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Simcha Torah<br />

Every end<br />

is a beginning they say;<br />

And I<br />

am lucky because I can read from either<br />

end of the gage, and understand.<br />

A beam is expanding, a light is a glow,<br />

and I am supported in my reservations.<br />

I end this notebook only to begin another<br />

and I will find the changes and readings in myself<br />

as exciting as the joyful anticipation<br />

of the rebirth of the Torah on this day.<br />

They know it's the same, what will come, just as<br />

they have resembled their forefathers for ages;<br />

the faces shadowed by rims of fur, framed in<br />

girlish curls and exclamated by the<br />

faithful beards.<br />

Rediscovering the simplicity in my every prayer,<br />

Beginnings...<br />

Robyn F. Kapp<br />


There is a built-in frustration in spending a year in Israel.<br />

There is too much to experience and too little time. No matter<br />

how positive the academic side of the year, it often serves as<br />

a veil between lovers. However, longevity is no measure of<br />

experience. njwa ruip oik<br />

Eternity can be realized in a moment!<br />

Gloria and Rachel share my hope that you have experienced<br />

many moments of eternity this past year.<br />

\ ^ *\^\~)' )>Yc^<br />

S'<br />

WIC) L lean<br />

School For :OT Uuverseas Students<br />

l1! j7DD<br />

If one believes in the spiral approach to history -- that patterns never change and only<br />

events and individuals make the difference -- one can begin to make inroads towards understanding<br />

the year's experience in Jerusalem and at its University. Yet, it is too early for<br />

introspection. After several vain attempts to put the year into perspective (I even took a<br />

number 9 bus from town to Mt. Scopus in an attempt to be "alone" with my thoughts) the obvious<br />

conclusion is that it is too early to pass judgment on what continues to be a very complex and<br />

personal experience with a group of kids (sorry, students) I first encountered on a hot night<br />

last summer in an overcrowded meeting about incoming trunks. The characters of the group (the<br />

ordinary people seldom seem to make an impression when one looks back) and a few specific<br />

events will be the basis for the inevitable conclusions that one has to draw in order to<br />

advance on the continuum. Yet, it is still too early. The individuals and the events that<br />

will eventually crystallize into a final judgment, when viewed at this juncture, can be likened<br />

to my office after a yearbook meeting...the elements are all there, it is just hard to make<br />

sense out of it all.<br />

When each of-you comes to terms with this year's experience and feels comfortable with<br />

your final judgment, it is my hope that you will view the year's experience in a positive light.<br />


J u l Y 13,<br />

F i^ sf day of Olpan. X ’r^ e.%c{fedl gboof les^oinq Hebrtu>,<br />

bof if toon'f b t tasy , V\VJ cja«^pu3 iS btao-hful. Shu'kunai<br />

Vfaeltf leasts 3U f -h» be. dtsirtdL<br />



While on a recent archeological dig3 I discovered the lost chapter 51 of Genesis<br />

In the beginning 3 after God. had finished His first week of creation and had finally<br />

rested on Shabbat3 He set about to work on His second week. And the world was full and<br />

lively from His first week's work and the Lord foresaw Man multiplying throughout the<br />

world. And the Lord said3<br />

"Let there be a reason for Man to come and stay awhile in<br />

Ha'aretz. Let it also constitute a break from his education." So the Lord3 God3 created<br />

the Hebrew University One-Year Program. And G o d looked at it and put in the brochure that<br />

it was good. A n d it was evening and it was morning3 a first day.<br />

And God said3 "Let there be an organization to help Man in struggle to enter the O.Y.P.<br />

And let this organization fully orient Man into the WQrkings of the Ha'aretz society."<br />

So the Lord created the American and Canadian Friends of the Hebrew University. And the<br />

Lord saw that it was beseder. And it would have been evening and then morning3 a second<br />

day.<br />

And the Lord said3<br />

"Let me create a temporary housing for the many men who will come.<br />

And let it be used for only three years. " And God named it the Elef. And He looked at it<br />

and immediately made plans for transferring to Resnick. And it was evening and it was<br />

morning3 and there still was no hot water for the third day.<br />

And the Lord said3 "Let there be bureaucracy3 so that Man will not have idle time3<br />

and will use his free time constructively3 standing in lines. And let it flourish around<br />

the land." So the Lord3 God3 made bureaucracy and the pakid to go with'it. And the Lord<br />

saw that it was kacha-kacha. And the evening and the morning were held up in red tape<br />

for the fourth day.<br />

And the Lord said3 "Let there be'asimonim'so that Man can further occupy his time<br />

looking for them in order to make a phone call. And let it be a further test of his<br />

patience that after he shall find the required amount of 'asimonim' that he shall have to<br />

find a phone that works." And God saw that it was 'eh'. And the evening and the morning<br />

were out of order for the fifth day.<br />

fi<br />

And the Lord said3 "I have been chauvinistic in my refemces to only Man. Therefore3<br />

I will create something only for Woman; to glorify her3 and never leave her unattended<br />

in Ha'aretz." So the Lord created 'pushtackim' to always be by Woman in Ha'aretz. And-the<br />

Lord looked at them and decided that enough's enough and He went to vacation in Greece<br />

for a few weeks. And it was evening and morning3 another day.<br />

Scott Mandel

[he Storm<br />

fit. Scopus, Jerusalem<br />

eve of Channukah<br />

The storm<br />

vehemently perpetuates<br />

the ceaseless show of might<br />

The candles<br />

gently flicker<br />

the serenity of stolid confidence<br />

The prayer<br />

humbly communicates<br />

the similiar sense of tranquility<br />

The thought<br />

suddenly recollects<br />

the multiple meaning of "ruach"<br />

The storm<br />

freely sweeps<br />

the sky in unrestrained audacity<br />

The urge<br />

abruptly stimulates<br />

the sojourn to barren solitude<br />

The black ubiquitously envelopes<br />

the desert in opulent opaqueness<br />

The silence<br />

starkly pervades<br />

the rush of whirling winds<br />

The storm *-■<br />

persistently buffets -*<br />

the bundled body and. mind<br />

The awareness<br />

evokingly recalls<br />

the people in primal confrontation<br />

The scene<br />

eternally witnesses<br />

the procession of past history<br />

The time unexpectedly disperses<br />

the moment of mysterious consideration<br />

^•■v***** i?*<br />

The storm<br />

impetuously issues<br />

blasts of biting cold<br />

The patriarch<br />

warmly reflects^the<br />

purity of aged piety<br />

The vod.ce<br />

majes<br />

the<br />

The<br />

exceedingly<br />

the seed of succeeding generations<br />

The storm<br />

gleefully scatters<br />

heaps of settled sand<br />

The prophet<br />


THE WONDERS OF THE WONDER PCT : by the 11/35 cooking school<br />

Look up on the stove! It's a strange new Israeli cooking device, the wonderpot. Able to bake<br />

cakes, cassaroles, quiches, and much much more. You too can learn how to use the easy<br />

Wonderpot and make fabulous foods. Here are the 11/35 cooking school's best recipes.<br />


JUDY'S Carrot Cake<br />

lCup Brown Sugar<br />

lCup White Sugar<br />

lCup Oil<br />

4 Eggs<br />

2t. (Cinnamon<br />

2Cup Self-rising Flour<br />

3Cup Grated Carrots (about 5)<br />

^Cup Chopped Nuts<br />

1PKG Raisins<br />

Mix sugar and oil. Add 1 egg at a time and<br />

mix well. Add cinnamon and salt. Add flour<br />

raisins, nuts and carrots. Mix well. Pour<br />

into well greased Wonderpot. Bake about lhour.<br />

FREDA'S Banana Cake<br />

l*sCup Mashed Banana<br />

2^ Cup Flour<br />

2ht. Double Action Baking Powder<br />

ht. Baking soda<br />

ht. Salt<br />

lCup Brown Sugar<br />

^Cup Oil<br />

^Cup Chopped Nuts<br />

2 Eggs<br />

It. Vanilla<br />

Mix all the ingredients well and pour<br />

into a well greased Wonderpot. Bake for<br />

about 45min. to lhour.<br />

DEBBIE'S Quiche<br />

2Cup Flour<br />

3/4 Bar Margarine (soft)<br />

l/3-l/2Cup Water<br />

Salt<br />

Press dough into bottom of well greased Wonderpot.<br />

On top of dough:<br />

3-4 Zuchini squash, thinly sliced<br />

1 Sliced pepper<br />

1 Onion, diced<br />

any other vegetables you have lying around<br />

Beat well in separate bowl:<br />

5 Eggs<br />

Spices: salt, pepper, garlic, oregano,<br />

(optional- oriental spices), some onion soup mix.<br />

Pour eggs over vegetables in the Wonderpot.<br />

The other DEBBIE'S Squash Souffle<br />

4 large Zuchini<br />

1 Potatoe<br />

1 Onion<br />

Add:<br />

l/3Cup Matzo meal (plus)<br />

2 Eggs<br />

Salt, pepper, garlic<br />

Mix well and put into well greased<br />

Wonderpot. Bake about 45min. or until<br />

a little crusty on top. Then:<br />

Put layer of tomato paste(watered down)<br />

on top, and slices of yellow cheese on<br />

top of that. Bake until cheese is melted.<br />

Suggestion: Serve with rice.<br />

Finishing touch: Grate alot of cheese(yellow) and<br />

sprinkle over top to completely cover.<br />

Bake lhour or so- until vegetables are soft and<br />

eggs cooked.<br />



kibbutz grofit is built upon a lone hill<br />

standing in tiie geographical rift that runs<br />

the length of the negev called the arava.<br />

on either side of this depression stand<br />

mountains, and the entire are seems devoid<br />

of life and movement, except grofit, to<br />

whom this poem is dedicated.<br />

i .<br />

fortifying a stretch of parchment,<br />

prone under the harsh sun, a<br />

column of ancient guards<br />

threaten to engulf<br />

a fragile capsule of life<br />

tottering green atop a barren sentinel.<br />

ii.<br />

with the passing of the day,<br />

the sun slips<br />

behind massive stone shoulders,<br />

colors glow, move, fade;<br />

shifting in intensity<br />

the unbearable weight<br />

of a burning eternity<br />

dissipates.<br />

iii.<br />

as the wind blows through fir trees<br />

a soft low whistling song of solitude<br />

is heard on the hill<br />

to the east and west<br />

now stand shadows<br />

vague, protective,<br />

in the hazy,<br />

thick blue-black darkness<br />

of a desert night.<br />

Judith mendelsohn<br />

Q c - i o b g v<br />

b ig R tsn ic k .. X PlcI likt.<br />

X'»v\ airtadw of GoldSrv,»-Ho and<br />

S-ter+tA C l a s s e s yet. X -Hot.<br />

a >raf \Vv<br />

X Voav/en*+<br />

CAfcf * * •<br />

a .<br />

c v L n<br />


I wish I had a better filter;<br />

cause if brains ahre like sponge<br />

why do I feel like the information<br />

is dripping<br />

from<br />

my ears?<br />

Maybe some cotton would help.<br />

Robyn p . Kapp<br />

...shilshul.<br />

symptoms:<br />

causes:<br />

cure:<br />

not showing up for classes.<br />

heels of naalei bayit run down,<br />

tired leg muscles,<br />

perpetual movement.<br />

too much felafel,<br />

pizza,<br />

garinim,<br />

and hoummous.<br />

lots of good, soft, white toilet paper.<br />

-- david s t e m<br />


u<br />

m<br />


Nov. 15, Jerusalem<br />

I thought I was going to give up writing these journal things- but I found<br />

a new pen and I can't seem to get to «leep. Got a letter from Gwen today. It<br />

