A Letter to the Engeldingers

Reuven Rahamim

An Open Letter to the Parents of Andrew Engeldinger

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Engeldinger,

It's been a month and a half since my cousin, Reuven, was brutally murdered by your son at Accent Signage in Minneapolis. Perhaps things have gone back to some semblence of normal out there in Minnesota. You've accepted the fact that your estranged son of 2 years will never come back to you, and the media is focusing on things like Hurricane Sandy and the presidential elections. I'm sorry for your loss.

Here in Israel, I'm living a completely different reality. The trauma that your son inflicted on me is crippling. I can't concentrate at work the way I used to, a day doesn't go by without me imagining the hundred and one ways I would have stopped your son had I known ahead of time what he was planning, and the pain that I feel for the loss of someone so full of compassion is masked by the anger I have towards you both every  waking moment.

Most of the time, I push myself back into the storage closet of my mind so that I can focus on something even more important- his family. His 83 year old mother. His two sisters and brother. His neices and nephews. All completely devastated by the evil that inhabited this world in the form of your son, Andrew Engeldinger.

Yesterday they unveiled the tombstone at Reuven's burial place here in Israel. I couldn't attend because I was with his mother at the hospital, who was rushed there the night before. Every day, she cannot be left alone because she cries. She cries so much it hurts her eyes. She's in pain, and every day I spend with her I see the gaping hole left in her life. I see three siblings, missing their brother. Like a car with a wheel that blew out and still somehow trying to manage along the road of life.

Here in Israel, I read the news and saw the images and videos of the funeral. I read the police reports, and learned of the mental illness your son was suffering from. You told the public how you tried to help him two years ago, but that he refused and cut you off. You said this might be an explanation, but not a justification. Keep telling that to yourself.

From the moment of conception, Andrew was your responsibility until the day you died. Children who are grown are still children. Parents who grow older are still parents. People tell me "you can't force someone into a relationship with you if they don't want it". In my opinion, this doesn't apply to a mother/father-son relationship. The moment you let Andrew go and stopped trying to move the earth to help him was the moment you sealed the fate of your son, of my dear cousin Reuven, and of the 4 other people who were brutally and senselessly murdered.

We can sit here and blame the NRA or blame the government for not having a system in place to stop gun permits from being given to those with a history of mental issues. But that's not where the blame belongs.

Although Reuven is gone, his mother will never stop being his mother. She'll never stop missing him and the days and nights where we comfort her will continue to be many. She never let go of her son- she always encouraged him, loved him, and he gave her the world.

Andrew was your son. You raised him. You let him walk out of your lives two years ago. Now that Andrew is gone, you are forced once again to take up the role of his parents. And now, you're left to pick up his pieces and deal with his mess. No matter how far away your child runs from you, you are always their parent. But I guess you've figured that out by now.

I hope you're able to find peace with yourselves. In the mean time, I'll stay here in Israel and pick up where Reuven left off- taking care of his mother.

I'm sorry I ever had a reason to have to write you this letter.

Drew

Photo: Renee Jones Shneider, Star Tribune

Trip to Crocodilopolis (Nahal HaTaninim)

Crocodilopolis. Nahal HaTaninim. 
Crocodile Country. Or at least it once was. 

Trip to Crocodilopolis

 Nahal HaTaninim, or the "Crocodile Stream" is a unique historical site nestled between the Ma'agan Michael kibbutz and the Arab Village of Jisr Azarka (def. the blue bridge). 


Nahal Taninim gets its name from the presense of crocodiles in the stream, dating back to Roman times. When I heard that I would get a chance to visit Nahal Taninim, and perhaps see some crocodiles in real life I couldn't wait to go! I asked our awesome tour guide, Uri,  if he would show me where the few remaining crocs lay a few days before my trip, and he said "of course!". 


