If you know me, you probably know that I hate New York. I hate New York with a firey passion that consumes my soul. I just fucking hate it. Why? New Yorkers.
Today some fucking New Yorker waas in the laundry room. She’s the visiting sister of one of the immigrants who lives on the kibbutz. She decided to come in and work for the day to see what it’s like.
She had that G-d awful New York accent, and despite the fact that she was at least 55 she wore short shorts. Her outfit looked like she was attempting to dress like a kibbutznik, except she clearly hasn’t spent much time on a kibbutz—if you lived on a kibbutz, you’d know that everyone wears Mom Jeans and shirts with shoulder pads and numerous holes and paint stains. Yet that wouldn’t be trendy enough for this New Yorker.
I’m introduced as another American, and she asks where I’m from. “Los Angeles,” I tell her. She then asks the most annoying question in the world, which is, “Do you actually live in Los Angeles?” And I want to be like, “Yes, I actually fucking live in the city I just said I live in, what a crazy concept, you rancid bitch.” But instead I just smiled sweetly and said, “Yes, if you were to send me a postcard you’d write Los Angeles in the address.” (I’ve noticed that a common theme with me is “smiling sweetly” but thinking something violent and horrible at the same time.)
She then immediately asks if I went to public or private school. I told her I went to private school, and she made some sort of smug gesture and made some sort of rude comment about my family’s financial situation, which really pissed me off. “What’s the matter with that? It was a huge financial burden on my parents, but it was really important to them that my brothers and I got the best education we could possibly afford.” She then talked about how, even though she could afford to send her children to private school, she chose to send them to public school as a political statement. Clearly, the reason she immediately asked what kind of school I went to was so that she could brag about how politically hip she is. Normally I wouldn’t be so bold, but this bitch was from New York and was as smug as hell, so I asked her why she chose to sacrifice her children’s education when, as she said, she had more than enough money to send them to incredible schools. She repeated that it was a political statement and gave a little flip of her frizzy gray hair and returned to towel folding. So I looked down at my own work and said in the sweetest way with an innocent smile, “Oh, that’s really interesting…I didn’t realize a child was a medium for political statements.” And oh G-d, how that New Yorker bitch turned bright red!!!
Later on, Astrology Bitch asked why this New Yorker hadn’t made aliyah. And the New Yorker did the traditional hemming and hawing of Jews who are too embarrassed to admit that they don’t want to leave their cushy lifestyle in the US. Finally, she put on this arrogant expression and said, “Well, my family has lived in the US since the turn of the century, sooooooooo….” She said it as if she deserved a fucking medal for it. Astrology Bitch began to say, “Oh…” and kind of give up, but I suddenly realized that I had said a similar thing before. I realized that I had used the same excuse before (as an excuse for wanting to go back to the US), and I realized that it sounded ridiculous. So I turned to the lady with a big ol’ American smile on my face, and I said, “My family’s been in the US for over 300 years….and here I am. An American Jew. Not in America. In Israel.” I smiled and gave a shrug. Astrology Bitch laughed and clapped her hands in amusement, whereas the New Yorker’s jaw just dropped.
She said, “That’s not even possible! Have there even been Jews in the US for that long?”
So I said, “See, that’s the funny thing about my family: my dad’s side isn’t Jewish. Yet here I am!”
“Ah, I get it,” she said, “You’re only half-Jewish.” She said it with disgust in her voice, like somehow having one more Jewish parent than me made her better.
Oh G-d. That statement is like my INCREDIBLE HULK trigger. It’s like calling Marty McFly from “Back to the Future” “chicken.” I can question whether or not I’m “fully Jewish” (whatever the hell that means) as much as I want, but if any other Jew dares to even suggest that I’m not as Jewish as them….oh Jesus. G-d help them!
I don’t normally like to question other people’s Jewish-ness, but this lady had it coming. So I said to her, “And you’re a full Jew, you would say?” She gave this arrogant nod and looked around as if expecting applause.
So I leaned towards her on my work table, laced my fingers together and held them under my chin as if deeply fascinated by what this woman had to say. I said to her, “See, I find this VERY interesting. Because how I see it is that there are two people in this room: one is learning Hebrew, the other hasn’t bothered to learn any Hebrew at all, one has tried to learn Jewish history and literature on her own, while the other has absolutely no interest in that, one has given up her life in America to live among Jews, while the other enjoys a cushy lifestyle in Manhattan because she doesn’t give a damn what happens to the Jewish nation. Now take that in, and then tell me again who’s the Half-Jew and who’s the Full-Jew.”
There was this horrible silence in the room as the New Yorker bitch turned towards her immigrant sister with this indignant look on her face. The immigrant sister just looked down at her work and said nothing, because there’s nothing to say. I looked towards Astrology Bitch for approval, and she gave me a huge smile and whispered, “Col HaCavod.”
I realized that I question myself and criticize myself in ways that I would not for a second tolerate from other people. Like the whole "I'm not Jewish enough to live in Israel thing" that I have been going through. When I hear from the mouth of another Jew that I'm not as Jewish as she is though, I realize what a fucking ridiculous statement that is, and how ridiculous I personally am.
Seriously though, what the fuck is this, Harry Potter? Enough of this blood shit.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Sunday, July 6, 2008
I'm not my own grandpa, but I am completely dysfunctional in my own way.
First off, today French Bitch was describing to Naomi Bitch how the Prophetic Bastard (our Arab co-worker) has a family in which everyone is intermarried/inter-related/whatever. And, I got to say….it sounded suspiciously like the song “I’m My Own Grandpa.”
(Admit it, you loved "The Stupids" movie....)
A word of advice to those considering moving to a different country: Don’t.
If Nike’s slogan is “Just Do It,” then let my slogan be: “Just DON’T Do It. Don’t even fucking think about it. Put down the brochure, and go the fuck home like right now. I’m like not even joking about this so—hey, are you listening?! You, with the hat. Yes. Fine, whatever, but it’s distracting. Could you like maybe do that AFTER I’m done talking? No? All right, just try to do it quietly. Anyway, just don’t do it!”
I don’t think it has the same ring as Nike’s, but I think it makes more sense.
