Babies!

Again, it's Shabbat and I am so bored with nothing to do but write all day......so I'm punishing you with it:

This has always interested me, but right now I’m thinking about it a lot since I’m clearly at an important turning point in my life. I’ve always found it interesting to look at pictures from a while ago and think about how the people in the pictures don’t know what I know. For example, I remember looking at a picture of my brother and one of his friends from when they were 15, and I thought to myself, “Wow, my brother’s friend didn’t know he was gonna get married four years after taking this picture.” I know it’s not that exciting because that’s just how time works, but there we are….

So right now I have in front of me a passport from the US, my birth certificate and a copy of my proof of Judaism from the synagogue I grew up in. The things I’m gonna need when I go to Misrad Hapnim. And my birth certificate is just blowing my mind in the same way that old pictures do because, you know, a birth certificate is the first record there is of a person….and it’s so weird to think that at one point I was just a little baby and no one had any idea that 19 (almost 20) years later I’d be 8000 miles away in a foreign country.

It’s also weird to look at the record of my dad on my birth certificate. His name is clearly not a Jewish one, and my birth certificate states that he was born in Arkansas. So then I get to thinking, wow, my grandparents had no idea when my dad was born that he was going to marry a Jew and have Jewish children and one of them was going to abandon the country that that side of the family had lived in for centuries…since before the U.S. existed.

Hell, even as recently as when I was 12—the last time I saw a grandparent from my dad’s side—they couldn’t have predicted that I would be where I am now. What did I want to do when I was 12? I think I wanted to be a Latin scholar at Oxford. I mean, I loved Israel but when I was 12 it wasn’t my priority. If my granny somehow knew that 7 years after the last time I would ever see her I’d be in the Jewish state, she wouldn’t believe it! I mean, for Christ’s sake, I was visiting her for CHRISTMAS!

It’s weird to think of all the Memorial Days of the country of my birth I celebrated by attending festive BBQ’s, having no idea that one day I’d spend the Memorial Day of a different country at a ceremony in a cemetery. It’s weird to remember that from the time I was five until I was 11, I had to say the Pledge of Allegiance 3 mornings a week during flag salute at school, and yet a few years later here I am about to declare citizenship of and allegiance to another country. It’s weird to think of my elementary school’s annual “American Appreciation Day” in which we all had to dress up as Americans—you know, blue jeans, white shirts and red bandanas—and sing songs about how great the United States is. And yet, for all the singing I did about how great the US is, I’ve left it.

It’s also weird to think about the slightest things that could have prevented me from reaching this moment. First off, my parents have told me that right before I was born they were seriously considering moving from California to Tennessee. And obviously I would be seriously different if I were raised in the south. Would I have never come to Israel? Or would I have come sooner? Then I think, what if the night before “The Big Earthquake,” during which a huge wardrobe fell on my bed, I hadn’t insisted on not sleeping in my own room? What if my parents had let me go to the high school I originally wanted to go to instead of the one I ended up going to and loving? Then I start thinking about what if certain larger things hadn’t happened, like the LA Riots or September 11th. Would my family be any different, and would I be any different? It really is crazy. The possibilities of what can happen in life are infinite, for better or worse.

It really is exciting when you think about it. And a little frightening. I mean, when I was a newborn my parents had no way of knowing what I was going to do with my life. It’s scary to think about. You know, you have a kid, but have no idea what’s gonna happen to it. I think of my brothers and me, how extremely different the three of us are, and yet when each of us were born we probably didn’t look too different from each other or act too different from each other because, let’s be totally honest, babies are pretty much the same. Parents have NO way of knowing what their little blob of a human is going to become. Sure, you might be birthing the next Einstein, but you also might be birthing someone who will grow up to be a serial killer, or someone who will grow up to cause great destruction in the world, or someone who will abandon you and move to Israel.

I don’t know if any of this made sense.

Country Music Shabbat

This is a fucking beautiful country!!!


So far I’ve spent my morning listening to Weird Al—I realize that I shouldn’t admit to being such a dweeb, but I remember reading somewhere in some Jewish values book that you should never be afraid to share with other people something that has helped you even if it’s embarrassing, because someone else in your shoes might not get a chance to benefit from the help you found. And I’m a Jew with values, so I’m telling you: Weird Al cures sadness/homesickness. Something about singing along to “Spam” and getting to yell the lyric “HAM AND PORK” in the Jewish state was extremely satisfying…

I’d share with you some Weird Al, but I meant it when I said Shabbat was Country Music Day on this blog. Rain/shine/sleet/snow/apocalypse, Shabbat is Country Music Day here on “Aw eff….”
Today I’m sharing with you a song from Rodney Atkins called “If You’re Going Through Hell.” It’s about how if you’re going through a shit time or you’re scared or whatever, just keep going. Which I think is appropriate. (Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. To be perfectly honest, folding towels is not Hell; it’s Purgatory.)





