I'm sorry, but just to boost my damaged ego I think it's time for me to make fun of someone's English.
And I actually feel like a total bitch doing this because this is the one person at work who's actually really nice to me--actually, today for some reason EVERYONE was nice to me, but this one is actually always nice.
Her problem is that she pronounces words near-perfectly, and they're usually words that would come from someone with a refined vocabulary--maybe not "refined," but they're definitely not words you'd be learning in the English equivalent of Kita Alef.
She says things like, "You have packaged my labor. I thank, but you comprehend I find my projects a release."
I mean, take every word individually and I understand perfectly. She has a GREAT accent. But I have no idea what the fuck she's saying.
Actually, now that I think about it, I think she was saying basically, "Thanks for doing my work, but you should just know that I enjoy working because it is a great stress reliever or something." Or maybe she was telling me she hates me. I don't know.
It's so stressful for me because I'm always trying to figure out what the hell she means, but I don't want to be mean or insulting.....
Today she said to me, "You were being in the holiday?" And I froze because I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. I knew that we just had Shavuot, but I didn't understand how I could be "in" a holiday. And then my mind kind of drifted off into imagination land and I started to imagine how I COULD have been "in" a holiday. I imagined a Biblical me being part of the story of Shavuot, and then I imagined that somehow my life got messed up and stuck in a timewarp and my life was like Brigadoon except instead of coming out every 100 years, I only came out of the mists every year on Shavuot. She caught that I had kind of zoned out, so she repeated, "You were being in the holiday?" And then I admitted that I didn't understand what she meant. She said, "On the kibbutz? You were in the holiday in the kibbutz?" Oh! Was I on the kibbutz??? yes...... fuck, i feel bad now....
Today an American walked in and when he left, she asked me where he was from. I responded Maryland, and she started asking me what's in Maryland. And I said, "Well, there's Annapolis...." She nodded as if she understood, and we resumed work.
A few minutes later, she says, "Sam, tell me: what is an "apolis?" "
"A what?"
"An 'apolis.' You said Maryland had an apolis. What is this 'apolis?' "
Oh my goodness. I so badly wanted to laugh. Sooooo badly. But I didn't. Because I'm nice.
Anyway, all of this made me feel a little better about myself and it's helping me to accept that there are going to be many times ahead of me where I sound like a retard in Hebrew, but I just need to remember that MANY people sound like idiots in foreign langauges.
The End.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
You won't grow up? Then I'll MAKE you!
Tonight was Shavuot. How did we in the ulpan celebrate this significant religious holiday? By going to Jerusalem to get drunk. Israel is a wonderful country for its religious, cultural and political value…and also for its lower drinking age.
I went with 9 other people: 2 American boys, 1 German boy, 1 South African boy, and 5 assorted Slavic boys. Yes, I was the only girl. The boy-girl ratio here in the ulpan is so terrible that I’m suffering the consequences for it. You know, I used to say that I didn’t normally enjoy the company of most other girls (mostly because I don’t like too many “girly” things, and I hate shopping), but now that I’m having a serious shortage of fellow girls here in Israel, it’s really making me wish that there were more girls here. We could have a girly night and paint each other’s nails and watch chick flicks and talk about boysssssssss!. Oh Jesus, what’s happening to me…..???
What was really interesting is that one of the assorted Slavs was the boy who got kicked off the kibbutz (but got put back on) for drinking problems. And—now this is really impressive—he did not drink a single drop of alcohol tonight. I think that’s worth applauding….
So anyway, we get to Jerusalem and we go to a liquor store near Ben Yehuda Street. And it’s like we’re a herd of water buffalo, we’re so fucking noisy. A man with crooked teeth helped us… I went to go pay for what I had chosen, and the lady behind the counter says to me in Hebrew, “How old are you?” I responded that I was 19, and she didn’t even ask me for ID or anything. Which I thought was weird. If she was suspicious enough to ask me how old I was (which she didn’t do to anyone else), then why did she just believe me when I said I was 19?
The boys purchased what was essentially a fucking enormous jug of cheap vodka, and I purchased my usual girly drink of Smirnoff Ice. We sat down near a row of bus stops, and the boys proceeded to get drunk. Really, really drunk. It was sort of interesting to be with a crowd of drunk boys in Jerusalem about a block away from the Old City….. Is this what I came to Israel for?
Anyway, juice was had, cigarettes were consumed by those who smoke, and Fish Jerky was passed around. A festive time was had by all.
It was sort of weird. Apart from me and the South African, everyone was an immigrant. And somehow the way we were having a night out made me feel like an immigrant. I can’t really explain it. Something about the cheap vodka, the yelling in a foreign language, the smell of the fish jerky, and the fact that we were all huddled in a clump outside. I can’t explain it.
After we were all good and drunk (except for me and the recovering alcoholic), we went into this Russian pub, which was one of the most bizarre places I’ve ever seen. It looked like everyone was dancing “The Twist” to a remix of the Tetris theme for like 3 hours. Later on we were planning on going to an actual club, but I kind of wanted to stay here because I felt this was the only place in the world where I actually stood a chance at being accepted as a decent dancer.
This might give you an idea of what it was like....
My group moves to the back of the pub—we’re not even there a full minute—and I get punched in the nose. By the South African. Yes, you read that right. He was so drunk that when he went in to give a sloppy drunk man-hug to the German, who was right in front of me, he ended up punching me in the nose. So hard that I started bleeding. Not a gusher, but definitely large drops of blood.
That should have been our cue that the South African had had enough. Oh no. Oh no. he had more. And then he was throwing up all over the bathroom. We had to pull him out of the pub during a remix of the Tetris theme that I was particularly enjoying, and we watched as he continued to throw up on the streets of Jerusalem in plain view of the orthodox folk walking home from holiday celebrations. It was great, because the boys were getting dirty looks from orthodox girls walking by, while I was getting dirty looks from the passing orthodox men for being the girl in this bunch of dirty boys.
We called a taxi and I accompanied the drunken South African and a drunken American. The drunken South African managed to throw up all over the side of the taxi.
Being the only girl in a group of 10 was pretty awesome until I had to start acting like everyone’s mother—steadying the boys who kept falling into the traffic on Jerusalem’s streets, speaking Hebrew to the taxi driver instead of the American boy who is fluent but who is so drunk that he forgot Hebrew, trying to shush the drunken South African who kept demanding “mayyiiiiiiiiiiiiim” from the taxi driver, etc etc.
My point in relating all of this? Well, you have to first understand that the South African is in the same boat I am—He’s roughly the same age, with absolutely no family in Israel. Not a single relative. Actually, the South African is in an even worse boat: he speaks almost no Hebrew.
So, I’m sorry, maybe this is just me being stupid, but shouldn’t that mean that the South African should take extra special care of himself? I mean if, G-d forbid, something bad happens to him while he’s shit-faced, there’s no one here for him. His nearest relative is a several hour plane ride away. I’m not saying that it means he can’t get drunk in Israel at all, because I know I’ve already done that, but he needs to learn his fucking limit and if he can’t control himself he needs to get someone to limit him or something.
My general irritation here is that people in this ulpan think we’re in Never Never Land and that they’ll never have to grow up. We have the South African drinking out of control in order to have a fun night out….. and he constantly complains that there is no ATM on the kibbutz, which makes life “impossible” because then he keeps spending all his money on the kibbutz and not being able to take the bus to get off the kibbutz to get to the ATM at the local mall. I mean, it’s really not a problem. You just make sure to get money every time you get off the kibbutz and when you come back you just have to make sure that, even if you spend all your other money on booze (as this guy does), you have to save 7.70 shekels for the bus fare. But this retarded South African guy just can’t manage not to spend that extra—what is is, two dollars?—on booze, and he ends up getting stuck on the kibbutz until he can coax someone into giving him bus fare to the mall. I mean, grow the fuck up already! If you’re not old enough to take care of yourself, you shouldn’t be thousands of miles away from your nearest relative!
