Today's NY Times Op-Ed by Thomas Friedman is for the most part right on.
It is worthwhile to discuss for a moment his anecdote regarding over-association. People who do not live in/are not from a region and who have no ties to there political situation there, yet also seek to be politically active and liberal often attach themselves to hot-button topics. Don't get me wrong, activism as a principle is extremely important. However, it frequently occurs that some of these activists tend to over attach or associate with one side, leading in turn to extreme views on a topic that tend to be far removed from facts on the ground. I see this all over my college campus, I see it in Israel, and I see it in Palestine. It's very annoying.
The one caveat I would add here is that Friedman conflates American Jewish donors who fund settlement activity with the over-associaters of the U.S. and Europe. While I cannot justify settlement building on what will be a future Palestinian state, there is a definite distinction to be made between religiously motivated right wing moves and extremist left wing liberalism based on chic social trends (everyone knows it's cool to hate Israel, right?) and over-association. Again, although they shouldn't be confused and meshed into one, Friedman is correct that they both often do fuel the worst of both sides--a shame indeed...
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Post Flotilla
I have been all over the web over the past few days trying to form an articulate opinion of what went down with the so called Gaza Freedom Flotilla. As most of you know by now, there were 6 boats with some 8oo "activists" heading from the Mediterranean Sea to Gaza with humanitarian aid. Some of these people had pure intentions, namely to deliver basic goods to the citizens of Gaza. However, I write activists in quotes because it is clear from video footage that many of the people on board the biggest ship had sinister, premeditated intentions.
The actions of the militant activists put Israel in a lose-lose situation. As I wrote to Max Finder a couple of days ago: On the one hand, I don't think anybody on the Israeli side wanted to get on that boat, and definitely not in the middle of the night. On the other hand, there was a period of a few hours where the Israeli Navy was contacting the boats telling them not to go to Gaza, that the goods could be processed through legal ways via Israel or Egypt and more. In essence, Israel gave the people on the boat every opportunity to safely deliver the humanitarian aid to the people of Gaza. 5 of the 6 boats acquiesced and docked safely in Ashdod, while the infamous 6th one continued heading toward Gaza in the late hours of the night, eventually just stopped responding to the Navy, and all the while had a coordinated a plan of attack for what they knew they were forcing--an Israeli takeover of the ship.
P.R. wise it well done: everyone knows that Israel is never going to win a public relations battle, ever. Obviously it is extremely a) sad that lives were lost and b) frustrating that the whole thing was such a debacle from the get go, but I'm not so sure Israel was in the wrong by commandeering the boat as a last possible option...
Thus, my take on the situation from here on out. I tend to err on the side of Dershowitz when it comes to anything legal: I do truly believe Israel was within its international rights to act the way it did, when it did, in order to enforce the blockade. Indeed, it was not until the soldiers were attacked with knives and metal rods, that pistols were stolen off the soldiers and used to shoot at the soldiers with intent to kill that the Israelis moved from paint-ball guns to live ammunition. Legally speaking, I think Israel will be fine.
Regarding the blockade and what it could mean for Israel's future, check out Haaretz editor Aluf Benn's article. I can't say I've been a big Haaretz reader in the past couple of years, but I agree with almost everything he says because he, unlike most of the other articles written surrounding the topic, writes constructively and most of the time practically. Benn essentially argues that the blockade has not worked. Terrorist regime Hamas is still in complete control of the Strip and has shown no sign of weakening; a new generation of Gazan citizens is growing up to hate Israel (instead of Hamas) because of the despicable hate education Hamas spews, but also because their government blames everything that goes wrong in Gaza, everything they have promised to provide but failed to, on the Israeli blockade.
