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THE STUDENT YEARBOOK OF THE ONE YEAR PROGRAM OF THE HEBREW UNIVERSITY OF JERUSALEM

Simcha Torah
Every end
is a beginning they say;
And I
am lucky because I can read from either
end of the gage, and understand.
A beam is expanding, a light is a glow,
and I am supported in my reservations.
I end this notebook only to begin another
and I will find the changes and readings in myself
as exciting as the joyful anticipation
of the rebirth of the Torah on this day.
They know it's the same, what will come, just as
they have resembled their forefathers for ages;
the faces shadowed by rims of fur, framed in
girlish curls and exclamated by the
faithful beards.
Rediscovering the simplicity in my every prayer,
Beginnings...
Robyn F. Kapp
3

There is a built-in frustration in spending a year in Israel.
There is too much to experience and too little time. No matter
how positive the academic side of the year, it often serves as
a veil between lovers. However, longevity is no measure of
experience. njwa ruip oik
Eternity can be realized in a moment!
Gloria and Rachel share my hope that you have experienced
many moments of eternity this past year.
\ ^ *\^\~)' )>Yc^
S'
WIC) L lean
School For :OT Uuverseas Students
l1! j7DD
If one believes in the spiral approach to history -- that patterns never change and only
events and individuals make the difference -- one can begin to make inroads towards understanding
the year's experience in Jerusalem and at its University. Yet, it is too early for
introspection. After several vain attempts to put the year into perspective (I even took a
number 9 bus from town to Mt. Scopus in an attempt to be "alone" with my thoughts) the obvious
conclusion is that it is too early to pass judgment on what continues to be a very complex and
personal experience with a group of kids (sorry, students) I first encountered on a hot night
last summer in an overcrowded meeting about incoming trunks. The characters of the group (the
ordinary people seldom seem to make an impression when one looks back) and a few specific
events will be the basis for the inevitable conclusions that one has to draw in order to
advance on the continuum. Yet, it is still too early. The individuals and the events that
will eventually crystallize into a final judgment, when viewed at this juncture, can be likened
to my office after a yearbook meeting...the elements are all there, it is just hard to make
sense out of it all.
When each of-you comes to terms with this year's experience and feels comfortable with
your final judgment, it is my hope that you will view the year's experience in a positive light.
4

J u l Y 13,
F i^ sf day of Olpan. X ’r^ e.%c{fedl gboof les^oinq Hebrtu>,
bof if toon'f b t tasy , V\VJ cja«^pu3 iS btao-hful. Shu'kunai
Vfaeltf leasts 3U f -h» be. dtsirtdL
5

THE LOST CHAPTER OF GENESIS
While on a recent archeological dig3 I discovered the lost chapter 51 of Genesis
In the beginning 3 after God. had finished His first week of creation and had finally
rested on Shabbat3 He set about to work on His second week. And the world was full and
lively from His first week's work and the Lord foresaw Man multiplying throughout the
world. And the Lord said3
"Let there be a reason for Man to come and stay awhile in
Ha'aretz. Let it also constitute a break from his education." So the Lord3 God3 created
the Hebrew University One-Year Program. And G o d looked at it and put in the brochure that
it was good. A n d it was evening and it was morning3 a first day.
And God said3 "Let there be an organization to help Man in struggle to enter the O.Y.P.
And let this organization fully orient Man into the WQrkings of the Ha'aretz society."
So the Lord created the American and Canadian Friends of the Hebrew University. And the
Lord saw that it was beseder. And it would have been evening and then morning3 a second
day.
And the Lord said3
"Let me create a temporary housing for the many men who will come.
And let it be used for only three years. " And God named it the Elef. And He looked at it
and immediately made plans for transferring to Resnick. And it was evening and it was
morning3 and there still was no hot water for the third day.
And the Lord said3 "Let there be bureaucracy3 so that Man will not have idle time3
and will use his free time constructively3 standing in lines. And let it flourish around
the land." So the Lord3 God3 made bureaucracy and the pakid to go with'it. And the Lord
saw that it was kacha-kacha. And the evening and the morning were held up in red tape
for the fourth day.
And the Lord said3 "Let there be'asimonim'so that Man can further occupy his time
looking for them in order to make a phone call. And let it be a further test of his
patience that after he shall find the required amount of 'asimonim' that he shall have to
find a phone that works." And God saw that it was 'eh'. And the evening and the morning
were out of order for the fifth day.
fi
And the Lord said3 "I have been chauvinistic in my refemces to only Man. Therefore3
I will create something only for Woman; to glorify her3 and never leave her unattended
in Ha'aretz." So the Lord created 'pushtackim' to always be by Woman in Ha'aretz. And-the
Lord looked at them and decided that enough's enough and He went to vacation in Greece
for a few weeks. And it was evening and morning3 another day.
Scott Mandel

[he Storm
fit. Scopus, Jerusalem
eve of Channukah
The storm
vehemently perpetuates
the ceaseless show of might
The candles
gently flicker
the serenity of stolid confidence
The prayer
humbly communicates
the similiar sense of tranquility
The thought
suddenly recollects
the multiple meaning of "ruach"
The storm
freely sweeps
the sky in unrestrained audacity
The urge
abruptly stimulates
the sojourn to barren solitude
The black ubiquitously envelopes
the desert in opulent opaqueness
The silence
starkly pervades
the rush of whirling winds
The storm *-■
persistently buffets -*
the bundled body and. mind
The awareness
evokingly recalls
the people in primal confrontation
The scene
eternally witnesses
the procession of past history
The time unexpectedly disperses
the moment of mysterious consideration
^•■v***** i?*
The storm
impetuously issues
blasts of biting cold
The patriarch
warmly reflects^the
purity of aged piety
The vod.ce
majes
the
The
exceedingly
the seed of succeeding generations
The storm
gleefully scatters
heaps of settled sand
The prophet
-

THE WONDERS OF THE WONDER PCT : by the 11/35 cooking school
Look up on the stove! It's a strange new Israeli cooking device, the wonderpot. Able to bake
cakes, cassaroles, quiches, and much much more. You too can learn how to use the easy
Wonderpot and make fabulous foods. Here are the 11/35 cooking school's best recipes.
GOOD LUCK AND B'TEAVON
JUDY'S Carrot Cake
lCup Brown Sugar
lCup White Sugar
lCup Oil
4 Eggs
2t. (Cinnamon
2Cup Self-rising Flour
3Cup Grated Carrots (about 5)
^Cup Chopped Nuts
1PKG Raisins
Mix sugar and oil. Add 1 egg at a time and
mix well. Add cinnamon and salt. Add flour
raisins, nuts and carrots. Mix well. Pour
into well greased Wonderpot. Bake about lhour.
FREDA'S Banana Cake
l*sCup Mashed Banana
2^ Cup Flour
2ht. Double Action Baking Powder
ht. Baking soda
ht. Salt
lCup Brown Sugar
^Cup Oil
^Cup Chopped Nuts
2 Eggs
It. Vanilla
Mix all the ingredients well and pour
into a well greased Wonderpot. Bake for
about 45min. to lhour.
DEBBIE'S Quiche
2Cup Flour
3/4 Bar Margarine (soft)
l/3-l/2Cup Water
Salt
Press dough into bottom of well greased Wonderpot.
On top of dough:
3-4 Zuchini squash, thinly sliced
1 Sliced pepper
1 Onion, diced
any other vegetables you have lying around
Beat well in separate bowl:
5 Eggs
Spices: salt, pepper, garlic, oregano,
(optional- oriental spices), some onion soup mix.
Pour eggs over vegetables in the Wonderpot.
The other DEBBIE'S Squash Souffle
4 large Zuchini
1 Potatoe
1 Onion
Add:
l/3Cup Matzo meal (plus)
2 Eggs
Salt, pepper, garlic
Mix well and put into well greased
Wonderpot. Bake about 45min. or until
a little crusty on top. Then:
Put layer of tomato paste(watered down)
on top, and slices of yellow cheese on
top of that. Bake until cheese is melted.
Suggestion: Serve with rice.
Finishing touch: Grate alot of cheese(yellow) and
sprinkle over top to completely cover.
Bake lhour or so- until vegetables are soft and
eggs cooked.
IT 'S DELICIOUS! !