Earlier we had a guy who was a college graduate and had been working on his own for a year at a high-paying office job, and he came here and started acting like a teenager, tormenting some of the weaker boys. We have a 28 year old cutting off everyone in class like a know-it-all five year old. I mean seriously people, Peter Pan’s not coming by anytime soon to teach you all to fly, so you might as well all act your fucking age!
I can't leave you without more Russian bizarre-ities:
I went with 9 other people: 2 American boys, 1 German boy, 1 South African boy, and 5 assorted Slavic boys. Yes, I was the only girl. The boy-girl ratio here in the ulpan is so terrible that I’m suffering the consequences for it. You know, I used to say that I didn’t normally enjoy the company of most other girls (mostly because I don’t like too many “girly” things, and I hate shopping), but now that I’m having a serious shortage of fellow girls here in Israel, it’s really making me wish that there were more girls here. We could have a girly night and paint each other’s nails and watch chick flicks and talk about boysssssssss!. Oh Jesus, what’s happening to me…..???
What was really interesting is that one of the assorted Slavs was the boy who got kicked off the kibbutz (but got put back on) for drinking problems. And—now this is really impressive—he did not drink a single drop of alcohol tonight. I think that’s worth applauding….
So anyway, we get to Jerusalem and we go to a liquor store near Ben Yehuda Street. And it’s like we’re a herd of water buffalo, we’re so fucking noisy. A man with crooked teeth helped us… I went to go pay for what I had chosen, and the lady behind the counter says to me in Hebrew, “How old are you?” I responded that I was 19, and she didn’t even ask me for ID or anything. Which I thought was weird. If she was suspicious enough to ask me how old I was (which she didn’t do to anyone else), then why did she just believe me when I said I was 19?
The boys purchased what was essentially a fucking enormous jug of cheap vodka, and I purchased my usual girly drink of Smirnoff Ice. We sat down near a row of bus stops, and the boys proceeded to get drunk. Really, really drunk. It was sort of interesting to be with a crowd of drunk boys in Jerusalem about a block away from the Old City….. Is this what I came to Israel for?
Anyway, juice was had, cigarettes were consumed by those who smoke, and Fish Jerky was passed around. A festive time was had by all.
It was sort of weird. Apart from me and the South African, everyone was an immigrant. And somehow the way we were having a night out made me feel like an immigrant. I can’t really explain it. Something about the cheap vodka, the yelling in a foreign language, the smell of the fish jerky, and the fact that we were all huddled in a clump outside. I can’t explain it.
After we were all good and drunk (except for me and the recovering alcoholic), we went into this Russian pub, which was one of the most bizarre places I’ve ever seen. It looked like everyone was dancing “The Twist” to a remix of the Tetris theme for like 3 hours. Later on we were planning on going to an actual club, but I kind of wanted to stay here because I felt this was the only place in the world where I actually stood a chance at being accepted as a decent dancer.
This might give you an idea of what it was like....
My group moves to the back of the pub—we’re not even there a full minute—and I get punched in the nose. By the South African. Yes, you read that right. He was so drunk that when he went in to give a sloppy drunk man-hug to the German, who was right in front of me, he ended up punching me in the nose. So hard that I started bleeding. Not a gusher, but definitely large drops of blood.
That should have been our cue that the South African had had enough. Oh no. Oh no. he had more. And then he was throwing up all over the bathroom. We had to pull him out of the pub during a remix of the Tetris theme that I was particularly enjoying, and we watched as he continued to throw up on the streets of Jerusalem in plain view of the orthodox folk walking home from holiday celebrations. It was great, because the boys were getting dirty looks from orthodox girls walking by, while I was getting dirty looks from the passing orthodox men for being the girl in this bunch of dirty boys.
We called a taxi and I accompanied the drunken South African and a drunken American. The drunken South African managed to throw up all over the side of the taxi.
Being the only girl in a group of 10 was pretty awesome until I had to start acting like everyone’s mother—steadying the boys who kept falling into the traffic on Jerusalem’s streets, speaking Hebrew to the taxi driver instead of the American boy who is fluent but who is so drunk that he forgot Hebrew, trying to shush the drunken South African who kept demanding “mayyiiiiiiiiiiiiim” from the taxi driver, etc etc.
My point in relating all of this? Well, you have to first understand that the South African is in the same boat I am—He’s roughly the same age, with absolutely no family in Israel. Not a single relative. Actually, the South African is in an even worse boat: he speaks almost no Hebrew.
So, I’m sorry, maybe this is just me being stupid, but shouldn’t that mean that the South African should take extra special care of himself? I mean if, G-d forbid, something bad happens to him while he’s shit-faced, there’s no one here for him. His nearest relative is a several hour plane ride away. I’m not saying that it means he can’t get drunk in Israel at all, because I know I’ve already done that, but he needs to learn his fucking limit and if he can’t control himself he needs to get someone to limit him or something.
My general irritation here is that people in this ulpan think we’re in Never Never Land and that they’ll never have to grow up. We have the South African drinking out of control in order to have a fun night out….. and he constantly complains that there is no ATM on the kibbutz, which makes life “impossible” because then he keeps spending all his money on the kibbutz and not being able to take the bus to get off the kibbutz to get to the ATM at the local mall. I mean, it’s really not a problem. You just make sure to get money every time you get off the kibbutz and when you come back you just have to make sure that, even if you spend all your other money on booze (as this guy does), you have to save 7.70 shekels for the bus fare. But this retarded South African guy just can’t manage not to spend that extra—what is is, two dollars?—on booze, and he ends up getting stuck on the kibbutz until he can coax someone into giving him bus fare to the mall. I mean, grow the fuck up already! If you’re not old enough to take care of yourself, you shouldn’t be thousands of miles away from your nearest relative!
Earlier we had a guy who was a college graduate and had been working on his own for a year at a high-paying office job, and he came here and started acting like a teenager, tormenting some of the weaker boys. We have a 28 year old cutting off everyone in class like a know-it-all five year old. I mean seriously people, Peter Pan’s not coming by anytime soon to teach you all to fly, so you might as well all act your fucking age!
I can't leave you without more Russian bizarre-ities:
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Mah ShlomFUCK YOU!
In the US, when a co-worker you don’t know particularly well asks how you are doing, how do you respond? You’ll probably say something like: not bad, not too shabby, ok, fine, good, just fine, etc etc. If you’re having a particularly good day, you might offer something a little more enthusiastically positive, but for the most part you say something like “I’m ok.” It’s my understanding that in US it doesn’t matter if you have an arrow through your head or if your life at the moment is like a re-enactment of the Book of Job—if the person asking how you are doing is not a particularly close friend, the proper response is something like, “I’m fine.”
So every single day when the Women of the Wash ask, “Mah shlomech?” I respond by saying in Hebrew that I’m okay or I’m fine or I’m good. Sure, a lot of shit’s going wrong, but in the cosmic sense of things I really am OK, and anyway I thought I was being polite and I thought I was being properly distanced by not bogging these women down with the ups and downs of my life.
