Dear friends, haverim,

I would like to express my deep gratitude to all of you for allowing me to be part of our 10 days adventure.

You all allowed us to discover with great pride what has been accomplished after 2000 years of Tikva (hope). We all got to discover the inside and insights of this unique story about our history, our people, our land and our hope for a peaceful life for us and our future generation.

We learned that Herzl was one of the few that was able to organize the Jewish people. Congratulations to Deena, Josh, and Yossi, as well as Shorashim to have succeeded in organizing our wonderful trip!

This trip is a gift, or what I called a mitzvah, and for me it is not just a free 10 days trip to Israel. For me it is the greatest opportunity to experience the union of ourselves, to visit and understand to the freed holy land, the everlasting land of the Jewish people.

As it is said in Judaism, if you accept a gift from someone you owe the price of this gift to who gave it to you, and thus try to give it
back. Having Tsion, Eretz Israel, in my heart and all its values, I am willing with pride to support and help our nation and our people, by any means that I will find, today and tomorrow. I will always support and stand for Israel, not to mention this flame inside me that drives me little by little closer, mentally and physically, to the Jewish State of Israel.

Birthright and Birthright donors thank you for giving me the right to get to know my birth country, and the Jewish people birth country.

We all are the roots of the tree we built together. Bli Shorashim Zey Lo Yeleh! (Without roots it won't work)

May God bless all of you, our friends and families, the birthright donors and organizers, Tsahal, Israel, America, France and all other
people and countries helping us to live in peace. Amen.

Thank you.

There is a pocket in the pit of your stomach you may not know you have. It lies somewhere off the large intestine, a small cavern in which remnants of last night’s dinner tie knots with nerves. This is the spot you feel first when you wake up at 3:30 in the morning. This is the pocket that tightens when you try to force cake down your throat when you know you’re not hungry. It is covered with a flap. If Jerusalem is the heart of Israel, then Masada is this pocket in the pit of your stomach.

There is a volcano in Ecuador called Chimborazo. Because of the bulge of the equator, the peak of Chimborazo is the place on Earth closest to the sun. But you are halfway around the world from Ecuador at the Dead Sea, the inverse Everest, the closest you can get to the center of the Earth.

The goal for the day is to rise from this pit, to return to sea level. This seems entirely possible. You have heard the climb is difficult, but you come equipped with Tevas like the Romans and Camelbaks like the Ottomans. It’s been done before.

Your adrenaline runs through your body and you hope there’s no way it can escape out your mouth as you yawn. You’re unsure of the science.
The moon is full, but despite the wildlife-deterrent fences all around you don’t hear any howling, only footsteps and small talk. The white light fills you with hope that you might be able to place your feet in ways that won’t bring you into full contact with cliff sides, so you step and step and step and it’s really hot considering the lack of sunlight.

This is a race. The Earth spins on its axis at a velocity you can’t remember but know is really fast, continuously flinging you toward the side of the globe facing the sun. You must make it to the top of the climb before the sun makes it to the top of the mountains in Jordan. It’s the only way to justify the self-induced weight of your eyelids.

Overhead are lines for a cable car, and if there were passengers, you and they would look longingly in each others’ eyes, envying each others’ choice of transport. But the lines aren’t open yet because the day hasn’t started and this is the whole point. You are getting closer.

Two thousand years ago you would have been in battle with rocks being dropped on your head. There are no rocks being dropped on your head and this makes you feel good. You are almost there.

The summit is a somber place where difficult choices were made and hearts were stopped by the brains they fueled, where humans were seen at their best and at their worst. As you approach it, your mind focuses only on the beauty of the landscape that engulfs you and the difficulty of trespassing it. When you finally reach the top and allow your limbs to pause and your heart to slow, humans are nowhere on your mind. You are hypnotized by the colors, the distance, the sky, the quiet harmony of nature.