9

kibbutz grofit is built upon a lone hill
standing in tiie geographical rift that runs
the length of the negev called the arava.
on either side of this depression stand
mountains, and the entire are seems devoid
of life and movement, except grofit, to
whom this poem is dedicated.
i .
fortifying a stretch of parchment,
prone under the harsh sun, a
column of ancient guards
threaten to engulf
a fragile capsule of life
tottering green atop a barren sentinel.
ii.
with the passing of the day,
the sun slips
behind massive stone shoulders,
colors glow, move, fade;
shifting in intensity
the unbearable weight
of a burning eternity
dissipates.
iii.
as the wind blows through fir trees
a soft low whistling song of solitude
is heard on the hill
to the east and west
now stand shadows
vague, protective,
in the hazy,
thick blue-black darkness
of a desert night.
Judith mendelsohn
Q c - i o b g v
b ig R tsn ic k .. X PlcI likt.
X'»v\ airtadw of GoldSrv,»-Ho and
S-ter+tA C l a s s e s yet. X -Hot.
a >raf \Vv
X Voav/en*+
CAfcf * * •
a .
c v L n
10

I wish I had a better filter;
cause if brains ahre like sponge
why do I feel like the information
is dripping
from
my ears?
Maybe some cotton would help.
Robyn p . Kapp
...shilshul.
symptoms:
causes:
cure:
not showing up for classes.
heels of naalei bayit run down,
tired leg muscles,
perpetual movement.
too much felafel,
pizza,
garinim,
and hoummous.
lots of good, soft, white toilet paper.
-- david s t e m
11

u
m
12

Nov. 15, Jerusalem
I thought I was going to give up writing these journal things- but I found
a new pen and I can't seem to get to «leep. Got a letter from Gwen today. It
was pretty reasonable. I guess like any of Gwen's letters, more or less. She
wishes I were vin New York, and I wish I could be there, but I know I really can'tat
least not now. I just sent off a too philosophical letter to Dan and it'll
just do more harm than good. What's the use? Saw a terrific Genocide ^lick
this evening. Is it coincidence that it coincides with my imagined talks on the
bus with Gwen's mom, or will I be having these 'conversations' all year? Just
yesterday my life seemed so organized. It all had direction, meaning. . .
now I'm pulled in all sorts of directions. Med school, boyfriend, New York,
Florida, California, should I room next year with Diane? When will I live in
Israel? Four years? Seven years? Never? Why not? Do I really have a choice?
Why can't I sleep? It's pretty cold tonight, but I opened my window anyway.
Why? I smelt C^nd still smell) something like burning rubber. Or gas? I heard
a story tonight of some Jewish guy's parents suffocating because of one of those
portable gas heaters they have in Israel. You're not supposed to be gassed
to death in Israel, are you? And what if I have children, but I'm a doctor? Can
I do both without compromising both? Gwen is going to California ^or Christmas
vacation. I wish she would come here. But it is only two weeks. What I
need now is a good cry. and a good night's sleep. I shouldn't have had two
cups of coffee after dinner. I could very easily stay up all night- writing
'drivle'; what does one do in situations like these? One should have friends
around that don't mind being woken up at one A.M. just to be some one else's
security blanket. 4 $
axst
JtasxXl.
gunners passing by with no less than
ten-grand-a-month's evil in their eyes,
peering out through the dirty evening
air; covered over with a blueish-white
shiny glare, staring into the evening,
passing through the inhabited towns;
moving onto the open patches of hazy
brown bare worm-ridden land that has
become their tent citv, there to make
their ends meet through the services
of their metal lead-riddled barrels;
out to cast their dangerous noisy ways
in one direction or another playing
the role of the pauper; here to move
the king's pieces around in circles,
as the defenseless stand by in their
suspicious clothes whiting to Hear
crashing sounds coming through mosscovered
•livingrooms only booing that
the next generation will pass on by;
the sacrifices of the present one,
that hides and sleeps underneath rotting
trees; forever growing, as they
grow older under that same old tree
that has shielded many a man before;
seeking that blanket to cover his
trembling bodv running with ^ear as
he sits beneath that tree waiting;
knowing that those who came out on
yesterday evening's train had a job
to do, when will he be given back his
land that was secured by that source
oF strength above? the steel vaults
in which they are enclosed forever
keeping them with their lead-laden
Cain brands, locked up and inside,
living in another Satan-God given
world, the land of the naked
Maurice Gibel
12

the Genii
Reflections
by Gael Gunod
I suppose Israel has a right to exist
The same as Palestine does
What the Palestinians deny Israel
The Palestinians are denied of --
Recognition.
"Judaism is not a nationality..." [PLO Covenant, #20]
"Palestinians" is a manufactured reality
Recognition denied on both sides
How paradoxical
a week ago
air static with tense anticipation
radios newspapers televisions
marking the hours
spreading uncertain excitement
a week later
after all the
analyses pictures interviews recordings
after all the
flags rugs hopes
have been carefully
rolled up
folded
put in storage
after all the
barricades and bargainings
the Genii
is back in Cairo
the fantasy fades
grows dim
after all
noverriber 1977
Judith mendelsohn
"In todays world no one is innocent, no one
is neutral, a man is either with the
oppressor or with the oppressed. He who takes no
interest in politics, gives his blessing to
the prevailing order..." [George Habash, PDFLP, 1970]
Very well said, Mr. Habash
I have no intention of sitting and watching,
Making no move.
Well, Mr*- Habash;
Well Zionists; Well Palestinians;
And all who choose a side;
I can not condone blind taking for
Nationalistic goals.
"Envy thou not the oppressor,
and choose none of his ways"
[Proverbs; 3:31]
"Judaism is not a nationality..."
"What is a Palestinian?"
May I laugh?
No matter how a nationality evolved,
Whether you consider it legitimate or not,
The reality of the identity exists.
Why look at facts that talk only of the
Past? Let's look at the present to
Build a future.
I CAfJ COA6K
ItfTO A K W
& A U < A U b
o o r r v t o o T W i O G
-TKAvJfiCTAX,..
14

M a j A u a /
6 6 S t * J S A Y S
H € ' S f f c A W
t o r e v T o
C A I R O . ' / / ;
• W f f c M O t f c
s o f t o a t e v . '
t
H o v e m b e r
\*\ f
i* l''' 3 t r o . s a V t ^ . A V l ar©vm -Wxecr f e l e W s i 6 r \ s e t s a*Tfceipa-Kr>« t © w i +
i^\W r>apptr» \f\ fV»t YV\j -vht uray, kiS-Kry is in
■fbc v n a K i n ^ , a n A bt^t. X a r n in -4Vit m i d d l e of if all.
Peace is at hand.
Administrating the "Office of Student Activities" is a
priviledged position. Sharing my period of growth and of
experiences and of learning with other people who are going
through their own voyages of feeling and doing is a cherished
opportunity.
To feel community, to make acquaintances and friends
and share our lives is an honor.
And I am so especially lucky because I have the instruments
to help shape some of the experiences and influence their outcomes.
Lots could have been different, or better. We learned together,
and I grew, and learned a lot from our time together.
I have many questions from my time spent behind my deskhow
could I have been more effective, really reached out with
meaningful programs? How could I personalize my work to
recognize each student as an individual? What do I think
about life in Israel (after all this time), about my direction
and future, and my purpose?
I'm glad to have the questions; I don't mind not having
all the answers, although I'll keep searching for them. I'm
glad just to have been around.
Peace he to all.
O fJ:

Two Roads To Jerusalem
The old road,
drowsy with dusty dirt, lies unused
like the wisdom of an old man.
Its sleeping stones still dream
of calloused feet, of salty tears, of burning blood...
(silently,
a rusty red tank, curled up on its side,
breathes metal nightmares
and bids us to remember) while,
Below, charging in asphalt victory,
the new road darts upward carrying
the smell and rubber burden of progress.
Unaware, with daily speed, it
smoothly, blackly, hotly, travels to
Jerusalem, that sandy city on a hill.
- Karyn D. Schwartz
Sun Streaking
over the sand
awakens us
Rising
you bind
the word of God
as a sign upon your hand
In the way
of our fathers
they become
frontlets
between your eyes
You turn your back upon
The waters
To find Jerusalem
Facing God
bending, swaying
I can only watch
He alone
Can hear your words
as they wind and soar
Flung into the early morning sky
Lost in your prayers
Oblivious
To the rising world
Stepping forward
To deliver your message
Bowing to Heaven
in your fervor
I sit upon the beach
spell bound
by the mystical beauty
of you
so dovout
repeating the prayers
of the centuries
To greet the new day
Short on Time
Two months more of living history,
Then return to the pagan world
I wanted to leave behind,
Never to rediscover --
The trivial things I didn't miss
Home was
an imaginary castle built on the clouds
of TV tubes and lovestories
Mass media filling an empty void
Megiddo's twenty-seven layers
of undiscovered experience
Still hidden in the dust.
No time left to learn your secrets
To feel your timelessness
and inhale your ancient reality
For I must return
to the supersonic age of existence...
by Nina Okrent
--Alayne Rosenfeld
16