What makes me say this? Today I was supposed to take the bus to the mall so that I could go to the market, the pharmacy, eat dinner, and go to the bank. I didn’t get any of this accomplished today. Why?
I feel like I’ve regressed into childhood again. Before I got here, I felt like I was a very responsible person—yeah, I’ve never been 100 percent independent, but while away at college for almost two years I had to run my own errands, deal with my own shit, etc etc etc. But I get here, and while I’m expected to be even more independent than I was at home since I can’t even call my parents for help since my parents have an even worse idea of how things work over here than I do, at the same time I feel like the world’s biggest baby. I feel like everything’s impossible to understand. Today. A couple weeks ago I remember feeling like I understood EVERYTHING. Well, today I feel like I don’t understand how to use the bus. Today I feel like I don’t know how to go to the market, or how to fill a prescription at the pharmacy, or how to order food (actually, even on a good day I don’t know how to do that in Hebrew. I just point…), or how to go to the bank. What do I mean? I feel like if I got on a bus in Israel today, I wouldn’t know to pay the driver, or to wait for a ticket, or to find myself a seat, or to get off at the right stop. Despite the fact that I’ve been on the bus here a million times, and specifically this line a billion times. Yet somehow I feel like today it’s impossible.
With the exception of going to the pharmacy, these are all things I’ve done a MILLION times in Israel. Yet today I feel like an idiotic baby/child/beagle puppy, and that I am completely incapable of doing these things. Back home, it would not have even occurred to me to ask my parents to come with me on these kinds of errands, but here I wish my mom and dad were here, and that they could deal with all the scary foreign people for me. And then I could just hide behind Mom’s skirt and suck my thumb while Dad chuckled with the Israeli man behind the counter at the pharmacy about how shy his little girl is. Except I’m 20, so this vision is a little disturbing.
Look, I don’t want a bunch of comments saying, “Sam/Sammy/SemenTAH!, are you crazy? Are you an idiot? What’s the matter with you??? Just go to the fucking mall and run your fucking errands!” Yes, I realize that on a rational level, my belief that I am incapable of functioning in Israel is irrational. Yeah, there might be a “slight” language barrier, but 1) I’ve done most of these things before in Israel and 2) even if I hadn’t, I’ve done them before in the US and on a basic level things are gonna be the same: in both the US and Israel, you use the bus to get somewhere. You shop for food in the market. You get medicine at the pharmacy. You order food by expressing what you want. The bank is for storing money.
Yeah, yeah, I get all that. I can’t really explain it because I realize that what I’m feeling is completely irrational, that somewhere deep down I know I am fully capable of going to the fucking market because it’s really not that difficult! You wouldn’t really understand it unless you too spent three months (and soon to be more) being completely alone and feeling like a total idiot all the time. It makes even the simplest errands ridiculously overwhelming.
I can’t stand feeling like such a moron all the time. Yeah, I recognize that this is the country of immigrants or whatever, like the Russian soldiers in that guy’s story said, but at the same time I can’t stand feeling like the idiotic immigrant who’s always confused or standing in the wrong place at the wrong time or not understanding what’s being said.
I think I’m just a little stressed. I’ve said it a million times before, no need to go into details: work stresses me just because it’s not a good environment. I’m also stressed because the army enlistment date is drawing nearer and 1) I’m freaked out about joining a foreign army, 2) I’m freaked out about telling my parents and 3) I’m freaked out that something’s going to happen and that I’m NOT gonna be able to do the army.
I’m also stressed because I feel like I’m back in fucking middle school again, because the French suicidal nutcase has been bothering me a lot lately. He’s crazy about some girl here, and he’s openly declared his love for her to her. He’s extremely obvious about it, and everyone knows that he is obsessed with her. However, besides the girl herself, the only person the French guy has told about his “secret” love is me. And despite the fact that he’s INCREDIBLY obvious and that everyone already knows, he tells me that I better not tell anyone. So I haven’t—besides on this blog, and even then you have no way of knowing which girl I’m talking about.
Well the problem is this: some time ago I was talking to the girl the guy is crazy about, and I started crying about something. The French guy walked in, saw me crying, and demanded to know what the problem was. And being the emotional idiot that I was then, I talked to him and in the process let slip a personal detail—even though it’s something in hindsight I would have preferred to keep to myself as it’s a personal issue.
Well, now the crazy Frenchman keeps threatening me—CONSTANTLY threatening me. At first I thought he didn’t really mean it, but he is telling me this every five minutes now--that if ANYONE besides “The Girl” finds out that he is crazy about her, then he’s going to tell anyone and everyone he can about “My Secret.” The problem is that everyone already knows that the French Guy is crazy about The Girl, the French Guy just doesn’t know it yet. I have not told and would not tell anyone on this kibbutz about French Guy’s obsession, but that doesn’t matter to the French Guy—if he finds out that anyone knows, he’s going to see it as my fault, and suddenly I’m going to have a lot less privacy.
What a fucking soap opera, eh?
I’m just pissed off because I’m basically being blackmailed with a piece of information that the guy obtained when I was sobbing and when I thought he was trying to comfort me by asking me questions.
You know how I’m going to deal with it? I remember in high school or middle school or something someone once made fun of me for being ugly, and I replied very matter-of-factly, “I’m also fat, stupid and gross.” The insulter had the most shocked and bewildered look on her face, so I made a sort of bring-it-on/”come-on” gesture with my hands and continued, “What else ya got?” And that person never fucked with me again, because they didn’t know how to handle my response. So I think if it comes down to it, and if I know the end is near and that the Frenchman is about to yell out “My Secret” in the middle of the hotel lobby or ulpan classroom, I’m just gonna cut him off and yell it first. And if I don’t manage to cut him off in time to yell it myself, I’ll just follow up his yelling by shouting out an even worse “secret” about myself. Why? Because this guy is going to try to hurt me for something that I haven’t even done and wouldn’t do, and I just can’t let him win.
Jesus Hank Christ though, are all immigrants this fucked up or is it just the ones who came to this kibbutz? And does love/lust make ALL people crazy or is it just the French?
(Admit it, you loved "The Stupids" movie....)
A word of advice to those considering moving to a different country: Don’t.
