Chapter Nine - I'm a terrible human being, so sue me

Our first stop of the day was at Yad Vashem, the holocaust museum in Jerusalem.

This was around the point in the trip where I got tired of carrying my camera around everywhere, so most of the remaining pictures are from other people on the trip.

This was not the point in the trip where Shira and I exchanged nicknames, but I don't remember when that actually was so I'll pretend it was here. Shira started calling me [bree-ON] for reasons unknown. I think she mentioned she has a friend at Western who she calls [bree-ON]. Anyway, this is the kind of situation where I really wish my thought processes were quicker. I usually think pretty well, just slowly. Because if I had thought quicker, I would have come up with her nickname, [SHEYE-ra] (that's a long I sound, as in the word "I") right away, and I would have looked really clever. But it took me a few hours to think of it. She liked it, in any case, so we called each other by our nicknames for the rest of the trip. Isn't that cute?

And now back to our regularly scheduled program. Our tour of Yad Vashem started in a classroom, where we did some activity that I couldn't stay awake through. Not that it was boring or anything, I was just so exhausted that whenever I sat down anywhere I started to fall asleep. It was actually pretty scary, because up to that point I had been able to keep my eyes open through sheer willpower, but this time I couldn't do that. So I semi-dozed through the activity. All I remember is that it involved pictures and maps.

We moved on to the actual touring portion of the tour. This is where I really come off as an insensitive prick, but I just wasn't getting it. I don't know if I've heard the story too many times before or if I'm just a rotten human being, but the tour produced no emotional effect in me. I don't really have much more to say about that.

When the tour moved to the outside portion of the museum, we saw some interesting things. There is a tree planted on the premises for every gentile who went out of his or her way to save Jews. That's quite a few trees. The one you'll probably find the most interesting in the one for Oscar Schindler. For the longest time the museum didn't want him to have a tree, since he saved Jews for economic gain and not for humanitarian reasons, but eventually he prevailed.

We also saw a reproduction of a sculpture that stands somewhere. I can't remember. Anyway, I won't describe it except to say that it has two sides, one "right" and the other "wrong". The artist was trying to convey what should have happened during the holocaust (right) and what actually did happen (wrong). The "right" side conveys Jews rising up and fighting back, and disturbingly, trampling over a fallen comrade. I had some issues with that. The "wrong" side portrays Jews going quietly to their deaths.

Right. It's partially obscured, but the inscription on the right side says "B'dameicha chayay". "In your blood, my life." [photo courtesy of Steve Glowinsky]

Wrong. [photo courtesy of Steve Glowinsky]

The next exhibit was one of the actual cattle cars they used to haul Jews off to concentration and death camps. The reason there were so many trees around it was because a holocaust survivor who lived nearby had flashbacks because she was constantly seeing the car outside her window. Those museum folks are so sensitive.

The railroad car. [photo courtesy of Steve Glowinsky]

We went inside at some point to hear testimony from a holocaust survivor. This was another one of those situations where I couldn't stay awake. My grandmother is very active in holocaust lecture circuits, so I've heard all the stories a million times before.

After a brief stop for a group photo (which I have in physical, rather than digital, form, if you ever want to see it), we went to the children's memorial. It's quite interesting. You go down into a very dark tunnel where mirrors and candles give the impression of an infinite field of lights. I'm not really into metaphors, but the architecture was interesting. While we walked through this tunnel the loudspeaker spoke the names of children who had died in the Holocaust.

When we came out of the tunnel we were asked to fill out a very biased and poorly-constructed questionnaire on the museum and our tour of it. One of the questions was something like: "My experience at Yad Vashem was (circle all that apply): emotional, intellectual, educational, informative." What is the difference between intellectual, educational, and informative, I wondered. I ended up circling "intellectual" since I figured that was the most emotionally neutral one.

The tour was concluded, so we had another dreaded discussion. One of the guys, Morgan I think, said he no longer approved of laughing at holocaust-related satire. He said he would never watch the "soup nazi" episode of Seinfeld again. Oh, come on. I replied, saying that I think it's important to laugh at the ridiculousness of Hitler's policies. I quoted Mark Twain: "Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand." I don't think anyone understood what I was getting at. I'll provide the full quote here, as I couldn't remember the entire thing at the time.

"Power, money, persuasion, supplication, persecution -- these can lift at a colossal humbug -- push it a little -- weaken it a little, century by century; but only laughter can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand."

