TRAVEL: Shabbat Dinner at the Gelpes

Friday
I arrived in Israel this morning before the sun arrived. I admired the new terminal building. I remembered earlier trips to Israel when everyone who landed was first herded onto a bus then transported across the tarmac into the terminal. In a city thousands of years old – things change.

I made my way to El Dan car desk and filled out appropriate paperwork, Then it was downstairs to get my car. I was nervous driving for the first time in Israel and I was all by myself. That it was not yet light out made me even more concerned. I asked for directions to Kibbutz Tzuba. My daughter is staying there as she studies during her senior year of high school. Neither of the employees, nor anyone standing nearby knew where it was. I called the school and, well of course, at 5:30 a.m. no one answered. I called the hotel on the Kibbutz as I had reserved a room there. No answer – only a machine. My daughter did not answer her cell phone and I was hesitant to wake any of the few people I know who live in Israel and that crazy hour of the morning. Eventually, the woman working the desk was able to locate the hotel website where a very cryptic map showed the general vicinity.

I headed off with great trepidation. I knew it should be awe-inspiring to watch the sun rising over the irrigated produce fields and newly built homes. But I was a bit nervous and distracted by that feeling of edginess. I found road 38 which leads to Bet Shemish and took the exit off of the freeway. So much land is here and waiting. I was looking now for road 395 and when I arrived in Bet Shemish, I knew I had traveled too far. Hoping U-turns are legal in the Holy Land, I reversed directions and drove past a police car idling by the roadside. (And why didn’t I stop for directions?) I must have been more nervous than I was willing to consciously acknowledge because I noticed that what began as the gentle fluttering of butterflies in the stomach had developed into full-blown, gut-wrenching stomach cramps. Was I really having a nervous reaction or was it that airline special meal from a few hours before?

So, I see a gas station and I decide that I can use the restroom (are there public facilities in gas stations?? Traveling reminds us frequently to question our assumptions and teaches us what we take for granted at home). At the same time, I can ask directions, hoping that people in the area will have heard of Tzuba. So between cramps, mustering as much composure as possible, I enter the small shop on the property and inquire about using the bathroom. But apparently not everyone in Israel speaks English. I’m really in a hurry here – really. So, frantically I’m running through every permutation of the word bathroom I can think of: bathroom, toilet, restroom, W.C, loo, hoping to land on a universally understood term. Meanwhile, in my mind, I’m wondering how I can, if forced to pantomime this word to convey the meaning, how on earth I can do this in a diplomatic fashion, embarrassing neither myself nor these robust young gentlemen. At some point my request is understood and I dash off – quickly.

When I return, I now must try to get directions from these men, neither of us speaking the other’s language. Ultimately, I understand that I just need to go to the next street and turn right – which I do. But, now I am on a narrow country road and the cramps are returning – even stronger. I’m driving and driving and nothing looks like a sign that says Tzuba. I don’t even know if there will be an English sign. This is a challenging situation. Ultimately, I call an emergency number for Baruch Kraus, the high school principal, apologizing for the hour, though it is close to 8 a.m. by now.

He directs me until I am safely at the kibbutz. We are only cut off a few times as this road is in the hills and the cell reception is intermittent. I run into reception and ask for the bathroom – and the woman cocks her head. She doesn’t understand. This is painfully obvious – literally. Fortunately, a woman within earshot understands and points.

Soon after, when Kara and I finally see each other – the first time since August – the reunion is joyfully tearful. There is just enough time for breakfast. Ah, there is nothing in the world like the Israeli breakfast. Nothing. The vast array of salads, cheeses, babaganouj, hummus, breads, olives, cold fish, cereals, eggs, fruits and who knows what else I’ve forgotten to mention. Even on the heels of such an upset stomach, an Israeli breakfast, I can eat. Kara and I are catching up and she is teaching and explaining. First order of business is teaching me to say toilet in Hebrew. Who says I didn’t raise a practical and solution-oriented kid, eh? She is then off to class and I am off for a long nap.

***

Evening is now fast approaching and Friday night in Israel is truly magical. Shabbat is coming – it is our day of rest and a whole country stands still from sundown Friday until sundown on Saturday. I look around the kibbutz, most especially the kids in Kara’s program. The girls have all dressed up. The ragged jeans and t-shirts designed to ruffle feathers of the older folks have disappeared. In their place I see are long flowing skirts and earrings. Kara has freed her hair from its usual pony-tail and her long, thick curly locks drape her shoulders and back. I see collared shirts and a few ties. There is a certain joy in the air. It is the joy we had as children on the brink of an exciting event. I have on my new ‘Shabbat Skirt’ and even long earrings and a hint of make-up even.

We are invited to Shabbat dinner at the home of our cousins in Jerusalem. We begin by lighting candles just before sundown. We drink a sip of wine, wash our hands and break bread. Then we are treated to an incredible feast – mostly vegetarian. There is hummus, pita and olives, of course!! We also enjoy sweet potatoes, tofu tarragon, grains, green beans w/ red peppers, two different kinds of homemade challah. There is some chicken for the meat eaters among us. Everything is delicious, especially the conversation and that feeling of being wrapped in the familiarity and love of family. We end the meal in song and laughter. Oy! Where is Norman Rockwell when we need him?

***

It is Saturday morning and Kara has agreed to go for a run with me at 8 a.m. It is now 9 a.m. and I am trying to coax her from bed. I offer to make her a cup of tea and agree to a reduction of sentence from running to a brisk walk around kibbutz. We have to hurry though – breakfast is over soon and we wouldn’t want to miss that.

