What I Was Thinking.

Dome of the Rock Attempts, or...

"It's Not a Failure When You Have Good Food and Good Friends."

Jerusalem, April 2009.

Even though it's against the Year Course rules, something I really wanted to do was go to the Temple Mount to see the Dome of the Rock.  The Temple Mount is only open to non-Arabs for a certain number of hours per day; I think from 1pm to 5pm.  Attempt number one was with a too-large group: we ended up waiting for them at a bus stop for twenty minutes, and missing the first bus.  When we got on the bus, it took almost an hour to reach the Old City.

Zach and Esti fell asleep on the bus on the way there.

When we reached the Old City, we argued for a bit about which would be the best way to go to get to the entrance to the Temple Mount.  We went through the shuk.  We got separated at one point, and a few people got a bit lost in between the Jewish and Arab Quarters.  We bickered, called each other, and finally reconvened. It was about 4:30pm by this point. When we reached the security stop to the Mount, the guards told us we were too late; it was closed to non-Arabs now.  We sadly wove our way back through. 

  We didn't get to see the Temple Mount or the Dome of the Rock that day, but we passed a model of it made out of Za'tar.  How cool is that?  Some of our friends, though, were pretty bitter about not making it in time.  We still had more time left in Israel, though, and I knew this wasn't our only chance.

On our way back through the shuk, someone came up with a stellar idea.  "Well, even though we didn't get to see it today, we should still do something new and exciting, right?"  So we wound our way through the Arab shuk until we found a "Hummusia," a hummus restaurant.  There the group of us split a couple of plates of hummus with pine nuts, olive oil and ful (a type of legume).  We scooped up the smooth hummus with steaming pita triangles and wedges of raw onion, refreshing ourselves with Coca-Cola in glass bottles (the best way to drink it) and wiping our mouths with tiny little restaurant napkins that said "Coca-Cola"  in Arabic.  We used the last little scraps of pita to scrape the plates completely clean.  It was one of the best middle-eastern meals I had while in Israel.

More Backtracking - Passover Adventures

I'm starting to realize I did really thorough posts of my trips to Portugal, Uganda, South Africa, and India, but not nearly enough posts about my time spent in Israel.  So this mass of posts is my attempt to recall some of the other experiences I had in Israel.

April 2009.

So, my original plan for Passover was to buy a ticket to Turkey and travel with some friends.  But when we returned from our trip to Arad, I decided it'd be best if I didn't go.  The group would have wanted to do different stuff than I, and I thought it might be wiser to save my money (I got a good deal back when my parents did my taxes, and I was going to use that for Turkey.)

A lot of kids on Year Course use their Pesach break to travel the Jerusalem Trail, go camping, or hike from the dead sea to the mediterranean sea.  I'm not big into hiking, so I decided against it.

Then, I was going to attend Bombamella, Israel's hippie festival.  Changed my mind on that one, too.  What I ended up doing was spending a few days with Jason's family, a few days with my family in Ramot, and a day or two touring museums in Jerusalem with my friend Natalie.  Certain museums are free during passover.  After much searching and an unnecessary cab ride, Natalie and I made it to the Bible Lands Museum, the Israel Museum (which is still almost completely under construction), and the Museum on the Seam.  It was quite enjoyable.

Jason and I took a cab to the Joint Distribution Committee building in Jerusalem, where we met Gideon, who is the JDC guy working with Anne on the Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village. We met Anne, Jenna, and Yoni there (and I can't remember exactly, but I think Seth was coming later).

I'll keep it brief.  With the Merrins we watched Marx brothers films, some movies I recommended, surfed the net, went to the Herzliyah beach, visited the Merrin's friends all over the country, and had a beautiful passover dinner with their family in the north of Israel.

Some of us also went to visit the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where we watched in awe as Christians rubbed souvenirs from the Old City on a giant slab of rock, where it's said Jesus was laid to rest.  The Church was spectacular - the paintings, carvings, and artifacts were unbelievable.  I wish we could have gotten a tour from somebody that could have explained all that we were seeing.  It was really incredible.

More from the past - Israel "incidents."

Breaking the rules, getting caught, and not.