So forgive me if I still find the soup nazi funny.

When we got to the headquarters of Magen David Adom, the Israeli equivalent of the Red Cross, it was freezing outside. So naturally we had to stay outside for another twenty minutes and listen to a lecture on ambulances. I suppose it might have been interesting to those interested in emergency medical procedures, but that's the kind of thing you can learn about easily enough in Canada, and it doesn't need to be done in freezing weather.

After this, we went inside and heard another lecture. I didn't really care to learn that much about Magen David Adom so I didn't pay very close attention. The lecture was aimed mostly at people who were planning to come back to Israel and volunteer or something. If I never set foot in that country again, it'll be too soon. So I dozed again. The interesting part of the lecture, I suppose, was when J.P., a member of the Western Jewish fraternity (AEPi, remember?), presented Magen David Adom with a donation of some ridiculous amount of money, collected from and by AEPi members. I was distressed at the thought of thousands of Canadian dollars going to the Red Cross in some stupid middle eastern country instead of the equivalent organization back home, where the money belongs.

J.P. presenting Magen David Adom with a cheque. [photo courtesy of Steve Glowinsky]

The reason we were at Magen David Adom was not actually to hear lectures or even to donate money, both of which could have been done remotely, but to donate blood. I'll spare you my thoughts on donating blood in some stupid middle eastern country instead of back home. In any case, I didn't do it. I probably wouldn't have been able to anyway, since I have a rapid heartbeat, but I didn't even try.

While people were draining vital bodily fluids, the rest of us heard yet another lecture, this one from a Canadian who had come to Israel to serve in the army. Now here is something I totally don't understand. Maybe someone might want to come to Israel because they like the country (why they would, I can't imagine), but serving in the army should be a chore you want to get out of, not the main purpose for your visit! Anyway, he was a medic and he had various things to say about coming from Canada to serve in the army. I wasn't interested. Are you sensing a theme for the day?

I hung out with Leah [lee-ah] some more in Magen David Adom while we were waiting for people to finish bleeding. She would be most upset if I didn't mention that she was a lot of fun to hang out with. She became a major player in my last few days in Israel, as you will see.

We proceeded on to the only portion of the day that didn't suck. We had some free time on the streets of Jerusalem to eat dinner and shop, in that order. I had shawarma for about the millionth time, and then finally got around to buying a souvenir for my mother. She had requested a mug, but that's about the tackiest thing one can possibly buy in Israel, so I bought some artwork of Jerusalem instead. It was pretty nice, I thought. I have yet to deliver it to her, so I can't tell you her reaction.

I finished my shopping with a ton of time to spare, so I wandered around the area for a while. I found out where everyone else was: in the hookah store. I swear, you have never seen so many hookahs as there were in this store. And the store was packed. Someone is making a fortune of the decline of civilized society, it seems. In any case, about a third of the members of our merry crew bought a hookah. They also learned that "nargila" is the Hebrew word for hookah so they started saying that ad nauseum.

When I had had enough of the hookah store (no, I didn't buy one) I headed back to the square where we were supposed to meet. No one except the Israeli medic was there, so I talked to him for a minute. He had a very soft voice, but he mumbled something about how the attraction of Jerusalem isn't all the old buildings or the kotel or anything, it's the crazy people who live there. In about ten minutes I would find out what he was talking about.

At the designated meeting time, everyone had gathered and we were just about ready to head back to the bus, when suddenly--

ORTHODOX DANCE PARTY!!

A van with an impressive-looking loudspeaker on the roof rolled up and started playing Israeli techno music. Very jewish-looking people got out and started doing the craziest dances you have ever seen. It defies description. We Canadians started trying to immitate them when one of the dancers yelled something at us in Hebrew. After a few moments of confusion, someone finally realized that the dancer wanted the boys and girls to dance separately! Can you believe that?

So we danced on the streets of Jerusalem. Well, the Israelis danced. The Canadians just sort of jumped up and down, mesmerized at the almost acrobatic skill of the Israeli dancers. Numerous jokes were made about whether they go on tour at Bar Mitzvahs.

Dancing on the streets of Jerusalem. [photo courtesy of Josh Dyment]

When we had had enough dancing, we packed up and headed back to Ramat Rachel. There we received our official "Birthright Israel" t-shirts, which we were to wear the following morning.

Chapter Ten