3rd Shabbat in Israel. WHOO YA, BABY!

Tonight will be my third Shabbat in Israel, and now I think I understand Shabbat!


Today I was listening to “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown” and “Sir Duke,” and I got a little sad. Both of those songs remind me for Chicago for some reason. Well, I think I know why. Bad, Bad Leroy Brown mentions the South Side of Chicago, and the first time I ever went to Chicago and the first time I arrived in Chicago for college I heard “Sir Duke” within minutes of landing. It’s making me feel a little sad. I kind of miss Chicago. I mean, not enough that I want to go back, but still enough that it makes me a little sad. Oh well. I’m glad to be in Israel.
I’m also listening to a lot of Christian rock and patriotic American music, but I’ve ALWAYS done that, so that’s not a big deal. I must be the only Jew in Israel who REALLY likes Christian music. Aw shit…..they’re totally not gonna believe me at the Misrad Hapnim that I’m Jewish.

Today in the laundry room, we almost had a mutiny on our hands as the head Woman of the Wash decided to take a two hour breakfast break. It was actually thrilling. Then again, if you fold towels all day, you’re bound to find a LOT of stupid little things “thrilling.”

You know what I noticed? I don’t know if this is an Israeli thing or a people in general thing that I hadn’t noticed until now, but I noticed that people here have absolutely no embarrassment about singing along to the radio. I fucking love it! Yesterday on the bus back from Tel Aviv the driver was listening to music and during what was apparently his favorite part he turned up the volume so that everyone on the bus was blasted out of their seats, and he began to just BELT it out. Basically the driver was like, “Fuck it, if I have to drive from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem every fuckign day of my life, I’m gonna enjoy it.” Good for him! I also noticed that when people hear a song they like in the supermarket, they have no shame in just belting along with it. Maybe this is just a weird thing that only happens around me. But I also noticed that ALL DAY during work, the Women of the Wash sing along to the radio. Sometimes they all sing quietly so that the noise in the room sounds like a synagogue, you know, where no one voice stands out. There’s just one unified quiet moan or whisper. But more often than not the women informally compete to out-diva each other. Without openly acknowledging that they are trying to best each other, the women try to be louder, or to have more vibrato (or whatever it’s called), or to hit the highest or lowest notes….all while folding laundry.

The sad thing is: I think I’m becoming a woman of the wash. I’m so tempted to join in this singing. Unfortunately, almost all the songs are in Hebrew, so it’s hard for me to know the words even if I recognize the song. But maybe 5 months from now I’ll be out-diva-ing everyone….

Before I continue, I have to tell you the nicknames I have in my head for everyone I work with: Fat Bitch, Old Bitch, Crazy Bitch, Cold Bitch, Astrology Bitch, Ayin Bitch, French Bitch, and the Prophetic Bastard. There are a few other women of the wash who are unimportant, and to be fair, Astrology Bitch, Ayin Bitch and the Prophetic Bastard are actually quite nice to me. I just figured they’d feel left out if, in this list of nicknames that I will never speak aloud, they were not included.

Today Old Bitch yelled across the room at Ayin Bitch in Hebrew, “She [meaning me] can’t fold the small towels with the big towels! Tell her this so she understands!” (Something I already knew.) So Ayin Bitch screamed back, “She already understands! She understands us now!” And Old Bitch yelled, “No, she doesn’t!” And then Old Bitch turns to me to see my response, and I point to my separated pile of small towels to show that I had understood and that I was doing it without her telling me to. The Old Bitch gave me a surprised look so I shot her back a surly look. And then Old Bitch got so angry….oh it was beautiful. Ayin Bitch turned around and smiled at me, and I was so glad that one of these old women was finally nice to me.

Cold Bitch has been even more of a bitch lately because the ulpanist who normally does all her work for her decided he had had enough of working for Cold Bitch and decided to peace out to Netanyah. Cold Bitch was annoyed, and took it out on the Prophetic Bastard by making him do all the work for her.

The Prophetic Bastard is quite nice. On my off days, I go to visit my German friend who works with the Prophetic Bastard, and so now I’ve made a friend with one of the Women of the Wash—though this is actually an Arab Dude of the Wash.

You know what I’ve noticed in this country? Every thing is “Chaval Al Hazman,” which I think is like a “waste of time” or “shame on time” or something. Except they mean it to be a good thing here. The Women of the Wash use the phrase at least fifty times a day to express their delight at doing something (though I can’t imagine what, since they’re folding laundry all day…) Yesterday though, Fat Bitch said something to me about a “Chaval Al Hazman,” and so I just smiled because I figured she was talking about eating Twinkies or cupcakes or something….But she just kept repeating “Chaval Al Hazman.” And finally I realized she was criticizing the way I was folding towels. It turns out that Fat Bitch meant it was LITERALLY a Chaval. Shit. I’m never gonna get used to this. I mean, she said it while smiling, so I figured it was a GOOD Chaval al Hazman. This is so fucking confusing….

Another phrase I don’t understand is “chick chock!” The Women of the Wash, especially
Fat Bitch, use the phrase “chick chock” like they’re being sponsored by the “chick chock” company, and I still cannot understand what the fuck it means.

I had a pile of towels today that I set aside since they were for our soldiers who stay at the kibbutz, and I still have not been told how to put the soldier’s towels away yet. And Fat Bitch was the only Woman of the Wash left in the room, so she came up to me. You have to understand that Fat Bitch does not understand a WORD of English. Okay, maybe a word is stretching it, but basically she knows yes/no/basic greeting. And even then, she sometimes doesn’t even understand that. So Fat Bitch yells at me, “MA ZEH???” So I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Zeh YOUR Ma!” Which I know doesn’t even make sense but it felt SO right! Oh G-d, it was thrilling….the lady had no idea what the hell I talking about and I totally got to say “your mom!” to an old woman without getting in trouble for it. I love this country!

Okay. Now I need to figure out where I want to go to next weekend. I’m thinking either Tiberias or the Golan Heights. Any votes? I’m basically only expecting a response from Abraham (shout out if he’s reading this!) since he’s my only regular response. ☺ (thanks, buddy)