Okay, no message here on aliyah/yerida. All I'll say is taht for a week or so, don't expect an update. Tomorrow I'm going to Tiberias, then to Haifa, then to Tel Aviv. I come back to the kibbutz for one night before two last nights in Jerusalem, and then a final night on the kibbutz....and then back to LA. So I'll be on the move, and I can't guarantee any post until after I get home.
Anyway, just something I wanted to share:
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/662588/
I seriously suggest you check it out because it is APPALLINGLY well done.
..
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
in the words of my governor: I'll be back.
How do I feel about aliyah now?
Today I was walking around in the Malcha Mall in Jerusalem, and basically everyone in there is an orthodox jew. And I thought to myself, how great is it that there is a country where these people don't stand out as weirdos?
I really do love this country. I really do want to live here. Unfortunately, I feel kind of like I got the shit kicked out of me by this kibbutz and also by my own lack of preparation.
But, if I can give myself a pat on the back, I think I was pretty brave coming to a country expecting to deal with financial/visa/enlistment/daily life shit all by myself in a foreign language that I barely knew when I came here, when I had never even done that back home in the US in English all by myself.
I do want to come back, but I think I need time back in the US to recover, to reflect and to prepare. This is the time in the sci-fi movie when the dweeb descends into a secret laboratory and comes out some time later with some sickass invention that gives him awesome power.
What am I doing? I'm bringing home things like visa applications, phone bills, and bank statements. Also, I'm bringing home the contracts I signed to open my bank account and my phone account. I still cannot read most of that shit, and so I have to rely on the kindness of others to deal with my own essentials, and that's not okay with me. When I come back to Israel, I want to be self-sufficient.
So today was my last day of folding. I blew my nose into a couple shirts before I decided that that was kind of a weird revenge. So instead I sat outside. Normally when I take short breaks I close the door cos it embarrasses me to get evil looks from the Women of the Wash. But today I left the door wide open and basically from 8.30 until 11.30 I sat outside. I had my legs crossed, I bought myself a large thign of lemonade and chocolates, and I just lounged the fuck out the bench I was on. I thought I didn't look relaxed enough, so I got out a book. And the women were SO pissed. Old Bitch came out and said, "Samantha! Mah karah! Lama at lo ovedet???" (Sam, what happened, why aren't you working?) And instead of arguing, I just raised my eyebrows as if to say, "And just what the fuck are you going to do about it?" It was the sweetest revenge, because the Women knew that I was a free lady, that I was getting off this fucking kibbutz, but they will be in the laundry room for many years to come.
At 11.30 I left for good because I couldn't be fucked to stay the rest of the day. So I went to the mall in Jerusalem. I shopped a bit, bought some presents for people and for myself (I got you something Abraham!!!! Get excited!), and then I was like, "What makes me happy when I am sad?" And, of course, the answer was obvious: the music of ABBA and Colin Firth. And, as fate would have it, there is this wonderful film that combines the two.
This is my first movie experience in Israel...... It was actually pretty cool, though the theater was kinda ghetto. The theater I was in had one aisle on the right side, and none ont he left. So if you want to sit on the left side you have to make like 15 people get up. Also, they have assigned seating....which was kind of weird, but that's okay.
The movie was wonderful. I take that back. It was corny and stupid even by ABBA standards, but what was wonderful was that for two hours or whatever I totally forgot all of life's problems. And then suddenly in the middle of a scene this slide witht he word HAFSAKA on it pops up. And the lights come on.
I totally did not understand what was going on. I mean, I understand what a hafsaka is (break), but I didn't understand why there was one in the middle of a movie. I looked around to see what other people thought, but everyone else seemed pretty relaxed. Some of them had even clearly been waiting for this moment, because I saw that the second the lights came on a couple kids ran out. No one seemed as scandalized as I did. "Well, all right, this is kind of weird," I said to myself, "....I guess maybe I'll pee or something."
I came back in and sat for a bit,a nd then this horrible buzzer thing went off twice, and then BOOP the movie suddenly came back on in the middle of the scene we were in. It was really bizarre..... I think that'll take some getting used to when I come back
Today I was walking around in the Malcha Mall in Jerusalem, and basically everyone in there is an orthodox jew. And I thought to myself, how great is it that there is a country where these people don't stand out as weirdos?
I really do love this country. I really do want to live here. Unfortunately, I feel kind of like I got the shit kicked out of me by this kibbutz and also by my own lack of preparation.
But, if I can give myself a pat on the back, I think I was pretty brave coming to a country expecting to deal with financial/visa/enlistment/daily life shit all by myself in a foreign language that I barely knew when I came here, when I had never even done that back home in the US in English all by myself.
I do want to come back, but I think I need time back in the US to recover, to reflect and to prepare. This is the time in the sci-fi movie when the dweeb descends into a secret laboratory and comes out some time later with some sickass invention that gives him awesome power.
What am I doing? I'm bringing home things like visa applications, phone bills, and bank statements. Also, I'm bringing home the contracts I signed to open my bank account and my phone account. I still cannot read most of that shit, and so I have to rely on the kindness of others to deal with my own essentials, and that's not okay with me. When I come back to Israel, I want to be self-sufficient.
So today was my last day of folding. I blew my nose into a couple shirts before I decided that that was kind of a weird revenge. So instead I sat outside. Normally when I take short breaks I close the door cos it embarrasses me to get evil looks from the Women of the Wash. But today I left the door wide open and basically from 8.30 until 11.30 I sat outside. I had my legs crossed, I bought myself a large thign of lemonade and chocolates, and I just lounged the fuck out the bench I was on. I thought I didn't look relaxed enough, so I got out a book. And the women were SO pissed. Old Bitch came out and said, "Samantha! Mah karah! Lama at lo ovedet???" (Sam, what happened, why aren't you working?) And instead of arguing, I just raised my eyebrows as if to say, "And just what the fuck are you going to do about it?" It was the sweetest revenge, because the Women knew that I was a free lady, that I was getting off this fucking kibbutz, but they will be in the laundry room for many years to come.
At 11.30 I left for good because I couldn't be fucked to stay the rest of the day. So I went to the mall in Jerusalem. I shopped a bit, bought some presents for people and for myself (I got you something Abraham!!!! Get excited!), and then I was like, "What makes me happy when I am sad?" And, of course, the answer was obvious: the music of ABBA and Colin Firth. And, as fate would have it, there is this wonderful film that combines the two.
This is my first movie experience in Israel...... It was actually pretty cool, though the theater was kinda ghetto. The theater I was in had one aisle on the right side, and none ont he left. So if you want to sit on the left side you have to make like 15 people get up. Also, they have assigned seating....which was kind of weird, but that's okay.
The movie was wonderful. I take that back. It was corny and stupid even by ABBA standards, but what was wonderful was that for two hours or whatever I totally forgot all of life's problems. And then suddenly in the middle of a scene this slide witht he word HAFSAKA on it pops up. And the lights come on.
I totally did not understand what was going on. I mean, I understand what a hafsaka is (break), but I didn't understand why there was one in the middle of a movie. I looked around to see what other people thought, but everyone else seemed pretty relaxed. Some of them had even clearly been waiting for this moment, because I saw that the second the lights came on a couple kids ran out. No one seemed as scandalized as I did. "Well, all right, this is kind of weird," I said to myself, "....I guess maybe I'll pee or something."
I came back in and sat for a bit,a nd then this horrible buzzer thing went off twice, and then BOOP the movie suddenly came back on in the middle of the scene we were in. It was really bizarre..... I think that'll take some getting used to when I come back
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
This is the part where I start singing the Frank Sinatra song. I did it myyyyyyy waaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Well folks, here’s the final deal:
Brief Version: I’m going home in two weeks, back to school to do my last two years.
Long Version is as follows--
I called the university, expecting I would have to beg to get back in. I prepared to use some methods I learned in Israel of not being a total pushover, because I thought it would be a fight. Technically I’m past the deadline for being able to come back for this quarter (which starts at the end of September), and so I thought there would be a big bureaucracy fight. I thought it would be like the nightmare of trying to get into the army or of trying to get a visa.
No. I leave a message on the answering machine of the dean’s office, and thirty minutes later I get a call. The woman on the other end is out of breath and she says to me in this chirpy Midwestern accent, “All right, kiddo, I got your re-enrollment form and I’m walkin’ it down to the registrar’s office RIGHT NOW.” Which is like almost a mile.
Call this a ridiculous statement, but the fact that someone I don’t know was willing to walk a mile out of their way within 30 minutes of my asking for help….it made me feel really good about going back to school, back to the US. Especially since this is the Midwest we are talking about, so the woman on the other end of the line was probably an obese woman clad in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt with a puppy or kitten or something stupid printed on it. So the thought of her rushing a mile to the opposite end of the campus just brings a smile to my face. G-d do I miss the Midwest….
I called the army people and getting out of it was surprisingly easy. Call me an idiot, but I thought it would be fairly easy to get into the friggin army in a country where army service is mandatory and where the army is an actual useful and important factor in the country’s existence. And, call me an idiot, I thought it’d be harder to get out of army service once I agreed to do it. But no. For all the frustrating conversations I had begging for information, begging for appointments, etc etc…..I simply had to say, “I have to go back to the US almost immediately,” and I am no longer obligated to the Israeli army. Granted, I’m no expert in the US Army, but something tells me that it’s the exact opposite in the US. They’re begging for people to join the army with all those fucking commercials, and if I had tried to pull that stunt in the US (“Um, sorry guys, I can’t join the army anymore.”) the response would be a mighty, “Aw, HELL no!”
So basically I’m re-enrolled at my university for this September. Thinking of maybe majoring in French or Classics, but obviously I still want to keep learning Hebrew. I haven’t entirely given up on the aliyah thing, but I think I need to finish school first. I think taking some time off was a good thing, but now I know what I want and what I need. For the next two years I want to learn as much Hebrew as possible AND get a degree in something. I want to save some money. And then after two years, if I still want, maybe I’ll come back to Israel and try to make it worth. Maybe I’ll try to come with a friend or a family member, if I can talk them into it. And this time I know not to go to a kibbutz.
So on September 8th I fly back to the US. Sometime around 10 or 10.30 pm PST I should be walking through my front door for the first time since April 22nd. I’ll spend like a week or so in LA chilling with my familia, playing with my dogs, and packing for school, and after that I’m getting in the car with my dad and we’re beginning the trek to Chicago. I’m kind of excited. We both love country music and singing along to said country music, and we’ll also be driving through the American frontier, so it’ll be pretty badass. I mean, I can only out-diva the Women of the Wash in my head, but my dad has an awesome voice and can legit out-diva people, so it should be pretty fun. Especially since, you know, when you’re going through places like Kansas or Nebraska or whatever, you can pretty much sing as loud as you fucking want to and there’s no one around you to give you shit for it. Also, I’ve been out of the country music loop for the past 4/5 months, so it’ll be nice to see what I’ve been missing. I’ve actually already made us a playlist, hahaha. I’m so ready.
At first my mom didn’t want me to do a driving trip, but I made this whole speech over the phone about “What America is to Me.” It was like something they have you write in elementary school. I said some shit about me loving America best when I’m in the car driving through the countryside, through the heart of America, with country music cranked up. And I told her that doing this would remind me of my roots and would prevent me from returning to Israel. So almost immediately she was like, “Fine, yes, go do a driving trip.”
Wanna know my class schedule? No? Then don’t read this blog. This is what I’m going to try to enroll in:
1) Intro to French Lit in French
2) French Lit of Existentialism in Translation (or whatever the class is called)
3) Latin (We’re reading/translating my fave book: THE AENEID! If that’s not a sign that I was meant to be at school for this quarter, I don’t know what is!)
4) Classics: We’re learning something about Aristotle and Greece or some shit like that.
5) Hebrew. Prolly Level 2. Dunno though since I haven’t heard back from Edna.
Yes, I realize that I’m a Radio/TV/Film Major technically, but I figure that this quarter I’m gonna learn whatever the fuck I want and next quarter I’ll worry about graduating. I don’t think I want to study RTVF, I think I want to do languages and classics. I know for a fact that I’m gonna have to go to summer school next summer, and maybe even the summer after senior year……
This is prolly gonna fuck me over later, but I don’t really care. Something will turn up.
Tomorrow is my last day of folding laundry. I’m trying to think of something dramatic to do, like making all the sorting shelves collapse so that all the kibbutzniks’ laundry ends up in a gargantuan heap on the dirty floor. Or maybe I’ll fold clothing like I’m doing my work normally, but when I put the clothing into cubbies, I’ll just put them in all the wrong ones. Or maybe I’ll just do my fucking work…..
Thursday is my last day of class. After that I’ll pack my bags because on Friday I’m leaving for a last grand tour of Israel. From this Friday until next Sunday I want to see Tiberias, Tzfat, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and (of course) Haifa. Maybe I’ll even stop over and see what’s going on in the West Bank just for the hell of it, seeing as I don’t know when I’ll be back this way
On Sunday (not this Sunday, but the 7th of September) I return to the kibbutz to do a final wrap up of my shit and make sure all my stuff is ready to fly……early on September 8th I leave for the airport…….and onward to the United States!
