David A.M. Wilensky

The Hebrew word Hodu means thanksgiving. It also means turkey as in the animal, not the country. It also means India. Go figure.

Therefore, in services when we sing Hodo Al Eretz Bashamayim, etc. we are, in essence, sayin Thanksgiving/Turkey/India on the Earth and in the Heavens.

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That’s odd, isn’t it?

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Send an email to d.profound@gmail.com for regular updates about this blog.

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Live from Israel: THAT WAS WEIRD

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This was spawned by a trip today to a spot called Tel Gezer as well as some discussion point in my Jewish History class. Let’s talk about a lot of things.

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CIRCUMCISION

You should know as context that part of the focus of this part of the Jewish History class here is Documentary Hypothesis (for example, we separated out the story of Noach into the two separate stories it actually contains, which were later merged) as well as the process of examining the historical context of these biblical stories as well as contemporary sources (for example, we examined B’reishit at the same time as Enuma Elish, the Babylonian story that closely mirrors the first in many ways).

Anyway, we were talking about circumcision. When you, the pre-civilized man, discover agriculture, this shocks your world, right? (The correct answer is “Right!”) Then religion happens. Why? If I, the farmer, have a bad season, I inevitably wonder why. Have I done something wrong? If I have done something wrong, who decided it was wrong and who, most importantly exacted punishment on me? The obvious answer one will create/come to/be struck with is the gods.

There is a paradox here. On the one hand, because of farming, you have gained infinitely more control over your life than you ever had before. You are in control of your own source of food! On the other hand, you’ve subsequently developed some sort of religion to explain the one thing that remains outside of your control; the weather. Once you’ve got gods, the amount of control over your world only shrinks as you cede more and more power over your daily life to gods.

In ancient Canaan, people came to the conclusion that sex was involved. This is not a particularly surprising conclusion when you think about it. Sex is a mystery to the early farmer. Farming itself is also a mystery to the early farmer. They both involve planting/impregnating the ground/a woman with seeds/sperm. After a process that is a complete mystery to this early civilized man, food/a baby appears. Farming to this early agriculturist is sex.

Why is this section of the post titled circumcision? Everything I just said brings us to the symbol of circumcision. When we pose the question, “Why does the sign of the covenant take the form of circumcision?” we might quickly come to an answer, which though good, is not absolute. That is, we might think to ourselves, well, this is a time when religion is dominated by men so obviously only men need the sign. Fine. We might also realize that the sign has to be readily apparent. What could be more apparent to a man than the physical alteration of his own penis? This is valid, but not absolute for the hypothetical devil’s advocate in this conversation might say, “Why not a serious facial tattoo? Or the removal of a finger? Or something equally physically remarkable?” The answer to this harkens back to the relationship between sex and agriculture.

If my power over the world is derived from my ability to control it through farming, my symbolic source of power is my penis because of the parallel between sex and farming. Thus, when I enter into Avraham’s covenant and give power over my life over to God, I must mark my source of power to show that it is not only mine, but God’s. The reason for the mark only being required on the male sex organ is that only the male sex organ contains power in the metaphor. The female sex organ is simply symbolic in the metaphor of the hole dug in the ground to sow seeds. More on this at the wrap-up.

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SACRIFICES and the AKEIDAH

Going back to the polytheistic Canaanite farmer we spoke of earlier, we spoke of how his power shrinks as he cedes more supernatural powers to his gods. Then he wants to know how he can make them happy. “Well”, he thinks, “if they’re like me (and believe me, there is an element of ego contained herein so they are like me because I want to be godlike) then they like what I like. That means they like to be kept fed and to be supplied with wine.” So the farmer begins the first sacrificial system. In return for a good harvest, the farmer gives back some of this fruits and veggies to the gods. Then he gives them some wine and some olive oil because those are products of his farming too.

It still all comes back to sex. How do you know where to put these sacrifices? Near something might that can represent the god you are sacrificing to. Like a monolith. These large rocks are highly phallic. Then the mighty gods demand more and more. Thus, sacrifice of the first born becomes commonplace. It is so commonplace, in fact that, Avraham has no argument with God about such an occurrence when God asks him to sacrifice Yitzchak, his favorite son. To Avraham, this is as normal is prayer is to us. In fact, it is prayer.

