Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; December 20, 2007
Aluma is located on a small street in Tarshiha, an Arab town on the outskirts of Kfar Havradim. For several years it has has been considered one of the most prestigious bistros in the Western Galilee, hosting some of the best chefs in Israel. However, during my recent trip to Western Galilee, my hosts at the guest houses did not recommend Aluma, as an option for dinner. I soon figured out why.
The interior of Aluma promised a pleasant dining experience. Its simple country French design was warm and inviting, but in no way ostentatious.
The food, however, proved adequate at best, certainly not as outstanding as I had expected - and hoped - it would be.
The meal was introduced with fresh homebaked bread served with a tasty olive spread, a punchy tomato spread (use sparingly!), and a fresh lentil dip. It took a downward turn with the "appetizer samples" (served only with the business lunch). The roasted eggplant, served on a bed of white beans, was much too bland. The veal carpaccio arrived buried under balsamic vinegar and arugula, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was an attempt to hide the rather oddly colored cuts of veal. The liver pate, served cold with grape jam and pistachio nuts, lay on a bed of hard shmaltz (chicken fat). The waiter assured me that the liver was supposed to be served like that, but the fat certainly clogged my enjoyment of the otherwise tasty pate. The perfectly crisp crab cakes, while flavored well, felt dry.
The transitional sorbet was not an effective amuse bouche; it was more like slush.
The meal segued into the rather pedestrian poulet stuffed with herbs, pistachio, raisins and dried tomatoes (NIS 78). The stuffing of the rather stingy portion had the aroma of packaged seasoning. But the vegetable side of steamed broccoli, carrots, string beans and kohlrabi clinched my conclusion that Aluma was far from living up to its former glorious reputation. The kohlrabi tasted rotten, and when I asked the server about it, he replied that kohlrabi simply tastes sour when cooked and that other customers have asked the same question. If that's the case, why keep serving it?
Hoping dessert would redeem the meal, I asked the waiter (who was very friendly but not too helpful in providing menu guidance) what he recommended.
"They're all good," he replied.
I was hoping for a solid recommendation, because at this point I needed a sure thing. The "dessert tasters" (NIS 38) came with samples of Galilean delights: malabi, pistachio ice cream and candied squash. They were quite good, but not good enough to save the overall lackluster meal.
After probing a little further, I discovered that Aluma has recently undergone several sous-chef turnovers in the kitchen that have led to inconsistency. I certainly caught Aluma on a bad day.
Tarshiha-Kfar Havradim road; tel: (04) 957-4477; www.aluma.co.il Not kosher.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Klil: off the beaten path
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; December 13, 2007
Click here for original
Nestled in the green hills by Nahariya and fueled almost exclusively by natural energy sources, Klil takes organic, creative living to a different dimension
You'll probably need a GPS to get you to the entrance of Klil, but be warned: once you enter, it stops working. Klil consists of dirt roads carved through shrubby hills leading to custom-made one and two-story homes.
Klil doesn't look like it belongs in the tiny state of Israel. Residents' gardens consist of acres of land filled with organic herbs, orchards and olive trees. Colorful signs lead the driver to Klil's attractions, among them a goat cheese shop, a bakery and a few cafes, a soap and honey maker, and jewelry, glassworks and ceramic shops. Just watch out for the wild boars (don't worry, they don't attack humans, only agriculture); I almost ran over a pack late at night on the dirt road.
Klil, located 14km east of Nahariya was built as an ecological settlement in 1978. It started out with seven seed families and grew to accommodate some 100 families today. Dr. Irit Schreier, the head of the Klil community council, explained the principles behind the community in the wilderness.
'We call it an agro-ecological model of settlement that combines three elements: First is organic agriculture - it's forbidden to grow non-organic agriculture. The second is sustainable orchards - growing trees with simple methods that maintain ecological balance. The third is developing the wild greenery of the region.'
The residents try to use only natural sources of energy. Every home has solar electricity panels, but residents soon found that solar panels are not always enough, so they are backed up by generators.
There is a sense of refined beauty in Klil and it is a unique and quirky alternative to the more predictable resorts in the Golan and along the Kinneret. The residents are hospitable, and several Klil families have built tzimmers on their land to host out-of-towners. Here are some highlights, but don't worry about the GPS: part of the fun is getting lost and exploring on your own.
FOOD
Brunch at Smadar BeClil comes recommended if you're looking for delicious vegetarian food and friendly hospitality. Smadar and Yossi Yardeni, among Klil's first residents, converted the family's first home into a restaurant furnished with handcrafted wooden furniture both indoors and out. While cutting up organic vegetables from the kitchen, Yardeni explained the reason for her move from Jerusalem, where she was a student at the Bezalel School of Art.
'We decided our future needed more space; we wanted land,' says Yardeni. 'We loved the virgin nature of Klil; you can preserve it.' To realize the Klil dream, they bought land from Druse living in Galilee and started out in a tent: 'We were very self-sufficient; we grew vegetables, herded goats.'
They closed down their own organic goat-cheese dairy about six years ago, and Yardeni, now 50-years-old, considers managing her restaurant and two tzimmers as her form of retirement in comparison. The love she puts into her work is evident in the brunch, consisting of fluffy herb omelets, a plate of delicious goat cheese (including some from Klil's own cheesemaker), a platter of vegetables topped with Yardeni's own olive oil and fresh mint lemonade. (Don't miss her homemade guava jam.) For lunch and dinner she offers salads, sandwiches and homemade pastas.
Further along the rocky road is Cafe B'Clil, a well-kept camping ground with its own cafe for those who don't need the comforts - and expense - of a tzimmer. Camping tents go for NIS 80 per person (NIS 60 for children) and they come with mattresses only. The founder is Tamar Schoer, a former art teacher and veteran resident of Klil.
I visited the shanty cafe as the cooks were preparing for the Thursday night crowd. Open to the public only on weekends, the cafe is reminiscent of the cushioned-lined restaurant huts in Sinai, minus the desert, water and Beduin. The conditions may be simple, but the olive trees, avocado trees, white tents, and lots of green that surrounds Cafe B'Clil make this place exceptional.
Smadar BeClil: 04-956-1678; http://www.ohalimretreats.com/cafe_clil.htm
Cafe B'Clil: (04) 996-9432; 052-326-1898
CRAFTS
Craftsman and artists have made Klil their home for the inspiration and solitude the surroundings provide. For ceramist Yael Shemer, the electricity shortage has actually sparked a new way of working.
Moving to Klil ten years ago has forced Shemer to fire up her clay using a method she never thought she would implement when she learned ceramics as a Bezalel student: gas ovens. Electric solar panels were simply not strong enough for her to power the more widely used electric oven. Shemer has found that she prefers this method. The oxidation of the gas oven renders unpredictable, unique color streaks in her ceramic jugs, plates and mugs.
Inside her garage-like studio, her shelves are filled with dozens of literally half-baked works. As a result of the energy shortage at Klil, Shemer fires the oven only about three times a month, and the ceramics require several rounds in the oven.
Luckily for newer Klil resident Reut Keret, electricity isn't required for her work. She sells her own handcrafted jewelry from a little corner in the small house she shares with her husband. She named her small boutique 'Sundri', which means 'pretty woman' in Hindi since her jewelry is made using gemstones imported from India. She crafts jewelry using a method that requires minimal tools - and no electricity outlets. While her selection of jewelry is rather small, she sells striking gems that follow the length of the ear lobe.
Yael Shemer: (04) 980-4571; Sundri: 050-634-3114
ENTERTAINMENT
Ada Moril of Diane and Ada, a folk music duo popular on the folk and world-music circuit, has made her home in Klil for the past 30 years ago. When I stopped by her 'Yellow House,' as it is officially called, she and her family were in the middle of separating olives from the branches to make their own olive oil.
Sitting under an ancient olive tree, the Canadian-Israeli explained in native English how she moved to Klil to find a quiet place in nature focused on ecological living. 'Already in Canada I knew I wanted to live in the country, in the hills overlooking the sea.' She has fulfilled her dream: It was a clear day and the coast of Nahariya shone cobalt blue.
In her living room Moril hosts her own concerts as well as those of other folk acts. From her home she also leads groups on herb trails, explaining the culinary and medicinal properties of herbs that grow wild in the Klil hills.
www.diane-ada.com; www.clil.net/ada Tel: 04-996-9540
A BOON IN THE BOONDOCKS
If Klil feels like it's located at the end of the earth, then B'vadi Etzel Ayali's is at the farthest end. It takes a few turns on thin dirt roads to reach one of its two mountain cabins, built on stilts, but once you do, there are nothing but mountainous forests of mint green and gray-hued lavender to distract you. You can feel like you are the only two people who exist on earth, so be sure to come with someone you really, really like.
The cabin I stayed in was designed in wood and warm, reddish tones, but clearly the best part about the tzimmer was the view from the patio, smartly situated with its back to the rest of Klil. The only sign of life in the forests was a rundown crusader fortress located at Kibbutz Yehiam at the peak of a far hill. In the winter, water flows through Nahal Yehiam below, and the Jewish National Fund has carved out a hiking trail along it.
The cabin includes a lounge area, a fully stocked kitchen, and a small hot tub room adjacent to the bedroom. But you might have to ruin your private moment and tell the owner, Esti Ayali, when you want to use the hot tub; she needs to turn on the electricity generator to generate the bubbles. Esti and her husband, Yoav, live next door in their home and they're always available on their cell-phone (when you catch a line!) to cater to the guests' needs.
Blame it on the electricity solar panels, but lamps don't shine too brightly inside, adding to the intimate and romantic setting. There is no television - fortunately - but a stereo system with a small music selection. This trip's most relaxing moment came when this writer popped in one of their Mozart CDs and dropped on the queen size bed to the sounds of birds chirping in the carob trees.
NIS 1,500 per couple for two nights, including breakfast, on weekends; weekday discounts available.
Tel: 050-379-4661; www.eyali.co.il
Click here for original
Nestled in the green hills by Nahariya and fueled almost exclusively by natural energy sources, Klil takes organic, creative living to a different dimension
You'll probably need a GPS to get you to the entrance of Klil, but be warned: once you enter, it stops working. Klil consists of dirt roads carved through shrubby hills leading to custom-made one and two-story homes.
Klil doesn't look like it belongs in the tiny state of Israel. Residents' gardens consist of acres of land filled with organic herbs, orchards and olive trees. Colorful signs lead the driver to Klil's attractions, among them a goat cheese shop, a bakery and a few cafes, a soap and honey maker, and jewelry, glassworks and ceramic shops. Just watch out for the wild boars (don't worry, they don't attack humans, only agriculture); I almost ran over a pack late at night on the dirt road.
Klil, located 14km east of Nahariya was built as an ecological settlement in 1978. It started out with seven seed families and grew to accommodate some 100 families today. Dr. Irit Schreier, the head of the Klil community council, explained the principles behind the community in the wilderness.
'We call it an agro-ecological model of settlement that combines three elements: First is organic agriculture - it's forbidden to grow non-organic agriculture. The second is sustainable orchards - growing trees with simple methods that maintain ecological balance. The third is developing the wild greenery of the region.'
The residents try to use only natural sources of energy. Every home has solar electricity panels, but residents soon found that solar panels are not always enough, so they are backed up by generators.
There is a sense of refined beauty in Klil and it is a unique and quirky alternative to the more predictable resorts in the Golan and along the Kinneret. The residents are hospitable, and several Klil families have built tzimmers on their land to host out-of-towners. Here are some highlights, but don't worry about the GPS: part of the fun is getting lost and exploring on your own.
FOOD
Brunch at Smadar BeClil comes recommended if you're looking for delicious vegetarian food and friendly hospitality. Smadar and Yossi Yardeni, among Klil's first residents, converted the family's first home into a restaurant furnished with handcrafted wooden furniture both indoors and out. While cutting up organic vegetables from the kitchen, Yardeni explained the reason for her move from Jerusalem, where she was a student at the Bezalel School of Art.
'We decided our future needed more space; we wanted land,' says Yardeni. 'We loved the virgin nature of Klil; you can preserve it.' To realize the Klil dream, they bought land from Druse living in Galilee and started out in a tent: 'We were very self-sufficient; we grew vegetables, herded goats.'
They closed down their own organic goat-cheese dairy about six years ago, and Yardeni, now 50-years-old, considers managing her restaurant and two tzimmers as her form of retirement in comparison. The love she puts into her work is evident in the brunch, consisting of fluffy herb omelets, a plate of delicious goat cheese (including some from Klil's own cheesemaker), a platter of vegetables topped with Yardeni's own olive oil and fresh mint lemonade. (Don't miss her homemade guava jam.) For lunch and dinner she offers salads, sandwiches and homemade pastas.
Further along the rocky road is Cafe B'Clil, a well-kept camping ground with its own cafe for those who don't need the comforts - and expense - of a tzimmer. Camping tents go for NIS 80 per person (NIS 60 for children) and they come with mattresses only. The founder is Tamar Schoer, a former art teacher and veteran resident of Klil.
I visited the shanty cafe as the cooks were preparing for the Thursday night crowd. Open to the public only on weekends, the cafe is reminiscent of the cushioned-lined restaurant huts in Sinai, minus the desert, water and Beduin. The conditions may be simple, but the olive trees, avocado trees, white tents, and lots of green that surrounds Cafe B'Clil make this place exceptional.
Smadar BeClil: 04-956-1678; http://www.ohalimretreats.com/cafe_clil.htm
Cafe B'Clil: (04) 996-9432; 052-326-1898
CRAFTS
Craftsman and artists have made Klil their home for the inspiration and solitude the surroundings provide. For ceramist Yael Shemer, the electricity shortage has actually sparked a new way of working.
Moving to Klil ten years ago has forced Shemer to fire up her clay using a method she never thought she would implement when she learned ceramics as a Bezalel student: gas ovens. Electric solar panels were simply not strong enough for her to power the more widely used electric oven. Shemer has found that she prefers this method. The oxidation of the gas oven renders unpredictable, unique color streaks in her ceramic jugs, plates and mugs.
Inside her garage-like studio, her shelves are filled with dozens of literally half-baked works. As a result of the energy shortage at Klil, Shemer fires the oven only about three times a month, and the ceramics require several rounds in the oven.
Luckily for newer Klil resident Reut Keret, electricity isn't required for her work. She sells her own handcrafted jewelry from a little corner in the small house she shares with her husband. She named her small boutique 'Sundri', which means 'pretty woman' in Hindi since her jewelry is made using gemstones imported from India. She crafts jewelry using a method that requires minimal tools - and no electricity outlets. While her selection of jewelry is rather small, she sells striking gems that follow the length of the ear lobe.
Yael Shemer: (04) 980-4571; Sundri: 050-634-3114
ENTERTAINMENT
Ada Moril of Diane and Ada, a folk music duo popular on the folk and world-music circuit, has made her home in Klil for the past 30 years ago. When I stopped by her 'Yellow House,' as it is officially called, she and her family were in the middle of separating olives from the branches to make their own olive oil.
Sitting under an ancient olive tree, the Canadian-Israeli explained in native English how she moved to Klil to find a quiet place in nature focused on ecological living. 'Already in Canada I knew I wanted to live in the country, in the hills overlooking the sea.' She has fulfilled her dream: It was a clear day and the coast of Nahariya shone cobalt blue.
In her living room Moril hosts her own concerts as well as those of other folk acts. From her home she also leads groups on herb trails, explaining the culinary and medicinal properties of herbs that grow wild in the Klil hills.
www.diane-ada.com; www.clil.net/ada Tel: 04-996-9540
A BOON IN THE BOONDOCKS
If Klil feels like it's located at the end of the earth, then B'vadi Etzel Ayali's is at the farthest end. It takes a few turns on thin dirt roads to reach one of its two mountain cabins, built on stilts, but once you do, there are nothing but mountainous forests of mint green and gray-hued lavender to distract you. You can feel like you are the only two people who exist on earth, so be sure to come with someone you really, really like.
The cabin I stayed in was designed in wood and warm, reddish tones, but clearly the best part about the tzimmer was the view from the patio, smartly situated with its back to the rest of Klil. The only sign of life in the forests was a rundown crusader fortress located at Kibbutz Yehiam at the peak of a far hill. In the winter, water flows through Nahal Yehiam below, and the Jewish National Fund has carved out a hiking trail along it.
The cabin includes a lounge area, a fully stocked kitchen, and a small hot tub room adjacent to the bedroom. But you might have to ruin your private moment and tell the owner, Esti Ayali, when you want to use the hot tub; she needs to turn on the electricity generator to generate the bubbles. Esti and her husband, Yoav, live next door in their home and they're always available on their cell-phone (when you catch a line!) to cater to the guests' needs.
Blame it on the electricity solar panels, but lamps don't shine too brightly inside, adding to the intimate and romantic setting. There is no television - fortunately - but a stereo system with a small music selection. This trip's most relaxing moment came when this writer popped in one of their Mozart CDs and dropped on the queen size bed to the sounds of birds chirping in the carob trees.
NIS 1,500 per couple for two nights, including breakfast, on weekends; weekday discounts available.
Tel: 050-379-4661; www.eyali.co.il
Friday, November 30, 2007
Cooking up a storm
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; November 30, 2007
One has to wonder what the Jerusalem Municipality was thinking when, as a tribute to 40 years of a united Jerusalem, it pitted top chefs from Tel Aviv against chefs from Jerusalem in a gourmet cooking competition.
At the risk of sounding unfaithful to the city I live in, I could understand a contest between the metropolis and the capital for the best rugelach, the best Jewish art, the best rabbis - but the best gourmet meal?
Anyone conversant with in the Israeli culinary scene could easily have predicted the winner even before the contest began. Jerusalem may be the capital of Israel, but Tel Aviv is the capital of Israel's restaurant industry. While many talented chefs were born and raised in Jerusalem, those seeking a career in the kitchen eventually moved to the big city, like Aviv Moshe of Messa and Rafi Cohen of Raphael, where the cosmopolitan cooking culture pushes them to international standards of excellence.
But if the event was meant to promote the last weekend of the Hamshushalayim festival, during which cultural institutions are open to the public free of charge and local restaurants offer special menus, the competition was well done. The conference hall of the Inbal Hotel, where the event was held on Monday, was packed with city officials, journalists and press photographers vying for a glimpse - and perhaps a bite - of the two four-course meals inspired by the holy city.
"We are sure Jerusalem will win," said Tal Marom Malovec, spokesperson of the tourism and culture unit of the Jerusalem Municipality, ahead of the competition. "They worked a full week on the menus, the plan. They'll give Tel Aviv a fight."
But Jerusalem set itself up for defeat when it invited Meir Adoni, chef of the acclaimed Catit restaurant, to be part of the Tel Aviv team, along with Shaul Ben-Aderet of Kimel, Chef Antonio Mensa of Ali-Oli, and Chef Hadassa Wolf of Comme Il Faut. Catit was recently voted by readers of Time Out magazine as the best restaurant in Tel Aviv, and a few weeks before that, Adoni became an instant national chef celebrity when he was the first of four Israeli chefs (including Aviv Moshe) to beat out French chef Stephane Froidevaux in Channel 10's cooking showdown "Battle of the Knives."
Despite Adoni's fondness for Jerusalem, which he developed as a chef under famed chef Ezra Kedem of Jerusalem's Arcadia restaurant and as a boy growing up in a Zionist household, he wasn't about to cook with mercy. "It looks bad [if Tel Aviv wins], but we'll still win, even if it's by half a point," Adoni forecast ahead of the cook- off.
But the competition was digested in good fun by both teams. The atmosphere in the large kitchen of the Inbal was lively, optimistic and friendly, with chefs from each team encouraging each other and Adoni leading his team in old Jerusalem folk songs.
"There's no pressure, we're cooking in good spirits," said chef Itzik Mizrahi, head chef of the Inbal Hotel and its Sofia restaurant, the official caterer of the president. He headed the Jerusalem team consisting of chef Marcus Gershkovitz of Canela, chef Motti Zigron of La Carossa, chef Guy Ben-Simhon of La Guta and chef Dafna Baruch of Pituyim.
