As I discovered the following morning, the buffet breakfast at the hotel was substantial and varied, including all the usual items one would expect to find on the breakfast table of a five star hotel belonging to an international chain, as well as local specialities, such as bougatsa (akin to a popular Israeli dish known as bourekas) and tzatziki(also available in Israel, but the Greek version, made from the thicker Greek yoghurt, is richer). The only trouble was, the “hot” dishes, such as the bougatsa, and the scrambled eggs, never seemed to be more than lukewarm. And the coffee was dreadful! As bad as Starbucks coffee!
After breakfast, we set out for Mt. Olympus, famed in mythology as the home of the gods. It was easy to see why the ancient Greeks believed heavenly beings walked these mountains:
As the indomitable Spartacus manoeuvred our bus up the winding mountain road, we encountered a goat-herd with his charges:
There is a point beyond which buses cannot proceed, but where there is a cafe selling the most divinely flavoured smoothies. I am not sure these could actually compete with the nectar and ambrosia on which the Olympian gods were said to dine, but they were ice cold and deliciously refreshing in the mid-30s temperatures we were experiencing. (Yes, I know in Israel, we are used to that – but at home in Israel, we tend to stay indoors, near to the air-conditioning, and not go rushing around in extreme weather conditions. Which reminds me – the air-conditioning system in the bus was faulty and while I, sitting in the front, just about found it bearable, people sitting further back did not cease to complain.)
At any rate, after pausing to take pictures in the vicinity of the cafe (which enjoyed spectacular views), we proceeded on foot to “the Pillar of Zeus” where romantically-minded tourists leave offerings for the Father of the Gods:
Some more views of Mount Olympus and the surrounding mountains:
Whilst posing for my photo above this dizzying drop, I was forcibly reminded of the romantic thriller I had just finished reading, M.M. Kaye’s “Death in Cyprus”, where the villain (whose identity I shall not, of course, disclose, in case some of you decide to read the book) attempts to throw the heroine to her death in just such a location!
Today, too, we had a late lunch, this time in Litochoro, a picturesque little town which serves as the base for serious trekkers and for mountaineers who are planning the ascent of Mt. Olympus’s 2,918 metre (9,573 ft) peak.
As we were planning to go out to a taverna that evening, I thought it would be wise to stick to a light lunch in a small restaurant right on the village square, which offered, among other things, vegetarian fare. I chose stuffed peppers and tzatziki – enough to keep me going until suppertime, but not so much as to leave me too bloated to enjoy a delicious meal at the Ladadika Taverna in the evening, where a full Greek meze, as well as a main course, wine and a soft drink cost a very reasonable 30 euros. There was also a floor show – a Greek band and a singer, who entertained us with Greek and Hebrew songs, in which we enthusiastically joined. I must just mention, at this point, that many Greek songs have been translated into Hebrew and popularised – especially by the Israeli singer Yehuda Poliker, himself the son of Greek-Jewish Holocaust survivors from Thessaloniki.
There was another large group in the taverna that evening, from Turkey, and both our group and theirs happily joined in the dancing together, as did the Greek diners. It appears music, good food and ouzo overcome politics, every time!
My videos from the taverna didn’t turn out too well, alas, and the only stills picture I took was of the lovely coloured chandelier:
Since we went to a taverna again, on our last night, where my videos turned out rather more successfully and where, in my opinion, the music was even better, I will leave you this time with a videoclip of Yehuda Poliker performing together with the well-known Greek singer, Giorgos Dalaras.
Before I go, since Sunday evening will mark the start of Rosh Hashana (the Jewish New Year) and the High Holy Days, I want to wish you all a Good Year – Shana Tova – שנה טובה.
It’s been decades since I last visited Greece – since I finished my first university degree in the Classics, in fact – and decades since I have been telling myself I must go there again. This summer, the dream was finally realised and I set off for a week’s vacation in Thessaloniki and northern Greece.
This post is going to be mostly a photo-journal, but it has taken me a fortnight to upload the several hundred photos and videos I shot to my PC, and edit them. I have picked out between 60 and 70 of the best and I shall post them here, over the next few days, for your enjoyment.
