Yeah. I'm going to have a neon green beret. You know what that means? Nachal.
No, I haven't had my army interview or whatever yet, but the program I'm doing is such that you can ONLY go into Nachal. So the guy in charge told me, "Samantha, you're going to be in Nachal! Are you excited??" And, well, to be honest I don't know a fucking thing about the Israeli army so i don't know if I'm supposed to be excited or not. I'm wikipedia-ing Nachal and I'm still not sure I understand. I don't understand the US Military, so this whole learnign about a military in Hebrew is going to be a fucking bitch. Even when the people there spoke in English, it was like "brigade this" or "company that" or "unit whonanny" and "platoon doobie" and I couldn't keep track of it all. Fuck, I'm goign to be the worst soldier ever.
So today I had to sit for five hours to learn about Nachal and the army in general. Holy fuck.
So I learned that most of the boys in the program go into combat, while the girls will probably end up being instructors of some sort. So I guess that's what I'll be doing for my army service.
I was told that next week I'll get to go to the army induction center place, and then a couple days later I'll know where I'll be put (tentatively), and then a week or so after that I'll get finalization and whatnot.
Holy holy fuck. Holy fuck. It was terrifying because they kept referring to Nachal as "YOUR Brigade." Holy fuck. I have a brigade??? I HAVE A BRIGADE!!!
On the way back from Tel Aviv, I kept seeing Nachal soldiers (on the bus, in the bus station, etc) and I was like, "HOLY FUCK I'M GOING TO BE ONE OF THOSE!"
The most scary part of all of this is telling my parents. I was telling my mom today on the phone that I went to Tel Aviv, and I hinted that I talked to "some people from a Jewish organization" (some soldiers from the IDF are people from a Jewish organization, right?) about some "potential programs" I could do in Israel. I really wanted to tell her about how my army plans were becoming more firmed up because it is both exciting and scary, so I casually said, "So you're still against the army idea?" And my mother flipped out and said that OF COURSE she still doesn't want me to join the army. So......fuck........I'm not sure how or when I'm going to tell her and my dad. It's just really difficult because it's terrifying to feel so absolutely alone. I have to figure out how a foreign army works, and I have to find a place to live, and etc etc.....
SEND ME LOVE!
(or chocolate.)
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Okay, so I'm not 100 percent Irish, but I think 50 percent is good enough
Funniest thign just happened: waiting for the bus at the bus stop, I find myself next to a group of 5 American and Canadian guys. Christians. Here to learn Biblical Hebrew. All just a couple years older than me.
The guys for some reason start talking about Irish people. And they got into an argument which ended with them all concluding that there are no Jews of Irish descent.
They started talking about how crap and racist and whatnot Israel is.
They started bitching bitchign bitchign bitching.
They started talking about how bizarre Jews are, and how bizarre Israel is, and how Jews are this, and Jews are that. Israel is racist this, Jews are weird that, blahblahblah, I want to marry a good CHRISTIAN woman because they're the only good women int he world.
They came back to the subject of the non-existence of Irish Jews, and they started laughing and making suggestions of what such a person would look like.
Then they started talking again about how weird Jews are.
I sat in silence. I briefly called my roommate, but spoke only in Hebrew so as not to give away that I was American and fluent in English.
We were waiting forever and my neighbor, the soldier who likes MIKA, saw me waiting and offered me a ride.
One of the Americans: "Oh, I think that guy's offering her a ride to Jerusalem."
The Canadian: "Oh, well let's see if we can come too!"
American: "No, he's probably only offering it to his girlfriend."
The Canadian: "Well, let's be nice to the girlfriend, maybe she'll let us come, too!"
American: "Should I go flirt with her?"
The Canadian: "No, she probably doesn't understand English."
Finally after we had waited for a ridiculously long time, the Christians called over to me, asking in deliberate and slow (and LOUD) English, "IS . THE . BUS . NOR-MA-LLY . THIS. LATE?"
I considered answering back in my regular accent, but I wanted them to know that they had fucked with the wrong person, that they had fucked with an American. So I put on a slight Southern Accent, cos there's not a chance in Hell a foreigner would talk like that, and I called back, "No, it doesn't normally come this late."
The Christians were absolutely appalled. Their jaws dropped. They tried to make peace talk. They asked if I was Jewish and if I had moved here. Then the Americans asked, "So why did you choose to make aliyah?"
So I stood up and said, "I made aliyah because as YOU people said, you people from my own native country said, I'm weird for being Jewish. And by the way, that guy's not my boyfriend, Oh, and by the way: I'm a Jew of Irish descent. THIS is what we look like."
And I walked off.
The guys for some reason start talking about Irish people. And they got into an argument which ended with them all concluding that there are no Jews of Irish descent.
They started talking about how crap and racist and whatnot Israel is.
They started bitching bitchign bitchign bitching.
They started talking about how bizarre Jews are, and how bizarre Israel is, and how Jews are this, and Jews are that. Israel is racist this, Jews are weird that, blahblahblah, I want to marry a good CHRISTIAN woman because they're the only good women int he world.
They came back to the subject of the non-existence of Irish Jews, and they started laughing and making suggestions of what such a person would look like.
Then they started talking again about how weird Jews are.
I sat in silence. I briefly called my roommate, but spoke only in Hebrew so as not to give away that I was American and fluent in English.
We were waiting forever and my neighbor, the soldier who likes MIKA, saw me waiting and offered me a ride.
One of the Americans: "Oh, I think that guy's offering her a ride to Jerusalem."
The Canadian: "Oh, well let's see if we can come too!"
American: "No, he's probably only offering it to his girlfriend."
The Canadian: "Well, let's be nice to the girlfriend, maybe she'll let us come, too!"
American: "Should I go flirt with her?"
The Canadian: "No, she probably doesn't understand English."
Finally after we had waited for a ridiculously long time, the Christians called over to me, asking in deliberate and slow (and LOUD) English, "IS . THE . BUS . NOR-MA-LLY . THIS. LATE?"
I considered answering back in my regular accent, but I wanted them to know that they had fucked with the wrong person, that they had fucked with an American. So I put on a slight Southern Accent, cos there's not a chance in Hell a foreigner would talk like that, and I called back, "No, it doesn't normally come this late."
The Christians were absolutely appalled. Their jaws dropped. They tried to make peace talk. They asked if I was Jewish and if I had moved here. Then the Americans asked, "So why did you choose to make aliyah?"
So I stood up and said, "I made aliyah because as YOU people said, you people from my own native country said, I'm weird for being Jewish. And by the way, that guy's not my boyfriend, Oh, and by the way: I'm a Jew of Irish descent. THIS is what we look like."
And I walked off.
Ain't Nothing Like....A Birthday.
Last night I rang in my 20th birthday by getting drunk with a bunch of people who spoke no English. Actually, one of them spoke English, but his native language is German so he says bizarre things like, “I know X like my pocket,” which he explained to me (after I told him I had no idea what the fuck he meant by that) means the same thing as “I know it like the back of my hand.” I drank with a Chilean, an Argentinean, two Hungarians, and a German. And I think that’s pretty awesome. We spoke in pidgin Hebrew, and harder words were either expressed in the speaker’s native language accompanied by Charades-like movements or they were not said at all. At midnight my roommate went into the other room and came back in with a cake with 21 candles on it, which was a really nice surprise. The German was scandalized because apparently in Germany you don’t put on the extra candle, so he was like, “BUT SHE’S 20 NOT 21!!!!”
I then had “Happy Birthday” sung to me in Hungarian and Hebrew simultaneously, and then sung to me in Spanish when the South Americans decided the song needed to be repeated. Which was kind of a surreal experience, if you ask me, after hearing “Happy Birthday” in English only for 19 times.
I don’t think my wish is going to come true, which is a shame, but I think I’m going to have a good year anyway. I’m in Israel!
I’d like to stop the narration for a second and say that I think everyone should do ulpan once in their life. I don't care if your'e a sabra, I don't care that you're already fluent in Hebrew. That's not the point. There’s nothing quite like being surrounded by foreign people—there’s no “normal.” I can’t really explain. But it’s cool. I’m picking up on bizarre little traditions or customs from other countries, and I’m learning random words in other languages. Anyway:
We then went outside to go to the pub, but we heard extremely loud dance music. We hear it a couple times a week, but we had never seen the source. From the volume, we figured it was some massive trance party, and we knew it was in one of the bomb shelters.
So we’re like, “Let’s go to the bomb shelter party, it sounds like it’s pretty crazy!” Ready to join in this enormous rave, we raced down the stairs, pulled back the massive door that was protecting the party goers from a bomb blast, and……
It was just a big concrete room with a disco ball in the middle, a couple party lights lamely moving from here to there….and about 6 teenagers from the kibbutz. With fucking LOUD music. A party of that size does not warrant music that loud. I’m sorry.
The party looked almost as pathetic as school dances that take place in the gym, you know, where no matter how you dress it up with lights and decorations and loud music, you can never forget that you’re in this enormous ugly room and you’re dancing on a basketball court. Well, it looked like the 6 teenagers who had come couldn’t forget that they were in a fucking bomb shelter, so they sat in chairs on the side looking like the typical middle school dance attendees as their ability to hear was gradually stolen from them by the pounding music.
All of us are above high school age, so we decided we didn’t need to relive the awkwardness of our middle school days and left in a hurry.
We went to the pub, which was really boring, and then I came back to the room and passed out. Now I’m spending the day listening to my new music, and later I’ll be going into Jerusalem with the Frenchman to meet up with my Aussie roommate. Should be fun.
Also, it’s Shabbat. And it’s country music time. I heard this song for the first time today and I thought it was very sweet. It’s Brad Paisley’s “Ain’t Nothing Like.”
Don't pay attention to the idiotic music video. Just the music.
I then had “Happy Birthday” sung to me in Hungarian and Hebrew simultaneously, and then sung to me in Spanish when the South Americans decided the song needed to be repeated. Which was kind of a surreal experience, if you ask me, after hearing “Happy Birthday” in English only for 19 times.
I don’t think my wish is going to come true, which is a shame, but I think I’m going to have a good year anyway. I’m in Israel!
I’d like to stop the narration for a second and say that I think everyone should do ulpan once in their life. I don't care if your'e a sabra, I don't care that you're already fluent in Hebrew. That's not the point. There’s nothing quite like being surrounded by foreign people—there’s no “normal.” I can’t really explain. But it’s cool. I’m picking up on bizarre little traditions or customs from other countries, and I’m learning random words in other languages. Anyway:
We then went outside to go to the pub, but we heard extremely loud dance music. We hear it a couple times a week, but we had never seen the source. From the volume, we figured it was some massive trance party, and we knew it was in one of the bomb shelters.
So we’re like, “Let’s go to the bomb shelter party, it sounds like it’s pretty crazy!” Ready to join in this enormous rave, we raced down the stairs, pulled back the massive door that was protecting the party goers from a bomb blast, and……
It was just a big concrete room with a disco ball in the middle, a couple party lights lamely moving from here to there….and about 6 teenagers from the kibbutz. With fucking LOUD music. A party of that size does not warrant music that loud. I’m sorry.
The party looked almost as pathetic as school dances that take place in the gym, you know, where no matter how you dress it up with lights and decorations and loud music, you can never forget that you’re in this enormous ugly room and you’re dancing on a basketball court. Well, it looked like the 6 teenagers who had come couldn’t forget that they were in a fucking bomb shelter, so they sat in chairs on the side looking like the typical middle school dance attendees as their ability to hear was gradually stolen from them by the pounding music.
All of us are above high school age, so we decided we didn’t need to relive the awkwardness of our middle school days and left in a hurry.
We went to the pub, which was really boring, and then I came back to the room and passed out. Now I’m spending the day listening to my new music, and later I’ll be going into Jerusalem with the Frenchman to meet up with my Aussie roommate. Should be fun.
Also, it’s Shabbat. And it’s country music time. I heard this song for the first time today and I thought it was very sweet. It’s Brad Paisley’s “Ain’t Nothing Like.”
Don't pay attention to the idiotic music video. Just the music.
Friday, June 27, 2008
When I'm 20, I'm gonna speak fluently.
Well, it’s my last day of being 19. I guess I need to reflect:
This year I saw Israel for the first time.
This year I moved to Israel.
This year I threw up from too much alcohol for the first time. (Not as meaningful as the whole Israel thing, but nonetheless an important “first”)
This year I learned Hebrew.
This year I had my first job, besides random lighting design jobs. (Towel folding.)
This year I only learned in school what I wanted to learn.
This year I hit someone.
This year I fought with “Jews for Jesus” in 3 countries and 2 states: France, Israel and the US. California and Illinois.
This year I talked with a Palestinian over coffee about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
This year I got my first traffic ticket.
This year I lost almost all of my clothing in a hotel in Israel.
This year I rediscovered the joy of wearing sandals.
This year I rode a camel and a donkey, but mostly I just rode the bus.
This year I….
I’m trying to think what else I did. I’m sure there was more.
What will being 20 bring?
Fluency in Hebrew? Army service? G-d forbid, a permanent return to the US? An extremely good-looking European man in tight pants?
Who knows!
(I’m hoping for the European man. Really, really, I’m pulling for that one.)
Today I got a little birthday love in class. It was really cool, cos I 100 percent wasn’t expecting anything. Every Friday that we have class, we do a little mini Shabbat thing….so we did the whole candles, challah, wine etc thing, and then in addition I was given a shit-ton of chocolate and got hugs and etc etc. Which was nice.
Exciting news unrelated to my birthday: on Monday I have to go to Tel Aviv again cos the army program I’m doing is having a gathering and they’re gonna tell us what’s next. WOOOOOOT.
Also exciting? Maybe I mentioned this yesterday, but I’ve been paired with a Yemenite Jewish family who lives down the road. They have a few small daughters, and I’m gonna teach them English and play with them a couple times a week and in return they’re gonna act like my family!!! Hhahaha, life is grand!
So I’m listening to the country CD’s I got for my bday, and it’s making me think of all the songs in Hebrew we have to listen to in class that we have to take as dictation. Jesus Christ, I would feel so sorry for anyone that had to take a country song as dictation…
What do I mean? Well, here’s what I’d put if I were a foreigner taking a Tim McGraw song as dictation:
Ah laaaaaak iyt, ah luuuuuuuv iyt, ah won suh mooooo ugh iyt.”
(“I like it, I love it, I want some more of it.”)
Here’s something from George Straight:
“Heynt go na lit no men go down with outay faht.”
(Ain’t gonna let no man go down with out a fight.”)
Something from Toby Keith:
“Hhhhaaaaaal wee klong sheza real noooo bahdy buda jus pikterup n it’s pehchik Frr-ahdeh.”
(“All week long she’s a real nobody but I just picked her up and it’s paycheck Friday….”)
Another reason that I’ll thank G-d every single day that I never had to learn English.
Speaking of which, I had a great moment today where I honestly felt like Hebrew was extremely logical. Everyone’s always saying that Hebrew is such a logical language, but when you’re learning it you don’t always feel it because you’re too busy being frustrated with how retarded you sound. I mean, it’s hard to gush about how cool the whole shoresh system is when you’re too busy bitching about how Hebrew doesn’t put in vowels in writing.
I think I’m getting to that point where I can actually be quasi-functional. I’m still basically illiterate and I still speak like a small child, but……I’m really excited. At the beginning of the ulpan, I would start to tell stories in Hebrew, but I’d give up really quickly because it was too difficult, but I mean, yesterday I actually got in a fight with someone in Hebrew. I mean, I didn’t even think that I had the vocabulary or speaking speed for that! Today I was blabbering away with people who were asking about how my appointment with the Misrad Hapnim went. In Hebrew! LIFE IS GRAND!
This year I saw Israel for the first time.
This year I moved to Israel.
This year I threw up from too much alcohol for the first time. (Not as meaningful as the whole Israel thing, but nonetheless an important “first”)
This year I learned Hebrew.
This year I had my first job, besides random lighting design jobs. (Towel folding.)
This year I only learned in school what I wanted to learn.
This year I hit someone.
This year I fought with “Jews for Jesus” in 3 countries and 2 states: France, Israel and the US. California and Illinois.
This year I talked with a Palestinian over coffee about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
This year I got my first traffic ticket.
This year I lost almost all of my clothing in a hotel in Israel.
This year I rediscovered the joy of wearing sandals.
This year I rode a camel and a donkey, but mostly I just rode the bus.
This year I….
I’m trying to think what else I did. I’m sure there was more.
What will being 20 bring?
Fluency in Hebrew? Army service? G-d forbid, a permanent return to the US? An extremely good-looking European man in tight pants?
Who knows!
(I’m hoping for the European man. Really, really, I’m pulling for that one.)
Today I got a little birthday love in class. It was really cool, cos I 100 percent wasn’t expecting anything. Every Friday that we have class, we do a little mini Shabbat thing….so we did the whole candles, challah, wine etc thing, and then in addition I was given a shit-ton of chocolate and got hugs and etc etc. Which was nice.
Exciting news unrelated to my birthday: on Monday I have to go to Tel Aviv again cos the army program I’m doing is having a gathering and they’re gonna tell us what’s next. WOOOOOOT.
Also exciting? Maybe I mentioned this yesterday, but I’ve been paired with a Yemenite Jewish family who lives down the road. They have a few small daughters, and I’m gonna teach them English and play with them a couple times a week and in return they’re gonna act like my family!!! Hhahaha, life is grand!
So I’m listening to the country CD’s I got for my bday, and it’s making me think of all the songs in Hebrew we have to listen to in class that we have to take as dictation. Jesus Christ, I would feel so sorry for anyone that had to take a country song as dictation…
What do I mean? Well, here’s what I’d put if I were a foreigner taking a Tim McGraw song as dictation:
Ah laaaaaak iyt, ah luuuuuuuv iyt, ah won suh mooooo ugh iyt.”
(“I like it, I love it, I want some more of it.”)
Here’s something from George Straight:
“Heynt go na lit no men go down with outay faht.”
(Ain’t gonna let no man go down with out a fight.”)
Something from Toby Keith:
“Hhhhaaaaaal wee klong sheza real noooo bahdy buda jus pikterup n it’s pehchik Frr-ahdeh.”
(“All week long she’s a real nobody but I just picked her up and it’s paycheck Friday….”)
Another reason that I’ll thank G-d every single day that I never had to learn English.
Speaking of which, I had a great moment today where I honestly felt like Hebrew was extremely logical. Everyone’s always saying that Hebrew is such a logical language, but when you’re learning it you don’t always feel it because you’re too busy being frustrated with how retarded you sound. I mean, it’s hard to gush about how cool the whole shoresh system is when you’re too busy bitching about how Hebrew doesn’t put in vowels in writing.
I think I’m getting to that point where I can actually be quasi-functional. I’m still basically illiterate and I still speak like a small child, but……I’m really excited. At the beginning of the ulpan, I would start to tell stories in Hebrew, but I’d give up really quickly because it was too difficult, but I mean, yesterday I actually got in a fight with someone in Hebrew. I mean, I didn’t even think that I had the vocabulary or speaking speed for that! Today I was blabbering away with people who were asking about how my appointment with the Misrad Hapnim went. In Hebrew! LIFE IS GRAND!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I'll be fine
Normally I'm so passive with strangers that I'm always up shit creek. I'm sure I've mentioned this, but when I was 13 I almost got stuck on a bus in Italy, separated from my family, because I was too embarrassed to have to ask people to move aside for me to exit.