He was in charge of the Jerusalem entree, consisting of lamb chops on a bed of root vegetables. "We want to show that Jerusalem is about more than just humous and ktzitzot [meatballs]."
Both teams prepared their dishes using raw materials endemic to Jerusalem, including Jerusalem artichoke, chickpeas, root vegetables, sesame, wheat, beets and za'atar.
Ben-Simhon prepared his team's starting dish, a gourmet rendition of me'urav yerushalmi, a popular Jerusalem street food consisting of a mix of grilled meats usually served in pita. He served the meat inside bone marrow on a bed of spicy chickpeas. While plating the dish in a tin pan set on Jerusalem stone garnished by olives and olive leaves, he expressed his confidence. "It's always fun to win, especially against another city, and I think we'll win. If not, a tie is also good."
The courses were served to the three judges on the dais: television cooking personality chef Haim Cohen, host of TV show Garlic, Pepper and Olive Oil; cookbook author and food writer Phyllis Glazer; and actress Sarit Vino- Elad.
Dishes were served unmarked, but both Cohen and Glazer admitted to In Jerusalem that they could recognize the creators by the mere presentation.
"From the first dish, I felt who was Jerusalem and who was Tel Aviv - the taste, the presentation, the plating," said Cohen.
"From what I've seen of Tel Aviv," added Glazer, "it's not so much the plating, but the taste. They're more sophisticated, use a range of ingredients and are more delicate."
The final overall score came out to 135:150, Tel Aviv.
Simhon got his "tie" with Adoni, who served sashimi on a bed of chickpeas - quite a feat (unless there were mercy points).
Dafna Baruch beat Antonio Mensa of Ali-Oli in Tel Aviv for best dessert with her scrumptious sesame pastry filled with halva cream, garnished with brandied figs.
But the winning entree, "A Jerusalem Winter Stewpot," concocted by Shaul Ben-Aderet, went hands down to Tel Aviv (literally, after the journalists couldn't stop themselves from dipping their fingers into the large pot in the kitchen). The homey stew artfully and deliciously reflected the authentic Jerusalem kitchen, with lamb, beef cheek and tongue, cooked wheat, stuffed artichoke and cinnamon and paprika spicing.
"This is the Jerusalem dish," said Cohen of the stewpot. "It comes from here. Lamb chops don't come from here."
The winning recipes were served to President Shimon Peres on Thursday. Upon accepting the Medallion of Honor on behalf of Tel Aviv, Adoni generously announced to the city of Jerusalem, "It's yours!"
One has to wonder what the Jerusalem Municipality was thinking when, as a tribute to 40 years of a united Jerusalem, it pitted top chefs from Tel Aviv against chefs from Jerusalem in a gourmet cooking competition.
At the risk of sounding unfaithful to the city I live in, I could understand a contest between the metropolis and the capital for the best rugelach, the best Jewish art, the best rabbis - but the best gourmet meal?
Anyone conversant with in the Israeli culinary scene could easily have predicted the winner even before the contest began. Jerusalem may be the capital of Israel, but Tel Aviv is the capital of Israel's restaurant industry. While many talented chefs were born and raised in Jerusalem, those seeking a career in the kitchen eventually moved to the big city, like Aviv Moshe of Messa and Rafi Cohen of Raphael, where the cosmopolitan cooking culture pushes them to international standards of excellence.
But if the event was meant to promote the last weekend of the Hamshushalayim festival, during which cultural institutions are open to the public free of charge and local restaurants offer special menus, the competition was well done. The conference hall of the Inbal Hotel, where the event was held on Monday, was packed with city officials, journalists and press photographers vying for a glimpse - and perhaps a bite - of the two four-course meals inspired by the holy city.
"We are sure Jerusalem will win," said Tal Marom Malovec, spokesperson of the tourism and culture unit of the Jerusalem Municipality, ahead of the competition. "They worked a full week on the menus, the plan. They'll give Tel Aviv a fight."
But Jerusalem set itself up for defeat when it invited Meir Adoni, chef of the acclaimed Catit restaurant, to be part of the Tel Aviv team, along with Shaul Ben-Aderet of Kimel, Chef Antonio Mensa of Ali-Oli, and Chef Hadassa Wolf of Comme Il Faut. Catit was recently voted by readers of Time Out magazine as the best restaurant in Tel Aviv, and a few weeks before that, Adoni became an instant national chef celebrity when he was the first of four Israeli chefs (including Aviv Moshe) to beat out French chef Stephane Froidevaux in Channel 10's cooking showdown "Battle of the Knives."
Despite Adoni's fondness for Jerusalem, which he developed as a chef under famed chef Ezra Kedem of Jerusalem's Arcadia restaurant and as a boy growing up in a Zionist household, he wasn't about to cook with mercy. "It looks bad [if Tel Aviv wins], but we'll still win, even if it's by half a point," Adoni forecast ahead of the cook- off.
But the competition was digested in good fun by both teams. The atmosphere in the large kitchen of the Inbal was lively, optimistic and friendly, with chefs from each team encouraging each other and Adoni leading his team in old Jerusalem folk songs.
"There's no pressure, we're cooking in good spirits," said chef Itzik Mizrahi, head chef of the Inbal Hotel and its Sofia restaurant, the official caterer of the president. He headed the Jerusalem team consisting of chef Marcus Gershkovitz of Canela, chef Motti Zigron of La Carossa, chef Guy Ben-Simhon of La Guta and chef Dafna Baruch of Pituyim.
He was in charge of the Jerusalem entree, consisting of lamb chops on a bed of root vegetables. "We want to show that Jerusalem is about more than just humous and ktzitzot [meatballs]."
Both teams prepared their dishes using raw materials endemic to Jerusalem, including Jerusalem artichoke, chickpeas, root vegetables, sesame, wheat, beets and za'atar.
Ben-Simhon prepared his team's starting dish, a gourmet rendition of me'urav yerushalmi, a popular Jerusalem street food consisting of a mix of grilled meats usually served in pita. He served the meat inside bone marrow on a bed of spicy chickpeas. While plating the dish in a tin pan set on Jerusalem stone garnished by olives and olive leaves, he expressed his confidence. "It's always fun to win, especially against another city, and I think we'll win. If not, a tie is also good."
The courses were served to the three judges on the dais: television cooking personality chef Haim Cohen, host of TV show Garlic, Pepper and Olive Oil; cookbook author and food writer Phyllis Glazer; and actress Sarit Vino- Elad.
Dishes were served unmarked, but both Cohen and Glazer admitted to In Jerusalem that they could recognize the creators by the mere presentation.
"From the first dish, I felt who was Jerusalem and who was Tel Aviv - the taste, the presentation, the plating," said Cohen.
"From what I've seen of Tel Aviv," added Glazer, "it's not so much the plating, but the taste. They're more sophisticated, use a range of ingredients and are more delicate."
The final overall score came out to 135:150, Tel Aviv.
Simhon got his "tie" with Adoni, who served sashimi on a bed of chickpeas - quite a feat (unless there were mercy points).
Dafna Baruch beat Antonio Mensa of Ali-Oli in Tel Aviv for best dessert with her scrumptious sesame pastry filled with halva cream, garnished with brandied figs.
But the winning entree, "A Jerusalem Winter Stewpot," concocted by Shaul Ben-Aderet, went hands down to Tel Aviv (literally, after the journalists couldn't stop themselves from dipping their fingers into the large pot in the kitchen). The homey stew artfully and deliciously reflected the authentic Jerusalem kitchen, with lamb, beef cheek and tongue, cooked wheat, stuffed artichoke and cinnamon and paprika spicing.
"This is the Jerusalem dish," said Cohen of the stewpot. "It comes from here. Lamb chops don't come from here."
The winning recipes were served to President Shimon Peres on Thursday. Upon accepting the Medallion of Honor on behalf of Tel Aviv, Adoni generously announced to the city of Jerusalem, "It's yours!"
For those who are 'not all there' (dance bar review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; November 30, 2007
Mental has made a name for itself as the hottest dance bar in Tel Aviv, but it didn't look like it when we arrived at 11 p.m. on Thursday, the prime clubbing hour of the week. There was no line at the door, and a lot of empty bar stools. But like all Tel Aviv hotspots, Mental did get more 'happening' closer to 1 a.m. In this it resembles the Breakfast Club and Dada - underground dance bars that emphasize cutting-edge electronic music and after-hours nightlife.
Mental, already eight months old, is appropriately named because people are inclined to go crazy there, what with the alcohol and electronic music. Just before rush hour, however, the impression isn't particularly spectacular. Mental is not about overblown glam, but dark, minimalist style.
I anticipated a righteous coolness; sometimes the vibe of underground dance bars can be snobby. So when a very good-looking guy in a sweaty T-shirt cheerfully greeted us from behind the bar and introduced himself as the owner, I expressed surprise at his friendliness. Owners of such digs are often stuck-up.
'Not us,' he said.
My New York friend and I asked for a menu from the bartender, who looked like a skinhead, complete with a mean demeanor and tattoos all over his arms, including one of a cross. The skinhead supported my original thesis. To our menu request, he grunted: 'Not here.'
Okay, no menus. We asked him to recommend a cocktail. He looked at us as if we were aliens. Fortunately, a different bartender - friendly, down-to-earth and with curly blond hair - took over.
'Don't you recommend drinks here?' I asked.
'Not here. People who come here generally know what they want,' he said simply, without making us feel like dummies. At Mental, people want the hard, simple mixes; girly cocktails like apple martinis and cosmos are not their specialties. Tonic water, however, is. The sweet bartender accidentally knocked a bottle in our direction, spilling some on my friend's pants. He apologized.
Hoping that the music would compensate for the wet pants, my friend committed the faux pas of asking if the DJ would spin pop music.
'Not here.'
Of course.
On weekends, Mental is clearly the place for electronic music fans, although Tuesday night is dedicated to other genres, including pop and Israeli music.
As the classic rock warm-up turned into Mental's signature electro music, we forgot about the spilt drink and our pop dreams. The powerful, balanced sound system did justice to the creative yet fun-loving beats that got us onto the floor to dance and flirt. Unfortunately, some of the other dancers seemed somewhat high on themselves (and probably on other substances as well).
Before leaving, we thought it was time to test the owner's sincerity. We told him about the spilt drink, explaining that it called for more than just a sweet apology.
'Not here,' he replied.
Actually, it didn't seem like he was all there, either. And neither were we. He reluctantly offered us vodka chasers as compensation, and after finishing them off, we went to finish off the night at Griffin - the mega- bar a few blocks down which offers menus, cocktails, pop music, and a little more approachability.
Party line-up: Sunday is for the Tel Aviv working man; Monday sees live bands; Tuesday brings pop and electronic freestyle; Wednesday features special guest DJs; on weekends, expect electronic freestyle.
Mental; 7 Shadal St.; tel. (054) 542-9989.
Mental has made a name for itself as the hottest dance bar in Tel Aviv, but it didn't look like it when we arrived at 11 p.m. on Thursday, the prime clubbing hour of the week. There was no line at the door, and a lot of empty bar stools. But like all Tel Aviv hotspots, Mental did get more 'happening' closer to 1 a.m. In this it resembles the Breakfast Club and Dada - underground dance bars that emphasize cutting-edge electronic music and after-hours nightlife.
Mental, already eight months old, is appropriately named because people are inclined to go crazy there, what with the alcohol and electronic music. Just before rush hour, however, the impression isn't particularly spectacular. Mental is not about overblown glam, but dark, minimalist style.
I anticipated a righteous coolness; sometimes the vibe of underground dance bars can be snobby. So when a very good-looking guy in a sweaty T-shirt cheerfully greeted us from behind the bar and introduced himself as the owner, I expressed surprise at his friendliness. Owners of such digs are often stuck-up.
'Not us,' he said.
My New York friend and I asked for a menu from the bartender, who looked like a skinhead, complete with a mean demeanor and tattoos all over his arms, including one of a cross. The skinhead supported my original thesis. To our menu request, he grunted: 'Not here.'
Okay, no menus. We asked him to recommend a cocktail. He looked at us as if we were aliens. Fortunately, a different bartender - friendly, down-to-earth and with curly blond hair - took over.
'Don't you recommend drinks here?' I asked.
'Not here. People who come here generally know what they want,' he said simply, without making us feel like dummies. At Mental, people want the hard, simple mixes; girly cocktails like apple martinis and cosmos are not their specialties. Tonic water, however, is. The sweet bartender accidentally knocked a bottle in our direction, spilling some on my friend's pants. He apologized.
Hoping that the music would compensate for the wet pants, my friend committed the faux pas of asking if the DJ would spin pop music.
'Not here.'
Of course.
On weekends, Mental is clearly the place for electronic music fans, although Tuesday night is dedicated to other genres, including pop and Israeli music.
As the classic rock warm-up turned into Mental's signature electro music, we forgot about the spilt drink and our pop dreams. The powerful, balanced sound system did justice to the creative yet fun-loving beats that got us onto the floor to dance and flirt. Unfortunately, some of the other dancers seemed somewhat high on themselves (and probably on other substances as well).
Before leaving, we thought it was time to test the owner's sincerity. We told him about the spilt drink, explaining that it called for more than just a sweet apology.
'Not here,' he replied.
Actually, it didn't seem like he was all there, either. And neither were we. He reluctantly offered us vodka chasers as compensation, and after finishing them off, we went to finish off the night at Griffin - the mega- bar a few blocks down which offers menus, cocktails, pop music, and a little more approachability.
Party line-up: Sunday is for the Tel Aviv working man; Monday sees live bands; Tuesday brings pop and electronic freestyle; Wednesday features special guest DJs; on weekends, expect electronic freestyle.
Mental; 7 Shadal St.; tel. (054) 542-9989.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Fat chance (restaurant review)
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; November 22, 2007
If you're looking for more than a few drinks on plastic chairs, the Gordo restobar could be the spot for you on Tel Aviv's promenade.
Warning: Those who settle on the deck of Gordo for a sunset dinner may not want to leave until the early hours. I don't know of any other restaurant on the Tel Aviv promenade that hands out blankets with a smile so that diners can cozy up under the tall metal heat lamps when it gets chilly.
Located right off the boardwalk underneath the Renaissance Hotel on Gordon beach, Gordo is exactly what the folksy Tel Aviv promenade needs to achieve a more stylish, sophisticated edge.
The handsome eatery is spread out on a multi-leveled patio, designed so that each seating corner gets a view of the water. Gordo is both child and animal friendly. Lounging around me on the cushioned sofas and chairs for Friday night dinner were lone couples, a small family with its dog, and what seemed to be a large tourist group. The tropic outdoor bar leads to the entrance of a plush dance lounge that's ideal for singles seeking a mix of drinks, dancing and romance.
In building the two-month-old Gordo (which means "fat" in Spanish), Ronen Avni, one of the five owners, stated that their goal was design, food, service and quality. So far, they have lived up to their aims. While the owners' specialty is nightlife - they have founded some of the city's most successful bars: Blend, The Lobby and Golden Bar - they have passed over to restaurants quite well. No detail here is spared, from the coasters featuring the image of "Gordo" (an animated rotund man), to the soft, pastel upholstery, to the garnish on the dishes.
We started out with an eggplant carpaccio (NIS 28) from Gordo's temporary menu, which for now includes a limited but respectable selection of appetizers, salads, seafood, meat dishes and kids' meals. The creative and aesthetic round dish was a light and scrumptious starter, consisting of soft, grilled eggplant topped with balsamic vinegar and feta. It formed an ideal vegetarian alternative to the beef carpaccio (also on the menu). The Greek salad we also ordered was rather plain, consisting chunks of cucumbers and tomatoes, but salads are not their prominent dishes, the fish and seafood are.
The quality of the raw materials was tangible in their finger- licking, firm spicy shrimp flavored with chili, tomatoes and thin garlic wedges (NIS 48/84).
The sea bass (NIS 94), that was served whole and extremely fresh, was one of the best fish dishes I've eaten in a while. It was tender and stuffed with roasted garlic cloves whose jam added depth of delicious flavor to the fish and accompanying Chinese bok choy. The roasted potatoes and bread were rather basic.
Once the sun set, the only illumination came from yellow Christmas lights wrapped around the patio umbrellas. The smile of the gracious waiter, who pledged at the beginning of the evening that our satisfaction was his goal and was good to his word, also helped to brighten the evening.
The desserts were not as unique or impressive as the previous dishes. The malabi had a nice milky texture and flavor, topped with pink rose water and nuts. The creme brulee (NIS 34), torched right behind the bar, should satisfy fans of the dish.
However, I regret not opting for the whiskey chocolate cubes.
Too bad Gordo just missed summer. The Mediterranean dishes and atmosphere are perfect for summer heat. Yet the owners plan to install glass enclosures to make it a hot spot for winter. Given their apparent standards of excellence, I wouldn't be surprised if they perfected the menu and finishing touches to usher in the new season.
Gordo, Gordon Beach, Open from 9 a.m.; Tel: (03) 529- 3929. Not kosher.
If you're looking for more than a few drinks on plastic chairs, the Gordo restobar could be the spot for you on Tel Aviv's promenade.
Warning: Those who settle on the deck of Gordo for a sunset dinner may not want to leave until the early hours. I don't know of any other restaurant on the Tel Aviv promenade that hands out blankets with a smile so that diners can cozy up under the tall metal heat lamps when it gets chilly.
Located right off the boardwalk underneath the Renaissance Hotel on Gordon beach, Gordo is exactly what the folksy Tel Aviv promenade needs to achieve a more stylish, sophisticated edge.
The handsome eatery is spread out on a multi-leveled patio, designed so that each seating corner gets a view of the water. Gordo is both child and animal friendly. Lounging around me on the cushioned sofas and chairs for Friday night dinner were lone couples, a small family with its dog, and what seemed to be a large tourist group. The tropic outdoor bar leads to the entrance of a plush dance lounge that's ideal for singles seeking a mix of drinks, dancing and romance.
In building the two-month-old Gordo (which means "fat" in Spanish), Ronen Avni, one of the five owners, stated that their goal was design, food, service and quality. So far, they have lived up to their aims. While the owners' specialty is nightlife - they have founded some of the city's most successful bars: Blend, The Lobby and Golden Bar - they have passed over to restaurants quite well. No detail here is spared, from the coasters featuring the image of "Gordo" (an animated rotund man), to the soft, pastel upholstery, to the garnish on the dishes.
We started out with an eggplant carpaccio (NIS 28) from Gordo's temporary menu, which for now includes a limited but respectable selection of appetizers, salads, seafood, meat dishes and kids' meals. The creative and aesthetic round dish was a light and scrumptious starter, consisting of soft, grilled eggplant topped with balsamic vinegar and feta. It formed an ideal vegetarian alternative to the beef carpaccio (also on the menu). The Greek salad we also ordered was rather plain, consisting chunks of cucumbers and tomatoes, but salads are not their prominent dishes, the fish and seafood are.
The quality of the raw materials was tangible in their finger- licking, firm spicy shrimp flavored with chili, tomatoes and thin garlic wedges (NIS 48/84).
The sea bass (NIS 94), that was served whole and extremely fresh, was one of the best fish dishes I've eaten in a while. It was tender and stuffed with roasted garlic cloves whose jam added depth of delicious flavor to the fish and accompanying Chinese bok choy. The roasted potatoes and bread were rather basic.
Once the sun set, the only illumination came from yellow Christmas lights wrapped around the patio umbrellas. The smile of the gracious waiter, who pledged at the beginning of the evening that our satisfaction was his goal and was good to his word, also helped to brighten the evening.
The desserts were not as unique or impressive as the previous dishes. The malabi had a nice milky texture and flavor, topped with pink rose water and nuts. The creme brulee (NIS 34), torched right behind the bar, should satisfy fans of the dish.
However, I regret not opting for the whiskey chocolate cubes.
