Everyone was pretty surprised. While there have been a few isolated incidents from time-to-time, there haven’t been any bombings since 2004, so even those of us who have been to Israel numerous times likely weren’t in Israel during the last attack. The closest I’ve come to anything like this was the Second Lebanon War and Operation Cast Lead, but in both situations, the attacks were always in cities and towns far away from where I was and during Cast Lead, there were never many casualties, if any. 

Once we got the information, everyone stopped what they were doing and tried to figure out who was missing and then call them as soon as possible to make sure they were okay. We were also instructed to either call, email or skype our parents immediately to let them know that we were safe. Everyone then updated their Facebook statuses in order to let as many people know that we were okay.

After finally coming back to class, our teacher told us that there was a lot of confusion because fortunately, they have been out of practice and haven’t had to deal with terrorist attacks in awhile, however despite the confusion, he thought everything went well. He also noted how much of our behavior was naturally Israeli. He described that what usually happens is that as soon as something happens, everyone gets in touch with their immediate family and close friends to make sure everyone is okay and to let their family/friends know as well, then make several more calls so that the person can reach as many people as they know to check up on them.

The other phenomenon that happens is that everyone either talks about the last time they were at the place that was bombed, where they were during the incident, or how their friends/family (assuming they’re lucky) was supposed to be at the scene, but wasn’t for whatever reason.

After a small discussion, we moved back into our regular class. Some people had a problem with this approach, but most people wanted things to get back to normal as quick as possible. Our teacher said that for our own sake, it would be best to not check the news every five seconds, which is a natural instinct to many Israelis and to instead pick up another instinct, which is to just move on. When I looked at the Israeli press coverage, the mayor of Jerusalem essentially said the exact same thing when he said that if we don’t go back to our normal activities, we are giving the terrorists a victory.

Right now, this idea doesn’t seem so difficult. Hopefully, this attack was an exception rather than the rule. Assuming these don’t become an occurring theme, I have no hesitation with treating the next few days any different than I did before today. In fact, on Friday, I’ll be going over to that area to take a bus to Efrat, a settlement in the West Bank where one of my UMass friends live. I remember going on USY Pilgrimage two years after the last bombing, thinking about how silly it was that there were still rules about avoiding buses and crowded areas like the shuk. At this point, I’ve learned to take those things for granted  and enjoyed the freedom of being able to go pretty much wherever I want in Israel without worrying about anything happening to me. Hopefully, it stays that way.

Yom Iyun Shel Chesed

On Feb. 17, we did a day of community service where we went to a variety of places around Israel as a time to remember two Pardes alums who were killed in a terrorist attack during the Second Intifada. My group was supposed to go to a place in Yafo for kids from troubled families and Save a Child’s Heart. Unfortunately, there was some miscommunication with our bus so we spent all of 10 minutes at the other place and spent most of our time at SACH.

I spent most of the time playing soccer with a kid who I’m pretty sure was in his early teens from Kenya. There was a basketball net outside and I tried to get him to play, but I figured out he was uninterested when he put the ball on the ground and kicked it back to me. After we got tired of passing the ball back-and-forth, there was a three-year-old girl who i ended up following around as she switched off between pushing a small cart and riding on it.

It was a nice break from the grind of learning every day and it definitely got me interested in volunteering more. Basketball coaching fell through, but I ended up finding a new opportunity at an Ethiopian absorption center playing with some young kids. It’s not coaching, but I still enjoy it since I go with some of my good friends from the program.

Golan trip

Last week I went on my second trip to the north, specifically the Golan Heights. We had three really grueling hikes, with the longest one lasting six hours. I was pretty happy with myself because I managed to stay near the front of the line and I was one of the few people who didn’t get injured or exhausted from the hikes.

I’ve never been in Israel at a time when I was actually in shape and it’s definitely a nice feeling. I’ve been using P90x in Israel to stay in shape. I’m currently in Week 6 and after Day 1 of hiking, I did the workout that goes along with that day, which happened to be a Monday called Plyometics.  I got through it and still managed to keep my breath. I roomed with two of my other friends, who decided to turn our room into the fitness center. One of my roommates tried the same DVD after me and couldn’t get through it even though he’s in good shape so that was pretty satisfying on my part.

