So after getting the extended tour of Tel Aviv after missing my stop on the train and making my way back to the hotel with an honest taxi driver (who I swear didn’t speak a lick of English, making the dinero transaction kinda hard), we had our last dinner with my sister who was leaving a day early. In the spirit of goodbyes I ignored the fact that it took 5 restaurants to finally get one that we all (“we all” meaning my sister) liked. After going to many a restaurant where pork chops were on the menu and the chocolate souffle cake after dinner was (rightfully) served with good old fashioned vanilla ice cream, we actually ended up at a bona fide Kosher restaurant…right on the beach. In fact that’s where this photo was taken.
Good meal. No ice cream with the chocolate cake (booo!). Managed not to strangle sister. Put her in taxi. Go home and chat with mom. Get most inoportune call from 22 year old Nigerian football player. Manage to realize in the nick of time and hang up before contact is officially made. Say good night. Get good night’s sleep. Wake up next morning say goodbye to mom since I’m off with T to her hometown to view this festival they have going on and make my way to the airport later on that night.
So at 10 am sharp I’m standing outside of the hotel waiting for T, who promised to be there at exactly that time. One full hour later she shows up with her cousin/brother/in law/whatever (you’ll find out that it’s hard to tell the difference later on in this blog). She at least apologizes profusely but gives no explanation. I assume it had something to do with the two riding in the front of the car.
We make our way through Tel Aviv with the radio blasting gangsta rap. Side note: why oh why does the worst rap have to be the number one American musical export? To avoid the dirty looks from old Jewish men driving around us, I decide to go to sleep…or at least pretend to.
At some point the music gets turned off. I wake up to see what the deal is and find nothing more than the car entering the on ramp to the freeway. All three of the other passengers have started praying, which was far more awkward to me than getting dirty looks from old Jewish men on the road. Of course as soon as it passes the gansta rap goes right back to full blast and the driver continues his litanyes of the Mother Fucker at everything that pisses him off on the road.
The whole trip lasts a good hour and a half so we take a bathroom break during which they get french fries (which they then put ketchup and mayo on…yuck!) and I try my hand at the Doritos which have not a lick of English on them. I have to choose between the yellow (plain I assumed), red, black with red peppers on the cover and this, which I, very mistakenly, assumed was guacamole:
It was some sickly sweet concoction which cemented my desire to return to the US and enjoy normal good old fashioned American fiery habaneros doritos.
I guess I should at this point explain what this whole trip was about. Basically in Dimona, which is the bona fide desert portion of Isreal, there is a group of African Hebrew Isrealites. Apparently way back in the 60s a small group of black people took Dr. King’s message about “getting to the promised land” a little too literally and decided to head over there. There being, of course, Israel. Again, I’ll let Wikipedia explain it for me. T, and her “relatives”, are all members of this community. Which is apparently still going strong.
After a series of introductions to this family member and that one, I’m finally passed off to a cousin of T, Naomi, who turned out to be a very gracious (and informative) hostess…with the world’s most adorable baby.
Because T made it pretty clear that they were a “conservative” group (is there any group in Israel that isn’t?), I wore the one peice of “conservative” clothing I had, the black skirt which reaches firmly below the knees. She also made a point of telling me that “no one has to know about the nightclub!” Duly noted. I was feeling quite comfy as Naomi explained to me that on the first day of the festival everyone wears the same color (this year being red), and since I was dressed all in black she had some red pants I could change into so I could fit in. I got the idea it was more of a subtle hint than a suggestion. Sigh….
Because she was busy cooking she put her daughter (7 months) on the bed in her bedroom where I was changing. This is the part where all moms should take note: just because a woman has a vagina, does not mean she has a maternal instinct. That stuff is obviously learned. Case in point:
My point of view: Baby crawls around on bed, gets to edge of bed, sees big drop, does what any rational human being would do…stop.
Mom’s point of view: Baby crawls around on bed, gets to edge of bed, sees big drop, doesn’t have the since god gave a rock and proceeds to “learn the hard way”.
Before you get to thinking I would have sat there and watched as the baby crawled right off the edge of the bed…I didn’t! I’m not that lacking in maternal instinct. I did however get a sigh and an “are you nuts” look from the mom as the baby started making a bee-line for the edge while I sat there assuming the above. You can add this one to the list of reasons why I shouldn’t be a mom.