If Nike’s slogan is “Just Do It,” then let my slogan be: “Just DON’T Do It. Don’t even fucking think about it. Put down the brochure, and go the fuck home like right now. I’m like not even joking about this so—hey, are you listening?! You, with the hat. Yes. Fine, whatever, but it’s distracting. Could you like maybe do that AFTER I’m done talking? No? All right, just try to do it quietly. Anyway, just don’t do it!”
I don’t think it has the same ring as Nike’s, but I think it makes more sense.
What makes me say this? Today I was supposed to take the bus to the mall so that I could go to the market, the pharmacy, eat dinner, and go to the bank. I didn’t get any of this accomplished today. Why?
I feel like I’ve regressed into childhood again. Before I got here, I felt like I was a very responsible person—yeah, I’ve never been 100 percent independent, but while away at college for almost two years I had to run my own errands, deal with my own shit, etc etc etc. But I get here, and while I’m expected to be even more independent than I was at home since I can’t even call my parents for help since my parents have an even worse idea of how things work over here than I do, at the same time I feel like the world’s biggest baby. I feel like everything’s impossible to understand. Today. A couple weeks ago I remember feeling like I understood EVERYTHING. Well, today I feel like I don’t understand how to use the bus. Today I feel like I don’t know how to go to the market, or how to fill a prescription at the pharmacy, or how to order food (actually, even on a good day I don’t know how to do that in Hebrew. I just point…), or how to go to the bank. What do I mean? I feel like if I got on a bus in Israel today, I wouldn’t know to pay the driver, or to wait for a ticket, or to find myself a seat, or to get off at the right stop. Despite the fact that I’ve been on the bus here a million times, and specifically this line a billion times. Yet somehow I feel like today it’s impossible.
With the exception of going to the pharmacy, these are all things I’ve done a MILLION times in Israel. Yet today I feel like an idiotic baby/child/beagle puppy, and that I am completely incapable of doing these things. Back home, it would not have even occurred to me to ask my parents to come with me on these kinds of errands, but here I wish my mom and dad were here, and that they could deal with all the scary foreign people for me. And then I could just hide behind Mom’s skirt and suck my thumb while Dad chuckled with the Israeli man behind the counter at the pharmacy about how shy his little girl is. Except I’m 20, so this vision is a little disturbing.
Look, I don’t want a bunch of comments saying, “Sam/Sammy/SemenTAH!, are you crazy? Are you an idiot? What’s the matter with you??? Just go to the fucking mall and run your fucking errands!” Yes, I realize that on a rational level, my belief that I am incapable of functioning in Israel is irrational. Yeah, there might be a “slight” language barrier, but 1) I’ve done most of these things before in Israel and 2) even if I hadn’t, I’ve done them before in the US and on a basic level things are gonna be the same: in both the US and Israel, you use the bus to get somewhere. You shop for food in the market. You get medicine at the pharmacy. You order food by expressing what you want. The bank is for storing money.
Yeah, yeah, I get all that. I can’t really explain it because I realize that what I’m feeling is completely irrational, that somewhere deep down I know I am fully capable of going to the fucking market because it’s really not that difficult! You wouldn’t really understand it unless you too spent three months (and soon to be more) being completely alone and feeling like a total idiot all the time. It makes even the simplest errands ridiculously overwhelming.
I can’t stand feeling like such a moron all the time. Yeah, I recognize that this is the country of immigrants or whatever, like the Russian soldiers in that guy’s story said, but at the same time I can’t stand feeling like the idiotic immigrant who’s always confused or standing in the wrong place at the wrong time or not understanding what’s being said.
I think I’m just a little stressed. I’ve said it a million times before, no need to go into details: work stresses me just because it’s not a good environment. I’m also stressed because the army enlistment date is drawing nearer and 1) I’m freaked out about joining a foreign army, 2) I’m freaked out about telling my parents and 3) I’m freaked out that something’s going to happen and that I’m NOT gonna be able to do the army.
I’m also stressed because I feel like I’m back in fucking middle school again, because the French suicidal nutcase has been bothering me a lot lately. He’s crazy about some girl here, and he’s openly declared his love for her to her. He’s extremely obvious about it, and everyone knows that he is obsessed with her. However, besides the girl herself, the only person the French guy has told about his “secret” love is me. And despite the fact that he’s INCREDIBLY obvious and that everyone already knows, he tells me that I better not tell anyone. So I haven’t—besides on this blog, and even then you have no way of knowing which girl I’m talking about.
Well the problem is this: some time ago I was talking to the girl the guy is crazy about, and I started crying about something. The French guy walked in, saw me crying, and demanded to know what the problem was. And being the emotional idiot that I was then, I talked to him and in the process let slip a personal detail—even though it’s something in hindsight I would have preferred to keep to myself as it’s a personal issue.
Well, now the crazy Frenchman keeps threatening me—CONSTANTLY threatening me. At first I thought he didn’t really mean it, but he is telling me this every five minutes now--that if ANYONE besides “The Girl” finds out that he is crazy about her, then he’s going to tell anyone and everyone he can about “My Secret.” The problem is that everyone already knows that the French Guy is crazy about The Girl, the French Guy just doesn’t know it yet. I have not told and would not tell anyone on this kibbutz about French Guy’s obsession, but that doesn’t matter to the French Guy—if he finds out that anyone knows, he’s going to see it as my fault, and suddenly I’m going to have a lot less privacy.
What a fucking soap opera, eh?
I’m just pissed off because I’m basically being blackmailed with a piece of information that the guy obtained when I was sobbing and when I thought he was trying to comfort me by asking me questions.
You know how I’m going to deal with it? I remember in high school or middle school or something someone once made fun of me for being ugly, and I replied very matter-of-factly, “I’m also fat, stupid and gross.” The insulter had the most shocked and bewildered look on her face, so I made a sort of bring-it-on/”come-on” gesture with my hands and continued, “What else ya got?” And that person never fucked with me again, because they didn’t know how to handle my response. So I think if it comes down to it, and if I know the end is near and that the Frenchman is about to yell out “My Secret” in the middle of the hotel lobby or ulpan classroom, I’m just gonna cut him off and yell it first. And if I don’t manage to cut him off in time to yell it myself, I’ll just follow up his yelling by shouting out an even worse “secret” about myself. Why? Because this guy is going to try to hurt me for something that I haven’t even done and wouldn’t do, and I just can’t let him win.
