On a Thursday night, I hopped a night bus from Tel Aviv to Eilat with Rachel and Adam, my two travel companions. We reached the Taba land crossing that night, only to learn that we had the wrong visas and would have to wait until Sunday to return to Eilat, visit the Egyptian consulate and get the proper visas for Cairo. In the meantime, we decided to make the best of the situation and check out the one place our visas would allow us to visit: the Sinai Peninsula.

The Egyptian border crossing at Taba

How can I describe Sinai? The words beautiful, desolate and free are what come to mind. The beauty of Sinai, an area of deserts nestled between mountains and the ocean is obvious. The coastline itself, from which one can see Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia, is simply breathtaking.

The Sinai coastline.

The desolation of Sinai is also obvious. Terrorist attacks throughout the past several years have drained a potentially booming tourist infrastructure. Shells of half-finished and abandoned hotels line the Sinai coast. Capitalizing on the continuing flow of tourists, several entrepreneurs have planted low-cost tourist camps along the beach, each of which consists of huts, Turkish-style toilets and a restaurant.

The mountains loom behind the tourist camps in Sinai.

These tourist camps (called Hushot by the mostly Israeli tourists who frequent them) bring relaxation to a new level. Guests remove their shoes and their watches and simply pass out on mats all day, periodically swimming, drinking or doing other (ahem) recreational activities. Upon arriving on the Egyptian side of the border, I started asking Israelis about these camps and ultimately decided to hop in a shared taxi with several strangers and go to “African Toukl,” one of the many camps between Nuweiba and Taba (where the border crossing is located).

I am forever thankful that I ended up at African Toukl.

Relaxing at African Toukl

The Toukl is run by Juma, a Sudanese man who made the most amazing food, provided that you order it three hours in advance of when you want to eat.

Freedom is synonymous with the native inhabitants of the Sinai, the Bedouin. The Bedouin of Sinai, historically nomadic, Arab and Muslim pay no nation any loyalty. Being a Bedouin means that your home (even those in houses still have a tent next to the permanent structure) is your castle and that you answer to your own laws. For me, the Bedouin freedom translated into a feeling that I wasn’t truly in Egypt or even in any country, but rather in a place where nationalities, religion and all things concrete began to blur and I simply embraced the relaxation. To sum it up, I’ll quote one of my the Bedouins whose acquaintance I made at the Toukl, Mohammed (who also claimed to have 100 wives):

“I’m a fucking Bedouin man, I’m free.”

Our new friend Mohammed regales us with stories.

In any case, our time in Sinai wound down and we made it to Eilat (crossing the border a second time) and got the proper visas for Cairo. The road to Cairo was bare and, upon arrival in the bustling hive of more than 26 million people, we were plopped in the middle of the most chaotic intersection I have ever seen in my life, Midan el Tahrir.

Cairo hosts no true traffic lights and no real lanes. Cars go when they want and pedestrians cross the street like an odd game of Frogger, simply walking in front of cars and expecting them to stop. Cairo is a big, dirty city but one that has an undeniable charm. Cairenes are cosmopolitan people who were remarkably friendly to us Americans (granted, we neither told them that we were Jewish nor that we resided in Tel Aviv).

So, if you are ready for it, below are the shots you’ve all been waiting for. Yes, I saw the Pyramids and yes, I saw the Sphinx.

Camel...the best way to see the Pyramids

The Sphinx

The entrance to Dashur pyramid. The inside of a pyramid is hot, dark and reeks of ammonia.

Outside the Egypt Museum - yes, I saw the mummies.

From our hostel, we booked the rest of our trip, in which we took a night train to Aswan, a tourist city along the Nile in the Nubia region where one truly realizes he or she is in Africa.

Entrance to the Aswan souq.

Philae Temple

In Aswan, we booked a 3 a.m. journey in a police convoy (the only way to go, as the site is only a few kilometers from the volatile Sudanese border) to Abu Simbel, home of awe-inspiring temples built by the Pharaoh Ramses II.

Abu Simbel

Upon returning to Aswan, I boarded a Felucca, which is a special boat that goes up the Nile and upon which guests eat and drink all day and sleep on deck.

Our Felucca boat, along the banks of the Nile.

Captain Jack.

Our Felucca captain, a Nubian man who preferred to go by the Pirates of the Caribbean-inspired pseudonym “Captain Jack,” was a hilarious, intelligent and delightful entrepreneur. Captain Jack cooked for us and told jokes and stories as the sun went down over the Nile. As I became more comfortable with Jack, I took the risk of the century and told him that I had come from Israel. Silence ensued as I waited for his response (and wondered if my travel companion, Rachel, was going to jump across the deck and wring my neck). Interestingly enough, Jack was honest and level-headed in his response. Instead of throwing me overboard or spewing anti-Semitic venom, he proceeded to speak from his heart.

