ואפילו כולנו חכמים, כולנו נבונים, כולנו זקנים, כולנו יודעים את התורה, מצוה עלינו לספר

A few vignettes from my ten days in Israel:

On Categorization: I went to Sod Siach on Shabbat Chol HaMoed, wearing my one short-sleeved dress. There I noticed a woman wearing a sleeveless top. Great, I thought, now I can avoid repeating outfits for the last day of chag. Shevi’i shel Peach, I wore my sleeveless dress. A taxi driver stopped to see if I wanted a ride, because, obviously, sleeveless dress = secular.

When I get to Sod Siach on the last day of chag, the doors were closed, so I start chatting first in English, then in Hebrew with the guy my age sitting next to the building, who winds up being ba’al shacharit.

“So,” he asks, “you’re a rabbi, or studying to be a rabbi?”

“Chas veShalom!” I respond. “You assume that all American women who come to daven at Sod Siach are rabbis?”

“Biderech klal, kein.”

Later, when the two of us get chastised for chatting outside of shul during Yizkor, and urged to come back in for the prayer for victims of the Holocaust who “belong to everyone” I remark to him “except for the Mizrahim.” He adds “and the Americans, and the Australians.”  I decide that we can be friends.

On Yichus: On Shabbat, I do Gelila. No one comes to talk to me after shul. On last day of chag, I do Shlishi. By Kriyat Yam Suf, someone has already come over to ask if I’m Eliana Fishman.

“Nu, how do you know my dad?”

“I also know your mom! We stayed with them in New York. How’s her health?”

That he asked about my mom’s health and not my dad’s health means that I can pinpoint when, approximately, they saw each other last. Needless to say, I’m quite social post-shul. Drishat shalom to Imma and Abba from Elchanan and Vered Noam.

On Bashert: On the last day of Chol HaMoed I see a Facebook post from a distant friend who lives in Jerusalem that she is having a plumbing emergency, and does anyone have a place that she and her nine- month old son can stay for chag. I message her to let her know that I have two spare bedrooms in Katamon that she is most welcome to. Sarah, her husband Yehuda, and baby Akiva spend chag with me, on the same day that Big Akiva announces his engagement. The apartment had been feeling large and lonely, and it was wonderful to fill it, and catch up with Sarah, and meet her husband and son. They also helped banish my grandfather’s aura, which still lingers in the apartment.

On Avoiding the Occupation: Ruth, who was partially in charge of Seder at the Pollards, is big on doing “activities” during the Seder (having everyone bring an object that represents freedom to them, and talking about it, having the table debate the pros and cons of leaving Egypt, etc.) At one point, towards the end of Magid, she starts talking about what it means when an enslaved people becomes an oppressor.

“No, no, no!” interrupts her son, Gabe. “I’m going to talk about that for my freedom object.” 

During the meal, Gabe explains to his mother that he had printed out the NIF 50 years of Occupation pamphlet, and brought it as his freedom object, only it turns out that he left it in Jerusalem. Then Gabe decides  that he doesn’t want to talk about it. They debate back-and-forth about whether they should talk about it, it’ll make people uncomfortable, oy politics. I am watching the absurdity of Israeli society playing out before my eyes (they don’t talk about Occupation, they just fight about whether or not they can talk about Occupation). Finally, it is decided that Ruth will say something, with no discussion after it. To paraphrase her words “We need to be conscious of what happens when, through no fault of our own, an oppressed people becomes an oppressor.” Apparently, that’s what “talking about the Occupation” looks like in Israel.

Tuesday night, after a lovely dinner with some family members, I arrive at the apartment in Jerusalem at about 1 AM. I have an email from my friend Jon from DC asking if instead of grabbing breakfast on Wednesday morning, I would like to join him and his sister on a tiyul to the Herodium. I have no idea what that is, but sure, sounds fun. Great! They’ll pick me up in their car at 9. After a quick stop at the Palmach Super, I meet them. We’re chatting, catching up, when all of a sudden I see signs for Gilo and Bethlehem.

 “You guys aren’t taking me to the West Bank, are you?”

“Uh, yeah, actually we are.”

“Jon! You know I wouldn’t do that!”

“But aren’t you going to Bethlehem in a month?

”

“As part of a Palestinian solidarity mission! Not to an Israeli tourist site in a car with Israeli plates!”

We turn around and go to the Castel, which we thought was a Crusader fortress, but winds up being an ode to Israeli nationalism and military pride, built atop the former home of a Mukhtar. We also go to Gan Hemed, a park next to a former olive press with clear signs of Islamic architecture. At neither site is there any mention of what happened to the Arabs that used to live there.

Takeaways: When in Israel, Google before going. Also, in Israel, avoiding *talking* about the Occupation is easy. Avoiding the Occupation itself is harder.

