“The Last Falafel”: Broadway in Israel 2011, Day 5

Saturday, June 18: Our itinerary for Saturday morning read: “Visit Lebanese border. View military situation and life on the border with Eitan of Kibbutz Malkiya.” That afternoon, we would also visit the Syrian border.

Several people committed to our Broadway in Israel tour had canceled after seeing recent news of violence on the Lebanese and Syrian borders. (Read about the May 15 attempts to breach the borders.) Manny joked that I should call my parents from the border – but actually, I knew my family trusted Manny and wouldn’t be (too) concerned. They would be happy to hear I was safe and sound at the end of the day, of course. But even my grandparents, who had tried to stop me from traveling to London after the 2006 transatlantic aircraft plot, knew that this was an important trip to make.

At Kibbutz Malkiya, Eitan greeted us with delicious, freshly picked cherries. Malkiya means “God is my king.” This is not a religious kibbutz – but the name is not a contradiction to its members; the Old Testament still shapes Jewish cultural life and grounds their principles for ethical living. Interesting. We drove from the kibbutz to the fenced-off Lebanese border, where we met with a group of young Israeli soldiers. All of them were around 20 years old; the youngest was 18. At their age, I was in college with a great deal of learning and maturing to do. I can’t imagine taking on so much weight and responsibility at their age. But this is a job for them, a duty to their country, a mandatory and largely uncontested part of life. It is a very different reality from our own. As a recent college grad in our tour group pointed out, teenagers in the US play the video game version of these Israeli teens’ reality. Thankfully, they see very little action on this part of the border. They stand watch in the scorching sun, swatting gnats off their heavy uniforms, waiting. Just in case. “I’d sing for them if I didn’t think my belt would cause an international incident,” Sherie said.

We followed the soldiers’ tanks to the site of the most recent clash: a Hezbollah attempt to breach the border. According to the Israeli troops, the Palestinian soldiers threw rocks and shoes, then shot to kill. The Israelis shot back “to wound,” although – as the NY Times article tells – several Palestinians were killed. Five or six Israeli soldiers were also killed in the scuffle, never mentioned in the article. The Hezbollah erected a monument afterwards with the Palestinian flag and the message, “We will return.”

Eitan used to have friends in Lebanon, Christians who would wave to him from across the fence. But after 2000, he has had no contact with them; even their phone lines have been cut off. “Home is all that you see on the left side,” Eitan explained. The orchards. But the right side, barred by a tall wire fence, he called a world apart: poppy fields for producing opium. Lebanon. On the border, we planted a kiwi tree for peace.

We next took the Road of Damascus to the Golan Heights for an incredible lunch hosted by a Druze family. These Arabs’ allegiance is torn between Israel (the country that currently lays claim to the Golan Heights) and Syria (which held the land until 1967). Our hosts said they appreciated the Israeli takeover and the way of life ushered in by this shift in rule. Perhaps more typical, though, are the sentiments of 28-year-old entrepreneur Hamad Awidat, who considers himself staunchly Syrian. After studying in Damascus and Tel Aviv, Hamad started making documentaries and soon turned his attention to the Golan Heights’ visibility; his production company (Viewfinder Productions) now provides most of the media for world news about the Golan Heights. While most of our tour group did not agree with Hamad’s views, no one could deny the legitimacy of his argument – a well-considered, passionate opinion coming from a talented and articulate young man.

That afternoon, we visited a friend’s hookah bar and cafe – the closest to a Damascan coffeehouse as you can get on the Golan Heights – and continued discussing politics. Just before leaving, we visited the Syrian border where hundreds of Palestinians recently tried to cross over. For decades, the Palestinians thought landmines dotted this valley; only within the past month did they discover that the land was clear, and on May 15, hundreds attempted to breach the border. Dirt footpaths are now worn into the once-green valley. The Israelis shot down many of those who tried to cross. Hamad says that it still smells of death. He and his crew were there to document the event, which raises an interesting ethical question unto itself. Can you take pictures without being implicated in the violence? (Can you visit without being implicated in the politics?)

