Our First Year: Everywhere

Alpha Beta

After spending so many years in Asia, it's a little weird to be traveling and realize you're just an average Joe. Unlike Asia where being white and American automatically put you involuntarily at the top of the social ladder and make you a point of interest on local maps, in Greece, we're white - they're white. Snooze.

The tourists around us are mostly Greek, Italian and French. You have to listen to know who's who. In fact, we don't even have a lot of money. We're just average tourists except that we're always setting up our computers at this cafe and that restaurant.

We don't spend extravagantly on meals or shopping in that vacation way anymore because now we're seven weeks into our trip and we're here on Patmos for a month - long enough to say we're temporarily "living here." At least that's how we want it to feel.

Accordingly, we made our first trip to the island's one and only "full" supermarket - Alpha Beta. Much like the Alpha Beta some of us may remember from childhood in Southern California, the store lacked a certain something. There is no need to "tell a friend." It's bland, rough around the edges, but comprehensive. We found absolutely no lack of cheese, yogurt or olive oil - the main ingredients of everything Greek.

As I mentioned in the post on the Antalya grocery store excursion, I love visiting grocery stores in other countries because you can learn so much about a culture through what people consume and how it's sold. In this case - perhaps largely because they're European. But even regionally within the United States, you see differences in products and consumption. And there were a few interesting discoveries at the Alpha Beta.

Whole frozen octopus in the clearly labeled whole frozen octopus section. Lamb, chicken, octopus....all lined up in the freezers....followed by frozen giant squid the size of a large leg of lamb.

Then there were waffles. Dessert waffles are all the rage in Greece. Everywhere we've been, freshly made Belgian waffles with toppings - such as chocolate and Nutella - and ice cream of gelato with whipped cream are standard dessert fare at restaurants and stands.

What I didn't expect were packaged snack waffles in the grocery store. Like home, if it's good fresh and homemade, it must be good processed and packaged to go. I was a little surprised that Greeks go for that.

Cereal is mostly all the same Kellogg's classics from home except for one major item that nearly stopped Emily dead in her tracks. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed. Long tube-shaped cereal filled with lots of Nutella. Much like Cookie Crisp, there's probably a nutritional value deficit in this cereal. But the idea of Nutella bursting out cereal had the effect on Emily that every food manufacturer prays for at night. And so it probably does with many toothless children.

However, there was none of the amazing, shocking and life changing stuff you find in Asian grocery stores. Not once did I say "What is this?!", "I've never seen that before!" or "People eat this?!" Which goes back to the fact that we're white and they're white and they're not that interesting in the same way that we're not that interesting. But it's fine. Instead we can appreciate how cute one brand of their yogurt is when sold in tiny earthenware bowls instead of plastic cartons.

And in the end, Emily got the owner of the hotel to give us a hot plate, some dishes and a pot and a pan despite the fact that we moved out of our original studio in favor of a room with better WiFi signal. So, we'll be making breakfast over the little refrigerator - but we're "home" for now on Patmos.

Sent from my iPad

Have's And Have Not's

It didn't dawn on me at first because perhaps it is the natural state of man. It didn't seem missing since I never need it. But when it came to me, I looked around and realized that Patmos is one of three places in the world I have been without a single chain or fast-food outlet. No golden arches, no KFC, no Pizza Hut, no Starbucks, not a 7-11, not even a Carrefour.

Gas stations too. No Shell or British Petroleum. Just an Argo - a little like ARCO - but take one look and you know it's not that....

Patmos is 100% genuinely free of all modern chain stores.

I have witnessed this before in only the most third world and undeveloped of places - Nepal and Laos. It's been a few years since I've been to either and who knows if the Colonel hasn't slipped a bucket of wings into Vientiane. We'll investigate that in a few months.

Emily mentioned something today about the Slow Food Movement. And it hit me - the movement won this island, or more accurately, it never lost it. I suppose with a permanent population of only 2800, it would be hard to sustain a chain store year-round. The advantage of the mom and pop operations is that the folks pack it up by November and either enjoy the fruits of their labor until March, or work some other business like olive farming.

We suspect our hotel owner is one of the permanent residents of Patmos. He has our studio hotel and one other guest house on the other end of Skala which he drives to in all of two minutes. Every time he drives through town and sees us walking to or from the hotel (which happens a lot), he offers us a ride which seems silly except that he's just so damn nice we really can't refuse him.

On one such ride two days ago, he showed us his "garden" - a small farm he has hidden near the hotel behind some fig trees (aka Feigenbaums). Chickens, roosters, numerous hutches filled with rabbits and bunnies (which he and his friends eat), figs, squashes, plums, grapevines and several other fruit trees. Yesterday morning there was a donkey over there - we didn't ask.

