 second shake, felt across the entire country, things were back to normal.
Certainly the quake, reportedly measuring a respectable 5 on the Richter scale, was a talking point yesterday. It may even be the case that it will still be discussed during a lull in the conversation around Shabbat tables - it is after all, the first time I've felt the earth move (sorry ladies!) since I came to Israel (the last quake of any significance was in the middle of the night and didn't rouse me). Opening this morning's paper however, I was unsurprised to see that it wasn't the main headline. No-one died or was even seriously injured thank goodness - although I've yet to confirm whether the bottle that fell casualty at my friend's home was NOT a vintage single malt! Israel has more serious issues to worry about - every day is an existential battle. Israel is not a normal country but its because its not normal that I have chosen to make my home here.
Yesterday evening I dined at a Jerusalem institution. Fink's, a tiny, olde European style bar-restaraunt has been the destination of politicians, journalists and VIPs since before the State of Israel was founded. Located in an unassuming spot on the corner of King George and HaHistadrut Streets, a stone's throw from the original Knesset (Parliament) building, it represents an oasis of a world gone by in the centre of the world's most contested city.
Recently Fink's made a move to fit the times and demography of Jerusalem by taking pork and other non-kosher products of its menu and obtaining Kosher certification. Jerusalem has becoming an increasingly religious city. A guestimate would say that the majority of both its residents and visitors are at least traditional plus in their level of observance, and therefore the move represents common sense even though it has I'm sure led to a change in the clientele with digruntled regulars no longer able to order certain dishes moving on and an intrigued religious crowd coming to see what all the fuss was about.
Fink's is small - it has precisely 5 tables (book in advance) plus a certain amount of room at the well stocked bar. The walls are wood panelled and are decorated with memorabilia accumulated over decades which give it an intimate charm. The waiters are attentive and incredibly polite - almost to a fault. Tables are set with crisp white table cloths and napkins; the flatware and eclectic collection of glassware have doubtless been used to feed and water many famous names down the years.
We ordered the dish for which the establishment is perhaps most famous - Goulash soup as a starting point. Served in a tall cup it was absolutely delicious. Attention to detail included different breads, tabasco sauce (recommended!) and lemon scented cold water. For the main course, I settled on Wiener Schnitzel - another signature dish of the house. The schnitzel was paper thin and was served in crisp breadcrumbs with plenty of lemon juice over the top - delicious. My companion settled for a salad, which seemed unadventurous in the extreme given the extent of the menu which includes Tuna, brains, Chateaubriand, Tournedos Rossini, Tafelspitz (baked beef served with horseradish sauce) and many other delights. We shared a superb hot chocolate cake for dessert.
I shall certainly be going back to Fink's. It is an establishment which one would expect to find tucked away in a European capital as a well kept secret. It certainly seems slightly incongruous alongside the Felafel stands and Humous restaraunts which one eexpects to find in the middle of Jerusalem and as such is a pleasant surprise. I'm certainly glad for its kosher certificate, without which I would have continued to walk on by.
Gilly
Certainly the quake, reportedly measuring a respectable 5 on the Richter scale, was a talking point yesterday. It may even be the case that it will still be discussed during a lull in the conversation around Shabbat tables - it is after all, the first time I've felt the earth move (sorry ladies!) since I came to Israel (the last quake of any significance was in the middle of the night and didn't rouse me). Opening this morning's paper however, I was unsurprised to see that it wasn't the main headline. No-one died or was even seriously injured thank goodness - although I've yet to confirm whether the bottle that fell casualty at my friend's home was NOT a vintage single malt! Israel has more serious issues to worry about - every day is an existential battle. Israel is not a normal country but its because its not normal that I have chosen to make my home here.
Yesterday evening I dined at a Jerusalem institution. Fink's, a tiny, olde European style bar-restaraunt has been the destination of politicians, journalists and VIPs since before the State of Israel was founded. Located in an unassuming spot on the corner of King George and HaHistadrut Streets, a stone's throw from the original Knesset (Parliament) building, it represents an oasis of a world gone by in the centre of the world's most contested city.
Recently Fink's made a move to fit the times and demography of Jerusalem by taking pork and other non-kosher products of its menu and obtaining Kosher certification. Jerusalem has becoming an increasingly religious city. A guestimate would say that the majority of both its residents and visitors are at least traditional plus in their level of observance, and therefore the move represents common sense even though it has I'm sure led to a change in the clientele with digruntled regulars no longer able to order certain dishes moving on and an intrigued religious crowd coming to see what all the fuss was about.
Fink's is small - it has precisely 5 tables (book in advance) plus a certain amount of room at the well stocked bar. The walls are wood panelled and are decorated with memorabilia accumulated over decades which give it an intimate charm. The waiters are attentive and incredibly polite - almost to a fault. Tables are set with crisp white table cloths and napkins; the flatware and eclectic collection of glassware have doubtless been used to feed and water many famous names down the years.
We ordered the dish for which the establishment is perhaps most famous - Goulash soup as a starting point. Served in a tall cup it was absolutely delicious. Attention to detail included different breads, tabasco sauce (recommended!) and lemon scented cold water. For the main course, I settled on Wiener Schnitzel - another signature dish of the house. The schnitzel was paper thin and was served in crisp breadcrumbs with plenty of lemon juice over the top - delicious. My companion settled for a salad, which seemed unadventurous in the extreme given the extent of the menu which includes Tuna, brains, Chateaubriand, Tournedos Rossini, Tafelspitz (baked beef served with horseradish sauce) and many other delights. We shared a superb hot chocolate cake for dessert.
