If Cleanliness is Next to Godliness, Why is There Nothing Next to the Washing Machine?

Two comments regarding this recent post:
1) Kibbutz Galuyot is not a kibbutz. It’s a phrase which means “ingathering of the exiles”.
2) About my roommate yelling “die!”: I remember hearing stories years ago about Israeli mothers in the States yelling that at their kids and their non-Jewish neighbors probably thinking they were horrible parents.

Let’s get started. Everybody back home always asks how things are going here, if I like it, etc. While it’s a perfectly acceptable question to ask, the best answer is probably “ask me in a year”. There have been great experiences, previews of things to come, and some frustrating and challenging periods, but I have little idea of what my life is going to be like. I’ve hardly been able to settle into my place, I haven’t begun my Ulpan yet, I have no idea what I’ll be doing in a year from now, and there’s an adjustment period. I talked to my old co-worker Joy yesterday who moved here a year ago and she said it took her about a year to get settled in feel like she had a normal life here. The only thing I can say for sure is that the weather’s cooled off a bit, people say “ehhhhhhhh” a lot, and I have eaten enough falafel to feed a small third-world nation.

On the topic of adjustments, before I arrived, I knew the workplace was more casual here but what I would wear to work every day hadn’t really crossed my mind. Let me just say that I probably didn’t need to bring 947 dress shirts and 485 pairs of slacks. I’m currently working on like a 4 shirt rotation so it’s about the time to start shopping for some casualwear. Having recently moved into my new apartment just a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been waiting to do laundry any day now. This morning was a good time.

Now, my loyal readers, let’s take a minute and recognize some of the great duos in history:

1) George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley: Better known as Wham!, they recorded “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go”, “Careless Whisper”, “Freedom”, and more. Some people will claim that I still own “Make It Big” on cassette. Let’s just move on. I SAID, LET’S MOVE ON!

2) Neil Paige (Steve Martin) and Del Griffith (John Candy), “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”: This movie kept me laughing all the way to the mid-90s.

“Those aren’t pillows!”

3) Chips and salsa: Not to brag, but I hold the world record in the 800 bag speed eating category, set freshman year of college during the Cowboys’ glory days.

4) Major Applewhite and Ricky Williams: While Ricky will forever be remembered for his Heisman and record-breaking season (and ability to inhale large amounts of the wacky tabacky), Major led the Texas Longhorn football team to exciting comebacks in spite of his diminutive size.

5) Washing machine and dryer: This amazing duo managed to remove mud, dust, ketchup, and G-d knows what else from my clothes over the past 31 years of my life while drying them to be worn again.

I still have fond memories of the first four. SO WHY AM I SO BROKEN UP ABOUT THE DIVORCE OF THE FIFTH??? Because I have a washing machine with no dryer in my apartment!!!

To quote Frank Costanza when discussing the chicken, hen, and rooster, “SOMETHING’S MISSING!”

For at least the next several months, I’ll be drying my clothes Amish-style, on a clothesline. (I have to confirm with my roommate but I think she might be offering a butter-churning class beginning after the chagim.) After they were done washing, I opened the kitchen window to survey what was about to take place. Leaning out my third floor window as I began to clothespin my frightened undies to the line, I felt like Luke Skywalker holding onto the antenna for dear life in Cloud City. Is this really safe? I guess Israelis don’t have to ask the burning question of “why do single socks always disappear when you do laundry?” It’s fairly obvious here: THEY FALL TO THEIR TRAGIC DEATH!!! Look at this picture, for G-d’s sakes!!!

“Um, boss? Did you notice that you hung us out to dry above a freaking tree???”

When Hila came home, she proceeded to make fun of me for not knowing how to dry my clothes. I didn’t use the space efficiently. Whatever, it’s the twenty-first century. You don’t see me making fun of someone for not knowing how to use an abacus. “Jesus! Look at the way you moved the little bead! What an idiot!”

It should be an adventure. If you hear a story about a pedestrian injured by a falling sweatsock, you’ll know why.

"Mazal Tov! You're a Human Being!"

I turned the big 32 this week and I’m not going to lie: it feels unquestionably, unequivocally, absolutely, significantly, and completely different from 31.

Pop quiz: what do people say here on your birthday?

Need more time?

No cheating!

Do kids still use #2 pencils in 2006?

Ok, I’ll tell you. They say “Mazal tooooooooov!” I walked into the office Wednesday morning to hear someone yell “mazal tov!” I thought, “Thanks! What did I do?” That was my humorous and recurring moment of the day. Eventually, or after about 2 seconds, they’d get around to “Yom Huledet Sameach!” but only after first congratulating me for walking upright, or whatever it was I did successfully.

Remember this? Readers under 18, once upon a time, there was no internet.