Well, things change.
You know how I normally update AT LEAST once a day? And how I haven't in a couple days?
Someone yelled at me. Like flat out yelled at me. He was yelling at me about something unrelated, and I wasn't responding because I thought maybe it would just go away if I didn't respond....and so he started screaming that I was fucked up, that everyone hated me, that I'm a nerd, that I'm such an idealist who wants to change the world but who needs to change herself, that I put everyone else's needs above my own so that my "own life is shit."
It was bad enough hearing this, but what was even worse was that several people were standing right there. Their jaws dropped. But they said absolutely nothing. Stunned, I came back inside and found my roommate with a shocked expression on her face. She had heard. She started trying to shower me with love and comfort and whatever, but I just sat down with a confused smile on my face. I giggled and said, "I think that was the meanest thing anyone's ever said to me." And then I suddenly started bawling. I stopped crying for a bit, but then the Frenchman came in and demanded to know what was wrong, so I started bawling again.
You know the Frenchman? The one who can't go back to France because he's wanted for arson and attempted murder? Um, when I started crying, he became enraged and threatened to kill the person who had hurt me. Expletive here, expletive there.... Oh man, it was incredible.
Anyway, at the suggestion of the Frenchman, for the past couple days whenever the meanie tries to talk to me (he keeps trying to get a rise out of me by doing something annoying, or he keeps trying to be nice, or he keeps trying to provoke me by saying something mean), I just pretend like I absolutely cannot hear him. And it's driving him crazy. He was yelling at me today, and I said absolutely nothing and kept a perfectly serene look on my face as if the wind were just lightly brushing across my face. And then he got angry that I wasn't saying anything, so he yelled that I was fucked up for not saying anything. And I'm thinking, "You're screaming at a wall, and I'M the fucked up one?" But I just said nothing. Oh man, he is going CRAZY. Hahahahahahah. I've never tried the ignore the person route, and I'm beginning to see its merits.
Today though I thought I was going to start crying. My parents sent me a package for me birthday, which arrived today, and I was absolutely thrilled. I got exactly what I wanted (Country CD's ANNNNNND a Jewish star necklace--more than I could have possibly asked for!!!!), and I was really happy because in the past seven years my birthday has been forgotten by my parents three times, and so I was just happy to be remembered.
So I'm sitting on my doorstep reading the card from my parents with a huge smile on my face, and the crazy man just comes up and starts yelling at me again about how fucked up I am. He told me that he was perfectly justified in saying those horrible things to me the other day because "when people fight they say shit like that." And so I broke my silence to say, "Yes, but then they APOLOGIZE for it." And then I said nothing else. But the guy just kept yelling. It pissed me off. I cant even enjoy my "birthday." ....
Anyway, I think I have changed a bit for the better since being yelled at though. First, keep in mind the Italian bus incident. Now hear about my experience at an Israeli Govt Office Today:
I woke up early and waited outside the Misrad Hapnim for 45 minutes to get an appointment. At 8 I got to go in and I found that the electricity was out in the building (except for, thank G-d, in the cafeteria), so I couldn't get a visa. Fuck. If I couldn't get a visa, I couldn't get an appointment with the army recruitment place, so maybe I wouldn't be able to do the army because enlistment is in August. Fuck fuck fuck.
So I went into the room where the visa woman was and asked her a question about what I should do. And she started yelling at me in Hebrew about how she has no idea what she can do and how she doesn't know when the electricty will come back and I can wait, but I'm bothering her and I should just go home and leave her alone.
Normally this would have been the point where I'd go home in complete embarrassment, feeling defeated because for the SECOND time I failed to come out of the Misrad Hapnim with a visa. I'd feel sad and angry and embarrassed. And a little ashamed of myself for being so passive. Well, you know what I thought to myself THIS time? "I don't need to take this shit."
So I just fucking yelled right back at the woman IN HEBREW: "You know what I'm going to do? I will go outside. And I will wait. And the electricty will come back. And you will give me a visa."
And I whipped back around and walked out the door to the waiting room. And I sat. And I waited. I waited.
For four hours I waited for the electricty to come back. But it did come back. And I was allowed back in the room to apply for a visa. Turns out I was missing a form, so the woman I yelled at gave me the proper form and told me to fill it out and come back when I was done, and I wouldn't have to wait in the line again.
So I went into the hall to fill it out, and by the time I finished a HUGE line for the visa office had formed next to me (but I was not in it). Fuck. But none of them had waited four hours. I knew this because I had been sitting htere for the previous four hours. the door to the office started to open, and so I put myself in front of it so I could go back in--which the lady in the office had already said I could do. And I saw this American man and his foreign wife were starting to inch their way towards the door to fight me for my spot. So I blocked them out with my body. I honestly had no idea I had it in me. Normally I would have backed away and let them in even though the lady had flat out told me I didn't have to wait in the line again. But not this time. I had had enough of getting the passive, shit end of hte stick. I totally just out-bitched them with my fat ass. It felt incredible. The people in the office came out, and I immediately squeezed past them to get into the office before the American man and his foreign wife (who I heard speaking fluent English). And the foreign wife called out in Hebrew, "Excuse me!" And I turned around and I said in Hebrew that I was here first and that I only had to fill out a form and that I hadn't finished my appointment. The woman started yelling back at me in Hebrew that she didn't believe me and blah blah blah. I started yelling back more in Hebrew in my defense, and here's what's really cool:
In spite of the fact that the woman was fluent in English and in spite of the fact that I am also fluent in English, we were arguing in Hebrew. And the woman had to translate for her American husband into English. I heard her saying to him in English, "She is saying xyz....blahblahblah...." And they were both looking at me as she translated, and I stood with this impatient look on my face and I did this snooty little shoulder thing that I have seen some Israelis do that kind of suggests impatience. It was like I was standing there like, "Yeah, come on, hurry up with this English." The American man than told his wife, "Tell her [me] xyz and blahablahba..." as if I couldn't understand English! AND THE WOMAN TRANSLATED HIS ENGLISH INTO HEBREW FOR ME!!! I have no idea what language she thought I spoke as a native! Oh man. I've never felt less American in my life. it was fucking awesome!!!
Anyway, we were still arguing when the woman of hte office returned. She asked what was going on, and the woman and I were still arguing away in Hebrew, and immediately the woman of hte office took my side and led me to a chair. And the woman I argued with had to sit down defeated.
Me, that would have been me last week. Last week I wouldn't have fought for this, last week I would have already gone home, but today there was no going home.
So the lady sits me down, starts looking at my papers, and she already knows I'm getting this visa so I can join the army. So she looks at my passport, then she looks at me and smiles. And this comes as a surprise since I yelled at her a few hours earlier: She says to me in English, "Samantha, I like you." I laughed and asked in Hebrew what I had done. She says to me in Hebrew something like, "You surprised me....You understand, I saw an American girl wants to join the army, and I thought that she would be..........ehhhhh......you're an American but you didn't leave--you waited here several hours, and you didn't give up to that woman. You're strong. That's good. I like that."
And so this woman went from being this horrible thing that yelled at me and frightened me this morning, to being this wonderful lady who was incredibly helpful and who kept trying to tell me helpful information about what the army will be like---all because I acted like a totally assertive bitch.
I told my parents this story and they kept saying, "You said WHAT? Wait, this is YOU we're talking about?" Oh man. It was so exciting. I'm exhausted from all this....
Shit son.
Well, things change.
You know how I normally update AT LEAST once a day? And how I haven't in a couple days?
Someone yelled at me. Like flat out yelled at me. He was yelling at me about something unrelated, and I wasn't responding because I thought maybe it would just go away if I didn't respond....and so he started screaming that I was fucked up, that everyone hated me, that I'm a nerd, that I'm such an idealist who wants to change the world but who needs to change herself, that I put everyone else's needs above my own so that my "own life is shit."
It was bad enough hearing this, but what was even worse was that several people were standing right there. Their jaws dropped. But they said absolutely nothing. Stunned, I came back inside and found my roommate with a shocked expression on her face. She had heard. She started trying to shower me with love and comfort and whatever, but I just sat down with a confused smile on my face. I giggled and said, "I think that was the meanest thing anyone's ever said to me." And then I suddenly started bawling. I stopped crying for a bit, but then the Frenchman came in and demanded to know what was wrong, so I started bawling again.
You know the Frenchman? The one who can't go back to France because he's wanted for arson and attempted murder? Um, when I started crying, he became enraged and threatened to kill the person who had hurt me. Expletive here, expletive there.... Oh man, it was incredible.
Anyway, at the suggestion of the Frenchman, for the past couple days whenever the meanie tries to talk to me (he keeps trying to get a rise out of me by doing something annoying, or he keeps trying to be nice, or he keeps trying to provoke me by saying something mean), I just pretend like I absolutely cannot hear him. And it's driving him crazy. He was yelling at me today, and I said absolutely nothing and kept a perfectly serene look on my face as if the wind were just lightly brushing across my face. And then he got angry that I wasn't saying anything, so he yelled that I was fucked up for not saying anything. And I'm thinking, "You're screaming at a wall, and I'M the fucked up one?" But I just said nothing. Oh man, he is going CRAZY. Hahahahahahah. I've never tried the ignore the person route, and I'm beginning to see its merits.
Today though I thought I was going to start crying. My parents sent me a package for me birthday, which arrived today, and I was absolutely thrilled. I got exactly what I wanted (Country CD's ANNNNNND a Jewish star necklace--more than I could have possibly asked for!!!!), and I was really happy because in the past seven years my birthday has been forgotten by my parents three times, and so I was just happy to be remembered.
So I'm sitting on my doorstep reading the card from my parents with a huge smile on my face, and the crazy man just comes up and starts yelling at me again about how fucked up I am. He told me that he was perfectly justified in saying those horrible things to me the other day because "when people fight they say shit like that." And so I broke my silence to say, "Yes, but then they APOLOGIZE for it." And then I said nothing else. But the guy just kept yelling. It pissed me off. I cant even enjoy my "birthday." ....
Anyway, I think I have changed a bit for the better since being yelled at though. First, keep in mind the Italian bus incident. Now hear about my experience at an Israeli Govt Office Today:
I woke up early and waited outside the Misrad Hapnim for 45 minutes to get an appointment. At 8 I got to go in and I found that the electricity was out in the building (except for, thank G-d, in the cafeteria), so I couldn't get a visa. Fuck. If I couldn't get a visa, I couldn't get an appointment with the army recruitment place, so maybe I wouldn't be able to do the army because enlistment is in August. Fuck fuck fuck.
So I went into the room where the visa woman was and asked her a question about what I should do. And she started yelling at me in Hebrew about how she has no idea what she can do and how she doesn't know when the electricty will come back and I can wait, but I'm bothering her and I should just go home and leave her alone.
Normally this would have been the point where I'd go home in complete embarrassment, feeling defeated because for the SECOND time I failed to come out of the Misrad Hapnim with a visa. I'd feel sad and angry and embarrassed. And a little ashamed of myself for being so passive. Well, you know what I thought to myself THIS time? "I don't need to take this shit."
So I just fucking yelled right back at the woman IN HEBREW: "You know what I'm going to do? I will go outside. And I will wait. And the electricty will come back. And you will give me a visa."
And I whipped back around and walked out the door to the waiting room. And I sat. And I waited. I waited.
For four hours I waited for the electricty to come back. But it did come back. And I was allowed back in the room to apply for a visa. Turns out I was missing a form, so the woman I yelled at gave me the proper form and told me to fill it out and come back when I was done, and I wouldn't have to wait in the line again.
So I went into the hall to fill it out, and by the time I finished a HUGE line for the visa office had formed next to me (but I was not in it). Fuck. But none of them had waited four hours. I knew this because I had been sitting htere for the previous four hours. the door to the office started to open, and so I put myself in front of it so I could go back in--which the lady in the office had already said I could do. And I saw this American man and his foreign wife were starting to inch their way towards the door to fight me for my spot. So I blocked them out with my body. I honestly had no idea I had it in me. Normally I would have backed away and let them in even though the lady had flat out told me I didn't have to wait in the line again. But not this time. I had had enough of getting the passive, shit end of hte stick. I totally just out-bitched them with my fat ass. It felt incredible. The people in the office came out, and I immediately squeezed past them to get into the office before the American man and his foreign wife (who I heard speaking fluent English). And the foreign wife called out in Hebrew, "Excuse me!" And I turned around and I said in Hebrew that I was here first and that I only had to fill out a form and that I hadn't finished my appointment. The woman started yelling back at me in Hebrew that she didn't believe me and blah blah blah. I started yelling back more in Hebrew in my defense, and here's what's really cool:
In spite of the fact that the woman was fluent in English and in spite of the fact that I am also fluent in English, we were arguing in Hebrew. And the woman had to translate for her American husband into English. I heard her saying to him in English, "She is saying xyz....blahblahblah...." And they were both looking at me as she translated, and I stood with this impatient look on my face and I did this snooty little shoulder thing that I have seen some Israelis do that kind of suggests impatience. It was like I was standing there like, "Yeah, come on, hurry up with this English." The American man than told his wife, "Tell her [me] xyz and blahablahba..." as if I couldn't understand English! AND THE WOMAN TRANSLATED HIS ENGLISH INTO HEBREW FOR ME!!! I have no idea what language she thought I spoke as a native! Oh man. I've never felt less American in my life. it was fucking awesome!!!
Anyway, we were still arguing when the woman of hte office returned. She asked what was going on, and the woman and I were still arguing away in Hebrew, and immediately the woman of hte office took my side and led me to a chair. And the woman I argued with had to sit down defeated.
Me, that would have been me last week. Last week I wouldn't have fought for this, last week I would have already gone home, but today there was no going home.
So the lady sits me down, starts looking at my papers, and she already knows I'm getting this visa so I can join the army. So she looks at my passport, then she looks at me and smiles. And this comes as a surprise since I yelled at her a few hours earlier: She says to me in English, "Samantha, I like you." I laughed and asked in Hebrew what I had done. She says to me in Hebrew something like, "You surprised me....You understand, I saw an American girl wants to join the army, and I thought that she would be..........ehhhhh......you're an American but you didn't leave--you waited here several hours, and you didn't give up to that woman. You're strong. That's good. I like that."
And so this woman went from being this horrible thing that yelled at me and frightened me this morning, to being this wonderful lady who was incredibly helpful and who kept trying to tell me helpful information about what the army will be like---all because I acted like a totally assertive bitch.
I told my parents this story and they kept saying, "You said WHAT? Wait, this is YOU we're talking about?" Oh man. It was so exciting. I'm exhausted from all this....
Shit son.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Look out for the rhino!
I’m already frightened of the guy who’s supposed to be helping me through the army process. And I haven’t even met him.
I called him today to ask what my next step was (which is what the guy at the office told me to do yesterday), and I was expecting the guy on the other end of the line to sound like the guy at the office, who spoke quietly, slowly and with only slightly accented English. I start asking him questions. And he responds by cutting off the ends of all of my sentences by shouting slightly bad English with the same speed that one would use if one were being chased by a rabid rhino or something. (Can rhinos be rabid?) I imagine that while talking to me, this guy was clutching his phone, leaping over felled logs with surprising grace, dodging stunned antelope and desperately looking for a place to hide in the plains of the Serengeti as he attempted to flee some pursuing rhino. I mean, only THAT would explain the confusion in this guy’s voice and the speed with which he spoke to me. I mean, at first he sounded panicked, like he had no idea why I would be calling him of all people. But then we got down to business:
“Um, I just had a couple questions about the—“
“NO, NO QUESTION, YOU COME SEE ME.”
“Oh, so the next step is to meet with y-- ?”
“YES, YOU COME SEE ME. YOU COME SEE ME NOW?”
“Um…I don’t think I can today--.”
“WHEN YOU WANT COME?”
“Um, is Wednesday okay with you? Does that work for--?”
“WHAT IS THIS WEDNESDAY OKAY WITH ME?!?!? YOU COME WHEN YOU WANT, WEDNESDAY OKAY! YOU COME WEDNESDAY! BYE!”
“Ah! Wait! Where are-- ?”
“IN JERUSALEM. OKAY, SEE YOU!”
“Um, where exact--?”
“I TELL YOU. ___yeah, like im going to put the address on my blog_____ .OKAY. YOU COME WEDNESDAY, BYE BYE!”
“Thank—“
.Click.
Well, all I can say is that I hope he escaped the rhino just fine.
Oh Jesus…..
Other things on my mind right now:
1) I don’t know how I’m going to tell my parents that there is a good chance I might actually be part of the Israeli army in the near future.
2) I just spent an hour doing a bunch of laundry by hand and then set it outside on a drying rack to dry. And then I used the squeegee to clean off the mud that I had tracked in….and I flung it outside—right onto my newly cleaned clothing. Fuuuuuck.
3) I’m listening to “Surfin’ USA” and I’m reminded of the time when I was 6 when my brother (who was 7) and I decided to put on a show for our parents. We both put on bathing suits and we had a little Beach Boys concert. Hahahahhaha….. We pretended our pillows were surfboards, I wore a hula skirt and we made little wave decorations out of paper to put on the wall. Oh man, good times
4) Come to think of it, The Beach Boys can remind me of anything having to do with home/my childhood. That is the joy of growing up in Southern California.
5) Now I’m listening to my favorite Christmas song. Every summer, whenever I feel uncomfortably warm, I break out the Christmas music. My favorite Christmas song? “Snoopy’s Christmas.” Hahaha, don’t make fun of me.
6) Also, I think the entire Israeli Air Force just flew over my head.
Ah, you know what just came on? “Oh What a Night!” Things just got a little better.
I called him today to ask what my next step was (which is what the guy at the office told me to do yesterday), and I was expecting the guy on the other end of the line to sound like the guy at the office, who spoke quietly, slowly and with only slightly accented English. I start asking him questions. And he responds by cutting off the ends of all of my sentences by shouting slightly bad English with the same speed that one would use if one were being chased by a rabid rhino or something. (Can rhinos be rabid?) I imagine that while talking to me, this guy was clutching his phone, leaping over felled logs with surprising grace, dodging stunned antelope and desperately looking for a place to hide in the plains of the Serengeti as he attempted to flee some pursuing rhino. I mean, only THAT would explain the confusion in this guy’s voice and the speed with which he spoke to me. I mean, at first he sounded panicked, like he had no idea why I would be calling him of all people. But then we got down to business:
“Um, I just had a couple questions about the—“
“NO, NO QUESTION, YOU COME SEE ME.”
“Oh, so the next step is to meet with y-- ?”
“YES, YOU COME SEE ME. YOU COME SEE ME NOW?”
“Um…I don’t think I can today--.”
“WHEN YOU WANT COME?”
“Um, is Wednesday okay with you? Does that work for--?”