Throughout the year we had a few, well, security scares.  The Young Judaea Year Course staff didn't tell us a whole lot about what was going on.  If it was a serious threat, they'd turn on the GPS systems in our phones so they could track us.  The solution to this was to turn off our cell phones, which only sometimes worked.   If your phone was on and you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be, you'd get a call from your madrich (counselor) telling us to leave immediately.  If your phone was off, you'd get in trouble.  One of the Year Course rules is that your phone must be charged and on at all times.  

Some of the security alerts were country-wide.  For instance, while I was living in Rishon Letzion during my first three months in Israel, there was an actual terrorist attack in Jerusalem.  An Arab terrorist got hold of a tractor, I believe, and drove it into a crowd of Israeli soldiers.  The terrorist, who was immediately shot, was the only casualty.  And there were a few other scares.  During times like these in Israel, we noticed the changes.  There would be a few more soldiers at bus stops, the security guard at the local mall checked every person's bag (sometimes guards wouldn't check my bag.  Guess I don't look like a terrorist.  I always open my bag to the guards, though, just to show I have nothing to hide).  

Other times, though, we could find no explanation for the lockdowns and security alerts.  As soon as we received a text-message alert, we'd check online news sources, call family members in Israel, and call family members at home to find out if they'd heard anything.  Here are examples of those seemingly bogus cases.

Bat Yam Scare number one. (Sometime between November and February, I believe.)

Here's how our first security alert went down:

We received a "mass text" on our IsraelPhones Nokia cell phones that read: "SECURITY ALERT.  Do not take public transportation.  חניכים ("chanichim," meaning apprentices or students) are not to leave Bat Yam or go to the mall."

That's pretty much all that they told us.  We weren't told what the alert was for, so it was kind of a drag.  We couldn't take a bus to Tel Aviv, and they recommended we didn't take taxis there, either.  Malls were off-limits because in times of high security, it's not a great idea to be in crowded public areas.  Crowded public areas are targets for attack.

The Museum on the Seam

I took two trips to the Museum on the Seam; this entry is about the second one.  This trip was taken during the Lockdown Breakout Adventures.

 

Here's some background on the מוזאיון על הטפר: (I wrote a paper on it for a college course this past quarter)

Franz Kafka is quoted as saying that a book should “wake us, as with a fist hammering on our skull…and must be an ice-axe to break the sea frozen inside of us.”  To this he means that a book shouldn’t be read complacently or for enjoyment – it should evoke an emotional response.  The art equivalent to the emotion Kafka describes is the Museum on the Seam in Jerusalem.  Established in 1999 by Georg von Holtzbrinck, the Museum is situated in a building constructed in 1932 by Arab-Christian architect Anton Baramki.  While Jerusalem was divided from 1948 to 1967, the building served as a military outpost (Turjeman Post), which stood on the border between Israel and Jordan.  The Museum calls itself a “socio-political contemporary art museum” that deals with “national, ethnic and economic seam lines” through its often disturbing exhibitions. The exhibitions held so far have been titled Dead End, Equal and Less Equal, Bare Life, HeartQuake, and NatureNation.

Many of the pieces are designed to make patrons feel uncomfortable, sad, or responsible for the art they are viewing.  A perfect example of a piece that addresses a universal responsibility to tragedy and world events was featured in an exhibition called HeartQuake.  The work by Daniela Comani, entitled “It Was Me/Diary 1900-1999,” listed 365 world events throughout the century as though the artist had experienced them firsthand.

In other exhibitions such as NatureNation, the call for change is more subtle: “Olive Trees Will Be Our Borders,” a neon sign placed above the entrance of the Museum with the title words in English, Arabic and Hebrew, reflects upon the Museum’s transformation from a battle ground into a place of peaceful world reflection.  

 

Each exhibition features artists from across the globe.  NatureNation, the most recent exhibition, featured two installments by Israeli sculptor Menashe Kadishman – an interpretation of the Greek myth Prometheus, and a chilling Holocaust piece entitled “Shalechet” (“Falling Leaves”).  Art truly is a language with no boundaries, and the Museum on the Seam addresses issues creatively like no museum before it.

"Shalechet" by Menashe Kadishman. 

In other words, the Museum on the Seam is a pretty incredible place.  The art really makes you think, and it's pretty incredible, too.  A lot of the works are extremely intricate.  The Museum is situated right next to Me'ah She'arim ("100 gates", where the ultra-ultra orthodox live), which is interesting since the museum is such a liberal, open-idea and sometimes shocking place.  From the roof we could see little Haredi children playing on a playground, and men dressed in black robes with tall black hats milling around the alleyways.