Jesus Hank Christ though, are all immigrants this fucked up or is it just the ones who came to this kibbutz? And does love/lust make ALL people crazy or is it just the French?
Saturday, July 5, 2008
"EVERYONE in this country is an immigrant!"
So I met two people this week that have frightened me: one is someone who has lived here for two years now and still cannot hold even the most basic conversation in Hebrew. The other just finished his army service (three years), and is still basically illiterate in Hebrew. Shit. I'm afraid now that even just giving myself time in this country isn't going to make me fluent/completely literate in Hebrew. Shit shit shit!
I started talking to the one who just did his army service, and the subject of guns on buses came up. He said, "Yeah, when I was on a bus with my gun, I accidentally lightly bumped a woman with it as I got up. I told her in Hebrew, 'Oh, I didn't mean to do that, I'm really sorry.' And she heard my accent and she started screaming at me, 'Go back to America, no one wants you here!' And I'm a soldier, in Israeli uniform, and she's yelling at me to go home."
I gasped and started panicking that something similar would happen to me, but the guy continued:
"Well, as it turns out, there were four soldiers sitting in the back--four Russian immigrant soldiers. And they all stood up and came forward, and started screaming at the lady, 'EVERYONE in this country is an immigrant! If you tell him to go home, then why don't YOU go back to whatever country your family came from too!' "
I just thought this story is both appalling and sweet at the same time and needed to be shared.
I started talking to the one who just did his army service, and the subject of guns on buses came up. He said, "Yeah, when I was on a bus with my gun, I accidentally lightly bumped a woman with it as I got up. I told her in Hebrew, 'Oh, I didn't mean to do that, I'm really sorry.' And she heard my accent and she started screaming at me, 'Go back to America, no one wants you here!' And I'm a soldier, in Israeli uniform, and she's yelling at me to go home."
I gasped and started panicking that something similar would happen to me, but the guy continued:
"Well, as it turns out, there were four soldiers sitting in the back--four Russian immigrant soldiers. And they all stood up and came forward, and started screaming at the lady, 'EVERYONE in this country is an immigrant! If you tell him to go home, then why don't YOU go back to whatever country your family came from too!' "
I just thought this story is both appalling and sweet at the same time and needed to be shared.
Friday, July 4, 2008
'Merka. Fuck yeah.
First off, does “Little House on the Prairie” come in Hebrew? Must research…
Well, happy fourth everybody!
First off, let me warn you that what follows is a lot of homesickness, but it doesn’t mean that I’m about to give up and go back to the US or anything. It’s just part of moving to a new country, okay? So:
I got to admit, I hate not being in the US for Independence Day. I hate that I’m gonna miss the BBQ’s, the Galaxy game, the fireworks…everything. In fairness, having experienced Yom Ha’Aztmaut in Israel makes me realize that I don’t ever want to be in the US again on Yom Ha’Atzmaut……but today is my day to be a little homesick. Not homesick enough to want to go home, but homesick enough to be a little sad.
Because tonight there are hot dogs out there in the world, being grilled thousands of miles away, that I’m not eating! Nooo! (And I miss the fact that “Independence Day” will be on TV, and I’ll miss that fact that many little girls will be forced by their mothers to dress ‘adorably’ patriotic—when I was little, I had a red/white/blue bow for my hair that my mother bought me to wear only on the Fourth of July every year…..thank G-d I grew up!)
I suppose the worst part of all of this is that I feel like celebrating and shouting HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY at people, but because most people here are Israeli or at least not American, everyone would be like, “You missed it by two months, you retard!” So instead I put on some patriotic music and sat by myself for a while.
Just listened to “America the Beautiful,” and it reminded me of elementary school. Sometime around the age of 8 during one of the millions of times we had to sing it during music class, I decided I didn’t like the first verse and instead decided to sing my favorite verse, which is the one about how America’s beautiful for having heros that died for it and loved the country more than themselves. So the class starts singing the first verse, and I’m singing the third verse—and I have the world’s worst voice, but when I get into it I don’t give a shit and I sing LOUD. And then the music teacher stops the entire class, and demands to know who the hell is 1) not singing the correct verse and 2) BUTCHERING the song. And everyone looks at me. So I get into an argument with the music teacher, and he tells me I have to sing the first verse, I tell him I don’t like the first verse, and he tells me that that’s not the point, and so I tell him that I don’t care what the point is and that I like the third verse. And I got kicked out of class for the day…..
I still hate the first verse. With a fiery passion. When I was little I didn’t like it cos it didn't have the word "heros" like the other verse, but now I’ve thought about it more and realized what my problem is: if you’re gonna call a song “America the Beautiful,” you could get a little creative and describe something OTHER than physical beauty in the first verse. Don’t get me wrong, I think the U.S. is tied with Israel for being the most beautiful country in the world, but you shouldn’t want to live in a country just because it’s beautiful to look at. You go on vacation to a country just because it’s beautiful to look at, but you don’t LIVE there. A country’s gotta have more than that. I mean, if people really are dying for the country, as described in the verse I like, then I sure hope they’re not just dying for the country cos it has some nice scenery. Am I right?
I’ve also been thinking a lot about how my two independence days will be celebrated in the future, when hopefully I’ll be an Israeli citizen but still also an American. At first I thought that’d be confusing and that I’d feel guilty for celebrating the national holiday of a country other than the one I’m living in, but then I realized that at least in my case I can agree on both sides that no one likes the British. And if I still think my situation is confusing, I can look to two of my friends: one has British, American, and Israeli citizenship. On the Fourth of July does he celebrate his country’s independence….from his country? On Yom Ha’Atzmaut, does he do the same? But if he thinks THAT’s bad, he can look at our other friend: A German who has British, American and Israeli citizenship. How the fuck does one reconcile that???