I shall certainly be going back to Fink's. It is an establishment which one would expect to find tucked away in a European capital as a well kept secret. It certainly seems slightly incongruous alongside the Felafel stands and Humous restaraunts which one eexpects to find in the middle of Jerusalem and as such is a pleasant surprise. I'm certainly glad for its kosher certificate, without which I would have continued to walk on by.
Gilly
Monday, February 09, 2004
Thought it was time that I had a mouthpiece other than my regular emails to family and friends. This seems like a good way to be going about it.
My latest interfamily email related to the terrorist bombing on the corner of Aza and Arlozorov Streets in which 11 people were killed. The response that I received to it suggested that I should make sure it reaches a wider audiences. The text, with minor alterations is below. I won't only be writing about the doom and gloom but as this inspired me to write it seems a suitable starting point.
Gilly
"Dear family and friends,
Once again, I find myself writing to inform you that I am shaken but otherwise okay after another terrorist bomb attack on a Jerusalem bus. I find the process of writing to be something of a catharsis, a way in which I can confront my emotions.
Whilst talking on the phone just before 9 this morning, I heard a huge bang. It was clear straight away that it was a bomb, a large one and close by at that. After having completed the phone call, without any news teams yet on the scene, but with sirens screaming from all directions, I ran outside to see what information I could glean. Police were already on the scene, accompanied by ambulances, fire engines and ZAKA volunteers; the Jerusalem emergency services are well trained in reacting fast to bombings.
The police lines made it impossible to get near to the scene of the attack. At first I was told that it had occurred on the corner of Balfour and Aza streets; next to the PM's residence. As I walked down to Rechov Aza it became clear that the bombing had been closer still; on the corner of Arlozorov and Aza, 75 metres from my office; a junction that I go through pretty much daily. If the bombings at Cafe Moment on March 9th 2002 and Cafe Hillel on September 5th 2003 had been on my doorstep, this was over the threshold. I had bought Hot Chocolate from Chocolate, the cafe on the corner on the previous day. Today, 10 yards away, stood the mangled frame of the bus whilst the emergency services did their jobs, stretchers were rushed past me and lifted into ambulances which screeched away towards the emergency departments at Shaarei Tzedek , Hadassah and Bikur Holim.
The routine is far too familiar - your phone starts ringing, texts come pouring in. I first called my girlfriend to check that she was okay, then my mother to reassure her that I wasn't involved. Other friends got in on the act including calls from overseas. It seems that everyone I know is okay but others were not so lucky; 11 people were killed, upwards of 50 wounded. Guilty only of getting on the wrong number 19 bus. It is the bus to the Hebrew University at Mount Scopus; a bus that my girlfriend, gets on all the time; a bus that she got on again, just hours after the bombing .
I walked around the corner 3 1/2 hours after the attack; as I walked up the street, already clear of debris, another number 19 bus, came eerily around the corner. The only sign of the attack was the people thronging on the corners and a few remaining TV crews. Jerusalemites have unfortunately become used to having to deal with terror attacks; the response is overwhelmingly one of "life goes on". Whilst I mourn the dead, I will adopt the same response and get on with my life. I will not let those who are celebrating the slaughter win."
My latest interfamily email related to the terrorist bombing on the corner of Aza and Arlozorov Streets in which 11 people were killed. The response that I received to it suggested that I should make sure it reaches a wider audiences. The text, with minor alterations is below. I won't only be writing about the doom and gloom but as this inspired me to write it seems a suitable starting point.
Gilly
"Dear family and friends,
Once again, I find myself writing to inform you that I am shaken but otherwise okay after another terrorist bomb attack on a Jerusalem bus. I find the process of writing to be something of a catharsis, a way in which I can confront my emotions.
Whilst talking on the phone just before 9 this morning, I heard a huge bang. It was clear straight away that it was a bomb, a large one and close by at that. After having completed the phone call, without any news teams yet on the scene, but with sirens screaming from all directions, I ran outside to see what information I could glean. Police were already on the scene, accompanied by ambulances, fire engines and ZAKA volunteers; the Jerusalem emergency services are well trained in reacting fast to bombings.
The police lines made it impossible to get near to the scene of the attack. At first I was told that it had occurred on the corner of Balfour and Aza streets; next to the PM's residence. As I walked down to Rechov Aza it became clear that the bombing had been closer still; on the corner of Arlozorov and Aza, 75 metres from my office; a junction that I go through pretty much daily. If the bombings at Cafe Moment on March 9th 2002 and Cafe Hillel on September 5th 2003 had been on my doorstep, this was over the threshold. I had bought Hot Chocolate from Chocolate, the cafe on the corner on the previous day. Today, 10 yards away, stood the mangled frame of the bus whilst the emergency services did their jobs, stretchers were rushed past me and lifted into ambulances which screeched away towards the emergency departments at Shaarei Tzedek , Hadassah and Bikur Holim.
The routine is far too familiar - your phone starts ringing, texts come pouring in. I first called my girlfriend to check that she was okay, then my mother to reassure her that I wasn't involved. Other friends got in on the act including calls from overseas. It seems that everyone I know is okay but others were not so lucky; 11 people were killed, upwards of 50 wounded. Guilty only of getting on the wrong number 19 bus. It is the bus to the Hebrew University at Mount Scopus; a bus that my girlfriend, gets on all the time; a bus that she got on again, just hours after the bombing .
I walked around the corner 3 1/2 hours after the attack; as I walked up the street, already clear of debris, another number 19 bus, came eerily around the corner. The only sign of the attack was the people thronging on the corners and a few remaining TV crews. Jerusalemites have unfortunately become used to having to deal with terror attacks; the response is overwhelmingly one of "life goes on". Whilst I mourn the dead, I will adopt the same response and get on with my life. I will not let those who are celebrating the slaughter win."
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