But this is rare for Greece. Elsewhere, we've seen it all. Little Rhodes alone has two Starbucks about two blocks from each other.

Of course, there are costs too. Competition here seems stagnant in the food department. So, while everyone is cooking food and serving it fresh, they're also all making the same rather limited menus. Today, Emily and I walked along checking menus for cost and variety only to find that everyone has chicken souvlaki for between €6 and €7 and a Greek salad for about €5.

These may sound great to you - and they are great. But there aren't that many things we either want or can afford like the local fresh lobster at €50 a plate or the heaps of deep fried calamari and shrimp. The menus lack the variety and depth of the other islands where restaurants had different specialties and featured dishes. People stood out front telling you why their food and menu was best.

And we realized that the bigger islands offered more for less. Probably better supply chains and higher demand due to higher population are at the heart of it. But I have to wonder if, like the unliked spider who does a service by killing those pesky flies, the international fast food chains don't keep the tavernas and restaurants on their feet? And yes, I too am shocked that I just wrote that.

But as perfect as Patmos is physically and as pleasant as it is to us, there are problems in town that even Mayor McCheese can't fix.

On our visit to the local bank today we were helped by a well spoken guy of about 25 years old. I asked him if he speaks English and he replied quickly, "Only when I have to." But he showed no signs of minding. In fact, it came out that not only is he certified to teach English but he also has proficient command of French, German, Norwegian, Japanese and Italian. He earned college degrees in each of them.

"I studied English literature and even translated the entire book of Sherlock Holmes."

"Why are you working here?" I asked him. "It's probably a waste of my talent. But it's very hard to get jobs here in Greece. People only get the good jobs if they have the right families and connections. People like me don't get recognized. It's also very difficult right now in Greece...."

I asked him if he had looked at using his EU citizenship to his advantage. Surely there must be a job in Brussels or somewhere for someone of his talent. "My wife speaks three languages even better than I do. But our families help us. It's very hard to leave our families and get away."

At the same time, on the other side of the bank, an Indian man who sells bootleg DVD's around town - walking into restaurants and cafes asking if anyone wants to buy a DVD - was in line to make a deposit with a wad of cash in hand.

I wonder, as usual, who is better off? Who here are the have's and have not's? And when my chicken souvlaki meal comes with the usual side of fries they serve here, can I super-size that?

Sent from my iPad

Secret Parties And Tourmaline Water

When traveling, you never know at what moment a new friend walks into your life. And literally, the moment is usually an odd one. With our Russian friends in Turkey, it started with Gene approaching and asking, "Excuse me, but are you Americans?" as we sat at a table near the pool bar. Yesterday, we met Luca because he was sitting on the bench in front of us on the excursion boat and was reading an English book on Patmos. I simply asked, "Do you like that book?"

We all stopped talking about four and a half hours later.

Our Italian friend Luca was born in Japan, grew up in Italy, currently lives in Germany and worked a year and a half in the United States. Amazingly, he knows of Westlake Village because his former line of work had him dealing with Dole and his parents actually went to Dole headquarters in Westlake. I'm always amazed if anyone knows Westlake.

Luca has traveled the world, speaks four languages and is incredibly versed in a million subjects. He's exactly the kind of traveler one hopes to bump into because not only is he fun, but we learned so much.

For example, during the height of the travel season in Patmos - which was really about a month ago - Italians in their late thirties and forties flock here to have parties. They rent houses, host parties and all are welcome. How do you know where these parties are? Ask through the Italian socializing grapevine and then just go and knock on the right doors.

Because the monastery which towers over Patmos was able to create rules against noise at night, there can be no nightclubs - hence the grapevine-door knock system of socializing.

We learned that costs are so high in Italy that Italians consider going out for meals here cheap and often don't ask for menus with prices. Meanwhile, we were tallying our expenses thinking that this may be the most expensive food situation we've encountered during this trip and that perhaps we need to shift our lunch venues and cut back on the fun and traditional mezzos - the Greek dips and appetizers.

Other fun facts: Italians pay 50 percent income tax, provide very comprehensive social welfare support to legal and illegal immigrants including Gypsies who refuse Italian citizenship, Illy is the best of the Italian coffees, you can lose a lot of weight walking from Southern France to Portugal (as he did awhile back), Germany pays people 70 percent of their salary for a year when they get laid off, if there was a rape in the middle of Milan it's probably no one would do anything, and there were once 800 families with 250 churches in Patmos.

These are things we love to know.