We could say that this is simply God testing Avraham’s faith, but this answer is not absolute. The hole in it is from shortly before in the Tanach where we have the story of the twin cities of S’dom and Amorah. In this story, when confronted with God’s perceived immorality, Avraham argues. However, once we reach the Akeidat Yitzchak Avraham seems so willing to accept this thing that we would perceive as highly ethically problematic, not to mention emotionally gut-wrenching, which he was not in the S’dom and Amorah story.

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WRAP-UP

I would propose that this story is symbolic of what I’ll call the Theological Revolution. The Theological Revolution was started, in the bible, by Avraham and in reality by somebody who may or may not have been Avraham. Point being, the Revolution realizes that the practices around the revolutionaries are not good. The Revolution takes a step back and says, “No! Sacrificing your own child is not normal!” The Revolution also says that rather than these petty people-like gods, there is only the one and that this one is above in some inconceivable way. This, of course, makes sense because how could something so similar to us as the Canaanite pantheon create us or control us? The Theological Revolution leads to a lot of very big ideas that will have massive effects on western society forever.

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I hope to God that was coherent.

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Next up on this blog: I don’t really know. Good stuff is on its way though.

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As ever, email me at d.profound@gmail.com for regular updates about this blog.

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Live from Israel: DAVID HOPES HE JUST MADE SENSE

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On Shabbat we hiked up a Tel which is situated on the Kibbutz. The Tel is aptly named Tel Tzuba. As it turns out, this Tel has never been really excavated so the top layer of civilization remains on top, ruins jutting out of the hill side. The Tel was most recently the site of a castle built by crusaders, but later captured, refurbishe, and added on to by an Islamic occupational force.

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To get there, we walk north from our hotel, past Kibbutz Tzuba’s factory where they make bullet-proof windsheilds.
The castle on the hilltop from far off.
As we walk along the road, we pass come upon a historical marker, which tells us where the trail up the hill starts.
Aaron Altmark is rolling film on all of this.
We passed many bits of castle on our way up such as this, this, and this.
The view from the trail halfway up and some sabra plants. In Texas we call them prickly pears. TomAYto TomAHto.
At the top of the Tel we were greeted by incredible ruins!
This cement or plaster domes was added by an Islamic force after the Cursaders abandoned or were pushed out of the castle.
A cool chunk of wall and some of Tom, our Israeli counselor/gun-toter.
We all just chilled up there for a while.
David Solomon, our Asst. Principal told many bad jokes. He does that from time to time. And by from time to time I mean when ever he can get away with it.
More of the trail up to the Tel.
Ruins.
More chillin out.
Many people decided to perch themselves precariously upon the walls.
One room or tower quite intact.
The ruins were heavily overgrown in some parts.
Kelsey poses, Charlotte takes it slow.
Josh Beale, one of my counselors epicly poses from the rear.
Noa poses in a window.
From left to right: Elana, Jacob, Charlotte, and Ray atop the ruins.
Some idea of the scale in this picture, perhaps.
Un Finale.

Now that was pretty dang cool!

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Up Next on This Blog will be “Life and Death at Tel Gezer: Avraham Avinu, Circumcision, and the Historical Record.”

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As always, email me at d.profound@gmail.com to be added to a list of people who recieve regualr notice of additions to this blog.

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Live from Israel: DAVID HIKED TO A CRUSADER CASTLE!

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For whatever reason, this blog is kind of screwed up right now. The newest post is only appearing on this page and even then, only as the third post down. Follow the link and enjoy!

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Live from Israel: DAVID IS KINDA PISSED ABOUT THIS ISSUE

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For the record . . .

PHOTOBUCKET SUCKS!

I am seeking suggestions on alternative photo storage sites.

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Email d.profound@gmail.com for regular notices of updates to this blog.

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Still coming: Later today the story of my foray into archaeology. Later this weekend or next week Reuven gets historical, we visit a Crusader castle ON THE KIBBUTZ, and my thoughts on prayer.

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Live from Israel: DAVID HATES PHOTOBUCKET

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We went to the Kotel this evening. We had Shabbat evening services at the south setion of the wall. Services were fine. There was a bit more interruption by “readings” for my current tastes. They had several of us who had been to the wall before read a piece about their first experience at the wall. I lived.