Benn's proposed solution? Israel should complete the disengagement it began in Summer 2005. It should keep its borders sealed with Gaza and seal them high and wide, it should cut all ties the two countries share (he specifically alludes to target dates for electric, water, and currency severs), and let Gaza freely get its resources via Egypt and sea trade. If the rockets start coming again, and yes they will probably start coming again once Hamas can easily get more weapons in through their newly eased trade routes, Israel will at first show restraint. Israel will be prudent and for a time not respond. Acting completely out of their own volition as the democratically elected government of the people of Gaza, Hamas will be given a true chance to present itself to its people and to the international stage. If they prove themselves to be friendly after all, then no one will be happier than its peace loving neighbors in Israel. However, if they choose to continue to attack Israel's citizens with rockets and terrorist attacks, Israel will have international support if they need to responsively attack the sovereign entity of Gaza. Hamas will finally have run out of excuses to blame Israel, and so will the world.
The actions of the militant activists put Israel in a lose-lose situation. As I wrote to Max Finder a couple of days ago: On the one hand, I don't think anybody on the Israeli side wanted to get on that boat, and definitely not in the middle of the night. On the other hand, there was a period of a few hours where the Israeli Navy was contacting the boats telling them not to go to Gaza, that the goods could be processed through legal ways via Israel or Egypt and more. In essence, Israel gave the people on the boat every opportunity to safely deliver the humanitarian aid to the people of Gaza. 5 of the 6 boats acquiesced and docked safely in Ashdod, while the infamous 6th one continued heading toward Gaza in the late hours of the night, eventually just stopped responding to the Navy, and all the while had a coordinated a plan of attack for what they knew they were forcing--an Israeli takeover of the ship.
P.R. wise it well done: everyone knows that Israel is never going to win a public relations battle, ever. Obviously it is extremely a) sad that lives were lost and b) frustrating that the whole thing was such a debacle from the get go, but I'm not so sure Israel was in the wrong by commandeering the boat as a last possible option...
Thus, my take on the situation from here on out. I tend to err on the side of Dershowitz when it comes to anything legal: I do truly believe Israel was within its international rights to act the way it did, when it did, in order to enforce the blockade. Indeed, it was not until the soldiers were attacked with knives and metal rods, that pistols were stolen off the soldiers and used to shoot at the soldiers with intent to kill that the Israelis moved from paint-ball guns to live ammunition. Legally speaking, I think Israel will be fine.
Regarding the blockade and what it could mean for Israel's future, check out Haaretz editor Aluf Benn's article. I can't say I've been a big Haaretz reader in the past couple of years, but I agree with almost everything he says because he, unlike most of the other articles written surrounding the topic, writes constructively and most of the time practically. Benn essentially argues that the blockade has not worked. Terrorist regime Hamas is still in complete control of the Strip and has shown no sign of weakening; a new generation of Gazan citizens is growing up to hate Israel (instead of Hamas) because of the despicable hate education Hamas spews, but also because their government blames everything that goes wrong in Gaza, everything they have promised to provide but failed to, on the Israeli blockade.
Benn's proposed solution? Israel should complete the disengagement it began in Summer 2005. It should keep its borders sealed with Gaza and seal them high and wide, it should cut all ties the two countries share (he specifically alludes to target dates for electric, water, and currency severs), and let Gaza freely get its resources via Egypt and sea trade. If the rockets start coming again, and yes they will probably start coming again once Hamas can easily get more weapons in through their newly eased trade routes, Israel will at first show restraint. Israel will be prudent and for a time not respond. Acting completely out of their own volition as the democratically elected government of the people of Gaza, Hamas will be given a true chance to present itself to its people and to the international stage. If they prove themselves to be friendly after all, then no one will be happier than its peace loving neighbors in Israel. However, if they choose to continue to attack Israel's citizens with rockets and terrorist attacks, Israel will have international support if they need to responsively attack the sovereign entity of Gaza. Hamas will finally have run out of excuses to blame Israel, and so will the world.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Dominoes
After hitting up the happy hour on Playa Blanca from 6-7:30pm and dinner back in Punta Cana at 8:15, Lisa, Amital, Eric, Pat, and I were walking back to the Fundacion in a jolly good mood. No quiz in the morning, great meal, high spirits after the happy hour (pun intended), etc. Often when taking the ten and a half minute walk from the Fundacion to La Tortuguita and back, we spot several resort workers loudly jeering and playing a game with each other by the worker's trailers. One of us usually remarks, 'hey we should go hang out with them and see what they're up to, it always sounds like they're having such a fun time,' and after tonight's usual blase comment, I just started walking over there cause let's be honest what else were we gonna do at that hour? With Pat and Eric by my side, the three of us strolled over to the lit tent and amiably introduced ourselves: Patricio, Eric, y Pepe. There were 5 men, 4 of whom were sitting around a table playing Dominoes and the 5th sitting by their side with a pad and pen keeping tally for the others. We pulled up chairs and watched.