We returned to Ramot to clean up for dinner, and I had a wonderful conversation with a fellow PhD and writer en route to another incredible outdoor feast. Our guests that evening were Israelis from another nearby kibbutz. I chatted with a man named Tom, who “wears many hats” as a father, a sculptor, a volunteer with teenagers in his kibbutz, and more. He works with wood, making tables and chests and practical crafts for a living, but he also exhibits at galleries and sells his art. For many Israelis that we met on our tour, art is an integral part of education and life: much more than a hobby. Israelis may not make a career from their art, but they still recognize it as an indispensable part of life. In the US, on the other hand, arts are often viewed as frivolous and self-indulgent – as evidenced by the continuing government cuts to arts education programs, state arts commissions, etc.

With this tour group, though, the arts are central. On the bus ride back to Ramot that night, a few friends and I started rewriting lyrics to “You’re the Top” as a surprise tribute to our fantastic tour guide. If the piano in the bar hadn’t been locked … and if the front desk hadn’t lost the key … we would have had a nice, old-fashioned sing-along before retiring to our cabins for the night.

“The Last Falafel”: Broadway in Israel 2011, Day 4

Friday, June 17: After a final breakfast in Jerusalem, our tour group packed up, checked out, and headed to Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu. In this socialist community, every member works to the best of his ability and the kibbutz meets everyone’s basic needs. Members eat in a communal dining hall; medical care, education, and housing are communally supplied; and each member receives an allowance for various other expenses. In recent years, many of Israel’s 270 kibbutzes have been privatized and pay members differentiated salaries; very little distinguishes them from capitalist societies. But Sde Eliyahu is an Orthodox religious community that still operates under the socialist principles of a traditional kibbutz. Even when this kibbutz “industrialized,” they maintained a focus on agriculture by developing the Bio-bee and other insects as alternative pesticides for organic farming.

For many of our tour group, a life where your work is not rewarded with a commensurate salary was unimaginable. American individualism makes it difficult to conceive of giving up one’s “autonomy,” one’s potential for fame and fortune, for the betterment of a collective. Even kibbutz members admitted that frustrations arise when members do not work to the best of their ability, or when more capable members are expected to take on added responsibilities without added reward. As our tour guide Sarah said, “We are all equal. Some are just more equal than others” a la Orwell’s Animal Farm. However flawed it may sometimes be in practice, though, this lifestyle deserves a great deal of respect for its ideals. I don’t know that “human nature” is inherently competitive; I think it could, in fact, be cooperative and collaborative – and the kibbutz advocates for such a reconception of what it means to be human. After learning about the kibbbutz, we took a bus tour of the farms and fed the donkeys who control the weeds around their crops. We then returned to the kibbutz coffee shop for a delicious organic lunch of macaroni and cheese, onion quiche, all sorts of salads and fruits, freshly-baked bread, cookies and coffee. (I could get used to this.)

After lunch, we loaded the bus and headed to Sahne (or Gan Hashlosha), a warm spring ranked as one of the 20 most beautiful sites in the world in Time magazine. I was less impressed than I had been with Ein Gedi, but perhaps this was because of all the trash in the water; I chose not to swim, but to wander the park and chat instead. Manny pulled me aside a couple of times: to show me a young Arab man praying beside a bus, and to point out the Jews and Arabs swimming together here. The Arab women wore their full, black burkas in the water. The place was at peace. And that was perhaps the most beautiful part of it.

The day before, F16 fighter pilots charged over the Dead Sea. But at Sahne, Arabs and Jews swam together. And in the kibbutz earlier that day, our guide Sarah told us how their kibbutz shared farming developments with their neighbors in Jordan – the use of barn animals to control rodents. These acts of negotiation and cooperation on local levels are oftentimes overlooked – and rarely, if ever, shown in the media. Manny says, “Interesting.” More like “Fascinating.”