“WHAT IS THIS WEDNESDAY OKAY WITH ME?!?!? YOU COME WHEN YOU WANT, WEDNESDAY OKAY! YOU COME WEDNESDAY! BYE!”
“Ah! Wait! Where are-- ?”
“IN JERUSALEM. OKAY, SEE YOU!”
“Um, where exact--?”
“I TELL YOU. ___yeah, like im going to put the address on my blog_____ .OKAY. YOU COME WEDNESDAY, BYE BYE!”
“Thank—“
.Click.
Well, all I can say is that I hope he escaped the rhino just fine.
Oh Jesus…..
Other things on my mind right now:
1) I don’t know how I’m going to tell my parents that there is a good chance I might actually be part of the Israeli army in the near future.
2) I just spent an hour doing a bunch of laundry by hand and then set it outside on a drying rack to dry. And then I used the squeegee to clean off the mud that I had tracked in….and I flung it outside—right onto my newly cleaned clothing. Fuuuuuck.
3) I’m listening to “Surfin’ USA” and I’m reminded of the time when I was 6 when my brother (who was 7) and I decided to put on a show for our parents. We both put on bathing suits and we had a little Beach Boys concert. Hahahahhaha….. We pretended our pillows were surfboards, I wore a hula skirt and we made little wave decorations out of paper to put on the wall. Oh man, good times
4) Come to think of it, The Beach Boys can remind me of anything having to do with home/my childhood. That is the joy of growing up in Southern California.
5) Now I’m listening to my favorite Christmas song. Every summer, whenever I feel uncomfortably warm, I break out the Christmas music. My favorite Christmas song? “Snoopy’s Christmas.” Hahaha, don’t make fun of me.
6) Also, I think the entire Israeli Air Force just flew over my head.
Ah, you know what just came on? “Oh What a Night!” Things just got a little better.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
So this one time
Um, so do you guys remember that time I joined a foreign army?
I remember it like it was yesterday. Actually, I remember it like it was today. Because it was.
Okay, so strictly speaking I am not part of the army yet and I am not 100 percent positive that I will even get a chance to go a-soldiering. For whatever reason, things might fall through or the army might decide they have no use for me. But also strictly speaking, that choice is no longer mine. I now legally have to be a soldier unless the army excuses me for whatever reason. I can no longer legally leave the country without the army's permission. Um, how fucking jealous of me are you?
Best part of the meeting today? When I was filling out a form, the soldier in charge was standing behind me and he put his hand on my back--right where I have the enormous gash on my back. I have a huge, deep cut from the shower that took 10 minutes to slow the bleeding, and it hurts like hell just to wear clothing. So you can imagine how it felt to have an enormous soldier hand on me, pushing on the open wound. I wanted to start shrieking, but I didn't want them all to think I had some chronic back issue that would disqualify me from army service. So I just sucked it up. Aw crap though, I feel like crying right now just thinking about how painful it was though!
Best part of Tel Aviv? I actually sort of know my way around and so I didn't have to keep consulting a map. And so many American tourists came up to me and would yell at me in slow English, as if they thought I had trouble understanding, "Do you speak English??????" So I would yell back in a drawn out manner, "Yeeeeeeeees!!!!!!"
I overtook a pair of American tourists somewhere and was walking only a couple paces in front of them, and I was listening to their conversation. "Oh Harry, I don't know if I like Israel. Everyone in Israel is so rude and pushy here." They went on and on about it, and by the time I finally passed them one of them was like, "See, like this one just scooted herself on in front of us!" And the other let out a sigh of absolute scorn, so I turned around and said in my strong American accent, with a huge grin, "Oh, I'm actually not from here!" Oh my goodness. It was wonderful.
I also realized today that I'm now completely used to seeing guns all around me. Today an enormous gun on a crowded bus I was on even got caught on my shorts, and I didn't even panic because I'm so used to seeing guns everywhere. When I first got here, I used to panic when I saw them on the bus because I thought we'd go over a bump and the trigger would get bumped and suddenly we'd have casualties on the bus.... Now it's like, "Well, OF COURSE that 18 year old is carrying a huge fucking gun. Doesn't EVERYONE do that?"
So last night I ended up having a weird conversation with a French person. A few weeks ago he told me he came to Israel to run away from France because he killed a man, and I thought that couldn't possibly be true. We were having a conversation in French about our love lives (or lack thereof, haha....wait, that's not even something to joke about), and he was asking about one of my friends that I know he has a bit of a thing for. Unfortunately for the French guy, this friend already has a boyfriend. The fact that I had access to information on her boyfriend (for emergency contact purposes) came out for some random reason, and then the French guy demanded the information. Something felt weird, and also I don't normally hand out the contact information of people I don't really know, so of course I refused. I asked why he needed it, and he said, "So I can kill him." I stopped him. What???? "SamonTah, you cannot understand how funny it is to kill someone." What??? "I'll explain? Someone talks to me and talks and talks and talks and BLAM he doesn't talk anymore!" He started laughing.
I stopped him. "Wait wait wait, I don't think I understood that correctly. Tell me in English."
"I think it's funny to kill people because they are talking and talking and then you shoot and he don't talk no more!" And then he started laughing even more.
Um...... I don't know if he's serious or not. what's scary is that this guy is joining the army really soon. So........
I remember it like it was yesterday. Actually, I remember it like it was today. Because it was.
Okay, so strictly speaking I am not part of the army yet and I am not 100 percent positive that I will even get a chance to go a-soldiering. For whatever reason, things might fall through or the army might decide they have no use for me. But also strictly speaking, that choice is no longer mine. I now legally have to be a soldier unless the army excuses me for whatever reason. I can no longer legally leave the country without the army's permission. Um, how fucking jealous of me are you?
Best part of the meeting today? When I was filling out a form, the soldier in charge was standing behind me and he put his hand on my back--right where I have the enormous gash on my back. I have a huge, deep cut from the shower that took 10 minutes to slow the bleeding, and it hurts like hell just to wear clothing. So you can imagine how it felt to have an enormous soldier hand on me, pushing on the open wound. I wanted to start shrieking, but I didn't want them all to think I had some chronic back issue that would disqualify me from army service. So I just sucked it up. Aw crap though, I feel like crying right now just thinking about how painful it was though!
Best part of Tel Aviv? I actually sort of know my way around and so I didn't have to keep consulting a map. And so many American tourists came up to me and would yell at me in slow English, as if they thought I had trouble understanding, "Do you speak English??????" So I would yell back in a drawn out manner, "Yeeeeeeeees!!!!!!"
I overtook a pair of American tourists somewhere and was walking only a couple paces in front of them, and I was listening to their conversation. "Oh Harry, I don't know if I like Israel. Everyone in Israel is so rude and pushy here." They went on and on about it, and by the time I finally passed them one of them was like, "See, like this one just scooted herself on in front of us!" And the other let out a sigh of absolute scorn, so I turned around and said in my strong American accent, with a huge grin, "Oh, I'm actually not from here!" Oh my goodness. It was wonderful.
I also realized today that I'm now completely used to seeing guns all around me. Today an enormous gun on a crowded bus I was on even got caught on my shorts, and I didn't even panic because I'm so used to seeing guns everywhere. When I first got here, I used to panic when I saw them on the bus because I thought we'd go over a bump and the trigger would get bumped and suddenly we'd have casualties on the bus.... Now it's like, "Well, OF COURSE that 18 year old is carrying a huge fucking gun. Doesn't EVERYONE do that?"
So last night I ended up having a weird conversation with a French person. A few weeks ago he told me he came to Israel to run away from France because he killed a man, and I thought that couldn't possibly be true. We were having a conversation in French about our love lives (or lack thereof, haha....wait, that's not even something to joke about), and he was asking about one of my friends that I know he has a bit of a thing for. Unfortunately for the French guy, this friend already has a boyfriend. The fact that I had access to information on her boyfriend (for emergency contact purposes) came out for some random reason, and then the French guy demanded the information. Something felt weird, and also I don't normally hand out the contact information of people I don't really know, so of course I refused. I asked why he needed it, and he said, "So I can kill him." I stopped him. What???? "SamonTah, you cannot understand how funny it is to kill someone." What??? "I'll explain? Someone talks to me and talks and talks and talks and BLAM he doesn't talk anymore!" He started laughing.
I stopped him. "Wait wait wait, I don't think I understood that correctly. Tell me in English."
"I think it's funny to kill people because they are talking and talking and then you shoot and he don't talk no more!" And then he started laughing even more.
Um...... I don't know if he's serious or not. what's scary is that this guy is joining the army really soon. So........
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Edelweiss.
I feel like since I’m in Israel I should be commenting on things like this ceasefire, or Iran or whatever. But I’m not. Instead I'm going to tell you about some country music.
I present to you your country music education of the day: “Men Don’t Change” by Amy Dalley. I can't find a proper music video for it, so you're just going to have to deal with a fan video that I found on youtube that is just picture of the singer.
It’s my mom’s favorite song (besides “Ticks” by Brad Paisley…which I also love. But maybe I’m biased because I’m the future Mrs. Brad Paisley….), and whenever it comes on the radio my dad changes the station. “What did you do that for??” my mom would yell. “What, is this song your way of telling me something?” my dad would yell back while laughing and changing the station back to “Men Don’t Change.” My mother would respond, “Well, maybe if you’d just LISTEN….” And my dad would retort, “Listen, of course I’m not going to change—I’m the perfect man as I am.” And then my mom would smack my dad, who would be driving and would swerve the car. Haha, oh man I miss home….
Shabbat Shalom and all that.
I present to you your country music education of the day: “Men Don’t Change” by Amy Dalley. I can't find a proper music video for it, so you're just going to have to deal with a fan video that I found on youtube that is just picture of the singer.
It’s my mom’s favorite song (besides “Ticks” by Brad Paisley…which I also love. But maybe I’m biased because I’m the future Mrs. Brad Paisley….), and whenever it comes on the radio my dad changes the station. “What did you do that for??” my mom would yell. “What, is this song your way of telling me something?” my dad would yell back while laughing and changing the station back to “Men Don’t Change.” My mother would respond, “Well, maybe if you’d just LISTEN….” And my dad would retort, “Listen, of course I’m not going to change—I’m the perfect man as I am.” And then my mom would smack my dad, who would be driving and would swerve the car. Haha, oh man I miss home….
Shabbat Shalom and all that.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Angry Olim, The Army, and Teen Angst
So I found out today that some veteran olim (olim=immigrants, for my non-Jewish friends out there) get really offended when you ask where they are from. Today a woman came in and was speaking Hebrew to the Women of the Wash. It was very obvious from how she dressed, from her body language, and most of all from her accent that she was American. She then slipped into English, and was chatting for a bit with Ayin Bitch. She said hi to me, and so I, trying to be friendly by making conversation, asked, “So where are you from?” And then she got all snooty and huffy. She admitted that she was from New York “waaaaaaaaaay back when” and insisted that she was hardly from the U.S. She angrily insisted that she had been in Israel for “soooooooo long now” that it was like she was from Israel. And then she stormed out of the room.
Speaking of Americans, I felt like the entire Jewish population of the state of New York was in the laundry room today. Jesus H. Christ, how many Americans live on this fucking kibbutz? Except, excuse me, according to them they’re not really Americans, because they all deny they are American. Look, I totally understand that when you move to a new country you want to adapt to local customs and you want to be as native as possible, but let’s face it—unless you move at a really young age you’ll always be very American. I totally accept this. I totally accept that I might eventually be 83 and living in Israel, and I’ll STILL have a ridiculous American accent, and I’ll STILL watch the Super Bowl, and I’m STILL gonna be tempted to have a bbq on July 4th and Memorial Day (not Israeli Memorial Day). I accept it. And when people hear my accent and want to know where in the states I’m from, I’m not gonna get angry, I’m just gonna tell them that I come from Los Angeles. Because I do. What’s to be angry or embarrassed about? In fact, if I’m 83 and still living in Israel, I’m gonna flat-out brag about how I adopted Israel as my home but how I don’t actually come from here (at least not in the literal sense), because then I can brag about how this one time I moved to Israel completely alone when I was 19 and I’m still living here. And everyone will be like, “Aw eff, Sam, you’re such a badass!” Except they’ll say it in Hebrew.
Today I had to ask for a day off from work on Sunday (I still can’t get over the fact that I work on Sunday. Every single time I think about it, I want to yell, “But it’s the Lawwwwwwwwd’s Day!” with a big southern drawl, and then I remember that Saturday is actually “The Lawd’s Day,” and that I had only forgotten this because I grew up in a Christian country) to go to Tel Aviv to talk to the army people. So I told French Bitch, and Ayin Bitch overheard. At first I thought they were going to get angry and tell me that I couldn’t miss work for that kind of thing. It’s kind of like how everyone always hates you when you take off work for jury duty, but it’s like not your fault, you’re just doing your civic duty. Holy. Fucking. Balls. How wrong was I? Um, let’s see:
Even though I clearly expressed that nothing was final yet and that I might not even be able to join, the fact that I wanted to join the army caused French Bitch and Ayin Bitch to come running over to me to hug me and create a fuss over me. Other women came running towards me to create even more of a joyous fuss because French Bitch and Ayin Bitch called out to the other women that I wanted to join the army. Not that I was for sure joining the army, but just that I wanted to. Holy shit, a massive celebration broke out. Out of nowhere, fruit was shoved into my face for me to consume. I’ve never seen such a [happy] commotion in the laundry room.
Fuck, now they’re going to hate me if I am not able to enlist…..
And fuck am I going to be in so much trouble with my parents.
P.S. Tomorrow begins my last week as a teenager. Is there anything extremely teenager-y that I should do before I turn 20 next Saturday? I was thinking I could get in a fight with my parents, I could have a crush on someone, I could dot my i’s with hearts, I could read TeenCosmo or TeenPeople, I could have some really bad teen angst, and I could wear matching clothing with my girlfriends….. and then the second we hit 5:50 AM Pacific Standard Time on June 28th, it’ll all end. Cos I won’t be a teen any longer. Please send me any suggestions you have of what else I could do before I lose my right as a teen to do them.
P.P.S. The song “When You Believe” from “The Prince of Egypt” came on the radio today. And I didn’t have to out-diva anyone because I was the only person in the room. It was cosmically wonderful timing. So I just belted it, with my horrible voice and all. It was great because you know how whenever there’s multiple people singing in harmony or in slightly layered verses and you want to sing both parts, but it’s kind of embarrassing to do it when other people around (because you look/sound like an idiot because it’s not physically possible to do it alone)? Well, I got to do it. You know what I’m talking about.
FINALLY: THE NEW ADAM SANDLER MOVIE IS OUT IN ISRAEL NOW. I MUST SEE IT. IMMEDIATELY.
Speaking of Americans, I felt like the entire Jewish population of the state of New York was in the laundry room today. Jesus H. Christ, how many Americans live on this fucking kibbutz? Except, excuse me, according to them they’re not really Americans, because they all deny they are American. Look, I totally understand that when you move to a new country you want to adapt to local customs and you want to be as native as possible, but let’s face it—unless you move at a really young age you’ll always be very American. I totally accept this. I totally accept that I might eventually be 83 and living in Israel, and I’ll STILL have a ridiculous American accent, and I’ll STILL watch the Super Bowl, and I’m STILL gonna be tempted to have a bbq on July 4th and Memorial Day (not Israeli Memorial Day). I accept it. And when people hear my accent and want to know where in the states I’m from, I’m not gonna get angry, I’m just gonna tell them that I come from Los Angeles. Because I do. What’s to be angry or embarrassed about? In fact, if I’m 83 and still living in Israel, I’m gonna flat-out brag about how I adopted Israel as my home but how I don’t actually come from here (at least not in the literal sense), because then I can brag about how this one time I moved to Israel completely alone when I was 19 and I’m still living here. And everyone will be like, “Aw eff, Sam, you’re such a badass!” Except they’ll say it in Hebrew.
Today I had to ask for a day off from work on Sunday (I still can’t get over the fact that I work on Sunday. Every single time I think about it, I want to yell, “But it’s the Lawwwwwwwwd’s Day!” with a big southern drawl, and then I remember that Saturday is actually “The Lawd’s Day,” and that I had only forgotten this because I grew up in a Christian country) to go to Tel Aviv to talk to the army people. So I told French Bitch, and Ayin Bitch overheard. At first I thought they were going to get angry and tell me that I couldn’t miss work for that kind of thing. It’s kind of like how everyone always hates you when you take off work for jury duty, but it’s like not your fault, you’re just doing your civic duty. Holy. Fucking. Balls. How wrong was I? Um, let’s see:
Even though I clearly expressed that nothing was final yet and that I might not even be able to join, the fact that I wanted to join the army caused French Bitch and Ayin Bitch to come running over to me to hug me and create a fuss over me. Other women came running towards me to create even more of a joyous fuss because French Bitch and Ayin Bitch called out to the other women that I wanted to join the army. Not that I was for sure joining the army, but just that I wanted to. Holy shit, a massive celebration broke out. Out of nowhere, fruit was shoved into my face for me to consume. I’ve never seen such a [happy] commotion in the laundry room.
Fuck, now they’re going to hate me if I am not able to enlist…..
And fuck am I going to be in so much trouble with my parents.
P.S. Tomorrow begins my last week as a teenager. Is there anything extremely teenager-y that I should do before I turn 20 next Saturday? I was thinking I could get in a fight with my parents, I could have a crush on someone, I could dot my i’s with hearts, I could read TeenCosmo or TeenPeople, I could have some really bad teen angst, and I could wear matching clothing with my girlfriends….. and then the second we hit 5:50 AM Pacific Standard Time on June 28th, it’ll all end. Cos I won’t be a teen any longer. Please send me any suggestions you have of what else I could do before I lose my right as a teen to do them.
P.P.S. The song “When You Believe” from “The Prince of Egypt” came on the radio today. And I didn’t have to out-diva anyone because I was the only person in the room. It was cosmically wonderful timing. So I just belted it, with my horrible voice and all. It was great because you know how whenever there’s multiple people singing in harmony or in slightly layered verses and you want to sing both parts, but it’s kind of embarrassing to do it when other people around (because you look/sound like an idiot because it’s not physically possible to do it alone)? Well, I got to do it. You know what I’m talking about.
FINALLY: THE NEW ADAM SANDLER MOVIE IS OUT IN ISRAEL NOW. I MUST SEE IT. IMMEDIATELY.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Yo fools
Big news:
1) I just got back from a field trip to Tel Aviv
2) On Sunday I have a meeting with the ministry of defense to discuss the possibility of joining the army.
3) I snapped again at the "House Mom.
Explain? Well, you have to understand this woman is a pest. She's constantly yelling at people to clean their rooms and yelling at us to do this and that. One time, 15 minutes BEFORE class, she calls my roommate and me and is liek, "WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?!?! WHY AREN'T YOU IN CLASS?????" And we're like, "MAYBE BECAUSE CLASS DOESN'T START FOR ANOTHER 15 MINUTES! WE'RE STILL IN OUR FUCKING UNDERWEAR!"