P.S. You know how I know that I want to stay in this country? Because the following statement excites me: Mañana I am calling to make an appointment with Misrad Hapnim to give them my papers to get citizenship. (Jealous any?)

P.P.S. Is it confusing you that I don’t like the word “tomorrow” so I say “mañana?”

P.P.P.S. I think I’ll also say “mañana” when I’m speaking Hebrew instead of מחר.

I remember a time that I loved Israel...

I’m starting to feel a little down and homesick now…. At first I was only going to go 2 months without seeing my parents, but now I have to go 5 months. I’m going to have to go at least 9 months without seeing one of my brothers, and I have no idea when I’ll see the other. So, needless to say I’m feeling a little shit. I could REALLY use a frum cousin in Israel right now… I mean, the thought of having to go at least 5 months without seeing anyone you’re related to is real, real shit. Just shit.

I’m trying to stay positive but sometimes it’s a little difficult because sometimes you just need to go home to your family for a little unconditional love.

Also, I’m really freaked out because apparently whenever the Arabs in the village next to us get excited or are celebrating something they shoot off guns like no other. At least we THINK that’s what’s happening. So every couple days there’s like five minutes where you just hear a constant “BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM!” and if it’s at night the sky keeps flashing. It is absolutely terrifying.

Anyway, I wrote a 4 page rant about how sad I feel and how foreign I feel and how this is so difficult. But I decided not to post it, and instead I'll save it and look at it when I'm finally settled here--whether it takes days, weeks, months or years. I WILL get settled here.

Well, people, you can help me get settled. (Prolly just Abraham and Elana reading this….though if you’re not A. or E. feel free to put in your thoughts anyway.) I’m calling upon you to remind me what I like about this country. Remind me that I REALLY want to be here. I’ll start us off:

I love that pudding can be found at every breakfast.

I love that there is this famous guy here (I think he’s a TV personality) whose name is Guy Penis.

I love that a gesture that reminds me of a gesture you would make for “money” or a gesture you would make while asking, “Understand?” is actually a gesture for “wait.”

I love that when I’m here I just say “Fuck it!” to world opinion and believe what I honestly believe is morally right.

I love that in ulpan I think I feel how my family must have felt when they moved to the US.

I love that I have the freedom of being thousands of miles away. Example? I’ve known this one girl for the past 8 years and she’s always bothered me with political/whatever types of arguments and I’ve always had to eventually give in and suggest that, “Okay, well, maybe you’re right…” just to get her to leave me alone and just to keep the peace. But today she said something to me via the internet that pissed me off, and I was about to respond by saying something diplomatic…..but then I realized that I was 5000 miles away from her, and there’s a good chance I’ll never see her again in person. And, well, I couldn’t be bothered to be diplomatic when she was clearly wrong. So I basically just sent back a snarky, sarcastic comment that basically suggested she was an idiot. And then came her response, “Thanks for your vote of confidence. Have a good fucking day.” 8 years I had been waiting for this moment, and I think I’ll thank G-d for Israel because I finally took care of this business. I’m not saying I’m going to tell off everyone I know in America….but I am saying I’m enjoying the chance to be who I want to be and believe what I want to believe!

I love that bus drivers, laundry women and people in supermarkets sing along to music they hear if they feel like it.

I love that I can now decently navigate my way around Jerusalem and Tel Aviv on my own.

I love that I now have Jewish friends from England, Peru, Mexico, India, South Africa, Belarus, Russia, France, etc etc etc.

I love (and hate) that any errand involves a challenge because of the language barrier. Everything is always an adventure because there’s always a sign to try to decipher or there’s always some Israeli guy yelling at you in Hebrew because you’re doing something idiotic, but you have to struggle to understand exactly what… An errand ceases to be an errand and instead becomes a knight’s quest.

I love that when I’m here I don’t feel like a total asshole for considering a presidential candidate’s opinion on Israel to be the most important factor in deciding whether or not to vote for him.

EDIT: I love that the 28 year old Hungarian guy sitting next to me is watchign *NSYNC videos on youtube.

Above all else, I need to remind myself that I love Israel. I need to remember that I wanted (and still want, though sometimes I forget) to be here. I’ve loved Israel my entire life, and I decided in the summer of 2006 that I needed to live here. Well, now I’m here. And though I’m homesick and wish I had family here, and though this kibbutz is shit, and though my job is crap…..in the words of the great Beatles: “We can work it out.”

Actually, what the hell am I talking about, “We can work it out”??? One of my big philosophies in life is that there are two types of people: “Let It Be” people who just accept that things are shit, and “Hey Jude” people who try to make things better and feel better about things. And I want to be a “Hey Jude” person.