To be perfectly frank, I do not know the rules of Dominoes. But after after drunkenly watching Miguel, Juan, Naranja, and Charlie duke it out for 15 minutes, I started to learn.
Miguel I vaguely recognized from around the resort, but Juan and Naranja I had never seen before. I have no idea what Naranja's real name was--he told me once while introducing himself and I promptly forgot. Naranja sported an orange shirt that covered half his belly. Because I forgot his name but was constantly seeing his round, orange peel covered belly, I called him Naranja the rest of the night. Unclear whether he understood this at all. The 4th and final player at the table was my main man Charlie, the 35 year old braces rocking Punta Cana shuttle van driver who picked me up from the airport my first day and gave me my first tour of the resort on the way to the Fundacion. I secretly rooted for Charlie to win every game. And if not Charlie then Naranja.
The rules of Dominoes, still not completely clear to me, are generally quite simple. Each player has seven dominoes, and going in counterclockwise order, each player tries to get rid of his dominoes by playing them on a table--first one out of dominoes wins. For example, after the first game, taken by Miguel, was completed, Eric and I jumped on the table. I had the unfortunate position of following Miguel, who often won rounds and thus started the next ones. Miguel would put down his domino of choice, for example a 4:4. I then had to put down a domino that had a 4 as one of its numbers, too. Very simple. If I couldn't go, I checked and it went to the next person until someone won. After a few rounds, some things became pretty clear to me strategy wise, like trying to get rid of your double numbered dominoes early because they are less valuable odds wise. Other things remained quite murky, which I attribute to the language barrier. Anyways, I never won even a single round. Some guy who came up and peeped a few rounds said it best, "Yu nee to play evry day to be goo, amigo."
And he's right. By the end of this trip, I will be good. Nay, I will dominate Dominoes. Miguel and Naranja better watch their backs.
In the meantime, I get up in 6+ hours to prepare the soil for 4 different batches of lettuce I will be planting in the next couple of days. Yes, believe it or not I am working and researching and experimenting for my personal project, too. More to come on this soon, I promise. In the meantime just think liquid compost and lettuce.
Mucho ahava,
Pepe/Yonah
To be perfectly frank, I do not know the rules of Dominoes. But after after drunkenly watching Miguel, Juan, Naranja, and Charlie duke it out for 15 minutes, I started to learn.
Miguel I vaguely recognized from around the resort, but Juan and Naranja I had never seen before. I have no idea what Naranja's real name was--he told me once while introducing himself and I promptly forgot. Naranja sported an orange shirt that covered half his belly. Because I forgot his name but was constantly seeing his round, orange peel covered belly, I called him Naranja the rest of the night. Unclear whether he understood this at all. The 4th and final player at the table was my main man Charlie, the 35 year old braces rocking Punta Cana shuttle van driver who picked me up from the airport my first day and gave me my first tour of the resort on the way to the Fundacion. I secretly rooted for Charlie to win every game. And if not Charlie then Naranja.
The rules of Dominoes, still not completely clear to me, are generally quite simple. Each player has seven dominoes, and going in counterclockwise order, each player tries to get rid of his dominoes by playing them on a table--first one out of dominoes wins. For example, after the first game, taken by Miguel, was completed, Eric and I jumped on the table. I had the unfortunate position of following Miguel, who often won rounds and thus started the next ones. Miguel would put down his domino of choice, for example a 4:4. I then had to put down a domino that had a 4 as one of its numbers, too. Very simple. If I couldn't go, I checked and it went to the next person until someone won. After a few rounds, some things became pretty clear to me strategy wise, like trying to get rid of your double numbered dominoes early because they are less valuable odds wise. Other things remained quite murky, which I attribute to the language barrier. Anyways, I never won even a single round. Some guy who came up and peeped a few rounds said it best, "Yu nee to play evry day to be goo, amigo."