So anyway, two days ago I ate an orange and threw the peel on the groudn outside my room because I know it's good for the soil. Yesterday the peel was gone, but I thought nothing of it. So when I ate another orange, I threw the peel onto the soil again.
Today the House Mom comes knocking at our door and starts yelling at us to get ready for the tiyul, and then she starts yelling at me for putting an orange peel on the soil again. She said she picked it up from the ground the first time. She was really pissed off about it. I told her that I was sorry she felt obligated to pick it up, but that it was good for the soil to leave orange peels out, but then she got even angrier and said she didn't care and that I better not dare do it again. She kept yelling and having a fucking fit about it. Well, her tone made me kind of angry, so I stepped outside and yelled in English, "Let me get this straight--there is a pile of about 50 cigarette butts on the ground that my roommate has left, there is tin foil and styrafoam containers all over the fucking place in front of the boys' rooms....there's trash everywhere basically....And you leave all this shit on the ground, but you waste your fucking time picking up the ONE thing that is actually good to have on the ground???" She started yelling at me that she didn't care. So I yelled back, "Yeah, it's not right that you have to clean up after the ulpanists, but if you're gonna do it why don't you actually do somethign fucking useful like picking up these fucking cigarette butts instead of picking up something GOOD FOR THE SOIL and then having the fucking chutzpah to yell at me for it!" She started yelling at me that the orange peel was uglier for the kibbutz than a piece of tin foil or cigarette butts, and she insisted that I pick it up. I asked if she was going to ask that my Chilean roomie pick up her cigarette butts as well, but House Mom said No. And so I rolled my eyes and and said, "Fuck off, you crazy bitch!!!" and then shut the door.
Oh man....I'm gonna be in so much trouble.
I came back into the room and my Aussie roommate was laughing her ass off. "What?" I asked. And she told me that first of all she couldn't believe how many times I said "fuck," second of all that she couldn't believe I snapped at the House Mom, and third of all that I was screaming with a southern drawl. Well, that cracked me up. Occasionally when I get angry I yell like how my dad does and I guess that just sort of came out.
Anyway, things are good here. I'm glad I was in Tel Aviv (and will be again on Sunday for my meeting!!!!) because I went to the place where Independence was declared. We had the same guide as we had on birthright, and it was just incredible and just what I needed to hear. Oh sigh.....
And now, I'm off to get drunk with my posse. Wish me luck, people.
1) I just got back from a field trip to Tel Aviv
2) On Sunday I have a meeting with the ministry of defense to discuss the possibility of joining the army.
3) I snapped again at the "House Mom.
Explain? Well, you have to understand this woman is a pest. She's constantly yelling at people to clean their rooms and yelling at us to do this and that. One time, 15 minutes BEFORE class, she calls my roommate and me and is liek, "WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?!?! WHY AREN'T YOU IN CLASS?????" And we're like, "MAYBE BECAUSE CLASS DOESN'T START FOR ANOTHER 15 MINUTES! WE'RE STILL IN OUR FUCKING UNDERWEAR!"
So anyway, two days ago I ate an orange and threw the peel on the groudn outside my room because I know it's good for the soil. Yesterday the peel was gone, but I thought nothing of it. So when I ate another orange, I threw the peel onto the soil again.
Today the House Mom comes knocking at our door and starts yelling at us to get ready for the tiyul, and then she starts yelling at me for putting an orange peel on the soil again. She said she picked it up from the ground the first time. She was really pissed off about it. I told her that I was sorry she felt obligated to pick it up, but that it was good for the soil to leave orange peels out, but then she got even angrier and said she didn't care and that I better not dare do it again. She kept yelling and having a fucking fit about it. Well, her tone made me kind of angry, so I stepped outside and yelled in English, "Let me get this straight--there is a pile of about 50 cigarette butts on the ground that my roommate has left, there is tin foil and styrafoam containers all over the fucking place in front of the boys' rooms....there's trash everywhere basically....And you leave all this shit on the ground, but you waste your fucking time picking up the ONE thing that is actually good to have on the ground???" She started yelling at me that she didn't care. So I yelled back, "Yeah, it's not right that you have to clean up after the ulpanists, but if you're gonna do it why don't you actually do somethign fucking useful like picking up these fucking cigarette butts instead of picking up something GOOD FOR THE SOIL and then having the fucking chutzpah to yell at me for it!" She started yelling at me that the orange peel was uglier for the kibbutz than a piece of tin foil or cigarette butts, and she insisted that I pick it up. I asked if she was going to ask that my Chilean roomie pick up her cigarette butts as well, but House Mom said No. And so I rolled my eyes and and said, "Fuck off, you crazy bitch!!!" and then shut the door.
Oh man....I'm gonna be in so much trouble.
I came back into the room and my Aussie roommate was laughing her ass off. "What?" I asked. And she told me that first of all she couldn't believe how many times I said "fuck," second of all that she couldn't believe I snapped at the House Mom, and third of all that I was screaming with a southern drawl. Well, that cracked me up. Occasionally when I get angry I yell like how my dad does and I guess that just sort of came out.
Anyway, things are good here. I'm glad I was in Tel Aviv (and will be again on Sunday for my meeting!!!!) because I went to the place where Independence was declared. We had the same guide as we had on birthright, and it was just incredible and just what I needed to hear. Oh sigh.....
And now, I'm off to get drunk with my posse. Wish me luck, people.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The Y.M.C.A.
First of all, fuck the Lakers. Way to disappoint me. I don’t even like basketball, but this is an embarrassment for my hometown.
You know what I miss most? My car. Or rather, the car I shared with my brothers. The bass system in that thing was incredible. Dear Readers, did you know that I used to play bass guitar? I love that you can feel bass. I love that it’s the only part of the music that deaf people can enjoy. Anyway, I miss my car because the only music playing device I have with me is my computer, and its bass is weak. Something must be done about this.
So Crazy French Girl—the one I was friends with until she slashed the screen of “The Americans’” door—came back. For a day. And then got kicked out again for refusing to work again. They almost called the police. It was pretty awesome.
But her roommate, The Frog, has also left. But she left behind a shit ton of chocolate in her room. Well, my roommate and I decided that since I still had the key to that room, we would have a little fun. So we went to her room and ate all of her chocolate. Oh man, it was awesome.
Anyway, I was thinking a lot today about how people grow up with these notions or rules or traditions or whatever that they don’t question. You know? My favorite personal example is that, in my family, when you do a u-turn in the car, the driver is required to sing the Batman theme, and passengers may assist. This is something I do even when I’m alone in the car, and I’m sure the other four members of my family do the same. My favorite example of someone else’s family was my technical theater teacher in high school. I was designing lights for a show and during the run I came backstage after the show to chat with her. She started complaining that the actors kept drinking all the juice that was a prop and that she kept having to buy more. “They keep pouring themselves a full glass onstage!” she cried. “And in real life, NO ONE drinks a full glass of juice!” She said it as if it were so obvious, like, “Who on Earth drinks a full glass of juice????” (Well, me for one….)
I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately because, you know, I’ve been coming into contact a lot with foreign people. Rather than talk about American vs. Foreign, I just want to illustrate some weird notions/rules that I have realized exist in my family that I hadn’t really realized were not common to all humanity:
1) Breakfast is NOT optional.
2) You pee before you leave the house. This is not a command, this is not a request, it is simply something you just instinctively do if you are born into my family.
3) Oranges and orange juice can cure everything except stomach aches. Stomach aches are cured by eating saltines and lying down on your stomach. Taking medicine is not encouraged.
4) If you are sick enough to take off from school/work in the morning, you are too sick to go out in the evening. (Someone needs to teach some of the ulpanists here this concept….)
5) The remote control was “the clicker,” a fart was a “fupse,” “The Boat” was our car, Fiesta Night was once a week, people named Scott were “low-level weenies,” and a hot dog roll was the greatest food anyone could ever hope to eat (hotdog and Kraft American cheese rolled up in a tortilla and cooked in the microwave…holy crap, that’s good)
6) One should not have more kids than one can reasonably fit in a mini-van. The ridiculousness of the size of another family can be expressed in what kind of car they have to drive to transport everyone. (“That family must have to drive converted bus!”)
7) All U-Turns must be accompanied by the Batman theme. Anytime someone in the car announces they must pee someone else must sing “PRINCE ALIIIIII!!!!” Anytime an orthodox Jew is spotted from the car, someone must sing “Tradition!” Anytime someone drives over a speed bump or a dip, no matter what the speed was and no matter how comfortable/uncomfortable it was for the passengers, all passengers must cry out in protest, “WATCH IT, WILL YA???”
8) While purchasing furniture at IKEA is perfectly acceptable (at least for a young person starting out), purchasing a bunk bed at IKEA is NOT ACCEPTABLE.
9) Every Sunday night the family must assemble to watch TV—always Fox.
I don’t know.
I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about “Calvin and Hobbes.” Whenever Calvin would complain on camping trips and demand to know why they all had to go camping when it was always miserable for the entire family, the dad would always respond, “Because it builds character.” Whenever shit goes wrong on this kibbutz, I always tell myself now, “Well, at least it builds character.” Maybe when I have children I’ll have them do the same thing—I’ll have them go somewhere where they get yelled at in a foreign language and they have to fold towels all day or iron tablecloths all day. It’s like the same reason parents sometimes send their kids to the same schools that they went to, even if they were miserable there. Because it builds character. (What happens if you don’t want to build your character?)
Today actually wasn’t that bad. I had to work in Cold Bitch’s domain all day, but she’s actually turning out to be a very nice person. I think I mentioned the other day that she bought me ice cream, and now she’s the only woman in the laundry department that remembers my name, and she’s constantly asking me questions about myself. Sometimes the radio news goes too fast, so she translates it for me into easy Hebrew. Okay people, I’ll concede that maybe this “bitch” actually turned out to be just a sabra—a couple of you suggested at the beginning of this kibbutz saga that’s what her “problem” was. I am NOT willing to concede, however, that the bitchiness of most of the people on this kibbutz is actually just Sabra-ness…..because a large percentage of the people on this kibbutz (and an even larger percent of the people who are causing problems for me) are not, in fact, Sabras. I will say, however, that finding out that this “bitch” is actually a nice person is INCREDIBLY encouraging for me. If a total bitch, if given time, can turn out to be a nice person, then maybe the whole moving to Israel thing, if given time, can turn out to be pleasant and good.
You know what I miss most? My car. Or rather, the car I shared with my brothers. The bass system in that thing was incredible. Dear Readers, did you know that I used to play bass guitar? I love that you can feel bass. I love that it’s the only part of the music that deaf people can enjoy. Anyway, I miss my car because the only music playing device I have with me is my computer, and its bass is weak. Something must be done about this.
So Crazy French Girl—the one I was friends with until she slashed the screen of “The Americans’” door—came back. For a day. And then got kicked out again for refusing to work again. They almost called the police. It was pretty awesome.
But her roommate, The Frog, has also left. But she left behind a shit ton of chocolate in her room. Well, my roommate and I decided that since I still had the key to that room, we would have a little fun. So we went to her room and ate all of her chocolate. Oh man, it was awesome.
Anyway, I was thinking a lot today about how people grow up with these notions or rules or traditions or whatever that they don’t question. You know? My favorite personal example is that, in my family, when you do a u-turn in the car, the driver is required to sing the Batman theme, and passengers may assist. This is something I do even when I’m alone in the car, and I’m sure the other four members of my family do the same. My favorite example of someone else’s family was my technical theater teacher in high school. I was designing lights for a show and during the run I came backstage after the show to chat with her. She started complaining that the actors kept drinking all the juice that was a prop and that she kept having to buy more. “They keep pouring themselves a full glass onstage!” she cried. “And in real life, NO ONE drinks a full glass of juice!” She said it as if it were so obvious, like, “Who on Earth drinks a full glass of juice????” (Well, me for one….)
I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately because, you know, I’ve been coming into contact a lot with foreign people. Rather than talk about American vs. Foreign, I just want to illustrate some weird notions/rules that I have realized exist in my family that I hadn’t really realized were not common to all humanity:
1) Breakfast is NOT optional.
2) You pee before you leave the house. This is not a command, this is not a request, it is simply something you just instinctively do if you are born into my family.
3) Oranges and orange juice can cure everything except stomach aches. Stomach aches are cured by eating saltines and lying down on your stomach. Taking medicine is not encouraged.
4) If you are sick enough to take off from school/work in the morning, you are too sick to go out in the evening. (Someone needs to teach some of the ulpanists here this concept….)
5) The remote control was “the clicker,” a fart was a “fupse,” “The Boat” was our car, Fiesta Night was once a week, people named Scott were “low-level weenies,” and a hot dog roll was the greatest food anyone could ever hope to eat (hotdog and Kraft American cheese rolled up in a tortilla and cooked in the microwave…holy crap, that’s good)
6) One should not have more kids than one can reasonably fit in a mini-van. The ridiculousness of the size of another family can be expressed in what kind of car they have to drive to transport everyone. (“That family must have to drive converted bus!”)
7) All U-Turns must be accompanied by the Batman theme. Anytime someone in the car announces they must pee someone else must sing “PRINCE ALIIIIII!!!!” Anytime an orthodox Jew is spotted from the car, someone must sing “Tradition!” Anytime someone drives over a speed bump or a dip, no matter what the speed was and no matter how comfortable/uncomfortable it was for the passengers, all passengers must cry out in protest, “WATCH IT, WILL YA???”
8) While purchasing furniture at IKEA is perfectly acceptable (at least for a young person starting out), purchasing a bunk bed at IKEA is NOT ACCEPTABLE.
9) Every Sunday night the family must assemble to watch TV—always Fox.
I don’t know.
I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about “Calvin and Hobbes.” Whenever Calvin would complain on camping trips and demand to know why they all had to go camping when it was always miserable for the entire family, the dad would always respond, “Because it builds character.” Whenever shit goes wrong on this kibbutz, I always tell myself now, “Well, at least it builds character.” Maybe when I have children I’ll have them do the same thing—I’ll have them go somewhere where they get yelled at in a foreign language and they have to fold towels all day or iron tablecloths all day. It’s like the same reason parents sometimes send their kids to the same schools that they went to, even if they were miserable there. Because it builds character. (What happens if you don’t want to build your character?)
Today actually wasn’t that bad. I had to work in Cold Bitch’s domain all day, but she’s actually turning out to be a very nice person. I think I mentioned the other day that she bought me ice cream, and now she’s the only woman in the laundry department that remembers my name, and she’s constantly asking me questions about myself. Sometimes the radio news goes too fast, so she translates it for me into easy Hebrew. Okay people, I’ll concede that maybe this “bitch” actually turned out to be just a sabra—a couple of you suggested at the beginning of this kibbutz saga that’s what her “problem” was. I am NOT willing to concede, however, that the bitchiness of most of the people on this kibbutz is actually just Sabra-ness…..because a large percentage of the people on this kibbutz (and an even larger percent of the people who are causing problems for me) are not, in fact, Sabras. I will say, however, that finding out that this “bitch” is actually a nice person is INCREDIBLY encouraging for me. If a total bitch, if given time, can turn out to be a nice person, then maybe the whole moving to Israel thing, if given time, can turn out to be pleasant and good.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Holy shit, it's Jesus!!!!! Wait. Wait. No, it's just my roomie.
So I know I've already decided I'm staying. But last night I had a definite....good moment. Actually, i had two moments that I think sort of qualify as "religious" but in a bizarre way.
There are ruins of a crusader fortress at this place. As much as I hate this place, I gotta admit that having crusader ruins on the property makes this place like 99% badass. Why? Maybe I shouldn't admit this because, when you're Jewish, admitting this is like admitting that you used to want to be a Nazi when you grew up, or you wanted to be a Slavic anti-semitic person from the 1900's......but I wanted to a Crusader when I was younger. 1) I thought they were badass, 2) I didn't realize they killed innocent people (among them Jews), and 3) it didn't occur to me that they were exlusively Christian...and obviously 4) I had no concept of time/history being linear and forward-moving.
So yesterday one of my roomies, my friend that I whacked (that I guess I'm now friends with again?), and I decided to climb the large hill/small mountain with the crusader ruins.
Holy shit. It was so cool. We got to the top around sunset, and the other two decided to explore other parts of the ruins. Instead, I decided to plop down in what I thought must have once been a windowsill. It was awesome because the top had crumbled away, so I was sitting in this frame that had no top and it looked like some kind of surrealist painting because it was like sitting in a framed painting that kind of spilled out the frame and continued into the sky. I don't know if that makes any sense. If any reader ever decides to visit me on this place, I'll take you and show you. Otherwise you'll just have to take my word for it.
So anyway, I'm sitting in this crumbling windowsill, and you can see all the neighboring hills....the Arab villages, Jerusalem, and even (we think) the West Bank. It was awesome. And then something very silly occured to me, so I started giggling. My friends came over to ask what I was giggling about, so I said, "You know, it just dawned on me because we're sitting on Crusader ruins....I guess even my Christian ancestors wanted to be here pretty damn badly, too! And I find that bizarrely comforting" Maybe my fellow Jews out there will be disgusted that I could find such a thought comforting or amusing, but whatever.
Later on that evening my roommates and I were all lying in our beds in the dark having "Girl Talk." I had taken my glasses off (and, for those of you who don't know, I have terrible eyesight) and I was starting to doze off in the midst of "Girl Talk." I was in that territory where you're not really asleep but where you don't really have any idea what's going on around you. It was my understanding that both of my roommates were still in bed. Suddenly I hear a loud sort of growling/gurgling noise. I immediately turn over and face the door (where I think this noise is coming from), and I look for the source of this startling noise. But I can't see much of anything because my glasses are off. So basically I'm completely disoriented because I can't see anything and because I'm half-asleep, wondering what the hell is going on. Then the room filled with light--not like how it would if you turned on the light switch, but it was a more gradual thing, kind of like the sun rising except in like 3 seconds. Then an unrecognizable silhouetted figure stood in the inner doorway.
And, well Dear Readers.....I started screaming bloody murder. I let out the loudest scream I think I've ever let out, without shame or embarrassment. Just complete and utter terror. You know, the kind of scream that scrapes the lining of your throat away and makes your heart stop. I thought it was Armageddon. I thought the Apocalpyse had come. Night was turning to Day, there was this bizarre and sudden noise, and there was this mysterious figure in the doorway. Holy crap, it was the end of the world.
So I'm still screaming bloody murder, and my roommates are like, "WHAT?!?!? WHAT???? WHAT'S GOING ON, WHAT'S THE MATTER????" Well, actually only my Australian roommate was doing that. My Chilean roommate was screaming in Spanish.
I kept yelling until I realized that the voice of one of my roommates was coming from the mysterious figure in the doorway. I stopped screaming for a second, and in the second that passed the figure in the doorway turned on the light. Um, so turns out it wasn't the Moshiach but actually just my Chilean roommate.