After the Sahne oasis, we visited the ruins of the Beit Alpha seventh-century synagogue. Synagogues were built as temporary substitutes while the temple in Jerusalem was being rebuilt, but soon became a core part of Jewish life. This particular synagogue has a “naïve” and disproportional mosaic floor with the signs of the zodiac in the middle. The synagogue was a short and probably inessential stop. But what came next was not on the itinerary – and possibly the most meaningful stop of our entire trip for me.

We sang “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” as we crossed the Jordan River – then pulled over to the site where Jesus was baptized. “For our Christian friends,” Ron announced. I felt like Manny had arranged this for me. (Because really, how many Christians were there on this trip … ? I know of a handful, at most.) I walked through the gift shop, took a few photos, then meandered down to the baptismal site. No question about it. I was going to do this. I passed my camera to a friend and waded into the pool of water, where I waited in a line of fellow pilgrims. When it was my turn, the priest asked my name, I bent over, and I was baptized. Again.

It was a very awkward process, I’ll admit. You enter and exit through the gift shop, where you can buy water and sand and other memorabilia from the river. (And we all did.) Down at the bank of the river, you take your shoes off, roll up your pants, and wade into the pool in a circle with a bunch of other tourists from around the world; to the anonymous priest, you are just a number in line. Someone snaps a picture to verify: I was here. Many of my fellow tourists joked about foot fungus from the water. Fair enough.

But there was also something very special about the ritual that no commercialism or fungus could wash away. The group of travelers in front of me were singing a hymn in a language we couldn’t identify – some variation of Spanish? The music added to the sanctity of the moment. I didn’t feel particularly holy during the baptism. But Manny came up to me afterwards, gave me a hug, and I thanked him for that day. For the entire trip. For the balance that I’ve found in my life since meeting him. I can’t thank him enough. Manny and I walked and talked together for a while longer, overlooking the river. When we got back on the bus, a few people asked me how it felt to get baptized. “It was really cool. I’m glad I did it,” I said nonchalantly. That sentiment was pretty accurate. It wasn’t a profound experience. But it was special – not because of the act itself, but because of who I shared it with. Because of the story surrounding it, which I can now pass on. I grew up Methodist, so I was baptized as a baby and went through confirmation in middle school. But now, it was my decision to be baptized. And that decision just happened to be during a trip to Israel with a bunch of Broadway friends. Amazing.

Manny joined me for most of the bus ride to our next hotel. “There has to be a sense of continuity in life,” he reminded me. How interesting: I wrote this just before I left for Israel – about how this trip was as much about continuity with Manny as it was about visiting the Holy Land. “There are things that bear remembering,” he also said. Which is why I listen, absorb, and write it all down.

It was only a short drive to the Ramot Holiday Village, where I soon checked into my own little cabin overlooking the Sea of Galilee. Surreal. As soon as I got settled in, Manny came to visit. “It’s something, isn’t it?” he asked. The afternoon sun glimmered on the sea. Yes, Manny. It really is something. Impossible to describe, but I still have to try.

After a couple of hours to rest and relax (and write), our group met at 7pm for dinner. We walked about a mile to reach the mountaintop restaurant – and when we arrived, were greeted by a picturesque outdoor banquet. We watched the sun set on the Sea of Galilee and shared stories for hours. Manny again pulled me aside at one point during the dinner. He walked me to the edge of the mountain and told me to take a minute and really look, because these moments pass us by too quickly. Manny took the time to get up from his table and share that moment. With me. I felt incredibly humbled and blessed.

Arriving back from dinner around 10:30pm, most of our tour group lingered at the bar. We sat outside, looking across the water to Tiberias, and talked about the future of theater. Sometimes I think the only thing more terrifying than my expectations for myself is others’ expectations for me. But that faith and support is also an unbelievable gift.