was pretty reasonable. I guess like any of Gwen's letters, more or less. She<br />

wishes I were vin New York, and I wish I could be there, but I know I really can'tat<br />

least not now. I just sent off a too philosophical letter to Dan and it'll<br />

just do more harm than good. What's the use? Saw a terrific Genocide ^lick<br />

this evening. Is it coincidence that it coincides with my imagined talks on the<br />

bus with Gwen's mom, or will I be having these 'conversations' all year? Just<br />

yesterday my life seemed so organized. It all had direction, meaning. . .<br />

now I'm pulled in all sorts of directions. Med school, boyfriend, New York,<br />

Florida, California, should I room next year with Diane? When will I live in<br />

Israel? Four years? Seven years? Never? Why not? Do I really have a choice?<br />

Why can't I sleep? It's pretty cold tonight, but I opened my window anyway.<br />

Why? I smelt C^nd still smell) something like burning rubber. Or gas? I heard<br />

a story tonight of some Jewish guy's parents suffocating because of one of those<br />

portable gas heaters they have in Israel. You're not supposed to be gassed<br />

to death in Israel, are you? And what if I have children, but I'm a doctor? Can<br />

I do both without compromising both? Gwen is going to California ^or Christmas<br />

vacation. I wish she would come here. But it is only two weeks. What I<br />

need now is a good cry. and a good night's sleep. I shouldn't have had two<br />

cups of coffee after dinner. I could very easily stay up all night- writing<br />

'drivle'; what does one do in situations like these? One should have friends<br />

around that don't mind being woken up at one A.M. just to be some one else's<br />

security blanket. 4 $<br />

axst<br />

JtasxXl.<br />

gunners passing by with no less than<br />

ten-grand-a-month's evil in their eyes,<br />

peering out through the dirty evening<br />

air; covered over with a blueish-white<br />

shiny glare, staring into the evening,<br />

passing through the inhabited towns;<br />

moving onto the open patches of hazy<br />

brown bare worm-ridden land that has<br />

become their tent citv, there to make<br />

their ends meet through the services<br />

of their metal lead-riddled barrels;<br />

out to cast their dangerous noisy ways<br />

in one direction or another playing<br />

the role of the pauper; here to move<br />

the king's pieces around in circles,<br />

as the defenseless stand by in their<br />

suspicious clothes whiting to Hear<br />

crashing sounds coming through mosscovered<br />

•livingrooms only booing that<br />

the next generation will pass on by;<br />

the sacrifices of the present one,<br />

that hides and sleeps underneath rotting<br />

trees; forever growing, as they<br />

grow older under that same old tree<br />

that has shielded many a man before;<br />

seeking that blanket to cover his<br />

trembling bodv running with ^ear as<br />

he sits beneath that tree waiting;<br />

knowing that those who came out on<br />

yesterday evening's train had a job<br />

to do, when will he be given back his<br />

land that was secured by that source<br />

oF strength above? the steel vaults<br />

in which they are enclosed forever<br />

keeping them with their lead-laden<br />

Cain brands, locked up and inside,<br />

living in another Satan-God given<br />

world, the land of the naked<br />

Maurice Gibel<br />


the Genii<br />

Reflections<br />

by Gael Gunod<br />

I suppose Israel has a right to exist<br />

The same as Palestine does<br />

What the Palestinians deny Israel<br />

The Palestinians are denied of --<br />

Recognition.<br />

"Judaism is not a nationality..." [PLO Covenant, #20]<br />

"Palestinians" is a manufactured reality<br />

Recognition denied on both sides<br />

How paradoxical<br />

a week ago<br />

air static with tense anticipation<br />

radios newspapers televisions<br />

marking the hours<br />

spreading uncertain excitement<br />

a week later<br />

after all the<br />

analyses pictures interviews recordings<br />

after all the<br />

flags rugs hopes<br />

have been carefully<br />

rolled up<br />

folded<br />

put in storage<br />

after all the<br />

barricades and bargainings<br />

the Genii<br />

is back in Cairo<br />

the fantasy fades<br />

grows dim<br />

after all<br />

noverriber <strong>1977</strong><br />

Judith mendelsohn<br />

"In todays world no one is innocent, no one<br />

is neutral, a man is either with the<br />

oppressor or with the oppressed. He who takes no<br />

interest in politics, gives his blessing to<br />

the prevailing order..." [George Habash, PDFLP, 1970]<br />

Very well said, Mr. Habash<br />

I have no intention of sitting and watching,<br />

Making no move.<br />

Well, Mr*- Habash;<br />

Well Zionists; Well Palestinians;<br />

And all who choose a side;<br />

I can not condone blind taking for<br />

Nationalistic goals.<br />

"Envy thou not the oppressor,<br />

and choose none of his ways"<br />

[Proverbs; 3:31]<br />

"Judaism is not a nationality..."<br />

"What is a Palestinian?"<br />

May I laugh?<br />

No matter how a nationality evolved,<br />

Whether you consider it legitimate or not,<br />

The reality of the identity exists.<br />

Why look at facts that talk only of the<br />

Past? Let's look at the present to<br />

Build a future.<br />

I CAfJ COA6K<br />

ItfTO A K W<br />

& A U < A U b<br />

o o r r v t o o T W i O G<br />

-TKAvJfiCTAX,..<br />


M a j A u a /<br />

6 6 S t * J S A Y S<br />

H € ' S f f c A W<br />

t o r e v T o<br />

C A I R O . ' / / ;<br />

• W f f c M O t f c<br />

s o f t o a t e v . '<br />

t<br />

H o v e m b e r<br />

\*\ f<br />

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 +<br />

i^\W r>apptr» \f\ fV»t YV\j -vht uray, kiS-Kry is in<br />

■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.<br />

Peace is at hand.<br />

Administrating the "Office of Student Activities" is a<br />

priviledged position. Sharing my period of growth and of<br />

experiences and of learning with other people who are going<br />

through their own voyages of feeling and doing is a cherished<br />

opportunity.<br />

To feel community, to make acquaintances and friends<br />

and share our lives is an honor.<br />

And I am so especially lucky because I have the instruments<br />

to help shape some of the experiences and influence their outcomes.<br />

Lots could have been different, or better. We learned together,<br />

and I grew, and learned a lot from our time together.<br />

I have many questions from my time spent behind my deskhow<br />

could I have been more effective, really reached out with<br />

meaningful programs? How could I personalize my work to<br />

recognize each student as an individual? What do I think<br />

about life in Israel (after all this time), about my direction<br />

and future, and my purpose?<br />

I'm glad to have the questions; I don't mind not having<br />

all the answers, although I'll keep searching for them. I'm<br />

glad just to have been around.<br />

Peace he to all.<br />

O fJ:

Two Roads To Jerusalem<br />

The old road,<br />

drowsy with dusty dirt, lies unused<br />

like the wisdom of an old man.<br />

Its sleeping stones still dream<br />

of calloused feet, of salty tears, of burning blood...<br />

(silently,<br />

a rusty red tank, curled up on its side,<br />

breathes metal nightmares<br />

and bids us to remember) while,<br />

Below, charging in asphalt victory,<br />

the new road darts upward carrying<br />

the smell and rubber burden of progress.<br />

Unaware, with daily speed, it<br />

smoothly, blackly, hotly, travels to<br />

Jerusalem, that sandy city on a hill.<br />

- Karyn D. Schwartz<br />

Sun Streaking<br />

over the sand<br />

awakens us<br />

Rising<br />

you bind<br />

the word of God<br />

as a sign upon your hand<br />

In the way<br />

of our fathers<br />

they become<br />

frontlets<br />

between your eyes<br />

You turn your back upon<br />

The waters<br />

To find Jerusalem<br />

Facing God<br />

bending, swaying<br />

I can only watch<br />

He alone<br />

Can hear your words<br />

as they wind and soar<br />

Flung into the early morning sky<br />

Lost in your prayers<br />

Oblivious<br />

To the rising world<br />

Stepping forward<br />

To deliver your message<br />

Bowing to Heaven<br />

in your fervor<br />

I sit upon the beach<br />

spell bound<br />

by the mystical beauty<br />

of you<br />

so dovout<br />

repeating the prayers<br />

of the centuries<br />

To greet the new day<br />

Short on Time<br />

Two months more of living history,<br />

Then return to the pagan world<br />

I wanted to leave behind,<br />

Never to rediscover --<br />

The trivial things I didn't miss<br />

Home was<br />

an imaginary castle built on the clouds<br />

of TV tubes and lovestories<br />

Mass media filling an empty void<br />

Megiddo's twenty-seven layers<br />

of undiscovered experience<br />

Still hidden in the dust.<br />

No time left to learn your secrets<br />

To feel your timelessness<br />

and inhale your ancient reality<br />

For I must return<br />

to the supersonic age of existence...<br />

by Nina Okrent<br />

--Alayne Rosenfeld<br />


MoV so long ago<br />

5 Q>o rru^ §vrsV OOocado.<br />

U ) a n h o g<br />

to u j a f c h lijjh n a a V u > c a n d s p i e a d<br />

Q jC T O S S m u , uoindoiuSjll^ 5 S O j o e d t he S e e d .<br />

5 look hod ay<br />

CLnd uohah ooas once an unedible. Ic^b Goer<br />

h-as §lcurieHed inha a §u\JLy bloomed planlr,<br />

^y\s roohs ^rroly cluhchlng H\e Soil*<br />

‘-Khe stem vs long ,Solid % broom \n colour*-<br />

Unyielding.<br />

Symmetrical careen leaues erunamenlr ih> body<br />

C in enHrc. stoJk ou.hsbel'ched cxruns<br />

cSeeking rtcurisbmen h and grasping<br />

each nay c$ sunshine<br />

rHly plan/' has ©^peuencad a y e a r's groujlh<br />

Vis hax>s uoe all.<br />

£ ly se ^ern Goldin i

On The Wadis<br />

I am the only one for .miles.<br />

Sitting in my nakedness<br />

On bits of exploited rook and tree<br />

This was Turkish land once<br />

And onee it was the Queens.<br />

Its miles remained untouched<br />

Now it is mine.<br />

The sweat burns off my body<br />

And wets the earth below<br />

Turning it clammy and dark<br />

Now it is mine.<br />

A new dark smell to ccn old land.<br />

Its thirst and consequent drunkness<br />

Are from a riper vintage<br />

Even my Buba has rendered it dry<br />

Stalling now with croaked fingers and eyes<br />

Once courageous 3 now hard like a shrine<br />

While my mother never ventured so near<br />

So it is wet again... and quenched<br />

I sit high upon broken mounds and toilings<br />

and bones<br />

And bake right into the ground.<br />

p K V* m P a - r n a p P aoio<br />

.fnKV fin ^ n i P o V o a p V ? k P<br />

nan n ' w m a<br />

Kim Krasne<br />

Shabbat for Natalie<br />

Sickly pale, two thin candles stand<br />

crooked on a jam jar.<br />

Tall yellow flames, hotly erect,<br />

burn in tradition.<br />

It is better to spend the night<br />

in the desert of the Land of Israel<br />

than to spend the night<br />

in palaces abroad.<br />

Bereshit Rabba<br />

The intimate friends disappear<br />

at the same slow speed.<br />

No tears, in silence, they become<br />

hard wax mounds.<br />

(She sits, staring with her brown eyes.<br />

A Shabbat glow dims her yellow hair.<br />

Silently, without tears, we sweat from<br />

the heat of the glowing candles.)<br />

Narrow wax sticks with defiant<br />

flames- accepting, destroying- reflect<br />

in our faces. At the flames' death, I<br />

look at her and see<br />

hard white eyes staring at the jam jar.<br />

Karyn D. Schwartz<br />


Every individual reacts differently to a change in environment3 in discipline3<br />

in intensity and content of an academic program. Some view the OYP in Israel as a<br />

fresh experience3 as the opportunity to begin again in a more preferable environment.<br />

f>ome view it as a temporary escape from home3 with the inevitable return always<br />

looming in the background. Yet3 whatever one rs personal orientation may be to this<br />

"year away from home"3 it is important not to lose that more general perspective.<br />

Whatever we left behind us3 whether by choice or involuntarily3 we realized that<br />

we could not leave behind certain broader responsibilities that we have carried all of<br />

our lives. One responsibility in particular— that of our role in the larger3 world<br />

Jewish community— will be with us always3 wherever we go. That is why several OYP<br />

students grouped together this year to form the Hebrew University branch of Student<br />

Struggle for Soviet Jewry. Our purpose was mainly one of dispersing information; we<br />

found3 to our surprise3 that the majority of the student community at Hebrew University<br />

was not well informed of the gravity of the Soviet Jewish situation— and that most were<br />

eager to do something to help3 but had never had the chance. We set up tables on the<br />

Givat Ram campus every Thursday with letters3 postcards3 and information about individuals<br />

personally known to students. Many participated in several organized demonstrations<br />

at the Wall for individual Soviet Jews.<br />

One of the most exciting results of our participation in the Soviet Jewry movement<br />

here was the opportunity we received to meet the very people whose freedom we had fought<br />

for in our activist days in the United States— men and women whose courage and dedication<br />

to the freedom and unification of world Jewry in Israel was tremenously inspiring<br />

to us3 strengthening our belief in the necessity of our struggle. We also realized how<br />

many of our fellow students at Hebrew University have close relatives and friends<br />

awaiting permission to come to Israel— and suddenly the repression of Soviet Jewry<br />

became a very personal issue to us.<br />

We have regrets; we had many ideas that were never brought into being. One<br />

(unfortunately) unfull filled goal of ours was to create greater social contact between<br />

ourselves (the OYP) and the Russian students3 so that we could work together with the<br />

Israeli organizations3 and we regret that we didn't have the time or means to achieve<br />

this goal. Of course; we were limited in that3 as usual3 there was a lack of sufficient<br />

help and dedication on the part of the other students. We also realized that we had<br />

the problem of not knowing Israeli society well enough to gauge the reception of our<br />

activities properly. Despite endless hours wasted arguing over tactics and planning3<br />

we are all returning with even stronger feelings for the worsening plight of Soviet<br />

Jewry3 and an enriched dedication to the struggle for their freedom. Undoubtedly we<br />

will all meet at the usual big city rallies next year; and we will also tell others<br />

of our experiences this year3 and bring others to our "cause"— the fate of World Jewry.<br />

And3 God willing3 someday all of us— those who fight for the freedom of the Prisoners<br />

of Zion as well as the Prisoners of Zion themselves— will meet together in Israel—<br />

for good.<br />

Debbie Herman & Beth Huppin<br />

To strive for pure Knowledge for its own sake3 for an almost fanatical love of justice<br />

to desire personal independence— these are traditional themes of the Jewish people;<br />

and thanks to a privilege of destiny3 I am indebted to these for my consciousness of<br />

belonging to this people . . .<br />

Albert Einstein

An Afternoon At<br />

Goldsmith High School<br />

clip clopping clogs forging cafeteria crowds<br />

seeking one 's own<br />

clique<br />

ten minutes till boredom bullshit bullshit<br />

two minutes more<br />

bullshit<br />

time Time Europa Marlboro for the big spenders<br />

ninety minutes of fidgeting and spreading asses<br />

flies frolicking on the desk while a Middle Eastern affairs<br />

"expert" drones on<br />

nationalism spirituality freedom Zionism identity democracy<br />

persecution equality<br />

blah blah blah<br />

dafka it's betah cdai to end now<br />

light up an adult pacifier and split<br />

Debbie Shalowitz<br />



Yes, gather round one and all. Come see the exotic, provocative,<br />

and extraordinary Black women...strolling down King George, checking<br />

mail at Poste Restante, bargaining in the old city, but wonder of wonders...<br />

look Folks, these women even speak Hebrew. It’s -fabulous, strange,<br />

a monumental discovery. If we could bottle and market it, we'd make a<br />

fortune!<br />

This is the exact reaction that Desiree Davis, Cynthia McClendon,<br />

and I (Sheila T.T. Lynch) received on our arrival in Eretz Israel. Peoole<br />

were shocked, amazed, dumbfounded--and I do mean DUMB!! Oh no, not iust<br />

your typical Israeli, but yes, those sonhisticated, cultured neoples o^<br />

the western hemisphere also (U.S.A., Canada, etc.).<br />

There are two approaches used to find out the same general information<br />

:<br />

#l-subtle western style: 'tfhere do you all come from and why are vou<br />

all here?<br />

Assuming naturally that we al1 come from the same place and are here<br />

for the same reason. WRONG!<br />

Then there's another approach:<br />

#2-blunt Israeli style: Bonnie M. ! Idi Amin? "Drome Africa", DIMON\...<br />

DIMONA and most recently, Kunta Kinte!!!<br />

Needless to say...Hey, maybe I do need to say it, we do not all come<br />

from the same place or are here for the same reason or are on the same<br />

program--and, SURPRISE'.! We're not even all studying the same thing!!<br />

Dealing with questions like these all year has, to sav the least, become<br />

a bit of a bore, but one comes to accept oeople's curiositv calmlv,<br />

along with accepting and anticipating their repetitive, asinine questions *<br />

Please, friends, don't get me wrong. There are certain advantages to<br />

being Black in an all White countrv. You have to look awfullv hard to find<br />

them, but they are there.<br />

Example:<br />

#1 It is monumentally easier to sneak into concerts at Binyanei HaUma.<br />

Who else could go to the stage door and claim to be with the band, thereby<br />

commandeering free entrance?<br />

#2 Meeting people is much easier as we tend to stand out in a crowd.<br />

#3 We have no trouble keeping our individual identities secret as<br />

we all look alike to them anywav.<br />

#4 In Israel we are never stuck in one particular role. Depending on<br />

the situation and our moods, we can be elegant Ethiopians, Israeli Yemenites,<br />

pensive Indians, or immigrating Moroccans, We are rarely identified<br />

as traveling Black Americans.<br />

As we have kept our identities secret from most Israelis and Americans<br />

for the entire year (proven bv the fact that people stil 1 mistake us after<br />

ALL THIS TI’IE) , we do not intend to break the tradition now. I'm sure that<br />

when we depart, people will still be confused and wondering...Sheila was<br />

the lighter one?...Syndi sang?...and Desiree wore glasses?...Right???<br />

For those who think the above information is true, look again! You<br />

have one last chance to redeem yourselves.<br />

Black was here for just a year<br />

But with all this crud and all this flak<br />

Who knows if Black will ever be BACK!<br />

Desiree Davis--Sheila T.T. Lynch--Cynthia McClendon<br />

D e c e m b e r<br />

30, H V f r<br />

S W ’5 3 Shitty f I<br />

rv>^il 3L uXiUCS, X WavL 3 "fcrrvbU.<br />

W » m t . -fbr 3 OfcLfcS o r S * , 3*hdL -tfncvx<br />

P o H e n<br />

c r a M i n ®<br />

I C o o l d L<br />

c a r n c b a . c - K .