“Israel and Egypt will never be friends, not after what they have done to our brothers,” he told me. However, he said, person-to-person, he knows that there are good and bad Israelis, just as there are good and bad Americans and good and bad Egyptians. He looks at people as human beings above all else and has hosted several Israeli guests (including a honeymooning couple for 12 days) on his boat. The dark of night touched the Nile and, amidst the cricket chirps, I fell asleep feeling safe, hopeful and overall trusting of humankind.

Night falls on our Felucca and over the Nile

As I made my way to Luxor in an sweltering cab, I looked out at mud brick villages, whose streets were lined with garbage and where poverty like I had never before witnessed was the norm. It was around that point that, for the first time since I had gotten to Israel, I started to feel homesick. The feelings weren’t, however, a longing for any specific place or person. It was more a sense that this country, a Muslim, Arabic-speaking African nation, was a place where I would never belong, no matter how hard I tried. With these thoughts in mind, I made my way up to Luxor, stopping at Kom Ombo and Edfu temples along the way.

Relief of the Croc god Sobek at Kom Ombo temple.

Exterior of Edfu Temple

Luxor, once the ancient Egyptian capital of Thebes, was another booming tourist town, where mosques, hotels and Pharoanic temples vied for space.

Luxor, from our hotel rooftop.

From Luxor, I toured the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens, where I entered the tombs of Egyptian royalty. I also visited the Temple of Hatshepsut, a female pharaoh (gasp!) whose memory was erased from much of history by her successor.

Hatshepsut Temple, near the Valley of the Kings.

It was in Luxor that I decided that I had had enough of getting ripped off merely because I was a tourist. Unfortunately, foreign tourists in Egypt are subject to higher prices for everything from food to tours. When one goes to the bathroom, he or she is expected to pay not just the entry but also for the toilet paper. Security guards at temples will shine a flashlight on something for you, only to nag you for 5 pounds for what you thought was a favor. Lost in an alley and need directions? Better have some “baksheesh (the name for the habitual tipping system)” on hand.

Why am I so annoyed by baksheesh and overall predatory tactics towards Western tourists? Mainly because, while in Egypt I came to a stunning realization:

These people are so lucky!

Had Westerners like Howard Carter never dug up the sites that the modern Egyptians had abandoned and left to decay, Egypt would have no tourist industry, no wealthy tourists pumping money into their economy and would probably be no better off than their neighbors Libya, Algeria and Sudan. Furthermore, as an American, I felt particularly irked to be viewed simply as a money bag when Egypt receives the second largest amount of U.S. foreign aid in the world (second only to Israel).

Any feelings of disillusion faded, however, when I fulfilled a childhood dream of visiting Karnak Temple, the largest ancient religious structure in the world. Dedicated to the chief Egyptian god Amun, the temple is a massive sea of pillars, statues and obelisks. Wandering through the labyrinthine structure, I nearly had to tie my jaw shut to stop myself from overdosing on awe.

Avenue of the Sphinxes, Karnak

I've been wanting to see Karnak since I was a little kid.

Simply awe-inspiring.

As night fell, we arrived to watch the sun set over Luxor Temple, where a modern mosque is built inside of an ancient Egyptian temple. From the temple, I gazed out at the busy streets of Luxor, lined with tourists and cab drivers, and realized how little of this ancient world is connected to the modern Egypt. I listened to the Muezzins calling to prayer all around the city, fatigued and drained from seeing so many sights in so few days and simply took in the sounds as tourists buzzed by in all directions.

Modern Luxor, seen from Luxor Temple

Luxor Temple at dusk.

Well, I can scratch Egypt off the list now. I am happy to be back in Tel Aviv.

The Hila Project at Giv’On Prison in Ramla

The prison, where the refugee boys are detained.

The refugee kids at Giv’On prison are adorable. Mostly from Eritrea and Sudan, they are full of energy and life and just yearn to have a good time. Moochu, one of the refugee kids from Eritrea continued to crack me up all morning, between his break dancing and handstands. At one point, the ball with which the 15 of us, crammed into a yard the size of my kitchen, were playing got stuck on barbed wire. Moochu didn’t hesitate to crawl up the wall like a spider and grab it so we could keep playing.

