Poland II

(The second in a series of 5 posts detailing my heritage trip to Poland)

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Gone Now are Those Little Towns

"Gone now are those little towns where the shoemaker was a poet,
The watchmaker a philosopher, the barber a troubadour..." 

--Antoni Sionimski, "Elegy for the Jewish Villages"

Tykocin

Tykocin

Tykocin

Imagine a small, crowded town, bustling with hurried movement and loud conversation. A place where people are fervent in their beliefs, speak in Yiddish and Hebrew, and make religion the way of the land. While most people are poor, their lives are rich with family, laughter, and tradition.

This was the eastern European shtetl.

The shtetl was an incubator for Jewish life; producing some of the most lasting traditions in Judaism. While life in the shtetls was challenging and difficult, Jewish culture flourished here.

The first stop of our trip was Tykocin, a small town in the Bialystok region of Poland. Prior to the war, Tykocin used to be a thriving Jewish community, with over 70% of its residents being Jewish.
Tykocin, or "Ticktin" as the Jews called it, was a classic example of an eastern European shtetl.

The window on a "schoolhouse." Young students often learned in a crowded room in their teacher's home. 

The outside of the synagogue in Tykocin, built in 1642

There was Hebrew prayers and psalms written all over the walls. In some cases, prayers that didn't appear in the prayer book were written on the walls for the purpose of practicality. 

Entrance to the sanctuary.

The bima in the middle of the sanctuary

The ark in the sanctuary.

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If Trees Could Speak...

After touring around Tykocin, hearing about the pre-war vibrancy of the Jewish community, we arrived at a large, open courtyard covered with snow. There were people strolling around the perimeter, pulling children on sleds. It looked quite peaceful.

In the above picture, Rabbi Levi Cooper, our teacher and guide, tells us about the history of the courtyard, and ultimately, the fate of the Jews of Tykochin. 

One evening in August 1942, the Jews of Tykochin were ordered to report to this courtyard early the next morning, to be deported to the Bialystok Ghetto. The Jews spoke with one another, and debated whether or not they should report to the square. Looking back at history, we have the luxury of hindsight, knowing the outcome of events. But at the time, they had no idea what would be the best option for them. Maybe life in the ghetto wouldn't be so bad?

In the end, most of them reported to the square. 

They were ordered to bring up to 25kg of property. In the warm weather of August, they wore warm coats and brought food to sustain them for a long time; they had no idea that they wouldn't need these things.

At the square, they were ordered to "register" and divide themselves into groups. Men on one side of the courtyard; women and children on the other. There was a small orchestra playing in the courtyard.

But this was all a facade. The Jews weren't being deported to the Bialystok Ghetto, nor did it matter if they registered, or packed their most precious belongings. The quaint orchestra was performing as a sick way to keep the people calm and oblivious until the very last moment.

The Jews were rounded up, put into wagons, and taken to the nearby Lupochowo Forest.

At this point, we got onto our tour bus and silently made our way to the forest. Even though Levi didn't finish the story at this point, we knew how it ended.

Lupochowo Forest

At the Lupochowo forest, the Jews were lined up and taken to one of 3 pits, where they were massacred with machine guns. The account that we read said that the ground was pulsating with the seizures of the dying people for days.

Mass graves are not only tragic because of the number of lives that were ended there, but also by the loss of individual identities. We saw yartzheit candles there, and notes remembering individual names. This was very important, because it was no longer a mass grave, but a group of distinct individuals whose entire worlds were lost.

Yartzheit (memorial) candles at the mass graves.

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Resistance

The memorial sculpture at the Warsaw Ghetto is two-sided. 

The one side of the sculpture depicts the Jews in a line, hunched over, marching to their deaths. This image is the most common one; the weak Jews being led, like lambs, to the slaughter. In many cases, this was the tragic reality.

The other side of the sculpture tells a different story; one of bravery, courage, and strength. This side depicts the Jews as heroes, as fighters, as resisters. 

As we walked around the area that was once the Warsaw Ghetto, brushing the snow off of memorials, we heard heroic stories of resistance. Here are two that particularly resonated with me:

• Dr. Emanuel Ringelbaum, organized a group of people to produce secret documents, detailing life in the ghetto. Under the code name Oneg Shabbos, Ringelbaum and the others wrote down everything they could, in the hopes that the documents would one day be found, and would shed light on the atrocities that happened inside the ghetto walls. The documents were hidden and buried in 3 milk canisters. Two of the cans were found. One of these canisters is still buried somewhere in the ghetto. Ringelbaum's method of resistance? Writing.

