Fruit of the Vine

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 8 July 2005.

It used to be, if you used the words "wine" and "Israel" in the same sentence, you'd probably also use words like "sickly sweet" or "only used for kiddush." Nowadays, when you put the two together, you can actually make favorable comparisons to the world-famous Napa Valley in California. In recent years, wine making (which has gone on in this region for thousands of years) has really taken off as a serious business, often with wonderful results. Not only that, a whole world of wine-related businesses and activities have appeared.


In 1995, the supermarkets we patronized had a small selection of wine (most of it sweet) on display next to the grape juice. The bottles were usually dusty. These days, you often find whole aisles or even sections of supermarkets devoted to wine. The store pictured above also has a wine expert on hand (an immigrant from France), to help you decide which wine will go well with your meal. Of course, it helps if you listen to his advice. Jil has told us stories of Israelis who come back to complain that the wine he sold them was "bad" when in fact the problem was that someone had paired a lovely bottle of Shiraz with his humous and falafel.

But things are changing. Today you can find a Hebrew-language magazine, Wine & Gourmet, several books, and even specialty wine stores, like The Wine Center. You can even find myriad choices in wine refrigerators and other wine-related products. Of course there are also wine tastings and similar gatherings including the annual Israeli Wine Fair, which has being taking place for the last seven years. As more Israelis travel the world for pleasure and on business, they return knowing more and wanting more from the wine they drink at home. And they are getting it.

The names of the giants in Israeli wine-making are well known: the Golan Heights Winery, Carmel-Mizrachi, and Barkan. We have discovered a number of wonderful boutique wineries, as well. Our visit with Amram (see photo, above) was delightful. In the basement of his home in Ramot Naftali, in the northern part of Israel, Amram has set up a wine cellar/tasting room, complete with photos and sample equipment, to which he refers as he explains how he produces his wine. After hearing his spiel, asking many questions, and tasting several varieties of red wine, we parted from Amram and his wife not only with several bottles of Merlot, Cabernet-Merlot and Cabernet-Shiraz , but with a bag of home-grown lemons his wife insisted we take as a gift.

Israel has, deservedly, received alot of attention for her advances in technology and medicine. Many of the inventions that make lives around the world better today originated in Israel. (For more information on such things, I highly recommend you visit Israel 21c.) It's a pleasure to see progress also being made here in the ancient art of wine making. There's something appealing about the notion that toiling alongside the high tech innovators are winemakers endeavoring to produce the best wines Israel has ever created.

Often we are preoccupied with the conflicts and turmoil with which our country is plagued. It's easy to feel that there's nothing going on here but tension and confrontation, especially in these weeks leading up to the disengagement. Too bad there's no holiday coming up, an occasion to celebrate the things we have in common, a reason to remember the ways in which we are united. Perhaps if we joined together in a "l'chaim!" (a traditional toast, meaning "to life!") over a glass of the fruit of the vine, we could use the opportunity to relish, if only for a short time, our mutual love of life and country.

(c)Amy Samin

Bookworm Blues

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 3 July 2005.

In the words of the immortal Sesame Street song, "I'm a bookworm, baby/Reading books is what I do..." But try to imagine moving to a place where books are not nearly as readily available, or as inexpensive, as you are used to. Since moving to Israel, I have gone from purchasing an average of ten books a month to about three. Luckily, I brought along 39 boxes filled with books (and that after giving away who knows how many books I thought I'd never read again). I would estimate that since moving here, I have re-read about 85% of the books I brought with me.

That's not to say I haven't bought any books since I made aliyah. Ten years ago, there were two main options for buying books in English in Israel. I could scout out small, independent bookstores (including second-hand bookstores, like my local shop, The Reader's Corner) and hope they had something I wanted, or go to a branch of the outrageously expensive one major bookseller then in existence. Since then, a second chain has begun operating here, and their prices are marginally better. On a recent trip to the latter (Tzomet Sefarim, or the Book Junction) I picked up a number of titles, including the book I just finished reading, The Secret Life of Bees (by Sue Monk Kidd). It cost me 88 NIS, or slightly more than $5 over the retail price listed on the book. I have tried ordering books from Amazon, but the shipping charges are prohibitive. If I'm going to overpay for my books, I'd like to at least be able to start reading them as soon as I've plunked down my credit card, and not have to wait 4 - 6 weeks. Right now, I'm looking forward to starting the last book I bought, The Israelis (by Donna Rosenthal).