It is amazing to get to hang out with these kids, knowing that so many of them are fleeing harrowing situations, ranging from forced conscription of child soldiers to genocide. Keeping a positive attitude and forgetting that you are crammed into a prison with unaccompanied refugees is a challenge but it becomes infinitely easier when you realize that these kids, regardless of their experiences, are still innocent. They deserve to have fun and get an education, just like any other child in the world.

Ironi Chet (Religious Boys School in Tel Aviv)

Israeli schools…what can I say? Learning that this country has only a 40 percent graduation rate and that the school system is essentially immersed in chaos has been especially shocking to me. I and another volunteer have been teaching a Spanish class at Ironi Chet. I’ve also been helping the boys with their English discussion skills. The experience is giving us a look into the vast education gap between the north and the south of the city. They are overall good boys, but they are rowdy. Few of them have the privilege of learning English of home (essential for success on the Israeli equivalent of the SAT, the bagrut). Our job as Spanish teachers is to help them break the monotony of their studies and inspire them to push themselves harder as students, a lofty goal but one that I feel the principal, Sefi, has been very successful at achieving. Ironi Chet’s students often surpass their wealthier peers in the north on tests and college admissions.

The question continues to come up in discussions with other volunteers, peers, friends and Israelis: Can I still call myself a Zionist when I shamelessly discuss such gritty aspects of Israeli society? Why did I come here to dig through Israel’s dirty laundry? Why not just ignore these problems and sugar coat life in Israel for those who don’t live here?

For me, I feel more connected to Israel than I ever have before because I have finally been able to take an honest look at this country. When I work with Israeli children, whether Arab or Jewish, I realize that I’m staring the future of Israel in the face. Ideologies begin to blur, black and white ceases to exist. It’s easy to say you feel one way or another about Israel when you aren’t interacting with the people who live here, especially the children. They are the ones who will ultimately decide what Israel will look like. To me, finally accepting the inevitability of understanding that so much in Israel is a gray area has been extremely profound and has only strengthened my identity as a Zionist.

Every time I see a challenge that Israel (which, at only 60 years, is a young country) experiences, it just makes me want to do more. I knew that seeing Israel in such a raw manner would inevitably alter my views. In a way, I was worried what the implications of encountering these issues head on would have for my long-held beliefs. To me, what is most inspiring is the knowledge that most of the organizations that are helping make Israel a better place were founded by Israelis, without the help of their government. What could be more Zionist than taking personal initiative to improve Israel?

So yes, Israel has problems. Is Israel doing a better job than most other countries in the world to overcome those challenges? Most definitely.

One must also not forget that Israel is beautiful. In order to temper the seriousness of this post, I leave you with pretty pictures of every day life in Israel.

This man had a 3-hour yoga session on the Jaffa beach.

The Gilboa Iris only blooms in the Kineret and only in March.

My friends and I skipped stones in the Kineret (Galilee) on Kibbutz Ein Gev.

Kibbutz Cramim, centered on sustainable living and cooperation with neighboring Bedouin communities, is located in the Negev desert.

The vineyards of Kibbutz Cramin, visible from the playground.

The Hamat Gader springs have been utilized since Roman times and, while legally part of Israel (falling within the 1948 borders even), were blocked by Syria until Israel secured the Golan Heights in 1967. We finished our Kineret trip with a therapeutic visit to the springs, which are close to the Jordanian border.

My friend Danielle and I at Hamat Gader, the hot springs near the Kineret.

Yana breaks open the oznei Haman

Anyway, as Purim approached, my program made sure to squeeze in some last minute ulpan classes. Yana (our amazing Hebrew teacher) let us have class outside in Tel Aviv’s HaYarkon Park. What a beautiful place to learn Hebrew!

One of the most hilarious aspects of Purim is that people dress up (like Halloween in the U.S.). My apartment mates and I decided to dress up as Beatles songs. I was “Bungalow Bill.”

Sumiko (Lady Madonna) and I (The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill)

Here’s a shot of a street party in the Florentin neighborhood of Tel Aviv:

The Purim festivities continued into the weekend, as I made my way to Jerusalem for “Shushan Purim.” Shushan Purim is a special extra day of Purim that is only celebrated in walled cities (i.e. Jerusalem). While in Jerusalem, I traveled through secular and religious areas alike. The city bristled with holiday pandemonium all over, even into the upscale Mamilla Mall, where this green trickster wreaked havoc in cafes:

I passed into the most religious neighborhood in the city, Mea Shearim, which more or less resembles a European shtetl. Residents in this neighborhood live strictly according to Jewish law and enforce strict modesty codes on all passersby.

Costumed Ultra-Orthodox Jew in Mea Shearim

My weekend concluded with some time in the Old City of Jerusalem.