Apparently (according to the in-flight magazine I found in the seat pocket of the very small Astra Airlines plane which flew us direct from Tel Aviv to Thessaloniki’s Makedonia Airport), thanks to a new tourism agreement signed between Israel and Greece the year before last, (plus, I suspect, the chilly relations between Israel and Turkey, which have led to a drop in the numbers of Israelis choosing to vacation in Greece’s immediate eastern neighbour), some 700,000 Israeli visitors are expected to spend their holidays in the Hellenic Republic this year. There was certainly strong evidence of that in the many Greeks working in restaurants and shops, who appeared to have learned at least a few words or sentences in Hebrew.
It is less than a two and a half hour flight between Tel Aviv and Thessaloniki. We landed before noon, our suitcases were swiftly loaded onto the tour bus, driven by the laconic Spartacus (a man of few words, but an excellent driver) and we were off for our first views of Thessaloniki, under the guidance of our charming Israeli tour-guide, Natalie, of Eshet Tours.
Panoramic view of the city from the fortress on the acropolis – the highest point of every Greek town.
The citadel (not to be confused with the iconic White Tower, about which, more later).
The statue of Eleftherios Venizelos, credited by many as being “the Father of Modern Greece”, at the top of Aristotelous Plaza:
We had a late lunch in the market off Aristotelous Plaza where I could not resist snapping the doors of the restrooms in the taverna where we ate, and when you read what is written on the doors, you will understand why:
It’s a bit blurred, so for those of you who can’t make out the writing, on the door to the men’s restroom it reads: MEN to the left because
while on the door to the ladies’ restroom, the sentence continues: WOMEN are always right.
Well, you can’t argue with that, can you? 😉
We then had some free time to wander about the market, before being taken to our hotel. The Holiday Inn is well-situated, but was sorely suffering from the fact that the road in front of the hotel (on Egnatia Street, one of Thessaloniki’s three main traffic arteries) was all dug up because of the city’s new driverless underground Metro system, currently under construction. I was, after all, glad to have a room that faced away from the street, even though it lacked a view. How much time, after all, was I going to be spending in my hotel room?
Having eaten so late, most of us were now ready for a long rest before venturing out, later in the evening, for a taste of Thessaloniki by night. That meant a walk down to the harbour, whilst Natalie gave us a basic orientation tour.
The Greeks, it seems, are much prone to protest – and this is often expressed in graffiti, which some have taken to Banksyian heights:
The southern end of Aristotelous Plaza, nearest to the harbour, won me over with its many shops, cafes, restaurants – and ice cream parlours:
I had a to-die-for ice-cream cup with two flavours – New York cheesecake and forest fruits. A mere 2.80 euros. Mmmmmmmm. Heavenly. However, it had been a long day – I, for one, had been up since half past four in the morning – so most of us now headed back to the hotel, for a good night’s sleep. After all – the following day, we were headed for Mount Olympus 🙂
80 years ago today, on the 29th of August 1939, the SS Warszawa sailed up the Thames estuary, and docked in the Port of London. On board were about 70 Jewish refugee children, who had sailed just four days earlier from the Polish port of Gdynia on what was to be the last Kindertransport from Poland.
Great Britain, which had callously closed the doors of Palestine to the Jews of Germany desperately seeking sanctuary from the Nazis, (despite the fact that the terms of the British Mandate specified that Palestine was destined to return to its ancient status as the Jewish Homeland), agreed to accept 10,000 Jewish children to her own shores – without their parents – and on condition that sponsors could be found for them who would agree to cover their expenses (including the expense of their return home when circumstances should permit that).
One of those children was 12-year old Bernard Kessler, who arrived with his younger sister, leaving behind his parents, whom he was never to see again. They were murdered in the Holocaust. Now aged 92, he has recently published his memoirs – the tale of a childhood first happy, then traumatic, his Bar Mitzvah devoid of any family member at his side, adolescence in wartime England, military service in the British Army (first in the Jewish Brigade, then later, in the Royal Fusiliers), marriage to Marion, who died at a tragically early age, leaving him with three teenage children, years of service to the Zionist cause, his eventual aliyah (immigration) to Israel where he met and married his second wife, Ilana, and his life in the 45 years since, in his own words, he “came home”.
The book is written in an informal, often chatty style, with many digressions, not necessarily in strict chronological order, but rather in the way a grandfather would tell his grandchildren. And therein lies what makes this book special.
