I just really needed to get something off my chest. And this is horrible horrible horrible. But whatever.
There's someone here (I'm trying to keep it as vague as possible in case, in some horrible random chain of events, this person finds my blog) who keeps making fun of my Hebrew speaking abilities. Look, I never claimed to be good at Hebrew. In fact, I'll be the first to admit that when I speak Hebrew, I sound like an American choking on a hamburger. Whatever. I'm 19. Hopefully I'll be here in Israel for a while, and hopefully I won't sound like that for long.
With the exception of reading prayers, I had almost NO exposure to Hebrew growing up, and my couple days in Tel Aviv last week was the first time I had ever experienced being surrounded by native Hebrew speakers (Birthright doesn't count because I was surrounded by my fellow Americans). So, with that in mind, I'm actually quite proud of how far I've come, even though I'll still be the first to admit that my Hebrew is crap.
In the ulpan, there are several students with mothers/fathers/etc etc who are Israeli and spoke to them in Hebrew while they were growing up. These students are really good at speaking. One of these students makes fun of me almost NON-STOP when I try to speak Hebrew, and I was about ready to punch this person.
What did my parents speak to me? English. What was I surrounded by when I was growing up? English/Spanish. The only Hebrew I came into contact with was poorly pronounced prayers. How is it fair that this person expects me to speak as well as they do?
I really wanted to snap and yell, "You know, not all of us have Israeli parents who spoke to us in Hebrew since birth!" What especially pissed me off is that this person is planning on leaving Israel as soon as ulpan is over--fior this person, Hebrew speaking is not crucial. But for me, it is absolutely essential. There's a lot more at stake for me, and it's accordingly a lot more painful for me to bad bad at Hebrew. It's so frustrating that I seriously just want to have a nice long cry.
So today we had our first class, and we were handed a sheet in Hebrew with questions about ourselves, and we were told to write responses in Hebrew. And this was thrilling for me because it wasn't a speaking exercise. Reading/Writing is something I'm perfectly happy to do (even though, of course, I make mistakes). I happily settled down to work, and as I did so I saw that the person who makes fun of my speaking all the time (who was now sitting next to me) had an absolutely HORRIFIED expression on their face. Like, you would have thought that they had just witnessed an abridged version of World War 2 right in front of their eyes.
This person grabbed my arm and started pointing at random words. "What does this say??" "What does this say???" This person had trouble reading simple words like "sport," while longer words like "philosophia" had no hope at all of being read by this person.
And, oh my G-d, I just felt like the SMUGGEST bitch on the planet. It was wonderful. I was totally tempted to just start laughing in this person's face, but instead I just put on this psuedo-sweet voice and explained these painfully easy words. This person has now begged me to help them with their reading. hahahah! It seriously was the sweetest revenge I think I've ever experienced in my entire life.
I'm so glad that I didn't snap at this person earlier, and instead chose to take the "Jesus Road" by turning the other cheek. Maybe it's weird to say this as a Jew in Israel, but Jesus was right, you know. Turning the other cheek was a great idea, because now I get the ultimate revenge!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I'm a laundress.
Holy fucking balls. I work in the laundry. I fold laundry. All friggin day. Just folding laundry. The woman who works at the laundry place tried to show me how to fold things correctly, but she didn't know how because, "This is not job of mine." She works in a laundry room and doesn't know how to fold clothing. Why? Because HER job is to just put stuff away. And ONLY to put stuff away. My job is to fold. And ONLY to fold.
Good news? I'm in level bet for ulpan.
Here's what I wrote from Day Two:
There are a shit ton of Russians and various Slavic peoples here! Holy mother of god, they’re fuckin everywhere! When I’m around them, I like to observe their behavior because the Jewish side of my family comes from Russia/Poland/Ukraine (the most recent American immigrant in my family came in the 1900’s….) and I sometimes wonder what we would have been like had we never come to the US. Maybe we’d still be in Eastern Europe, maybe we’d not exist anymore, maybe we’d have come to the US later on anyway---or maybe, in an alternate universe, my entire family would have come with me to Israel, instead of me being completely fucking alone in a foreign country.
So what have I observed from my distant cousins here in the kibbutz ulpan? Jesus Christ, I’m related to perverts! I don’t mean to stereotype, and I’m sure there are some very lovely Russian people, but unfortunately none of them made it to this kibbutz. Most of the time they’re just groping us girls (there are 7 girls in the ulpan and 25 guys…the odds are in our favor, ladies!), but tonight I accidentally walked in on the “First Annual Outdoor Russian Farting Contest.” That’s not what they called it, but that’s what I’m calling it. Basically the Russians and the Ukranian gathered around in a circle and farted, trying to beat each other. Outdoor farting is kind of a bizarre way of communing with nature. I mean, I think farts are as funny just as the next girl with older brothers does, but there’s a time and place for everything.
Anyway….last night I was sleeping, but woke up. It was the time of night where it’s right before dawn, but it’s still dark and there’s no way in hell you’re gonna get up. And I heard off in the distance that Muslim prayer call thing. You know? Where some guy is belting the greatest hits into a loud speaker? I mean, I’ve heard it before. I took Arabic in college, it’s not like I didn’t know it existed. I knew what it was. But for some reason it scared the shit out of me last night. It was horribly creepy, because it was echoing across the valley, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to go home so badly. I mean, I’m trying to think of the worst moments I’ve ever experienced when I was away at summer camp or away at college, and I don’t think anything ever made me feel as desperate to go home as that noise echoing across the valley. It made me think of how when my littlest dog howls, it is the saddest thing in the world and you feel like you would do anything just to make it stop.
In any case, I feel much better now. I think I’ll still be very glad to see my familia in June when they visit me for my birthday (and my mother is bringing with her my proof of Judaism so that I can get my CITIZENSHIP, as was our agreement).
Before I say what confuses me about Israel or before I say something slightly critical (it’s not that critical—it’s about toilets here. If Israel can’t handle criticism about her toilets, then I don’t want to live here anyway), I think I should be a little serious. I think I should put down in writing exactly one of the many reasons I want to live here. I think things are gonna be total shit from time to time, so I think I need something to look at to remind me that I really want to be here.
Story number one of why I want to live here:
In religious school around age 7 or so we were each given a topic on Israel to research. I was given Haifa. At the age of 7, I decided that I had personal ownership of Haifa, because I put together a little report on it (Probably not more than “Haifa is a city. Haifa is in Israel. Haifa is nice.”) It’s amazing what feelings of ownership a stupid little report can create. This probably sounds stupid. But oh well. Anyway, in the summer of 2006 I was on a cruise with my family right before I was to go to college for the first time when, as well all know, some serious shit went down in Israel. And so my family and I watched coverage of this whenever we could.
Anyway, I remember Shepard Smith (my favorite Fox News anchor, whose show I miss very dearly while I’ve been here) was in Haifa to cover the news. Look, I don’t know exactly where rockets were falling or whatever, but the TV told me it was in Haifa and there was video of rockets exploding in (what the said was) Haifa. And I felt personally violated. Like, every action against Israel up until then had been a violation against this large group that I belonged to, but THIS was personal because I felt that this was MY town.
If you know me, you know that I don't take personal assaults very well. So I am now in Israel. Not a citizen, but not quite a tourist. Perhaps the silliest part of all of this is that, to this day, I STILL have never been to Haifa.
More stories to follow....
Anyway, I don’t want to be so serious. I want to tell you about the toilets here. They have two flush options—one for liquids, one for solids. Except I noticed that all the toilets have a slightly yellowish liquid in the base area. Does flushing not remove the pee? And if flushing does not have enough power to remove simple, harmless pee, then what hope does it have for more serious matter(s)? Serious research to follow.
Good news? I'm in level bet for ulpan.
Here's what I wrote from Day Two:
There are a shit ton of Russians and various Slavic peoples here! Holy mother of god, they’re fuckin everywhere! When I’m around them, I like to observe their behavior because the Jewish side of my family comes from Russia/Poland/Ukraine (the most recent American immigrant in my family came in the 1900’s….) and I sometimes wonder what we would have been like had we never come to the US. Maybe we’d still be in Eastern Europe, maybe we’d not exist anymore, maybe we’d have come to the US later on anyway---or maybe, in an alternate universe, my entire family would have come with me to Israel, instead of me being completely fucking alone in a foreign country.
So what have I observed from my distant cousins here in the kibbutz ulpan? Jesus Christ, I’m related to perverts! I don’t mean to stereotype, and I’m sure there are some very lovely Russian people, but unfortunately none of them made it to this kibbutz. Most of the time they’re just groping us girls (there are 7 girls in the ulpan and 25 guys…the odds are in our favor, ladies!), but tonight I accidentally walked in on the “First Annual Outdoor Russian Farting Contest.” That’s not what they called it, but that’s what I’m calling it. Basically the Russians and the Ukranian gathered around in a circle and farted, trying to beat each other. Outdoor farting is kind of a bizarre way of communing with nature. I mean, I think farts are as funny just as the next girl with older brothers does, but there’s a time and place for everything.
Anyway….last night I was sleeping, but woke up. It was the time of night where it’s right before dawn, but it’s still dark and there’s no way in hell you’re gonna get up. And I heard off in the distance that Muslim prayer call thing. You know? Where some guy is belting the greatest hits into a loud speaker? I mean, I’ve heard it before. I took Arabic in college, it’s not like I didn’t know it existed. I knew what it was. But for some reason it scared the shit out of me last night. It was horribly creepy, because it was echoing across the valley, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to go home so badly. I mean, I’m trying to think of the worst moments I’ve ever experienced when I was away at summer camp or away at college, and I don’t think anything ever made me feel as desperate to go home as that noise echoing across the valley. It made me think of how when my littlest dog howls, it is the saddest thing in the world and you feel like you would do anything just to make it stop.
In any case, I feel much better now. I think I’ll still be very glad to see my familia in June when they visit me for my birthday (and my mother is bringing with her my proof of Judaism so that I can get my CITIZENSHIP, as was our agreement).
Before I say what confuses me about Israel or before I say something slightly critical (it’s not that critical—it’s about toilets here. If Israel can’t handle criticism about her toilets, then I don’t want to live here anyway), I think I should be a little serious. I think I should put down in writing exactly one of the many reasons I want to live here. I think things are gonna be total shit from time to time, so I think I need something to look at to remind me that I really want to be here.
Story number one of why I want to live here:
In religious school around age 7 or so we were each given a topic on Israel to research. I was given Haifa. At the age of 7, I decided that I had personal ownership of Haifa, because I put together a little report on it (Probably not more than “Haifa is a city. Haifa is in Israel. Haifa is nice.”) It’s amazing what feelings of ownership a stupid little report can create. This probably sounds stupid. But oh well. Anyway, in the summer of 2006 I was on a cruise with my family right before I was to go to college for the first time when, as well all know, some serious shit went down in Israel. And so my family and I watched coverage of this whenever we could.
Anyway, I remember Shepard Smith (my favorite Fox News anchor, whose show I miss very dearly while I’ve been here) was in Haifa to cover the news. Look, I don’t know exactly where rockets were falling or whatever, but the TV told me it was in Haifa and there was video of rockets exploding in (what the said was) Haifa. And I felt personally violated. Like, every action against Israel up until then had been a violation against this large group that I belonged to, but THIS was personal because I felt that this was MY town.
If you know me, you know that I don't take personal assaults very well. So I am now in Israel. Not a citizen, but not quite a tourist. Perhaps the silliest part of all of this is that, to this day, I STILL have never been to Haifa.
More stories to follow....
Anyway, I don’t want to be so serious. I want to tell you about the toilets here. They have two flush options—one for liquids, one for solids. Except I noticed that all the toilets have a slightly yellowish liquid in the base area. Does flushing not remove the pee? And if flushing does not have enough power to remove simple, harmless pee, then what hope does it have for more serious matter(s)? Serious research to follow.
Holy friggin balls, I'm on a kibbutz.
(Written for Day One on the Kibbutz)
Oh Jesus. I’m in a prison.
No, maybe I’m just using hyperbole. Actually I’m just on a kibbutz.
Good news first: my roommate is Australian and very nice. If there’s any people I consider crazier than Israelis, it’s Australians, so that’s pretty cool. I’m already starting to accidentally talk in her accent when I respond to her, and it’s incredibly embarrassing.
What’s weird is that I made some passing silly reference to how the rest of the world thinks Americans are all fat, and she totally didn’t get it. She was like, “Americans are said to be fat?!” And she was dead serious. I was like, “Um, you didn’t get the memo from the rest of the international community?” She said something like, “No no no, you guys are supposed to be really good at history. You REALLY know your history!”
What??? Dude, I’m MUCH fatter than I am good at history!