My home library has also expanded greatly thanks to Scholastic, Inc. I now have a wonderfully varied children's library of over 500 titles, which I am delighted to share with the many students I know. I have enjoyed many of those books, myself. I have revisited childhood favorites, and read some of the newer kids' books (though I draw the line at the Mary Kate and Ashley series!). Not only does my children's library offer me fresh reading material, I am better able to recommend books to the students who are looking for something to read.

I can't remember when I first got hooked on reading. It seems to be something I've always done. From the Nancy Drew series (which initiated my addiction to mysteries) to the Little House books, I have always loved getting lost in a story. From my high school years, the books that stand out in my memory are The Hobbit (by J.R.R. Tolkien) and Night (by Elie Wiesel). Of the books I've read since moving to Israel, the most memorable are Kitchen Table Wisdom: Stories That Heal (by Rachel Naomi Remen), a book my mother gave me; A Psalm in Jenin (by Brett Goldberg); and Down the Great Unknown (by Edward Dolnick), a book I bought while on vacation in the Grand Canyon last summer, and which renewed my interest in reading historical non-ficiton.

Speaking of vacations, I always take the opportunity, while on trips to America, to stock up on books. I usually purchase enough to fill an entire suitcase, then end up reading half of them before I even get home. There is a special thrill these days in walking into one of the many fabulous American bookstores, breathing in that special bookstore smell, and knowing that all the books I see are written in a language I can read with ease.

Of course, I do alot of reading on-line these days. The Interent has been a wonderful boon to people like me, who are starved for new things to read. I have become a fan of quite a few blogs. In fact, it is thanks to AbbaGav's blog that I chose to write about this topic. Funny how some things become an accepted part of your life without any consciousness awareness. If AbbaGav hadn't tagged me for the book meme, it could have been months or years before I thought to write about the insufficiency of reading material for English speakers in Israel. Maybe that means that I am not overly inconvenienced when it comes to finding new things to read, after all.

On the other hand, I wonder how long it will take for my pre-ordered copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to arrive...

(c)Amy Samin

Escape to Eilat

Photo (c)Amy Samin
This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 30 June 2005.

Thousands of tourists, both Israeli and foreign, are familiar with Eilat as an idyllic vacation spot. The hot, dry climate, gorgeous beaches and fabulous hotels offer the perfect environment for relaxation and pampering. But on my second trip to Eilat, I started wondering what the city's year-round residents thought of the place. I spoke with a number of people I know who have lived, or are now living, in Eilat. Interestingly enough, though their ages, backgrounds, and experiences are widely varied, their perceptions of this city are almost identical.

Like most cities whose main source of income is tourism, Eilat has a split personality. The area around the hotels and tourist attractions is abuzz with noise and movement 24 hours a day. Residents of Eilat, particularly young adults, take advantage of that exciting world when the mood strikes. When holiday times hit, however, and most of the country is on vacation from work and school, Eilatis rarely venture past the immediate neighborhoods surrounding their homes in the hills above the tourist center. The influx of tourists has a dramatic effect on the nature of the city. As you might imagine, that impact is usually not a positive one.

During the quieter times of the year, Eilat has more of a small town or village feel to it. Everyone knows everyone else, and cars stopping in the middle of the road so the drivers can exchange pleasantries is not unusual. When that happens, other drivers usually don't honk, curse, or drive over the shoulder of the road in their impatience to be on their way. In fact, Eilatis have a wealth of patience and tolerance, notes Liraz, who was born and raised in Eilat. She attributes those characteristics in part to the fact that many Eilatis work in the service industry (hotels, restaurants, and shops), and know the value of maintaining a calm, respectful front. Residents of Eilat are more relaxed and easy-going than Israelis from other parts of the country. Eve, an American who moved to Eilat after living in Jerusalem for many years, appreciates the less stressful pace of everyday life. The word used the most to describe Eilat during low season is tranquil.

