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A new landscape greeted us

We drove through the green rolling hills, past olive trees, past vineyards, past farms, and through the valley. We turned into the entrance of Ella Valley Vineyards and walked into a small building. Seated at a rustic, wood bar, we tasted the fine wines of this small vineyard. We did not get a tour because the workers were busy preparing for Passover. Only forty minutes west of Jerusalem, we found ourselves in a very different world.

One hour later, traveling east of the city, a new landscape greeted us. The green, blooming hills, gave way to traffic and noise, which gave way to rocky, desert hills. Bedouins shepherded sheep and goats. A couple of camels wandered about. There were a few people riding donkeys along the highway.

Our friends Odile and Peter were visiting from Providence and Elie and I wanted to give them a feel for the Jerusalem area in a very short period of time. This was their first trip to Israel; we had a lot to cover.

Of course, you can’t possibly see everything in a day or two. And, of course, it isn’t just about what you see, but how you see it and how it affects you. Aside from our having fun together, their questions and observations about history and landscape and lifestyle forced me to see Jerusalem anew. I was amazed that even after only seven months, I have started taking some things for granted.

Less than two months remain to my stay here. In my first two months, I had to find my way around, learn bus routes and walking routes to the downtown area, to the library, to the grocery store. In the remaining time, I have the opportunity to pay closer attention to my well-worn paths through the city. The time for discovery must continue until the day I leave.

Greenery in the Jerusalem HIlls.

A very cheerful tractor driver at Tzora Vinyard (where we also visited). The dog's name is Perach.

The desert hills just east of Jerualem.

Posted by Ilene Weismehl  at 5:22 PM | Permalink | Comments 1

Happiness in a bookstore

"I am so glad to hear that! How wonderful!”

I have just walked into Tamir Books in the German Colony. I have shopped there many times during my six months in Jerusalem: I bought a Hebrew Dictionary, a book of Hebrew verb tables, a couple of novels in English, stationary, a cd or two. The booksellers know me by now.

I have just told the manager that I would like to try to read a book in Hebrew. She looks so pleased and happy for me. It is a very nice thing to make another book lover happy. I ask if she will recommend a book that I have a fighting chance of understanding. We’re speaking in Hebrew, as we have before, so she has a sense of my comprehension level.

She pulls several novels off of the shelf. Then the other bookseller pipes in with her suggestions. They deliberate over which story I might enjoy. Which novelist uses everyday language versus more literary language? Whether it might be better for me to read something I’ve already read in English. They discuss their favorite authors. They deliberate over books that will give me some Israeli history as well.

They know this is a big decision. We need to find a book that will challenge me, but not so much that I despair and despond. Plus, it's likely to take me a long (long, long) time to read the chosen book, so it would be nice if I also enjoyed it.

Finally we come up with a book, Scapegoat, by Eli Amir. It’s a novel from the perspective of an Iraqi boy who immigrated to Israel in the 1950s. It’s a modern classic, they explain. One of the booksellers tells me her father arrived as a child from Iraq in the 1950s, so this book has special meaning for her. I'm sent on my way and told to come back to tell them how I’m managing.

I am reading chapter one now. It is very challenging, but visions of the happy, encouraging booksellers motivate me to persist. As I read, the story begins to sound familiar. I realize that I read this book in English translation, over twenty years ago, during my last long-term stay in Israel. I do not remember the details of the story, but I do have a foggy memory of the idea of the story. Those booksellers really do know what they're doing!

The Coffee Mill, one of the many coffee shops on Emek Refaim St. in the German Colony.

A very, very small synagogue in the German Colony.

A residential street in the same neighborhood.

Posted by Ilene Weismehl  at 3:47 AM | Permalink | Comments 2

History in a hotel

We are visiting family in Paris. We take a brief excursion into Provence where we see the landscape several months before it bursts into the vineyard-and-lavender glory we have all seen in pictures. We arrive before the tourist crush and all is peaceful and gorgeous.

On our final day, we find a hotel just outside the city of Carpentras. Elie asks the owner if it was once a private home. She does not speak English and I still need a few more French lessons, so Elie translates. The owner explains that it was once the private home of Henri Dreyfus, nephew to legendary Captain Alfred Dreyfus. Alfred Dreyfus even stayed in the home briefly after his “pardon.”

For those who don’t know, Alfred Dreyfus, a captain in the French army and a Jew, was falsely accused of espionage in 1894. In spite of strong evidence that he was innocent, he was deported to the French penal colony on Devil’s Island until 1899, when the President pardoned him. He was finally exonerated in 1906 by the military, at this point a broken man. The chants of “Death to the Jew,” even with evidence of his innocence, forced the public to recognize this travesty of justice as an anti-Semitic act. The case tore the country apart. Theodore Herzl heard the chants and read Emile Zola’s published letter J’accuse, motivating him to pursue his vision of establishing a Jewish homeland.

Back to Henri. As it turns out, Henri Dreyfus, nephew of Captain Dreyfus, was mayor of Carpentras for about three decades. There was a brief interruption in his term when he and his family were sent to the camps during World War II. His brother was murdered in Auschwitz. Henri was not sent to Auschwitz, but remained in a detention camp. He was married to a Catholic woman and this might have saved his life.

I try to picture how this played out. The people of Carpentras looking on as their beloved mayor is taken away with the other Jews of France. Then, years later, they welcome him back. Not only that, but Mayor Dreyfus chose to return. It’s an amazing story.

Soon, I will return to Jerusalem. There are many French Jews in Jerusalem, including my in-laws. We hear that France is becoming less and less welcoming to Jews. So, the French Jews move to Israel, the country that started as a vision of Theodore Herzl, who was inspired to create a safe haven for Jews after the false accusation of Captain Alfred Dreyfus, whose nephew was the mayor of Carpentras, who lived in the home that is now the hotel we enjoy on our lovely excursion to Provence.

Vineyards in Provence, months before harvest.

Vineyard, plane trees, charming homes.

Plane trees outside our hotel.

I examine a clay relief of Dreyfus in the hotel living room.

Posted by Ilene Weismehl  at 5:58 AM | Permalink | Comments 0