On Surprise: I don’t consider myself to be an expert on Occupation—far from it. Despite that, I was consistently surprised by how little the American Olim that I spoke to know about the Occupation. Mind you, I only talked about it if someone asked why I was coming back to Israel in May, and opted to go with the true answer (CJNV trip) instead of the pretty answer, which is also true (my friend’s wedding). But those people who I spoke with had no concept of what a shetach tzvaee sagur/closed military zone is, or how it’s used to seize Palestinian land. They had not heard of the law encouraging border security to ban entry to those who support BDS/settlement boycotts. Admittedly, these are largely people who did not serve in the Israeli military, so I would not generalize this to anyone beyond American Olim (or even just the American Olim that I happened to talk to, though one of them was a Shatil staffer, who I really would have thought would know). Once again: the failure of the American Jewish educational system, and the failure of American Jewish institutions who ignore Occupation. I’m officially no longer buying into the narrative of “American lefties are less educated on the ‘matzav’ than American righties/centrists”.

On American Identity: David, my good friend from DC who I haven’t seen in 8 years, is married to Margo, a Russian Olah, working for Hiddush, a religious pluralism org, and is raising his two-year-old daughter in English, Russian, and Hebrew. He and I hung out on Saturday night until 1:30 AM, and then I had lunch at his and Margo’s apartment on the last day of chag. He thinks that American olim are treated better than other olim (like Margo) because they are seen as “having giving something up” to make Aliyah, and having done it for the “right reasons” (Zionism instead of economic opportunity). This kind of put a spin on many of my interactions with Israelis who were so kind (cashiers calling me neshamah, free samples at the takeout place, a response of besimcha/bikeif whenever I thanked someone for anything).   As a Jew and as an Ashkenazi, I am aware of my tremendous privilege in Israel, but I hadn’t considered the ramifications of my Americanness. I have always been intentional about speaking Hebrew with an American accent, both because I’m proud of my American identity, and because I reject the notion that Israelis “own” Hebrew/the Israeli way of doing things is better than my way of doing things. Something to think about.

Currently in the Athens airport, waiting for my flight to Chios. More next week!

*Quotation from the Haggadah: Though we are all wise, all discerning, all elders, all know Torah, we are commanded to tell

When Gregor Samsa Awoke One Morning...

Welcome to my last post from India! We are staying with our fairy Mumbai parents, Max and Eve. Eve is a consular officer at the American consulate in Mumbai, and without her help, I may never be allowed to leave India. Let me tell you that story...

Our AirBnB host in Amritsar informed me that my visa, which I thought was a 90-day visa, expiring on May 30th, was in fact a 30-day visa, expiring on March 30th, and the guy who wrote the visa just has horrible handwriting, leading me to think that an r was a y. AirBnB host insists that we go to the Foreign Regional Registration Office (FRRO) in Amritsar, to get the situation sorted out (apparently, if he is found to be hosting someone who overstayed her visa, he gets in trouble). On Monday afternoon, we head to the office, where the FRRO folks inform me that since I have flying out of Mumbai, I have to obtain my exit permit from Mumbai. Otherwise, I won't be able to leave the country.

On Tuesday, we flew to Mumbai. Wednesday morning, bright and early, Ashoke, Max and Eve's driver (they have both a driver and housekeeper. It's a pretty sweet life. More about that later.) drives me to the FRRO in South Mumbai. After waiting on a whole bunch of lines, the receptionist informs me that in order to obtain an exit permit, I have to fill out an online form, bring a copy of Max and Eve's passports including their visas, a request letter from them stating that I'm allowed to stay with them, a copy of their electricity bill, a request letter in which I detail all of the places that I have stayed in India, and a copy of my passport and visa. Mind you, Eve and Max don't pay their own electricity bill--the consulate does. Also, the consulate is a bit uncomfortable giving out copies of diplomatic passports, so we need approval from the consulate both for the passports, and also for a different form of proof of residency, which is what we think the electricity bill is getting at.

While all this is going on, Leanne, who had been feeling sick for several days is getting a fever and muscle aches. She and Joanna head to a consulate-recommended hospital where she gets IV fluids, a prescription for rehydrating solution, and some blood work to test for Dengue Fever. More on that later.

I spend Wednesday night filling out forms and writing the request letter (no template to copy from online). Thursday morning, Max harasses the consulate to get them the paperwork that I need. Ashoke takes me down to the FRRO office, arriving about 45 minutes before they stop taking new cases. I'm assigned to an office, and a counter, and told to wait. Minutes later, someone comes out and asks why I'm waiting, and then ushers me in. Dude goes through my paperwork, and instructs me to buy one of their fancy folders for my casefile for 30 rupees. Then he tells me if I come back at 3 and pay $90, I'll have my exit permit. I return to the office at 2:55, and no one's there. Apparently, my dude's lunch order never came, so he's still on break. At 3:30, a different officeworker comes by, hands me my exit permit, tells me to review it, pay at the cashier, and then she'll sign it. Cashier doesn't want to give me change, but at this point I am unwilling to give the Indian government a single cent more than I have to, so I insist. After two days, I leave with an exit permit. Hopefully, I'll actually make it out of the country in a few hours.

Other interesting stories from Mumbai and Amritsar....