After a moment you are awoken from your trance as clicking sounds around you signify the impression of light on film, and you think about where you are. This is the place where men and women become heroes, where children become adults, where lion cubs are shown the world and promised it will all be theirs.
But we don’t need promises; all of this is ours already. And as the sun begins to peak over the horizon, you realize the pocket in the pit of your stomach has somehow shot its contents into the bottom of your throat. As you take a deep breath, you realize you are finally fully awake.

The following was written on 08.21.11 by Rose Agger:

Although only five minutes into our trip from the Negev Desert to Jerusalem, approximately two-thirds of our group is unconscious. I am surveying their sweetly slumbering faces from the front of the bus while less-creepily reflecting about the past few days.

On Thursday, the docent lady in Independence Hall gesticulated wildly about how David Ben Gurion helped found the state of Israel on May 14, 1948. Later, in the biblical gardens, Neot Kedumim, we perspired heavily as we learned about ancient irrigation systems, planted snowbells, and ground hyssop (which later passed surprisingly easily through security in Tel Aviv). Several members of Bus 157 were nearly crushed by an olive press.

At a camp in Beit Shemesh, we got down and dirty in an appropriate way with a group of kids, dancing our tucheses off, playing soccer, etc. Sasha, Natalie, Whitney, and Josh R. were dancing queens. Natalie and the Israeli campers taught the Americans some dances that probably belonged in a EuroTrash nightclub, the campers taught us their version of the Cotton-Eyed Joe dance, and Sasha taught us how to “superman that **” (to Soulja Boy Tell Em’s “Crank That”). Now, if only Corey B. would teach us how to Douggie…

On Friday, we went to the old city of Jerusalem, which was gorgeous, but the ladies had to put up with extra-oppressive heat due to the demands of modesty. The open-air market, Mahane Yehuda, was crowded, bustling, delicious, and—fitting for a bunch of Jews—rife with bargaining opportunities. Many an exotic fruit was purchased.

For Kabbalat Shabbat, some of us went to an Orthodox service while others chilled at a poolside DIY service. Many of us stayed up very late acting like responsible, mature adults.

Come Saturday, ubiquitous under eye bags and sensitivity to light didn’t prevent us from enjoying a sweet lecture and chillin' by the pool. Alex M. and I kind of learned how to play a Russian card game from Alex G. and Itzik. Some dudes, (Avi, Corey B., Adam A., Asa, Dave and Eli), played soccer like pros.

After Masada Sunday morning, we floated in the Dead Sea and all the ladies complained of stinging nether-regions. Everyone slathered mud on each other, resulting in silky-smooth bods after it was washed off. Later, we learned about Ben Gurion, who very much enjoyed standing on his head. Like us, he did not get much sleep.

Then, we began to encounter wild beasts! Ibexes (Ibeces? Ibexi?) are mixes of goat/antelope/deer that are as cute and majestic as the little boy at Beit Shemesh who led all the dances. The camels we rode at the Bedouin settlement looked as though they were constantly grinning at us, and they have lovely eyelashes that made up for their problematic teeth. Matt and I rode Horace, who refused to take orders from General Adam, the leader of the camel line, who was incontinent.

Once again, we stayed up late, playing games and singing songs by the campfire. Although there were quite a few champion snorers in the large group tent, Tory didn’t have a sleep-screaming episode, so that’s good, I guess.

This morning, the stanky lot of us hiked in the desert and discussed the procreation patterns of porcupines. There was a pair of abandoned panties in a desert cave-nook. Several impressive individuals rearranged rocks on a very steep, sandy slope to read “157” and “Birthright DC 157.” Amit and Corey B. climbed to the peak—a feat proving their virility. I’m glad I’m not sitting next to these especially stinky men right now.

Lastly, as I was trying to get onto our trusty bus a few minutes ago, a man prevented me from ascending the stairs, and compared me to an ibex (yael in Hebrew). I’ll take that as a compliment.

Love,

Rejuvenated Rose

by Carla Hashley

Come join us in the Bedouin tents of the Negev of Israel, where we will offer you a few things: camel rides though the terrain, dinner on the sandy carpeted table, sleeping among the desert air, 46 new friends, and probably ending up with at least one song from Aladdin in your head…..I forgot the SAND - plenty of Sand….everywhere.