After services, we went up to the main part of the wall. It was, shall we say, different from what I expected. The way people were generally behaving was not unexpected, but in media you always see the wall straight on, with no context. Seeing it surrounded by all the buildings that crowd around was disorienting. I found the way in which the women’s side was conducted to be distasteful. I suppose I didn’t realize that the women’s section of the wall was so small, so unspirited. The various groups of men praying at the men’s section were all dancing and singing and have a big old Shabbat party. The women were mostly silent. God forbid their voices should interrupt the prayer of the men or, worse yet, seduce them!

Baruch Kraus, the principal of EIE, and Jillian Cameron, the director of admissions were sitting far back from the wall on a ledge along with some other various staff members and other hangers-on. I went towards the wall with a group of my friends. We were approached by an Orthodox man, who, judging from his excellent English was born in the US. He asked us were we were from. “All over the US,” we told him. “What group are you here with,” he asked. “NFTY,” we said. “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I remember a month or so ago this place was crawling with you guys!” I told him that, yes, NFTY sends many kids to Israel every summer. We told him about the program we were on. “Do you have a place for dinner?” he asked. “Yes!” we all said. We then said our Shabbat Shaloms and he wished us well. Shortly thereafter, totally unmoved, I went to sit with Baruch and Jillian and company.

I didn’t get particularly close to the wall. Right after that I gave a leather pouch to Tal, one of my friends, to put in the wall for me. It is traditional to write out small prayers and put them in the wall. I think its an odd tradition and did not engage in such a thing. Deborah Harkins, my art teacher and friend from back home had given me the pouch before I left. She is of the new-agey spiritual type, subscribing to no particular religious tradtion, but instead whatever moves her from various ones. The pouch had in it hair taken from the Great White Buffalo, a sort of Native American messiah-type creature. Mrs. Harkins had asked me to bury the pouch somewhere in Israel so as to bring peace to the region. Instead, I had Tal place it in the wall. I think there’s a certain poetry to that.

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Last night, all 31 of us EIE students as well as our counselors (Ray, Josh, and Tom the Israeli, the last of which is pronounced like “Tome”) sat in a circle and shared. If you know me at all, you know I hate forced sharing. The lights were out and we passed a candle around. Whoever had the candle was the only one allowed to talk. Goodness ass gracious. I had to go last. I had a long time to think about what I wanted to say.

When Tom spoke he mentioned that although he is not religious, he enjoys meeting Jews from other parts of the world to see what their Judaism means to them. That, half a 34-person circle later, spawned what I said. Everybody up to me had talked about how emotional they feel about being in Israel and how it’s this big fulfillment of their entire life, etc, etc, etc. I hope they all bought it because I’m a little dubious on . . . let’s see . . . all of it. I noted that for me this entire trip is more of an intellectual exercise than an emotional journey. My journey, like theirs, is spiritual too. Mine however is spiritual in that, like Tom, I enjoy meeting and visiting different Jews from all over the world. I don’t feel, at least not yet, that there is any sort of return home going on here. I do not live in exile. I live in Texas. I live in the United States. I like it there. I don’t feel that The Temple is important any longer. In the long tradition of North American Reform Judaism, I call my palce of worship “Temple.” Thus, arriving at the wall I felt like I was looking at just another congregation of Jews. I didn’t feel like perhaps everyone else did: moved.

Being at the wall was only as interesting as being at the Colliseum was when my family visited Rome when I was younger. It was an intellectual exercise. Nothing more.

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Coming soon to this blog: Reuven gestures madly about the story of Kibbutz Tzuba, and I go on an archaeological dig, and I blither about services.

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Email me at d.profound@gmail.com, as always, for regular notices of updates to this blog.

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Live from Israel: DAVID JUST BITCHED ABOUT THE WALL

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On Friday we left Tzuba for the first time since we’ve been here. We went to Bet Guvrin, a national park about forty minutes drive-time away. At Bet Guvrin they have a Tel called Tel Maresha. The hill was formed by many many years of constant habitation. Originally a Hebrew city, it was later taken by Edomites, then the Edomites were taken by Greeks, and then a Hebrew conquerer who, in a rare instance of such a thing in Jewish history, told the current inhabitants that they could convert, leave, or die. Maresha later became a very cosmopolitan city with many groups living within the walls. During the reign of the Judean Kingdom, Maresha was part of a line of cities which protected Jerusalem and the biblical heartland from invasion by coastal peoples.

