Continuing on with my museum spree, following the trips to the Diaspora Museum and the Palmach Museum, my next stop was the Eretz Israel Museum of Tel Aviv (not to be confused with the Israel Museum in Jerusalem – which happened to have been visited by Barack Obama and entourage on the very day I was at the Tel Aviv museums). The largest of the three museums, the Eretz Israel Museum showcases numerous different exhibitions, each somewhat related to the Holy Land. This was the first museum that charged me an entrance fee, but I was still impressed by how far I’d gone without spending money. In I went, to explore the numerous attractions. Having seen so much, and having so many great photographs to share, I’ll just breeze through the multitude of museum pieces.

The new coming out of the old – Tel Qasile ruins and the towers of Tel Aviv

First on the path I chose was the Planetarium. There was a chain blocking the entrance so I gave a holler. A man came out and told me it was closed, and not to worry because it was geared towards children anyway. I shrugged and continued on my way, finding a recreated olive press next. Coming from the home of the olive oil, the Galilee, olive presses – new and old – are not a foreign sight.

Olive press machine

After passing a flour mill, powered by a mini-aqueduct, and a fancy building exhibiting large amounts of beautiful Judaica (officially known as the Ethnography and Folklore exhibition), I approached the dusty Tel Qasile ruins. An archaeological site on the Yarkon River, the ruins are said to be the remains of a Philistine port city. While I was trying to capture that snazzy shot up above, a giant insect caught my attention. It was a locust, a straggler from the huge swarm that invaded the country a few weeks ago. I was surprised at the size of it, and whilst attempting to photograph the behemoth, lost him to the wind.

Tel Qasile excavations

After the ruins, I headed over to a exhibition called “Man and His Work”, presenting the tools and trades of mankind throughout the ages. Outside, a manifestation of human livelihood was arranged as if it were a marketplace. Rows of niches, each containing a different trade, displayed the many industries found in the olden days.

Workshops of man

Entering into a building called the The Rothschild Center, I found several collections and mini-museums. The first was befitting for the building, an exhibit by the name of “The Land of the Baron”, following the life of Baron Edmond Benjamin James de Rothschild. Instrumental in the eventual restoration of the Holy Land, the Baron was avidly interested in buying land and starting settlements. One of these is the picturesque Rosh Pina; and here is the original property plan:

Plans for Rosh Pina

I had written about the Baron some months back when I covered an army trip I took to Ramat HaNadiv, where the Baron was finally laid to rest. Here is a photograph from that memorable day in April 1954:

Laying the Rothschild couple to rest at Ramat HaNadiv

After the immersion into the Rothschild family history and the mark they left on the Holy Land, I found an interesting photograph staring down at me from a wall – a photograph by Ethiopian-born Benny Vodo (or Woodoo):

Benny Vodo photograph

In theme with the photograph, there was a large temporary exhibit called “Ethiopia, A Land of Wonders”. Within the walls I found a history colourful and rejoicing, the story of a people who returned to their roots. I have several Ethiopian friends and I must say, their stories can be quite interesting. Here is a photograph of an Ethiopian Jewish family finally arriving to the Holy Land:

Ethiopian olim coming off the plane

On to the next couple of exhibitions, the Valero Bank and the history of currency was quite interesting. The first Jewish bank to open in recent times in the Holy Land, the Valero Bank was founded by Jakob Valero in 1848, just inside the Jaffa Gate in Jerusalem’s Old City. A family comparably, in a smaller scale, to the Rothschilds, the Valeros held power and authority in their environs and the bank thrived. Dealing with currency, here are two interesting pieces:

Turkish coin die, 1900s

Tyrian shekels from the Ussfiyeh hoard

What came next was an exhibition that caused me great joy – The Alexander Museum of Postal History & Philately. I used to collect stamps when I was a kid, a collection less dear than my coin trove, but yet this tasteful, modern-looking revelation of the Israeli Postal Service (something most people don’t think twice about) could spark interest in anyone. One gem is the eyebrow-raising requirements for the position of postman in the Turkish Empire: one must be “a hero – tall and broad of shoulder – his weapon slung in his belt, and a steel rod in his hand, sow[ing] fear wherever he went…”. Another is a post office box which explicitly states that there shall be no mail headed for Kiryat Chaim (I cannot fathom the reason why Kiryat Chaim cannot get mail). And here, an early-age “Doar Yisrael” mail-truck, with yours truly, posing for the friendly guard who offered to take my photo:

The old postal truck and I

And then, to finish off, a selection of wonderful old photographs, coming from two collections. First, a coloured photo from the “Images from the Land of the Bible”:

Camel caravans crossin the Yarkon River estuary, 1933

And now, some amazing photographs from the talented Zvi Oron-Orushkes, who upon being honourably discharged from the British military, was appointed by High Commissioner John Chancellor in 1929 to be the official photographer for the British government in Mandate Palestine. Despite being Jewish, and being involved in Zionism, Zvi was able to photograph from all sides of the diplomatic die, capturing a little bit of everything. Here are three of my favourite photographs from the collection (which opened the day I visited the museum):

A drippy day

A zeppelin above the King Daviv Hotel, Jerusalem, 1929

Draining the swamps of Yagur, 1930s

Well, that just about covers it, if really briefly. Again, the Eretz Israel Museum is so vast, with such a large assortment of exhibitions and collections, as well as the permanent buildings and Tel Qasile ruins, that one blog post would just run on and on and on. So, let this be a wrap. More trips, and more posts, coming soon!

Heading to the Eretz Israel Museum, coming from the Diaspora Museum, I found myself asking directions from a friendly guard. A few steps later, I turned around and noticed that the guard was guarding the Palmach Museum entrance, a museum I have always wanted to visit. The Palmach was the fighting force of the Haganah, the lead Jewish organisation in the British Mandate during the 1920 – 1940 period, and was originally established in cahoots with the British Army to help defend the Holy Land against the expected Nazi invasion. When Erwin Rommel (the “Desert Fox”), and his Afrika Corps, were defeated at El Alamein, Egypt, the British decided that the Palmach was no longer needed and attempted to disarm them. Realising the great benefits of having an army, the Haganah kept the Palmach alive, working on the sly. In 1947, the Palmach’s brigades were instrumental in the War of Independence and became the backbone of the Israel Defence Forces (IDF) once independence was declared.

The Palmach in training

Believing in early Zionist fundamentals, Palmach members engaged in both farm-work and military training, being extremely useful to the struggling Jews in those difficult times. Thus, the symbol of the Palmach is a sword framed by two stalks of wheat:

The Palmach logo

I entered the museum and requested admittance. The front desk informed me that, under most circumstances, admittance to the museum was done by reservation only. However, since I was in uniform (and people in uniform look like they know what they are doing and are often left to their own devices, which is pretty handy) and I was alone, they told me that I could join the next group that was starting in 25 minutes. What makes the Palmach Museum very unusual is that there aren’t any artefacts, it’s an experiential museum – a tour incorporating well-made sets and archived footage, linked together with a reenactment film taking the visitor on a journey through the seven years of the Palmach. Here’s a scene from the tour, a connecting path showing the training of the Palmach members in the rocky desert terrain.

”Palmach members training”

My favourite set was the very first one, however I was unable to photographically capture it. A scene from early 1940s Tel Aviv, the set looked like a WWII-era Paris street corner, minus the Nazis. Even an “old-timey” bicycle was leaning against a metal guard rail, in front of a café’s large picture windows. The tour was given by a soldier girl and everybody had little translation machines that they held to their ears; most of the tour were Spanish speakers, with a handful of English speakers. I opted for the original Hebrew audio to accompany my visual experience, and was happy with my decision. The Palmach group on-screen, represented by modern-day actors and actresses, took us on a path that led to their eventual deployment in the War of Independence, after secret operations and capture by the British. Here is a sculptural depiction of Palmach soldiers using a radio during the war (with ammunition at a premium, desperate Palmach members had sometimes turned to rocks to help fend off the enemy):

”Palmach members in battle”

The tour, which is 90-minutes long (including a 25-minute film), begins and ends at the memorial room, which commemorates all the Palmach fighters who lost their lives in the struggle for the Jewish State.

Palmach memorial

After the tour I asked the soldier who led the tour if there, by any chance, was more to see. She replied in the affirmative and took me to a room that houses drawers, hundreds of drawers. Inside each drawer is a binder with information on a Palmach member. Some drawers are larger than others, and upon opening, reveal more than just a binder. In one particular large drawer I flipped through a 1941 calender book and held an old pipe – memorabilia that once belonged to the Palmach member, presumably donated by the family. I found it very interesting and would have liked to spend a long time exploring the drawers, however, there was more to see. The next room the guide took me to was the photo collections room, dozens of photo albums divided by brigade, location and operation. I flipped through some and saw that the Palmach took far more photographs than I had ever imagined, even aerial footage. That particular room, the vast collection of photo albums, is not included in the museum’s admission fee; rather it is free to all. Who can pass up such an opportunity?