What we loved to see was the most incredible blue lagoon - up close and personal as we swam in it. Our excursion boat took us to Arki - a small island off Patmos which maybe has five families living on it. We debated what color to call this cove of water which was the most stunning color in which either of us ever swam. I'm going with tourmaline, Emily is going with "the color of the dress I bought in Crete."

Either way, the only thing one can really do with such a sight is do take photos and then dive in to it's cool, refreshing - swimming pool still waters. The other amazing thing about it was that it took minimal work to stay afloat. When not swimming, I felt more like I was walking through the water, rather than treading it. It was like the world's ultimate moon bounce - or what's the kids today are now calling a jumpy. Those crazy kids....

We also went to Arki's one and only "town" which had three restaurants for the boat tourists and then onto Marathi beach on yet another nearby island where we spent several hours with swimming, beach and a cove full of yachts. Based on the yachts, it appears the British are still masters of the sea in the Mediterranean.

Luca also told us Italians also love to rent yachts for their summer holidays and share them among eight or more people so they can all spend a few weeks in their floating hotel - pulling up to whatever islands and beaches they like. Italians are very innovative on the fun scene.

When the day was done, we had a new friend, an amazing swimming experience and a strong need for a shower. But what's best is that our time here in Patmos is nowhere near done. We have the time to be leisurely in our pace.

This week we'll work - perhaps not go out for most of the day while we work and do all the little tasks on our list we've been saving for Patmos like uploading photos and hotel shopping for France and Turkey. The REALLY fun stuff. But being in one place long enough - we have the time to do them and not feel like the we're being neglectful and missing something important we won't see or do. Of course, all we have to do to get what we need most from Patmos is to look out our window.

Sent from my iPad

Beauty

A small ribbon cut across the dry hillside. At first, it wasn't completely clear what it was until I caught the distant outline of a motorcycle zooming along it. The almost two lane road that runs the length of most of the northern part of Patmos splits off in a few places, but mostly rises above the coves, houses and small farms below it.

Minutes later as we zoomed along the closest thing to a highway Patmos has, it felt like floating above the island - enjoying height and appreciating the gorgeously rich colored blue waters sparking below the dry hills and occasional white houses.

We made the right decision. For €10 plus a liter of gas, we were able to see 90% of Patmos between lunch and dinner - with two stops to swim - riding around freely on a rented motor-scooter (parents and certain other people close to us gasp here).

As I expertly and safely steered the bike that was small enough to make me appear like the bear riding a motorcycle at the circus, I looked out at the splendor of this island and the feeling of freedom and joy that comes with beauty.

Every place and every culture that I've truly enjoyed has been one where people pursue beauty. Some cultivate visual art and dance like Bali and France. Others reach doggedly for the heavens and add beauty to their places of worship as they do - like Nepal, Thailand and in a way Israel. Whether it's making the most out of the divine on Earth or devotion to touching the intangible, eternal beauty they know is beyond the power of the eye, but visible instead to the soul - they pursue something greater than themselves.

Greece - or at least the people of Patmos and Rhodes - let beauty wash over them. What fools they would be not to.

This is the amazing power of travel. This is what this year is about. To go the journey of life without being submerged every now and then in the different textures and tastes of the world would be sad indeed. While I know the road ahead with children and family life has immense joys - joys that also involve beauty, creating, cultivating and reaching up to the heavens in different ways - this time period of seeing how other people relate to the world, what their worlds are made of, and the lives they live is exquisite.

If life gets complicated, changes courses and has unexpected surprises - as it most certainly will - I will always have this time, these memories and the observations and lessons learned to ornament my heart and soul. These are the times that seep into a person and become part of their fabric.

Somewhere over an aquamarine - if the world adequately describes it - lagoon sparkling up at us, I thought how our souls seek and thrive on this kind of beauty, these moments when we get glimpses of heaven in physical manifestation before us.

That's a big part of Greek culture. You can see on tiny islands of Patmos and in caves - the places where oracles dwelt and the ancients worshipped the gods of Olympus - little churches, tiny houses for the spirits of the departed and icons of Jesus have taken their place. The religion has changed, but the people still seek to bring physical form to the divine. They all want to touch it, hold it and make it as tangible as that aquamarine cove.

And then I thought about American culture where we often leave beauty, the divine, the heavens and meaning on the shelf in favor of everything tangible. The American drive for quality of life, comforts, status, and perhaps - if all of these are achieved - cultivating oneself.

How many people have a practice, an art, a passion, or anything to pursue beauty, to take advantage of the gifts of the Earth, or to bring the heavens down from the skies? How many people have a heart's occupation? And if they do, how much does our society help it along or encourage it?