Bright side? Next week we’re going on a group tiyul to the south. Every single time I hear the “south” I imagine a bunch of rednecks, but then I remember I’m in Israel….. Anyway, I’m really excited. We’re gonna get to go to the Dead Sea, Sde Boker and Masada. I’m not too excited about Masada though, because I’ve never really liked the story behind it. I don’t like that they all killed themselves. Personally, I’d prefer to die fighting a futile fight than to kill myself and let the enemy win without even a minor fight. Shit, I have to remind myself of that when I’m having a shit time here. Keep fighting! (Jesus, Sam, it’s just a fucking kibbutz….you aren’t experiencing Masada!)

Awesome

If someone wants to make a techno remix of the two guys in the neighboring Arab village's mosques singing "Allah hu akbar," that would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Also, I noticed that instead of calling me SemenTAH like the Israelis, the French folks here call me Sa-monTAH! which I also find interesting...

You'd think I spoke English fluently or something...

Today the Women of the Wash all just suddenly started speaking English to me. I had made SUCH an effort to speak Hebrew only to them, and suddenly today even the women who previously spoke only Hebrew to me now switched to only English. Even if I ask a question in Hebrew, I get a response in English. If I respond to a question in English in Hebrew, all follow-up questions are in English.

This is extremely frustrating. I'm pretty sure the Women of the Wash think I'm retarded. Sure, you might say that thinking that someone doesn't understand Hebrew is NOT the same as thinking someone is retarded. I completely agree. However, that is not all. Even when they give me instructions in ENGLISH now, the Women think they are helping me by gesturing wildly and ridiculously, with the sort of stupidity that you can only find in a game of Charades. To quote a previously un-named background bitch, who henceforth will be called Charades Bitch: "I (points to self) am GO-ING (makes walking gesture with fingers) to EAT (mimes moving food to her mouth). YOU (points to me) can FINISH (she couldn't think up a gesture for this one but was visibly DYING for one) to FOLD (mimes folding) the TOWELS (points to the basket of towels next to us). TOWELS! (points at the basket again)"

I wanted to say, "GO (make walking gesture with fingers) FUCK (make humping gesture) YOURSELF (point at woman)."

I'm fucking pissed off. They're extremely condescending. The Women of the Wash AND the people here in Israel who respond to me (and other people in the ulpan are having htis problem too) in English. It's so frustrating to be in this country and to make an effort to speak Hebrew and to have people respond in English. I know you might think, "Oh, well, they just want to practice their English!"

Well fuck that! I didn't come here to be the nation of Israel's English tutor! If you want a fucking English tutor, go to England! If someone made the trouble to drop everything and move to this country and is trying to learn Hebrew, responding to them in English 1) announces that their Hebrew sucks and 2) is denying the person the opportunity to NOT suck in Hebrew. People of Israel, if you move to the U.S. (G-d forbid!), then I won't use you as my personal Hebrew tutor when you're trying to speak English. But right now we're in Israel, so things are different. In America we speak English, in Israel we speak Hebrew.

I got so pissed off with the Women/Bitches of the Wash speaking English with me that I started responding in English and making intentional mistakes or at least confirming the mistakes they made. Naomi Bitch asked me, "I can to take the fan?" And I said, "Yes, you can to take the fan" as if what I were saying were perfect English. Old Bitch pointed at a basket of towels and asked me, "This need to fold?" And I responded with a perfectly serious expression on my face, "Yes, those need to fold." I figure if these women are going to be total bitches to me by denying me the ONE positive aspect of my job (the chance to learn Hebrew), I can be a total bitch by being the worst English tutor ever.

EXCITING NEWS: I HAVE CHOSEN BETWEEN TIBERIAS AND HAIFA. TOMORROW I AM GOING TO HAIFA! MORE INFORMATION TO FOLLOW.....OR NOT. BECAUSE THERE'S NOT MUCH ELSE TO SAY.

We shall overcome

Two days ago I went with a friend and a French bitch (not THE French Bitch, but A French bitch) to Jerusalem. And we went to the Kotel because the guy wanted to put on his tefillin and do what guys do, etc etc. On the way back we were running late so we decided to take a bus from the Old City or something to the central bus station instead of walking (but if my mother asks, we WALKED and did not even LOOK at an Israeli bus....). Anyway, I'm the first of the gang to get on, and I start looking for a place to sit. The first thing I see is three empty seats (perfect!) next to this Jewish guy in a black suit (which, I know I know, is soooooo specific, because there's only like two Jewish guys in black suits in Jerusalem), and I start to settle my butt down. But as I'm lowering my ass I take a look at everyone around me and I realize that everyone around me is a man. A man in a black suit and black hat. And they are all giving me REALLY angry looks.

I quickly realized that I was on one of those segregated buses that I had heard about. So I jumped up so quickly that you would have thought something had bitten my rear, and I sprinted to the back of the bus with the rest of the women before the men in black lynched me.