Twenty five kilometers from Amritsar is the Wagah-Attari border between India and Pakistan. Every day at sunset they have a ritualized ceremony where they take down the flags and close the border. Doors open on the India side at 3 PM, even though the ceremony won't start until 5:30. We're advised to get there early to ensure that we get seats--the stadium which probably seats about 4,000 fills up daily. By the time the performance actually starts, its standing room only, and there are easily 5,000 people in the stadium. As soon as we exit the car, touts grab our hands to paint Indian flags on the backs of our palms (40 rupees for two hands). More touts sell orange baseball caps with Indian flags on them. There's a one kilometer walk between where the car drops us off and the stadium itself, which includes a security checkpoint, where once again we get to experience some good ole pushing-and-shoving. We see several additional sets of bleachers under construction, which will probably fit another 2,000 people into the stadium. Our foreign passports (actually, our white skin) entitle us to the best seats in the house, adjacent to the border itself. Unfortunately, we are still sitting in the oppressive Amritsar heat, and even underneath some shading it's still pretty hot. Vendors sell sodas, ice cream and chips, but we found ourselves longing for hot pretzels and Cracker Jacks. At around 4:30, the music starts. First India starts blasting music, and in response Pakistan starts blasting their music.  Oy.

First activity: A 60 women arrange themselves in a line, and the emcee, dressed in white, has them take turns parading up and down the center of the stadium while waving said flags. Second activity: dance party! Again, almost entirely women, who are able to distinguish the beat of the Indian music from the beat of the Pakistani music. Due to some well-positioned trees, I can't quite make out what is happening on the Pakistani side. I do sneak some peaks through the sparse leaves of one of the trees--it seems like their emcee is just waving a flag solo. Their stadium is also less full than ours. At the appropriate time, the real ritual starts. Pakistani and Indian soldier, who are both dressed in colonial-era headdresses start symmetrical routines of high kicks, frog marches and fist-pumping, directed at their counterpart dancer. It's clearly perfectly coordinated. The one difference is that India has two female soldiers start off the ceremony, and they lack counterparts. Because feminism, or something. A perfect nationalist pissing contest. Better this than nuclear war?

The US consulate provides Max and Eve with a gorgeous three-bedroom apartment less than a kilometer from the consulate, with a pool and gym in the building. In addition to a housekeeper and a driver, they have daily deliveries of dairy products, and a dog-sitter for their dog, Porter, when they go out. On Friday I both got to cook shabbat dinner for the first time in three months, and I didn't have to clean up after myself, because their housekeeper did it 😊. Max and Eve have a floor-to-ceiling chest full of board games, so I got to have the best kind of shabbat--a board game Shabbat! Unfortunate'y, Leanne, who had been feeling better on Friday, got sick again on Saturday. One of her Dengue tests came back positive, so she was hospitalized, and I didn't get to say goodbye before I left :(  Saturday night we went to "A Lil Flea" which is a cross between an NYC street festival and an open air concert, with food from all over the world crossed with Indian food. Truly the only place in the world where you can get paneer tacos.

Postscript: I arrived in Israel last night, via Ethiopia. My flight from Addis to Tel Aviv included 30 Ethiopian-Israeli teenagers on מסע לאתיופיה 2017. It was kind of like being on a flight with a USY group. Oy. Despite my politics and the damage that Holi had done to my passport, I got through customs easily, met Tzvi, and am now typing this update from Kfar Sabba. Chag Sameach all!

האי דוחקא דהוי בכלה מנייהו הוי

Greetings from Amritsar, the most sacred city for Sikhs. I was excited about coming here due to my teenaged obsession with Bend it Like Beckham, a movie featuring the expat Sikh community in the U.K. Joanna was excited because of her fascination with the efficiency of Sikh volunteerism, and their model of feeding community members, visitors, and the poor together, strengthening inter-class ties. At the outset of our trip, Joanna gave the percentage chance of Sikh conersion at 50%. After two days here, I am absolutely convinced that I am opposed to religious pilgrimages, and that divinity cannot be found in mad crushes of people. I may stop praying for Bayit Shlishi.

This morning we went to the Golden Temple. We got on line to see the Inner Sanctum at 8:17 AM. Shortly thereafter, Joanna and I got separated from Leanne. For the next three hours, Joanna and I played Geography while inching our way down the line. I had already accepted that Indians don't really value personal space--if you are not crushed up against the person ahead of you in line for the ATM, Indians assume that you're not waiting for it, and if you so much as pause to look for your wallet while paying at the store, someone else will come up next to you, and demand that the cashier ring them up before you've paid. But today was on a whole new level. Parents encouraged their children to push and shove their way past the bamboo sticks that served as dividers, so that parents could pass through, claiming they needed to watch their children. When we passed through the first gate into the temple, many pilgrims paused to kneel at the threshold. People jumped over them. I later learned that Leanne gave up on entering the temple after about an hour, as she was so tired of men touching her.

The one bright spot during the long wait on line was that we got to see some of the Sikh volunteerism in action. Volunteers were giving out water in tin cups to people waiting in line. After we were done with our cups, they were collected, and brought to a series of five bins filled with either fresh or soapy water. A group of women methodically dunked the cups in the bins, assembly-line style, and at the end they were refilled, and passed back out.