Emily and I are fortunate to have families who have from a young age supported our pursuing whatever we wanted - even if it has no practical gain. My mother always told me I should write - and cultivate my skills because she believed it would make me happiest. Never once has she told me to make my choices based on what's most stable or profitable. Both my parents believe in letting your soul touch the sky.

But I wonder if American culture isn't flat. It neither encourages nor punishes the pursuit of beauty. Once in awhile it rewards it - but very infrequently. I wonder if the reason I feel as if my lungs fill with air when I travel to a place like Patmos or Bali or France is because in all of these places there are people who actively believe that their welfares are not the most important aspect of their existence.

As we rode along often dropping down hills to gorgeous coves and beaches and then dashing back up again to continue exploring our temporary island home, I could feel Emily's arms wrapped around me and occasionally her head resting on my back or shoulder. I had everything anyone could want.

Sent from my iPad

Soft Lives

What's the difference between a soft and a hard life? A lot of it seems to be where you're born.

The contrast between Israel and Patmos stand in such contrast that it's hard to ignore. In Israel, there's work and hustle and bustle and religion and all the stuff of modern life with an extra kick of national security and preservation mixed in there.

Here it Patmos, we wonder regularly what exactly do people do? We know they eat. Many seem to sit. A few stand. Some like boats. Most smoke. They talk - especially in Greek. But how the electricity is generated and the trash picked up is beyond us.

Restaurants are often out of things. They don't sweat it. Just choose something they do have. Eventually the next shipment of whatever it is will come. When? Next week maybe.

And why would you stress here? It's warm year-round. You probably have a family home that is passed down between generations. And best of all - the customers come to you. Just sit in your shop or restaurant or boat and people come to you, wanting things. It's great.

We noticed that there are tons of hotels and studio hotels which don't have websites or presence in books like the Lonely Planet. Some are featured in local publications. Others are featured only on their signs. It's fine. Boats arrive and people come. Maybe people from last year come again. Maybe they tell their friends. Maybe you have a friend in Athens who tells people to go to your hotel. Or not. It's all good.

People on this little island appear to be very fortunate. And unless there's something we're missing, it's not through ingenuity or cleverness. They were fortunate to find themselves where they are.

Not more than two hours away by boat, their Turkish friends work much harder. With the same climate, similarly beautiful coasts and also a strong tourism industry, Turkish tourist boat captains practically haul you onto their day-tour boats. Restaurant owners stand outside and recruit you (we actually refer to them as recruiters). Banks are busy with efficient, competent tellers and managers. And the pace of life is much faster - and also harder.

In India, people's beds are harder than the way of life on Patmos. In China, a smart businessman would eat a Patmosian for breakfast and laugh about it over lunch with a client.

We really are so much a product of the blessings of place and time. Where we're born, to whom and under what circumstances dictate so much of our lives. Bad childhoods, poor family, tough job, learning disability - we sometimes lose track of the fact that our struggles - however real and serious - are nothing compared to so much of the world.

Here on Patmos, it's hard not to see the blessings bedecking the island and its inhabitants.

These people who invented triangles, parts of triangles, congruent parts of congruent triangles are congruent, medical terminology, hypothesis, theses, theories, myths, epics, democracy, philosophy and wildly popular yogurt are now making waffles with nutella for tourists and then sitting down to have a smoke and watch their beautiful coasts.

However you cut it, it's a soft life here. They don't have to work. They are - even the poorest of them - incredibly rich. Perhaps in the top ten percent of the world.

And while our lives are harder than the good people of Patmos, most of us are so blessed for the wealth of advantages in our lives. More than we like to think on a shitty Monday or a long-day of working, running around, handling the kids and a marriage and all the bills.... there are people with hard lives who would pay far more than the cost of a nutella covered waffle to trade places with any of us.

Sent from my iPad

Skala, Patmos in Photos

 
  

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Twenty Eight Hours From There To Here

Twenty eight hours of transportation started off with a fight in the middle of a small street in Ramat Gan, Israel. As we walked out of Ziv and Hila's apartment at 3:45 am, a taxi came barreling down the street to pick us up. Little did we notice e other taxi, lurking to the side of the street, also waiting for us. Like two vultures fighting over their prey, the taxi men descended upon us.

My gut turned. The night before I had canceled a taxi with one company in favor of the more affordable taxi Ziv recommended. But the taxi dispatch man seemed a little confused and although he said he would cancel my request, he apparently didn't.

So, back to the National Geographic scene on the streets of Ramat Gan. The alpha male taxi driver was young, had a clipboard with our names and had a chutzpah to be reckoned with. He also happened to be with the right company - the one I didn't cancel. So, we went to his car while he intimidated and threatened his elder rival.

