Jerusalem Yom Shishi & Erev Shabbat

Going to Jerusalem I completely indulged myself. I took a taxi. Nothing like door-to-door service to make me feel like a princess.

I’m traveling here to see my friends from Toronto. A couple that got married and two days later came to Jerusalem to study.

Arriving, something unexpected is happening. I feel a wave of emotion. Not because I'm in the "Holy Land"

It's if my soul is grounded in perfect alignment with mind and body. As if in another life I was a Jewish man. Yiddish Nefesh is the perfect expression. It means Jewish soul It is the ultimate affirmation that the path I’ve been and my as my Jewish identity has been with me my entire life.

I check into the hotel close to the old city, with only a few hours to wander around. The main attraction The Western Wall (Kotel) and simply being in the oldest urban environment I’ve ever experienced.

On my way I stop in a store. I’ve been meaning to buy a ring.

The man of Arabic background, a bit overweight, is helping me. Suddenly he asks me. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No, I'm single."

"Why not??"

It's Jerusalem, not Tel Aviv, "I guess I just like it that way."

Later on in our discussion he then asks me to go for coffee. "Please, I invite you for a coffee, no business."

I respond telling that I do not have much time (which is true and I just arrived). He still keeps asking, "We go now."

"No I can't, I have a very limited time here, and I have to meet my friends in a few hours."

What is this really about? If he’d been hot, I might have gone for the coffee.

The Old City right before Erev Shabbat (Shabbat evening) is intense. The local ultra-religious are out in droves preparing. Not to mention all the tourists. Even I’m sick of them. So many tours from countries all over the world, even the odd guy dressed in what would look like a Jesuit costume from the 1500s walks by.

The market is the most incredible one I've ever seen. It is a spider-web of old very narrow streets lined with vendors as far at the can see. Soon I leave as there is nothing I want to buy, and I’m getting claustrophobic 

It is a mitzvah – duty, commandment to give to charity (tzedakah) just before Shabbat begins at sun down I give some tzedakah to a man from Chabad, a group that I know. But then ultra-orthodox men keep asking me. They use the mitzvah guilt. I’m shocked at the way they ask. It’s more like a demand. And the amount! Not a couple bucks, more like 20 to 25 dollars.

I gave twice more, but not what they were asking, 50 to 100 Shekels. My ride from the airport was 147 Shekels to put in perspective. These men are starting to feel oppressive. I start to resent them. I’m writing my journal quietly and I’m interrupted yet again.

It’s the sense of entitlement when they choose to be orthodox, have 10 kids, and then expects everyone one else to support them. Welcome to the struggles of Israel with their Haredi Jew question.

Finally I make it to the Kotal. I'm fixated to getting to the wall. Without thinking I just walk into the first entrance. A woman starts following me. I think she is asking me for money. She looks kind of grubby all dressed in grey with a grey scarf on her head. I look at her thinking, "Go away will you."

I continue, she turns into a crazy woman. Her eyes are wild and she is screaming. The image will be forever etched into my head. If you could imagine take a photo of a woman screaming just after a bomb went off, you got the picture. Suddenly I am thrust into a Time magazine "photo of the week"

"Will someone please intervene here." floats through my conscience while I’m trying to integrate all that is happening.  A "nice" English speaking woman tells me I'm entering the woman's only partition of the wall.

Fuck I feel really stupid now. However, apparently this happens more often that I thought, and I’m not the only one.

This image is from a Tel Aviv Beit Tefila, Kabbalat Shabbat on the beach

It is now time for me to get back to the hotel, shower and change for my next destination. I’m heading out to meet my friends for this musical Kabbalat Shabbat service that is very unique. Nava Tehila meets monthly and is a very cool eclectic kind of like hippy-Jews both young and old alike. There is even a nun dressed in white a brown almost looking from a medieval movie. I see a harp, several acoustic guitars, percussion, and saxophone in the inner circle of chairs.

My friend greets me as soon as I come in. “Find a seat, and we’ll join you after.”

We get started. The chanting it feels as if I’m being cleansed form the obsessions, the fears, the worries, and whatever keeps me entrapped in negativity. Slowly the large air-conditioned basement fills up with well over 100 people.

In a personal reflection moment, I think about how shy I was to enter the Jewish community, and look at me not too much later. I’m full of confidence, using Hebrew only handouts and taking it all in. It’s far cry from that day I walked into my Synagogue and talked to my Rabbi about conversion.

We then head over to my friend’s friend who kindly invited to her place for Shabbat dinner. Ruthie, in her 60s, and always looking for an adventure, I admire her. The guests were in their 20s to 60s. How refreshing.