It was a great day. My boss Ayana and my boss-to-be Michal, once Ayana goes on maternity leave, surprised me with a cake, and my co-workers lifted me up in a chair. Pictures to come. (My unofficial count of Michals mentioned in this blog is now 3. The 10th one wins one million shekels.) For my co-workers back in the States, it’s Michal Avraham (my YJ co-worker from Chicago). Won’t that be fun? Piece of advice for you youngsters starting careers in the Jewish world: don’t burn any bridges. Your roommate’s fraternity brother’s niece’s Rottweiler might be your next boss. It’s a small world.

After a delicious lunch with Ziv and a nap, I went jogging. I. WENT. JOGGING. Now for some of you, this may not be big news. While I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions (for the Jewish or secular new years), “getting in shape” has been the proverbial new year’s resolution which hasn’t even gotten off the ground. It’s hardly even been on the ground. A few times in my last apartment complex, I managed to go to the small gym and run on the treadmill but never for more than a week. “It’s really hard to run without music!” I would tell one of my completely justified critics. “SO BUY A WALKMAN!” he would answer one, or seventeen times. (I didn’t even have an acceptable response. Who wants to buy a Walkman or any ____-man in 2006? And ipods are pricey! And besides, I’m waaaaaaay too busy to fit exercise into my schedule anyway. And working out is SOOOO overrated. And hey, Sportscenter is starting! Who wants pizza?!) So with a few hours to kill before my party, and with my relatively new and unused ipod, and living just off the scenic Rothschild with biking and walking lanes, hey, why not?!

Just one of the many reasons I’m out of shape. (Do you like all the graphics? This is for YOU, readers!)

This whole jogging (outside) to music thing was completely new to me. It’s like being in a movie, living your life to a soundtrack. My soundtrack was “Permission to Land” by The Darkness. Hey, if you’re gonna motivate yourself to run and not collapse, it better be to something between ESPN Jock Jams and “Appetite for Destruction”. Enya is out.


We won’t be seeing you today.

I ran all the way west to Allenby Street goes north south not far from the beach and then started taking left and rights to the get to the water, running through Neve Tzedek, Tel Aviv’s first neighborhood. It feels like its first neighborhood, much more quiet and residential than the rest of the city. By the time I got to the beach, I was completely winded and unable to run home. (So joggers, are you supposed to take money and your bus/train pass with you just in case? TEACH ME!!! I WANT TO UNDERSTAND!!!) It was really beautiful, watching the waves crash against the shore while listening to Justin Hawkins sing about his heroin addiction. Touching, really. For the first time, I appreciated why people run outside. I walked along the water for a few minutes, as the wind blew through my hair and the 10 liters of falafel oil in my arteries began to thin.

As I made my way back, I got completely lost in Neve Tzedek. The roads were completely empty and although it was only 8 PM, sometimes you can’t help but get a nervous feeling in any city when you’re lost at night and the only one on the streets. Then I thought, what could possibly happen? These are JEWS! What are they gonna do, jump out of a dark corner and do my taxes? (That “they’re JEWS!!!” line never gets old to me. I know there are bad neighborhoods here, I just don’t know what that means. “This just in: In a heart-breaking story, a three year-old boy was a victim of a drive-by menorah lighting.”)

And then there was the highlight of my birthday, my evening at Shalvata, a bar on the port of Tel Aviv. Lots of friends came out, most of them past and current co-workers, plus a few other friends. It was the best time I’ve had since I’ve arrived. For my co-workers in the States, here are some familiar faces.

Don’t be fooled. The man next to me is just under 8 feet tall.

And thank you to those who called. It made my day.

So there you go, my loyal readers, I’m a little bit caught up. Post some jogging tips! Am I supposed to run with key in hand the whole time? Putting it in my shoe is way too uncomfortable. COMMENTS, COMMENTS, I LOVE COMMENTS!

Shabbat shalom!

Happy Birthday to the World!

Ahh, Friday. The weekend. Time to rest, catch up on errands, and yes, my loyal readers, blog. Rosh Hashana was exactly what I needed: two days of relaxation. As I suspected, it was not the chag I was used to from the States. There’s no one way to celebrate here but it’s something special for everyone. Friday night I went to my friend Rani’s parents’ house for dinner. While no prayers were said, it was a nice family meal complete with the symbolic foods like pomegranates which are eaten to symbolize...um, anyone? I do know that the legend is that there are exactly as many seeds (or whatever those things are we eat) as mitzvot, 613. It’s a nice story but I haven’t counted. Ok, I just checked online: here’s the answer. A few hours later, we were in a bar running into all kinds of people he knew. After a late-night hamburger, I got home and went to sleep around 5 AM. That’s how we celebrate in Tel Aviv, I guess.

Looks like it’s gonna be a good year, huh?

