Hello IDF: TZAV RISHON

I crossed another bridge on my path to enlistment: the tzav rishon, or "first notice." It was quite an experience. Over the past forty-eight hours, I have experienced IDF bureaucracy at its best. It's the closest I've been to the IDF thus far. I've also learned a lot about my enlistment, and about myself. So, how did I learn about my tzav rishon, and what exactly happens on the most important day in a soldier-to-be's life?

On Thanksgiving, I received a call from Mahal telling me my tzav rishon was scheduled for Sunday (remember, it's like Monday in Israel). I was to show up at Liskat Hagiyus (Draft Office) in Tel HaShomer at 8:30 am. The soldiers from my Birthright trip had prepared me for a long day, telling me to get a full night's sleep and eat well that morning; the tzav rishon would determine my life for the next eighteen months! Definitely not something to be taken take lightly.

David drove me the forty-five minutes from Tel Aviv to Tel HaShomer. It was great not having to fret over which buses to take and where to go. He had planned on parking and walking in with me but that proved impossible as yesterday (and today) was a 'send-off' date. The courtyard just inside the gate was full of families saying goodbye to their sons and daughters, who would board buses and begin their IDF service.

To begin with, amid the carnival-esque atmosphere (probably most akin to parents dropping their kids off at college for the first time), with lots of people and plenty of loud music, shouting, excitement and cigarette smoke, I was utterly confused on what to do first. It took me a few seconds to realize what was going on, and then just thought it best to try and walk into the base itself. There were two soldiers at the door to determine who was allowed in. I first tried to say, "Shalom, ani Mahal, v'ani chayal boded" (Hello, I'm Mahal, and I'm a lone soldier), to which they would reply in perfect and rapid Hebrew. I had no choice then but to respond, "Sleicha, ani lo m'daber ivrit" (Sorry, I don't speak Hebrew). Thankfully, one of them spoke English well enough and directed me back through the crowd to a window at the security entrance. After a little pushing and shoving (aka: the Israeli way of moving forward in a line), I got there and just thought, to hell with it, I'm gonna ask if they speak English right away. The girl (soldier) did and told me to go to modi'in (information) outside the gate. Wonderful, back to square one.

I walked out of the base and waited in line again. When I approached the counter, the girl behind the desk asked me something terrifying: "Where are you papers?" Papers?! Shit, the Mahal guy just said to show up and bring my passport! I suppose I could have brought the Mahal letter I got weeks ago, but I thought that wasn't needed anymore. I've heard about friends, in trying to deal with the Israeli bureaucracy or military, are sent home because they didn't have a form there were never told to bring. Thankfully, she took my passport, looked something up in the computer, and then put a little sticker with some Hebrew words, a barcode, and the date on the back of my passport.

Back in the base, I went quickly through the short line to enter the building, then to the office where they handle Mahal individuals. Another girl took my passport for a few minutes then brought me upstairs to begin my tzav rishon. My first meeting was with a (very cute) soldier who spoke to me in Hebrew, asking simple questions, just to gauge my comprehension. Clearly, it was limited. Then she sent me to another (cute as well) soldier who I sat with for the next hour, half the time with a frozen computer, as she asked me all sorts of questions: what had I done for the past few months; my history as a student, beginning in elementary school; contacts in Israel; and a Hebrew exam, to which I probably failed, although not miserably. And of course, there was the question that 'G-d forbid anything should happen to you during your service,' who do I want to collect the insurance money? Oh, and by the way, it has to be someone living in Israel; translation: not my parents. Freakin' weird. I signed my life's worth over to David. Eery.

Anyway, after this interview, I went up two levels to the medical floor. I provided a urine sample, then flashed the bar code on my passport sticker in a machine in the hall and waited....and waited....and waited. After forty-five minutes, my name was called. A soldier was about to bring me into a room for a physical when, after telling her I didn't speak Hebrew (definitely not well enough for a medical appointment!), she told me to sit back down and wait for her to call me again when they got an English-speaking doctor. That wait turned into an hour. Finally, I stopped the soldier in the hall while she was flying back and forth and asked her about how much longer. The day was getting on and I knew there was still more things I had to do. At my request, she took me into the room and waited for the doctor to get in. Easy, frustrating, Israel.

