The one in which i mope a bit....or a lot.

Sam: “I’m really excited for my ‘army sleepover.’”
Friend: “What do you mean ‘army sleepover?’ What, are you going to talk about boys and make smores?”
Other Friend: “You know what Israelis really don’t understand? Smores.”
“And waiting in line.”
“And manners.”
“And personal space.”


LAST NIGHT

A couple hours ago I found myself sitting on the bench swing in the playground at the absorption center. I was having yet another moment of second guessing my motives for making aliyah, wondering about something that’s been bothering me for a few months, and just being kinda generally depressed. So pretty much it was one of those moments where I just wanted to swing a little by myself and listen to “Hey Jude” (in my head).

Some yards away in the courtyard a group of people were standing around and talking. Most of them I didn’t know (some I recognized, some looked totally foreign and new). They were talking in English, though the group was mostly Russian folks with maybe two English speakers. One of them called out to me in Russian-accented Hebrew, “Hey, how’s it going?”

And as I turned (showing my face to the group), giving a polite smile and a friendly wave back, I heard someone in the group say, “Oh wait, that’s not [*person’s name*]…it’s that girl we don’t like.”

Which was maybe the worst possible thing for me to hear at the moment. Or I guess there’s never really a “good” moment to hear something like that.

I mean, I can understand maybe a couple reasons why people I actually know here might not particularly like me, that maybe our personalities don’t quite fit together….but I’m (to put it mildly) absolutely horrified that people I don’t even know could classify me as “that girl we don’t like.” I’ve never spoken to any of these people before in my life (but would be more than friendly if approached), and in terms of just generally annoying them…I can’t really understand, because pretty much in this building I’m quiet and keep to myself.

So then I had to pretend like I hadn’t heard what this person said, since I was mid-wave when I heard it and it would have been even worse to pretend that I had heard it. Actually, that was rather cowardly of me. I kind of wish I had had the courage to drop the smile and shout back, “Yeah, well this girl doesn’t like you cock suckers either!”

I then spent an excruciating 30 minutes sitting on the swing waiting for the crowd to clear so that I could go to my room and be upset in peace. But the group was blocking the door, and no way in hell was I going to walk past them. So instead I just sat on the swing and felt my face burn bright red, and pretended that the reason I was still sitting on the bench was that I had to send text messages to all of my many friends. But really I just pretended to hit buttons on my cell phone.

About an hour later I went to dinner, and a friend called out, “Sam, come sit by me!” Which temporarily made me feel less like crap. But at the same table was one of the people in the group, who apparently doesn’t like me. So pretty much throughout all of dinner I felt like throwing up. Maybe that’s because they fed us hearts and liver….but I’m more inclined to blame it on the fact that apparently I have a large following of strangers who hate me.

This has been one of those things that encourages my belief that my only shot at leading a happy life would be to go off and become a truck driver. Or a hermit. Just something where I can see nature all day and not have to interact with people. Of course, being a truck driver has the added bonus of allowing me to listen to country music all day.

As I sat on the swing waiting for the crowd of Sam-haters to clear, I found myself thinking, “Well, I guess maybe I should go back to the US.” But then I realized that if strangers in Israel hate me, surely strangers in the US hate me too. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if people in Finland hate me, or even if remote African tribes believe that I’m some sort of evil devil spirit that must be disliked. So given this international hatred of Sam, I’ve decided that the only rational thing for me to do is to sit in my room, watch “Brigadoon” and mope around for a few hours.

To be honest, I’m not too hurt. Actually I feel more indignant than anything else.