(She later qualified her view of Americans with, “Well, actually you’re all quite clueless when it comes to international history, but your own…..you guys REALLY know it!” Which I guess is true. I’m crap at international history, besides basic Israeli history, but I know a shit ton about American history—although most Americans know more than me about American history.)
Okay, some bad news:
The beds here are basically metals frames with cardboard boxes for mattresses (not literally). We were given bedding, but it appears as though someone peed on my comforter several times in the not-so-distant past. At least I have a pillow—but I’m not sure I can legally call my pillow a pillow. It feels as though someone put a teddy bear in a sack and then sewed it up and called it a pillow. Have you ever cuddled with a teddy bear? It’s fantastic, isn’t it? Have you ever used a teddy bear as a fucking pillow though?
I also got some threads to wear for working on the kibbutz. I have several sweaters that look more appropriate for Alpine skiing than they do for working in an Israeli summer. But people are gonna be so jealous of my retro wardrobe from the 80’s. People are NOT gonna be jealous of my retro wardrobe that smells like pee. I have not one but TWO pairs of magenta pants (that smell like pee), and I have some serious Mom Jeans (that smell like pee). But the crown jewel of this entire collection is the small pair of spandex tie-dye leggings that I received (which also smell like pee). The comedic potential of these pants is incredible, and I cannot wait to wear them and watch as this tie-dyed spandex wonder struggles to contain my fat ass.
Apart from all that, I actually quite like this place. My room has an extra bed, so that’ll be nice if anyone wants to come visit—I hope when my American friends (or friends from any country for that matter) are in Israel, they will pay me a visit and sleep on my extra cardboard box. Consider this an open invitation, friends. And as a special bonus, I’ll let you try on the leggings.
There are very many Russians here, and there’s a girl from Chile. She speaks little English and little Hebrew, so my roommate keeps telling her to speak to me in Spanish because I frequently understand Spanish. So it’s been interesting… It must be so tough to be the only one here to speak a language. It might mean my Hebrew won’t improve as much, but at least if I ever really get tired of Hebrew, I can speak in my native language to my roommate (even if Australian English hardly qualifies as English!)
Aw eff, son…. It’s gonna be a long five months!
Oh Jesus. I’m in a prison.
No, maybe I’m just using hyperbole. Actually I’m just on a kibbutz.
Good news first: my roommate is Australian and very nice. If there’s any people I consider crazier than Israelis, it’s Australians, so that’s pretty cool. I’m already starting to accidentally talk in her accent when I respond to her, and it’s incredibly embarrassing.
What’s weird is that I made some passing silly reference to how the rest of the world thinks Americans are all fat, and she totally didn’t get it. She was like, “Americans are said to be fat?!” And she was dead serious. I was like, “Um, you didn’t get the memo from the rest of the international community?” She said something like, “No no no, you guys are supposed to be really good at history. You REALLY know your history!”
What??? Dude, I’m MUCH fatter than I am good at history!
(She later qualified her view of Americans with, “Well, actually you’re all quite clueless when it comes to international history, but your own…..you guys REALLY know it!” Which I guess is true. I’m crap at international history, besides basic Israeli history, but I know a shit ton about American history—although most Americans know more than me about American history.)
Okay, some bad news:
The beds here are basically metals frames with cardboard boxes for mattresses (not literally). We were given bedding, but it appears as though someone peed on my comforter several times in the not-so-distant past. At least I have a pillow—but I’m not sure I can legally call my pillow a pillow. It feels as though someone put a teddy bear in a sack and then sewed it up and called it a pillow. Have you ever cuddled with a teddy bear? It’s fantastic, isn’t it? Have you ever used a teddy bear as a fucking pillow though?
I also got some threads to wear for working on the kibbutz. I have several sweaters that look more appropriate for Alpine skiing than they do for working in an Israeli summer. But people are gonna be so jealous of my retro wardrobe from the 80’s. People are NOT gonna be jealous of my retro wardrobe that smells like pee. I have not one but TWO pairs of magenta pants (that smell like pee), and I have some serious Mom Jeans (that smell like pee). But the crown jewel of this entire collection is the small pair of spandex tie-dye leggings that I received (which also smell like pee). The comedic potential of these pants is incredible, and I cannot wait to wear them and watch as this tie-dyed spandex wonder struggles to contain my fat ass.
Apart from all that, I actually quite like this place. My room has an extra bed, so that’ll be nice if anyone wants to come visit—I hope when my American friends (or friends from any country for that matter) are in Israel, they will pay me a visit and sleep on my extra cardboard box. Consider this an open invitation, friends. And as a special bonus, I’ll let you try on the leggings.
There are very many Russians here, and there’s a girl from Chile. She speaks little English and little Hebrew, so my roommate keeps telling her to speak to me in Spanish because I frequently understand Spanish. So it’s been interesting… It must be so tough to be the only one here to speak a language. It might mean my Hebrew won’t improve as much, but at least if I ever really get tired of Hebrew, I can speak in my native language to my roommate (even if Australian English hardly qualifies as English!)
Aw eff, son…. It’s gonna be a long five months!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
The Israeli Pudding Monster!
This morning I was downstairs at breakfast in the hotel. I was eating and reading my Hebrew phrase book, looking for disgusting or amusing vocabulary (my favorite phrase is still “machalat min” though), when I casually glanced up and saw this creepy 40 year old French guy at the table near me just staring at me. I looked back down at my book and tried to eat some more, but I can’t eat when people are staring at me. I don’t think this is just a personal problem of mine; I think most people are the same way. I looked back up and saw that he was still staring at me, so I wiped my face because I thought maybe I had something on it. No, the guy still kept staring. So I blew my nose, because maybe I had snot hanging out. Nope, still staring. So then I glanced down to make sure that I was, in fact, wearing clothing. Yep, I was, and yep, he kept staring.
So 15 minutes passed of this guy just staring and staring. Like, not looking at anything else. And I felt sufficiently embarrassed, so I was ready to go. But not without the last word. So I got up and found some of the ubiquitous Israeli pudding which was being served (By the way, since when is pudding an acceptable part of breakfast? I fucking love this country…), and brought it back to my table. I had selected chocolate, even though I’m not a huge fan of chocolate. I casually took a few normal bites of the pudding, while the guy was still watching. I then took one final huge bite, and then instead of swallowing, I quickly looked up at the guy, stuck my tongue out and made the ugliest face I could possibly manage, complete with chocolate pudding oozing out of my mouth.
The French guy had THE most surprised look on his face. Oh, it was incredible. And while the creepy stare-er was still recovering from the shock of my ugly pudding monster, I marched towards the door and as I passed his table, I muttered to him in French, “Go fuck yourself.”
Anyway, today I am moving to the kibbutz. Woot woot!
So 15 minutes passed of this guy just staring and staring. Like, not looking at anything else. And I felt sufficiently embarrassed, so I was ready to go. But not without the last word. So I got up and found some of the ubiquitous Israeli pudding which was being served (By the way, since when is pudding an acceptable part of breakfast? I fucking love this country…), and brought it back to my table. I had selected chocolate, even though I’m not a huge fan of chocolate. I casually took a few normal bites of the pudding, while the guy was still watching. I then took one final huge bite, and then instead of swallowing, I quickly looked up at the guy, stuck my tongue out and made the ugliest face I could possibly manage, complete with chocolate pudding oozing out of my mouth.
The French guy had THE most surprised look on his face. Oh, it was incredible. And while the creepy stare-er was still recovering from the shock of my ugly pudding monster, I marched towards the door and as I passed his table, I muttered to him in French, “Go fuck yourself.”
Anyway, today I am moving to the kibbutz. Woot woot!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Wow, I suck at this language. Oh well!
I promise these friggin’ posts will slow down once I get on the kibbutz and actually get a life.
Right now I'm waiting for things to come back alive after Shabbat.......henyways.....
I have a hard time believing that Hebrew is a first language for Israelis (okay, excluding olim and Arabs and other people….but you know what I mean). I keep thinking, “No, you’re Jewish, surely you must have gone to a crappy Hebrew school just like me.” I keep watching the kid’s TV channel because I have a better hope of understanding what goes on there, and it’s so frustrating because even when I watch TV shows meant for little babies just learning how to speak, I STILL don’t understand a great deal of things. This morning there was a kid’s show that showed an animated dresser. Out of the dresser came a pair of socks, and a voice said, “Mah zeh?” followed by a long pause, allowing for a little kid to respond. And I laughed because I actually understood the sentence, and I thought it was ridiculously easy…but then I got really sad really quickly when I realized that I didn’t know how to respond to the question. What are these? Socks. But in Hebrew? Turns out they’re garbayim or something. So that was a great confidence booster….I couldn’t even respond to something on an infants’ TV show.
It almost makes me wish that Hebrew had been my first language. But then I hear some of the people here try to speak English, and I think every single day from now on I will thank whoever’s responsible for ensuring that I was raised in an English-speaking environment and that English is natural for me. Some people here speak English so ridiculously—I feel I’ve earned the right to say that now, because my Hebrew has been made fun of a many times already. But the difference is that I can leave here and no one will ever expect me to know Hebrew. But wherever you are in the world, English-speaking people and people who speak differing foreign languages will almost ALWAYS use English as a means of communication. It seems like most people on the planet are expected to know English. I’m glad I never had to put in any effort to learn English, and maybe that’s the payoff for my troubles with Hebrew.
Having said all that, I’m still having fun and I’m still learning a lot of Hebrew each day. Every single day things get easier to understand and already I’m noticing that I’m reading faster. I’ve not even been here for a week, so I can only assume that things will keep getting easier and easier given time. Also, from reading signs in Jerusalem I noticed a pattern, and I think I figured out how to conjugate in the present passive for most verbs. So that’s pretty exciting.
Anyway, here’s another Israeli thing I need explained: Why does it look like everyone has solar panels on their roofs? Does everyone use solar energy for things here? That can’t possibly be true… Though it’d be totally awesome if it were. I’m gonna have to put some research into this and figure out just what the hell those things are.
Exciting news though! Today near the beach I saw hairy men in their 20’s who were NOT looking for Avi! Instead they just walked around in tank tops spitting on things and looking like assholes.
More exciting news: EVERYONE on the beach was playing this weird game where it’s like ping pong but with no net. It didn’t look like the game had any point. People didn’t seem to be trying to outsmart each other or trying to hit the ball out their partner’s reach. It seemed like you just hit the ball as hard as you can, which makes the world’s most obnoxious noise, and then the person you hit it to hits it back as hard as he can, which makes that same world’s most obnoxious noise. You then repeat this for 2 hours, trying to go as fast as you can so you can get as many obnoxious POP noises in during whatever your time span is. I kind of want to give it a go…
Right now I'm waiting for things to come back alive after Shabbat.......henyways.....
I have a hard time believing that Hebrew is a first language for Israelis (okay, excluding olim and Arabs and other people….but you know what I mean). I keep thinking, “No, you’re Jewish, surely you must have gone to a crappy Hebrew school just like me.” I keep watching the kid’s TV channel because I have a better hope of understanding what goes on there, and it’s so frustrating because even when I watch TV shows meant for little babies just learning how to speak, I STILL don’t understand a great deal of things. This morning there was a kid’s show that showed an animated dresser. Out of the dresser came a pair of socks, and a voice said, “Mah zeh?” followed by a long pause, allowing for a little kid to respond. And I laughed because I actually understood the sentence, and I thought it was ridiculously easy…but then I got really sad really quickly when I realized that I didn’t know how to respond to the question. What are these? Socks. But in Hebrew? Turns out they’re garbayim or something. So that was a great confidence booster….I couldn’t even respond to something on an infants’ TV show.
It almost makes me wish that Hebrew had been my first language. But then I hear some of the people here try to speak English, and I think every single day from now on I will thank whoever’s responsible for ensuring that I was raised in an English-speaking environment and that English is natural for me. Some people here speak English so ridiculously—I feel I’ve earned the right to say that now, because my Hebrew has been made fun of a many times already. But the difference is that I can leave here and no one will ever expect me to know Hebrew. But wherever you are in the world, English-speaking people and people who speak differing foreign languages will almost ALWAYS use English as a means of communication. It seems like most people on the planet are expected to know English. I’m glad I never had to put in any effort to learn English, and maybe that’s the payoff for my troubles with Hebrew.
Having said all that, I’m still having fun and I’m still learning a lot of Hebrew each day. Every single day things get easier to understand and already I’m noticing that I’m reading faster. I’ve not even been here for a week, so I can only assume that things will keep getting easier and easier given time. Also, from reading signs in Jerusalem I noticed a pattern, and I think I figured out how to conjugate in the present passive for most verbs. So that’s pretty exciting.