My neighbor Anne, a Canadian who lived in Eilat for many years, told me about all the special ways Eilatis are compensated for choosing to live in this remote town in the southernmost tip of Israel. Residents are issued special municipal identity cards, which entitle them to discounts at shops and tourist attractions. They also receive special deals on flights "up north" (i.e. to the northern part of the country). With the nearest city (the town of Mitzpe Ramon) more than an hour's drive away, and Tel Aviv about four hours away, it's no wonder the residents of Eilat have developed a unique way of looking at life and handling its problems. In addition, perhaps this isolation fosters a sense of community that draws people together in a way that isn't possible in other, more crowded, parts of the country. My friend Eve likens it to the atmosphere found in desert communities in America.

Naturally, Eilat is an extremely popular destination for Israelis and Europeans in need of sun, sea and sand. Indeed, the city's slogan is, "In Eilat, every day is a Sun Day." For many Israelis, a trip to Eilat is like going abroad. And for Europeans, travel insurance to Eilat remained available even during those turbulent times when it was unobtainable for other parts of Israel. With the option of direct charter flights from Europe, Eilat may be the only part of Israel some visitors ever see.

With tension escalating as the deadline for disengagement approaches, I find myself wishing for some of that Eilati tranquility. I think we could all benefit from some of that cohesiveness. Perhaps those of us "up north" should emulate the Eilatis, and think of people before ideology, serenity instead of friction, unity rather than divisiveness. Maybe what we all need right now is to escape, for a while, to Eilat.

(c)Amy Samin

Things I've Learned

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 25 June 2005.

I've learned a few things in the ten years since I moved to Israel. Some of them are interesting (at least, they are to me), some are unimportant, some are downright disgusting, and some are fairly thought-provoking. With the school year winding down and the hot, lazy days of summer almost upon us, I thought it would be a good time to reflect on the store of knowledge I've gained to date. So here, in no particular order, are a few of the things I've learned.

My neighbor Chaim grows the sweetest plums I've ever tasted.

Maybe I hang out in the wrong places, but in a decade's time, I have yet to find a decent bagel in Israel.

What I grew up calling shish kebab is called shishlik in Israel. Kebabs are made with ground meat.

I learned that it is considered socially acceptable to ask people their salary, or how much they paid for their house.

Bats do not defecate, they vomit. (I did warn you that some were disgusting, remember?)

Much though it pains this California girl to admit it, Danny Sanderson's Hebrew version of the Beach Boys' song Come Go With Me is much better than the original.

It is illegal for teachers to accept gifts from individual parents (unless those gifts are handmade).

Unfortunately, I have learned that there are such things as flying cockroaches.

If you own a television, you have to pay an annual television tax.

Even though Israel is tiny, the various parts of the country have totally different characters.

Israel has three commercial ports: one in Haifa, one in Ashdod, and one in Eilat.

There are seven airports in Israel, though only Ben Gurion Airport and the Eilat Airport service international flights.

Most cities and towns in Israel have a street named after Theodore Herzl.

All dwellings are required to have a bomb shelter.

I was saddened to learn that some of the very best Israeli singers were more successful abroad than they were at home.

Up until very recently, there was no capital gains tax in Israel.

You cast your vote by putting a slip of paper into an envelope (no hanging chads for us!).

If you don't pass your matriculation exams, you can't go to college and it will be very tough to find a job.

In Israel, "college" means junior college, and "university" means college.

While we're on the subject, I recently learned that there are eight universities in Israel.

It is against the law to call someone a Nazi in Israel.

Some people hang strings of garlic bulbs in their yards to ward off the evil eye.

I have also learned that there are alot more interesting, unimportant, disgusting, and thought-provoking things out there, waiting to be learned...

I wonder what my list will look like in another ten years.

(c)Amy Samin

Earning Our Trust

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 20 June 2005.