The view of the Golan was amazing. It was perfect weather and we went at a time when everything was blooming. We had to deal with a half day of rain, but other than that, had perfect weather. I came back with burnt arms and a tan face even though I was wearing a hat. I knew some of the places we went to already because I went there in the past during my previous trips to Israel. The most famous one is a lookout point where you can see Syria, Jordan and Lebanon in one location. It’s also right next to a coffee shop called Coffee Annan (hope you get the pun).

On the rainy day, we were going to go on a tour of the Golan Heights winery in Katsrin, which I went to during my Spring Break two years ago, but because the weather cooperated, we went on a hike instead.

The next Matisyahu?

Around mid-February, I went to a live showing of Tuesday Night Live in Jerusalem, a right wing, religious talk show that is shown in Israel and around the world. My friend took me because there was an interview featuring Shyne (also known as Jamal Barrow), a rapper from Belize.

His story is very interesting to say the least.

He got started in 1998, but never did much because he got arrested the next year for being involved with a shooting at a New York night club when he was with P. Diddy and Jennifer Lopez.

He received a 10-year prison sentence, but was released after nine. During his prison sentence, he learned that his mother is Jewish, changed his name to Moses Michael Levi and became a Baal Teshuva (someone who goes from a non-religious Jewish background to Orthodoxy).  After he got out of jail, the U.S. deported him back to Belize because of questionable immigration status.

He eventually tried to move to the UK but wasn’t allowed into the country. His journey finally landed him in Jerusalem when he made aliyah in early February. The day after he appeared on the talk show, he signed a multi-million dollar deal with Def Jam Records and is releasing an album on April 5.

I happened to see him a second time on Friday night when I was near the Old City. My friends and I went to this family’s house for a tish (a mixture of singing, eating, and Dvar Torahs) consisting of over 100 people and he happened to be there. He gave a speech to the crowd about an hour after we got there, which was pretty cool. It’s hard to say how successful he will be, but given how much money is being invested and the previous success of Matisyahu, I have a feeling he’ll be even bigger.

As of the end of last week, I moved up levels in Chumash (Torah) class. We don’t study the parsha of the week because it is a skills-based class and it’s much easier to build skills (and it’s easier to pay attention) with the stories that have a lot of action.

In level bet, we’re going over Vayeira, which is about Avraham inviting three strangers wandering in the desert and as a result, finds out that Sarah will have a baby. Vayeira starts off with G-d visiting Avraham (the commentators say the reason for this is because he was circumcised three days ago and is in a great deal of pain), however he sees three strangers in the desert on what is described as a very warm day and runs after them, offering an invitation into his house. He excuses himself from G-d’s visit by saying “My Lord, if I find favor in your eyes, please don’t pass away from your servant.”

Avraham greets the three strangers by giving them a place to wash their feet underneath a tree while giving them bread, three se’ahs of cake (my teacher says that means 39 kilos worth) and some high quality meat. Not only does he invite them over, but he sees it as a privilege to have them over, despite being in pain. The whole point of this section is to explain the mitzvah of Hachnasat Orchim (having guests over to eat)

To add to this point, several rabbis derive from this section “גדולה הכנסת אוורכים מהקבלה פני השכינה”  In English this means, “it’s greater to welcome in guests than it is to receive from the devine (to pray).” I didn’t even need one week in Israel to understand how seriously people take this idea. On the way to my first Shabbat dinner of the semester, I got lost and paced the street for a good half hour looking for the house I was supposed to be at (115 Maaglei Yavne) and eventually stopped at 114 Maaglei Yavne to ask for help. The woman who answered the door walked me over to next door only to find that my hosts were not at their house.

Without even hesitating the woman invited me back to her apartment where I was welcomed by a delicious Sphardic-Iraqi dinner in their modest-looking apartment. I volunteered to give them the wine I was supposed to bring for my actual hosts, but they insisted I keep it for myself. It turned out that the woman I met was a Pardes alumni and since she couldn’t give out her number, she told me that I am welcome to come back at anytime while I’m in Israel.

Furthermore, when you go to many synagogues in Israel, you hear during announcements that anyone who needs a meal can go to the front of the room and someone will pair you off a family that is willing to host you. That’s right, there are people who make extra food, not for leftovers, but with the knowledge that they will have several complete strangers over for lunch or dinner. My family will get to experience this phenomenon when they come to visit Israel at the end of May.