Anyway, here’s another Israeli thing I need explained: Why does it look like everyone has solar panels on their roofs? Does everyone use solar energy for things here? That can’t possibly be true… Though it’d be totally awesome if it were. I’m gonna have to put some research into this and figure out just what the hell those things are.
Exciting news though! Today near the beach I saw hairy men in their 20’s who were NOT looking for Avi! Instead they just walked around in tank tops spitting on things and looking like assholes.
More exciting news: EVERYONE on the beach was playing this weird game where it’s like ping pong but with no net. It didn’t look like the game had any point. People didn’t seem to be trying to outsmart each other or trying to hit the ball out their partner’s reach. It seemed like you just hit the ball as hard as you can, which makes the world’s most obnoxious noise, and then the person you hit it to hits it back as hard as he can, which makes that same world’s most obnoxious noise. You then repeat this for 2 hours, trying to go as fast as you can so you can get as many obnoxious POP noises in during whatever your time span is. I kind of want to give it a go…
Shabbat in Tel Aviv
Erev Shabbat in Tel Aviv, and what did I choose to do? Go sit by the beach? Go to services? Um. No. How did I mark the weekly holiday that is said to have kept the Jews? On Shabbat here in Israel, I chose to watch a delayed showing of “American Idol.” No, I don’t mean Israel’s version of American Idol (Cochav Nolad, I think it’s called), which would have been slightly excusable. I mean literally “American Idol.” With Ryan Seacrest. With Simon, Paula and Randy. Now, before you criticize me, just consider that I’m all alone in a foreign country, 5000 miles from my nearest relative or friend and 8000 miles from my parents, and well, I found the familiarity of Paula Abdul’s drunkenness to be comforting. So forgive me. But it was awesome because there were no commercials since it was not live. Oh Americans, you don’t know how much it’s worth to not have to watch all those commercials, even if it means you can’t vote for your favorite singer.
Last night I had a dream in Hebrew (or at least my sub-conscious interpretation of Hebrew). Basically it was a bunch of people yelling at me in Hebrew that I didn’t understand. So pretty much it was the most realistic dream I’ve ever had.
I also want to say something I love about Hebrew. I love that for many, if not most, verb forms, you reference either your own masculinity or femininity or your addressee’s masculinity or femininity. It’s kind of exciting. It’s not like English where the only gender speaking issues are saying She rather than He. But even then, we don’t use a different form for a verb following She. So good job, Hebrew!
Sometimes when I can actually understand the conversation enough to be able to pick verbs out, I like to translate words in a way that would express the same kind of thing in English. Examples? For “ani lo mevin” I decided we should say, “I, a man, don’t understand!” For “ani lo mevinah” we should say, “I, a woman, don’t understand!” It’s kind of a very Ms. Bali-way of translating, where you get almost the exact meaning but end up with something kind of ridiculous and unnatural in English. It was kind of like when we were translating “The Aeneid” and we had to keep using the word “to gird” even though none of us had heard that word before, and each time we had to translate ablative absolutes as “the blank having been blanked”….which my brother now actually does in his spoken English, thanks to Latin class. (For those of you who don’t know Ms. Bali, 1) I pity you and 2) she was my Latin teacher of 5 years in high school.)
Oh Jesus! I just saw Mickey Mouse in Hebrew! His voice is even creepier and more pedophile like in Hebrew! Gaaaaa!!! Thank goodness, Donald Duck is still incomprehensible.
Last night I had a dream in Hebrew (or at least my sub-conscious interpretation of Hebrew). Basically it was a bunch of people yelling at me in Hebrew that I didn’t understand. So pretty much it was the most realistic dream I’ve ever had.
I also want to say something I love about Hebrew. I love that for many, if not most, verb forms, you reference either your own masculinity or femininity or your addressee’s masculinity or femininity. It’s kind of exciting. It’s not like English where the only gender speaking issues are saying She rather than He. But even then, we don’t use a different form for a verb following She. So good job, Hebrew!
Sometimes when I can actually understand the conversation enough to be able to pick verbs out, I like to translate words in a way that would express the same kind of thing in English. Examples? For “ani lo mevin” I decided we should say, “I, a man, don’t understand!” For “ani lo mevinah” we should say, “I, a woman, don’t understand!” It’s kind of a very Ms. Bali-way of translating, where you get almost the exact meaning but end up with something kind of ridiculous and unnatural in English. It was kind of like when we were translating “The Aeneid” and we had to keep using the word “to gird” even though none of us had heard that word before, and each time we had to translate ablative absolutes as “the blank having been blanked”….which my brother now actually does in his spoken English, thanks to Latin class. (For those of you who don’t know Ms. Bali, 1) I pity you and 2) she was my Latin teacher of 5 years in high school.)
Oh Jesus! I just saw Mickey Mouse in Hebrew! His voice is even creepier and more pedophile like in Hebrew! Gaaaaa!!! Thank goodness, Donald Duck is still incomprehensible.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Pudding.
Day 3 in Israel, I’m getting used to being sweaty all the time from this humidity. Actually, I kind of enjoy it. I mean, I just put on a light t-shirt and hope to G-d my deodorant holds up, and I’m set. None of this layering clothing crap like in Chicago.
Today a woman on the street handed me a pamphlet, and I smiled and took it. I walked away reading it—and realized (very slowly, since it was in Hebrew) that the JEWS FOR JESUS were in Israel now! I never let these people hand me shit without a fight, so I ran up to the lady, who at this point was well down the block, and shoved the pamphlet back in her face. She looked surprised and asked what’s wrong, so I pointed my finger at her in a confrontational way and said very firmly in my terrible Hebrew, “I did not come to the land of the Jews in order to be a Christian!” And then I marched away. Oh damn, did it feel good….
I’ve turned into such a badass!
Anyway, here are some more Israeli things I don’t understand:
I don’t understand the TV show “Mah Kashur.” One, I don’t like one of the guys. I think his name is Zion? His voice just annoys me, and I hate his haircut and clothing…… So basically I think I just encountered my first Israeli arch-enemy. Two, I don’t understand why they invite musicians to the show, only so that the three of them end up singing with the musicians.
Why is there so much pudding in the supermarkets here? I have seriously never seen so much pudding in my entire life. I mean, pudding is wonderful, but do you need entire sections of a supermarket devoted to pudding? I feel that the space allotted for pudding versus food other than pudding in Israeli supermarkets is not directly proportional to my love of pudding versus my love of other foods. And, I mean, I love pudding. But I’m okay with say 5 varieties, rather than 500.
And in addition to pudding, there is a shit ton of yogurt. People here must eat pudding and yogurt like it’s their job or something…
And you thought the staple of the Israeli diet was hummus...
I’m told that a great time here is literally a “waste of time,” and that something that’s excellent (like a great steak) can be a “son of a whore.” While in the Dizengoff Center (which was packed with people) I tried to invent my own slang in the same style. You know, say something kind of horrible or untrue or offensive to describe something that’s excellent. The best I could come up with was (due to the packed, but extremely fun, nature of the Dizengoff Center) “The party was a suicide bomb waiting to happen!” Oh man….maybe that’s inappropriate. Too soon? But I feel entitled to say horrible stuff like that because I’m throwing my lot in with Israel. So there.
Why is the word “elephant” among my very limited Hebrew vocabulary? How useful is that word going to be here?
Today a woman on the street handed me a pamphlet, and I smiled and took it. I walked away reading it—and realized (very slowly, since it was in Hebrew) that the JEWS FOR JESUS were in Israel now! I never let these people hand me shit without a fight, so I ran up to the lady, who at this point was well down the block, and shoved the pamphlet back in her face. She looked surprised and asked what’s wrong, so I pointed my finger at her in a confrontational way and said very firmly in my terrible Hebrew, “I did not come to the land of the Jews in order to be a Christian!” And then I marched away. Oh damn, did it feel good….
I’ve turned into such a badass!
Anyway, here are some more Israeli things I don’t understand:
I don’t understand the TV show “Mah Kashur.” One, I don’t like one of the guys. I think his name is Zion? His voice just annoys me, and I hate his haircut and clothing…… So basically I think I just encountered my first Israeli arch-enemy. Two, I don’t understand why they invite musicians to the show, only so that the three of them end up singing with the musicians.
Why is there so much pudding in the supermarkets here? I have seriously never seen so much pudding in my entire life. I mean, pudding is wonderful, but do you need entire sections of a supermarket devoted to pudding? I feel that the space allotted for pudding versus food other than pudding in Israeli supermarkets is not directly proportional to my love of pudding versus my love of other foods. And, I mean, I love pudding. But I’m okay with say 5 varieties, rather than 500.
And in addition to pudding, there is a shit ton of yogurt. People here must eat pudding and yogurt like it’s their job or something…
And you thought the staple of the Israeli diet was hummus...I’m told that a great time here is literally a “waste of time,” and that something that’s excellent (like a great steak) can be a “son of a whore.” While in the Dizengoff Center (which was packed with people) I tried to invent my own slang in the same style. You know, say something kind of horrible or untrue or offensive to describe something that’s excellent. The best I could come up with was (due to the packed, but extremely fun, nature of the Dizengoff Center) “The party was a suicide bomb waiting to happen!” Oh man….maybe that’s inappropriate. Too soon? But I feel entitled to say horrible stuff like that because I’m throwing my lot in with Israel. So there.
Why is the word “elephant” among my very limited Hebrew vocabulary? How useful is that word going to be here?
Haredim and holding babies
A question, please:
Why go through the trouble of leaving Poland when you’re just going to pretend that you’re still in Poland when you live in Israel? At least in Poland you’re dressed appropriately for the weather, instead of imaginary weather.
Maybe I shouldn’t criticize. Maybe I’ll have a religious experience here that will make me, too, pretend that I am still living in the land where so many of us were murdered. Because, you know, those were the good old days…….Yeah, yeah, that sounds like a GREAT idea.
I guess I just thought of all that on the train back to Tel Aviv from Jerusalem. The train was packed with Haredi people. And look, I don’t want you to think that I’m using the word “Haredi” too much. No, I know the difference between simply orthodox and haredi. What I mean to say is that there were men on that train who shielded their eyes so that they wouldn’t have to look at members of the opposite sex. There were men on that train who were wearing fur hats, coats, and those weird stockings things. And, of course, they were surrounded by their 8 children.
Anyway, I don’t think the woman I sat next to was Haredi. She had some really cute kids (not that haredim can't have cute kids), and I was really happy to see that her daughter was not wearing those ridiculous thick tights (or tights at all!) in this weather.
She got off in Beit Shemesh (the place where I previously had a horrible phone experience with their Misrad Hapnim), and she was managing her two kids and two babies with some difficulty. She asked me to “catch” one of the little babies and help her off the train, and of course I agreed.
I notice here that people seem to be minding everyone else’s children—“minding” isn’t the word I’m looking for. It’s not like I was babysitting the kid. What I mean is that in the US I would have been really freaked out if some stranger handed me a baby to hold. Actually, I was pretty freaked out about it in Israel, but at least I felt that it was semi-normal here. I noticed on the plane, some little Israeli kid with his mom was freaking out about something and it seemed like ALL the Israelis rushed over to provide comfort. Which is kind of sweet, but I don’t know if I’m ready to do the same. I’m very used to just trying to stay out of the way.
Anyway, the woman handed me her baby to hold for her. And I was sitting down, and when you’re sitting down, holding babies is easy. You just have to make sure they don’t hunch over and smack their head on the table in front of you. But it came time for me to stand up with the baby, and I got really freaked out because I’m not really used to holding babies. I’m the youngest child in my family and I never babysat kids. I mean, I LIKE little kids, and I love entertaining them when I do interact with them (I once convinced an entire class of small children that we would levitate if they were good. And they were good. So after class we all sat down and pretended to levitate and those kids were having a ball using their imaginations…). But little babies are different. I like them, but I don’t know what to do with them.
I tried to look at how the mom was holding the baby’s twin, and saw that she kind of had the kid wedged underneath her arm/armpit. It’s like how you would carry, say, books if both your hands were busy (as her hands were). I mean, you’d be more gentle with a football! And I figured that, whether this country has a “my family is your family” attitude or not, I was not about to hold the kid like that because there must be some unwritten rule that, even though its ima can, you can’t manhandle a stranger’s kid.
Plus there’s the whole problem of me not being pushy. When I was 13 I almost got left on a bus in Italy because, though my parents had gotten off, I did not want to push my way to the doors and be a bother to anyone by having to say excuse me and to ask them to move (unfortunately, things haven’t changed much for me since then. I’m still not very pushy in that way…good thing I came to Israel). I wanted to be like, “Lady, I’ll hold your baby for you, but I can’t guarantee that we’ll make it off the train…”
Luckily some haredi girl saw me sitting with a panicked look on my face, so she took the baby from me and helped the lady off.