The Inner Sanctum wasn't really anything to write home about--it's a pretty temple, but nothing compared to some of the grand temples that I saw in Thailand, or the Taj Mahal. Certainly not worth the three-hour wait. The view from the outside is much more interesting. While there is some sort of museum within the Golden Temple complex, I was so exhausted after getting through the line, that I wanted to drink water, and then go straight back to the AirBnB.

Our lunchtime excursion involved the most intense maneuvering around rickshaws, hand-drawn carts, bicycles, etc. that I've experienced in India. At one point, my pants got caught on a passing rickshaw, and I had to scream to prevent the driver from inadvertently ripping my pants, and possibly chopping off my leg.

Tonight we saw Naam Shabana, our first Bollywood film. It's an action movie centering on a Muslim woman from Mumbai who gets recruited by India's security service following the murder of her boyfriend (and the inability of India's legal service to prosecute his murder). There was insufficient singing and dancing, and an American movie would have had at least three more plot twists to make you think that the good guys were actually the bad guys, but all-in-all it was a fun girl power movie with lots of fight scenes. I will admit to falling asleep for part of the second half, but anyone who knows me knows not to keep me up past 9 PM.

Backing up to Dharmasala...

Not sure who thought it was a good idea to build a city into the side of a mountain, but I loved Dharmasala. Thus far it has been the only city in India that I've seen with any degree of quiet or natural beauty. The downside is that going anywhere requires extremely steep walks--either uphill or downhill. On Tuesday, we attempted one of those walks before I had breakfast, which led to a very cranky Eliana.

After breakfast, we went on a tour of the Dalai Lama's complex, and a museum on the Occupation of Tibet. Like in Thailand, there weren't a whole lot of explanations of the symbolism or significance of many of the temples and ritual objects. I did learn that rows of massive cylinders contain texts of prayer, and spinning a cylinder gets you the same merit as if you said all of the prayers yourself. We went on a walk into the woods where Tibetan prayer flags hang from the trees, and there's a monuments that lists all of the names of Tibetans who have self-immolated for their freedom. On Wednesday, I got to eavesdrop on an Israeli explaining the Tibet situation to someone from home. The parallels between Tibetans and Palestinians (population transfer to decrease Tibetan political power, refugees who aren't allowed to return to their homes, Occupation, etc.) seemed less obvious to her than they were to us.

Tuesday evening we went to the movie theater, and saw the new live-action Beauty and the Beast for $3. Leanne and Joanna were totally enthralled, and initially wanted to commit to seeing the movie at least once a day, every day, for the remainder of our trip. I have gotten them to back down to seeing it only once more, with Max and Eve in Mumbai. There's a decent chance that we will karaoke every song in the movie (although, aside from the one song that Audra McDonald sings, that may not be such a bad thing. Seriously, if Audra McDonald is in your cast, just have her sing *all* the songs).

On Thursday, we hiked a Himalaya! We went on a half-day hike with Ajay, one of the owners of the AirBnB where we stayed. I loved it. Leanne loved it. Joanna hated it. I did, unfortunately, get quite sunburnt, which gave me a bit of a headache. We spent the rest of the day at Illiterati--an ironically named literary cafe.

*Title comes from BT Berachot 6a. Rava says that the crowding at the kalla, the gatherings for Torah study during Elul and Adar, is due to demons. Damn Demons.

Oh Brothers, Where Art Thou? (...In Rishikesh)

Greetings from Dharmasala, where (finally!) I have found natural beauty in India! Behind us are snow-covered Himalayan peaks, while an immense valley sits before use, dotted with red and green-roofed houses. Admittedly, there is a polluted haze over the valley, but the Himalayas behind us are clear! We arrived this morning after a harrowing 11-hour bus ride from Rishikesh, filled with unpaved roads, hairpin turns, and crevices between walls of solid rock. The altitude is affecting me a bit—my ears popped on the way up, and I just took a very long, and very necessary nap.

Back to Rishikesh. I was disappointed with Rishikesh’s lack of chillness. It’s the city where yoga was created, but the streets are noisy and full of honking, and the pollution creates a haze over the Himalayas. Fun things about Rishikesh: the entire city is both vegetarian and alcohol-free. At a nearby café, the only books in languages that I could read were “Eat, Pray, Love” in English, and the Bhagavad Gita in Hebrew. Typical. We stayed next to the Anand Prakash ashram where we meditated, did yoga twice daily, ate delicious healthy food, read books, and chilled. Leanne and I have both been practicing yoga for ~15 months or so, but this was Joanna’s first yogic experience. She is already talking about returning to the ashram when she’s on her own after Leanne and I leave.

Rishikesh is divided by the Ganges, and there are two “pedestrian” suspension bridges, paved with concrete, that connect both sides of the city. I put “pedestrian” in quotes, because motorcycles are allowed on the bridges. A lesson in who, precisely, has the right of way on these bridges would be really useful, as motorcyclists expected pedestrians to move to the side. The suspension bridges sway as you cross them, which is kind of terrifying. The bridges were dotted with monkeys, who would steal your bag of potato chips, given the opportunity.

As my title alludes, I met both an Akiva and an Oren in Rishikesh. 

Tall dude at ashram goes up to me and Joanna and asks “Is that a chamsa I see?”