• Janusz Korczak, a Polish-Jewish educator, was the director of an orphanage in Warsaw. Throughout his time in the ghetto, he used his energies to alleviate the suffering of children. He kept them laughing, singing and having fun. On the day of a mass deportation, Korczak walked happily with the children to the umschlagplatz (the meeting place where Jews were shipped to death camps). Eyewitnesses say that the children were dressed in their best clothes, carrying a knapsack with their favorite toy, oblivious to their impending fates. You see, Korczak knew for a long time what would happen to the children, but in a labor of love, he allowed them to be innocent children as long as possible. 

The Warsaw Ghetto was a 3-mile square area, filled with over 400,000 Jewish residents. The conditions were beyond awful, and only got worse as time went on. People died daily from starvation and wide-spread disease. The only way to stay alive was through smuggling food, bribing guards, and other desperate acts of survival.

In 1942, the Germans began sending Jews by the masses to the Treblinka extermination camp. In just 3 months, over 300,000 people were sent to their deaths.

In 1943, after a rumor of another mass deportation, the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began. With a feeling of "nothing left to lose," a group of brave Jews decided to take up arms and fight. They knew that they were up against a war machine; but they also knew that they would rather die fighting than be killed in a German extermination camp.

Their efforts were valiant and heroic, and they were able to achieve some victory. In the end, the majority of the ghetto fighters perished.

The memorial at the umschlagplatz, where Jews were sent by trains to concentration camps.

Names fill up the walls of the memorial, as a way to remember that the people were individuals, with names and distinct identities. 

Poland I

"For the dead and for the living; we must bear witness" - Elie Wiesel

On January 15th, I went to Poland with a group of students and faculty from my school. The trip was a "heritage seminar," an opportunity to explore and appreciate the Jewish vibrancy that existed in Poland prior to World War II, much of which has left an enduring mark on the history of the Jewish people.

The other piece to the trip was to honor the victims of the Holocaust by bearing witness to this horrific period of human history. We visited death camps, cemeteries, and communities that were completely wiped out by the Nazis.

For me, it's important that I share this information, this experience, with anyone that is willing to listen. The trip was not easy, and neither was writing about it. But by bearing witness, and by re-telling my experience, I feel as if we can keep the memories of the victims alive, and ensure that something like this never happens again.

My blog is about to take a radical departure from it's usual light-hearted content. I've written four posts that explain, in vivid detail, all that I saw and experienced in my 5 days in Poland. With all that I've written, there is still so much that has yet to be processed.

I hope you'll take the time to read.

We Remember

Last Wednesday, my school held its annual Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed (Day of Kindness).

This special day is held in the memory of Marla Bennett and Ben Blutstein, z''l, who were killed in a suicide bombing attack in Jerusalem in 2002.

Marla and Ben were both students at Pardes, pursuing their dreams of becoming Jewish day school educators. They were studying for their finals, in the crowded Frank Sinatra cafeteria at Hebrew University, when a bomb exploded, killing 9 and injuring 84.

This tragic event took place during the second intifada. From 2000-2005, there were frequent suicide bombings in Israel, even daily at times. Israelis remember this time as one of the darkest periods in the nation's history.

The Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed began with learning, then continued with a breakfast, where we listened to presentations commemorating Ben & Marla's lives.

While I felt deeply impacted by everything that was read, one piece stood out among the rest. It was an article that Marla wrote a few months before her death, in which she reflected on her time in Jerusalem. Here is an excerpt:

"As I look ahead to the next year and a half that I will spend in Israel, I feel excited, worried, but more than anything else, lucky. I am excited that I can spend another year and a half in a place that truly feels like home, a home in which I am surrounded by an amazing community of bright and interesting friends who constantly help me to question and define myself. I am worried for Israel—a historic moment this is, but also difficult and unpredictable. I feel lucky because the excitement always wins out over the worry...There is no other place in the world where I would rather be right now. "

I was struck by Marla's candor and her optimism. I strongly identified with her reflections on Israel, her love for community, and her dreams for the future. I was inspired that she continued to follow her heart during such a trying and uncertain time.