MoV so long ago
5 Q>o rru^ §vrsV OOocado.
U ) a n h o g
to u j a f c h lijjh n a a V u > c a n d s p i e a d
Q jC T O S S m u , uoindoiuSjll^ 5 S O j o e d t he S e e d .
5 look hod ay
CLnd uohah ooas once an unedible. Ic^b Goer
h-as §lcurieHed inha a §u\JLy bloomed planlr,
^y\s roohs ^rroly cluhchlng H\e Soil*
‘-Khe stem vs long ,Solid % broom \n colour*-
Unyielding.
Symmetrical careen leaues erunamenlr ih> body
C in enHrc. stoJk ou.hsbel'ched cxruns
cSeeking rtcurisbmen h and grasping
each nay c$ sunshine
rHly plan/' has ©^peuencad a y e a r's groujlh
Vis hax>s uoe all.
£ ly se ^ern Goldin i

On The Wadis
I am the only one for .miles.
Sitting in my nakedness
On bits of exploited rook and tree
This was Turkish land once
And onee it was the Queens.
Its miles remained untouched
Now it is mine.
The sweat burns off my body
And wets the earth below
Turning it clammy and dark
Now it is mine.
A new dark smell to ccn old land.
Its thirst and consequent drunkness
Are from a riper vintage
Even my Buba has rendered it dry
Stalling now with croaked fingers and eyes
Once courageous 3 now hard like a shrine
While my mother never ventured so near
So it is wet again... and quenched
I sit high upon broken mounds and toilings
and bones
And bake right into the ground.
p K V* m P a - r n a p P aoio
.fnKV fin ^ n i P o V o a p V ? k P
nan n ' w m a
Kim Krasne
Shabbat for Natalie
Sickly pale, two thin candles stand
crooked on a jam jar.
Tall yellow flames, hotly erect,
burn in tradition.
It is better to spend the night
in the desert of the Land of Israel
than to spend the night
in palaces abroad.
Bereshit Rabba
The intimate friends disappear
at the same slow speed.
No tears, in silence, they become
hard wax mounds.
(She sits, staring with her brown eyes.
A Shabbat glow dims her yellow hair.
Silently, without tears, we sweat from
the heat of the glowing candles.)
Narrow wax sticks with defiant
flames- accepting, destroying- reflect
in our faces. At the flames' death, I
look at her and see
hard white eyes staring at the jam jar.
Karyn D. Schwartz
18

Every individual reacts differently to a change in environment3 in discipline3
in intensity and content of an academic program. Some view the OYP in Israel as a
fresh experience3 as the opportunity to begin again in a more preferable environment.
f>ome view it as a temporary escape from home3 with the inevitable return always
looming in the background. Yet3 whatever one rs personal orientation may be to this
"year away from home"3 it is important not to lose that more general perspective.
Whatever we left behind us3 whether by choice or involuntarily3 we realized that
we could not leave behind certain broader responsibilities that we have carried all of
our lives. One responsibility in particular— that of our role in the larger3 world
Jewish community— will be with us always3 wherever we go. That is why several OYP
students grouped together this year to form the Hebrew University branch of Student
Struggle for Soviet Jewry. Our purpose was mainly one of dispersing information; we
found3 to our surprise3 that the majority of the student community at Hebrew University
was not well informed of the gravity of the Soviet Jewish situation— and that most were
eager to do something to help3 but had never had the chance. We set up tables on the
Givat Ram campus every Thursday with letters3 postcards3 and information about individuals
personally known to students. Many participated in several organized demonstrations
at the Wall for individual Soviet Jews.
One of the most exciting results of our participation in the Soviet Jewry movement
here was the opportunity we received to meet the very people whose freedom we had fought
for in our activist days in the United States— men and women whose courage and dedication
to the freedom and unification of world Jewry in Israel was tremenously inspiring
to us3 strengthening our belief in the necessity of our struggle. We also realized how
many of our fellow students at Hebrew University have close relatives and friends
awaiting permission to come to Israel— and suddenly the repression of Soviet Jewry
became a very personal issue to us.
We have regrets; we had many ideas that were never brought into being. One
(unfortunately) unfull filled goal of ours was to create greater social contact between
ourselves (the OYP) and the Russian students3 so that we could work together with the
Israeli organizations3 and we regret that we didn't have the time or means to achieve
this goal. Of course; we were limited in that3 as usual3 there was a lack of sufficient
help and dedication on the part of the other students. We also realized that we had
the problem of not knowing Israeli society well enough to gauge the reception of our
activities properly. Despite endless hours wasted arguing over tactics and planning3
we are all returning with even stronger feelings for the worsening plight of Soviet
Jewry3 and an enriched dedication to the struggle for their freedom. Undoubtedly we
will all meet at the usual big city rallies next year; and we will also tell others
of our experiences this year3 and bring others to our "cause"— the fate of World Jewry.
And3 God willing3 someday all of us— those who fight for the freedom of the Prisoners
of Zion as well as the Prisoners of Zion themselves— will meet together in Israel—
for good.
Debbie Herman & Beth Huppin
To strive for pure Knowledge for its own sake3 for an almost fanatical love of justice
to desire personal independence— these are traditional themes of the Jewish people;
and thanks to a privilege of destiny3 I am indebted to these for my consciousness of
belonging to this people . . .
Albert Einstein

An Afternoon At
Goldsmith High School
clip clopping clogs forging cafeteria crowds
seeking one 's own
clique
ten minutes till boredom bullshit bullshit
two minutes more
bullshit
time Time Europa Marlboro for the big spenders
ninety minutes of fidgeting and spreading asses
flies frolicking on the desk while a Middle Eastern affairs
"expert" drones on
nationalism spirituality freedom Zionism identity democracy
persecution equality
blah blah blah
dafka it's betah cdai to end now
light up an adult pacifier and split
Debbie Shalowitz
20

BLACK IS HERE!
Yes, gather round one and all. Come see the exotic, provocative,
and extraordinary Black women...strolling down King George, checking
mail at Poste Restante, bargaining in the old city, but wonder of wonders...
look Folks, these women even speak Hebrew. It’s -fabulous, strange,
a monumental discovery. If we could bottle and market it, we'd make a
fortune!
This is the exact reaction that Desiree Davis, Cynthia McClendon,
and I (Sheila T.T. Lynch) received on our arrival in Eretz Israel. Peoole
were shocked, amazed, dumbfounded--and I do mean DUMB!! Oh no, not iust
your typical Israeli, but yes, those sonhisticated, cultured neoples o^
the western hemisphere also (U.S.A., Canada, etc.).
There are two approaches used to find out the same general information
:
#l-subtle western style: 'tfhere do you all come from and why are vou
all here?
Assuming naturally that we al1 come from the same place and are here
for the same reason. WRONG!
Then there's another approach:
#2-blunt Israeli style: Bonnie M. ! Idi Amin? "Drome Africa", DIMON\...
DIMONA and most recently, Kunta Kinte!!!
Needless to say...Hey, maybe I do need to say it, we do not all come
from the same place or are here for the same reason or are on the same
program--and, SURPRISE'.! We're not even all studying the same thing!!
Dealing with questions like these all year has, to sav the least, become
a bit of a bore, but one comes to accept oeople's curiositv calmlv,
along with accepting and anticipating their repetitive, asinine questions *
Please, friends, don't get me wrong. There are certain advantages to
being Black in an all White countrv. You have to look awfullv hard to find
them, but they are there.
Example:
#1 It is monumentally easier to sneak into concerts at Binyanei HaUma.
Who else could go to the stage door and claim to be with the band, thereby
commandeering free entrance?
#2 Meeting people is much easier as we tend to stand out in a crowd.
#3 We have no trouble keeping our individual identities secret as
we all look alike to them anywav.
#4 In Israel we are never stuck in one particular role. Depending on
the situation and our moods, we can be elegant Ethiopians, Israeli Yemenites,
pensive Indians, or immigrating Moroccans, We are rarely identified
as traveling Black Americans.
As we have kept our identities secret from most Israelis and Americans
for the entire year (proven bv the fact that people stil 1 mistake us after
ALL THIS TI’IE) , we do not intend to break the tradition now. I'm sure that
when we depart, people will still be confused and wondering...Sheila was
the lighter one?...Syndi sang?...and Desiree wore glasses?...Right???
For those who think the above information is true, look again! You
have one last chance to redeem yourselves.
Black was here for just a year
But with all this crud and all this flak
Who knows if Black will ever be BACK!
Desiree Davis--Sheila T.T. Lynch--Cynthia McClendon
D e c e m b e r
30, H V f r
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c a r n c b a . c - K .