Hours were spent chatting about everything from Rob Ford to Monty Python. Everyone is super welcoming. Here we are not strangers, just people who just need to get to know each other better. Ironically, this is the most time I’ve spent with the Toronto couple, than in Toronto.

The only problem was that there was only wine to drink. I did not think to bring a bottle of water. The host has nothing non-alcoholic and offers me water. I'm so thirsty I drink a couple small glasses in a row. Later on the penny drops, "FUCK THAT IS NOT BOTTLED WATER." 

Drinking tap water is a shitty thing to do - there's a pun in there. In the middle of the night the games began. I can only hope it's not major.

This morning the same taxi driver came and picked me up. Again I feel like a princess. What a whirlwind 24 hours.

Adventures in Storytelling, The Tel Aviv Edition

My plans for this night is to attend the StorySlam: Adventures in Food.  I figure this has to be in a restaurant or something. But, no it’s not. It is in a location where starts to feel like no-mans land as I am entering an industrial area. I am as directionally challenged as my dyslexic-like ability to spell, just to give a bit of context.

I manage to navigate my way there on foot without too many problems but still I felt so unsure of where I was going. Only once I went the wrong way and had to back track. But it still took me a long time to get there.   

The venue, as it turns out is a beer distillery called “The Dancing Camel” Approaching the door I see a sign, “Storyslam, Yes you found it, come on in.” At least I’m not the only one. Apparently they changed locations as the last month they had over 100 people. It’s the only show of this kind in English.

Just around the bar is a friendly woman with short brown hair sitting on a story, “Are you here  for the storyslam?” It turns out she has family in Toronto. When I give her my card for my (and Erin Rodgers) show Tales of…. She says, “Oh Bloor Street, great location”. Her name is Xoli, and I’m sure to fuck this one up. You know me and names.

Coming back I’m asked if I wanted to tell a story. I wasn’t expecting this. The theme is food. Do I tell a story or not. If I don’t I’ll be pissed off at myself afterward. I put my name down on a piece of paper and throw it in a bucket.

Soon all the organizers knew there was a guy from Toronto with a storytelling show. I feel special, yet pressure now. I better be fucking good after the buzz that is happening now

The host for the evening produces the show has a TV show on a local Israeli station about restaurants. He says it’s similar to what English TV does, which I’m not sure what that is. He is super nice.

Despite me getting lost I’m still really early. Outside I’m chatting with ex-pats from all over. I feel a sense of camaraderie of the ex-pats and performing community. One Persian-American woman from LA and super outgoing tells me she is friends with one of the guys on the reality show “The Shahs of Sunset.” She pulls out her phone and shows me a photo. I’m now in love with her!

A couple other people just out of the blue introduce themselves. How un-Toronto. Compare and contrast.

  The original woman I meet, and her husband own a very well known café called XoHo, based on putting letters from both their names together, now have multiple initiations from them and others who work there to come down and visit.

Prior to the show, they have a musical act playing mostly bluegrass kind of blues complete with Harmonica and violin. They are amazing, and a bit Hipster looking. Voilà, I finally found some. I knew there are here somewhere. But Hipster-Jew with a tzitzit, attached to his guitar belt (this is the fringe that is found on a prayer shawl).

Suddenly I realize, these are the guys I had been listening on YouTube performing “The Roommate Song” at a different venue. Wow, I’m amazed at how this is coming together.

Sitting on a stool I realize that there is an orthodox Jew sitting behind me complete in a black hat. “Ok this should be interesting” as I project all my pre-judgments on him.

It turns out he is Yisrael Campbell, the very one who is a successful comic, actor and has the acclaimed one-man show called “Circumsize Me” that 

.played in Toronto. More and more I’m realizing I’m participating in something really special

When it comes to Storytelling show time, I know what story I will tell. It is about the time I made pot brownies and had to go to the hospital with a   cold-induced asthma attack and ate the brownies.

When it comes to loto spots, I either never get them, or I’m last when there is no longer and audience. He picks a piece of paper and reads it, “Our first storyteller of the evening is Brian Finch.” “Fuck” is going through my head, as I’m nervous. This is the first time performing in a different country.

I tell my story, and I kill. I don’t say that often. If I sucked, I’d say so.

After the show, the all the producers tell me how much they enjoyed the story and how great that I was the first one up to start the show. Again, Wow! I was scared, and I get this wonderful warm reaction.

Now I’m invited to future musical events at this venue.

It’s official I have fallen in love with Tel Aviv.