What am I excited about? Christians. I don’t know why. All I know is that when I see Campus Crusade for Christ once I get back to Chicago, I want to run up to them and fling my Jew arms around them. Appalled, they’ll try to pry my arms off of their necks, and I’ll say, “No no, please, I missed you trying to convert me!!!”
What else I am excited about? The earnest naivety of Americans. And please don’t think I’m talking about other Americans as if I think I’m superior—I too have that same American earnest naivety. Do you know what I mean when I say that? Just look for it in your American self and your American friends and you’ll see it
Is there stuff I’m going to miss about Israel? Yes. Of course. I don’t want to list it right now cos that will make leaving even harder. I’m pretty sure I want to eventually try to come back, but I think I still have unfinished biznatch in the US that I need to take care of.
You know what I’m most excited about? Being able to tell my parents everything. Telling them that I tried to join the army even after I told them and they told me no, and telling them about trying to get an olah visa at the beginning, and basically all that shit that I kept from them.
Right now I’m listening to “Sir Duke” by Stevie Wonder, because that’s the song I associate with Chicago. Listen to it, and if you know Chicago maybe you’ll see what I mean.
My freshman year of college I was in the airport with my parents, we had just arrived to move me in, and we were waiting to be taken to our rental car. We got on the rental car bus, and “Sir Duke” was playing. And the music just made me think of the buildings and about how Chicago is and how I was so happy to be in Chicago and how I was so happy to be starting my first real-life adventure called college……I stood up and started dancing. Like a total dweeb, just completely happy. Like, I legit got up and started dancing on the bus. My mom was like, “Sammy, sit down, you’re embarrassing us!” but my dad was laughing and clapping along. Anyway, I’m happy to be thinking about that and about this song and about Chicago, cos I am quite lucky. Why? After two years, I was starting to get sick of a city that I always adored. But now after taking a short break, I feel excited and ready to go back for at least another two years. really, that alone (besides the valuable life experiences and learning opportunities) has made this Israel experience worthwhile.
It’s exciting to me that people, even complete strangers, read this blog. (Red, not reed.) I think I’ll keep up the blog even back in LA/Chicago because I don’t think the aliyah/yeridah story is quite over yet. I think there’s going to be a lot of “recovery” and a lot of wondering “what if?” but also a lot of “Wow, did I miss home!” Feel free to keep reading, but I can’t promise that the blog will stay Israel-focused. As much as I love this country, there’s only so much pining for Israel that I can stand to write. You’ll probably hear a bit about what it’s like post-quasi-aliyah, but more likely you’ll hear about people I saw vomiting on the El in Chicago, about the people who threw cans at me from moving vehicles while I walked to class, and about being chased by armless homeless men. (All of which happened during my freshman year of college.) I hope y’all stay tuned.
Most important lesson I learned in all of this? There’s no place like home. Or rather, there’s no place like 4 hours by plane from your home but that’s kind of in itself your home.
Also, I remember the basic gist but I’m probably not quoting this correctly from the TV show Arrested Development:
Michael: “What did we always say is the most important thing?”
George-Michael: “Breakfast.”
Michael: “No. Family.”
Roommate: “I don’t think Hebrew is as expressive as English.”
Me: “All I know is, I don’t trust languages that don’t have a word for ‘is.’ “
Roommate: “What’s a BM? A ‘Bed Mistress?’ “
Me: “Um….’Bowel Movement.’ “
Songs of the Moment:
Bad Bad Leroy Brown
Sir Duke
Telephone Lines (by ELO)
Vienna (Billy Joel)
Chariots of Fire (BWO)
How Do You Like Me Now?! (Toby Keith)
Con te partiro (Andrea Bocelli) –This always a song of the moment for me, whether I’m in the car, in my room, or on a balcony overlooking a crowd of people. It’s kind of like my own personal “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.”
And, just for the hell of it:
The YMCA
“But you’ve got to know this one thing: NO man does it all by himself.”
(Yes, looking for meaning in the YMCA)
I'm thinking I have to learn all the words to "My Way" because I feel like there are so many opportunities where if you just started belting it, it'd be totally appropriate.
Brief Version: I’m going home in two weeks, back to school to do my last two years.
Long Version is as follows--
I called the university, expecting I would have to beg to get back in. I prepared to use some methods I learned in Israel of not being a total pushover, because I thought it would be a fight. Technically I’m past the deadline for being able to come back for this quarter (which starts at the end of September), and so I thought there would be a big bureaucracy fight. I thought it would be like the nightmare of trying to get into the army or of trying to get a visa.
No. I leave a message on the answering machine of the dean’s office, and thirty minutes later I get a call. The woman on the other end is out of breath and she says to me in this chirpy Midwestern accent, “All right, kiddo, I got your re-enrollment form and I’m walkin’ it down to the registrar’s office RIGHT NOW.” Which is like almost a mile.
Call this a ridiculous statement, but the fact that someone I don’t know was willing to walk a mile out of their way within 30 minutes of my asking for help….it made me feel really good about going back to school, back to the US. Especially since this is the Midwest we are talking about, so the woman on the other end of the line was probably an obese woman clad in leggings and a baggy sweatshirt with a puppy or kitten or something stupid printed on it. So the thought of her rushing a mile to the opposite end of the campus just brings a smile to my face. G-d do I miss the Midwest….
I called the army people and getting out of it was surprisingly easy. Call me an idiot, but I thought it would be fairly easy to get into the friggin army in a country where army service is mandatory and where the army is an actual useful and important factor in the country’s existence. And, call me an idiot, I thought it’d be harder to get out of army service once I agreed to do it. But no. For all the frustrating conversations I had begging for information, begging for appointments, etc etc…..I simply had to say, “I have to go back to the US almost immediately,” and I am no longer obligated to the Israeli army. Granted, I’m no expert in the US Army, but something tells me that it’s the exact opposite in the US. They’re begging for people to join the army with all those fucking commercials, and if I had tried to pull that stunt in the US (“Um, sorry guys, I can’t join the army anymore.”) the response would be a mighty, “Aw, HELL no!”
So basically I’m re-enrolled at my university for this September. Thinking of maybe majoring in French or Classics, but obviously I still want to keep learning Hebrew. I haven’t entirely given up on the aliyah thing, but I think I need to finish school first. I think taking some time off was a good thing, but now I know what I want and what I need. For the next two years I want to learn as much Hebrew as possible AND get a degree in something. I want to save some money. And then after two years, if I still want, maybe I’ll come back to Israel and try to make it worth. Maybe I’ll try to come with a friend or a family member, if I can talk them into it. And this time I know not to go to a kibbutz.
So on September 8th I fly back to the US. Sometime around 10 or 10.30 pm PST I should be walking through my front door for the first time since April 22nd. I’ll spend like a week or so in LA chilling with my familia, playing with my dogs, and packing for school, and after that I’m getting in the car with my dad and we’re beginning the trek to Chicago. I’m kind of excited. We both love country music and singing along to said country music, and we’ll also be driving through the American frontier, so it’ll be pretty badass. I mean, I can only out-diva the Women of the Wash in my head, but my dad has an awesome voice and can legit out-diva people, so it should be pretty fun. Especially since, you know, when you’re going through places like Kansas or Nebraska or whatever, you can pretty much sing as loud as you fucking want to and there’s no one around you to give you shit for it. Also, I’ve been out of the country music loop for the past 4/5 months, so it’ll be nice to see what I’ve been missing. I’ve actually already made us a playlist, hahaha. I’m so ready.
At first my mom didn’t want me to do a driving trip, but I made this whole speech over the phone about “What America is to Me.” It was like something they have you write in elementary school. I said some shit about me loving America best when I’m in the car driving through the countryside, through the heart of America, with country music cranked up. And I told her that doing this would remind me of my roots and would prevent me from returning to Israel. So almost immediately she was like, “Fine, yes, go do a driving trip.”
Wanna know my class schedule? No? Then don’t read this blog. This is what I’m going to try to enroll in:
1) Intro to French Lit in French
2) French Lit of Existentialism in Translation (or whatever the class is called)
3) Latin (We’re reading/translating my fave book: THE AENEID! If that’s not a sign that I was meant to be at school for this quarter, I don’t know what is!)
4) Classics: We’re learning something about Aristotle and Greece or some shit like that.
5) Hebrew. Prolly Level 2. Dunno though since I haven’t heard back from Edna.
Yes, I realize that I’m a Radio/TV/Film Major technically, but I figure that this quarter I’m gonna learn whatever the fuck I want and next quarter I’ll worry about graduating. I don’t think I want to study RTVF, I think I want to do languages and classics. I know for a fact that I’m gonna have to go to summer school next summer, and maybe even the summer after senior year……
This is prolly gonna fuck me over later, but I don’t really care. Something will turn up.
Tomorrow is my last day of folding laundry. I’m trying to think of something dramatic to do, like making all the sorting shelves collapse so that all the kibbutzniks’ laundry ends up in a gargantuan heap on the dirty floor. Or maybe I’ll fold clothing like I’m doing my work normally, but when I put the clothing into cubbies, I’ll just put them in all the wrong ones. Or maybe I’ll just do my fucking work…..
Thursday is my last day of class. After that I’ll pack my bags because on Friday I’m leaving for a last grand tour of Israel. From this Friday until next Sunday I want to see Tiberias, Tzfat, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and (of course) Haifa. Maybe I’ll even stop over and see what’s going on in the West Bank just for the hell of it, seeing as I don’t know when I’ll be back this way
On Sunday (not this Sunday, but the 7th of September) I return to the kibbutz to do a final wrap up of my shit and make sure all my stuff is ready to fly……early on September 8th I leave for the airport…….and onward to the United States!
What am I excited about? Christians. I don’t know why. All I know is that when I see Campus Crusade for Christ once I get back to Chicago, I want to run up to them and fling my Jew arms around them. Appalled, they’ll try to pry my arms off of their necks, and I’ll say, “No no, please, I missed you trying to convert me!!!”
What else I am excited about? The earnest naivety of Americans. And please don’t think I’m talking about other Americans as if I think I’m superior—I too have that same American earnest naivety. Do you know what I mean when I say that? Just look for it in your American self and your American friends and you’ll see it
Is there stuff I’m going to miss about Israel? Yes. Of course. I don’t want to list it right now cos that will make leaving even harder. I’m pretty sure I want to eventually try to come back, but I think I still have unfinished biznatch in the US that I need to take care of.
You know what I’m most excited about? Being able to tell my parents everything. Telling them that I tried to join the army even after I told them and they told me no, and telling them about trying to get an olah visa at the beginning, and basically all that shit that I kept from them.
Right now I’m listening to “Sir Duke” by Stevie Wonder, because that’s the song I associate with Chicago. Listen to it, and if you know Chicago maybe you’ll see what I mean.
My freshman year of college I was in the airport with my parents, we had just arrived to move me in, and we were waiting to be taken to our rental car. We got on the rental car bus, and “Sir Duke” was playing. And the music just made me think of the buildings and about how Chicago is and how I was so happy to be in Chicago and how I was so happy to be starting my first real-life adventure called college……I stood up and started dancing. Like a total dweeb, just completely happy. Like, I legit got up and started dancing on the bus. My mom was like, “Sammy, sit down, you’re embarrassing us!” but my dad was laughing and clapping along. Anyway, I’m happy to be thinking about that and about this song and about Chicago, cos I am quite lucky. Why? After two years, I was starting to get sick of a city that I always adored. But now after taking a short break, I feel excited and ready to go back for at least another two years. really, that alone (besides the valuable life experiences and learning opportunities) has made this Israel experience worthwhile.
It’s exciting to me that people, even complete strangers, read this blog. (Red, not reed.) I think I’ll keep up the blog even back in LA/Chicago because I don’t think the aliyah/yeridah story is quite over yet. I think there’s going to be a lot of “recovery” and a lot of wondering “what if?” but also a lot of “Wow, did I miss home!” Feel free to keep reading, but I can’t promise that the blog will stay Israel-focused. As much as I love this country, there’s only so much pining for Israel that I can stand to write. You’ll probably hear a bit about what it’s like post-quasi-aliyah, but more likely you’ll hear about people I saw vomiting on the El in Chicago, about the people who threw cans at me from moving vehicles while I walked to class, and about being chased by armless homeless men. (All of which happened during my freshman year of college.) I hope y’all stay tuned.
Most important lesson I learned in all of this? There’s no place like home. Or rather, there’s no place like 4 hours by plane from your home but that’s kind of in itself your home.
Also, I remember the basic gist but I’m probably not quoting this correctly from the TV show Arrested Development:
Michael: “What did we always say is the most important thing?”
George-Michael: “Breakfast.”
Michael: “No. Family.”
Roommate: “I don’t think Hebrew is as expressive as English.”
