Black Coffee

There is never a better Shabbat here than the chilled out Shabbat on campus. I love traveling, I love camping, and I love going out. Nothing holds a candle to truly resting around here. Today was a great day. I had planned to go on a morning hike with Paulien, but not surprisingly I overslept. My cell phone has crapped out and I had no way to set an alarm, so I left my blinds open in the hope that the morning light would wake me. It did not. I got up around 9:15 and stumbled out into the living room. There was Paulien, sitting on my couch, reading. I was rather startled. Luckily, she overslept too and had just arrived.

Rather than start a long hike we weren't really going to be able to finish before lunchtime, we just hung around at the dorm. We brought books out to the grass by one of the security posts, sat down in the shade and read. We went out to the park for lunch at the Druze pita stand that is out there every Shabbat. Then we sat in the shade and talked about international politics, culture, globalism and nationalism. It was a perfectly pleasant time. I drink several cups of black coffee and reflected on how I would miss something as simple as the Druze pita stand. Something like this would never fly in America. If the FDA didn't get to them for having no food safety standards, then it would be because the IRS got to them first for not paying any taxes. Plus, can you imagine someone just making a fire on the side of the road in the middle of a major American city in order to cook? There is something quaint and foreign about it that is comforting. It just wouldn't work back home.

We spend the afternoon at Aaron and Bill's flat, drinking more coffee on their patio. I spent all day outside which is just a pleasure in Israel in May. Around 5, Paulien and I walked out to the park and collected a huge amount of firewood. We put it in the usual spot and came back. 4 hours later, we were out in the park with a small group of friends and had an easy, relaxed campfire. All things considered, it was one of the quieter days I've had in this city, but it was magnificent in it's simplicity. Shabbat shalom.

This Post Is Not About Israel

The Chicago Cubs are my one true love. Allow me get that off my chest right now. I have been a fan the entirety of my young life. Nothing would make me happier than watching the Cubs win a World Championship. As of this writing, the Cubs are 9 games over .500 and in first place. This season has me drinking the Kool Aid as much as I ever have. Which is why Jim Hendry, their idiot General Manager, is now dead to me.

Jim Edmonds wasn't out of work long. The Chicago Cubs agreed to a contract with the 37-year-old outfielder on Wednesday, five days after he was released by the San Diego Padres.

"Hopefully, Jimmy has something left and it was just a bad start," General Manager Jim Hendry said.

This time, he has gone too far. There are certain taboos in baseball that you do not transgress, and this should have been one of them. Edmonds is old, broken down and a waste of a roster spot at this point in his career. He is no longer good at baseball. He will not help this team to win. That is not the issue at hand. Edmonds is also an arrogant, hotdogging, selfish clubhouse cancer, who performed unspeakable acts of evil against this franchise for years as a member of the motherfucking St. Louis Cardinals.

He should never have been given the privilege of putting on the blue pinstripes. I worry that this will indeed be the year that we win it all, and the victory will be less sweet for us true believers because we uniformly loathe the team's primary center fielder. There is no forgiveness in my heart for what Edmonds has put me through, and it would fit his M.O. to rob a World Series victory of its unchecked joy. Go straight to hell, Jimmy Ballgame. And take Cruller Jim with you.

النكبة - Nakba

President Bush is in Israel today, here with other heads of state and foreign diplomats to celebrate Israel's 60th birthday. As the celebrations roll on into their second week, I would like to take a moment to pause and ruminate on tomorrow's "Nakba Day." The word Nakba (spelled out for you in Arabic, and intentionally capitalized in English) means "catastrophe." Not surprisingly, it refers to the creation of Israel, the flight of Palestinian refugees that fled or were forced from their homes because of the fighting, and the destruction of over 100 Palestinian villages in what would become Israel.

Israel is dear to me, as it should be. Having lived here, I no longer see it through rose colored glasses, but rather with a skeptical eye and a heavy dose of reality. I believe this is healthier. I love this country but I feel it is my responsibility to recognize that the culmination of our collective hope and drive to regain our Holy Land did not come without significant bloodshed and hardship. Israel was not born by immaculate conception. Nor was it only Israel that was born in 1948. There were two nations born as a result of that war, Israelis and Palestinians.

60 years later, Israel is thriving. It's far from perfect, but Zionism has been a fantastic success. We Jews have realized self determination. It would be immoral and unjust to deny it to the Palestinians, whose fate we are bound to. It is time to realize that making concessions is not a sign of weakness. We have our Jewish state, our Israeli society, our Promised Land, and it is beautiful. For our sake, as well as for theirs, we must help the Palestinians to build their state alongside ours.

The Eternal Learning Curve

Indulge me for a moment while I bitch about something trivial. I've been here since October, and I had never learned how to use the can openers that Israeli's use regularly. I know what your all thinking now. "It's a can opener, what could there be to figure out?" Allow me to show you.


No crank, no wheel, no nothing. The thing was baffling to me. I bought a junk can opener from Supersal just because it looked like one from home. Suffice it to say, it didn't work as well as one from home. It still gave me a sense of comfort. Then the unthinkable happened: I went to open a can of tuna last night, and discovered that my shitty can opener was broken. No longer would it open anything. I was left with but one choice. I could force myself to work the survival can opener, or I could stop eating anything that comes in a can. Being the hardheaded person that I am, there was but one choice. I grabbed the survival can opener, and I began to struggle. And how I struggled. I was sweating, my arm was aching, and I was making no progress. Then, suddenly, I braced the opener against the under lip of the can, and made a small bit of progress! Emboldened, I tried to replicate my technique. It was no picnic, but I eventually got into a rhythm, and by the time my pasta was done cooking, I had opened the can! (Don't ask about what I was making - I'm still a student.) I know this is all pretty nerdy, but it's very exciting for me.