So I took some video footage driving through Ramat Hasharon and practiced editing with iMovie HD. It's not stellar (the car is a bit too bumpy to stabilize a small digital camera), but it shows the cool lights that are used during holidays (e.g., Sukkot).
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Just Desert
The day after Yom Kippur, I was scheduled to meet with someone from Physicians for Human Rights-Israel (PHR-Israel). When I first arrived to the clinic in Tel Aviv, I noticed film crews appeared to be eagerly awaiting for something to happen at the door. Inside, the room was filled with people also on the edge of their seats (er, or the edge of the table each was leaning on since no seats were left). One could detect the kindling of anticipation soon to flood the room already in disarray.
When I found my contact among the various individuals rushing back and forth, up and down a tiny circular staircase, he explained that my visit was timely. George Dalaras (pictured above on left with Shimon Peres; photo from Ynetnews.com), a musician from Greece and a UN goodwill ambassador, was to arrive at the clinic at any moment to meet with refugees from Darfur. In an instant, the refugees downstairs in the lobby and the staff at the clinic swarmed around two figures. Some refugees removed themselves from the whirling flurry and appeared to smile; perhaps, that their efforts to cross a dangerous desert on foot and leave a place tormented by genocide ended in the achievement of a plight to which someone is listening. Perhaps, their thoughts were completely different. One refugee removed himself from the disarray and expressed frustration to my contact: I thought this event was for each of us to tell them our story.
I was invited to stay for a medical clinic following the event. In general, the medical complaints were routine for an outpatient clinic--GERD, dermatitis and STI. However, the patients, as is always the case, were not mere diseases to be fed to the medical algorithm. Many of them were refugees from Eritrea who entered Israel seeking a better life. Since Israel stands at the foot of Africa, many refugees see Israel as the best hope for a more prosperous life. The dangers of crossing the Mediterranean to Europe outweigh the walking distance across desert. Many make it to Egypt but worry they will be sent back and attempt to cross the border to Israel. Other refugees at the clinic came from the Ivory Coast, Nepal and the Sudan.
I found myself standing in the waiting room at some point over the busy evening. A young man who looked to be about my age, approached me and asked me in fluent English when I was going to see his friend. I apologized and explained that I was not the physician in charge, that I was a student and that this was my first visit to the clinic. He smiled and asked, Where are you from? I responded that I was from America and was a student in Atlanta, Georgia. He continued to smile. I am from Darfur. I escaped through Egypt and crossed into Israel, where I was taken into custody for one year. Now, I am free.
In one statement this young man about my age captured everything I had read about the plight of Darfur refugees who had made it to Israel. Intelligent and articulate in a language that was not his first, he made me realize the quintessential principle that necessitates one's pursuit of social justice and why I departed from my cozy final year of medical school to come to this land: given our vastly different experiences, we shared a common humanity.
After seeing a few more patients, the physician in the adjacent room requested assistance from the physician I was following. She knew that as an orthopedic resident by day, he would know the severity of her patient's situation. The patient was a young Palestinian who had been shot in the knee a year ago in Gaza and he described pain and limited range of motion in his knee. He received surgery in Gaza City soon after. Given the incisions on his knee, my resident said the surgery itself may have resulted in this man's condition but he did not feel the patient had any signs of acute infection in the knee. Thus, he could be treated with pain management and conservative therapy.
I learned in this small clinic in south Tel Aviv that the differences between individuals quickly fade. The only relationships that remain involve patients, doctors and, occasionally, translators and these connections are tenable at best. My physician never sought to clarify how this patient was shot (IDF? Hamas? Self-inflicted accident?), nor how this patient was in Tel Aviv (e.g., illegally?). Such information was inconsequential to the task at hand; he served to improve the health and well-being of this patient and, in return, this patient provided both a medical and a human education to my physician through his gratitude and smile.
On another note, this was my second to last meal before fasting for Yom Kippur...shakshuka!!