Me: “All I know is, I don’t trust languages that don’t have a word for ‘is.’ “
Roommate: “What’s a BM? A ‘Bed Mistress?’ “
Me: “Um….’Bowel Movement.’ “
Songs of the Moment:
Bad Bad Leroy Brown
Sir Duke
Telephone Lines (by ELO)
Vienna (Billy Joel)
Chariots of Fire (BWO)
How Do You Like Me Now?! (Toby Keith)
Con te partiro (Andrea Bocelli) –This always a song of the moment for me, whether I’m in the car, in my room, or on a balcony overlooking a crowd of people. It’s kind of like my own personal “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.”
And, just for the hell of it:
The YMCA
“But you’ve got to know this one thing: NO man does it all by himself.”
(Yes, looking for meaning in the YMCA)
I'm thinking I have to learn all the words to "My Way" because I feel like there are so many opportunities where if you just started belting it, it'd be totally appropriate.
Monday, August 25, 2008
robin hood cookies
Today I got annoyed at work, so I pulled a Robin Hood. I stole a box of cookies from the laundry room and started handing them out to strangers. A couple confused Israelis accepted after I thrust cookies into their hands and said in English, "Enjoy!" I know I for one certainly enjoyed.
I had a serious talk with my ma about coming back to school this fall. And it's starting to look like a good option. No, nothing "happened" to make me want to come home. I'm just sick of struggling here and being so fucking lonely and everything being difficult. Normally I'm not a phone person, but today when I was on the phone with the registrar's office I felt GOOD. I felt superb. Because I knew the lady was speaking in clear, Midwestern-accented English, and I could understand perfectly every word that came out of her mouth. And I knew that, when the time would come, I would be able to respond in perfect English. I really love this country, but being here is making me hate it.
There's also the whole distance from the family thing. We're (we being the immediate family and the extended family) having problems of various natures and I feel bad not being back there to help out. Even if I was in Chicago, I could at least come back home for long weekends and if anything disastrous happened I could be home within 6 hours. Also, I simply don't like the distance between us when good things happen--for example, my family forgot to tell me that my oldest brother proposed to his girlfriend until AFTER all of the rest of our family AND friends knew.
I love this country, I really do, but the problem is that I also really love the US. Call me a brainwashed American or call me stupid or call me a bad Jew, but that's just how I am. And while Israel has been really exciting and it's been an adventure, I'm kind of ready to just go home, sit on the porch and eat a fucking hamburger.
I am really thrilled that I had the opportunity for the past 5 months to live in what is essentially a suburb of Jerusalem, a city that is holy to me. But, and I don't want to get too corny here, I think there's also something holy about the city/country you grew up in, where all your memories take place and where all your family is.
All right. As is usual when I write stuff like this, I'm expecting comments/e-mails/phone calls from people who are angry, telling me that I need to stay in Israel because I'm a Zionist. Or maybe I'll get nothing this time. You know what would be a nice substitute for the angry comments/calls? How about a nice big hug. And the words, "Oh, Sam, you poor thing....it'll be okay." Really, unconditional love and pity would be great at the moment.
I had a serious talk with my ma about coming back to school this fall. And it's starting to look like a good option. No, nothing "happened" to make me want to come home. I'm just sick of struggling here and being so fucking lonely and everything being difficult. Normally I'm not a phone person, but today when I was on the phone with the registrar's office I felt GOOD. I felt superb. Because I knew the lady was speaking in clear, Midwestern-accented English, and I could understand perfectly every word that came out of her mouth. And I knew that, when the time would come, I would be able to respond in perfect English. I really love this country, but being here is making me hate it.
There's also the whole distance from the family thing. We're (we being the immediate family and the extended family) having problems of various natures and I feel bad not being back there to help out. Even if I was in Chicago, I could at least come back home for long weekends and if anything disastrous happened I could be home within 6 hours. Also, I simply don't like the distance between us when good things happen--for example, my family forgot to tell me that my oldest brother proposed to his girlfriend until AFTER all of the rest of our family AND friends knew.
I love this country, I really do, but the problem is that I also really love the US. Call me a brainwashed American or call me stupid or call me a bad Jew, but that's just how I am. And while Israel has been really exciting and it's been an adventure, I'm kind of ready to just go home, sit on the porch and eat a fucking hamburger.
I am really thrilled that I had the opportunity for the past 5 months to live in what is essentially a suburb of Jerusalem, a city that is holy to me. But, and I don't want to get too corny here, I think there's also something holy about the city/country you grew up in, where all your memories take place and where all your family is.
All right. As is usual when I write stuff like this, I'm expecting comments/e-mails/phone calls from people who are angry, telling me that I need to stay in Israel because I'm a Zionist. Or maybe I'll get nothing this time. You know what would be a nice substitute for the angry comments/calls? How about a nice big hug. And the words, "Oh, Sam, you poor thing....it'll be okay." Really, unconditional love and pity would be great at the moment.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
im eating chips
I love that when I’m in Israel I forget that some people share names, just like the in US. Back in LA/Chicago I know a pantload of Daniels, Sarahs, and even fellow Sam(antha)s, but this doesn’t seem to bother me. “Well of course I’m in a group of 10 people and 3 of them are called Dan. Of COURSE!” I think to myself. But when I’m in Israel I hear two people named Dorit or Yael or Lior or Tomer or Or, and I freak the fuck out. “No!” I cry to myself, “THAT girl is Soshi, you can’t possibly be Shoshi too!” Someone named Rotem is on TV, and I yell, “But you’re not my army heir!!!”
Proportionally speaking, there are probably the same amount of Dans my age in America as there are Avis my age in Israel, but for some reason I notice it more in Israel. Maybe because I’m not used to the names here, so every name here seems special and unique to me, even if it’s one of the 10 most popular names in Israel.
Another thing I love about this country? Biteavon. Bon appetit. Enjoy your meal. I leave work for my lunch break and I get a chorus of “Biteavon”s. I pass people I know on my way to the dining hall. They ask, “Where are you going?” and when I tell them I’m going to the dining hall, they call out, “Biteavon!” A woman serves me a piece of meat with, “Biteavon.” I go to pay for my food and the guys who ring you up say, “Biteavon!” Even if they’re working at the other register, they make sure to say it to EVERYONE. I sit down with friends, and they wish me, “Biteavon.” I spill some water and so I reach for a napkin—only to find that “Biteavon” is written on ALL of the napkins. I just love that. When I used to go to “Hebrew Table” at university, I remember noticing how my Hebrew teacher always used to say “Biteavon.” Without fail, every single time. And I thought that was a bit strange, because most people in the US don’t tell their lunchmates to enjoy their meal or “Bon appetit.” At least not EVERY time. But now I understand this. And one day I hope that I too will be able to naturally join in with this chorus of Biteavons!
Proportionally speaking, there are probably the same amount of Dans my age in America as there are Avis my age in Israel, but for some reason I notice it more in Israel. Maybe because I’m not used to the names here, so every name here seems special and unique to me, even if it’s one of the 10 most popular names in Israel.
Another thing I love about this country? Biteavon. Bon appetit. Enjoy your meal. I leave work for my lunch break and I get a chorus of “Biteavon”s. I pass people I know on my way to the dining hall. They ask, “Where are you going?” and when I tell them I’m going to the dining hall, they call out, “Biteavon!” A woman serves me a piece of meat with, “Biteavon.” I go to pay for my food and the guys who ring you up say, “Biteavon!” Even if they’re working at the other register, they make sure to say it to EVERYONE. I sit down with friends, and they wish me, “Biteavon.” I spill some water and so I reach for a napkin—only to find that “Biteavon” is written on ALL of the napkins. I just love that. When I used to go to “Hebrew Table” at university, I remember noticing how my Hebrew teacher always used to say “Biteavon.” Without fail, every single time. And I thought that was a bit strange, because most people in the US don’t tell their lunchmates to enjoy their meal or “Bon appetit.” At least not EVERY time. But now I understand this. And one day I hope that I too will be able to naturally join in with this chorus of Biteavons!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
trashy
I've become one of "those people." You know, the ones who religiously watch "their" soaps. Soap Operas. I've become addicted to "Days of Our Lives" and even this Israeli soap called "HaAlufa" or something. Oh my goodness. I feel extremely trashy....
In a couple weeks I get to go back to the Enlistment Center place thing in order to get my eyes checked once again. Isn't that fun? What else is up..... There's something else that's happening that is exciting me, but I can't remember. Oh well.
In a couple weeks I get to go back to the Enlistment Center place thing in order to get my eyes checked once again. Isn't that fun? What else is up..... There's something else that's happening that is exciting me, but I can't remember. Oh well.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Back!
I'm back from Gadna. Holy shit, it was pretty badass! I'll say more once I stop smelling like ass and get some rest! IT WAS SO AWESOME THOUGH!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Just gotta say something:
So I understand that (theoretically) there's a difference between anti-semitism and anti-zionism. But I just want to say that I find both offensive to the same degree.
That's all I wanted to say.
Onward to Gadna!
That's all I wanted to say.
Onward to Gadna!
Football.
So my favorite thing to do on Saturdays is to watch the Evangelic Christian TV program thing that is broadcast out of Cyprus. In case you can't tell, things here on the kibbutz are really boring...especially on Saturday. In honor of that, I bring you country music Shabbat:
Dropkick Me Jesus by Bobby Bare.
It's actually one of my dad's favorite songs. Sometime back in May I was singing it just because it was stuck in my head and it completely horrified some of my Jewish friends.
Anyway, that's that.
Starting on Sunday I am going to be in a little pretend army thing with my Hebrew class. We won't be back until Thursday....so in case I don't post later tonight, see you next week!
Dropkick Me Jesus by Bobby Bare.
It's actually one of my dad's favorite songs. Sometime back in May I was singing it just because it was stuck in my head and it completely horrified some of my Jewish friends.
Anyway, that's that.
Starting on Sunday I am going to be in a little pretend army thing with my Hebrew class. We won't be back until Thursday....so in case I don't post later tonight, see you next week!
Friday, August 15, 2008
What is going on?
Does anyone else feel kind of like the world's going to shit? Like all this Russia and Iran bullshit? is it just me?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Sept 25, baybee!
Good news?
1) I did the security thing at Ben Gurion, which was totally awesome and totally something out of James Bond...or Munich. Or something. I don't know.
2) I have a date! No....no....not that kind. No, I'm not going out to dinner/movie/whatever with someone.....but I AM going to the army on a specific day! Which is almost as cool. SEPTEMBER 25th!!!! WOOOOOOOOT. Wish me luck, children!
Sad things? I miss SNL.
1) I did the security thing at Ben Gurion, which was totally awesome and totally something out of James Bond...or Munich. Or something. I don't know.
2) I have a date! No....no....not that kind. No, I'm not going out to dinner/movie/whatever with someone.....but I AM going to the army on a specific day! Which is almost as cool. SEPTEMBER 25th!!!! WOOOOOOOOT. Wish me luck, children!
Sad things? I miss SNL.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The 42nd Robin Hood Battalion
The machines broke! I’ve been on a break for three hours now—I worked for about 2 hours and then I had folded everything. “Go home for a break and I’ll call you when the machines are working again,” my boss told me. Three—almost four now—hours later, still no call from her.
I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly thank G-d, Jesus, Mohammad and Dora the Explorer. Whichever one of you guys was responsible for this, thanks!
My friends keep making fun of me because all day I’ve been giggling and smiling and singing. They’re like, “What brought on this sudden change in character?!” And I spin around in circles singing a Beatles song, and I yell, “I’m SUPPOSED to be like this!” And I am. Today has been a wonderful, wonderful reminder that one day—and one day SOON—I will no longer have to work in that terrible room, hunched over a table, mindlessly folding the skid-marked underwear of these hateful, lazy kibbutzniks. One day I’ll be in the army and I’ll get a chance to work with people who are roughly my age, not post-menopausal. You know what this means?
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS??
It means…IT MEANS THE MOST IMPORTANT CONCEPT IN JUDAISM: HOPE. It means there’s hope! GAAAAA, it’s wonderful!
[Update: After a four hour break I was called in to work….but only for about an hour and a half more. All in all, a good day!]
You know what’s even more incredible? Next week we’re going to Gadna for the week. For those of you who don’t know what Gadna is, it’s this thing where you go to a base and you get to run around and pretend that you’re a soldier. In short, a five year old boy’s dream. I’m not a five year old boy, but I’m also pretty excited. Basically you get an old uniform, clean up your room a lot, run around a lot, learn some shit, and at the end of the week you get to shoot an M 16. Not gonna lie, as an American I’m pretty excited about shooting the gun.
A soldier came to talk to us the other day about what to expect, and I noticed her little shoulder tag thing was a bow and arrow, which made me smile. I imagined an entire battalion of Israeli archers, taking on Arab armies Robin Hood-style. Maybe Arabs would send in tanks, and our 42nd Robin Hood Battalion would stop them at the border, and say with thick English accents, “Wouldn’t you prefer to settle this like gentleman?” A medieval-style archery contest would ensue, during which the fate of Eretz Yisrael would be decided over how many points each side scored.
Maybe Iran would send a nuke over here, and our army/air force/whatever would scramble to come up with a way to intercept the nuke with our technology, but our 98th Robin Hood Battalion Airborne Division would swing in—either from a rope, or a large window curtain, or a chandelier--and intercept the missile, comically splitting it in half with a single arrow shot.