Anyway, there was one person who tried to share my happiness with me. It was very sweet, but a little bit bizarre. Today at work Astrology Bitch asked me if I was homesick, and I said that sometimes I am and that today I am just because it’s Independence Day. And we were speaking English, so she said, “Oh yes, that’s right, I forgot! Congratulations!” I didn’t quite understand why she was saying “Congratulations” so I gave her a confused look. So she said again, “Congratulations. …..Mazel tov.” But I was still confused. Why was I being congratulated? What hard work had I done? Yes, I personally declared independence from the British back in 1776. Yes, I personally spent that harsh winter with George Washington (was it Valley Forge?), and I personally dressed as an Indian and dumped tea into the Boston Harbor. My brothers and father personally fought in the Revolutionary War, and I was that Molly Pitcher or whatever lady. I tarred and feathered loyalists, and it was me who made a midnight ride screaming “The British are coming!” When I wasn’t sitting at home stitching my sampler like a good colonial woman, I was refusing to give lodging to a redcoat and at the same time inspiring one of the rights in the Bill of Rights.
But you know what? I kind of like it. “Congratulations.” It made me feel like, though I didn’t have anything to do with what happened over couple hundred years ago, I had something to do with the US’s success and existence just by living in it. And, well….that’s kind of cool. And I think hopefully it’d be the same for me in Israel. I’m gonna live here and maybe even be a soldier, and on Yom Ha’Atzmaut maybe someone will tell me “Congratulations!” and I’ll be like, “DAMN STRAIGHT, SON!”
Anyway, there’s this New York lady who has lived on the kibbutz for many years who just got transferred to work in the laundry room like two weeks ago. She’s really annoying because her table is in the path of the AC so she’s always cold. But if you turn off the AC or lower it so that it’s not cold for her, the rest of the room feels like a sweaty bat ass. But she refuses to put on a jacket and instead insists that the AC is either turned off or turned to a temperature that is comfortable for her and only her.
So I’ve been getting really sweaty at work. I’ve been wearing short sleeves and sandals and such, though it still is too hot in that room, but I can’t very well show up to work in only my underwear—I understand that Israel is extremely casual, but I’m sure they draw the line somewhere.
So today she shows up and insists that we turn off the AC again, and French Bitch reluctantly complies. So I turn to the American woman and talk to her in English (as a matter of principle I do not speak in anything but English to other Americans just because it doesn’t make any fucking sense to speak to each other in a language that neither of you are good at. I mean, this lady has been here for a while but she still isn’t as good at it as she is with English. I have made exceptions though, for example when I’m in a group of people where there are some Americans and some non-English speakers I’ll speak Hebrew because otherwise it’s rude).
So anyway, I say to her in English in my most polite/sweet/whatever voice, “Look, if the AC bothers you, I don’t mind switching with you. You can sit at my table where you’ll have a comfortable temperature and I’ll sit at your table—which would be great for me because I’d actually prefer to be a bit chilly! What do you think?”
And then she looks as though her head is about to explode. She looks like she has OCD. She bursts out in this crazy voice, “No, I’d really prefer to sit here, OKAY???” And she’s like shaking a little.
Holy fuck, what did I do?? I was trying to be polite, I was trying to do something that would make everyone happy and comfortable!
Clearly this woman is crazy, I thought to myself. Clearly.
And I was right.
A couple hours later the lady burst out crying. Like sobbing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown woman cry like that, not even my mother. Like lady had a total breakdown. In the middle of the fucking laundry room. I mean, I’ve had many breakdowns since coming to this country, but I at least had the grace to wait until AFTER I got away from the Women of the Wash to completely freak out, with snot running out of my nose and my eyes all bloodshot and everything. The lady was sobbing so hard I thought she couldn’t breathe, and there were tears everywhere.
The Women of the Wash tried to comfort her, and she kept repeating, like a broken record and a broken woman, “I can’t do it anymore!” Total mess. I just sat in the back of the room and tried to be as small as possible because I honestly had no idea what I was supposed to do. Eventually the woman’s husband came and she plowed right into his arms and sobbed all over him. He stroked her hair and led her away, hopefully to the loony bin.
I think the lady’s breakdown had something to do with the laundry room and aliyah. She’s gotten progressively worse (sadder and quieter and such) since coming to the laundry room, and the Women of the Wash aren’t too nice to her. Also, she’s been here for years and even has Israeli children but her Hebrew still isn’t that great and she’s still VERY VERY American, and the Women of the Wash frequently talk to her in English even though she responds in Hebrew. I think that must be really rough on her.
So she had gone and there was this horrible silence. There have been very few times where I’ve seen Israelis awkward and silent, but this was one of them.
Well, it’s been an interesting day to say the least.
Well, happy fourth everybody!
First off, let me warn you that what follows is a lot of homesickness, but it doesn’t mean that I’m about to give up and go back to the US or anything. It’s just part of moving to a new country, okay? So:
I got to admit, I hate not being in the US for Independence Day. I hate that I’m gonna miss the BBQ’s, the Galaxy game, the fireworks…everything. In fairness, having experienced Yom Ha’Aztmaut in Israel makes me realize that I don’t ever want to be in the US again on Yom Ha’Atzmaut……but today is my day to be a little homesick. Not homesick enough to want to go home, but homesick enough to be a little sad.
Because tonight there are hot dogs out there in the world, being grilled thousands of miles away, that I’m not eating! Nooo! (And I miss the fact that “Independence Day” will be on TV, and I’ll miss that fact that many little girls will be forced by their mothers to dress ‘adorably’ patriotic—when I was little, I had a red/white/blue bow for my hair that my mother bought me to wear only on the Fourth of July every year…..thank G-d I grew up!)
I suppose the worst part of all of this is that I feel like celebrating and shouting HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY at people, but because most people here are Israeli or at least not American, everyone would be like, “You missed it by two months, you retard!” So instead I put on some patriotic music and sat by myself for a while.
Just listened to “America the Beautiful,” and it reminded me of elementary school. Sometime around the age of 8 during one of the millions of times we had to sing it during music class, I decided I didn’t like the first verse and instead decided to sing my favorite verse, which is the one about how America’s beautiful for having heros that died for it and loved the country more than themselves. So the class starts singing the first verse, and I’m singing the third verse—and I have the world’s worst voice, but when I get into it I don’t give a shit and I sing LOUD. And then the music teacher stops the entire class, and demands to know who the hell is 1) not singing the correct verse and 2) BUTCHERING the song. And everyone looks at me. So I get into an argument with the music teacher, and he tells me I have to sing the first verse, I tell him I don’t like the first verse, and he tells me that that’s not the point, and so I tell him that I don’t care what the point is and that I like the third verse. And I got kicked out of class for the day…..