My exam went smooth enough. It seems that almost everyone who works at the base is female, including the doctor (very nice!). I responded 'no' to all the routine medical questions (allergies, illnesses, surgeries, etc.), had my blood pressure taken, stripped down to check my breathing, you get the drill. The one hiccup (and it's a pretty big one) is that my eyesight is terrible, with a capital T. I estimated it at about minus 7.5 and minus 8. With eyesight that bad, she wants me to see a doctor to verify. Instead, I'm having my optometrist back home fax my records over. Other than that, I got a clean bill of health. Time now for an IQ test.

I went down a floor and scanned my passport again. After a few minutes, another female soldier came out of a room, verified my name, took my passport, and suggested I make sure I was well-fed and drank water; the test would be about an hour, without any breaks and it was very important. I grabbed a candy bar and reported back, was let into the room, sat at a computer, and began the test.

Let me be clear: there's no feasible way for this test to tell anyone their actual IQ. The test was in two sections. The first featured three rows of three figures or shapes. I had to detect a pattern and fill in the bottom right figure (which always had a question mark) with the correct answer from a list of eight choices at the bottom of the screen. Ten minutes to do thirty-one questions. They got progressively more difficult, and, truth be told, I couldn't figure out the pattern on the last one or two. I barely finished with seconds remaining, but still felt confident. The second section (fifteen minutes for thirty questions) was analogies. An example is small triangle is to big triangle as small square is to blank. They too became progressively harder, requiring me to be able to see figures in different angles or reversed. But, this was easier than the first section. All done in twenty-five minutes, thirty with setting up and reading instructions.

I reported back to the original Mahal office on the main floor. It was just after four, but the base was closing down. I was all done except for an interview, which I had to come back for this morning. Life's a bitch sometimes.

I returned by bus at ten this morning for the interview. I was directed to the top floor and proceeded to wait for the better part of two hours. It went by, though, because I had met another American at the end of yesterday. He's a chayal boded from Baltimore, pretty much the same background as me. We pissed and moaned about how slow everything was going, oggled at some of the female soldiers, talked about Israel, yada yada yada. Actually, waiting turned out to be kinda fun. I met another guy from France, living in Ashdod, who is also Mahal/chayal boded. He speaks French, fair amount of Hebrew and a little English. I haven't spoken French since studying abroad in Geneva junior year of college. But the rust wore off quickly, and between English, French and Hebrew, we were able to have a pleasant, albeit simple, conversation.

Finally, my name was called and I was led into the office of the commander of the base. I expected to be in and out in a few minutes, but ended up talking with the officer for the better part of a half hour. He was excited to hear that I was from Chicago, a political science major, and he had a genuine interest in what compelled me, and other chayalim bodedim, to come and serve. In addition, he asked the required questions: when's my planned enlistment; what unit; etc. He told me that I passed the IQ test, and would have told me my overall score from the two days but health score isn't complete yet; I'm waiting on my eyes. (I'll explain more about scores once I actually get mine.) At the end of the interview, he gave me his card and told me to contact him with any questions or problems. I thanked him for his time and left.

One final, and very, very important task left: registering for lone soldier status. A soldier from the commander's office led me downstairs to another office where two (yes, of course very cute) soldiers asked me questions for lone soldiers: do my parents support me financially; where am I staying; do I want to get an apartment, live on a kibbutz, be semi-adopted by a host family; is my family living back in the States; do my parents have Israeli citizenship; and a host of others. This took fifteen minutes, and then I was finally able to leave Liskat Hagiyus...until December 15.

That date is fast approaching. After speaking with other Mahal guys I've met, looking at other people's blogs, and talking with my soldier friends, I've got lots of anticipation about joining, and also a little trepidation. I am certainly excited--and yes, certainly a little nervous as well. Life is going to be demanding and radically different. Life, as I know it now, will cease to be. It will become long days full of rigorous activity, designed to test each person's physical and mental abilities. Life is going to become an adventure. As Sam, a soldier from Birthright, commented to me once, "there will be times where you will want to give up and give in. To get through these difficult times, you will have to remind myself why you am here."

Why am I here? If this pattern isn't already clear to you, it's because I am Jewish. Consequently, as a Jew, while in Israel, I wear a kippah. I don't wear one in America (except for Shabbat), but feel it important to wear one full-time now. I am in G-d's country, His land that He set aside for the Jewish people, His people that He chose (and that chose Him) out of all the nations to bring His presence into the world. I wore a kippah during my three weeks at yeshiva this summer for that exact reason. I wear it now for that purpose as well. But I also wear it for another reason, more pertinent to my service. Although I love the state and un-like many religious Jews support its creation and existence, I am not serving in the IDF and fighting for Israel as an Israeli. Rather, donning a kippah reminds me that I am part of a larger cause: I am fighting as a Jew for the Jewish people.