There were a few legends as to how the crocodiles got there in the first place. In the first legend, there were twin brothers who ruled the ancient city Caesarea. One of the brothers suffered from leprosy and as a result would often have to bathe in the water. His brother, who wished to be the sole ruler, introduced the crocodiles into the river so that he could feed them- with his brother (!) thus leaving him the sole ruler of the land! Apparently he succeeded...

Crocodiles Were Once Part of the Landscape

The ancient name, Crocodilopolis, dating back to Persian and Helenistic periods suggest that crocodiles were present in the river since that time. It is more likely that the crocodiles were brought for the gladiator games held in neighboring Caesarea by the Romans. Regardless of how they got there, I was really excited to see them!
 When I arrived, I quickly started to search the stream waters. I saw a few different animals, but no crocodiless. "Where are the crocodiles!?" I asked Uri. 


"Oh, they haven't been around since 1912!" he said. "What!? Are you sure?!" I exclaimed. "It's true, they have been hunted into extinction". Apparently I had been fooled. Oh well, serves me right for being so gullible! After all, surely after six years of living in Israel I would have heard about crocodiles living in some stream by now. 


Despite my disappointment, I was at least happy to see this sign- the only of homage paid to our scaley friends of yore. Uri proceded to tell us the story behind what we were seeing all around us, and the history was pretty neat. 

The Dam

The History of the Dam
Apparently the whole point of this ancient establishment was for the Romans to raise water levels in order to supply the ancient city of Caesarea with additional water. A dam was erected (as you can see in the picture), and water was diverted to a network of channels that flowed downhill. 

Part of the Ancient Channels

The dam contiuned to function into the Byzantine period, and six flour mills were dug near the dam, operated by the power of water that flowed through the channels. 


The Regulatory Water Device
A regulartory water device was established, which regulated the water that was channeled into the low-level aqueduct and to the neighboring flour mills. During the Byzantine period, another channel was dug, which directed the water directly to the flour mills. After Caesarea's decline, the low-level aqueduct and the flour mills fell out of use. 

The Regulatory Water Device

The device consists of three deep passages, a higher one and a distribution pool. Wooden slats at the exits from the passages controlled the amount of water that was allowed to flow through. 

Crocodilopolis through the Ages
In the year 636, the area was destroyed by the Arab invasion of the 7th century. The area lied in wait until it was revitalized by the Crusaders and used on and off until the 14th century. 

One of the Water Mills

With the arrival of the Mamaluk's in the 14th century, all cities along the coast were destroyed to ensure that the Crusaders could not return. As a result, the coastal plain was abandoned and the dam ceased to function. As a result of the neglect, the entire area became a swamp. Between 1830-1840 the Ottomans were pushed back by the invading forces of Muhammad Ali, the Egyptian ruler at the time. Ali brought a North African tribe called the Gawarna (Swamp Dwellers) to settle the area because of their seeming immunity to Malaria (actually, this immunity was because they carried the Sickle Cell Gene, which prevents the Malaria paraside from attaching to the body's red blood cells). The descendents of the Gawarna helped the Zionist settlers of Zichron Ya'akov that arrived in the early 20th century to begin the process of draining the swamp. The residents of nearby Jisr Azarkaa are the decendents of the Gawarna tribe .

The Pipe Factory

The Pipe Factory
The Kabara Swamp was successfully drained between 1922 and 1932. A clay pipe factory was established here by the Baron de Rothschild, who purchased the land in the Kabara valley in order to develop the area. Unfortunately, the manufacture of the pipes here was unsuccessful, and clay pipes that were imported from France were used to drain the swamp instead. The drainage was accomplished by crisscrossing the 6,000 dunams of swamp with a network of pipes, the total length of which was 50 kilometers. The pipes capped 3,000 springs and directed their flow to an outlet channel. 

Nahal HaTaninim Today

Nahal HaTaninim- The Crocodile Stream

Currently, Nahal HaTaninim is a national park open to the public, where tours and activities are offered to visitors and families alike. Although the main entrance is from Road 4 towards Jisr Azarka, an alternate (secret) entrance is located right near the SPNI's field school at Ma'gan Michael, where you can take a visit and learn about the surroundings. 
If you're lucky, your guide might even open the waterways so you can see the water wheels in action!