Too bad Gordo just missed summer. The Mediterranean dishes and atmosphere are perfect for summer heat. Yet the owners plan to install glass enclosures to make it a hot spot for winter. Given their apparent standards of excellence, I wouldn't be surprised if they perfected the menu and finishing touches to usher in the new season.
Gordo, Gordon Beach, Open from 9 a.m.; Tel: (03) 529- 3929. Not kosher.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Britney Spears' Blackout (disc review)
Jerusalem Post, Daily; November 12, 2007
BRITNEY SPEARS
Blackout
(RCA)
In 2002 Britney Spears sang to the world through a piano-backed ballad: 'I'm not yet a girl, not yet a woman.' Since then she has proved that she is more than a woman. The tabloids have relentlessly followed her ill-fated transformation to a wife (and a half), a mother, and a divorcee. Her latest and fifth studio album, Blackout, her 'comeback' album, communicates no motherly instincts, even as she vies for custody of her two boys, and judging from the sound and lyrics, Britney Spears is in more heat than ever.
Blackout is Spears' most strident deviation from her starry-eyed ballads and jumpy pop songs. Those who miss the fun-loving, teen-bop beats of 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' or 'Oops I Did it Again,' are advised to proceed with caution. Many songs on Blackout are not easily sing-able. Acoustic instruments are difficult to make out in the techno-tinged, synch-heavy songs, rendering them difficult for easy listening but ideal for pumping-and-grinding on the dance floor.
The album is replete with proud proclamations about her raunchy, seductive, freakish ways, indicating that she has no plans to end the lewd partying that has triggered the paparazzi maelstrom.
On the one hand, she hits back at the tabloids in 'Piece of Me' with lyrics like 'And with a kid on my arm/ I'm still an exception, and everybody/Want a piece of me.' Yet four songs later in 'Get Naked (I Got a Plan)' she's singing: 'My body is calling out for you bad boy/I get the feeling that I just want to be with ya/Baby, I'm a freak and I don't really give a damn/I'm crazy as a mother f***r.'
The first song, 'Gimme More', introduces the album with an assertive: 'It's Britney Bitch,' to signify her arrival. But anyone who saw her overly-lambasted performance of 'Gimme More' on the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards will remember how she arrived: stumbling and punch drunk. That performance aside, however, 'Gimme More' is a masterfully produced, upbeat dance song, and reached the top of the charts and number one on iTunes.
So if Spears hasn't necessarily arrived, then her producers definitely have. Modern beatmaster, Danja, the acclaimed protege of hip-hop producer Timbaland, who has churned out hits for Nelly Fertado and Justin Timberlake, is responsible for some of the most successful songs on the album, including 'Gimme More' and 'Hot as Ice', a fun and coy tune backed by whizzing hooks and punchy lyrics. The duo Bloodshy & Avant of 'Toxic' fame proves its knack for sultry beats and original electronic riffs with 'Radar.' Their 'Toy Soldiers' is a dizzying electronic march to Spears' cry directed at - who else? - ex-husband Keven Federline: 'This time I need a soldier/ a really badass soldier/ that knows how to take care of me/ I'm so damn glad that's over.'
It's difficult to say if Blackout will mark Spears' comeback because she's hardly present in the album, despite the autobiographical nature of some lyrics, not her own. She's more the canvas for the producers to showcase their mastery of rhythm and electronica. Her voice is heavily processed through vocoders and filters, making it another instrument - albeit an effective, seductive one.
Given all of Spears' personal problems, it rather sounds like, when making the album, she took a back seat in the studio, tilted her hat over her wig, and said, before blacking out: 'I partied too much last night and have a court case tomorrow. Wake me up when you need me to record.'
In fact, in a strange, inarticulate and brief interview with Ryan Seacrest on Los Angeles' KIIS FM, Seacrest asked her about the opening line, 'It's Britney Bitch', to which she replied: 'The producer told me to say thatÉ.whatever, you know.'
Success may depend on how well Spears sells the songs with knock-out (rather than knocked-out or knocked-up) performances and videos.
Spears is as much about choreographed image as she is about the music, and she can't rely forever on Britney voyeurs and crazed fans who can't get enough of her no matter what she does. It would be a shame if her new songs, which include potential hits, are wasted with clumsy performances, pointless pole- dancing, and just plain deranged womanhood.
BRITNEY SPEARS
Blackout
(RCA)
In 2002 Britney Spears sang to the world through a piano-backed ballad: 'I'm not yet a girl, not yet a woman.' Since then she has proved that she is more than a woman. The tabloids have relentlessly followed her ill-fated transformation to a wife (and a half), a mother, and a divorcee. Her latest and fifth studio album, Blackout, her 'comeback' album, communicates no motherly instincts, even as she vies for custody of her two boys, and judging from the sound and lyrics, Britney Spears is in more heat than ever.
Blackout is Spears' most strident deviation from her starry-eyed ballads and jumpy pop songs. Those who miss the fun-loving, teen-bop beats of 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' or 'Oops I Did it Again,' are advised to proceed with caution. Many songs on Blackout are not easily sing-able. Acoustic instruments are difficult to make out in the techno-tinged, synch-heavy songs, rendering them difficult for easy listening but ideal for pumping-and-grinding on the dance floor.
The album is replete with proud proclamations about her raunchy, seductive, freakish ways, indicating that she has no plans to end the lewd partying that has triggered the paparazzi maelstrom.
On the one hand, she hits back at the tabloids in 'Piece of Me' with lyrics like 'And with a kid on my arm/ I'm still an exception, and everybody/Want a piece of me.' Yet four songs later in 'Get Naked (I Got a Plan)' she's singing: 'My body is calling out for you bad boy/I get the feeling that I just want to be with ya/Baby, I'm a freak and I don't really give a damn/I'm crazy as a mother f***r.'
The first song, 'Gimme More', introduces the album with an assertive: 'It's Britney Bitch,' to signify her arrival. But anyone who saw her overly-lambasted performance of 'Gimme More' on the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards will remember how she arrived: stumbling and punch drunk. That performance aside, however, 'Gimme More' is a masterfully produced, upbeat dance song, and reached the top of the charts and number one on iTunes.
So if Spears hasn't necessarily arrived, then her producers definitely have. Modern beatmaster, Danja, the acclaimed protege of hip-hop producer Timbaland, who has churned out hits for Nelly Fertado and Justin Timberlake, is responsible for some of the most successful songs on the album, including 'Gimme More' and 'Hot as Ice', a fun and coy tune backed by whizzing hooks and punchy lyrics. The duo Bloodshy & Avant of 'Toxic' fame proves its knack for sultry beats and original electronic riffs with 'Radar.' Their 'Toy Soldiers' is a dizzying electronic march to Spears' cry directed at - who else? - ex-husband Keven Federline: 'This time I need a soldier/ a really badass soldier/ that knows how to take care of me/ I'm so damn glad that's over.'
It's difficult to say if Blackout will mark Spears' comeback because she's hardly present in the album, despite the autobiographical nature of some lyrics, not her own. She's more the canvas for the producers to showcase their mastery of rhythm and electronica. Her voice is heavily processed through vocoders and filters, making it another instrument - albeit an effective, seductive one.
Given all of Spears' personal problems, it rather sounds like, when making the album, she took a back seat in the studio, tilted her hat over her wig, and said, before blacking out: 'I partied too much last night and have a court case tomorrow. Wake me up when you need me to record.'
In fact, in a strange, inarticulate and brief interview with Ryan Seacrest on Los Angeles' KIIS FM, Seacrest asked her about the opening line, 'It's Britney Bitch', to which she replied: 'The producer told me to say thatÉ.whatever, you know.'
Success may depend on how well Spears sells the songs with knock-out (rather than knocked-out or knocked-up) performances and videos.
Spears is as much about choreographed image as she is about the music, and she can't rely forever on Britney voyeurs and crazed fans who can't get enough of her no matter what she does. It would be a shame if her new songs, which include potential hits, are wasted with clumsy performances, pointless pole- dancing, and just plain deranged womanhood.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Gotham in Jerusalem (dance bar review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; November 9, 2007
Click here for original
A new capital dance bar delivers the underground vibe of its Tel Aviv inspiration
Gotham is best described as the capital's version of The Breakfast Club, one of Tel Aviv's pioneering, underground dance bars. Any Jerusalem imitation deserves a reluctant welcome. Reluctant, because it's about time Jerusalem starts its own nightlife trends. Welcome, because Gotham is a pretty good knock-off with a distinctly Jerusalem touch.
Gotham has succeeded in importing the dark, underground vibe of its Tel Aviv role models, whose main draws are the DJs and their electronic music. Located in the center of town, it's guarded by bouncers meant to ensure a 25+ crowd. Gotham's interior weaves the Jerusalem stone walls with gothic and metallic themes. Wrapped (and warped) lightbulbs hang above the bar, and medieval-type metalwork and gargoyles add a Dark Age aura.
The ambitious yet successful design extends to the unisex bathroom, whose dark gray metallic fixtures look like something out of a Braque painting. Since The Breakfast Club is infamous for, err, unconventional activities in its stalls, Gotham's investment in the bathroom is understandable.
Gotham is destined for after-hours creatures. It only really begins to pick-up at 2 a.m. with synth and bass-heavy electronic music. On a recent Thursday night, the crowd was pretty grungy, and not necessarily 25+.
Gotham lacks a certain soft, feminine touch, which may have explained the higher male-to-female ratio, about 5:1. It was hard for my friend and me to focus on dancing while warding off advances from creepy men sorely lacking in a rich female selection.
Gotham has only been open for about two months, so it's hard to tell what kind of people it will attract in the long-run or how Jerusalemites will take to it. But for now the dance bar still fills a void in Jerusalem's underground nightlife scene. It just needs to fill up with a more attractive crowd to get to the more exclusive partying status of the more selective, hip Breakfast Club.
31 Jaffa Rd. (Feingold Courtyard, across from Adom restaurant); open Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Friday and Saturdays; 054-446-9711.
Click here for original
A new capital dance bar delivers the underground vibe of its Tel Aviv inspiration
Gotham is best described as the capital's version of The Breakfast Club, one of Tel Aviv's pioneering, underground dance bars. Any Jerusalem imitation deserves a reluctant welcome. Reluctant, because it's about time Jerusalem starts its own nightlife trends. Welcome, because Gotham is a pretty good knock-off with a distinctly Jerusalem touch.
Gotham has succeeded in importing the dark, underground vibe of its Tel Aviv role models, whose main draws are the DJs and their electronic music. Located in the center of town, it's guarded by bouncers meant to ensure a 25+ crowd. Gotham's interior weaves the Jerusalem stone walls with gothic and metallic themes. Wrapped (and warped) lightbulbs hang above the bar, and medieval-type metalwork and gargoyles add a Dark Age aura.
The ambitious yet successful design extends to the unisex bathroom, whose dark gray metallic fixtures look like something out of a Braque painting. Since The Breakfast Club is infamous for, err, unconventional activities in its stalls, Gotham's investment in the bathroom is understandable.
Gotham is destined for after-hours creatures. It only really begins to pick-up at 2 a.m. with synth and bass-heavy electronic music. On a recent Thursday night, the crowd was pretty grungy, and not necessarily 25+.
Gotham lacks a certain soft, feminine touch, which may have explained the higher male-to-female ratio, about 5:1. It was hard for my friend and me to focus on dancing while warding off advances from creepy men sorely lacking in a rich female selection.
Gotham has only been open for about two months, so it's hard to tell what kind of people it will attract in the long-run or how Jerusalemites will take to it. But for now the dance bar still fills a void in Jerusalem's underground nightlife scene. It just needs to fill up with a more attractive crowd to get to the more exclusive partying status of the more selective, hip Breakfast Club.
31 Jaffa Rd. (Feingold Courtyard, across from Adom restaurant); open Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Friday and Saturdays; 054-446-9711.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Ravenous in Ra'anana
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; November 1, 2007
Borochov 88 is a mehadrin kosher, dairy restaurant that aims high, and, for the most part, delivers
It's easy to understand why, after only a month of operation, Borochov 88 is already packed on a Monday lunchtime with a visibly Orthodox clientele. Located in a quiet, green residential street in Ra'anana, the design, location and atmosphere of Borochov is pleasant and inviting. The wood-paneled, booth-lined cafe-restaurant combines contemporary style and mehadrin kashrut.
The extensive six-page menu offers every kind of dish one would find at the usual all-dairy kosher dig: egg breakfasts, salads, pastas, quiches, sandwiches, pizzas, and fish, but the dishes are given a modern and refined touch by chef-adviser Ilan Niv.
We started off with a rectangular foccaccia (NIS 17), seasoned very nicely with garlic and herbs and served with a delicious olive spread and olive oil. The salads are made with generous helpings of lettuce, and they were saved from being ordinary by a few added ingredients. The tuna salad, served with the predictable potato, eggs and pickles, was upgraded by three generous scoops of tuna nicely flavored with chives and sun-dried tomatoes. The health salad (NIS 38) was given a flavorful kick with granola and Tzfatit cheese. The feta salad (NIS 38) came loaded with sweet potato wedges and dried chips.
The onion quiche came with a crispy, fresh crust, and while the raw materials were fresh and tasty, the onions were a little too undercooked for my taste. Sweet potato seems to be a favored ingredient at Borochov 88, as it was the subject of another quiche and a pasta dish, both delightful.
For a protein entree, Borochov offers fish: grilled salmon, salmon kebab, and the daily catch. I tried the grilled sea bream (NIS 65). The dish was generous and fresh, served on a bed of, what else, a sweet potato mash. Pesto and a light red pepper coulis adorned the perimeter of the dish, but I would have rather a tailored sauce or seasoning layered the fish itself, which required a bit more interest. Lemon wedges on the side would have been nice.
For now, desserts are imported from a bakery in Rishon Lezion, and they include a variety of cakes. Once the rest of the menu is perfected, Borochov 88 will make its own desserts on premises. If their homemade chocolate cookies are a taste of what is to come, that's a good thing.
Overall Borochov 88 is a recommended all-purpose cafe-restaurant, particularly for kosher-eaters interested in casual dining, business lunches, a birthday dinner, morning coffee and pastry, or a first date. It includes a balcony facing the street and a VIP room for 80 people.
Borochov 88, Ra'anana, (09) 744-2203; Menu in English to come.
Borochov 88 is a mehadrin kosher, dairy restaurant that aims high, and, for the most part, delivers
It's easy to understand why, after only a month of operation, Borochov 88 is already packed on a Monday lunchtime with a visibly Orthodox clientele. Located in a quiet, green residential street in Ra'anana, the design, location and atmosphere of Borochov is pleasant and inviting. The wood-paneled, booth-lined cafe-restaurant combines contemporary style and mehadrin kashrut.
The extensive six-page menu offers every kind of dish one would find at the usual all-dairy kosher dig: egg breakfasts, salads, pastas, quiches, sandwiches, pizzas, and fish, but the dishes are given a modern and refined touch by chef-adviser Ilan Niv.
We started off with a rectangular foccaccia (NIS 17), seasoned very nicely with garlic and herbs and served with a delicious olive spread and olive oil. The salads are made with generous helpings of lettuce, and they were saved from being ordinary by a few added ingredients. The tuna salad, served with the predictable potato, eggs and pickles, was upgraded by three generous scoops of tuna nicely flavored with chives and sun-dried tomatoes. The health salad (NIS 38) was given a flavorful kick with granola and Tzfatit cheese. The feta salad (NIS 38) came loaded with sweet potato wedges and dried chips.
The onion quiche came with a crispy, fresh crust, and while the raw materials were fresh and tasty, the onions were a little too undercooked for my taste. Sweet potato seems to be a favored ingredient at Borochov 88, as it was the subject of another quiche and a pasta dish, both delightful.
For a protein entree, Borochov offers fish: grilled salmon, salmon kebab, and the daily catch. I tried the grilled sea bream (NIS 65). The dish was generous and fresh, served on a bed of, what else, a sweet potato mash. Pesto and a light red pepper coulis adorned the perimeter of the dish, but I would have rather a tailored sauce or seasoning layered the fish itself, which required a bit more interest. Lemon wedges on the side would have been nice.
For now, desserts are imported from a bakery in Rishon Lezion, and they include a variety of cakes. Once the rest of the menu is perfected, Borochov 88 will make its own desserts on premises. If their homemade chocolate cookies are a taste of what is to come, that's a good thing.
Overall Borochov 88 is a recommended all-purpose cafe-restaurant, particularly for kosher-eaters interested in casual dining, business lunches, a birthday dinner, morning coffee and pastry, or a first date. It includes a balcony facing the street and a VIP room for 80 people.
Borochov 88, Ra'anana, (09) 744-2203; Menu in English to come.
Expanding the olive branch
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; November 1, 2007
The 13th annual Olive Branch Festival sheds light on new initiatives in an ancient Galilean olive industry.
'Thou shalt have olive trees throughout all thy borders' Deuteronomy 28:40
In the Galilee, the olive branch is not just a symbol of peace, but a catalyst for peace. Olive is the traditional crop of the Mediterranean basin, and northern Israel is home to Israel's olive oil industry, with olive groves dotting the landscape. The olive binds the different cultures represented there: Druse, Christian, Muslim and Jewish, for whom the production of olive oil is an ancient and modern art and science.
Olive oil has been a family affair for centuries among Arab families in Israel, with families pressing their own oil in their backyard. Ancient Jewish tradition is dripping with allusions to olive oil. Olive oil was used to anoint Israeli kings and to light the menorah.
With the olive season under way in the north, the Israel Olive Oil Board and the Galilee Development Authority are holding their 13th annual Olive Branch Festival until November 11 to celebrate the historic versatility of the fruit; the growing sophistication of olive oil production in Israel and the cultural tolerance that the olive fosters. While some themed events simply tack on the word 'festival' as a marketing device, the Olive Branch Festival promises to be a bona-fide educational and gastronomic event for the whole family, with an array of activities, workshops, tours and special treats. A sneak preview of the festival offered insight into the culture, production, trade and health benefits of the olive and its derivatives.
HANANIAH OLIVE RANCH
Since its founding 10 years ago, the Israel Olive Board has sought to revolutionize the olive oil industry in Israel - to set quality control standards and raise the Israel's worldwide reputation in the field. The board's quality assurance label printed on local olive oils means that the oil has passed its laboratory tests. Some olive oils sold at stores can be diluted with other oils.
'Always look for the label of the Israel Olive Board on the olive oils you buy,' advises Amin Hasan, director of the Israel Olive Board, from his headquarters at the Hananiah Ranch, northeast of the Kinneret.
Hasan, 51, a Druse resident of Sajur, has experienced firsthand the wonders of olive oil as a social lubricant among Arabs and Jews. He served in the Israeli security forces for 17 years before trading in his gun for the olive branch. In 2002, he lost his daughter to a terrorist attack on a bus at the Meron junction.
Despite his personal loss to Palestinian terror, he is proud of 'the good cooperation with the PA and Israel in the olive field.'
The board works with the Palestinian Authority to improve olive oil production in the West Bank, where olive oil production, mostly by traditional methods, reaches five times that of Israel. There are over 900,000 dunams of olive groves in the West Bank, compared to Israel's 220,000 within the green line. Israel produces about 9,000 tons of olive oil annually, almost half the amount it consumes.
Hasan has another source of pride: 'I succeed in bringing Jews to their roots, which is the olive branch.'
EIN CAMONIM DAIRY & OLIVE PRESS
Amiram Ovrutsky, owner of the family-run Ein Camonim dairy and olive press, is one of the first Jews to revive Jewish olive production in the north, but before embarking on his olive path, he took a wrong turn. When he first settled in Galilee in 1979, he imported Barbary ducks, a delicacy in France, for commercial purposes.
'It was a failure,' said Ovrutski, 75. Ovrutski is a sabra, but his parents are from Russia. 'We needed something else to do that would support a small family.'
He observed the potential of his land for olive groves and goat farming, and he and his family turned to cheese and olive oil production. 'The Polish Ashkenazim only broke into the industry about 25 years ago.'
