the world could use a few more jews...

Sorry for another post of epic length. But a couple hours ago I decided that I would go back to the US to finish my degree and then return to Israel.

Crap. I felt so convinced that that was the right move. But my more religious friend just came in. He missed class today to go to Hebron with his family, and he was telling me all about it because he figured (quite rightly) that I’d be interested in it. And I got so jealous. Unbearably jealous, like I couldn’t stand the fact that someone else had been to a part of Israel that I haven’t been to yet, and I couldn’t stand the fact that if I left then my chances of ever getting there would be even lower. And then I remembered how my teacher was lecturing us on how we just need to give up the West Bank, and how hearing her say that made me want to walk right out of class and into a settlement. And holy shit, do I want to stay. I feel like I can’t even afford to go back the US for even two years. Shit. What should I do???

Also, if I go, I’ll feel like I sacrificed some of my idealism. If there one single thing that I like about myself, it’s that I believe in things really strongly. There are certain things that I believe in strongly that I know aren’t true (like that there’s an alternate me that lives in the mirror), and there are certain things that I believe really strongly that are objective, like simple morality, and there are certain things I believe really strongly that are subjective, like life philosophies and whatever. Whatever I believe though, I believe really strongly. And I believed in the concept of Zionism and Israel strongly enough to decide to move here without having ever been here before (and I finally did move here after only being here for ten days), and I’m very proud of that. It’s like the slogan: “Life: Powered by Edison,” or whatever, except “Sam: Powered by Belief.” That’s just how I function. I feel like if I left, even if only temporarily, I’d always be a little ashamed of myself. Yes, it is total shit not having family here and having to fold towels all day, but at the same time, it’d feel like total shit to just give up because it’s too difficult. I talked about this earlier when talking about how the Americans were being douchebags to the weaker boys in ulpan, and I established that the easiest thing to do is not necessarily the correct one. I guess I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I bailed just because things are tough.

Then there’s also the whole grandma issue. My Jewish grandma has never really liked me, but when she found out I wanted to move to Israel she suddenly warmed up to me (wow, it only took her 19 years….) and told me all about how she spent her childhood training to make aliyah but how at the last minute didn’t because she married my grandpa and my grandpa didn’t want to leave the US. She told me that she didn’t want me to make the same mistake of not going to Israel if I wanted to, and she told me to not come back to the US—she said that even when she died and there would be a funeral, she said I was to stay in Israel. I protested and said that of course I’d come back if, G-d forbid, she died while I was in Israel, but then my grandma ended up yelling at me.

During one of the last phone conversations I had with her before I left, she suddenly whipped out Hebrew. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever experienced, because my mom can’t even read basic Hebrew with vowels and probably doesn’t even know what “aba” means, and yet my grandma totally out of nowhere just whipped out conversational Hebrew that had been lying dormant since she married my grandpa in 1950 or whatever. I mean seriously, if ever there were a “What the fuck?” moment, that was it.

And you know what I learned from that? I don’t want to live in America and then when I’m like 80 whatever be on the phone with my granddaughter and unexpectedly whip out Hebrew and sadly remark about how I wish I hadn’t given up on what I dreamt about. Also, during my childhood I saw my grandma at least once a week—and she never once mentioned that she spent almost her entire childhood preparing for aliyah (she was in one of those Zionist groups that did that kind of thing). I mean, this was obviously something really important to her, and yet nothing came of it and she never told her grandkids about it until one of them totally on her own decided to try it. In fact, she didn’t really mention it to her kids either, because I told my mom about what my grandma said and she was stunned. And, I don’t mean to criticize my grandma—I only mean to draw a lesson from it--I wish my grandma HAD said something about it to her grandkids and to her kids (my mom and uncles) because now only 3/7 of her grandkids are Jewish (well, 4/7 if you want to still count my Catholic brother), and only 2/7 of her grandkids have ever been to Israel. I mean, I like Christians just fine, but I think the world could use a few more Jews…

I guess I’ll stay. Argue with me. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me I’m right. Tell me to go home—but which home?

And if you tell me to stay, then find me a fucking job that doesn’t involve laundry!
(just kidding….I’ll manage…) (also, find me a fucking family. Now THAT I’m not joking about…)

Anyway, let’s talk about something other than abandoning my country or not abandoning my country.

You know what song I just put on? “Oh What a Night!”
Loud.
You readers back in America can probably hear it right now. Can you?



Today during class the Mexican kid kept hitting on our teacher (as usual), and finally my roommate and I just lost it and burst out laughing. Like, I was laughing so hard that I broke a sweat. I thought I was going to throw up. Every single time I got a hold of myself, I’d hear my roommate giggle next to me, and then I’d just lose it again. There was a solid 30 minutes of laughter, I’d estimate, if you count the snickering and sudden uncontainable snorts that followed the cackling and giggling.