The weak elder driver didn't stand a chance, so he used the defenses left to an older, Ashkenazi male...."Why? why did I come and wait for you? Why would I be here if not for you?"

Guilt - the venomous and powerful defense of the Ashkenazi - perfected with age. Expertly delivered.

But unfortunately, our young, alpha Sephardic driver was immune. The attack was successful and the elder driver recoiled. I explained what happened and apologized - but was quickly escorted away by our triumphant driver. And we were off to the airport at the kind of breakneck speed that would make a young vulture jealous.

At 4:05 am, the Ben Gurion airport feels a lot like the New York Stock Exchange at 9 am. There's an order, there's a system - but just barely. Crowds, hoards - bags being scanned over here, people being questioned over there, jumbo-tron sized departure boards, lines that are more like masses gathering for a riot - only it resembles the kind of mob fighting over the last chocolate babka at Bea's Bakery on a Friday.

Luckily, getting out of Israel was much easier than getting in. Our El Al interrogator was young and raised in New York. The questions were nice and easy and he seemed to have a good grip on who we were and what we were about. We did not have to recite any Hebrew but was satisfied with the fact that we went to Hebrew School. Emily, however, was disappointed as she wanted her El Al speaking Hebrew on command do-over after the Hebrew speaking fiasco on two weeks ago. She felt she had a lot of Hebrew to give.

Ben Gurion security is crazy, but highly efficient as they may well have more bag scanners and metal detectors there than in any other spot on Earth. They also rival largest Duty-Free shopping on Earth.

From there, it was a hop, skip and a jump to Athens, an easy three hour layover in the very nice, new, modern airport there - and a quick 50 minute flight to Rhodes.

Rhodes we know. Rhodes should be easy. Our guest house man from our stay less than a month ago told us the bus to and from the airport was cheap, fine to take our luggage on, and nicely air-conditioned. He was right only about cheap.

After paying for more taxis than we would have liked in Israel, the €3 per person bus sounded like a nice deal compared to the €22 taxi into Rhodes Town. Let's just say that as I stood in the rear door area of the bus with one 40 lb initially on my back with another at my feet and across the aisle, Emily sat, and later leaned on a pile of backpacks to prevent them from falling on the baby in stroller next to her, we were the kind of travelers we ourselves hate.

The bus air-conditioning was weak, it became crowded and we were uncomfortable and humiliated. We were like Napoleon at Waterloo - utterly defeated through our own stupidity.

When the bus dropped us off many blocks from our favorite cafe where we intended to go, I decided that we may have lost the battle, but we would win the war. With one 40 lb pack on my back, and another in my arms (as has become our new travel practice since  last Rhodes visit), I marched - Emily following along - the six or eight blocks in the afternoon sun it took to reach Koiko's (pronounced Coco's to our great amusement).

There we dwelt for six hours, enjoying their WiFi, central air conditioning, incredible food and drink, and their extreme patience with us and our bags. These saintly people took us in to their crowded restaurant, found our giant bags a home in a corner and then set us up with one of the few tables in the place with electrical outlet access as soon as it cleared. They then even called a taxi for us when we were ready to leave.

Just before we left, Emily decided to stop by a pharmacy to grab some Dramamine for the boat. It turned out only one pharmacy among the many in the area was open. Why? Pharmacies usually close Wednesdays. They also close Sundays. And for three hours every afternoon. Apparently, bacteria and viruses also take extra time off in Greece. Don't get sick on a Wednesday.

As we lugged our bags to the end of the street to meet our taxi, the Koikos man came running down the street, "My friends, The taxis must be very busy because I cannot get through. I will try calling again. You stay here, yes?" Where else would we go? As we stood on the corner looking for a taxi, Emily enlisted the travel agent on the corner in our taxi dispatch call-a-thon. I stood lookout for an errant taxi, which proved useful since I was able to flag one down before anyone reached dispatch.

The taxi driver was nice. He asked €6-7 depending in the number of bags. "Reasonable." I told him. And we were on our way to the port. He gave us advice for the ferry ride, spoke of Patmos' beauty and charm. He had been on the ship we were about to take and advised sleeping on the deck to keep cool.

Then as we took our bags out of the car and I handed him a €10 note, he put it in his pocket and took off. And it was time to move on....

The ferry from Rhodes to Patmos was huge - big sea-going car ferry like a small cruise ship. Emily wanted to sleep on the benches on the deck. The ship left at 10:30 and we were both exhausted. But one look at the benches and I knew sleep wasn't possible for me.

Inside there was a lounge with tables, chairs and large booths. Bingo. A few smart people had already claimed booth space for the night. Since the ferry started its route in Rhodes, we had the advantage of being able to claim real estate before people at other stops got on and off.