The new face of the Israeli Army?
Actually, come to think of it, wouldn’t it be really interesting if armies had historic fighting styles units? Maybe something like an entire Medieval Siege Unit would be awesome. You’d have guys with crossbows, catapults, and giant vats of tar that you could pour on the enemy from on top of castles. Or maybe the Israeli army could have a Roman Conquest Unit, and their main form of defense could be doing the Testudo formation. I mean, it would certainly give us an element of surprise against the enemy. Or an Redcoats from the Revolutionary War Era Unit, where the battle tactics consist of simply marching in lines towards the enemy wearing BRIGHT RED uniforms that basically scream, “SHOOT ME!”
(This has made me realize that when I grow up I shall have to join one of those historical battle re-enactment societies.)
And then after Gadna, it’s only a short time until actual army (though I still don’t know the exact date I start….).
More good news? Tomorrow I don’t have to go to class because I am doing undercover work for the airport. Okay, mayhap I dramatized that a bit. Basically I am getting paid a hundred dollars because I am the only person in the ulpan without a Jewish-sounding first or last name. So, shout out to my father the goy for the last name, and shout out to ma for naming me after a witch from a TV show instead of my (non-existent) Great Auntie Rivkaleh or something like that. So I get to go, pretend that I’m a Christian tourist going home, and go through the airport security and people will be watching and seeing how good the security is.
The other day I got quite drunk (apparently I kept shouting at people in French thinking I was speaking in Hebrew), and woke up the next morning and was like, “Oh fuck, this is gonna end in tears. And vomit.” I was supposed to be on a field trip with my class, but I knew there was no way that was gonna fly. So I’m lying in bed and the fucking House Mom comes banging on my door screaming at me that if I’m sick then I have to go to the health clinic here on the kibbutz. Which really pissed me off. First of all, a hangover does not require a visit with a doctor, and second of all, even if I were just sick it doesn’t mean I have to go to the doctor. So I got into a HUGE argument with her, with her screaming over and over again that I HAVE to go to the doctor, and me screaming that I just needed sleep and I’d be fine. She screams, “YOU ARE DOCTOR?!?!?!” And I’m like, “NO, BUT EVEN SO I DON’T THINK IT’S NECESSARY TO GO TO THE DOCTOR FOR EVERY LITTLE THING. You people here are friggin’ crazy, you sneeze and you call a fucking ambulance! Jesus, I don’t need to go to the effin health clinic! Oh, and while we’re talking, [now switching to Hebrew] why do you ALWAYS speak to me in English!?!?!?”
And she just fucked off. Oh my goodness, it was incredible. I have a feeling she didn’t understand half of what I said.
The whole health clinic thing here bothers me. People go to the health clinic for EVERY little ache and pain. It makes it so that there is always a huge line at the health clinic, and so when I had to go there to get my blood test results, I had to wait in a very long line. I guess it’s cos healthcare here is free, whereas at home it costs a lot to go to the doctor so we only go when it’s important. While I don’t like that going to the doctor is expensive, I am glad in that it teaches people to be a little bit more…self-reliant. I know when I have something serious and when I’m just a bit sick, whereas people on this kibbutz seem to have no fucking clue about themselves.
(They also have no fucking clue about how small their laundry cubbies are in relation to how much laundry they have--Pick up your fucking laundry already, Number 93, cos we have nowhere to put all of your stuff!--So basically people on this kibbutz are wholly clueless.)
Another thing I am happy about? I can understand little kids’ TV with little effort. My favorite? I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but DORA the Mother-Fuckin’ Explorer! Sometimes content-wise it’s a bit confusing because sometimes things will be inexplicably related to Hispanic culture, because in the English version she’s supposed to be teaching kids Spanish and Hispanic culture whereas in the Hebrew version we’re supposed to be learning English.
Oh Jesus. I feel like such a perv and weirdo and idiot, watching TV for little kids. This is what immigration does to people. Unless you move to England/Canada/Australia, in which case watching TV for “grown-ups” isn’t too much of a challenge.
One sad thing about today? The person I considered my closest friend in Israel has moved up north today to begin prep for army enlistment. So that was kind of depressing. I know very few people in this country, and now those that I do know are starting to move away from this central location. I’m terrible with goodbyes. I think I came across as a cold bitch in attempt to not get upset and emotional or whatever. Urgh…..
My English teacher in high school told me that you should always have a copy of the essay “Self-Reliance” when you go onto new chapters in your life. I carried a copy with me to summer camp, to college, and finally to Israel. Each time, it was the first thing I packed. But today I figured, hey, I already know “The Good News,” and I figured going into the army my friend could probably use some sort of a boost. So I have passed on my copy of “Self-Reliance.” I’m writing this because I wanted to tell you all that if you ever doubt yourself, or need a boost, or feel like your thought doesn’t matter…..read the essay. You’ll shit yourself. You’ll be like, “YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”
(Wow, this paragraph made me realize what a nerd I am.)
I have realized how I shall make friends in this country: I shall form a new unit in the army. The Robin Hood unit. And all the weirdos—the idealists, the romantics, the dreamers, and the nutjobs—will want to join it.
(Credit where credit is due: Picture is from The Daily Mail)
I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly thank G-d, Jesus, Mohammad and Dora the Explorer. Whichever one of you guys was responsible for this, thanks!
My friends keep making fun of me because all day I’ve been giggling and smiling and singing. They’re like, “What brought on this sudden change in character?!” And I spin around in circles singing a Beatles song, and I yell, “I’m SUPPOSED to be like this!” And I am. Today has been a wonderful, wonderful reminder that one day—and one day SOON—I will no longer have to work in that terrible room, hunched over a table, mindlessly folding the skid-marked underwear of these hateful, lazy kibbutzniks. One day I’ll be in the army and I’ll get a chance to work with people who are roughly my age, not post-menopausal. You know what this means?
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS??
It means…IT MEANS THE MOST IMPORTANT CONCEPT IN JUDAISM: HOPE. It means there’s hope! GAAAAA, it’s wonderful!
[Update: After a four hour break I was called in to work….but only for about an hour and a half more. All in all, a good day!]
You know what’s even more incredible? Next week we’re going to Gadna for the week. For those of you who don’t know what Gadna is, it’s this thing where you go to a base and you get to run around and pretend that you’re a soldier. In short, a five year old boy’s dream. I’m not a five year old boy, but I’m also pretty excited. Basically you get an old uniform, clean up your room a lot, run around a lot, learn some shit, and at the end of the week you get to shoot an M 16. Not gonna lie, as an American I’m pretty excited about shooting the gun.
A soldier came to talk to us the other day about what to expect, and I noticed her little shoulder tag thing was a bow and arrow, which made me smile. I imagined an entire battalion of Israeli archers, taking on Arab armies Robin Hood-style. Maybe Arabs would send in tanks, and our 42nd Robin Hood Battalion would stop them at the border, and say with thick English accents, “Wouldn’t you prefer to settle this like gentleman?” A medieval-style archery contest would ensue, during which the fate of Eretz Yisrael would be decided over how many points each side scored.
Maybe Iran would send a nuke over here, and our army/air force/whatever would scramble to come up with a way to intercept the nuke with our technology, but our 98th Robin Hood Battalion Airborne Division would swing in—either from a rope, or a large window curtain, or a chandelier--and intercept the missile, comically splitting it in half with a single arrow shot.
The new face of the Israeli Army?Actually, come to think of it, wouldn’t it be really interesting if armies had historic fighting styles units? Maybe something like an entire Medieval Siege Unit would be awesome. You’d have guys with crossbows, catapults, and giant vats of tar that you could pour on the enemy from on top of castles. Or maybe the Israeli army could have a Roman Conquest Unit, and their main form of defense could be doing the Testudo formation. I mean, it would certainly give us an element of surprise against the enemy. Or an Redcoats from the Revolutionary War Era Unit, where the battle tactics consist of simply marching in lines towards the enemy wearing BRIGHT RED uniforms that basically scream, “SHOOT ME!”
(This has made me realize that when I grow up I shall have to join one of those historical battle re-enactment societies.)
And then after Gadna, it’s only a short time until actual army (though I still don’t know the exact date I start….).
More good news? Tomorrow I don’t have to go to class because I am doing undercover work for the airport. Okay, mayhap I dramatized that a bit. Basically I am getting paid a hundred dollars because I am the only person in the ulpan without a Jewish-sounding first or last name. So, shout out to my father the goy for the last name, and shout out to ma for naming me after a witch from a TV show instead of my (non-existent) Great Auntie Rivkaleh or something like that. So I get to go, pretend that I’m a Christian tourist going home, and go through the airport security and people will be watching and seeing how good the security is.
The other day I got quite drunk (apparently I kept shouting at people in French thinking I was speaking in Hebrew), and woke up the next morning and was like, “Oh fuck, this is gonna end in tears. And vomit.” I was supposed to be on a field trip with my class, but I knew there was no way that was gonna fly. So I’m lying in bed and the fucking House Mom comes banging on my door screaming at me that if I’m sick then I have to go to the health clinic here on the kibbutz. Which really pissed me off. First of all, a hangover does not require a visit with a doctor, and second of all, even if I were just sick it doesn’t mean I have to go to the doctor. So I got into a HUGE argument with her, with her screaming over and over again that I HAVE to go to the doctor, and me screaming that I just needed sleep and I’d be fine. She screams, “YOU ARE DOCTOR?!?!?!” And I’m like, “NO, BUT EVEN SO I DON’T THINK IT’S NECESSARY TO GO TO THE DOCTOR FOR EVERY LITTLE THING. You people here are friggin’ crazy, you sneeze and you call a fucking ambulance! Jesus, I don’t need to go to the effin health clinic! Oh, and while we’re talking, [now switching to Hebrew] why do you ALWAYS speak to me in English!?!?!?”
And she just fucked off. Oh my goodness, it was incredible. I have a feeling she didn’t understand half of what I said.
The whole health clinic thing here bothers me. People go to the health clinic for EVERY little ache and pain. It makes it so that there is always a huge line at the health clinic, and so when I had to go there to get my blood test results, I had to wait in a very long line. I guess it’s cos healthcare here is free, whereas at home it costs a lot to go to the doctor so we only go when it’s important. While I don’t like that going to the doctor is expensive, I am glad in that it teaches people to be a little bit more…self-reliant. I know when I have something serious and when I’m just a bit sick, whereas people on this kibbutz seem to have no fucking clue about themselves.
(They also have no fucking clue about how small their laundry cubbies are in relation to how much laundry they have--Pick up your fucking laundry already, Number 93, cos we have nowhere to put all of your stuff!--So basically people on this kibbutz are wholly clueless.)
Another thing I am happy about? I can understand little kids’ TV with little effort. My favorite? I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but DORA the Mother-Fuckin’ Explorer! Sometimes content-wise it’s a bit confusing because sometimes things will be inexplicably related to Hispanic culture, because in the English version she’s supposed to be teaching kids Spanish and Hispanic culture whereas in the Hebrew version we’re supposed to be learning English.
Oh Jesus. I feel like such a perv and weirdo and idiot, watching TV for little kids. This is what immigration does to people. Unless you move to England/Canada/Australia, in which case watching TV for “grown-ups” isn’t too much of a challenge.
One sad thing about today? The person I considered my closest friend in Israel has moved up north today to begin prep for army enlistment. So that was kind of depressing. I know very few people in this country, and now those that I do know are starting to move away from this central location. I’m terrible with goodbyes. I think I came across as a cold bitch in attempt to not get upset and emotional or whatever. Urgh…..
My English teacher in high school told me that you should always have a copy of the essay “Self-Reliance” when you go onto new chapters in your life. I carried a copy with me to summer camp, to college, and finally to Israel. Each time, it was the first thing I packed. But today I figured, hey, I already know “The Good News,” and I figured going into the army my friend could probably use some sort of a boost. So I have passed on my copy of “Self-Reliance.” I’m writing this because I wanted to tell you all that if you ever doubt yourself, or need a boost, or feel like your thought doesn’t matter…..read the essay. You’ll shit yourself. You’ll be like, “YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!”
(Wow, this paragraph made me realize what a nerd I am.)
I have realized how I shall make friends in this country: I shall form a new unit in the army. The Robin Hood unit. And all the weirdos—the idealists, the romantics, the dreamers, and the nutjobs—will want to join it.
(Credit where credit is due: Picture is from The Daily Mail)
Monday, August 11, 2008
Dancing Grandpas.
So there's always a lot of little kids near the laundry room for some reason ("yaaaaay! i lOve lauNdree!"), and it makes me think of my own childhood. Today I thought of a joke (is it really a joke or what is it?) that was REALLY popular when I was about 6. Everyone was asking each other, trying to trick one another:
Q: "So in The Blue House Mr. Blue lives. Mr. Green lives in the Green House, Mr. Purple lives in the Purple House, and Mr. Red lives in the Red House. Can you guess who lives in the Yellow House?"
A: "Mr. Yellow?"
Q: "And who lives in the Black House"
A: "Mr. Black!"
Q: "Right, and who lives in the White House?"