Happy Thanksgiving--the view from Israel!

Happy Thanksgiving to all! For the second time in three years I will be out of the country on Turkey Day. Two years ago I was in Ireland, sharing a very pleasant home-cooked meal courtesy of a friend’s friend’s aunt’s friend, complete with a few slices of turkey and the occasional anti-Semitic comment from our elderly Irish host.

Today, I will again have pre-packaged turkey slices, albeit with perhaps the exact opposite of anti-Jewish talk at the dinner table! Instead, dinner discussions don’t question the Jews’ right to exist or have their own state, but instead center on peace prospects, American interests, etc. I terribly hope this post does not seem like a rant. I will try to be as level-headed as possible. At the end, however, I hope you will gain a greater appreciation and deeper understanding of why I am here. Please feel free to leave comments, suggestions, questions, disagreements, etc. at the bottom! Please read and (try to) enjoy!

Where to begin…how about with the current talk of another settlement freeze? Basically, the thinking of each side goes like this: Israel and the Palestinian Authority (PA) were unable to reach an agreement/peace after the previous freeze ended in September; now that construction in East Jerusalem/West Bank has continued, the PA points to it as the primary obstacle to peace; Israel disagrees, contending it honored the previous freeze, and Netanyahu is trying to hold a very shaky and volatile coalition together while toeing the line on whether or not to seek another 90 day freeze; the US has a headache, wants peace, and is willing to provide incentives, namely providing Israel with 20 F-35 fighter planes. There are a lot more specifics and political hurdles (especially in the Knesset, for example, Netanyahu is in such a political bind that he won’t consider accepting until he has written confirmation from Obama about the planes), but for the purpose of this post, the information provided will suffice.

So, now what? Should Bibi (Netanyahu) accept the US offer? Should Israel continue building settlements? If there is another freeze, will there finally, truly be peace?!

My answer: ABSOLUTELY NOT. Why? To borrow a phrase from George Lakoff, “Don’t Think of Settlements!” Israeli construction in East Jerusalem and the West Bank is NOT what is preventing peace. In fact, there is something far more sinister preventing Israelis and Palestinians from signing accords. Unfortunately, what I am about to suggest is virtually taboo in the politically-correct, overly-apologetic, afraid-to-offend Western political culture. The main impediment to peace, the reason there will be no peace, is because the Arabs and Palestinians refuse to accept the right of Jews to live in Israel and would rather die than recognize Israel as a Jewish state.

Sounds extreme, no? But, I assure you, history and the facts add up to this horrific conclusion. In response to Mahmoud Abbas’ call for a new freeze, Bibi, in a politically savvy and promising move, said that he would support a freeze in the Knesset and agree to talks without preconditions if the PA would only recognize the State of Israel; Abbas would get what he wants and Israel would be seen as a legitimate state, nothing more nothing less. Apparently, since making such a claim is anathema to everything that is the Palestinian identity (or at least the PA), Abbas outright rejected the overture. This really made me wonder: if all the core issues ( settlements, Jerusalem, security, refugees) were hammered out, would the Palestinians still refuse to recognize Israel? What the hell does it take for peace?

What peace needs are open-minded people living in a liberal society. Unfortunately, the Palestinian people, courtesy of their leadership, are robbed of both. Take, for example, the case of Walid Husayin, a Palestinian living in the West Bank. His story is currently attracting a lot of attention on Facebook. Why? Because he is suspected of posting an essay called “Why I Left Islam” on an atheist website. The PA has him detained, without seeing visitors of lawyers, since late October (“Free Palestine!” Bret Stephens, Wall Street Journal, November 23, 2010; Stephens also talks more generally about illiberalism in the PA). If the lack of free expression didn’t make you question the Fatah leadership, if the detaining without outside visitors didn’t make you questions the Fatah leadership, consider this: on June 25, 2006, Hamas captured an Israeli soldier named Gilad Shalit. In the 1600 days since, NOT ONE person has been allowed to visit him. I don’t mean family or friends; I mean the Red Cross, UN, Doctors Without Borders…no one! And Hamas is recognized as a terrorist organization.