So the girls kept asking me what happened, and I had to explain in Hebrew so that both could understand. But even then it was difficult. I kept telling them, while laughing, that I thought it was the end of the world. My Australian roommate understood and was laughing her ass off at me, but my Chilean roommate was having trouble understanding the vocabulary. I kept trying to explain to her, but to no avail. I didn't want to crack out the J-word since, but I figured that was the only way for me to be understood. So finally, I say: "Ehhhh, khashavti she Jesus khazar!.....?" (Um......I thought that Jesus came back!....?) and then she finally understood and started laughing hysterically. "Lo lo lo, ani lo Jesus, ani rak tsricha peepee!"
This is what happens when your roommate goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night without telling you and you don't wear your glasses.....
(P.S. I have an appointment with Misrad Hapnim in July. But in the meantime I have like 3 weeks to get a letter of clearance from the FBI. But the problem is that I believe you need to arrive at the FBI office in person in order to get said letter of clearance. So I don't know what I'm going to do.
Also, i don't know if I'll end up keeping the appointment. I'm still trying to do the Machal thing, but I can't be a citizen if I do that. But I don't know if I can get my doctor's letter in time. So maybe I will get citizenship. Shit, this is all so stressful. I want my maaaaaaaaam!)
There are ruins of a crusader fortress at this place. As much as I hate this place, I gotta admit that having crusader ruins on the property makes this place like 99% badass. Why? Maybe I shouldn't admit this because, when you're Jewish, admitting this is like admitting that you used to want to be a Nazi when you grew up, or you wanted to be a Slavic anti-semitic person from the 1900's......but I wanted to a Crusader when I was younger. 1) I thought they were badass, 2) I didn't realize they killed innocent people (among them Jews), and 3) it didn't occur to me that they were exlusively Christian...and obviously 4) I had no concept of time/history being linear and forward-moving.
So yesterday one of my roomies, my friend that I whacked (that I guess I'm now friends with again?), and I decided to climb the large hill/small mountain with the crusader ruins.
Holy shit. It was so cool. We got to the top around sunset, and the other two decided to explore other parts of the ruins. Instead, I decided to plop down in what I thought must have once been a windowsill. It was awesome because the top had crumbled away, so I was sitting in this frame that had no top and it looked like some kind of surrealist painting because it was like sitting in a framed painting that kind of spilled out the frame and continued into the sky. I don't know if that makes any sense. If any reader ever decides to visit me on this place, I'll take you and show you. Otherwise you'll just have to take my word for it.
So anyway, I'm sitting in this crumbling windowsill, and you can see all the neighboring hills....the Arab villages, Jerusalem, and even (we think) the West Bank. It was awesome. And then something very silly occured to me, so I started giggling. My friends came over to ask what I was giggling about, so I said, "You know, it just dawned on me because we're sitting on Crusader ruins....I guess even my Christian ancestors wanted to be here pretty damn badly, too! And I find that bizarrely comforting" Maybe my fellow Jews out there will be disgusted that I could find such a thought comforting or amusing, but whatever.
Later on that evening my roommates and I were all lying in our beds in the dark having "Girl Talk." I had taken my glasses off (and, for those of you who don't know, I have terrible eyesight) and I was starting to doze off in the midst of "Girl Talk." I was in that territory where you're not really asleep but where you don't really have any idea what's going on around you. It was my understanding that both of my roommates were still in bed. Suddenly I hear a loud sort of growling/gurgling noise. I immediately turn over and face the door (where I think this noise is coming from), and I look for the source of this startling noise. But I can't see much of anything because my glasses are off. So basically I'm completely disoriented because I can't see anything and because I'm half-asleep, wondering what the hell is going on. Then the room filled with light--not like how it would if you turned on the light switch, but it was a more gradual thing, kind of like the sun rising except in like 3 seconds. Then an unrecognizable silhouetted figure stood in the inner doorway.
And, well Dear Readers.....I started screaming bloody murder. I let out the loudest scream I think I've ever let out, without shame or embarrassment. Just complete and utter terror. You know, the kind of scream that scrapes the lining of your throat away and makes your heart stop. I thought it was Armageddon. I thought the Apocalpyse had come. Night was turning to Day, there was this bizarre and sudden noise, and there was this mysterious figure in the doorway. Holy crap, it was the end of the world.
So I'm still screaming bloody murder, and my roommates are like, "WHAT?!?!? WHAT???? WHAT'S GOING ON, WHAT'S THE MATTER????" Well, actually only my Australian roommate was doing that. My Chilean roommate was screaming in Spanish.
I kept yelling until I realized that the voice of one of my roommates was coming from the mysterious figure in the doorway. I stopped screaming for a second, and in the second that passed the figure in the doorway turned on the light. Um, so turns out it wasn't the Moshiach but actually just my Chilean roommate.
So the girls kept asking me what happened, and I had to explain in Hebrew so that both could understand. But even then it was difficult. I kept telling them, while laughing, that I thought it was the end of the world. My Australian roommate understood and was laughing her ass off at me, but my Chilean roommate was having trouble understanding the vocabulary. I kept trying to explain to her, but to no avail. I didn't want to crack out the J-word since, but I figured that was the only way for me to be understood. So finally, I say: "Ehhhh, khashavti she Jesus khazar!.....?" (Um......I thought that Jesus came back!....?) and then she finally understood and started laughing hysterically. "Lo lo lo, ani lo Jesus, ani rak tsricha peepee!"
This is what happens when your roommate goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night without telling you and you don't wear your glasses.....
(P.S. I have an appointment with Misrad Hapnim in July. But in the meantime I have like 3 weeks to get a letter of clearance from the FBI. But the problem is that I believe you need to arrive at the FBI office in person in order to get said letter of clearance. So I don't know what I'm going to do.
Also, i don't know if I'll end up keeping the appointment. I'm still trying to do the Machal thing, but I can't be a citizen if I do that. But I don't know if I can get my doctor's letter in time. So maybe I will get citizenship. Shit, this is all so stressful. I want my maaaaaaaaam!)
Monday, June 16, 2008
Yes, I aspire to be Laura Ingalls Wilder, but that doesn't mean I am Laura!
Let's start off with good news: I talked to my mom last night and she said that if I really wanted to stay, she'd be supportive of it even though she'd obviously prefer that I came home (or at least back to the same continent...). So that's nice.
Today was a day of snapping at people:
1)
Today I was about to walk out the door of the laundry room when I heard someone call out, "LAURA!" My name's not Laura, so obviously I kept walking. But then I heard it again, this time in an annoyed tone: "LAURA!!" But I kept walking, wondering who this Laura was. Then I heard it a third time. "LAURA!!!!!!!!!" I whipped my head around cos it was starting to get annoying, and I was wondering where the hell this Laura was.
And everyone in the laundry room was looking at me with absolute annoyance on their faces. So we just stared at each other for a second. It was just me looking at the angry faces of 5 angry women with looks that suggested that I better explain myself if I know what's good for me. Then French Bitch yells at me in Hebrew, "Why didn't you respond, Laura??" So I just yell back in English, "COS MY NAME'S NOT LAURA! IT WAS SAMANTHA TWO MONTHS AGO, AND IT'S STILL SAMANTHA!"
And then without waiting to hear what they were calling me back for, I just left for lunch. Oh Goodness Gracious, it was so liberating!
2)
Today the "House Mom" was dictating a fax for me to send to Misrad Hapnim to get an appointment, and she told me to sign off with something like "Toda Merosh" or something like that. And I wrote it exactly where I was taught in school to write "sincerely" or "yours truly," which is slightly right of center. I leaned back to admire my work--my carefully crafted letters (I tried so hard to not look like a baby when I wrote)--and then the House Mom saw that I had written my sign off slightly right of center.
Well, it turns out in Hebrew you write it slightly LEFT of center. And, holy crap, did the "House Mom" let me know. You would have thought that, rather than not writing something in the correct place, I had committed a war crime. This was an atrocity on par with the slaughter of Jews during the Crusades, the Inquisition, the pogroms and the Holocaust combined. This was not just an error in a letter but an attack on Israel itself. She snapped at me and demanded to know how I could possibly think to place the sign off phrase there. She seemed extremely upset about it. So I just looked at her and said in Hebrew, "You're right, I was born here and I was raised here and I should know how Israelis write letters because I learned how to do this in my Israeli school." Actually, it was pretty cool because for the first time in the past two months, I saw someone actually look apologetic. Or constipated. You can never really tell.
She then slipped into English and her tone became a lot softer. "You don't put here in America?" "No, we put it here." "Oh. .....I understand now."
She suggested that maybe we could cross it out and rewrite it on the correct side, but now it was a point of pride for me to do things my way. So I gave her the nastiest glare and she just backed off.
Oh man. I've turned into a bitch.
Today was a day of snapping at people:
1)
Today I was about to walk out the door of the laundry room when I heard someone call out, "LAURA!" My name's not Laura, so obviously I kept walking. But then I heard it again, this time in an annoyed tone: "LAURA!!" But I kept walking, wondering who this Laura was. Then I heard it a third time. "LAURA!!!!!!!!!" I whipped my head around cos it was starting to get annoying, and I was wondering where the hell this Laura was.
And everyone in the laundry room was looking at me with absolute annoyance on their faces. So we just stared at each other for a second. It was just me looking at the angry faces of 5 angry women with looks that suggested that I better explain myself if I know what's good for me. Then French Bitch yells at me in Hebrew, "Why didn't you respond, Laura??" So I just yell back in English, "COS MY NAME'S NOT LAURA! IT WAS SAMANTHA TWO MONTHS AGO, AND IT'S STILL SAMANTHA!"
And then without waiting to hear what they were calling me back for, I just left for lunch. Oh Goodness Gracious, it was so liberating!
2)
Today the "House Mom" was dictating a fax for me to send to Misrad Hapnim to get an appointment, and she told me to sign off with something like "Toda Merosh" or something like that. And I wrote it exactly where I was taught in school to write "sincerely" or "yours truly," which is slightly right of center. I leaned back to admire my work--my carefully crafted letters (I tried so hard to not look like a baby when I wrote)--and then the House Mom saw that I had written my sign off slightly right of center.
Well, it turns out in Hebrew you write it slightly LEFT of center. And, holy crap, did the "House Mom" let me know. You would have thought that, rather than not writing something in the correct place, I had committed a war crime. This was an atrocity on par with the slaughter of Jews during the Crusades, the Inquisition, the pogroms and the Holocaust combined. This was not just an error in a letter but an attack on Israel itself. She snapped at me and demanded to know how I could possibly think to place the sign off phrase there. She seemed extremely upset about it. So I just looked at her and said in Hebrew, "You're right, I was born here and I was raised here and I should know how Israelis write letters because I learned how to do this in my Israeli school." Actually, it was pretty cool because for the first time in the past two months, I saw someone actually look apologetic. Or constipated. You can never really tell.
She then slipped into English and her tone became a lot softer. "You don't put here in America?" "No, we put it here." "Oh. .....I understand now."
She suggested that maybe we could cross it out and rewrite it on the correct side, but now it was a point of pride for me to do things my way. So I gave her the nastiest glare and she just backed off.
Oh man. I've turned into a bitch.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
the world could use a few more jews...
Sorry for another post of epic length. But a couple hours ago I decided that I would go back to the US to finish my degree and then return to Israel.
Crap. I felt so convinced that that was the right move. But my more religious friend just came in. He missed class today to go to Hebron with his family, and he was telling me all about it because he figured (quite rightly) that I’d be interested in it. And I got so jealous. Unbearably jealous, like I couldn’t stand the fact that someone else had been to a part of Israel that I haven’t been to yet, and I couldn’t stand the fact that if I left then my chances of ever getting there would be even lower. And then I remembered how my teacher was lecturing us on how we just need to give up the West Bank, and how hearing her say that made me want to walk right out of class and into a settlement. And holy shit, do I want to stay. I feel like I can’t even afford to go back the US for even two years. Shit. What should I do???
Also, if I go, I’ll feel like I sacrificed some of my idealism. If there one single thing that I like about myself, it’s that I believe in things really strongly. There are certain things that I believe in strongly that I know aren’t true (like that there’s an alternate me that lives in the mirror), and there are certain things that I believe really strongly that are objective, like simple morality, and there are certain things I believe really strongly that are subjective, like life philosophies and whatever. Whatever I believe though, I believe really strongly. And I believed in the concept of Zionism and Israel strongly enough to decide to move here without having ever been here before (and I finally did move here after only being here for ten days), and I’m very proud of that. It’s like the slogan: “Life: Powered by Edison,” or whatever, except “Sam: Powered by Belief.” That’s just how I function. I feel like if I left, even if only temporarily, I’d always be a little ashamed of myself. Yes, it is total shit not having family here and having to fold towels all day, but at the same time, it’d feel like total shit to just give up because it’s too difficult. I talked about this earlier when talking about how the Americans were being douchebags to the weaker boys in ulpan, and I established that the easiest thing to do is not necessarily the correct one. I guess I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I bailed just because things are tough.
Then there’s also the whole grandma issue. My Jewish grandma has never really liked me, but when she found out I wanted to move to Israel she suddenly warmed up to me (wow, it only took her 19 years….) and told me all about how she spent her childhood training to make aliyah but how at the last minute didn’t because she married my grandpa and my grandpa didn’t want to leave the US. She told me that she didn’t want me to make the same mistake of not going to Israel if I wanted to, and she told me to not come back to the US—she said that even when she died and there would be a funeral, she said I was to stay in Israel. I protested and said that of course I’d come back if, G-d forbid, she died while I was in Israel, but then my grandma ended up yelling at me.
During one of the last phone conversations I had with her before I left, she suddenly whipped out Hebrew. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced, because my mom can’t even read basic Hebrew with vowels and probably doesn’t even know what “aba” means, and yet my grandma totally out of nowhere just whipped out conversational Hebrew that had been lying dormant since she married my grandpa in 1950 or whatever. I mean seriously, if ever there were a “What the fuck?” moment, that was it.
And you know what I learned from that? I don’t want to live in America and then when I’m like 80 whatever be on the phone with my granddaughter and unexpectedly whip out Hebrew and sadly remark about how I wish I hadn’t given up on what I dreamt about. Also, during my childhood I saw my grandma at least once a week—and she never once mentioned that she spent almost her entire childhood preparing for aliyah (she was in one of those Zionist groups that did that kind of thing). I mean, this was obviously something really important to her, and yet nothing came of it and she never told her grandkids about it until one of them totally on her own decided to try it. In fact, she didn’t really mention it to her kids either, because I told my mom about what my grandma said and she was stunned. And, I don’t mean to criticize my grandma—I only mean to draw a lesson from it--I wish my grandma HAD said something about it to her grandkids and to her kids (my mom and uncles) because now only 3/7 of her grandkids are Jewish (well, 4/7 if you want to still count my Catholic brother), and only 2/7 of her grandkids have ever been to Israel. I mean, I like Christians just fine, but I think the world could use a few more Jews…
I guess I’ll stay. Argue with me. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m right. Tell me to go home—but which home?
And if you tell me to stay, then find me a fucking job that doesn’t involve laundry!
(just kidding….I’ll manage…) (also, find me a fucking family. Now THAT I’m not joking about…)
Anyway, let’s talk about something other than abandoning my country or not abandoning my country.
You know what song I just put on? “Oh What a Night!”
Loud.
You readers back in America can probably hear it right now. Can you?
Today during class the Mexican kid kept hitting on our teacher (as usual), and finally my roommate and I just lost it and burst out laughing. Like, I was laughing so hard that I broke a sweat. I thought I was going to throw up. Every single time I got a hold of myself, I’d hear my roommate giggle next to me, and then I’d just lose it again. There was a solid 30 minutes of laughter, I’d estimate, if you count the snickering and sudden uncontainable snorts that followed the cackling and giggling.
A couple days ago my mom called me, but right before she called I was on the phone with the Chilean roommate in Hebrew. So I answered my mom’s call….but then I forgot how to say “Hello.” Cos my mind was concentrating so hard on Hebrew. I forgot how to fucking say hello! So instead I just kind of stood there with the phone to my ear, wondering what to do, wondering what I COULD do if I couldn’t remember how to answer the phone in English. So my mom kind of let out a confused, “Hello…?” And then I was like, “Ah! Yes! That’s it!”
I also have to share the following exchange with you:
Hebrew Teacher: (In Hebrew) Israel has a government. The United States doesn’t have a government.
Me: (In Hebrew) What???? We DO have a government!
Teacher: (In Hebrew): No, you don’t have a government.
Me: (In English): Wait, wait wait,……..wait. I don’t think I understand, can you tell me that in English?
Teacher: (In English) The United States doesn’t have a government.
Me: (In English) (genuinely confused) Wait, what are you talking about? What have my parents been voting for all these years?
Teacher: (In English) No, you have an “mistration” [sic], not a “government.”
Me: (In English, whispered in panic to my roommate): The fuck’s a “mistration”?
Roomie: (In English, whispered back) No fucking clue.
Cue confused/blank stare from me
Teacher: (In English) You don’t have a parliament, so you don’t have a government.
Me: What????
By that point I had gotten hysterical, as if everything I ever knew about the US was wrong. If we don’t have a government like I thought we did, what else isn’t true? Did Abraham Lincoln not have a beard?! The Declaration of Independence was written by Ronald McDonald??? The nation’s capital is actually Bemidji, Minnesota????
Tell me, what the fuck do we have if we don’t have a government? And, pray tell, what’s a “mistration?” Is it like “menstruation” except for governments?
The absolute panic I had over this (AMERICA DOESN’T HAVE A GOVERNMENT?!) was like the time a few years back when I asked my mother if I could have a lemon popsicle. And she said to me, with a look of utter confusion and bewilderment on her face, “What’s THAT?” And I panicked. I had no idea how to respond to that, and I had to sit down. I thought that I had been transported into this alternate reality where lemon popsicles never existed and never would exist. I started shaking, thinking I’d have to kill myself because I’d rather not live in a reality without lemon popsicles. Tears formed in my eyes as I began to wonder what else was different in this alternate reality that I was suddenly in. Did I still have friends in this reality? Did dogs exist? Did soccer still exist? Did the Laws of Gravity still apply, or was the only thing keeping me attached to the floor my will? Could I fly? Would I be in this alternate reality forever, or would I be magically transported back after I learned some important lesson like in the movies? If I were to stay in this alternate reality, would I always remember my previous reality or would eventually the memories fade until I accepted the alternate reality as the true reality? Was this new reality a reality without terrorism (this was all shortly after 9/11), or were there even worse alternate reality terrorists? And how did the dimension of time function in this new reality? My mind whirled with all these thoughts, and I thought I was going to vomit.
My mother was confused that I was shaking and that all the color had drained from my face, so she clarified her question: “What on Earth is a ‘lenpsicle?”
Turns out my mom didn’t just hear me right. But for a minute there, my world was in a state of chaos. I think I need to tone down my imagination a bit….
Also, some of my friends here tell me, “Sam(my), you think too much.” So I think I’d better keep this story to myself……
Remember how I said that I have like no memories associated with Jewish/Israeli songs? Well, I got three for ya that I just remembered:
1) I used to hate song time during Sunday School. Except for “Miriam’s Song.” I hated the song, but I loved one line. So I’d sit quietly for the entire song until it got towards the end, and when it got time for my favorite line, I’d just belt out: “WE’VE JUST LIVED THROUGH A MIRACLE—WE’RE GONNA DANCE TONIGHT!!” And everyone would turn around turn around to see where this appalling noise had come from, and it’d just be lil’ ol’ me…..