And he's right. By the end of this trip, I will be good. Nay, I will dominate Dominoes. Miguel and Naranja better watch their backs.
In the meantime, I get up in 6+ hours to prepare the soil for 4 different batches of lettuce I will be planting in the next couple of days. Yes, believe it or not I am working and researching and experimenting for my personal project, too. More to come on this soon, I promise. In the meantime just think liquid compost and lettuce.
Mucho ahava,
Pepe/Yonah
Sunday, May 30, 2010
A Night in Veron
After our first week of classes in the Fundacion Ecologica Punta Cana, much of the crew was feeling varying degrees of anciness ranging from 'let's go to the mini-mall and get Wendy's' to 'We're gonna pregame in the common room, then hit the happy hour at Playa Blanca, and from there hit the clubs,' and everything in between.
8 of our lil group of 12 decided while en route to the mini-mall in the free resort shuttle to have the driver take us to Veron, the closest town next to Punta Cana. It's too small to be on google maps which already makes it legit. For a small fee he'll take us to a bar he says is legit by the locals' standards and everyone agrees to go for it.
After several minutes of driving on Veron's main street, passing innumerable mini-marts all blasting either bachata, merengue, or salsa and one dope looking Harlem style lit up Basketball court along the way, he drops us off at Veron Tropical. Immediately a waiter whisks us over to a table. I was very down with the looks of the place. Open area but with a thatch covered roof, lots of tables all surrounding the nice dance floor in the middle, some strobe lights and a smoke machine..and yes, lot's of beautiful women. I should mention that of the 8 of us, Patrick and I were the only male reps (seen in picture above, waiting in Punta Cana for the shuttle to show up). We all sit down at our table and I order a Presidente (THE Dominican beer), Pat orders a vodka cranberry, and the waiter comes back with 3 tall boy Presidentes, a handle of Absolut, and a small oceanspray cranberry juice. Naturally the men were ordering for the whole table, how silly of us to forget this!
Looking around, I was catching the eyes of a few of these local ladies. And they were smiling right at me. Add to the fact that the Celtics were looking real good against Orlando on the slightly banged up big screen tv and the night looked pretty promising. So as I'm drinking my beer and assessing the situation of the dance floor and watching the C's pour it on the Magic, I'm getting pumped up and start a conversation with a dude who works there who was also watching the game. Pierce hit a dagger three so I was talking my man The Truth up to this dude. The guy is more interested in the ladies Pat and I are sitting with and wants to know which of them is my wife. I say 'nah man I have no wife, no lady friend. Pretty single. Como se dice single?' Libre, he says. 'Word, soy libre. Viva la revolucion!' And we both give a fist pump in the air. I ask him how many of the ladies in the bar/dance hall/club he thinks are libre, and this is where I hit reality. He shakes his head and says, "no, no..por dinero." And lemme tell ya, reality bites. We're in a de facto whore house. All the women in the place. Oh, man! And here I am thinking that a few of these women are giving me looks and smiles because I'm fresh blood in small town Veron, because I'm a silly gringo, because who knows why. But now it all makes sense--these girls are interested in one thing and one thing only, mi dinero..caramba!
I guess it was good that I found out sooner rather than later. On one level, a man's ego should never get too high--it's not healthy. So it put me right back down on earth to realize these ladies didn't like me for me. On a much more practical level, though, it probably saved me from some possible trouble because I undoubtedly would have tried dancing with one of the mistresses and there's no way things would have ended well. With my newly acquired knowledge and dashed hopes of getting to know the locals in a more naive and honest way, I still decided to dance with one the women who had been eying me. After all, I figured, I am finally in a real situation to try some latin dancing and I have nothing to lose because I'm a silly white boy in a whorehouse who can't really keep up either way, so what the hell? I tell the woman, "no puede bailar por que soy gringo de estados unidos, ensename a bailar por favor!" We dance and I lead her pretty horrifically offbeat while also trying to talk to her in whatever Spanish I can come up with. Even though I didn't really know what I was doing, I succeeded in twirling and spinning her a few times, enough that she more than once gave me a surprised smile. After the dance ended though, she claimed it was too hot so we parted ways. I thought that was gonna be it...