In these days of resurging antisemitism, it is well to remember where that most ancient of hatreds led – and could lead to again. This book reminds us all. It is, as it says on the back cover, the story of “an ordinary man in extraordinary times and an extraordinary man in ordinary times”. A man who I happen to think is pretty special. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.
If anyone was thinking May was any less hectic than the two previous months – think again! Besides Independence Day, I had another study trip with Yad Yitzchak Ben Zvi (the last of the current season), appeared in two concerts with my choir and enjoyed a Lag B’Omer bonfire party.
On the political front, the seemingly interminable post-election coalition negotiations dragged out, eventually coming to nothing and a few nights ago, seconds before midnight, rather than hand the mandate to form a government back to the President, Prime Minister Netanyahu managed to get the Knesset, which was sworn in barely a month ago, to pass a bill dissolving itself and setting new elections for the middle of September. I am not going to go into all the ins and outs of who is responsible for the failure of the coalition negotiations and whether or not it was all a devious plot by Yisrael Beiteinu party leader Avigdor Liberman to bring down Bibi (Netanyahu), or whether the blame should be laid on the ultra-orthodox religious parties for opposing a bill which would finally see young ultra-orthodox men share in the burden of military service, together with their non-religious counterparts, or whether it is all down to Bibi trying to avoid being put on trial for alleged corruption, or whether….NO!
ENOUGH!
Whoever is responsible, it is going to cost the taxpayer millions of shekels and I am just ROYALLY PISSED OFF at the whole damn lot of them!
So, without further ado – let’s get back to some of the things which made this past month ENJOYABLE. I know many of you count on me to explain the political situation and so on, but – I really can’t talk/write about it now. It’s simply too FRUSTRATING. And the fact that we are in the throes of another sharav just makes it worse!
Not to mention the fact that I had to deal with yet another plumbing problem which involved taking up the tiles in my utility room (they still haven’t been put back). And finally – worst of all – my smart TV is on the blink and I can’t get a technician till next week!
Now, this final “tragedy”, I see as an exercise in character building. I can still watch some of my favourite series on the computer, and I have books that have been waiting on my shelves for far too long. And the disaster is greatly mitigated by the fact that the Great Breakdown only occurred AFTER I had seen the last episode of “Game of Thrones”.
Actually, this also leaves me with plenty of time now for blogging. 😉
So, where was I? Ah, yes! The last study trip of the season. And this time, we were in the south Hebron Hills.
We started the day with a lookout from Avigayil, named after Abigail the wife of Nabal, who lived in this region and about whom we can read in I Samuel 25. There she is described as the wife of Nabal, a wealthy man of Maon, whose possessions were in Carmel (not to be confused with Carmel which is in the north of Israel).
How do we know we are in the right place? That is easy, due to the fact that the Arab villages in the area preserved the names of the Israelite sites they occupied. In the Book of Joshua, chapter 15, we read about the inheritance of the tribe of Judah and its borders. Adjacent towns are grouped together and in verse 55, we read about the cities of Maon, Carmel, and Ziph, and Yuttah. Lying opposite our lookout point are the Arab villages of El-Kirmil, and Yatta. The archaeological site of Khirbet el-Kirmil lies some 5 km. south of present-day Yatta. Nearby, about 7 km. south of Hebron, lies another Arab village, Zif. Adjacent lies the archaeological site of Tel Zif. As we know from I Samuel 23, while he was on the run from King Saul, who sought to kill him, the future King David spent a great deal of time in the area around Ziph and the nearby wilderness of Maon. And, sure enough, not far away lies the present day Arab village of Ma’in. So we have all these Arab villages, with similar names to the Biblical towns, grouped together just as the Biblical towns were, plus archaeological remains. This is how archaeologists identify Biblical sites – archaeological remains plus preservation of names plus geographical appropriateness (such as topographical landmarks as described in the Bible, proximity of Arab villages with similar names to the ancient Biblical names, etc.)
It was to see some of these archaeological remains that we had come. The original intention had been to ascend the archaeological site of Tel Ma’on on foot, but the extreme temperatures that day made that unadvisable. Instead, we drove by bus to the site of ancient Sussiya, not far away.