More from the past - Israel, art, Avi.

I made myself a little list on "stickies" so I wouldn't forget the things I wanted to cover.

Art Projects.

...And art trips.
 Avi basking in the Tel Aviv sunlight during one of our outings.

I had the most incredible teacher during the Jerusalem Studies portion of Year Course.  His name is Dr. Avi Rose.  Avi is a Jewish gay Canadian who made aliyah to Jerusalem with his husband a while back.  Avi is so wonderful - he's brilliant, openminded, and his knowledge of art and enthusiasm for teaching Zionism in the Arts and our History of Zionism class is contagious.  So much of my Zionist pride comes from what I learned with Avi - both in and out of the classroom.  He took us on trips to see the Bezalel School in Jerusalem, Reuven Ruben's home in Tel Aviv, other Bauhaus-style structures in Tel Aviv, the Kinneret cemetery, the art colony in the north, and the home of Joseph Bau, a Holocaust survivor (though he's dead now) and cartoonist whose home is now a museum run by his daughters Hadasa and Celia. <--y'know the wedding in Schindler's List?  It's based on Joseph's wedding to his wife in the concentration camp.  It's an incredible story.

On our bus rides to wherever we happened to be going Avi played Eurovision music through the ages - we learned Israeli culture through the hits and sinks of Eurovision.   Did you know that all Israelis to have won Eurovision are Yeminite-Israelis?

Avi also had us do art projects as exams.  One had to be related to Jerusalem,

 The clovermap, created by Heinrich Bunting, sits just outside the southern ruins of the wall.  I photo-tweaked it.

...And one had to be related to a piece of art or an artist we studied.  For this one I chose Ephraim Moshe Lilien, a Zionist artist who had a pretty serious crush on Theodor Herzl.

I'm fascinated by the tabernacle, so I made a cut-out of one, with Herzl-bird-angels guarding the Holy of Holies.  I fretted in the meager art store in the Malka Mall for a pretty long time about what I would make for this project.  David B and Jas got a little fed up.  (sorry, guys!)

More adventures later!

Post-India Drama Geekend in Herzliyah.

I don't usually talk about the intimate details of my love life, or vent to a large group of people about boy trouble or heartache.  I feel it's unprofessional, and that people see me as weak.  But in this case, for this thing that's been weighing on my heart like a two-ton stone from the Western Wall, I need to vent.  

When Jason and I returned from India, we arranged a weekend in Herzliyah where we'd go up a day early to have some time alone, and then our friends would join us the following day for movies, Shabbat dinner, and fun.

We decided to finally discuss the fate of our relationship.  In the back of my mind I really knew how it would - no, how it should - happen.   We decided to end our relationship when year course ended.  There was too much between us and yet not enough, and after we discussed we sat on the electric blue couch in silence.  I curled up to his shoulder, and we cried bitterly for almost an hour.  We had silences, a few of which I filled with morbid little jokes, causing Jason to hug me tighter - "Don't say that, please don't say that, Maddie."  After it all, we were too drained to go out to dinner like we usually did in Herzliyah.  We cooked white rice and filled our cereal bowls, and lay on the white shaggy carpet watching whatever was on television.

I vaguely remember trudging to bed, curling up tightly and facing the wall.  My eyes dripped quietly into the white feather pillow as I drifted off to sleep.  When I awakened the next morning I felt deaf.  Everything was still.  I felt like nothing had ever happened before that moment, and then I remembered the evening before.  My mind spun with explanations: I had a few emotional meltdowns during the year.  I'm moody and standoffish, and endlessly stubborn and proud.  I got angry at his friends - our friends - and offended easily.  Had I pushed him away?  Had he outgrown me?  Had the charm dissipated?  Would this be the end of my great fortune with amazingly kind, loving, nerdy boyfriends?

Our friends arrived that Friday morning.  I greeted them all with smiles and embraces.  There were twelve of us, I believe, and not nearly enough beds to hold them all. 

Twenty minutes after they all arrived, around noon, I felt sad again. Hopeless.  I crept up to the bedroom and lay down again.  Jason came in a few minutes later, and seeing me, knew what was wrong.  Later on those of us that would be cooking went to Herzliyah's Arena (ah-wren-ah) mall grocery store to buy ingredients for our grand Shabbat dinner.  