Sometime later we were getting our cash out to pay the bill and something like the 5th dude of the night comes up to me and asks what the deal with all the American girls is, if we need a ride anywhere let him know, if we need drinks let him know, which of the girls are single etc etc. Like we were the pimps or something--it was pretty ridiculous. As he is talking to me, the woman I danced with comes over and interrupts and with the help of his translation gets the message across that she wants to come home with me. I am flattered, and I do crush on that smile of hers, but I am skeptical because of her profession. "Lo siento, no tengo dinero..." He explains that she doesn't want money, that she'll go home with me for free. "I looove you!" she exclaims with a coy smile. Ok, soI am admittedly very unsure of what to do at this point. I try not to over think in this sort of situation so I decide to take a chance and go with it. "Vamos, lady!" The two of us take deck outta there and grab the first taxi we see back to the resort. This was last night, and she is still with me right now, sitting next to me as I type this. As ridiculous as it sounds, I think I've finally found the one! Listen, Ellenas might be a prostitute, but it's not her fault. With no education, money, or other options...I mean, everyone's gotta make a living...right...? Whatever you're thinking right now, get used to it people, she ain't goin anywhere anytime soon.
Anyways, everything happened up through the part of me being unsure of what my next move should be. In reality, I decided there was no way taking this woman home could end well no matter how pretty the smile. Instead I distanced myself and the 8 of us piled into our waiter's sedan with all six girls in the back seat and Pat and me up front.
It was only the next morning at breakfast that after relaying the story to our T.A. she informed us that indeed Veron was pretty well known for its prostitution. Great, thanks for the heads up on that one! All in all, it was a pretty fun night. Big C's win, funny experience all around, nice bonding moment with the group.
I'll post again in a couple of days max with an update on my research project. I just emailed in a 6 page proposal a couple of hours ago so we'll see how things are shaping up when I hear some feedback on it.
Much love to everyone and shavuah tov
Love, Jonah
8 of our lil group of 12 decided while en route to the mini-mall in the free resort shuttle to have the driver take us to Veron, the closest town next to Punta Cana. It's too small to be on google maps which already makes it legit. For a small fee he'll take us to a bar he says is legit by the locals' standards and everyone agrees to go for it.After several minutes of driving on Veron's main street, passing innumerable mini-marts all blasting either bachata, merengue, or salsa and one dope looking Harlem style lit up Basketball court along the way, he drops us off at Veron Tropical. Immediately a waiter whisks us over to a table. I was very down with the looks of the place. Open area but with a thatch covered roof, lots of tables all surrounding the nice dance floor in the middle, some strobe lights and a smoke machine..and yes, lot's of beautiful women. I should mention that of the 8 of us, Patrick and I were the only male reps (seen in picture above, waiting in Punta Cana for the shuttle to show up). We all sit down at our table and I order a Presidente (THE Dominican beer), Pat orders a vodka cranberry, and the waiter comes back with 3 tall boy Presidentes, a handle of Absolut, and a small oceanspray cranberry juice. Naturally the men were ordering for the whole table, how silly of us to forget this!
Looking around, I was catching the eyes of a few of these local ladies. And they were smiling right at me. Add to the fact that the Celtics were looking real good against Orlando on the slightly banged up big screen tv and the night looked pretty promising. So as I'm drinking my beer and assessing the situation of the dance floor and watching the C's pour it on the Magic, I'm getting pumped up and start a conversation with a dude who works there who was also watching the game. Pierce hit a dagger three so I was talking my man The Truth up to this dude. The guy is more interested in the ladies Pat and I are sitting with and wants to know which of them is my wife. I say 'nah man I have no wife, no lady friend. Pretty single. Como se dice single?' Libre, he says. 'Word, soy libre. Viva la revolucion!' And we both give a fist pump in the air. I ask him how many of the ladies in the bar/dance hall/club he thinks are libre, and this is where I hit reality. He shakes his head and says, "no, no..por dinero." And lemme tell ya, reality bites. We're in a de facto whore house. All the women in the place. Oh, man! And here I am thinking that a few of these women are giving me looks and smiles because I'm fresh blood in small town Veron, because I'm a silly gringo, because who knows why. But now it all makes sense--these girls are interested in one thing and one thing only, mi dinero..caramba!
