akin
to describing Niagara as just another water fountain (or Viagra as just
another...).
The Brownsteins in the Land of Israel
Chapter 11:
Proximity
November 28, 2003
Dear Friends,
First of all (or as my daughter, Batya, used to say,
"firstable"), I apologize for the long delay in writing this
installment. There's really no
excuse other than living life in Israel -- and not thinking about you as much as
I should have. Thank you for your
letters urging me to let you know that we're OK.
We're OK.
To make up for the long delay, this installment is longer than
usual and might take a good deal of thought and patience to get through.
Thank you for your indulgence.
Before I get to our main event, I must acknowledge my guilt for
not expressing my gratitude to our dear friend Rabbi Shlomo Seidenfeld, who was
our real estate broker in the sale of our house in Los Angeles under far less
than usual circumstances. To say
that it was a difficult transaction is
akin
to describing Niagara as just another water fountain (or Viagra as just
another...).
Hollywood during my 14 years in Los Angeles, we sold our house to the widow of a
renowned Hollywood icon. The
buyer's eccentricities were almost as vast as were her late husband's
accomplishments.
Here are two examples of the many nutso things that Rabbi
Seidenfeld had to endure to complete the transaction. First, when the buyer came for her final inspection, she
noted that the color of the light in the kitchen had changed from white 
to yellow. We were
not sure what she was saying. She
clarified, "Before, when I came on my other 18 visits, the light coming
from the bulbs was white; now it is yellow!
And I demand that the bulbs be changed back to the original color!"
Then, just after we had caught our breath, the buyer noted the
absence of broiling pans in our ovens. My
French wife, Sara,
had no idea what in the
Just
dealing with me, I knew Shlomo would have his hands full; but having to deal
with me and Mrs. Broiling Pan demanded even more patience than have been treated
by the Mayo Clinic. Thank you,
Shlomo: We're happy to have turned down the other 45 brokers in the community to
have given you the gift of working with Mrs. Broiling Pan!
You
might remember in Chapter 6 "LA Trip: Stranger than Fiction", I
s
pent
the weekend of the big New York blackout with my friend Avi and his family.
I was forced to borrow his shoes, since mine were in
JFK
ether. Happily, Avi's shoes had a
hole in the exact same place as mine. To
that, Avi wrote: "Dear Rich, Please see Exhibit A, Shoes 001, where clearly
my now infamous shoes still have quite a bit of mileage left.
However, after appearing in your world infamous newsletter, read the
world over, I have been shamed into the purchase of my new Sabbath and Holiday
shoes, please see Exhibit B, Shoes 002."
Bravo, Avi! I look forward
to wearing out much more shoe leather with you.
You also might recall that the Jerusalem Post quoted me at Cafe
Hillel, referring to me as having made aliyah (moved to Israel) from Oregon.
The article prompted the following comments.
First, from my brother Jeb, who lives in Baltimore and originally
informed me that was in the Post: "Great spot in JPost!!!
From Oregon? How did LA
become Oregon? Love, Jeb" Second, from my dear friend in Los Angeles, David
Waghalter: "Made Aliyah from Oregon????"
To
set the record straight, as the kids today might say, "I wasn't dissing my
old crew from the
SoCal locale." A reporter,
without identifying his news agency, had asked me three questions: Why was I at
Cafe Hillel that day? Where was I from? What was I doing in Israel?
After explaining why I was at Cafe Hillel, I said, "I'm from
Portland and I live in Israel." Sorry
for the confusion. Just like
Randy Newman (who is looking an awful lot like Buddy Hackett these days), I, too,
love LA! It's one of the four best
cities I've ever called home.
Feature
Presentation
First, a parable: A scorpion and an otter sit on the bank
of a stream. The scorpion says to
the otter, "Hey otter, how about a
ride across the stream?"
The otter answers indignantly, "Why should I give you a ride
across the stream? If I give you ride across the stream, you will sting me, and I
will die." The scorpion
replies with surprise, "That is so silly, otter!