After a lovely Shabbat meal and an abbreviated clean-up, a few of us walked the mile or so along the highway to Cinema City to see the new Star Trek movie.  It was fantastic.

The next morning we woke up early and walked back to Cinema City to see X-Men: Origins, which was laughably dramatic.  When it ended, feeling rather giddy after the energy suck of Friday, I turned to Jason and said, "Let's see it again.  Let's see Star Trek on the big, BIG screen."

"Really? It's not cheap. We saw it last night."

"Let's see it again!"

So we did, and headed back to Jerusalem later that night.

So many times since that discussion in May I've wanted to be angry.  I did get angry a few times and acted on it, and then felt terrible afterward.  I wanted to have the Ani DiFranco f--- you mentality that I knew a Righteous Babe scorned should have, but I couldn't.  You know it, Jas.  I can't hate you, even if I feel a little broken.  You were my very best friend.  We are similar.  We were too close.  Five months later I'm finally pushing regret and anger out of my head.  There's still an ache in my chest, and sometimes a lump in my throat.  But I'm a busy girl, and I'm a strong woman.  As Sondre Lerche reminds me in his music, I'll Be Okay.

It was one of the most emotionally draining experiences I've ever had, and I missed not having my mom and my girlfriends to hug me and tell me it would all work out.

but I'm getting there.

p.s.  the end of my Year Course Experience  +  the end of Rwanda posts  +  random thoughts coming soon.

India - Day 7.

Day 7

10 May 2009

In the morning we went to the Osho gardens park to walk around and meditate.  There were sweet-smelling plants and flowers everywhere, rocks and babbling brooks, and a big, (skinny), Buddha with ringlets tight against his scalp.  He was sitting cross-legged with his lips curled in a beatific smile.  I was inspired - I sat beneath him and meditated and was joined by my friend Rebecca.  I got up and began to perform Tai Chi.  She followed suit, and a group of chattering Indian schoolkids stopped to watch us.

Random facts written in my journal: Bombay means "good bay."  Mumbaia: bay of fish goddess.  Mumbai features slums and lush greenery, and is/was seven Islands.

Our next stop was Dobi Ghat - the laundry area featured in Slumdog Millionaire, where the religious uprising took place (y'know, where Jamal's mother was killed in the water).  The laundry-doers are a specific caste in the Indian social system from Uttarpradesh.  They are mostly men. 

When we got back on the bus we passed men heaving a huge Buddha up some ceremonial steps - only in India.  Our guide told us about the Embeni family, the richest family in India.  They sell fertilizer and other things.  One of the Embeni brothers is building a house for himself out of a 45 story building.  The garage will have space for 400 cars, and each floor of the building will be a different theme.  We then went to the Gate of India, built as a port into the city of Mumbai.  It was crowded with tourists.  A young Indian girl pushed a bracelet of jasmine buds onto my wrist.  When I told her I didn't have money with me (I left it on the bus), she continued to follow me around.  She wouldn't take back her bracelet and the smell was making me dizzy, so I handed it off to my friend Naomi.  The Taj Mahal Hotel was right near the Gate of India.  It was a target of Islamic jihad against tourists.

Our next stop was the Chabad house, the site of the November 2008 terrorist attack.  The wall across from the Chabad had bullet holes in it that were circled with red paint.  One of the holes was from an AK-47.  The house was completely destroyed, of course, but we were able to enter.  The banisters were twisted.  The stairs were blown apart and trembling on the incline.  The elevator shaft was obliterated, and there were bullet holes everywhere.  Our guide, a member of the Jewish community in Mumbai, wept bitter tears upon entering.  It must have felt very scary to feel unsafe in a land that has been free of anti-semitism for thousands of years.  Fear.  It's strange to sit here and realize that just six months ago, people died here.

The wall across from the Chabad house, and the circled bullet holes.  Notice the size of the hole left by the AK - 47.

Facts from our memorial service in the Chabad house.

There were over ten coordinated attacks in India between November 26 and 29.  Hositals, theatres, cafes, colleges, the Chabad building, a taxi...

Six hostages were murdered.

Lashkar Itayuba = Terrorists from Pakistan.

The Ark in the center was shot at. The Torah was decimated.  These are pieces of the Torah that remained in the Ark.

