When I was younger I had a friend who used to fart in elevators. A prime farting location for her was an elevator with a small handful of other people, preferably businessmen and women. She was the master at keeping a straight face (something I’ve never been capable of), and (like me) she used to really enjoy watching people’s reactions to things. And a particularly loud and pungent fart with a serene face was her ultimate tool. She wasn’t a particularly gross person, she just really enjoyed watching respectable people turn bright red, shift their feet uncomfortably, lose their composure and avoid eye contact with her after she let one rip.
Not to be gross or anything, but this is the sort of friend that I would love to have in Israel. Not necessarily another elevator farter, but someone who is as amused by other people as I am, and someone who is willing to go “the extra mile” to create an opportunity to watch people suffer through an awkward situation.
I’ve found some nice people to hang out with, but unfortunately most of the other girls here are either skirt-wearing orthodox girls who came to Israel for religious reasons or party girls who came to Israel because they thought it was gonna be some sort of 24/7 Mediterranean party. And as for me, I’m not really sure what I am, or exactly why I came to Israel. I guess if I had to classify myself as something, I’d call myself an inappropriate religious person. I believe in G-d and believe in prayer, hope and goodness and all that shit, but I can’t stand services and don’t keep commandments. I believe in modest dress, but to me that’s not necessarily a skirt. When I’m older and (G-d willing) have kids, I’ll probably make them ham and cheese sandwiches for school lunch, simply because no child should miss out on something as wonderful as ham and cheese together in a sandwich, but I’d still want them to be the most knowledgeable kids in their class on stuff like Jewish history and I would hope that they believed in G-d and prayer and all that. I don’t know what that makes me.
Also, completely unrelated, one of the most popular bottled water companies here in Israel was found to have fecal bacteria in its bottled water—and yes, today I learned the word “fecal” in Hebrew. And while for a second I felt grossed out and sad for the hundreds or thousands of people in Israel who drank infected water, I noticed the logo. And I remember seeing that logo EVERYWHERE in the laundry room back on the kibbutz. The ladies drank this brand, and this brand alone, of water, and they drank it religiously. They had extra bottles of this brand lying around, and they even got large jugs from this brand delivered on a regular basis. So while I’m sorry that other people were affected, all I want to say to the Women of the Wash is:
YOU’VE BEEN DRINKING SHIT, BITCHES!
Karma, man….
Class is going nicely.
Student: Do you know how much time Hertzl was in Israel?...10 days!
[*impressive pause*]
Different Student: So Hertzl did Birthright?
_--____________
FROM YESTERDAY:
Today I met my “Absorption Counselor.” An “Absorption Counselor” is a surly person assigned to you to help you through your first steps in Israel. Well, they’re not paid to be surly…I guess that’s just a bonus. From the way the pamphlets that you get at the airport made it sound, your Absorption Counselor is the most helpful person ever, and very quickly will become your new best friend, will be the best man at your wedding, and will be the godfather at your firstborn’s bris.
In reality, I was ushered into my counselor’s office, he asked for my ID card, I gave it to him, he asked for my bank info, I gave my bank info, and finally I was asked to sign on the paper allowing the government to directly put money into my bank account.
That was it. I have no idea what this man’s name is. All I know is, I hope he won’t be expecting a wedding invitation in the future.
Since I was in the downtown area, I figured I might as well go out on the job prowl. I don’t know if I found anything fitting (basically, for me anything involving people isn’t “fitting”), but I did poke my head into three different establishments. And at each one, without fail, a variation on a conversation like this happened in Hebrew:
Potential Boss: So tell me about your experience in this field…….what hours are you available for work? ………. Okay great…let’s see….And I definitely don’t need to ask you if you speak English….HA HA HAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!
Okay. I get it. Apparently I have a ridiculous American accent when I speak Hebrew. I actually didn’t think it was SO terrible, compared to a lot of the Americans I’ve encountered, but I guess that when I talk I sound like a more obvious American than George Bush.
I wouldn’t mind so much if they simply said, “I don’t need to ask if you speak English” and moved on with a straight face. It’s momentarily embarrassing, but whatever. If that was what had happened, I’m sure I would have forgotten about it already. But they DID laugh. Three different people laughed hysterically, laughing like they couldn’t breathe, like they’d just made some clever, new joke. HAHAHA YOU SPEAK MY LANGUAGE WITH A STUPID ACCENT, IMMIGRANT! HAHAHAHAH!!!! I AM SO AMUSED BY YOUR LACK OF FLUENCY AND YOUR STRUGGLE WITH CERTAIN FOREIGN SOUNDS SUCH AS THE CHET AND THE RESH!
The worst part of all of this is that, because I’m in the position of wanting a job, I just had to stand there and smile. THREE. DIFFERENT. TIMES.
This is what I hate about interacting with people. You have to put up with their asshole jokes at your expense and you have to smile instead of giving them what they deserve, which is a smack across the face with a frying pan or chair or whatever else is handy.
Well you know what, Israelis? I think you all sound like retards in English. So there.
Anyway, after the job search I walked up to the central bus station. (“TEL AVIV TEL AVIV TEL AVIV!”) I like the central bus station and all, but I hate the little jingles they play over the loudspeakers referring to the central bus station as a sort of “mall.” No. I’m sorry. You are not a mall, you have the shopping selection of a mediocre airport terminal.
I sat down and ate some McDonald’s, which totally made my day, and as I was eating I looked up at the Chinese restaurant across the food court, and I read the name of the restaurant. I then looked down at my chicken nuggets, continued eating, and thought to myself, “K, whatever…let’s see, where’d I put the ketchup. There it---OH MY G-D I JUST READ CHINESE!” I looked back up at the sign to confirm that I had read it and that I understood it, and then I realized that FINALLY I had some sort of confirmation that I was a genius. “Holy shit,” I thought to myself, “I just spontaneously learned how to read Chinese.”
I sat there for a minute, my mind totally blown, my hands gripping the edge of the table to find some sort of stability in this crazy new world in which I’m suddenly a genius….and then I realized that the sign I read wasn’t in Chinese. It was in Hebrew made to LOOK like Chinese. Well, fuck…..
If it’s any consolation to me (which it isn’t), I think the reason I didn’t immediately realize it was in Hebrew was that Hebrew has (perhaps) become a lot easier for me to read. Like, an English word I just glance at and recognize, whereas with Hebrew I usually have to actually read it…and lately I’ve been a better about just glancing at words and recognizing. So when I saw the Chinese-ified Hebrew letters and didn’t have to concentrate so hard on reading, I probably didn’t realize I was reading Hebrew because my brain wasn’t making the usual reading effort that Hebrew normally requires me to make.
Finally I ended up going to the mall to see “Defiance,” complete with a “hafsaka” (break) in the middle of the film. I actually really liked the movie, even if it got mixed reviews, and I think part of what made it so special was the fact that I saw it in Israel. I think I also liked it for the same reason that Chanukah is my favorite holiday—I like stories in which the Jews fight back.
And geshem kal ba/tzafon.
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