I guess it was good that I found out sooner rather than later. On one level, a man's ego should never get too high--it's not healthy. So it put me right back down on earth to realize these ladies didn't like me for me. On a much more practical level, though, it probably saved me from some possible trouble because I undoubtedly would have tried dancing with one of the mistresses and there's no way things would have ended well. With my newly acquired knowledge and dashed hopes of getting to know the locals in a more naive and honest way, I still decided to dance with one the women who had been eying me. After all, I figured, I am finally in a real situation to try some latin dancing and I have nothing to lose because I'm a silly white boy in a whorehouse who can't really keep up either way, so what the hell? I tell the woman, "no puede bailar por que soy gringo de estados unidos, ensename a bailar por favor!" We dance and I lead her pretty horrifically offbeat while also trying to talk to her in whatever Spanish I can come up with. Even though I didn't really know what I was doing, I succeeded in twirling and spinning her a few times, enough that she more than once gave me a surprised smile. After the dance ended though, she claimed it was too hot so we parted ways. I thought that was gonna be it...
Sometime later we were getting our cash out to pay the bill and something like the 5th dude of the night comes up to me and asks what the deal with all the American girls is, if we need a ride anywhere let him know, if we need drinks let him know, which of the girls are single etc etc. Like we were the pimps or something--it was pretty ridiculous. As he is talking to me, the woman I danced with comes over and interrupts and with the help of his translation gets the message across that she wants to come home with me. I am flattered, and I do crush on that smile of hers, but I am skeptical because of her profession. "Lo siento, no tengo dinero..." He explains that she doesn't want money, that she'll go home with me for free. "I looove you!" she exclaims with a coy smile. Ok, soI am admittedly very unsure of what to do at this point. I try not to over think in this sort of situation so I decide to take a chance and go with it. "Vamos, lady!" The two of us take deck outta there and grab the first taxi we see back to the resort. This was last night, and she is still with me right now, sitting next to me as I type this. As ridiculous as it sounds, I think I've finally found the one! Listen, Ellenas might be a prostitute, but it's not her fault. With no education, money, or other options...I mean, everyone's gotta make a living...right...? Whatever you're thinking right now, get used to it people, she ain't goin anywhere anytime soon.
Anyways, everything happened up through the part of me being unsure of what my next move should be. In reality, I decided there was no way taking this woman home could end well no matter how pretty the smile. Instead I distanced myself and the 8 of us piled into our waiter's sedan with all six girls in the back seat and Pat and me up front.
It was only the next morning at breakfast that after relaying the story to our T.A. she informed us that indeed Veron was pretty well known for its prostitution. Great, thanks for the heads up on that one! All in all, it was a pretty fun night. Big C's win, funny experience all around, nice bonding moment with the group.
I'll post again in a couple of days max with an update on my research project. I just emailed in a 6 page proposal a couple of hours ago so we'll see how things are shaping up when I hear some feedback on it.
Much love to everyone and shavuah tov
Love, Jonah
Monday, May 24, 2010
Punta Cana, Dominican Republic
Hellooo Everybody (aka Mom, Zoe Jick, and Debby Iken),
Been a while since my last post, and much longer since anything consistent. This is about to change...
I just wanted to say Hola from my semi-resort room in Punta Cana. I arrived in the hot n humid Dominican town at 12:30 this afternoon, and I will be spending the next five weeks on a Columbia U summer science program doing research in the Punta Cana Biodiversity Center to fulfill my remaining six science credits while also having a legit good time. After the program ends in late June, I will take a ferry out to the D.R. village of Las Galeras and meet up with a couple, Cindy and Jose, where I will learn some organic farming skills (part of the ever growing WWOOF movement) until mid August.