I had a wonderful time visiting Nahal HaTaninim even though the crocodiles have long been gone. But who knows? Maybe there are lone crocodiles hiding in the mist, coming out only when they know no one is around....

They Say I Came Home...

Just today, I received an email with a link to an article called "The Stranger" by Georg Simmel. It is a short, three page article that attempts to explain the phenomenon of "the stranger" in any society, and why he essentially stays that way.

Most recently, I have been struggling with developing a career path in Israel, my chosen home. Simmel argues that the "stranger" will never really become a part of the group as he has not been with it from the beginning. Succeeding as a trader that bridges between worlds, he will become obsolete once his services are no longer rendered, yet may choose to remain where he is albeit forever remaining an objective outsider.

When I moved to Israel in 2006, I did so because I felt that as an American Jew on a U.S. university campus, Israel wasn't doing enough to protect us against the constant delegitimization of Israel and Jewish people by anti-Israel groups. I felt like I was fighting for my very existence in the minds and hearts of my fellow American citizens, and I promised that I would do my best to help shape the particularly awful public relations that Israelis were producing in the American media.

So I picked up, immigrated to Israel, and joined the army, accepting nothing less than enlistment into the Spokesperson's Unit. I very quickly learned that I would not penetrate the ranks of the IDF's media spokespeople. Instead, I dealt with public appeals and international inquiries. As time went on, I transferred to the Civil Administration, both in the Hebron district and then in their headquarters. I met with representatives of various foreign governmental and humanitarian organizations, doing my tiny part to project Israel in a positive light.

At the time, I felt it was best to attend my friend's wedding in the US that happened to be the same weekend that Officer's Training School was starting. So I made peace with my decision to be released from the army sans OTC so that I could continue to get a master's degree on my own time. Only after my degree would I  try and return to the ranks of my army unit in an effort to help create positive public relations as a reflection of good policy that I would help formulate.

Since I was released in 2008, I've attained a Master's degree in Public Policy from Tel Aviv University, all while volunteering my time at various non-profit organizations in order to be exposed to greater sectors of Israeli society. Now that I'm through with my education-related obligations, its time for me to develop my career.

Now, I've had a pretty difficult time dissolving myself into the Israeli work force, and after reading Simmel's article, I'm beginning to understand that I am basically doomed since well, I'll never really be a part of the group (Israel) since I was not a part of it from the beginning.

 Just this past week, I've begun to inquire returning to the Civil Administration. I was told I had no chance in the Foreign Relations branch- as I was up against another 8 Americans, 2 Swedes and a Dane in my same position. Even with a M.A. in Public Policy, it was just assumed that I would look to return to Foreign Relations solely because I come from America. What about economic policy? Environmental policy? Infrastructure Development? But no. No one thought to check my compatibility in those departments. As such, I will continually be "massed" into the group of "foreigners" that are living in Israel, regardless of how hard I try to separate myself from them. Translation services, online marketing for useless products, and English speaking customer service call centers seem to be the current trend for many Americans that I've been in contact with.

In this country, my two degrees and experience in vast areas of public service means essentially nothing. Living in Israel and coming from America, it is who you know and who you have developed relationships that will get you in through the door, as a resume will most certainly just end up in the trash can.

If I have one regret, it was giving up on the opportunity to push towards officer's training school when I was still in my compulsory army service. My long history of putting others constantly before myself is finally rearing its consequences. I've been so busy making sure that everyone around me is filled up and I've left myself nothing, in all areas of my life.

When I immigrated to Israel, I was made to believe that as a Jew, I was coming home. It's a dichotomy. While Israel is home to the Jewish people, the virtue of being Jewish is not enough to make Israel your home. Perhaps I'll be the "trader" for the rest of my life here in Israel, peddling my ideas for love and unity. And perhaps the day I become "Israeli" will be the day I lose my identity as an American. Either way, something's gotta give.