Emily wrapped in her Pashmina made it a whole hour on the deck before retreating inside and grabbing a nearby booth. And so we slept until sunrise.

During the night there were numerous stops at unknown islands. The crowd kept changing. In the light of day, we enjoyed the beautiful sunrise on the deck and Emily once again took a nap on the deck benches.

During the 7 o'clock hour, everyone woke up and appreciated the view. Crowds gathered at the deck to see the tiny island and gorgeous  white village of Lipsi. An hour later we pulled into Patmos' port in Skala - where we will stay a month.

Beautiful traditional white village, Greek heaven. The town wraps itself around the gorgeous little bay and our studio hotel is about 100 feet back from the water with a nice view and a four minute walk over the hill to a renown beach.

While waiting for our studio to turn over, we spent the morning walking around, looking at the fantastic shops, restaurants, bakeries and of course, gelaterrias. If there's not gelato every five feet, it's not Greece.

We have nothing but plans and high hopes as we look to explore the town, the island, the nearby village of Hora where the monastery of St. John - who wrote the Book of Revelations on Patmos - is visited by regular groups of clergy and pilgrims.

Our only glitch here has been that the WiFi signal of our complex doesn't reach our studio. As a result, we have to switch rooms tomorrow to one that unfortunately lacks a complete kitchen. However, we will have coffee making facilities which is the most important part as well as a slightly better view. The owner of our studio-hotel also did a great job of running a hardwire cable to our room so Emily can conduct her live session for one of her classes.

So, in the meantime, I'm forced to work at a cafe which has tables right on the marina beach with a view of the entire harbor and hills. It's a setback, but I'll live....

 

Israel Wrap-Up

Much like our ancestors, we packed everything we had very quickly in order to leave in the middle of the night with everything we own on our backs. Only, instead of leaving Egypt, we were leaving Israel. Somewhat contrary to what Jews are supposed to do.

But then again, if El Al didn't schedule 7:15 am flights with a recommended three hour early airport arrival - then we wouldn't have had to do this.

Nonetheless, our journey takes us onward and our time in Israel was up. If I haven't mentioned it previous posts, let me make it emphatically clear that we're exhausted. Israel has been amazing, but it has left us tired and ragged. All day long yesterday, Emily and I kept saying to one another - "Why am I SO tired?!" I'm rarely physically exhausted like this. It's the feeling that makes me want to lie around the house all day. So, we're going to Patmos to get a studio and lie around all day.

Just like Israel gave us more to do and made us work harder to do it, I leave with more thoughts and reflections on our stay here than anywhere else so far.

First, we've encountered more Americans here than anywhere else. Someone joked about Israel being nicknamed the "51st State". Maybe.... but it seems to be if that's the case it's because half the Jews of Los Angeles and New York are here visiting. In Jerusalem we couldn't walk ten feet without bumping into an American.

Honestly, this has been very unusual for me - not just in this trip, but in any. I've never been anywhere in which Americans outnumbered the other tourists. It looks like Israeli-American relations are doing very well on the human level.

Americans, naturally bring us to the topic of SUV's. We saw perhaps three or four SUV's in our entire two weeks. Emily asked with large orthodox families, how are they getting them around? My guess is walking, public transportation and cars.

The average non-orthodox family has three children. Israel is living proof that a family of five can successfully and safely be raised in moderate to small sedans. I might even wager that the safety features of many of the cars are better than some of our big ol' SUV's.

And what choice do Israelis have but to make it work? With gas prices at about $4.50 a gallon - as it is in so much of the world - big SUV's are not affordable or sustainable.

Gas prices bring us to Arabs. This visit to Israel, we were out and about navigating the country on our own. It turns out that when you're not on the guided tour, there are actually a lot of Arabs here. Mostly, I liked them. They are Israeli citizens who seemed to be positive people running businesses, leading lives and benefitting from their country. Moreover, Israel's Arabs are still on their land.

So often our media talks about the Arabs in the West Bank and Gaza with whom Israel is at odds. Let's also remember that those people - or their parents and grandparents left these lands despite offers of citizenship and participation in the society. The people I met were the ones who stayed - and they're a lot better off from what I can tell.

At the same time, we can also recognize that Israeli Arabs are largely second class citizens. They lack a majority and always will. Israel will continue to be for and about Jews. Some people I talked with have qualms about it - feeling very mixed about the contradictions in how Israel's Arab citizens live. As one told me, "It's not an easy issue."

Fair enough.

But what is an easy issue is that Israelis love the Arabs' food. Arab hummus restaurants, steak restaurants, spice shops and bakeries are often flooded by Jews. Why? Because their stuff tastes great.