This utopia isn’t reserved exclusive to Israel; I spent one weekend in West Roger’s Park with over 100 college-age students dispersed from Sacramento to California from as far south as Touhy and as far north as Jerome.

Throughout the weekend, I went with different packs of students in the heat of the sun around the neighborhood with each random household insisting that they have the best cholent in West Roger’s Park. I happily stuffed myself with enough food to last me for the next week.

I’ve been fortunate enough to grow up in a town where I’ve never had to worry about getting the high holidays off, have a grocery store with more than enough kosher food to make my life easy and nearly a 1:2 synagogue-to-church ratio. However, the concept of Hachnasat Orchim, unfortunately, is an idea I’ve only known about for a little more than a year, because in the suburbs, this mitzvah is non-existent.

Of the 19,000 residents in my hometown, Deerfield, I would guess that 40 percent – a very conservative estimate – are Jewish. That means there are at least 7,600 Jews living within a few miles of my house. But if I dare walk up to any one of them after Saturday morning services and ask to have lunch with them, they would look at me like I came from a foreign planet. This isn’t a situation of whether or not the families in my neighborhood can afford making lunch for 10 people instead of four. If such were the case, the generosity that you see within the Israeli-American synagogues here would be non-existent. Even in a recession, CNNMoney reports that Deerfield is the No. 23 top-earning town in the country with a median family income near $150,000 and a median home price of close to $500,000.

The problem is the mindset Deerfield residents have when they go to shul. Many families, including my own have this idea that a friendship with fellow synagogue members doesn’t extend beyond the walls of that synagogue. Sure, there may be the occasional men’s club or sisterhood event where congregants will gather at someone’s house, but these instances are far and few between.

A few weeks ago, I went out for coffee with my family’s new rabbi and brought up this issue I have with her. She was sympathetic to my complaints and said that she tries to get rid of the potential awkwardness by having lunch at the synagogue, which many congregations do anyway, likely for similar reasons. But she said it is simply too much of a burden to expect that people are going to invite strangers into their house. To me, this is nothing more than an excuse for Jewish communities to be disjointed and independent of one another. The only time I’ve seen the community come together is when someone’s relative dies and only then does the community rally around that member to say shiva. However, the fact that the only time you see Jews in my town come together are in times of tragedy is nothing short of pathetic. It’s especially sad when most of those families live in privilege and can afford trips to Israel or a Solomon Schechter education.

This is my biggest problem with being Jewish in Deerfield and my main incentive to find a job that will get me out of my parent’s house as soon as possible. My parents have been amazing at fostering my curiosity and helping me feel comfortable at home, but I’m embarrassed by the lack of hospitality available in such a privileged place like Deerfield when I could move to Lakeview (both synagogues, Anshet Emet and Anshe Shalom encourage hachnasat orchim) and have a similar experience to what I’m getting here in Israel.

Steve Kerr and Danny Ferry are two key people who have helped get the organization off the ground. When I told Ilana, the person in charge of volunteering here that I was interested in PeacePlayers, she said that she wasn’t sure if that option was still available since they didn’t have much contact last semester. However, she got in touch with the director and I finally got a chance to sit down for a meeting and get everything figured out.

My Tuesdays will now consist of being an assistant coach of an Israeli team between the ages of 7-10 years old. None of the kids know English so I will have to speak entirely in Hebrew. Good thing I just signed up for Ulpan. The director told me not to worry about my lack of vocabulary. The head coach is bilingual and will help me with the language barrier.

I’m definitely looking forward to this experience. No, I haven’t played organized basketball since high school, but I still know how to play and there’s plenty that I believe I can teach kids who I’m assuming have just started to pick up a ball. The volunteering option was one of the main reasons why I chose to go here in the first place. While I have to give up my one afternoon of relaxation, this experience will be well worth it.

In case you didn't believe me, here is what I had to face on Day 3 (Tuesday). Do you see the sidewalk? Neither do I. Picture uploaded from phone

Sunday was my first day of classes. I was excited to finally get started after a week in the Arava desert, exploring Israel, hiking and making friends. Of course, it wouldn’t be a day in Israel if there weren’t some sort of obstacles along the way. I’m fortunate that in order to get to class, all I have to do is walk in a straight line for 15 minutes and look for the door that doesn’t lead to the Mazda dealership. Little did I know that my walk to class would force me to do enough dodging and weaving that you would think I was training for the NFL draft camp.