When I found my contact among the various individuals rushing back and forth, up and down a tiny circular staircase, he explained that my visit was timely. George Dalaras (pictured above on left with Shimon Peres; photo from Ynetnews.com), a musician from Greece and a UN goodwill ambassador, was to arrive at the clinic at any moment to meet with refugees from Darfur. In an instant, the refugees downstairs in the lobby and the staff at the clinic swarmed around two figures. Some refugees removed themselves from the whirling flurry and appeared to smile; perhaps, that their efforts to cross a dangerous desert on foot and leave a place tormented by genocide ended in the achievement of a plight to which someone is listening. Perhaps, their thoughts were completely different. One refugee removed himself from the disarray and expressed frustration to my contact: I thought this event was for each of us to tell them our story.
I was invited to stay for a medical clinic following the event. In general, the medical complaints were routine for an outpatient clinic--GERD, dermatitis and STI. However, the patients, as is always the case, were not mere diseases to be fed to the medical algorithm. Many of them were refugees from Eritrea who entered Israel seeking a better life. Since Israel stands at the foot of Africa, many refugees see Israel as the best hope for a more prosperous life. The dangers of crossing the Mediterranean to Europe outweigh the walking distance across desert. Many make it to Egypt but worry they will be sent back and attempt to cross the border to Israel. Other refugees at the clinic came from the Ivory Coast, Nepal and the Sudan.
I found myself standing in the waiting room at some point over the busy evening. A young man who looked to be about my age, approached me and asked me in fluent English when I was going to see his friend. I apologized and explained that I was not the physician in charge, that I was a student and that this was my first visit to the clinic. He smiled and asked, Where are you from? I responded that I was from America and was a student in Atlanta, Georgia. He continued to smile. I am from Darfur. I escaped through Egypt and crossed into Israel, where I was taken into custody for one year. Now, I am free.
In one statement this young man about my age captured everything I had read about the plight of Darfur refugees who had made it to Israel. Intelligent and articulate in a language that was not his first, he made me realize the quintessential principle that necessitates one's pursuit of social justice and why I departed from my cozy final year of medical school to come to this land: given our vastly different experiences, we shared a common humanity.
After seeing a few more patients, the physician in the adjacent room requested assistance from the physician I was following. She knew that as an orthopedic resident by day, he would know the severity of her patient's situation. The patient was a young Palestinian who had been shot in the knee a year ago in Gaza and he described pain and limited range of motion in his knee. He received surgery in Gaza City soon after. Given the incisions on his knee, my resident said the surgery itself may have resulted in this man's condition but he did not feel the patient had any signs of acute infection in the knee. Thus, he could be treated with pain management and conservative therapy.
I learned in this small clinic in south Tel Aviv that the differences between individuals quickly fade. The only relationships that remain involve patients, doctors and, occasionally, translators and these connections are tenable at best. My physician never sought to clarify how this patient was shot (IDF? Hamas? Self-inflicted accident?), nor how this patient was in Tel Aviv (e.g., illegally?). Such information was inconsequential to the task at hand; he served to improve the health and well-being of this patient and, in return, this patient provided both a medical and a human education to my physician through his gratitude and smile.
On another note, this was my second to last meal before fasting for Yom Kippur...shakshuka!!
Monday, September 24, 2007
A Thriving Desert
There never appears to be a dull moment here in Israel. Maybe that's why at the brink of my fourth and likely easiest year of medical school, drained of blood, sweat, and tears (a physician commonly sees such things visibly in patients and quite invisibly in oneself), I sought an hafsaka (a break) for one year and departed for a tiny country on the Mediterranean coast not even 60 years old in search of self-reflection, a humanistic addendum to my medical education, and meaning and contribution. Above all else, it meant a return to a country that preoccupied my fascination in its history and complexity as an undergraduate and, hey, why not?