This leads me to the biggest surprise of all this trip. I hereby declare Israel the best baklava country of our travels to date. Going into it, I was sure it would be Greece. It just had to be. I didn't even think there was baklava in Israel. How wrong I was. There are some very talented Arab Israelis whose contributions to the baklava eating world should be recognized and praised. Bravo. Bravo.

Speaking of sweetness, the gap between the Israel on TV and the Israel of reality is pretty huge. The main thing being that from CNN, you would assume this is a country in a constant state of emergency and fear. In reality, it's a very relaxed place with a tangible warmth and ease. People walk down the streets secure and happy.

That's not to say there aren't real political problems. But the average civilian doesn't feel them day to day. And the society does not live in fear, anger or aggression.

From my contacts and observations, Israelis are more or less optimistic realists - a mixture of skeptical and hopeful. They feel they're in it alone, but that peace and growth is possible. They don't necessarily trust the world - but they trust each other. They have faith that things can and will be better for Israel, even though they lack consensus about the definitions and approaches to achieve the secure peace they so desperately want.

They also seem to value what they have in the way that only people who work hard and earn it can.

In the end, this has been a truly positive experience. Not so much of a life changing one, as an affirming one. To my surprise, Israel has not tugged at my heartstrings making me want to come back and live among all Jews as it does for so many people. Israel has made me feel good about being an American Jew - someone who holds onto and cherishes traditions which often get washed away here.

My great grandparents gave me their traditions, their understanding of Judaism as it had been given to them, my Jewish identity - and a passport that says United States of America on it. They worked very hard to do all of these things. I am very grateful for all of it and can do my best to honor them by using all of their gifts well, living life fully and passing it along.

Lastly, a special thanks to Ziv and Hila who not only housed us for two weeks in their fantastic apartment, but who made us feel at home and who shared in good times and friendship. What could be better?

Sent from my iPad

Humanity

"Amazing" is all you can say after walking through Yad V'Shem. It's more of an experience than a museum as the audio and visual presentations walk you through every detail of the war and Holocaust. If the goal is to never forget - Yad V'Shem succeeds because it brings a time and place - and people - to life.

Nothing could be more fundamental to the State of Israel whose very existence and purposes rests on the bedrock of Holocaust. Yad V'Shem screams out what Israel will never allow to happen again. Yad V'Shem is a mission statement and a battle cry.

For Emily, it was also an opportunity to try to learn more and understand what her grandparents went through - what their lives were like. In the section talking about the weddings and births in the Displaced Persons camps, it was hard not to think of them.

For me, who was fortunate enough to have all his family in America and Argentina several decades before the Holocaust, it sparked questions.

My great-grandparents never experienced the horrors depicted so well at Yad V'Shem. They were safe, far away. My great-grandmother who I knew well since she lived until I was sixteen, made very little money. She had a tough life. She was illiterate in English, divorced an abusive, gambling addict during the Depression, and raised four children on her own.

And whereas most Americans would work harder for their own economic benefit, my great-grandmother gave her extra work and labor toward raising money for Israel. It was her passion and her pride (aside from cooking and her family). Her one and only big international trip aside from her immigration to America, was to Israel. She had to see it for herself.

Something in her experiences made her understand the importance of a home for Jews. Something in Galecia and Austria where she grew up made her work to give money to help other Jews. Something made a sixteen year-old girl get on a boat to New York, leaving most of her family, and never look back.

I suspect that something was why she worked so hard and what made her want to see Israel.

I wish I knew what it was exactly. I wish I had been old enough and smart enough to have asked. I wonder if she would have told me anyway.

I suspect that the issues and problems of the Europe she knew were just the beginnings of what eventually consumed and destroyed the Jews of Europe.

Something I learned at Yad V'Shem - the two countries with the most Jews in Europe were Poland and Romania. The two countries with the highest percentages of Jews killed were Poland and Romania. Three sets of my great-grandparents came from Poland and Romania. Emily's grandparents, unfortunately, were in Poland.

Another thought ran through my head as I looked at photos and videos - the Jews in the ghettos and camps eventually looked like the victims of war and refugees everywhere. While the Holocaust was perhaps the most diabolical and meticulously planned acts of hate ever, it is not the last time we have seen displaced persons, hungry refugees and victims singled out for their ethnicity.

The man who runs the Etz Hayyim synagogue in Hania, Crete - a man who still fights Nazis today by railing against the extinction of his synagogue and therefore all Cretan Judaism - said to me that he doesn't like to speak of the Holocaust. He's not a survivor himself, but believes it's not valid to bemoan or mourn until we, as a world, actually stop other genocides and ethnic cleansings.