Pictures:
On the way to Bet Guvrin: Noa, Tal and Emma, and Rachel.
The sign on the way in.
Tel Maresha
This is the next tel in the fortified line of cities to the north.
The next tel in the same line to the south.
Ian, our guide, is an American archaeologist. He was way cool.
Ian elucidates the history of Maresha.
Aaron Altmark, our resident film documentarian rolls some tape of the view.

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The outer walls encompassed an area that well exceeds the limits of the tel itself and indeed surround the area equivalent to our modern suburbs. Houses built in that area would have been very hot during most parts of the year, but very cold at others. To compensate, the folks who lived in that area built caves. They all had massive basements carved straight into the very soft, white rock. Many of them were factories. People worked in them during the day and slept above ground at night. The work done in these factories ranged from pottery-making to weaving to olive-oil production to pigeon farming. Go figure. We descended into a cave system used for a variety of purposes and got to work. Nearly all the excavation that has taken place at Bet Guvrin has been carried out by toursits like us.

These caves need not be excavated in the ordinary archeaological way, preserving a flat digging surface so as to excavate by layer. This is because when the inhabitants were told to leave, die, or convert, they all dumped their homes into their caves. These caves are garbage dumps, completely full of all sorts of domestic crap from the era of the Maccabees and the story which has been twisted into our modern Chanukah legend.

We helped to excavate a couple of rooms that have already been mostly dug out. We were wroking to finally define the floors and various levels thereof as well as find any pottery, coins, etc. left in the rooms. The two rooms we were worked in are referred to as John Malkovich and Frontroom.

By the way, starting here many pictures seem to have little circles floating about. I believe this is caused by the ambient dust in the caves reflecting my camera’s flash.

Pictures:
I am epic.
An entrance and another entrance.
These tree girls, Jamie, Jordie, and Carina, sat in this one spot the whole time and chatted. Somehow, I think they cleared out more buckets of dirt than the rest of us combined.
You can see here the pattern of tool marks from when these caves were originally carved out, just prior to the Macccabean era.
This doorway was uncovered by NFTYites a few years ago.
EIE students getting told how to excavate.
We filled a lot of buckets of dirt, dirt, and more dirt!

We then took them up and sifted them, which I took no pictures of. Sorry folks. We divided into three-person teams. Two held a large screen set in a wooden frame and shook it about as the third poured buckets of the debris on the screen. When all the loose dirt had fallen through, we would remove the plain old rocks and each time were left with a half dozen or so artifacts. I found something metal. Ian identified it as a nice ring. He announced to the group that I had found something really beautiful. The best he had seen today. I repeated, “Beautiful! Best one!” People laughed. Days later, when I continue to bring it up, people don’t laugh anymore.

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After the dig we were taken to another cave system that was discovered by robbers not too long ago. We “spelunked” about the place, crawling through tiny windows and crawling about through half-buried doors. It was probably the most fun I’ve ever had. When we came out we were really gross.

Pictures:
The harrowing entrance.
Ian talking about the entrance.
Amy and some other folks enter the largely-unexcavated cave.
More people doing the same thing as in the above picture.
Once in the cave, we squeezed through holes, holes, and more holes.
This particular hole was rather heart-rate-increasing. It was a straight drop down.
In this picutre, you see one of my roommates, Eric “Narco” Baron, from rather unflattering angle as he comes through a hole. Eric took most of the pictures of me going throug holes.
Near the start of our trek downwards, we passed this door into another chamber. I put this here to show you how buried these rooms are.
This cave had been a factory. These little alcoves in the wall were for raising pigeons!
Almost out, Eric climbs a 2,000 year old spiral staricase carved into solid bedrock by hand!
Nearing the exit, I begin to climb back upwards.
The other side of the exit.
Now tell me that wasn’t cool!

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After we went through the newer cave, we congregated in a large tent-ish thing while Ian showed us examples of what happend to the things we found after the lab is done with them.