“The Last Falafel”: Broadway in Israel 2011, Day 3

Thursday, June 16: Thursday may have been my favorite day of the entire trip to Israel because of the incredible people I met and the conversations I shared. Over breakfast that morning, our tour group mixed a bit of Broadway gossip with a continued discussion of Gabriel Bach from the night before. Shortly after, an hour and a half bus ride brought our tour group to Masada, a legendary fortress on a plateau overlooking the Dead Sea. After the First Jewish-Roman War, the Roman empire laid siege to the fortress; rather than be slaughtered or taken as slaves, the men killed their women and children before committing suicide. This was seen as an act of courage.

The history of the ruins was fascinating, the weather was scorching – but at a certain point, I was only half absorbing the legend of Masada because I was engrossed in conversation with a fellow tourist in our group. As a young theater critic and practitioner, one of my favorite aspects of “Broadway in Israel” was hearing the life stories of those who have succeeded in making a career – and a life – in the arts. Many came from conservative, small town backgrounds and knew from a young age that they were meant to do something different, somewhere else. Their families were usually supportive, if initially anxious about what it meant to make a career outside a conventional 9-5pm job structure. Many started as actors – the most visible career path in theater – before finding their own niche as producers, agents, etc. And many recall a particular mentor who changed their career path and guided their journey. (Manny is one of mine.) Now, it is their turn to pass it on; they are eager to mentor and support new talent. Even though I had made my way to Israel “alone,” I was surrounded by this warmth, generosity, and community throughout the trip – friendships and connections that will continue beyond Israel. It is a testament to the types of people that Manny surrounds himself with, as well. I was amazed at how many couples split themselves up on the bus and at mealtimes, getting to know everyone in the tour group.

We took the cable car down from Masada, boarded the bus, and headed to the Hod Resort Hotel for a buffet lunch and a float on the Dead Sea. For someone who typically sinks, it was a strange sensation to kick back and relax in the crystal clear, 34% salt water. That afternoon, we hiked to the Ein Gedi Oasis, a beautiful waterfall in the middle of the desert. It was a stunning trek to the top of the mountain – but what a disappointment when we reached the top! We couldn’t frolic in the waterfall as in previous years because a guard was standing by. Still, the highlight of the hike was the conversation along the route rather than the actual destination. We snapped our photos and hiked back down to the bus.

Back in Jerusalem, we had “dinner with young Israelis” at a local Italian restaurant. Ron’s son had invited his friends to join us; I’m sure the random 20-something Israelis were a little confused by an invitation to dinner with a bunch of American tourists, but it turned out to be my favorite night of the trip: chatting with Israelis my own age, hearing their experiences and sharing my own. Our table included a woman named Dana, who became a psychologist after her mandatory 3 years of military service. In those “worst years of her life,” Dana lost 38 friends in a short 8 month period. She also pointed out the strange juxtaposition of military and civilian life in Israel; unlike US soldiers who are sent to foreign countries for service, her service was on home turf. On her days off, Dana would visit her family, go to the movies, and have coffee with friends. Shuttling between these radically divergent lives takes its toll.

Because of mandatory national service, though, every young Israeli we encountered was remarkably articulate and politically aware. According to Manny, American teenagers search the world for purpose; Israeli youth have purpose built in. Forced to grow up quickly, both burdened and blessed with such responsibility, every young Israeli we encountered was globally-aware, confident, and opinionated.

At another table was a young woman named Ruth, who is a fellow musician and composer! Ruth and I hit it off immediately. After her 3 years of military service, Ruth decided to study music; she took a year to catch up on theory and was soon accepted to the prestigious Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance. She has just graduated with her degree in music composition and currently teaches music theory to fund her creative practice: composing contemporary classical music for chamber ensemble. Hopefully she will wind up in the US for an MFA in composition within the next few years.