They started with labane, and today Ein Camonim produces a rich variety of delectable cheeses which they sell at a shop on the premises and serve in a charming outdoor cafe as part of a country-inspired meal. Ein Camonim's delicious olive oil is produced in a nearby press where olives are ground on millstone in the traditional way and modern equipment is used to extract the oil. Olive press demonstrations will be offered to the public during the festival.
SABA HAVIV OLIVE OIL AND SOAP
Not far from Ein Camonim at Kibbutz Parod, the Haviv family sells its award-winning olive oil named after 'Saba Haviv' or 'Grandpa Haviv.' Haviv started making his mark as a soapmaker in 1913. The story goes that families would give the young boy their personal olive oil, and he'd use it in his soap.
Haviv means 'pleasant' in Hebrew, and that word aptly describes the Haviv family, a Christian clan consisting of Haviv's six grandsons and a granddaughter, who together run the business. The pride in their tradition and their hospitality comes through in their friendly demonstrations and explanations.
At their visitors' center, the 26-year-old Wahil often gives lectures on the uses and health properties of olive oil. As he speaks, the tehina press crushes sesame seeds into tasty, organic raw tehina paste. For NIS 25, visitors can buy a jar of tehina paste made right here. During the festival, booths will be set up at their premises to offer demonstrations of olive curing, jam making and samples of the family's products. Soaps made from Haviv's original recipe are on sale at the family shop in Kibbutz Parod for NIS 10.
AYA NATURAL COSMETICS
Soap and other skin care products made with olive oil are sold at Aya Natural, a natural cosmetics company headquartered in the Druse village of Beit Jann. It's a winding, uphill road to the rather secluded Beit Jann, home to some 10,000 Druse. But the two founders, Dr. Ziad Dabour, a senior pharmacist, and Jamal Hamoud, a senior chemist, deliberately built their boutique and visitor's center in the village of their birth.
'It's difficult for women to work outside the village and we wanted to give employment to married women,' explained Hamoud. He employs about a dozen women from the village. Beit Jann is turning towards country hospitality to boost internal employment; at present about 100 guest rooms are available for tourists.
Beit Jann has long exploited the benefits of olive oil in preserving and strengthening the skin and body.
'In the Druse tradition and in Beit Jann in particular, we wrapped babies in olive oil and myrtle powder for immunization,' explained Hamoud. 'We wanted to combine pharmaceutical knowledge with tradition.'
Aya sells its products across Europe and Israel. Most products are 100% natural and biodegradable, made from Galilean olive oil and other essential oils.
Their tie to the land of Israel is captured in the name of Aya, which is the Hebrew acronym for 'Israel the Beautiful.'
Olive Branch Festival Hotline:
1-599-50-60-61,www.galil.gov.il/zait. Check with the hotline to find out times and places of events.
See p.12 for tomorrow's JNF tour.
Ein Camonim: (04) 698-9680
Saba Haviv: (04) 684-9074
Aya Natural: (04) 980-5066, www.ayanatural.com
The 13th annual Olive Branch Festival sheds light on new initiatives in an ancient Galilean olive industry.
'Thou shalt have olive trees throughout all thy borders' Deuteronomy 28:40
In the Galilee, the olive branch is not just a symbol of peace, but a catalyst for peace. Olive is the traditional crop of the Mediterranean basin, and northern Israel is home to Israel's olive oil industry, with olive groves dotting the landscape. The olive binds the different cultures represented there: Druse, Christian, Muslim and Jewish, for whom the production of olive oil is an ancient and modern art and science.
Olive oil has been a family affair for centuries among Arab families in Israel, with families pressing their own oil in their backyard. Ancient Jewish tradition is dripping with allusions to olive oil. Olive oil was used to anoint Israeli kings and to light the menorah.
With the olive season under way in the north, the Israel Olive Oil Board and the Galilee Development Authority are holding their 13th annual Olive Branch Festival until November 11 to celebrate the historic versatility of the fruit; the growing sophistication of olive oil production in Israel and the cultural tolerance that the olive fosters. While some themed events simply tack on the word 'festival' as a marketing device, the Olive Branch Festival promises to be a bona-fide educational and gastronomic event for the whole family, with an array of activities, workshops, tours and special treats. A sneak preview of the festival offered insight into the culture, production, trade and health benefits of the olive and its derivatives.
HANANIAH OLIVE RANCH
Since its founding 10 years ago, the Israel Olive Board has sought to revolutionize the olive oil industry in Israel - to set quality control standards and raise the Israel's worldwide reputation in the field. The board's quality assurance label printed on local olive oils means that the oil has passed its laboratory tests. Some olive oils sold at stores can be diluted with other oils.
'Always look for the label of the Israel Olive Board on the olive oils you buy,' advises Amin Hasan, director of the Israel Olive Board, from his headquarters at the Hananiah Ranch, northeast of the Kinneret.
Hasan, 51, a Druse resident of Sajur, has experienced firsthand the wonders of olive oil as a social lubricant among Arabs and Jews. He served in the Israeli security forces for 17 years before trading in his gun for the olive branch. In 2002, he lost his daughter to a terrorist attack on a bus at the Meron junction.
Despite his personal loss to Palestinian terror, he is proud of 'the good cooperation with the PA and Israel in the olive field.'
The board works with the Palestinian Authority to improve olive oil production in the West Bank, where olive oil production, mostly by traditional methods, reaches five times that of Israel. There are over 900,000 dunams of olive groves in the West Bank, compared to Israel's 220,000 within the green line. Israel produces about 9,000 tons of olive oil annually, almost half the amount it consumes.
Hasan has another source of pride: 'I succeed in bringing Jews to their roots, which is the olive branch.'
EIN CAMONIM DAIRY & OLIVE PRESS
Amiram Ovrutsky, owner of the family-run Ein Camonim dairy and olive press, is one of the first Jews to revive Jewish olive production in the north, but before embarking on his olive path, he took a wrong turn. When he first settled in Galilee in 1979, he imported Barbary ducks, a delicacy in France, for commercial purposes.
'It was a failure,' said Ovrutski, 75. Ovrutski is a sabra, but his parents are from Russia. 'We needed something else to do that would support a small family.'
He observed the potential of his land for olive groves and goat farming, and he and his family turned to cheese and olive oil production. 'The Polish Ashkenazim only broke into the industry about 25 years ago.'
They started with labane, and today Ein Camonim produces a rich variety of delectable cheeses which they sell at a shop on the premises and serve in a charming outdoor cafe as part of a country-inspired meal. Ein Camonim's delicious olive oil is produced in a nearby press where olives are ground on millstone in the traditional way and modern equipment is used to extract the oil. Olive press demonstrations will be offered to the public during the festival.
SABA HAVIV OLIVE OIL AND SOAP
Not far from Ein Camonim at Kibbutz Parod, the Haviv family sells its award-winning olive oil named after 'Saba Haviv' or 'Grandpa Haviv.' Haviv started making his mark as a soapmaker in 1913. The story goes that families would give the young boy their personal olive oil, and he'd use it in his soap.
Haviv means 'pleasant' in Hebrew, and that word aptly describes the Haviv family, a Christian clan consisting of Haviv's six grandsons and a granddaughter, who together run the business. The pride in their tradition and their hospitality comes through in their friendly demonstrations and explanations.
At their visitors' center, the 26-year-old Wahil often gives lectures on the uses and health properties of olive oil. As he speaks, the tehina press crushes sesame seeds into tasty, organic raw tehina paste. For NIS 25, visitors can buy a jar of tehina paste made right here. During the festival, booths will be set up at their premises to offer demonstrations of olive curing, jam making and samples of the family's products. Soaps made from Haviv's original recipe are on sale at the family shop in Kibbutz Parod for NIS 10.
AYA NATURAL COSMETICS
Soap and other skin care products made with olive oil are sold at Aya Natural, a natural cosmetics company headquartered in the Druse village of Beit Jann. It's a winding, uphill road to the rather secluded Beit Jann, home to some 10,000 Druse. But the two founders, Dr. Ziad Dabour, a senior pharmacist, and Jamal Hamoud, a senior chemist, deliberately built their boutique and visitor's center in the village of their birth.
'It's difficult for women to work outside the village and we wanted to give employment to married women,' explained Hamoud. He employs about a dozen women from the village. Beit Jann is turning towards country hospitality to boost internal employment; at present about 100 guest rooms are available for tourists.
Beit Jann has long exploited the benefits of olive oil in preserving and strengthening the skin and body.
'In the Druse tradition and in Beit Jann in particular, we wrapped babies in olive oil and myrtle powder for immunization,' explained Hamoud. 'We wanted to combine pharmaceutical knowledge with tradition.'
Aya sells its products across Europe and Israel. Most products are 100% natural and biodegradable, made from Galilean olive oil and other essential oils.
Their tie to the land of Israel is captured in the name of Aya, which is the Hebrew acronym for 'Israel the Beautiful.'
Olive Branch Festival Hotline:
1-599-50-60-61,www.galil.gov.il/zait. Check with the hotline to find out times and places of events.
See p.12 for tomorrow's JNF tour.
Ein Camonim: (04) 698-9680
Saba Haviv: (04) 684-9074
Aya Natural: (04) 980-5066, www.ayanatural.com
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Julian (resto-bar review)
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; October 3, 2007
It's easy to miss Julian when passing by one of the main streets in Rosh Pina. It's located on the second floor of a basalt building that served as the customs station between the British and the Ottomans at the start of the century. But for those looking for a sophisticated and romantic nightlife dining experience in northern Israel, it's recommended that they don't miss Julian.
Rosh Pina is replete with many upscale cafes and restaurants, but few elegant few resto-bars conducive to intimate dining and subtle pick-up for a larger 25+ crowd.
Since opening six months ago, Julian fits that void. The dark interior was designing by award winning designer, Michael Azulay, with a rectangular bar made from Spanish wood filling the length of the club and black tables adorned with candles and wineglasses. The stone walls add that historic, charming Rosh Pina touch. Groovy ambient and electronic jazz in the background add to the sexy, relaxed vibe. The place exudes Tel Aviv celebrity style, but the clientele is very eclectic, with young couples, families and groups.
Julian was started by Iro Monitz, originally from Katzrin in the Golan Heights, and who juggles his ownership of Julian with his studies as a law student in Holon. He named the place after the last officer to man the Ottoman- British crossing, but Julian the resto-bar is clearly up to date with the twenty first century.
The compact French-Asian fused menu was conceived by Yuval Heruti. Seafood is well represented since that's Monitz's personal favorite. The wine list is limited to fine wines, but I recommend their berry fruit champagne cocktail, the fruit is fresh and the flavor delightful.
Their flagship appetizer is the shrimp in coconut milk, shitake mushrooms, and coriander (NIS 37). Somewhat pricey for a dish consisting of six shrimps served with a sushi roll, but it hits the spot as a sensual, rich, slightly spicy seafood starter. The homemade rolls are mouthwatering, more like biscuits, served with olive spread, and they serve to neutralize the heavy flavor of the shrimp sauce.
The veal in beef stock served with au-gratin potatoes a grilled zucchini and mushroom was very good, although my cut was a little over-cooked. That's my fault for ordering it medium-well. A rarer cut would have preserved the natural quality flavor of the meat.
For dessert I took the tapioca with fruit and coconut (NIS 27). It's more like a cold, sweet, fruit soup with tapioca balls as the croutons and chunks of fresh fruit- mangos, plums, peaches, and pears (pears are Rosh Pina's specialty). The meal could not have ended any more perfectly.
Old Rosh Pina-Kiryat Shmona Highway, across form police station; Sushi night: every Wednesday; DJs on weekends. Open from 7p.m.; (04)-690-0207
It's easy to miss Julian when passing by one of the main streets in Rosh Pina. It's located on the second floor of a basalt building that served as the customs station between the British and the Ottomans at the start of the century. But for those looking for a sophisticated and romantic nightlife dining experience in northern Israel, it's recommended that they don't miss Julian.
Rosh Pina is replete with many upscale cafes and restaurants, but few elegant few resto-bars conducive to intimate dining and subtle pick-up for a larger 25+ crowd.
Since opening six months ago, Julian fits that void. The dark interior was designing by award winning designer, Michael Azulay, with a rectangular bar made from Spanish wood filling the length of the club and black tables adorned with candles and wineglasses. The stone walls add that historic, charming Rosh Pina touch. Groovy ambient and electronic jazz in the background add to the sexy, relaxed vibe. The place exudes Tel Aviv celebrity style, but the clientele is very eclectic, with young couples, families and groups.
Julian was started by Iro Monitz, originally from Katzrin in the Golan Heights, and who juggles his ownership of Julian with his studies as a law student in Holon. He named the place after the last officer to man the Ottoman- British crossing, but Julian the resto-bar is clearly up to date with the twenty first century.
The compact French-Asian fused menu was conceived by Yuval Heruti. Seafood is well represented since that's Monitz's personal favorite. The wine list is limited to fine wines, but I recommend their berry fruit champagne cocktail, the fruit is fresh and the flavor delightful.
Their flagship appetizer is the shrimp in coconut milk, shitake mushrooms, and coriander (NIS 37). Somewhat pricey for a dish consisting of six shrimps served with a sushi roll, but it hits the spot as a sensual, rich, slightly spicy seafood starter. The homemade rolls are mouthwatering, more like biscuits, served with olive spread, and they serve to neutralize the heavy flavor of the shrimp sauce.
The veal in beef stock served with au-gratin potatoes a grilled zucchini and mushroom was very good, although my cut was a little over-cooked. That's my fault for ordering it medium-well. A rarer cut would have preserved the natural quality flavor of the meat.
For dessert I took the tapioca with fruit and coconut (NIS 27). It's more like a cold, sweet, fruit soup with tapioca balls as the croutons and chunks of fresh fruit- mangos, plums, peaches, and pears (pears are Rosh Pina's specialty). The meal could not have ended any more perfectly.
Old Rosh Pina-Kiryat Shmona Highway, across form police station; Sushi night: every Wednesday; DJs on weekends. Open from 7p.m.; (04)-690-0207
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Whatever floats your boat
Jerusalem Post, Weekend Magazine; September 12, 2007
You don't need to go as far as Ein Boqeq to enjoy the Dead Sea. The northern tip offers ecology, archeology and a great deal of hospitality
When planning a vacation at the Dead Sea, Israelis and foreigners usually conjure up the vast hotel district south of Ein Gedi where Israel's major hotel chains have long set up shop. And while the hotel district offers five star amenities and organized entertainment, a much more authentic, ecologically-minded and historic Dead Sea vacation is available only about half an hour away from Jerusalem in the northern region of the Dead Sea. The nature reserves, kibbutz hospitality and historic sites provide a deep experience of the Dead Sea as the waters, unfortunately, get increasingly shallow.
EINOT TZUKIM: THE WORLD'S LOWEST NATURE RESERVE
Along the road to the Dead Sea are chilling reminders that the sea is suffering. Water extraction from the Jordan River by Israel and Jordan has deprived the Dead Sea of its natural refill, and the waters are plunging approximately one meter every year (1 billion cubic meters). Charred on the hefty brown cliffs along the road are markers drawn by the Palestine Exploration Fund in the 1960s which indicate the waters' former glory. Since then the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth, has gotten even lower by some 25 meters.
Einot Tzukim, the world's lowest nature reserve, is located at the northern tip of the Dead Sea and is not only recommended as nature's playground, but as a window into the dehydration of the Dead Sea. Tours are available through the minty-green fauna which show where aquifers leading into the Dead Sea from the Jerusalem hills have brought green life, and where the disappearance of the sea has left large patches of arid, dead land.
Einot Tzukim used to be a very popular beach from the 1980s, but in 2000 it has refashioned itself into a nature reserve, due in part to the receding waters. A marker inside the park shows how the waters have receded one kilometer since 1984.
'We could no longer keep moving the facilities,' explained Eldan Hazan, the park ranger.
But a relaxing and cleansing experience overflowing with water can still be had in the springs and streams of brackish waters (lightly salted waters) that flow in random nooks and corners underneath tamarisk and willow trees. One picnic area even features tables and benches set in the waters, where visitors can chill their feet in the waters while eating lunch.
Inside the nature reserve are the remnants of a queer Jewish agricultural ranch and villa from the Roman period that gives a peak into the life of residents there in ancient times.
Entrance fee: Adult NIS 23; Child NIS 12; Summer hours: 8 a.m. - 5 p.m. Tel: (09) 994-2355
AN ARCHEOLOGICAL WONDER: QUMRAN
Every year thousands of Israelis visit the Shrine of the Book at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem where a major portion of the Dead Sea scrolls, one of the most groundbreaking archeological finds, has been on display since 1965. But according to Nati Tzameret, a guide at Qumran National Park, many fewer Israelis have visited the site where the Scrolls were made and found: Qumran. About eighty percent of the visitors at Qumran are foreigners, mostly Christians.
It's a shame Israelis overlook the source of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The Qumran site is like a fascinating time capsule of the period in which the Dead Sea Scrolls were said to have been written, from the second century BCE to the great Jewish revolt in 68 C.E. Here the Essenes, a breakaway, ascetic Jewish sect, lived a communal live in search of spiritual purity. When there is a full moon at night, the site hardly requires artificial lighting. Qumran means moon in Aramaic, and a full-bodied yellow moon rises from the east in direct contact with the sun's rays.
A short exhibition of life in Qumran opens with a movie dramatizing the ways and behaviors of the Essenes: their ritual of strict silence while eating, their near obsession with ritual baths and their devotion to writing down the words of the Torah. Tzameret explained that John the Baptist probably didn't last at Qumran for too long because he possessed an individualistic bent.
The managers of this site have meticulously preserved the archeological remnants of the Essene commune and have carved wheelchair-friendly path between the ritual baths, cisterns, communal dining hall and scribe room. Insight into the esoteric lives of the Essenes, their agriculture, industry and family life, is provided by knowledgeable guides.
A restaurant and gift shop belonging to Kibbutz Kalia next door is open from 9 am - 6 pm.
Entrance: 18 Nis adult; 9 NIS child; (Tel) 02-9942235
FROM SPIRITUAL TO PHYSICAL PURITY: MINERAL BEACH
The Dea Sea is known not only for its spiritual benefits, but for its physical ones too. Forget the water troubles of the Dead Sea and enjoy the waters at Mineral Beach instead, a relatively simple, quiet, and clean beach where visitors can take a quick, theraputic float in the Sea.
One section of the beach is cordoned off for scooping generous helpings of mineral-rich mud. Just watch your step. It's easy to get your feet sucked into the mud and there are no warning signs, although a lifeguard is on duty. But the small risk is well worth it. The mud is an excellent natural body scrub, leaving the skin soft and refreshed. An outdoor sulphur pool draws its water directly from a sulphur spring that bubbles not far away. On weekdays the beach is particularly peaceful.
Facilities include a snack bar, gift shop, treatment rooms, showers, and lockers.
Entrance: Adult NIS 50; Child: NIS 25; Senior: NIS 37 (discount on weekdays) Tel: (02) 994-4888
WHERE TO STAY
Kibbutz Kalia: Kibbutz Kalia is located adjacent to the Qumran National Park. The atmosphere is more tropical than desert with plenty of grass and flower-filled trees adorning the pathways and corridors. Rooms are simple yet comfortable, and most are equipped with a kitchenette, television, telephone and air conditioner. There is a convenience store and pub on the premises and a beautiful, refreshing pool. Tel: (02) 993-6333. NIS 380/NIS 540.
Metzukei Dragot: Located deeper into the Judaen desert and away from the sea, Metzukei Dragot is a natural choice for spiritual seekers and desert wanderers. They have recently upgraded some of the rooms, but don't expect luxury or televisions, unless luxury is breathing the mineral rich desert air. The purpose of Metzukei Dragot is simplicity and spirituality, and they often host spiritual, new-age workshops. Rooms vary in size and amenities, and sturdy outdoor tents are available for those who really don't mind roughing it.
