A while back we were talking with Debi, as in Shaike and Debi, about kids and growing up and distances and visits and all that. She was talking about how hard it is for her, living in Israel with a daughter and grandkids living in London, and about how hard it is to be so far away. We countered with the fact that Boston, where Helen lives, is farther from Seattle than London is from Israel, making visits and physical contacts as infrequent as they are wonderful. Distance, like location, matters. I was thinking about this recently when we were in Amsterdam—not that far from our apartment in Jerusalem, but a world away.
The plastic tree outside our Jerusalem apartment–a not-so-living signpost for us and our guests
We left Israel after six and a half months in a speeding taxi that was almost an hour late, meaning that we got to the airport two hours ahead of schedule rather than three. Not a problem. By the time of the taxi, we had returned our phones, packed up our stuff into small suitcases, given away our accumulated food and utensils and books, hugged our friends and family one last time and tried to turn our attention to the rest of the world. Not easy. Israel took over our imaginations and our lives this time, which is not a surprise, but this time even more so. Living where we lived for over half a year, getting into a routine with the fruit and vegetable guys and the meat guy and the coffee guy in the shuk, and a routine with our classes and volunteer gigs and our friends—Jerusalem became home. We got in a good groove, and then, we moved on. The new groove begins.
Canalside in Amsterdam
Amsterdam is a great place to start to visit the rest of the world. Our flights via London got us there in the late afternoon, and we sorted out the train into the city and the Metro out to our destination—the apartment of Sarah and Edmund. Sarah is the daughter of our Seattle friends Gordon and Saskia, and she lives in Amsterdam with her boyfriend Edmund in a beautiful, large apartment in a quiet residential neighborhood just outside the city center. They are a delightful young couple, bright, articulate on just about any topic, interested in the world and trying to make it better. Add them to the young people we’ve met this year who have given us great hope for the future. We were very fortunate to be able to stay with them—it saved us a lot of money, of course, but it also gave us entrée into a ‘real apartment’ in this very busy, cosmopolitan city, and it gave us a chance to meet them and get to know them a bit. And unlike our Jerusalem apartment, our guest room in Amsterdam was a private room, not a walk-through, and we had our own bathroom. What a concept.
Detail from Rembrandt’s The Night Watch, as seen in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
Day One—we walked. And walked. We took one of Rick Steves’ walking tours, and it was great! We did the two big museums, figured out the tram system, and felt like we were really starting to know our way around. Canals, big squares full of people, busy shopping streets—Europe! Day Two was mentioned in my post about the Mladic trial—we got an early train to The Hague and sat in on the trial of Ratko Mladic, charged with genocide and crimes against humanity. Whew. We got back to Amsterdam after the trial in the late afternoon and made our way to the Jewish Historical Museum, which was very good, and the surrounding area. We needed to decompress a bit. By then we were pretty wiped out. Quite a day.
The International Criminal Court building in The Hague
Day Three we went back to The Hague, for a pre-arranged tour and briefing at the International Criminal Court. There was no hearing scheduled that day, but we were part of a group of about 40 people who learned about the workings of this court from, from its legal department and prosecutor’s staff, and we got a look at the court chambers where the hearings and trials take place. This is a relatively new institution, only ten years old, and it is trying to establish itself as a legitimate court of law in the fight against genocide, crimes against humanity, and impunity. Most impressive and memorable was the young member of the prosecutor’s staff who told us of her work in the field, collecting evidence through interviews with victims of terror, rape and other crimes, to be used in the court back in The Hague. The delicacy with which she and her colleagues have to work, so far from home, at such great risk to themselves and their witnesses, moved and startled me. Of course it’s dangerous work. But they do it anyway. More reasons for hope.
Inside the Meermanno Museum of the Book, The Hague
We had a few hours to wander The Hague after the court tour before 6:30 services at the local ‘liberal’ synagogue, so we took to walking. We stumbled onto a book museum, and Indonesian culture festival, various art collections and even a torture museum. (We didn’t go in that one.) We took a nap on a shady park bench overlooking the main government buildings and cascading fountains. A nice day.