Urgent thing I need to learn: How to hold babies.
Oh my G-d, more dancing vegetables on TV! What is up with this country????
Why go through the trouble of leaving Poland when you’re just going to pretend that you’re still in Poland when you live in Israel? At least in Poland you’re dressed appropriately for the weather, instead of imaginary weather.
Maybe I shouldn’t criticize. Maybe I’ll have a religious experience here that will make me, too, pretend that I am still living in the land where so many of us were murdered. Because, you know, those were the good old days…….Yeah, yeah, that sounds like a GREAT idea.
I guess I just thought of all that on the train back to Tel Aviv from Jerusalem. The train was packed with Haredi people. And look, I don’t want you to think that I’m using the word “Haredi” too much. No, I know the difference between simply orthodox and haredi. What I mean to say is that there were men on that train who shielded their eyes so that they wouldn’t have to look at members of the opposite sex. There were men on that train who were wearing fur hats, coats, and those weird stockings things. And, of course, they were surrounded by their 8 children.
Anyway, I don’t think the woman I sat next to was Haredi. She had some really cute kids (not that haredim can't have cute kids), and I was really happy to see that her daughter was not wearing those ridiculous thick tights (or tights at all!) in this weather.
She got off in Beit Shemesh (the place where I previously had a horrible phone experience with their Misrad Hapnim), and she was managing her two kids and two babies with some difficulty. She asked me to “catch” one of the little babies and help her off the train, and of course I agreed.
I notice here that people seem to be minding everyone else’s children—“minding” isn’t the word I’m looking for. It’s not like I was babysitting the kid. What I mean is that in the US I would have been really freaked out if some stranger handed me a baby to hold. Actually, I was pretty freaked out about it in Israel, but at least I felt that it was semi-normal here. I noticed on the plane, some little Israeli kid with his mom was freaking out about something and it seemed like ALL the Israelis rushed over to provide comfort. Which is kind of sweet, but I don’t know if I’m ready to do the same. I’m very used to just trying to stay out of the way.
Anyway, the woman handed me her baby to hold for her. And I was sitting down, and when you’re sitting down, holding babies is easy. You just have to make sure they don’t hunch over and smack their head on the table in front of you. But it came time for me to stand up with the baby, and I got really freaked out because I’m not really used to holding babies. I’m the youngest child in my family and I never babysat kids. I mean, I LIKE little kids, and I love entertaining them when I do interact with them (I once convinced an entire class of small children that we would levitate if they were good. And they were good. So after class we all sat down and pretended to levitate and those kids were having a ball using their imaginations…). But little babies are different. I like them, but I don’t know what to do with them.
I tried to look at how the mom was holding the baby’s twin, and saw that she kind of had the kid wedged underneath her arm/armpit. It’s like how you would carry, say, books if both your hands were busy (as her hands were). I mean, you’d be more gentle with a football! And I figured that, whether this country has a “my family is your family” attitude or not, I was not about to hold the kid like that because there must be some unwritten rule that, even though its ima can, you can’t manhandle a stranger’s kid.
Plus there’s the whole problem of me not being pushy. When I was 13 I almost got left on a bus in Italy because, though my parents had gotten off, I did not want to push my way to the doors and be a bother to anyone by having to say excuse me and to ask them to move (unfortunately, things haven’t changed much for me since then. I’m still not very pushy in that way…good thing I came to Israel). I wanted to be like, “Lady, I’ll hold your baby for you, but I can’t guarantee that we’ll make it off the train…”
Luckily some haredi girl saw me sitting with a panicked look on my face, so she took the baby from me and helped the lady off.
Urgent thing I need to learn: How to hold babies.
Oh my G-d, more dancing vegetables on TV! What is up with this country????
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Yerushalayim!
Sorry for the epicness of this post:
Well, today in Jerusalem, hairy young men were STILL looking for Avi…
Today I took a 6.20 am bus out to Jerusalem, because I woke up while it was still very dark out and had nothing better to do.
From the central station I decided to walk to the Old City and have a look around. There was some homeless guy sitting on a bench on Ben Yehuda street, repeating over and over again, “Shekelllllllll…..shekelllllllllllll……..shekellllllllll…….” He’d stop for a moment, then continue unexpectedly with, “Shekellllllll………” Finally someone from a window overlooking the street called out, as if he were bargaining, “HETZI SHEKEL!!!” and I couldn’t stop laughing, which was probably horrible of me, but there we are.
Before I tell you what happened once I got to the Old City, let me tell you what I was wearing. Jeans (loose, as is usual for me) and a short sleeve t-shirt. Nothing too scandalous, but even so I decided I wouldn’t actually go to the Kotel today because I didn’t feel like what I was wearing was appropriate for THAT purpose. But, I mean, come on…..I thought I was not a walking scandal.
But OH! How wrong I was! Of course, the Haredim were out in full gear. I’m sorry, but when the world is so hot that it feels like a giant outdoor sweaty ass crack, you do NOT need to be wearing a fucking coat and fur hat. We left Eastern Europe for a reason, people! It pissed me off to see little girls in long skirts and thick tights. So angry, in fact, that I wanted to take off all of my clothing and scream, “Will you people just get nekkid already????”
Anyway, I finally got into the Old City and I saw a little haredi boy lagging behind his family. As the two of us neared each other, he prepared a huge loogie in his throat. And then as we passed……
DID THAT LITTLE BOY JUST SPIT ON ME???
The little boy, completely unapologetically, hocked up a huge loogie on my arm. Totally on purpose. Now, what did I do to this kid? Nothing. Something about the way I looked pissed off this kid, because the only interaction I had with this kid was him seeing me. So either 1) He thought I looked Jewish and he hates Jews—oh wait, shit, I’m in Israel. Never mind. Or 2) He thought I looked Christian, as many people have thought, and that pissed him off. OR, and this is what I think is what happened, 3) he thought I was dressed like a tramp.
Anyway, today was a huge day of getting yelled at in Hebrew. I do understand quite a bit of Hebrew, but many things I don’t. I decided that since I didn’t want people to realize that I could understand English (which would make them switch to English), my goal was to just keep my mouth shut and not let people on that I speak Hebrew with a ridiculous American accent. This meant a lot of facial expressions and nods of the head to indicate to people that I was listening to what they were saying but that I was too cool to use words. I just decided to be a quiet, aloof person. Perhaps the most ridiculous instance of this was in the train station. This guy in the security line cut me, and I was NOT in the mood to fight him, so I just backed out of the way. What I didn’t realize was that there was a second security guy on the other side of the metal detector…. And said security guard started yelling at me in Hebrew, but I didn’t understand because his yelling made me feel a bit panicked. First I didn’t know if he was talking to me or not (I noticed that I frequently don't know if people are actually addressing me when they speak in Hebrew), and then I couldn’t figure out what he wanted me to do. He had a weird kind of table in front of him, so I’m not sure I was supposed to give him my purse or just the other security guard. So I just kind of stood there and tried to be out of the way. And the guard starts yelling about different things. So I realized that I could give him my bag, so I went through. And afterwards he laughs and says to me in Hebrew, “What, did you need me to explain something??!??!?!” As if that were just the craziest concept in the world, because I CERTAINLY understand everything anyone yells at me in Hebrew.
I wanted to yell, “YES! You DO need to fucking explain things to me, because your offer of explanation was the first sentence I understood in this whole exchange!”
Instead of having a break down, I decided to be a total badass and play off my weird behavior not as the behavior of a stupid newbie but as the behavior of Israel’s coolest woman.
So instead I just rolled my eyes and tried to give my best look that said, “I’m just too fucking cool to go through security when you tell me to. I go on my OWN time, baby.” And I walked away with the most confident walk I could muster, copying the Israeli women I’ve seen……and for once in my life (Thank G-d!) I didn’t trip over something while someone was watching me try to be cool.
The problem with my concept of keeping my mouth shut is that people either immediately assume that I’m a tourist (which is not quite correct…) or that I’m a retarded Israeli. I definitely can’t pass for a functional Israeli yet, but give me time, kids. It’s only been a day.
Today I took the bus from the Old City to the Malcha Mall (oh my goodness, I took an ACTUAL crowded city bus in Israel and I didn’t blow up! That’s something to write home about!) and this was a different kind of bus from the one that I took from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, though both were Eged. So I figured out how much it costs from an information booth (it was like 5.40) and since I didn’t have correct change I just whipped out six shekels and mourned what I thought would be the loss of 60 agorot.
So I got on the bus, and was ready to throw my six shekels into the coin receiver….but instead was met with the driver’s cupped hand. Okay, so I guess you pay him directly. I gave him my six shekels, and started to move into the bus….my experience on the Big Blue Bus of Santa Monica is that you throw your fare into the machine (even if you’re overpaying, you won’t get anything back) and then you get the hell out of the way. So as I made my way to the back of the bus, the driver yells, “ODEF!” And I was like, where have I heard that word before? Suddenly a few more voices call out from the front, “ODEF!” And I realized that they were yelling, “Change!” So I turn around, and the driver hands me my exact change! What???? I stared down at the change in disbelief and started to move to the back of the bus when suddenly I hear, “CARTIS!” And a few more voices join in. Shit! I messed up again? I need a ticket??!? Why? I payed, you saw me pay, let’s go! But no, I had to have a ticket. Why??
So that was pretty much the big scandal of the day. I felt so scandalized by the driver giving me change.
I totally watched a soap opera with yehuda levi last night at like 3.
I know I’ve only been here for a day, but I’m starting to accept stupid little things and I’m starting not to feel QUITE as foreign and lost. It’s amazing what difference being sleepless and jet-lagged can make when it comes to first impressions of a place.
I got lost in Tel Aviv, but I found my way back to the hotel based on shadows and watching how the planes were landing!
Can I just say that I REALLY like getting my bagged checked?
And can I ask: Why is there a dancing cartoon tomato singing in Hebrew on TV?
Well, today in Jerusalem, hairy young men were STILL looking for Avi…
Today I took a 6.20 am bus out to Jerusalem, because I woke up while it was still very dark out and had nothing better to do.
From the central station I decided to walk to the Old City and have a look around. There was some homeless guy sitting on a bench on Ben Yehuda street, repeating over and over again, “Shekelllllllll…..shekelllllllllllll……..shekellllllllll…….” He’d stop for a moment, then continue unexpectedly with, “Shekellllllll………” Finally someone from a window overlooking the street called out, as if he were bargaining, “HETZI SHEKEL!!!” and I couldn’t stop laughing, which was probably horrible of me, but there we are.
Before I tell you what happened once I got to the Old City, let me tell you what I was wearing. Jeans (loose, as is usual for me) and a short sleeve t-shirt. Nothing too scandalous, but even so I decided I wouldn’t actually go to the Kotel today because I didn’t feel like what I was wearing was appropriate for THAT purpose. But, I mean, come on…..I thought I was not a walking scandal.
But OH! How wrong I was! Of course, the Haredim were out in full gear. I’m sorry, but when the world is so hot that it feels like a giant outdoor sweaty ass crack, you do NOT need to be wearing a fucking coat and fur hat. We left Eastern Europe for a reason, people! It pissed me off to see little girls in long skirts and thick tights. So angry, in fact, that I wanted to take off all of my clothing and scream, “Will you people just get nekkid already????”
Anyway, I finally got into the Old City and I saw a little haredi boy lagging behind his family. As the two of us neared each other, he prepared a huge loogie in his throat. And then as we passed……
DID THAT LITTLE BOY JUST SPIT ON ME???
The little boy, completely unapologetically, hocked up a huge loogie on my arm. Totally on purpose. Now, what did I do to this kid? Nothing. Something about the way I looked pissed off this kid, because the only interaction I had with this kid was him seeing me. So either 1) He thought I looked Jewish and he hates Jews—oh wait, shit, I’m in Israel. Never mind. Or 2) He thought I looked Christian, as many people have thought, and that pissed him off. OR, and this is what I think is what happened, 3) he thought I was dressed like a tramp.
