The Million Person Rally...sort of

You have never truly cottage cheese until
 you have eaten Israeli cottage cheese

Since I've been in Israel, there has been a social protest going on. They started out as protests against a rise in the subsidized price of cottage cheese. I know that sounds absurd but you truly have not experienced cottage cheese until you have eaten Israeli cottage cheese. It is an essential part of a traditional Israeli breakfast. I refuse to eat cottage cheese in the US but I have bought it every time I have gone to Shufersal or the closer supermarket, Machsanei Lahav.

The protests started in earnest with a single tent on Rothchild Boulevard, one of the wealthiest streets in Tel Aviv. More and more people came until it was a tent city, alive at night with the sounds of drum circles and acoustic guitars. Different groups came together from all political parties to protest the high cost of living in Israel: students protested the lack of affordable housing, doctors protested their long hours and low wages, and some people protested just because that is what the cool kids were doing.

Protesting on the shoulders of my suit-mate.
 Photo credit: Darielle Shandler

That is where I come in. A month and a half into the protests they tent cities had spread to different cities throughout the country. They had held several rallies, the biggest in Israel's history, the new commentators and journalists were predicting that the protest was running out of steam. The leaders of the protests decided that they needed to rejuvenate their efforts. A million-person rally, they dreamed, by far the biggest in Israel's short existance. More than one out of every eight people in the country. There was no way I would miss it.

The night of the protest I went downtown to Kikar Hamedina, Tel Aviv's largest square, to check out the action. I went with five friends, but by the time I elbowed my way to the middle of the giant crowd I had lost all the others except for my friend Max. We felt like individual curds of cottage cheese stuffed into the container with the heat turned up to about 150 degrees. Luckily, there was no spoilage.

One of the heads of the protest, Daphne Leaf, spoke about the significance of the rally and why they should continue to be upset with the government. Then Hadag Nachash, a popular Israeli Hip-Hop group performed three songs, including the appropriate song, "Lo Frayerim," which talks about Israelis not wanting to be suckers for paying high taxes and going on mandatory military reserve duty.

This sign doesn't necessarily reflect my political
view because I have not solidified mine yet.
Whether or not it reflects your's, you
have to admit that it looks cool.

There were a lot of cool signs with clever slogans and striking designs, one of which I snagged from the side of the road after we left. It reads "The nation is mentally ill (sick in the head). Sometimes Advil isn't enough and you need to switch it's head." This of course, is a reference the the Prime Minister, Bibi Netanyahu, and was sponsored by Kadima, the opposition to Netayahu's Likud Party.

On the way home we quietly chanted the slogan of the protest to ourselves: העם דורש צדק חברתי (the nation demands social justice).

The next day the media outlets reported that the rally totaled approximately 450,000 people across Israel. Not nearly the million protestors that were promised, but still the largest protest that ever existed in the country. More than fifteen percent of the population participated and I still didn't see anyone I knew. Maybe this country is bigger than I thought it was...

Shabbat in Jerusalem

Before I write about my trip this past Friday to (SPOILER ALERT) Akko and the rest of the weekend, I'll tell you about my trip to Jerusalem the weekend before...

I started out by going into Tel Aviv, where I met Ben, a friend from Tufts, who has been in Israel for a few weeks this summer. Ben has recently become a vegan so, naturally, I met him at a vegan restaurant in Tel Aviv where he was casually interviewing one of the Hebrew Israelites who own the restaurant. At first glance, it was a little hard to tell it was him because 90% of his trademark blond locks were covered up with an enormous white knit kippa. It was striking because you usually expect to see a fedora or ironic baseball cap with cargo shorts and a plaid, slim-fitting, button-down shirt.

The kippa that Ben was wearing made me think he
might have been dancing with these guys too much

We caught up on the walk over to the bus station and during the bus ride. I was afraid we were talking too loudly, but I guess that is expected because no one shushed us. After we got off the bus we headed our separate ways: he back to his program and me to my cousin's house.

The drive from Jerusalem's Central Station was a little bit nerve-wracking. Some of it was due to the nature of my cousin, Divsha's, driving. Most of it was due to the ridiculously confusing streets and my aunt's constant reminders to her: "don't drive so close to the right...slow down in this area, people might be pulling out!" Above all, it made me appreciate that I never had to learn how to drive with my mom in the car. The few times that she was there with me, I could sense her clenching the door and the armrest out of anxiety. I don't think it was completely a reflection on my driving skills because she still does it a little bit when she is in my brother's passenger seat.

Of course I had a lot of time to spend with my my aunt, my uncle, and all of the cousins who didn't spend the whole of shabbat in their rooms. We had a great time, but the more notable things happened with the people who I didn't expect to see.

At Saturday morning services, a bunch of high school students on Ramah Seminar visited the synagogue for their last shabbat in Israel. I distinctly recognized two of them but could not figure out exactly who they were. During the luncheon I went up to them and introduced myself. The two didn't even give me their own names rather, they just referred to themselves as 'Slapin's younger brother' and 'Ari's younger sister.'

Don't be fooled by its high ceilings and festive
atmosphere, Tel Aviv's New Central Station is
one of Israel's most confusing destinations, and
considering Jerusalem's roads, that is saying a lot. 

The second incident occurred after my bus had arrived in Tel Aviv after shabbat. I wasted a half an hour trying to navigate to the right gate in Tel Aviv's notoriously baffling New Central Station. After I found out that the last bus back to the University had already left I resigned to take a cab. It was even more difficult to find the exit than it was to find the right bus terminal, but I mazed my way through the station and stepped out into the not-so-fresh aired sidewalk lined with taxis.

I was about to approach a taxi when I hear someone call "SAM!" I turn around and hear it again.  A third time I hear it is a girl's voice, but this time she says "SAM MELLITS! Are you going to the University?" I found it curious that the first name belonged to me, but the last name belonged to a good friend of mine from home. Close enough, I thought and I waved off the taxi I had approached to find this mysterious hollerer. As I approached, I recognized her and could place her as someone from elementary school, but I couldn't quite recall her name. We split a cab and caught up during the ride. A few minutes into the drive back to the University I remembered her first name but it wasn't until I was brushing my teeth in my apartment that her last name came to me. Despite my frustration and weariness from the journey from Jerusalem, I checked on Facebook to confirm that I was right about her name before I went to sleep.

From left to right: Sam Mellits, Sam Sittenfield (aka: me)