the Rothberg experience

My brother(s?) going on a birthday trip to the mountains. I WISH I’D BEEN THERE!!!

Eyal Golan, another fantastic option….

One of my favorites.

Idan Raichel, Mi’ma’amakim (out of the depths)

And a taunt of kindness

Meows from home

So the title’s two main subjects actually have nothing in common, except that they really were both epic.

The first will be the climb. Because there aren’t really words that I can find to describe the long and tall shlep up the Masada mountain, I will provide visual support.

The sunrise at Masada is famous and for a good reason. King Herod built his palace on the desert mountain because he was completely paranoid and this mountain gave him the best view of the surroundings. He was able to see the Dead Sea, Jordan, south into the Negev, and even north through the Judean desert. Needless to say, on a mountain chosen throughout history for its views, the sunrise at six o’clock in the morning was no let down.

My friends and I had a car take us at 3 am down south so that we could hike in darkness up countless stairs and steep inclines to the top. Regardless of the fact that it was undoubtedly cooler than it would have been in the later day, we were all drenched and relieved when we made it triumphantly at the top. There’s hardly a more satisfying feeling and more of an urge to do the Rocky dance.

After Masada our car took us (at about 6:45 in the morning) to the Dead Sea. It was brilliant because not many people bother going at such an unG-dly hour of the morning. Our driver found us some mud to smother ourselves in, and while I wasn’t really tan, I had suddenly become the darkest I’d ever been with deep, brown gooey stuff all over me. After letting it dry and crack on my skin for about fifteen minutes I washed it off in the saltiest and maddest sea on earth. Winner.

We then tried to explain to our driver that we wanted to go to Ein Gedi springs. Keep in mind that most Israelis know some amount of English.  Most Israelis are pretty good at interpreting broken and horrendous Hebrew to communicate with the less clever tourists that come their way. Well this guy was a bit of a shock to us. His first language was definitely not Hebrew, but Arabic. This left both him and us trying to communicate to each other in a language that we were both unnatural with. It took Rebecca and I about fifteen minutes to explain what we were trying to get to. With lots of laughs as we were both using hand motions and our driver definitely thought we had lost it. Regardless we made it there and relaxed in the coolest springs ever. We also realized that while we felt like it had to have been about three in the afternoon, it was only 10 in the morning. Weirdest realization ever. After returning home to a much needed shower and nap, my roommates and I got ready for Shabbat. It had been an extremely last minute plan, and an ambitious one as well. By the end of it we were all convinced that we had redefined epic.

As for the breakfast, Marisa and I took a day off to visit Tel Aviv. Being the epitome of a beach city, it makes the perfect vacation from a sometimes tense-feeling Jerusalem. We skipped breakfast and went straight for brunch at a restaurant with a fantastic beach front view. We also knew exactly what to order, because Marisa had been explaining this fantastic breakfast place to me for about three weeks prior. The Mediterranean breakfast. For 44 shekel (about 11 dollars), I got shakshuka (see here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shakshouka), a loaf of bread with four spread options, an Israeli salad, a cappuccino, and a strawberries and milk shake.

I don’t think I need to explain how my face looked after this meal.

After our meal of champions we went to the beach (a grand 30 second walk away) and watched the most adorable puppy try to hop over the sand.  When I couldn’t stand it any more I walked over and asked to pet it. The guy said sure, and promptly turned to his girlfriend 20 feet away saying, “eh, ze magnet banot!” Which, using my amazing Hebrew skillzz I was able to understand as “hey it’s a chick manget!” Alert to the public, Prince Charming has been found.

The last part of the Tel Aviv vacation was the weirdest pedicure I hope to ever have. We walked into the Sheridan hotel on the coast and were directed to the spa where we asked for a fish pedicure. In case this doesn’t instantly make sense, you stick your feet in a fish tank with a special kind of fish that eat dead skin. So I can officially cross off “get eaten alive” off my list. Because those are the kinds of things I want on my list haha. We had our feet in there for about 30 minutes and we left feeling… well slightly weird but definitely with less dead skin. So we voted it a success.