(Background: we had been noticing that lots of Indian shopkeepers and touts have been greeting us in Hebrew. At first we thought they were picking up on our curly Ashkenazi hair, but later we realized that it was probably Joanna’s chamsa.)

Joanna nods

Tall dude: So you’re you of the Hebraic faith?

Me: Well you said chamsa, and not hamsa, so you’re assuming Jewish and not Muslim. Could have gone either way.

Tall dude: Not the response I was expecting. So you’re on the down low about being Jewish?

Me: I lay tefillin on the roof of the ashram this morning, so I’m not hiding anything.

Tall dude: Oh, so you’re one of those kinds of Jews (sidenote: still have no idea who he was referring to). You know there’s a Chabad right next door.

Me: Oh, I didn’t realize it was quite that close. I probably shouldn’t lay tefillin there.

Tall dude: Good point. So, you brought leather into the ashram?

Me: Yeah….

(Apparently this is a no-no. Oops.)

Tall dude is named Oren, born in Israel, moved to the US when he was three, teaches yoga in Los Angeles. Claims yoga has brought him closer to Judaism. Is interested in kabbalah. Tries to convince me that fire puja is totally compatible with monotheism. I am suspicious.

Akiva and Nomy, were the only two chareidi travelers at Chabad in Rishikesh, along with their two year-old son Shlomo. They’re also the only two Chareidi travelers that I have met anywhere in Thailand, Laos or India. Akiva is originally from France, and Nomy is from Jerusalem, of French descent; while Nomy speaks French fluently, she can’t write in French. Her last company was French, so while she spoke with her boss in French via Skype, he would message her is French, and she would respond in English, which she learned in school.

Akiva and Nomy moved from Jerusalem to Haifa last Tammuz. Nomy works in hi-tech as an app developer, and she terrified Leanne with her description of all of the consumer data currently available to marketers. Nomy is between jobs right now, and teaching at a Michlalla, which enabled her to take off two weeks for travel. For her next job, it is very important to her that she have female coworkers, even if they’re not religious so that she can chat with them about her life, her children, etc, because you just can’t talk to men about those things. Apparently, they had recently had a non-viable pregnancy which was terminated in the fifth month, so they wanted to travel as a way of putting a hard time behind them. Of course, I didn’t actually speak with Akiva, so it’s possible that he’s in yeshiva, or it’s possible that he does something else. Only a man would know.

Nomy and Akiva were shocked that there was no meat at either meal on Shabbat (remember, Rishikesh is an entirely vegetarian city). This was their first vegetarian Shabbat….ever. While they were excited about going back to their hotel and having some milk chocolate for dessert, Nomy went on a rant about vegetarians refusing to eat food that God has permitted. While dealing with Orthodoxy when I want to go to shul abroad is irritating, watching Chareidim dealing with vegetarianism on Shabbat kind of makes us even. Akiva and Nomy (and Galya, a middle-aged Israeli women who I met in Pushkar) were on our bus from Rishikesh to Dharamasala, so it’s possible that we’ll see them again.

Of note: we recognized nearly half of the 60 or so people at Chabad in Rishikesh from Chabad in Pushkar, two weeks prior. Apparently all Israelis have the same itinerary, and everyone moves in packs.

Other fun character that we met at the Ashram: Jen, a 20-something Canadian, who had just come from Goa, where she had been hired as an admin assistant at a tantric yoga retreat. Turns out, the retreat guru was sexually assaulting participants in the guise of giving them “tantric massages.” There is now a court case, which means that Jen has to deal with the ineptitude of the Indian criminal justice system. Oy.

Another 20-something North American woman tried to convince me to go for a swim in the Ganges with her. She was a big Ayurvedic medicine devotee, who compared swimming in the Ganges to a mother’s embrace. While I remained skeptical, Leanne and I did dip our feet into the river. Leanne then Purelled her feet. I did not.

לכתך אחרי במדבר בארץ לא זרועה

Greetings from Udaipur, our last city in Rajasthan! We head to Rishikesh, in the North tomorrow. I suspect that none of us will miss the pollution, dustiness, and dessert-like atmosphere, but we will miss the forts, palaces and dramatic cities.

Backing up to last week in Jodhpur...

Leanne got sick right after Holi, so Joanna and I ventured out on our own to explore the Jodhpur fort. Our tour began with a ziplining adventure over the fort (really between the fort and the outer protective wall, over a moat). It was Joanna's first time ziplining, and we have found ourselves a convert. Ziplining in Rishikesh is now a definite possibility. Other highlights from the fort: the 19th century Maharajah had what look like glass-blown ornaments hanging from the ceiling in his bedroom, the havelis (courtyards) where women would eavesdrop on court comings-and-goings, and a breakroom where we got to listen to a performance of classical Indian meditation music. The fort is covered in pigeons, and there are pigeon nests on the undersides of the courtyard balconies.