Rates range from NIS 210-450; Camping grounds: NIS 60 adult; NIS 40 child. Tel: (02) 994-4777
Kibbutz Almog: This very ecologically minded kibbutz is currently building an environmentally-friendly community on its adjacent grounds, what the designers refer to as Israel's answer to Arizona. Homes will be built with an earthy, sandy design and equipped with plumbing for recycling water and pergolas on roofs to provide maximum natural cooling. Almog also has a guest house and spa on the premises, but for those want to make their vacation at the Dead Sea permanent, this is one place to try out. Tel: (02) 994-5201.
WHERE TO EAT:
Second Chance for 'Last Chance'
Last Chance, a shanty cafe and restaurant that has served as a popular stopover between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea for the past twelve years, completely burned down last May due to an unfortunate accident. The Taib family, who owns and runs the business, is clearly heartbroken. They had invested a lot of love, time and energy in building the restaurant with their own hands using all-natural materials, such as sand and rock.
But after some hesitation, members of the Taib family decided to reopen, with the generous help and support of the Megliot Regional Council. They have recently broken ground for a sturdier home for Last Chance, this time to be built with a contractor. In the meantime they have created a large, square, Bedouin style tent where they serve their Middle-Eastern favorites: humus, Bedouin pitas, shakshuka, grilled meats, magluba (a rice dish), and tehina cookies.
Tel: (02) 940-9414; 050-2637020
HOW TO GET THERE:
Route 9 has shortened the driving time from Tel Aviv to the Dead Sea by about 15 minutes. Follow Route 9 to the route 1 that connect Jerusalem and the Dead Sea.
You don't need to go as far as Ein Boqeq to enjoy the Dead Sea. The northern tip offers ecology, archeology and a great deal of hospitality
When planning a vacation at the Dead Sea, Israelis and foreigners usually conjure up the vast hotel district south of Ein Gedi where Israel's major hotel chains have long set up shop. And while the hotel district offers five star amenities and organized entertainment, a much more authentic, ecologically-minded and historic Dead Sea vacation is available only about half an hour away from Jerusalem in the northern region of the Dead Sea. The nature reserves, kibbutz hospitality and historic sites provide a deep experience of the Dead Sea as the waters, unfortunately, get increasingly shallow.
EINOT TZUKIM: THE WORLD'S LOWEST NATURE RESERVE
Along the road to the Dead Sea are chilling reminders that the sea is suffering. Water extraction from the Jordan River by Israel and Jordan has deprived the Dead Sea of its natural refill, and the waters are plunging approximately one meter every year (1 billion cubic meters). Charred on the hefty brown cliffs along the road are markers drawn by the Palestine Exploration Fund in the 1960s which indicate the waters' former glory. Since then the Dead Sea, the lowest place on earth, has gotten even lower by some 25 meters.
Einot Tzukim, the world's lowest nature reserve, is located at the northern tip of the Dead Sea and is not only recommended as nature's playground, but as a window into the dehydration of the Dead Sea. Tours are available through the minty-green fauna which show where aquifers leading into the Dead Sea from the Jerusalem hills have brought green life, and where the disappearance of the sea has left large patches of arid, dead land.
Einot Tzukim used to be a very popular beach from the 1980s, but in 2000 it has refashioned itself into a nature reserve, due in part to the receding waters. A marker inside the park shows how the waters have receded one kilometer since 1984.
'We could no longer keep moving the facilities,' explained Eldan Hazan, the park ranger.
But a relaxing and cleansing experience overflowing with water can still be had in the springs and streams of brackish waters (lightly salted waters) that flow in random nooks and corners underneath tamarisk and willow trees. One picnic area even features tables and benches set in the waters, where visitors can chill their feet in the waters while eating lunch.
Inside the nature reserve are the remnants of a queer Jewish agricultural ranch and villa from the Roman period that gives a peak into the life of residents there in ancient times.
Entrance fee: Adult NIS 23; Child NIS 12; Summer hours: 8 a.m. - 5 p.m. Tel: (09) 994-2355
AN ARCHEOLOGICAL WONDER: QUMRAN
Every year thousands of Israelis visit the Shrine of the Book at the Israel Museum, Jerusalem where a major portion of the Dead Sea scrolls, one of the most groundbreaking archeological finds, has been on display since 1965. But according to Nati Tzameret, a guide at Qumran National Park, many fewer Israelis have visited the site where the Scrolls were made and found: Qumran. About eighty percent of the visitors at Qumran are foreigners, mostly Christians.
It's a shame Israelis overlook the source of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The Qumran site is like a fascinating time capsule of the period in which the Dead Sea Scrolls were said to have been written, from the second century BCE to the great Jewish revolt in 68 C.E. Here the Essenes, a breakaway, ascetic Jewish sect, lived a communal live in search of spiritual purity. When there is a full moon at night, the site hardly requires artificial lighting. Qumran means moon in Aramaic, and a full-bodied yellow moon rises from the east in direct contact with the sun's rays.
A short exhibition of life in Qumran opens with a movie dramatizing the ways and behaviors of the Essenes: their ritual of strict silence while eating, their near obsession with ritual baths and their devotion to writing down the words of the Torah. Tzameret explained that John the Baptist probably didn't last at Qumran for too long because he possessed an individualistic bent.
The managers of this site have meticulously preserved the archeological remnants of the Essene commune and have carved wheelchair-friendly path between the ritual baths, cisterns, communal dining hall and scribe room. Insight into the esoteric lives of the Essenes, their agriculture, industry and family life, is provided by knowledgeable guides.
A restaurant and gift shop belonging to Kibbutz Kalia next door is open from 9 am - 6 pm.
Entrance: 18 Nis adult; 9 NIS child; (Tel) 02-9942235
FROM SPIRITUAL TO PHYSICAL PURITY: MINERAL BEACH
The Dea Sea is known not only for its spiritual benefits, but for its physical ones too. Forget the water troubles of the Dead Sea and enjoy the waters at Mineral Beach instead, a relatively simple, quiet, and clean beach where visitors can take a quick, theraputic float in the Sea.
One section of the beach is cordoned off for scooping generous helpings of mineral-rich mud. Just watch your step. It's easy to get your feet sucked into the mud and there are no warning signs, although a lifeguard is on duty. But the small risk is well worth it. The mud is an excellent natural body scrub, leaving the skin soft and refreshed. An outdoor sulphur pool draws its water directly from a sulphur spring that bubbles not far away. On weekdays the beach is particularly peaceful.
Facilities include a snack bar, gift shop, treatment rooms, showers, and lockers.
Entrance: Adult NIS 50; Child: NIS 25; Senior: NIS 37 (discount on weekdays) Tel: (02) 994-4888
WHERE TO STAY
Kibbutz Kalia: Kibbutz Kalia is located adjacent to the Qumran National Park. The atmosphere is more tropical than desert with plenty of grass and flower-filled trees adorning the pathways and corridors. Rooms are simple yet comfortable, and most are equipped with a kitchenette, television, telephone and air conditioner. There is a convenience store and pub on the premises and a beautiful, refreshing pool. Tel: (02) 993-6333. NIS 380/NIS 540.
Metzukei Dragot: Located deeper into the Judaen desert and away from the sea, Metzukei Dragot is a natural choice for spiritual seekers and desert wanderers. They have recently upgraded some of the rooms, but don't expect luxury or televisions, unless luxury is breathing the mineral rich desert air. The purpose of Metzukei Dragot is simplicity and spirituality, and they often host spiritual, new-age workshops. Rooms vary in size and amenities, and sturdy outdoor tents are available for those who really don't mind roughing it.
Rates range from NIS 210-450; Camping grounds: NIS 60 adult; NIS 40 child. Tel: (02) 994-4777
Kibbutz Almog: This very ecologically minded kibbutz is currently building an environmentally-friendly community on its adjacent grounds, what the designers refer to as Israel's answer to Arizona. Homes will be built with an earthy, sandy design and equipped with plumbing for recycling water and pergolas on roofs to provide maximum natural cooling. Almog also has a guest house and spa on the premises, but for those want to make their vacation at the Dead Sea permanent, this is one place to try out. Tel: (02) 994-5201.
WHERE TO EAT:
Second Chance for 'Last Chance'
Last Chance, a shanty cafe and restaurant that has served as a popular stopover between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea for the past twelve years, completely burned down last May due to an unfortunate accident. The Taib family, who owns and runs the business, is clearly heartbroken. They had invested a lot of love, time and energy in building the restaurant with their own hands using all-natural materials, such as sand and rock.
But after some hesitation, members of the Taib family decided to reopen, with the generous help and support of the Megliot Regional Council. They have recently broken ground for a sturdier home for Last Chance, this time to be built with a contractor. In the meantime they have created a large, square, Bedouin style tent where they serve their Middle-Eastern favorites: humus, Bedouin pitas, shakshuka, grilled meats, magluba (a rice dish), and tehina cookies.
Tel: (02) 940-9414; 050-2637020
HOW TO GET THERE:
Route 9 has shortened the driving time from Tel Aviv to the Dead Sea by about 15 minutes. Follow Route 9 to the route 1 that connect Jerusalem and the Dead Sea.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Privilege to be a customer (restaurant review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; September 7, 2007
It's very rare for a restaurant whose owner scoffs at the phrase "the customer is always right" to be so successful. But don't let Amos Hagai's attitude put you off. He believes the customer isn't always right because he is dedicated to perfection, and if the customer isn't satisfied, well, that's his problem.
"People who come here have to appreciate it," Hagai, owner and manager of Macaroni & Grill, proudly declared upon meeting at the restaurant on a late Sunday afternoon.
It's clear Hagai is a colorful character on the northern culinary scene, and the former cooking instructor gives the impression of someone who has dedicated his life to good food and wine.
Judging from the way Macaroni & Grill was filled, it seems that more often than not, customers are satisfied. Since its founding eight years ago, Macaroni & Grill has emerged as a Rosh Pina establishment famous for its hamburgers, or "am-burgers" as he calls them. It originally started in a small storefront on the main cobblestone road of Rosh Pina (now home to the Lechem Erez cafe), but four years ago it moved to the mini outdoor mall located at the entrance of the city.
Hagai's standards of perfection were evident in the impressive interior, which he designed himself. The place is enveloped in fine wood, the tables and stools handcrafted. It gives off the aura of a sophisticated Western bistro. People generally don't come to Macaroni & Grill to drink by the bar, but Hagai installed a fully-stocked bar for effect.
If first impressions count when it comes to food, the home-made olive starter foreboded well for Hagai. Nestled in olive oil and freshly cut garlic, their flavor was balanced, not too bitter or too spicy.
The menu is large and eclectic. Appetizers include chicken wings, kebab, sausages, carpaccio and an array of shrimp dishes. Entrees include steaks, four kinds of schnitzel, seafood, fish, pasta, and Asian noodles. But first timers are usually recommended to try Hagai's burgers. He comes in early in the morning to grind and spice the meat himself, the way he has for the past eight years. He meticulously chooses the men in the kitchen based on their lack of experience.
"I hire only beginner chefs so that they don't bring in their bad habits," he said. Hagai is intent on training his chefs personally to maintain flavor consistency throughout the years.
That lack of experience definitely makes for good burgers. The 220-gram juicy patty (NIS 38, but different sizes are available) was fresh and delicious. The white buns didn't really justify the fine raw materials of the meat, but Hagai insisted he tried many bakeries before settling on the privileged bun. I would love for him to make his own - and why not try whole wheat? Towards the end I preferred to enjoy the meat on its own - it didn't need all the trimmings. The French fries (NIS 10/20) were fine: definitely nothing to complain about (luckily enough for "good customer" wannabe me).
Hagai demonstrated that he can master desserts as well. His mahlebi, like a homemade sahleb, had an even-gelled consistency. Usually mahlebis are too candy-like for me, but his wasn't too sweet, and it refreshed me after the burger. I'm generally not a fan of knafe, the sweet Lebanese noodle pastry glued together with cheese, but Hagai's was enjoyable and served very fresh and hot, just like the burgers.
All in all, I think I'd be a welcome customer at Macaroni & Grill in the future. I can appreciate it.
Open everyday 11:30 a.m. - midnight; Center HaGalil Mall, Rosh Pina, (04) 680-1592; not kosher.
It's very rare for a restaurant whose owner scoffs at the phrase "the customer is always right" to be so successful. But don't let Amos Hagai's attitude put you off. He believes the customer isn't always right because he is dedicated to perfection, and if the customer isn't satisfied, well, that's his problem.
"People who come here have to appreciate it," Hagai, owner and manager of Macaroni & Grill, proudly declared upon meeting at the restaurant on a late Sunday afternoon.
It's clear Hagai is a colorful character on the northern culinary scene, and the former cooking instructor gives the impression of someone who has dedicated his life to good food and wine.
Judging from the way Macaroni & Grill was filled, it seems that more often than not, customers are satisfied. Since its founding eight years ago, Macaroni & Grill has emerged as a Rosh Pina establishment famous for its hamburgers, or "am-burgers" as he calls them. It originally started in a small storefront on the main cobblestone road of Rosh Pina (now home to the Lechem Erez cafe), but four years ago it moved to the mini outdoor mall located at the entrance of the city.
Hagai's standards of perfection were evident in the impressive interior, which he designed himself. The place is enveloped in fine wood, the tables and stools handcrafted. It gives off the aura of a sophisticated Western bistro. People generally don't come to Macaroni & Grill to drink by the bar, but Hagai installed a fully-stocked bar for effect.
If first impressions count when it comes to food, the home-made olive starter foreboded well for Hagai. Nestled in olive oil and freshly cut garlic, their flavor was balanced, not too bitter or too spicy.
The menu is large and eclectic. Appetizers include chicken wings, kebab, sausages, carpaccio and an array of shrimp dishes. Entrees include steaks, four kinds of schnitzel, seafood, fish, pasta, and Asian noodles. But first timers are usually recommended to try Hagai's burgers. He comes in early in the morning to grind and spice the meat himself, the way he has for the past eight years. He meticulously chooses the men in the kitchen based on their lack of experience.
"I hire only beginner chefs so that they don't bring in their bad habits," he said. Hagai is intent on training his chefs personally to maintain flavor consistency throughout the years.
That lack of experience definitely makes for good burgers. The 220-gram juicy patty (NIS 38, but different sizes are available) was fresh and delicious. The white buns didn't really justify the fine raw materials of the meat, but Hagai insisted he tried many bakeries before settling on the privileged bun. I would love for him to make his own - and why not try whole wheat? Towards the end I preferred to enjoy the meat on its own - it didn't need all the trimmings. The French fries (NIS 10/20) were fine: definitely nothing to complain about (luckily enough for "good customer" wannabe me).
Hagai demonstrated that he can master desserts as well. His mahlebi, like a homemade sahleb, had an even-gelled consistency. Usually mahlebis are too candy-like for me, but his wasn't too sweet, and it refreshed me after the burger. I'm generally not a fan of knafe, the sweet Lebanese noodle pastry glued together with cheese, but Hagai's was enjoyable and served very fresh and hot, just like the burgers.
All in all, I think I'd be a welcome customer at Macaroni & Grill in the future. I can appreciate it.
Open everyday 11:30 a.m. - midnight; Center HaGalil Mall, Rosh Pina, (04) 680-1592; not kosher.
Friday, August 17, 2007
'Terminal' for country love (dance bar review)
Jerusalem Post, Billboard; August 17, 2007
Our intrepid partier heads for the sticks in search of a good club
I would have never made the trek from Jerusalem to Terminal, a new line of private parties at Kibbutz Ramot Menashe near Yokneam (25 minutes south of Haifa) but for the promoter's nudgings, which happened to come in the midst of a particularly arid dating dry spell.
She raved about the music and the men, insisting they were not shallow, pretentious urban guys. Instead, she promised educated, high-quality, down-to-earth students - mostly from Haifa University and the Technion - looking for more intimate, intelligent partying.
Every Thursday night, the party at the kibbutz is themed after an 'ideology,' as co-manager Kobi Shetach put it. He himself is an education and communications student at Haifa University. Themes have included Changing the Courtship Culture, Woman's Lib, and Foreplay. I was invited on Gentlemen's Night, dedicated to bringing back the culture of gentlemen, which Shetach himself admitted is sorely lacking among Israeli men.
I figured, why not explore non-urban partying, particularly with a few nice, smart gentlemen?
A good thing my friend (a local) drove, because it was a long, windy road to Terminal, one I wouldn't have been able to navigate without a GPS. Walking in, I was taken aback.
'This is it?' I wondered.
The place looked like a converted barn, bereft of the sleek modern light fixtures, walls and rails that characterize Tel Aviv dance bars. A misshapen 'crystal' chandelier hung from the center of the lively dancefloor, and beer bottles hung from strings around the hall.
'Maybe this is how they party in the Israeli countryside?' I wondered. 'Maybe they don't need the sophisticated, often pretentious decor of urban centers?'
The atmosphere was definitely more relaxed than that of metropolitan digs, but the men looked like your average Israeli partiers; not particularly bright or beautiful. Of course, one can't judge on looks alone; could be they were all rocket scientists. Indeed, my friend actually introduced me to a physics student (who didn't give me the time of day), but there wasn't much of a chance to talk over the din of the mainstream club music spun by the DJ.
I decided to dance away my disappointment, and noticed staff handing out white roses to men, presumably for them to give to women. I didn't get a rose. No 'gentleman' treated me to a drink either, except for Shlomi, the owner, who sought to make sure a journalist from The Jerusalem Post had a good time.
Maybe he overdid it. He left me a bottle of vodka at the far end of the bar, and whenever I felt a tad bored or uninspired by the music or men, I took an unladylike shluk.
I met a 28-year-old guy (I think he was 28; can't say I really remember) who works at a toy store. He generally wasn't my type, but he was a total sweetie who bought me water and let me share my drunken pain at the conformist nature of Israeli society. We discussed politics, Olmert, and the fragility of this country. He sympathized, and warned me that Israel has only a decade to go.
Then we parted ways - he probably thought I was a little weird - with him wishing me a good decade.
I tried to dance and talk with more people as I waited for my friend to take me home. Eventually the contents of the vodka bottle also wanted to leave, and I ended up over a toilet bowl. Two gentlemen came to my rescue. Then I heard some non-gentleman murmur from behind, mocking me: 'Jerusalem Post! Jerusalem Post!'
I rode home in a stupor, realizing (to the extent that I was able to realize anything at that point) that leaving for a party in the Israeli countryside is not necessarily the cure for a lonely city girl looking for a gentleman.
Terminal, Kibbutz Ramat Menashe; NIS 20, First-timers free. Thursday night ages 25+; Friday ages 20+. Music: Hip-groove, black, hip-hop, dance, house and trance; (054) 555-8939
Our intrepid partier heads for the sticks in search of a good club
I would have never made the trek from Jerusalem to Terminal, a new line of private parties at Kibbutz Ramot Menashe near Yokneam (25 minutes south of Haifa) but for the promoter's nudgings, which happened to come in the midst of a particularly arid dating dry spell.
She raved about the music and the men, insisting they were not shallow, pretentious urban guys. Instead, she promised educated, high-quality, down-to-earth students - mostly from Haifa University and the Technion - looking for more intimate, intelligent partying.
Every Thursday night, the party at the kibbutz is themed after an 'ideology,' as co-manager Kobi Shetach put it. He himself is an education and communications student at Haifa University. Themes have included Changing the Courtship Culture, Woman's Lib, and Foreplay. I was invited on Gentlemen's Night, dedicated to bringing back the culture of gentlemen, which Shetach himself admitted is sorely lacking among Israeli men.
I figured, why not explore non-urban partying, particularly with a few nice, smart gentlemen?
A good thing my friend (a local) drove, because it was a long, windy road to Terminal, one I wouldn't have been able to navigate without a GPS. Walking in, I was taken aback.
'This is it?' I wondered.
The place looked like a converted barn, bereft of the sleek modern light fixtures, walls and rails that characterize Tel Aviv dance bars. A misshapen 'crystal' chandelier hung from the center of the lively dancefloor, and beer bottles hung from strings around the hall.