Israel goes through an intense week late in April.

Three important dates are placed almost one after another, for the Israeli people to honor.

The first one marks the ending of something inexplicably horrible, and the necessity to remember.

The second stands for the mourning of the seemingly never ending battle that comes with the territory. Literally.

The third begins a period of utmost euphoria in the biggest celebration around the country.

Yom HaShoah was heartbreaking. If you didn’t feel your chest being crushed and your heart sink into your stomach you had to have been under a rock. The entire country has huge ceremonies at all hours of the day where people sing, read diary entries, and express their sincere sadness and disgust at the happenings of the Holocaust. At the ceremony here at the International School, two of my friends participated in it. One choreographed and performed a dance, and the other told of her grandfather’s experience having survived the Nazi regime. I called my father that day when I realized I was too empty and sad to cry. I called him and asked him quite simply as a child would: “Why do they hate us dad?” As if such a question even makes sense. “Why did they do this to us- what was it that they hated so much that they decided to methodically exterminate us?!”

As always, for questions these large and impossible, my father couldn’t give a very solid answer. He told me it was terrible. That there is nothing we can do about it now except remember. It’s up to us to ensure it never happens again.

The next was Yom HaZikaron. It’s the day of remembering all of the fallen soldiers in the busy history of the Jewish State. It is a day of mourning for Israelis, because literally everyone- EVERYONE- knows someone close to them that was killed in one of the wars. There was another ceremony, this time at the Kotel. President Shimon Perez spoke, and at the end everyone joined in HaTikvah. It was incredible.

Then. At the end of Yom HaZikaron, the insanity begins. It’s literally insane. The Israelis come out of their mourning in order to celebrate Yom HaAtzmeut- independence day. If there is any nation that should be awarded for their pride in country, it should be the Israelis. They’re not just happy about the fact that they are their own country, they’re ecstatic. Jubilant. Absolutely insanely happy. And it’s nothing less than beautiful. Live music everywhere, shaving cream, silly string, dancing, flags EVERYWHERE.  It’s the best experience one could ask for. We stayed out until morning, watching everyone being silly, proud, and happy. On July 4th everyone says ‘Happy birthday America,’ and people grill out and sometimes we see fireworks. On Yom HaAtzmeut, it could not be a more obvious and out of control celebration. It’s such a different atmosphere, seeing everyone so clearly and purely thrilled to just be there. Just to be there.

The tragedy that reached me by phone on Wednesday night is impossible to articulate accurately and truly. It’s impossible for me to express the horror and terrifying minutes that broke me into sobs I’d forgotten how to conjure. The thoughts and fears and pains that went through my head absolutely broke me to pieces as I still cannot fathom how this could have possibly happened.

When there is a terrible process, you believe that while the journey might give you all of hell and back, it will work out. It will be okay and as long as you keep moving, it will turn around. You believe it because you have to believe there is some minuscule version of justice in the world that makes it revolve from the awful into the better.

And sometimes it just doesn’t. Sometimes the sick humor of the universe does not deliver the justice we’re brought up to believe in.

He’s gone now, and I hope to anything and everything that he is no longer suffering. I hope he is as free as he was a year and a half ago- before his world became a hell of hospitals and sickly radiation. Free to move his fingers and toes and laugh about his endless talent.

We lost someone incredible. His brilliance was blinding, charm unmatched, and wit impossible to parallel. Worst perhaps, his potential was literally endless. There was no border he could not move, and no heart he could not capture.

I know people will remember him forever, his name ringing through everyone’s memory as the hero that deserved the best. To his family I send everything in my heart, wishing there was anything I could do, but knowing that the only thing I can offer is that I’m sharing a portion of their inexplicable pain. To our friends I say I long more than anything to be with you right now. I know how much we need each other and I know together we’ll remember his genius, his sharp wit, and beautiful smile that loved a strong joke.

