Today class was cancelled since our teacher was sick, so instead I decided to go for a nice walk while waiting to see if my health clinic received the last blood test (we had received 2/3, but were waiting on the third). After wandering around Ben Yehuda I ended up in the first Jewish homes built outside the walls of Jerusalem in the late 1800’s by Moses Montefiore. I remember we read about this in our first year Hebrew class. I had never actually seen it though until now, and I had a fun time finally seeing what our book described. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to REALLY enjoy it as I had to pee like a racehorse at that moment. I kept trying to desperately recall the paragraph in the book, thinking that that would somehow aid in finding a bathroom. No dice…..
Also during my walk I bumped into one of my former co-workers from the t-shirt store. It was terribly awkward. Mostly because I thought she was going in for a hug, which I was kind of pissed about because I hate hugging people I don’t know all that well, but it turns out she wasn’t, so it turned into this sort of awkward dangly thing. I wonder if I’m ever going to get used to the concept of constantly bumping into people I know or whether it’s going to continue to catch me off guard and make me panic about going out into public at all for the rest of my life in Israel.
It’s really creepy when you’ll be on the bus or something and you look out the window and you pass by someone you know who is walking on the street, and, mind you, you’re on the complete opposite side of Jerusalem from where you both live. And good luck if you skip class one day, because you’ll almost without fail bump into your teacher at the mall or bank or whatever later in the day after class is out—this has already happened to a couple of my classmates.
I’ve also noticed that I see strangers on the street at least twice. As I was told by some Germans, “You see everyone twice.” Well that never happened in LA because it has like the same amount of people as all of Israel, but here in Jerusalem? It’s like every morning I see someone and then several hours later in a different part of the city I see them again. And then there are the strangers I see constantly, like people on the bus who I recognize. Like the old man who always looks like he’s about to vomit, who rides the 9.20 am bus every morning. It’s a little frightening to feel like you know everybody.
Anyway, while I was out I saw there was a rally calling for the government to get back Gilad Shalit. They had people waving flags with his face on them, and people with t-shirts and signs and whatnot. There were banners everywhere saying that Gilad is still alive, and people about my age were handing out bumper stickers to passing cars. Apparently it was outside the Prime Minister’s residence or something, but I didn’t realize it at the time, I only just read about it online.
I don’t want to get all political or whatever on this blog, but I just want to say that issues like whether or not to swap Gilad Shalit for hundreds of terrorists make me feel like I am 100% NOT entitled to an opinion. Certainly I have an opinion, but whether or not my opinion is valid is a totally different thing. When this kind of argument comes up, I feel kind of like how I imagine an Israeli might feel if he were in the US around election times. An Israeli might express his opinion to an American friend, but ultimately the American friend doesn’t give a shit if the Israeli’s opinion differs from his own because ultimately it’s the American who is going to have to live with the consequences of the vote. The Israeli’s opinion is more or less meaningless. Here in Israeli I feel kind of like the opposite, but the same. I AM going to have to live with the consequences of what happens here, whether it’s elections or prisoner swaps or whatever, but the fact is that I didn’t live through what happened before. Who am I to tell the families of terror victims to get over the fact that their loved ones’ murders are going to be released to get one soldier back? I didn’t live through the intifadas, I didn’t lose any family members or friends, and apart from seeing images of it on the news it had absolutely no effect on my life. But at the same time, who am I to tell Gilad Shalit’s family and friends, or even Gilad Shalit himself, that he can just sit in some unknown prison for the rest of his life? I don’t have family or friends in the army, I have no way of possibly imagining one of my family members, like a brother serving in the army, in that situation, and I have nothing in my life to possibly bring that situation close to home. So I guess what I’m saying is that, in general, who am I to have an opinion on the matter? I feel kind of like my expressing an opinion on certain things going on in Israel is a bit like waltzing into a car dealership and immediately buying the shiniest car I see, before I do any research or test drive or whatever. Except an opinion is a million times more important.
I don't know. Just a thought.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Check out my shun gun
So last night I ended up having a conversation with someone over what I found appealing about the Amish. I was actually too embarrassed to admit what I most like about the Amish, and instead the person talking to me assumed it had something to do with the simple lifestyle. But what do I actually love and admire about the Amish?
Shunning.
I love the concept. “You have done something so offensive in my eyes that I’m not even going to acknowledge your existence.”
“I HAVE NO SON!”
Granted, I could never live without my iTunes collection or DVD collection, or even my laptop simply for writing….but I love the idea of shunning. Just imagine. It’s like the biggest communal “fuck you!” I can possibly think of.
Can we also talk about the fact that yesterday it got REALLY hot? Yesterday I went for a stroll up near the UN base thing, and I was expecting it to be chilly and….Jesus, Mary and Joseph it was boiling. Can we talk about the fact that only a couple days ago I was wearing my North Face jacket that I used in Chicago winters, that our classroom was so cold that we shivered constantly?
So I’ve mentioned on this blog that one of my brothers has found religion. Actually, BOTH have found religion, but one has found Orthodox Judaism. Anyway, as I believe I mentioned on this blog a couple months ago, either over Thanksgiving or Christmas break he started telling me that I should be wearing a skirt at all times.
Anyway, I just remembered that a couple years ago, really not so long ago, we were going on a family walk one Saturday morning through the Orthodox neighborhood that is about a block or two from where I lived and grew up. Given the timing of our walk, EVERYONE on the sidewalk was Orthodox, either a man in a suit and a yarmulke or a woman in long sleeves and a long skirt.
I made some comment to my family how I felt a little bit uncomfortable that I was wearing pants and a short-sleeve shirt among such modestly dressed women, and how I felt that our attire was certainly offensive to our Orthodox neighbors.
