Three Days, Three Cities, and a Chicken Fricassee

The on-again, off-again wireless internet, combined with the weekend travelling and shabbat plans, have made it difficult for me to keep a record on what I've been doing the past few days. So, in a very large nutshell:

Thursday was a relatively normal day of learning. Right before the morning shiur, one of the Israelis threw my hackeysack into the palm tree outside the Beit Midrash. What ensued was a half-hour rescue operation that included everything from people stacked on each other's shoulders to long brooms to chairs to throwing stones. I was even lifted onto the back of another tall guy, Neta, and tried to knock the ball down with a mop. In the end, I think we had about three-quarters of the yeshiva either watching, commenting, or trying to retrieve the lost ball. Classtime arrived before we succeeded, though some of the Israelis managed to knock it down that afternoon.

The Meta-Halacha shiur, usually delivered by Rav Elisha, was instead presented by Ezra and Benjamin, who worked together to research changing the nusach (umm... style?) of contemprary prayer. They used the Elishian methodology to investigate issues such as including the matriachs in the amidah's first blessing, whether spontanaeity should be allowed in prayer services, and how much or if prayers in general should be changed. And like Rav Elisha, they did not present us with a final conclusion, but rather left us with the issues, facts, and values, and let us decide for ourselves. Also, that night, none of the showers on our floor had hot water. Just thought you should know.

The next day, Friday, I met with Leor Hackel, of those good ol' Shalhevet days, in Jerusalem. We caught up on old times, made plans for Pesach when we will both be back in Los Angeles, and visited Manny's bookstore in Meah Shearim, where he bought a book. After a shawarma at Moshiko's on Ben Yehuda Street, I hopped the 947 bus to Ra'anana.

Once I arrived at the bus station, I met Micah, who was also staying in Ra'anana for Shabbat, and we walked up and down the main street, Ahuza. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but all the streets in Israel have the same names. Ben Gurion, Herzl, Bialik, HaNeviim-- it's like American suburbia, but instead of trees, it's the same eight or nine Jewish things. I mean, it's nice and all, but how about some creativity? If you're going to name a street after a rabbi, how about less Rambam and more Rugachover? Less Jeremiah and more Arphaxad? I don't want to downplay the significance of the aforementioned, but some variation would be nice, too.

From there, I was picked up by Maya Dolgin, who drove me to Kochav Yair. In the car, she wanted to converse in Hebrew, and I obliged. I thought it was a test, and if so, I think I passed; she said my Hebrew was really good. That's what happens after a half-year at an Israeli yeshiva.

Once at the Dolgins', I prepared for shabbat, then walked to shul and from there, to dinner at the Greenwalds'. They made aliyah from Edison, NJ, thirteen years ago, so conversation was, thankfully, English. The chicken fricassee wasn't bad, and there were some spicy meatballs, too. I was partial to the lemon-garlic greenbeans myself.

Today was the holy sabbath, which of course meant sleeping, relaxing, and reading. This morning, I also took a run with Michael and their dog, Sparky, into the fields at the edge of the yeshuv (settlement). It was such a beautiful day-- rolling green pastures, pine forests, clear skies and, off in the distance, the mainly-deserted highways. We talked about yeshiva and America and country life as we jogged over gravel paths and muddy trails. Then we had a nice lunch of chicken, couscous, and a particularly zesty cabbage-almond salad, and I read my book, "The Narrows," by Michael Connolly. It wasn't bad, but since I was told it was similar to another writer of that genre, James Patterson, I was a bit disappointed. I didn't like the pace or narration style, but I did appreciate the diversity of characters and Connolly's knack for weaving a twisting thriller/mystery plot.

And now, the sabbath has once again reached its end. I have only three more shabbats in Israel, and since one is Shabbat Zachor, the crazy shabbat before Purim, and the other is the penultimate day of a near week off (more on that later), I have only one normal shabbat left at yeshiva before Pesach break. And that too should not be normal, as it is Shabbat Gibush, when all the potential students for next year stop by for the weekend. Yikes!

Shavua Tov.