Sussiya was the site of an ancient Jewish settlement on the south eastern fringes of the Hebron Hills, on the edge of the desert. It is not known for certain when it was founded but it reached its zenith in the Roman-Byzantine period and the Early Arab period.
Archaeological finds document the devotion of the Jewish inhabitants to Jewish religious law. These include over thirty mikva’ot, or ritual baths, attesting to the great importance attributed by the Jews of Sussiya to ritual purity and impurity laws, even after the destruction of the Temple. (The ritual baths are an integral part of the plan of the dwelling arrangement dating back to the 5th-8th centuries CE.) Some of these are large and were probably used by the whole community, while others are small and may have been private mikva’ot belonging to individual families – no doubt the wealthier ones.
Many of Sussiya’s dwelling places were, at least partially, underground. This afforded protection, both from nomadic, desert-dwelling marauders, and from the extreme heat.
Here is one of the dwelling-caves:
Pride of place, of course, goes to the synagogue. Like other synagogues unearthed in the south Hebron Hills region, in Eshtamoa, Anim and Maon, it has its entrance from the eastern side, since the northern side faces towards Jerusalem.
For this reason, unlike synagogues excavated in other parts of the country, one does not find pillars lining one’s right and left hand side, on entering the synagogue, since this would block off the view of the northern wall, containing the holy ark. Instead, there was a niche, with a platform in front of it, surrounded by a balustrade. The reconstructed platform is on display in the Israel Museum. What you see here is an exact copy.
The floor of the synagogue was decorated by elaborate mosaics, such as these:
As you can see in this latter picture, Jewish symbols, such as the seven – branched Menorah, are prominent. At the bottom of the right-hand Menorah, you can also make out a lulav together with an etrog.
The outside courtyard of the synagogue was surrounded by porticoes on three sides. In one of them, a mosaic inscription was uncovered, honouring Rabbi Isai the Priest:
Translated, it reads: Remember for good the sanctity of my master and rabbi, Isai the priest, the honourable and venerable, who made this mosaic and plastered its walls with lime, which he donated at a feast of Rabbi Yochanan the priest, the venerable scribe, his son. Peace on Israel. Amen.
As you can see from this next picture, taken from the upper gallery of the synagogue facing out, the synagogue in Sussiya was built on top of a hill, in keeping with the Halacha (Jewish religious law) mentioned in the Tosefta: “They build them (i.e. synagogues – Ed.) only in the highest place in the town”.
From Sussiya, we proceeded to Anim. Here, too, like the other synagogues excavated in the south Hebron Hills area, the entrance is from the east, and the wall with the holy ark faces north, towards Jerusalem.
At some stage during the Muslim period, probably in the 7th or 8th century CE, the synagogue was converted into a mosque.
Before proceeding to my next topic, here is a short film I found on YouTube about the Anim archaeological site:
As I mentioned, in May, I also took part in two concerts. One of these was a concert given by the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir, at the Notre Dame Centre of Jerusalem. Here we gave a programme of evening and night-themed music, ranging from Ravel’s Nicolette, about a young girl who goes out to the meadows at dusk, where she is courted, in turn, by a wolf, a handsome young page and an ugly (but rich) old man, to Brahms’ In stille Nacht and from Villa Lobos’s Estrela e Lua Nova (about the new moon and the star-studded sky) through the night until the following sunrise, with the African-American spiritual My Lord, What a Mornin’.
Here are a couple of excerpts from the concert. First of all, a popular Israeli folk song about the shepherdesses drawing water for the flocks at even-tide:
And now, a fragment from In stiller Nacht (only the second verse, alas):
Just a few days later, I took part in the end-of-season Gala of the main Oratorio Choir, at which we performed Aharon Harlap’s Requiem together with selections from Haydn’s The Creation, with the Jerusalem Street Orchestra. Both concerts were conducted by Dor Magen. The theme of this second concert was “From Darkness to Light” (ie. from the darkness of death to the light of creation). Alas, I have – as yet – no videos of this concert, although it was professionally recorded and no doubt, in time, the DVD will be available, or the film will be posted on YouTube or on the Choir’s Faqcebook page. But here, in the meantime, is a link to a review of the concert.
Now, since today is Jerusalem Day – the anniversary of the reunification of Israel’s capital in the wake of the 1967 Six Day War – and I plan to celebrate, I will bid you Lehitra’ot (Au revoir, Auf Wiedersehen, Arrivederci, See You) till next time.