Earlier this month, our local elementary school hosted a very special event designed to educate the students about the Israel Police. Called Yom Kehilla v'Mishtara (Community and Law Enforcement Day), the program featured many different police units, and even the fire department. Students got to sit in patrol cars (and hit the siren!), see the tools used by crime scene investigators, and watch a bomb-detonating robot go through its paces. They learned what the Border Police does, and how many languages the members of the special tourist force speak (the list even includes Chinese). Beyond that, the children learned an important lesson about committment to the community.


Pictured above is the remote-controlled robot used by the police to detonate bombs. Equipped with video camera, shotgun, and various other tools, the robot is brought onto the scene when a suspicious article is found in a public place. A friend's son once left his schoolbag unattended; the bag now sports quite a few bullet holes! There is a reason for all those signs in places like restaurants, warning patrons to keep their bags with them at all times.


ZAKA is a humanitarian organization made up of volunteers who are trained by the police in emergency health services and forensics. While not affiliated with the police officially, ZAKA volunteers work hand in hand with the Israel Police at the scene of fatal traffic accidents, disasters, and terrorist attacks. In the picture above, a volunteer demonstrates how he prepares to do his work.

The Israel Police puts on many such special community events, in order to educate the public about the work our law enforcement officials do. This Community and Law Enforcement Day was organized by teacher Tali Dahan who, in addition to her regular duties at the school, is responsible for traffic safety education. She and a student committee of approximately 30 students (2nd through 6th graders) planned and coordinated the day's events. According to Tali, the purpose of the day was two-fold. The first goal was to bring the children in contact with the police in order to gain a better understanding of the ways the police serve and protect the public. By meeting and talking with individual officers, the children came to see them as people who can help and protect them in times of trouble. The second goal was to convey to the students the concepts of good citizenship habits and service to the community. According to the feedback Tali and the other teachers received from students later, both goals were achieved.

Particularly because these children are of elementary school age, emphasis was placed on road safety. With the advent of summer vacation, children will be out on the streets in force: walking, biking, skateboarding, and skating. Tali and her committee were particularly interested in making sure the children were aware of how to enjoy their summer activities safely. This in turn connected back to Community and Law Enforcement Day, as the students learned the ways in which the police are available to help them.


The entire day's program was beautifully planned and well-executed. I was particularly impressed that the various police officers took the time to come and educate this youthful sector of the public. By visiting the website for the Israel Police, I learned that their motto is "We earn your trust. We provide the service. We grant the security." And they do.

The Elephant Under the Rug

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 15 June 2005.

A dinner party and a blog entry might not seem to have much in common. But these days, when all anyone can see, hear and debate is the planned disengagement from Gaza and part of the West Bank, almost everything seems to relate to that hot topic. Between the forest of orange ribbons (anti-disengagement) and the babble of a thousand radio and television talk show guests (both pro and con), one would think absolutely nothing else was happening in the entire universe. Both the meal and Imshin's well-written thoughts expressed a different response to the current clamor: silence.

On Monday, I attended a dinner party with seven other people. We sat, ate, and talked for four hours. We discussed our children, people we all knew in common, wine, vacation stories, and countless other things. Not surprisingly, the subject of the disengagement eventually came up. What did surprise me was the speed with which the topic was changed. Faster than you could say "hitnatkut" (disengagement), we had moved on to a conversation about which of the local supermarkets had the best prices and selection of cheese. This was no shy group of timid individuals, but a vocal and opinionated bunch of sabras and immigrants who usually have plenty to say about everything.

Imshin has her own reasons for what she wrote, and I wouldn't presume to say what those are, especially since I have never met her. But I found it interesting that she wrote that blog entry on the same day as the dinner party. I would imagine there are other people out there who are starting to feel the same way right about now: Enough already, let's talk about something else.

Those who are adamantly for or against anything will always be more vocal than those who either aren't sure how they feel or have mixed feelings. Beyond that, I think most people who are against something are more strident than those who are in favor. So fervent are they that the rest of us end up feeling like we are drowning in a tsunami of slogans and rhetoric (not to mention blocked highways, burning tires, and superglue in the locks of government buildings).

On the one hand, I find it strange to avoid talking about something that could easily determine the future of our country. The whole issue of whether or not terrorist organizations will step up their activities post-disengagement is something many people (including those who do support disengagement) fear. Separate from that is the dread many people feel over the possibility of violence between settlers and the Israeli army. Will Jewish settlers be willing to shoot Jewish soldiers? If so, how will the army respond? Those thoughts are both frightening and sickening.