Anyway, today was a huge day of getting yelled at in Hebrew. I do understand quite a bit of Hebrew, but many things I don’t. I decided that since I didn’t want people to realize that I could understand English (which would make them switch to English), my goal was to just keep my mouth shut and not let people on that I speak Hebrew with a ridiculous American accent. This meant a lot of facial expressions and nods of the head to indicate to people that I was listening to what they were saying but that I was too cool to use words. I just decided to be a quiet, aloof person. Perhaps the most ridiculous instance of this was in the train station. This guy in the security line cut me, and I was NOT in the mood to fight him, so I just backed out of the way. What I didn’t realize was that there was a second security guy on the other side of the metal detector…. And said security guard started yelling at me in Hebrew, but I didn’t understand because his yelling made me feel a bit panicked. First I didn’t know if he was talking to me or not (I noticed that I frequently don't know if people are actually addressing me when they speak in Hebrew), and then I couldn’t figure out what he wanted me to do. He had a weird kind of table in front of him, so I’m not sure I was supposed to give him my purse or just the other security guard. So I just kind of stood there and tried to be out of the way. And the guard starts yelling about different things. So I realized that I could give him my bag, so I went through. And afterwards he laughs and says to me in Hebrew, “What, did you need me to explain something??!??!?!” As if that were just the craziest concept in the world, because I CERTAINLY understand everything anyone yells at me in Hebrew.
I wanted to yell, “YES! You DO need to fucking explain things to me, because your offer of explanation was the first sentence I understood in this whole exchange!”
Instead of having a break down, I decided to be a total badass and play off my weird behavior not as the behavior of a stupid newbie but as the behavior of Israel’s coolest woman.
So instead I just rolled my eyes and tried to give my best look that said, “I’m just too fucking cool to go through security when you tell me to. I go on my OWN time, baby.” And I walked away with the most confident walk I could muster, copying the Israeli women I’ve seen……and for once in my life (Thank G-d!) I didn’t trip over something while someone was watching me try to be cool.
The problem with my concept of keeping my mouth shut is that people either immediately assume that I’m a tourist (which is not quite correct…) or that I’m a retarded Israeli. I definitely can’t pass for a functional Israeli yet, but give me time, kids. It’s only been a day.
Today I took the bus from the Old City to the Malcha Mall (oh my goodness, I took an ACTUAL crowded city bus in Israel and I didn’t blow up! That’s something to write home about!) and this was a different kind of bus from the one that I took from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, though both were Eged. So I figured out how much it costs from an information booth (it was like 5.40) and since I didn’t have correct change I just whipped out six shekels and mourned what I thought would be the loss of 60 agorot.
So I got on the bus, and was ready to throw my six shekels into the coin receiver….but instead was met with the driver’s cupped hand. Okay, so I guess you pay him directly. I gave him my six shekels, and started to move into the bus….my experience on the Big Blue Bus of Santa Monica is that you throw your fare into the machine (even if you’re overpaying, you won’t get anything back) and then you get the hell out of the way. So as I made my way to the back of the bus, the driver yells, “ODEF!” And I was like, where have I heard that word before? Suddenly a few more voices call out from the front, “ODEF!” And I realized that they were yelling, “Change!” So I turn around, and the driver hands me my exact change! What???? I stared down at the change in disbelief and started to move to the back of the bus when suddenly I hear, “CARTIS!” And a few more voices join in. Shit! I messed up again? I need a ticket??!? Why? I payed, you saw me pay, let’s go! But no, I had to have a ticket. Why??
So that was pretty much the big scandal of the day. I felt so scandalized by the driver giving me change.
I totally watched a soap opera with yehuda levi last night at like 3.
I know I’ve only been here for a day, but I’m starting to accept stupid little things and I’m starting not to feel QUITE as foreign and lost. It’s amazing what difference being sleepless and jet-lagged can make when it comes to first impressions of a place.
I got lost in Tel Aviv, but I found my way back to the hotel based on shadows and watching how the planes were landing!
Can I just say that I REALLY like getting my bagged checked?
And can I ask: Why is there a dancing cartoon tomato singing in Hebrew on TV?
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Tel Aviv...
Well, after fifteen hours of flying……I’m HERE! I’m currently sitting in a hotel room in Tel Aviv, having already walked down to the Dizengoff Center and having been utterly confused by its layout….
It’s a little scary, I’ll admit. The nice thing about going with something like Birthright was that you weren’t the ONLY confused jackass. You were one of 40 confused jackasses—wandering into oncoming traffic, tripping over things because you’re too busy looking up at everything, and generally having no clue how things work.
Here, alone in Tel Aviv, I am the ONLY jackass.
I never used to cross the street against the signal when I was in LA, even if the street was completely abandoned but living in Chicago/Evanston for the past two years has kind of warped me. Now I cross the street whenever I damn well feel like crossing the street.
Um, so….first lesson learned in Israel? Do NOT cross the street whenever you damn well feel like crossing said street.
I had also forgotten how much people honk their car horns here. By the end of the day though, I just convinced myself that all the cars were trying to get my attention. Everyone wanted to say hi!
I also went into a market today for dinner provisions. And I also managed to fuck that up. You know those little divider things you can sometimes use to say, “This is my stuff, that is the other lady’s stuff”? Well, they had none of those, so I just waited until there was enough space. Finally there was enough, and I was about to put my stuff down when (without a single word) the cashier lady plopped a bar down that read in Hebrew “CLOSED.” And I thought, “Wow….um….that was rude.” And I slowly started to back away. The lady gave me a look like I was crazy, and gestured for me to put my stuff down….I was really confused, but whatever…..
Finally, I noticed this during my last stay here, but now I’m reminded of it. Why is it that, every few blocks wherever I am in Israel I hear a bunch of physically fit but extraordinarily hairy men in their 20’s calling out for their friend, who is always called Avi? They wonder out loud where Avi is, they ask when Avi is coming, etc etc….
A Question, Please:
Who is this Avi, and why is he always getting separated from his group?
If I have children here, I will have to name at least one Avi so that (many years from now) when I hear these hairy men who now are older (or maybe this is a trait exclusive to 20 year olds here?) but still calling for Avi, I can just grab one of my children and say, “HERE he is, OKAY? OKAY!?!?!?! YOU CAN SHUT UP NOW!!!!”
Is Avi just an extremely popular name here?
Still, I friggin’ love it here. And I haven’t even been here for 24 hours. And it’s warmer and wetter than a whale fart right now. But that’s okay, too.
P.S. Where are the Israeli dweebs at? Why is everyone here so cool? Shit!
It’s a little scary, I’ll admit. The nice thing about going with something like Birthright was that you weren’t the ONLY confused jackass. You were one of 40 confused jackasses—wandering into oncoming traffic, tripping over things because you’re too busy looking up at everything, and generally having no clue how things work.
Here, alone in Tel Aviv, I am the ONLY jackass.
I never used to cross the street against the signal when I was in LA, even if the street was completely abandoned but living in Chicago/Evanston for the past two years has kind of warped me. Now I cross the street whenever I damn well feel like crossing the street.
Um, so….first lesson learned in Israel? Do NOT cross the street whenever you damn well feel like crossing said street.
I had also forgotten how much people honk their car horns here. By the end of the day though, I just convinced myself that all the cars were trying to get my attention. Everyone wanted to say hi!
I also went into a market today for dinner provisions. And I also managed to fuck that up. You know those little divider things you can sometimes use to say, “This is my stuff, that is the other lady’s stuff”? Well, they had none of those, so I just waited until there was enough space. Finally there was enough, and I was about to put my stuff down when (without a single word) the cashier lady plopped a bar down that read in Hebrew “CLOSED.” And I thought, “Wow….um….that was rude.” And I slowly started to back away. The lady gave me a look like I was crazy, and gestured for me to put my stuff down….I was really confused, but whatever…..
Finally, I noticed this during my last stay here, but now I’m reminded of it. Why is it that, every few blocks wherever I am in Israel I hear a bunch of physically fit but extraordinarily hairy men in their 20’s calling out for their friend, who is always called Avi? They wonder out loud where Avi is, they ask when Avi is coming, etc etc….
A Question, Please:
Who is this Avi, and why is he always getting separated from his group?
If I have children here, I will have to name at least one Avi so that (many years from now) when I hear these hairy men who now are older (or maybe this is a trait exclusive to 20 year olds here?) but still calling for Avi, I can just grab one of my children and say, “HERE he is, OKAY? OKAY!?!?!?! YOU CAN SHUT UP NOW!!!!”
Is Avi just an extremely popular name here?
Still, I friggin’ love it here. And I haven’t even been here for 24 hours. And it’s warmer and wetter than a whale fart right now. But that’s okay, too.
P.S. Where are the Israeli dweebs at? Why is everyone here so cool? Shit!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
BBC World News Discotheque
You know what the best part of staying in foreign hotels is? BBC World News on TV.
So can I just say that the only reason I watch BBC news is for it's main coutndown theme? Which is basically just this electronic pulse.
People have even done remixes of it.
When the news finally comes on, I always get really upset because by the end of the countdown I'm usually out of my chair shaking my ass.
"Another day of violence in the war-torn region of---"
"SHUT THE HELL UP, I'M NOT DONE YET!"
Anyway, a couple weeks ago I found myself watching BBC America news, and they were doing some special on trash. One of the locations they chose to examine was the Santa Monica Pier, which is only a few miles from my home. The reporter held up an abandoned plastic bag and said something like, "Here in Los Angeles they call this 'urban tumbleweed.' " (Actually, he was British so it was more like, "Heh in Los Angeleeeeez they cwl this uhbin tahmblweed....")
And I had never heard that term in my entire life. Really? We here in LA call plastic bags "urban tumbleweed?" Really?
But he qualified it with, "Why? Because there's so much of it lying around." Really? I mean, LA is by no means a clean city, but it's not like there are plastic bags EVERYWHERE. It's not like I wade through plastic whenever I walk down the street. Well, I guess the point is that news is never really accurate. I mean, if I lived in New York and had not spent much time in LA, the report might seem accurate, but if I were living in LA I'd question the accuracy of what this guy was saying. Just something to keep in mind when I'm in Israel (TOMORROW!!!!) and I'm reading local news instead of what I'm used to reading...
oh yeah, and....
TEL AVIV MAÑANA!!!!!!!
So can I just say that the only reason I watch BBC news is for it's main coutndown theme? Which is basically just this electronic pulse.
People have even done remixes of it.
When the news finally comes on, I always get really upset because by the end of the countdown I'm usually out of my chair shaking my ass.
"Another day of violence in the war-torn region of---"
"SHUT THE HELL UP, I'M NOT DONE YET!"
Anyway, a couple weeks ago I found myself watching BBC America news, and they were doing some special on trash. One of the locations they chose to examine was the Santa Monica Pier, which is only a few miles from my home. The reporter held up an abandoned plastic bag and said something like, "Here in Los Angeles they call this 'urban tumbleweed.' " (Actually, he was British so it was more like, "Heh in Los Angeleeeeez they cwl this uhbin tahmblweed....")
And I had never heard that term in my entire life. Really? We here in LA call plastic bags "urban tumbleweed?" Really?
But he qualified it with, "Why? Because there's so much of it lying around." Really? I mean, LA is by no means a clean city, but it's not like there are plastic bags EVERYWHERE. It's not like I wade through plastic whenever I walk down the street. Well, I guess the point is that news is never really accurate. I mean, if I lived in New York and had not spent much time in LA, the report might seem accurate, but if I were living in LA I'd question the accuracy of what this guy was saying. Just something to keep in mind when I'm in Israel (TOMORROW!!!!) and I'm reading local news instead of what I'm used to reading...
oh yeah, and....
TEL AVIV MAÑANA!!!!!!!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Double Header
This was a draft from a couple years ago.....finally just wanted to share it tonight:
Two posts in one night--WHAT?????
I just stumbled across my planner from senior year of high school in which I wrote down little gems from teachers and classmates, and I thought I'd share gems from my physics teacher:
On scientists who had to fight for their lives from the church: "Think about it....if you know somethign is right and you can't say anything cause they'll kill you.......It pretty much sucks."
He starts to draw a diagram on the board, but gets distracted: "So this is your car, and here is the other car--wait, hang on. Here's your car mirror, and this is where you hang things like CD's or those little trees that smell good."
On seeing a stealth bomber: "I thought those planes were supposed to be invisible!!!"
On watching an egg drop from a building during an experiment: "Aw, HELL no!"
On G-Forces: "That's what building roller coasters is all about--knowing forces! Because you can't kill people and stuff."
Frequently repeated line when people misbehaved and he reminds us of a coming test: "...and THEN we'll see who's laughing."
"Again, whistling in class....not a good idea. We have a test coming and then we'll see who's......whistling."
The teacher asks how far away someone would have to stand on a balance to lift a truck. Students respond. The teacher buries his face in his hands and says, "Taylor, did you just say 'a billion'?"
Two posts in one night--WHAT?????
I just stumbled across my planner from senior year of high school in which I wrote down little gems from teachers and classmates, and I thought I'd share gems from my physics teacher:
On scientists who had to fight for their lives from the church: "Think about it....if you know somethign is right and you can't say anything cause they'll kill you.......It pretty much sucks."