In the afternoon Joanna and I went to see the mausoleum where all of the old Maharajahs (going back to the 14th century) are memorialized, and to a large public park, where I got to climb a tree, and almost got attacked by monkeys. Park employees feed the monkeys, so I assumed they were friendly to humans. Apparently I got a bit too close to a few monkeys' personal space, which led them to flash their very sharp teeth at me, and reach out to scratch me. Undoubtedly, had Akiva been there the monkeys would have accepted him as one of their own, and gotten along much better.

Unfortunately, that evening Joanna also got sick, which did not bode well for our 8-hour bus trip to Udaipur on Thursday. We had been completely unsuccessful at researching what the different classes of public busses actually meant. While previously we had taken "Volvo Mercedes" busses, we took a "Semi-Deluxe" this go around, which, in retrospect, was a poor choice. There was no air-conditioning, and the bus was overcrowded with broken seats. Now we know.

The city of Udaipur is built around a series of lakes, which were constructed to form an irrigation system, starting in the 15th century. In the center of one of the lakes is the Taj Lake Palace, where Octopussy was filmed. Octopussy is now screened every night at multiple restaurant rooftops, all with views of the lake.

Shabbat was pretty low-key--there was yoga on the roof of our guest house, and in the afternoon we went on a long walk to the zoo, only to discover that contrary to the advice that we had gotten, they did, in fact, charge an entrance fee, so we walked back. On Sunday we both went on a tour of the City Palace, which was less impressive than the other forts and palaces that we had visited, and also went to the zoo, where we got to ride a golf cart around the different animal enclosures. Animals spotted included lions, a Bengal tiger, white tigers, a Ballou Bear (yes, where the Jungle Book bear gets his name from), a hyena, Ronny the leopard, deer, tortoises, a wolf, ostriches, emus etc. I find it amusing that the zoo has three different varieties of deer, which I think of as totally pedestrian animals, but no elephants, monkeys or oxen, because those can be found in the marketplace.

Leanne had been hoping to drive the golf cart around the zoo herself, and was quite disappointed that the golf carts came with drivers. Somehow, she managed to finagle both the golf cart driver and our rickshaw driver into letting her take the wheel of both vehicles. I was fine with her driving the golf cart around the zoo, but when she started driving the rickshaw around the streets of Udaipur, I started saying Tehillim.

Today, in an attempt to care for my long-suffering lower back, newly aggravated by not very comfortable Indian beds, I got an Ayurvedic massage. Bad move. My masseuse completely ignored my howls of pain, and I left in considerably worse shape than when I walked in. I'm feeling much better now, and I am hopeful that in Rishikesh the ashram staff will have some good ideas for me.

*Title comes from Jeremiah 2:2 "How you followed me in the desert, in a land not sown"

מעלין בהולי...ואין מורידין

Happy Holi from Jodhpur! We have returned from our colorful dust filled adventures, and I am sitting on a towel as I wait for Leanne to finish showering, after which I shall attempt to remove dust, and make myself look less like I'm wearing blackface. As I suggested in my title, I strongly suspect that this stuff doesn't come off. (Post-Script: after one round of showering and scrubbing, my face is now bright red, a la a certain Washington sports team. From one racist caricature to another!)

Back to last week...

Agra is disgusting and dust-filled, but the Taj Mahal is about as breathtaking as it's cracked up to be. Also our first interaction with cows, oxen and goats in the street. Joanna saw a driver swerve to avoid an ox, and drive into a pedestrian instead. We tried to assess what in Aladdin is based off of the Arabian Peninsula, and what is based off of Agra. Monkeys that steal things from open air markets? Definitely Agra. Colorful birds? Agra. Giant tigers? Not in Agra. Likely Arabia. We also saw the Agra Fort and the Tomb of I'timad Ud-Dulah ("the Baby Taj"). The Baby Taj was much less touristy than the other two, so I enjoyed that more.

From Agra we drove to Jaipur, where we stayed at a lovely AirBnB. The guy that owns the apartment runs a culinary school, and he made us breakfast each day. Unfortunately, of the three mornings that we were there, one was Ta'anit Esther, and we did an early-morning bike tour for another one, so I only got to eat one of the breakfasts, but it was delicious.

Jaipur is known as the "Pink City" because the Raj had it painted pink in the 1850s in honor of a visit from the Prince of Wales. On our bike tour, we saw the Wind Palace named as such due to its 938 windows. It was constructed to allow the Maharaja's harem to look onto the street without being seen. Highlights from the bike tour included:

• the flower market, where white, yellow, orange and red marigolds are sold in bulk to people making leis for temples
• the vegetable market, where women carrying many kilos of fresh vegetables on their heads will shove you out of their way if you cross their path, 
• the marble cutters,
• biking through the crazy streets of Holi, around oxen, cows, goats, dogs, rickshaws and motorcycles. 

Our two tour guides, Raju and Raji, biked into the middle of the street to hold traffic while we biked between them. Raju's mom made us a breakfast of dal and potato-and-dal-stuffed bread, and we also ate delicious sweet yogurty-breakfast porridge on the street.