'Maybe this is how they party in the Israeli countryside?' I wondered. 'Maybe they don't need the sophisticated, often pretentious decor of urban centers?'
The atmosphere was definitely more relaxed than that of metropolitan digs, but the men looked like your average Israeli partiers; not particularly bright or beautiful. Of course, one can't judge on looks alone; could be they were all rocket scientists. Indeed, my friend actually introduced me to a physics student (who didn't give me the time of day), but there wasn't much of a chance to talk over the din of the mainstream club music spun by the DJ.
I decided to dance away my disappointment, and noticed staff handing out white roses to men, presumably for them to give to women. I didn't get a rose. No 'gentleman' treated me to a drink either, except for Shlomi, the owner, who sought to make sure a journalist from The Jerusalem Post had a good time.
Maybe he overdid it. He left me a bottle of vodka at the far end of the bar, and whenever I felt a tad bored or uninspired by the music or men, I took an unladylike shluk.
I met a 28-year-old guy (I think he was 28; can't say I really remember) who works at a toy store. He generally wasn't my type, but he was a total sweetie who bought me water and let me share my drunken pain at the conformist nature of Israeli society. We discussed politics, Olmert, and the fragility of this country. He sympathized, and warned me that Israel has only a decade to go.
Then we parted ways - he probably thought I was a little weird - with him wishing me a good decade.
I tried to dance and talk with more people as I waited for my friend to take me home. Eventually the contents of the vodka bottle also wanted to leave, and I ended up over a toilet bowl. Two gentlemen came to my rescue. Then I heard some non-gentleman murmur from behind, mocking me: 'Jerusalem Post! Jerusalem Post!'
I rode home in a stupor, realizing (to the extent that I was able to realize anything at that point) that leaving for a party in the Israeli countryside is not necessarily the cure for a lonely city girl looking for a gentleman.
Terminal, Kibbutz Ramat Menashe; NIS 20, First-timers free. Thursday night ages 25+; Friday ages 20+. Music: Hip-groove, black, hip-hop, dance, house and trance; (054) 555-8939
Continuing, but not moving on
Jerusalem Post, Up Front; August 17, 2007
Click here for original
For 19-year-old novelist Shifra Shomron, writing about disengagement was a form of therapy
Grains of Sand: The Fall of Neve Dekalim By Shifra Shomron. Mazo Publishers 188 pages; $16.95
After the first few minutes of speaking with Shifra Shomron over the phone, the similarities between this young author and the heroine of her debut novel, Grains of Sand: The Fall of Neve Dekalim, become apparent. She's busy studying for finals, and she asks to hold the interview when they are over.
Shomron, 20, like her heroine Efrat Yefet, is studious, industrious, a 'star student' and something of a bookworm. One probably has to be to publish a novel at 19. She is strikingly poised, mature and idealistic for her age. At times she passionately gives facts and information about her community like a caring yet strict teacher - which is a good thing, since her ambition is to impact society as a high-school English teacher.
Grains of Sand is the first novel to emerge out of the rubble of Gush Katif, and it is through teenaged Efrat Yefet that Shomron allows readers to become familiar with life there in the years leading up to disengagement.
As I step into the Shomron family caravilla (prefab housing unit) in Nitzan, more similarities between the author and Efrat begin to surface. A golden retriever rushes to the door and happily greets me as another fluffy-haired mutt looks on. The Shomrons' three dogs are characters in the novel, and pictures of them illustrate the book.
The portrait of an animal-loving Gush Katif family of four fits with another one of Shomron's literary purposes, to break stereotypes of settlers.
'I wanted my family to be different, to show the heterogeneous nature of the settlers that society often overlooks,' explains the petite brunette in her small kitchen/dining room.
Shomron proves to be an articulate, knowledgeable spokeswoman for her community - thanks in part to her work as an English translator for Friends of Gush Katif - but she also wrote the novel, which she began in April 2005, as a means of therapy.
'Writing my book was incredibly therapeutic for me and it was probably one of the reasons I was able to finish it so quickly - to finish writing my book in one year. It was my way of dealing with things,' she says
Shomron's actual family is much bigger than the family she portrayed. Shomron is the second of seven children. Her family made aliya from Phoenix, Arizona, in 1992 and discovered Neveh Dekalim during their search for a religious-Zionist community.
'It turned out to be a wonderful community. They were incredibly warm and they had a family adopt us and provide us with basic services,' says Shomron, her mother looking on proudly. Her father, like the patriarch in the novel, worked as a mashgiah (kashrut supervisor) at a farm in the settlement of Bedolah. He is currently unemployed, but fortunately, Shomron says, he has many hobbies, like taking care of the dogs and gardening.
Unemployment is still very high in Nitzan. 'They hang around the house all day with no reason to get up in the morning,' she notes.
Her mother instilled within her a love of reading and a sense of Jewish pride and destiny. Her parents named her Shifra after the biblical midwife who defied Pharaoh's orders to kill Jewish male newborns.
'My parents always hoped I would have the ability to stand up for what I believe is right, and Shifra stands up to Pharaoh and goes against him. It's actually an amazing biblical story. And I think that we, the people of Gush Katif, had to experience that - standing up to the government, the courts and the media to a certain extent - holding up our truth and what we believed was our right to stay in Gush Katif.'
In their tiny backyard, another scene from the book comes to life. Her 17-year-old brother is reading a book his sister lent him: the diary of Mordechai Tennenbaum, who headed the Jewish resistance in the Bialystok ghetto. In the novel Efrat reads pro-Zionist books and regularly shares with her brother Yair her admiration for feisty Zionist Jews.
In addition to books about proud Jewish identity, Shomron counts among her favorites the novels of J.R.R. Tolkien and P.G. Wodehouse, but she's not too fond of Anne Frank.
'I wasn't able to identify with Anne Frank at all. She was from an assimilated family, and even with the Holocaust going on around her, she was interested in becoming a Dutch citizen, and she was overjoyed when her father gave her the New Testament to read. I read that and think: My goodness! Doesn't she realize she's part of the Jewish nation?'
The destruction of Gush Katif gave her the impetus to finish the book and become the type of author she admired.
Grains of Sand reads like a young adult novel with a religious orientation, but it is intended for a diverse readership that seeks to deepen its understanding of Gush Katif life. The straightforward, third-person narrative, interspersed with diary entries by the heroine, takes the reader through the ups and downs of the community: the idyllic, happy, tight-knit religious home and community life of the residents; the terrifying intifada that claimed many Jewish lives there; the struggle to enjoy life amid the constant threat of mortar attacks; and the fears and doubts of the community in the year leading up to disengagement.
The novel ends right before the actual evacuation, and the reader doesn't get to witness the Yefets being taken from their home by the IDF.
'I didn't want to focus on the actual disengagement because we all saw that on television,' Shomron says. 'I wanted to focus on what we didn't know.' Some people have told her that the cliffhanger ending is a bit 'cruel,' but that's how she described disengagement. 'It ended very quickly and abruptly. In one week Gush Katif was destroyed and we were all scattered.'
She plans to write a sequel once they are settled in a permanent home, a process which can take up to five years, but for now, she says, the resolution of the disengagement is still painfully unclear.
'It's still very difficult. You always compare. You can't help but compare. There's not one thing for which I can say: This is as good as it was in Gush Katif.'
Aspects of the possible sequel are already apparent. The family is squeezed into the 90 square-meter caravilla. Walls are chipping. Boxes are still unpacked in the living room. Above them are family portraits - the brit mila of her youngest brother, the siblings decorating the succa - pictures that remind them of their happy times. On a counter nearby are some 'souvenirs' mortar shells that fell in Gush Katif.
'Heaven forbid a mortar would land here,' Shomron says. The prefab structures would collapse and there are no bomb shelters in the area, she warns.
'It's been two years and Gush Katif is never out of our mind, and as time goes on, you would think we'd be able to move on, but because we are stuck in caravan sites which are temporary, we can't move on.'
Shomron keeps herself busy with her studies at Givat Washington and working with children in her community to help them catch up with their studies. Grains of Sand has helped her cope with her loss, but the internal unrest and longing endures.
'I had a hope that when I wrote everything down, I'd be able to put it behind me and move on. That was an illusion because after writing my book and even publishing it, Gush Katif continues to live with me.'
Click here for original
For 19-year-old novelist Shifra Shomron, writing about disengagement was a form of therapy
Grains of Sand: The Fall of Neve Dekalim By Shifra Shomron. Mazo Publishers 188 pages; $16.95
After the first few minutes of speaking with Shifra Shomron over the phone, the similarities between this young author and the heroine of her debut novel, Grains of Sand: The Fall of Neve Dekalim, become apparent. She's busy studying for finals, and she asks to hold the interview when they are over.
Shomron, 20, like her heroine Efrat Yefet, is studious, industrious, a 'star student' and something of a bookworm. One probably has to be to publish a novel at 19. She is strikingly poised, mature and idealistic for her age. At times she passionately gives facts and information about her community like a caring yet strict teacher - which is a good thing, since her ambition is to impact society as a high-school English teacher.
Grains of Sand is the first novel to emerge out of the rubble of Gush Katif, and it is through teenaged Efrat Yefet that Shomron allows readers to become familiar with life there in the years leading up to disengagement.
As I step into the Shomron family caravilla (prefab housing unit) in Nitzan, more similarities between the author and Efrat begin to surface. A golden retriever rushes to the door and happily greets me as another fluffy-haired mutt looks on. The Shomrons' three dogs are characters in the novel, and pictures of them illustrate the book.
The portrait of an animal-loving Gush Katif family of four fits with another one of Shomron's literary purposes, to break stereotypes of settlers.
'I wanted my family to be different, to show the heterogeneous nature of the settlers that society often overlooks,' explains the petite brunette in her small kitchen/dining room.
Shomron proves to be an articulate, knowledgeable spokeswoman for her community - thanks in part to her work as an English translator for Friends of Gush Katif - but she also wrote the novel, which she began in April 2005, as a means of therapy.
'Writing my book was incredibly therapeutic for me and it was probably one of the reasons I was able to finish it so quickly - to finish writing my book in one year. It was my way of dealing with things,' she says
Shomron's actual family is much bigger than the family she portrayed. Shomron is the second of seven children. Her family made aliya from Phoenix, Arizona, in 1992 and discovered Neveh Dekalim during their search for a religious-Zionist community.
'It turned out to be a wonderful community. They were incredibly warm and they had a family adopt us and provide us with basic services,' says Shomron, her mother looking on proudly. Her father, like the patriarch in the novel, worked as a mashgiah (kashrut supervisor) at a farm in the settlement of Bedolah. He is currently unemployed, but fortunately, Shomron says, he has many hobbies, like taking care of the dogs and gardening.
Unemployment is still very high in Nitzan. 'They hang around the house all day with no reason to get up in the morning,' she notes.
Her mother instilled within her a love of reading and a sense of Jewish pride and destiny. Her parents named her Shifra after the biblical midwife who defied Pharaoh's orders to kill Jewish male newborns.
'My parents always hoped I would have the ability to stand up for what I believe is right, and Shifra stands up to Pharaoh and goes against him. It's actually an amazing biblical story. And I think that we, the people of Gush Katif, had to experience that - standing up to the government, the courts and the media to a certain extent - holding up our truth and what we believed was our right to stay in Gush Katif.'
In their tiny backyard, another scene from the book comes to life. Her 17-year-old brother is reading a book his sister lent him: the diary of Mordechai Tennenbaum, who headed the Jewish resistance in the Bialystok ghetto. In the novel Efrat reads pro-Zionist books and regularly shares with her brother Yair her admiration for feisty Zionist Jews.
In addition to books about proud Jewish identity, Shomron counts among her favorites the novels of J.R.R. Tolkien and P.G. Wodehouse, but she's not too fond of Anne Frank.
'I wasn't able to identify with Anne Frank at all. She was from an assimilated family, and even with the Holocaust going on around her, she was interested in becoming a Dutch citizen, and she was overjoyed when her father gave her the New Testament to read. I read that and think: My goodness! Doesn't she realize she's part of the Jewish nation?'
The destruction of Gush Katif gave her the impetus to finish the book and become the type of author she admired.
Grains of Sand reads like a young adult novel with a religious orientation, but it is intended for a diverse readership that seeks to deepen its understanding of Gush Katif life. The straightforward, third-person narrative, interspersed with diary entries by the heroine, takes the reader through the ups and downs of the community: the idyllic, happy, tight-knit religious home and community life of the residents; the terrifying intifada that claimed many Jewish lives there; the struggle to enjoy life amid the constant threat of mortar attacks; and the fears and doubts of the community in the year leading up to disengagement.
The novel ends right before the actual evacuation, and the reader doesn't get to witness the Yefets being taken from their home by the IDF.
'I didn't want to focus on the actual disengagement because we all saw that on television,' Shomron says. 'I wanted to focus on what we didn't know.' Some people have told her that the cliffhanger ending is a bit 'cruel,' but that's how she described disengagement. 'It ended very quickly and abruptly. In one week Gush Katif was destroyed and we were all scattered.'
She plans to write a sequel once they are settled in a permanent home, a process which can take up to five years, but for now, she says, the resolution of the disengagement is still painfully unclear.
'It's still very difficult. You always compare. You can't help but compare. There's not one thing for which I can say: This is as good as it was in Gush Katif.'
Aspects of the possible sequel are already apparent. The family is squeezed into the 90 square-meter caravilla. Walls are chipping. Boxes are still unpacked in the living room. Above them are family portraits - the brit mila of her youngest brother, the siblings decorating the succa - pictures that remind them of their happy times. On a counter nearby are some 'souvenirs' mortar shells that fell in Gush Katif.
'Heaven forbid a mortar would land here,' Shomron says. The prefab structures would collapse and there are no bomb shelters in the area, she warns.
'It's been two years and Gush Katif is never out of our mind, and as time goes on, you would think we'd be able to move on, but because we are stuck in caravan sites which are temporary, we can't move on.'
Shomron keeps herself busy with her studies at Givat Washington and working with children in her community to help them catch up with their studies. Grains of Sand has helped her cope with her loss, but the internal unrest and longing endures.
'I had a hope that when I wrote everything down, I'd be able to put it behind me and move on. That was an illusion because after writing my book and even publishing it, Gush Katif continues to live with me.'
Friday, August 10, 2007
Engaging the disengagers
Jerusalem Post, Up Front; August 10, 2007
Click here for original
How were the soldiers who performed the pullout affected by the emotional turmoil? The fact that there aren't reported cases of trauma amongst soldiers who performed the pullout is troubling, says a grassroots investigative team.
Gil stood on a steaming sidewalk in a row of soldiers awaiting orders, while kids and teenagers darted out of the Kfar Darom homes, randomly approaching his brigade, hoping to break their firm physical and emotional barriers and get them to refuse the orders. The lawns of the terra cotta-roofed homes were sprawled with settlers and their supporters, the atmosphere tense and emotionally loaded.
"Many youngsters, mostly young girls, cursed us, yelled out us harshly: 'How can you not be ashamed?'" recalls the 23-year-old kibbutznik from the Jordan Valley.
His determination to carry out his orders was not deterred by their youthful, emotional interrogations, and today, two years after the disengagement, he remains unashamed.
"I don't think I'll be ashamed to tell my kids about it. I don't see myself as an individual person who participated. I think there is a historical process for the country, and I can say I was a part of it - a solder who was a part of it."
Gil has since completed his army service and works as an educational tour guide for young people. The disengagement - a move he favored - remains one of the most significant, difficult and thought-provoking chapters of his army service, but he doesn't classify the operation as any more traumatic or unpleasant than his service in the West Bank.
Shalev, 23, from the same kibbutz, served in Gil's unit. Looking back, he also conjures up images of angry kids and mothers cursing at him. Despite their warnings of shame and trauma, Shalev, too, emerged emotionally unscathed.
"It's hard when you speak to evacuees," he says. "Sometimes it's not pleasant to say that you were there, like when I hear about situations in which people don't have homes. It's hard, but it's not an emotional trauma. It's not that I can't sleep at night."
The unilateral withdrawal from Gaza was arguably one of the most contentious and heart-wrenching IDF operations. Prior to disengagement, there were ominous predictions of bloodshed and civil war. In the end, the sandy grounds of Gush Katif absorbed no blood, but many tears. The disengagement produced some of the most iconic images of civil strife: Grown men breaking down while giving their mezuzas their parting kiss; tough, secular soldiers weeping and praying while carrying the Torah as they joined settlers' hands in their final walk through the synagogues; teenagers clad in symbolic orange T-shirts warning soldiers they'd suffer sleepless nights and an aching conscience for destroying happy, Jewish homes.
Two years later, have predictions of post-traumatic stress hurled at the evacuation forces been realized, or are the disengagement soldiers sleeping soundly with clear consciences?
A study co-conducted by Dr. Ariel Knafo, assistant professor of social psychology at the Hebrew University, has found that the soldiers' emotional well-being has largely remained unaffected by the disengagement, with some soldiers having reported that their participation has even contributed to their personal growth.
"When we started the project, we thought there would be very serious consequences over the event," Knafo says. "We learned that some soldiers are better off now than they were two weeks before the disengagement. I think they were extremely anxious before, and actually it turned out not to be that terrible, because they prepared themselves for something more serious than what happened - potential threats, behavior of the settlers and so on. Eventually it turned out not to be so hard."
The study surveyed 1,200 soldiers before the disengagement, an additional 231 soldiers one week afterward and 157 soldiers six months later. It checked the correlation between such factors as the soldiers' locus of control (internal as opposed to external), their degree of training and their attitude toward disengagement as a military task with their level of anxiety and difficulties carrying out orders. The ultimate findings, published in an IDF journal on military psychology, show no signs of any significant post-disengagement trauma.
"IT WAS clear that if we prepared them effectively in preventing violence and escalation, then there are good chances that they wouldn't have any negative reactions," says Haim Omer, a psychology professor at Tel Aviv University and co-author of The Psychology of Demonization with psychologist Nahi Alon. Their work with the armed forces focused on preventing violence - not trauma - although, for Omer, minimizing the level of violence and trauma are intertwined.
Omer and Alon trained IDF officers and settlers based on principles covered in their book, particularly the art of "constructive conflict," a set of strategies designed to minimize violent escalations, provocations and arguments between two sides in conflict. For example, soldiers were taught not to give in to their instincts to react to the arguments, insults, pleadings and curses of the settlers. The self-control exhibited by both the soldiers and settlers played a role in neutralizing the psychological battlefield and accelerating the relatively quick and bloodless execution of the disengagement.
Dr. Danny Brom, director of the Israel Center for the Treatment of Psychotrauma of Herzog Hospital in Jerusalem, has not received any soldiers complaining or suffering from trauma due to the disengagement, and he doesn't anticipate that he will. He attributes the lack of reported cases to the comprehensive, psychological preparation.
"They were really prepared, with very good training in all scenarios, so when they were in there - and I've heard this from a lot of people - there was nothing new," says Brom, adjusting his knitted kippa.
He closely followed the psychological training and aftermath as a mental health professional and also as a father; his son, still a soldier, served in Gush Katif during the disengagement. "It was all planned, all known, and that is what happened. I would be surprised if there are a lot of people who still have problems, because one of the issues in trauma is the discrepancy between your expectation and what's happening in reality. The further they're apart the more harmful potential it has."
The harmful results of inadequate preparation, he says, are very evident among Gush Katif evacuees and fighters in the Second Lebanon War, populations which have sought treatment at the center.
As part of their mental preparation, soldiers learned how to maintain an emotional buffer between themselves and the settlers; to demonstrate empathy with residents, but to dissociate emotionally from their cries and outbursts. Soldiers were given specific formulas to recite upon entering the homes, and they were advised not to engage in political, religious or ethical debate. The organization of the soldiers into tight-knit groups provided a protective feeling of belonging and support. In drills, soldiers rehearsed the evacuation to immunize them from potential harmful effects of the verbal insults.