So picture the Negev. Sunday afternoon, 6 Israelis and 40 Americas load on to some AWESOME camels for what I will assume for most of us is our first camel ride. Corey N. and I had a stead of a beast named….REVENGE… who looked like he was about to bite Adam B.’s backside for a good part of the trip. Ron, Tzvi, Deena and Josh walked with us along the path…and some Bedouin men who I assume were camel handlers…or just fans of birthright bus 157. We then had a talk from the Sheik about his way of life; “ok guys,” and “you know guys” were used at the start of every other sentence. Each side of the tent heard about half of his presentation as he would turn his head to talk…oddly he used a microphone while playing a stringed washboard looking instrument and when he showed us how to grind coffee (which I believe was from Columbia…so international).

So after a climb, some bat/bar mitzvahs, a hike down the mountain, swimming in the Dead Sea, and driving to the tents, I took a nap for the next hour. I’m not sure what the others did but I took the best nap I’ve ever taken while sleeping in a big tent with a dirty foam mat (from now on, it shall be called a Dirty Bum Bed…trademark pending to Josh R.) Now it’s time for DINNER!!! So it’s about time for me to put together my final words and bid you all a wonderful night.
Sitting on some mats, 5 people to a triangle metal table, we waited a dinner of to us what will be true Bedouin nature. Chicken legs, rice, corn on the cob, and hummus (of course), flat bread (I don’t know the real name put got glared at by the woman making it the next morning), and the now standard Israeli spread of pickles, cabbage, and other veggies. Sitting with four guys showed me the ying and yang of the American male: they each made plates out of their napkins while I just held my bread, and at least one released one form of gas while we sat there. Finally, we ended the meal looking on to the sunset with coffee, tea and some sweets before our evening of desert fun started.

The Israelis lead us in some games around the fire, then running the sand (good calf work out), and then the groups broke into Mafia on one side of the fire and birthright unplugged on the other with hits from Weezer and Alanis - other I’m sure but I was busy killing towns people in our Mafia game. I then went to what can nicely be called a bed in a tent surrounded by the smells of camels, the sounds of a campfire sing-along, and the paced breathing of the others who went to bed before me. I’ve been camping before, but this is probably the best. While it had marks of any other camping trip, fire, games, and songs, there were unique and ephemeral elements of being with these friends, Tory’s tale of sleep walking (which would be a fun kid’s book of her going though the dessert), and camels.

While the overall experience has amazing moments, (Rose running from monsters and Amit trying to get a soccer ball down from the top of a tent), the best was something I saw when I woke up at 4 am and walked to the ladies room. The sun was raising over the desert, over the camels, over the palm trees in thick layers of purple, then pink, the yellow to a light blue sky. Not any sky, but an Israeli sky, a sky that I hadn’t seen or experienced anywhere else. It was as if G-D made it only for me to see alone in the desert like so many of the Jews before.

Layla Tov

by Asa P.

I write to you on this day to remark upon the fruits of Yisrael. On the first day, God said to Asa, let there be fresh figs, and so it came to pass that many trees were laden with fruits of all colors, flavors, and sizes across the land of Israel, from the dry grassy hills of the Golan Heights to the ancient streets of Tzfat. On the second day, God created a helper named Wyn, who was fearless and would try any strange fruit without knowing or caring whether it was poisonous, so that Asa might see which fruits were delicious and which fruits were not. And thus, Wyn tasted green pomegranates, unripened olives, grapes dangling from weathered stone walls, and the mysterious “Fresca fruit.”

On the sixth day, God declared that Asa should gather many fruits from the market in Jerusalem and feed them to Wyn in front of everyone while he was blindfolded. Wyn tasted passion fruit, dragon fruit, lychee, prickly pear, and of course, black mission figs. And God saw that it was good, and on the seventh day He rested.

Besides, Wyn will put anything in his mouth. Ze ma shaimashka amrali.