an open letter to the managers of the american colony

dear managers of the american colony,

thank you for welcoming me into your luxurious hotel in jerusalem this week. your staff have been friendly (i've taken a liking to the unfortunately-named waiter, jihad), the location is great, and the pillows, comforter, and mattress envelope me like no other. i enjoy reading the historical anecdotes on the walls, and reading your guest register is thrilling (could i be sitting in the same chair that bob dylan has also sat in?)

i'll admit, during my stomach-induced coma two days ago, i was a little upset to be awakened for turn-down service and chocolate, as i needed neither, but it is a nice element of your hospitality. and the fresh strawberries in the room looked delicious, though i had to turn them down and ask that they be removed for fear that i might decide suddenly that eating fruit was a good idea.

i see that much attention has been paid towards luxury and comfort in the common areas and bedrooms, but what of the bathrooms? upon entering, i noticed that, like your hotel ("the colony"), everything is prefaced by the word "the:" "the lotion," "the shower cap," "the shampoo and conditioner." my first thought was "oh, that's clever," but then this delightful thought was interrupted by a harsher, second one: "shampoo AND conditioner?! how can this clear blue liquid possibly clean and condition my hair?" my israeli friends, this product neither shampoos nor conditions. i have tested it. twice. which brings us to the shower.

in the shower, the handle on the right is marked "hot" and the handle on the left is marked "cold." it took me 10 minutes of coming out of my coma yesterday to realize that they were mis-marked. but even this realization did me little good, for your faucet has only two temperatures: scalding and frigid. please add a middle ground. i would suggest something along the lines of "warm," though i would also accept "lukewarm," "room temperature," and even "cool." my salmon-colored feet would thank you for this small addition.

a final thought about the bathroom: after people use the toilet, they are wont to wash their hands. this prevents the spreading of infectious diseases, especially those of the digestive system. when they wash their hands, though, they also need to dry them, as bacteria love nothing more than a warm, moist breeding ground. this is where the hand towel comes in. illustrious manager, you might be thinking to yourself, "but we've provided hand towels! they're on the towel rack!" to you i answer, "yes, but they're folded, almost out of arms' reach, and nowhere near the sink, which make them slightly impractical for drying ones' hands unless he or she has the forethought prior to using the toilet to climb up and get one." perhaps you might consider adding a towel hook or ring to the sink/vanity area.

i am enjoying my stay in your pleasant hotel and look forward to my remaining days here. i wish to see you retain your luxury status, and hope that my suggestions help you in doing so.

sincerely,

jessica lauren friedman, I

not such a bad place to wander for 40 years...

during the last week in jordan, i've been in constant amazement of the beautiful landscape around me. what must it have been like for the israelites to be stuck here for 40 years? i find myself thinking, "it'd be hard NOT to believe in god in a place like this." it's so easy to see millions of years of history here, both human (sediment spilling over the clay pipes at the gorgeous Nabatean ruins at Petra) and non-human (elegantly carved sandstones at Wadi Rum, with parallel cracks as if to remind us of the fractal nature of its mineral weaknesses).

and as cheesy as it sounds, i increasingly subscribe to the aphorism that not all who wander are lost. my dad points out that this story of wandering is a metaphor for adolescence, but although i like the metaphor, i'm starting to believe that maybe the jews were not really wandering. rather, they chose to stay in this glorious place and feel god's presence in a way they hadn't before, instead of moving onto a land where there was no guarantee of knowing god and god's work so intimately.

when they had reached the dead sea, moses went up on mt. nebo in jordan (har nevo in hebrew) and glimpsed the promised land, which he never reached. previously, i've thought of this story as the jewish version of tantalus: a man is just within reach of his goal as it disappears. i've wondered what my nevo will be, and if other cultures have this story (and if so, why?) but as i ruminate, the passover song, "dayenu," comes to mind. in this song, we sing that it would've been enough if god had just brought us out of slavery, if god had split the seas, if god had given us shabbat, etc. maybe, when moses reached the summit of har nevo, it was like the day i did, rainy and snowy.

yes, the promised land looked great, but no different from the land on which he was standing. rather than take his chances on disappointment, moses said, "dayenu," and he was buried on nevo. perhaps the story of nevo is not one of being tantalized, or one of jews being punished for their idolatry and lack of faith in the desert, but rather one of deciding that you need not have EVERYTHING you've worked for to be happy and fulfilled and to know god.