Well today Naomi Bitch started yelling at me after I responded “B’seder.” Like, you think I’m exaggerating, that surely I wouldn’t be yelled at for simply responding that I was doing okay, but I kid you not. She started yelling, demanding to know why I didn’t respond in more detail and demanding to know why I was always “okay” or “fine.” I wanted to yell back something like, “Fine, I wasn’t going to tell you this cos I basically like just fucking met you last month, but I’ll tell you exactly how I am: I fucking hate this kibbutz, I miss my family, I’m seriously freaked out because I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life after this G-d-forsaken ulpan is over, I hate my job, I hate you, I hate me, and I’m seriously reconsidering whether or not I’m a Zionist thanks to this fucking place. THAT’S how I am right now.” But instead I just stared at this woman in shock. I was only trying to be polite and trying not to be a burden by simply responding that I was doing just fine, and even if I weren’t in the mood to be polite, why the fuck would I tell this random woman everything that’s going on in my life? I mean, if she asked for more detail in a way that suggested that she was actually concerned, maybe you’d be reading a radically different blog post here. But the woman wasn’t asking in a concerned way—she was angrily demanding to know the details of my life. What the fuck does she WANT to know? I mean, what a nosey bitch! She’s not my friend, she’s not my family, so she has absolutely no right or reasonable expectation to know what’s going on in my life! Jesus Christ, the Women of the Wash need to learn how to mind their own fucking business.
I later went to the store on the kibbutz to buy two things of yogurt, since tomorrow it’ll be closed for Shavuot. When the guy rang me up, I saw that he only charged me for one thing. I looked at the screen to be sure, and sure enough he only charged me for one. I tried to say something in Hebrew, but I have no idea how to say, “You undercharged me.” I tried to explain things in a sort of roundabout Hebrew way, but I only got a few words out when the guy behind the counter cut me off and said in the most exasperated and condescending tone, “Just give me five shekels and I’ll give you your change!!!” At least it was in Hebrew….
I was initially surprised and hurt, but was about to protest and try to explain again that I wasn’t paying enough…...but then I realized this guy was a fucking asshole, so I just smiled and took two yogurts for the price of one Which I actually feel really badly about. As much as I hate this kibbutz, I don’t like stealing….except for toilet paper. But that’s not stealing, that’s justice.
Anyway, my point in relating this market story is that I am sick of being treated like I’m retarded. I cannot capture in writing the sheer amount of condescension and exasperation in peoples’ voices when they talk to me (and to other newcomers to the country). I hate it. I’m not retarded, I just didn’t fucking grow up in a Hebrew speaking country! For me, this is a new country and a new language that are both incredibly unfamiliar to me. “Yeah, but you’re Jewish, so you should be very familiar with Hebrew!” Well, great, that means that there is ONE Hebrew phrase that isn’t a strain for me to put together: “Baruch Atah Adonai….” That’s about it. And frankly, I think a Hebrew translation of the phrase “Go fuck yourself” might be more useful than that one.
I don’t understand it. When I hear people having problems with English, I try to be nice and help, and I’m always impressed that people know English at all. I’m not saying that I need a standing ovation every time I say the word “bayit,” but a little bit of support and sympathy would be great. A little encouragement never killed anyone (except when the encouragement was for suicide).
Anyway, I think I’ll never make it up north. I actually booked a fucking hostel, planned out everything I wanted to do…….and now I’m fucking sick. So I’m spending my fucking vacation on this fucking kibbutz. Urgh…. I considered going to the doctor because then I could have gotten a day off work, but I still think it’s ridiculous to go to the doctor for a sickness that is just inconvenient or unpleasant, rather than something serious. I don’t care that on this kibbutz you go to the doctor for every minor ache or pain, or that on this kibbutz you tell near-strangers all the details of your life, or that on this kibbutz you are mean and condescending to someone who is trying to be honest—that’s not how my family raised me, and that’s not how I’m going to live my life!
Back in college, whenever I chose to have a quiet night in because of illness or foul mood or whatever while everyone else was out celebrating their youth, I used to put on the song “Another Saturday Night,” and sit around moping in my underpants. I think that’s what I’m going to do tonight. Wish me luck.
P.S. Can we have a bright side moment? Sure, Iran might have nuclear weapons, but at least that increases the chance that this kibbutz might cease to exist in the near future.
Oh jeez….that was sick. I think I need to get out more.
P.P.S. I might not get my oleh visa paperwork done in time, cos it takes for-fucking-ever to get an appointment. Basically if everything goes PERFECTLY, I could have it done in time by the end of the kibbutz program. But that means that absolutely NOTHING can go wrong. But obviously things are going to go wrong. So what I’m going to try to do instead is sign up for the Mahal program. It’s where you do the Israeli army for the regular amount of time, but you do it as a foreign citizen. I figure I’ll have to do the army eventually, I might as well do it now. Actually, I think I’d prefer to do the Mahal program and then get citizenship, because then I’d know exactly if/when I’m doing the army, instead of it being this vague and confusing thing. If I do the Mahal program, I’d start in September, but if I get citizenship I’d have to wait a while—I’d get settled and I’d have to find a job and shit like that, and then in the middle of it I’d have to up and join the army. So we’ll see. I don’t know. I still haven’t decided exactly what I want to do with my life after September. Part of me wants to go back to college to just go learn languages, but I think it’s unfair to my parents who are paying, because I can’t graduate with the classes I want to take, and it’s also stupid to go back to your native country to learn languages instead of staying in a country where you can be surrounded by a foreign language. I think I just have to be patient and have faith that ONE day (again, that day is not today!) I’ll know enough Hebrew to go to college here, and it’ll be free cos I’ll be an immigrant, and I can learn other languages through the medium of Hebrew. And it’ll be awesome.
Or maybe I’ll just go back to the U.S. Fuuuuuuuuck….
Oh Jesus, do I need a hug…….
(not from Jesus)
So every single day when the Women of the Wash ask, “Mah shlomech?” I respond by saying in Hebrew that I’m okay or I’m fine or I’m good. Sure, a lot of shit’s going wrong, but in the cosmic sense of things I really am OK, and anyway I thought I was being polite and I thought I was being properly distanced by not bogging these women down with the ups and downs of my life.
Well today Naomi Bitch started yelling at me after I responded “B’seder.” Like, you think I’m exaggerating, that surely I wouldn’t be yelled at for simply responding that I was doing okay, but I kid you not. She started yelling, demanding to know why I didn’t respond in more detail and demanding to know why I was always “okay” or “fine.” I wanted to yell back something like, “Fine, I wasn’t going to tell you this cos I basically like just fucking met you last month, but I’ll tell you exactly how I am: I fucking hate this kibbutz, I miss my family, I’m seriously freaked out because I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life after this G-d-forsaken ulpan is over, I hate my job, I hate you, I hate me, and I’m seriously reconsidering whether or not I’m a Zionist thanks to this fucking place. THAT’S how I am right now.” But instead I just stared at this woman in shock. I was only trying to be polite and trying not to be a burden by simply responding that I was doing just fine, and even if I weren’t in the mood to be polite, why the fuck would I tell this random woman everything that’s going on in my life? I mean, if she asked for more detail in a way that suggested that she was actually concerned, maybe you’d be reading a radically different blog post here. But the woman wasn’t asking in a concerned way—she was angrily demanding to know the details of my life. What the fuck does she WANT to know? I mean, what a nosey bitch! She’s not my friend, she’s not my family, so she has absolutely no right or reasonable expectation to know what’s going on in my life! Jesus Christ, the Women of the Wash need to learn how to mind their own fucking business.