A poetic response to the attack: "Fallen Angels"

She closed her eyes

He wiped her tears

He said Shema

It calmed his fears

 

He held her hand

Said it'd be alright

Knowing well they both could lose their life

 

And as my world watched it on the screen

We hoped and prayed and prayed again

That it would be a silent dream

But the dawn ushered in an unfamiliar light

The worst was heard confirmed

 

Now I cry to you, I lean on you,

my fellow Jew I ask of you

 

Chorus:

Tell me how do we say goodbye

to the angels that have fallen from our life

And how do we say goodbye

to the angels that have flown away at night

 

3500 siblings asking why

An orphan's forced to cry

Mommy, Tatty hold my hand

One day I pray you'll understand

The cowardly lion is not the king of the land.

But the question remains, I ask

 

Chorus:

Tell me how do we say goodbye

to the angels that have fallen from our life

And how do we say goodbye

to the angels that have flown away at night

 

Don't judge me when I mourn

Today it's me who's torn

Don't look at me

My tears are falling fast

 

They say it's all a blessing in disguise

I can't differentiate the lies from truth

What's a mind to do

 

We were the super heroes of the night

We would illuminate the sky

They took away the torch but not your flame

What's my mind to do

I will never forget you

I WILL LIGHT THE SKY FROM HERE TO MUMBAI

And nothing will ever look the same

 

Chorus:

Tell me how do we say goodbye

to the angels that have fallen from our life

And how do we say goodbye

to the angels that have flown away at night

 

Hasidim Never say goodbye

We want Moshiach Now

As the Israel consulate to India told us, "we must be alert, but not alarmed."

The kids in Mumbai were AMAZING! We danced for hours and discussed India and our views on Judaism, food, Bollywood, music, and all else.  It was incredible.  I wish I could say more about it...


We danced to "Jai Ho," the joyful last song in Slumdog Millionaire.  The kids all knew the dance and they taught it to us.

Next we had our sikkum/wrap-up.  It was emotional, talking about our year and the fact that it would end quite soon.  Olami made me look forward to the rest of my life.  So many options, and I can do everything I want to do.

Our last time flying into the land of Israel.

11 May 2009

As we sail over the water, I see fish, thousands of them, bobbing to nibble at the surface.  And then I see the city of Tel Aviv.  Something stirs in my stomach - a feeling of relief, and sadness that this will be the last journey I take with my Olami group.  Still, for now, I'm home, home, home.

India - Day 5.

8 May 2009.

Unfortunately, today was a slightly slower day.

I woke up extremely tired. Pune is much hotter than Delhi or Agra.  We passed big, beautiful houses on the way to the ashram, which turned out to be closed.  We went instead to the palace that was basically turned into a shrine for Mahatma Gandhi.

Afterward we got the chance to ride in took-tooks, or engine-powered rickshaws.  They had three wheels and were just a little scary.  We rode them to another market where our group did some more shopping and Jason and I went looking for spices.  We found masala and a huge Ganesha shrine.  While waiting for the bus on a bridge we saw children playing in sewage water below.

Inside the took-took.  There are better pictures, but JASON STILL HASN'T PUT THEM ONLINE. (put them online, loser!)

The Bene Israel community has a a huge, beautiful synagogue.  I'm disappointed, however, that I won't get to see the Indian synagogues that I saw in my Jewish Art class.  They had beautiful, intricate tile work and inlay, and one of them had around 100 silver-encased Torot on display behind glass panels instead of in arks.

The cathedralesque synagogue.

There were no young people at this synagogue.  The five women and four men are all past middle age.  The women wore saris and the men wore suits.   There was a long sephardic orthodox service followed by dinner, of which I ate only rice (it was all I could stomach).

I am so tired, and all I want is to sleep in on shabbos, but the community is overjoyed to finally have a minyan (a group of ten Jewish men praying together) that we can't let them down.  We have the afternoon off, though.  More and more of my group members are getting sick each day - side effects of the Malarone (malaria medication) and the rich, spicy Indian food we've been having for every meal.  My group members have severe stomach pains and diarrhea problems, vomiting, and fevers from dehydration.  Luckily my bodily issues extend no further than the first two ailments.  Shabbat Shalom.