I can't imagine the pain that was felt by Ben & Marla's families, loved ones, and the Pardes community after the tragedy. The following year, a few of their friends at Pardes created the Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed, as a way to honor their memories and do something that embodied their ideals and values of service and loving-kindness.

Ten years later, the Yom Iyyun Shel Chesed continues, and we spent our afternoons volunteering at different institutions in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Not only do we remember Ben & Marla, but we are reminded that one can find light, even in the darkest of places.

Although never meeting them, it's clear to me that Marla and Ben were two beautiful, unique souls, who walked through the world with curiosity, vibrancy, and passion. After hearing their stories, I am inspired to live each day to the fullest, as they did. And while their lives were ended much too short, their memories continue to add light to the Pardes community, to the Jewish people, and to our world.

     

Hodge-Podge

Poland Blog Update


I arrived home from a heritage trip to Poland a month ago, and I hoped, by now, to have a few blog posts up about my experience.

Turns out, bearing witness to the one of the greatest atrocities in human history was a bit harder to write about than I anticipated. Every time I write, I find myself backspacing, until I erase the entire post. Why? I'm finding it difficult to put into words the magnitude of the experience.

But I feel a great responsibility to write about my trip, and to share the experience with anyone who is willing to listen. I'm about 1/3 done; so it's getting there.

Fear not, loyal blog readers. I will be posting my thoughts soon, and I hope that you'll take the time to read.

Until then, please enjoy my usual blogging shenanigans.

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Doctor Visit


A few weeks ago, I had my first visit to an Israeli doctor. After thoroughly checking out WebMD and other websites that feed my hypochondriac tendencies, I decided it was time to see a real doctor about my persistent sore throat.

I'm quite the complainer when I'm sick. My mom says that I get this endearing trait from my dad. But in any case, I was hoping for a little coddling and sympathy. Just a little.

Not in Israel. I went to a clinic a few blocks away from my house. The doctor came in and saw me for, literally, 4 minutes. She felt my throat, opened my mouth, and told me it was just a cold.

          "Are you sure it's not strep throat?"
          "No."
          "What about another viral infection?"
          "No."
          "But WebMD said..."
          "No."

I left the room and went to the check-out counter. There was a woman checking in, bleeding profusely from her forehead. These Israelis are tough; I guess I can handle my mild sore throat.

But still. Coddle me, please!

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Sabich


One night, I was really jonesin' for a falafel. I wandered into a new shop, thinking that I could get one. Much to my dismay, it wasn't a falafel shop.

The gentleman told me that it was "sabich," an Iraqi sandwich. Lightly fried eggplant, hard-boiled egg, potatoes, hummus, tahini, and Israeli salad in a warm pita.

"What the heck?" I thought, and purchased one (you know me, always throwing caution to the wind).

This sandwich is AWESOME. Delicious. Filling. Perfection. I might be so bold as to say that sabich is the new falafel. I went back twice that week.

Mmmmmm. Sabich.

Jerusalem friends: You need to try this delicious sandwich. And invite me to join you.

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"Tremping" and Other Things My Mother Would Disapprove Of

In Israel, it's popular to "tremp," or as we Americans call it... to hitch-hike.

Last week, I was spending Shabbat at my teacher's house. She lives in a place called Gush Etzion, which is about 45 minutes from Jerusalem. As one waits at the bus stop (which is informally called the 'trempenada'), cars drive by and stop to tell people where they are driving to. If you are going to the same place, they graciously offer you a seat in their vehicle. In Israel, it's a very normal thing to do.

I was struck by the diversity of the people who were stopping, and also tremping: old, young, religious, secular, families, single people. And how do you thank the person? By simply saying "thank you" and wishing them a "shabbat shalom."

I don't plan on making this a habit (Mom), and I would never do this by myself (Mom). And in any situation, one must be careful and use his/her best judgment. Here is my rule of thumb:

Tremp

Don't Tremp

                   
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I hope to be more consistent with my blogging; and stay tuned for Poland reflections!

CATA vs. Egged

 

For the past 7 years, I've lived in the little town of State College, Pennsylvania. One of the primary modes of transportation around the Penn State campus is the CATA bus system. If you're not familiar with it, allow me to paint a picture:

The bus makes two loops around campus: the white and the blue. As long as you're on the right side of the street, it's impossible to get on the wrong bus. The bus drivers are generally very friendly, and often greet you with a "good morning!" People on the bus are usually polite; moving aside for others, or apologizing when necessary. In fact, when it came to the attention of the university that there was pushing at some of the bus stops, they set up cement queue lines to alleviate the problem.