I later went to the store on the kibbutz to buy two things of yogurt, since tomorrow it’ll be closed for Shavuot. When the guy rang me up, I saw that he only charged me for one thing. I looked at the screen to be sure, and sure enough he only charged me for one. I tried to say something in Hebrew, but I have no idea how to say, “You undercharged me.” I tried to explain things in a sort of roundabout Hebrew way, but I only got a few words out when the guy behind the counter cut me off and said in the most exasperated and condescending tone, “Just give me five shekels and I’ll give you your change!!!” At least it was in Hebrew….
I was initially surprised and hurt, but was about to protest and try to explain again that I wasn’t paying enough…...but then I realized this guy was a fucking asshole, so I just smiled and took two yogurts for the price of one Which I actually feel really badly about. As much as I hate this kibbutz, I don’t like stealing….except for toilet paper. But that’s not stealing, that’s justice.
Anyway, my point in relating this market story is that I am sick of being treated like I’m retarded. I cannot capture in writing the sheer amount of condescension and exasperation in peoples’ voices when they talk to me (and to other newcomers to the country). I hate it. I’m not retarded, I just didn’t fucking grow up in a Hebrew speaking country! For me, this is a new country and a new language that are both incredibly unfamiliar to me. “Yeah, but you’re Jewish, so you should be very familiar with Hebrew!” Well, great, that means that there is ONE Hebrew phrase that isn’t a strain for me to put together: “Baruch Atah Adonai….” That’s about it. And frankly, I think a Hebrew translation of the phrase “Go fuck yourself” might be more useful than that one.
I don’t understand it. When I hear people having problems with English, I try to be nice and help, and I’m always impressed that people know English at all. I’m not saying that I need a standing ovation every time I say the word “bayit,” but a little bit of support and sympathy would be great. A little encouragement never killed anyone (except when the encouragement was for suicide).
Anyway, I think I’ll never make it up north. I actually booked a fucking hostel, planned out everything I wanted to do…….and now I’m fucking sick. So I’m spending my fucking vacation on this fucking kibbutz. Urgh…. I considered going to the doctor because then I could have gotten a day off work, but I still think it’s ridiculous to go to the doctor for a sickness that is just inconvenient or unpleasant, rather than something serious. I don’t care that on this kibbutz you go to the doctor for every minor ache or pain, or that on this kibbutz you tell near-strangers all the details of your life, or that on this kibbutz you are mean and condescending to someone who is trying to be honest—that’s not how my family raised me, and that’s not how I’m going to live my life!
Back in college, whenever I chose to have a quiet night in because of illness or foul mood or whatever while everyone else was out celebrating their youth, I used to put on the song “Another Saturday Night,” and sit around moping in my underpants. I think that’s what I’m going to do tonight. Wish me luck.
P.S. Can we have a bright side moment? Sure, Iran might have nuclear weapons, but at least that increases the chance that this kibbutz might cease to exist in the near future.
Oh jeez….that was sick. I think I need to get out more.
P.P.S. I might not get my oleh visa paperwork done in time, cos it takes for-fucking-ever to get an appointment. Basically if everything goes PERFECTLY, I could have it done in time by the end of the kibbutz program. But that means that absolutely NOTHING can go wrong. But obviously things are going to go wrong. So what I’m going to try to do instead is sign up for the Mahal program. It’s where you do the Israeli army for the regular amount of time, but you do it as a foreign citizen. I figure I’ll have to do the army eventually, I might as well do it now. Actually, I think I’d prefer to do the Mahal program and then get citizenship, because then I’d know exactly if/when I’m doing the army, instead of it being this vague and confusing thing. If I do the Mahal program, I’d start in September, but if I get citizenship I’d have to wait a while—I’d get settled and I’d have to find a job and shit like that, and then in the middle of it I’d have to up and join the army. So we’ll see. I don’t know. I still haven’t decided exactly what I want to do with my life after September. Part of me wants to go back to college to just go learn languages, but I think it’s unfair to my parents who are paying, because I can’t graduate with the classes I want to take, and it’s also stupid to go back to your native country to learn languages instead of staying in a country where you can be surrounded by a foreign language. I think I just have to be patient and have faith that ONE day (again, that day is not today!) I’ll know enough Hebrew to go to college here, and it’ll be free cos I’ll be an immigrant, and I can learn other languages through the medium of Hebrew. And it’ll be awesome.
Or maybe I’ll just go back to the U.S. Fuuuuuuuuck….
Oh Jesus, do I need a hug…….
(not from Jesus)
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Israel: Love it or leave it.
Hello all! It’s Country Music Shabbat! And since I hopefully will be on vacay for Sunday/Monday/Tuesday and since I forgot to do it last week, I want to get in Israeli Music Sunday today.
So first of all, Country Music Shabbat: I just had lunch with this bizarre ulpanist who kept bragging about how great he is at dancing and at picking up girls, and he was bragging about how rich he is/is going to be. He thought I was really impressed by all of this, and I wanted to be like, “hooooooo boy, are you reading me wrong or what! I’d be more impressed if you were homeless and you danced like a total dweeb.” Is it weird to find a lack of money and nerdiness attractive? Please tell me I’m not the only one…
Anyway, during lunch this guy kept talking about how everything is better in his native country. I told him, “Well, I love my native country too, but you gotta understand that every country has its upsides and downsides, even Israel.” No no no, he refused to accept that Israel could even compare to HIS country. I wanted to tell him that if he honestly thought this place was the “shit hole” that he kept calling it, why the fuck didn’t he go back to that magical land of his. Apparently the toilets in his country are made of solid gold, the streets are paved with chocolate, dogs shit rainbows, leprechauns run wild, it rains marshmallows, and all the prostitutes are syphilis-free. Oh yeah, and the national anthem is “Oh What a Night!”
(That was so American of me. You know, first it’s “America: Love it or leave it!” and now “If you honestly think Israel is the ‘shit hole’ that you keep calling it, why the fuck don’t you go back to that magical land of yours??” I don’t think it has the same ring as “America: Love it or leave it,” but maybe I’ll run it by the Israeli government anyway and see what they think…)
So I thought it would be appropriate to play the song “Only in America” by Brooks & Dunn. Even though this guy wasn’t talking about the U.S. See, I just thought I had to counter his idealization of his own country with a song that idealizes mine.
(Another capitalist thing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QLILrC7Y5L4
I’m actually really glad I had lunch with this person, because I got incredibly defensive of Israel, like I used to. Ah, it felt nice to be a Zionist again….
For Israeli Music Sunday, here’s something by Idan Yaniv and apparently Dana International as well….. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I’ve heard it on the radio quite a bit. I think it’s kind of interesting.
So first of all, Country Music Shabbat: I just had lunch with this bizarre ulpanist who kept bragging about how great he is at dancing and at picking up girls, and he was bragging about how rich he is/is going to be. He thought I was really impressed by all of this, and I wanted to be like, “hooooooo boy, are you reading me wrong or what! I’d be more impressed if you were homeless and you danced like a total dweeb.” Is it weird to find a lack of money and nerdiness attractive? Please tell me I’m not the only one…
Anyway, during lunch this guy kept talking about how everything is better in his native country. I told him, “Well, I love my native country too, but you gotta understand that every country has its upsides and downsides, even Israel.” No no no, he refused to accept that Israel could even compare to HIS country. I wanted to tell him that if he honestly thought this place was the “shit hole” that he kept calling it, why the fuck didn’t he go back to that magical land of his. Apparently the toilets in his country are made of solid gold, the streets are paved with chocolate, dogs shit rainbows, leprechauns run wild, it rains marshmallows, and all the prostitutes are syphilis-free. Oh yeah, and the national anthem is “Oh What a Night!”