Pictures:
Ian smiles for the camera.
Ian teaches about the stuff we uncovered.

The smaller pieces of pottery that they find and can’t really use for anything are dumped near the exit for toursits to take as souvenirs. I took some. Pretty cool. Ian says its neat to have them out during Chanukah because the come from that time period. Damn cool.

Then, I bought a t-shirt. This brings my grand total of t-shirts with me in Israel to 36. I have twenty or so more at home.

Archaeology. Oh yeah. Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt.

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Then we went home.

Is it weird that I already call Tzuba home?

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Email me at d.profound@gmail.com for regular notices of updates to this blog.

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Next up are posts about prayer, the story of Kibbutz Tzuba as wildy gesticulated by Reuven Kalifon, a crusader castle, and the first few days of class. Not in that order, though.

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Live from Israel: DAVID WENT DIGGING

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Pictured below are the results of my first visit to the little grocery store here on Kibbutz Tzuba. The orange one is a bag of Bamba, which are sort of like Cheetos, but they taste like peanuts (sort of) instead of cheese (sort of). The red one is perhaps the greatest development in snack foods since Moses croaked. It is a bar of milk chocolate with flavorless pop rocks in it. Like a Crunch bar, but way better.

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One part of the program here at EIE is a Hebrew ulpan. The Israeli tradition of ulpan began with the inception of Israel as a state in 1948. Faced with bazillions of imigrants Jewish immigrants from all over the world, Israel created ulpan as a type of class for intensive Hebrew study. It is still utilized today for Jews and other who make aliyah or travel to Israel for a considerable amount of time and wish to learn to speak adequate Hebrew.

Earlier today we took a test to see which level of ulpan we would be placed in. There are several levels taught by different teachers. Each of us has come here with different levels of Hebrew knowledge. I think I did okay on my test. I’ll probably be in the second or third level. I hope.

Fun fact to know and tell: In Wales, the local government has instituted a similar program for those who wish to learn Welsh. They call it Wlpan.

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Several guys just stormed into my room, only one of them a roommate of mine. They want to play tennis. All of them brought tennis rackets to Israel with them, but they seem to be having trouble fidning any actual tennis balls. I do not know how one could bring a tennis racket with one halfway around the world, but not tennis balls.

Curious.

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Good night and good luck.

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Expect a big post later today or later this week about the truly interesting history of Kibbutz Tzuba as well as a look at Reuven Kaliphon, a prehistoric flightless bird.

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As always, email me at d.profound@gmail.com if you’d like to recieve email notices of updates to this blog.

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August 28th
7:30 AM US Central Time
Austin Bergstrom International Airport
Gate 17
Two rows over from the main walkway, near a large trash can, across the aisle from a weird-looking guy who is asleep. And snoring. I wish he would stop.

I was alerted by the sign pictured at left that today’s terrorism alert level is Orange.

I awoke at dark:00 this morning. My Dad shuffled in, obviously unhappy about this early twist to his regular morning routine, as was I. I showered, ate pop tarts, almost forgot to pack my toiletries, and discovered that, somehow, I had packed lighter luggage for these upcoming four months than I had for three and a half weeks I spent at camp this summer. Mom dropped by at slightly-less-dark:00 AM to take me to the airport. Sophie (the dog) did not seem to understand the gravity of this particular goodbye. Mom and I harldy spoke in the car. We were tired.

At the airport I checked in and discovered that, to my surprise, we here in Austin no longer have to check in and then take our bags to the TSA guys ourselves. The people behind the counter have acutally resumed their use of the conveyor belts.

I had breakfast tacos at the Waterloo Ice House in the airport . For those of you who do not live in Austin, our airport is better than yours. It is the best. There is no McDonald’s and no Pizza Hut Express. We have branches of locally-owned restaurants in this airport. At Waterloo I pruchased two breakfast tacos and, in a moment of weakness, broke my Shabbat-only Coke rule and had a Coke . While drink it, I was struck by how dangerous it looked and took a moment to thank God nobody can bring these on planes anymore! One of of the tacos had egg, cheese, and potato and the other had refried beans, potato and bacon. Anybody says anything about the bacon, this blog is rigged to explode your computer. I’m about to spend four months in a country with no bacon and, by God, I’m gonna have some before I leave.