And my brother, the Orthodox one who now tells me I should be wearing a skirt (and that I should ask the army for an army skirt when I enlist), snapped at me, “What, you can wear whatever you want, they don’t own the neighborhood!”
I kind of miss that….
On the plus side, this orthodoxy means that he’s probably going to come to Israel sometime in the next few months to study at a yeshiva, so that means I’ll actually have family in Israel. So that’s good…
Speaking of wearing skirts, I ended up having a conversation with a girl who grew up secular but has since become orthodox, and now wears a skirt to the floor every day. She made some sort of remark about how she feels better when she wears skirts, and I said that I totally respected that, but that I personally feel better wearing pants and occasionally wearing a skirt if I feel like it. She then went on to say that she used to wear only pants, that she was “just like” me, but that since she started wearing skirts she feels better, or something. Which kind of pissed me off.
I’ve worn a skirt before. I know how it feels.
She also kept pushing me to adopt a Hebrew name for religious reasons. I kept shrugging it off, thinking that my parents picked my two English names (first and middle) for a reason and I’ve been called nothing but them (mostly nothing but my first name) for my entire life and, religious or not, I would feel rather silly deciding that I’m now something entirely different. And to top it off, picking a Hebrew name means not being able to pronounce my own name correctly, which would just be ridiculous. It’d be the same if I were Israeli, moved to the states, then decided I was going to be “Samantha” from now on but introduced myself as “SemenTAH” to everyone.
Lately I’ve been having the realization that I know on my own what right and wrong is. Not just me, I’m not saying I’m any more special than the next people. What I’m saying is that we all do. I’m sick of people like my brother, or this girl, or other people, trying to tell me what right is, what modest is, what religious is. Granted, they all mean well, but it’s like telling me that I have no moral compass or radar or whatever. Browsing the book collection in this absorption center’s library, I’m struck by how most of the books are books of a religious nature, like books on modesty or stuff like that, written by rabbis who think they know better than everyone. I’m not really sure what makes them think they need to be writing books to tell everyone how to behave. I know how to behave. I know what right is, and when I do something that is wrong I think I usually realize it and feel remorse. I think the wrong things I do I genuinely feel bad about, and I don’t need a book or a rabbi to tell me what is wrong, and how/why it is wrong.
I’m not really sure what my point is here. I think living in a city filled with Orthodox Jews is starting to rub off on me—not in the sense that I’m becoming Orthodox, but in the sense that I’m starting to get annoyed by it.
Shunning.
I love the concept. “You have done something so offensive in my eyes that I’m not even going to acknowledge your existence.”
“I HAVE NO SON!”
Granted, I could never live without my iTunes collection or DVD collection, or even my laptop simply for writing….but I love the idea of shunning. Just imagine. It’s like the biggest communal “fuck you!” I can possibly think of.
Can we also talk about the fact that yesterday it got REALLY hot? Yesterday I went for a stroll up near the UN base thing, and I was expecting it to be chilly and….Jesus, Mary and Joseph it was boiling. Can we talk about the fact that only a couple days ago I was wearing my North Face jacket that I used in Chicago winters, that our classroom was so cold that we shivered constantly?
So I’ve mentioned on this blog that one of my brothers has found religion. Actually, BOTH have found religion, but one has found Orthodox Judaism. Anyway, as I believe I mentioned on this blog a couple months ago, either over Thanksgiving or Christmas break he started telling me that I should be wearing a skirt at all times.
Anyway, I just remembered that a couple years ago, really not so long ago, we were going on a family walk one Saturday morning through the Orthodox neighborhood that is about a block or two from where I lived and grew up. Given the timing of our walk, EVERYONE on the sidewalk was Orthodox, either a man in a suit and a yarmulke or a woman in long sleeves and a long skirt.
I made some comment to my family how I felt a little bit uncomfortable that I was wearing pants and a short-sleeve shirt among such modestly dressed women, and how I felt that our attire was certainly offensive to our Orthodox neighbors.
And my brother, the Orthodox one who now tells me I should be wearing a skirt (and that I should ask the army for an army skirt when I enlist), snapped at me, “What, you can wear whatever you want, they don’t own the neighborhood!”
I kind of miss that….
On the plus side, this orthodoxy means that he’s probably going to come to Israel sometime in the next few months to study at a yeshiva, so that means I’ll actually have family in Israel. So that’s good…
Speaking of wearing skirts, I ended up having a conversation with a girl who grew up secular but has since become orthodox, and now wears a skirt to the floor every day. She made some sort of remark about how she feels better when she wears skirts, and I said that I totally respected that, but that I personally feel better wearing pants and occasionally wearing a skirt if I feel like it. She then went on to say that she used to wear only pants, that she was “just like” me, but that since she started wearing skirts she feels better, or something. Which kind of pissed me off.
I’ve worn a skirt before. I know how it feels.
She also kept pushing me to adopt a Hebrew name for religious reasons. I kept shrugging it off, thinking that my parents picked my two English names (first and middle) for a reason and I’ve been called nothing but them (mostly nothing but my first name) for my entire life and, religious or not, I would feel rather silly deciding that I’m now something entirely different. And to top it off, picking a Hebrew name means not being able to pronounce my own name correctly, which would just be ridiculous. It’d be the same if I were Israeli, moved to the states, then decided I was going to be “Samantha” from now on but introduced myself as “SemenTAH” to everyone.
Lately I’ve been having the realization that I know on my own what right and wrong is. Not just me, I’m not saying I’m any more special than the next people. What I’m saying is that we all do. I’m sick of people like my brother, or this girl, or other people, trying to tell me what right is, what modest is, what religious is. Granted, they all mean well, but it’s like telling me that I have no moral compass or radar or whatever. Browsing the book collection in this absorption center’s library, I’m struck by how most of the books are books of a religious nature, like books on modesty or stuff like that, written by rabbis who think they know better than everyone. I’m not really sure what makes them think they need to be writing books to tell everyone how to behave. I know how to behave. I know what right is, and when I do something that is wrong I think I usually realize it and feel remorse. I think the wrong things I do I genuinely feel bad about, and I don’t need a book or a rabbi to tell me what is wrong, and how/why it is wrong.