(That was so American of me. You know, first it’s “America: Love it or leave it!” and now “If you honestly think Israel is the ‘shit hole’ that you keep calling it, why the fuck don’t you go back to that magical land of yours??” I don’t think it has the same ring as “America: Love it or leave it,” but maybe I’ll run it by the Israeli government anyway and see what they think…)
So I thought it would be appropriate to play the song “Only in America” by Brooks & Dunn. Even though this guy wasn’t talking about the U.S. See, I just thought I had to counter his idealization of his own country with a song that idealizes mine.
(Another capitalist thing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QLILrC7Y5L4
I’m actually really glad I had lunch with this person, because I got incredibly defensive of Israel, like I used to. Ah, it felt nice to be a Zionist again….
For Israeli Music Sunday, here’s something by Idan Yaniv and apparently Dana International as well….. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I’ve heard it on the radio quite a bit. I think it’s kind of interesting.
Friday, June 6, 2008
The 700 Club
I just had the saddest experience ever: I just sat down in the hotel lobby to load this post onto the blog when I saw that tonight’s Shabbat entertainment was setting up. “Holy shit!” I thought to myself. “Holy shit! I look just like the band members! Finally I’ve found some Israelis that I actually resemble!”
Um…..so it turns out they’re Irish. Not Israeli. Ummmmmmm…..
I just smelled the cleaning solution that they use in some hotels here, and it reminded me of Israel. Like, how I actually LIKE Israel. I associate this smell with my first night in Israel because we got to the hotel and that’s what it smelled like. So now whenever I smell this smell, as I do from time to time, I feel a little bit better and I feel happier to be here.
Sorry about the ridiculousness of some of the parts of my last post. Well, EVERYTHING I write is ridiculous.
What I mean is this: I just woke up from a long nap, but before I fell asleep I was watching TV. And I was watching some show in Hebrew…and I realized, Holy fuck I actually understand this! Well, of course not everything, but it was enough to be a huge confidence booster. I mean, before I got in bed to take a nap, I was researching options for what I could do if I were to go back to the U.S. And now that I’ve woken up I feel a lot more confident about this whole being in Israel thing.
I think I just have to accept that it’s going to be total shit at times having to deal with paperwork/Misrad Hapnim, and it’s going to be shit that I’ll probably be mistaken for a tourist well after I’ve become fluent in Hebrew (I KNOW that one day I’ll be fluent in Hebrew….just that today is not that day) and well after I finally get my oleh certificate/teudat zehut/whatever whatever. And it’s going to be shit not having any family here, and whatever. I accept that there’s a lot of shit ahead of me. But you know, I’m feeling a lot like my usual hopeful self. I don’t think it’s ridiculously hopeful of me to say that all these things can only get better. One day I’ll get my paperwork done. I don’t know when, but one day it’ll happen. One day I’ll be mistaken for a tourist less, and if someone tries to speak to me in English immediately, one day I’ll be able to respond with something witty or sarcastic in perfect Hebrew. One day I’ll be a little more comfortable with the fact that I have no family here—I’ll never get used to it, because sometimes no matter how old you are you just want your mom, but I know one day I’ll just come to terms with it and won’t feel as bad because hopefully I’ll eventually have a nice base of close friends.
So far what has happened supports that belief: I have gotten used to things that I didn’t think I would get used to. For one thing, the Muslim crooning doesn’t scare me anymore. I know how to use the buses now, and I know to wait for my odef and to wait for my ticket. And having to get a ticket doesn’t piss me off anymore like it used to. And heck, the other day I was on a bus and I was like, “Wow, I haven’t thought of buses blowing up in a really long time.” Which I realize is kind of a sick thing to be thinking about, but I mean, let’s face it….it’s definitely something I used to think about a lot, and I’m definitely not the only person who’s thought about it. The other day we cleaned our floor in the Israeli style, and I actually sort of knew what I was doing this time.
Of course there’s pudding at breakfast! Of course I hear the name Avi everywhere! Fine, I’ll buy my Aspirin at the pharmacy instead of just at some random little minimart, and fine, there’s an 18 year old with an enormous gun sitting next to me on the bus. Yes, I have to wait for-fucking-ever at the bank, and yes, on the average day off the kibbutz I have to go through a metal detector at least a few times. Little stuff like this now seems very natural to me, and I’ve only been here for a month and a half. Things are only going to get better.
All right. I feel better right now. I feel pumped up!
I’m watching the English TV channel right now. They do an Israeli news broadcast and they use the word “moreover” like it’s going to disappear if they don’t use it every five seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever heard “moreover” on the U.S. news even once…..
Now that Shabbat is starting, the programming on the station is religious Christian. Saturday morning, if it’s anything like last Saturday morning, there’s going to be one of those Bible guys trying to get you to turn to Jesus and there’ll be some toll-free number to call. It’s kind of weird that this happens in Israel on Shabbat...
Hahahaha, the 700 Club just came on.
Oh my goodness. This is bizarrely making me feel less homesick. That show is the bane of my mother’s existence because last year my grandma had to be in the hospital, and the local hospital was a Christian hospital. So they left The 700 Club on all day on the TV in my grandma’s room, and my mother used to be like, “They’re doing this because they know my mom is Jewish!” And I’m like, “No Mom, they’re doing this because grandma’s in a CHRISTIAN hospital!” I mean, it didn’t bother her that there was a huge figure of St Jude at the door, and it didn’t bother her that they had pictures and whatnot of Jesus everywhere, like it was Laura Ashley wallpaper. No no no, according to my mom they must be intentionally putting on the 700 Club in my Jewish grandma’s room, because a place with St. Jude and Jesus everywhere definitely wouldn’t naturally put The 700 Club on in everyone’s room….
Oh, I have to rip off a story from a friend. My friend said his cousin who lives in the West Bank learned that the nearest local mosque, which was somewhere near or in Hebron, didn’t use an actual guy to call people to prayer. They used a recording on tape and just played it at given times. So my friend’s cousin (I don’t know if this is true or not, but I have no reason to not believe it) broke into the mosque with a bunch of his fellow Nachman followers and they swapped the Muslim tape with one of their own.
So at the next call to prayer, instead of the traditional Muslim calls, the mosque started BLASTING some Hasidic “Greatest Hits” tape all across the area.
Oh man….that’s fucking hilarious.
Um…..so it turns out they’re Irish. Not Israeli. Ummmmmmm…..
I just smelled the cleaning solution that they use in some hotels here, and it reminded me of Israel. Like, how I actually LIKE Israel. I associate this smell with my first night in Israel because we got to the hotel and that’s what it smelled like. So now whenever I smell this smell, as I do from time to time, I feel a little bit better and I feel happier to be here.
Sorry about the ridiculousness of some of the parts of my last post. Well, EVERYTHING I write is ridiculous.
What I mean is this: I just woke up from a long nap, but before I fell asleep I was watching TV. And I was watching some show in Hebrew…and I realized, Holy fuck I actually understand this! Well, of course not everything, but it was enough to be a huge confidence booster. I mean, before I got in bed to take a nap, I was researching options for what I could do if I were to go back to the U.S. And now that I’ve woken up I feel a lot more confident about this whole being in Israel thing.
I think I just have to accept that it’s going to be total shit at times having to deal with paperwork/Misrad Hapnim, and it’s going to be shit that I’ll probably be mistaken for a tourist well after I’ve become fluent in Hebrew (I KNOW that one day I’ll be fluent in Hebrew….just that today is not that day) and well after I finally get my oleh certificate/teudat zehut/whatever whatever. And it’s going to be shit not having any family here, and whatever. I accept that there’s a lot of shit ahead of me. But you know, I’m feeling a lot like my usual hopeful self. I don’t think it’s ridiculously hopeful of me to say that all these things can only get better. One day I’ll get my paperwork done. I don’t know when, but one day it’ll happen. One day I’ll be mistaken for a tourist less, and if someone tries to speak to me in English immediately, one day I’ll be able to respond with something witty or sarcastic in perfect Hebrew. One day I’ll be a little more comfortable with the fact that I have no family here—I’ll never get used to it, because sometimes no matter how old you are you just want your mom, but I know one day I’ll just come to terms with it and won’t feel as bad because hopefully I’ll eventually have a nice base of close friends.