Day 6

9 May 2009

We woke up early and walked from our hotel to shul.  Services are very frustrating beause not only are they sephardic, the Indian accents are so heavy that it doesn't even sound like Hebrew.  The girls side of the synagogue talked softly throughout the service about poverty in India versus uganda nad how no experience wil ever compare to our experience with the Abayudaya and Sheerit Yisrael Jews.

The difference, we think (though it's hard to compare such different communities), is the age of the Jewish communities.  Not the people, but the faith and its newness.  The Jews in Uganda have only been, well, Jews for around 200 years.  Their Judaism is new, and is always growing and changing.  In the case of the Abayudaya, they are visited almost monthly by members of the American Conservative Jewish community, which influences their practices.  Their music is famous - Rabbi Jeff Summit of Tufts University recorded their music and was nominated for a Grammy for the CD.  There are many children, and the community feels bright, alive, and hopeful.  Many of them hope to be recognized as Jews by Israel and make Aliyah.  They are a fairly large community of about 2,000 people.

Indian Jews have been in India for over 2,000 years.  Their story is something like: they were escaping Palestine during a dangerous time for the Jews during biblical times and have been in India ever since.  They practice Judaism the same way they've been practicing it since the biblical ages.  They're not well-known at all, and most of the younger members of the community has made Aliyah to Israel.  The community in India is very, very small.

After Havdalah, we went back to our hotel, changed clothes, celebrated the birthday of one of my group members, and began our walk to the Bollywood theatre where we were set to see Ghajini.  Ghajini is a remake of an older Bollywood film, which in turn is based on the movie Memento by Christopher Nolan, which is based on a short story by his brother Jonathan Nolan.  I was ecstatic to see this movie.  I love the movie Monsoon Wedding and I've always wanted to see a Bollywood film.  Bollywood may become my new passion when I get home (along with, you know, saving the world traveling writing reading theatre american sign language food Judaism and my friends). I'm a busy girl, eh?

Ghajini had action, suspense, and several elaborate and upbeat dance numbers.  It was FOUR HOURS LONG and completely in Hindi.  Having seen Memento, I was able to understand most of the movie.  Most of my group left the theatre early - the movie was too long for them.  I, on the other hand, stuck around and remained hyperactively thrilled through every overdramatic second of Ghajini.  Anyone know of a rental place in the greater Columbus area that rents/sells Bollywood flicks?

INDIA – Day 4.

May 7, 2009.
Today was India’s election day.  We were warned ahead of time that many tourist attractions and markets might be closed.

We visited the Baha'i temple, shaped like a lotus flower.

Baha’i respects all religions.  They believe that prophets like Abraham and Jesus are “divine messengers” that evolve. 

-They believe in a personal god and an omniscient and almighty god. 
-India houses the largest Baha’i community, 2.2 million people. 
-They pray individually except for their community prayer for the dead.
-March 2-20th is a sunrise to sunset fast.
-Baha’is don’t drink or do drugs.
-Education is very important.  Unlike many other religions, the daughters are educated before the sons because the daughters will continue the family.
-Baha’is choose to be part of the faith at the age of 15.
-To convert to the Baha’i faith, all one needs to do is say “I believe in the Baha’i faith”
-Baha’i has seven temples, one on each continent.
-Baha’i is the second most widespread religion (250 countries, holy book translated into 800 languages, five million Baha’is worldwide).
-symmetry in temples and the Garden are important.
-it’s a young religion, created in the 19th century.

We meditated on our time and experiences in each of our four countries while in the lotus temple.
A man went to the front of the temple and chanted into the microphone a beautiful, slow chant that resonated around the room and harmonized with itself when he finished.  The beautiful echo lingered for a good 15 seconds as it floated to the ceiling.  A woman also chanted.  It sounded like a flute as it filled the room.

We had a very successful shopping day in a market in Delhi.  The market is frequented by Israelis so often that many of the shopkeepers knew Hebrew, and there were signs for hostels and restaurants (which served marijuana-infused drinks) in Hebrew.

Lunch was less successful.  It was delicious, but the food disagreed with me in the end.  It was bound to happen.

Lookit that food and those big blue eyes.  Bahaha.

We then took a plane from Delhi to the city of Pune.

INDIA – Day 3.

May 6, 2009 (happy birthday, dad!).

We woke up at 4:30 in the morning to cath a 6:00 train to Agra to see what we’d all been waiting for: the Taj Mahal!