I’m not really sure what my point is here. I think living in a city filled with Orthodox Jews is starting to rub off on me—not in the sense that I’m becoming Orthodox, but in the sense that I’m starting to get annoyed by it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
So, good news? I got my blood tested today. Done. Still need to wait for the results/send it to the army center/blahblahblah, but at least Step One is done.
Bad news? Terrorist attack. Luckily for us, it didn’t go so well for the terrorist and he only managed to lightly wound two people before getting shot, but it was a terror attack nonetheless.
Having been in the Jerusalem area for the last two bulldozer rampages, I’m already pretty wary of bulldozers, and when I walk by the construction on Jaffo I feel really uneasy being surrounded by bulldozers. So…great.
I was actually really surprised by how non-chalant the newsreaders were. A couple minutes were devoted to the attack, and then they moved on rather quickly in my opinion. I understand other more important things happened today that need to be discussed, and I understand that (thank G-d!) no one died, so it’s not as serious as it was the first time, but still….
DUDE, BULLDOZER. RAMMING THINGS IT SHOULDN’T BE RAMMING. KIND OF A BIG DEAL.
Have we already become so jaded that things like construction equipment thrice being turned on civilians are no longer a big deal?
Tonight I started to head out of my apartment to go for a walk, maybe to the Old City, but as I was leaving I could hear the mosques blasting their crazy techno beat (okay, so it wasn’t a crazy techno beat, but wouldn’t that be cool?*), and suddenly I just felt so uncomfortable and decided to hold off on taking a walk until tomorrow morning in the daylight hours.
*My friend once told a story of how his cousin or uncle or someone snuck into a mosque one night with a bunch of friends and then during the next call to prayer instead of talking about how great G-d is, the minaret loudspeakers blasted a recording of the Nachman mantra…..don’t know if the story is true, but wouldn’t that be awesome if it were?
You know what I’m going to do when I’m a millionaire? I’m going to build a house that looks like a mosque with a minaret, and every day at prescribed times I’m going to blast techno for a couple minutes. And when I run out of techno I’ll play 80’s hits like “St Elmo’s Fire” or maybe I’ll blast ABBA hits, or the YMCA.
Bad news? Terrorist attack. Luckily for us, it didn’t go so well for the terrorist and he only managed to lightly wound two people before getting shot, but it was a terror attack nonetheless.
Having been in the Jerusalem area for the last two bulldozer rampages, I’m already pretty wary of bulldozers, and when I walk by the construction on Jaffo I feel really uneasy being surrounded by bulldozers. So…great.
I was actually really surprised by how non-chalant the newsreaders were. A couple minutes were devoted to the attack, and then they moved on rather quickly in my opinion. I understand other more important things happened today that need to be discussed, and I understand that (thank G-d!) no one died, so it’s not as serious as it was the first time, but still….
DUDE, BULLDOZER. RAMMING THINGS IT SHOULDN’T BE RAMMING. KIND OF A BIG DEAL.
Have we already become so jaded that things like construction equipment thrice being turned on civilians are no longer a big deal?
Tonight I started to head out of my apartment to go for a walk, maybe to the Old City, but as I was leaving I could hear the mosques blasting their crazy techno beat (okay, so it wasn’t a crazy techno beat, but wouldn’t that be cool?*), and suddenly I just felt so uncomfortable and decided to hold off on taking a walk until tomorrow morning in the daylight hours.
*My friend once told a story of how his cousin or uncle or someone snuck into a mosque one night with a bunch of friends and then during the next call to prayer instead of talking about how great G-d is, the minaret loudspeakers blasted a recording of the Nachman mantra…..don’t know if the story is true, but wouldn’t that be awesome if it were?
You know what I’m going to do when I’m a millionaire? I’m going to build a house that looks like a mosque with a minaret, and every day at prescribed times I’m going to blast techno for a couple minutes. And when I run out of techno I’ll play 80’s hits like “St Elmo’s Fire” or maybe I’ll blast ABBA hits, or the YMCA.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
What, you think you can just walk in here and do whatever painful medical procedure you'd like on yourself?
Today did not start off well, I’ll tell you that. Things are looking up though.
So I called my health clinic this morning, and they still can’t do blood tests. But they told me to go to this clinic place a little farther away and that I could just do it there. So I got on the bus, and ended up having to walk about a mile from where I got off simply because there was no convenient bus to take.
Finally I made it to the clinic and said to the women at the desk that I needed a blood test. They asked for a referral form from my doctor, and I said I had none, just the informal note that the army enlistment center wrote me. Then the surly Russian woman snapped at me, “What, you think you can just come in here and do whatever blood tests you want?”
She acted like I were some kind of movie star who thought the world revolved around her, like a movie star who apparently thinks she can just waltz right in and do whatever blood tests she wants just cos she’s famous or something….
Yeah, cos I do blood tests for fun.
It’s really fun going in on low blood sugar and then having to sit there for about a half hour as you get jabbed in 5 different places since no one can find your veins, and then you have to sit for another half hour to fill up the vials because your blood flow is so goddamn thick and slow. Yeah, that’s my idea of a good time. Oh my G-d, I’m getting a rush just thinking about it.
So then I walked outside, feeling kind of hopeless. Fuck. Nothing seems to be going right. And right on Derech Hebron, a very busy street, I just started crying. It was humiliating. Seriously, people of Israel, I just want to join your fucking army, can you give me a fucking break for like two minutes?