Peace!
Bub why is it that we only say it
yet never seem to mean it?
Why is it that we all shout "Peace nov)!"
yet never seem to do it?
Why do we always wait for the other guy to start
yet we silently wait °or it to come?
Peace!
Why can't we all work together
so that we can have peace forever!
Freda Rosenfeld
LOOKING HOME
Sun setting over the city,
orange and bright.
Walls glittering, domes sparkling
in the early hours of evening.
The city of gold.
No sight has ever been more pleasing
to my weary eyes
looking home towards the east.
E.F.
22

To oA\i\oic X ^rm\vcd one.
Wever- \V.
Z b v t 'Nova o S \ .
23

One Friday morning during the Hanukah vacation, I decided to visit my
friend G i l at Kibbutz HaSnita.
Arriving at the Kibbutz, I went to Gil's living quarters, only to find
him not there. He was visiting relatives in Kfar Blum for the weekend.
G r e a t ! Not knowing anyone else at the Kibbutz, I decided that I would go
back to Jerusalem and have a -pleasant tbiabbat there. This decision came at
2:00. I wasn't real keen on times from place to place, so I thought I could
do it. I hitched a ride into Afula and the experience began.
I caught a bus from Afula in the direction of Tel Aviv. The reason I
say 'in the direction o f is because it stopped at all the bus stops on
the way, and because I was in a hurry, they sent a truck of the bus to. t o
erect extra stops along the way. I was a wreck! I f I had known anyone in
Tel Aviv it wouldn't have been bad, but I didn't. The bus pulled into the
Tel Aviv Central Bus Station at 4:30. Shabbat began that week at 4:37, and
because I don't travel on Shabbat, I figured Tel Aviv was the final destination.
I had planned out my strategy on the bus into Tel Aviv: I would go
to the Conservative Synagogue there (I got the address from a calendar
diary which I had with me) and tell them that I am stranded in Tel Aviv with
no place to go. Then they would take care of me and my worries would be over.
Sure! I took a "special" (25 lousy lirot) three blocks to the synagogueit
was locked. I said to myself in anger, "They must close for Shabbat and
holidays". I was frantic" I t was 4:35 and I just began to walk. I asked the
first person I saw where the nearest synagogue was, and he directed me to
a small, small shtebel across the street. Safe at last! I went into the
synagogue, put down my backpack and sleeping bag and was just in time for
Mincha. We hadMincha, Kabalat Shabbat andMaariv, and we all knew I was
foreign from my garb and my faulting Hebrew accent.
The Shammash approached me and asked me where I was from, what I was
doing in Tel Aviv, and when I informed him of my unpleasant predicament, he
kindly asked me if I had a place to sleep. I replied that I didn't, and he
promptly gave me the key to the synagogue! "We had services at 8:30 tomorrow:
I'll get the key back from you then." He left and there I was with a synagogue
and nothing to eat. I kicked myself for figuring that I would be taken care
of, vowing never to do this kind of thing again.
I was sitting on the ledge outside of the shtebel when the gentleman who had
steered me to this place in the beginning passed by on the way back from services.
' "Did you find the place alright?"
"Yes, I did. "
"And have you a place to sleep?"
"Yes, I did. "
"And you have a place to eat too, I suppose?"
"No, I don't ."M y eyes caught his and he smiled.
"You'll come home with me then," he said.
I had a very,pleas ant Shabbat that weekend withMr. andMrs. Tannenbaum
of #1 Sprinzak Street, andMrs. Tannenbaum's father, an old man who only knew
that which was in front of him existed, like his Kiddush cup, or his chicken
soup, or his glass of soda. I slept in the synagogue and ate with the Tannenbaums,
and when Shabbat was over, 4 r. Tannenbaum insisted upon driving me
to the Central Bus Station where I would bus home to Jerusalem.
u P'RTYa ’
"All of Israel looks out for one another." That's for sure!
Howard Mark
• May 10, 1978
24

O r a n g e s r e d s s and greens
All so brightly seen
Sounds of people talking
The danoe-like ways of people walking
Oh the adventure of Machane Yehuda
Freda Rosenfeld
25

25
No matter what language people argue in
their tongues are still tied to their stagnant brains.
So, is progression possible?
Another tower of Babble under construction-

Of Flies and Phantoms
Dahab... I 'm sitting on this beach, nude, and staring at Saudi Arabia... A fricking 15 kms
away.. Israel is at war with them.
In front of me are two young men in uniform. They must be from the base over here, taking
a break, catching the sun...osim chaim, as they say. Everywhere you find soldiers osim chaim...
"doing life."
There is an incongruity somewhere. There is something wrong, something does not appear to
be normal. (Actually one could say it's perfectly normal, but if that is true, then we are all
mad). I can't put my finger on it, this sense of dissonance that dwells (at least) within me,
this inability to understand what's going on, this absurdity... maybe that's the word for it;
absurd- the whole situation here. The fact that in Resnick you are obligated to do guard duty,
that you must watch for "suspicious objects" on buses, that you get searched when entering
Ha-Mashbir, but no one touches you when you leave: you could be ripping the whole store off
and no one would give a damn.
I'm not saying that these precautions are not justified: the fact that buses do get blown
up, as well as universities and stores, warrants them. I'm just saying that the whole damn
situation, along with the "history" and "facts" supporting one side or another are absurdities.
I may question the methods of carrying out the precautions (ride a bus, and when you reach
a check point, who are the police hassling for identification?), but that really isn't the point,
it is just one aspect of the situation.
The situation itself does in fact exist, and must be
approached with an understanding of its absurdity in mind.
You have two peoples, vying for the same land, fighting each other, killing each other, and
refusing to look at one another let alone talk to one another. The fact that someone decided
that this land belongs to
and not to THEM is the core of the absurdity, because who is U§_
and who isIHEM.is not important, because if you look at the nature of the situation as it really
is, as an absurdity, you will see that the US and THEM are the same; thus they are meaningless
concepts.
US is THEM and THEM is US_. it's all the same, just as names are different. (To protect the
innocent?
Who are the innocent?) I mean, what makes being a Jew, or a Palestinian for that
matter, that special in terms of the question to whom does the land really belong? It's all
nonsense.
What gives MS the rvght to claim land as our own, and deny them the same right?
Who is MS. and who is THEM?
Don't start throwing "facts and figures" at me.
I already know them, and if I get riled
enough I'll throw "facts and figures" back at you. The "facts" are not important. Understanding
the absurdity of the situation is:
me of being one-sided) and the absurdity of the people.
the absurdity of the "leaders" (all of them, never accuse
Everything.
Do I have a solution? I have some ideas, but before they can be given the chance to
succeed, everyone has to get thevr shat together, to take thevr blunders off, and check out
the view.
Then they ’ll see how absurd it is.
Ken Kesey wrote,'-"But it's the truth even if it didn't happen." This is the only
country where flies as Well as Phantoms practice dive bomb and air raid tactics.
are driving me crazy.
?q£ qA Eck^tQyin
These flies
27

Do I really need this place we cal-l home?
I have come to the conclusion: yes
the foreign eyes intimidate me; I am marked,
the lonely man arouses fear in me; I am lonely:
The comfortable feeling that shapes my body to the
hills, is panicking in displacement,
And I wonder, questioning my independence
In necessity of those loving hands, blazing sun,
and cool translucent nights
In search of a place to plant my feet,
dirty my hands, and rest my head.
I shiver at the realization: I have found
the loving hands of G-d -- His omnipotent spirit
His burning soul, and His peaceful eyes.
I plant my feet in the heart of it,
I dirty my hands in the knowledge there,
and I rest my head at the Western Wall.
As true as the sand, my body finds its
curves
in the stones of Jerusalem
-Robyn F. Kapp
28

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29

Ah these mountains are old
scarred by crumbling stone walls
by centuries passed
by men plowing stubborn soil
between war cries
and the birth of menchildren (their faces old, so old)
the land is silent>
she shows no pride3 no disdain,
she yields her power slowly
she feels the weight of armies
and fallen fruit
rotting in the summer sun.
the olive is twisted: bent gray gnarled
by fierce winds
by scorching sun
by battle waged
man against man against man
by sipping of the fallen blood
the land regains her strength
the olive bears forth her fruit.
judith mendelsohn
all the beautiful images
that i could paint here:
the marvelous land
with its
quaint villages
and their
biblical peasants
toiling donkeys
dusty streets
picturepostcardcharm.
arab villages
jut out in geometric confusion
on slopes falling
from ancient walls
sunlight fails to clarify; define.
mountains shimmer haughtily
in the haze
tauntingly eluding
description.
judith mendelsohn
30

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7 Tzaye set watchmen upon thy walls
0 Jerusalem
Who shall never hold their peace
day or night.
o i’n *73 a’TDia? ’mpsn d’^ iv vnimn *?p
•urn’ n V t ’on n V *731
30 tn’pe?’
Isaiah 62