In my experience, the only times when personal space is not recognized is during home football weekends, when the bus is packed with cheering Penn State fans. Usually, the crowd breaks into a Penn State fight song, with strangers jovially high-fiving each other, and swaying arm-and-arm to the tune of "Sweet Caroline."

Really, the only thing you have to worry about on a CATA bus is the occasional belligerent freshman who had one too many Natty Lites.

Now, allow me to paint a slightly different picture: the Israeli Egged buses.

For this small town girl, the Israeli buses were difficult to get used to. The bus drivers have very little patience, and often count your money and hand you a ticket while they are driving (multi-tasking at its finest?). There is little to no recognition of personal space, as people cram onto the bus like sardines. Tonight, I felt like I was sharing a sandwich with the guy next to me.

Another big difference from the CATA bus? Lines (or lack thereof).

At the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem, one must go through security before entering the building. If I'm generalizing (which I am), Israelis don't really have a concept of what lines are. Pushing is almost necessary to get in. This used to really bother me. I decided that I didn't need to push, and I remembered what my Mom always taught me: "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar!"

Oh, little Lauren, so naive!

After getting into the station, you then have to "wait in line" for your bus. Everyone is standing around by the platform, seeming so nonchalant about their place in line. Then, all of a sudden, the bus doors open and it's a free-for-all. It's every person for him/herself to get a limited seat on the bus. My family witnessed this firsthand on our way home from Tel Aviv, when I got into a verbal smack-down with some woman about our place in line.

You know, just another day riding the bus.

Also, it took me a while to get the hang of all the different bus routes. Usually, there is no harm in taking the wrong bus; it can even be an adventure. But sometimes, it can pose a problem. Take for example, the time earlier this year that I ended up in a modest, ultra-Orthodox neighborhood, wearing my jean shorts and tank top. Passer-bys were shaking their head at me. Men were averting their gaze. Mothers were shielding the eyes of their children. (Ok, I'm exaggerating... but only a little).

Adjusting to a new place can be challenging, especially when you're in a city setting for the first time. I feel small victories every time I use the transportation system here. But, a big part of me still misses the good ol' blue loop in State College... belligerent freshmen and all.

Family in the Holy Land!

Over Hanukkah, my parents and uncles visited Israel! It was so special to have them here, and to share Israel with them. We had a very jam-packed week, traveling all over the country. 

On the first day, we went to the shuk (market) to taste some Israeli goodies. Then, they went to Yad Vashem (the Holocaust Memorial) while I cooked up a Shabbat feast. We had a lovely Shabbat dinner with some of my friends from school, and then had a Chinese feast at a friend's house the next day.

In the next 7 days, we were able to visit Tel Aviv, Jaffa, Golan Heights, Sea of Galilee, Nazareth, Beit She'an, Akko, Haifa, Caesaria, Rosh HaNikra, Tzfat, Masada, the Dead Sea, Ein Gedi, and the Old City of Jerusalem. 

Whew.

There are a lot of pictures that I'm still waiting to get, but here are a few gems from the trip. Stay tuned for more!

 Welcome to Israel! 

Uncle Bob, Uncle Jeff, Mom, Me, & Dad at the airport.

Dad, Me, & Mom on the promenade looking over the Old City. This beautiful spot is just 10 minutes away from my apartment.

The uncles and me! At the port in Tel-Aviv-Jaffa.

Mom, Me, & Dad at dinner in the North. 

This was moments after an elaborate, over-the-top bat mitzvah celebration, complete with fireworks on the Sea of Galilee, in-restaurant sparklers, and ridiculously loud music. It was like a T.G.I.Fridays birthday on steroids.

Wine-tasting in the Golan Heights :)

The crew at Rosh HaNikra, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea

Mom, Me, and Dad at the top of Masada in the south of Israel.

On top of Masada, overlooking the Dead Sea. Before hiking down the Snake Path.

My mom and I in front of the Western Wall in the Old City.

Hevron

"Teach me and instruct me 

how to behave with all people in the world

so that I may merit being in peace with all,

even with those who disagree with me,

And so that I should merit to always be 

a lover of peace, and a pursuer of peace

As it is written:

'Seek peace and pursue it'"

Rav Nachman of Breslav
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A few weeks ago, my school took a trip to Hevron. 