Peace!<br />

Bub why is it that we only say it<br />

yet never seem to mean it?<br />

Why is it that we all shout "Peace nov)!"<br />

yet never seem to do it?<br />

Why do we always wait for the other guy to start<br />

yet we silently wait °or it to come?<br />

Peace!<br />

Why can't we all work together<br />

so that we can have peace forever!<br />

Freda Rosenfeld<br />


Sun setting over the city,<br />

orange and bright.<br />

Walls glittering, domes sparkling<br />

in the early hours of evening.<br />

The city of gold.<br />

No sight has ever been more pleasing<br />

to my weary eyes<br />

looking home towards the east.<br />

E.F.<br />


To oA\i\oic X ^rm\vcd one.<br />

Wever- \V.<br />

Z b v t 'Nova o S \ .<br />


One Friday morning during the Hanukah vacation, I decided to visit my<br />

friend G i l at Kibbutz HaSnita.<br />

Arriving at the Kibbutz, I went to Gil's living quarters, only to find<br />

him not there. He was visiting relatives in Kfar Blum for the weekend.<br />

G r e a t ! Not knowing anyone else at the Kibbutz, I decided that I would go<br />

back to Jerusalem and have a -pleasant tbiabbat there. This decision came at<br />

2:00. I wasn't real keen on times from place to place, so I thought I could<br />

do it. I hitched a ride into Afula and the experience began.<br />

I caught a bus from Afula in the direction of Tel Aviv. The reason I<br />

say 'in the direction o f is because it stopped at all the bus stops on<br />

the way, and because I was in a hurry, they sent a truck of the bus to. t o<br />

erect extra stops along the way. I was a wreck! I f I had known anyone in<br />

Tel Aviv it wouldn't have been bad, but I didn't. The bus pulled into the<br />

Tel Aviv Central Bus Station at 4:30. Shabbat began that week at 4:37, and<br />

because I don't travel on Shabbat, I figured Tel Aviv was the final destination.<br />

I had planned out my strategy on the bus into Tel Aviv: I would go<br />

to the Conservative Synagogue there (I got the address from a calendar<br />

diary which I had with me) and tell them that I am stranded in Tel Aviv with<br />

no place to go. Then they would take care of me and my worries would be over.<br />

Sure! I took a "special" (25 lousy lirot) three blocks to the synagogueit<br />

was locked. I said to myself in anger, "They must close for Shabbat and<br />

holidays". I was frantic" I t was 4:35 and I just began to walk. I asked the<br />

first person I saw where the nearest synagogue was, and he directed me to<br />

a small, small shtebel across the street. Safe at last! I went into the<br />

synagogue, put down my backpack and sleeping bag and was just in time for<br />

Mincha. We hadMincha, Kabalat Shabbat andMaariv, and we all knew I was<br />

foreign from my garb and my faulting Hebrew accent.<br />

The Shammash approached me and asked me where I was from, what I was<br />

doing in Tel Aviv, and when I informed him of my unpleasant predicament, he<br />

kindly asked me if I had a place to sleep. I replied that I didn't, and he<br />

promptly gave me the key to the synagogue! "We had services at 8:30 tomorrow:<br />

I'll get the key back from you then." He left and there I was with a synagogue<br />

and nothing to eat. I kicked myself for figuring that I would be taken care<br />

of, vowing never to do this kind of thing again.<br />

I was sitting on the ledge outside of the shtebel when the gentleman who had<br />

steered me to this place in the beginning passed by on the way back from services.<br />

' "Did you find the place alright?"<br />

"Yes, I did. "<br />

"And have you a place to sleep?"<br />

"Yes, I did. "<br />

"And you have a place to eat too, I suppose?"<br />

"No, I don't ."M y eyes caught his and he smiled.<br />

"You'll come home with me then," he said.<br />

I had a very,pleas ant Shabbat that weekend withMr. andMrs. Tannenbaum<br />

of #1 Sprinzak Street, andMrs. Tannenbaum's father, an old man who only knew<br />

that which was in front of him existed, like his Kiddush cup, or his chicken<br />

soup, or his glass of soda. I slept in the synagogue and ate with the Tannenbaums,<br />

and when Shabbat was over, 4 r. Tannenbaum insisted upon driving me<br />

to the Central Bus Station where I would bus home to Jerusalem.<br />

u P'RTYa ’<br />

"All of Israel looks out for one another." That's for sure!<br />

Howard Mark<br />

• May 10, <strong>1978</strong><br />


O r a n g e s r e d s s and greens<br />

All so brightly seen<br />

Sounds of people talking<br />

The danoe-like ways of people walking<br />

Oh the adventure of Machane Yehuda<br />

Freda Rosenfeld<br />


25<br />

No matter what language people argue in<br />

their tongues are still tied to their stagnant brains.<br />

So, is progression possible?<br />

Another tower of Babble under construction-

Of Flies and Phantoms<br />

Dahab... I 'm sitting on this beach, nude, and staring at Saudi Arabia... A fricking 15 kms<br />

away.. Israel is at war with them.<br />

In front of me are two young men in uniform. They must be from the base over here, taking<br />

a break, catching the sun...osim chaim, as they say. Everywhere you find soldiers osim chaim...<br />

"doing life."<br />

There is an incongruity somewhere. There is something wrong, something does not appear to<br />

be normal. (Actually one could say it's perfectly normal, but if that is true, then we are all<br />

mad). I can't put my finger on it, this sense of dissonance that dwells (at least) within me,<br />

this inability to understand what's going on, this absurdity... maybe that's the word for it;<br />

absurd- the whole situation here. The fact that in Resnick you are obligated to do guard duty,<br />

that you must watch for "suspicious objects" on buses, that you get searched when entering<br />

Ha-Mashbir, but no one touches you when you leave: you could be ripping the whole store off<br />

and no one would give a damn.<br />

I'm not saying that these precautions are not justified: the fact that buses do get blown<br />

up, as well as universities and stores, warrants them. I'm just saying that the whole damn<br />

situation, along with the "history" and "facts" supporting one side or another are absurdities.<br />

I may question the methods of carrying out the precautions (ride a bus, and when you reach<br />

a check point, who are the police hassling for identification?), but that really isn't the point,<br />

it is just one aspect of the situation.<br />

The situation itself does in fact exist, and must be<br />

approached with an understanding of its absurdity in mind.<br />

You have two peoples, vying for the same land, fighting each other, killing each other, and<br />

refusing to look at one another let alone talk to one another. The fact that someone decided<br />

that this land belongs to<br />

and not to THEM is the core of the absurdity, because who is U§_<br />

and who isIHEM.is not important, because if you look at the nature of the situation as it really<br />

is, as an absurdity, you will see that the US and THEM are the same; thus they are meaningless<br />

concepts.<br />

US is THEM and THEM is US_. it's all the same, just as names are different. (To protect the<br />

innocent?<br />

Who are the innocent?) I mean, what makes being a Jew, or a Palestinian for that<br />

matter, that special in terms of the question to whom does the land really belong? It's all<br />

nonsense.<br />

What gives MS the rvght to claim land as our own, and deny them the same right?<br />

Who is MS. and who is THEM?<br />

Don't start throwing "facts and figures" at me.<br />

I already know them, and if I get riled<br />

enough I'll throw "facts and figures" back at you. The "facts" are not important. Understanding<br />

the absurdity of the situation is:<br />

me of being one-sided) and the absurdity of the people.<br />

the absurdity of the "leaders" (all of them, never accuse<br />

Everything.<br />

Do I have a solution? I have some ideas, but before they can be given the chance to<br />

succeed, everyone has to get thevr shat together, to take thevr blunders off, and check out<br />

the view.<br />

Then they ’ll see how absurd it is.<br />

Ken Kesey wrote,'-"But it's the truth even if it didn't happen." This is the only<br />

country where flies as Well as Phantoms practice dive bomb and air raid tactics.<br />

are driving me crazy.<br />

?q£ qA Eck^tQyin<br />

These flies<br />


Do I really need this place we cal-l home?<br />

I have come to the conclusion: yes<br />

the foreign eyes intimidate me; I am marked,<br />

the lonely man arouses fear in me; I am lonely:<br />

The comfortable feeling that shapes my body to the<br />

hills, is panicking in displacement,<br />

And I wonder, questioning my independence<br />

In necessity of those loving hands, blazing sun,<br />

and cool translucent nights<br />

In search of a place to plant my feet,<br />

dirty my hands, and rest my head.<br />

I shiver at the realization: I have found<br />

the loving hands of G-d -- His omnipotent spirit<br />

His burning soul, and His peaceful eyes.<br />

I plant my feet in the heart of it,<br />

I dirty my hands in the knowledge there,<br />

and I rest my head at the Western Wall.<br />

As true as the sand, my body finds its<br />

curves<br />

in the stones of Jerusalem<br />

-Robyn F. Kapp<br />


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Ah these mountains are old<br />

scarred by crumbling stone walls<br />

by centuries passed<br />

by men plowing stubborn soil<br />

between war cries<br />

and the birth of menchildren (their faces old, so old)<br />

the land is silent><br />

she shows no pride3 no disdain,<br />

she yields her power slowly<br />

she feels the weight of armies<br />

and fallen fruit<br />

rotting in the summer sun.<br />

the olive is twisted: bent gray gnarled<br />

by fierce winds<br />

by scorching sun<br />

by battle waged<br />

man against man against man<br />

by sipping of the fallen blood<br />

the land regains her strength<br />

the olive bears forth her fruit.<br />

judith mendelsohn<br />

all the beautiful images<br />

that i could paint here:<br />

the marvelous land<br />

with its<br />

quaint villages<br />

and their<br />

biblical peasants<br />

toiling donkeys<br />

dusty streets<br />

picturepostcardcharm.<br />

arab villages<br />

jut out in geometric confusion<br />

on slopes falling<br />

from ancient walls<br />

sunlight fails to clarify; define.<br />

mountains shimmer haughtily<br />

in the haze<br />

tauntingly eluding<br />

description.<br />

judith mendelsohn<br />


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7 Tzaye set watchmen upon thy walls<br />