Ruth and I met just as dinner ended, but our conversation continued into the night; a group of the “young Israelis” and the “young Americans” from our tour group next made our way to the Festival of Lights in the Old City. As we wandered the crowded art exhibits, I chatted with Ruth and her cousin, a classically-trained pianist who starts his dissertation in linguistics at Cambridge this fall. What a smart, multitalented group! As we said our goodbyes that night, we promised to connect later – on facebook, of course.

“The Last Falafel”: Broadway in Israel 2011, Days 1 and 2

I “checked in” at Ben Gurion Airport on facebook. After a 4-hour flight to Philadelphia and an 11-hour flight to Tel Aviv, my family and friends could rest assured that I had safely arrived in Israel. Yes, I would be missing the Hollywood Fringe, RADAR LA, the TCG conference, and a host of other important theater events in the LA theater community. (Guilty …) But Manny Azenberg had been inviting me to join him on this trip since I had taken his class at Duke in 2007. I had finally saved up enough money. I was going to Israel. My cab driver pointed out a few sites on the drive from Tel Aviv to the hotel in Jerusalem. ““You know the history?” he asked. “I don’t know that much,” I replied. “Which is why I’m here.”

Manny organized his first tour to Israel in response to an anti-Israeli NY Times op-ed by Woody Allen, published 21 years ago. Every year since, Manny and trusty tour guide Ron Perry have helmed a post-Tony Award trek for “show business Jews” and friends. This year’s tour group included producers, screenwriters, actors, designers, lawyers, journalists – and a couple of rogue students like me. But nevermind the disparities in backgrounds or life experiences or (gulp) salaries. On the bus, at mealtimes, and walking from site to site, I had a meaningful conversation with nearly everyone on the trip. It was a gift to share this experience with such a brilliant, inquisitive group. And the trip itself was more about conversations than sight-seeing, as we met with politicians, writers, artists, farmers, and others who live and work in Israel.

Every year, Manny’s goal is to share the complex array of political opinions, cultural backgrounds, and religious beliefs that comprise contemporary Israelis’ lived experience. My goal during this trip was to be a sponge, soaking up all the experiences – and writing them down over many sleepless nights. (Nearly a week later, I am still recovering from the jet lag and lack of rest.) Here on my blog, I offer a little chronicle of my 8-day trip: Broadway in Israel 2011.

Travel Day: Israel with Manny Azenberg, 6/13/11

I feel a little guilty missing all the exciting LA theater events this month, from the international RADAR L.A. to the TCG conference to our very own Hollywood Fringe. Now that I’ve become little part of this wonderfully dynamic LA theater community, I feel like I’m neglecting an important commitment.

But I’d like to think I have a semi-valid excuse for my absence: I have been saving for several years now to make a trip to Israel with Broadway producer Emanuel Azenberg. I am in Philadelphia right now, about to board my flight to Tel Aviv. I am feeling incredibly blessed, incredibly grateful, and incredibly eager to share this experience with my family and friends upon my return. Depending on Internet access, I might even blog about it!

On the flight from LAX this morning, I did a little reminiscing about Manny’s impact on my life. I have written before about Manny as a professor at Duke, and – more importantly – as a mentor, a friend, almost a third grandfather to me. From the personal, “visceral” play responses that we wrote in his contemporary theater class, Manny opened me to a more fulfilling, better-balanced life. “Happiness is equilibrium. Shift your weight.” I dug through my play responses this morning and came across a response that marked a huge shift in my life. Welcome to a sampling of my junior year of college:

I saw The History Boys during its final week in New York.  Curious what my visceral reaction was to the show when I initially saw it, I searched through my journal entries from the last semester.  It appears that one moment struck me, lodged in my memory and would not let go: “The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you.  Now here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead.  And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours” (56).

I relish these moments of emotional connection – in literature, in theater, in dance, in music – yet I never share with others the connections that I so often feel.  Perhaps this explains why I am struggling to write these personal responses.  I haven’t forgotten how to feel, but I have forgotten how to share my feelings with others.  Yet it is this cultural and emotional education and the ability to share it, to “pass it on,” which is so essential to our very human existence (109).  This play thus provoked me to the personal question of why I am so reticent, of why I withhold my own emotions so often.