Soldiers who had ethical, ideological or personal dilemmas with destroying the settlements and evacuating Jewish families were taught that they didn't have to take personal responsibility for disengagement. They could find solace in understanding that they were members of the armed forces executing a democratic, government decision that must remain impervious to a soldier's individual, political opinion.
PREPARATION AT the Counseling Center for Women based in Jerusalem and Ramat Gan trained about 800 female soldiers with an eye toward the needs and sensitivities of women, included workshops discussing the nature and effects of trauma after the pullout.
"There was definitely anxiety that this could cause post-traumatic stress problems," says Bella Savran, a clinical social worker and co-founder of the center. "So built into training was very structured training about the issue of trauma, explaining what it is, what are some of the signs that you are having post- or pre-traumatic reactions, to help soldiers be more knowledgeable and aware and hopefully less frightened if they were having any symptoms, bodily or mental."
Many of the soldiers, she says, considered trauma education the most helpful. Ten days after the disengagement, the center held debriefing workshops with some 200 soldiers who volunteered to attend.
At first many of them were hesitant in discussing their experience, says Savran, who is currently summarizing soldier feedback in an article for an American feminist therapy journal, but eventually they opened up to share both positive and negative feelings.
Among their negative emotions included feelings of isolation, guilt and shame for destroying the settlers' homes, and keen discomfort upon encountering evacuees in public places. Soldiers also described feeling moved by the devotion and behavior of the settlers and pride in having participated in a national mission of such importance.
Zvia Kfir, a social worker who led a session, recalls one soldier requesting additional individual treatment, but overall "most of them spoke about a very empowering, powerful experience - there was a feeling of togetherness, collaboration, that they placed them in groups with men as well, and it didn't matter if you were an officer or cadet, there was something very uniting."
A similar sentiment is expressed by Ariella, 22, a former officer in the Liaison and Foreign Relations Division who now works as an editor.
"It's really funny because a lot of things people were yelling at us: 'You're just going to go to Sinai and forget about it so that you can cleanse your consciences, blah, blah, blah.' At the end, most of the people in my group actually organized a trip to Eilat two weekends later. We all went together as a group... And everybody from the disengagement was there. It made me feel like it was all so national."
As someone who had made aliya only months before entering the army, the disengagement seemed at first like a mission that contradicted her Zionist calling.
"As a person who came to Israel to fulfill a certain ideology and then be commanded to go against that ideology is a very difficult thing to have to do," Ariella says. "It's a very contradictory feeling running through you."
She held an ambivalent attitude and dreaded participating in the evacuation. She considered refusing orders, but told herself and others that she didn't join the army to impose her own views on the military, nor did she want to sit in jail and sacrifice her rank. She figured other, possibly less sensitive soldiers or policemen would replace her anyway.
She got called to participate in the evacuation two weeks before it started, and she worried that she missed some of the mental preparation. Her officers assured her that she could seek psychological assistance from the army if she felt she needed it. She didn't.
"The funny thing is that I don't think about it, at least not for any extended period of time," Ariella says calmly and confidently from the office of one of her co-workers, who happened to have been a disengagement critic. The wall still bears an "orange" flag of the State of Israel, a symbol of the struggle against the disengagement. This is the first time the pretty blonde has discussed her disengagement service at length.
She knew it would be a highly emotional experience, and she describes how she cried the minute she crossed the gates of the settlements while settlers shouted at her and her brigade. She restrained herself from answering back, "in case I said something I wasn't supposed to say. When I said something back, I think it generally consisted of 'I'm sorry.'"
The shouts continued unabated as she marched on to evacuate several homes in Neveh Dekalim and the large synagogue in which hundreds of religious girls had barricaded themselves. There were moments when she felt moved by the cries of the protesters, but, with the support of the soldiers in her unit - who had received the full mental preparation - she eventually learned to disregard them.
"I just remember this 19, 20-year-old guy wearing a Golani Brigade patch on his shirt, and he had tears in his eyes, and was saying, 'I was in Golani, and when I heard there was the disengagement, I refused orders and I went to jail.' That was the first thing that got me, and then I wondered, 'How many times has he said this, and how good was he at acting?' When I realized that it was part of some big psychological plan, I stopped. My emotions turned into anger. It was probably about a couple of days into it. It helped me that my friends were telling the same thing. That it was all part of a game, and it felt that way."
She understood the need for non-residents to show solidarity with the evacuees, but thought that their presence in Gush Katif ultimately made it more difficult on the soldiers.
"We were pulling someone out of the synagogue, and we asked her where we she was from - to talk to them, to show that we were human - and she answered me from Eilat. And I thought, what are you doing there? Why are you doing this to us? I couldn't understand. That's another important thing to point out. I can't understand why it was so hard for people today to differentiate between forces that were acting and force that was deciding. The IDF was doing what it was told on behalf of the government. We didn't have a choice in the matter."
SOLDIERS WHO strongly opposed disengagement for ideological, personal or political reasons generally had a harder time opening up about their experience, and they cast doubt on the rosy picture of soldier mental and emotional health. Knafo's study could not question respondents regarding their political opinion, since soldiers are prohibited from airing their political views while in uniform, but the study has found that soldiers who took a negative stance toward disengagement generally showed more signs of anxiety and unease in carrying out certain aspects of their mission.
More than half a dozen soldiers sharply refused to be interviewed. Some said they feared army backlash, while others didn't want to dredge up the painful experience. All soldiers spoke on condition of anonymity. The IDF declined to offer any contacts for soldiers or army psychologists. Several soldiers related that the army hardly discussed the mission or held debriefings once it was over.
"They never mentioned it," says Ron, 23, from Jerusalem, a student in a religious Zionist yeshiva. "I didn't think about it. In the end it was the escape of the army. They didn't have answers. It's not talked about today."
Ron too prefers to keep his own experience "inside," and it's clear reflecting upon the event is not easy for him. His answers over the phone are quick and brief.
Prior to the disengagement, he had requested from his officer not to evacuate settlers from their homes, and instead was assigned to guard the settlements in the northern Gaza Strip from Palestinian violence and illegal Israeli infiltrators. In an officer's training course at the time, he was torn between his loyalty to the army and his sympathy for the settlers. His own siblings were among the Gush Katif protesters.
"It's bad memories for the rest of your life," Ron says. Right after disengagement, he countered his own upset by conjuring better memories; he looked through his photo album of his days studying in the pre-military academy in the Gush Katif settlement of Atzmona. "It was very black," he continues. "It's hard to describe the feeling. It's something very deep and serious. It was the most disgusting period of my life. So was the aftermath."
Despite his inner conflicts, Shai would do it again, on principle, if given the order, and he directs anger at the disengagement at the government, not the army.
"The army is the organization that unites all of Israel. If everyone would do what is good and not good for them, what would happen to the army?" he asks.
Likewise, Gil, who opposes Israel's presence in the West Bank, says he would evacuate an Arab village, however reluctantly, if given the order.
IN CASES IN which soldiers deeply identify with the settlers, says Dr. Brom, emotional complications are more likely to surface. He concludes this in part from an incident his son related to him.
"They went to shul [in Gush Katif], and that was a very strange thing. They were accepted there, they weren't sent away, but that was one of these cracks in the wall, where you suddenly identify with each other. And that was potentially a problem for the work that had to be done."
Brom adds that the gap between someone's ideal self-image and personal values versus his actions can also be the source of potential trauma.
"One of the more theoretical issues in the field of trauma is how trauma can disrupt the way you view the world and yourself," he explains. "Basically, people have the need to experience themselves as good people, and they want to know the world is a just place and that there is some order in the world. Here you are confronted with something you have to do that you might feel is unjust and you are identified with something bad and you have an ambivalent identification."
Kfir at the Counseling Center for Women noticed that soldiers who generally supported the disengagement were more responsive and receptive to the help and solutions offered them.
"It was harder for those who asked the basic question: 'How can I dare do this?' Definitely. For many of them, the fact that they performed a task that they didn't choose made it easier for them."
Shalev and Gil describe their most difficult moments as the personal encounters with the residents, cases in which the settlers welcomed the soldiers warmly without accusations, insults, shouts or curses.
"There was a family of Ethiopian immigrants," relates Shalev. "They explained how they came, how they had nothing, how Gush Katif was the only place that welcomed them. It was hard to hear their story... but that doesn't become the reason for you not to go through with it."
Throughout the evacuation, Gil knew "something wasn't right" when settlers asked the soldiers where they were headed and his officers couldn't offer a clear answer, but he didn't view their smooth resettlement as his personal responsibility.
"It makes me feel bad about the state," Gil says. "It's one of the many things that make me feel bad about the state. It doesn't take care of many things it should - the sick, the poor and also the evacuees."
Nir, 26, a secular Israeli who works as a security officer in Tel Aviv, served in Gaza during the disengagement and continues to regard the pullout as a mistake. As an officer in the air force, he carried out his orders to lead his unit in evacuating hundreds of protesters from the streets and border crossings. He has no qualms discussing his service in Gaza but admits that serving in the outer military circle as opposed to the first circle charged with the evacuation of residents may have lightened his emotional load.
"No doubt it would have influenced me differently, and this is what I heard from people who were there. They have scars that are difficult to fathom," he says.
He had debated whether or not disengagement orders could be classified as "manifestly illegal orders," which soldiers have the right to disobey. A missive from then chief of General Staff Dan Halutz discussing the legality of the disengagement dispelled his doubts. It gave two examples of manifestly illegal orders: the shooting of 48 unarmed civilians at Kafr Kasim in 1958 and Adolf Eichmann's instructions to murder Jews.
During the evacuation, Nir disregarded the angry shouts and responded more favorably to protesters who questioned him rationally about his actions. "You could speak with them and tell them, 'I don't agree with the act, but I'm in the army and I have to follow orders.'"
He didn't have too much time or mental space to debate the issue while there. "We worked mostly as robots because of the volume of work that had to be done. From lack of sleep, your body works on automatic pilot. You don't know what you're going to do the next hour. The lack of knowledge about what's next contributes to your robotic mode."
Ariella too didn't have the luxury to let her personal feelings or opinions influence her course. She recalls at one point shutting off her feelings.
"When the international media interviewed me at the time, and they asked me how I felt about it, I said, 'I'm not allowed to feel anything.' It sounds like a getaway answer, but I really felt that way."
Today, Nir says he "has more scars from Operation Defensive Shield," but the disengagement marked a turning point in his life. A few months later, he decided to scrap his plans for an army career and not renew his army contract.
"I felt like they forced something in a wrong way, like they behaved in the wrong way, as if they higher-ups wanted to prove that they can, like kids in the nursery," he related. "The way they came, the way they prepared, what they stuck in people's minds. The entire mental preparation was harder than the actual evacuation and ultimately only a third of what they taught came to pass. They really exaggerated. For officers at that level, you have to prepare something in proportion. Things bothered me after as well. I noticed people were in the army more for ego and status."
WHEN ARIELLA finished her assignment, she left the ad hoc unit created for the disengagement and returned to her regular unit. The remainder of her service remained largely unaffected by the evacuation, but she came out of Gush Katif with new friendships.
"Everyone who participated in the disengagement became very close. Most of my good friends were people in my unit during the disengagement, and that was only a few weeks out of my entire service."
During her first weekend back home, her friends described her as a "zombie," but about a week and a half later, she already began to heal from the ordeal.
"At the time I thought this is going to scar me for life, this is the saddest thing I have to do. And it still is the hardest thing I ever had to do. I had to do tough things, but nothing like this. This was something completely beyond reality. I think it's awful because I know there are people that are still affected by it today, people who don't have permanent housing, but I don't think too much about it."
She pauses and looks up, a glimmer of guilt in her eyes. "I think I should, but I don't. I think everyone is just living his own life."
(BOX) The sound of silence
Some people aren't taking the quiet of the soldiers so quietly. What psychologists praise as a successful mental preparation, some disengagement opponents and other psychologists are slamming as a successful mental "programming."
A mixed religious and secular five-member team is spearheaded by Ruti Eisikowitch, a retired Hebrew teacher, and banded together right after the disengagement to discover the cause for what seemed to them untenable: the destruction of a vibrant Jewish community by Jewish soldiers with "following orders" as their ultimate justification. They didn't think any governmental or academic institution would critically assess the mental preparation, and they took the task upon themselves - with an admitted bias.
Their work is supervised by senior educational psychologist Dr. Moshe Leibler, who has lectured about the role of psychologists in developing the mental preparation at the Sderot Conference for Society and at Judea and Samaria Research Conference.
Members of the group casually dub the preparation "brainwashing," but refrain from using the term as a professional qualifier in their work.
Eisikowitch is bothered by the relative silence on the part of the soldiers and the army regarding the IDF experience of the pullout. For Eisikowitch, the perceived lack of trauma is troubling. "They were robots, so there was no trauma. That's even worse."
She and members of the team encountered many difficulties tracking down soldiers who were willing to open up.
"Why the silence?" she asks. "I heard from my husband, sons and friends many stories of war. They weren't silent."
The investigation team spent the last year gathering information and documents regarding the psychological training, and the matter engrosses Eisikowitch daily. Upon meeting her at home near Ra'anana, her living room cocktail table was covered with a number of workbooks, presentations and CDs the army prepared about a year ahead of the disengagement. She flipped through workbook after workbook, demonstrating how the army fielded any possible hesitations among the soldiers to make sure they complied.
"War, which is supposed to be much more traumatic and difficult, doesn't have psychological training, definitely not to this extent and it definitely doesn't have pamphlets and lectures," she said, her anger visible.
The psychological training, she argues, was required to invert the natural mission of IDF and goad soldiers to perform a task some of them considered militarily and morally unsavory.
"The psychologists didn't prepare the IDF for an army mission - to protect its civilians," she charges, "but turned the soldiers into a non-thinking police force that harmed its own civilian population."
The team directs most of its criticism and anger toward the disengagement psychologists, and Leibler argues they violated their ethical code, which states that psychologists must work for the emotional and mental welfare of their clients.
"Psychologists, like doctors, have a particular ethical code they have to abide by," he says. "I think there's more of an obligation on us as mental health workers than the soldiers. They're subject to a different ethical code. As far as I know, psychologists are not permitted to cause harm to a civilian population."
About half a year prior to disengagement, Leibler worked to raise his ethical and professional concerns, and he corresponded extensively from his Kochav Hashahar home with the chairwoman of Israel Psychology Association (IPA), Yael Shoshani, after she wrote in an IPA newsletter of the importance of the IPA's role in the implementation of the disengagement. "She understood my qualms about it. It was taken for granted this was the right way of doing things," says Leibler.
The investigation team is planning to launch a complaint against the disengagement psychologists with the Israel Ministry of Health and to submit a report to the Winograd Commission arguing that the military effectiveness of the IDF during the Lebanon war was damaged by the disengagement training.
HAIM OMER, co-author of Psychology of Demonization, who trained the army to minimize violence throughout the disengagement, dismisses the assault on the psychologists' participation in the mental training as a value judgment based on a political position.
"They say, 'We find that this is evil and helping soldiers to do evil necessarily hurts them,'" he says. "The argument is political. According to this argument, you can't make any psychological preparation for warfare. If I try to help soldiers prepare for war, I violate the psychological code according to this argument."
Omer says he has publicly critiqued as irrelevant the argument that service in the West Bank and Gaza can be psychologically damaging to soldiers.
The job of a psychologist is not necessarily to prevent trauma, he says, but to assist people in coping with trauma or suffering that can arise from natural disasters or legislated measures.
"Psychologists, to my mind, have absolutely no monopoly or advantage over other professionals or other people in dealing with human suffering as such," Omer says. "Psychologists cannot prevent suffering from war, from famine, from forced migration or from evacuation. At best, what they can do is to serve people who ask for their help in trying to cope better with their suffering."
Dr. Danny Brom, director of the Israel Center for the Treatment of Psychotrauma, doesn't think psychologists can be held accountable for any of the trauma and difficulties evacuees might have experienced.
"We did some work before the disengagement, and it was a very big problem to be accepted by the [settler] community," he says. "If you came and said a few months prior that it was going to happen, it was not really acceptable. And there were even politicians who said it won't happen, and everyone was waiting for the miracle to happen and things like that, so the preparation on the political side as well was not good. The army did take responsibility for its soldiers, but the state didn't take responsibility to give a clear message that this is going to happen and how it's going to happen."
For Leibler, psychologists recruited by the army had the professional and ethical imperative to at least raise the ethical issues involved in the forceful evacuation of a civilian population. But instead the psychologists took for granted that their participation in what they perceived as a fait accompli was desirable and ethical to minimize any possible damage.
"The psychologists didn't ask: Is it ethical to carry out an intervention that can cause harm to a civilian population? Harm is caused in war, and psychologists give counseling to the army. In the case of the settlers, is this war? What are the relevant ethical issues, and why were they not seriously debated? Not to consider it as an ethical issue because it's a law reeks of fascism. That says that legislation defines ethics and that ethics doesn't necessarily define legislation."
Brom thinks that psychologists from all sides of the political spectrum cannot necessarily divorce their professional practice from their political opinions.
"I think we're way beyond the idea that psychology is value free," he said. "Once there were opinions that psychologists have to be a blank screen and things like that. In these situations it's clearly not possible and not realistic for psychologists to say I have no political opinion."
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How were the soldiers who performed the pullout affected by the emotional turmoil? The fact that there aren't reported cases of trauma amongst soldiers who performed the pullout is troubling, says a grassroots investigative team.
Gil stood on a steaming sidewalk in a row of soldiers awaiting orders, while kids and teenagers darted out of the Kfar Darom homes, randomly approaching his brigade, hoping to break their firm physical and emotional barriers and get them to refuse the orders. The lawns of the terra cotta-roofed homes were sprawled with settlers and their supporters, the atmosphere tense and emotionally loaded.
"Many youngsters, mostly young girls, cursed us, yelled out us harshly: 'How can you not be ashamed?'" recalls the 23-year-old kibbutznik from the Jordan Valley.
His determination to carry out his orders was not deterred by their youthful, emotional interrogations, and today, two years after the disengagement, he remains unashamed.
"I don't think I'll be ashamed to tell my kids about it. I don't see myself as an individual person who participated. I think there is a historical process for the country, and I can say I was a part of it - a solder who was a part of it."
Gil has since completed his army service and works as an educational tour guide for young people. The disengagement - a move he favored - remains one of the most significant, difficult and thought-provoking chapters of his army service, but he doesn't classify the operation as any more traumatic or unpleasant than his service in the West Bank.
Shalev, 23, from the same kibbutz, served in Gil's unit. Looking back, he also conjures up images of angry kids and mothers cursing at him. Despite their warnings of shame and trauma, Shalev, too, emerged emotionally unscathed.
"It's hard when you speak to evacuees," he says. "Sometimes it's not pleasant to say that you were there, like when I hear about situations in which people don't have homes. It's hard, but it's not an emotional trauma. It's not that I can't sleep at night."
The unilateral withdrawal from Gaza was arguably one of the most contentious and heart-wrenching IDF operations. Prior to disengagement, there were ominous predictions of bloodshed and civil war. In the end, the sandy grounds of Gush Katif absorbed no blood, but many tears. The disengagement produced some of the most iconic images of civil strife: Grown men breaking down while giving their mezuzas their parting kiss; tough, secular soldiers weeping and praying while carrying the Torah as they joined settlers' hands in their final walk through the synagogues; teenagers clad in symbolic orange T-shirts warning soldiers they'd suffer sleepless nights and an aching conscience for destroying happy, Jewish homes.
Two years later, have predictions of post-traumatic stress hurled at the evacuation forces been realized, or are the disengagement soldiers sleeping soundly with clear consciences?
A study co-conducted by Dr. Ariel Knafo, assistant professor of social psychology at the Hebrew University, has found that the soldiers' emotional well-being has largely remained unaffected by the disengagement, with some soldiers having reported that their participation has even contributed to their personal growth.
"When we started the project, we thought there would be very serious consequences over the event," Knafo says. "We learned that some soldiers are better off now than they were two weeks before the disengagement. I think they were extremely anxious before, and actually it turned out not to be that terrible, because they prepared themselves for something more serious than what happened - potential threats, behavior of the settlers and so on. Eventually it turned out not to be so hard."