This represents my first contribution to that jungle of the blog-o-sphere, as a medical school friend of mine (hat tip to Sam) would say, "on the Internets." I could riddle it with the jumble of news emanating from this New Jersey-esque strip of land. For one, Israel's tennis team has made it to the Davis Cup Finals and it's likely they trained at the tennis center around the corner from where I am currently staying in Ramat Hasharon. For two, the world is puzzled with speculation regarding the IAF's overflight of Syria, including the pilots up until they reached their destination (each could actually say prior to departure "I'm leaving on a jetplane, don't know when I'll be back again"), and whether or not Israeli commandos on the ground went shopping for souvenirs with "Made in North Korea" on the label. I do not make light of any of the news in this area; my attempts at humor are simply to engage in these events as Israelis seem to do--with reservation and humanism.
Perhaps, though, some of the most exciting activity to which I've been privy is simply spending the Jewish holidays here in Tel Aviv and observing the way both secular and religious participate. Few fireworks were launched over the Jewish New Year as they would in Times Square at midnight on January 1, but Rosh Hashanah was certainly enriched with color (see the picture of the plate above). Our Rosh Hashanah seder (yes, it's called a seder; no, I'm not completely confused with another Jewish holiday) included blessing over pomegranates (called rimonim in Hebrew; also see Hebrew term for grenades) and fresh dates (both pictured above), pumpkin, white beans, leeks, and beets. Oh yeah, and we also dipped apples in honey. We then noshed on a mixture of Iraqi and Bucharan meals (the bachsh was amazing, as always).
Days later, Yom Kippur was equally fascinating yet quite different. Most notably, we didn't eat. Nevertheless, I did dine prior to the start of the holiday at a rabbi's house. We would then attend services at the shul to which this rabbi belonged--a Conservative (religiously, not politically) synagogue in Ramat Aviv near Tel Aviv University. The Masorti Movement in Israel both is and is not like the Conservative Movement of Judaism in the United States. First, the Masorti Movement represents a much smaller segment of Israeli society. Israelis tend to migrate to the ends of the spectrum--very religious (dati) or very secular (chiloni). Second, unlike the Conservative Movement, the Masorti Movement did not adopt acceptance of same sex marriage and gay rabbis. Nevertheless, this synagogue refused to stand with the rest of the Masorti Movement and happens to be the most traditional (for lack of a better way of putting it) synagogue that supports equal rights in Israel. Fascinatingly, the Israeli government also recognizes same sex marriage. However, like every legal marriage in Israel, if it isn't a good old-fashioned Orthodox wedding, it isn't a recognized wedding happening inside the country (no civil marriage in Israel exists). Thus, gay Jews like secular, Reform, and Conservative Jews who wish to wed outside of the most traditional approach to a wedding are permitted to do so in another country. In fact, the first recognized couple in Israel hail from Canada. Kol hakavod, eh?
The service itself consisted of a similar structure of prayers and Torah readings much like back at home in the States (now the hat tip goes to Arie for his stellar reading of Torah, his taking the lead of services in the afternoon, and his generally massive Jewish skills). While the rabbi came to Israel from Los Angeles, he spoke only in Hebrew. Even though I studied Hebrew, my skills need some brushing-up, and what I was able to get out of his sermons was that repentance includes Al Gore and simple things you can do to save the environment, social justice not from our hearts but because we are human beings, and a progressive approach to Judaism.
For secular and non-Jewish Israelis, the holiday of Yom Kippur fashions itself with riding bikes all over the country. Why? Many of the roads are closed and few people (even secular Israelis) drive on the holiday. I saw one police car drive by and it was reassuring the know that security services in Israel are still up and running during Yom Kippur (given '73, Israel is extra cautious during holidays).
Walking in the middle of the streets of Tel Aviv without a car in sight reminded me of a clip from the 90's sketch comedy series The State and I was hoping to include a link or embed the video. Since MTV is releasing season 1 of the series on DVD and this clip was in the final episode of season 3, I couldn't find it anywhere on the Internets. In the clip, a person drives up to a gas station in an invisible "car" (we only see him pantomiming a steering wheel and walking up on foot to the pump). His car is then stolen while unattended and an invisible car chase scene ensues. If I find it, I'll post it later.
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