I still hate the first verse. With a fiery passion. When I was little I didn’t like it cos it didn't have the word "heros" like the other verse, but now I’ve thought about it more and realized what my problem is: if you’re gonna call a song “America the Beautiful,” you could get a little creative and describe something OTHER than physical beauty in the first verse. Don’t get me wrong, I think the U.S. is tied with Israel for being the most beautiful country in the world, but you shouldn’t want to live in a country just because it’s beautiful to look at. You go on vacation to a country just because it’s beautiful to look at, but you don’t LIVE there. A country’s gotta have more than that. I mean, if people really are dying for the country, as described in the verse I like, then I sure hope they’re not just dying for the country cos it has some nice scenery. Am I right?
I’ve also been thinking a lot about how my two independence days will be celebrated in the future, when hopefully I’ll be an Israeli citizen but still also an American. At first I thought that’d be confusing and that I’d feel guilty for celebrating the national holiday of a country other than the one I’m living in, but then I realized that at least in my case I can agree on both sides that no one likes the British. And if I still think my situation is confusing, I can look to two of my friends: one has British, American, and Israeli citizenship. On the Fourth of July does he celebrate his country’s independence….from his country? On Yom Ha’Atzmaut, does he do the same? But if he thinks THAT’s bad, he can look at our other friend: A German who has British, American and Israeli citizenship. How the fuck does one reconcile that???
Anyway, there was one person who tried to share my happiness with me. It was very sweet, but a little bit bizarre. Today at work Astrology Bitch asked me if I was homesick, and I said that sometimes I am and that today I am just because it’s Independence Day. And we were speaking English, so she said, “Oh yes, that’s right, I forgot! Congratulations!” I didn’t quite understand why she was saying “Congratulations” so I gave her a confused look. So she said again, “Congratulations. …..Mazel tov.” But I was still confused. Why was I being congratulated? What hard work had I done? Yes, I personally declared independence from the British back in 1776. Yes, I personally spent that harsh winter with George Washington (was it Valley Forge?), and I personally dressed as an Indian and dumped tea into the Boston Harbor. My brothers and father personally fought in the Revolutionary War, and I was that Molly Pitcher or whatever lady. I tarred and feathered loyalists, and it was me who made a midnight ride screaming “The British are coming!” When I wasn’t sitting at home stitching my sampler like a good colonial woman, I was refusing to give lodging to a redcoat and at the same time inspiring one of the rights in the Bill of Rights.
But you know what? I kind of like it. “Congratulations.” It made me feel like, though I didn’t have anything to do with what happened over couple hundred years ago, I had something to do with the US’s success and existence just by living in it. And, well….that’s kind of cool. And I think hopefully it’d be the same for me in Israel. I’m gonna live here and maybe even be a soldier, and on Yom Ha’Atzmaut maybe someone will tell me “Congratulations!” and I’ll be like, “DAMN STRAIGHT, SON!”
Anyway, there’s this New York lady who has lived on the kibbutz for many years who just got transferred to work in the laundry room like two weeks ago. She’s really annoying because her table is in the path of the AC so she’s always cold. But if you turn off the AC or lower it so that it’s not cold for her, the rest of the room feels like a sweaty bat ass. But she refuses to put on a jacket and instead insists that the AC is either turned off or turned to a temperature that is comfortable for her and only her.
So I’ve been getting really sweaty at work. I’ve been wearing short sleeves and sandals and such, though it still is too hot in that room, but I can’t very well show up to work in only my underwear—I understand that Israel is extremely casual, but I’m sure they draw the line somewhere.
So today she shows up and insists that we turn off the AC again, and French Bitch reluctantly complies. So I turn to the American woman and talk to her in English (as a matter of principle I do not speak in anything but English to other Americans just because it doesn’t make any fucking sense to speak to each other in a language that neither of you are good at. I mean, this lady has been here for a while but she still isn’t as good at it as she is with English. I have made exceptions though, for example when I’m in a group of people where there are some Americans and some non-English speakers I’ll speak Hebrew because otherwise it’s rude).
So anyway, I say to her in English in my most polite/sweet/whatever voice, “Look, if the AC bothers you, I don’t mind switching with you. You can sit at my table where you’ll have a comfortable temperature and I’ll sit at your table—which would be great for me because I’d actually prefer to be a bit chilly! What do you think?”
And then she looks as though her head is about to explode. She looks like she has OCD. She bursts out in this crazy voice, “No, I’d really prefer to sit here, OKAY???” And she’s like shaking a little.
Holy fuck, what did I do?? I was trying to be polite, I was trying to do something that would make everyone happy and comfortable!
Clearly this woman is crazy, I thought to myself. Clearly.
And I was right.
A couple hours later the lady burst out crying. Like sobbing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown woman cry like that, not even my mother. Like lady had a total breakdown. In the middle of the fucking laundry room. I mean, I’ve had many breakdowns since coming to this country, but I at least had the grace to wait until AFTER I got away from the Women of the Wash to completely freak out, with snot running out of my nose and my eyes all bloodshot and everything. The lady was sobbing so hard I thought she couldn’t breathe, and there were tears everywhere.
The Women of the Wash tried to comfort her, and she kept repeating, like a broken record and a broken woman, “I can’t do it anymore!” Total mess. I just sat in the back of the room and tried to be as small as possible because I honestly had no idea what I was supposed to do. Eventually the woman’s husband came and she plowed right into his arms and sobbed all over him. He stroked her hair and led her away, hopefully to the loony bin.
I think the lady’s breakdown had something to do with the laundry room and aliyah. She’s gotten progressively worse (sadder and quieter and such) since coming to the laundry room, and the Women of the Wash aren’t too nice to her. Also, she’s been here for years and even has Israeli children but her Hebrew still isn’t that great and she’s still VERY VERY American, and the Women of the Wash frequently talk to her in English even though she responds in Hebrew. I think that must be really rough on her.
So she had gone and there was this horrible silence. There have been very few times where I’ve seen Israelis awkward and silent, but this was one of them.