Knowledge of facts is only of importance insofar as one can pass an arbitrary exam, but cultural and emotional knowledge allows one to reach out to others.  Throughout The History Boys, though, feelings are constantly withheld. When Hector breaks into tears in class one day, the boys hesitate to make a physical or emotional connection with their professor.  And even as Hector speaks the quote that so lodged itself in my mind, he reaches out a hand to Posner – who refuses the proffered connection. Irwin always gives his students the explicit instruction: “Distance yourselves” (74).  I suppose I have learned to distance myself throughout my life.

In the end of The History Boys, each boy has taken a different career in which his factual education is now insignificant; all that is of lasting value is his emotional and cultural education.  And indeed, what good is an education unless it prepares you for life?  After years of educational indoctrination, this class is teaching me a little more about myself with each play and response; it is a struggle, but I am beginning to understand and share my own opinions, emotions, and life.

When I wrote this response in 2007, I struggled to share it even with Manny. Now here it is on a very public blog. I am reminded each and every day of just how much my life has changed in the past few years.

I poured myself into academics and the arts as a kid in Albemarle, NC. As I wrote in my post on fandom, I think those of us who are socially marginalized at a young age often find deep connections in literature and the arts. These surrogate friends and alternate worlds sustain us in times of isolation. Then academia often whips the “I” out of us, in favor of “objective,” “distanced” analysis of these once treasured cultural objects.

In the process of writing – and sharing – such personal responses for Manny’s class, I remembered the affective importance of the arts in my life and realized that I was neglecting the very real friendships that I had finally established in college. In hyper-academic mode, I was actually isolating myself.

As I started to establish a happier equilibrium in my life, theater became an invaluable mode of relation for me: a space to create, to collaborate, and to connect. It has fueled my ongoing academic and creative pursuits – and many of my dearest friendships – ever since. I suppose because I will always wear those scars of being the shy, dorky little girl from Albemarle, NC, I am in continual awe of the incredible community I have found in theater. If I seem to be constantly beaming lately, it’s because I am feeling endlessly thankful for how full, how rich, how multi-faceted my life and my friendships have become – because it wasn’t always this way. C.S. Lewis perhaps puts it best: ‎”In a perfect Friendship this Appreciative love is, I think, often so great and so firmly based that each member of the circle feels, in his secret heart, humbled before all the rest. Sometimes he wonders what he is doing there among his betters. He is lucky beyond desert to be in such company.”

From my relationships to my more personal writing style, Manny has made an indelible impression on me – and I know I’m not the only student who has been so touched. Manny always strives for a sense of continuity in life, and I am fortunate to be one of those strands, continually weaving into his life as he weaves into mine. Every time I visit New York, I drop by his office above the Neil Simon Theatre. The walls are covered in photos of friends and family, and he never fails to take time out of his busy day for breakfast or lunch at the Polish Tearoom with me. Who am I that Manny Azenberg should invest so much time and interest in my life? But … that is Manny.

Manny has organized a post-Tony Awards tour to Israel for decades now, and I feel incredibly blessed to be a part of this year’s trip. When people ask me what I am most excited to see, the better question is probably what experiences I am most excited to share. I am taking this trip to spend time with Manny as much as to see Israel. And in addition to visiting all the tourist sites, Manny has arranged lunches and dinners with politicians, writers, artists, farmers, and others who live and work in Israel. For Manny, it’s the conversations that matter, the relationships that create value and purpose. Shared time is what brings meaning to our lives. Shared time is a gift.

I regret not being able to share time with the LA theater community in this especially exciting month, but other friendships call. I am eager for my return to LA in July, and in the meantime, I hope I can share my experiences with you from afar!

Moose on the Loose: Theatre West, 6/3/11

Moose on the Loose: Review for EDGE Los Angeles