I promised my readers a second post, describing the other events of April – or, at least, the first half of April but, as so often happens, after starting to write, I took a break for a couple of days, and then there was Pessach (Passover), and – well, you know. Sometimes Life gets in the way of writing about it (lol).
I started drafting this post just after Pessach, but, since I very much wanted to include a clip from another one of our concerts, I put it on hold after describing my weekend in Alon Shvut in the hope that the official video of the concert would be uploaded to YouTube. While I was waiting, the simmering tensions in the south of Israel broke into open hostilities when the terrorist entity of Hamastan (a.k.a. the Gaza Strip) progressed from the steady stream of booby-trapped balloons they have been sending to Israel for about a year, to a hail of rockets (more than 700 rockets over the past two days) – with no word of condemnation from the UN, the EU or the western mainstream media – except for a disgraceful headline from Sky News, The Independent and ITV when Israel finally responded, to the effect that “Israeli airstrikes kill mother and baby” (who were actually killed by a misfiring Palestinian rocket), with no mention of the fact that the Israeli airstrikes were in response to the hail of Palestinian rockets raining down on Israel! No mention either of the Israeli civilians who were killed in those rocket attacks.
As of this morning, a ceasefire was supposed to be in place. In my experience, this usually means that we cease and they fire – so I don’t know how long that will last. I will take the opportunity, however to try and complete what I started.
So, let’s get right down to it.
Alon Shvut is a religious Jewish community settlement in the heart of the Etzion Bloc. The Etzion Bloc was a group of Jewish settlements in the Judaean Hills south of Jerusalem, built on land purchased from Arab landowners (often at grossly inflated prices), which, under the 1947 UN Partition Plan, lay in the area slated for the Arab state. Even before the withdrawal of British Mandatory forces, the Jewish community in the area was subject to attacks by their Arab neighbours, culminating in a battle in which residents of Kibbutz Kfar Etzion, together with Haganah reinforcements, held off the combined forces of the Arab Legion and local Arab villagers for two days, before surrendering on May 13 1948, when the Arabs then massacred many of the survivors. The Etzion Bloc was recaptured by Israel in 1967, during the Six Day War and in September of that year, Kibbutz Kfar Etzion was re-established. On this subject, I should like to reiterate a point which I have often made in the past, namely, that the same UN resolution which is so often quoted in demands for “the Right of Return” of Palestinian Arabs, also referred to the right of JEWS driven from their homes in the part of “Palestine” which had been originally slated for the Arab state. As I wrote in a previous post:
An interesting fact, which is not generally known, is that UNGA Resolution 302 (IV) of 8th December 1949 – the instrument which set up UNRWA – did not, in fact, refer specifically to Arab refugees. Resolution 302 (IV) recalls two earlier resolutions, UNGA Resolution 212 (III) of 19th November 1948 and UNGA Resolution 194 (III) of 11th December 1948 and its terms of reference are the same as those of the two earlier resolutions, encompassing “the relief of Palestine refugees of all communities”. Since Article 11 of Resolution 194 (III) “Resolves that the refugees wishing to return to their homes and live at peace with their neighbours should be permitted to do so at the earliest practicable date” and since the preamble to Resolution 212 (III) makes it clear that “refugees” refers to refugees “of all the communities”, there is no logical or legal reason for assuming that this applies only to Arab refugees. There were Palestinian Jews who also lost their homes; for example, the Jews of Gush Etzion (the Etzion Bloc) and other kibbutzim and moshavim in Judaea and Samaria, who, under the terms of Resolution 194, are to be permitted to return to their homes “at the earliest practicable date”. Since these areas were illegally occupied by the Jordanians between 1948 and 1967, “the earliest practicable date” was not until those lands were liberated by the Israel Defence Forces during the Six Day War. Why, then, does the UN persist in calling the renewed Jewish settlement in those areas illegal?
Alon Shvut (the Oak of Return) is named for a lone oak tree growing on a hill in the middle of the Etzion Bloc, which came to symbolise the yearning of the Jews expelled from the Bloc, to return to their homes.