South Lebanon, 1978
a gray dampness
shrouds sighing hilltops,
fields, heavy with fallen rain,
sweat in the winter night,
frontier, border,
a mountain ridge,
slender fingers of eucalyptus
tickle thick air playfully,
.deceitfully veiling the movement
of men, arms.
it is. it is.
nearly midnight.
single streak: bristling flashing fire
splitting darkness
silhouetting flat roofed stone houses;
a handful of wooden sentinels
arms raised in reproach
against the burning sky.
pounding of artillery
cracks open the sleeping stillness,
minutes pass- hours,
grinding...
advancing...
heavy tread of grumbling metallic cavalry
moving forward; forward relentlessly,
fighters flying overhead
grim shadows passing stealthily,
curtain rising,
parched,broken dawn,
streets filled with rubble, dust,
blasted rock scattered where bunkers had been,
wide-eyed fellahin tremble shrug watch wait
from behind dark churning smoke,
distant gunfire:
rhythmic dirge
beating as soldiers pick through ruined streets:
beating as fedayeen flee through fields and orchards:
beating as villagers pack some belongings:
in the misty light of morning.
judith mendelsohn
D ry Bones
3 2

Two men stood side by side at a ceremony,
One was a youngster, eager to listen

34
*.Li5*, jirix \.(ytx

Archeology
My site
The abrasive sand curves of Jerusalem's hills
are fertile, just plowed, bleeding in pureness.
You dig
Deep, dark hoping to find a relic, or old dust
undestroyed.
The hills are balding yellow
Every moist corner is naked.
And the seed of your sweat pushed
between sand cells is planted by
your digging, yopr digging
will conceive an oasis -
the birth defect of nature.
Karyn D. Schwartz

SHABBAT'S END
Here it is. Another Saturday night in Jerusalem. Three stars sparkling above the Plaza
signify the finish of the Holy Day and the beginning of the Unholy Night. Our story begins in
the Resnick dormitories on Har Hatzofim. In building seventeen, room three-hundred fifty-seven
I, my roommate Barry, and occasional Mechina student Tod, gather to discuss the evening's
coming activities.
"Why don't we go to the Tavern and shoteh some beers?" Tod says, opening the summit.
"Sounds like a fine idea to me," responds Barry, inna fit of intellectualism.
"Great idea, but I hope you guys don't mind paying for me. I'm broke." My comment is met
with some derogatory comments about Jews from Colorado, but the resolution passes anyway.
With the agenda decided, I change into my robe, grab soap, shampoo and towel and send myself
to the showers. On the floor in the shower room is a liquid grime left over from those who have
preceded me into this bastion of personal hygiene. The room itself, is approximately one and
a half meters by four meters and decorated in the colors of the Great Regurgitation. Inside
each of the curtainless stalls can be found three knobs (hot, cold, on-off volume), a soap tray
and a hole in the wall where in civilized countries there is usually a shower head.
Turning the hot and on-off volume knobs to "max," I stand out of splattering range while the
pipes purge themselves of cold water. Tonight, however, I am in for a surprise. It seems that
the Controller of the Hot Water has decided the goose pimples of the Resnick inhabitants have
not been getting enough exercise lately. Nobody told him that Palmach shock training tactics
went out with the advent of the Jewish State.
"Ya.know," Barry gesticulates as he throws a rock at the lamp post on the median, "that the
half of my life that I don't waste eating or sleeping, I waste waiting for Egged buses." The
rock misses the post completely, but succeeds in inflicting enough fear in a Hasid to make him
duck and loose his streimel. Snickering disrespectfully, we all shove our hands into our
pockets and try to look innocent.
"I know what you mean. You know why the buses take so long up here, don't you?"
"No, why?" a bored chorus responds.
"Well, you see, 'Egged' being the fine, outstanding institution of Jewish ideals that it is,
only hires drivers that are imbued with a deep love and respect of Jerusalem and their Jewish
culture. Because of this, everytime they get to Har Hatzofim they feel compelled to stop,check
out a view of the Old City, and stand at attention for a rendition of 'Hatikva'."
We finally reach our destination, the King George stop, after thirty minutes of listening to
hydraulic doors open and close. The streets are crowded with the usual assortment of Israelis,
tourists and half-breeds like ourselves. There are the New Yorkers, gold-laden and selfrighteous,
munching pizza in front of Richie's; soldiers with their shirts unbuttoned to their
navels; teenage girls shod in ten-inch platforms, skin-tight pants, T-shirts professing their
admiration for the U.S. Marines and two and one half pounds of cosmetics. By "Houmous World,"
tien-year old delinquents sit on the railings, firing garanim shells at anyone foolish enough
to walk anywhere within three meters.
Pushing our way through the throngs, the Three Musketeers (alias Blind Mice) assault the
Tavern Bar and Grill. With the door of the iniquitous den open, a stream of stale cigarette
smoke pours forth as if from the nasals of a fire-breathing dragon with emphysema. Coughing
our way to the back room, where strangely enough the air is cleaner, we grab the last available
t ab 1 e .
The conversation throughout the night has vacillitated between women and Zionism. Now, so
drunk we couldn't tell Mordechai from his grandmother, we stumble up to the cash register.
Tod and Barry pay for their respective rounds and go outside into the cool night air. I look
up at the bartender, a huge, burly Englishman with biceps the size of my waist. Extending his
hand, he mutters something resembling "One hundred and twelve pounds please."
I try and hand him my bus card, but he is not very amused.
"Now don't get all upset," I slur, "my friends here are going to take care of me." Turning
towards the door I notice that there are no friends in sight. My knees start to shake a little.
"Listen, if you will just allow me to step outside and get my friends, they will take care of
everything."
"Sorry mate. Can't let you leave until I get the money. Otherwise I'll have to call the
police."
"Let's discuss this intelligently. The funds to cover this debt are presently not in my
possession. If you would be so kind as to let me leave you with a token of my sincerity to
pay, I will go find my financiers and get this little mess straightened out."
"No way bub. This ain't no bank y'know. Looks like I'm going to have to call the cops and
then you can tell them your sad little story."
Just as I am about to resort to tears, Barry and Tod shove their big, Semitic noses through
the door. I shoot an angry glare in their direction which they answer with the kind of laughter
sideaches are made of. As Tod walks in to clear up my debt the door jamb reaches up and grabs
his foot, causing him to fall and knock over a chair, its female occupant, and a glass of beer.
Barry and I join him and the young lady on the floor, gripping our sides in hysterics.-
"Say, 'das a funny one, bubba," Barry chortles, jerking his head like a chicken.
The three of us squeeze ourselves onto the bus as the doors swoosh shut. An old lady that
didn't make it shakes her fist and curses at the lethargic bus driver in Hebrew, Yiddish and
Hungarian. Our night in the city has come to an end.
Robert S. Barron

3 7

Through the year here3 I've really seen Israel as the land, it is; its problems and its
advantages. But when I weigh it out not getting paper bags in a supermarket isn’t enough
to scare me away. I'd much prefer to go to V achane Yehuda with my yellow and purple "sal"
then to go to ASP any day of the week.
When I see how free and easy a life I live here3 I mean never feeling funny about being a
Jew and being proud of it3 i t ’s the biggest convenience I ’ll ever have3 better than a phone
and regular mail service.
you learn is "savlanut?"
And what's so bad about living in a country where the first word
Freda Rosenfeld
Reflections
July 123 1977: anxiety 3 anticipation- a BBYO convention
Arrival: bureaucracy3 dissapointment-Jiiryat Rayovel
Israel: heat and wonderment-fear
Bhikuna Elef- fear3 filthy bathrooms3 dirty kitchens and
eating anyway
Ulpan- long3 boredom3 comic relief- i ichael and Carmele: tv H O ’
Resnick- re freshing 3 new •jv ~v=025,^ -
Jerusalem: different and golden— a realization
The Old City: days3 Abu Shukri’s3 Ayoubi Sweets- "You like?"
Sights: a wall3 a church3 a dome- exotic people
Sinai: water and sand; a sun3 a moon and Marty-Survival
School: surviving and knowing3 wine and books
Hofesh: The Galil and Coastal Highway
Friends: savages and patrols3 boys and girls3 earnest or frivolous?
High Holidays: I don’t belong
Bhabbat: Quiet and Immobile
Yom HaZikaron: a candle and a thought
Israel: a bomb3 a gun and murder- death but life and a silent tear
Love3 knowledge3 pride3 remembrance-Israel
A return: Sivan 5738
Barry H. Miller
4/V/78
38