I'm not so sure I agree with him. But his point is taken.

As a world, we have yet to fully realize the lessons of the Holocaust.

Israel stands proudly as a place to protect one kind of people. But the work of the world isn't done until no one is being persecuted and killed.

I always wonder why it's so easy for people to see the differences and so difficult to see the much more overwhelming similarities.

Sent from my iPad

Jerusalem

People kiss relics, drop to their knees, tuck their prayers into crevices, cry to the heavens above at the sites in front of them, and literally follow the pathways of prophets and even Jesus. Old Jerusalem is a living, teeming sanctuary to the great three monotheistic religions.

It also happens to be chaos. One ancient structure overlaps another and people have lunch atop the rooftop of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher where below pilgrims and visitors have divine, meaningful experiences.

Muslim structures have overrun Jewish ones, while in other places Jewish structures overrun Roman ruins. The city is not only where one important place is on top of another, but over time the city has built and rebuilt itself over earlier layers of the city.

Amazingly, 35,000 people still live in one of the world's oldest and most impressive World Heritage sites - perhaps the site of sites. And what impressed me about them was that by and large, they all co-exist and largely always have.

Throughout the city's 4,000 years different rulers have taken charge and when they have - many have persecuted segments of the city's inhabitants and even destroyed their homes and holy places. But for most of history - through many different empires, Jews, Muslims and Christians have lived and worshipped side by side. They may not have always been friends - but not always enemies either. There is a distinct feeling of respecting each other's right to their heritage and worship.

What struck me most in Jerusalem is that there is very little discernible difference between Orthodox Jewish women, Muslim women and nuns. In the intense heat of the "holy city" they all seem to default to wearing cloth head coverings of light cotton and of course, conservative attire. Sometimes I had to really look to see if a woman was Orthodox or Muslim.

The irony of ironies is that differences are as pronounced as we make them. People have only to look around to see they are all essentially doing the same thing - living similar lives. Whether she's heading to a synagogue, a mosque or a church matters less than she - like everyone around her - is living a life of faith and observance side by side with her neighbors, respecting the ancientness and sanctity of what is around her.

I was also struck with the fact that having a city like Jerusalem as part of your country is an awesome responsibility. In all fairness, Jerusalem is a place for all - of legitimate value all who would claim it for themselves. To maintain and facilitate such a place is no easy feat. Providing access, security, good conditions, modern amenities and providing for the sometimes conflicting needs of all is no easy feat.

Israel undertakes this with great success. The old city couldn't be more visitor friendly. And security and facilitation couldn't be better. Unlike many rulers before, Israel treats Old Jerusalem as a treasure to be preserved and available for all.

The new city, on the other hand, is much more of a work in progress. Right now, they're tearing up half the streets to install a metro rail system as well as a high speed train to Tel Aviv. New Jerusalem is modern, elegant, pricey and has a refined aesthetic that Tel Aviv and much of Israel lacks. Jerusalem manages to keep stone facades on all of it's buildings - keeping a feel which extends out of the old city. Just outside the 4,000 year old walls (which had never been lived outside until 150 years ago) is a modern, beautiful city that Israel rightfully considers the jewel of its modern crown.

But in reflecting on the overwhelming old city, I shamefully found myself lacking a connection - lacking satisfaction. I realize this may make me the worst Jew on Earth. But the history of 4,000 years is so much older than I find myself being able to relate. Connecting what I see to my life and the world I know is challenging.

When I visit Europe, I eat up the history because I can see how the threads connect to the world and culture which exists today. I can feel how the Magna Carta eventually led to the political present. I can understand how Napoleon's conquest of Europe affected the next 200 years and brought real changes that created modern Europe such as granting peasants the ownership of their property. I can grasp that impact and how it shaped the world in which I live.

In Jerusalem, I look at the outer retaining wall of the second temple - which today we call the Western Wall or the Wailing Wall - and I can see how that relates to Hanukkah. I can see how it relates to the stories of the Bible. I can see how it corroborates and bears testament to the faith and traditions of my ancestors, and therefore me - but in a very distant sense that I struggle to personalize. Who can fathom - really wrap his or her head around 2,000 years ago? 4,000 years ago? How does one ingest that?

All I seem to be able to conclude is that what happens today - how people, religions and cultures revere and honor this place - and how in doing so honor themselves, their ancestors and one another has value beyond words.

In the end, it is how we bring our history into the present that matters. We can examine the past, but we live here and now - in similar head coverings, eating over each other's roofs and hopefully seeing the humanity and divinity in one another.

Sent from my iPad