As I mentioned in my previous post, my nephew got married at the end of March to a girl from Alon Shvut and the reason we travelled down there for the weekend was to celebrate the Sheva Brachot, or Seven Blessings. These are the seven blessings recited as part of the traditional Jewish marriage ceremony. They are also recited at festive meals during the seven days following the wedding. As we had travelled down for the weekend, and as it is a mitzvah, or religious obligation, to honour the Sabbath with three festive meals, this meant that we took part in three recitations of the Seven Blessings.
In addition, it is customary for a bridegroom to be honoured by being called up for the Reading of the Torah during the week following his wedding. So, in addition to the Friday evening service at the big, Ashkenazi synagogue, we also attended the Shabbat morning service at a smaller, Yemenite synagogue, where the bride’s father serves as rabbi amd leader of the congregation and where not only my nephew but also his father (my brother-in-law) and his uncle (my brother) were honoured by being called up to the Torah.
Alas, I cannot share any pictures of our weekend in Alon Shvut with you, as photography is not permitted on the Sabbath.
I had intended to write next about our General Elections, which took place on April 9th, but the situation being what it is, and the coalition discussions not being very encouraging, I am going to skip to something much more pleasant – our second April concert. This took place two days after the elections under the title “Women’s Voices” (קולות נשים – Kolot Nashim). The participants were women from all five Jerusalem Oratorio choirs, under the baton of Danielle Arad, conductor of Cantabile, JOC’s women’s choir. Of course, there was also a significant contingent from my own choir, the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir.
The entire concert was professionally videotaped but the video has not yet been made available (although almost a month has passed since the concert) and so I am going to have to crave your indulgence and ask you to make do with several short extracts filmed by members of the audience on their mobile phones. First of all, here is the contingent from the Chamber Choir, performing an arrangement for women’s voices of Shabbat Hamalka (שבת המלכה –Shabbat the Queen):
And your humble servant performed, together with a friend, Romy Elbert, also from the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir, the duet “Oh Lovely Peace” from Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus. Unfortunately, my sister, who was supposed to be filming it on her mobile phone, pressed something she wasn’t supposed to press or touched something she wasn’t supposed to touch, and, in so doing, cut off the video less than half-way through 😦 :
The two main pieces of the evening were “David’s Lyre” (כינורו של דוד – Kinoro shel David) by Yehezkel Braun, based on lyrics taken from the Book of Psalms and from the Midrash, and “Follow the Sea” (בעקבות הים – Be’ikvot Hayam) by Amit Weiner (who was preesent at the performance), to lyrics by the poet Natan Yonatan. Alas, until the official video of the concert is released, I have no way of sharing with you the former, which is, as it happens, one of my favourite pieces of modern Israeli music. However, somebody in the audience (I cannot remember who) did film the latter, in its entirety, so you can at least see that:
The concert ended with a performance of an African-style song, Kuimba, by African-American composer Victor C. Johnson. Here, too, alas, I can bring you only a fragment:
I am well aware that this post is somewhat disjointed. You can put that down to the difficulty of concentrating when there are so many worrying things going on in my little neck of the woods. However, I did promise, in an earlier post, and at the request of one of my readers, to continue with my “Hebrew Word of the Day” and so, before I go, here it is (closely linked to one of the subjects of this post).
It seems I have been so busy lately, I haven’t had time to post more than once a month. April has been no less hectic than the last couple of months and we are not even two thirds of the way through it yet! March ended with the wedding of my eldest nephew on Sunday March 31st. The following fortnight was fully occupied with lectures, a particularly strenuous field trip involving a hike up Mount Sdom (Sodom), an opera, two concerts (in both of which, I had solos), a weekend in the religious settlement of Alon Shvut in the Judaean Hills and, of course, elections to the Knesset, Israel’s Parliament.
Where do I begin?
Perhaps the best thing to do would be to stick to the chronological order.
So let’s start with two days after the wedding. Although I like to relax on the day of a concert, the morning of April 2nd was fully taken up with two lectures which I attend at the Israel Museum. One of these was in the framework of the Bible studies course which I have been attending for the past few years, and the other was part of a course analysing all nine of Beethoven’s symphonies. There was barely time to rest before leaving home again for an afternoon concert by my choir, the Jerusalem Oratorio Chamber Choir at Jerusalem’s Natural History Museum. This was supposed to take place in the garden, as it does every year, only this year’s concert was much earlier in the year than usual and rain was expected, so we moved indoors. (In the event, not only did it not rain but the sun came out and it was actually quite warm.)