0 Jerusalem<br />

Who shall never hold their peace<br />

day or night.<br />

o i’n *73 a’TDia? ’mpsn d’^ iv vnimn *?p<br />

•urn’ n V t ’on n V *731<br />

30 tn’pe?’<br />

Isaiah 62

South Lebanon, <strong>1978</strong><br />

a gray dampness<br />

shrouds sighing hilltops,<br />

fields, heavy with fallen rain,<br />

sweat in the winter night,<br />

frontier, border,<br />

a mountain ridge,<br />

slender fingers of eucalyptus<br />

tickle thick air playfully,<br />

.deceitfully veiling the movement<br />

of men, arms.<br />

it is. it is.<br />

nearly midnight.<br />

single streak: bristling flashing fire<br />

splitting darkness<br />

silhouetting flat roofed stone houses;<br />

a handful of wooden sentinels<br />

arms raised in reproach<br />

against the burning sky.<br />

pounding of artillery<br />

cracks open the sleeping stillness,<br />

minutes pass- hours,<br />

grinding...<br />

advancing...<br />

heavy tread of grumbling metallic cavalry<br />

moving forward; forward relentlessly,<br />

fighters flying overhead<br />

grim shadows passing stealthily,<br />

curtain rising,<br />

parched,broken dawn,<br />

streets filled with rubble, dust,<br />

blasted rock scattered where bunkers had been,<br />

wide-eyed fellahin tremble shrug watch wait<br />

from behind dark churning smoke,<br />

distant gunfire:<br />

rhythmic dirge<br />

beating as soldiers pick through ruined streets:<br />

beating as fedayeen flee through fields and orchards:<br />

beating as villagers pack some belongings:<br />

in the misty light of morning.<br />

judith mendelsohn<br />

D ry Bones<br />

3 2

Two men stood side by side at a ceremony,<br />

One was a youngster, eager to listen

34<br />

*.Li5*, jirix \.(ytx

Archeology<br />

My site<br />

The abrasive sand curves of Jerusalem's hills<br />

are fertile, just plowed, bleeding in pureness.<br />

You dig<br />

Deep, dark hoping to find a relic, or old dust<br />

undestroyed.<br />

The hills are balding yellow<br />

Every moist corner is naked.<br />

And the seed of your sweat pushed<br />

between sand cells is planted by<br />

your digging, yopr digging<br />

will conceive an oasis -<br />

the birth defect of nature.<br />

Karyn D. Schwartz


Here it is. Another Saturday night in Jerusalem. Three stars sparkling above the Plaza<br />

signify the finish of the Holy Day and the beginning of the Unholy Night. Our story begins in<br />

the Resnick dormitories on Har Hatzofim. In building seventeen, room three-hundred fifty-seven<br />

I, my roommate Barry, and occasional Mechina student Tod, gather to discuss the evening's<br />

coming activities.<br />

"Why don't we go to the Tavern and shoteh some beers?" Tod says, opening the summit.<br />

"Sounds like a fine idea to me," responds Barry, inna fit of intellectualism.<br />

"Great idea, but I hope you guys don't mind paying for me. I'm broke." My comment is met<br />

with some derogatory comments about Jews from Colorado, but the resolution passes anyway.<br />

With the agenda decided, I change into my robe, grab soap, shampoo and towel and send myself<br />

to the showers. On the floor in the shower room is a liquid grime left over from those who have<br />

preceded me into this bastion of personal hygiene. The room itself, is approximately one and<br />

a half meters by four meters and decorated in the colors of the Great Regurgitation. Inside<br />

each of the curtainless stalls can be found three knobs (hot, cold, on-off volume), a soap tray<br />

and a hole in the wall where in civilized countries there is usually a shower head.<br />

Turning the hot and on-off volume knobs to "max," I stand out of splattering range while the<br />

pipes purge themselves of cold water. Tonight, however, I am in for a surprise. It seems that<br />

the Controller of the Hot Water has decided the goose pimples of the Resnick inhabitants have<br />

not been getting enough exercise lately. Nobody told him that Palmach shock training tactics<br />

went out with the advent of the Jewish State.<br />

"Ya.know," Barry gesticulates as he throws a rock at the lamp post on the median, "that the<br />

half of my life that I don't waste eating or sleeping, I waste waiting for Egged buses." The<br />

rock misses the post completely, but succeeds in inflicting enough fear in a Hasid to make him<br />

duck and loose his streimel. Snickering disrespectfully, we all shove our hands into our<br />

pockets and try to look innocent.<br />

"I know what you mean. You know why the buses take so long up here, don't you?"<br />

"No, why?" a bored chorus responds.<br />

"Well, you see, 'Egged' being the fine, outstanding institution of Jewish ideals that it is,<br />

only hires drivers that are imbued with a deep love and respect of Jerusalem and their Jewish<br />

culture. Because of this, everytime they get to Har Hatzofim they feel compelled to stop,check<br />

out a view of the Old City, and stand at attention for a rendition of 'Hatikva'."<br />

We finally reach our destination, the King George stop, after thirty minutes of listening to<br />

hydraulic doors open and close. The streets are crowded with the usual assortment of Israelis,<br />

tourists and half-breeds like ourselves. There are the New Yorkers, gold-laden and selfrighteous,<br />

munching pizza in front of Richie's; soldiers with their shirts unbuttoned to their<br />

navels; teenage girls shod in ten-inch platforms, skin-tight pants, T-shirts professing their<br />

admiration for the U.S. Marines and two and one half pounds of cosmetics. By "Houmous World,"<br />

tien-year old delinquents sit on the railings, firing garanim shells at anyone foolish enough<br />

to walk anywhere within three meters.<br />

Pushing our way through the throngs, the Three Musketeers (alias Blind Mice) assault the<br />

Tavern Bar and Grill. With the door of the iniquitous den open, a stream of stale cigarette<br />

smoke pours forth as if from the nasals of a fire-breathing dragon with emphysema. Coughing<br />

our way to the back room, where strangely enough the air is cleaner, we grab the last available<br />

t ab 1 e .<br />

The conversation throughout the night has vacillitated between women and Zionism. Now, so<br />

drunk we couldn't tell Mordechai from his grandmother, we stumble up to the cash register.<br />

Tod and Barry pay for their respective rounds and go outside into the cool night air. I look<br />

up at the bartender, a huge, burly Englishman with biceps the size of my waist. Extending his<br />

hand, he mutters something resembling "One hundred and twelve pounds please."<br />

I try and hand him my bus card, but he is not very amused.<br />

"Now don't get all upset," I slur, "my friends here are going to take care of me." Turning<br />

towards the door I notice that there are no friends in sight. My knees start to shake a little.<br />

"Listen, if you will just allow me to step outside and get my friends, they will take care of<br />

everything."<br />

"Sorry mate. Can't let you leave until I get the money. Otherwise I'll have to call the<br />

police."<br />

"Let's discuss this intelligently. The funds to cover this debt are presently not in my<br />

possession. If you would be so kind as to let me leave you with a token of my sincerity to<br />

pay, I will go find my financiers and get this little mess straightened out."<br />

"No way bub. This ain't no bank y'know. Looks like I'm going to have to call the cops and<br />

then you can tell them your sad little story."<br />

Just as I am about to resort to tears, Barry and Tod shove their big, Semitic noses through<br />

the door. I shoot an angry glare in their direction which they answer with the kind of laughter<br />

sideaches are made of. As Tod walks in to clear up my debt the door jamb reaches up and grabs<br />

his foot, causing him to fall and knock over a chair, its female occupant, and a glass of beer.<br />

Barry and I join him and the young lady on the floor, gripping our sides in hysterics.-<br />

"Say, 'das a funny one, bubba," Barry chortles, jerking his head like a chicken.<br />

The three of us squeeze ourselves onto the bus as the doors swoosh shut. An old lady that<br />

didn't make it shakes her fist and curses at the lethargic bus driver in Hebrew, Yiddish and<br />

Hungarian. Our night in the city has come to an end.<br />

Robert S. Barron

3 7

Through the year here3 I've really seen Israel as the land, it is; its problems and its<br />

advantages. But when I weigh it out not getting paper bags in a supermarket isn’t enough<br />

to scare me away. I'd much prefer to go to V achane Yehuda with my yellow and purple "sal"<br />

then to go to ASP any day of the week.<br />

When I see how free and easy a life I live here3 I mean never feeling funny about being a<br />

Jew and being proud of it3 i t ’s the biggest convenience I ’ll ever have3 better than a phone<br />

and regular mail service.<br />

you learn is "savlanut?"<br />

And what's so bad about living in a country where the first word<br />

Freda Rosenfeld<br />

Reflections<br />

July 123 <strong>1977</strong>: anxiety 3 anticipation- a BBYO convention<br />

Arrival: bureaucracy3 dissapointment-Jiiryat Rayovel<br />

Israel: heat and wonderment-fear<br />

Bhikuna Elef- fear3 filthy bathrooms3 dirty kitchens and<br />

eating anyway<br />

Ulpan- long3 boredom3 comic relief- i ichael and Carmele: tv H O ’<br />

Resnick- re freshing 3 new •jv ~v=025,^ -<br />

Jerusalem: different and golden— a realization<br />

The Old City: days3 Abu Shukri’s3 Ayoubi Sweets- "You like?"<br />

Sights: a wall3 a church3 a dome- exotic people<br />

Sinai: water and sand; a sun3 a moon and Marty-Survival<br />

School: surviving and knowing3 wine and books<br />

Hofesh: The Galil and Coastal Highway<br />

Friends: savages and patrols3 boys and girls3 earnest or frivolous?<br />

High Holidays: I don’t belong<br />

Bhabbat: Quiet and Immobile<br />

Yom HaZikaron: a candle and a thought<br />

Israel: a bomb3 a gun and murder- death but life and a silent tear<br />

Love3 knowledge3 pride3 remembrance-Israel<br />

A return: Sivan 5738<br />

Barry H. Miller<br />

4/V/78<br />




As someone who, when I arrived last July, had no conception of the<br />

term "aliyah", its meaning, or more importantly, significance, this year<br />

in Israel has precipitated an awareness in me. This awareness was brought<br />

about through a development of thought. While this development began at a<br />

level of naivity rather than ignorance, it filtered through periods of<br />

apathy, guilt, radicalism, and has concluded in a period of contentment<br />

and rationality. It is this conclusion, the result of a series of thought<br />

processes, that I would like to share with you.<br />

The concept of Aliyah,and Aliyah is a concept as it involves not<br />

only a decision, but an ideology and a change in way of life,- first<br />

struck me as unthinkable. Why should I leave the United States, which<br />

has offered my people a place of refuge? Beyond that, Israel simply<br />

would not have been able to survive without her strong«"ally", (I use<br />

quotation marks as a result of recent developments) an ally that supports<br />

and offers nations throughout the world the opportunity to seek<br />

out their legitimate rights to freedom and national determination. The<br />

United States does represent the citadel of freedom and liberty in the<br />

world today. Besides all this, the United States offered comfort, opportunity,<br />