For if I sting you in the middle of the stream, you will sink and I will
die, too. Of course I won't sting
you, silly otter." The otter,
not quite so silly but still quite gullible, reluctantly agrees.
Halfway across the stream, sure enough the scorpion mortally stings the
otter. Gasping for breath, knowing
the end is near, the otter screams, "But you promised not to sting
me!" Scorpion, in his last
breath, explains calmly to otter, "It's my nature."
The
Festival of Sukkot is the week-long Jewish holiday that marks the end of the
season of our most intense holidays, most prominently Rosh Hashanah and Yom
Kippur, during which we try to secure our place in this world for the next year,
and a place in "the world to come," for eternity.
During that time and the period leading up to it, we think about and
verbalize our complete dependence and gratitude to HaShem (G-d).
But the holiday of Sukkot, unlike virtually every other holiday, is when
we show the Almighty -- in physical terms -- just how much we really believe in
and rely on Him.
It's as if, for a month before
Sukkot, we start to walk out onto a bridge perched perilously 1000' above
nothing but rocks. We know that a
bungee cord awaits us in the middle of the bridge. We know that we will attach the bungee cord to our special
boots. And we know that people are
generally pretty safe doing this recreation.
So we walk to the edge of the bridge, make sure everything is fastened,
and we jump. Sukkot is not quite as
dramatic, especially in warm climates like California and Israel, but to be done
right it makes demands on both body and soul.
During Sukkot we eat our meals in
a temporary dwelling or booth, called a "Sukkah".
Although a Sukkah can withstand moderate winds, it is fairly porous,
fragile and temporary in every other way. The
Brownstein family Sukkah is 10' x 12' by 8' tall and was part of our shipment
here to Israel along with our books, furniture, clothes, etc.
It came all the way from Los Angeles, where I made it by hand, from 2x4s,
redwood posts, bamboo sides and roof, and metal joists and bolts, from a design
I dreamt up six years ago. It is
much like Ginger and Maryanne's hut, except without as many sequins.
As for the bungee jump, beyond
eating meals in the Sukkah, to really get the most out of the holiday of Sukkot
one should ideally actually bed down in the Sukkah. That's right, sleep! Many
people who don't know anything about Jewish orthodoxy or me ask me what the
difference is between religious Jews and me.
Although there is a vast chasm between the two, one of the most obvious
differences, aside from the fact that religious people are learned, is that they
look forward to proving to the Almighty their complete faith in Him by, among
other things, sleeping in the Sukkah, just as they look forward to performing
every other one of His commandments (mitzvahs).
I'm working toward that level of devotion.
The kids, too, are always really
excited about Sukkot because, among other things, they have a week vacation from
school and know that we will do fun things during the middle four days.
In L.A. we would go to Knott's Berry Farm and the like; below you will
read about what replaced "Camp Snoopy".
Each year, too, I get more and
more help from my children while I put the Sukkah together.
It used to be that the kids would just run around where I was building
it. They would throw things
everywhere in the middle of the heavy, cumbersome lumber that "Papa"
was handling. It was really cute.
Now, in addition to risking their lives under my precariously balanced
beams, they actually try to help by handing me nuts and bolts (between throwing
them at each other). After it is
built and the walls are affixed, Sara and the kids decorate the Sukkah, with
hand drawn pictures and all your Rosh Hashanah cards!
(Now you know what we do with them.)
This year, our first in
Jerusalem, after all the preparation was complete, after all the other holidays
had concluded, it was finally time to eat the first meal of the season in our
handmade Sukkah with our houseguests, whom we know from LA.
Sara, of course, cooked a scrumptious meal -- even without a broiling
pan. Between courses, the husband
houseguest and I had continued contemplating the bungee jump, which we had been
discussing for weeks before Sukkot, psyching each other up for the
"jump". This was the
night. Having slept in the Sukkah
once or twice in LA, I was pretty gung ho on the idea.