Hevron is a holy city in the West Bank, south of Jerusalem. It is notable for being the burial site of the biblical matriarchs and patriarchs (the Me'arat ha-Machpela, Cave of the Patriarchs). While being an incredibly significant religious site for Judaism, it is also a very important site for Christians and Muslims.

But unfortunately, Hevron is notable for another reason. It is one of the most complex and complicated areas of Israel, and perhaps a representation of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict at its worst. 

First, a bit of background about our trip. As I understand it, the goal of our trip was to see Hevron, visit the Cave of the Patriarchs, and to offer us a nuanced perspective and hear from multiple points-of-view about the current reality in parts of the city.

Currently, Hevron is divided into two sections: H1 and H2. The Palestinian Authority has control over H1, and has around 120,000 Palestinians, and no Jews, living there. H2 has around 500 Jews and 30,000 Palestinians, and is controlled by Israel. We visited H2.

We heard from many different people throughout the day, including: 

-A tour guide to give us a historical overview, including the history of the Cave of the Patriarchs 

-A representative of "Breaking the Silence," an organization in which "veteran combatants...have taken it upon themselves to expose the Israeli public to the reality of everyday life in the Occupied Territories."

-A resident of the Jewish community in Hevron

-A former soldier, speaking on behalf of "Stand With Us," an organization "dedicated to informing the public about Israel and to combating the extremism and anti-Semitism that often distorts the issues"

-A Palestinian activist

The first speaker said that we would probably leave Hevron with more questions than we had answers. We would leave with more confusion than we arrived with. We would feel more frustrated at the end of the day than we felt at the start.

She was right. But my biggest reflection of the day? Peace never felt so far away.

There is suffering, grief, and pain on all sides of this conflict. In Hevron, I could not only see it, but I could feel it. There is bitter debate over who has the "rights" to be there, and who should have control over the Cave of the Patriarchs. In this particular area of Hevron, the hostility has escalated to a situation where there are separated streets, wire cages on windows, and armed soldiers on every corner.

Hebron wasn't always this way. The population used to live in relative coexistence up until the last 20 years. Some of my teachers talked about how they used to go to Hevron and shop in the Arab markets there.

How did this happen? How did we get into a situation where people (on both sides) have to fear violence every day? Where people are afraid to leave their houses? Where soldiers need to walk around with machine guns and riot gear?

And on a larger scale, what do you do when you have two groups of people with two conflicting narratives? And when the majority of people on both sides want peace, but a despicable few act on their hatred? What happens when, by ensuring the safety of one group, another group's welfare is affected? And just because you have certain "rights," what is the price you pay for exercising them?

These are not new or unique questions. And they are not easy questions. This is the conflict.

On our way to Hebron, we stopped at a small coffee "shop," called Pinna Chama, that is a place where Israeli soldiers can go to get free coffee and snacks. It's run by volunteers.
Pinna Chama was established after a family lost their loved one in a roadside bomb attack. They wanted to create a warm place that soldiers could visit when they are in the area.



Graffiti outside of Pinna Chama

Photo by Andrea Weise

Outside of the Cave of the Patriarchs.

Photo by Andrea Weise

 Walking around Hebron.

Photo by Andrea Weise

This gentleman spoke on behalf of the Jewish community in Hebron. When asked what his vision is for Hebron, he said, "to live here normally, to live like people live everywhere else, to live without carrying a gun, to live peacefully with my neighbors."

This is a street in H2. Because of the division of the city of Hebron, these Palestinian shops were forced to shut down, essentially creating a ghost town. Also, Palestinian residents on this street are not allowed to leave out of the front doors of their houses.

Photo by Andrea Weise
A sign in H2.

Photo by Andrea Weise

 The sign says "Caution: This was taken by Israel. This is Apartheid." Many of the Palestinian homes/apartments have wire cages around the windows to protect them from violence.

Photo by Andrea Weise

This is a memorial for a Jewish baby that was shot by a Palestinian militant sniper during the Second Intifada.

Photo by Andrea Weise

 A young Jewish boy in Hebron. 

Photo by Andrea Weise

 Palestinian boys hang out outside of a grocery store.

Photo by Andrea Weise

 This gentleman spoke on behalf of the Palestinian community in H2. He hopes that Hebron will be a part of a future Palestinian state, and wishes to live in peace and security.