The study surveyed 1,200 soldiers before the disengagement, an additional 231 soldiers one week afterward and 157 soldiers six months later. It checked the correlation between such factors as the soldiers' locus of control (internal as opposed to external), their degree of training and their attitude toward disengagement as a military task with their level of anxiety and difficulties carrying out orders. The ultimate findings, published in an IDF journal on military psychology, show no signs of any significant post-disengagement trauma.
"IT WAS clear that if we prepared them effectively in preventing violence and escalation, then there are good chances that they wouldn't have any negative reactions," says Haim Omer, a psychology professor at Tel Aviv University and co-author of The Psychology of Demonization with psychologist Nahi Alon. Their work with the armed forces focused on preventing violence - not trauma - although, for Omer, minimizing the level of violence and trauma are intertwined.
Omer and Alon trained IDF officers and settlers based on principles covered in their book, particularly the art of "constructive conflict," a set of strategies designed to minimize violent escalations, provocations and arguments between two sides in conflict. For example, soldiers were taught not to give in to their instincts to react to the arguments, insults, pleadings and curses of the settlers. The self-control exhibited by both the soldiers and settlers played a role in neutralizing the psychological battlefield and accelerating the relatively quick and bloodless execution of the disengagement.
Dr. Danny Brom, director of the Israel Center for the Treatment of Psychotrauma of Herzog Hospital in Jerusalem, has not received any soldiers complaining or suffering from trauma due to the disengagement, and he doesn't anticipate that he will. He attributes the lack of reported cases to the comprehensive, psychological preparation.
"They were really prepared, with very good training in all scenarios, so when they were in there - and I've heard this from a lot of people - there was nothing new," says Brom, adjusting his knitted kippa.
He closely followed the psychological training and aftermath as a mental health professional and also as a father; his son, still a soldier, served in Gush Katif during the disengagement. "It was all planned, all known, and that is what happened. I would be surprised if there are a lot of people who still have problems, because one of the issues in trauma is the discrepancy between your expectation and what's happening in reality. The further they're apart the more harmful potential it has."
The harmful results of inadequate preparation, he says, are very evident among Gush Katif evacuees and fighters in the Second Lebanon War, populations which have sought treatment at the center.
As part of their mental preparation, soldiers learned how to maintain an emotional buffer between themselves and the settlers; to demonstrate empathy with residents, but to dissociate emotionally from their cries and outbursts. Soldiers were given specific formulas to recite upon entering the homes, and they were advised not to engage in political, religious or ethical debate. The organization of the soldiers into tight-knit groups provided a protective feeling of belonging and support. In drills, soldiers rehearsed the evacuation to immunize them from potential harmful effects of the verbal insults.
Soldiers who had ethical, ideological or personal dilemmas with destroying the settlements and evacuating Jewish families were taught that they didn't have to take personal responsibility for disengagement. They could find solace in understanding that they were members of the armed forces executing a democratic, government decision that must remain impervious to a soldier's individual, political opinion.
PREPARATION AT the Counseling Center for Women based in Jerusalem and Ramat Gan trained about 800 female soldiers with an eye toward the needs and sensitivities of women, included workshops discussing the nature and effects of trauma after the pullout.
"There was definitely anxiety that this could cause post-traumatic stress problems," says Bella Savran, a clinical social worker and co-founder of the center. "So built into training was very structured training about the issue of trauma, explaining what it is, what are some of the signs that you are having post- or pre-traumatic reactions, to help soldiers be more knowledgeable and aware and hopefully less frightened if they were having any symptoms, bodily or mental."
Many of the soldiers, she says, considered trauma education the most helpful. Ten days after the disengagement, the center held debriefing workshops with some 200 soldiers who volunteered to attend.
At first many of them were hesitant in discussing their experience, says Savran, who is currently summarizing soldier feedback in an article for an American feminist therapy journal, but eventually they opened up to share both positive and negative feelings.
Among their negative emotions included feelings of isolation, guilt and shame for destroying the settlers' homes, and keen discomfort upon encountering evacuees in public places. Soldiers also described feeling moved by the devotion and behavior of the settlers and pride in having participated in a national mission of such importance.
Zvia Kfir, a social worker who led a session, recalls one soldier requesting additional individual treatment, but overall "most of them spoke about a very empowering, powerful experience - there was a feeling of togetherness, collaboration, that they placed them in groups with men as well, and it didn't matter if you were an officer or cadet, there was something very uniting."
A similar sentiment is expressed by Ariella, 22, a former officer in the Liaison and Foreign Relations Division who now works as an editor.
"It's really funny because a lot of things people were yelling at us: 'You're just going to go to Sinai and forget about it so that you can cleanse your consciences, blah, blah, blah.' At the end, most of the people in my group actually organized a trip to Eilat two weekends later. We all went together as a group... And everybody from the disengagement was there. It made me feel like it was all so national."
As someone who had made aliya only months before entering the army, the disengagement seemed at first like a mission that contradicted her Zionist calling.
"As a person who came to Israel to fulfill a certain ideology and then be commanded to go against that ideology is a very difficult thing to have to do," Ariella says. "It's a very contradictory feeling running through you."
She held an ambivalent attitude and dreaded participating in the evacuation. She considered refusing orders, but told herself and others that she didn't join the army to impose her own views on the military, nor did she want to sit in jail and sacrifice her rank. She figured other, possibly less sensitive soldiers or policemen would replace her anyway.
She got called to participate in the evacuation two weeks before it started, and she worried that she missed some of the mental preparation. Her officers assured her that she could seek psychological assistance from the army if she felt she needed it. She didn't.
"The funny thing is that I don't think about it, at least not for any extended period of time," Ariella says calmly and confidently from the office of one of her co-workers, who happened to have been a disengagement critic. The wall still bears an "orange" flag of the State of Israel, a symbol of the struggle against the disengagement. This is the first time the pretty blonde has discussed her disengagement service at length.
She knew it would be a highly emotional experience, and she describes how she cried the minute she crossed the gates of the settlements while settlers shouted at her and her brigade. She restrained herself from answering back, "in case I said something I wasn't supposed to say. When I said something back, I think it generally consisted of 'I'm sorry.'"
The shouts continued unabated as she marched on to evacuate several homes in Neveh Dekalim and the large synagogue in which hundreds of religious girls had barricaded themselves. There were moments when she felt moved by the cries of the protesters, but, with the support of the soldiers in her unit - who had received the full mental preparation - she eventually learned to disregard them.
"I just remember this 19, 20-year-old guy wearing a Golani Brigade patch on his shirt, and he had tears in his eyes, and was saying, 'I was in Golani, and when I heard there was the disengagement, I refused orders and I went to jail.' That was the first thing that got me, and then I wondered, 'How many times has he said this, and how good was he at acting?' When I realized that it was part of some big psychological plan, I stopped. My emotions turned into anger. It was probably about a couple of days into it. It helped me that my friends were telling the same thing. That it was all part of a game, and it felt that way."
She understood the need for non-residents to show solidarity with the evacuees, but thought that their presence in Gush Katif ultimately made it more difficult on the soldiers.
"We were pulling someone out of the synagogue, and we asked her where we she was from - to talk to them, to show that we were human - and she answered me from Eilat. And I thought, what are you doing there? Why are you doing this to us? I couldn't understand. That's another important thing to point out. I can't understand why it was so hard for people today to differentiate between forces that were acting and force that was deciding. The IDF was doing what it was told on behalf of the government. We didn't have a choice in the matter."
SOLDIERS WHO strongly opposed disengagement for ideological, personal or political reasons generally had a harder time opening up about their experience, and they cast doubt on the rosy picture of soldier mental and emotional health. Knafo's study could not question respondents regarding their political opinion, since soldiers are prohibited from airing their political views while in uniform, but the study has found that soldiers who took a negative stance toward disengagement generally showed more signs of anxiety and unease in carrying out certain aspects of their mission.
More than half a dozen soldiers sharply refused to be interviewed. Some said they feared army backlash, while others didn't want to dredge up the painful experience. All soldiers spoke on condition of anonymity. The IDF declined to offer any contacts for soldiers or army psychologists. Several soldiers related that the army hardly discussed the mission or held debriefings once it was over.
"They never mentioned it," says Ron, 23, from Jerusalem, a student in a religious Zionist yeshiva. "I didn't think about it. In the end it was the escape of the army. They didn't have answers. It's not talked about today."
Ron too prefers to keep his own experience "inside," and it's clear reflecting upon the event is not easy for him. His answers over the phone are quick and brief.
Prior to the disengagement, he had requested from his officer not to evacuate settlers from their homes, and instead was assigned to guard the settlements in the northern Gaza Strip from Palestinian violence and illegal Israeli infiltrators. In an officer's training course at the time, he was torn between his loyalty to the army and his sympathy for the settlers. His own siblings were among the Gush Katif protesters.
"It's bad memories for the rest of your life," Ron says. Right after disengagement, he countered his own upset by conjuring better memories; he looked through his photo album of his days studying in the pre-military academy in the Gush Katif settlement of Atzmona. "It was very black," he continues. "It's hard to describe the feeling. It's something very deep and serious. It was the most disgusting period of my life. So was the aftermath."
Despite his inner conflicts, Shai would do it again, on principle, if given the order, and he directs anger at the disengagement at the government, not the army.
"The army is the organization that unites all of Israel. If everyone would do what is good and not good for them, what would happen to the army?" he asks.
Likewise, Gil, who opposes Israel's presence in the West Bank, says he would evacuate an Arab village, however reluctantly, if given the order.
IN CASES IN which soldiers deeply identify with the settlers, says Dr. Brom, emotional complications are more likely to surface. He concludes this in part from an incident his son related to him.
"They went to shul [in Gush Katif], and that was a very strange thing. They were accepted there, they weren't sent away, but that was one of these cracks in the wall, where you suddenly identify with each other. And that was potentially a problem for the work that had to be done."
Brom adds that the gap between someone's ideal self-image and personal values versus his actions can also be the source of potential trauma.
"One of the more theoretical issues in the field of trauma is how trauma can disrupt the way you view the world and yourself," he explains. "Basically, people have the need to experience themselves as good people, and they want to know the world is a just place and that there is some order in the world. Here you are confronted with something you have to do that you might feel is unjust and you are identified with something bad and you have an ambivalent identification."
Kfir at the Counseling Center for Women noticed that soldiers who generally supported the disengagement were more responsive and receptive to the help and solutions offered them.
"It was harder for those who asked the basic question: 'How can I dare do this?' Definitely. For many of them, the fact that they performed a task that they didn't choose made it easier for them."
Shalev and Gil describe their most difficult moments as the personal encounters with the residents, cases in which the settlers welcomed the soldiers warmly without accusations, insults, shouts or curses.
"There was a family of Ethiopian immigrants," relates Shalev. "They explained how they came, how they had nothing, how Gush Katif was the only place that welcomed them. It was hard to hear their story... but that doesn't become the reason for you not to go through with it."
Throughout the evacuation, Gil knew "something wasn't right" when settlers asked the soldiers where they were headed and his officers couldn't offer a clear answer, but he didn't view their smooth resettlement as his personal responsibility.
"It makes me feel bad about the state," Gil says. "It's one of the many things that make me feel bad about the state. It doesn't take care of many things it should - the sick, the poor and also the evacuees."
Nir, 26, a secular Israeli who works as a security officer in Tel Aviv, served in Gaza during the disengagement and continues to regard the pullout as a mistake. As an officer in the air force, he carried out his orders to lead his unit in evacuating hundreds of protesters from the streets and border crossings. He has no qualms discussing his service in Gaza but admits that serving in the outer military circle as opposed to the first circle charged with the evacuation of residents may have lightened his emotional load.
"No doubt it would have influenced me differently, and this is what I heard from people who were there. They have scars that are difficult to fathom," he says.
He had debated whether or not disengagement orders could be classified as "manifestly illegal orders," which soldiers have the right to disobey. A missive from then chief of General Staff Dan Halutz discussing the legality of the disengagement dispelled his doubts. It gave two examples of manifestly illegal orders: the shooting of 48 unarmed civilians at Kafr Kasim in 1958 and Adolf Eichmann's instructions to murder Jews.
During the evacuation, Nir disregarded the angry shouts and responded more favorably to protesters who questioned him rationally about his actions. "You could speak with them and tell them, 'I don't agree with the act, but I'm in the army and I have to follow orders.'"
He didn't have too much time or mental space to debate the issue while there. "We worked mostly as robots because of the volume of work that had to be done. From lack of sleep, your body works on automatic pilot. You don't know what you're going to do the next hour. The lack of knowledge about what's next contributes to your robotic mode."
Ariella too didn't have the luxury to let her personal feelings or opinions influence her course. She recalls at one point shutting off her feelings.
"When the international media interviewed me at the time, and they asked me how I felt about it, I said, 'I'm not allowed to feel anything.' It sounds like a getaway answer, but I really felt that way."
Today, Nir says he "has more scars from Operation Defensive Shield," but the disengagement marked a turning point in his life. A few months later, he decided to scrap his plans for an army career and not renew his army contract.
"I felt like they forced something in a wrong way, like they behaved in the wrong way, as if they higher-ups wanted to prove that they can, like kids in the nursery," he related. "The way they came, the way they prepared, what they stuck in people's minds. The entire mental preparation was harder than the actual evacuation and ultimately only a third of what they taught came to pass. They really exaggerated. For officers at that level, you have to prepare something in proportion. Things bothered me after as well. I noticed people were in the army more for ego and status."
WHEN ARIELLA finished her assignment, she left the ad hoc unit created for the disengagement and returned to her regular unit. The remainder of her service remained largely unaffected by the evacuation, but she came out of Gush Katif with new friendships.
"Everyone who participated in the disengagement became very close. Most of my good friends were people in my unit during the disengagement, and that was only a few weeks out of my entire service."
During her first weekend back home, her friends described her as a "zombie," but about a week and a half later, she already began to heal from the ordeal.
"At the time I thought this is going to scar me for life, this is the saddest thing I have to do. And it still is the hardest thing I ever had to do. I had to do tough things, but nothing like this. This was something completely beyond reality. I think it's awful because I know there are people that are still affected by it today, people who don't have permanent housing, but I don't think too much about it."
She pauses and looks up, a glimmer of guilt in her eyes. "I think I should, but I don't. I think everyone is just living his own life."
(BOX) The sound of silence
Some people aren't taking the quiet of the soldiers so quietly. What psychologists praise as a successful mental preparation, some disengagement opponents and other psychologists are slamming as a successful mental "programming."
A mixed religious and secular five-member team is spearheaded by Ruti Eisikowitch, a retired Hebrew teacher, and banded together right after the disengagement to discover the cause for what seemed to them untenable: the destruction of a vibrant Jewish community by Jewish soldiers with "following orders" as their ultimate justification. They didn't think any governmental or academic institution would critically assess the mental preparation, and they took the task upon themselves - with an admitted bias.
Their work is supervised by senior educational psychologist Dr. Moshe Leibler, who has lectured about the role of psychologists in developing the mental preparation at the Sderot Conference for Society and at Judea and Samaria Research Conference.
Members of the group casually dub the preparation "brainwashing," but refrain from using the term as a professional qualifier in their work.
Eisikowitch is bothered by the relative silence on the part of the soldiers and the army regarding the IDF experience of the pullout. For Eisikowitch, the perceived lack of trauma is troubling. "They were robots, so there was no trauma. That's even worse."
She and members of the team encountered many difficulties tracking down soldiers who were willing to open up.
"Why the silence?" she asks. "I heard from my husband, sons and friends many stories of war. They weren't silent."
The investigation team spent the last year gathering information and documents regarding the psychological training, and the matter engrosses Eisikowitch daily. Upon meeting her at home near Ra'anana, her living room cocktail table was covered with a number of workbooks, presentations and CDs the army prepared about a year ahead of the disengagement. She flipped through workbook after workbook, demonstrating how the army fielded any possible hesitations among the soldiers to make sure they complied.
"War, which is supposed to be much more traumatic and difficult, doesn't have psychological training, definitely not to this extent and it definitely doesn't have pamphlets and lectures," she said, her anger visible.
The psychological training, she argues, was required to invert the natural mission of IDF and goad soldiers to perform a task some of them considered militarily and morally unsavory.
"The psychologists didn't prepare the IDF for an army mission - to protect its civilians," she charges, "but turned the soldiers into a non-thinking police force that harmed its own civilian population."
The team directs most of its criticism and anger toward the disengagement psychologists, and Leibler argues they violated their ethical code, which states that psychologists must work for the emotional and mental welfare of their clients.
"Psychologists, like doctors, have a particular ethical code they have to abide by," he says. "I think there's more of an obligation on us as mental health workers than the soldiers. They're subject to a different ethical code. As far as I know, psychologists are not permitted to cause harm to a civilian population."
About half a year prior to disengagement, Leibler worked to raise his ethical and professional concerns, and he corresponded extensively from his Kochav Hashahar home with the chairwoman of Israel Psychology Association (IPA), Yael Shoshani, after she wrote in an IPA newsletter of the importance of the IPA's role in the implementation of the disengagement. "She understood my qualms about it. It was taken for granted this was the right way of doing things," says Leibler.
The investigation team is planning to launch a complaint against the disengagement psychologists with the Israel Ministry of Health and to submit a report to the Winograd Commission arguing that the military effectiveness of the IDF during the Lebanon war was damaged by the disengagement training.
HAIM OMER, co-author of Psychology of Demonization, who trained the army to minimize violence throughout the disengagement, dismisses the assault on the psychologists' participation in the mental training as a value judgment based on a political position.
"They say, 'We find that this is evil and helping soldiers to do evil necessarily hurts them,'" he says. "The argument is political. According to this argument, you can't make any psychological preparation for warfare. If I try to help soldiers prepare for war, I violate the psychological code according to this argument."
Omer says he has publicly critiqued as irrelevant the argument that service in the West Bank and Gaza can be psychologically damaging to soldiers.
The job of a psychologist is not necessarily to prevent trauma, he says, but to assist people in coping with trauma or suffering that can arise from natural disasters or legislated measures.
"Psychologists, to my mind, have absolutely no monopoly or advantage over other professionals or other people in dealing with human suffering as such," Omer says. "Psychologists cannot prevent suffering from war, from famine, from forced migration or from evacuation. At best, what they can do is to serve people who ask for their help in trying to cope better with their suffering."
Dr. Danny Brom, director of the Israel Center for the Treatment of Psychotrauma, doesn't think psychologists can be held accountable for any of the trauma and difficulties evacuees might have experienced.
"We did some work before the disengagement, and it was a very big problem to be accepted by the [settler] community," he says. "If you came and said a few months prior that it was going to happen, it was not really acceptable. And there were even politicians who said it won't happen, and everyone was waiting for the miracle to happen and things like that, so the preparation on the political side as well was not good. The army did take responsibility for its soldiers, but the state didn't take responsibility to give a clear message that this is going to happen and how it's going to happen."
For Leibler, psychologists recruited by the army had the professional and ethical imperative to at least raise the ethical issues involved in the forceful evacuation of a civilian population. But instead the psychologists took for granted that their participation in what they perceived as a fait accompli was desirable and ethical to minimize any possible damage.
"The psychologists didn't ask: Is it ethical to carry out an intervention that can cause harm to a civilian population? Harm is caused in war, and psychologists give counseling to the army. In the case of the settlers, is this war? What are the relevant ethical issues, and why were they not seriously debated? Not to consider it as an ethical issue because it's a law reeks of fascism. That says that legislation defines ethics and that ethics doesn't necessarily define legislation."
Brom thinks that psychologists from all sides of the political spectrum cannot necessarily divorce their professional practice from their political opinions.
"I think we're way beyond the idea that psychology is value free," he said. "Once there were opinions that psychologists have to be a blank screen and things like that. In these situations it's clearly not possible and not realistic for psychologists to say I have no political opinion."
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