A: "Mr. White!"
Q: "No, you idiot, Bill Clinton does! Jeez, don't you know ANYTHING?"
Also today during work whenever I felt like I couldn't go on, I thought of that Yes HD commercial. It really does bring a smile to my face. When the joy of imagining hundreds of hasidim dancing to the YMCA died down, I began imagining other inappropriate dancers. I thought of hundreds of clones of Abraham Lincoln dancing, hundreds of clones of Martin Luther King, Jr, and hundreds of clones of my own grandpa. I gotta say, grandpa was the most entertaining.
Q: "So in The Blue House Mr. Blue lives. Mr. Green lives in the Green House, Mr. Purple lives in the Purple House, and Mr. Red lives in the Red House. Can you guess who lives in the Yellow House?"
A: "Mr. Yellow?"
Q: "And who lives in the Black House"
A: "Mr. Black!"
Q: "Right, and who lives in the White House?"
A: "Mr. White!"
Q: "No, you idiot, Bill Clinton does! Jeez, don't you know ANYTHING?"
Also today during work whenever I felt like I couldn't go on, I thought of that Yes HD commercial. It really does bring a smile to my face. When the joy of imagining hundreds of hasidim dancing to the YMCA died down, I began imagining other inappropriate dancers. I thought of hundreds of clones of Abraham Lincoln dancing, hundreds of clones of Martin Luther King, Jr, and hundreds of clones of my own grandpa. I gotta say, grandpa was the most entertaining.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
oy vey
On a happier note, I just want to say the following:
A lot of people ask me, "So Sam/Sammy/SemenTAH!, what's it like to live in/near Jerusalem? What's it like with all those religious Jews and that? How does it make you feel?"
And, well, this commercial for HD tv kind of is the closest thing to an explanation that I can find:
(Well, at least this is what happens in my mind when I walk around Jerusalem...)
A lot of people ask me, "So Sam/Sammy/SemenTAH!, what's it like to live in/near Jerusalem? What's it like with all those religious Jews and that? How does it make you feel?"
And, well, this commercial for HD tv kind of is the closest thing to an explanation that I can find:
(Well, at least this is what happens in my mind when I walk around Jerusalem...)
Fuck y'all!
Jesus H. Christ, am I getting sick of all this army lack of information stuff. I called the guy who is helping me, and I asked him if the army had figured out my health profile yet. He said, "I already told you what your health profile is!" And I'm like, "No you didn't!" And he's like, "Fine, I think it's like 97 or somewhere around there." And I'm like, "Um, I don't think that's possible because first of all I'm extremely near-sighted, and second of all I have a few other issues. So...."
"Fine fine," he says, "I don't know. Ask me later."
Okay. Fine. Last week when I snapped at him for lack of information (not just that--but for being told every two days that all my questions would be answered in two days), one of hte things he said to me was, "Well look, if housing is a concern in all of this, then I can definitely help you find housing. It won't be a problem."
So today I said, "I'd like to live on a kibbutz during the army, so how do I arrange that? Could you help me a bit, just tell me who I need to contact?"
And rather than following up on the agreement to help me (which he obviously only said in order to get me to shut up), he told me to wait until I start the army (which is EXACTLY when I am no longer able to live in my current lodgings...) and then once I start they'll find me somewhere to live. I started arguing a bit saying that that makes things complicated and stressful,a nd could he please just tell me the name of someone I could talk to to get this settled and arranged now (which I know IS possible). And he just repeated to wait until I got to the army and they'd figure something out for me.
It's really pissing me off because all he had to do was get off his lazy ass and find me a fucking phone number. I wasn't asking him to make the phone calls for me, but all I was asking is if there is a central office for sending lone soldiers to kibbutzim, could he just tell me it. It also pisses me off because he was too fucking lazy to get off his fat ass and get me my health profile number. He said he didn't have it on him right now and that he'd find it later. I mean, I've been to his fucking office, I know it's small, and the information only could have been placed in a limited number of places, all of which can be reached FROM HIS FUCKING CHAIR!
Maybe I'm overreacting a bit, but this is kind of freaking me out. I'm stressed because in June I was told that I would be starting in August, and it's now August and I still have so many unanswered questions. And all this is......That's cutting it a bit close, don't you think? And it also pisses me off because then I have to move into a new place during weekend leaves from basic training or some shit like that, which strikes me as incredibly stressful--and also kind of impossible. There's little/NO public transport on the weekends, so how the fuck am I supposed to get all my shit to a new place on a weekend? I don't own a car and no one I know has a car (and anyway, asking someone to drive you a few hours here and back to a different kibbutz is a LOT to ask.)
fucking hell!
I'm just getting kind of sick of this, because with this whole program that is supposed to be HELPING me get into the army...I feel like I'm friggin Pius Aeneas, being buffeted around on the waves an' all that shit. I just want a straight answer from someone. Just give me my fucking health profile number, tell me exactly when in September I'm going in, and tell me who to fucking contact so that I'm not fucking HOMELESS when I start the army! Really, am I asking for a lot?
I took it into my own hands. I started calling secretaries in kibbutzim up north, but the problem is that I had trouble understanding the answering thing on the other side. ("Press one for ZKJSDOGJOSDIG, Press two for SDKGJSDKJGOSDIJGOSDg, Press three to shoot yourself because you can't understand...."). So now I've sent off a couple e-mails in my shit Hebrew to a couple kibbutzim. Fuck this shit. Thanks for all your help, agency whose job it is to help me with this shit.
Sorry for all this complaining. Just had to get it out there. I'm also hungry as shit because of the holiday today.
You know, I was just thinking that if i absolutely had to be an orthodox person, I'd want to be one of the Breslov people. But now i'm beginning to think I'm too angry to be one!
"Fine fine," he says, "I don't know. Ask me later."
Okay. Fine. Last week when I snapped at him for lack of information (not just that--but for being told every two days that all my questions would be answered in two days), one of hte things he said to me was, "Well look, if housing is a concern in all of this, then I can definitely help you find housing. It won't be a problem."
So today I said, "I'd like to live on a kibbutz during the army, so how do I arrange that? Could you help me a bit, just tell me who I need to contact?"
And rather than following up on the agreement to help me (which he obviously only said in order to get me to shut up), he told me to wait until I start the army (which is EXACTLY when I am no longer able to live in my current lodgings...) and then once I start they'll find me somewhere to live. I started arguing a bit saying that that makes things complicated and stressful,a nd could he please just tell me the name of someone I could talk to to get this settled and arranged now (which I know IS possible). And he just repeated to wait until I got to the army and they'd figure something out for me.
It's really pissing me off because all he had to do was get off his lazy ass and find me a fucking phone number. I wasn't asking him to make the phone calls for me, but all I was asking is if there is a central office for sending lone soldiers to kibbutzim, could he just tell me it. It also pisses me off because he was too fucking lazy to get off his fat ass and get me my health profile number. He said he didn't have it on him right now and that he'd find it later. I mean, I've been to his fucking office, I know it's small, and the information only could have been placed in a limited number of places, all of which can be reached FROM HIS FUCKING CHAIR!
Maybe I'm overreacting a bit, but this is kind of freaking me out. I'm stressed because in June I was told that I would be starting in August, and it's now August and I still have so many unanswered questions. And all this is......That's cutting it a bit close, don't you think? And it also pisses me off because then I have to move into a new place during weekend leaves from basic training or some shit like that, which strikes me as incredibly stressful--and also kind of impossible. There's little/NO public transport on the weekends, so how the fuck am I supposed to get all my shit to a new place on a weekend? I don't own a car and no one I know has a car (and anyway, asking someone to drive you a few hours here and back to a different kibbutz is a LOT to ask.)
fucking hell!
I'm just getting kind of sick of this, because with this whole program that is supposed to be HELPING me get into the army...I feel like I'm friggin Pius Aeneas, being buffeted around on the waves an' all that shit. I just want a straight answer from someone. Just give me my fucking health profile number, tell me exactly when in September I'm going in, and tell me who to fucking contact so that I'm not fucking HOMELESS when I start the army! Really, am I asking for a lot?
I took it into my own hands. I started calling secretaries in kibbutzim up north, but the problem is that I had trouble understanding the answering thing on the other side. ("Press one for ZKJSDOGJOSDIG, Press two for SDKGJSDKJGOSDIJGOSDg, Press three to shoot yourself because you can't understand...."). So now I've sent off a couple e-mails in my shit Hebrew to a couple kibbutzim. Fuck this shit. Thanks for all your help, agency whose job it is to help me with this shit.
Sorry for all this complaining. Just had to get it out there. I'm also hungry as shit because of the holiday today.
You know, I was just thinking that if i absolutely had to be an orthodox person, I'd want to be one of the Breslov people. But now i'm beginning to think I'm too angry to be one!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
America's Soldiers are Army Strong.....but Sam finds herself Army Weird.
Still thinking a lot about the whole army thing. This week I should get more info on my army service here in Israel, which is really starting to weird me out. I know I've talked about this before, but it's so weird to grow up watching the US Army commercials and to think that that's THE Army. The only army in the world. And yet here I am about to join....a different army.
I'm sure I've posted army recruitment videos on this blog a million times because I find them so fascinating. Maybe I'll make Army recruitment commercials as a career.
I think the best part of the army commercials is that EVERYONE sees them and so there are so many parodies on youtube and the like. Someone I know in the army shared this with me:
I'm sure I've posted army recruitment videos on this blog a million times because I find them so fascinating. Maybe I'll make Army recruitment commercials as a career.
I think the best part of the army commercials is that EVERYONE sees them and so there are so many parodies on youtube and the like. Someone I know in the army shared this with me:
No, John Edwards!!!
Gaaaa! So it's true! John Edwards isn't the perfect man that I thought he was!!! NooOoooooooO!!!!!!!
Well, I guess I'll have to spend the day mourning. And watching the olympics.
Oh, and it's Saturday. So I guess I'll put this country music song up as a tribute to John Edwards. "I've Got Friends in Low Places" by Garth Brooks.
Well, I guess I'll have to spend the day mourning. And watching the olympics.
Oh, and it's Saturday. So I guess I'll put this country music song up as a tribute to John Edwards. "I've Got Friends in Low Places" by Garth Brooks.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Passion of the Hairy Man
I’m watching a movie right now. “The Passion of the Christ.” I’m nine minutes in so far, and if the movie doesn’t calm the fuck down and get over itself then I’m gonna have to hurt someone. I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Apparently the hairy guy has been betrayed and is upset about it, everything seems to be blue, and Judas had money thrown at him by strange looking men.
Now a different group (or is it he same group?) of strange men have met up with the hairy guy in some sort of blue forest, and everyone’s looking around at each other. The hairy man confesses to being Jesus, the movie gets even more dramatic with bright flaming torches that stick out shockingly in the midst of this blue forest, some generic middle eastern wailing plays in the background, and there is a sort of homoerotic kiss shared between the hairy man and some other man who I don’t recognize.
Ah! The other man I didn’t recognize is Judas. “Yehuda.”
They break apart from the kiss, some more dramatic shots of the torches in the midst of this bizarre blue forest, and suddenly there’s a shot of some other hairy man who I don’t recognize. Wait, maybe it’s the same hairy man.
Suddenly a fight breaks out in slow motion. It’s hard to tell who is winning because, as I’ve already mentioned, everything is blue and all the men look the same: hairy. Oh! Someone got away I think. I don’t know if it’s Jesus though. We had to study The Gospels in high school, but I don’t remember there being any fight in a blue forest in slow motion, so I can’t use my background knowledge to figure out who just got away.
I gotta hand it to him, the hairy man looks pretty calm throughout all of this. That must be part of the qualifications for being Messiah/Moshiach: 1) Does not freak out when there is a slow-mo knife fight directly in front of him.
The hairy man has approached a soldier (?) with a bloody wound on the side of his head. He takes the soldier’s hand away from the wound, staring at him deeply…with purpose. This lasts a little too long for comfort. DUDE! HE JUST GREW THE GUY’S EAR BACK! The hairy man is caught and led away, but not before it has been made clear that the soldier has fallen in love with him, and he stares at the hairy man with longing as he is led away.
I’m beginning to think that the point of this movie is just to show that Jesus got beaten up a lot before he died. Is that a legitimate story for a movie?
Now a different group (or is it he same group?) of strange men have met up with the hairy guy in some sort of blue forest, and everyone’s looking around at each other. The hairy man confesses to being Jesus, the movie gets even more dramatic with bright flaming torches that stick out shockingly in the midst of this blue forest, some generic middle eastern wailing plays in the background, and there is a sort of homoerotic kiss shared between the hairy man and some other man who I don’t recognize.
Ah! The other man I didn’t recognize is Judas. “Yehuda.”
They break apart from the kiss, some more dramatic shots of the torches in the midst of this bizarre blue forest, and suddenly there’s a shot of some other hairy man who I don’t recognize. Wait, maybe it’s the same hairy man.