So, since I just got here today, I don't have too much to report just yet. There are 12 of us on the program--pretty tiny by all standards, with a T.A. from Spain named Lisa and our professor, named Jane. [Edit: Actually, her name is Jenna!]
Going Kosh will be very tough. It will include rice and beans. And rice and beans. And sometimes pizza for dinner. This diet, coupled with the fact that we are not allowed to throw our toilet paper into the toilet because the sewage system is still one of the 'developing' things in the country (so instead we dispose of it in a garbage pail next to us), is reason enough to keep checking the blog this summer because there could be some very interesting, and potentially quite smelly, stories that come out of it.
With that, I am going to do my reading and pass out.
Much love,
Pepe/Jonah
Been a while since my last post, and much longer since anything consistent. This is about to change...
I just wanted to say Hola from my semi-resort room in Punta Cana. I arrived in the hot n humid Dominican town at 12:30 this afternoon, and I will be spending the next five weeks on a Columbia U summer science program doing research in the Punta Cana Biodiversity Center to fulfill my remaining six science credits while also having a legit good time. After the program ends in late June, I will take a ferry out to the D.R. village of Las Galeras and meet up with a couple, Cindy and Jose, where I will learn some organic farming skills (part of the ever growing WWOOF movement) until mid August.
So, since I just got here today, I don't have too much to report just yet. There are 12 of us on the program--pretty tiny by all standards, with a T.A. from Spain named Lisa and our professor, named Jane. [Edit: Actually, her name is Jenna!]
Going Kosh will be very tough. It will include rice and beans. And rice and beans. And sometimes pizza for dinner. This diet, coupled with the fact that we are not allowed to throw our toilet paper into the toilet because the sewage system is still one of the 'developing' things in the country (so instead we dispose of it in a garbage pail next to us), is reason enough to keep checking the blog this summer because there could be some very interesting, and potentially quite smelly, stories that come out of it.
With that, I am going to do my reading and pass out.
Much love,
Pepe/Jonah
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Last Challenger
In honor of Guitel's one year yahrzeit, a memory:
Setting: Camp Ramah, New England. The last Shabbas afternoon in Tent City, i.e. the Nivonim Kfar. The sun is shining on this late August afternoon, and I am in my standard attire (slippers and shorts with a jersey strewn on a nearby bench should I actually have to don clothing for a modest-- or more likely boss-like, passerby). My boys Alowe, Rhoda ben David Grill-Abramowitz, and I are in the mood for one of our favorite Palmer Pastimes, Wiffleball. We put out the challenge, and mow down all opponents in two straight six inning games. You gotta understand, I kind of dominate Wiffleball.
With the afternoon sun glaring on, our third and final challenging squad, led by Niv08's finest, Josh Guitelman, strolled up to the playing field (comprising of the Kfar Moadon's see-through top down tarp wall as the all encompassing backstop and a Tcan on top of a crate as a strike zone). I honestly don't remember the other two people on his team, because this quickly became a duel between Guitel and me. I call myself a pitcher and a hitter. Never until that game had someone matched me pitch for pitch, strike out for strike out. And lemme tell you, each of us was striking out everybody, including each other. Usually, other teammates take a turn hurling their best stuff (as we all know sharing is caring). I was not giving the ball to anyone but me, and neither was he. The innings passed, still no score. A stray ground ball single here, a bloop dropped double there. I think I flied out to the edge of the warning track (identified by the lady tents) once in the 10thish inning.
Every time I stepped to the plate to face him, I felt like I had a shot to win the game with one swing of the bat. And literally 95% of those at bats, he struck me out. This was intriguing to me. Guitel had this one pitch that was simply unhittable that day. I had killllled Guitel's stuff before, but he was coming at me with some seriously pro-grade shit. On the one hand, I wanted to win, and I wanted to win now. But the grimace and scowl combo I kept giving him belied the honest excitement and pride I had in the lil guy. Well, at the time the most frustrating part of that game was the fact that it had to be interrupted for the afternoon Mincha prayers. Naturally, we promised we would finish the game right after we got back from the grove. But of course, this was not to happen...some of us made it back after Mincha, others didn't. It was after all the last day of camp and campers had things to do, people to see. Our edah as a group had an agenda, each tent had their own last night programs, there was the B-side dance to prepare for, and as you know very well, the rest is history.