and the freedom to come to Israel. The Jewish part of the question<br />

had yet to enter my mind.<br />

After a month or two of living in the Jewish state, I began to notice<br />

a number Of new things. I was able to travel in a city without ever<br />

thinking of my Jewishness as something foreign; rather, I was at home.<br />

People accepted me on at least one common ground, which was not my<br />

ability to communicate in the Hebrew language. Indeed, places such as the<br />

Kotel on Erev Yom Kippur became my backyard. One thing, however, was<br />

different: the people. While most people, I think, are almost anti-religious<br />

here, many in Israel experience a religious fervor at times and all<br />

are proud and knowledgable of their Judaism, history and traditions.<br />

While being brought into the realization that every Jew in one place<br />

can be proud and knowledgeable of his or her history in Judaism, the<br />

Aliyah spectre reappeared. It now was a spectre because it appeared a responsibility.<br />

The Israeli Jews represented The "front line" of Judaism.<br />

They are the ones who fought the wars, they are the ones who are the<br />

first Jews thought of when a non-Jew discusses politics and they are the<br />

ones who make Jewish life in the world today easier. Why should I be<br />

exempt from these challenges? After all, is Israel not the land promised<br />

to my people in our convenant with God, do I not really belong here?<br />

Is Aliyah not my responsibility also? At this point my thought development<br />

become less emotional and more objective.<br />

While I must admit that the happiness I have in the United States, in<br />

terms of comfort and opportunity, weighed heavily on me, more important<br />

thoughts siphoned through to enable me to reach conclusions. I now understand<br />

all the components of Aliyah-- responsibility, Judaism, peace of<br />

mind, and to an extent , a feeling of guilt because I was in the back<br />

lines of a Jewish identity crisis. However, I was approaching the problem<br />

from the wrong perspective. Why did I not feel at home as a Je!w in the<br />

United States, and why did I feel that the Israeli Jew represented the<br />

purest Jew I had ever encountered? The answers are simple and I believe<br />

they give a new dimension to the concept of Aliyah.<br />

First of all, the problem is the Jewish identity crisis. I did not<br />

feel at home in the United States because I was a victim oF this crisis.<br />

The Israeli Jew, generally speaking, is clear about his or her Jewish<br />

identity within our historical perspective. With this awareness, the new<br />

dimensions to Aliyah emerge. I am not in the back line of the Jewish<br />

identity crisis; I am in the front line. I cannot justify making Aliyah<br />

now. We Jewish Americans are facing a severe problem that we must solve.<br />

This problem is a disease called assimilation. Most of us have suffered<br />

from an abhorent lack of education in Jewish history and traditions.<br />

While Israel is the textbook for Jewish education, Few American Jews<br />

bother to open it. When I say Israel, I do not mean

simply Israel 1948-<strong>1978</strong>, I refer to the Israel that Abraham and God<br />

referred to in a covenant and a promise. The Israel I refer to is not<br />

merely a poetic embodiment; it is an ideal. Israel was given to the Jewish<br />

Pepple.by God,-it is God's part in the bargain. Our part is the<br />

responsibility that we, the Chosen People, have to God. We must deserve<br />

the Land of Israel. We American Jews do not. We must become strong again.<br />

We must become the embodiment of the unique way of life that we were<br />

chosen for. We must again become a community like the citizens of Israel,<br />

whom to me represent Judaism at its apex. As I have stated, this representation<br />

manifests itself not only through religiosity- which by itself<br />

is not sufficient- but through strength, pride and knowledge. We Jews<br />

in the United States, number nearly double the population of the State<br />

of Israel. We must return to the status of representatives, because we<br />

are the representatives of the People of Israel.We are the front lines.<br />

We must uphold our end of the bargain for the State of Israel, or else<br />

I am afraid Israel will once again slip from our grasp.<br />

As a conclusion I would like to reiterate some thoughts that a<br />

professor made clear to me as he was discussing Holocaust Rememberance<br />

Day. In the United States today it seems that personal experiences,<br />

such as the Holocaust, appear to be the impetuses to Judaism's survival.<br />

This is problematic, because without a personal experience, an event,<br />

such as the Holocaust, becomes a mere fact in a history book-- like<br />

the Russian Pogroms, the Crusades, the Bar-Kokhba Revolt, the Exile<br />

to Babylon, and the Captivity in Egypt. Apparently we do not learn from<br />

history. The heart of Judaism is the family and the comminnity. These<br />

are indeed the first impetus to Judaism, yesterday, today and tomorrow.<br />

The beginnings of something great always start with pride and education.<br />

What is necessary is not to build Judaism on anti-Semitism or to bui'd<br />

Judaism on hatred for those who do our people harm, but from within--<br />

on pride, happiness, and the glory of Judaism; History and Civilization,<br />

Tradition and Torah.<br />

How else will Judaism survive in the Diaspora? Which leads me to<br />

ask: Without the Jewish population living in the Diaspora, can Israel<br />

survive? I want my successors to not only be proud, strong, and wise,<br />

but I want them to survive. As Deuteronomy XXXIV:4 relates;<br />

And the Lord said to him, This is the land which I swore<br />

to Abraham, Isaac and to Jacob, saying, I will give it<br />

to thy seed: I have caused thee to see it with thy eyes,<br />

but thou shalt not go over there.<br />

Respectfully,<br />

Barry H. Miller<br />

Iyar 17,5738--May 24,<strong>1978</strong><br />

‘Doonesbury’ by O.B. Trudeau


by Scott Mandel<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO forget you're a civilized person, and take the<br />

manufacturers of Israeli telephones, washers, dryers, etc., and...?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO know why on earth there couldn't be normal pay<br />

phones here, that take real money?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO one day, put your Israeli money to good use--and<br />

play a game of monopoly with it?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO stop being referred to as a tourist?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO put all bureaucrats through the same hassles<br />

that you're put through--every time they want to receive their nay?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO put all bureaucrats who refused to speak English<br />

to you into a foreign country--and watch them try to find a W.C.?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO get mail regularly--like everv day?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO have the Israeli girls chase after the American<br />

guys the way the Israeli guys chase after the American girls?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO see someone discover a D.I.B. repellent?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO send out for a pizza?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO go home and find 147 ways to disguise hamburger<br />

like the Israelis have found 147 ways to disguise chicken?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO go back to the time when you didn't .know what an<br />

eggplant was?<br />

WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO have your family and friends back home be here—<br />

so that there would be no reason for us to leave?<br />


"Shalom, ani rotzeh ticket to France. No, no, wait... make it to Spain,<br />

yeh, Spain, I can get into that". The world is my Super sol as I sit in the<br />

backless chair of the travel agency, bon-vivantly picking the country which<br />

will be my pre-Pesach playground. Eey, after all, I ain't no Isra-eli. I'm<br />

a "chad s h ’natiter" doing a year holding pattern in the airways of life.<br />

i4s long as I am up here in the ozone, why not make a few swoops and see<br />

what is going on elsewhere in the hemisphere?<br />

" O X . we have a Swissair roundtrip flight to Lisbon, or you can return<br />

with El Al."<br />

"I’ll take the El Al. Imean, heh, k'chol v ’levan all the way, go team!"<br />

I take the stack of bills out of my pocket, swallow hard and hand the<br />

total, approximately IL. 3996 and 40 "grotes" to the quadralingual agentette.<br />

I bid her farewell, and ambulate out of the office to go home and pack a<br />

pair of B V D ’s, or maybe even two pairs. All I have to worry about now is if<br />

’ol superfly at the campus bank is going to refuse to give me traveller's<br />

checks and force me to survive in Europe on $37 cash.<br />

The black morning sky covers a silent Jerusalem when, suddenly, explosions<br />

burst forth, sirens scream at a shrilling pitch! I awaken with my heart<br />

beating in overdrive and hands and legs flying in four directions until finally<br />

one of my appendages smashes down on the alarm clock near my head. Just as<br />

suddenly as it began, Jerusalem again falls silent. I am convinced that I<br />

am a masochist to pay IL3996 and 40 "grotes" to wake myself up at 3:01 in<br />

the morning. Well, I am already awake, so I might as well get dressed and<br />

go to Spain, especially since Camp Resnick is low key on the action scale this<br />

week. "Where the hell is my other shoe, dammit?"<br />

This Nesher taxi dude had better show his chassis within 5 minutes or<br />

I am going to get irritated.<br />

Aft the airport, the jet taxis to the runway, passing a star of David<br />

painted on the tail of another jet and I wonder why I am leaving. Six hours<br />

and a stop in Zurich later, I am walking across the runway in Lisbon 's<br />

International Airport laughing simply from the weirdness of all the travelling.<br />

"What the hell am I doing in Portugal?"<br />

A sense of adventure hits me as I rode through the streets of Lisbon looking<br />

for a place to put myself for the night. M y quick impression of Lisbon was<br />

a good one, despite the pissing weather and someone spitting at me from an<br />

eighth story window. I n conjunction with my original plans to wander around<br />

Spain and Portugal in an alcoholic stupor, I treated myself to some excellent<br />

fish and a bottle of red. Finding my pension afterwards was an interesting<br />

experience, being that my main concern was just trying to stay on the<br />

sidewalks and not stagger into a galloping local bus. M y mission was accomplished.<br />