On the other hand, if we can create our own personal oasis of tranquility in the midst of this anxiety and uncertainty, what's wrong with that? Why not try to forget for awhile, or at least avoid confrontations with family, friends and complete strangers? My typical response, when the news gets to be more than I can take, is to stop watching. That doesn't make the horrible events being reported go away, but at least I don't add to my store of awful memories.

The problem is, I have discovered that trying to avoid the whole subject of the disengagement is rather like trying to ignore an elephant that is hiding under the living room rug.

(c)Amy Samin

"Real" Israelis

This Postcard from Israel was originally written on 10 June 2005.

People who are born in Israel are called sabras, after the Hebrew word for the prickly pear fruit. The saying goes that, like the fruit, Israelis are harsh and abrasive on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside. Lately I've been wondering whether immigrants to Israel ever come to feel that they are "real" Israelis. I've spoken to alot of people about this over the last several weeks. I've also asked a number of sabras whether they ever perceived immigrants ("olim") as "real" Israelis. Every conversation took a different path, and each one was fascinating.

At first, I wondered if time would be the factor that made the difference between feeling like a foreigner and considering oneself a full-fledged Israeli. I talked to Ellen, who has been here for over 40 years. She has lived here, held a job here, and raised children here. She told me that not only does she not feel like an Israeli, she doesn't ever expect to feel like one.

Another person I spoke to speculated that army service might be the thing that transforms an immigrant into an Israeli. He contends that the whole culture and experience of serving in the army causes immigrants to be integrated into the larger society. Elihu, who moved here with his family at age 10, agrees. Ron, however, has a different reaction. He was born here, grew up elsewhere, then returned to serve in the army and to settle here. Even after years of living, working, and doing reserve army duty here, he still refers to Israelis as "them."

Perhaps growing up here, then, is the key. One of the results of moving to Israel as a child is a greater mastery of Hebrew. Most of the people I spoke to made aliyah (immigrated to Israel) as young adults. All said that a lack of fluency in the language made them feel awkward in their dealings with Israelis. Connected to that is the sense they have of not being aware of many customs. Tina, who moved here from England after graduating from high school, often feels out of touch with her Israeli co-workers. They have ways of communicating and socializing that she has yet to fully master.

Earlier this year, Tina (who is a lecturer at a teachers' training college) asked her students to write an essay on whether they feel Israeli society is more like a melting pot or a salad bowl. Every single student used the second analogy. Indeed, while there are dozens of different cultures and nationalities represented here, the various groups tend to remain discrete. People are almost always identified by their family's country of origin: Avner (a sabra) is labelled a Parsi (Persian), and Kalanit (also a sabra) is Moroccan.

So, who is actually a "real" Israeli? We have our infamous stereotype (aggressive, rude, selfish and impatient - yet Israelis are also generous, brave, caring, and good in a crisis), but of course not all sabras fit that mold. Those who don't fit feel they are not part of the mainstream; even those who may fit the stereotype don't believe they do. Meanwhile, the sabras I spoke to said that immigrants almost never seem to make the transition into becoming "real" Israelis. Perhaps, after all, a "real" Israeli is just a mythical creature.

It could be that immigrants, by their very nature, are not meant to feel the same as those who are born in the host country. It is enough that, rather than becoming "real" Israelis, we are ourselves, here. I think we immigrants tend to try to create a life here that resembles as closely as possible the life we left behind, albeit one that is free of the elements that caused us to leave our native countries in the first place. It's a way of convincing ourselves that our new country is as familiar, and natural to us, as the life we used to have.

One other interesting note is that every single person I spoke to said that while they don't feel they have become "real" Israelis, they do feel at home in Israel. I agree. We love living here, and believe with all our hearts that this is the place we were meant to be. We feel pride and patriotism when we see the flag waving, and when we sing Hatikvah, our national anthem. Maybe the fact that we took our old lives and chose to live them here is what makes us "real" Israelis.

(c)Amy Samin