Fattoush

View from Old Yafo

(ingredients for two): 

I am not of Arabic descent, nor do I claim to be an expert in Arabic cuisine. I do, however, enjoy replicating delicious dishes that I enjoy around the world. This specific recipe comes from a fabulous Fattoush salad that I enjoyed at the Balloons Pizza Restaurant in Bethlehem. Tried and tested, my recipe tastes *almost* as good as theirs.

Enjoy my recipe for this simple, refreshing, Mediterranean salad.

For the Salad:

3 cups chopped green leafy lettuce (preferably the green tops of romaine)

1 medium tomato (or a handful of cherry tomatoes)

2 small Persian cucumbers 

1 small purple onion

Optional:

1/2 Bell Pepper 

1/2 cup fresh mint 

1/4 cup sliced red raddishes 

For the Croutons:

1 small whole wheat (or any) pita

Sumac (pictured)

Zaatar (pictured)

olive oil 

Sumac (Red) and Zaatar (Green)

For the Dressing: 

Juice of one and one half lemon 

Olive Oil

Salt

Sumac

Zaatar (Hyssop) 

Instructions:

1. Wash all of your vegetables. 

 2. Chop all of your vegetables and thow into a big mixing bowl

 3. Add Sumac (about 1 tablespoon) , Zaatar (1-2 tablespoons), and salt (to taste) to your salad

 5.  Add Olive Oil (I just drizzle for a few seconds) and freshly squeezed Lemon Juice.


Side Note:  For whatever reason, no matter how hard I tried, my salads were always lacking something. So I once asked a friend of mine how to make authentic Arabic salad, and invited him to make it for me so that I could learn. First, he was not afraid to drizzle as much olive oil as needed in order to dress the salad. Second, he added salt (When you think you've added enough, add more!). Third, he said, "God gave us two hands for a reason", and proceeded to toss the salad with his hands, making sure that every last piece of beautifully diced vegetable was coated with perfect amounts of seasoning, lemon juice and olive oil. Bottom line, when you cook never be afraid to "infuse" your dishes with your uniqueness!

Making the Croutons:

 1. Prepare your ingredients.

2. Cut Pita bread into thin strips. I like using a food scissors because it gives me control and precision when cutting the pita in strips.

 3. Season bread strips with Sumac, Zaatar, and Kosher Salt. Drizzle with enough olive oil to coat the strips, and toss.

 4. Bake the strips at 150 degrees Celsius (or 300 degrees Fahrenheit). Make sure that you pay close attention to the pita strips. Olive oil has a much lower burning temperature than other oils, which could cause your pita chips to burn fast. It is always better to bake the chips at a lower temperature for longer than to blast them at a high temerature. If you decide to bake at a high temperature, make sure you keep your eyes on the chips at all times, removing them immediately if they begin to burn.

Transfer your salad to a serving bowl, and top with pita chips

My Fattoush Salad

Enjoy!

It Doesn't Have to Be This Way...

"Through Love, and Not Hatred, Do You Bring People to Torah"

At the Beit Shemesh Rally on December 27th, 2011

       Recently there have been some pretty intense dialogs in Israel regarding the recent encroachment of the extreme Haredi factions on the social rights of women. Women have been photoshopped out of community publications, women have been demanded to move to the back of the public bus,  little religious girls have been spat on and called "whores" on their way to school because they were, at the ages of 6-12, apparently viewed as sexual objects by grown men and therefore chastised for their less than "modest" dress code.

     While it is true that perpetrators came from a fringe group of only 150 families in the Israeli town of Beit Shemesh, the ramifications that their actions have are far reaching and spiritually damaging for each and every Jew.  When events like this happen, they creat a rift in the trust that people have in one another. When a non-observant person sees that people who are  supposed to be emissaries of their religion act in such a shameful way, a part of them breaks off from the rest of their people. In this case, the "secular" Jewish Israelis are furthermore justified in their break from Judaism, and most of all, Torah values.

