|
Jerusalem, City of Dreams
One student’s relationship with Jerusalem
by Joel Abramovitz, UCLA
For six months, I could not sleep. Perhaps it was the hard, thin Israeli non-mattress under me, and the plank of wood under that. Perhaps it was the snoring of my roommate. Perhaps it was the thick, hot air outside. Perhaps it was my excitement.
I lay awake most nights thinking of my days, my evenings, my experiences in Jerusalem: my wanderings through the City of Gold, my expeditions through the forests and deserts of Israel, my chaotic encounters with Israelis, still ever much the sabra people. My memories flew through my head; they whispered to me, taunted me, forced me to pore over them, to dissect them, to embrace them. They kept me engaged, awake, and dreamless.
But by then the days had turned into dreams, waking dreams. I’d walk down Yafo Street, past Kikkar Zion, Big Apple Pizza, a boureka bakery, Kikkar Safra, turn a corner and whoops! There were the walls of the Old City. It was surreal. It was incredible. It was like the feeling of walking through water, trying to grasp fire, and yet, yet, my life in Jerusalem was the most tangible thing I have ever experienced. It was true. It was real. It was mine.
My journey to Jerusalem began simply enough. I had visited Israel in the summer of 2000, after my sophomore year of high school, on a Confirmation trip sponsored by the San Francisco Board of Jewish Education. I, like the other 160 participants, came home mesmerized. I was determined to go back. Then the Arab terror war broke out two months later and the world suddenly got a whole lot more complicated.
I was supposed to go on another trip in the summer of 2001, but after the Tel Aviv nightclub bombing many parents pulled their kids from the program, and the trip was regrettably cancelled. No matter, I thought, despite the persistent images of Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, the Negev, and Tsfat pulsating in my mind. I’ll go junior year of college.
The Western Wall in Jerusalem with the Dome of the Rock behind it, on the site of Mount Moriah, the holiest place on Earth according to Judaism. The Holy Temple, where Jewish priests (Kohanim) served G-d, was erected on that site. The Temple was destroyed by the Romans, who renamed the Land of Israel “Palestine” after the ancient Phillistines, who lived in the area of the Gaza Strip but now no longer exist, in an effort to obliterate the Jews’ connection to their land. Later, when the British conquered parts of the Ottoman Empire in World War I, they renamed it Palestine again.
|
And that became the plan. I enrolled in UCLA as a Jewish Studies major, and began my college career. It was the natural choice, as a Jewish Studies student, to study in Israel. Brush up on my Hebrew, enhance my appreciation of Israeli culture, orient myself to the map of Jewish history. It was the only way.
Unfortunately, the University of California suspended its Education Abroad Program (EAP) to Israel in early spring of 2001 as the Arab terror war reached an extreme level, and recalled all its students. Some came home; others did not and fought for credit recognition upon their return. By the time my junior year rolled around, autumn of 2004, the program had not been reinstated, despite the calming of violence. I scrambled for ways to make my plan work.
I took a leave of absence from UCLA for two quarters, and enrolled directly in Hebrew University’s Rothberg Overseas program for the spring semester of 2005. I flew to Israel, and I was there, Jerusalem, the city I had dreamt about every night for years. The city of gold, strife, bloodshed, and peace. An enigma, a wonder.
The Rothberg program is notorious for its laxity and ease. Dubbed “Rothberg High” for both the social dynamics and classroom expectations, the theme of the program was not to keep us in class, but to allow us time to explore Jerusalem and Israel. Which is what we did. Day trips to Tel Aviv, weekends on the beach in Eilat, Shabbats spent in Tsfat, field trips to ancient cities in the Galilee, and a quick jaunt to Petra peppered my trip.
One weekend, a few friends and I rented a car and drove up the coast from Tel Aviv to (almost) the Lebanese border. The drive was magnificent. I can still smell the salty deep blue of the Mediterranean.
But the focus of my time was Jerusalem. We explored the city with a zeal that would make lions cower. I knew every street corner, restaurant, bar, and store worth knowing. I walked the streets for hours, in the cold and in the heat, discovering, watching. The city was everything I had dreamt about and more. Jerusalem became mine, and I loved every minute of it.
I do not mean to say there was no study; indeed, there was plenty. My classes on Israeli film, Zionist thought, Jewish education, and, of course, Hebrew occupied much of my thoughts, as I endlessly pondered the questions and issues raised by learning about Judaism in the homeland of the Jews. It was a perfect fit.
|
Jerusalem has, in many ways, become my second home.
|
After I came home, I had to re-register at UCLA, because the college does not recognize non-UC programs It was a tedious process, long and bureaucratic, and initially a cause for concern. But now I am a registered UCLA student once again. It was a hassle, and one I wish I had not had to undergo, especially since during this upcoming year I will haggle, argue, and petition for course credit. Hopefully, as a Jewish Studies student, I will get it. But I am not sure.
It is, however, not a concern for me; the experience was worth every second of aggravation and irritation. Now, when I think of Jerusalem, it’s the little things I remember: dancing front row at a Hadag Nachash concert as they brought down the house; running through Diezengoff Square in Tel Aviv in the pouring rain; eating the creamy, bitter hummus with spicy meat from Pinati on King George Street; standing in the middle of a packed Kikkar Zion on Yom Haatzmaut with thousands of Israelis as David Broza serenaded us and fireworks exploded above; discussing politics and religion and culture deep into the night; crying; laughing; dreaming.
Jerusalem has, in many ways, become my second home. San Francisco is my home, and it always will be. But Jerusalem is a place that I can always go back to, and from now on it will never be a visit, but a return. The Jerusalem of my dreams, of the Jewish people’s dreams, has become real for me. I think of the city and no longer imagine. I remember.
Joel Abramovitz is a senior at the University of California, Los Angeles, and is a Jewish Studies and Anthropology major.
|