The first obstacle is that Jerusalem doesn’t distinguish between parking spaces and the sidewalk so cars park on the sidewalk, which end up taking almost the entire space so that the only way around in that situation is to either hope there aren’t a lot of cars parked, try to squeeze around the car on the left side of whatever sidewalk you have remaining or go around the car by walking on the street sometimes into oncoming traffic. Depending on the intelligence of the driver, either he or she gives me enough space to walk freely next to the curb or they don’t see me, in which case I’m left with several options. I can take a quick step with my left foot on the little space of sidewalk I have available to me and come back on the street after letting the car pass, then reassessing my options as the next car comes flying at me.

There is also the option of balancing on the curb, walking one foot in front of another like a gymnast on a balance beam routine. My final option is to weave in and out of traffic on the right side of the car switching off between the left lane and my precious white dotted line, which I use to weave in-between cars as I dash full speed to the other side of the street and leap to safety.

To add to the excitement of the first day, I managed to find a clear sidewalk towards the end of my not-so-Devin Hester-like display of agility. Unfortunately, the thrill was far from over. A bulldozer zipped around the corner, eyed the parking spot that I was walking through and charged full speed to try to beat me to the spot. I surrendered my space and bolted to the right in front of a car then hopped back onto the sidewalk behind the bulldozer. At this point, I decided it was time to give the driver a piece of my mind.

I yelled at him with enough profanity that by comparison would make Eminem seem like Mr. Rogers. However, he struggled to understand me beyond the fact that I was angry so he apologized and with that, I stormed off, putting this encounter behind me.

At lunch time, I went to get the key to my apartment copied at a hardware store down the street and everything seemed fine. Rule No. 1 in Israel, there is no such thing as fine, especially when it comes to customer service. I tried to leave this morning only to find out that the copied key doesn’t fit into the lock. A new day, another reason to yell, although for some reason the not-so-readjusted-American in me wanted to try the diplomatic approach and politely asked in my best stupid American tourist impression if there was anyone at the store who could help me and spoke English. The man at the counter said he didn’t know anyone who spoke English in the store at the moment but if I waited 10-15 minutes, his manager will help me.

If you understand Talpiot, the area of Jerusalem where Pardes is in, then you understand that his statement has to be a lie. Jerusalem is by itself the most American-friendly place, so much so, that even if you try speaking Hebrew, most Israelis will just respond back in English.  Talpiot, and more generally, the South side of Jerusalem is about as much American as Pilsen is Mexican. No business could survive without someone who speaks English available at a moment’s notice.

And with that, I raised my voice and said in Hebrew, “I’m not moving one inch away from this counter until you find me someone who speaks English and I want you to find him now.” The man smirked at me and instantly called one of his co-workers over who asked me in perfect English, “Good afternoon, how can I help you?” I explained the problem to him and complained that I shouldn’t have had to come back here a second time. He apologized and guaranteed that he will make sure I leave with a working key. When I got home, I figured out he was right.

I missed this place…

On Saturday, I was with some new Pardes people I just met to watch the Steelers-Ravens game. The first thing I noticed was that just as I expected, the bar was entirely American, including the bartenders and waiters (that night in particular, there were a lot of people from Pittsburgh, which is surprising considering the Jewish population in Maryland).

Israel is one of the few countries that could successfully pull off having a place (there are actually three Mike’s Places and several other American bars) that completely alienates the Israeli population between showing almost exclusively American sports with American food and American prices. The rumor is that Mike’s Place purposely jacks up the price of their food to exploit the fact that many Americans in the 18-25 range are coming to Israel on their parents’ dime and will still buy a basket of wings even if it’s as expensive as Fogo de Chow (slight exaggeration).

For some reason or another, football is about as exciting for Israelis to watch as cricket is to Americans. However, both nights, there were lines going out the door, so although this place appeals to a small demographic, it does quite well for itself. The game ended at around 2:30 a.m. and just as all the Steelers and Ravens fans left, a large contingency of Falcons and Packer fans made their way in. I was surprised for a few reasons.

First off, I forgot how popular this place was and that the time of night is irrelevant to Americans in Israel when their favorite team is playing. It was only two years ago that I watched the sun rise in Tel Aviv after Derrick Rose blocked a last-second shot by Rajon Rando to give the Bulls a 128-127 triple overtime victory over the Celtics in Game 6 of the 2009 NBA Playoffs. However, it was also remarkable to see the place have a completely different atmosphere in a matter of minutes.

