SHABBAT SHALOM AGAIN

Warning: Nostalgia, Country Music, Complaining and Random Shit follows.

First off, I just want to point out that I’m wearing long-sleeves. Now, the important thing to notice is that 1) I had to smuggle in any warm clothing that I have with me because my mom tried to prevent me from packing it (I think she thought by taking away my warm clothing I would not be able to stay here for the winter) and 2) it is fucking hot right now and long sleeves are NOT what’s up. This is the first sign that I really need to do some laundry. Which I will today. Back in Chicago, the sign that I needed to do some laundry was when I would wear my more formal clothing. Here in Israel though, I don’t think I own any formal clothing. Do I? Let me check….

…Just got back from the closet. Yes, I own “formal” clothing, but not “formal” by US standards. So the sign that I need to do laundry is when I start wearing long-sleeve shirts in the middle of July.

Wow, I just had a crisis where I realized what a weird word “sleeve” is. I remember a couple years ago I had an existential crisis that involved my realization of the weirdness of the word “door.” I felt like I couldn’t go on anymore now that I had realized what a strange word that is. Fuck, now it’s happening again.

Anyway, I know this is boring to read about. But I’m not holding a gun to your head and saying, “Stay here or else.”

So here’s what’s important for me to say: I feel a bit better than I did yesterday. Perfect? No. But better. I think part of what made me feel better was watching cartoons in Hebrew and understanding quite a bit of what was going on, so my self-esteem is through the roof right now. Also, I studied a bit of Hebrew (you know, reviewing what we learned in class over the past couple months) this morning and I came to the word “to complain.” I remember learning the word in French when I was 14, and I remember the teacher told us that it literally meant “to pity yourself.” I don’t know. Something about remembering that made me feel disgusted with myself for complaining so much and for basically pitying myself above all other people.

I also just want to say that I love Dora the Explorer in Hebrew.

Yesterday I was talking about “Looney Tunes” with the crazy French guy, and he said that he loved, “Sam Le Pirate” or something like that. And I was like, “Sam the Pirate? There’s no ‘Sam the Pirate’ character, what are you talking about??”
And he described him. A short guy, two pistols at his sides, a big hat, red hair and big mustache.
“Oh, you mean ‘Yosemite Sam!’ Yeah, he was my favorite character, too!” I told him. And he said, “What is ‘Yosmeetee?’” I tried to explain that Yosemite is a famous national park in California, and Yosemite Sam was supposed to be this sort of prospector character, like maybe from the Gold Rush or something, and so he probably got his nickname from the state park which is near the area where all that shit went down. But seriously, my French is pretty bad, so the guy didn’t really understand it. Actually, even in English I don’t think I can explain it properly.
Finally I settled on, “They call him Yosemite Sam because it’s kind of fun to say.” Which it is. But I don’t think the French guy thought it was funny to say. He kept saying, “Yosmeetee Sam” and then would laugh uneasily…

But seriously though, how did they get “Pirate” from that??


Speaking of Yosemite…I think it’s time to bring back “Country Music Shabbat.” Just because I enjoy sharing my terrible taste in music. I feel like I’ve already put up like five Brad Paisley songs, but whatever. Here’s another. “Mud on the Tires.”
Why? Well, for some reason it makes me think of high school retreats. Every year they would take each grade to a different place in the California wilderness. I remember on the first one, they took us to a place that was also used as a Christian retreat center. There was a huge picture of Jesus looking down on all of us in the dining hall, and I seem to remember that most of the Jewish kids lost weight on that trip because they felt so uncomfortable. (If that’s not a reminder that I’m better off in Israel, I don’t know WHAT is.) Another year they took us to Catalina, an island off the coast of Los Angeles. And I remember at night they had us look across the ocean at Los Angeles and it was just this impressive glow of lights. Another year we went to Yosemite—I remember, I was 13 and at that time my favorite thing to do was to talk in a Minnesota accent. And, as luck would have it, my group’s guide was from Minnesota, and so I remember making fun of her mercilessly. Every year they would have us go on a night hike, and they’d find a place for all of us—all 100 something of us--to lie down and look at the stars. And some of us would have competitions to see who could find the weirdest picture in the stars.

Anyway, these trips were simultaneously horrible and wonderful. What was wonderful? The adventure. Seeing stars, which you never got to do in LA (well, you saw celebrities, but not real stars). “Roughing it.” Missing school.
And all of this also makes me think of family driving trips, of driving to San Francisco with my brother, and of summer vacations at my friend’s house in Northern California. You know? Like getting lost in orchards along the side of the road, playing in streams, learning about Californian history. Besides Southern California (which is where I’m from), I think the greatest places in the US are the inland parts of Central/Northern California, because I think it still feels like what it must have felt like when people started moving there from the east. When you’re there, you still feel like it’s wild and you’re on an adventure. There are still enormous open spaces. It’s cool cos it still has that pioneer and wild west spirit.

And for some reason this song makes me think of all that. In a nice way. In a nostalgic sort of way.

(again, please excuse the ridiculous fan video....of trucks with mud on their tires. The actual Brad Paisley video 1) doesn't embed on websites thanks to capitalism, and 2) the actual Brad Paisley video has the audio interrupted by people talking about how great his tour was. So just don't watch the video. Enjoy the music.)


You know what I think would make me feel better? I think I need to go on a little adventure in Israel. I’ll try to think of one. Maybe on Friday I could just get on a random bus….like the first one that comes to the junction. And get off at the last stop and stay there for Shabbat. Or something. I don’t know. I think I just need to get out more.

Last Shabbat a couple friends of mine and I were hungry, but we didn’t have food and everything was closed. So we had an “adventure” to the neighboring Arab village to get food. This involved walking down a small mountain/large hill, traversing a vineyard, walking through wild grasses with thorns (the thorns they make you crawl over if you do combat training, according to one of the guys with me), jumping over a barbed wire fence, and eventually navigating the winding streets of the Arab town to find a market that I had never been to. It was actually pretty awesome, because whenever I’m in a Jewish area everyone always immediately addresses me in English when they realize I’m not from the area (which sometimes happens before I even open my mouth), but here everyone spoke to us in Hebrew, even after they heard our ridiculous accents.
But it pissed me off because the other two kept complaining and asking, “Do you even know where you’re going??” and I hate that question. Really hate it. I kept saying, “Not really. I know we want to go in that general direction, where the two minarets are, but other than that…..no.” And they saw this as a problem. Farrrrrrrrr, I hate when people are like that. It’s like, we can SEE our destination—we know exactly where we have to get to--we just can’t see the path. But it’s not dark out, so what the hell is the problem? You’d think people who left their old lives behind to move to Israel would be a little more adventurous.