TRAVEL: Lessons on Love and Lasagna

Travel is my teacher and I am a willing student.

I am going about my journey with two selves. There is the self that goes through the motions of life and then there is the other one that watches and notices. When I am outside of my normal place and routine, my 'watching self' blooms.

This journey is a little different for me in some ways. I am traveling solo for one thing. Another is that I've been in Israel before so I don't feel compelled to see certain sights before leaving. I am therefore doing a few things that I might ordinarily do if I were living here and not just visiting. Like cooking, for example. Something so simple, becomes an adventure because I am out of my environment. Doing the ordinary in the extraordinary environment awakens my watching self. Come watch with me:

I am going to cook some lasagna. First I have to shop and that means finding a store on the map and plotting a course. Driving here isn't so difficult as navigating. I have become convinced that most of Jerusalem was built before the discovery of the right angle. That and that fact that it is carved from the limestone hillsides makes for interesting urban planning when it comes to the layout of the streets. An important tool for my adventure is a map that shows one-way streets. I have a fear of being able to get somewhere and not find my way back. This, of course, only generally happens if I have purchased ice cream on a warm day.

I am also always a bit distracted by the sights around me. Everything is so new and different that I exist in a heightened state of awareness. Like the buildings that must all be covered in Jerusalem stone. There is a sameness, yet a certain uniqueness to most of them. Sometimes, I like to think of Jerusalem as the City of Second Thoughts. "On second thought, I should have put another room there. So maybe I will." And it is just built up as people have second thoughts about the design. It's like stream of consciousness architecture.

Now I have successfully arrived in the neighborhood of Nayot. I have to fight the Israelis for a parking space. Keep in mind that these are the people who win wars in Six Days. Keep in mind that these are the people who survived thousands of years in the Diaspora. Keep in mind that these are the people who travel through life, packed into busses and undaunted by the rash of blood and terrorism that brought tourism to it's knees for the past half-decade. I am not intimidated. I am fitting in nicely here. I am learning that if you yell and scream long enough, you can get what you need. I love it!

I am walking from the parking place to the store and I am remembering that to get a cart, I have to deposit a 5-shekel piece. O dear, I hope I have one. Israel is refining my ability to plan ahead. It's always teaching me that. I think that's why everything closes on Shabbat -- to reinforce that lesson. Oh, I suppose there's that whole Torah thing as well. I notice that I am beginning to neurotically think about Shabbat as I travel through my week. I am reviewing that mental checklist so that all is purchased and in place for my day of rest. Last Saturday, (oooh-- it's so strange to say Saturday. Everyone here says Shabbat, like what are you doing for Shabbat or you're invited to come for lunch on Shabbat or it's closed on Shabbat. In fact, I don't think I've heard the word Saturday at all since I've been here. I think also that I've digressed. Let see, where was I? Oh yeah...) Last Shabbat, Kara and I had planned a trip and as we are about to depart for Tel Aviv, we discover that I had less than a quarter tank of gas. Oy. Eventually we make a few phone calls and we find a place to fill up. Nonetheless, I think I am now suffering a mild case of PTSS (Post-Traumatic Shabbat Syndrome).

I'm sorting through the coins looking for the 5-shekel piece. I am also making a mental note in case I am elected to dictator of the planet. I am always planning on the rules I will implement as dictator, such as the abolishment of neckties and nylons. I will also require that all coins in all countries be minted in a way that size reflects denomination. Why is the 5-shekel piece larger than the 10 shekel piece? Why is a dime smaller than a nickel? Aren't things hard enough already?

I am in the store. Ingredients. I have asked around and learned that the hard form of mozzarella cheese is not usually sold here. People on the Mediterranean generally seem to use the soft version that is packed in water. But I have discovered the cheese counter in the 'Super Sol' (name of the large grocery store) and am trying to ask for Mozzarella in Hebrew. Finally, the cheese man is understanding me and teaches me the word for Mozzarella in Hebrew: Mozzarella. (okay, I knew that) He is wanting to know how much I want and I am wanting to know how much it costs. The problem here is that he is explaining in shekels and kilograms and I am the one that flunked general math in high school. I suppose if I were here long enough I would just start thinking in the indigenous terms of measure but I still feel compelled to convert everything into my native tongue: pounds and dollars.