I had two solos in this concert, one of which I will share with you – Ravel’s Trois Beaux Oiseaux du Paradis, in which I shared the soprano solo with two others, and in which the tenor solo is sung by an alto. I apologise for the background noise. This was an informal, child-friendly afternoon concert, so don’t go expecting the hushed audience of the Carnegie Hall – or the crystal clear image and sound of a professionally-made video 😉 .
The following day, Wednesday, I had another tiyul with Yad Yitzhak Ben Zvi (about which I have written often in the past) to Nachal Peratzim and Mount Sdom, overlooking the Dead Sea.
Nachal Peratzim is a narrow gorge formed by flowing water eroding soft, sedimentary rocks, creating fantastic patterns in the rock face.
How about this one, that looks like a frieze that has been carved into the rock face?
Here it is in close-up:
This one looks like a pillar that has cracked under the impact of some unknown cataclysm, such as the one which engulfed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. With very little effort, one could almost imagine it was the carving of a face:
Eventually, we arrived at a cave known as the Flour Cave, so named for the fine, white, powdery sand found there:
This used to be one of the most popular tourist attractions in the area, but a partial collapse near the exit in 2005 led to the cave being closed to the public and it has remained so ever since. Warning signs are posted at the entrance, and although Israelis are known for their disdain of such signs, our guide, Shai, insisted that we behave like law-abiding citizens 😉 .
In any case, it was time to proceed with the next part of our hike – the ascent of Mount Sdom, which, in many places, felt like an exercise in extreme sport, requiring us to scramble up, over and around rocks in temperatures which, for the beginning of April, were quite high (in the mid to upper 20s C). Since I was fully occupied with this and needed my hands free to hold on to whatever I could so as not to fall and break a leg (or possibly even my neck), I have no photographs of these most scary parts of the hike, but when we finally made it to the top, the views of the Dead Sea and the surrounding mountains were spectacular and made all the effort worthwhile.
The culmination of the climb was this view of the salt formation known as “Lot’s Wife”, because it resembles a woman looking back in the direction of the city of Sodom (as far as we can tell, as the exact location of that city is a matter of dispute). Of course, it is rather large for a woman but – who knows?
I have to say that the descent was, in many places, quite as difficult as the ascent – worse, even, in some aspects as it was so much easier to slip and slide on gravel and loose stones. However, we made it safely back to the bus and returned to Jerusalem, exhausted.
The following evening, April 4th, I went to the opera in Tel Aviv, where I saw a beautiful, traditional production of Puccini’s “Tosca”. This is one of my three favourite operas and I was delighted to see that, instead of one of those dreadful, updated versions I so hate, the Israel Opera had chosen to recreate the original 1900 production, with lavish sets that actually looked like 19th century Rome, where the story is set.
Pure heaven…
All this richness in the space of less than a week! And there is still so much more to tell. I don’t want to leave anything out. There is nothing for it. I will have to take a break to finish my Pessach (Passover) preparations, since the festival starts tomorrow evening. Next week, during Chol Hamoed, I will hopefully have more time and will be able to tell you about my weekend in Alon Shvut, the elections and the second concert in which I took part this month.
In the meantime, I want to take the opportunity to wish those of you who, like me, celebrate Pessach, Chag Sameach and, since the two festivals coincide this year, I also wish my Christian friends Happy Easter. See you (I hope!) next week with the continuation of my April Journal 🙂 .
A week and a half ago, on March 21st, we marked the first day of Spring. Here, in Israel, that delightful season made an appearance at the beginning of the month already, in time for a delightful tiyulin the Hills of Binyamin, a region in the southern Samarian Hills, which approximately covers the lands allotted to the Tribe of Benjamin, in the Bible.
So far, we have had considerable good fortune with the weather on these field trips, because despite the heavy rains just before, and in the days following, we enjoyed pleasantly vernal weather.
Our first stop was the community settlement of Kochav Hashachar (the name means Star of the Dawn), where a (mostly uphill) hike led us through fields vibrant with wildflowers.
