Episode 15: "The Judges: Prologue" (+)

The plan: Hit up Egypt for a week and a half during Sukkot break.

The method: Take on the Sinai Peninsula, then Cairo.

The means: My mommy gave me money.

The main players:

Eric II.
Adventurer and resident nice-guy.

Gaby.
Ulpan study partner and partier extraordinaire.

Eric I.
Cheek-puffer and mustache renegade.

The three of us caught a bus to Eilat, a beach side city in southernmost Israel. Two reasons for Eilat's convenience: It's right by the border to Egypt, and it's where you can pick up a visa from the Israeli consulate. But as soon as we arrived, there were immediate complications. We figured out that Sukkot, the Jewish "Festival of Booths", was beginning. That meant the Israeli consulate in Eilat would be closed for an indefinite amount of time.

Which was a definitely a problem, but not exactly a simple one. Stay with me here. Consider Egypt divided into two parts: the part that everyone's familiar with, on mainland Africa, and the remnant on the Asian continent, the Sinai peninsula. If you're coming from Israel, you don't need a visa to get into the Sinai peninsula. You do need one to get into the African part of the country, where Cairo is. And considering that Cairo was our main destination, we didn't want be turned away from that part of our trip.

On top of that, word on the street was that you couldn't get a visa on the Sinai peninsula, either. But Gaby called his mom in the states, asking her to check out what we could do. Once she told us it was possible to pick up a visa at the border, we decided to brave crossing it.

The border entrance.


Vaguely optimistic.


Where you get your money changed to Egyptian Pounds.
And your passport stamped.
No dice on the visa, though.

We asked around at the border about whether we could get a visa in the Sinai peninsula. The answer was pretty much no. I took the hint, supposed that we could come back to Israel briefly for the visa if we really needed to. Eric wasn't having it, though. He was determined to find someone who could point us in the right direction and save us the inconvenience.

After we checked our luggage through at the Taba Heights building--the checkpoint on the other side of the border--we had one last line to wait in. While Gaby and I were in line to get our passports examined, Eric saw a money exchange booth on the side of the building. He got word from two guys there that we could buy visas from them. Gaby and Eric made sure to ask if the visa would get us into Cairo. The guys assured us, yes, it would safely get us there. I still have that ridiculous thing.

It's everywhere you want to be.

We bought them and went to get our passports examined, our final stop before leaving the border. All three of us were kind of breathing a sigh of relief.

It was our turn in line. The man behind the booth took a look at the visa we had, and he gave us a loud "no" about it getting us into Cairo with it. Gaby and Eric went back to the guys who had sold us the visas. I followed them back to the booth, but got to the line one person behind both of them--kind of to my relief. As much as I pride myself on confronting friends when I'm pissed, it always takes a lot for me to open my mouth in the first place. Imagine how I do with strangers. With this one person in line buffering me from the conflict, I was glad to let Eric and Gaby handle business. Gaby raised his voice a little: "Why did you tell us these would get us into Cairo?" The guys in the booth defended themselves, saying it would, it would. The person that was in front of me cut into the argument, telling us that they were legit visas. We just needed them to be verified by a travel agency once we were across. Whatever that meant.

We went outside and waited for our driver to pick us up, which we had set up the day before. While we were outside, we caught some of our friends from Hebrew University. They were a huge group, visas taken care of, tour guide arranged. After we told them our woes, I joked that one of them seemed amused by how screwed we were. Soon enough they left, leaving the three of us to sit and wonder if things would be all right.

Meanwhile the sun was setting. Still no driver.

We waited.

Shalom,
Eric

Episode 14: "The Fast" (+) [UPDATED]

I've been giving God a little more thanks for food lately. It's generally a nice thing to be blessed with.

I fasted on Yom Kippur, A.K.A. the Day of Atonement--the holiest day of the year in Judaism, in which God forgives your sins. It's also about squaring things with the people around you, forgiving, being forgiven, and moving on. In celebration of that reconciliation, eating pretty much isn't on day's agenda. As you've probably gathered by now, I'm not Jewish, but I figured I'd kick up the kippah factor a little bit, see what it's really like to be on the inside of the culture, even if just for a day.

And these are the folks I joined for the ride:

Kala, the girl with the heart of gold.
And host of the pre-Yom Kippur meal.