People were sleeping and squatting all over the train station, and kids were sitting on the platform between sets of tracks, calling for rupees.

Point of interest: the time difference between Israel and India is 2 ½ hours.  There are about 50 rupees (50 Rs) to the American dollar.

I slept on the train mostly and listened to the soundtrack I’d put together for India on my iPod, which featured music from Slumdog Millionaire, Monsoon wedding, bellydance music, and music from the Asian festival.

Breakfast/lunch on the train consisted of two slices of white bread and a container of spicy pita of some sort.  I had a slice of the bread and a triangle of the pita, to which my stomach said, “oh, no, you don’t.

The Indian woman sitting in front of me was holding a magazine with what looked like Paris Hilton on the cover, only she was airbrushed to look Indian.  The back of the magazine featured an extremely fair-skinned, light-eyed Indian woman in an ad for “fairness skin crème.” In India, that’s what is considered beautiful.

We visited Fatehpur and the grand palaces of Akbar, also called Fatehpur Sikri.  As we passed a huge pool of disgusting green water, we heard a shout.  An Indian man jumped into the pool, hopped out, and ran up to the ledge, begging for money for his feat.  It was disgusting and sad.

We then went to a craft shop and learned about marble inlay work.  It was beautiful – so very intricate.  There was a large model of the Taj Mahal.  The man working at the shop told us that it was the “second largest Taj Mahal.” We figured the Taj Mahal was the largest of the Taj Mahals.  Ha.

An inlay elephant.

We then visited a small market, where most of the girls (including me) got Mendhi (Henna) tattoos on our hands or feet.

When we were about a mile from the Taj Mahal, we had to get off of our tour bus and onto a public, natural gas bus.  All vehicles near the Taj Mahal were required to be natural gas.  As soon as we stepped out of the bus we were hounded by kids and adults to buy their Taj Mahal-themed products.

We first went through a huge gate with jeweled inlay and Arabic around the entrance.

Then, through the arch, we saw it.

The beautiful white Taj Mahal.  It looked as though it had been spun out of clouds.

It was crowded with tourists, international and Indian alike.

Really, the mausoleum that is the Taj Mahal is grander from the outside.  We took touristy pictures all around and just marveled at the beauty. 

Twice at the Taj Mahal Indian parents put their children on my lap and asked me to be in a picture with them.  I was an attraction, I suppose, being white and all.  We’d done the same thing with the children we saw in Uganda.

It really was a beautiful, amazing place.

On the way to the train station we passed a man riding an elephant, and two minutes later, we passed a wedding procession.  The groom was on a chair carried above the huge crowd.  He was dressed all in white and covered in rupee bills (Mahatma Gandhi is on all of the paper bills, by the way).  There was a band and dancing and everyone was dressed in bright colors.  When we slowed down to wave at them, they cheered and waved back.

More on begging.
Begging in India really is a profession, even for the children.  Sure, you get the occasional child with a cleft lip or severed leg, but you also get the kids who fold a leg up in a torn scrap of cloth and later run to chase their friends down the platform in the Agra train station.  They steered clear of the train tracks, which are covered in rats at night.

I had brought some toys to give to kids, and I handed out little animal figurines and fluffy pink hair ties.  One of the girls gave me a big grin as she put the pink scrunchie in her hair but another girl, who was carrying a baby, gave me a disapproving look before adding it to the ties in her hair.

Our cook Erad was smart – he took the group of beggar children to the food stand and bought them a packaged cake to share.  Two of the kids ran off with it, though.  Our wonderful and amazing guide for our trips, Roni, told us that if you buy any food items for the kids, open it before you give it to them.  If you don't, they'll take it back to the vendor and sell it back for the money.

Erad, showed the kids, who gathered around him with sad eyes and “I’m hungry” pantomimes, how to “armpit fart.” They clapped and laughed and tried to imitate him.  One of the beggar kids reminded Jason and I of Harpo Marx.  He never said a word, but he was a character:
A kid approached Jason and mimed putting food in his mouth.  “Harpo” stood behind him, imitating with wide eyes.  When kid #1 turned to leave, Harpo grabbed the string of kid #1’s bag and he fell comically.  The kid turned angrily and Harpo grinned a big silly grin.

We gave them some money, food, and toys, and while they’d occasionally remember that they were “on the job”, they spent most of the time doing kid things and making us laugh.