Red anemones vied with wild tulips, wild orchids gave way to irises, the purple and white bracts of annual clary sage clashed with the yellow of flowers whose names I don’t even know and wild barley swayed in the breeze.
Overlooking the settlement is a hill known by the Arabic name Kubat a-Najma, or in Hebrew, Kipat Hakochavim – Dome of the Stars.
I see it is time for our Hebrew Word of the Day.
Kochav (כוכב) means “Star”. Plural – Kochavim. The same word is used for a star in the world of entertainment, by the way, except that in such a case, a female star would be a Kochevet (accent on the second syllable and the CH is pronounced as in Johann Sebastian Bach).
To get back to our field trip, Kubat a-Najma, at 724 metres above sea level, forms a high vantage point from which, on a clear day, one can see over a very wide area, ranging from Jerusalem, in the south, to Mount Hermon, in the north. Despite the mild weather, the skies were hazy and visibility was poor. We could not see Jerusalem but we could just about discern the outlines of Sartaba in the Jordan Valley.
Sartaba was one of the hilltops where beacons were lit in order to relay to the Babylonian Jewish diaspora, the news that the New Moon had been sighted in Jerusalem. These beacons were lit first on the Mount Scopus/Mount of Olives ridge. However, that ridge is not visible from Sartaba, and it is believed that Kubat a-Najma, which lies between Jerusalem and Sartaba, was a connecting link in the chain of bonfires which announced the start of the New Month. It is not known exactly when the practice ended but it is believed that the cause was sabotage by the Samaritans, who lit false beacons on the wrong dates, in order to break the connection between the Jews of Israel and the diaspora in Babylon.
From Kubat a-Najma, we travelled to the Saboneto soap factory, a small family business founded by Shlomo Keshet, a Kochav Hashachar resident. Shlomo founded the factory initially to provide work for his son, Elnatan, who was born with Down’s Syndrome. Later, Saboneto gradually expanded to employ other individuals with special needs. There, we met Shlomo, who explained to us his vision and showed us how the soap was made.
I do not usually allow myself to be tempted to purchase anything on these field trips, but on this occasion, I made an exception, for two reasons. One – my desire to fight BDS (the anti-Israel, antisemitic Boycott, Divest and Sanction movement) by purchasing from one of the Jewish settlements in the so-called “West Bank”, and two, my wish to support a small family business which provides a livelihood for people with special needs. Besides which, I have been to the Saboneto factory before and I love their soaps, scented with lavender, sage, lemongrass, cinnamon, mint and rosemary. I highly recommend them and no – I am not receiving any remuneration for this endorsement! They are simply jolly good soaps – if a bit gooey -and you can actually try some for yourselves. They are available for purchase on Saboneto’s own website.
Our next stop was a curious site shaped like a footprint, near Moshav Argaman, which some believe to be the site where the Israelites erected an altar immediately after crossing the Jordan and entering the Promised Land. Some half a dozen such sites have been discovered in the Jordan Valley. They are thought to be places of worship and may, perhaps, explain why the Hebrew word for pilgrimage is Aliyah LaRegel (עליה לרגל) – literally, Ascent to the Foot. They were literally ascending a ceremonial path to a place of worship shaped like a foot. Why would the ancient Israelites build a place of worship in the shape of a human footprint, immediately after crossing over into the land God had promised them would be theirs? Possibly because, in the ancient Near and Middle East, one symbolically took possession of a piece of land by literally walking its borders.
Our final port of call was Einot Petzael, where we saw a Herodian reservoir. The massive pool had fallen into disrepair and been renovated by an Arab landowner who was astounded to discover that the spot he had chosen for a reservoir to benefit his village was none other than the selfsame spot chosen by Petza’el, the brother of King Herod, centuries earlier. But the massive Herodian stones forming the lower rows of the pool left no room for doubt.
Now, overgrown with vegetation, it reminded me of the pools in the Wood Between The Worlds, in C.S. Lewis’s tale of the Creation of Narnia – The Magician’s Nephew.
I don’t know why. C.S. Lewis’s pools certainly had no walls and – unlike this abandoned reservoir – they actually had water in them. But imagination someimes – nay, often – defies logic. Narnia and the Land of Israel intermingled in my mind as we journeyed back to Jerusalem under the setting sun, “tired, but happy”, as they say.