I am staying in a hotel on the Kibbutz. My room is very reasonably priced under $70 per night. I have a bedroom, private bath, separate living area w/ pullout sofa, kitchenette and small dining table w/ 4 chairs and private balcony. Breakfast is included.

Kara and I decide to attend Shabbat services together at 11:30. As a visiting parent, I do have the option to take her on Shabbat and do other things. I have given her the choice of what she wants to do. We are invited back to our cousins for lunch, or we can hike to the top of the tell on the kibbutz or drive to Tel Aviv (nothing in Jerusalem is open on Shabbat, but Tel Aviv is a bit more secular) or we can drive into the nearby village of Ein Karem for lunch. She chooses to go to services. [OK, who are you and what have you done with my daughter??]

We are a few minutes into services. I am one of two parents there. Everyone else is under twenty-five or so. Josh is leading the service. A former participant in the same program, he is now in Israel studying for his Masters’ Degree in Jewish Education. He sings as he accompanies himself on the guitar. The kids all join in. It is joyous. I can see why Kara choses to come and participate. Josh speaks, and teaches, and prays and questions and listens with passion and contagious enthusiasm. Rachel, a rabbinic student in Jerusalem has come to share a perspective on this week’s Torah portion. It is a juicy week in the Torah, folks: rape, incest, drunkenness, banishment, the threat of sodomy, lying, geriatric pregnancy, the disease of closed orifices, some flesh to salt Sci-Fi, the destruction of an entire city, an eloquent and persuasive argument in the penalty phase of a criminal proceeding, a snippet of reality-TV survivor set in the desert and a near-miss child abuse / murder case. And this is just one episode. Why are people complaining about television nowadays? This stuff is old hat.

Rachel has captured a beautiful angle in her d’var Torah. She talks about the relationships between the various sets of parents and children in the portion. She points to how one might see some reversals of roles, with the children taking strong positions in their behavior. She talks about positive rebellion, when done not merely for the sake of rebelling but for some higher purpose.

***-

It is time for dinner and we are all gathered in the zoolah. Please, I don’t know that that means either. It is a room where everyone can meet, hang out, use one of the four computers or access the internet via a wireless connection, that is, everyone but me. I am supposed to be able to pickup on this whole wireless thing, but I can’t get it sorted out.

When they announce that cigars are on the menu, I am a bit concerned. Apparently, these are not of the Cohiba variety, but are instead some deep-fried matter. There is also falafel, tahina, hummus, pita and some other fried things. I have been in Israel through eaten four meals so far and haven eaten hummus four times. Hmmm.

After dinner the kids must fill out a medical form – a release of sorts I suppose – in preparation for gadna, the Israeli army experience. They will all board a bus tomorrow morning for 5 days in the Negev, complete w/ uniforms, guns, running and ‘yes, SIR!!’s. The form is in Hebrew. Kara leans over to me and whispers her concerns about the liability exposure that exists when one asks kids to fill out a medical form of any kind, much less in Hebrew. Oh well. You get used to things being different. Later, there is a movie scheduled and attendance is mandatory. It is an Israeli film, a huge pop-culture hit here. They have the DVD player set up in the zoolah and after 20 minutes of struggling to make the subtitles show in English, the effort is aborted.

I am sitting quietly in the back observing and it is just classic. There are two adults in charge, both of them young, much like what we would think of as a camp counselor. A bit older and more educated, but very youthful and connected to the kids. One is American (Sam) and one is Israeli (Naomi). Since no one can get the subtitles to work – Naomi says the subtitles aren’t necessary. The fact that maybe one kid out of 30 or so is fully functional in Hebrew is one of those unimportant details that Israelis can’t figure out what all the fuss is about. But, okay, whatever (shrug w/ slight tilt of the head).

Naomi then announces that the kids who have with them English movies should just go to their rooms and get them, and, she explains that we’ll watch the movie of whomever returns first. This is a very easy and practical solution and totally sensible to Naomi. When 15 of the kids all try to rush through the door simultaneously, Sam steps in to suggest that maybe this isn’t the best approach after all. Whoa! Whoa! Everyone back! Hold it.

Maybe we should be a bit more organized. Naomi dismisses his suggestion with the waive of the hand saying that they are in Israel and shouldn’t always be doing things American style, or something to this effect. In the end, the far-less-entertaining American democratic approach wins. Although I can kind of see that the Israeli free-for-all, survival of the fittest approach maybe is more appropriate training for the youth of a matchbook population of Jews living on a football field of Arabs. As the democratic process unwinds, the kids elicit suggestions and form a ballot of options, The first vote is a primary of sorts. It narrows down the field and determines the movies that will become candidates in the runoff. The kids are now totally in charge and it’s interesting to see how steeped they are in the democratic process. It is simply how they think. The second vote is taken and there is a winner. However, as in politics, this has been a lengthy process and the participants are worn out. Most end up leaving and only a core remain to watch the winner. Karalee has lead a splinter group and those interested in watching “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” are all meeting up in one of the rooms. I retreat to my room and get settled in thinking I finally have a chance to write.

About 10 minutes of settling into my PJs and my door opens. Kara and Sara have deserted the splinter group and the three of us are going to have a PJ party in my room while watching “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.” Life is good. Tov.

Post your comments of feel free to e-mail me directly at lawyrlee@hotmail.com