Well, it’s been an interesting day to say the least.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
woot
Two things:
I love my job (not towel folding). You don't know babysitting until you've babysat in a foreign language.
On the kibbutz there's a huge Christian tour group here for a month. The vast majority are Americans, and the vast majority of them have southern accents. I've been listening to them in the dining hall (and right now in the hotel lobby) and I've been watching them with fascination. It's made me realize that, yes, maybe I'm not the most "Jewish" Jewish girl in the world, but there is NO WAY IN HELL that I have anything in common with these people!
I love my job (not towel folding). You don't know babysitting until you've babysat in a foreign language.
On the kibbutz there's a huge Christian tour group here for a month. The vast majority are Americans, and the vast majority of them have southern accents. I've been listening to them in the dining hall (and right now in the hotel lobby) and I've been watching them with fascination. It's made me realize that, yes, maybe I'm not the most "Jewish" Jewish girl in the world, but there is NO WAY IN HELL that I have anything in common with these people!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Get used to it.
It's been an "interesting" day to say the least.
The suicide attempter (who is back from the hospital now) announced to me at lunch that he is moving back to France. Where he faces spending pretty much the vast majority of the rest of his life in prison for a number of things, among them arson, attempted murder ("attempted" seems to be a common theme with this guy....is that a sick joke?), fleeing from the police (why he's in Israel in the first place), and some other shit too. I told him that I wasn't encouraging him to evade justice or anything, but I told him I didn't want him to basically decide to put himself in jail for the next G-d knows how many years just because he's feeling depressed now. Cos prison ain't gonna make it better! If he wants to take the punishment for what he did, then I want him to make that decision with a sane mind (or as sane as possible because clearly this guy is crazy. Always).
Then, of course, there was the attack in Jerusalem. I only understood part of what the radio was saying (basically I understood that some serious shit had gone down in Jerusalem involving a terrorist attack, a bulldozer, East Jerusalem, a soldier, a bus and 'Shaarei Tzedek Hospital'), so I asked one of my co-workers to explain. It really freaked me out because I walk past the spot where it happened like at least twice a week. I then called my parents even though it was the middle of the night because I knew that they'd wake up in the morning and immediately read the news like they always do and then they'd freak out. I know it seems weird to call your parents and say, "I wasn't in Jerusalem today," but when you're thousands of miles away it actually makes sense. It's pretty damn obvious to me that I wasn't in Jerusalem today, but it's not at all obvious to my parents.
So I called my mom, it's like 3 in the morning or something and I start by saying, "Hi Mom, it's your daughter, I'm really sorry I'm waking you up--I just wanna say that I'm at work and I'm absolutely fine but that there was a....a....a..."thing" in Jerusalem today, but there's no need to worry when you wake up and read the news tomorrow."
This was followed by 15 minutes of my mother freaking out--thanking me profusely by doing the right thing by calling her even though she was asleep, but still freaking out and telling me to come home. Finally I calmed her down and we got off the phone.
I went back to work and a few minutes later BOTH of my parents called me back and started freaking out and insisting that I come home. They said they couldn't go back to sleep and that they were reading all the news stories and that they wanted me home now now now. We argued for a bit, and finally they were just like, "Well just stay on the kibbutz for a while then, don't leave it!"
(I'm probably going to Jerusalem tonight.)
Fuck though. I'm sick of this shit. First off, to quote Astrology Bitch today as she screamed at the radio : "WHO USES A TRACTOR TO KILL PEOPLE?? REALLY. WHO DOES THAT?" And second off, to quote Astrology Bitch again: "They think if they keep rocketing us or exploding us up or shooting us or......or hitting us with tractors!....then we will leave and go to a different place. I don't have a different place to go! I don't have another home! Where am I expected to go?! This is it!"
The suicide attempter (who is back from the hospital now) announced to me at lunch that he is moving back to France. Where he faces spending pretty much the vast majority of the rest of his life in prison for a number of things, among them arson, attempted murder ("attempted" seems to be a common theme with this guy....is that a sick joke?), fleeing from the police (why he's in Israel in the first place), and some other shit too. I told him that I wasn't encouraging him to evade justice or anything, but I told him I didn't want him to basically decide to put himself in jail for the next G-d knows how many years just because he's feeling depressed now. Cos prison ain't gonna make it better! If he wants to take the punishment for what he did, then I want him to make that decision with a sane mind (or as sane as possible because clearly this guy is crazy. Always).
Then, of course, there was the attack in Jerusalem. I only understood part of what the radio was saying (basically I understood that some serious shit had gone down in Jerusalem involving a terrorist attack, a bulldozer, East Jerusalem, a soldier, a bus and 'Shaarei Tzedek Hospital'), so I asked one of my co-workers to explain. It really freaked me out because I walk past the spot where it happened like at least twice a week. I then called my parents even though it was the middle of the night because I knew that they'd wake up in the morning and immediately read the news like they always do and then they'd freak out. I know it seems weird to call your parents and say, "I wasn't in Jerusalem today," but when you're thousands of miles away it actually makes sense. It's pretty damn obvious to me that I wasn't in Jerusalem today, but it's not at all obvious to my parents.
So I called my mom, it's like 3 in the morning or something and I start by saying, "Hi Mom, it's your daughter, I'm really sorry I'm waking you up--I just wanna say that I'm at work and I'm absolutely fine but that there was a....a....a..."thing" in Jerusalem today, but there's no need to worry when you wake up and read the news tomorrow."
This was followed by 15 minutes of my mother freaking out--thanking me profusely by doing the right thing by calling her even though she was asleep, but still freaking out and telling me to come home. Finally I calmed her down and we got off the phone.
I went back to work and a few minutes later BOTH of my parents called me back and started freaking out and insisting that I come home. They said they couldn't go back to sleep and that they were reading all the news stories and that they wanted me home now now now. We argued for a bit, and finally they were just like, "Well just stay on the kibbutz for a while then, don't leave it!"
(I'm probably going to Jerusalem tonight.)