So then I waited for the bus for like 20 minutes…and then it turns out that the place I had to get off at was like two stops away, I just didn’t realize it. But then I didn’t want people to think I was lazy, so I stayed on for two extra stops and then backtracked.
I went to my health clinic and explained the situation, that I needed a referral from them to take to the other clinic. My doctor then said in a thick Russian accent, “I didn’t understand.” Which was really worrying. But then I explained again and handed her the informal note from the army center.
Like the Russian woman before her, my Russian doctor snapped at me and said (using almost the exact same words), “What, you think you can just come in here and do whatever blood tests you want?”
She went on to explain that I needed to wait for my official letter from the army (which, according to the army center, was not even sent until today!) that asks for a blood test. Oh G-d. I just buried my face in my hands and just felt so fed up.
Then all of the sudden my doctor’s tone changed, got much softer and kinder, and she said, “Wait. Maybe I can do something.”
After a couple minutes of typing she handed me an “invitation” form to come back to the clinic tomorrow for a blood test. And she said that even if there were still no nurses in the clinic that she’d do it herself. And she said, not to worry, in a couple days they would have the results and they’d be able to send it directly to the army center. I looked up at her, unable to believe my luck, and she shook her finger at me in warning, “Now next time you have to have a proper form, but,” and here she smiled, “this time I’ll help you.”
OMG OMG OMG, I love my doctor. I wanted to leap across her desk and give her an enormous hug, but instead I settled on just saying thank you over and over again. Seriously, ONE person giving you a fucking break once in a while when everything else seems to go wrong…that ONE person can make you feel 100% better.
Well folks…pray that tomorrow everything will go smoothly! Let’s hope that by the end of next week I’ll have an enlistment date, eh? (Of course, next week the army will be telling me that I didn’t do an eye test, or that I didn’t do the computer tests, or that actually I haven’t done ANY of the tests and that I’m not even registered at the enlistment center, or that actually I don’t even exist, or whatever and that I have to do it all over again….)
Today during class I had to translate out loud a difficult sentence from English into Hebrew (the English sentence was a sentence we had already translated from Hebrew), and when I was done everyone made a fuss. It was rather embarrassing. My face turned bright red and I was like, what’s the big deal, “So?” And the teacher said, as if she were stating the obvious, “Well, you’re our little girl!” Hahahah….I’m the youngest in the class by a couple or a few years, so apparently I’m the class’s “little girl.” And apparently this makes anything correct that comes out of my mouth about 75 percent more impressive. Then the 30 year old sitting next to me patted my back and said I was actually the class’s “baby.”
I guess I better enjoy being the baby while I can, cos in the army I’m going to be grandma.
So I called my health clinic this morning, and they still can’t do blood tests. But they told me to go to this clinic place a little farther away and that I could just do it there. So I got on the bus, and ended up having to walk about a mile from where I got off simply because there was no convenient bus to take.
Finally I made it to the clinic and said to the women at the desk that I needed a blood test. They asked for a referral form from my doctor, and I said I had none, just the informal note that the army enlistment center wrote me. Then the surly Russian woman snapped at me, “What, you think you can just come in here and do whatever blood tests you want?”
She acted like I were some kind of movie star who thought the world revolved around her, like a movie star who apparently thinks she can just waltz right in and do whatever blood tests she wants just cos she’s famous or something….
Yeah, cos I do blood tests for fun.
It’s really fun going in on low blood sugar and then having to sit there for about a half hour as you get jabbed in 5 different places since no one can find your veins, and then you have to sit for another half hour to fill up the vials because your blood flow is so goddamn thick and slow. Yeah, that’s my idea of a good time. Oh my G-d, I’m getting a rush just thinking about it.
So then I walked outside, feeling kind of hopeless. Fuck. Nothing seems to be going right. And right on Derech Hebron, a very busy street, I just started crying. It was humiliating. Seriously, people of Israel, I just want to join your fucking army, can you give me a fucking break for like two minutes?
So then I waited for the bus for like 20 minutes…and then it turns out that the place I had to get off at was like two stops away, I just didn’t realize it. But then I didn’t want people to think I was lazy, so I stayed on for two extra stops and then backtracked.
I went to my health clinic and explained the situation, that I needed a referral from them to take to the other clinic. My doctor then said in a thick Russian accent, “I didn’t understand.” Which was really worrying. But then I explained again and handed her the informal note from the army center.
Like the Russian woman before her, my Russian doctor snapped at me and said (using almost the exact same words), “What, you think you can just come in here and do whatever blood tests you want?”
She went on to explain that I needed to wait for my official letter from the army (which, according to the army center, was not even sent until today!) that asks for a blood test. Oh G-d. I just buried my face in my hands and just felt so fed up.
Then all of the sudden my doctor’s tone changed, got much softer and kinder, and she said, “Wait. Maybe I can do something.”
After a couple minutes of typing she handed me an “invitation” form to come back to the clinic tomorrow for a blood test. And she said that even if there were still no nurses in the clinic that she’d do it herself. And she said, not to worry, in a couple days they would have the results and they’d be able to send it directly to the army center. I looked up at her, unable to believe my luck, and she shook her finger at me in warning, “Now next time you have to have a proper form, but,” and here she smiled, “this time I’ll help you.”
OMG OMG OMG, I love my doctor. I wanted to leap across her desk and give her an enormous hug, but instead I settled on just saying thank you over and over again. Seriously, ONE person giving you a fucking break once in a while when everything else seems to go wrong…that ONE person can make you feel 100% better.
Well folks…pray that tomorrow everything will go smoothly! Let’s hope that by the end of next week I’ll have an enlistment date, eh? (Of course, next week the army will be telling me that I didn’t do an eye test, or that I didn’t do the computer tests, or that actually I haven’t done ANY of the tests and that I’m not even registered at the enlistment center, or that actually I don’t even exist, or whatever and that I have to do it all over again….)