A couple days ago my mom called me, but right before she called I was on the phone with the Chilean roommate in Hebrew. So I answered my mom’s call….but then I forgot how to say “Hello.” Cos my mind was concentrating so hard on Hebrew. I forgot how to fucking say hello! So instead I just kind of stood there with the phone to my ear, wondering what to do, wondering what I COULD do if I couldn’t remember how to answer the phone in English. So my mom kind of let out a confused, “Hello…?” And then I was like, “Ah! Yes! That’s it!”


I also have to share the following exchange with you:

Hebrew Teacher: (In Hebrew) Israel has a government. The United States doesn’t have a government.
Me: (In Hebrew) What???? We DO have a government!
Teacher: (In Hebrew): No, you don’t have a government.
Me: (In English): Wait, wait wait,……..wait. I don’t think I understand, can you tell me that in English?
Teacher: (In English) The United States doesn’t have a government.
Me: (In English) (genuinely confused) Wait, what are you talking about? What have my parents been voting for all these years?
Teacher: (In English) No, you have an “mistration” [sic], not a “government.”
Me: (In English, whispered in panic to my roommate): The fuck’s a “mistration”?
Roomie: (In English, whispered back) No fucking clue.
Cue confused/blank stare from me
Teacher: (In English) You don’t have a parliament, so you don’t have a government.
Me: What????

By that point I had gotten hysterical, as if everything I ever knew about the US was wrong. If we don’t have a government like I thought we did, what else isn’t true? Did Abraham Lincoln not have a beard?! The Declaration of Independence was written by Ronald McDonald??? The nation’s capital is actually Bemidji, Minnesota????

Tell me, what the fuck do we have if we don’t have a government? And, pray tell, what’s a “mistration?” Is it like “menstruation” except for governments?

The absolute panic I had over this (AMERICA DOESN’T HAVE A GOVERNMENT?!) was like the time a few years back when I asked my mother if I could have a lemon popsicle. And she said to me, with a look of utter confusion and bewilderment on her face, “What’s THAT?” And I panicked. I had no idea how to respond to that, and I had to sit down. I thought that I had been transported into this alternate reality where lemon popsicles never existed and never would exist. I started shaking, thinking I’d have to kill myself because I’d rather not live in a reality without lemon popsicles. Tears formed in my eyes as I began to wonder what else was different in this alternate reality that I was suddenly in. Did I still have friends in this reality? Did dogs exist? Did soccer still exist? Did the Laws of Gravity still apply, or was the only thing keeping me attached to the floor my will? Could I fly? Would I be in this alternate reality forever, or would I be magically transported back after I learned some important lesson like in the movies? If I were to stay in this alternate reality, would I always remember my previous reality or would eventually the memories fade until I accepted the alternate reality as the true reality? Was this new reality a reality without terrorism (this was all shortly after 9/11), or were there even worse alternate reality terrorists? And how did the dimension of time function in this new reality? My mind whirled with all these thoughts, and I thought I was going to vomit.
My mother was confused that I was shaking and that all the color had drained from my face, so she clarified her question: “What on Earth is a ‘lenpsicle?”
Turns out my mom didn’t just hear me right. But for a minute there, my world was in a state of chaos. I think I need to tone down my imagination a bit….
Also, some of my friends here tell me, “Sam(my), you think too much.” So I think I’d better keep this story to myself……

Remember how I said that I have like no memories associated with Jewish/Israeli songs? Well, I got three for ya that I just remembered:
1) I used to hate song time during Sunday School. Except for “Miriam’s Song.” I hated the song, but I loved one line. So I’d sit quietly for the entire song until it got towards the end, and when it got time for my favorite line, I’d just belt out: “WE’VE JUST LIVED THROUGH A MIRACLE—WE’RE GONNA DANCE TONIGHT!!” And everyone would turn around turn around to see where this appalling noise had come from, and it’d just be lil’ ol’ me…..
2) A couple years ago during the Chabad Telethon (which I watched on TV with my dad), the song “Moshiach” came on. And my dad got up and started singing and dancing. It was bizarre. My dad does not know a word of Hebrew, yet he was singing along to the song by making sounds that sounded pretty close to the Hebrew. And I was stunned, so I was like, “Dad, how the hell do you know this song??” And he said, “What, you think I’ve lived with Jews for 25 years now and haven’t learned anything?”
3) I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before since this never fails to make me laugh. At home in LA we live next to a really Orthodox neighborhood, and during Shabbos and during the High Holidays especially, whenever my family drives by that area and sees everyone in their black hats and long skirts, my dad likes to sing the score from “Fiddler on the Roof” out the car window. Usually the rest of the family joins in, but my dad is the conductor of this merry choir. And my dad has got some serious lungs, so he just belts it. “TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!!” In fact, that’s my dad’s response to most things. I told him a Haredi boy spat on me in Jerusalem, and over the phone he sang to me, “TRADITIOOOOOOOOOOON!!!!!”