I even had cots, sleeping bags, and bug spray nearby.
But then I started thinking about
the animals...
During my first three months
living in Israel, I have noticed a lot of nonhuman creatures that also call the
Holy City of
Jerusalem their home.
For example, one of the first things visitors notice
is the substantial cat population.
These furry homemakers purr on dumpsters, in alleyways, under cars, and
practically everywhere else where they can find food or shelter.
It is not hyperbole to say that more than once these little terrorists
have made incursions into our home through open doors and windows, without so
much as a "hello", as if it 
were their own territory.
Even though I'm fond of cats, when I first got here I thought the city
should do something about the cat "problem".
About a month after we arrived,
however, I began to notice two important details concerning the cat
"problem". First, there
aren't a lot of dead or dying cats around.
Second, I have yet to see a single rat or mouse in Jerusalem.
So the cats are innocuous to folks, and even helpful: they eat our
garbage and turn it into fertilizer; they eat our rodents; and they can be
pretty, to boot. "The Cat
Problem" for me was like when I told my wife, "It's so stupid that all
the police cars always have their lights flashing.
How can anybody ever know when it's really an emergency?"
To which she calmly answered, "I think the lights are on because
they want people to be able to see them. If
it's an emergency or they want people to move out of their way, they will also
turn on the siren." So, just
as I thought I had all the answers about lights on police cars and was wrong, in
fact there is no cat problem in Jerusalem.
Then
there are the lizards. Captain
Dani, my landlord, had mentioned the outside possibility that I might encounter
small lizards. It was true, fast.
Occasionally I would spot one or two little fellas romping through our
garden. But the first time I saw
one of those green, two-inch wonders scampering up my just-lit living room wall
in the middle of the night, I was no less surprised or discomfited than I would
have been without the forewarning. But
thanks anyway for the heads-up, Captain Dani.
We have dogs, too, in Jerusalem.
There are a lot of dogs. In
America if your dog runs wild, he gets picked up
and you have only a few days to
claim him before he is "put to sleep". But we Jerusalemites are too busy fighting the other
terrorists and dismantling anachronistic labor unions to bother much with such
mundane issues.
Not surprisingly, animals have
even played a role in a recent upheaval here, called by some "the intifada"
or uprising, but more appropriately referred to as,
"the-bloody-terrorist-campaign-orchestrated-by-Yasser-Arafat-after-he-refused-to-take-the-best-deal-that-the-Palestinians-will-ever-be-offered-because-Israel-would-not-commit-suicide-by-allowing-the-Palestinians-to-create-an-Arab-majority-in-Israel-proper-by-flooding-us-with-an-unlimited-number-of-Palestinians-who-disingenuously-claim-a-50-year-right-of-return-to-lands-that-they-for-the-most-part-fled-at-the-behest-of-the-seven-Arab-nations-who-waged-and-lost-a-war-of-attempted-genocide-against-the-Jews-in-the-newly-created-State-of-Israel-in-1948-after-the-same-Arab-nations-rejected-the-United-Nations'-partition-of-Palestine-into-one-Jewish-state-and-one-Palestinian-state."
(Sometimes 116 words are more concise than a one-word euphemism.)
Specifically,
regarding the animals, on January 26, 2003, Palestinian terrorists strapped a
bomb to a donkey and sent it toward a crowded bus. They then detonated the donkey by remote control via cell
phone. Thank God, no one was hurt
-- except, of course, the dead donkey, which was rudely and abruptly dispatched
to his own eternity. Incredibly,
rather than condemn the attempted mass murder, PETA (People for the Ethical
Treatment of Animals) wrote to "His Excellency Yasser Arafat,"
pleading with him not to hurt any more poor, innocent, defenseless donkeys.
I kid you not.
And then I started thinking about
the insects...