The sad thing is, whenever I tell my friends back home, "Dude, I was on a segregated bus today in Israel!" they always say, "Oh my G-d, you mean they make Arabs sit in the back????" And they're scandalized until I tell them that, no no, it's the Jewish (and other) women who are in the back. And, though weirded out, these friends feel much less scandalized. Which I find weird. You know, I'm not at all suggesting that segregation is a good idea or a morally acceptable idea--and I really want to stress that do not in any way believe that buses in Israel or in any country for that matter should be segregated in any way-- but if these guys in black just feel like they GOTTA enforce some kind of segregation on buses, why not segregate yourself from their perceived "enemy" rather than your wife? Why are they forcing their own women, the people who give birth to and raise future generations of Jews, to the back of the bus like second class citizens? I'm not even a feminist, and I'm totally in favor of separating sexes during prayer, but this is fucked up. It's fucked up, man...


Anyway, yesterday the Women of the Wash held a fascinating conversation on the pros and cons of making your own granola versus buying it in the store. It was so boring that for once in my life I wished I couldn't understand Hebrew.
So yesterday I was really excited about a "new" woman at work (she's not new, but I hadnt met her yet). But I sit right in back of her. And she's a farter. She is a shameless farter. She just farts nasty farts all day, and I have to breathe it in. I used to be concerned about the health of my lungs because of all the smokers I hang around with here in Israel, but now I'm concerned because I think these farts of hers are destroying the lining of my lungs.
I've christened this new bitch "Naomi Bitch" 'because she looks like my art teacher from Hebrew school who was named "Naomi." She was a large, but very nice (as most fat people are....i.e. Santa Claus), and she made us do the shittiest art projects. By the way, while I'm on the subject: what does a Hebrew school need an art teacher for? I mean, we barely came out of there knowing the Alef-Bet, so how is it that we had time to make shit out of popsicle sticks that our parents would immediately throw away anyway?
I was deciding between "Naomi Bitch" and "Charlie Brown's Teacher Bitch," but decided that "Charlie Brown's Teacher Bitch" was too long. Why Charlie Brown's teacher? Well, remember how during the TV show, whenever his teacher talked, it was just this bizarre and nasal "Waaa waaa waaa waaaa?" Well, basically Naomi Bitch's voice is bizarre and nasal, and when she speaks she sounds like how Charlie Brown's teacher would sound if she were speaking Hebrew.

Yesterday I folded a classmate's underpants. You seriously do not know awkward until you've folded a classmate's underwear.

I also totally out-diva-ed all the women because the song "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" came on the radio and, well, what can I say. I know all the words, including the difficult "Instead of breaking up I wish that we were making up again" part.

I would also like to know what is up with this kibbutz and its love affair with shoulder pads. I feel like every other women's shirt that I fold has shoulder pads. Are women here concerned that their shoulders are not padded enough?

This one Woman of the Wash (henceforth called "English Bitch") keeps talking to me in English. Even though I ONLY speak to her in Hebrew. And though she responds in English, she responds in such a way that lets me know that clearly what I said in Hebrew was able to be understood. So it pisses me off. And it wasn't like the usual Israel thing where they just want to practice their English. She clearly just thought I didn't understand Hebrew. I wanted to say to her, "Bitch, you respond to me in English one more time and I will K-I-L-L you....." but instead I just said, "Don't speak to me in English, I am not English!" And she said to me, "But you are American!" So I said in Hebrew, "But we're not in America!!!"

Henyways....things in the laundry room are really boring still. Yesterday was the first legit hot day we've had so far, and OH MY G-D, I work in an armpit. A smelly, smelly armpit.

Also, Fat Bitch laughs like this: "Khe khe khe!!!" and I just want to smack her.

I was gonna delete my drunk post, because it's a little embarrassing to be drunk. As my English friend told me last night, "Wow, you are SUCH an under-21 year old American right now...." But I'm leaving it up because I think I made a valid point. We should accept that if you're foreign, you're gonna sound like a total jackass when you speak a different language. Unless you're Oz, in which case you're just a lucky bastard. You know, we should all have the confidence of a drunk person when we speak foreign languages.

Oh shit....

So I'm quite drunk right now. we were waiting for the bus to the kibbuts and we had nothign better to do, so the boys kept saying how funny it would be if i drank. so i drank. a lot. more than all the boys combined.'

And I was speaking to hte French people. And everyone was like, "Holy fuck, you can speak French?" And I was like, "terribly." And everyone was like, "You were speaking SO fucking fast in French." So apparently when I'm really drunk I speak French REALLY fast and with the utmost confidence. So aparent;y what I need to do in Hebrew is be drunk in hebrew all the time and then il feel like i'm completely fluent in hebrew and people will be like,"shit son, you speak hebrew SO well" and i'll just be like, "no i dont, im just drunk."