Today during class I had to translate out loud a difficult sentence from English into Hebrew (the English sentence was a sentence we had already translated from Hebrew), and when I was done everyone made a fuss. It was rather embarrassing. My face turned bright red and I was like, what’s the big deal, “So?” And the teacher said, as if she were stating the obvious, “Well, you’re our little girl!” Hahahah….I’m the youngest in the class by a couple or a few years, so apparently I’m the class’s “little girl.” And apparently this makes anything correct that comes out of my mouth about 75 percent more impressive. Then the 30 year old sitting next to me patted my back and said I was actually the class’s “baby.”
I guess I better enjoy being the baby while I can, cos in the army I’m going to be grandma.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
You are the Dancing Jesus.
Well today I found Jesus. I saw this beat up old car with flowers painted all over it, and I looked inside…and literally, in the middle of Jerusalem I blurted out in English, “HOLY SHIT IT’S JESUS!” A few people turned their heads at me, and one person actually started cracking up. I wasn’t trying to be silly, I honestly thought for a moment that I had seen Jesus. Am I a bad Jew if I believe in Jesus? It’s not what you think—I don’t believe in him as a Messiah or whatever, I just mean that Jesus is a character in my life. Does that make any sense? Let me try to explain it better: Sometimes I think that Jesus hangs out on Earth and it’s our duty—not in the religious sense!--to look for him. Like, life is a giant “Where’s Waldo?” book starring Jesus.
Anyway, so yesterday when I called to schedule a blood test for today at my health clinic, the guy on the other line snapped at me that you don’t need to schedule a blood test, you just come in at 7.30 am or whatever. So this morning I woke up bright and early, and then walked up the hill to my health clinic. It’s 30 minutes up this ridiculously steep hill, but there’s no good access to it so there we are. It was also pouring rain and extremely windy.
So I finally got to my health clinic, with my pants wet up to my knees with mud and water, my hair drenched as if I had just washed my hair, and just generally cold, frazzled and tired. And I look at the sign posted on the door of my health clinic: “NO NURSE AND NO BLOOD TESTS TODAY. SORRY.”
Fuck. Are you shitting me?
Totally wet and totally pissed off, I decided that NO, I’m not going to take this. I’m gonna find out my enlistment date TODAY.
So, G-d help me, I went to the kibbutz.
You see, my original blood test was done at the kibbutz and I hoped that maybe they’d still have the results on file and that I could just bring them to the enlistment center today. I unfortunately did not have the phone contact for the kibbutz, so I had to simply go.
The bus ride there was particularly interesting. Two people had their music up very loud. A soldier was listening to an ABBA CD, and a guy wearing a kippa was listening to a best of the 90’s mix that included Britney Spears. All in all, kind of bizarre.
So finally I get to the kibbutz and….holy fuck. It was so weird being back. I would describe it as kind of like being in a haunted house. Like, not an intentionally scary one built for Halloween, but like an old, familiar house that is empty except for the occasional ghost that creeps by.
I walked into the ulpan manager’s office to see if he could help me. Oh G-d. He was so nice to me. I felt horrible. Suddenly I was reminded of something I hadn’t thought of in a long time, of how we in the ulpan used to refer to him as Bozo Goldberg because he looked like a Jewish version of Bozo The Clown. Anyway, he contacted the health clinic and they said to come by an hour later and they’d look for my blood tests then.
So then I started wandering around the kibbutz a bit. I passed by my old room (they fixed the blinds! Finally!), and I tried to climb the hill to the ruins but they have since closed it off. It was just so weird to see everything, to see familiar faces of people I didn’t really know, and to see the view. It’s weird to me that this was ISRAEL to me for five months.
As I was admiring the view, suddenly a familiar person passed in front of me. I still have no idea what his given name is since we all called him “Malouco,” but I remember him from ulpan. I remember the night or so before I left Israel he declared his love for me in front of quite a crowd of people, and since I hadn’t ever talked to him I thought he was just being an asshole or whatever, so I either told him to shut up or go fuck himself or maybe both. Oops. My bad. It probably doesn’t bode well for my future if the only guy who’s ever declared an interest in me I promptly told go shut up/go fuck himself. Oh well, Sam, we’ll work on that.
So anyway, that was the last interaction (and pretty much the only, since we didn’t have a common language, not even Hebrew) we had until today. Even though I lived a couple doors down from this guy for almost five months, the first conversation I ever had with him was TODAY, since he finally learned Hebrew. All in all though, a totally awkward conversation, one which I wanted to flee from.
Finally I decided I needed to go to the laundry room, the site of so much unhappiness. French Bitch’s jaw dropped, but she immediately hurried over and hugged me and showered me with questions. Then Ayin Bitch did the same. (It was around lunch, so many people were out). It was actually really horrible that they were so nice to me, because it made me feel like my unhappiness during my time in the laundry is completely unjustified, but then I remember that they were NOT this nice or interested in hearing about me when I actually worked with them, and then I feel justified.
As the conversation died down, I took a moment and looked around the room. Nothing had changed, even on the bulletin board. As I headed toward the door, I watched for a second as the Bitches folded and sorted laundry, exactly as they had done when I worked there and exactly as they had done for years and exactly as they would do for years to come. And holy fuck, I felt GOOD. People kept telling me, “You know, just remember that you’re only folding laundry with these horrible women for a few months, but they have to do it for their whole lives.” And it didn’t make me feel better until now, when I actually SAW that these women have to continue folding laundry.
At long last my hour of waiting was up, so I went to the health clinic and was told I had to wait ANOTHER hour. I decided to grab a bite from the market, and as I walked their I passed Charades Bitch. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to her, so I hid. Finally I made it to the market, and as it turns out, the crazy American woman from the laundry room, who once spontaneously started weeping in the middle of work, now works in the supermarket. At least now if she starts crying she can pretend it’s just the onions.
