What’s In a Street Name

Much like in the U.S. most cities here seem to have the same set of street names. This is what happens in a young country in love with its founding mythology, I suppose. So, there’s Ben Gurion, Herzl, Jabotinsky, Olei Zion etc.

This extends to Arab neighborhoods too. I can only imagine how galling it must be for a Palestinian to live on Olei Zion or Ben Gurion.

On a side note, it is amusing to see many of the same street names here as in Berlin — the only city outside Israel with a large number of streets named for dead Jewish thinkers. Heine, Rabin and Ben Gurion come to mind.

Picture This

My sister tanning on the beach in Tel Aviv. But wait, what is she reading? Could it be “The Tragedy of Zionism.” Well yes. It could.

What am I reading? “The Pity of It All: A portrait of the German Jewish epoch.” Heh. I know, I know.

Over and out, am going to try to be a bit productive now.

Türk-i-ye! Türk-i-ye!

Last night David and Laura took me to watch the Turkey – Czech game at a Turkish beer garden in Kreuzberg. Borg am See, I believe it was called. At first I was only so-so in to it. I have never been a big sports fan. But mass psychosis soon had me standing on the bench screaming Türk-i-ye! Türk-i-ye! with the rest of them. That and the fact that Turkey got back from almost losing 0-2, then made 3 goals in rapid succession toward the end. As soon as the game was over people streamed to their cars and commenced speeding and flag-waving through the streets until the riot police came out in full force.

First I was tempted to find a Turkish flag of my own. Then, after an hour or so I’d had it up to here with the nationalism and the giant posters of Kemal Atatürk. I was tempted to start shouting “PKK! Ödzalan!” and “Free Kurdistan” or something along those lines. Probably good that I didn’t.

Unfortunately I left my camera at home. This slide show in the Berliner Zeitung pretty much captures what the streets looked like.

Berlin Baby

So, I spent a few days in Lund and did the interviews I hoped to do there. I also spent some quality time with the mom and the sister. Very nice.

Today, I’ve reached the third leg of my journey, Berlin. I’m writing this from my friend David’s living room on Gneisenau Straße in Kreuzberg. This is the view from here:

(Click the photo for more pics on my Flickr set.)

I took the night train from Malmö to Berlin last night. “Liegevagen” that is six bunks in a small cabin. Not bad actually, but not great either.

This is what Malmö Central Station looked like while I was waiting for the train — not unlike the header, no?

My cabin mates turned out to be a single guy, plus a family with two kids about 10 years old. Exactly the company I had hoped for. They were pretty quiet and didn’t talk much.

When I got on the train in Malmö everyone seemed to be wearing football jerseys (that’s “soccer” to you Americans) and have Swedish flags painted on their faces, including the family in my cabin. I asked them if they were on their way to a game. Turns out they were just going to visit an aunt in the Czech Republic. Also, today I found out Sweden lost their last game so not sure what all the face paint was about.

Guy from neighboring cabin in a football jersey (surreptitious shot from the hip.)

About 4 hours of the journey was spent in the train aboard a boat from Trelleborg (Sweden) to Sassnitz (Germany).

This was a bit of a low point. You can imagine what the non-air-conditioned cabin smelled and felt like after a few hours of six people sleeping it in it. I had the top bunk. At one point I went up on deck for a breather.

A view of Sweden from the boat:

I arrived at the Central Station in Berlin just before 6 a.m. which was a little rough. I managed to stay awake long enough to make it to Kreuzberg where I woke David’s sister up at the crack of dawn to let me in. Once there I slept for a few hours. It was divine.

Berlin too is awash in flags, Deutsch and Turkish, which I assume is because of the European Football Championships.

Flag Day

Writing this from my Dad’s and Hephzibah’s kitchen, watching my sister and Hephzibah cook Shabbes dinner.

Today is the Swedish National Day, or flag day. For my American friends that’s sort of like independence day except not, since Sweden used to be a colonizer not a colony.

It started out on a not-so-great note. On my way down into the subway I found there was a minor racist/nazi rally at Karlaplan, a small square (or a circle actually) close to where I am staying. The place was pretty much on lockdown and the cops seemed very annoyed at having to allow these guys to do their thing, which somewhat redeemed it. Nonetheless it put me in a pretty foul mood. I’ve been having a lot of conflicted emotions lately so it was nice to experience very pure anger for once.

Anyhoo, the day got much better when I arrived at my friend Rebecka’s birthday party, held in her mom’s garden. All my Swedish friends were there and it was sunny and perfect. Spent the afternoon sitting in the grass drinking mimosas. Babies everywhere. Photos to come.

Schweden – Hölle oder Paradies?

Switched on the TV shortly after arriving and got a true only in Sweden moment.

It was some C-Span type live coverage of the Swedish parliament. It turned out to be a special session with “the five national minorities.” Like a little delegation of Jews, a little delegation of Roma etc. Each with a sign in front of them reading “Romska Minoriteten,” “Judiska Minoriteten,” and so on.

They each stepped up and did a show and tell, sung a song, explained their/ our history in Sweden, problems faced and plans for the future. Then a scheduled kaffepaus and an admonition to be bqack on time. “We are so glad to have our minorities; they make Sweden so much more colorful and interesting.” Incredibly bizarre to watch, fresh off the plane from New York. Watch for the upcoming web portal “minoritet.se”

Also, given the current demographics of Sweden, why are there two Finnish-speaking “national minorities” but no Arab or Muslim ones?