He starts to draw a diagram on the board, but gets distracted: "So this is your car, and here is the other car--wait, hang on. Here's your car mirror, and this is where you hang things like CD's or those little trees that smell good."
On seeing a stealth bomber: "I thought those planes were supposed to be invisible!!!"
On watching an egg drop from a building during an experiment: "Aw, HELL no!"
On G-Forces: "That's what building roller coasters is all about--knowing forces! Because you can't kill people and stuff."
Frequently repeated line when people misbehaved and he reminds us of a coming test: "...and THEN we'll see who's laughing."
"Again, whistling in class....not a good idea. We have a test coming and then we'll see who's......whistling."
The teacher asks how far away someone would have to stand on a balance to lift a truck. Students respond. The teacher buries his face in his hands and says, "Taylor, did you just say 'a billion'?"
Aw jeez...
As embarrassing as this is to admit (okay, it's not too embarrassing since only like two people are reading this), the first time I left LA for what I knew would be a long period of time, I cried. I was on the plane to Chicago as I was about to move into my dorm during freshman year, and the plane was taking off, and I saw LA getting smaller and smaller as we ascended--and I just lost it.
After the seder tonight I was thinking about that moment. Tonight I went upstairs to give the adults some time for some "big people talk" (I was the only one under 50 at the table), and I was just looking out the windows of our house. And this is my favorite thing to do. I love that you can see downtown from our windows. When I was little I used to pretend that the library tower was actually an enormous robot that came to life when everyone was asleep. In the middle of the night, sometimes I would wake up and rush to my window to make sure the library tower was still just a tower, not a robot, and I was always simultaneously disappointed and relieved when nothing happened, as it always did.
From our windows, you can see the Sunset Strip. With binoculars, you can even see large pictures on billboards. When I was little I liked imagining all the parties that would be going on over there.
I used to always want to be a filmmaker. I used to brag to anyone who would listen that my bedroom window, and my bedroom window ONLY, had a vew of the Hollywood sign off in the distance. When I was little I showed it to any guest who ever entered the house, and I repeated endlessly, "See, I'm supposed to be a filmmaker!" I used to sit around and watch Fox tape TV episodes in my neighborhood--I would just sit there for hours and hours, till my butt got numb....but it never got old.
I don't know. I can't say that I'd want to stay in LA forever. For one thing, the vast majority of my friends no longer live here, except when they are home on breaks. But after being home from the midwest for four weeks now as I gear up to leave for Israel, I know it's certainly going to be a lot harder to leave it on Tuesday. I've been trying to remind myself of how I felt the first time I ever saw Israel. (Actually, I try to remind myself of that whenever I get scared or whatever about my coming move.) When our plane was coming in to land from Istanbul to Tel Aviv, and all of the sudden--Land Ho! And I remember completely losing control. My legs flew out and accidentally kicked the seat in front of me, my entire body started shaking worse than my grandma's hand when she holds a fork (okay, perhaps an inappropriate comparison), and I let fly a hearty, "HOLY SHIT!" (No, Sam. "Holy LAND.") And I fidgeted non-stop until we landed, at which point me and the rabbi burst into applause. I was like, Oh my G-d, should we sing something??? Once we got off the plane, I wanted to kiss everything. I was just so friggin' happy to be there.
On the other hand, when I come back to LA, I do fidget with happiness as we are about to land and I always look forward to seeing my family on the other side.....but I can't say that it's the same thing.
Los Angeles will always be a place of fond nostalgia, but I think at this point it is only nostalgia. And I think I'd rather be somewhere where I'm looking forward to the future, about what CAN be, rather than how things used to be when I was little. I think it'll be good to be somewhere where I'm happy for what it IS, rather than how it was.
Please excuse my rambling..... I'm about to fall into a matzo ball-induced coma, AND I'm legit sick.
After the seder tonight I was thinking about that moment. Tonight I went upstairs to give the adults some time for some "big people talk" (I was the only one under 50 at the table), and I was just looking out the windows of our house. And this is my favorite thing to do. I love that you can see downtown from our windows. When I was little I used to pretend that the library tower was actually an enormous robot that came to life when everyone was asleep. In the middle of the night, sometimes I would wake up and rush to my window to make sure the library tower was still just a tower, not a robot, and I was always simultaneously disappointed and relieved when nothing happened, as it always did.
From our windows, you can see the Sunset Strip. With binoculars, you can even see large pictures on billboards. When I was little I liked imagining all the parties that would be going on over there.
I used to always want to be a filmmaker. I used to brag to anyone who would listen that my bedroom window, and my bedroom window ONLY, had a vew of the Hollywood sign off in the distance. When I was little I showed it to any guest who ever entered the house, and I repeated endlessly, "See, I'm supposed to be a filmmaker!" I used to sit around and watch Fox tape TV episodes in my neighborhood--I would just sit there for hours and hours, till my butt got numb....but it never got old.
I don't know. I can't say that I'd want to stay in LA forever. For one thing, the vast majority of my friends no longer live here, except when they are home on breaks. But after being home from the midwest for four weeks now as I gear up to leave for Israel, I know it's certainly going to be a lot harder to leave it on Tuesday. I've been trying to remind myself of how I felt the first time I ever saw Israel. (Actually, I try to remind myself of that whenever I get scared or whatever about my coming move.) When our plane was coming in to land from Istanbul to Tel Aviv, and all of the sudden--Land Ho! And I remember completely losing control. My legs flew out and accidentally kicked the seat in front of me, my entire body started shaking worse than my grandma's hand when she holds a fork (okay, perhaps an inappropriate comparison), and I let fly a hearty, "HOLY SHIT!" (No, Sam. "Holy LAND.") And I fidgeted non-stop until we landed, at which point me and the rabbi burst into applause. I was like, Oh my G-d, should we sing something??? Once we got off the plane, I wanted to kiss everything. I was just so friggin' happy to be there.
On the other hand, when I come back to LA, I do fidget with happiness as we are about to land and I always look forward to seeing my family on the other side.....but I can't say that it's the same thing.
Los Angeles will always be a place of fond nostalgia, but I think at this point it is only nostalgia. And I think I'd rather be somewhere where I'm looking forward to the future, about what CAN be, rather than how things used to be when I was little. I think it'll be good to be somewhere where I'm happy for what it IS, rather than how it was.
Please excuse my rambling..... I'm about to fall into a matzo ball-induced coma, AND I'm legit sick.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Dang
I'm a little bit annoyed that I missed the earthquake that was felt in Chicago. I could have been soooooo smug about it. I could have walked around campus saying, "Well, if you thought THAT was strong, you haven't been in my home state of Californee!" Okay, actually it's probably a good thing I wasn't there because people probably would have strangled me for my smugness, but whatever....
Also, I just wanted to say that I just had a dream which ended with the White House blowing up. Like, MASSIVE explosion. And for some reason there were children everywhere, and they were all frantically trying to outrun the blast on their tricycles, and (even though I was "there" in my dream) I heard the Fox News commentary saying that, as a result of the blast "poop is falling from the sky!" Also in front of the White House were Santa Monica city buses--which are big and blue and very distinctive, totally out of place in DC! And the buses made weird mooing noises, like they were cattle trapped in a blazing barn. It was so weird. Henyways, that's that. I just wanted to write it down before I forgot.
Oh, my day just got even better. The phone rang, I anwered, and here's my interpretation of events:
Me: Hello?
Person: Yes, I'm calling for Felicia Garcia.
Me: Um.....I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number.
Person: No, this is the right number.
Me: Um.....WHO are you looking for again?
Person: Felicia Garcia.
Me: Yeah, see, you've got the wrong number.
Person: I am looking for Felicia.
Me: I know! But I have no idea who Felicia is.
Person: Okay, I am calling for Felicia Garcia.
Me: There is NO Felicia Garcia here!
Person: No no no, I'm looking for Felicia okay?
Me: Yes, I know, but there is no Felicia in this house!
Person: No, but I called this number and I am calling for Felicia Garcia.
Me: I understand that, but there is no Felicia here! You have the wrong number!
Person: No, but this is Felicia's number!
Me: Dude, this CAN'T be Felicia's number because it's MY number!
Person: But this is the number that Felicia gave me!
Me: WELL, SHE GAVE YOU THE WRONG FUCKING NUMBER THEN!
Also, I just wanted to say that I just had a dream which ended with the White House blowing up. Like, MASSIVE explosion. And for some reason there were children everywhere, and they were all frantically trying to outrun the blast on their tricycles, and (even though I was "there" in my dream) I heard the Fox News commentary saying that, as a result of the blast "poop is falling from the sky!" Also in front of the White House were Santa Monica city buses--which are big and blue and very distinctive, totally out of place in DC! And the buses made weird mooing noises, like they were cattle trapped in a blazing barn. It was so weird. Henyways, that's that. I just wanted to write it down before I forgot.
Oh, my day just got even better. The phone rang, I anwered, and here's my interpretation of events:
Me: Hello?
Person: Yes, I'm calling for Felicia Garcia.
Me: Um.....I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number.
Person: No, this is the right number.
Me: Um.....WHO are you looking for again?
Person: Felicia Garcia.
Me: Yeah, see, you've got the wrong number.
Person: I am looking for Felicia.
Me: I know! But I have no idea who Felicia is.
Person: Okay, I am calling for Felicia Garcia.
Me: There is NO Felicia Garcia here!
Person: No no no, I'm looking for Felicia okay?
Me: Yes, I know, but there is no Felicia in this house!
Person: No, but I called this number and I am calling for Felicia Garcia.
Me: I understand that, but there is no Felicia here! You have the wrong number!
Person: No, but this is Felicia's number!
Me: Dude, this CAN'T be Felicia's number because it's MY number!
Person: But this is the number that Felicia gave me!
Me: WELL, SHE GAVE YOU THE WRONG FUCKING NUMBER THEN!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Bamba
Oh, my dad....probably the least PC person ever to have walked the earth....
Dad- (Holding a bag of Bamba that he found in the pantry) What the hell is Baaaaaambuh?????
Me- It's like peanut butter flavored Cheetos. It's Israeli.
Dad- (Now examining the bag).....And why the hell is there a gay guy with a diaper on it?
Me- Um, I think it's called a baby.
Dad- .......oh.
You know, I had never really given much thought to the Bamba baby's sexual orientation...
Dad- (Holding a bag of Bamba that he found in the pantry) What the hell is Baaaaaambuh?????
Me- It's like peanut butter flavored Cheetos. It's Israeli.
Dad- (Now examining the bag).....And why the hell is there a gay guy with a diaper on it?
Me- Um, I think it's called a baby.
Dad- .......oh.
You know, I had never really given much thought to the Bamba baby's sexual orientation...
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
You got bitch-slapped, bitch!
Can I just say that if I were not a heterosexual female, I would immediately try to seduce Tzipi Livni like right now. Why?
From Ynet:
"
During Livni's keynote address at the conference earlier Monday evening, Tibi asked the foreign affairs minister during the subsequent Q&A session how she could talk of democracy when referring to a Jewish nation. "Israel is an apartheid state," he charged.
Livni fielded the question from the podium and answered Tibi: "The very fact that you are an Israeli Knesset member, that you are the deputy speaker of the Knesset as a matter of fact, who represents 20% of Israel's population, that you are here and that you can say anything you please – that is the proof that Israel is a democratic nation."
"
(For the full thing, go here: http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3531857,00.html ) (In fact, to my friends who read this who don't really follow Israeli news, I suggest reading it so that you get fully angry about what went down at this conference and you get fully thrilled when Livni says what she says.)
I just thought it was brilliantly put. Um, you know what Tibi? I'd say you got owned.
P.S. I leave a week from tomorrow! Woot!
From Ynet:
"
During Livni's keynote address at the conference earlier Monday evening, Tibi asked the foreign affairs minister during the subsequent Q&A session how she could talk of democracy when referring to a Jewish nation. "Israel is an apartheid state," he charged.
Livni fielded the question from the podium and answered Tibi: "The very fact that you are an Israeli Knesset member, that you are the deputy speaker of the Knesset as a matter of fact, who represents 20% of Israel's population, that you are here and that you can say anything you please – that is the proof that Israel is a democratic nation."
"
(For the full thing, go here: http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3531857,00.html ) (In fact, to my friends who read this who don't really follow Israeli news, I suggest reading it so that you get fully angry about what went down at this conference and you get fully thrilled when Livni says what she says.)
I just thought it was brilliantly put. Um, you know what Tibi? I'd say you got owned.
P.S. I leave a week from tomorrow! Woot!