So far what has happened supports that belief: I have gotten used to things that I didn’t think I would get used to. For one thing, the Muslim crooning doesn’t scare me anymore. I know how to use the buses now, and I know to wait for my odef and to wait for my ticket. And having to get a ticket doesn’t piss me off anymore like it used to. And heck, the other day I was on a bus and I was like, “Wow, I haven’t thought of buses blowing up in a really long time.” Which I realize is kind of a sick thing to be thinking about, but I mean, let’s face it….it’s definitely something I used to think about a lot, and I’m definitely not the only person who’s thought about it. The other day we cleaned our floor in the Israeli style, and I actually sort of knew what I was doing this time.
Of course there’s pudding at breakfast! Of course I hear the name Avi everywhere! Fine, I’ll buy my Aspirin at the pharmacy instead of just at some random little minimart, and fine, there’s an 18 year old with an enormous gun sitting next to me on the bus. Yes, I have to wait for-fucking-ever at the bank, and yes, on the average day off the kibbutz I have to go through a metal detector at least a few times. Little stuff like this now seems very natural to me, and I’ve only been here for a month and a half. Things are only going to get better.
All right. I feel better right now. I feel pumped up!
I’m watching the English TV channel right now. They do an Israeli news broadcast and they use the word “moreover” like it’s going to disappear if they don’t use it every five seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever heard “moreover” on the U.S. news even once…..
Now that Shabbat is starting, the programming on the station is religious Christian. Saturday morning, if it’s anything like last Saturday morning, there’s going to be one of those Bible guys trying to get you to turn to Jesus and there’ll be some toll-free number to call. It’s kind of weird that this happens in Israel on Shabbat...
Hahahaha, the 700 Club just came on.
Oh my goodness. This is bizarrely making me feel less homesick. That show is the bane of my mother’s existence because last year my grandma had to be in the hospital, and the local hospital was a Christian hospital. So they left The 700 Club on all day on the TV in my grandma’s room, and my mother used to be like, “They’re doing this because they know my mom is Jewish!” And I’m like, “No Mom, they’re doing this because grandma’s in a CHRISTIAN hospital!” I mean, it didn’t bother her that there was a huge figure of St Jude at the door, and it didn’t bother her that they had pictures and whatnot of Jesus everywhere, like it was Laura Ashley wallpaper. No no no, according to my mom they must be intentionally putting on the 700 Club in my Jewish grandma’s room, because a place with St. Jude and Jesus everywhere definitely wouldn’t naturally put The 700 Club on in everyone’s room….
Oh, I have to rip off a story from a friend. My friend said his cousin who lives in the West Bank learned that the nearest local mosque, which was somewhere near or in Hebron, didn’t use an actual guy to call people to prayer. They used a recording on tape and just played it at given times. So my friend’s cousin (I don’t know if this is true or not, but I have no reason to not believe it) broke into the mosque with a bunch of his fellow Nachman followers and they swapped the Muslim tape with one of their own.
So at the next call to prayer, instead of the traditional Muslim calls, the mosque started BLASTING some Hasidic “Greatest Hits” tape all across the area.
Oh man….that’s fucking hilarious.
Mi ani?
Why is it that every single day at work I feel like I’m up to my neck in other people’s underwear? Oh yeah, maybe it’s because the sealed mesh bags people are supposed to put their underwear in when they wash it never actually do get sealed by said people. Fucking a….
Today I got called out of work to come talk to the ulpan director about the Misrad Hapnim experience. And it turns out he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know I had to apply for an oleh visa first--he thought I could just jump in and immediately get an identity card. Which is fine, I don’t blame him for not knowing. Hell, if I were still in the U.S. and some potential immigrant asked me to help them through the immigration process, I’d be fucked. I have no fucking clue how one immigrates to the U.S. because I’ve never had to do it. I was simply born there. So of course I don’t blame the ulpan director for not knowing how to immigrate to Israel, because he was born here. But the difference is that I would IMMEDIATELY tell the immigrant to the U.S, “Look, I don’t know ANYTHING about this….but I’ll try to find you someone who does.” Instead, the ulpan director knew 100 percent that he had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and yet he chose to act like the expert and insist that I trust him. That is what pisses me off.
Today there was very little to be folded. It got to the point where there was only one more cart of things to fold, so I took it. And suddenly Charades Bitch yells out in Hebrew to the woman in charge, “She’s going to fold [Astrology Bitch]’s work!” Like she were a four year old shrieking, “Teacher! Teacher! Sammy pulled Astrology Bitch’s hair!!!” All the women do this, where they are basically like, “I’m telllinggggggg! I’m tellingggggg!!!!!!” except they think that I don’t realize that they are acting like little four year olds because they STILL don’t believe I know a bit of Hebrew.
What’s there to tell anyway? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I don’t fucking understand this kibbutz. They were angry that I was going to fold the last of the laundry before Astrology Bitch arrived for work. What’s the problem with me folding the last of the laundry before Astrology Bitch arrives? Isn’t that a good thing? “Oh, well then Astrology Bitch won’t have anything to fold!”
Well good for fucking Astrology Bitch then! She can go the fuck home then! I mean, I really don’t understand what the problem is. Are they angry at me for doing TOO MUCH work? Jesus Christ, this kibbutz is so fucked up.
It’s small shit like that that makes me question Zionism. I mean, I realize there’s probably an enormous number of incredibly intelligent people in Israel, but for some reason so far I’ve only come into contact with the complete fucktards. Maybe the kibbutz lifestyle is a fucktard-magnet.
So for once in my life there was a moment in the laundry room where there was absolutely. Not. A. single. Thing. To. Fold.
Nothing. Nothing to fold. So I sat patiently for the next load of laundry to come….
And Ayin Bitch started yelling at me for not doing anything. I was like, what CAN I do??? And she couldn’t answer that. All she knew was that she was angry I wasn’t doing anything. WELL WHAT THE FUCK CAN I DO? I mean, first I get in trouble for keeping myself busy at work by finishing the last of the laundry, and then I get in trouble for NOT keeping busy even when it would be impossible for me to do so. I fucking hate this place…
I love that my roommate complains all day about how she doesn’t like her job….but her bosses took her out horseback riding. Today during lunch she was like, “Why don’t you just ask to get out early today? I do it all the time.” And I’m like, have you not been listening??? All day they yell at me or talk about me as if I’m not there—I’m not sure which is worse. I’m pretty sure I ain’t gettin a horseback riding invite from them anytime soon! What the hell does she mean, “Why don’t you just ask to get out early today?”
I have to introduce you to another bitch: Sherlock Holmes Bitch. From time to time I fold sheets with her, and she examines each piece of laundry for the TINIEST pieces of lint or dirt. Like Sherlock Holmes looking for a clue.
You know what I think my problem is? Maybe I’m not Jewish enough to live in the Jewish State. I mean, I can’t think of anything about me that’s Jewish. I mean, besides Me. My problem is that physically, mentally, emotionally, politically and basically in any way you can possibly be, I am nothing like the Jewish side of my family, yet I resemble my Christian side of my family almost exactly—except I don’t believe in Jesus. I mean, the only thing that’s really “Jewish” about me is that I’m stingy. But I’m only stingy when it comes to parking my car, otherwise I’m not stingy in the least. See, I don’t believe in paying for parking, and I’ve been known to park a mile or two away just so that I wouldn’t have to pay for parking. But that’s not some Jewish trait to be proud of, that’s just a nasty stereotype.