We
have gnats, moths, bees, only occasional WASPS, and everything else.
One day my wife described to me a really big spider.
She said it was "really, really big and hairy", and she had had
to remove it from the house (because she doesn't like to kill things).
Knowing my wife's occasional propensity to exaggerate, I congratulated
her on her bravery, assuming it had been just another big spider.
The next day, on the street outside our house, I saw what she had
actually described: a tarantula. Good
going, Honey!
The
most serious bug problem, though, is the mosquitoes. During my first two weeks here, I was blanketed with bites.
And these weren't dainty, Oregon mountain-stream mosquito bites either;
they were large, hard, pointy wounds, like spider bites, and they were very
uncomfortable.
After many, many damaging,
unprovoked attacks by the bloodsuckers on my innocent family and myself, I was
forced to start thinking how to deal with these little insurgents.
I checked into setting up a defensive barrier, sort of a "security
fence," to protect the people in my territory.
That proved unworkable since adding screens to our rented home would have
cost at least $2,000. Instead, I
have tried to be more vigilant and smarter.
For instances, I bought a few heavy-duty bug zappers, which we've
deployed liberally. The tray on the
bottom that catches the zapped bugs resembles a "Who's Who" of 
Jerusalem
entomology. I also have become
circumspect about closing windows. For
example, on those nights that there is only a moderate probability of attack, I
might open windows, but only with shutters down so that bugs have to fight
through the tiny shutter slits to launch attacks on their victims.
These "partial closures" have been
very effective. Oftentimes, though,
I must implement a "complete closure" of our territory, and opt for
air-conditioning in the bedroom instead of open windows.
Although this is more expensive, sometimes I have to pay the price when I
feel especially vulnerable. Finally,
before going to bed, I often deploy a pseudo-chemical weapon, rubbing some
mosquito repellent on my head, neck, and arms.
Some nights, even after having
taken all precautions, I am still awakened by a pop from the bug zapper.
Although the sound is somewhat comforting, it means that everything I
have done up to that point has still allowed a few bloodsuckers to roam freely
in my home. If the bug zapper had
not gotten him, he would have gone down the hall and deposited half-dollar-size
welts on my young children, or he would have stayed in my bedroom and done the
same to my wife or me. Inflicting
random pain and suffering on others is really all they live for.
In the worst-case scenario, from
time to time I am awakened by the loud buzzing of a rampaging mosquito that has
permeated all the defenses and has probably already sucked my family's blood and
is coming back for more. On these
occasions I mobilize, by waiting patiently with a flashlight for the intruder to
take a breather on our white bedroom wall.
Showing no mercy, I crush him like a bug against the wall with my bare
hands. My wife and I have been
astounded by the amount of blood on my hands and the red goop adorning the walls
where I have terminated those missions.
The thing is, the animals and
bugs live here, too, and nothing we can do will change that.
I mean, look, this is my home that I rented from Captain Dani, and I have
a legal right to be here and everything, but outside my home it's their world.
They should be happy with the 99% of the land that is unpaved and
completely available to them! But
it just seems that they only harass us because we are here and because they want
to take advantage of what we have built, not because they really want anything
that is not otherwise available in the other parts of the land.
Even if they will never accept that I'm here and that this house that
stands on what was once an empty lot will be here forever, I have to try to live
as normal life as possible, while at the same time minimizing any detrimental
effects the creatures might have on my family
So we sat in our Sukkah on the
first night of Sukkot eating a delicious meal with houseguests from LA.
During salad, a few cats stopped in to say hello.
That was cool; they're only cats. Over
soup, several mosquitoes started buzzing around us.
During chicken, I was sure the lizards and tarantulas were also crawling
everywhere. This was their big
opportunity for an ambush because we were in their territory now.
Undaunted, I continued to try to convince myself and my guests that it
was no big deal. During dessert,
however, my undaunted feeling ended abruptly when a two-inch escargot was
spotted just behind my wife, crawling up the side of the Sukkah.
