Winter Term at Elon University is
essentially an extension of Christmas vacation. A catalog of
challenging courses are available to students, such as: Knittin'
Mittens for Kittens, The Oval Office: Decorating Eggs to look like
Presidents, How to Creatively Hide Your Meth Lab, etc.. You know,
rigorous academia. Okay, maybe these are a slight exaggerations.
Keyword slight. Moral
of the story--take a
joke class every day for ~15 days and BAM! four shamefully titled
credits added to your transcript.
Junior
year my winter term looked to be no different. Enrolled in Israeli
Cinema, I returned from the holidays expecting some Jewish professor
from the School of Communications to show us Schindler's list and
feed us bagels. Wrong. I walked into class late, reeking of late
night whiskey and nursing a hangover, aka: I blended in. Who was that
in the front? Fiery red hair and hipster glasses, the instructor was
way ahead of her time, aka: she doesn't even go here. Alright, now
my interest was piqued. Five hours later I walked out of the
classroom in awe. This Winter Term was going to be different. I was
going to actually learn something and wait...was I excited about it?
The subject matter sounded interesting enough, but the professor was
the real story. Her name was Idit Shechori, and she was incredible.
Where
to begin with such an interesting person? A former Lieutenant in the
Israeli Army, she later founded and presided over her own
screenwriting school in Tel Aviv. She had written, produced, and
directed her own films and won numerous international awards and
recognition in the process. She lectured about cinema all over the
world, published an anthology of women's literature, and authored an
almanac of Israeli cultural institutions. As impressive as her
background was, it was her personality that truly stole the show.
Her straightforward and insightful commentary about Israeli society
accomplished something few professors managed to do, we were
learning...and excited about it.
She
planted a seed that grew into an idea: I needed to visit Israel.
Fast
forward two years...
I
walked out of my Tel Aviv hostel and was greeted by a familiar
not-found-in-nature-but-trendy-enough-to-pull-it-off red head jogging
toward me. “Hurry, the cab is waiting and we have so much to see!”
And away we went. Via facebook, Idit had helped me in every way
possible make my journey to Israel a reality. On my fourth day in
Israel, my former instructor had agreed to be my travel guide for the
evening. Correction: the BEST damn travel guide anyone could ask
for.
Appropriately,
our journey and Tel Aviv's modern history began in the same place,
HaTachana. This brilliantly revamped train station, now a visitors
center, marked where the first rail line connected Jerusalem to
Jaffa. Tel Aviv was birthed in the surrounding neighborhood as a
small Jewish community that emerged from Jaffa, Tel Aviv's Arab
municipal counterpart. We strolled through the streets of the
restored station and stopped at a 50's style fountain shop where we
drank mint soda with a side of left-wing politics.
From
there, we ventured to Neve Tzedek, a gentrified artists colony
adjacent to my hostel. It's hard to accurately express how chic
this neighborhood is. Simply put, it makes West Village look
hoodrat. Mediterranean architecture, meters from the sea, lined with
cafes and bougie botiques—some of my fraternity brothers would be
in heaven. Pit stop # 2: Cafe Nina. Politics evolved into history
over coffee and cake (sorry, diet) and an inevitable topic emerged.
Her family's first-hand, tragic experience with the Holocaust brought
a greater sense of reality to Israel's short-but-ancient history. We
left the heavy conversation at the coffee shop and made our way to
Rothschild, one of Tel Aviv's main thoroughfares.
There,
she led me through various centers of art and culture, including the
National Theater, Opera House, Philharmonic, and library. Tel Aviv
is dubbed “The White City” in reference to it
having the world's largest collection of era-appropriate Bauhaus
structures, and many of the buildings we visited were awesome
representations of this style.
To me, the most meaningful stop on our tour was Tel Aviv's municipal building. It was here in 1995 where Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated. I'm in Israel to earn my Master's in Peace and Conflict Management Studies, which makes this location particularly powerful. Rabin was the ultimate champion of Palestinian-Israeli peace, and it cost him his life. Walking down a staircase after a rally celebrating the signing of the Oslo Accords he was shot and killed. Bronze footprints mark his final steps.
It was near there where Idit treated
me to my first proper Israeli dinner. A ridiculously large
assortment of salads and dips (picture below) were presented to us
before the main course; this practice has proven standard in many
meals since. American restaurants, please take note.
Hours
from when it began, our perfect evening ended at the Marina. Like
any waterfront commercial area, over-the-top eateries and stores
lined the boardwalk. Idit pointed out subtle differences amongst
varying levels of Jewish Orthodoxy I would have never been able to
identify myself. “You see her? She's not on her period. Or she's
pregnant.” 'scuse me? A couple clad in conservative attire was
holding hands, and apparently there was symbolism behind that.
Further down she pointed out orthodox parents eating tables away from
arranged yet universally awkward first dates. I learned outdoor
restaurants are ideal for this because unwed, unrelated couples can't
be in a “room” alone, so everybody wins with this arrangement.
As we meandered to the end of the boardwalk where the city meets its
end at the Hayarkon River, Idit continued telling her history of
the city she so endearingly and rightfully loved.
It was
there I realized I had been going about Israel all wrong. Reading
points of interest on a website and walking to them by myself,
digesting the sights and sounds, and moving on to the next thinking I
fully understood the place was as much a disservice to myself as it
was the nation hosting me. An Anthony Bourdain quote surfaced from
somewhere in my brain. “Be a traveler, not a tourist.”
As we
walked back to the cab I made the most poignant realization of my
trip thus far. I had arrived in a country halfway around the world
where I only knew one person: Idit. Somewhere between dinner and the
marina everything stopped feeling foreign. Was it while we were
laughing over the insanity of Mormonism and a certain someone
awaiting to be forgotten in the pages of history with every other
failed presidential candidate? Maybe it was learning about the
darker side of Elon's administration (Princeton Review, if you're
reading, take that #1 'School Runs like Butter' ranking away ASAP).
Perhaps it was joking about Bibi's history as a furniture salesman. When
doesn't matter, but the lesson does: even the strangest of places
can feel like home when you are with a friend.
Thank
you, Idit.
Restaurant at the entrance of HaTachana
The best calories are pretentious calories. Cafe Nina, Neve Tzedek.
Neve Tzedek by day...
Neve Tzedek by night.
Opera Bau-House.
National Theater
Just a casual canvas-topped perfectly lit walkway
When better than a Monday night to folk dance in a pituresque plaza?
Star of the show: Idit in the right corner
Tel Aviv Municipal Building
Yitzhak Rabin Memorial. שלום, חבר
Appetizers. Suck it, Applebee's.
Tel Aviv Boardwalk
aka: copyright infringement. Sorry Photobucket, I forgot to take a pic.
No comments:
Post a Comment