Pisa

Pisa was not as impressive as I thought it was going to be. That leaning tower, it is pretty small, compared to some of the other massive buildings we have seen in the past two weeks. The coolest part of the area around the Leaning Tower of Pisa was the land where it stood. When the Crusaders returned from the Holy Land, they brought back dirt from Acco and put it in this area. So technically speaking, when we sat on the green grass, we were sitting on Israeli soil.

If you were to pass by the synagogue building in Pisa, you would never know that it was a synagogue, as you can see by the picture. We knew where it was, and we could hardly find it. Once inside though, it was small but beautiful. The sanctuary was actually on the second floor, and it had a beautiful ceiling. Like most other synagogues, the original building was not kept completely intact, and we were seeing the nineteenth century restorations and reconstructions. I do not understand why the seats in most of these synagogues are so uncomfortable. A Christian friend once told me that Catholic churches do that on purpose, but I do not know why Jews had to copy that custom.



After the synagogue, we visited the Jewish cemetery, which had graves of Medieval Jews. It had Jews dating back hundreds of years, buried next to Jews who died recently. The Jewish cemetery stood outside of the city's walls. Pisa was and still is a small city, and the Jewish cemetery was just on the outside of the city's walls. One very interesting part of the cemetery was the room for the Chevrah Kadishe to wash and prepare the bodies for burial. They had a little room with what looked like a stone table on which to place the body. There the members of the Chevrah Kadishe blessed and dressed the body, just as they do today, except that they completed this mitzvah in the cemetery itself, I would imagine for convenience sake.

On My Own Again

Once again, I was alone. Although Sam wanted to go hiking with me in the Tuscan mountains, her upper respiratory infection did not allow her. So off I go to Fiesole, by myself and very content. After a short bus ride to Fiesole, the last stop on the line, I found myself in a small Piazza. The largest structure was a bell tower, which struck bells every hour. Fiesole is not a city, it is a small suburb of Florence, and there is not much to do there. However, my goal was to hike in the Tuscan country side, and I accomplished this.

After asking a few people if there were any known trails that I could walk, and getting no real answers, I decided to try and find something by myself. I walked to an arch, which turned out to be the entrance of the Fiesole Archaeological Museum. It stopped letting people in at six, and I arrived around 6:15. I did not mind too much. I picked a direction, and simply started walking. I walked the entire way on pavement, which was really meant for tiny cars. The roads were steep and winding, just like you would expect in the mountains. I wanted to hike in Tuscany because after living in a city for three weeks, I feel that the only real way to learn and know the land on which you are living is to see it up close. Seeing the view is great, and we had already done this. I just wanted a little bit more. I wanted to see what it was like in the Tuscan mountains themselves.

It could not have been more beautiful. Since I went in the evening, it was not even too hot. The mountains are surrounded by more mountains, with huge houses peaking out from the greenery. In some areas, there are many houses, a little town. Mostly, however, the houses are far from each other. I walked up and down the mountain road, stopping frequently to take a picture of the view. The view was mountains surrounded by mountains, mountains with mountains in the distance. The road I walked on was paved and there were usually stone walls on either side of the road. Every so often there would be an opening, from which I could see another magnificent view. Tiny speckled lizards jumped in and out of the stone walls. A stream of honeysuckles lined one part of the road. The smell was of country; no car fumes, no cigarette smoke, no smelly people, no man-made noise was there to bother me. Do not get me wrong, there would be the occasional car on the road, but mostly, it was just the Tuscany and I.

Protest in Rome

It just happened that the weekend that I went to Rome with AJ, Ross, and Joe, the President of the United States, George W. Bush, was also visiting Vatican City. On Saturday, after our long tour of the Vatican, we decided to eat somewhere around the Colosseum, as it was on the way to our lodgings by metro. When we stepped outside the Metro Station, we first saw the Colosseum. It was impossible not to. After that initial picture taking, we walked a little bit down the road. We saw that there was an entire police force standing in the middle of the road. As we walked further along, we realized why there were so many policemen. A rather large protest was in motion.