All jokes aside concerning the
French propensity to fry 'em up in garlic and butter, at that point all bets
were off. Between knowing what
might be out there, and seeing some of what actually was out there, my comfy bed
under my comfy covers in my comfy room would have to do. I decided my religious level was such that I could fulfill
the minimal Sukkah obligations by merely eating in the Sukkah; sleeping in it
would have to wait until next year, by which time, hopefully, I will have
achieved the right mixture of coverage, faith, and the ability to minimize the
likelihood of being slimed by snails, molested by mosquitoes, licked by cats,
trod on by lizards, and tickled by tarantulas.
Perhaps by then I will have found a better, more permanent solution.
As I mentioned, during the week
of Sukkot, the kids had school vacation and their parents had Ulpan vacation, so
I set out to rent a car to tour our new country. I looked at several web sites and settled on Thrifty Car
Rental. I reserved a car and noted
that the rental office was near the King David Hotel, which is within walking
distance of our house. After
obtaining directions -- which are never forthcoming in Israel, and this was no
exception -- I went to get the car. I
must have passed the place three times, calling each time on my cell phone,
before learning that Thrifty in Israel is not Thrifty at all, but a German
company called "Sixt" (you pronounce it, I still can't).
There is not a single, solitary sign of Thrifty anywhere in their office,
on their cars, or on their paperwork.
When I finally got to the office,
and they finally got to me, upon seeing that I am an Is
raeli, they charged me an extra
18%
sales
tax (VAT -- value added tax). Sensing
my increasing disenchantment with the deal, they
upgraded me to a Chevrolet Vivant (a
model that is not made for America), which is taller than
a
station wagon and shorter than
a minivan, in length and height and comfort. But since we don't own a car yet,
my children thought the Vivant was the greatest thing
they had ever seen and begged me to buy it.
I told 
them
that, instead, we would just try to be happy in it for the next several days.
Then I called a local buddy for
directions
to the Dead Sea, which is
supposed to be an easy 30-minute trip
My friend told me to get on this
one road that I know and stay on until I see the name of this one city that I
know, and get off the 
one road that I know there when I see signs to the Dead Sea.
Perfect.
So we loaded up the old Chevy for
the simple trip down to the lowest spot on earth. On the way we 
saw these fabulous soldiers carrying a
Lulav
(palm frond) & Etrog (a citrus fruit), which are used prominently in the
Sukkot celebration. The boys were
very sweet to pose for us.
With map in hand, we set off.
But, as I had suspected, the name of the city that I knew to look for had
appeared many times on many signs, never with any directions to the Dead Sea.
So I just stayed on that road, hoping that I would have clarity soon.
Not long after, I got my clarity from a sign that made me pretty sure I'd driven a tad too far.
Not being the brightest
bulb on the tree, even I know that when the sign
indicates that
straight
ahead is "Ramallah" -- Yasser
Arafat's headquarters
-- it's time to turn around and get better directions.
Finally we found the correct exit
and were on our way down to the Dead Sea faster than you can say, "lost American family, captured, tortured, and mutilated in the territories", God-forbid.
(On the same day, in fact, another family drove into the wrong place
and had to be saved!)
About
half an hour later, we arrived at a little
Dead Sea beach
area where we could give the kids their
first taste -- literally. When
Batya, Yehuda
and I waded into the oily,
saltiest
water on earth, our
tiniest scratches or cuts
stung like
crazy! I had a hard time explaining
to little
Yehuda
why
his tush 
suddenly hurt. After
floating
in the renowned buoyant
water and rubbing our bodies with the mud
under our feet that is supposed to have magical, elixir
powers,
we washed
off and headed back to
the Chevy to go down the road to the levy known as Ein
Gedi.
Because it was the end of summer, the levy was almost dry.
Without whiskey or rye, we went on a three-mile hike up and down
the famed nature preserve.