And I was up the next morning and on my way to Spain.<br />

Riding on the bus the next morning into the center of M adrid, I stared<br />

out of the window, 'My 7 od, I'm back in Queens!" Then I noticed something<br />

on the windshield- yes, it was rain streaks. Nothing like sunny Spain!<br />

I dragged my bags up and down the large Spanish boulevards like a wet sponge<br />

playing the old "meet me at American Express" game. I would have gotten to<br />

the office sooner had I not asked a blind man for directions.<br />

Midway through the week I decided to confirm my return flight, just to<br />

be sure. It was then that Swissair informed me that El Al had shut down its<br />

services. M y Spanich vacation abruptly turned into "Operation Evacuation".<br />

I combed every travel agency in downtown 1 adrid seeking an alternative flight<br />

back to Israel. Each "sorry, no places", made my situation so increasingly<br />

desperate that I underwent a personal political upheaval and led myself into<br />

the Lufthansa Airline office. Their price threw me back into the street ^<br />

immediately. M y thought of tramping out of Spain to France, Italy or Switzerland<br />

was dashed by the Swissair agent: "You must fly from Lisbon only, in<br />

order to have your ticket honoured". I couldn't believe it. I was trapped in<br />

Spain! How long could my money hold out? "Won’t somebody please let me go home?<br />

Whatever happened to the Law of Return?"<br />

Finally someone suggested trying the student charter flights, and off I<br />

ran through the hot M adrid subway for the 4th time that day. "Yes, we have a<br />

flight tomorrow, London-Tel Aviv, but i t ’s your responsibility to get to<br />

Lisbon, so come back here when you have arranged a flight there." "Yes<br />

m a ’am". Zoom, back into the streets and down into la 1 etro for a charge on<br />

the British Airways folks. I race to the door of the office, but naturally<br />

i t ’s closed— siesta time until 4 p.m. (a phenomenon with which we are all<br />

familiar). To pass the nerve racking moments, I do up a coffee and afterwards<br />

attend to my business. I have just asked crucial question number one and await<br />

my answer holding my breath- "there ’s a flight leaving ihis afternoon from

Madrid to London." Crucial question number two- "yes, we accept American<br />

Express cards." Victory! Excelsior! But that was only half the objective<br />

in this all-or-nothing operation. Now back to the subway...<br />

"Sorry, but traveller's checks are not acceptable, only cash", said the<br />

student office. Down five blocks to the nearest exchange and back again.<br />

"Sir, you're-100 pesetas short".<br />

"What do you mean 100 pesetas short? Ben zonah'.!" Down five blocks to<br />

the same nearest exchange and back again.<br />

"Aqui. Gracias, y huesto luego." The tickets were in my hand'.M adrid to<br />

Tel Aviv via London. Absurd.<br />

Check this out, everyone speaks English here! And what politeness.<br />

"O.K. chap; sure thing mate; cheerio". I sit down on an airport couch and<br />

whip out Let's G o Europe to get my bearings and locate a decent joint for<br />

the night. I flip to the 0 's only to find p. 284 followed by p. 349. Personal<br />

subterfuge.<br />

"Excuse me, but what's this big box sitting in the middle of the' room?"<br />

"Oh, that's the telee", the cute blond hotel keeper answered, gestering<br />

towards the T. V.<br />

"Yeh, now I remember, you see it's been a while..."<br />

I arrived at London Airport after hopping the wrong train and luckily<br />

jumping off at the right time and place. The boarding call came when I<br />

realized that I had misplaced my army cap, which necessitated my doing<br />

acrobatic leaps and bounds over terminal furniture in order to just barely<br />

be the last passenger to board. It was a small plane, but it looked sturdy<br />

and kicked good power down the runway until it finally lifted off the earth.<br />

Then suddenly came a vertical jolt which made my stomach proof of Newton's<br />

Law of Gravity. At that very moment, I knew I was in for a harrowing experience.<br />

The weather was rough and with each abrupt loss of altitude I contemplated the<br />

Mt. of Olives. Reaching a height above the clouds, the kamakazee stunts<br />

continued and I felt like asking the frustrated Japanese fighter pilot up<br />

front to stop relieving the good ol' days.<br />

The stewardesses had much pity for me, so I asked one to sit and keep me<br />

company, but instead she brought me into the cockpit to speak to Captain<br />

Hirohito himself. I crept into the small switch-strewn compartment to see the<br />

pilot and his co-going through the motions, The navigator sitting behind<br />

them sideways, sipping coffee, puffing on a butt and staring off. I wonder if<br />

he is a blind mute, he went into a short dissertation on high altitude<br />

cross-currents which calmed me for the whole 10 minutes of my stay. I went<br />

back to my seat, and back to my previous condition. Thinking about my relationship<br />

with the good Lord, I was interrupted by a fearsome swoop which drew<br />

an immediate reflexive yell of "Oh Jesus Christ!" Then came the recoil of<br />

"Dammit, what the hell am I talking about! This is no time for mistakes!"<br />

Unfortunately, we were due for a stop in Copenhagen, and it pained me<br />

to know I would have to suffer through another landing and take-off.<br />

Landings were the worst, especially the way Hirohito nearly donated one wing<br />

to scrap metal collections. I also found his vertical descents rather unnecessary.<br />

The stewardess came over to me and said sypathetically, Ofaybe when we<br />

land in Paris you should have a drink." "What did she say??!! Paris?!!<br />

Christ, am I on the wrong plane??! Paris? Aren't we landing in Copenhagen?"<br />

"Yes, but first Paris and then Copenhagen." Inearly lapsed into a catatonic<br />

spell. Could my humanoid system of deteriorating nerves withstand yet another<br />

landing and take-off?<br />

Up in the air again I was given a bottle of cognac which rolled down like<br />

gatorade, but all in vain. M y volume of adrenaline in washed over any possible<br />

effects. Collecting money for the liquer served, The stewardess looked at me<br />

while I motioned for my wallet and said, "Oh, forget it. You don't have to<br />

pay, it's on us." I must have looked pretty bad.<br />

On to Copenhagen with the same vertical descents and one winged landings.<br />

I wandered around the terminal, peering into the grey Danish sky, when I<br />

noticed little white flakes prancing downwards. It was snowing! What a soothing<br />

thought. I suppose the blind mute navigator can use his sonar breath to get<br />

us through this one.<br />

I met Carl in the terminal, a math major from Yale immediately assigned with<br />

the task of calming my nerves. His first suggestion, i.e. to sjt on the fulcrum<br />

of the plane, sounded impressive, so I stuck with him.<br />

"One more landing and i t ’s Tel Aviv thank God", I uttered up in the air<br />

once more. Then the news hit me.<br />

"You know of course, that first we are landing in Athens." Landing in<br />


Athens... Landing in Athens... I heard nothing else after those last three words.<br />

"Noooo, noooo". Satan: five, the Jewish kid: zero. The absurdity forced a<br />

laugh from me.<br />

Israel was just minutes away and the Israeli kids were singing during the<br />

approach. Home at last, after wandering helplessly from country to country. I was<br />

my own martyr making a symbolic return to my ancestral roots. I pulled out my passport<br />

and proudly greeted the customs officer in Bibrew. As she deftly inspected<br />

my visa, she returned my greeting with, "I 'm sorry but you can 't enter the<br />

country. Your visa is expired. " I argued back and wondered why everyone in this<br />

world must act the part of a clown.<br />

October 13, <strong>1977</strong> is the deadline to en*ter the country. I entered in July,<strong>1977</strong>."<br />

"Yes, but you are entering now and it's April, <strong>1978</strong>", she answered. I stopped<br />

for a moment, thinking about that. This clown had a point there and it was serious.<br />

Were they going to send me back to starve in Spain, trampled by charging bulls<br />

and raped by high-heeled flamenco dancers? No, never! I shalt make my last stand<br />

here for my honor and dignity against the aggressive hoards of injustice. Oh send<br />

forth your Uzis and 1-15's and 4 rl6's, for I shall die as a saint and a symbol.<br />

"Excuse me, here's‘your visa, it's O.K%.%now...nuuu? Kadimah! Ain z'man".<br />

Well maybe next time I'll get my chance to be a hero.<br />

It's noon and you've finally decided to do your laundry. (It only took three and a half weeks!)<br />

You pile all your clothing into all the pillow cases and plastic bags you can find and walk<br />

to Building 6. When you arrive, tired from lugging all your clothing around, you discover to<br />

your great joy and amazement that there is no line.<br />

"Ah!" you think, "no line, what luck!" So you stuff all your clothing in the<br />

puor in some TIP (or for a change, BIONESS), close the lid, and start shoving<br />

lj 2, 3, 4 •••f ... , 5.. ., 6...<br />

machine, and then<br />

in the lirot . .<br />

"Hey! Isn't it supposed to start?!" One punch. Another. Then again. Still won't start!<br />

Fed up, you kick the machine. Still no luck.<br />

So you pile all your dirty , soap-fAlled clothes back into the pillow cases and plastic bags,<br />

and get on your way to Idelson.<br />

After waiting two hours for a machine and another three for a dryer, you finally finish.<br />


So carrying your warm, dry, sweet-smelling clothes, you head for home.<br />

it's pouring down rain outside.<br />

Only to discover that<br />





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Jim Turner was one of the few students in the One Year Program of the Hebrew<br />

University who managed to hit some other parts of the Middle East.<br />

Petra -- out of a diary of a trip from Egypt, Jordan, and Syria, Pesach vacation,<br />

April 10-30<br />

April 27: (Up at 5:30. Moving by 5:45.) Hiked around Jerash this morning,<br />

sightseeing and picture taking 'til 9 and caught the bus after breakfast. Made<br />

Amman in good time, got my permit from the Ministry of Interior to enter the<br />

West Bank, and got a taxi to Petra (2JD = $6.60). Arrived Wadi Musa (2:30 p.m.)<br />

-- hiked in through a winding wadi path -- beautiful colored sandstone, high<br />

walls and a narrow path combined with the sunlight sneakihg in to make it very<br />

nice. Arrived at the impressive "Treasury" -- a massive tomb carved into Red<br />