29

THOUGHTS ON ALIYAH
As someone who, when I arrived last July, had no conception of the
term "aliyah", its meaning, or more importantly, significance, this year
in Israel has precipitated an awareness in me. This awareness was brought
about through a development of thought. While this development began at a
level of naivity rather than ignorance, it filtered through periods of
apathy, guilt, radicalism, and has concluded in a period of contentment
and rationality. It is this conclusion, the result of a series of thought
processes, that I would like to share with you.
The concept of Aliyah,and Aliyah is a concept as it involves not
only a decision, but an ideology and a change in way of life,- first
struck me as unthinkable. Why should I leave the United States, which
has offered my people a place of refuge? Beyond that, Israel simply
would not have been able to survive without her strong«"ally", (I use
quotation marks as a result of recent developments) an ally that supports
and offers nations throughout the world the opportunity to seek
out their legitimate rights to freedom and national determination. The
United States does represent the citadel of freedom and liberty in the
world today. Besides all this, the United States offered comfort, opportunity,
and the freedom to come to Israel. The Jewish part of the question
had yet to enter my mind.
After a month or two of living in the Jewish state, I began to notice
a number Of new things. I was able to travel in a city without ever
thinking of my Jewishness as something foreign; rather, I was at home.
People accepted me on at least one common ground, which was not my
ability to communicate in the Hebrew language. Indeed, places such as the
Kotel on Erev Yom Kippur became my backyard. One thing, however, was
different: the people. While most people, I think, are almost anti-religious
here, many in Israel experience a religious fervor at times and all
are proud and knowledgable of their Judaism, history and traditions.
While being brought into the realization that every Jew in one place
can be proud and knowledgeable of his or her history in Judaism, the
Aliyah spectre reappeared. It now was a spectre because it appeared a responsibility.
The Israeli Jews represented The "front line" of Judaism.
They are the ones who fought the wars, they are the ones who are the
first Jews thought of when a non-Jew discusses politics and they are the
ones who make Jewish life in the world today easier. Why should I be
exempt from these challenges? After all, is Israel not the land promised
to my people in our convenant with God, do I not really belong here?
Is Aliyah not my responsibility also? At this point my thought development
become less emotional and more objective.
While I must admit that the happiness I have in the United States, in
terms of comfort and opportunity, weighed heavily on me, more important
thoughts siphoned through to enable me to reach conclusions. I now understand
all the components of Aliyah-- responsibility, Judaism, peace of
mind, and to an extent , a feeling of guilt because I was in the back
lines of a Jewish identity crisis. However, I was approaching the problem
from the wrong perspective. Why did I not feel at home as a Je!w in the
United States, and why did I feel that the Israeli Jew represented the
purest Jew I had ever encountered? The answers are simple and I believe
they give a new dimension to the concept of Aliyah.
First of all, the problem is the Jewish identity crisis. I did not
feel at home in the United States because I was a victim oF this crisis.
The Israeli Jew, generally speaking, is clear about his or her Jewish
identity within our historical perspective. With this awareness, the new
dimensions to Aliyah emerge. I am not in the back line of the Jewish
identity crisis; I am in the front line. I cannot justify making Aliyah
now. We Jewish Americans are facing a severe problem that we must solve.
This problem is a disease called assimilation. Most of us have suffered
from an abhorent lack of education in Jewish history and traditions.
While Israel is the textbook for Jewish education, Few American Jews
bother to open it. When I say Israel, I do not mean

simply Israel 1948-1978, I refer to the Israel that Abraham and God
referred to in a covenant and a promise. The Israel I refer to is not
merely a poetic embodiment; it is an ideal. Israel was given to the Jewish
Pepple.by God,-it is God's part in the bargain. Our part is the
responsibility that we, the Chosen People, have to God. We must deserve
the Land of Israel. We American Jews do not. We must become strong again.
We must become the embodiment of the unique way of life that we were
chosen for. We must again become a community like the citizens of Israel,
whom to me represent Judaism at its apex. As I have stated, this representation
manifests itself not only through religiosity- which by itself
is not sufficient- but through strength, pride and knowledge. We Jews
in the United States, number nearly double the population of the State
of Israel. We must return to the status of representatives, because we
are the representatives of the People of Israel.We are the front lines.
We must uphold our end of the bargain for the State of Israel, or else
I am afraid Israel will once again slip from our grasp.
As a conclusion I would like to reiterate some thoughts that a
professor made clear to me as he was discussing Holocaust Rememberance
Day. In the United States today it seems that personal experiences,
such as the Holocaust, appear to be the impetuses to Judaism's survival.
This is problematic, because without a personal experience, an event,
such as the Holocaust, becomes a mere fact in a history book-- like
the Russian Pogroms, the Crusades, the Bar-Kokhba Revolt, the Exile
to Babylon, and the Captivity in Egypt. Apparently we do not learn from
history. The heart of Judaism is the family and the comminnity. These
are indeed the first impetus to Judaism, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
The beginnings of something great always start with pride and education.
What is necessary is not to build Judaism on anti-Semitism or to bui'd
Judaism on hatred for those who do our people harm, but from within--
on pride, happiness, and the glory of Judaism; History and Civilization,
Tradition and Torah.
How else will Judaism survive in the Diaspora? Which leads me to
ask: Without the Jewish population living in the Diaspora, can Israel
survive? I want my successors to not only be proud, strong, and wise,
but I want them to survive. As Deuteronomy XXXIV:4 relates;
And the Lord said to him, This is the land which I swore
to Abraham, Isaac and to Jacob, saying, I will give it
to thy seed: I have caused thee to see it with thy eyes,
but thou shalt not go over there.
Respectfully,
Barry H. Miller
Iyar 17,5738--May 24,1978
‘Doonesbury’ by O.B. Trudeau

WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO...
by Scott Mandel
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO forget you're a civilized person, and take the
manufacturers of Israeli telephones, washers, dryers, etc., and...?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO know why on earth there couldn't be normal pay
phones here, that take real money?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO one day, put your Israeli money to good use--and
play a game of monopoly with it?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO stop being referred to as a tourist?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO put all bureaucrats through the same hassles
that you're put through--every time they want to receive their nay?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO put all bureaucrats who refused to speak English
to you into a foreign country--and watch them try to find a W.C.?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO get mail regularly--like everv day?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO have the Israeli girls chase after the American
guys the way the Israeli guys chase after the American girls?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO see someone discover a D.I.B. repellent?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO send out for a pizza?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO go home and find 147 ways to disguise hamburger
like the Israelis have found 147 ways to disguise chicken?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO go back to the time when you didn't .know what an
eggplant was?
WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO have your family and friends back home be here—
so that there would be no reason for us to leave?
42

"Shalom, ani rotzeh ticket to France. No, no, wait... make it to Spain,
yeh, Spain, I can get into that". The world is my Super sol as I sit in the
backless chair of the travel agency, bon-vivantly picking the country which
will be my pre-Pesach playground. Eey, after all, I ain't no Isra-eli. I'm
a "chad s h ’natiter" doing a year holding pattern in the airways of life.
i4s long as I am up here in the ozone, why not make a few swoops and see
what is going on elsewhere in the hemisphere?
" O X . we have a Swissair roundtrip flight to Lisbon, or you can return
with El Al."
"I’ll take the El Al. Imean, heh, k'chol v ’levan all the way, go team!"
I take the stack of bills out of my pocket, swallow hard and hand the
total, approximately IL. 3996 and 40 "grotes" to the quadralingual agentette.
I bid her farewell, and ambulate out of the office to go home and pack a
pair of B V D ’s, or maybe even two pairs. All I have to worry about now is if
’ol superfly at the campus bank is going to refuse to give me traveller's
checks and force me to survive in Europe on $37 cash.
The black morning sky covers a silent Jerusalem when, suddenly, explosions
burst forth, sirens scream at a shrilling pitch! I awaken with my heart
beating in overdrive and hands and legs flying in four directions until finally
one of my appendages smashes down on the alarm clock near my head. Just as
suddenly as it began, Jerusalem again falls silent. I am convinced that I
am a masochist to pay IL3996 and 40 "grotes" to wake myself up at 3:01 in
the morning. Well, I am already awake, so I might as well get dressed and
go to Spain, especially since Camp Resnick is low key on the action scale this
week. "Where the hell is my other shoe, dammit?"
This Nesher taxi dude had better show his chassis within 5 minutes or
I am going to get irritated.
Aft the airport, the jet taxis to the runway, passing a star of David
painted on the tail of another jet and I wonder why I am leaving. Six hours
and a stop in Zurich later, I am walking across the runway in Lisbon 's
International Airport laughing simply from the weirdness of all the travelling.
"What the hell am I doing in Portugal?"
A sense of adventure hits me as I rode through the streets of Lisbon looking
for a place to put myself for the night. M y quick impression of Lisbon was
a good one, despite the pissing weather and someone spitting at me from an
eighth story window. I n conjunction with my original plans to wander around
Spain and Portugal in an alcoholic stupor, I treated myself to some excellent
fish and a bottle of red. Finding my pension afterwards was an interesting
experience, being that my main concern was just trying to stay on the
sidewalks and not stagger into a galloping local bus. M y mission was accomplished.
And I was up the next morning and on my way to Spain.
Riding on the bus the next morning into the center of M adrid, I stared
out of the window, 'My 7 od, I'm back in Queens!" Then I noticed something
on the windshield- yes, it was rain streaks. Nothing like sunny Spain!
I dragged my bags up and down the large Spanish boulevards like a wet sponge
playing the old "meet me at American Express" game. I would have gotten to
the office sooner had I not asked a blind man for directions.
Midway through the week I decided to confirm my return flight, just to
be sure. It was then that Swissair informed me that El Al had shut down its
services. M y Spanich vacation abruptly turned into "Operation Evacuation".
I combed every travel agency in downtown 1 adrid seeking an alternative flight
back to Israel. Each "sorry, no places", made my situation so increasingly
desperate that I underwent a personal political upheaval and led myself into
the Lufthansa Airline office. Their price threw me back into the street ^
immediately. M y thought of tramping out of Spain to France, Italy or Switzerland
was dashed by the Swissair agent: "You must fly from Lisbon only, in
order to have your ticket honoured". I couldn't believe it. I was trapped in
Spain! How long could my money hold out? "Won’t somebody please let me go home?
Whatever happened to the Law of Return?"
Finally someone suggested trying the student charter flights, and off I
ran through the hot M adrid subway for the 4th time that day. "Yes, we have a
flight tomorrow, London-Tel Aviv, but i t ’s your responsibility to get to
Lisbon, so come back here when you have arranged a flight there." "Yes
m a ’am". Zoom, back into the streets and down into la 1 etro for a charge on
the British Airways folks. I race to the door of the office, but naturally
i t ’s closed— siesta time until 4 p.m. (a phenomenon with which we are all
familiar). To pass the nerve racking moments, I do up a coffee and afterwards
attend to my business. I have just asked crucial question number one and await
my answer holding my breath- "there ’s a flight leaving ihis afternoon from