Suddenly a fight breaks out in slow motion. It’s hard to tell who is winning because, as I’ve already mentioned, everything is blue and all the men look the same: hairy. Oh! Someone got away I think. I don’t know if it’s Jesus though. We had to study The Gospels in high school, but I don’t remember there being any fight in a blue forest in slow motion, so I can’t use my background knowledge to figure out who just got away.
I gotta hand it to him, the hairy man looks pretty calm throughout all of this. That must be part of the qualifications for being Messiah/Moshiach: 1) Does not freak out when there is a slow-mo knife fight directly in front of him.
The hairy man has approached a soldier (?) with a bloody wound on the side of his head. He takes the soldier’s hand away from the wound, staring at him deeply…with purpose. This lasts a little too long for comfort. DUDE! HE JUST GREW THE GUY’S EAR BACK! The hairy man is caught and led away, but not before it has been made clear that the soldier has fallen in love with him, and he stares at the hairy man with longing as he is led away.
I’m beginning to think that the point of this movie is just to show that Jesus got beaten up a lot before he died. Is that a legitimate story for a movie?
It's just a flesh wound.
Just wanted to share with you the bandages from my ridonculous wound. That I don't know how I got.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
I assure you, I speak no English.
Today I was in the sorting room and some Elton John came on the radio. And I totally out-diva-ed everyone. In my head. If I were in my car back home though, it could have been SERIOUS. If you want to see someone go diva, watch me sing Elton John. I think I’m a gay man trapped in a straight girl’s body. Is that an accepted sexuality nowadays?
My senior year of high school I had to drive a freshman with me to school every morning. She was shy, I’m shy, so it was a pretty silent drive (anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes). Towards the end of the year I had started forgetting that she was even in the car with me, so sometimes I’d quietly hum along with the radio (which I always put on the 50’s-70’s station). And one day an Elton John song came on, and totally forgetting that the girl was in the car with me, I started BELTING it as if Elton John himself had personally asked me to accompany him during a concert. “Look Sammy,” he had said to me, “the acoustics in this place are terrible so I’m really going to need you to project. Can you do that for me?”
Yes, Elton John. I can. And I will.
So I’m basically screaming this song for a few minutes. (“DON’T LET THE SU-U-U-N GO DOWN ON MEEEEEEEE!!!!”) And I’m driving along. I get to a stop sign, and so I look left to see if I can safely proceed. Then I look right and—OH SHIT! In my passenger seat was my frightened passenger who I had forgotten about, staring at me as if I were 100 percent macadamia nuts.
Today Astrology Bitch says to me, “You know who is Oprah? Oprah Winfrey?” I’m sorry, is that even a question? Is there someone on this planet who doesn’t know who The Goddess is? Is there someone on this planet who is unaware of the existence of this Leader of the Free World? If someone out there reading this blog does NOT know, please tell me so that I can murder you.
I’m getting really sick of how the Women of the Wash constantly talk in Hebrew as if I’m not there. Today, for example, I pulled a cart of towels across the room (since I didn’t want to sit at Crazy Bitch’s table), and Charades Bitch says to Old Bitch, “Look what she’s doing. Why is she doing that! Tell her to do something on THIS side of the room. I don’t understand why she’s doing that. Tell her!” As if I can’t understand Hebrew. But then a couple minutes later, Charades Bitch wanted me to move some stuff a bit to make room for her, and she started BLABBERING away at me in rapid Hebrew. Luckily I understood, but it’s kind of ridiculous that she’ll yell across the room in simple Hebrew telling others to tell me what to do as if I can’t understand, but then when she wants something for herself I (apparently) suddenly understand Hebrew perfectly.
I’ve decided that if she does that to me again, when she tells me to move for her I’ll say to her in really complicated Hebrew that I don’t understand. I’ll work on my accent until it’s perfect, and I’ll use the hardest words possible, but I’ll basically tell her, “I do not understand Hebrew.” She’ll repeat what she says, and in even more complex Hebrew I’ll repeat: “I do not understand Hebrew.” She’ll get frustrated, and I’ll whip out some flowery phrases, perhaps some Old Testament shit, that basically boil down to “I don’t speak Hebrew.”
It’s like that Kids in the Hall sketch. “I assure you, I speak no English.”
So today I was listening to “I Got You” with Sonny and Cher, and I realized that I can’t tell when Sonny is singing and when Cher is singing. Is that sad?
Also, you know the song “Ketchy Shuby” by Peter Tosh? This is a totally random memory now, but indulge me: I just realized today that while most people associate that song with smoking and mellowness, I associate it with flaming cars. I just remembered today that that was the song that was playing on a special night. My brother was going through a phase where he was into reggae, so he was playing it while driving him and a friend of ours home from school after a late-night theater rehearsal. So we’re driving along, it’s really mellow in the car….and then on the side of the road we saw that there was a car up ahead on the side of the freeway and there’s a small fire. As we begin to approach the car (we’re on the freeway so we’re going like 60 or 70 mph), suddenly FWOOOOOOM! A huge fireball erupted out of the car (thank G-d the passengers were out of the car by then), like 50 ft into the air. Like, it was a legit explosion. The boys, both 17 at the time, started shrieking like little girls being murdered, and I the 16 year old girl just kept yelling, “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! HOLY FUCK!” Again, we’re still on the freeway and still going like 70 mph, and my brother is now swerving everywhere because he’s still shrieking like a diva, and he keeps turning around to look at the explosion. Meanwhile I’m struggling from the backseat to keep our friend (sitting shotgun) from opening the door and leaping out due to fear.
Friend: “I’m getting the fuck out of here! (Trying to open door)”
Me: “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WE’RE ON THE FREEWAY!!!!”
Brother: “AAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Friend: “LET ME OUT!”
Me: “We’re going 70!!!!!!”
Brother: “AAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”
Friend: “I don’t care, I want out!”
Me: “YOU’RE GONNA DIE, YOU RETARD! STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!!!!”
Brother: AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!”
So we’re all screaming, barely make it off the freeway. My brother pulls over once we’re off the freeway, and we all just sit there catching our breath. And I remember now, as we sat there silently, still trying to recover from our panic, “Ketchy Shuby” was playing. Almost like Peter Tosh was laughing at us.
My senior year of high school I had to drive a freshman with me to school every morning. She was shy, I’m shy, so it was a pretty silent drive (anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes). Towards the end of the year I had started forgetting that she was even in the car with me, so sometimes I’d quietly hum along with the radio (which I always put on the 50’s-70’s station). And one day an Elton John song came on, and totally forgetting that the girl was in the car with me, I started BELTING it as if Elton John himself had personally asked me to accompany him during a concert. “Look Sammy,” he had said to me, “the acoustics in this place are terrible so I’m really going to need you to project. Can you do that for me?”
Yes, Elton John. I can. And I will.
So I’m basically screaming this song for a few minutes. (“DON’T LET THE SU-U-U-N GO DOWN ON MEEEEEEEE!!!!”) And I’m driving along. I get to a stop sign, and so I look left to see if I can safely proceed. Then I look right and—OH SHIT! In my passenger seat was my frightened passenger who I had forgotten about, staring at me as if I were 100 percent macadamia nuts.
Today Astrology Bitch says to me, “You know who is Oprah? Oprah Winfrey?” I’m sorry, is that even a question? Is there someone on this planet who doesn’t know who The Goddess is? Is there someone on this planet who is unaware of the existence of this Leader of the Free World? If someone out there reading this blog does NOT know, please tell me so that I can murder you.
I’m getting really sick of how the Women of the Wash constantly talk in Hebrew as if I’m not there. Today, for example, I pulled a cart of towels across the room (since I didn’t want to sit at Crazy Bitch’s table), and Charades Bitch says to Old Bitch, “Look what she’s doing. Why is she doing that! Tell her to do something on THIS side of the room. I don’t understand why she’s doing that. Tell her!” As if I can’t understand Hebrew. But then a couple minutes later, Charades Bitch wanted me to move some stuff a bit to make room for her, and she started BLABBERING away at me in rapid Hebrew. Luckily I understood, but it’s kind of ridiculous that she’ll yell across the room in simple Hebrew telling others to tell me what to do as if I can’t understand, but then when she wants something for herself I (apparently) suddenly understand Hebrew perfectly.
I’ve decided that if she does that to me again, when she tells me to move for her I’ll say to her in really complicated Hebrew that I don’t understand. I’ll work on my accent until it’s perfect, and I’ll use the hardest words possible, but I’ll basically tell her, “I do not understand Hebrew.” She’ll repeat what she says, and in even more complex Hebrew I’ll repeat: “I do not understand Hebrew.” She’ll get frustrated, and I’ll whip out some flowery phrases, perhaps some Old Testament shit, that basically boil down to “I don’t speak Hebrew.”
It’s like that Kids in the Hall sketch. “I assure you, I speak no English.”
So today I was listening to “I Got You” with Sonny and Cher, and I realized that I can’t tell when Sonny is singing and when Cher is singing. Is that sad?
Also, you know the song “Ketchy Shuby” by Peter Tosh? This is a totally random memory now, but indulge me: I just realized today that while most people associate that song with smoking and mellowness, I associate it with flaming cars. I just remembered today that that was the song that was playing on a special night. My brother was going through a phase where he was into reggae, so he was playing it while driving him and a friend of ours home from school after a late-night theater rehearsal. So we’re driving along, it’s really mellow in the car….and then on the side of the road we saw that there was a car up ahead on the side of the freeway and there’s a small fire. As we begin to approach the car (we’re on the freeway so we’re going like 60 or 70 mph), suddenly FWOOOOOOM! A huge fireball erupted out of the car (thank G-d the passengers were out of the car by then), like 50 ft into the air. Like, it was a legit explosion. The boys, both 17 at the time, started shrieking like little girls being murdered, and I the 16 year old girl just kept yelling, “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! HOLY FUCK!” Again, we’re still on the freeway and still going like 70 mph, and my brother is now swerving everywhere because he’s still shrieking like a diva, and he keeps turning around to look at the explosion. Meanwhile I’m struggling from the backseat to keep our friend (sitting shotgun) from opening the door and leaping out due to fear.
Friend: “I’m getting the fuck out of here! (Trying to open door)”
Me: “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WE’RE ON THE FREEWAY!!!!”
Brother: “AAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Friend: “LET ME OUT!”
Me: “We’re going 70!!!!!!”
Brother: “AAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!”
Friend: “I don’t care, I want out!”
Me: “YOU’RE GONNA DIE, YOU RETARD! STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!!!!”
Brother: AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!”
So we’re all screaming, barely make it off the freeway. My brother pulls over once we’re off the freeway, and we all just sit there catching our breath. And I remember now, as we sat there silently, still trying to recover from our panic, “Ketchy Shuby” was playing. Almost like Peter Tosh was laughing at us.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I SPEAK ENGLISH!
So today I was at the family's house. And the mom left and put the little boy (who speaks not a single word of English) in front of the TV to learn some English while she left for a bit. So I come downstairs and sit on the couch next to the little boy, and he tells me he wants to watch a different video. I told him that it has to be an English one because his mom wants him to learn English. I ask him which movies are in English, and he immediately points to this video.
The woman on the front is basically wearing a suit made out of an American flag. She's apparently called "Suzie." So the movie starts and IMMEDIATELY you can tell it's 80's or at least early 90's quality. This energetic song comes on, and (this is not me making this up) here are the lyrics in their entirety:
"I SPEAK ENGLISH! I SPEAK ENGLISH!
ANI MDABERET ANGLIT!"
Over. And over again. It was worse than the guys who say "Tel Aviv" at the Jerusalem bus stop, except Suzie breathes. Except, even worse, Suzie has 80's style music, and flashing lights, and dancing people. I SPEAK ENGLISH, she screams to the world. Briefly she slips into Hebrew and informs the Israeli audience that she speaks English. But fearing that perhaps they won't believe her if she says it in Hebrew, she returns to English and tells us again:
"I SPEAK ENGLISH! I SPEAK ENGLISH!"
I learned some cute little slavic cultural thing yesterday which my American friends (hey Abraham!) might find interesting. When there's an awkward pause or quiet lull in a conversation, it is said that a policeman is born. This is what the Ukrainian and Russian told me yesterday. I said, "WHAT??" And the Ukrainian repeated, "Yes, a policeman is born when we don't talk to each other." And the Russian added, "And a Jew dies."
Also, told my parents almost directly that I'm joining hte army. I said, "After ulpan I think I'll join the army." I made it sound like it was still an open option (which it really isn't anymore). And they freaked out. Wow were they angry. But they think it's just something I'm CONSIDERING.... so.... um...this is a problem.
The woman on the front is basically wearing a suit made out of an American flag. She's apparently called "Suzie." So the movie starts and IMMEDIATELY you can tell it's 80's or at least early 90's quality. This energetic song comes on, and (this is not me making this up) here are the lyrics in their entirety:
"I SPEAK ENGLISH! I SPEAK ENGLISH!
ANI MDABERET ANGLIT!"
Over. And over again. It was worse than the guys who say "Tel Aviv" at the Jerusalem bus stop, except Suzie breathes. Except, even worse, Suzie has 80's style music, and flashing lights, and dancing people. I SPEAK ENGLISH, she screams to the world. Briefly she slips into Hebrew and informs the Israeli audience that she speaks English. But fearing that perhaps they won't believe her if she says it in Hebrew, she returns to English and tells us again:
"I SPEAK ENGLISH! I SPEAK ENGLISH!"