I have just been informed that my flight is delayed. Oh boy. Flying sure is fun.

When we finally get on the plane, some shmuck waltzes right onto the plane with a coffee.

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August 28th
11:59 AM US Central Time
American Airlines Flight (insert four random numbers here) to JFK
Row 35, Seat H
Next to a guy who is sleeping and hoggin the arm rest, behind Hannah, a girl who is also going on EIE who I alread know from NFTY.

We interrupt this blog to bring you the latest headline. David A. M. Wilensky has scientificially determined that Dallas-Fort Worth International Aiport is the stupidest airport ever. We take you back now to his blog, “live from Israel: DAVID SAYS THINGS” where he will expain this not-paticularly-surprising conclusion.

That’s right folks. DFW is the stupidest airport ever. Nine out of ten halachic scholars agree. “What happened to the tenth one?” you might ask. The tragic truth, folks, is that he got lost in DFW, never to be seen or heard from again.

My flight departed Austin a full fifty minutes late. Drat. Curses. Etc. On the plane I was cleverly seated next to a really incredibly hairy fellow and right in front of a small, loud, kicking child. The child’s mother, rather than engage in the exhausting work of trying to figure out why her child was upset, just turned into the bitchy type of mother we all see in public and love to hate for their incompetency and their cruelty to their own child and to us.

Had my flight gotten to DFW on time, I could have taken the chance to grab some lunch, which as of now, I have still not had even though my stomach is making obscene noises. Instead of having lunch, I had to rush from gat A39 to gate D33. For thoses of you not familiar with DFW, it is stupid. It consists of two rows of horseshoe-shaped terminals which face eachother, a highway running between the two rows. I always arrive at DFW late and in terminal A and then have to rush to terminal D, which is long dman walk and a slightly less long SkyLink ride.

I have just been informed that a snack box including La Petite Formage cheese spread, crackers, dried fruit, Lorna Doone cookies, a summer sausage stick, and some other proccessed crap is available for purchase from the flight attendants. It clocks in at a whopping four dollars and eighty-five million calories. Oh boy. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. I guess I’ll have to settle for a snack box.

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12:26 PM

I’m still waiting on the damn snackbox and I’ve just discovered that the alleged electrical outlets require some ridiculous adapter. Isn’t flying fun.

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12:30 PM

Never mind. Here it is. Ewww.

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August 29th
9:30 AM Israeli Time
Israir flight 102
Row 34, Seat A
Next to Amy, a fellow EIE student and the first pleasant chat I’ve had with the person next to me on any leg of this trip so far.

Israir is quite entertaining. Traditionally, it is a rite of passage for American Jewish teenagers to be introduced to Israel by the national airline, El Al, whose staff has reputation for having, shall we say, colorful ideas about what service means. Israir, however has just begun to have flights from the US and as far as I can tell, this is the only flight they have today. The plane seems to have been purchased used from Icelandair, as indicated by the displays in the cabin. The Israir check-in line was ridiculously long, but it moved quickly and efficiently. I recall Paul Reichenbach (a.k.a. PJR a.k.a. The Voice Of God), the director of NFTY’s Israel programs complimenting the manager of the Israir desk, Tammy, on how efficient and quick it was. She responded, “I know what you mean to say. It’s like you mean, ‘We are not like El Al.’ All you need is a little bit oforganization.” She looked disdainfully towards the El Al ticket counter.

Shortly after we took off, we ate something that was sort of similar to chicken in several ways for dinner. Breakfast is claiming to be an omlette. I beg to differ.

One of the in-flight movies was what looked like a disastrous romatic comedy called “Failure to Launch.” The irony of title was not lost on me. I actually kind of liked it. The first pleasant surprise of the trip!

I suppose I should have expected this, but I am surprised by the number of ultra-Orthodox Jews aboard. They have begun to indivudually daven about the cabin as we fly into the sunrise. As far as I can tell, east, the direction they ought to be facing is straight ahead of us. We are flying eastward, after all. However, half of the praying men seem to be facing north, while the other half has firmly decided on south. I am mystified.

They gave us free slippers when we got on. Mine are too small.