Eventually an hour had passed, so I returned to the health clinic. I waited outside in the cold and rain for the woman to return, and in the end waited 30 minutes longer than she had said. Which totally pissed me off, but that’s Israel for you, I guess. Or maybe just the kibbutz.
As I waited, Crazy Bitch walked by the health clinic. I didn’t want to talk to her, and she couldn’t really see me anyway since I was in the corner, so I kind of turned my head but could still see her reflection in the window. It was kind of like watching Medusa, like I was afraid that direct eye contact would turn me to stone but that it was safe to see her reflection.
Anyway, after 2.5 hours of waiting, it turns out the health clinic no longer has a record of my blood test. Well, fuck.
Looks like tomorrow I have to climb the hill to the health clinic again. Pray for clear skies and for nurses on duty!
Anyway, so yesterday when I called to schedule a blood test for today at my health clinic, the guy on the other line snapped at me that you don’t need to schedule a blood test, you just come in at 7.30 am or whatever. So this morning I woke up bright and early, and then walked up the hill to my health clinic. It’s 30 minutes up this ridiculously steep hill, but there’s no good access to it so there we are. It was also pouring rain and extremely windy.
So I finally got to my health clinic, with my pants wet up to my knees with mud and water, my hair drenched as if I had just washed my hair, and just generally cold, frazzled and tired. And I look at the sign posted on the door of my health clinic: “NO NURSE AND NO BLOOD TESTS TODAY. SORRY.”
Fuck. Are you shitting me?
Totally wet and totally pissed off, I decided that NO, I’m not going to take this. I’m gonna find out my enlistment date TODAY.
So, G-d help me, I went to the kibbutz.
You see, my original blood test was done at the kibbutz and I hoped that maybe they’d still have the results on file and that I could just bring them to the enlistment center today. I unfortunately did not have the phone contact for the kibbutz, so I had to simply go.
The bus ride there was particularly interesting. Two people had their music up very loud. A soldier was listening to an ABBA CD, and a guy wearing a kippa was listening to a best of the 90’s mix that included Britney Spears. All in all, kind of bizarre.
So finally I get to the kibbutz and….holy fuck. It was so weird being back. I would describe it as kind of like being in a haunted house. Like, not an intentionally scary one built for Halloween, but like an old, familiar house that is empty except for the occasional ghost that creeps by.
I walked into the ulpan manager’s office to see if he could help me. Oh G-d. He was so nice to me. I felt horrible. Suddenly I was reminded of something I hadn’t thought of in a long time, of how we in the ulpan used to refer to him as Bozo Goldberg because he looked like a Jewish version of Bozo The Clown. Anyway, he contacted the health clinic and they said to come by an hour later and they’d look for my blood tests then.
So then I started wandering around the kibbutz a bit. I passed by my old room (they fixed the blinds! Finally!), and I tried to climb the hill to the ruins but they have since closed it off. It was just so weird to see everything, to see familiar faces of people I didn’t really know, and to see the view. It’s weird to me that this was ISRAEL to me for five months.
As I was admiring the view, suddenly a familiar person passed in front of me. I still have no idea what his given name is since we all called him “Malouco,” but I remember him from ulpan. I remember the night or so before I left Israel he declared his love for me in front of quite a crowd of people, and since I hadn’t ever talked to him I thought he was just being an asshole or whatever, so I either told him to shut up or go fuck himself or maybe both. Oops. My bad. It probably doesn’t bode well for my future if the only guy who’s ever declared an interest in me I promptly told go shut up/go fuck himself. Oh well, Sam, we’ll work on that.
So anyway, that was the last interaction (and pretty much the only, since we didn’t have a common language, not even Hebrew) we had until today. Even though I lived a couple doors down from this guy for almost five months, the first conversation I ever had with him was TODAY, since he finally learned Hebrew. All in all though, a totally awkward conversation, one which I wanted to flee from.
Finally I decided I needed to go to the laundry room, the site of so much unhappiness. French Bitch’s jaw dropped, but she immediately hurried over and hugged me and showered me with questions. Then Ayin Bitch did the same. (It was around lunch, so many people were out). It was actually really horrible that they were so nice to me, because it made me feel like my unhappiness during my time in the laundry is completely unjustified, but then I remember that they were NOT this nice or interested in hearing about me when I actually worked with them, and then I feel justified.
As the conversation died down, I took a moment and looked around the room. Nothing had changed, even on the bulletin board. As I headed toward the door, I watched for a second as the Bitches folded and sorted laundry, exactly as they had done when I worked there and exactly as they had done for years and exactly as they would do for years to come. And holy fuck, I felt GOOD. People kept telling me, “You know, just remember that you’re only folding laundry with these horrible women for a few months, but they have to do it for their whole lives.” And it didn’t make me feel better until now, when I actually SAW that these women have to continue folding laundry.
At long last my hour of waiting was up, so I went to the health clinic and was told I had to wait ANOTHER hour. I decided to grab a bite from the market, and as I walked their I passed Charades Bitch. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to her, so I hid. Finally I made it to the market, and as it turns out, the crazy American woman from the laundry room, who once spontaneously started weeping in the middle of work, now works in the supermarket. At least now if she starts crying she can pretend it’s just the onions.
Eventually an hour had passed, so I returned to the health clinic. I waited outside in the cold and rain for the woman to return, and in the end waited 30 minutes longer than she had said. Which totally pissed me off, but that’s Israel for you, I guess. Or maybe just the kibbutz.
As I waited, Crazy Bitch walked by the health clinic. I didn’t want to talk to her, and she couldn’t really see me anyway since I was in the corner, so I kind of turned my head but could still see her reflection in the window. It was kind of like watching Medusa, like I was afraid that direct eye contact would turn me to stone but that it was safe to see her reflection.