Tov. [Good.] Got the cheese. Now I need some Ricotta cheese. I take a SWAG at the Hebrew word for Ricotta and get it right the first time. Ricotta! I am buying whatever is left in the case because I am to the point where paying too much is less painful than math and converting currency. Now, on to the noodles.

There are these small boxes of lasagna noodles and the directions say that pre-boiling is not necessary. Wow, that's sounds convenient, but I am not entirely trusting. However, since there are no other alternatives I am getting a crash course in trust. The boxes are very small about half the size of the lasagna noodle box at home. Since I usually use two boxes at home, I am buying four boxes here. They are about 15 shekels or three dollars each. No wonder Italian food isn't a big hit here.

I have searched through the twenty-five cans of tomato-something, looking for English words. I think I have stewed tomatoes and tomato paste. We'll see when I get home. I am paying for my purchase and practicing my Hebrew as I respond to the cashier's question: Lo Ivrit. This means 'No Hebrew.' I am overjoyed! She understood me!!

I am back at home now and I am reading the directions to the noodles. They instruct me to prepare a béchamel sauce and to pour a layer over the noodles and lay my pasta sauce over that. Well, isn't that convenient? We've now substituted the simple boiling of noodles for the preparing of a béchamel sauce. I've never even made a béchamel. I look at my watch -- it's the middle of the night in San Diego. I always call my friend Warren with cooking questions and although I would consider this a culinary emergency, I reluctantly conclude it can wait until tomorrow. Patience. I am learning to plan ahead and patience.

***

It is tomorrow morning and Warren has assured me that I can skip the whole béchamel thing. I have my cheeses and noodles and homemade sauce layered and am ready for the oven. I have used one-half of the first box and I'm imagining what my hosts will think when they return and find three and one-half boxes of unused lasagna noodles in their small pantry. Before I bake, I have to run in and log on to find how to convert Celsius into Fahrenheit. Next, I am trying to figure out all of the strange symbols on the oven knob. I don't get it. Too early in the morning to call anyone here. I'll just pick something. The square with the line inside. I have a one in six chance of being right.

It's an hour later and my casserole is barely warm. I am noticing that nothing is easy when you are not in your environment. This whole cooking thing is now taking up several hours and days. But the process is teaching me. I am a willing student of travel, remember? I up the temperature and wait another hour and it's a bit warmer. I decide that maybe it's cooked after all and that these strange noodles absorbed so much liquid that it's not going to boil like at home. I take the foil off and give it one last 20 minute stretch to perfect the cheese on top. When I return I find the entire top layer of the lasagna is that shade of brown that occurs just before the smoke alarm goes off. [expletive deleted]

***

It's late afternoon now. I've been for a jog up and out of Ein Kerem and down into the Jerusalem Forest located behind Yad Vashem (The Mother of All Holocaust Museums) [Ed. Note: non-literal translation of the Hebrew] and back. I've returned from a second trip to the Super Sol w/ more mozzarella and the intention to re-do the top. My cousin has stopped by and I am recounting my oven misadventures. He looks at the knob and explains that I have been using the broiler. This is pretty funny. Now that I know what I have done, the symbol on the knob makes sense. Everything is fixed and now I'm really cooking -- literally.

***
It's evening and I am relaxing over a delicious plate of lasagna. The only thing missing is the voice of my sweetie telling me how tasty it is. I am also reflecting on the whole experience and listening to the voice of my watching self. I started this process three days ago. It began with phone calls and e-mails trying to sort out whether and where ingredients were available. I needed to locate a decent map, phone San Diego and also got help from Joey in working the oven.

I am looking at myself being a stranger in a strange land. Just trying to accomplish the ordinary routines of life requires that I connect to others. I am not an island, I am vulnerable and needy. On one hand, I don't like this. On the other hand, I love that I have accomplished this small, yet challenging task, with help. It imbues the food with the flavor of love and friendship that is available only to one who needs and receives.

I am also listening to my watching self speak about compassion. My home in San Diego is the resting place for a multitude of strangers. Most of the people who live there have migrated, either from other cities or other countries. In this way, San Diego is much like Israel. I am reminded how difficult the easy things are when our environment is foreign. Each moment of every day can be a struggle and the effortless help of another unbelievably relieves my burden.

I must be vigilant in watching for opportunities to extend my hand to the stranger, having been reminded about the impact of even the smallest kindness. Travel is my teacher and I am a willing student.