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Teenage Mutant Ninja Nostalgia
I've been thinking a lot about how foreign people have different cultural literacy. I don't know if that's the right word, but maybe you know what I mean. There are certain things that, say, Danish people grow up learning or watching or hearing that, say, French people don't.
When I was 12 I remember I was talking to a friend who had recently immigrated to the US from a European country, and I made some silly reference to Paul Revere. And the girl said, "Who??" And I repeated, "Paul Revere." And she just gave me a blank stare, followed by, "Who the hell is Paul Revere?!" I very stupidly replied, "You don't know who Paul Revere is?!?!?!?"
And, of course, she didn't. Why would she? Why would a European grow up learning about some minor character (who may not even be real. Is Paul Revere real?) in AMERICAN history?
It should be interesting once I get to Israel. During Birthright I was watching some Israeli kids TV show and, apparently, it was an old episode. One of the soldiers with us happened to be in my room, so she said, "Oh, I used to watch this show when I was small. That guy [the host] used to scare me so much!" The soldier went on to talk fondly of how that show shaped her childhood in little ways like that.
I don't know. I've been thinking about that a lot as I'm about to leave, because it kind of shows how, even if we forget about the language barrier for a second, there's still so much that I'm not going to understand when I'm in Israel. I didn't grow up watching that show that the soldier (and apparently many other Israelis) grew up watching--to me, it's just some show that I'm too old for and can't understand, it's not a show that I watched religiously when I was little and that I used to be afraid of, or whatever. I don't know if any of this is making sense.
But then, of course, there's a lot of shared cultural literacy. Take these two versions of the Ninja Turtles theme. But even then, the Hebrew version (in my opinion) mutilates the classiest song ever to grace TV.
Classic Awesomeness:
The Hebrew Version
When I was 12 I remember I was talking to a friend who had recently immigrated to the US from a European country, and I made some silly reference to Paul Revere. And the girl said, "Who??" And I repeated, "Paul Revere." And she just gave me a blank stare, followed by, "Who the hell is Paul Revere?!" I very stupidly replied, "You don't know who Paul Revere is?!?!?!?"
And, of course, she didn't. Why would she? Why would a European grow up learning about some minor character (who may not even be real. Is Paul Revere real?) in AMERICAN history?
It should be interesting once I get to Israel. During Birthright I was watching some Israeli kids TV show and, apparently, it was an old episode. One of the soldiers with us happened to be in my room, so she said, "Oh, I used to watch this show when I was small. That guy [the host] used to scare me so much!" The soldier went on to talk fondly of how that show shaped her childhood in little ways like that.
I don't know. I've been thinking about that a lot as I'm about to leave, because it kind of shows how, even if we forget about the language barrier for a second, there's still so much that I'm not going to understand when I'm in Israel. I didn't grow up watching that show that the soldier (and apparently many other Israelis) grew up watching--to me, it's just some show that I'm too old for and can't understand, it's not a show that I watched religiously when I was little and that I used to be afraid of, or whatever. I don't know if any of this is making sense.
But then, of course, there's a lot of shared cultural literacy. Take these two versions of the Ninja Turtles theme. But even then, the Hebrew version (in my opinion) mutilates the classiest song ever to grace TV.
Classic Awesomeness:
The Hebrew Version
Friday, April 11, 2008
Getting stir crazy
Less than two weeks now until I leave..... I'm getting a little bored. First I was home with just my family for two weeks, and now this weekend I'm completely alone as my parents are visiting my brothers on the East Coast. (I'm home in order to get my stuff together for Israel).
I'm so lonely! Right now I'm lonelier than a fat man with a chronic flatulence problem.
I'm so lonely! Right now I'm lonelier than a fat man with a chronic flatulence problem.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
The House of Old People
I like that the men in my grandparents' old folks home dress like old men. You know? Pants worn high. So high that these men barely have a torso, and their socks are in plain view. Because you never know when you're gonna have to go wading in the middle of Beverly Hills.....
What I don't like about this old folks home are some of the women. It's a mostly Jewish home, so when I came by to sit with my grandma, a bunch of the women started talking about my upcoming move to Israel. And this one woman kept saying how, if I absolutely HAD to go, I should go for a little vacation there, and then get out as quickly as possible because "Israel is going downhill"--whether it's because of external threats, internal threats, or its own general chaos. The lady stressed that Israel was unsafe and dangerous and that in a few years it would no longer exist. Yes, said the lady, the best idea for you is to get out of there as quickly as possible because Israel is going to be taken over and destroyed. The lady who said all this is Jewish, so she's sad about all of this, but not sad enough to try to do anything.
Look, I understand that when you're 80 or whatever, there's not too much that you CAN do to "save" Israel, if indeed Israel needs "saving." But why would you encourage a 19 year old to bail? (I mean, I don't have plans to go over to "save" Israel, but I hope that I will be able to contribute something positive. Aw hell, let's be honest--I'm gonna go over there and watch soccer all day.)
And the worst part of all of this is that this lady (who, by the way, is crazy and tells people that she owns all these buildings all over LA....which she doesn't) is not the first person who has ever said these things to me. I hear it all the time, whenever someone finds out that I'm going to Israel! It irritates me that so many Jews who are my parents' age and my grandparents' age are telling my generation that we should all bail on Israel like a bunch of cowards and let the Jews that are stuck there, with no other options, just fend for themselves.
It irritated me that this lady was leading a life in a nice apartment in Beverly Hills, so she had the luxury of saying, "That's sad, but oh well!" to the thought of the end of Israel.
What I don't like about this old folks home are some of the women. It's a mostly Jewish home, so when I came by to sit with my grandma, a bunch of the women started talking about my upcoming move to Israel. And this one woman kept saying how, if I absolutely HAD to go, I should go for a little vacation there, and then get out as quickly as possible because "Israel is going downhill"--whether it's because of external threats, internal threats, or its own general chaos. The lady stressed that Israel was unsafe and dangerous and that in a few years it would no longer exist. Yes, said the lady, the best idea for you is to get out of there as quickly as possible because Israel is going to be taken over and destroyed. The lady who said all this is Jewish, so she's sad about all of this, but not sad enough to try to do anything.
Look, I understand that when you're 80 or whatever, there's not too much that you CAN do to "save" Israel, if indeed Israel needs "saving." But why would you encourage a 19 year old to bail? (I mean, I don't have plans to go over to "save" Israel, but I hope that I will be able to contribute something positive. Aw hell, let's be honest--I'm gonna go over there and watch soccer all day.)
And the worst part of all of this is that this lady (who, by the way, is crazy and tells people that she owns all these buildings all over LA....which she doesn't) is not the first person who has ever said these things to me. I hear it all the time, whenever someone finds out that I'm going to Israel! It irritates me that so many Jews who are my parents' age and my grandparents' age are telling my generation that we should all bail on Israel like a bunch of cowards and let the Jews that are stuck there, with no other options, just fend for themselves.
It irritated me that this lady was leading a life in a nice apartment in Beverly Hills, so she had the luxury of saying, "That's sad, but oh well!" to the thought of the end of Israel.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Aliyah--Hollywood Style!
I made a stupid little film so that others may experience the joy that is Misrad Hapnim. Please excuse the VERY poor sound quality and the tiny print for some of the captions. You'll have to turn your speakers WAY up, and if full-screen is an option, I suggest using it.
I would have put it on You Tube, but one of my previous You Tube escapades ended up being a bit ridiculous. Well, the film was ridiculous to start, but one of the comments I received on Youtube (okay, okay, the ONLY comment I received) was annoying because it missed the point. Shall I explain?
Here's the original music video:
Now here is MY version:
And one of the comments is: "why did u removed the audio its sounds bad ..."
Um, yes, genius. What keen observation skills you have. I did INDEED remove the sound and chop up the video--hence the title "Gad Elbaz Recut." I thought it would be funny to have an orthodox Jew dancing to ABBA, but apparently the world does not agree....
Henyways, that's my beef with You Tube. Coming Soon: My beef with the little old ladies at my grandparents' nursing home!
I would have put it on You Tube, but one of my previous You Tube escapades ended up being a bit ridiculous. Well, the film was ridiculous to start, but one of the comments I received on Youtube (okay, okay, the ONLY comment I received) was annoying because it missed the point. Shall I explain?
Here's the original music video:
Now here is MY version:
And one of the comments is: "why did u removed the audio its sounds bad ..."
Um, yes, genius. What keen observation skills you have. I did INDEED remove the sound and chop up the video--hence the title "Gad Elbaz Recut." I thought it would be funny to have an orthodox Jew dancing to ABBA, but apparently the world does not agree....
Henyways, that's my beef with You Tube. Coming Soon: My beef with the little old ladies at my grandparents' nursing home!
Friday, April 4, 2008
'Merka!
Tonight I was at the Galaxy-San Jose game (I SAW DAVID BECKHAM SCORE A GOAL! AND LANDON DONOVAN!!!!!!), and the person singing the national anthem....well, let's just say that it sounded like it was the person's first time ever hearing the national anthem. I know, I know, our anthem sucks because no one can ever remember the words and it's difficult to sing, but EVERYONE in the stands realized that something was dreadfully wrong with this guy's rendition. He sang some lines using the melody of a different line, changed keys several times (and not in the dramatic, diva-style that can sometimes be really powerful-you know, where you sing the chorus and then change keys only to sing it again....he just flat out was like mid-phrase and OOPS we're in D now.....OH! And now we're in G.), and on at least one occasion it sounded like he was just making words up.
Oh America....
Anyway, so I thought I'd share some more pre-departure thoughts:
____
I think it should be said that this is how I felt a couple weeks ago:
"I got my flag, I got my Hebrew book....I'm ready to go to Israel! Get me a bucket hat and some falafel, I'm ready to settle the land via socialist farms!"
But then I finished classes for Winter Quarter at college. I'm done with classes until next Winter Quarter at the earliest. I'm about to take at the very least a year-long break from "traditional" education.
And well, folks....I'm freaking the eff out.
This weekend I was a little bit nervous, and this is kind of how I felt:
*whimper*....*whimper*....
You know, nothing too bad. I just felt a bit like I needed a hug.
But now.....oh jeez.
"GAAAAA!!!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF G-D, DON'T MAKE ME GO!!!!!"
I think I'm turning into a hermit. A seriously freaked-out hermit.
Anyway, people have been asking me, "What are you going to miss about America?" "What are you going to miss about college?" Now, this is a stupid question because I don't know for sure that I'm going to be in Israel beyond November. But since it is a likely possibility that I will be there for longer (indeed, this is my assumption), here is what I will miss about The Good Ol' U S of A during my adventure:
Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
Heinz ketchup. Not the weird European/foreign kind. I'm talking about the PROPER 'merkin kind!
The Rose Parade. Why? Because I've been several times and when I
don't go I like to watch it on TV. And it is time to recall from one
of my earlier Rose Parade experiences: this one time, during the
future-themed parade, a fucking enormous silver, box-like float broke
down right in front of us. And it sort of opened up and blasted music.
And it was so fucking loud. The bass shook everything. And I thought I
was going to die. I really thought it was the end. And then they fixed
the float. After like 20 minutes. Anyway, that's what I remember. I think I was 8 at the time.
I'm pretty sure the bass did permanent damage to my heart or something...
Maybe I'm just being dramatic.
The 4th of July. But I'm guessing Yom Ha'Atzmaut is pretty cool too.
Christians.
When you're at a baseball game and the lady singing the national
anthem hits the high note. you know? "Land of the
freeeee-EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" And everyone goes CRAZY.
On the subject of baseball: The seventh inning stretch.
On the subject of baseball/patriotism: The fact that nobody does patriotism like the Americans. We SHOWBOAT it. Check out Whitney Houston doing the national anthem: What a diva!
Hell, we don't even have to be at a sporting event to be showboating it up: Who loves America? THESE guys sure as Hell do!
Some people say that our national pastime is baseball, but I would argue that it's over-the-top displays of patriotism.
The fact that some people here call Hebrew "Jewish."
How excited I get every single time I see an orthodox Jew in the US.
I'm guessing it'll get old once I've been in Israel for a short time.
Shepard Smith of Fox News. "That is a recipe for disastaaaa!" and
"Anyone who leaves a threatening note in a university building in this
atmosphere....for you there is a special place in hell."
Watching "Soul Train" at 4 am
The following restaurants: Islands, In n Out, Souplantation, and CPK
(to a lesser extent)
Oh yeah, then there's one final thing I'm gonna miss:
Not having a serious language barrier.
Okay. I actually feel strangely better now.
And I'm kind of excited.
Oh America....