At the Kotel (Western Wall)

The Western Wall tunnels, which run underneath the Muslim Quarter of the Old City

Below is a picture of the “Museum on the Seam,” which displays socially conscious artwork. Many of the pieces are by Israeli and Palestinian artists alike and poignantly portray the realities experienced in this region of the world.  The museum is located on the former seam zone between Israel and Jordan (1948-1967), when Jerusalem was still divided.

Museum on the Seam.

Purim still rings relevant to me today. With Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (BOO!) threatening to “wipe Israel off the map,” and the ever present precariousness of living in Israel, the parallels are evident.

With that in mind, I started my first week of volunteering on Wednesday, March 3. I have selected my places, which are:

Givon Prison – working with child refugees from Africa (especially Sudan and Eritrea).

Ironi Chet High School – teaching English and Spanish to low-income youth from south Tel Aviv.

Neve Ofer community center – mentoring underprivileged youth in south Tel Aviv. Most of them are from the Bukharan Diaspora and are experiencing a severe education gap.

Partnership 2000 – speaking at Israeli schools to youth about Judaism in the U.S. before the children visit the U.S. on exchange programs.

I tried to be as holistic as possible with my choice of volunteer programs to make sure that I would work with diverse groups of youth in different areas of the city. There’s a lot of work to be done in Israel and I’m excited to finally be taking a part in it.

At this point, I’m considering volunteering at a detention center for child refugees, most of whom are from Sudan and Eritrea. These children are incapable of returning to their war torn homelands, so the center (called Hila Project) is working to find them either boarding schools or homes in Israel. I have visited a few different schools for low-income and refugee children and it looks like I might be able to teach Spanish and/or English at one of them. I would also like to work in north Tel Aviv at a non-profit (I will figure that out soon as well).

Kiryat Shalom is a safe, family friendly neighborhood. Below are shots of my street and apartment building.

Here is my room:

The living room:

The rooftop, which overlooks our neighborhood. On a clear day, you can see the skyscrapers in the background:

Just south of us is Yafo (Jaffa), a mixed Arab and Jewish area that is part of the Tel Aviv-Yafo municipality. Old Jaffa is a very unique place, full of shuks, amazing Arabic food and great beaches.

Jaffa is also full of cheap bike shops specializing in stolen bikes (I got mine for roughly 50 bucks and now use it to ride all over town).

I am ecstatic to be volunteering with such a unique and interesting group of people. On Feb. 15, we had a picnic on the beach.

Popping open champagne by the Jaffa beach

Enjoying Yafo at night.

Next week I will officially select my volunteering spots (probably four or five places). I can’t wait to get started!

South Tel Aviv is not like the more glamorous north: it is home to thousands of asylum seekers from Sudan, Eritrea and portions of sub-Saharan Africa. Since the second intifada, it has also been inhabited by a large amount of foreign workers (mainly from southeast Asia). To me, this is the real Tel Aviv, the real Israel – one hears a lot less English in the streets than in Jerusalem or north Tel Aviv and the area where I live (Kiryat Shalom) is inhabited by many recent immigrants from the former USSR.

I live in an apartment with several other volunteers. Of our group, there are people from Cuba, Russia, Brazil, the UK and all over the U.S. I see this eclecticism as a strength. There are quite a few different perspectives and I’m looking forward to getting to know these people over the next five months.

The first month of my program consists of several tours of volunteering sites and hours on end of Hebrew class (ulpan). I took four semesters of Hebrew in college and studied it in religious school. Nonetheless, Hebrew is not an easy language and I am excited by the challenge of improving my vocabulary here.

For the first weekend, we stayed on Kibbutz Gal On (near Beer Sheva). The Kibbutz was GORGEOUS and actually is a working dairy farm.

Cattle on Kibbutz Gal On

The kibbutz is also home to “Mike and Sharon’s Bistro” – quite possibly the most amazing restaurant I have ever been fortunate enough to visit in Israel. Mike and Sharon are a couple from South Africa originally who serve up the most amazing foods. Every meal was accompanied by tea with fresh herbs.

My complements to the chef!

Later on in the weekend, we went on a hike in the Beit Guvrin caves. I’d been there before and loved visiting this place (mentioned in the Bible), which is home to many historically important archaeological ruins.

In a cave at Beit Guvrin

Ancient caves, however, are not what I came here to see. I write this post from Tel Aviv, a city of modern high rises and modern issues in a modern country grappling with very real challenges. I would be lying if I said I’m not nervous about what’s to come, but I know that I’m ready for it.