The better example of this was on Sunday. I came early to get a spot for the Bears game, and watched the end of a soccer game, with almost entirely British people. I have to say, I was pretty surprised considering I almost always see Americans there.

The place got pretty rowdy at the end and out of nowhere, a fight broke out between a majority of the bar over this game and finally ended with one of the guys smashing a glass on top of another guy’s head. Security guards rushed to arrest some of the people who were fighting and tried to clean up the blood as fast as possible. Just as the rest of the soccer fans got ready to leave, a sea of Jay Cutler and Brian Urlacher jerseys started singing “Bear Down, Chicago Bears” down the stairs only to find out that there would be a slight delay before the bar could become Chicago territory, where I would eventually meet some friends from home.

After paying our bill in the fourth quarter, we were asked to watch the rest of the game outside because there were people trying to watch the Patriots-Jets game inside, although it’s not like we didn’t know that already with the chorus of J-E-T-S, JETS, JETS, JETS chants overpowering the Bears fans in the room. As we walked outside, I couldn’t help but think about how crazy it was that this place went from feeling like a pub in London to the Cubby Bear to a bar in New York all in the matter of a few hours and how even though we might be far away from home, a bar in Israel can make it feel like the snow that came down on Soldier Field is right outside the door.

I fiddled around with a number of ideas and ultimately decided on studying at Pardes, a co-ed, pluralistic yeshiva in a suburb of Jerusalem called Talpiot. I never saw myself as a kibbutznik and I saw no point of paying for an internship in Israel when I’ll be working as soon as I get back in the states. I never got the Jewish day school education that most of my friends at UMass got and thought it would be a good experience.

I’ll be in Israel until June 9, living at a family’s apartment in the Greek Colony. The family has three kids, but only the 19-year-old lives at home along with a friend of his who’s 21 from South Africa and just made aliyah.

Now as far as my trip over, there was no shortage of excitement. It started off with LOT Airlines telling me that I would not be allowed to go to Israel without a return ticket. Originally, I wasn’t going to get a return ticket until it came time for my family, who is visiting me in Israel (finally), to make their reservations. It didn’t quite work that way so before I checked in, I booked my return ticket at the airport, went into the LOT office and printed it out so I’d finally get to leave.

The flight was the furthest thing from El Al. Almost everyone spoke Polish, very little spoke English and I would bet most of the people there couldn’t even find Israel on the map. After nine hours, we made it to Poland — the land of frigid temperatures and more vodka than you could ever imagine. There wasn’t enough time to leave the airport, so I was stuck on two floors with not a whole lot to do with the exception of the Executive Lounge. For a little over $30, it was the only place you could get internet, with the addition of all you could eat and drink. For the next eight hours, I parked myself there and got in touch with a few people. I wanted to plug in my surge protector with a converter from home so I could use my lap top without wasting the battery, but the minute I tried to make it work, I saw a spark and one snap, crackle and pop later, my surge protector burned out and gave my area a nice roasted marshmallow kind of smell. Luckily, it was just the surge protector instead of the computer this time around.

Finally, it was time to board and after getting my ticket scanned, I was surprised to find that there was no plane greeting me, but a bus that was supposed to drive us a mile to where the plane actually is. I had nobody in my row so I got to spread out. Unfortunately, LOT had other plans. It seemed like every five minutes, they had an announcement to make. While I’m glad the pilot knows that Romania is south of Poland and what the altitude of the plane is at in Polish and English, I would’ve been much happier if the only time I heard someone spoke was when they said “Welcome to Ben Gurion Airport.”

Since I’ve gotten here, spent my first two nights at a friend’s apartment in the Hebrew University dorms who I knew from UMass and celebrated my birthday before coming back to the Greek Colony. Last night, I got to spend the end of my 22nd birthday at a really nice apartment off of Emek Refaim, the main street near where I live. He was having a goodbye party for the people leaving the program, but it gave me a good chance to meet a lot of the students I’d be getting to know for the next five months.