Anyway, after 2.5 hours of waiting, it turns out the health clinic no longer has a record of my blood test. Well, fuck.
Looks like tomorrow I have to climb the hill to the health clinic again. Pray for clear skies and for nurses on duty!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Good luck, boyo
Before I begin my story of how my day sucked, let me first concede that someone else was clearly having a worse day. Today when I arrived at the enlistment center, I saw a crowd of soldiers watching something, though I couldn’t tell what as their backs were all facing me and they were blocking what they were watching. As I approached I saw a teenage guy jumping around and screaming and crying about something, though I didn’t understand what. He was yelling at the soldiers, and jumping on walls with frustration, and towards the end even threw his phone at the ground, breaking it into a couple pieces.
The soldiers were so amused that they just waved me through security because they were having too much fun watching this guy to come and check my bag.
So clearly my day wasn’t bad enough to compel me to throw a total temper tantrum right in front of the army enlistment center.
NOW, let me explain why I was back at the enlistment center. I was getting impatient about knowing when I would enlist, so I called the office and asked what the deal was. And they told me that I didn’t have a health profile yet (and therefore had no enlistment date) as I hadn’t finished all my medical tests. WHAT? Yup, they told me, you have another test.
So I came down to the office to check out what the deal was, cos I thought maybe I misunderstood the Hebrew and wanted to actually speak to someone face to face.
Well, apparently I have to do another blood test. If you remember the saga of last summer, I had to do a blood test because of a blood problem I have. The kibbutz forgot to send the results (even though they promised), and then finally a few weeks later they sent it and the army office called me and said, “We got your blood test, you’re done with that.” Word. Well, apparently the army office no longer has those results so I have to do ANOTHER blood test. Which is really frustrating.
What’s the most frustrating part though is that no one fucking told me. At least 4 different people in the army office last time I was there (last week) told me that the ONLY thing I had left was an eye test, and ONLY an eye test. And if you think that maybe I didn’t understand the Hebrew, I will say that TWO times out of the at least 4 times I was told, I was told in clear English.
And, in fact, no one was planning on telling me about the fact that I had to take another blood test until I actually called them myself and asked a sort of unrelated question. Well, fuck. Do all the Israeli retards who enlist in the army get sent to the enlistment center to work? Is THAT why it did not occur to a single person to tell me that I had to do a blood exam?
So I left the army enlistment center totally pissed off and frustrated and whatever, but I felt a little better when I found out that my health clinic actually does blood tests every Monday and Tuesday morning without an appointment, so hopefully I just go in tomorrow and get everything done.
Upset, I walked down the street towards my bank to take care of some business there. On the way I stepped into a store that was stocked with some interesting items for Purim, so I decided to go in for a second to look around and maybe be cheered up a bit by the festiveness. Oh fuck, big mistake.
So I ended up bumping into my former boss from the t-shirt store.
Oh G-d. You know, people always say how great it is that Israel is a small country, how cute it is that you always bump into someone you know—well, as far as I can tell, you never run into the people you’d actually WANT to bump into, and instead living in Israel means running into the person you’d least like to see at any given moment.
Before I even fully registered just who it was that I had seen, my legs had already turned and started running. All my legs knew was that I did NOT want to be seen by this person. I was halfway down the block before I fully realized who I had seen, and I continued sprinting. G-d, if only I could’ve run like that in P.E. back in high school… I sprinted right past my bank, completely saying “Fuck you!” to an important errand there, and a block before the Old City I caught a bus to the mall, desperate to get the fuck away.
So I’m walking around the mall trying to forget that the whole thing with the army is all fucked up, and that I just ran into a boss who (for all intents and purposes, though not technically) fired me, and suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by a group of boys who look like they’re 12. One of them shoves a book of raffle tickets in front of my face and says to me in Hebrew, “Are you prepared to donate to asdghioujopidab?”
I wanted to help, but I had no idea what I would be donating to since I didn’t understand. So I smiled and said in Hebrew, “Excuse me, I didn’t understand.”
So then the boy laughs, and then says in extremely enunciated and extremely slow Hebrew, loud enough for everyone within a 10 yard radius of us to enjoy, “ARE……YOU….PRE-……PARED……TO….DONATE…..TO…. SDGILUSDH…SDGIOSIDG…SDSGKJO?!”
And all of his friends started cackling as if this kid were just the funniest. Several people had actually turned their heads to watch since this little kid was so loud. I wanted to say, “No, but I AM prepared to donate to you a swift kick in the ass, which is what you deserve, you little shit.” But I couldn’t figure out how to say “swift kick in the ass” in Hebrew, so instead I just kind of muttered, “No…” and backed away as the little kids continued to laugh.
You might think it a bit sad that a group of pre-pubescent little shits actually made me cry…but there we are. As soon as I walked away from the boys, still cackling, I felt my eyes tear up. I didn’t want to cry in the middle of the mall, so I started hurrying to the bathroom. It was a bit like having diarrhea of the eyes. “Oh G-d, oh G-d, am I gonna make it to the bathroom in time before I burst?”
Well, I did manage to make it to the bathroom in time, and locked myself in a stall before bursting into silent sobs. I spent maybe 10 minutes crying, and when I came out and saw that I looked like total shit, I spent another 10 minutes standing in the stall waiting for my eyes to return to their normal appearance and for the red in my face to return to its more neutral pink.
At the time, it’s bad enough being humiliated and made fun of, but the worst part is that after it happens you’re afraid of it happening again. For example, I didn’t want to get lunch because I didn’t want to tell the person anything in Hebrew and have them hear my accent, or when the bus door didn’t open on the way home I was reluctant to yell “Nehag!” like everyone else since I didn’t want the entire bus to hear how I couldn’t get the vowels right.