Anyway, so I thought I'd share some more pre-departure thoughts:
____
I think it should be said that this is how I felt a couple weeks ago:
"I got my flag, I got my Hebrew book....I'm ready to go to Israel! Get me a bucket hat and some falafel, I'm ready to settle the land via socialist farms!"
But then I finished classes for Winter Quarter at college. I'm done with classes until next Winter Quarter at the earliest. I'm about to take at the very least a year-long break from "traditional" education.
And well, folks....I'm freaking the eff out.
This weekend I was a little bit nervous, and this is kind of how I felt:
*whimper*....*whimper*....
You know, nothing too bad. I just felt a bit like I needed a hug.
But now.....oh jeez.
"GAAAAA!!!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF G-D, DON'T MAKE ME GO!!!!!"
I think I'm turning into a hermit. A seriously freaked-out hermit.
Anyway, people have been asking me, "What are you going to miss about America?" "What are you going to miss about college?" Now, this is a stupid question because I don't know for sure that I'm going to be in Israel beyond November. But since it is a likely possibility that I will be there for longer (indeed, this is my assumption), here is what I will miss about The Good Ol' U S of A during my adventure:
Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
Heinz ketchup. Not the weird European/foreign kind. I'm talking about the PROPER 'merkin kind!
The Rose Parade. Why? Because I've been several times and when I
don't go I like to watch it on TV. And it is time to recall from one
of my earlier Rose Parade experiences: this one time, during the
future-themed parade, a fucking enormous silver, box-like float broke
down right in front of us. And it sort of opened up and blasted music.
And it was so fucking loud. The bass shook everything. And I thought I
was going to die. I really thought it was the end. And then they fixed
the float. After like 20 minutes. Anyway, that's what I remember. I think I was 8 at the time.
I'm pretty sure the bass did permanent damage to my heart or something...
Maybe I'm just being dramatic.
The 4th of July. But I'm guessing Yom Ha'Atzmaut is pretty cool too.
Christians.
When you're at a baseball game and the lady singing the national
anthem hits the high note. you know? "Land of the
freeeee-EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" And everyone goes CRAZY.
On the subject of baseball: The seventh inning stretch.
On the subject of baseball/patriotism: The fact that nobody does patriotism like the Americans. We SHOWBOAT it. Check out Whitney Houston doing the national anthem: What a diva!
Hell, we don't even have to be at a sporting event to be showboating it up: Who loves America? THESE guys sure as Hell do!
Some people say that our national pastime is baseball, but I would argue that it's over-the-top displays of patriotism.
The fact that some people here call Hebrew "Jewish."
How excited I get every single time I see an orthodox Jew in the US.
I'm guessing it'll get old once I've been in Israel for a short time.
Shepard Smith of Fox News. "That is a recipe for disastaaaa!" and
"Anyone who leaves a threatening note in a university building in this
atmosphere....for you there is a special place in hell."
Watching "Soul Train" at 4 am
The following restaurants: Islands, In n Out, Souplantation, and CPK
(to a lesser extent)
Oh yeah, then there's one final thing I'm gonna miss:
Not having a serious language barrier.
Okay. I actually feel strangely better now.
And I'm kind of excited.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
I hate Israel already—and I’m not even there yet!
So I’m still in Los Angeles, but I’m trying to prepare things for when I finally get to Israel. Tonight I called the Misrad Hapnim in Beit Shemesh to arrange an appointment. I got their number, went through all the trouble of figuring out how to place an international call to Israel, and even prepared a few sentences in Hebrew (“Do you speak English?” in Hebrew and, if that failed, “Is there someone in the office that speaks English?”). I sat by my phone and had a Jewish calendar in front of me, and I was READY.
So I dial the number of the Beit Shemesh office. And---Oh. Jesus. Hank. Christ. There’s no person on the other end. Just a robot. And the robot launches into this LONG speech in Hebrew. The robot does not give one flying fuck that all I can understand in this rapid speech are the words “Beit Shemesh” and “Misrad Hapnim.” Suddenly the robot starts saying random numbers (I’m guessing it’s an extension or something…..you dial it if you know what you’re doing, which I clearly don’t), and I start panicking. I tried to write the numbers down, but it was moving too fast and it was terrifying. The robot says a few more things and then suddenly the robot cuts out—
And Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” plays.
My brother played this song NON-STOP on the piano when we were younger. When I imagine Hell, Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” always factors into my vision, without fail. And, oh no, this wasn’t just a proper version of “The Entertainer.” This was like the kind that is pre-programmed into little kids’ electronic keyboards from the late 80’s. This was like a poor quality MIDI version, combined with obnoxious charm of merry-go-round music. The music was annoying, but I assumed it was just hold music. Surely a REAL person would rescue me eventually. And just when I could take this bastardized version of Scott Joplin no longer, a voice came to my rescue—
Oh shit, it’s the robot again!
Yes, the robot launched into the exact same spiel. My heart fluttered with happiness every time I heard a word I understood (again, I only understood Beit Shemesh and Misrad Hapnim), but mostly I just panicked even more. The robot finished and—
Crap, STILL Scott Joplin? Really? It’s STILL playing?
Finally the robot came back, but by this point I had given up on trying to understand what she was saying, and I just kept praying and praying that a real person would finally pick up and that I wasn’t stuck in this horrible Hold Limbo.
But then Scott Joplin came back.
Now this happened for a few more robot-Joplin cycles, and finally I realized that no person was going to pick up and that the song would ALWAYS be “The Entertainer.” Finally I hung up, about ready to cry.
I felt defeated, but then I thought, “What would Ari Ben Canaan do?” Well, he’d probably be a badass. So I too would be a badass! And what did this badass do? She called the Jerusalem branch of the misrad hapnim! Word!
So I dial and wait.
And there’s yet another robot. This time with an even LONGER Hebrew speech. And all I understood was “Jerusalem” “Misrad Hapnim” and a bunch of random numbers that I couldn’t do anything with. I braced myself for the grating hold music, but none came. Just silence. I thought this was a blessing, but then I realized that the message wasn’t coming back. Perhaps I had been cut off! I had missed my chance! So I let out a hearty,
“SHIT!”
And suddenly the robot came back. There was a quick, “Todah [Thanks]!” Followed by a quick word I didn’t undestand. And then a click. I had been disconnected.
WHY DO THEY MAKE THIS SO FRIGGIN’ HARD?!?!?!
So I dial the number of the Beit Shemesh office. And---Oh. Jesus. Hank. Christ. There’s no person on the other end. Just a robot. And the robot launches into this LONG speech in Hebrew. The robot does not give one flying fuck that all I can understand in this rapid speech are the words “Beit Shemesh” and “Misrad Hapnim.” Suddenly the robot starts saying random numbers (I’m guessing it’s an extension or something…..you dial it if you know what you’re doing, which I clearly don’t), and I start panicking. I tried to write the numbers down, but it was moving too fast and it was terrifying. The robot says a few more things and then suddenly the robot cuts out—
And Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” plays.
My brother played this song NON-STOP on the piano when we were younger. When I imagine Hell, Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” always factors into my vision, without fail. And, oh no, this wasn’t just a proper version of “The Entertainer.” This was like the kind that is pre-programmed into little kids’ electronic keyboards from the late 80’s. This was like a poor quality MIDI version, combined with obnoxious charm of merry-go-round music. The music was annoying, but I assumed it was just hold music. Surely a REAL person would rescue me eventually. And just when I could take this bastardized version of Scott Joplin no longer, a voice came to my rescue—
Oh shit, it’s the robot again!
Yes, the robot launched into the exact same spiel. My heart fluttered with happiness every time I heard a word I understood (again, I only understood Beit Shemesh and Misrad Hapnim), but mostly I just panicked even more. The robot finished and—
Crap, STILL Scott Joplin? Really? It’s STILL playing?
Finally the robot came back, but by this point I had given up on trying to understand what she was saying, and I just kept praying and praying that a real person would finally pick up and that I wasn’t stuck in this horrible Hold Limbo.
But then Scott Joplin came back.
Now this happened for a few more robot-Joplin cycles, and finally I realized that no person was going to pick up and that the song would ALWAYS be “The Entertainer.” Finally I hung up, about ready to cry.
I felt defeated, but then I thought, “What would Ari Ben Canaan do?” Well, he’d probably be a badass. So I too would be a badass! And what did this badass do? She called the Jerusalem branch of the misrad hapnim! Word!
So I dial and wait.
And there’s yet another robot. This time with an even LONGER Hebrew speech. And all I understood was “Jerusalem” “Misrad Hapnim” and a bunch of random numbers that I couldn’t do anything with. I braced myself for the grating hold music, but none came. Just silence. I thought this was a blessing, but then I realized that the message wasn’t coming back. Perhaps I had been cut off! I had missed my chance! So I let out a hearty,
“SHIT!”
And suddenly the robot came back. There was a quick, “Todah [Thanks]!” Followed by a quick word I didn’t undestand. And then a click. I had been disconnected.
WHY DO THEY MAKE THIS SO FRIGGIN’ HARD?!?!?!
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
For my first trick....
So before I get the hang of this whole blog thing, I'm going to import some notes from facebook. Yes, yes, I know I should be writing all-original material here, but since I'm stuck sitting at home for the next three weeks with nothing to do, I figure I have nothing better to do.
Henyways....here's an episode that happened the day after I got back from my short stay in Israel:
I just wanted to quickly discuss a growing problem in my life. I had forgotten about it in Israel, because I was so clearly a foreigner there, but now I've been back in the states for a day and I can see that things haven't changed. I'm talking, of course, about the fact that strangers frequently start conversations with me with "Do you speak English?"
This NEVER used to happen to me, but in the past couple of months I've heard it about five times! Today I was sitting in a mall and a lady plopped down on the bench next to me. The first words out of her mouth? "Do you speak English?"
I wanted to be like, "Lady, I'm sitting in a mall in the middle of friggin VIRGINIA, and I'm reading Cosmo. I'm wearing Levi's, big ass sneakers, and I'm fat. How the hell could I NOT be American, and how the hell could I NOT speak English???"
Except I just said, "Yes."
The lady then told me a fascinating tale of how she lost her cell phone. She told me about her escapades in a hat store, which surprised me, because I didn't know stores still existed that sold exclusively hats. She suddenly found her cell phone and announced, "Well, I'm going to pee and then get on the train to go home to Maryland."
"Oh," I said.
"Yes," she continued. "It's real important to pee before getting onto the train to Maryland, cos if you gotta pee on the way to maryland.....I mean......I hate having to go tot he bathroom when I'm stuck on the train. It's a baaaaaaaad feelin'. Baaaaaaaaad feelin' all right......."
I nodded in agreement that having to dispose of urine while stuck on a medium-length train ride would bother anyone.
The lady then stood up, patted my shoulder and said, "Okay. I'll pee now. You have yourself a safe evening, all right?" She then gathered up her bags and coats and hats and her found cell phone, and finally hurried off to the bathroom to pee before getting on the train to Maryland.
And THAT, my good friends, is what happened on my first day back from Israel.
Henyways....here's an episode that happened the day after I got back from my short stay in Israel:
I just wanted to quickly discuss a growing problem in my life. I had forgotten about it in Israel, because I was so clearly a foreigner there, but now I've been back in the states for a day and I can see that things haven't changed. I'm talking, of course, about the fact that strangers frequently start conversations with me with "Do you speak English?"
This NEVER used to happen to me, but in the past couple of months I've heard it about five times! Today I was sitting in a mall and a lady plopped down on the bench next to me. The first words out of her mouth? "Do you speak English?"
I wanted to be like, "Lady, I'm sitting in a mall in the middle of friggin VIRGINIA, and I'm reading Cosmo. I'm wearing Levi's, big ass sneakers, and I'm fat. How the hell could I NOT be American, and how the hell could I NOT speak English???"
Except I just said, "Yes."
The lady then told me a fascinating tale of how she lost her cell phone. She told me about her escapades in a hat store, which surprised me, because I didn't know stores still existed that sold exclusively hats. She suddenly found her cell phone and announced, "Well, I'm going to pee and then get on the train to go home to Maryland."
"Oh," I said.
"Yes," she continued. "It's real important to pee before getting onto the train to Maryland, cos if you gotta pee on the way to maryland.....I mean......I hate having to go tot he bathroom when I'm stuck on the train. It's a baaaaaaaad feelin'. Baaaaaaaaad feelin' all right......."
I nodded in agreement that having to dispose of urine while stuck on a medium-length train ride would bother anyone.
The lady then stood up, patted my shoulder and said, "Okay. I'll pee now. You have yourself a safe evening, all right?" She then gathered up her bags and coats and hats and her found cell phone, and finally hurried off to the bathroom to pee before getting on the train to Maryland.
And THAT, my good friends, is what happened on my first day back from Israel.
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