The last sunset in Israel

I just wasn’t in a rush. From the time I got up, I did everything slowly for my last day in Israel. I ate my meal one bite at a time, slowly packed everything up, and was about 15 minutes late for check out. It didn’t seem to matter because all I was going to do that day was go to the beach. Once the sun finally set, I waited until exactly 8 p.m. to leave and then I took my time getting back, soaked everything in, and slowly observed the last glimpses of Israel that I would have for awhile.

It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done this semester. I knew that I was going to have a great time in Israel. But no hyperbole could do even the slightest bit of justice to my time in Israel. I can’t think of any other time where I’ve had so many diverse experiences one after another.

The one thing that sticks out to me the most are the stories that I encountered while exploring the country. Of course, there was a story in each one of my friends, who made a sacrifice this semester whether it was giving up their routine from home or jumping through hurdles to be allowed to study in the Jewish homeland. I admire each and every one of them for that sacrifice.

But the stories I’m talking about are people like Jamilla, who had to let go of where she came from in order to have the life she wanted. She came to Israel with almost nothing and has now made a career for herself while being a loving mother to her three grown up children.

I’m also talking about people like Amit, who has the thankless job of helping kids grow up in an environment under a daily barrage of rockets, while trying to maintain his own sanity.

These are people I’ll never forget; the ones who sacrifice what they have for a better Israel. It’s a story you see all throughout Israel. Russians escaping communism with the knowledge that they won’t ever come back, refugees from Darfur, who have to walk all the way to Israel, but give up ties with their family members, Jews using Hebrew as a way of comunicating on the battle field despite coming from different backgrounds, and the soldiers who have to put themselves in harm’s way at 18, 19, 20 years old day after day while most people their age are having the time of their lives in college.

I come out of Israel with nothing less than a full appreciation for Israel being a country of immigrants and the every day sacrifices that these people go through to make it possible for Jews to continue living in Israel and for people like me to visit Tel Aviv and Jerusalem without worrying whether I’ll make it back to the U.S. alive.

More importantly, I know that Israel has changed me dramatically. There is no way that I could meet as many people as I did, traveled as much, been away from my family so long, and become so independent and still come back to the U.S. the same person. I don’t think I could’ve really experienced Israel if I didn’t allow it to happen.

It was the first time that I’ve ever had to actually be responsible for my own food. No Mom’s cooking. No meal plan and a limited budget. If I didn’t teach myself to cook, I would’ve starved.

I had to get around Israel without a GPS at my side despite my terrible navigation skills. In the beginning, that meant paying way too much for unnecessary cab fares, taking buses that went the wrong way, and getting lost very easily. But eventually, I managed to figure out how to get from point A to point B without stopping in point D.

Aside from being independent, there was also just adjusting to being in Israel. I knew that everytime I went to school, a mall, or a store, I’d have to get my bags checked, but I was not used to having to yield to motorcycles… on sidewalks. I can’t think of any other time when I’ve had to negotiate a cab fare to get somewhere or elbow my way onto the bus.

These were not easy adjustments to make, but making them allowed my semester to go a lot better. In one of my classes, we learned that when the French stopped financially supporting Israel, it was forced to learn on its own. It adopted a “learning by doing” philosophy. This analogy couldn’t be more true when it comes to my experience in Israel.

Naturally, everything came as a struggle in the beginning, but I learned from my mistakes and seeing those changes had an impact on the person I became. It’s no accident that as far as life experiences go, this past semester has essentially prepped me for what is to come next year.

I more or less officially start the major that I created last year, International Sports Marketing, and will be taking over as Assistant Sports Editor for the Massachusetts Daily Collegian, my school’s newspaper.

I chose to go abroad this past semester for a number of reasons, but one of them was that it seemed like a natural break between my first three semesters at UMass and the next four that I’ll have coming back. Going to Israel really helped me bridge that gap from being a college student who still came home a lot and still had one foot my past in Deerfield to becoming someone ready to take on the upcoming challenges of college and eventually my transition into the real world.

As disappointing as it is to be home from the best semester ever, it’s not these past five months that are going to make my future, it is what I do because of these past five months that will eventually shape the next few years.

Blogger’s note: Make sure to look at my map of the places I’ve been. As you can see, I managed to cover a lot of ground in five months.

The bottom of the Bahai Gardens. That building you see there is the bap.

Despite being in Haifa twice, I am ashamed to admit that I haven’t had a chance to see a lot of the tourist attractions since the only times I’ve been there were for work. The Romema Arena, where the Maccabi Haifa Heat play is far away from a lot of the touristy stuff so I figured this was as good of a time as any to go there.  