My point in all this is that the Jewish Agency will tell you that if you’re Jewish you can come to Israel and immediately feel at home. Which is true to a certain extent. But they forget that you can be Jewish according to halakha, like me, and yet have very little in common with other Jews.
Oh Goodness. Enough of this complaining. I just put on “Oh What A Night.” Things just got better.
Sing it, Frankie!!!!
Today I got called out of work to come talk to the ulpan director about the Misrad Hapnim experience. And it turns out he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He didn’t know I had to apply for an oleh visa first--he thought I could just jump in and immediately get an identity card. Which is fine, I don’t blame him for not knowing. Hell, if I were still in the U.S. and some potential immigrant asked me to help them through the immigration process, I’d be fucked. I have no fucking clue how one immigrates to the U.S. because I’ve never had to do it. I was simply born there. So of course I don’t blame the ulpan director for not knowing how to immigrate to Israel, because he was born here. But the difference is that I would IMMEDIATELY tell the immigrant to the U.S, “Look, I don’t know ANYTHING about this….but I’ll try to find you someone who does.” Instead, the ulpan director knew 100 percent that he had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and yet he chose to act like the expert and insist that I trust him. That is what pisses me off.
Today there was very little to be folded. It got to the point where there was only one more cart of things to fold, so I took it. And suddenly Charades Bitch yells out in Hebrew to the woman in charge, “She’s going to fold [Astrology Bitch]’s work!” Like she were a four year old shrieking, “Teacher! Teacher! Sammy pulled Astrology Bitch’s hair!!!” All the women do this, where they are basically like, “I’m telllinggggggg! I’m tellingggggg!!!!!!” except they think that I don’t realize that they are acting like little four year olds because they STILL don’t believe I know a bit of Hebrew.
What’s there to tell anyway? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I don’t fucking understand this kibbutz. They were angry that I was going to fold the last of the laundry before Astrology Bitch arrived for work. What’s the problem with me folding the last of the laundry before Astrology Bitch arrives? Isn’t that a good thing? “Oh, well then Astrology Bitch won’t have anything to fold!”
Well good for fucking Astrology Bitch then! She can go the fuck home then! I mean, I really don’t understand what the problem is. Are they angry at me for doing TOO MUCH work? Jesus Christ, this kibbutz is so fucked up.
It’s small shit like that that makes me question Zionism. I mean, I realize there’s probably an enormous number of incredibly intelligent people in Israel, but for some reason so far I’ve only come into contact with the complete fucktards. Maybe the kibbutz lifestyle is a fucktard-magnet.
So for once in my life there was a moment in the laundry room where there was absolutely. Not. A. single. Thing. To. Fold.
Nothing. Nothing to fold. So I sat patiently for the next load of laundry to come….
And Ayin Bitch started yelling at me for not doing anything. I was like, what CAN I do??? And she couldn’t answer that. All she knew was that she was angry I wasn’t doing anything. WELL WHAT THE FUCK CAN I DO? I mean, first I get in trouble for keeping myself busy at work by finishing the last of the laundry, and then I get in trouble for NOT keeping busy even when it would be impossible for me to do so. I fucking hate this place…
I love that my roommate complains all day about how she doesn’t like her job….but her bosses took her out horseback riding. Today during lunch she was like, “Why don’t you just ask to get out early today? I do it all the time.” And I’m like, have you not been listening??? All day they yell at me or talk about me as if I’m not there—I’m not sure which is worse. I’m pretty sure I ain’t gettin a horseback riding invite from them anytime soon! What the hell does she mean, “Why don’t you just ask to get out early today?”
I have to introduce you to another bitch: Sherlock Holmes Bitch. From time to time I fold sheets with her, and she examines each piece of laundry for the TINIEST pieces of lint or dirt. Like Sherlock Holmes looking for a clue.
You know what I think my problem is? Maybe I’m not Jewish enough to live in the Jewish State. I mean, I can’t think of anything about me that’s Jewish. I mean, besides Me. My problem is that physically, mentally, emotionally, politically and basically in any way you can possibly be, I am nothing like the Jewish side of my family, yet I resemble my Christian side of my family almost exactly—except I don’t believe in Jesus. I mean, the only thing that’s really “Jewish” about me is that I’m stingy. But I’m only stingy when it comes to parking my car, otherwise I’m not stingy in the least. See, I don’t believe in paying for parking, and I’ve been known to park a mile or two away just so that I wouldn’t have to pay for parking. But that’s not some Jewish trait to be proud of, that’s just a nasty stereotype.
My point in all this is that the Jewish Agency will tell you that if you’re Jewish you can come to Israel and immediately feel at home. Which is true to a certain extent. But they forget that you can be Jewish according to halakha, like me, and yet have very little in common with other Jews.
Oh Goodness. Enough of this complaining. I just put on “Oh What A Night.” Things just got better.
Sing it, Frankie!!!!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
and the employee didn't even fart!
So it’s a no go. For now.
To make an appointment at Misrad Hapnim, you need to speak good Hebrew. I don’t. So I relied on the head of the ulpan to set me up an appointment. “I need an appointment,” I told him. He told me, “No you don’t, you can just go in.” “No,” I stressed, “I’m pretty sure I need an appointment.” “No,” he repeated, “trust me, you don’t need an appointment.” He seemed pretty sure, and I thought maybe on the phone in Hebrew they were telling him something other than what I read online in English. So I did just that—I trusted him.
So I woke up at 6 am today. I took the 6.50 bus out of here so that I could arrive in Jerusalem at 7.15, walk over to Misrad Hapnim and arrive at 7.30…..and at 8 the office would open and I could wait my turn.
And so I did. And I waited my turn until 9.15. They called my name, I went in….
I waited in the wrong fucking area. Why? Because nothing is clearly marked in that fucking building, and the absolutely meager signage that they do have is in Hebrew. Well I’m not fucking fluent in Hebrew, so I had no idea I was in the waiting area for people who wanted to get their mixed marriages or marriages performed abroad recognized.
I mean, Jesus Christ, you’d think things would be labeled a little bit more clearly in a building that sees so many IMMIGRANTS pass through!
So after I got called in and informed that I was in the wrong place (after waiting for almost 2 hours….), I initially was not too concerned and I said, “Oh, well where do I go to change my visa to olah status? Where’s the correct room for that?” And they said, “Well, it’s just down the hall but absolutely need to have called in to make an appointment.”
I needed a fucking appointment. Fucking ulpan director!
So I left the Misrad Hapnim and decided to walk down to the Old City. I was so frustrated. I was upset that the ulpan director didn’t listen to me and now I might be a couple months behind in my aliyah process (it might take 2 months to get an appointment!), and I was upset that I was still a fucking tourist. As I walked towards the Kotel, some Arab guy tried to sell me a cross, and I was ready to fucking snap. I’m so sick of it—every single time I go to the Old City, EVERY SINGLE TIME, some American Christian group beckons me over as if I have just temporarily been separated from them, and now I have some guy trying to sell me a cross. I’m fucking sick of it! I’M JEWISH!
In that little area near the Kotel where there’s several cafes, I went to get a drink. I put a Fanta up on the counter for the guy behind the counter to ring up. I’m not carrying ANYTHING with English writing, I’m not carrying anything touristy like a camera, and yet he immediately speaks to me in English. Fuuuuuuck. Does something about the way I look just scream tourist? What the fuck am I in ulpan for? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life here?