2) A couple years ago during the Chabad Telethon (which I watched on TV with my dad), the song “Moshiach” came on. And my dad got up and started singing and dancing. It was bizarre. My dad does not know a word of Hebrew, yet he was singing along to the song by making sounds that sounded pretty close to the Hebrew. And I was stunned, so I was like, “Dad, how the hell do you know this song??” And he said, “What, you think I’ve lived with Jews for 25 years now and haven’t learned anything?”
3) I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before since this never fails to make me laugh. At home in LA we live next to a really Orthodox neighborhood, and during Shabbos and during the High Holidays especially, whenever my family drives by that area and sees everyone in their black hats and long skirts, my dad likes to sing the score from “Fiddler on the Roof” out the car window. Usually the rest of the family joins in, but my dad is the conductor of this merry choir. And my dad has got some serious lungs, so he just belts it. “TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!” In fact, that’s my dad’s response to most things. I told him a Haredi boy spat on me in Jerusalem, and over the phone he sang to me, “TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!”
Crap. I felt so convinced that that was the right move. But my more religious friend just came in. He missed class today to go to Hebron with his family, and he was telling me all about it because he figured (quite rightly) that I’d be interested in it. And I got so jealous. Unbearably jealous, like I couldn’t stand the fact that someone else had been to a part of Israel that I haven’t been to yet, and I couldn’t stand the fact that if I left then my chances of ever getting there would be even lower. And then I remembered how my teacher was lecturing us on how we just need to give up the West Bank, and how hearing her say that made me want to walk right out of class and into a settlement. And holy shit, do I want to stay. I feel like I can’t even afford to go back the US for even two years. Shit. What should I do???
Also, if I go, I’ll feel like I sacrificed some of my idealism. If there one single thing that I like about myself, it’s that I believe in things really strongly. There are certain things that I believe in strongly that I know aren’t true (like that there’s an alternate me that lives in the mirror), and there are certain things that I believe really strongly that are objective, like simple morality, and there are certain things I believe really strongly that are subjective, like life philosophies and whatever. Whatever I believe though, I believe really strongly. And I believed in the concept of Zionism and Israel strongly enough to decide to move here without having ever been here before (and I finally did move here after only being here for ten days), and I’m very proud of that. It’s like the slogan: “Life: Powered by Edison,” or whatever, except “Sam: Powered by Belief.” That’s just how I function. I feel like if I left, even if only temporarily, I’d always be a little ashamed of myself. Yes, it is total shit not having family here and having to fold towels all day, but at the same time, it’d feel like total shit to just give up because it’s too difficult. I talked about this earlier when talking about how the Americans were being douchebags to the weaker boys in ulpan, and I established that the easiest thing to do is not necessarily the correct one. I guess I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I bailed just because things are tough.
Then there’s also the whole grandma issue. My Jewish grandma has never really liked me, but when she found out I wanted to move to Israel she suddenly warmed up to me (wow, it only took her 19 years….) and told me all about how she spent her childhood training to make aliyah but how at the last minute didn’t because she married my grandpa and my grandpa didn’t want to leave the US. She told me that she didn’t want me to make the same mistake of not going to Israel if I wanted to, and she told me to not come back to the US—she said that even when she died and there would be a funeral, she said I was to stay in Israel. I protested and said that of course I’d come back if, G-d forbid, she died while I was in Israel, but then my grandma ended up yelling at me.
During one of the last phone conversations I had with her before I left, she suddenly whipped out Hebrew. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced, because my mom can’t even read basic Hebrew with vowels and probably doesn’t even know what “aba” means, and yet my grandma totally out of nowhere just whipped out conversational Hebrew that had been lying dormant since she married my grandpa in 1950 or whatever. I mean seriously, if ever there were a “What the fuck?” moment, that was it.
And you know what I learned from that? I don’t want to live in America and then when I’m like 80 whatever be on the phone with my granddaughter and unexpectedly whip out Hebrew and sadly remark about how I wish I hadn’t given up on what I dreamt about. Also, during my childhood I saw my grandma at least once a week—and she never once mentioned that she spent almost her entire childhood preparing for aliyah (she was in one of those Zionist groups that did that kind of thing). I mean, this was obviously something really important to her, and yet nothing came of it and she never told her grandkids about it until one of them totally on her own decided to try it. In fact, she didn’t really mention it to her kids either, because I told my mom about what my grandma said and she was stunned. And, I don’t mean to criticize my grandma—I only mean to draw a lesson from it--I wish my grandma HAD said something about it to her grandkids and to her kids (my mom and uncles) because now only 3/7 of her grandkids are Jewish (well, 4/7 if you want to still count my Catholic brother), and only 2/7 of her grandkids have ever been to Israel. I mean, I like Christians just fine, but I think the world could use a few more Jews…
I guess I’ll stay. Argue with me. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m right. Tell me to go home—but which home?
And if you tell me to stay, then find me a fucking job that doesn’t involve laundry!
(just kidding….I’ll manage…) (also, find me a fucking family. Now THAT I’m not joking about…)
Anyway, let’s talk about something other than abandoning my country or not abandoning my country.
You know what song I just put on? “Oh What a Night!”
Loud.
You readers back in America can probably hear it right now. Can you?
Today during class the Mexican kid kept hitting on our teacher (as usual), and finally my roommate and I just lost it and burst out laughing. Like, I was laughing so hard that I broke a sweat. I thought I was going to throw up. Every single time I got a hold of myself, I’d hear my roommate giggle next to me, and then I’d just lose it again. There was a solid 30 minutes of laughter, I’d estimate, if you count the snickering and sudden uncontainable snorts that followed the cackling and giggling.
A couple days ago my mom called me, but right before she called I was on the phone with the Chilean roommate in Hebrew. So I answered my mom’s call….but then I forgot how to say “Hello.” Cos my mind was concentrating so hard on Hebrew. I forgot how to fucking say hello! So instead I just kind of stood there with the phone to my ear, wondering what to do, wondering what I COULD do if I couldn’t remember how to answer the phone in English. So my mom kind of let out a confused, “Hello…?” And then I was like, “Ah! Yes! That’s it!”
I also have to share the following exchange with you:
Hebrew Teacher: (In Hebrew) Israel has a government. The United States doesn’t have a government.
Me: (In Hebrew) What???? We DO have a government!
Teacher: (In Hebrew): No, you don’t have a government.
Me: (In English): Wait, wait wait,……..wait. I don’t think I understand, can you tell me that in English?
Teacher: (In English) The United States doesn’t have a government.
Me: (In English) (genuinely confused) Wait, what are you talking about? What have my parents been voting for all these years?
Teacher: (In English) No, you have an “mistration” [sic], not a “government.”
Me: (In English, whispered in panic to my roommate): The fuck’s a “mistration”?
Roomie: (In English, whispered back) No fucking clue.
Cue confused/blank stare from me
Teacher: (In English) You don’t have a parliament, so you don’t have a government.
Me: What????
By that point I had gotten hysterical, as if everything I ever knew about the US was wrong. If we don’t have a government like I thought we did, what else isn’t true? Did Abraham Lincoln not have a beard?! The Declaration of Independence was written by Ronald McDonald??? The nation’s capital is actually Bemidji, Minnesota????
Tell me, what the fuck do we have if we don’t have a government? And, pray tell, what’s a “mistration?” Is it like “menstruation” except for governments?
The absolute panic I had over this (AMERICA DOESN’T HAVE A GOVERNMENT?!) was like the time a few years back when I asked my mother if I could have a lemon popsicle. And she said to me, with a look of utter confusion and bewilderment on her face, “What’s THAT?” And I panicked. I had no idea how to respond to that, and I had to sit down. I thought that I had been transported into this alternate reality where lemon popsicles never existed and never would exist. I started shaking, thinking I’d have to kill myself because I’d rather not live in a reality without lemon popsicles. Tears formed in my eyes as I began to wonder what else was different in this alternate reality that I was suddenly in. Did I still have friends in this reality? Did dogs exist? Did soccer still exist? Did the Laws of Gravity still apply, or was the only thing keeping me attached to the floor my will? Could I fly? Would I be in this alternate reality forever, or would I be magically transported back after I learned some important lesson like in the movies? If I were to stay in this alternate reality, would I always remember my previous reality or would eventually the memories fade until I accepted the alternate reality as the true reality? Was this new reality a reality without terrorism (this was all shortly after 9/11), or were there even worse alternate reality terrorists? And how did the dimension of time function in this new reality? My mind whirled with all these thoughts, and I thought I was going to vomit.
My mother was confused that I was shaking and that all the color had drained from my face, so she clarified her question: “What on Earth is a ‘lenpsicle?”
Turns out my mom didn’t just hear me right. But for a minute there, my world was in a state of chaos. I think I need to tone down my imagination a bit….
Also, some of my friends here tell me, “Sam(my), you think too much.” So I think I’d better keep this story to myself……
Remember how I said that I have like no memories associated with Jewish/Israeli songs? Well, I got three for ya that I just remembered:
1) I used to hate song time during Sunday School. Except for “Miriam’s Song.” I hated the song, but I loved one line. So I’d sit quietly for the entire song until it got towards the end, and when it got time for my favorite line, I’d just belt out: “WE’VE JUST LIVED THROUGH A MIRACLE—WE’RE GONNA DANCE TONIGHT!!” And everyone would turn around turn around to see where this appalling noise had come from, and it’d just be lil’ ol’ me…..
2) A couple years ago during the Chabad Telethon (which I watched on TV with my dad), the song “Moshiach” came on. And my dad got up and started singing and dancing. It was bizarre. My dad does not know a word of Hebrew, yet he was singing along to the song by making sounds that sounded pretty close to the Hebrew. And I was stunned, so I was like, “Dad, how the hell do you know this song??” And he said, “What, you think I’ve lived with Jews for 25 years now and haven’t learned anything?”
3) I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before since this never fails to make me laugh. At home in LA we live next to a really Orthodox neighborhood, and during Shabbos and during the High Holidays especially, whenever my family drives by that area and sees everyone in their black hats and long skirts, my dad likes to sing the score from “Fiddler on the Roof” out the car window. Usually the rest of the family joins in, but my dad is the conductor of this merry choir. And my dad has got some serious lungs, so he just belts it. “TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!” In fact, that’s my dad’s response to most things. I told him a Haredi boy spat on me in Jerusalem, and over the phone he sang to me, “TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!”
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Thanks for the heads up
It's Country Music Shabbat.
And let me make one thing clear: I am bringing you today's Country Music Shabbat as a 100 percent Jewish girl from her home--the Jewish State. (Um, that'd be "Israel" for you retards out there... :-) ) I'll explain in a sec.
Brad Paisley's "Letter to Me." It's supposed to be addressed to himself at high school age, but I think the point is that things always end up working out but you just don't realize it at the time that things suck. you know?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fqtbMHfpXY&feature=user
(more capitalist shit.)
Anyway, first off I want to thank people for commenting, IM-ing me, facebook messaging me, e-mailing me and whatever about all this shit I've been writing about.
Well, I had a really cool dream last night. It wasn't a creative dream, which is always a little disappointing. When it's a creative dream you get to fly, or you get to be fluent in Mandarin, or Colin Firth marries you. No no no, this was a memory. I got to re-live a memory, which I guess is pretty cool in itself.
So in my dream/memory, I was in Arkansas with my family visiting my granny for Christmas. It was the last time I ever saw her and I was 12. On Christmas Day we went downstairs to the hotel lobby to drive over to my Granny's house when the guy at the front desk said, "Merry Christmas!" Normally when I hear "Merry Christmas" I just respond by saying, "Merry Christmas!" right back because it's just easier that way. But while everyone in my family shouted, "Merry Christmas to you too!" right back at the guy, I decided to call out, "We're actually Jewish, but thanks and Merry Christmas to you too!" And before I could register the guy at the front desk's response, I felt my dad grab my arm and hurry me outside. I don't think I've ever seen my dad so freaked out in my entire life, even after he almost fell into a pond filled with ferocious carp. And he said, "Don't you EVER tell people here that you're Jewish!!!"
I woke up almost immediately afterwards (which is unfortunate because there were a lot of HAPPY memories I would have liked to have re-lived from that day), and I was surprised at how upset I found myself. I mean, I was aware that this event had happened, but in the 7/almost 8 years that have since passed I sort of found myself laughing it off. But actually remembering it from that perspective, I remember how absolutely terrifying it was. Wait a minute, I'm in my own country, in a state where my own family lives and has lived for generations, and I need to be afraid to tell people that I'm Jewish?
Someone "up there" clearly wants me to remember I'm Jewish. I don't know if it's G-d or Jesus or the Sandman, but whichever one is responsible--thanks for the heads up, buddy!
I couldn't go back to sleep because I kept thinking about all this shit. A couple weeks ago, I could have told you so many things at the drop of a hat about how I've felt like a guest in the US, or how Zionist I feel, but I had become so focused on how Israel isn't my country. To name a few:
--My parents sent me to French camp in Minnesota for a month, not realizing that it was run by Evangelical Christians. And the vast majority of campers were also Evangelical Christians. I got into a lot of arguments with people being one of the only Jews there, and it culminated with an exciting event one Sunday. One boy who had been spending most of camp time quoting the Bible like it was his job invited me to church, and I thanked him politely but reminded him that I was Jewish. And he got upset and started spewing Bible verses (and I mean, Jesus, he was 15!!!!!), and telling me I was going to Hell. I tried to just block him out, occasionally I let out a faint, "Yeah, if I'm going to Hell then I'll see you there, buddy..." But he just kept going on and on against the Jews. So finally I just got up and kicked him in the crotch as hard as I could. And walked away. And that was the end of that.
--Also at French camp: I managed to get into a verbal spat with the only other Jew in camp. We got called in to talk with the camp director, and when she was informed the kinds of things that were said, she said to both of us, not realizing that she was speaking to the only two non-Christians in the camp, "Well, that's not very Christianly of you two!" And the two of us, even though we hated each other, just looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.
--Every single time the Jews for Jesus showed up at my college, I got into arguments with them over Torah. (Hey, now that I think of it, I got into TWO arguments with Jews for Jesus since I got to Israel!) I couldn't stand that they were trying to get people to not be Jewish.
--When that horrible anti-Israel lobby book came out in the US, I went from bookstore to bookstore and hid/turned around all the copies.
--Even my dad, my Christian dad, is a Zionist.
You know what else? I am one stubborn bitch. I ain't going anywhere.
Oh man....I think we're just going to have to be patient with me. I'm a person in a new country without family. Sometimes I'm going to want to glorify The Old Country just because it'd be easier to go back, and you'll just have to be patient for me. Occasionally I'm going to forget how proud I felt on Yom Ha'Atzmaut, or how I cried upon arrival, or even the stupid things like how it makes me smile that I always hear someone calling for their friend Avi or how I find it amusing that there is pudding at breakfast. Yeah, occasionally I'm gonna get homesick and stressed and whatever and I'm going to forget all that, But eventually I'll remember that I left The Old Country for a reason.
And let me make one thing clear: I am bringing you today's Country Music Shabbat as a 100 percent Jewish girl from her home--the Jewish State. (Um, that'd be "Israel" for you retards out there... :-) ) I'll explain in a sec.
Brad Paisley's "Letter to Me." It's supposed to be addressed to himself at high school age, but I think the point is that things always end up working out but you just don't realize it at the time that things suck. you know?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fqtbMHfpXY&feature=user
(more capitalist shit.)
Anyway, first off I want to thank people for commenting, IM-ing me, facebook messaging me, e-mailing me and whatever about all this shit I've been writing about.
Well, I had a really cool dream last night. It wasn't a creative dream, which is always a little disappointing. When it's a creative dream you get to fly, or you get to be fluent in Mandarin, or Colin Firth marries you. No no no, this was a memory. I got to re-live a memory, which I guess is pretty cool in itself.
So in my dream/memory, I was in Arkansas with my family visiting my granny for Christmas. It was the last time I ever saw her and I was 12. On Christmas Day we went downstairs to the hotel lobby to drive over to my Granny's house when the guy at the front desk said, "Merry Christmas!" Normally when I hear "Merry Christmas" I just respond by saying, "Merry Christmas!" right back because it's just easier that way. But while everyone in my family shouted, "Merry Christmas to you too!" right back at the guy, I decided to call out, "We're actually Jewish, but thanks and Merry Christmas to you too!" And before I could register the guy at the front desk's response, I felt my dad grab my arm and hurry me outside. I don't think I've ever seen my dad so freaked out in my entire life, even after he almost fell into a pond filled with ferocious carp. And he said, "Don't you EVER tell people here that you're Jewish!!!"
I woke up almost immediately afterwards (which is unfortunate because there were a lot of HAPPY memories I would have liked to have re-lived from that day), and I was surprised at how upset I found myself. I mean, I was aware that this event had happened, but in the 7/almost 8 years that have since passed I sort of found myself laughing it off. But actually remembering it from that perspective, I remember how absolutely terrifying it was. Wait a minute, I'm in my own country, in a state where my own family lives and has lived for generations, and I need to be afraid to tell people that I'm Jewish?
Someone "up there" clearly wants me to remember I'm Jewish. I don't know if it's G-d or Jesus or the Sandman, but whichever one is responsible--thanks for the heads up, buddy!
I couldn't go back to sleep because I kept thinking about all this shit. A couple weeks ago, I could have told you so many things at the drop of a hat about how I've felt like a guest in the US, or how Zionist I feel, but I had become so focused on how Israel isn't my country. To name a few:
--My parents sent me to French camp in Minnesota for a month, not realizing that it was run by Evangelical Christians. And the vast majority of campers were also Evangelical Christians. I got into a lot of arguments with people being one of the only Jews there, and it culminated with an exciting event one Sunday. One boy who had been spending most of camp time quoting the Bible like it was his job invited me to church, and I thanked him politely but reminded him that I was Jewish. And he got upset and started spewing Bible verses (and I mean, Jesus, he was 15!!!!!), and telling me I was going to Hell. I tried to just block him out, occasionally I let out a faint, "Yeah, if I'm going to Hell then I'll see you there, buddy..." But he just kept going on and on against the Jews. So finally I just got up and kicked him in the crotch as hard as I could. And walked away. And that was the end of that.
--Also at French camp: I managed to get into a verbal spat with the only other Jew in camp. We got called in to talk with the camp director, and when she was informed the kinds of things that were said, she said to both of us, not realizing that she was speaking to the only two non-Christians in the camp, "Well, that's not very Christianly of you two!" And the two of us, even though we hated each other, just looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.
--Every single time the Jews for Jesus showed up at my college, I got into arguments with them over Torah. (Hey, now that I think of it, I got into TWO arguments with Jews for Jesus since I got to Israel!) I couldn't stand that they were trying to get people to not be Jewish.
--When that horrible anti-Israel lobby book came out in the US, I went from bookstore to bookstore and hid/turned around all the copies.