I actually had a chance earlier to go to Haifa during Spring Break, but for some reason I ended up sleeping through the alarm, which actually didn’t turn out so bad because I got to see my friend visiting from UMass, Yonah, a day earlier. Regardless, Haifa is one of those places you just have to go to.

I couldn’t bear the thought of not going somewhere in almost five months that my friends in Birthright visited in just 10 days. So I decided to bite the bullet and get to the train station in time to take a 9 a.m. to Haifa, since the better part of the garden closes at 11 while most of the rest closes at noon. I don’t know why, I just follow orders.

The Bahai Gardens are everything they’re cracked up to be and more. Granted, I didn’t last more than a half hour in there since there’s just so long I can look at different inanimate objects coming from the ground before I lose my mind. As it has been the trend all semester, the gardens gave me flashbacks again to when I was a little boy and my Grandpa used to take me to the Botanic Gardens.

Only this time, I was by myself and in a place much more famous world wide. I’m not saying I would go back there again unless I’m taking family, but I have to agree that it is a must see place, even for the non-nature person.

More Bahai Gardens

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what Haifa exactly had besides these gardens so I asked around for the German Colony, which I remember reading about when I researched the city on Wikitravel only to find that it’s all the way down the hill. Determined not to cut my day short, especially since I was only there a half hour and it took two hours to travel between two buses and a train.

The German Colony might as well be another name for tourist trap. It’s cool and everything, but the place has turned into a big downtown shopping area. I guess part of it has to do with the location.

What I didn’t realize until I ran into the German Colony is that practically everything is bunched together by the beach. This fact made life a whole lot easier.

The final two things on my list were the prophet Eliyahu’s cave and the cable car.

Eliyahu’s cave really was like any other religious cave. There was a synagogue and a lot of religious people there praying. There was also a brochure from Alcoholics Anonymous on top of the cave from all the wine he drinks during Pesach (kidding).

I didn’t really realize until today that Eliyahu was actually buried in Haifa, let alone, Israel.

The day ended with cable cars, which I traditionally would never do except that the entire car is closed off so even the clutziest of the clutziest couldn’t mess this one up. Here’s a video of my ride up. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the way down.

Eliyahu Hanavi... Eliyahu hatishkvi... Eliyahu, Eliyahu, Eliyaahu Hagelatie

Five minutes walking from the beach. Great location and it can be yours for a couple million dollars.

Herzliya Petuach is everything it’s advertised to be. You first notice it when you take the bus from the Central Bus Station in Herzliya and notice that all of the boys are wearing tilted Yankee hats and girls with phones identical to an iPhone/Blackberry. These kids don’t represent most of Israel.

Most of their parents are likely in a government position or work in the hi-tech industry (usually the latter) and are therefore in the top one percent of income in Israel.

The town has a very down-to-business type of atmosphere. Everyone walking around, a good percentage of which are American, is walking around in a shirt and tie, or at the very least, a nice shirt. They will typically carry some sort of folder or a legal pad and papers glued to the palm of their hand.

In the other, they will be texting or checking their email only to break for the urgent phone call by a client or their employer. Most of the buildings here are offices and require some sort of code to enter.

I knew going in what kind of town Herzliya Petuach so I figured I’d go to one of their nicer restaurants and see what it’s like there without trying to bust my budget.

Meat Bar... it probably had more customers back when the banks actually gave loans

That led me to “Meat Bar,” a restaurant that has all meat and turns into a bar at night. I’m not going to lie, the 30 dollar ribs looked almost as good as the 40 dollar steak, but considering I have to buy every meal until I come home, I decided to go for a bargain and bought a burger for 16 dollars.

My waitress tried to get me to buy a first course or dessert, but my wallet begged for mercy and I settled for what ended up being probably the best burger I’ve had in Israel.

Afterwards, I did some exploring of the area and ran into a Nike store. This store is unlike like any others back in the U.S. For starters, it doesn’t have at least two floors and is missing all of the “your favorite Nike star here” shoes.

The nice thing about it is that there is a basketball court and since the clerks had nothing better to do, I played a quick game of pick-up before heading to the port where I walked around the area before going back.

Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to Ramat Aviv Gimel, but I feel like if you’ve seen one slew of nice houses, you’ve seen them all.