I thought maybe he spoke English to everyone, and assumed EVERYONE was a tourist, so I watched for a little while. No. He spoke Hebrew to everyone. Except me.
So I sat down in some shady area not too far from the Kotel plaza to drink my Fanta….and I get so upset by the fact that I feel like such a fucking tourist, and about the fact that I just want a fucking olah visa, and is that really too much to ask for???—that I started sobbing. Oh my goodness, it was terrible. I just started shamelessly sobbing in the Old City. I guess of all the places in the world to start sobbing, that’s a good one cos people will just assume that you’re having some sort of extreme religious experience. Oh but fuck no, this was no religious experience for me! I was considering going to the Kotel, but I was so angry and upset I thought I was going to try to kick it down. Every single time I saw a Jewish person, I wanted to rip their yarmulkes off and kick them. Urgh, I was just so frustrated with everything Israel and everything Jewish at that moment…I think everything that’s been frustrating me for the past month and a half just kind of exploded at this moment, because through it all I was always excited about getting to be an olah. You know? I don’t want to fold towels for 5 months only to come back to the U.S. No. If I fold towels for 5 months, I want to know that it was something I did in order to pass time in Israel in order to get citizenship. And now I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to wait. Grr….
So I’m sitting there crying—I mean, it’s an absolutely disgusting thing to see, because I’m really much too old to be crying—when suddenly over this public address system comes the song “Bad Day.” First of all, I didn’t even know there was some sort of public address and/or muzak system in the Old City, but I guess you learn something new every single day! Anyway, even though I was frustrated and in the middle of sobbing, I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it was that I was sitting there crying with the song “Bad Day” playing, so I went from sobbing to giggling like a schoolgirl.
You know what song I heard in Misrad Hapnim? “Hey Jude.” I think that’s appropriate.
Something I love about Israel though? People don’t seem to use dryers. They let things air dry on drying racks. You know what irritated me about Scotland though? See, we stayed there for a week or so in high school to do something at the theater festival, and the apartment we stayed in had no dryer. And that irritated me. But it would irritate me if people in Israel used dryers. Because there’s no point. But in Scotland it’s always rainy, so there’s no point in hanging your clothing out to dry. You know?
Someone from an Israeli number just sent me a text message that said simply, “Fuck you.” Jesus Christ, I’ve only been here about a month and I already have enemies…
Oh wait. Now the number keeps calling back. Every two seconds. And they’re laughing at me. It sounds like two Israeli girls, and they’re making fun of my accent when I pick up and laughing their asses off.
To make an appointment at Misrad Hapnim, you need to speak good Hebrew. I don’t. So I relied on the head of the ulpan to set me up an appointment. “I need an appointment,” I told him. He told me, “No you don’t, you can just go in.” “No,” I stressed, “I’m pretty sure I need an appointment.” “No,” he repeated, “trust me, you don’t need an appointment.” He seemed pretty sure, and I thought maybe on the phone in Hebrew they were telling him something other than what I read online in English. So I did just that—I trusted him.
So I woke up at 6 am today. I took the 6.50 bus out of here so that I could arrive in Jerusalem at 7.15, walk over to Misrad Hapnim and arrive at 7.30…..and at 8 the office would open and I could wait my turn.
And so I did. And I waited my turn until 9.15. They called my name, I went in….
I waited in the wrong fucking area. Why? Because nothing is clearly marked in that fucking building, and the absolutely meager signage that they do have is in Hebrew. Well I’m not fucking fluent in Hebrew, so I had no idea I was in the waiting area for people who wanted to get their mixed marriages or marriages performed abroad recognized.
I mean, Jesus Christ, you’d think things would be labeled a little bit more clearly in a building that sees so many IMMIGRANTS pass through!
So after I got called in and informed that I was in the wrong place (after waiting for almost 2 hours….), I initially was not too concerned and I said, “Oh, well where do I go to change my visa to olah status? Where’s the correct room for that?” And they said, “Well, it’s just down the hall but absolutely need to have called in to make an appointment.”
I needed a fucking appointment. Fucking ulpan director!
So I left the Misrad Hapnim and decided to walk down to the Old City. I was so frustrated. I was upset that the ulpan director didn’t listen to me and now I might be a couple months behind in my aliyah process (it might take 2 months to get an appointment!), and I was upset that I was still a fucking tourist. As I walked towards the Kotel, some Arab guy tried to sell me a cross, and I was ready to fucking snap. I’m so sick of it—every single time I go to the Old City, EVERY SINGLE TIME, some American Christian group beckons me over as if I have just temporarily been separated from them, and now I have some guy trying to sell me a cross. I’m fucking sick of it! I’M JEWISH!
In that little area near the Kotel where there’s several cafes, I went to get a drink. I put a Fanta up on the counter for the guy behind the counter to ring up. I’m not carrying ANYTHING with English writing, I’m not carrying anything touristy like a camera, and yet he immediately speaks to me in English. Fuuuuuuck. Does something about the way I look just scream tourist? What the fuck am I in ulpan for? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life here?
I thought maybe he spoke English to everyone, and assumed EVERYONE was a tourist, so I watched for a little while. No. He spoke Hebrew to everyone. Except me.
So I sat down in some shady area not too far from the Kotel plaza to drink my Fanta….and I get so upset by the fact that I feel like such a fucking tourist, and about the fact that I just want a fucking olah visa, and is that really too much to ask for???—that I started sobbing. Oh my goodness, it was terrible. I just started shamelessly sobbing in the Old City. I guess of all the places in the world to start sobbing, that’s a good one cos people will just assume that you’re having some sort of extreme religious experience. Oh but fuck no, this was no religious experience for me! I was considering going to the Kotel, but I was so angry and upset I thought I was going to try to kick it down. Every single time I saw a Jewish person, I wanted to rip their yarmulkes off and kick them. Urgh, I was just so frustrated with everything Israel and everything Jewish at that moment…I think everything that’s been frustrating me for the past month and a half just kind of exploded at this moment, because through it all I was always excited about getting to be an olah. You know? I don’t want to fold towels for 5 months only to come back to the U.S. No. If I fold towels for 5 months, I want to know that it was something I did in order to pass time in Israel in order to get citizenship. And now I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to wait. Grr….
So I’m sitting there crying—I mean, it’s an absolutely disgusting thing to see, because I’m really much too old to be crying—when suddenly over this public address system comes the song “Bad Day.” First of all, I didn’t even know there was some sort of public address and/or muzak system in the Old City, but I guess you learn something new every single day! Anyway, even though I was frustrated and in the middle of sobbing, I couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it was that I was sitting there crying with the song “Bad Day” playing, so I went from sobbing to giggling like a schoolgirl.
You know what song I heard in Misrad Hapnim? “Hey Jude.” I think that’s appropriate.
Something I love about Israel though? People don’t seem to use dryers. They let things air dry on drying racks. You know what irritated me about Scotland though? See, we stayed there for a week or so in high school to do something at the theater festival, and the apartment we stayed in had no dryer. And that irritated me. But it would irritate me if people in Israel used dryers. Because there’s no point. But in Scotland it’s always rainy, so there’s no point in hanging your clothing out to dry. You know?
Someone from an Israeli number just sent me a text message that said simply, “Fuck you.” Jesus Christ, I’ve only been here about a month and I already have enemies…
Oh wait. Now the number keeps calling back. Every two seconds. And they’re laughing at me. It sounds like two Israeli girls, and they’re making fun of my accent when I pick up and laughing their asses off.
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