Fatefully, that game never did finish. But perhaps it wasn't supposed to be. I have never played such a legitimate competitor since that last Shabbas afternoon of Niv08. Indeed, Guitel was the last challenger.
As I gear up for the Columbia Intramural Wiffleball tournament coming up in a couple of weeks and as your one year anniversary has just passed over so many of us on this rainy Passover day, your spirit, your nasty wiffle pitch, and really you, Josh, are missed.
With love,
Jonah
Setting: Camp Ramah, New England. The last Shabbas afternoon in Tent City, i.e. the Nivonim Kfar. The sun is shining on this late August afternoon, and I am in my standard attire (slippers and shorts with a jersey strewn on a nearby bench should I actually have to don clothing for a modest-- or more likely boss-like, passerby). My boys Alowe, Rhoda ben David Grill-Abramowitz, and I are in the mood for one of our favorite Palmer Pastimes, Wiffleball. We put out the challenge, and mow down all opponents in two straight six inning games. You gotta understand, I kind of dominate Wiffleball.
With the afternoon sun glaring on, our third and final challenging squad, led by Niv08's finest, Josh Guitelman, strolled up to the playing field (comprising of the Kfar Moadon's see-through top down tarp wall as the all encompassing backstop and a Tcan on top of a crate as a strike zone). I honestly don't remember the other two people on his team, because this quickly became a duel between Guitel and me. I call myself a pitcher and a hitter. Never until that game had someone matched me pitch for pitch, strike out for strike out. And lemme tell you, each of us was striking out everybody, including each other. Usually, other teammates take a turn hurling their best stuff (as we all know sharing is caring). I was not giving the ball to anyone but me, and neither was he. The innings passed, still no score. A stray ground ball single here, a bloop dropped double there. I think I flied out to the edge of the warning track (identified by the lady tents) once in the 10thish inning.
Every time I stepped to the plate to face him, I felt like I had a shot to win the game with one swing of the bat. And literally 95% of those at bats, he struck me out. This was intriguing to me. Guitel had this one pitch that was simply unhittable that day. I had killllled Guitel's stuff before, but he was coming at me with some seriously pro-grade shit. On the one hand, I wanted to win, and I wanted to win now. But the grimace and scowl combo I kept giving him belied the honest excitement and pride I had in the lil guy. Well, at the time the most frustrating part of that game was the fact that it had to be interrupted for the afternoon Mincha prayers. Naturally, we promised we would finish the game right after we got back from the grove. But of course, this was not to happen...some of us made it back after Mincha, others didn't. It was after all the last day of camp and campers had things to do, people to see. Our edah as a group had an agenda, each tent had their own last night programs, there was the B-side dance to prepare for, and as you know very well, the rest is history.
Fatefully, that game never did finish. But perhaps it wasn't supposed to be. I have never played such a legitimate competitor since that last Shabbas afternoon of Niv08. Indeed, Guitel was the last challenger.
As I gear up for the Columbia Intramural Wiffleball tournament coming up in a couple of weeks and as your one year anniversary has just passed over so many of us on this rainy Passover day, your spirit, your nasty wiffle pitch, and really you, Josh, are missed.
With love,
Jonah
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Hey, what's the chemical called...
לא יודע איך נקרא הכימי בראש,
הכימי שגורם לי להתגעגע לארץ, לאהוב בחורות, ולרצות לחגוג באותו רגע,
אבל נראה לי שמתאים לכימי הזה את השם "אהוד בנאי"
11.2.09
הכימי שגורם לי להתגעגע לארץ, לאהוב בחורות, ולרצות לחגוג באותו רגע,
אבל נראה לי שמתאים לכימי הזה את השם "אהוד בנאי"
11.2.09
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