By the time we got to Jaipur, I was dealing with some indigestion/acid reflux issues, which can be alleviated by eating dairy. Enter my new obsession with lassis. We went to Lassiwala, a lassi stand that has been open since 1944. We also got really cheap Ayurvedic massages, and Joanna and I introduced Leanne to Bend it Like Beckham, a longtime favorite of mine. Joanna and I also went to the Jaipur fort (I know, a lot of forts), which involved a bit of a hike. This was another enormous fort--rooms upon rooms upon rooms. At the bottom of the fort there was a small contemporary art museum, which included a giant (iron?) stiletto made out of human faces, called "Rift"which highlights the wealth gap in India, and that wealthy consumers do not appreciate the work and craftsmanship that goes into creating consumer goods.

On Thursday we headed to Pushkar. Pushkar was not on our original itinerary--our sole reason for going was that it boasted the only Chabad in Rajasthan, and I wanted to hear Parashat Zachor and Megillah. Upon our arrival, we learned that Pushkar is actually Nachlaot. Restaurants with Hebrew menus, signs exclusively advertising in Hebrew, falafel, malawach pizza and hamentaschen for sale, etc. More Hebrew being spoken than English and Hindi combined. Leanne and I went to yoga on Friday morning, and when I asked to pre-pay for shabbat, the yogi instantly said "ah, Jewish," and then proceeds to tell a story about a Buddhist friend of his who refused to touch money, and made his wife handle all of his financial transactions. This compared to the Delhi, where the concept of pre-paying for yoga could not have been more foreign at the studio. Random Indian store owners wished us Shabbat Shalom. The population of Pushkar is 14,000 people, and at any given point there are 2,000 Israelis there.

Apparently, Israelis chose Pushkar due to its hippiness, but it has gotten so touristy that it's hard to unearth the original hippy quality. Pushkar is built around a lake which has 52 ghats, or bathing entrances. It also hosts one of the only Brahma temples in the world. There are a number of scams that are run around the lake, one of which we found ourselves caught up in--priests corralling you, forcing you to perform rituals, and then making you give them money. Blech.

After some difficulties getting into the Chabad on Thursday night (see my Facebook post for more details), shabbat was quite eventful. We sat with two anglo Olim at dinner, and Leanne and I got into the Purim spirit by hiding our anti-Occupation activist identities. While the Chabad was, in fact, a Meshichist "mushroom," that only manifested itself by the recitation of "Yechi" three times after every Aleinu, the insistance that the 5th mem-mitzvah of Purim is "Mashiach" and a few carefully placed yellow flags. Tolerable! One surprising Chabad fact--there was no meat for dinner. While beef is prohibited throughout India, I was expecting chicken, but no dice. There was kishka on shabbat afternoon.

Shabbat morning, Leanne and I got up at 5:30 AM to go on a sunrise hike to a local temple. There were stairs the whole way, but each stair was about half the height of Leanne's body, so a tad more strenuous than a standard Segulah walk. At the summit, there were monkeys playing and gorgeous views of Pushkar, so it was all worth it. Following our hike, we headed to yoga, which helped stretch our sore muscles, and then I went to shul. Despite our morning exertions, I still made it in time for pesukei dizimra. Motzei Shabbat, the three of us went out to one of the Israeli places for Malawach pizza, and then I went to megillah reading. Really cool thing about being the only shul in a poorly-regulated city: fireworks for each recitation of Haman!

After megillah reading on Sunday afternoon (called for noon, started at 12:45...ah Chabad time!), we got on a bus to Ajmer, where we transferred to a bus for Jodhpur. We arrived in Jodhpur Erev Holi, and ate dinner underneath the Jodhpur Fort, which is enormous, and looks like it was carved into the side of the mountain.  At night it's all lit up. After dinner, we went exploring. Traditionally, on erev Holi giant bonfires are lit, surrounded by the colored powder before its thrown. People sing and dance around the bonfires. Of course, as the resident white folks, Indians asked to take pictures with us at each bonfire that we visited. We also got a little Holi powder thrown on us--nothing compared to the bombardment that we faced today.

Monday morning, Leanne wasn't feeling well, so Joanna and I headed out for Holi round one. While at first, people are hesitant, and asked if it was ok to dump colors on us, but as we got more and more dust-covered, people stopped asking. What I learned: the colors themselves are quite pretty, but once someone dumps water on you, all the colors run together, and now I look like I'm wearing blackface. Oy. Later, we grabbed Leanne for round two, and then Leanne and I went to a neighbor's rooftop for their Holi party, which involved music, more colored powder, throwing water on each other, and some food.

I'm very curious about how religious minorities in India handle Holi. Do Muslim parents allow their children to "play Holi" with their Hindu friends? Do Sikh kids have the Holi equivalent of Christmas envy? As Holi does usually involve some alcohol consumption, is there ever inter-community violence? We did see some kids waving what I later learned were flags for a right-wing party, so maybe there's inter-community tension?

Other thoughts--most of the people "playing Holi" were little kids, and boys and men ages 10-40. There were some women, particularly women dancing in groups, but it seems that either the women and girls are avoiding getting covered in dust, or they are celebrating on rooftops and courtyards (the private Holi party that we attended had some women and girls as well).

*Quote is a play on Masechet Shabbat 21b, which states that in matters of holiness, we add and don't remove. So, to, in Holi, colored dust gets added...but not removed.