Basically, the protest was against President Bush and the United States. It was extremely well organized and lasted for about an hour. It was a moving protest, meaning that they walked the streets of Rome trying to get their point across. I believe they did, at least to me, an American. For a few minutes, I stood there, watched the protesters, and took some pictures. Many had signs in Italian, which we did not understand. There was a constant flow of people; some were chanting in Italian. Every so often, a simple float, basically a cart on wheels, would come by with people screaming and music blasting from it. There were pictures of President Bush, Saddam Hussein, and Fidel Castro. I guess they were trying to point out similarities. There were a few signs in English. One said, "Push Bush Out" and another said "God Smash America" with a swastika through the word "America."

This protest, and that last sign specifically, is a bit disturbing. Thousands of people are comparing America to a fascist nation. This is not good. It is one thing to dislike the President and the current US administration; I have no shame in saying that I am one of those people. However, it is a completely different thing to liken a democratic President to a dictator. This is what bothered me the most. While the protest itself was not violent, the people protesting were passionate about their cause. I can only imagine that there are thousands of other people, in Italy as well as throughout Europe, who feel the same way. They might not speak out quite so loudly or clearly, but they probably have the same negative view of America and our President.

The United States is, some would argue, the last remaining super power. Other countries imitate our culture and strive to be as economically successful. However, if we are the strongest democratic nation, and other countries see us as going places where we are not wanted, then what does that say? It says that America might (MIGHT) be acting undemocratic. I am not a expert on politics, American or international, but I did observe an hour long, passionate display of hatred for America and its President, a President who is supposed to represent the consensus of the American public. If this is the case, then the majority of the American public should believe in what the government is doing. That is clearly not happening. So, perhaps, this protest is also hinting that the United States political system is not working so well.

I have no answers. I have no brilliant commentary on what is going on politically in the United States or in Italy. All I have is observations, ramblings, and questions.

Bologna: San Luca to the Nutelleria

Last week, we traveled to Bologna, where we toured the synagogue and where the Jewish ghetto used to be. Then we had a wonderful group lunch at a very nice restaurant. After all of this, some people decided to leave and go back to Florence, and others wanted to go shopping. Since neither of these activities appealed to me, I asked the Bologna expert, Randall, what else I had to see in the city. He helped me figure out how to reach the church of San Luca.

This church is gorgeous. It is at the top of a hill/mountain and from it, I could see the entire city. It was a beautiful view. Something I found interesting was that there were sand hills in the distance. I always wonder how these sand dunes come to be in an area not near the ocean or the beach. Inside the church was also beautiful. It was completely silent; I did not even want to unzip my backpack to reach for my camera or sketchpad. As quietly as I could, I took out my sketching paper and began to sketch a hanging light. It was in a beautifully ornamented holder, and it looked like the light had a red box over it, giving off a dim red color. It reminded me of the eternal light that Jews keep lit in every sanctuary, except that there were several of them hanging from the church ceiling. I wonder if their origin was in the Jewish eternal light, or if it has absolutely nothing to do with the Jews and is simply there for decoration. As I began to sketch, one of the church people (fathers? priests? I do not know) came over to see what I was drawing. He seemed quite happy that I chose to sketch something in the church which to him was so dear. He smiled, and although we could not communicate in words, I felt that we did communicate.

When I was done inside the church, there was only one way to get down the mountain. OK, there were more ways, other roads, but this way was the best way to walk. It was a long series of porticoes, which led all the way down the mountain. The entire time I was surrounded by green, with a few peaks of a view of the city through the mass of trees. I sat on one of the portico walls, and read for a while. It was extremely relaxing and necessary to spend this time by myself, and I enjoyed my trek down the mountain.



I returned to the center of the city on a bus. When I arrived, I knew what I wanted. Randall had previously pointed out an excellent place to eat a snack, called the Nutellaria. It is exactly what it sounds like. It was a place devoted to all food with nutella. They had nutella crepes, pizzas, shakes, really anything you could ever want. I decided on a nutella dough triangle, that is really the only way I can explain it. For the records sake, I will just say, it was worth every Euro.