And I’m left both honored to have been granted the little time I had with him, and completely heart broken that he had so little with the clay of the earth I know he would have sculpted into something more beautiful than we could have imagined.

זיכרונו לברכה
Z. A. Shporer

Forever loved. Always remembered.

I’d say I finally had a teensy feeling of homesickness recently. I’m not entirely sure what conjured it but I’d never felt so excited to be in the Philadelphia airport on June 8th. The first place I’ll be where when I ask a question I won’t have to think twice, I will get no confused faces, no rough or rude answers, and I will most likely get a smile along with a kindly explained answer. I’m so excited.

I still love it here. I wouldn’t have Israel any other way really- but it takes so much more energy to survive on a daily basis than it does back home. Not to mention, you know exactly what to expect back home, where here it seems that literally everything runs on absolutely no schedule whatsoever. In this regard American culture is so much more lazy, because we don’t have to stay on our toes from dawn to dusk. There’s also much less arguing and pushing. Things tend to be slightly more ‘bumpy’ here.

Exam week was ‘gehinom!’ as my horrible Hebrew would translate. My essays for my first class could not have possibly had a more vague prompt, which of course meant she received an essay probably substantially longer than what she was expecting. Serves her right. If you’re going to frustrate your students with a vague prompt, vague answers when they ask questions, you are going to get a long danged essay! So I think I know what she was doing all break… The frustrations continued all week as I was trying to prepare to get to England. It became a very packed schedule to study for my exams, write my essays, clean everything, pack, and of course, get a hold of my new phone for England (which turned out to be ridiculous).

I’d really like to fast forward to the tube ride from the airport to South Kensington- where I met my mother.

So I had forgotten the joke Katelyn had told me about the phrase ‘Mind the Gap,’ but while I’d found it funny, I’d never heard it actually used seriously. I started laughing out loud in front of a bunch of tired looking travelers when I heard the speaker say: “Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”

After walking out of the station I was feeling pretty darned satisfied. Everything had gone smoothly, I had made my flight (and a friend on it), gotten through passport control (where the guy asked me if I’d been living on a kibbutz. Random? And how many Englanders know about kibbutzim?!), found the tube station and bought a ticket using the pounds that I’d so cleverly had exchanged from shekels earlier in the Israeli airport (granted it was really my mother’s clever idea). I walked out into the street and waited to meet my mom. I plopped down my stupidly heavy bag- that also stupidly doesn’t have WHEELS- and waited to see her. London was cool looking. There was a scone shop right in front of me with people sipping coffee and reading the paper. Double decker buses whizzing past on the wrong side of the road. The fashionable pedestrians made me want to shower immediately and put on something besides my- wait for it, wait for it- white tee shirt and jeans (I know that shocked everyone), which is really a feat. Bravo England. Katie’s thrilled I’m sure :)

I was waiting for about three minutes, thinking to myself “oy I’m waiting for my mother looking like the most obnoxious tourist outside of a tube station. WHY isn’t she here,” when I saw her looking right into the exit I had come out of. You see I’d conveniently taken about five steps to the left so that I wouldn’t be smack in the middle of traffic in and out of the station. So I guess I was out of sight, but no matter. While I would have started walking towards her, I couldn’t bring myself to lift up my wheel-less bag again. So I screamed her full name- the one she’s expecting to hear from a reporter. Needless to say she saw me, and came over into the biggest hug ever. I really don’t know how I went three months without seeing her. I don’t think I realized how hard it was until I saw in person how much I was missing.

After eating a scone and discussing the plan for the day, my mother informed me that it was about a 12 minute walk to the apartment. Definitely not a problem. Except I really didn’t want to carry the stupid bag anymore. So we had dad and Gavry meet us halfway.   I had this crazy hug with both of them. I’m sure the Londoners that passed probably thought we’d been reunited after years of separation. It’s weird because it definitely never feels like that when I’m in Israel but seeing my family in person was a different story. It felt like it had been ages.