--Even my dad, my Christian dad, is a Zionist.
You know what else? I am one stubborn bitch. I ain't going anywhere.
Oh man....I think we're just going to have to be patient with me. I'm a person in a new country without family. Sometimes I'm going to want to glorify The Old Country just because it'd be easier to go back, and you'll just have to be patient for me. Occasionally I'm going to forget how proud I felt on Yom Ha'Atzmaut, or how I cried upon arrival, or even the stupid things like how it makes me smile that I always hear someone calling for their friend Avi or how I find it amusing that there is pudding at breakfast. Yeah, occasionally I'm gonna get homesick and stressed and whatever and I'm going to forget all that, But eventually I'll remember that I left The Old Country for a reason.
Friday, June 13, 2008
19 years of Toby Keith? Jesus Christ.......even I'm not that cruel!
I just sat down to rant bout something unrelated to aliyah/yerida when this fellow ulpanist looked over my shoulder.
You gotta understand that he's only Jewish in the sense that he was born to a Jewish mother and isn't Christian. That's about it. He doesn't know anything about anything and doesn't go to synagogue (I'm not judging, I'm just trying to get you to visualize/understand a bit about this guy).
He looks over my shoulder and he sees that, next to the facebook and the AIM, I have a youtube screen up. And country music is playing in my headphones and a guy in a cowboy hat is jumping around onstage with a guitar. The guy asks if I'm listening to country music, I tell him OF COURSE, and he's like, "You actually LIKE country music?" And I said yes.
"Ah, see, that's how we know you're 1/2 Christian!"
Which I think is true. Even the unaffiliated, non-practicing Jew thinks there's something definitely more Christian about me.
Tonight I was eating Shabbat dinner in the kibbutz dining hall when everyone started singing Shabbat songs out loud. All the other ulpanists knew the words, but I didn't. Which I thought was weird for a Jew. Especially when you consider that I know all the lyrics to any Christmas song you can think of. And then I thought, "Wow, I never had Shabbat dinner with my family."
Remember how I mentioned the more religious ulpanist who kept telling me that, despite whatever conclusion I drew, Israel is my country and America isn't? I would never actually do this, but I want to print up all the pages I've written about how I'm not Jewish enough to be in this country and shove it in his face. What do I mean by "not Jewish enough?" I'm Jewish enough to have been born here, but I'm not Jewish enough to come here at age 19 and act as if I have some special right to be here that my Christian neighbors at home don't have. If I were raised in an Orthodox Jewish household, I think I'd feel different. You understand? I just want to rub his stupid insensitive nose in all this information that contradicts what he blindly believes is true (that Israel is the country where ALL Jews need to be living), and then I want to top it off by locking him in a room and blasting Toby Keith through the loud speakers. After 19 years of that, maybe then I'll let him out and ask him, "Do you understand me now?"
You gotta understand that he's only Jewish in the sense that he was born to a Jewish mother and isn't Christian. That's about it. He doesn't know anything about anything and doesn't go to synagogue (I'm not judging, I'm just trying to get you to visualize/understand a bit about this guy).
He looks over my shoulder and he sees that, next to the facebook and the AIM, I have a youtube screen up. And country music is playing in my headphones and a guy in a cowboy hat is jumping around onstage with a guitar. The guy asks if I'm listening to country music, I tell him OF COURSE, and he's like, "You actually LIKE country music?" And I said yes.
"Ah, see, that's how we know you're 1/2 Christian!"
Which I think is true. Even the unaffiliated, non-practicing Jew thinks there's something definitely more Christian about me.
Tonight I was eating Shabbat dinner in the kibbutz dining hall when everyone started singing Shabbat songs out loud. All the other ulpanists knew the words, but I didn't. Which I thought was weird for a Jew. Especially when you consider that I know all the lyrics to any Christmas song you can think of. And then I thought, "Wow, I never had Shabbat dinner with my family."
Remember how I mentioned the more religious ulpanist who kept telling me that, despite whatever conclusion I drew, Israel is my country and America isn't? I would never actually do this, but I want to print up all the pages I've written about how I'm not Jewish enough to be in this country and shove it in his face. What do I mean by "not Jewish enough?" I'm Jewish enough to have been born here, but I'm not Jewish enough to come here at age 19 and act as if I have some special right to be here that my Christian neighbors at home don't have. If I were raised in an Orthodox Jewish household, I think I'd feel different. You understand? I just want to rub his stupid insensitive nose in all this information that contradicts what he blindly believes is true (that Israel is the country where ALL Jews need to be living), and then I want to top it off by locking him in a room and blasting Toby Keith through the loud speakers. After 19 years of that, maybe then I'll let him out and ask him, "Do you understand me now?"
maybe i AM too american to live here.
You know what I want to do when I get home? I want to be nice to immigrants. Not that I was ever mean to them, but you know, I don’t think I ever really made an effort to go out of my way to be helpful. I want to really learn Spanish, and I want to run into the fields in California where the illegal immigrants work and give them all hugs. I don’t think I’ll ever again get impatient with someone having problems with English. I’ve only been away from home for like two months now, and even already I know how horrible it is to be separated from your family in a foreign country with a foreign language with foreign customs and foreign everything. Maybe when I go home I’ll see about teaching people English or something. I don’t know.
It’s been interesting talking to my roommate about this whole should I stay or should I go thing. She actually is probably the worst person to talk to.
Last night the Arabs in the neighboring village were shooting A LOT. It was actually a little scary. And I turned to my roommate and spoke over the sounds of BLAM BLAM BOOM BLAM! “You know, it might seem silly since this is only the Arabs celebrating a wedding or something, but this is the kind of stuff—like hearing gunshots and shit like that--that makes me want to stay. I hate the thought of abandoning Israel when I know there’s not going to be peace anytime soon and when I know that there’s the whole demographic war and when I know a lot of shit’s going to go down in the future. It makes me feel bad for wanting to leave because I feel like I’m jumping ship and leaving it for everyone else to deal with.”
And she just said in the nastiest, most condescending tone, “I don’t think you understand just how serious this stuff is here.” As if somehow she had this enormous reservoir of vast knowledge and deep understanding of the roots, history and current situation of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflictt, and that I was someone who just one day happened to show up in Israel without having ever heard of it. Like, “What’s an Israel?”
I don’t know. It was a little insulting coming from someone who only two weeks ago had no idea who Ehud Olmert was.
During my conversations with her on whether or not I should return home in September, she has said, “Well, you’re too American to live in Israel full-time.” What the fuck does that mean? The English guy here is as English as they come, but is he ‘too English?’ Is the Hungarian guy ‘too Hungarian?’ I found it a little insulting, like, “Oh, the stupid little Americans are too idiotic to cross the street by themselves, but all other nationalities of the world have been crossing the street by themselves for years now.” I wanted to tell her, “Oh yeah? Well, YOU are too fucking retarded for me to allow you out of the house, Roommate.”
I mean, I took that as a challenge. Like that was a direct challenge against me and the rest of the United States, and I wanted to be like, “Oh, I will show YOU who’s too American to be here” and then live the rest of my life in Israel just to spite her.
Actually, I think THAT would be ‘too American’ of me.
Maybe she does have a point though.
I will say that, no matter what I end up deciding to do, it’s been interesting. In LA I felt like how I was—half Jewish, half “native” American. In Chicago I felt 75% percent Jewish. And now in the Jewish homeland, I feel like 100 percent American and almost not Jewish at all. It’s been interesting because when I’m in Israel, I think of my brother who converted to Catholicism….and I kind of don’t care. In fact, I understand it a little better. Back in the US, it bothered me to no end that I had a brother who abandoned Judaism, but now that I’m in Israel I realize that until last year I knew close to nothing about Judaism. So I can kind of understand why my brother might find another religion more appealing, especially considering that there are a pant load of Catholics in the US and not as many Jews. Yes, I liked Israel, yes I was Jewish, but…..that’s about it. In contrast, I like the US too, and I’m American….and I actually grew up there and know its culture/history/whatever like the back of my hand.
Look, I don't want to shit talk Israel because I still love it, even if maybe I don't want to live here, but my point is that coming to Israel for someone like me is a little bit weird when I stand back and reflect on it. I think I found out what Shavuot was like two years ago (I learned about it briefly in Sunday school, but let’s be honest….no one pays attention there), but my entire childhood I got a basket on Easter (not from my family, but from a family friend). As I mentioned yesterday, I can only remember one family Passover seder, yet I can remember countless Christmases spent either at my cousins’ house or my granny’s house. Yes, I do enjoy Israeli music or Jewish music or klezmer music, but I have a huge reserve of fond memories that are associated with patriotic American songs or country music. I’ve known the words to “Dropkick Me Jesus” since I was a baby, yet I still don’t know the words to “Yerushalayim Shel Zahav.” Yes, I like “Hatikvah,” but I also like “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And the difference is that I actually have far more memories of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” like standing with my dad and my brothers at baseball games throughout my childhood, or like the last soccer game I saw in LA where the singer couldn’t get any of the words right or any part of the tune right and my dad and I were just cracking up to no end. Or of sitting in elementary school during music class and having to be taught the words (well, we already all knew the words, but no one ever remembers the order….), and I remember how bright red the teacher got because we were all being naughty. My memories of family vacations are of seeing all the historical sites important to the US or California—I have no fond childhood memories of touring Jewish sites or seeing Israel because I never came to Israel in my childhood.
I don’t bring this up because I want to. I bring this up because whenever I get into a discussion with a more religious friend here about going home or staying, he always flatly says to me, “America is not your country. You’re Jewish. Regardless of the fact that your dad is not Jewish, your mom is Jewish so you are 100 percent Jewish, so Israel is your country. America is not your country.”
How is America not my country? My parents have pictures of me dressed up for Halloween or school plays as the Statue of Liberty, Uncle Sam, Pocahontas (that’s maybe the fifth reference to her on this blog….I feel like I should get a prize), an American colonist, an American Indian who was NOT Pocahontas (but who mysteriously dressed exactly like her…), a pioneer, etc etc etc. * Oddly enough,* they have no pictures of me dressed as Ben Gurion or Golda Meir or whatever.
My idol in elementary school, the woman I named my favorite stuffed animal and later my dog after, was Dolley Madison—an American First Lady. I remember saying the Pledge of Allegiance in the morning at elementary school, and I remember American Appreciation Day every year where every class had to get up in front of all the parents and sing songs about the US. I remember elections, the 4 of July every year, Thanksgiving, the Super Bowl…..whatever you consider American, it was part of my childhood. My dad made sure of it. My mom made sure we were Jewish by sending us to Sunday school, but my dad made sure we were American by just SURROUNDING us with everything American. Actually, on the topic of my mother and father: I look almost nothing like my mother and her side of the family, but I look almost exactly like a female version of my dad and his side of the family. My family agrees that the family member whose personality and mind that mine most resemble are my dad’s. So I mean, let’s analyze this: if first off I’m only half ethnically Jewish, and when you throw in that in almost no way do I resemble the Jewish side of my family either mentally, physically, emotionally or politically, I guess you could conclude that I’m not particularly Jewish and that I’m probably more ethnically “American.”
I mean, given this and given everything that I’ve been rambling about for what seems like years now, how is the U.S. not my country?
Tell me again why Israel is my country and why people like the Jewish Agency expect me to feel ‘at home” here.
No, that’s not me being snarky. That’s an honest request. This is still an open debate. I want you to challenge me. I want you to say, NO Sam, you’ll be making a mistake if you go home.
This is a legit discussion. How does someone who grew up in a different country--a Christian country--with ½ a Christian family come to the Jewish nation and feel at home?
Challenge me, people!
It’s been interesting talking to my roommate about this whole should I stay or should I go thing. She actually is probably the worst person to talk to.
Last night the Arabs in the neighboring village were shooting A LOT. It was actually a little scary. And I turned to my roommate and spoke over the sounds of BLAM BLAM BOOM BLAM! “You know, it might seem silly since this is only the Arabs celebrating a wedding or something, but this is the kind of stuff—like hearing gunshots and shit like that--that makes me want to stay. I hate the thought of abandoning Israel when I know there’s not going to be peace anytime soon and when I know that there’s the whole demographic war and when I know a lot of shit’s going to go down in the future. It makes me feel bad for wanting to leave because I feel like I’m jumping ship and leaving it for everyone else to deal with.”
And she just said in the nastiest, most condescending tone, “I don’t think you understand just how serious this stuff is here.” As if somehow she had this enormous reservoir of vast knowledge and deep understanding of the roots, history and current situation of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflictt, and that I was someone who just one day happened to show up in Israel without having ever heard of it. Like, “What’s an Israel?”
I don’t know. It was a little insulting coming from someone who only two weeks ago had no idea who Ehud Olmert was.
During my conversations with her on whether or not I should return home in September, she has said, “Well, you’re too American to live in Israel full-time.” What the fuck does that mean? The English guy here is as English as they come, but is he ‘too English?’ Is the Hungarian guy ‘too Hungarian?’ I found it a little insulting, like, “Oh, the stupid little Americans are too idiotic to cross the street by themselves, but all other nationalities of the world have been crossing the street by themselves for years now.” I wanted to tell her, “Oh yeah? Well, YOU are too fucking retarded for me to allow you out of the house, Roommate.”
I mean, I took that as a challenge. Like that was a direct challenge against me and the rest of the United States, and I wanted to be like, “Oh, I will show YOU who’s too American to be here” and then live the rest of my life in Israel just to spite her.
Actually, I think THAT would be ‘too American’ of me.
Maybe she does have a point though.
I will say that, no matter what I end up deciding to do, it’s been interesting. In LA I felt like how I was—half Jewish, half “native” American. In Chicago I felt 75% percent Jewish. And now in the Jewish homeland, I feel like 100 percent American and almost not Jewish at all. It’s been interesting because when I’m in Israel, I think of my brother who converted to Catholicism….and I kind of don’t care. In fact, I understand it a little better. Back in the US, it bothered me to no end that I had a brother who abandoned Judaism, but now that I’m in Israel I realize that until last year I knew close to nothing about Judaism. So I can kind of understand why my brother might find another religion more appealing, especially considering that there are a pant load of Catholics in the US and not as many Jews. Yes, I liked Israel, yes I was Jewish, but…..that’s about it. In contrast, I like the US too, and I’m American….and I actually grew up there and know its culture/history/whatever like the back of my hand.
Look, I don't want to shit talk Israel because I still love it, even if maybe I don't want to live here, but my point is that coming to Israel for someone like me is a little bit weird when I stand back and reflect on it. I think I found out what Shavuot was like two years ago (I learned about it briefly in Sunday school, but let’s be honest….no one pays attention there), but my entire childhood I got a basket on Easter (not from my family, but from a family friend). As I mentioned yesterday, I can only remember one family Passover seder, yet I can remember countless Christmases spent either at my cousins’ house or my granny’s house. Yes, I do enjoy Israeli music or Jewish music or klezmer music, but I have a huge reserve of fond memories that are associated with patriotic American songs or country music. I’ve known the words to “Dropkick Me Jesus” since I was a baby, yet I still don’t know the words to “Yerushalayim Shel Zahav.” Yes, I like “Hatikvah,” but I also like “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And the difference is that I actually have far more memories of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” like standing with my dad and my brothers at baseball games throughout my childhood, or like the last soccer game I saw in LA where the singer couldn’t get any of the words right or any part of the tune right and my dad and I were just cracking up to no end. Or of sitting in elementary school during music class and having to be taught the words (well, we already all knew the words, but no one ever remembers the order….), and I remember how bright red the teacher got because we were all being naughty. My memories of family vacations are of seeing all the historical sites important to the US or California—I have no fond childhood memories of touring Jewish sites or seeing Israel because I never came to Israel in my childhood.
I don’t bring this up because I want to. I bring this up because whenever I get into a discussion with a more religious friend here about going home or staying, he always flatly says to me, “America is not your country. You’re Jewish. Regardless of the fact that your dad is not Jewish, your mom is Jewish so you are 100 percent Jewish, so Israel is your country. America is not your country.”
How is America not my country? My parents have pictures of me dressed up for Halloween or school plays as the Statue of Liberty, Uncle Sam, Pocahontas (that’s maybe the fifth reference to her on this blog….I feel like I should get a prize), an American colonist, an American Indian who was NOT Pocahontas (but who mysteriously dressed exactly like her…), a pioneer, etc etc etc. * Oddly enough,* they have no pictures of me dressed as Ben Gurion or Golda Meir or whatever.
My idol in elementary school, the woman I named my favorite stuffed animal and later my dog after, was Dolley Madison—an American First Lady. I remember saying the Pledge of Allegiance in the morning at elementary school, and I remember American Appreciation Day every year where every class had to get up in front of all the parents and sing songs about the US. I remember elections, the 4 of July every year, Thanksgiving, the Super Bowl…..whatever you consider American, it was part of my childhood. My dad made sure of it. My mom made sure we were Jewish by sending us to Sunday school, but my dad made sure we were American by just SURROUNDING us with everything American. Actually, on the topic of my mother and father: I look almost nothing like my mother and her side of the family, but I look almost exactly like a female version of my dad and his side of the family. My family agrees that the family member whose personality and mind that mine most resemble are my dad’s. So I mean, let’s analyze this: if first off I’m only half ethnically Jewish, and when you throw in that in almost no way do I resemble the Jewish side of my family either mentally, physically, emotionally or politically, I guess you could conclude that I’m not particularly Jewish and that I’m probably more ethnically “American.”
I mean, given this and given everything that I’ve been rambling about for what seems like years now, how is the U.S. not my country?
Tell me again why Israel is my country and why people like the Jewish Agency expect me to feel ‘at home” here.
No, that’s not me being snarky. That’s an honest request. This is still an open debate. I want you to challenge me. I want you to say, NO Sam, you’ll be making a mistake if you go home.
This is a legit discussion. How does someone who grew up in a different country--a Christian country--with ½ a Christian family come to the Jewish nation and feel at home?
Challenge me, people!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
advice please!
After that last post I ended up calling my mom. And crying hysterically. Which was horribly embarrassing for both parties because my family doesn't really cry.
I'm seriously considering going home. Well, not "home" to LA, but back to the United States. Which is home enough. To go back to school.
Reasons for considering going home:
-I'd get to finish a degree on time or close to on time.
-No matter where I am in the U.S. I always would have at least one close family member within 1000 miles. Right now I'm 5000 miles from one.
-I have the correct fucking accent in the US.
-No language barrier
-No required army service. This is a pro and a con. It would have been cool, but my dad did bring upt he very legit point that I am TERRIBLE when it comes to respecting authority. He cited all the times I've told teachers off in high school.....
-I was born and raised there, as has been my family for generations. I actually feel like I have claim to the land and to the culture and to the history, rather than some distant biblical connection. And, to be fair, I only have the Biblical Claim through ONE side of the family...
-My parents would buy me a car if I went back to college in the US. (Okay, i know that's a terrible reason to come home, but I just thought it was cool....)
-My parents also promised to take me to a Brad Paisley concert if I came home. (THAT is a GREAT reason to come home!!!!!)