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August 29th
9:50 PM
Kibbutz Tzuba Hotel
Suite 122, the Kitchen Table
Near two of the three Erics here on EIE.

So. This is Israel, then.

Dinner didn’t agree with me.

If I can get all these damn pcitures to work, I’m gonna post this and go to bed.

On the other hand, the pictures won’t work. It’ll have to wait till tomorrow.

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August 30th
6:50 AM
Kibbutz Tzuba Hotel
Suite 122, Back Bedroom
In the bed next to Mac.

There is in fact a rooster outside doing what the stereotypical rooster does in the morning.

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August 30th
12:16 PM
Kibbutz Tzuba Hotel
Suite 122, Back Bedroom
Near Mac who is cursing (loudly) the loss of hi composition notebook.

I have attempted to add more pictures to this post, but blogger just isn’t working properly today. I took a lot more pictures on the plane. I’ll try to add them later.

For those of you who were Jewies with me at Kutz, I had the KB this morning. Damn, that’s good.

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More pictures added as of 1:40 PM on the 30th.

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As always, let me know if you’d like to recieve email updates about posts to this blog by emailing me at d.profound@gmail.com.

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I suppose a proper welcome is in order for those of you just making your way here today in the wake of my email to everybody in the world about this here blog. Welcome! Thanks for reading.

And now (drum roll, please), my first real post.

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This morning while signing a release form two things occurred to me. The first was that I feel like I have spent the last several months of my life doing nothing but signing releases. In this over-litigated culture, we have release forms for everything, constantly protecting our asses from lawsuit by having people sign pieces of paper.

I digress.

The other thing I noticed, as I put down the date, was that today is the 24th of August. I leave for Israel (not sure that one’s quite clicked in my head yet) on the 28th. I have four days left here in reality. I mean Austin. I mean… I haven’t started packing yet! Knowing me I won’t do any real packin until Sunday afternoon. Sunday, of course, being the 27th. The departure date, once again, being the 28th.

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I have felt like I’m in a constant state of saying goodbye since May. I went to my school’s graduation. I said goodbye to them. I left for camp. I had to say goodbye to everybody before I left. Then, before I knew it, camp was almost over. I had to say goodbye to everone at camp. Since then, I’ve been in a constant state of telling people why I’m not in school. Then they want to say… (you get three guesses and the first two don’t count)… GOODBYE! I got back from camp a month ago. Since the moment I got back everbody wants a hug goodbye all time on the off-chance that I don’t see them again before I leave. On top of it all, a number of my closest friends are going a way to college. Again, goodbyes must be said and hugged.

Then, when it’s time to come home, I’ll have to say goodbye to everyone in Israel. Then I’ll come home, say hello for a while, then go away to college myself and have to go through this whole damn routine again!

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When I tell people I’m going to Israel, there are three possible responses. If you thought yours was original, you were wrong, because there were really only these three what follow. The first is a blank stare or complete lack of interest, which scientists have yet to develop a response for. The second is (usually from another Jew) “Wow! That’s great” or something similar in not so many words.

The third, and most important for this post, is “Oh my God! Don’t you know there’s a war on!” or “You’re still going to do that? Are you nuts? I though you’d come to your senses evetually!” My personal favorite from this category, and more common than you’d think, a deadpan recitation of “Don’t come back in a casket, alright?”

To put your mind at ease, I shall illustrate the situation with this crudely rendered map (Amanda Wright, eat your heart out), which was made in the highly verastile program known as Microsoft Paint, which you see at the right. I know the text has turned out to be fairly useless. Perhaps I’ll ignore the map and get on with my attempt at putting your mind at ease. The point is that I am staying FAR AWAY from rockets. There is currently (thank God) a cease fire that seems to be tenuously holding itself together so the danger is fairly lessened. I believed that on the U.S. color-coded terror level indicator, Israel may have gone down from Plaid to Mauve, if that tells you anything. (If, by the way, the color-coded terror level thing has ever had any real meanin to you, you should check into a mental institution. Now.)

Point being, don’t worry. I will be fine and I will be far away from rockets, death, etc. If anybody should be worried, its me. And I’m not. So you should cut it ou too.

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Goonight. See you later. Same Bat-time. Same Bat-channel.

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