"Free Israel." 

Soldiers patrolling the streets in H2.

Photo by Andrea Weise
This pictures speaks for itself.

Why did I start out this blog post with a quote about peace, if Hevron gave me a feeling of just the opposite?

Every day, there are examples of co-existence and peace all around Israel. There are many people who have made it their life work to foster co-existence, peaceful relations, and understanding of the Other. While there are areas of extreme conflict, like Hevron, there are also places that are true examples of what peace could look like.

I admire my school for taking this trip. It is not an easy place to go, nor is it an easy place to discuss. At Pardes, we have students, faculty, and staff that stand at all points of the political spectrum, and some individuals have very close and personal connections with Hevron. But what has become clear to me is that we are all "pursuers of peace" in the best way that we know how.

Since the trip, there has been many conversations, both formal and informal, about the experience in Hevron. While people may vehemently disagree with each other, there has been overall a respect and a willingness to listen. Perhaps by listening to each other, by challenging other, we can be, and can encourage others to be, "pursuers of peace."

At least it's a start.

May Love and Light Fill Your Home and Heart

Growing up, Hanukkah was a fun time for my family. Each of the eight nights, we would get together and light the menorah. My brother and I would open presents. My mom would make potato latkes. My dad would insist the candles were going to burn the house down. When I think of Hanukkah, I think of my family.

While I missed home, it was incredible to experience a hanukkah in Israel. The country celebrates for eight days, with parties, festivals, delicious foods, menorahs and lights everywhere. Below are a few pictures from some of the celebrations!

And my Hanukkah gift this year? My family was able to visit me in ISRAEL! I was so blessed to spend the last few days of the holiday with them (pictures in a different post).

Picture by Leah Kahn

Sufganiyot! During Hanukkah, everywhere you go in Israel has sufganiyot, or donuts. While delicious, these bad boys explain why none of my pants fit anymore.

Picture by Cheryl Stone

Hanukkah Lights in Jerusalem :)

Lighting candles with my roommate on the first night of Hanukkah! While we lit ours inside, many people in Jerusalem light an outdoor menorah in a glass box. Walking down the narrow streets in Jerusalem was beautiful!

A Hanukkah get-together! Nikki and Jessie make latkes, or potato pancakes.

Yum!

Happy people on the first night!

...even happier?

Like I said, you can never have too many donuts!

Laura, Leah, and I on the first night. Hillel professionals... unite!

A visit from a great friend to light the candles on the second night!

My Guys

In Jerusalem, everyone has a *guy:

"You want to buy fish? Oh you HAVE to go see my guy in the shuk."
"My cheese guy is the BEST. He let's you try whatever you want."
"Time for a haircut? You have to go to my guy on Emek!"

The fun, and perhaps frustration, of living in a new city is trying to find your "guys."

I've been living here for close to four months, and I've just started to feel settled. I'm beginning to find the products and stores that I like. But...this came with a lot of trial and error. I bought quite a few things I didn't need. I've purchased zucchinis in place of cucumbers, or "lite" bread instead of the real bread. I've mistaken butter for cheese, and lord only knows what kind of shampoo I'm using.

It took me a while to figure out how to order my coffee, or how to ask, "does this have meat in it?" One time, I spent $20 for a pineapple. My roommates have witnessed my raging, on several occasions, about the price of food in Israel.

One might ask, "Lauren, aren't most things in English? Don't most people speak English? Surely, it can't be that hard."

To which I'd respond, "First of all, you're a jerk. Who asks that? Secondly, you're right, but sometimes it's more fun to try and do things on your own, and make mistakes."

But now, I'm finally starting to find my place and my routine. I have my "guys."

I have my fruit and vegetable place, where I go every Friday morning, and they greet me with a hearty "boker tov!" (good morning!). 

I have my bread place, where they give me free samples of cheese. I find great satisfaction that I know how to ask them in Hebrew to slice my bread. Small victories, ya know?

I got my tofu guy, who wishes me a "Shabbat shalom!" every week, my shakshuka guy who always gives me an extra egg, and my falafel guy, who isn't very nice, but does a great job proportioning the ingredients in the pita (very important).

Living in a new place can be challenging. These people might not know it, but they are my guys, and they've made Jerusalem feel a bit more like home.

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*I'm using "guy" to mean both males and females. Easy, hippies.