Madrid to London." Crucial question number two- "yes, we accept American
Express cards." Victory! Excelsior! But that was only half the objective
in this all-or-nothing operation. Now back to the subway...
"Sorry, but traveller's checks are not acceptable, only cash", said the
student office. Down five blocks to the nearest exchange and back again.
"Sir, you're-100 pesetas short".
"What do you mean 100 pesetas short? Ben zonah'.!" Down five blocks to
the same nearest exchange and back again.
"Aqui. Gracias, y huesto luego." The tickets were in my hand'.M adrid to
Tel Aviv via London. Absurd.
Check this out, everyone speaks English here! And what politeness.
"O.K. chap; sure thing mate; cheerio". I sit down on an airport couch and
whip out Let's G o Europe to get my bearings and locate a decent joint for
the night. I flip to the 0 's only to find p. 284 followed by p. 349. Personal
subterfuge.
"Excuse me, but what's this big box sitting in the middle of the' room?"
"Oh, that's the telee", the cute blond hotel keeper answered, gestering
towards the T. V.
"Yeh, now I remember, you see it's been a while..."
I arrived at London Airport after hopping the wrong train and luckily
jumping off at the right time and place. The boarding call came when I
realized that I had misplaced my army cap, which necessitated my doing
acrobatic leaps and bounds over terminal furniture in order to just barely
be the last passenger to board. It was a small plane, but it looked sturdy
and kicked good power down the runway until it finally lifted off the earth.
Then suddenly came a vertical jolt which made my stomach proof of Newton's
Law of Gravity. At that very moment, I knew I was in for a harrowing experience.
The weather was rough and with each abrupt loss of altitude I contemplated the
Mt. of Olives. Reaching a height above the clouds, the kamakazee stunts
continued and I felt like asking the frustrated Japanese fighter pilot up
front to stop relieving the good ol' days.
The stewardesses had much pity for me, so I asked one to sit and keep me
company, but instead she brought me into the cockpit to speak to Captain
Hirohito himself. I crept into the small switch-strewn compartment to see the
pilot and his co-going through the motions, The navigator sitting behind
them sideways, sipping coffee, puffing on a butt and staring off. I wonder if
he is a blind mute, he went into a short dissertation on high altitude
cross-currents which calmed me for the whole 10 minutes of my stay. I went
back to my seat, and back to my previous condition. Thinking about my relationship
with the good Lord, I was interrupted by a fearsome swoop which drew
an immediate reflexive yell of "Oh Jesus Christ!" Then came the recoil of
"Dammit, what the hell am I talking about! This is no time for mistakes!"
Unfortunately, we were due for a stop in Copenhagen, and it pained me
to know I would have to suffer through another landing and take-off.
Landings were the worst, especially the way Hirohito nearly donated one wing
to scrap metal collections. I also found his vertical descents rather unnecessary.
The stewardess came over to me and said sypathetically, Ofaybe when we
land in Paris you should have a drink." "What did she say??!! Paris?!!
Christ, am I on the wrong plane??! Paris? Aren't we landing in Copenhagen?"
"Yes, but first Paris and then Copenhagen." Inearly lapsed into a catatonic
spell. Could my humanoid system of deteriorating nerves withstand yet another
landing and take-off?
Up in the air again I was given a bottle of cognac which rolled down like
gatorade, but all in vain. M y volume of adrenaline in washed over any possible
effects. Collecting money for the liquer served, The stewardess looked at me
while I motioned for my wallet and said, "Oh, forget it. You don't have to
pay, it's on us." I must have looked pretty bad.
On to Copenhagen with the same vertical descents and one winged landings.
I wandered around the terminal, peering into the grey Danish sky, when I
noticed little white flakes prancing downwards. It was snowing! What a soothing
thought. I suppose the blind mute navigator can use his sonar breath to get
us through this one.
I met Carl in the terminal, a math major from Yale immediately assigned with
the task of calming my nerves. His first suggestion, i.e. to sjt on the fulcrum
of the plane, sounded impressive, so I stuck with him.
"One more landing and i t ’s Tel Aviv thank God", I uttered up in the air
once more. Then the news hit me.
"You know of course, that first we are landing in Athens." Landing in
44

Athens... Landing in Athens... I heard nothing else after those last three words.
"Noooo, noooo". Satan: five, the Jewish kid: zero. The absurdity forced a
laugh from me.
Israel was just minutes away and the Israeli kids were singing during the
approach. Home at last, after wandering helplessly from country to country. I was
my own martyr making a symbolic return to my ancestral roots. I pulled out my passport
and proudly greeted the customs officer in Bibrew. As she deftly inspected
my visa, she returned my greeting with, "I 'm sorry but you can 't enter the
country. Your visa is expired. " I argued back and wondered why everyone in this
world must act the part of a clown.
October 13, 1977 is the deadline to en*ter the country. I entered in July,1977."
"Yes, but you are entering now and it's April, 1978", she answered. I stopped
for a moment, thinking about that. This clown had a point there and it was serious.
Were they going to send me back to starve in Spain, trampled by charging bulls
and raped by high-heeled flamenco dancers? No, never! I shalt make my last stand
here for my honor and dignity against the aggressive hoards of injustice. Oh send
forth your Uzis and 1-15's and 4 rl6's, for I shall die as a saint and a symbol.
"Excuse me, here's‘your visa, it's O.K%.%now...nuuu? Kadimah! Ain z'man".
Well maybe next time I'll get my chance to be a hero.
It's noon and you've finally decided to do your laundry. (It only took three and a half weeks!)
You pile all your clothing into all the pillow cases and plastic bags you can find and walk
to Building 6. When you arrive, tired from lugging all your clothing around, you discover to
your great joy and amazement that there is no line.
"Ah!" you think, "no line, what luck!" So you stuff all your clothing in the
puor in some TIP (or for a change, BIONESS), close the lid, and start shoving
lj 2, 3, 4 •••f ... , 5.. ., 6...
machine, and then
in the lirot . .
"Hey! Isn't it supposed to start?!" One punch. Another. Then again. Still won't start!
Fed up, you kick the machine. Still no luck.
So you pile all your dirty , soap-fAlled clothes back into the pillow cases and plastic bags,
and get on your way to Idelson.
After waiting two hours for a machine and another three for a dryer, you finally finish.
FINALLY
So carrying your warm, dry, sweet-smelling clothes, you head for home.
it's pouring down rain outside.
Only to discover that
FREDA ROSENFELD
45