After changing into my non-sluttly clothes, I went back and sat with Naomi in the kitchen while she explained all about this nice little community of theirs. You kind of have the jist of it from above. Here is the rest.
They are vegan (boo!), English and Hebrew speaking, polygamous(!), all natural, non substance users (boo!), but they do make their own wine (thank goodness for the bible). As it turns out Naomi was the second wife of her husband.
That’s why familial relationships there are so…complex. Number one, it’s a tiny community of maybe 1,000 people. So even if you aren’t directly related to someone…chances are you are still related somehow. Add to that, the fact that most men have more than one wife (and thus most children have more than one mom), well you get it. Oh, and the best part is…they aren’t allowed to practice birth control! So there ya go. Of course Naomi explained to me that if a woman is “especially fertile” they have a drink she can take to tone things down a bit. Considering she herself had 10 brothers and 3 sisters, I hate to think what “especially fertile” means.
But I feel like I’m being unfairly judgemental. Aside from this lifestyle obviously not being for me (I love meat and would go nuts from having that many kids), the only real issue I take is with the polygamy. In actuallity I honestly don’t think I would mind it. It’s just the principal of the thing. The vegan food actually turned out to be not that bad…despite making my digestive system a little too operational later on.
After we (as in she, while I sat there and watched) finished cooking we went over to the festival. This was one of those fortuitous events that you are so glad you got to take advantage of because when the hell else are you going to be surrounded by a bunch of Hebrew speaking black vegans (and the sprinkling of open minded white people that always congregate to these sorts of things) while they have their annual day of celebration? It was so absolutely awesome. The rest is just photos…which I originally hesitated to post because it had this whole National Geographical feel to it, but I’m open to sharing.
The sign over the village itself:
Part of the village:
Everyone dancing. Two things to note: most of the women don’t relax their hair (god bless em!), they all went natural or had these intricate braids (all theirs, no synthetics), which must have taken forever to do, but looked amazing. Also, all of these outfits were hand made, which almost made me sign up right then and there. I love sewing! Each family had it’s own little design sewn in with the standard red. The white with red flowers you see between the two men was that of Naomi’s (that’s her bio mom dancing):
Watermelon was the food of the day [insert exasperated sigh here]. Side note: I hate watermelon. It’s disgusting and messy to eat, but I ate it to be nice:
It’s hard to tell from this but they are doing something called the Nations Dance…aka Soul Train Line:
This was the stage with some preformances:
Some teenagers rapping. Naomi made a point of detailing how they didn’t use any curse words or racial slurs. In fact the whole village is pretty much crime free:
The children (and believe me, there were A LOT of children, way more than this) dancing:
One adorable little kid nearby:
Later on there was the parade in which all the youths marched/danced into the center square. I wish I had video because photos don’t do it justice: These are the young men:
Young women:
The soliders (despite Israel refusing to acknowledge them as full citizens they do their duty to the country):
Teenage girls:
Teenage boys:
So obviously I could never join this community. I refuse to dance in public…at least not sober.
Afterward they had this awards ceremony for the “veterans” of the community. Apparently the first people to start the village stopped over in Liberia for 2 years to “cleanse” after leaving the US, which was a bit of a struggle. People got really teary eyed over this. Despite their rebellious tendencies to listen to gansta rap and go to night clubs, everyone really loves it here:
Then there were more presentations.
A group of women dancing to step aerobics:
Some guys doing martial arts:
There was a show that was set to start at 8pm. I had to catch a 1 am flight, and it supposedly took 2 hours to get to the airport. So I was supposed to leave at 9. We were all hoping that I could get to see some of the main event but, of course, it didn’t start on time. No comment.
But what a treat! And totally a matter of being in Israel at the right time and knowing a local.
After being handed off from one relative to another I finally ended up with the brother-in-law of somone’s cousin who drove me to the airport, making absolutely sure that I learned all the benefets of living in the community and listening to their gospel music all the way there. He was a nice enough fellow but I was far too anxious about making my flight to care. I wish I had though…I only discovered upon hugging him goodbye that he was a wonderful treat for the eyes.
In fact, one thing I took away was that everyone there looked superb. Obviously vegan living has it’s benefits. Maybe it’s that or maybe it was having been surrounded by them for a good 12 hours straight, but I came back with a healthy appreciation (and strong craving) for black men.
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1000 Bottles of Sand 