That day was mostly filled with a shower and a long walk, visiting all the places my parents used to go to when they were there. We ate dinner out at a pizza place (trying to get as much bread in us before the carb free, eight day diet- I mean- Holiday.

Overall England was amazing. Couldn’t have possibly asked for a better vacation.

-Windsor Palace: Jaw dropping. Absolutely incredible. It doesn’t make any sense to me that people can live in a place so huge and obviously royal. What the devil do you do with all those rooms?! I’d think the tourists would be so annoying. We saw Queen Mary’s Doll House, which boasts a working vacuum (because that’ll be useful when it’s completely encased in glass), and plumbing (also obviously very useful). All snide comments aside it was awesome. It was incredibly detailed and entertaining to look in all of the rooms. The vacuum was cool, and if I remember correctly there were also miniature crown jewels. Oy! We also saw the staterooms inside the castle, which were nothing less than grand. Huge, beautifully furnished, and packed with history, each room had a different story. Call me weird but my favorite part of every room was the ceiling. They were gorgeous and intricate. It’s obvious that the objects and art on the wall are going to be more than worth looking at, but it’s so hard to remember to look up sometimes. I tried to make a point of it. The art on the ceilings were very cool as well. Basically, Windsor was insane. Amazing, but insane.

-Oxford. While being a much smaller town than London, it’s no less awe inspiring. I couldn’t get over the architecture of the university. I saw the stairs that Daniel Radcliffe walked up in the first Hp movie when he’s about to be sorted (any fans there?), and everything looked like a dream. College campuses can only try to look like this one- and I have never seen anything like it. The rest of Oxford is just as charming. It was one of my favorite parts of the trip. It has all the architecture beauty that London royalty does, but with a small town feel.

-Harrods: Good G-d I couldn’t believe that store. Store might not really be an appropriate term, but maybe this will be closer: Let’s-go-broke-in-5-minutes-because-even-the-queen-could-live-here-without-realizing-this-isn’t-actually-a-residential-building. Honestly I would be afraid to know the total square feet that building is. Not to mention they had a huge section devoted to coffee and tea (it was obviously my favorite section). The escalator was insane!!!!  There were advertisements for South Carolina on the walls (I have absolutely no clue why), and a lady singing something really high pitch (could I sound any less cultured?!).

-The Tardis: So while we did venture out to see the Doctor Who store, which was SO cool to see, there was something Whovian that I thought even cooler. We found a Tardis just chillin’ right outside a tube station. It was the coolest sight ever. Gavry and I went crazy and probably confirmed to my dad that we’re abnormal.

Gavry and I also watched more television shows in that week than I could have hoped for. It wasn’t even that much really, but it was more than I’d watched in a while. We usually fell asleep by 11 or 12 at night though because we were exhausted by the end of the day.

On another side note, London food was tasty. Not only did I have the best coffee of my life in London (which says something because Israeli coffee is kick butt), but their idea of fast food is vastly different from what America has. Soups and simple sandwiches and fruit are offered almost everywhere- and I seriously wonder if we found and replaced every Mc Donalds, Chickfila, KFC, Burger King and TacoBell with the places like EAT. and Pret A Manger if America would look different in another generation. I very much think it would. And I think it’s a brilliant idea. Too bad American capitalism would definitely not permit it haha. Not that I’m dissing America. It was just a thought.

After returning to Israel for the rest of Pesach I went to Tel Aviv with one of my roommates, Tara. We were on the beach for maybe 2 hours tops and we both look significantly tinted now- luckily I somehow escaped getting burned though. I’m actually pretty proud- and I think Rebecca would laugh at me right about now… We also went to Qaesaria, a gorgeous and ridiculously overpriced port city (where of course it rained). Honestly though, after returning and hanging with my cousins, and finally ultimately returning to Jerusalem I was thrilled to see my bed again. Absolutely and completely thrilled.