וְהַחוּט֙ הַֽמְשֻׁלָּ֔שׁ לֹ֥א בִמְהֵרָ֖ה יִנָּתֵֽק

Greetings from Delhi, where I have been reunited with Joanna and Leanna, my co-conspirators. Joanna had already been here at a week-long conference when I arrived. Seeing someone who I know after only seeing strangers for 6 weeks made me nearly cry. Leanne joined us the following morning at around 5 AM. She claimed to feel energetic, and off we went on our first adventure! J had befriended the managers at a local 7-11. We stopped by to buy some breakfast food (the local cafes and restaurants didn't open until 10 or 11), and they offered to take us out to breakfast at their favorite "street food" cafe, a few kilometers away. Multiple flavorings of chana masala, paneer, aloo gobi, fried bread, a lassi, and gulab jamun later, the three of us no longer felt like moving. We checked into our guesthouse, and crashed for the rest of the day.

First impressions of Delhi: STOP HONKING. IT WON'T MAKE YOU MOVE FASTER. That the three of us have managed to cross a street at all is nothing short of miraculous. Delhi is so averse to walking that autorickshaws accost us every time that we step more than two feet from our guesthouse, and won't listen when we insist that, no, we actually want to walk. There is open-construction and dust everywhere, and lots of smog. My lips have been constantly dry since arriving. However, the food is delicious.

Later that evening we went to India Gate, a monument to Indians who dies fighting in World War I. Clearly this was a hotspot for local folks along with tourists. Touts sold bubble makers, cotton candy, and light-up, spinning toys. We also went to Khan Market, where we got more delicious (though slightly lighter) food--I had a veggie burger made from beetroot, walnuts and feta cheese. So yummy!

On Friday, after early morning yoga with Leanne, we went to Old Delhi, and visited both Humayyun's Tomb and the Red Fort. Humayyun's is so gorgeous, and it whet my appetite for the Taj Mahal. In order to enter the tomb you have to walk through the gate to the original city of Delhi, which obscures the view of the Tomb. When you cross the gate, all of a sudden you're face-to-face with the enormity of the Tomb. Like the Taj Mahal, Humayyun's Tomb marries Mughal architectural influence with Persian (Islamic) influence, so it's perfectly symmetrical, with large bulbous domes. I also found a knotted tree to climb (pictures exist).

Before lunch, we went to an adorable tea-shop for a tea-tasting. Each different kind of tea came in distinct tea cups -- white china cups for black tea (with different shapes for English Breakfast and Darjeeling), tiny glass cups for White and Green teas, and colorful ceramic cups for chais.

The Red Fort was much more crowded than Humayyun's Tomb, probably because it's absurdly cheap for Indians to visit (they jack up the prices for foreigners). Once again I found a knotted tree to climb, but this time time I had an audience of about 30 Indians. Apparently climbing trees isn't such a common thing in India, as people were quite spellbound. After my first (failed) attempt, a teenager asked me to climb again so that he could take a picture. I declined. This was not our first experience of being local celebrities--at the Red Fort a few locals stopped Joanna and me and asked to take a picture with them. This also happened at the Lodhi Gardens.

I had pre-paid for shabbat morning yoga with Leanne, which was significantly more challenging than the Friday's yoga. I should mention that I have never done Pranyama, or breath-control yoga before. It's really hard! The instructor had us inhaling through one nostril for 4 breaths, holding for 16 counts, and then exhaling through the opposite nostril for 8 counts.

Following a shabbat nap and lunch, Joanna and I walked to the Lotus Temple and surrounding gardens. Not quite as impressive as the Bahai Gardens in Haifa, but spacious and green with colorful flowers and shady trees. Delhi is interesting because there seems to be absolutely no urban planning when it comes to roads or sidewalks, but every neighborhood has at least one green space. Unfortunately, even the green spaces are covered with dust. The temple is one enormous hall with phenomenal acoustics that could probably seat 500. There were Bahai monitors in charge of keeping people quiet. They weren't so successful with the two-year-olds.

This morning (Sunday), the three of us attempted to get a 3 AM start and head to Agra to see the Taj Mahal at sunrise. Unfortunately, our cab driver had other plans. He had not gotten the necessary paperwork that would have enabled him to drive between states in advance, so he was driving around at 4 AM trying to get the requisite paperwork. After an hour and a half of this, we told him to take us back to our guest house. The new plan is to head to Agra this afternoon, spend the night, and see the Taj Mahal at sunrise tomorrow.

A couple of concluding thoughts from Thailand...

I spent Tuesday doing an organized hike of the Erawan Waterfalls, and a tour of the Hellfire Pass. The Erawan Waterfalls were pretty, though not quite as impressive as the Khou Se Waterfalls in Laos. There was a shallow cave that you could climb to behind one of the levels of the falls. Once again, at the Hellfire Pass, there is so much more infrastructure dedicated to sites commemorating European/Australian suffering than anything at all relating to Thai history. The Hellfire Pass had an audioguide detailing every deprivation suffered by P.O.W.s who built the Death Railway.

*Quote is from Ecclesiastes "A threefold cord is not easily broken!"