(In fact, one interesting contrast is how Hamas and Israel view their civilians. One scenario, two different solutions: bombs and rockets are raining down on your city. In Sderot, Israel, children, with less than a minute of warning, are sent to the nearest bomb shelter for protection from Hamas’ rockets. In Gaza, after the Israeli Air Force drops leaflets warning civilians of the buildings that will be attacked, Hamas orders these innocent individuals up to the roofs to become martyrs. One side tries to save lives, the other tries to gain international public relations points. What country has ever done that? What its enemy’s civilian population ahead of time? Israel is indeed a rogue state! Please read: “When Gabriel Latner turned tables on the Israel-bashers,” Jonny Paul, The Jerusalem Post, November 17, 2010)

But, there are plenty of countries that don’t have liberal and law-abiding societies (Iran, North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Burma…clearly your class acts!). Understand that the Palestinian people live in a world where they are fed information and are led to believe realities that are—to be blunt—lies. Take, for example, when the chief Islamic judge of the Palestinian Authority made perhaps the most outrageous and incorrect statements ever uttered: the Jews have no connection to Jerusalem (“Palestinian Leaders Deny Jerusalem’s Past,” Bari Weiss, Wall Street Journal, September 25, 2009). With statements like these coming from the leadership, no wonder no one is jumping to recognize Israel. Please look at Palestinian Media Watch’s (PMW) website and see how young children are led to believe that Jews do not belong in Israel, that martyrdom is the desired path for any Muslim, and a host of other things that, if taught in America’s schools and broadcast on children’s television programs, would receive the biggest outcry. Suddenly, the anger and hostility that culminated in the two intifadahs begin to make sense.

“Hold on a second. I know Palestinians who are good people!” And I do too. I know plenty of Palestinians, Arabs and Muslims who do not wish ill towards anyone, even Jews and Israelis. I honestly believe that most people in the world just want to make a living, keep a roof over their head, bread on the table, and provide for their family. For most of the world, politics is an impediment, not an expedient. But most of the world is not like the free societies of America, Israel and the West. Instead, most people still live under the rule of a regime that is not beholden to its subjects (note I did not say ‘citizens’).

(For a great, albeit brief, analysis of this, please see Lawrence Wright’s My Trip to Al-Qaeda. It is his incredible story getting to know al-Qaeda. I’d like to share one small part here: he likens Saudi Arabia to a hypnotized chicken, a reference to his experience as child when he swung chickens in a circle and they stayed frozen for a few minutes. In Saudi Arabia, you feel like a “guest, not a citizen.” There is no nightlife, no free press, no movies, nothing outside of Islam and the ruling family. By any social scientists standard, Saudi Arabian society is ripe for revolution. But, incredibly enough, the people continue to live their lives…frozen. Why? They stay obedient subjects, not out of love of their dictatorial regime, but rather they look around the region and are afraid of the consequence of rebellion, namely Iraq, Afghanistan, Lebanon.)

But returning to the issue at hand…the man who gave me a tour through East Jerusalem this past weekend commented that settlements account for a quarter of the jobs in the Palestinian territories. True? I haven’t looked into it yet. However, what’s more, in the spring of 2010, PMW’s director Itamar Marcus came to my campus and showed us a few slides about Palestinians’ views of Israeli human rights treatment pre- and post-Oslo. Although I cannot relocate the exact numbers, I recall that upwards of 95% viewed Israeli treatment positively, compared to low 90s or high 80s of the US and France. That number dropped significantly following the Oslo Accords, when the PA began to govern itself. Conclusion? The decreased interaction with Israel/Israelis led to a decreased favorable opinion. Meaning? The PA leadership, especially if its current actions are any indication, likely began disseminating false information about Israel and Jews.

So…to wrap this up…THE SETTLEMENTS CONTROVERSY WILL NOT RESOLVE ANYTHING. What’s at stake here is a fundamental, deep-seated inability and hatred for the Palestinian leadership to live with the reality and existence of a Jewish state. So, what does that mean for me?

It’s like one of the t-shirts here that tourists often buy. It’s black with white writing on the front that lists civilizations with their “status.” It lists Ancient Egypt, Philistines, Assyrian Empire, Babylonian Empire, Persian Empire, Greek Empire, Roman Empire, Byzantine Empire, Crusaders, Spanish Empire, Nazi Germany and Soviet Union…all with “Status: X-Gone.” The only question mark is Iran. Where are the great empires and civilizations of history? They are just that: history. The Jewish civilization remains and thrives!

This new understanding, combined with the incredible Shabbat I had in Jerusalem, simply re-emphasized for me the fact that I am here as a Jew, not an Israeli. I am here because there are people in this world who say I should not be here. I am here to fight against those who say because my mother was Jewish, I am the cause of the world’s evils. I am here to fight, right or wrong, to stay in this land. I am here to fight to exist as a human being—which is never wrong. I am a Jew—and proud of it!