Exhausted
and spent, we headed home. On the
way home, gazing across the Dead Sea, I pointed
out to the kids that the bank
on
the other
side of that little body of water is a country called
Jordan. Sara and I also noted
the passing Arab cities such as
Jericho.
The
next day I asked my
local
buddy for suggestions
of
other places to visit. He said there
is a cool place
with
lots
of
caves
dug into the ground that
are thousands
of years
old, called Beit
Govrin National
Park. This time, he suggested
I get
directions
from the
Internet. I didn't argue.
On the
way out of Jerusalem, we saw Sukkahs
built onto every conceivable open area, from the swankiest
penthouses in the plushest hotels to the back of pick-up
trucks to postage-stamp
balconies and decks. To
the
left
is a picture
of many Sukkahs on the balconies of a prominent apartment building
at
the entrance
to Jerusalem. (Architecturally,
this building
is especially
interesting
because
a Sukkah
is
kosher (valid)
only if nothing
is above
it except the sky.)
After Sukkah-gazing, we found the Govrin Caves without any difficulty.
They were very cool.
One of them housed a family of ten.
Another contained an olive oil manufacturing plant,
complete with a stone olive press. The
smallest cave was a shower. I
noticed a little ledge by the shower and I asked my precocious seven-year-old daughter Batya if she knew what 
the ledge was for.
She answered, "Of course, Daddy.
It's for shampoo and conditioner!"
Right, honey.
So there I was at the Govrin Caves very deep inside
Israel-proper, walking around with my family on that beautiful fall day, and
what do I hear in the distance, but the extended pounding of a barrage of artillery. Although the blasts could have emanated from a training
facility, they could as easily
have
been our boys dealing
with the
those who are trying to kill us
every
day. Either
way, I
imagined the look on some
sweet kid's face -- just
out of high school --
as he watched
everyone
as clean and
quiet, called
Nitzanim
Beach. They were right. Only 10 miles north of Gaza, it was very, very
relaxing.
In America, oftentimes you can see airliners flying, yet not hear
them. It is not uncommon to see eastbound 747s
over Los Angeles, having taken off over the Pacific Ocean and turning around for
the journey across America, high in the sky, seemingly hovering, without sound. By
contrast,
in Jerusalem you can hear
the thunder of the
fighter aircraft practicing
overhead, but you can never see them. On this day, however, at this flawless beach, at two-
or three-minute intervals we
gazed
upon the sheer beauty of our
majestic
Israeli 
fighter
aircraft zipping overhead, alone
and in pairs, presumably on training
sorties about 10 miles to the south. They
treated us all to a magnificent
airshow.
At the end of Sukkot, I read in
the Jerusalem Post that Hamas and Islamic Jihad are interested in another
cease-fire, like the last one that ended with the slaughter of 22 Jews on a
Jerusalem bus in August. Do you
think the otter will fall for it this time?
If so, we are going to need to buy a whole lot more bug zappers and bug
spray.
Anyway, thanks for reading this
far.
I appreciate and look forward to your comments and greetings.
For more on this tale of the
donkey bomb and the PETA morons click here
and then here.
The part of the Chevy driver was
played by Don
Mclean.
As you know, we are in the middle
of a membership drive, so please get me the e-mail addresses of people whom you
want to add. (Let them know ahead
of time, so I don't get in trouble with the spam police).
Please stay tuned for Chapter 12:
“Class Lessons.”
All the best,
Rich Brownstein
PO Box 8130
91081 Jerusalem
ISRAEL
Phone: 011-972-2-6733-491
CURRENT DISTRIBUTION: 350
worldwide
NOTE:
No donkeys were harmed in the
photography of this reenactment.
All characters are purely
fictional.
If you want to add someone to
this list, or remove yourself, just e-mail rich@brownsteins.net and let him
know.
Please freely distribute to those
with too much time on their hands.
Copyright
(c) - Rich Brownstein 2003
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