-I don't feel Jewish enough. I've never felt less Jewish in my entire life than I feel in Israel. I feel like such a half Jew.
Basically, my complaint is that I feel like somewhere and somehow at some time someone brainwashed me into thinking the US wasn't my country. Yes, it is my fucking country. Israel is not my country. I lived in the US for 19 years of my life, and I only just saw Israel for the first time half a year ago. How is Israel more "my country" than the US? This is what I don't understand. Maybe if I was raised religious and maybe if both sides of my family were Jewish, maybe THEN I'd feel like a guest in the US. But I'm not a guest in the US. I'm at least HALF of a native, maybe a full native. In Israel though I'm just some immigrant. In Israel I feel like I'm not Jewish enough because I can only remember doing a single family Passover seder, but I can remember celebrating Christmas together every year. I missed Christmas with my family this past year because I was in Israel on birthright--and I felt sad. I missed Christmas. No, I'm not Christian and no I don't believe in Jesus, but at the same time I'm extremely American and so Christmas sort of is an American holiday as well.... I don't know.
Reasons for staying:
-My returning to the US will only make it harder for any potential children of mine to leave the US and for them to not assimilate to Christian culture.
-Staying increases my street cred
-I can become fluent in a language other than English.
-Most of all, I'd just feel so much like I simply gave up. I hate giving up, but I don't want to fuck up my life and be miserable and lonely and without family for the rest of my life just cos i'm too fucking stubborn to give up.
Right now, going home seems like an ideal fucking situation!
Advice please?
I'm seriously considering going home. Well, not "home" to LA, but back to the United States. Which is home enough. To go back to school.
Reasons for considering going home:
-I'd get to finish a degree on time or close to on time.
-No matter where I am in the U.S. I always would have at least one close family member within 1000 miles. Right now I'm 5000 miles from one.
-I have the correct fucking accent in the US.
-No language barrier
-No required army service. This is a pro and a con. It would have been cool, but my dad did bring upt he very legit point that I am TERRIBLE when it comes to respecting authority. He cited all the times I've told teachers off in high school.....
-I was born and raised there, as has been my family for generations. I actually feel like I have claim to the land and to the culture and to the history, rather than some distant biblical connection. And, to be fair, I only have the Biblical Claim through ONE side of the family...
-My parents would buy me a car if I went back to college in the US. (Okay, i know that's a terrible reason to come home, but I just thought it was cool....)
-My parents also promised to take me to a Brad Paisley concert if I came home. (THAT is a GREAT reason to come home!!!!!)
-I don't feel Jewish enough. I've never felt less Jewish in my entire life than I feel in Israel. I feel like such a half Jew.
Basically, my complaint is that I feel like somewhere and somehow at some time someone brainwashed me into thinking the US wasn't my country. Yes, it is my fucking country. Israel is not my country. I lived in the US for 19 years of my life, and I only just saw Israel for the first time half a year ago. How is Israel more "my country" than the US? This is what I don't understand. Maybe if I was raised religious and maybe if both sides of my family were Jewish, maybe THEN I'd feel like a guest in the US. But I'm not a guest in the US. I'm at least HALF of a native, maybe a full native. In Israel though I'm just some immigrant. In Israel I feel like I'm not Jewish enough because I can only remember doing a single family Passover seder, but I can remember celebrating Christmas together every year. I missed Christmas with my family this past year because I was in Israel on birthright--and I felt sad. I missed Christmas. No, I'm not Christian and no I don't believe in Jesus, but at the same time I'm extremely American and so Christmas sort of is an American holiday as well.... I don't know.
Reasons for staying:
-My returning to the US will only make it harder for any potential children of mine to leave the US and for them to not assimilate to Christian culture.
-Staying increases my street cred
-I can become fluent in a language other than English.
-Most of all, I'd just feel so much like I simply gave up. I hate giving up, but I don't want to fuck up my life and be miserable and lonely and without family for the rest of my life just cos i'm too fucking stubborn to give up.
Right now, going home seems like an ideal fucking situation!
Advice please?
more about merka
First off before I say anything else, I want to wish loyal reader/awesome Jew Abraham a very happy birthday! (And, next year in Jerusalem!)
Now, on to what I want to say today:
First off, I noticed that immigrants (for the sake of simplicity I'm going to count myself as one) have many "Oh fuck, is THAT was xyz means????? All this time I've been saying it and I thought it meant zyx!!!"
One of my friends found out yesterday that the many times he's said something like, "I refuse!" (which apparently he does in conversation with his co-workers all the time), he's actually been saying, "I clean!" or something like that.
Today Fat Bitch tried to talk to me, and in mid-sentence she turns to French Bitch and asks in Hebrew, "What's her name again?" As if I couldn't understand. I wanted to be like, you fucking know i understand you so just ask ME directly. And French Bitch responded, "Amanda."
Urgh. I hate that name.
It has passed the point of being humorous that they can't remember my name at work, and it has now crossed into "sad" territory. Is Samantha really so exotic that it takes over TWO months to remember it?
Bizarrely, Cold Bitch now is the only one who consistently remembers my name and--GET THIS--she bought me ice cream today!!!!
MOST IMPORTANTLY: Never have I wanted to pull on some cowboy boots and kick some foreigner ass more than I did today.
The Mexican ulpanist who now works next door came in to chat with Fat Bitch, and Fat Bitch started insulting American movies. She started spewing out some shit about how Americans don't understand art, and how everythign in America--especially films-- is showy and fake. First of all, saying ALL American movies are x or y or z is like saying ALL Israelis are named Avi, or ALL Muslims are terrorists, or ALL French food is good. Second of all, what the hell is the matter with a movie just being funny or silly or stupid entertainment? Life's already too fucking serious as it is....
She started saying all this shit about America in Hebrew as if I couldn't understand, and I just wanted to punch her.
Later on, I was folding towels. Normally I'm supposed to fold shirts if there are shirts and towels at the same time, but there was a HUGE back up in the laundry room and this one cart of towels was just sitting there for over 4 days. So I'm folding towels, and French Bitch is in the middle of her fifth hour-long break of the day when she catches sight of me. She runs over (though I think for French people, you shouldn't say they run. They "ritz." Because every time they walk, they walk like they think they are the absolute shit. They put on the ritz.) So she ritzes on over my way, and she yells in Hebrew, "WHY ARE YOU FOLDING TOWELS????" I thought, how I was going to explain this in Hebrew....they get angry at me for folding towels sometimes because they have the following logic: "Breathing is more important than eating, so let's ONLY breathe." No. You need to eat too, you just need to breathe more. Yeah, shirts are more important than towels, but you still need towels.
Instead I settled on, "Ci hem higioo kodem." Which I believe is something like, "Cos they got here first." Which they did. They got here four days before the shirts. And I look up to see her response.
She looks at me, and then replies by mocking the American accent: "Ci him hee-gee-OOOOOOOO KO-DIM!" It was the most appallingly mean impersonation of an American accent and the most completely unnecessary mockery of me personally that I've heard in a while. She sounded like how an even more retarded version of George Bush would sound like if George Bush could speak Hebrew. And then she cackled at me, as if she couldn't believe how stupid I sounded.
I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry/die, and I never wanted to speak Hebrew ever again. I don't understand why everyone has to be so fucking mean. Go surrender to someone, I wanted to tell her. You fucking French Bitch. Instead I settled on the Chaval Al Hazman Principle which, if you'll remember, is that if you say something horrible to someone who doesn't speak your language well but you say it with a smile, they won't know they've been insulted. Unfortunately this woman knows basic English, so I'd have to REALLY make an effort to pick strange words. So after a few minutes, I look up from my pile of shirts that I've switched to folding, and I smile andcall out, "[French Bitch]!" She turns to look at me. "Ani lo yodaat ech omrim et zeh b'ivrit, az.....ani adaber b'anglit: [French Bitch], your soul is one I loathe, cowardly native of my family's primitive origin."
(To understand this, you have to understand that my Christian side of my family has very distant French roots. Though my last name is a bastardized form of these roots, we are only very MINORLY French and probably the most recent person to recognize a member of my family as "French" rather than "American" or something else is Pochahontas. If you understand what I'm saying.....)
And, marvelously, she just smiled back because she had no idea what the fuck I was saying. But I was smiling. So SURELY I must have said something nice.
Also, One of my friends here makes fun of the way that all Americans like to say that the United States is the greatest country on earth--it's not just me that does it, it's the other Americans as well, even the official immigrants here. Well, I noticed here that the people from places where you don't brag about your country brag about themselves all the fucking time. They think that they personally are the greatest thing ever to grace the earth. Well, I'd rather not brag about myself but brag about my country all the time. Personally, I think that's a better thing to do, because when you brag about your country, you're taking pride in your fellow citizens and not in yourself.
Anyway, I'm getting really sick of getting made fun of all the time for having an American accent, and I'm getting sick of having to listen to all this shit about what a crap country the U.S. is.
Then again, at college back in America I was getting sick and tired of hearing shit about what a crap place Israel is. So.....I guess I just can't win!
Now, on to what I want to say today:
First off, I noticed that immigrants (for the sake of simplicity I'm going to count myself as one) have many "Oh fuck, is THAT was xyz means????? All this time I've been saying it and I thought it meant zyx!!!"
One of my friends found out yesterday that the many times he's said something like, "I refuse!" (which apparently he does in conversation with his co-workers all the time), he's actually been saying, "I clean!" or something like that.
Today Fat Bitch tried to talk to me, and in mid-sentence she turns to French Bitch and asks in Hebrew, "What's her name again?" As if I couldn't understand. I wanted to be like, you fucking know i understand you so just ask ME directly. And French Bitch responded, "Amanda."
Urgh. I hate that name.
It has passed the point of being humorous that they can't remember my name at work, and it has now crossed into "sad" territory. Is Samantha really so exotic that it takes over TWO months to remember it?
Bizarrely, Cold Bitch now is the only one who consistently remembers my name and--GET THIS--she bought me ice cream today!!!!
MOST IMPORTANTLY: Never have I wanted to pull on some cowboy boots and kick some foreigner ass more than I did today.
The Mexican ulpanist who now works next door came in to chat with Fat Bitch, and Fat Bitch started insulting American movies. She started spewing out some shit about how Americans don't understand art, and how everythign in America--especially films-- is showy and fake. First of all, saying ALL American movies are x or y or z is like saying ALL Israelis are named Avi, or ALL Muslims are terrorists, or ALL French food is good. Second of all, what the hell is the matter with a movie just being funny or silly or stupid entertainment? Life's already too fucking serious as it is....
She started saying all this shit about America in Hebrew as if I couldn't understand, and I just wanted to punch her.
Later on, I was folding towels. Normally I'm supposed to fold shirts if there are shirts and towels at the same time, but there was a HUGE back up in the laundry room and this one cart of towels was just sitting there for over 4 days. So I'm folding towels, and French Bitch is in the middle of her fifth hour-long break of the day when she catches sight of me. She runs over (though I think for French people, you shouldn't say they run. They "ritz." Because every time they walk, they walk like they think they are the absolute shit. They put on the ritz.) So she ritzes on over my way, and she yells in Hebrew, "WHY ARE YOU FOLDING TOWELS????" I thought, how I was going to explain this in Hebrew....they get angry at me for folding towels sometimes because they have the following logic: "Breathing is more important than eating, so let's ONLY breathe." No. You need to eat too, you just need to breathe more. Yeah, shirts are more important than towels, but you still need towels.
Instead I settled on, "Ci hem higioo kodem." Which I believe is something like, "Cos they got here first." Which they did. They got here four days before the shirts. And I look up to see her response.
She looks at me, and then replies by mocking the American accent: "Ci him hee-gee-OOOOOOOO KO-DIM!" It was the most appallingly mean impersonation of an American accent and the most completely unnecessary mockery of me personally that I've heard in a while. She sounded like how an even more retarded version of George Bush would sound like if George Bush could speak Hebrew. And then she cackled at me, as if she couldn't believe how stupid I sounded.
I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry/die, and I never wanted to speak Hebrew ever again. I don't understand why everyone has to be so fucking mean. Go surrender to someone, I wanted to tell her. You fucking French Bitch. Instead I settled on the Chaval Al Hazman Principle which, if you'll remember, is that if you say something horrible to someone who doesn't speak your language well but you say it with a smile, they won't know they've been insulted. Unfortunately this woman knows basic English, so I'd have to REALLY make an effort to pick strange words. So after a few minutes, I look up from my pile of shirts that I've switched to folding, and I smile andcall out, "[French Bitch]!" She turns to look at me. "Ani lo yodaat ech omrim et zeh b'ivrit, az.....ani adaber b'anglit: [French Bitch], your soul is one I loathe, cowardly native of my family's primitive origin."
(To understand this, you have to understand that my Christian side of my family has very distant French roots. Though my last name is a bastardized form of these roots, we are only very MINORLY French and probably the most recent person to recognize a member of my family as "French" rather than "American" or something else is Pochahontas. If you understand what I'm saying.....)
And, marvelously, she just smiled back because she had no idea what the fuck I was saying. But I was smiling. So SURELY I must have said something nice.
Also, One of my friends here makes fun of the way that all Americans like to say that the United States is the greatest country on earth--it's not just me that does it, it's the other Americans as well, even the official immigrants here. Well, I noticed here that the people from places where you don't brag about your country brag about themselves all the fucking time. They think that they personally are the greatest thing ever to grace the earth. Well, I'd rather not brag about myself but brag about my country all the time. Personally, I think that's a better thing to do, because when you brag about your country, you're taking pride in your fellow citizens and not in yourself.
Anyway, I'm getting really sick of getting made fun of all the time for having an American accent, and I'm getting sick of having to listen to all this shit about what a crap country the U.S. is.
Then again, at college back in America I was getting sick and tired of hearing shit about what a crap place Israel is. So.....I guess I just can't win!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Well, yeah, I've got a spare brother but that's not the point....
So today I was having a conversation with an ulpanist who was raised in a very Jewish home. I mentioned that I expect my oldest brother, who converted to Catholicism, will probably get married sometime in the not too distant future. With a laugh, I mentioned that it'll be interesting to have to explain to the IDF (assuming I'm in the army at that point) that I need some leave time to go to my brother's wedding...in a church...
I ended up having an epic conversation with this ulpanist because he said if he were in the same situation, he'd be "disgusted." He said he'd basically disown his brother, or at the very least treat him like a "gentile friend" and not a brother.
I don't know. I can't say that I'm happy that my brother no longer considers himself Jewish or that I'm thrilled that I'll attend his wedding in a church, but how could I ruin what is probably going to be one of the happiest days of my brother's life by not showing up? I told this guy that this is my BROTHER we're talking about.
Him: "Yes, but you have another brother to spare, it's not like you wouldn't have ANY siblings if you disowned him!"
Me: "That's not the fucking point!!! I have TWO brothers, not one brother and a spare!"
It's a ridiculous notion. The guy kept pushing the idea that he would disown his brother if his brother did the same (although he hinted that HIS brother would never do the same because HE was raised right...unlike me and my brothers), and I feebly tried to explain that you can't just disown a sibling. He asked why, and I muttered something about pants.
One of my favorite memories from when I was little was when I was about 3 or so and my oldest brother was 8, and he found this ENORMOUS pair of pants in our house. Like, they were even too big for our dad, who is a big guy. And my brother put them on and pulled the waist over his head and he ran around the house in them...he just looked like a bodyless pair of pants running around without an owner. And shrieking with laughter I just ran after my brother because I thought he was the funniest person in the world.
"Yeah, well you could have had that memory with a GENTILE FRIEND, Sam, it doesn't have to be your brother."
I offered that my brother drove me home from middle school, and that my brother was the one who found me sitting alone in the city park by myself when I ran away from home when I was little. My brother was the one ripping nasty farts on long car trips that the entire family angrily protested but also laughed heartily at (because, let's face it, my family has a disgusting sense of humor), and it was with my brother (and my other brother) that we made up a song to serenade our new dog 14 years ago. On my 15 birthday, my friends were all out of town, my dad was out of town, and my mother had a work emergency all day, and it was my brother who drove me around wherever I wanted and tried to take me to all the theater stores he knew about to buy me whatever I wanted using his own allowance money. And it was my brother, not my parents, who read me bedtime stories when I was little.
So it seems a little stupid to disown someone like that just because they don't believe in the same religion anymore. It's not like he's converted to worshipping evil or to animal sacrifices or whatever. It's just Christian. As far as religions go, he could have picked something much worse...
I can't believe that guy would theoretically choose to disown his own brother and ruin his brother's wedding day. Personally I'd rather have my Catholic brother that I know will always be my brother rather than have this ulpanist as a brother who would disown me at the drop of a hat.
I ended up having an epic conversation with this ulpanist because he said if he were in the same situation, he'd be "disgusted." He said he'd basically disown his brother, or at the very least treat him like a "gentile friend" and not a brother.
I don't know. I can't say that I'm happy that my brother no longer considers himself Jewish or that I'm thrilled that I'll attend his wedding in a church, but how could I ruin what is probably going to be one of the happiest days of my brother's life by not showing up? I told this guy that this is my BROTHER we're talking about.
Him: "Yes, but you have another brother to spare, it's not like you wouldn't have ANY siblings if you disowned him!"
Me: "That's not the fucking point!!! I have TWO brothers, not one brother and a spare!"
It's a ridiculous notion. The guy kept pushing the idea that he would disown his brother if his brother did the same (although he hinted that HIS brother would never do the same because HE was raised right...unlike me and my brothers), and I feebly tried to explain that you can't just disown a sibling. He asked why, and I muttered something about pants.
One of my favorite memories from when I was little was when I was about 3 or so and my oldest brother was 8, and he found this ENORMOUS pair of pants in our house. Like, they were even too big for our dad, who is a big guy. And my brother put them on and pulled the waist over his head and he ran around the house in them...he just looked like a bodyless pair of pants running around without an owner. And shrieking with laughter I just ran after my brother because I thought he was the funniest person in the world.
"Yeah, well you could have had that memory with a GENTILE FRIEND, Sam, it doesn't have to be your brother."
I offered that my brother drove me home from middle school, and that my brother was the one who found me sitting alone in the city park by myself when I ran away from home when I was little. My brother was the one ripping nasty farts on long car trips that the entire family angrily protested but also laughed heartily at (because, let's face it, my family has a disgusting sense of humor), and it was with my brother (and my other brother) that we made up a song to serenade our new dog 14 years ago. On my 15 birthday, my friends were all out of town, my dad was out of town, and my mother had a work emergency all day, and it was my brother who drove me around wherever I wanted and tried to take me to all the theater stores he knew about to buy me whatever I wanted using his own allowance money. And it was my brother, not my parents, who read me bedtime stories when I was little.
So it seems a little stupid to disown someone like that just because they don't believe in the same religion anymore. It's not like he's converted to worshipping evil or to animal sacrifices or whatever. It's just Christian. As far as religions go, he could have picked something much worse...
I can't believe that guy would theoretically choose to disown his own brother and ruin his brother's wedding day. Personally I'd rather have my Catholic brother that I know will always be my brother rather than have this ulpanist as a brother who would disown me at the drop of a hat.
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