Saturday afternoon, I was chilling on a park bench, drinking ice coffee with Ziv at a little food kiosk on Rothschild Street (very scenic with people walking their dogs and pushing baby carriages). Second night, my friend Noga’s house, more observant, more symbolic foods. For quite a while, we talked about politics and Israeli history, specifically around the Yom Kippur War. Her family told me that although we didn’t lose that war, we certainly didn’t win. Aside from the large number of lives lost, Israel’s psyche was damaged after the surprise attack and the Arabs, despite their massive losses by the end, celebrated it as a victory for what they inflicted on Israel and for puncturing its balloon of invincibility. Much like this last war. After YK, Golda Meir resigned for overseeing the huge failure in intelligence. Many are clamoring for Prime Minister Olmert’s resignation now. History is truly unfolding daily here.

I recently mentioned to Ziv that I don’t feel any more informed about Israeli current events even though I’m living here. After all, I’m just looking at the same websites my friends and I read in the States. He said that I may not know any more facts, but I will have a greater sensitivity to how people feel and are affected by the news by living here. So as evidenced by this last paragraph, I’m very interested to hear from “the people”. The second day of the chag, my roommate Hila invited me to a barbeque thrown by her parents’ good friends. This poor girl...when we got into the car, I saw an orange ribbon tied around her gear shift. Not sure if it was what I thought it was, I asked her why she had it. She told me of course and I started asking her what she thought of the disengagement. About two minutes later, I asked her what she thought about this last war and she said “Die!”, meaning “enough (with these questions!” Think “Dayainu” at the Seder.) That’s got to get annoying. Imagine relaxing in the middle of Central Park on a nice, sunny day and the guy next to you keeps asking what you think about the American Dream, the war in Iraq, and whether or not democracy is working. It was funny. I plan on asking her 8 bajillion more questions.

The barbeque was fun. At one point, the people remaining around the table were born in the States, Iraq, Iran, and Morocco. That’s Israel. Or as they say here, “Kibbutz Galuyot”, also a kibbutz which was founded by and still has a large immigrant population. Hila’s father works for the Defense Ministry. I proceeded to ask him 4.53 kajillion questions and we got to the subject of Iran. I asked him what he thought would happen and he said that if need be, Israel would attack Iran to destroy all the reactors. I asked, can Israel do it? (It would be a more difficult mission than Iraq in ’81 because there are something like 20 different targets.) He said, yes, we could. This is nothing that’s not reported in the papers but it was interesting to hear it from someone’s mouth.

Why does this man look angry? Maybe because he needs a good eyebrow wax.

(Hey, if you want serious analysis you’re on the wrong site.)

All in all, a nice holiday. I wanted to go to shul at one point but also wasn’t willing to just walk into a place and be bored out of my skull as I was on Year Course when I went, only to find out it was an Orthodox Sepharadic synagogue where I couldn’t follow anything. I hear there are some good synagogues for Westerners and olim; I’ll do some research for the future.

Shana tovah to all!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my first birthday as an Israeli. What that means is that my party won’t begin till 9:30 tonight. Any earlier and I’d be a “chnun” (nerd). Longer update later!

Shana Tova!

Tonight begins Rosh Hashana, the new year. I’m excited for my first holiday here, for a relaxing break from work, and to “feel” the holiday here. Yesterday at work, the office got together for a “Ramat Koseet”, literally a “raising of the glass” or something to that effect. Our department director made a toast and we enjoyed apples and honey and some cakes. I had never heard of this ceremony before but it was my third one of the week, following one at our main office in Jerusalem and another in Holon where the Year Course kids in my department are based, thrown by the city’s education department.

I’ve wondered what people do on Rosh Hashana here; the truth is, there’s no one answer and you’ll find very different answers in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. Most of my friends here don’t go to synagogue on Rosh Hashana because after all...why would they? (in their words) You don’t have to be observant here to be or feel Jewish; you feel Jewish just by being here. That’s not necessarily the way I personally feel. Everything they say is true but I am curious to explore synagogue life here, if not in the next couple of days, then soon. It’s true that you don’t have to work as hard to be Jewish here but ironically, I’ll probably have to work harder to be a synagogue-going Jew because it’s so easy to not go and to not feel guilty about it. Apparently even secular Jews go on Yom Kippur here although I’m not sure many of them make it out of the parking lot.

It’s fairly weird for an American Jew the first time they experience the chagim here, as I did when I was 18. I remember not going to shul that day (I think I actually went for about 30 minutes and was almost bored to death) and strangely, not feeling overwhelmingly bad about it, to my surprise. Last year I spent the holiday with my friend Shirly at her family’s house, eating, relaxing, and eating more. It was really nice and warm in the way that Thanksgiving is a family-oriented day. I’ll be spending the first day with my friend Rani who I worked with for the last 2 years when he lived in LA. The second day, with my friend Noga. It should be fun.