      Every year, hundreds if not thousands of young Israelis flock to India in search of a spiritual experience; looking for guidance, wisdom, inner peace, and serenity. Many find themselves through taking up residence in ashrams, through psychedelic drug use, or through turning to other religions such as Buddhism, Hari Krishna, and even Christianity. For a reason, these young Israelis feel that what they search for cannot be answered by Judaism. I don't blame them. If someone who was supposed to be the epitome of Torah and Jewish Observance instead showed hatred for me or a group I identified with, how could I be expected to want to come closer?

      To the extremists, to the religious fanatics, to those who envoke the name of Torah when in reality they distort its teachings, or the men who impose religious coercion upon the less observant around them, I remind you: Through love, and not hate, do you bring people closer to the Torah.

Day Trip to Beit Zayit

Day Trip to Beit Zayit (Jerusalem) 

"Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white." - Mark Jenkins

Stairwell to Nowhere, Jerusalem Forest

As I set out from the hustle and bustle of Tel Aviv on a cold Tuesday Morning, I prepare myself for what will be a "hike" through the Jerusalem Forest behind the neighborhoods of Givat Sha'ul and Har Nof. I'm not sure what will await me, but I'm ready to take on the challenge.

We arrive at a bakery, adjacent from one of the largest flour mills in Israel. The building is reminiscent of an old, colorless Eastern European structure from the Cold War era. Our group gathers and sets off for Beit Zayit, a Moshav outside of Jerusalem. 

Our path is through the forest of the JNF's "Jerusalem Forest" trail. The trail is filled with an abundance of holy fruit- carob trees, almonds, olives and figs. I close myself off from the rest of the world and connect with the beauty that is often overlooked in nature. As I make my way, I see power lines running through the valley. A perfect scene, plagued with the reminders that we have developed ourselves to the point that even a forest cannot fight back with its own beauty. 

And yet, I keep thinking of my happy place, a green meadow with trees and flowers. I wait for it to come, yet as I wander into the unknown I can only rely on my imagination to bring me to my connection with the universe. And then as I turn the bend, I arrive. 

Meadow

As I appreciate the sense of calm around me I am drawn to the beauty of a little cone, 

Pine Cone

one of which I would usually kick to the curb in an urban setting. I pick it up,and at once see the swirls of magic that God has created in this little vessle for spreading seeds of the earth. 


We continue on our way, towards Beit Zayit, coming closer to our end destination. I see homes in a small village, something reminscent of a quaint mountain town, teeming with serenity. On each corner is a plant, a tree, a connection with the Almighty. Shades of reds that come from the earth dot the village.

Street in Beit Zayit

As we arrive at our final destination, an organic meal awaits us, based on grains, vegetables, and fruits. Atop a camp fire is an old style iron pita taboun. Each person takes some dough, shaping their pitas and setting it on the fire. For me, my first plain pita wasn't anything special. I needed to fuse the tastes of my journey. As I put my second  pita on the taboun, I added sea salt, olive oil, the flesh of a tomato, and vision. Half way through my pita fell into the fire, but I just dusted it off,  flipped it over, and cooked other side. 

Home Made Pita

Little did I know, when my pita met the earth and ashes of the fire wood, it was no accident. As I took my first bite, the earth had infused my creation with hers. Each bite brough forth the crisp, fiery flavors and smells of the living earth, and I was at one with my source. 

Welcome

Dear friends,

       Some of you may know me, some of you may not. I came up with the idea to start sharing my ideas, recipes, and travels with you. I believe the key to happiness lies in the ability to connect with others, see the world through many different lenses, and appreciate the beauty all around us. So, I welcome you to my journal. Whether it be daily or weekly, there will always be something here that inspires me, and I hope will inspire you too.

The Mediterranean Coast

All my love,
The Wandering Drew