Great painting detailing a blockaded street in the 1940s

After flipping through some albums, I bid my thanks and farewell and headed out, walking in the direction of the next museum on my list – the Eretz Israel Museum.

Last week I began something I had quite nearly forgotten about, vacation. Having passed my army truck driving course, I was able to secure some much desired vacation days and, to celebrate, I went to Tel Aviv to browse some museums. With two museums on my radar, I was psyched and departed early in the morning, taking the train down to Tel Aviv. In order to secure free transportation (one of my favourite things about the army), I wore my full “dress” uniform for the day. My first stop after disembarking from the train was the Diaspora Museum in the Tel Aviv University campus. Focusing on the saga of Jewish life throughout the Diaspora, the museum showcases important historical events as well as the day-to-day life of the exiled Jew.

The Diaspora Museum in the Tel Aviv University campus

I stepped up to the front desk and asked for an admission ticket, reaching into my pocket for some money. The kind people behind the desk told me that the museum was free to soldiers, and that it was the least they could do for “those who guard us while we sleep”. I confessed that I don’t really guard them, but yes, I do my fair share of guarding so I guess I’m entitled. I think it’s funny how there are some soldiers who barely do anything (I know one who serves a few hours a week) and then you have those in intense combat programs who go home once every 28 days, yet to most people a soldier is a soldier – at least I’m in the middle of the spectrum. Anyway, I waltzed on in without paying a agura and that pleased me. The first thing I saw as I began walking through the exhibitions was a recreation of the south panel of the Arch of Titus in Rome, the “spoils of war”:

Replica of the Arch of Titus

The first interesting collection, that I really enjoyed, was a series of models of synagogues from around the world (from Cochin, India to Amsterdam, Holland and more). The craftsmanship is superb and many feature a cutout in the building which reveals the gorgeous interior. Some of the buildings, built so many years ago, are masterpieces and sadly, many have fallen to ruins. Here’s a really decadent one from Europe (Hungary, if I recall correctly):

Superb synagogue model

After reveling in the minute accuracy of the models, I carried on and enjoyed more models of historic moments and places. The one drawback of the Diaspora Museum is that a lot of their displays are actually replicas, with the originals being in other museums. Due to the fact that the Diaspora is trying to convey a message, showing the trails of Jewish history whilst living in the Diaspora, the importance is in the appearance, not the value and uniqueness of each piece. So, to compensate, the museum has so many wonderfully done models, of all different materials. Here’s one of my favourite, a model of the final moments in the Spanish court before Ferdinand and Isabella signed the law that started the infamous Inquisition:

The final moments in the Spanish Court before the start of the Inquisition

Another great model is of the Cairo Geniza (a geniza is where holy articles, scrolls and books are kept when they are worn out and no longer in use, often buried after some time). Built into the attic of the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Fostat (old Cairo) back in the year 882, the Geniza contained hundreds and hundreds of years of papers, books and scrolls. In the late 1800s, the contents of the Geniza began to appear around the world, now divided up to museums and collections. As there are estimated to be some 300,000 manuscripts, the Diaspora Museum does have a little handful of them on display. Here, the Geniza:

Model of the Cairo Geniza

One particular model/recreation is full sized, the Rashi Chapel in Worms, Germany. Built in 1624, the Chapel was built onto the existing Worms Synagogue, where Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaki, a famous medieval French rabbi and scholar, pioneer of commentary on the Bible and Talmud) studied in his youth.

Replica of The Rashi Chapel in Worms, Germany

Another exhibit that I found to be interesting was a 12-part collection of the modern-day Israeli citizen. Each of them coming from a different land, and each a different trade, these twelve individuals are a slice of the life here in Israel – a rainbow of colours and background, a palette of traditions and legacies. Towards the end of the main museum house, at the end of the dark hallway, was a cutout of a menorah with an artsy image of Israel behind it – symbolism, I believe, of a paradisaical Land of Israel reached only by the use of the menorah, the symbol of the Temple, the ideal Jewish connection to religious life.

The Holy Land through the menorah cutout

With that I walked out and found the temporary exhibition “Threads of Silk – The Story of Bukharan Jewry”, which was interesting and colourful. After that, I ran through an art gallery and then headed outside. Finding a kosher place to eat, I grabbed a grilled pizza sandwich and hurried through the vast campus, headed for the next museum – the Eretz Israel Museum.