Looking at the Homeless

I live in downtown Norfolk. Although this city is not comparable to New York or Philly, it still is a small city and it still has many homeless people. From my window, I can see a homeless couple that always sits on the same bench facing the water. While of course I am not glad to see homeless people in general, it always brings a smile to my face when I see this couple. It makes me smile because it is an anomaly. Most of the homeless people in my area are loners, who wander around aimlessly. Sometimes they congregate, especially when a charity organization is picking them up to house and feed them, as we have a program that does this every winter. I never, ever see a homeless person beg in Norfolk.

In Florence, there are also many homeless people. I know that some of these people are immigrants who came to Italy with each other, and that is why they stick together. However, I just tend to see more homeless people living together on the street, with their boxes and whatever else they might possess. At night, several homeless people will sleep under a bridge or on the sidewalk.

There is another type of homeless person in Italy as well. Actually, I do not know if they are homeless. I do know that they make their living by begging on the street. Some disabled people will sit on the sidewalk with their hand out, while others will pray, hunched over with a cup in their hand. Some adults beg while holding their young infant. In Pisa, I even saw a man on the street giving his dog a pedicure with a bowl of change next to him. Many people also play music on the street for money. The second night in Florence, we all ate at a restaurant. An older man came by playing the accordion. When he finished his song, he stuck out his hand. Another night, I was eating outside in Viareggio (a beach city) with Ilana, and girl about twelve years old played the accordion and stuck her hand out for change. She was with her mother, who helped guide her where to go. The next day, we were in Pisa and we saw the same girl in the same clothes, playing the accordion for people eating along the street. Ilana and I just could not believe it. I do not know how or why she traveled from Viareggio to Pisa, but I was simply amazed that this child, and presumably her family, traveled such a distance in a day, so that they could work in a city with more tourists as the weekend approached. I just called this work. Is this begging a form of work? Is it a lucrative form of income? Can she make more money doing this than if she were to work at McDonald's? Is this girl homeless? Is this how her family makes money so that they can eat? I do not know.

Over the past few weeks, I have randomly given money to these beggars and homeless people. I see no pattern or reasoning in whom I choose to give the money. All I know is that in Italy there are many different types of beggars, some who work for their money, some who sit and ask everyone who passes, and some who simply live together on the streets. I also know that Italy is not as rich a country as America, but I still hope that Italian charity organizations are trying to do something help those in need.

Ancient Rome

I love ancient Rome. That could be my entire post, because it is really that simple. But, for Dr. Cooperman's sake, just so he has to read more, I will try to add some additionl thoughts. I first saw the Colosseum on Saturday, but I did not enter it until Sunday. The building is very large. I mean, really really large. It must have held as many people as huge concert venues hold today. I guess that it was their form of entertainment. The tour guide said that the shows kept getting bigger and better, because they could not have the same show every week. The spectators would get bored, and I assume that the people running the games did not want thousands of angry Romans.

The name "Colosseum" is actually a nickname. At the time it was used, the Romans called it the Flavian Ampitheater. The Colosseum was a statue in the building. Every time a new Emporer came to power, he had his face sculpted onto the statue. Over the years, they melted down the staute to be used for other buildings. However, the name stuck, and that is why today, we call the Flavian Amphiteather the Colosseum.



I also enjoyed walking through the Roman Forum. I could almost imagine the goings on of Ancient Rome, with selling and buying of goods, with orators speaking from pedastels, and with people talking Latin to one another. I always enjoyed learning about Ancient Rome in school, and it was spectacular to finally step where Romans lived thousands of years ago. I saw the Senate building, where Julius Ceasar was stabbed. I saw the Pantheon, and I could not believe how massive it was. In a time where we are surrounded by large structures, it is quite an impressive feat when an ancient building looks even bigger.