Shabbat Shalom!

What a week this has been! Both for Israel and myself, this past week was filled with activity and tumult. In this post, I will first go over the past week of my life, then I will delve into current events a little, and perhaps unavoidably explain my own perspectives on politics in the country and region. Sound like a plan? Great! Hope you enjoy the following…

My first order of “IDF enlistment business” after procuring a visa was to fax it to the Mahal office. This was done simply enough last Wednesday. Now, the information sheet I received after signing my life over states that I will have to wait two to three weeks before Mahal notifies me of my tzav rishon date. Tzav Rishon is a “day of tests” I must undergo so the IDF knows my physical ability, mental acuity, intentions, etc. (I will explain more about it after the fact.) What’s noteworthy for me is that I called Mahal a few hours after faxing my visa to verify they received it (you never really know here), and the soldier who answered the phone confirmed its receipt and said they would contact me next week! So I am expecting a phone call anytime this week. While I am not too optimistic that it will come, I was still shocked to hear of the potentially quick turnaround. There are no further enlistment hurdles to go through after the tzav rishon, so the supposedly lengthy and headache-filled process has turned out to be…shall I say…doable? But, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over…hopefully I didn’t speak too soon.

Anyway, I have had a lot of time on my hands with nothing pressing to do. I contacted a few friends of mine at Ohr Somayach yeshiva (where I was on a three week program this summer) about staying with them for Shabbat. It took me sixteen days after arriving in Israel to finally make it to Jerusalem! But I made the most of it. With my two friends, Ami and Elliot, we walked from the yeshiva to the Old City, via Damascus Gate. Jerusalem’s Old City has about a half dozen gates, really just entrances. Named for cities they face, Damascus gate faces northeast toward the Syrian capital, thus it is in East Jerusalem. Oh my! Not quite. The three of us walked down a major road toward the city. As we neared the medieval walls, we veered toward the gate and passed Arab grocers and vendors, trucks and vans unloading food, and other like-minded Jews preparing to welcome the Sabbath in the Old City.

Crossing a final street, and dodging cabs and motorbikes in the process, we walked down a flight of stairs and joined the Jewish flood through the gate, hearing Arabic and keeping an eye out for trouble all the while. However, Jews are probably safest at that hour; the entrance to Damascus Gate, and the path towards the Western Wall for that matter, is littered with Israeli soldiers and policeman donning bullet proof vests, with M4 rifles at the ready, and eyeing all suspiciously—Jew and Arab. Still, it is difficult to feel safer than that, or more proud for that matter. I know these soldiers are there to keep the peace. In reality, they are likely the only reason that Jews are able, week after week, to pass safely through Arab controlled streets to pray at our holiest sight.

And pray we did! Perhaps the one word to describe Friday night at the Kotel (Western Wall) is “electrifying!” I remember the first time I was there on Birthright last year. I have davened (prayed) there multiple times since, and twice more on Shabbat. I still think the same thing I did that first time in January: what an incredible and humbling feeling to be able to stand in front of Judaism’s holiest site, a place our people have been trying to return to for literally thousands of years, facing persecution, expulsion, and death, the world over, in the process. On Friday night, the entire plaza before the Wall is completely packed with black hats and suits. As we were not with a group, we found a rabbi we knew, assembled a minyan (ten adult men), and began Shabbat with my favorite song: Yedid Nefesh. It’s tune carries such a yearning in it that, at the Kotel, I am able to transport myself through centuries of Jewish struggle and hope. Even before I learned the meaning of the song, I connected to its melody of hope and remembrance. As the sky above the Wall begins to darken, something comes over Jerusalem and the entire notion of Judaism and the purpose behind hundreds of seemingly different people coming to one specific location for their faith becomes…overwhelmingly real.

Briefly, what makes the Kotel so holy and special? It is the western wall of the Temple Mount, upon which once stood בית המקדש Beit Hamikdash: the Holy Temple. The site for the Temple was not random: it is on Mount Moriah, the location of the binding of Isaac, when Abraham was commanded by G-d to sacrifice his son as a test. The site is also the location of אבנ השתייה Even haShetiya, the Foundation Stone, from which the world was created. It is over this exact location that the Jewish people had two temples: King Solomon built the first in 957 BCE and was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE; the second temple was completed in 515 BCE after twenty-three years of construction, only to fall to the Romans in 70 CE. G-d’s presence, שכינה shechinah, was ever-present during most of this time period. Fast forward two thousand years, and the great walls of the Temple Mount are virtually destroyed (save for the western one) and instead, a golden dome rises above the Temple Mount: the Muslims built the Dome of the Rock in 691 CE. This shrine, to me, is a constant reminder of what we, the Jewish people, lost and have never reclaimed. However, we still believe that G-d’s presence resides on the Western Wall, and thus it maintains its holiness, and is a place where people, religious and secular, from around the world travel to become witness and leave notes of hope between its stones.