I learned some cute little slavic cultural thing yesterday which my American friends (hey Abraham!) might find interesting. When there's an awkward pause or quiet lull in a conversation, it is said that a policeman is born. This is what the Ukrainian and Russian told me yesterday. I said, "WHAT??" And the Ukrainian repeated, "Yes, a policeman is born when we don't talk to each other." And the Russian added, "And a Jew dies."
Also, told my parents almost directly that I'm joining hte army. I said, "After ulpan I think I'll join the army." I made it sound like it was still an open option (which it really isn't anymore). And they freaked out. Wow were they angry. But they think it's just something I'm CONSIDERING.... so.... um...this is a problem.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Telavivtelavivtelaviv.
So today I threw up at work. Luckily I made it to the bathroom. But still, my throwing up was probably the classiest thing ever to have happened in that laundry room. In case you couldn’t tell by the lack of posts, for the past week or so (the week before I snapped and fucked off to Haifa) I’ve been real depressed. So basically the past few days have been spent in a drunken/stoned/hungover daze. Which explains the throwing up. (At this point, y’all are probably like, “Wow, TMI/too much information.” But again, this is my blog and I’ll be as narsty as I like. Get used to it.) Oh well.
Good news from the army? I’m apparently starting in “late September.” Don’t know exactly when, don’t know my health profile yet, and don’t know anything beyond that.
So that’s exciting. I don’t know if they’re fucking around with me, I don’t know how “official” this new information is….but I’m still feeling a little bit better knowing it. I remember reading this phrase a lot in Little House on the Prairie, or some such book: “When the Good Lord closes a door, he opens a window.” Or something like that. But basically that saying (thanks, Laura Ingalls Wilder!) is how I feel right now. So in spite of the fact that pretty much everything else has gone to shit, at least the army thing is starting to look up.
I figured out how to get revenge on this fucking kibbutz during work. Whenever I am given something to fold (in this case usually towels), if it is wet I am expected to lay the towel down somewhere else to dry, and not to fold it. (Because of mildew.) I’ve started getting some kind of sick pleasure from folding up damp towels and putting them in the kibbutzniks’ laundry cubbies where they can continue to grow nasty things and make all of the other clothing in the cubby smell like total ass. Am I a terrible person? Jesus Christ, is that spite or what?
This morning in the sorting room the radio was on, playing something straight out of the Renaissance Fair. Seriously, you walked in and it was like “Merrie Olde Englande” in there. I expected to see young maidens dancing around a May Pole, going a-maying, and I looked for damsels wearing cone-shaped hats. As I put away towels, I walked as if I were a young woman at a post-jousting tournament medieval ball. Those of you reading this are probably saying, “Wow, what a fucktard…I’m not going to read this blog anymore because that’s just beyond ar-tarded-ness.” But this is what you have to do to keep yourself from committing suicide when you work in a fucking laundry room.
Have also realized that I am slowly (but not slowly enough…) turning into Ms. Havisham from “Great Expectations.” I half expect that within a week I will get rid of all my clothing and instead settle on wearing a dingy, yellowing wedding dress for the rest of my life. I have realized that I am a crazy bitch, and that the time has come to accept it. And with acceptance comes a rotting wedding cake and a visit from a mid-19th century guy named Pip.
It’s kind of unfortunate because I’ve always wanted to be a literary character. Just, unfortunately, Ms. Havisham wasn’t the one I had my heart set on. You know, I was kind of hoping I could be a Disney princess (I know that’s not literary), or if I were a guy I’d either want to be Sir Galahad or Ari Ben Canaan. Or if I HAD to be a character with a tragic end, maybe I could be Guenevere. But Ms. Havisham it is!
All this shit aside, I HAVE settled on a post-army career. (Despite the fact that I haven’t even started the army yet.) I’m gonna be one of those people outside the tachana merkazit in Jerusalem that advertises sherut taxis to Tel Aviv. I’d just stand outside all day, saying OVER and OVER again, “Tel Aviv Tel Aviv Tel Aviv Tel Aviv.” Notice I didn’t put punctuation in there. That’s because the guys don’t speak with pauses. A more accurate representation would actually be “Telavivtelavivtelaviv.” At first I thought maybe I didn’t have the lung capacity for this sort of job (that was always a problem for me when I was younger and played the flute, and also whenever I go swimming), but I’ve since realized that these men do not breathe. There simply isn’t time to breathe in an entire workday of “Telavivtelavivtelaviv, ad infinitum,” so surely these men must have some sort of special breathing apparatus that they attach to themselves every morning at the start of work, and thus a large lung capacity (or even lungs at all!) is an irrelevant job requirement.
Just a thought.
You know what else I just thought about? Johnny Appleseed. I don’t know where to go with that. For the Americans out there (hey Abraham!*), do you remember learning about Johnny Appleseed? Did anyone else out there get pissed off by Johnny Appleseed? Just going around planting shit and not taking care of it? If you’re a man and you go around “planting” babies never to take care of them, you get in trouble. But you just go around recklessly planting trees for OTHER folks to tend to, and suddenly you’re an American folk legend? I mean, at least Paul Bunyan was a total badass.
(*I know I’ve done this a couple times on this blog so far, but now I’ve decided that EVERY blog post from now on will contain a mandatory shout-out to Abraham, even if totally irrelevant.)
Finally: Yesterday I found out a lot about some family history at the Museum of the Diaspora. Turns out my great-great-grandfather spent a great deal of time in an insane asylum in Chicago after immigrating from Russia. Which brings up the known number of crazy people that I am a direct descendant of to: 2. (And joyfully, the other person is from the OTHER side of the family, so I get it from both sides.)
Good news from the army? I’m apparently starting in “late September.” Don’t know exactly when, don’t know my health profile yet, and don’t know anything beyond that.
So that’s exciting. I don’t know if they’re fucking around with me, I don’t know how “official” this new information is….but I’m still feeling a little bit better knowing it. I remember reading this phrase a lot in Little House on the Prairie, or some such book: “When the Good Lord closes a door, he opens a window.” Or something like that. But basically that saying (thanks, Laura Ingalls Wilder!) is how I feel right now. So in spite of the fact that pretty much everything else has gone to shit, at least the army thing is starting to look up.
I figured out how to get revenge on this fucking kibbutz during work. Whenever I am given something to fold (in this case usually towels), if it is wet I am expected to lay the towel down somewhere else to dry, and not to fold it. (Because of mildew.) I’ve started getting some kind of sick pleasure from folding up damp towels and putting them in the kibbutzniks’ laundry cubbies where they can continue to grow nasty things and make all of the other clothing in the cubby smell like total ass. Am I a terrible person? Jesus Christ, is that spite or what?
This morning in the sorting room the radio was on, playing something straight out of the Renaissance Fair. Seriously, you walked in and it was like “Merrie Olde Englande” in there. I expected to see young maidens dancing around a May Pole, going a-maying, and I looked for damsels wearing cone-shaped hats. As I put away towels, I walked as if I were a young woman at a post-jousting tournament medieval ball. Those of you reading this are probably saying, “Wow, what a fucktard…I’m not going to read this blog anymore because that’s just beyond ar-tarded-ness.” But this is what you have to do to keep yourself from committing suicide when you work in a fucking laundry room.
Have also realized that I am slowly (but not slowly enough…) turning into Ms. Havisham from “Great Expectations.” I half expect that within a week I will get rid of all my clothing and instead settle on wearing a dingy, yellowing wedding dress for the rest of my life. I have realized that I am a crazy bitch, and that the time has come to accept it. And with acceptance comes a rotting wedding cake and a visit from a mid-19th century guy named Pip.
It’s kind of unfortunate because I’ve always wanted to be a literary character. Just, unfortunately, Ms. Havisham wasn’t the one I had my heart set on. You know, I was kind of hoping I could be a Disney princess (I know that’s not literary), or if I were a guy I’d either want to be Sir Galahad or Ari Ben Canaan. Or if I HAD to be a character with a tragic end, maybe I could be Guenevere. But Ms. Havisham it is!
All this shit aside, I HAVE settled on a post-army career. (Despite the fact that I haven’t even started the army yet.) I’m gonna be one of those people outside the tachana merkazit in Jerusalem that advertises sherut taxis to Tel Aviv. I’d just stand outside all day, saying OVER and OVER again, “Tel Aviv Tel Aviv Tel Aviv Tel Aviv.” Notice I didn’t put punctuation in there. That’s because the guys don’t speak with pauses. A more accurate representation would actually be “Telavivtelavivtelaviv.” At first I thought maybe I didn’t have the lung capacity for this sort of job (that was always a problem for me when I was younger and played the flute, and also whenever I go swimming), but I’ve since realized that these men do not breathe. There simply isn’t time to breathe in an entire workday of “Telavivtelavivtelaviv, ad infinitum,” so surely these men must have some sort of special breathing apparatus that they attach to themselves every morning at the start of work, and thus a large lung capacity (or even lungs at all!) is an irrelevant job requirement.
Just a thought.
You know what else I just thought about? Johnny Appleseed. I don’t know where to go with that. For the Americans out there (hey Abraham!*), do you remember learning about Johnny Appleseed? Did anyone else out there get pissed off by Johnny Appleseed? Just going around planting shit and not taking care of it? If you’re a man and you go around “planting” babies never to take care of them, you get in trouble. But you just go around recklessly planting trees for OTHER folks to tend to, and suddenly you’re an American folk legend? I mean, at least Paul Bunyan was a total badass.
(*I know I’ve done this a couple times on this blog so far, but now I’ve decided that EVERY blog post from now on will contain a mandatory shout-out to Abraham, even if totally irrelevant.)
Finally: Yesterday I found out a lot about some family history at the Museum of the Diaspora. Turns out my great-great-grandfather spent a great deal of time in an insane asylum in Chicago after immigrating from Russia. Which brings up the known number of crazy people that I am a direct descendant of to: 2. (And joyfully, the other person is from the OTHER side of the family, so I get it from both sides.)
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Back in the game!
Well folks, by “Aw Eff” standards it’s been a long time since the last post.
Those of you who actually follow what goes on here (all one of you…..hi Abraham!) are probably thinking, “Wow, I bet Sam heard back from the army by now!”
Well, you thought wrong.
Well, you thought partially right. The army says two things: 1) I don’t need more ulpan in order to start. 2) They are going to give me a few job options based on my health/various tests/etc, and based on which one I choose I’ll know when I start. But they haven’t told me my options yet. So I still have no idea what I’m going to do or when I start or what the hell I’m going to tell my parents. Every two days I call the army people and they tell me that they’ll know in another two days. So I call two days later. And they tell me again to ask again in two days.
So that’s where we stand with the army. Where do we stand with everything else?
Well, on Wednesday I lost it. I was at work and a BUNCH of tables were empty. And Crazy Bitch comes up to me and stands right in front of my table. She says to me in Hebrew, “I want this table.” Very firmly. She means business.
I thought this was a weird thing for her to say, so I figured that maybe I just misunderstood something in Hebrew. Yeah yeah, OF COURSE I probably just didn’t understand the Hebrew she was using. That MUST be it. So I just smiled and when she turned around to briefly talk to a different lady, I continued folding.
Well, when she turned back around she was NOT happy to see that I was still folding on what apparently (even though I’ve been folding at that table for 3 months without problems) is HER FAVORITE TABLE. The table that she needs and wants and whatever whatever. She leaned in closer and said in an even more frightening way, “I. Want. This. Table.”
Clearly this woman is insane. In spite of the fact that there were three IDENTICAL tables available, she made me gather up all of my piles of clothing, my cart full of folded clothing, my personal belongings….and move across the room to an identical but available table. I had had enough though. Why do these woman do stuff like this to me? Because they can. It’s such a stupid thing to get upset over, but there we are….
So I went out to lunch on Wednesday afternoon…and didn’t come back until Sunday.
Instead, on Wednesday—while apparently the Women of the Wash and the ulpan staff were FREAKING OUT over where I was because my sudden disappearance from work was so surprising—I went into Jerusalem. I ate ice cream on Ben Yehuda Street, and eventually I walked over to Hadas’s place (before the whole table incident I had arranged to come over to pick up a book). Over cookies I explained the table story, she was outraged, and I felt a lot better.
Thursday I went to class, and I knew I needed a break. I needed some time alone and some time off the kibbutz. So after class I went up to one of the ulpan staff members and said, “I’m going to Haifa right now, I’ll be back on Sunday.” And I started to walk away. I’m sick of fucking asking for permission. This was not a request, this was me TELLING her that I’m going to Haifa. She started yelling at me that I had to tell my boss, and I said no. She started shrieking at me, and I just walked away.
And so I hopped on a bus to Jerusalem, and onward to Haifa!
For those of you just tuning in, until this past weekend I had never been there but I had wanted to go since I was 7.