Basically, I loved Rome. Yesterday I was talking to Adam about how the gladiator games were like the modern movies of Ancient Rome. He said it must have been horrific and bloody to see this kind of killing up close and in person. I agree, but I also would have really loved to see a game or two. It just seems like it would be exciting and horrible at the same time, making great entertainment.

Bicycling

This is the first time that I have been to Europe. I had heard that many people ride their bicycles in Eurpe than in the United States, and it really is true. In America, I see children and parents riding bikes to the park or around the neighborhood. However, the average American does not ride his bike to school or work. This is not so here in Italy. I see all types of people riding their bikes at all times of day and night. Young and old people, people dressed in skirts and people dresssed in sweats. Not only is riding your bike a great way to arrive at your destination quicker than if you were to walk, but it also lets you avoid annoying and sometimes heavy traffic, and it also is better for the environment than driving. The only problem would come if it rains. However, plenty of people ride motorcycles or vespas, so they would get a little wet just the same. Granted, biking is made easy in Italy, as they are paths on most every main street that is specifically for bikers. Any way you look at it, I know that it would be ridiculous to think that we can adopt this in America, at least not in the near future. Nevertheless, I think it is great that so many Europens ride their bikes everywhere in the city.

Strangers in a Strange Land

I spent last Shabbat in Rome. I do not know how the boys in my group do it, but somehow, they got us invited to Mrs. Rosenberg's house for Shabbat dinner. We did not know where we were going to eat when we found out the Chabbad House in Rome was not open. When the boys spoke on the phone with Mrs. Rosenberg on Friday afternoon, she immediately demanded that we come eat Shabbat dinner with her. After the train ride to Rome, we settled in our apartment, and then the three of us set out for the synagogue, which was small and homey. I really liked the intamacy of it. Everyone was so kind and welcoming to us. It seemed like a congregational family.

A friend of Mrs. Rosenberg's walked us to her apartment. We went upstairs and met her and her daughter, Malina. We chatted for a little while, and then said the blessings over the wine and challah. It always amazes me that even in a different country, these prayers are always the same. This is how Jews everywhere are connected, and it just makes me so happy to think about it. After the blessings, we began a leisurely, five course meal, including homemade challah which was delicious. The entire night was lovely, and we all enjoyed talking to both Mrs. Rosenberg and Malina. Since Malina was only a few years older than us, it was interesting to hear her opinion on matters of the educational system in Italy. I am thinking of writing my final paper on the subject of education, perhaps on the differences of Jewish and Christian education during the Renaissance.

With a full stomach and a head full of good conversation about Italian life, American life, and Jewish life, we said goodnight to these wonderful people who took in three Jews in a strange city. Jews have been inviting strangers into their homes for Shabbat meals forever, and I was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of this Jewish hospitality. I cannot wait until I will be able to invite Jewish strangers into my home some day in the future. Thus, the religious tradition which started with Abraham will continue, a cycle of Jewish hospitality throughout all time.

Serene Sienna

This is not fair, but my favorite city in Italy (so far) is Sienna. We spent a day in Sienna, and it was one of the most beautiful places that I have been in this country. Sienna was built in the Middle Ages. Sienna's Medieval buildings have square edges that come to sharp points. I enjoyed this day of looking at these Medieval structures, which look grand and imposing to me. Although the city might seem less welcoming, I still found it refreshing.

In the morning, we took a tour of the synagogue of Sienna, an old building which looks like an ordinary building from the outside. It is sad that there are only about 35 Jews in this city, and that a boy in their congregation who is becoming a Bar Mitzvah soon, is worried about making a minyan so that he can read the Torah. My favorite part of the synagogue was the large number of old documents kept upstairs where women used to sit. There is an entire cabinet full of old books. I do not know, nor could I probably even read, what those books, letters, and documents say, but I do know that they are important. There is no better way to imagine what went on in the Jewish past than to look at these books of writings. This is the way to piece together the story of what happened so long ago.