Christ man, I’m not deaf, I can hear I have an accent, and I know damn well I have a limited vocabulary in Hebrew. What do people like this pre-Bar Mitzvah little shit think they’re doing?
And for the record, little kid, you’re ugly as shit. Enjoy making fun of me while you still can because my Hebrew will eventually improve, little kid, but you get to have fun looking like a ferengi for the rest of your life.
Good luck with that.
.
The soldiers were so amused that they just waved me through security because they were having too much fun watching this guy to come and check my bag.
So clearly my day wasn’t bad enough to compel me to throw a total temper tantrum right in front of the army enlistment center.
NOW, let me explain why I was back at the enlistment center. I was getting impatient about knowing when I would enlist, so I called the office and asked what the deal was. And they told me that I didn’t have a health profile yet (and therefore had no enlistment date) as I hadn’t finished all my medical tests. WHAT? Yup, they told me, you have another test.
So I came down to the office to check out what the deal was, cos I thought maybe I misunderstood the Hebrew and wanted to actually speak to someone face to face.
Well, apparently I have to do another blood test. If you remember the saga of last summer, I had to do a blood test because of a blood problem I have. The kibbutz forgot to send the results (even though they promised), and then finally a few weeks later they sent it and the army office called me and said, “We got your blood test, you’re done with that.” Word. Well, apparently the army office no longer has those results so I have to do ANOTHER blood test. Which is really frustrating.
What’s the most frustrating part though is that no one fucking told me. At least 4 different people in the army office last time I was there (last week) told me that the ONLY thing I had left was an eye test, and ONLY an eye test. And if you think that maybe I didn’t understand the Hebrew, I will say that TWO times out of the at least 4 times I was told, I was told in clear English.
And, in fact, no one was planning on telling me about the fact that I had to take another blood test until I actually called them myself and asked a sort of unrelated question. Well, fuck. Do all the Israeli retards who enlist in the army get sent to the enlistment center to work? Is THAT why it did not occur to a single person to tell me that I had to do a blood exam?
So I left the army enlistment center totally pissed off and frustrated and whatever, but I felt a little better when I found out that my health clinic actually does blood tests every Monday and Tuesday morning without an appointment, so hopefully I just go in tomorrow and get everything done.
Upset, I walked down the street towards my bank to take care of some business there. On the way I stepped into a store that was stocked with some interesting items for Purim, so I decided to go in for a second to look around and maybe be cheered up a bit by the festiveness. Oh fuck, big mistake.
So I ended up bumping into my former boss from the t-shirt store.
Oh G-d. You know, people always say how great it is that Israel is a small country, how cute it is that you always bump into someone you know—well, as far as I can tell, you never run into the people you’d actually WANT to bump into, and instead living in Israel means running into the person you’d least like to see at any given moment.
Before I even fully registered just who it was that I had seen, my legs had already turned and started running. All my legs knew was that I did NOT want to be seen by this person. I was halfway down the block before I fully realized who I had seen, and I continued sprinting. G-d, if only I could’ve run like that in P.E. back in high school… I sprinted right past my bank, completely saying “Fuck you!” to an important errand there, and a block before the Old City I caught a bus to the mall, desperate to get the fuck away.
So I’m walking around the mall trying to forget that the whole thing with the army is all fucked up, and that I just ran into a boss who (for all intents and purposes, though not technically) fired me, and suddenly my thoughts are interrupted by a group of boys who look like they’re 12. One of them shoves a book of raffle tickets in front of my face and says to me in Hebrew, “Are you prepared to donate to asdghioujopidab?”
I wanted to help, but I had no idea what I would be donating to since I didn’t understand. So I smiled and said in Hebrew, “Excuse me, I didn’t understand.”
So then the boy laughs, and then says in extremely enunciated and extremely slow Hebrew, loud enough for everyone within a 10 yard radius of us to enjoy, “ARE……YOU….PRE-……PARED……TO….DONATE…..TO…. SDGILUSDH…SDGIOSIDG…SDSGKJO?!”
And all of his friends started cackling as if this kid were just the funniest. Several people had actually turned their heads to watch since this little kid was so loud. I wanted to say, “No, but I AM prepared to donate to you a swift kick in the ass, which is what you deserve, you little shit.” But I couldn’t figure out how to say “swift kick in the ass” in Hebrew, so instead I just kind of muttered, “No…” and backed away as the little kids continued to laugh.
You might think it a bit sad that a group of pre-pubescent little shits actually made me cry…but there we are. As soon as I walked away from the boys, still cackling, I felt my eyes tear up. I didn’t want to cry in the middle of the mall, so I started hurrying to the bathroom. It was a bit like having diarrhea of the eyes. “Oh G-d, oh G-d, am I gonna make it to the bathroom in time before I burst?”
Well, I did manage to make it to the bathroom in time, and locked myself in a stall before bursting into silent sobs. I spent maybe 10 minutes crying, and when I came out and saw that I looked like total shit, I spent another 10 minutes standing in the stall waiting for my eyes to return to their normal appearance and for the red in my face to return to its more neutral pink.
At the time, it’s bad enough being humiliated and made fun of, but the worst part is that after it happens you’re afraid of it happening again. For example, I didn’t want to get lunch because I didn’t want to tell the person anything in Hebrew and have them hear my accent, or when the bus door didn’t open on the way home I was reluctant to yell “Nehag!” like everyone else since I didn’t want the entire bus to hear how I couldn’t get the vowels right.
Christ man, I’m not deaf, I can hear I have an accent, and I know damn well I have a limited vocabulary in Hebrew. What do people like this pre-Bar Mitzvah little shit think they’re doing?
And for the record, little kid, you’re ugly as shit. Enjoy making fun of me while you still can because my Hebrew will eventually improve, little kid, but you get to have fun looking like a ferengi for the rest of your life.
Good luck with that.
.
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