For dinner, we were to meet up with a rabbi somewhere on the plaza. Like finding a needle in a haystack, it’s near impossible to pick out one individual from the masses. And, no, you can’t use a cell-phone. Thankfully, we were able to find our host, who led us on a short walk from the Wall to his home—yes, he lives in the Old City. Incredible. After dinner, he brought us to his roof and we could see the entire Old City, including the golden dome, which seemed close enough to touch. The view was unbelievable.

We walked out of the Old City via the Jaffa Gate, in the Jewish side of the city. It’s eerily pleasant walking the streets of Jerusalem on Friday night. There are only a few cars out on the streets and people walk everywhere: to dinner, evening lectures, celebrations, etc. It’s a great feeling to be surrounded by your own people in their rightful place.

The rest of Shabbat was a spiritual journey that I need not describe in detail. There was morning prayer, including reading from the Torah, a festive lunch, afternoon nap, afternoon prayer followed by a third meal and inspirational lecture, then evening prayer after sundown. Ami, Elliot and I had a few beers before I returned to Tel-Aviv. One last great thing about the weekend: a bus ride from my apartment to the center of Tel-Aviv, then a sheyrut (large taxi or van) to Jerusalem, then bus to Ohr Somayach, and back again cost me about $20.

I actually returned to Jerusalem yesterday with Kathryn, a friend from school who’s now living in Israel. We left in the morning and aside from a meeting I had set up with a rabbi at another yeshivah, Aish HaTorah, we had no plan. On the bus to the Old City we actually ran into a guy a few years older from Skokie. Small world. But in Jerusalem, you meet people from all over the world, all concentrated in a small locale, all searching for something.

The meeting at Aish was suggested by one of my mentors from back home, Rabbi Shalom Garfinkle. He commented to me that I may enjoy going there for Shabbat or learning while in the military. Conveniently, actually, while Kathryn and I were there for a half hour, I met a few guys who were joining Mahal as well. I definitely plan on going back for classes or Shabbat before my enlistment. For the rest of the day, we spent some time at the Kotel, enjoyed watching the Sephardi Bar Mitzvah from afar (the whole city could tell there was a Sephardic celebration because of the shrieking women!), ran into one of Kathryn’s many random friends and got a short tour of the Arab quarter, including a visit up to the exit of the Temple Mount (beyond which only Muslims are allowed), got intentionally lost in the Christian quarter, walked to a populated street in the “new” city, meandered our way over to the government buildings, and finally settled at a bar for some beer and hookah. Ami met us, and then an Israeli sat at the table next to us. We introduced ourselves and naturally engaged in friendly conversation. He had just finished his military service that very day. Everywhere I go, people often ask where I’m from and what I’m doing here. He was very excited to hear of my plans and offered a few pieces of advice. If I’m ever in Haifa, he told me, don’t hesitate to call. That’s becoming a common theme among Israelis.

Today, I decided to finally visit some of Tel Aviv’s tourist sites. I first went to David Ben-Gurion’s house. It is a quiet home on Rothschild street; the rooms are adorned with pictures of Ben-Gurion and other heads of states, his expansive library and numerous, insightful quotes. I then biked over to ההגנה, the Haganah Museum. The Haganah was the military organization that protected the Jewish immigrants and settlers before the establishment of the state. After, I went to the Ze’ev Jabotinsky Museum, a few rooms dedicated to one of the early visionaries of Zionism. He was instrumental in helping thousands of Jews escape pre-war Europe on clandestine ships to Palestine. Finally, I went to a diamond museum in Tel Aviv’s diamond district. Israel is a world leader in diamond trading. Blood diamonds? Not at all! Israel was an early signatory, and 2010 chair, to the 2003 Kimberley Process, which seeks to end the use of conflict/blood diamonds.

So, that has been the past week or so. In the coming few days I will make good on my plan to talk about Israeli politics and probably a little more about Israelis and being in Tel Aviv.