After our tour of the synagogue, we went to lunch at the most serene place. Down a long, dirt path surrounded by trees and brush, we made our way to a restaurant who hired mentally disabled workers; this alone made me extremely happy. Not only was the service wonderful, but the food was also delicious, and the temperature and company could not have been better. To me, that is what I always imagined Italy would be. The scene in my head would be relaxing and eating with friends around a table outside under a natural canopy, with a view of only green and forests around me. This is what I imagine when I think of Italy. Finally, after being so long surrounded only by city, we finally got to enjoy the real Tuscany which is so beautiful when we are right next to it. Of course, it is nice to view the countryside of vineyards from a high point in the city, but there is something necessary about actually stepping on the ground and being able to touch the land,
the actual life of the country.

Sistine Chapel

I do not think that I have ever even seen a picture of the Sistine Chapel, which is odd. It is pretty famous, after all. I feel like I learned about it in European History or read about it in a book. Nevertheless, last weekend, I saw the Sistine Chapel for myself. And wow, I think it deserves all the hype. I do not know how true the stories are that Michelangelo painted it in a mere five years. But honestly, who cares. It is magnificent. My favorite section was his heaven/hell depiction, which used this bright blue paint from powdered blue stone. Each body is so twisted, either in pain or in ecstasy, each visibly dealing with his own fate, telling his life story in one pose. Michelangelo also created a face in this section. He placed different scenes in the eyes, the nose, and the mouth of his giant, but not domineering face. He even depicted the falling of paganism and the rising of Christendom. Michelangelo must have been a genius, not in the way that Einstein was, but in the way that he could see an entire world in his mind, the world as he saw it, and then he could create it for us mere people to understand and appreciate. Even though I am not a Christian, I was still speechless when I walked into the Sistine Chapel, and that is a testament to Michelangelo and his ability to please every generation of man with his phenomenal artwork.

Chabbad Houses: Everywhere You Want To Be

There is only one synagogue in Florence. It was built in the late 19th century by Daniel Levi, an extremely wealthy man who had no heirs. During this time, the Jews in Florence were beginning to enjoy life as emancipated citizens. They were proud of their equality and wanted to show off to the entire world just how emancipated they were. Therefore, Daniel Levi gave all of his money to build a large, grand synagogue, which would be a physical symbol of what the Jews had achieved. However, the Jews had a problem. They wanted to build their synagogue in the "Jewish" way, but they had no traditional art or building style which they could use. Consequently, they took some aspects of the Middle Eastern architecture, and added it to the only building structure they knew: the church. This is why the synagogue looks like a church.

I was lucky enough to attend the Saturday morning services in the synagogue. The building is simply magnificent. I loved the detail in every nook and cranny, especially the design on every wall of the sanctuary, including the ceiling of the many domes. When our entire group came back to the synagogue for a tour, I had another chance to learn about the synagogue's history and stare at the intricacies on the ceiling. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to bring cameras with us.

On Shabbat, the congregation welcomed us. After services, we made our way over to the Chabbad House, which was conveniently located a block from the synagogue. Here we were herded into a small room, where the family of the Chabbad Rabbi were hurriedly setting up more tables. We blessed the food and ate about 3 courses of homemade food, including a chicken chulent, a completely new combination for me. This would be interrupted by divrei Torah from the Rabbi and a round of singing by the guests. After lunch, there was a quick clean up of chairs and tables to make room for the mincha service, with machitsa and all. What amazed me, was that my Saturday afternoon Chabbad experience was the same in Italy as it would be at any other Chabbad House in America, and probably throughout the rest of the world. The Chabbad practices are so constant that it does not matter the geographical location or the language spoken. This makes me feel a little sad, because I would have thought that when in a different country, there would be a type of Jew like I had never known. We did meet Italian Jews at the synagogue who were not members of the Chabad, and it was refreshing to meet Jews with a little different flair. I love the fact that we are all Jews, and all come from the same heritage, but we each can have our own nuances or even large differences. I guess that it just bothers me that there is always this reminder of the pervasiveness of the Chabad movement in every place. However, I will admit that it is nice to know that wherever a Jew might travel, there could be a friendly Chabbad House waiting to welcome them.