Rock (bought a book and slides, ate lunch). Met Mohammed -- Bedouin seller of<br />

wares -- he found me a tomb to sleep in (3,000 years old) and I talked to 2<br />

Swiss guys there. Being too stupid to make camp before dark, I clumsily, with<br />

full pack and bags, climbed the stairs (rock cut) to the large tomb carved in<br />

the mountain -- ate and slept. My "bedroom" was large -- 1 large room about<br />

20' long and 25' wide.<br />

April 2 8 : I woke at 5:30 and was moving by 6:10. Left my stuff at Mohammed's<br />

store and set out. I saw the "high place" where all the sacrifices were held,<br />

and the nice view. I saw many tombs, large and small, beautifully colored sandstone,<br />

hiked an hour to Ed-Deir, "The Monastery" -- as big as the "Treasury"<br />

and from there looked into Israel -- I even saw the road to Eilat. I hiked to<br />

the rest area in the central ruins and ate, surrounded by 40 kids who watched<br />

mei They spoke their little English and I my little Arabic. We got along fine<br />

and I complimented their teacher on their English. Everyone here is very pro-<br />

U.S.A. I saw the large tombs -- Florentimus, Palace, Corinthian, and Urn,<br />

which I slept in, I saw the Roman theatre and relaxed at Mohammed's store<br />

where the men and boys rested from taking tourists around on horses. One guy<br />

tried to sell me an old stone from a ring for my own ring. The stone had a<br />

Jewish star (Magen David) on it, which aroused everyone else's comments on the<br />

"Yehud" (which I didn't quite follow in Arabic). While being here, as well as<br />

throughout my journey, I couldn't help thinking of it all as "The Gra.ndeur That<br />

Was". All three countries are not as great now. Most of the monumepts celebrated<br />

people killing each other, or their own deaths -- So puny, these efforts<br />

of man, when compared with God's. The Jordanian people are so nice compared<br />

to Egyptians, although Syrians were nicer -- not so pushy, noisy and bakshishoriented,<br />

etc. -- just as helpful and very friendly -- sometimes too friendly,<br />

I just want to be able to talk with someone with whom it will mean something<br />

to me to talk with. So many meaningless conversations...and I'm tired. Three<br />

weeks is enough at this pace. But I'm very glad I've seen it all.<br />

I'm hoping to run into Neil here but no go so far. The colors here<br />

are beautiful -- so many exquisite sculptured rocks -- as much by nature as by<br />

man. I hiked with my stuff up to the treasury, saw Mohammed, and then ran into<br />

my friend Neil! What joy and surprise! I had hoped, but not.really expected,<br />

to see him. I said good-bye to Mohammed, who told me to bring my unmarried<br />

sisters back next time to marry him. (What do you think? Nancy or Susan? ) One<br />

half hour hike to Wadi Musa from Petra. Beautiful trail. Arrived at the first<br />

house -- met up with Neil with his UN crew from Cairo. Showered and he bought<br />

supper even! and a beer, and we sat and talked for a bit. I slept‘Yin his floor<br />

instead of outside -- nice.

Petra-Jordan<br />

thi JumJA cmd J?nmi- thi<br />

mm inotHm.<br />

(fohn MaMifudU<br />

r'liJ<br />


The deep links of the soul to the ancient homeland, to the Hebrew language and to the Book of Books3<br />

these are the mainsprings that imparted the Jewish people the mental and moral power to overcome<br />

all the hardships of alien lands a n d to exist until Redemption comes.<br />

David Benfrurion<br />


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 .<br />

T s r a c l ’s 3

KU' kS<br />

a.'Ah"V*<br />

■\ in S ' n '<br />

iy^hSa TlJ/<br />



"To see the true,<br />

to love the beautiful3<br />

to deserve the good3<br />

and to do the best. "<br />

Moses Mendelssohn<br />



*3urvt. , 1*1 ^"9<br />

X + K-V tvv£. -ted fcj u)Ksv\ I r fs < i e v ^ -Hn* « £ v s t -fuO<br />

€rvVr-»tS in I s r a e l i dl^


" But when I need you beside me, stay close enough to guide me<br />

and confide in me ". Thanx Robyn and to all- P " o ~ luv, Gayle<br />

Sam, I'm by your side- no matter the miles- Sheila<br />

Shelly, can't imagine the year without you. Thanks for making it<br />

even more special. Love always, Sylvia<br />


" What a long strange trip it 's been " (The Dead)<br />

See ya ail later- Peter Eckstein<br />

Robyn, one final song- how quickly i t ’s gone- Sheila<br />

Friedman- " You’re so pathetic, you ’re pitiful "<br />

Mark- Abortions at Heppners<br />

BE, BR, SK- Ya ever try to fit six people in a shower?<br />

Barron- Keep dreaming- I do.<br />

Natalie- meet you at the Wall Rosh Hashana- I'll bring the Torah.<br />

Dear S and S- " And now-ow-ow we will make a jar of Heilman’s<br />

Mayonaise-aise-aise ”. Russian translation: " and now-ow-ow.." Love, F.<br />

If you really want m-y Bedouin hat, i t ’s yours- Be free but be Gayle.I love you, Robyn<br />

Bon- You're a hip woman, but NO TRIPPING ON THE ESCALATOR- Love you ’Bin<br />

Sheila- " There will be another song for me, for I will sing it.."<br />

It would be nice in a duet-Love Robyn<br />

tt<br />

Oo TWH<br />

.. You guys are INTENSE... _P '3 2> ^ ^e<br />

C i O C i j o ?>' ink<br />

TVPLT<br />

To Someone Very Special, You’ve made my year and I'll always cherish what<br />

we ’ve shared. Love forever, Deb<br />

Bar- Some things are still simple: if you tickoo me I sure will gigoo.<br />

See you in Katmandu! love R.<br />

David-t}le best a girl could ask for. Thanks for making this year the most<br />

beautiful and special ever. Forever, Miriam<br />

To the East Lansing Kid: MSU is H in<br />

, but remember Del. isn’t<br />

that far away. especially me will miss your Motown Moves.Love always M.<br />

Dear Greetings, Thanks for making this year more than just<br />

See you in N.Y., next year.<br />

P ^ O<br />

To mu upstairs buddies: This year has been one I'll always remember.<br />

will never be the same again, I promise you all my love, The jersey<br />

juvenile from downstairs.<br />

I<br />

& Elysie: Kiryat Hayovel, Shikuna Elef, Goldsmith "High", and. Resnick.<br />

What a year! & we thought Bldg. #18 was far. What are we gonna do? S & S.<br />

Dear Slvia: What’s going on with you? What can I say 'cept...You made my<br />

year complete. Maybe (baby) w e ’ll even make it through the year. Thanx<br />

for everything. Imean that. Your Roomy

TO: Savages #1-4, The other 2 members of the IDSP, Shimon and Karen, The<br />

General, Jayle and Roz, Deb of Deb and South Africa, Deb of Deb and<br />

Savage #3, Steve and Bruce who's Yankee's won't make it, David, Elise<br />

and Everyone else. Thank you, a soon to be YARD Die A n A j d • *JIA<br />

Hope this makes up for all the butts I bumbed. Edit<br />

" My friends in the prison, they ask unto me<br />

How good, how good, is it to be free?<br />

And I say to them most mysteriously<br />

Are birds free from the chains of the highway? "<br />

Bob Dylan Zimmerman & Ginat<br />

You know who you are, somethings can't be said, I love you. "Windy"<br />


Dear Yossi,<br />

I’ve been back for two weeks now, and my mother's still trying<br />

to convince me that I'm no longer in Israel. You see, I haven't yet<br />

let go of many habits I picked up over the year, and she's ready to<br />

kick me out of the house. It starts in the morning when I cut up tomatoes<br />

and cucumbers for breakfast instead of eating lox and creamcheese<br />

along with the rest of the family. Besides that, I drop everything<br />

I'm doing at approximately 14:00 in order to take my afternoon<br />

nap. We went shopping yesterday, and I tried bargaining with the<br />

saleslady for a shirt. My mother pretended like she didn't know me.<br />

You won't believe this, but before I walked into the department<br />

store I opened my purse for a security check. The absolute.limit was<br />

when I pushed an old lady out of the way in order to get on to the<br />

bus. When my mother gave me a dirty look, I turned to the lady and<br />

said "slicha". Hard to believe? Yeah, well, my mom can't believe it<br />

either. It's definitely true what they say about reverse culture<br />

shock. I really didn't think it would be so bad. They say I'll get<br />

used to it, but I'd rather not. I'd rather iust come back to Israel.<br />

Write soon.<br />

Love,<br />

Sylvia<br />

Sylvia Kilsteii*<br />

q u >4. v O v u u e t v<br />

nAfcwvvxs<br />

OS.A.<br />

Y OSS\ C owei4<br />

K E S M V C V i I<br />

rAT. S copoS #3 £RUSA utM<br />

\Sr A 6 U

The Editorial Board<br />

wishes to thank:<br />



for permission to use<br />


H. Walliek & V. Mellon<br />

for their photos<br />

GINAT CORMAN, Graduate<br />

Intern, Office of<br />

Student Activities,<br />

for being Project Co-<br />

Ordinator & Spiritual<br />

Advisor<br />


Co-ordinator of the<br />

Office of Student<br />

Activities, for being<br />

Technical & Production<br />

Advisor<br />

m ’TUN/<br />

is a stpdent publication of<br />

the One Year Program. Although<br />

the School for Overseas Students<br />

encourages such a project, it<br />

takes no responsibility for the<br />

yearbook's content.<br />

m 1i m<br />

was made possible by grants from<br />

the School for Overseas Students<br />

and the Dean of Students Office.<br />

m ’1OT<br />

was published in Jerusalem by<br />

Graph Press (June, <strong>1978</strong>)<br />

I) Donna Ellis 2) Cindy Singer 3) Gayle Zirulniok 4) Robyn Kapp 6) Ginat Corman<br />

7) Barry Miller 8) Sylvia Kilstein 9) Freda Rosenfeld 10) David S t e m<br />

II) Rick Blumenthal<br />

12) Mark Levinsohn<br />


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