46

47

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Jim Turner was one of the few students in the One Year Program of the Hebrew
University who managed to hit some other parts of the Middle East.
Petra -- out of a diary of a trip from Egypt, Jordan, and Syria, Pesach vacation,
April 10-30
April 27: (Up at 5:30. Moving by 5:45.) Hiked around Jerash this morning,
sightseeing and picture taking 'til 9 and caught the bus after breakfast. Made
Amman in good time, got my permit from the Ministry of Interior to enter the
West Bank, and got a taxi to Petra (2JD = $6.60). Arrived Wadi Musa (2:30 p.m.)
-- hiked in through a winding wadi path -- beautiful colored sandstone, high
walls and a narrow path combined with the sunlight sneakihg in to make it very
nice. Arrived at the impressive "Treasury" -- a massive tomb carved into Red
Rock (bought a book and slides, ate lunch). Met Mohammed -- Bedouin seller of
wares -- he found me a tomb to sleep in (3,000 years old) and I talked to 2
Swiss guys there. Being too stupid to make camp before dark, I clumsily, with
full pack and bags, climbed the stairs (rock cut) to the large tomb carved in
the mountain -- ate and slept. My "bedroom" was large -- 1 large room about
20' long and 25' wide.
April 2 8 : I woke at 5:30 and was moving by 6:10. Left my stuff at Mohammed's
store and set out. I saw the "high place" where all the sacrifices were held,
and the nice view. I saw many tombs, large and small, beautifully colored sandstone,
hiked an hour to Ed-Deir, "The Monastery" -- as big as the "Treasury"
and from there looked into Israel -- I even saw the road to Eilat. I hiked to
the rest area in the central ruins and ate, surrounded by 40 kids who watched
mei They spoke their little English and I my little Arabic. We got along fine
and I complimented their teacher on their English. Everyone here is very pro-
U.S.A. I saw the large tombs -- Florentimus, Palace, Corinthian, and Urn,
which I slept in, I saw the Roman theatre and relaxed at Mohammed's store
where the men and boys rested from taking tourists around on horses. One guy
tried to sell me an old stone from a ring for my own ring. The stone had a
Jewish star (Magen David) on it, which aroused everyone else's comments on the
"Yehud" (which I didn't quite follow in Arabic). While being here, as well as
throughout my journey, I couldn't help thinking of it all as "The Gra.ndeur That
Was". All three countries are not as great now. Most of the monumepts celebrated
people killing each other, or their own deaths -- So puny, these efforts
of man, when compared with God's. The Jordanian people are so nice compared
to Egyptians, although Syrians were nicer -- not so pushy, noisy and bakshishoriented,
etc. -- just as helpful and very friendly -- sometimes too friendly,
I just want to be able to talk with someone with whom it will mean something
to me to talk with. So many meaningless conversations...and I'm tired. Three
weeks is enough at this pace. But I'm very glad I've seen it all.
I'm hoping to run into Neil here but no go so far. The colors here
are beautiful -- so many exquisite sculptured rocks -- as much by nature as by
man. I hiked with my stuff up to the treasury, saw Mohammed, and then ran into
my friend Neil! What joy and surprise! I had hoped, but not.really expected,
to see him. I said good-bye to Mohammed, who told me to bring my unmarried
sisters back next time to marry him. (What do you think? Nancy or Susan? ) One
half hour hike to Wadi Musa from Petra. Beautiful trail. Arrived at the first
house -- met up with Neil with his UN crew from Cairo. Showered and he bought
supper even! and a beer, and we sat and talked for a bit. I slept‘Yin his floor
instead of outside -- nice.

Petra-Jordan
thi JumJA cmd J?nmi- thi
mm inotHm.
(fohn MaMifudU
r'liJ
49

The deep links of the soul to the ancient homeland, to the Hebrew language and to the Book of Books3
these are the mainsprings that imparted the Jewish people the mental and moral power to overcome
all the hardships of alien lands a n d to exist until Redemption comes.
David Benfrurion
50

X ^ h o v N o r l ^ - b h l W C btCrN ^ b \C- t o c U t b r a H .
T s r a c l ’s 3

KU' kS
a.'Ah"V*
■\ in S ' n '
iy^hSa TlJ/
52

53

"To see the true,
to love the beautiful3
to deserve the good3
and to do the best. "
Moses Mendelssohn
54

55

*3urvt. , 1*1 ^"9
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€rvVr-»tS in I s r a e l i dl^

BOOSTERS
" But when I need you beside me, stay close enough to guide me
and confide in me ". Thanx Robyn and to all- P " o ~ luv, Gayle
Sam, I'm by your side- no matter the miles- Sheila
Shelly, can't imagine the year without you. Thanks for making it
even more special. Love always, Sylvia
CHARMS IS...ALIVE!
" What a long strange trip it 's been " (The Dead)
See ya ail later- Peter Eckstein
Robyn, one final song- how quickly i t ’s gone- Sheila
Friedman- " You’re so pathetic, you ’re pitiful "
Mark- Abortions at Heppners
BE, BR, SK- Ya ever try to fit six people in a shower?
Barron- Keep dreaming- I do.
Natalie- meet you at the Wall Rosh Hashana- I'll bring the Torah.
Dear S and S- " And now-ow-ow we will make a jar of Heilman’s
Mayonaise-aise-aise ”. Russian translation: " and now-ow-ow.." Love, F.
If you really want m-y Bedouin hat, i t ’s yours- Be free but be Gayle.I love you, Robyn
Bon- You're a hip woman, but NO TRIPPING ON THE ESCALATOR- Love you ’Bin
Sheila- " There will be another song for me, for I will sing it.."
It would be nice in a duet-Love Robyn
tt
Oo TWH
.. You guys are INTENSE... _P '3 2> ^ ^e
C i O C i j o ?>' ink
TVPLT
To Someone Very Special, You’ve made my year and I'll always cherish what
we ’ve shared. Love forever, Deb
Bar- Some things are still simple: if you tickoo me I sure will gigoo.
See you in Katmandu! love R.
David-t}le best a girl could ask for. Thanks for making this year the most
beautiful and special ever. Forever, Miriam
To the East Lansing Kid: MSU is H in
, but remember Del. isn’t
that far away. especially me will miss your Motown Moves.Love always M.
Dear Greetings, Thanks for making this year more than just
See you in N.Y., next year.
P ^ O
To mu upstairs buddies: This year has been one I'll always remember.
will never be the same again, I promise you all my love, The jersey
juvenile from downstairs.
I
& Elysie: Kiryat Hayovel, Shikuna Elef, Goldsmith "High", and. Resnick.
What a year! & we thought Bldg. #18 was far. What are we gonna do? S & S.
Dear Slvia: What’s going on with you? What can I say 'cept...You made my
year complete. Maybe (baby) w e ’ll even make it through the year. Thanx
for everything. Imean that. Your Roomy

TO: Savages #1-4, The other 2 members of the IDSP, Shimon and Karen, The
General, Jayle and Roz, Deb of Deb and South Africa, Deb of Deb and
Savage #3, Steve and Bruce who's Yankee's won't make it, David, Elise
and Everyone else. Thank you, a soon to be YARD Die A n A j d • *JIA
Hope this makes up for all the butts I bumbed. Edit
" My friends in the prison, they ask unto me
How good, how good, is it to be free?
And I say to them most mysteriously
Are birds free from the chains of the highway? "
Bob Dylan Zimmerman & Ginat
You know who you are, somethings can't be said, I love you. "Windy"
58

Dear Yossi,
I’ve been back for two weeks now, and my mother's still trying
to convince me that I'm no longer in Israel. You see, I haven't yet
let go of many habits I picked up over the year, and she's ready to
kick me out of the house. It starts in the morning when I cut up tomatoes
and cucumbers for breakfast instead of eating lox and creamcheese
along with the rest of the family. Besides that, I drop everything
I'm doing at approximately 14:00 in order to take my afternoon
nap. We went shopping yesterday, and I tried bargaining with the
saleslady for a shirt. My mother pretended like she didn't know me.
You won't believe this, but before I walked into the department
store I opened my purse for a security check. The absolute.limit was
when I pushed an old lady out of the way in order to get on to the
bus. When my mother gave me a dirty look, I turned to the lady and
said "slicha". Hard to believe? Yeah, well, my mom can't believe it
either. It's definitely true what they say about reverse culture
shock. I really didn't think it would be so bad. They say I'll get
used to it, but I'd rather not. I'd rather iust come back to Israel.
Write soon.
Love,
Sylvia
Sylvia Kilsteii*
q u >4. v O v u u e t v
nAfcwvvxs
OS.A.
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K E S M V C V i I
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\Sr A 6 U

The Editorial Board
wishes to thank:
YA'AKOV KIRSCHEN &
TEE JERUSALEM POST
for permission to use
DRYBONES
H. Walliek & V. Mellon
for their photos
GINAT CORMAN, Graduate
Intern, Office of
Student Activities,
for being Project Co-
Ordinator & Spiritual
Advisor
MOSHE MARGOLIN3
Co-ordinator of the
Office of Student
Activities, for being
Technical & Production
Advisor
m ’TUN/
is a stpdent publication of
the One Year Program. Although
the School for Overseas Students
encourages such a project, it
takes no responsibility for the
yearbook's content.
m 1i m
was made possible by grants from
the School for Overseas Students
and the Dean of Students Office.
m ’1OT
was published in Jerusalem by
Graph Press (June, 1978)
I) Donna Ellis 2) Cindy Singer 3) Gayle Zirulniok 4) Robyn Kapp 6) Ginat Corman
7) Barry Miller 8) Sylvia Kilstein 9) Freda Rosenfeld 10) David S t e m
II) Rick Blumenthal
12) Mark Levinsohn
60