Fuck though. I'm sick of this shit. First off, to quote Astrology Bitch today as she screamed at the radio : "WHO USES A TRACTOR TO KILL PEOPLE?? REALLY. WHO DOES THAT?" And second off, to quote Astrology Bitch again: "They think if they keep rocketing us or exploding us up or shooting us or......or hitting us with tractors!....then we will leave and go to a different place. I don't have a different place to go! I don't have another home! Where am I expected to go?! This is it!"
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Why can't everything just NOT suck for a couple days
So everything was starting to look up. I'm gradually easing my parents into the whole "I'm joining the army!" announcement. I don't know when the final announcement will come, but I'll be sure to keep you posted. Then I was going to devote a post to how happy I was because today I went to play with/quasi-babysit these four kids today. It really was awesome.
But then I come back and find out that the Frenchman, the guy that tells solely me everything (in French), tried to commit suicide. He was in the hospital. And the sad thing is, people: had he succeeded, this would have been not the first but the SECOND time that someone that I was kind of close with and who had shared EVERYTHING with me and only me had offed themselves. And let me also tell you, people: three years after the first instance, the guilt STILL hasn't gone away. It's definitely something I think about every single day of my life.
I can't help but wonder why every single time I try to be kind and there for people, it always ends up going horribly wrong for me. I know I'm being very selfish by saying that, but let's think about it. Clearly my being friends with this guy and devoting the vast majority of my time to hearing him pour out his feelings and whatnot isn't making him happy, because otherwise he wouldn't have tried to kill himself. In fact, the only thing that's coming out of this is that I'm becoming less happy. And, G-d forbid, if he had succeeded, he'd be nothing and yet I'd be left with another dose of unbearable guilt for the rest of my life. But if I had just stayed the fuck away and not lent an ear, he would still be just as miserable and he'd probably still try to kill himself--but the difference is that in that instance, he'd still become nothing but I wouldn't have intolerable guilt.
G-d, that's a horrible thing for me to say.
My roommate and I were talking about this, and she was just kind of brushing it off and saying I shouldn't get so upset about it, that yeah it was a big deal but that I shouldn't be angry and I just wanted to yell at her, You don't know what it's like to see someone's coffin and think to yourself, "I didn't do enough to stop that."
Jesus, I'm sick of this shit. I don't want to talk to this person ever again, but I know that if his situation becomes worse because he no longer has a friendly ear, I'm going to feel even worse. Well, fuck. I wish I were a mean person.
Sorry to bother you two or three readers out there with all this heavy shit. Maybe you came here hoping to read some silly story about pudding, or how I yelled at someone in Hebrew....and I whip this crap out on you. I'm sorry. I'm not sure what my point is in putting this post out there and making what I'm saying public, but at the same time I feel like this shit needs to be said. You wonder what the reality of making aliyah is, and I have to tell you that this is what it is. No, I'm not saying that people are trying to kill themselves all the fuckign time when they make aliyah, and I'm not saying that this kind of shit doesn't happen in the U.S. or anywhere else abroad....but at the same time, I have to point out that this guy is in the same boat as me: stuck on this fucking kibbutz all the time, in a foreign country with absolutely no family, etc etc. And I know all that played a HUGE part in what made him upset. A huge part. So yeah, aliyah's great cos you get to do Zionist shit or whatever, but it also takes a huge toll on you emotionally. And sometimes no matter how much you love the idea of Israel, and no matter how much of an idealist you are, sometimes even that isn't enough to counter the horrible loneliness and stress and fear and whatever that comes with making aliyah. Just wanted to put that out there. Just something to think about.
Good night, y'all.
But then I come back and find out that the Frenchman, the guy that tells solely me everything (in French), tried to commit suicide. He was in the hospital. And the sad thing is, people: had he succeeded, this would have been not the first but the SECOND time that someone that I was kind of close with and who had shared EVERYTHING with me and only me had offed themselves. And let me also tell you, people: three years after the first instance, the guilt STILL hasn't gone away. It's definitely something I think about every single day of my life.
I can't help but wonder why every single time I try to be kind and there for people, it always ends up going horribly wrong for me. I know I'm being very selfish by saying that, but let's think about it. Clearly my being friends with this guy and devoting the vast majority of my time to hearing him pour out his feelings and whatnot isn't making him happy, because otherwise he wouldn't have tried to kill himself. In fact, the only thing that's coming out of this is that I'm becoming less happy. And, G-d forbid, if he had succeeded, he'd be nothing and yet I'd be left with another dose of unbearable guilt for the rest of my life. But if I had just stayed the fuck away and not lent an ear, he would still be just as miserable and he'd probably still try to kill himself--but the difference is that in that instance, he'd still become nothing but I wouldn't have intolerable guilt.
G-d, that's a horrible thing for me to say.
My roommate and I were talking about this, and she was just kind of brushing it off and saying I shouldn't get so upset about it, that yeah it was a big deal but that I shouldn't be angry and I just wanted to yell at her, You don't know what it's like to see someone's coffin and think to yourself, "I didn't do enough to stop that."
Jesus, I'm sick of this shit. I don't want to talk to this person ever again, but I know that if his situation becomes worse because he no longer has a friendly ear, I'm going to feel even worse. Well, fuck. I wish I were a mean person.
Sorry to bother you two or three readers out there with all this heavy shit. Maybe you came here hoping to read some silly story about pudding, or how I yelled at someone in Hebrew....and I whip this crap out on you. I'm sorry. I'm not sure what my point is in putting this post out there and making what I'm saying public, but at the same time I feel like this shit needs to be said. You wonder what the reality of making aliyah is, and I have to tell you that this is what it is. No, I'm not saying that people are trying to kill themselves all the fuckign time when they make aliyah, and I'm not saying that this kind of shit doesn't happen in the U.S. or anywhere else abroad....but at the same time, I have to point out that this guy is in the same boat as me: stuck on this fucking kibbutz all the time, in a foreign country with absolutely no family, etc etc. And I know all that played a HUGE part in what made him upset. A huge part. So yeah, aliyah's great cos you get to do Zionist shit or whatever, but it also takes a huge toll on you emotionally. And sometimes no matter how much you love the idea of Israel, and no matter how much of an idealist you are, sometimes even that isn't enough to counter the horrible loneliness and stress and fear and whatever that comes with making aliyah. Just wanted to put that out there. Just something to think about.
Good night, y'all.
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