Oh man. It was wonderful. Haifa is even more wonderful than I thought it would be. I fucking love cities on mountains. Like, I know Jerusalem is hilly and shit, but since everything around it is hilly, you don’t really notice. Haifa though……..oh man. That is a “FUCK YOU!” mountain. That is, “Ocean ocean ocean ocean…..coast coast coast coast coast, co--WHOAAAAAA NELLY! LOOK AT THAT MOUNTAIN! AND THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING CITY ON IT!!!!”
So my initial plan (and the plan I carried out) was to be near the port, because I thought that’d be cute because that’s what I remember learning about in Sunday School. I figured the bus would stop somewhere in the middle of Haifa and I could just walk or something.
Hahahaha, how wrong I was. First of all, the bus stop that the bus stopped at was a “central” bus station but it didn’t have the word “Haifa” in it. So I started freaking out that I was in the central bus station of the wrong city. Then I figured out that Haifa has a couple different “central” bus stations or something like that. And then I had to figure out where the fuck I was and where the fuck I was trying to get to….and eventually I figured out at least one option.
So I got on this bus, and holy shit. Holy shit did I love Haifa. All my life I heard, “Haifa is like Los Angeles.” My initial reaction was, “Haifa looks NOTHING like LA (for better or worse).” But by the end…now I kind of get it. I think from now on when I get homesick I’ll just have to go to Haifa. It’s like a humid, Hebrew-speaking version of LA with a Bahai center. Which is kind of cool.
So anyway I’m on the bus, and after a while I started getting antsy. The bus stopped at a place with a lot of bus stops, so I thought maybe my best bet would be to get off here. I pulled out a map, looked up hostels on my cell phone, and I found what I thought was the nearest one. What I did not take into account, however, was that maps do not usually do an accurate job of expressing that YOU’RE ON A FUCKING MOUNTAIN! So I basically (unintentionally) ended up going on a fucking hike down the mountain, with a backpack full of shit and everything.
My journey took me through, what I considered, the ghetto. Everything was run down, I saw Arabic everywhere, I think I was probably the only white person/Jewish person within a several-block radius. I continued to hurry down the hill, and I had two options: 1) walking out of my way to take some stairs down for part of the way, or 2) making a more direct way through what I THOUGHT was just some rubble about the size of a plot of land for a house. I chose option two. So I’m hiking my way through this bumpy, rocky terrain. And I just happen to glance down. Oh, shit. Oh shit. This is not just some rubble. This is what I now believe to be an abandoned Muslim cemetery. Oh Jesus. I ended up turning around and running back –no, not running. Sprinting.--the way I came.
Finally I made it to a hostel, all ended well…
So I rode that little subway thing that goes up the hill. Oh my goodness. I mean this in the best possible way: the Carmelit is the gayest little subway I have ever experienced. It’s petite, and the platforms reminded me of Legos. It was like being in an (only slightly) larger, uphill version of the Paris Metro at Legoland.
You know what else? NO ONE FUCKING SPOKE ENGLISH TO ME! It was glorious! Usually in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv, the second someone hears my accent they switch to English. But in Haifa? Nope.
I also went in a church. Which was weird. I haven’t been to synagogue since I got to Israel, yet I can now say I’ve been in a church in Israel. Not to pray or anything, just as a tourist.
It was wonderful. Most of my time was spent sitting in random street corners/shopping malls/whatevers reading books and just enjoying some time away from the fucking kibbutz. It’s actually quite nice, because when I walk around Jerusalem with friends we always stick out as the tourists because everyone can hear us speaking English. Anyone who addresses us does so in English immediately. But when I go to Jerusalem (or Haifa, in this case) on my own, I get to keep my mouth shut and no one has to know that I speak English or that my Hebrew is total crap (well, if it’s good enough for the army, it’s good enough for me!). I mean, yes I am wearing American clothing and yes I’m always a bright red sunburned lobster, whereas most Israelis seem to be this marvelous tan color at all times, but still.
So on my last day in Haifa I was silently appreciating this to myself as I walked among Israelis on the street…”Haha, I’ve outsmarted the system, no one knows for sure that I’m an American/English speaker!”
And then this weird lizardy-snake thing popped out of nowhere and came towards me. In the middle of a small crowd of pedestrians, I jumped back and, before I even realized the words were leaving my mouth, screamed in my American English, “Eew! Eew! Holy Shit! What in the name of Christ is that?!?!?! EEEW!!!!” And everyone looked at me. Shit. I have to stop blowing my cover.
Anyway. Tomorrow I am calling the army AGAIN. Maybe then I’ll have more information. Stay tuned.
(You know what all this army talk reminds me of? “BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE!” That was the greatest army slogan ever. I miss it. Much better than “Army Strong.” Though the “Army Strong” commercials are quite interesting and, at times, moving. Disagreements? Shall we continue this talk about marketing strategies of the American Army? It’s so weird. I don’t think Israel has the same sort of thing. Maybe I just haven’t noticed it yet. But in the US, you get ads for the army on TV, in magazines and before EVERY movie. Do they have to advertise the army in Israel? I guess not since it’s not like people really have a choice. I guess if I knew I were to be drafted in the army, and I saw a commercial telling me to join the army, I’d be like, “ALL RIGHT, I GET IT, FUCK OFF!”)
Those of you who actually follow what goes on here (all one of you…..hi Abraham!) are probably thinking, “Wow, I bet Sam heard back from the army by now!”
Well, you thought wrong.
Well, you thought partially right. The army says two things: 1) I don’t need more ulpan in order to start. 2) They are going to give me a few job options based on my health/various tests/etc, and based on which one I choose I’ll know when I start. But they haven’t told me my options yet. So I still have no idea what I’m going to do or when I start or what the hell I’m going to tell my parents. Every two days I call the army people and they tell me that they’ll know in another two days. So I call two days later. And they tell me again to ask again in two days.
So that’s where we stand with the army. Where do we stand with everything else?
Well, on Wednesday I lost it. I was at work and a BUNCH of tables were empty. And Crazy Bitch comes up to me and stands right in front of my table. She says to me in Hebrew, “I want this table.” Very firmly. She means business.
I thought this was a weird thing for her to say, so I figured that maybe I just misunderstood something in Hebrew. Yeah yeah, OF COURSE I probably just didn’t understand the Hebrew she was using. That MUST be it. So I just smiled and when she turned around to briefly talk to a different lady, I continued folding.
Well, when she turned back around she was NOT happy to see that I was still folding on what apparently (even though I’ve been folding at that table for 3 months without problems) is HER FAVORITE TABLE. The table that she needs and wants and whatever whatever. She leaned in closer and said in an even more frightening way, “I. Want. This. Table.”
Clearly this woman is insane. In spite of the fact that there were three IDENTICAL tables available, she made me gather up all of my piles of clothing, my cart full of folded clothing, my personal belongings….and move across the room to an identical but available table. I had had enough though. Why do these woman do stuff like this to me? Because they can. It’s such a stupid thing to get upset over, but there we are….
So I went out to lunch on Wednesday afternoon…and didn’t come back until Sunday.
Instead, on Wednesday—while apparently the Women of the Wash and the ulpan staff were FREAKING OUT over where I was because my sudden disappearance from work was so surprising—I went into Jerusalem. I ate ice cream on Ben Yehuda Street, and eventually I walked over to Hadas’s place (before the whole table incident I had arranged to come over to pick up a book). Over cookies I explained the table story, she was outraged, and I felt a lot better.
Thursday I went to class, and I knew I needed a break. I needed some time alone and some time off the kibbutz. So after class I went up to one of the ulpan staff members and said, “I’m going to Haifa right now, I’ll be back on Sunday.” And I started to walk away. I’m sick of fucking asking for permission. This was not a request, this was me TELLING her that I’m going to Haifa. She started yelling at me that I had to tell my boss, and I said no. She started shrieking at me, and I just walked away.
And so I hopped on a bus to Jerusalem, and onward to Haifa!
For those of you just tuning in, until this past weekend I had never been there but I had wanted to go since I was 7.
Oh man. It was wonderful. Haifa is even more wonderful than I thought it would be. I fucking love cities on mountains. Like, I know Jerusalem is hilly and shit, but since everything around it is hilly, you don’t really notice. Haifa though……..oh man. That is a “FUCK YOU!” mountain. That is, “Ocean ocean ocean ocean…..coast coast coast coast coast, co--WHOAAAAAA NELLY! LOOK AT THAT MOUNTAIN! AND THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING CITY ON IT!!!!”
So my initial plan (and the plan I carried out) was to be near the port, because I thought that’d be cute because that’s what I remember learning about in Sunday School. I figured the bus would stop somewhere in the middle of Haifa and I could just walk or something.
Hahahaha, how wrong I was. First of all, the bus stop that the bus stopped at was a “central” bus station but it didn’t have the word “Haifa” in it. So I started freaking out that I was in the central bus station of the wrong city. Then I figured out that Haifa has a couple different “central” bus stations or something like that. And then I had to figure out where the fuck I was and where the fuck I was trying to get to….and eventually I figured out at least one option.
So I got on this bus, and holy shit. Holy shit did I love Haifa. All my life I heard, “Haifa is like Los Angeles.” My initial reaction was, “Haifa looks NOTHING like LA (for better or worse).” But by the end…now I kind of get it. I think from now on when I get homesick I’ll just have to go to Haifa. It’s like a humid, Hebrew-speaking version of LA with a Bahai center. Which is kind of cool.
So anyway I’m on the bus, and after a while I started getting antsy. The bus stopped at a place with a lot of bus stops, so I thought maybe my best bet would be to get off here. I pulled out a map, looked up hostels on my cell phone, and I found what I thought was the nearest one. What I did not take into account, however, was that maps do not usually do an accurate job of expressing that YOU’RE ON A FUCKING MOUNTAIN! So I basically (unintentionally) ended up going on a fucking hike down the mountain, with a backpack full of shit and everything.
My journey took me through, what I considered, the ghetto. Everything was run down, I saw Arabic everywhere, I think I was probably the only white person/Jewish person within a several-block radius. I continued to hurry down the hill, and I had two options: 1) walking out of my way to take some stairs down for part of the way, or 2) making a more direct way through what I THOUGHT was just some rubble about the size of a plot of land for a house. I chose option two. So I’m hiking my way through this bumpy, rocky terrain. And I just happen to glance down. Oh, shit. Oh shit. This is not just some rubble. This is what I now believe to be an abandoned Muslim cemetery. Oh Jesus. I ended up turning around and running back –no, not running. Sprinting.--the way I came.
Finally I made it to a hostel, all ended well…
So I rode that little subway thing that goes up the hill. Oh my goodness. I mean this in the best possible way: the Carmelit is the gayest little subway I have ever experienced. It’s petite, and the platforms reminded me of Legos. It was like being in an (only slightly) larger, uphill version of the Paris Metro at Legoland.
You know what else? NO ONE FUCKING SPOKE ENGLISH TO ME! It was glorious! Usually in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv, the second someone hears my accent they switch to English. But in Haifa? Nope.
I also went in a church. Which was weird. I haven’t been to synagogue since I got to Israel, yet I can now say I’ve been in a church in Israel. Not to pray or anything, just as a tourist.
It was wonderful. Most of my time was spent sitting in random street corners/shopping malls/whatevers reading books and just enjoying some time away from the fucking kibbutz. It’s actually quite nice, because when I walk around Jerusalem with friends we always stick out as the tourists because everyone can hear us speaking English. Anyone who addresses us does so in English immediately. But when I go to Jerusalem (or Haifa, in this case) on my own, I get to keep my mouth shut and no one has to know that I speak English or that my Hebrew is total crap (well, if it’s good enough for the army, it’s good enough for me!). I mean, yes I am wearing American clothing and yes I’m always a bright red sunburned lobster, whereas most Israelis seem to be this marvelous tan color at all times, but still.
So on my last day in Haifa I was silently appreciating this to myself as I walked among Israelis on the street…”Haha, I’ve outsmarted the system, no one knows for sure that I’m an American/English speaker!”
And then this weird lizardy-snake thing popped out of nowhere and came towards me. In the middle of a small crowd of pedestrians, I jumped back and, before I even realized the words were leaving my mouth, screamed in my American English, “Eew! Eew! Holy Shit! What in the name of Christ is that?!?!?! EEEW!!!!” And everyone looked at me. Shit. I have to stop blowing my cover.
Anyway. Tomorrow I am calling the army AGAIN. Maybe then I’ll have more information. Stay tuned.
(You know what all this army talk reminds me of? “BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE!” That was the greatest army slogan ever. I miss it. Much better than “Army Strong.” Though the “Army Strong” commercials are quite interesting and, at times, moving. Disagreements? Shall we continue this talk about marketing strategies of the American Army? It’s so weird. I don’t think Israel has the same sort of thing. Maybe I just haven’t noticed it yet. But in the US, you get ads for the army on TV, in magazines and before EVERY movie. Do they have to advertise the army in Israel? I guess not since it’s not like people really have a choice. I guess if I knew I were to be drafted in the army, and I saw a commercial telling me to join the army, I’d be like, “ALL RIGHT, I GET IT, FUCK OFF!”)
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