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Eating my way through Israel on a Birthright trip

At first, the idea of going on a Birthright trip seemed silly, at best. I’d already been to Israel, twice – once on a family trip when I was 15 and first exposed to lax drinking laws and Jewish college boys, and again before my senior year of high school, on a Write on Fellowship trip.
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September 4, 2014

At first, the idea of going on a Birthright trip seemed silly, at best.  I’d already been to Israel, twice – once on a family trip when I was 15 and first exposed to lax drinking laws and Jewish college boys, and again before my senior year of high school, on a Write on Fellowship trip.

Both visits to Israel had been positive experiences, enough so that I attended a J Street conference in 2013 and subscribed to various Israel- related e-newsletters, but going back on an air-conditioned tour bus through Jerusalem, presumably with a group of people who were trying to brainwash me to make Aliyah, wasn’t high on my to-do list. There was so much more of the world to see, and my politics seemed far left of the Birthright agenda. 

When my mom (who else), sent me a link to the application for a culinary Birthright trip, I was slightly intrigued. I’d been working since my graduation in May 2013 as a freelance food writer and was about to embark on a month-long trip to Spain and France to eat and write.  A free opportunity to do that same in Israel didn’t seem so bad.  Plus, Jewish parents like it when you do things like apply for trips to Israel.

During my Birthright interview, which took place over the phone while I sat at an Arab café in Greenwich Village, I explained that my relationship with Judaism had changed over the years, partially due to my education at the Jewish Theological Seminary and also thanks to all the changes that happen in your twenties.  I explained that I no longer kept kosher, although I had been raised in a house with strictly separate dishes, and that food and Judaism had an important connection to me.  I also spoke about the menu at my Bat Mitzvah.  Clearly, no one was going to pick this hedonistic freeloader for a Birthright trip.  But Israel Experts did. 

On June 29, I headed to JFK International Airport to meet my best friends for the next two weeks. I hadn’t packed hiking shoes or a flashlight, because this was a culinary trip, not an adventure trip, and I had bought an international iPhone plan, so I could be as antisocial as possible. Again, I was a great candidate to take up a seat on the bus. 

After several unappetizing kosher meals on Austrian Airlines (and yes, I shamelessly begged the crew for the traif schnitzel, but no one obliged), we finally landed in Tel Aviv. About half of our group (none of whose names I knew at the time) had never been to Israel and was already overwhelmed with the foreign characters printed on the signs and all the ultra orthodox men hustling to daven mincha before passing through customs.  I rolled my eyes. Ten years of Hebrew school and a bachelor’s in modern Jewish studies overprepared me for this. Plus, I was hungry. Really hungry. 

We boarded a Coach bus that headed north to Shvil Izim, a goat farm where we would have orientation and our first meal in Israel. The whif of goat pens was soon overpowered by the scents of fresh salads, pasta, and a spread of cheeses, olives, and dips that quickly swallowed any qualms I had about taking two weeks off of work to go on this trip.  Many say that stepping of the plane in Israel makes them feel home, for me, it was that first bite of goat cheese. 

Our days soon filled with tours of holy and historic sites (I’d seen them several times before and may have ventured off to get international flavors of Manum bars not available in the states), meals at recommended Israeli restaurants, and plenty of frappe-style iced coffees that Birthright kids are all known for becoming “obsessed” with. 

The touring was enjoying, I brushed up on my Israeli history and geography, remembered a few Hebrew conjugations, and tried to appreciate the sites I’d seen before with new insight and perspective. Despite my original grumpiness, I knew I was extremely lucky to be on this trip. I’ve been fortunate to travel to many countries and continents, and getting to know these places via their cuisine, their daily meals and routines, helps me feel connected to the foreign destination as must more than a place on a map. 

It wasn’t my third visit to the kotel or another walk through the streets of Tsfat that renewed my love for Israel: it was the people. And perhaps more importantly, the food these people made.

We visited a Druze village for a cooking class, where we learned to make sambusak, tabbouleh salad, and stuffed grape leaves (which mysteriously disappeared before dinner, so maybe we didn’t really learn to make them correctly), and sat down to one of the best meals I’ve ever had adjacent to our instructor’s home.  Despite a few language barriers and perhaps an inability to correctly roll dolmas, the hospitality was incredible, and the desire to share the flavors and culture of the region was addicting.

 

Stuffed artichokes from The Culinary Queens of Yerucham

The Culinary Queens of Yerucham, a group of women whose children are out of the house, warmly welcomed us into their empty nests with plates of homemade, still sizzling schnitzel and couscous and stuffed artichokes. If their dining rooms weren’t in the middle of the desert but in Manhattan, there would be a month-long waiting list for a table, I joked.  But it was true: all the Israelis cooking for us were there, sharing their food, and we were somewhere else, living completely different lives.

I didn’t know what to do when I got back from Birthright. As we discussed in our closing session, talking about the experience with people who were not on the trip would be difficult: How could they ever understand? And what would we want them to understand? Birthright had done a decent job of educating us on the history and current events of Israel, our tour guide, David, open to questions about Palestinian rights and statehood and Israeli immigration issues, and I never once felt pressure to become more religious or even consider moving to Israel.  I took away a greater appreciation for the region, an understanding of individuals rather than just a group that we talk about in discussions about politics.

So I cooked.  I loaded up on purple cabbage and tomatoes and cucumbers and tahini and goat cheese and eggplant and ptitim (Israeli couscous) and chickpeas and olive oil and Halal ground lamb from a butcher in Queens and I cooked.  I cooked and I fed my friends and told them about my Israeli meals, and made them clean their plates like the good bubbe that I am. And I continue to cook with the recipes and inspiration I gathered in Israel.

Coucous from The Culinary Queens of Yerucham

Sentiments regarding the conflict in Israel are difficult to voice, almost impossible if you don’t want to offend one group or another. But the tastes are easy. We may not understand the conflict, may not know how to mediate Palestinian and Israeli peace, but the flavors and recipes humanize the struggle and hopefully make us stop and remember that a war going on thousands of miles away, in a foreign, distant, and delicious land, is so real, you can taste it.  

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