Oren, my brother from another mother. (And father.)
Roni, my flatmate.

Zuzana, my fellow schemer in Jesus.
Corina, flatmate numba two.

On the left is Jeremy, the Texan superhero.
Second is Jimmy, who's just the man in general.
In the middle is Eric II, my royal descendant.
Next is Brian, flatmate #3 from down the hall.
You probably know the rest.

This was our meal on the eve of Yom Kippur.
The point being to stuff yourself just before you fast.
Bangarang.

Don't be fooled by these smiles.
There's quiet apprehension behind them all.

Afterwards we met up with Val and Nicolas and took cabs to the Kotel, or the Wailing Wall. I got one last sip of water from Jeremy (you can't drink during the fast either). Soon afterward was the point of no return. The sun set as the orthodox, dressed in white, gathered at the Wall and began the outpouring of prayer. Some sat in groups, probably friends and strangers alike, singing in Hebrew. Some, of course, were alone, giving their own private praise to God. It was quite a sight to see. I milled back and forth between hanging with buddies and surveying the goings-on, taking it in, awed as always. At one point I met up with Gaby from Ulpan, and we just sat talking, looking at the Wall from a short distance away.

Kala returned from the Wall with this peaceful look on her face, saying she was sorry if she'd ever upset me. She never had, but I was really touched by that.

In the evening the original group gathered again and we began walking home. On our way, we passed through the old city. Lights were up all over the place because the Muslim month of Ramadan was just beginning. It seemed a little like Christmas back home.

And definitely just as beautiful.

After getting out of the old city, we were able to walk pretty freely on the road. Apart from the occasional police car or Arab driver, the streets of Jerusalem were deserted. They call Yom Kippur the "Day of the Bike," or something like that, because the Jewish kids who don't have to fast yet can ride their bikes on empty streets. At one point on our return home, we began skipping while holding hands, Wizard of Oz style, with zero trouble from traffic. A couple of people did push-ups in the middle of the street. All because Jewish tradition can silence the streets of an entire city.

Once I got home, I hung out at Jeremy's place for a bit, talked with some friends of his. Being able to converse with good people was a pretty solid way to take my mind off food for the most part. Afterward I went home and slept, knocking out a good seven hours--which I'm almost positive helped me get through the fast as well as I did.

In the morning, Roni invited me to go with her to a morning Yom Kippur service, which was really just the beginning of the action, since services go all day. I wish I could break down exactly what kind of service the synagogue had, but amidst the Hebrew I really didn't know what was going on. Plenty of people were there though, and just seeing the amount of devotion from everyone there was so impressive. I remember finding some beauty in the fact that everyone in the room was going through the same thing, at the same time.

And on another, stranger note: for some reason my nose, which has been stuffy since sixth grade, cleared up. It was weird...suddenly being able to breathe again after nine years. I know it sounds silly, but I really hadn't enjoyed breathing clearly like that since I was a kid. Pretty cool considering how Roni kept saying what a cleansing an experience Yom Kippur is supposed to feel like. I'm stuffy now that I'm eating and drinking again. Either something divine happened or I'm allergic to something I've been consuming. I'd be satisfied with either or both--now I know there's something more to investigate about fasting.

I was going to try it again sometime anyway. Religious folks give it rave reviews.

After a brief break at home we walked back to the synagogue service and finished out the night. I don't think I was feeling so great by then. After around 3:30 my head was starting to feel weird and definitely wasn't at the peak of functionality. My stomach wasn't exactly grumbling or anything--it was beyond that. It felt like I was vaguely sick. No one should ever, ever have to feel that way without choosing to. I really can't imagine (although I guess I have a slightly better I idea now of) how the impoverished or the homeless can deal with that feeling day in and day out. There's no justice in it.

And how did you swing this for forty days, J-Man? I applaud you.

Anyway, after the end of the service, we pretty much ran home for break fast. My friend David caught us during our dash to Kala's place. We all sat down around the same table as before Yom Kippur and devoured the bagels Roni and I had bought for the occasion. Satisfaction came no more than 6 minutes later. We killed that stuff. And ate some more.

Bagels with cream cheese, and celebrating a fresh start with God...it all tastes as good as gourmet.

Shalom,
Eric