Inside the Liberal Synagogue of The Hague
The synagogue, highly recommended to us by a guy we met in Sarajevo (a judge at the ICTY branch courtroom there) was beautiful. It was built in the 17th century, I think, in the traditional Sephardic style with the bimah in the center. The interior was mostly dark wood, and it felt its age—it was old and dignified. We were welcomed and greeted by almost everyone there, including the emeritus rabbi who led services in Dutch, Hebrew and, for our benefit, English. Then, after the service we were invited to dinner by a young couple sitting near us, Laura and Andre, she a shoe marketing exec with an American mom and Dutch dad, he a dentist from Brazil, now all living in The Hague. The invitation was to her parents’ home, which was a beautiful, spacious apartment on the outskirts of town. We got a ride there by a neighbor who is a member of the congregation, the volunteer hazzan, who also happens to be the president of the Dutch Supreme Court. Why not.
With our Shabbat dinner hosts in The Hague, and their table
Dinner…well, we could have been in Seattle or New York or anywhere else where Jews meet for Friday night dinner. We met our hosts and before you know it I had a very nice Scotch in my hands. I knew I was in the right place. John owns an art gallery specializing in Latin American art and artifacts. Anne works for the Israeli Embassy and for Yad Vashem regarding survivors and righteous gentiles living in Holland. We chatted about politics and Israel and real estate and Jewish life and our travels and theirs. We ate fabulous food around a big round table laden with the special Friday night dishes. Another guest was Betty, the elderly adopted grandma who was usually there on Friday nights. Her stories—she’s Jewish and Dutch and almost 80—were very moving, especially in light of the trial we’d attended the day before. Separated from her parents and hidden at the age of eight, she never saw her parents again. That’s the way it is here. People of a certain age all have a certain story, or at least a variation of that story. Anne Frank wasn’t the only one.
How warm and reassuring it was to be in their home for dinner! The blessings, the stories, the books, the food—it came at a perfect time for us, on our first Shabbat outside of Israel. We really got lucky.
We caught a late train back to Amsterdam and then an even later Metro back to Sarah’s apartment. Sarah and Edmund had graciously taken a weekend trip to Paris, and even put their cat into a kitty hotel, leaving the place to us. Amazing!
Inside the candle-lit Portuguese Synagogue in Amsterdam
We woke Saturday morning and got our incredibly wrinkled Shabbat clothes back on and made our way to the big Portuguese synagogue in Amsterdam, which is about a 15 minute walk from Sarah’s place. Services were held in the small ‘winter chapel’, a very old side-shul that is easier to keep warm and lit. They use the big shul for services only between Shavuot and Sukkot, it turns out. So, services were nice, mostly in Hebrew but with personal blessings in Portuguese. (I got an aliyah and didn’t blow it.) Synagogue officials wear big top hats, which are a bit silly, but otherwise, it was unexceptional. After services we were once again invited home for a meal, this time by the shamash of the shul, his wife and four sons. They live in a building just adjacent to the synagogue, so we walked there and enjoyed a nice lunch. What a collection of Jews there were at that lunch! The dad has a Jewish mother and Chinese father and grew up in Suriname. His wife has an African-American Jewish father and a American Jewish mother and grew up in Israel. The other guest were from Sweden—a mom, daughter of survivors from Hungary, and two teenage sons. Their dad, originally from Japan, was not there. What a mixed up Jewish world there was around that table! As they say, ‘Jew-dar’ is getting harder and harder to maintain in this diverse, complicated universe.
A canal in the Jordaan in the fading afternoon light
After lunch, we crashed, trying to catch up with the sleep lost on two early trips to the Hague. With the sun setting at almost 10pm, we had lots of light left when we finally got back into the city. We took a tram across town to the beautiful Jordaan neighborhood, and from there we walked right across Amsterdam, including the Red Light District on a Saturday night. Had to do it—this is a working sabbatical, you know. (We chose not to visit the Sex Museum—it wasn’t covered by our national Museum Pass. Alas.) We ended up eating take-out on a stone bench on Rembrandtplein, watching the world go by. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday.
The rain stops, and within five minutes an art fair springs up in Rembrandt Square, Amsterdam
Our last day in Amsterdam we spent mostly in museums, to avoid the rain and chill wind. The Hermitage was great, as was Rembrandt House. We sat out a big rainstorm in a bar where we struck up a conversation with an English couple, here on the Queen Elizabeth. A quick, short cruise around the neighborhood. They were disappointed that we weren’t visiting the UK on this trip. Next time. Once the rain stopped, the bar emptied, and we continued our ramblings. Amsterdam, with its charming canals and coffee houses and grand buildings and great museums, is a great place to spend a few days.
Jerusalem’s behind us. So is Amsterdam. Next stop: Bruges.
Location. Location. Location. 