Last night, I had dinner with my first visitors! My friend Itai from college, Atlanta, AND New York was here for his cousin’s wedding along with his wife, Eden. We walked from his brother’s apartment to the sea (it’s shocking how small this city really is) and ate dinner on the boardwalk. It was great to catch up with old and familiar friends. A couple of hours into dinner, I had completely forgotten that I was in Israel. We could have just as easily been at Mellow Mushroom in Atlanta or Cafe Orlin in the East Village. Like when I lived in NY, it’s nice to know that people will always be passing through here. Come visit!

Here I am, dining with the President and First Lady of Atlanta.

Remember when I said Israel is a small place? As we were walking along the boardwalk, who did we run into but the king of Tel Aviv himself (and the other guy in this site’s main picture), Ziv!

Good times.

To my friends and family, have a sweet and happy new year, and may all your dreams come true!

Benji

You Have GOT to Be Kidding...

Two days after move-in and a long road lies ahead. Dirty floors, not much furniture, and no time to address either. Work is way too busy (a topic I won’t address here), and I was exhausted and in a rotten mood when I got home. All the more reason to start cleaning and get this process of settling in rolling already.

NOW...those of you living in the Western Hemisphere may be familiar with something I like to call a mop. While the internet, the Big Mac, and “Mmm...Bop!” have made it here over the years, somehow this futuristic cleaning device made a left turn around Cyprus and lost its way. To compensate for this horrible loss, Israelis have developed their own system of cleaning floors. I call this process “complete insanity”. Let me walk you through it. Take my hand and let’s explore it together!

1) First, you must clear your bedroom of any objects which might possibly touch the floor. Beds, dressers, 800 pound gorillas...it don’t matter! GET IT OUT! A fun alternative is to just leave your stuff there, allowing the possibility that it might get drenched later.
2) Next, you fill a bucket with soap and water. We’re on a roll.
3) Third, you locate the drain in the apartment which you’ll eventually push the dirty water into. Notice I didn’t say “mop”. That would be far too easy. The drain should be extremely inaccessible, preferably located in the corner of another room, under the kitchen table. When pushing the water from one room to another, make sure that you have no choice but to maneuver it around corners, defying at least 2 of Newton’s laws of physics.
4) Sweep the floor. With a broom. Like in America.
5) Like a burst from a cannon, launch the bucket of water indiscriminately in any direction. If you can hit a couch, an electronic device, or a baby, no worries! After all, YIYEH B’SEDER! This is what we Israelis do.
6) Take the magav, or squeegie on a stick (seen below), and push the water towards the drain.

An unknown Israeli having his way with the magav.

7) Take your smartut (cloth/towel/rag?) and wrap it around the bottom of your magav in order to dry/scrub the floor. They might have just been messing with me here.
8) Repeat this process weekly.

WHAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?! Ok, this is where I draw the line! Doing this every week?!?! What are Israelis doing to their floors that they require this kind of maintenance? I’m not saying I’m the cleanest guy in the world (nor is any of my former roommates) but I guess my dust tolerance is a little bit higher. My new roommate Hila (same name as my co-worker) and her friend decided to help me with this process and got a good laugh out of it. Me handling the squeegie probably looked to them much like the dorky kid in gym class trying to swing the baseball bat and missing by 30 feet (if they knew what a baseball bat was). And of course we each played our role well: me, as the nervous American Jew: “Be careful with the water! My laptop’s over there!”, and them as, well, Israelis: “No prohb-lehm! Dohn’t woh-ry!”

In the end, I can sleep knowing my floor is a little bit cleaner, a good thing considering I’m sleeping on it until I get a bed (I have a mattress, Mom and Dad). Anyway, I have to go-it’s taken me about an hour to write this. I think it’s time to clean the floor again.

Moving Day!

I guess I should begin with the most interesting news...I have an apartment! I have to thank my friend Rani who did more for my search in 15 minutes than I could have done in 15 hours. Everyone (especially those of you who live in New York) know how annoying it is to look for a place to live. Ok, now try it in a foreign language. Here was a sample day from last week:

9:00 AM “I’m taking today off! I’m fired up! I’m online! LET’S DO THIS!”
9:01 AM “Ok, I don’t understand a single word on this website. Maybe I should check email again; it’s been seven minutes!”

Very frustrating indeed. It’s time to digress...come to think of it, after living in New York, please remind me: what was so hard about apartment-hunting in suburban cities?

Atlanta: “Wow, Post Briarcliff looks REALLY nice! And these sugar cookies are delish!”
New York: “So the pile of dust is here when I move in AND I get to pay a broker’s fee? WHERE DO I SIGN UP???”

Anyway...Israel’s version of Craig’s List for apartment-hunting is called Homeless. Because of work, I barely had a moment over the last couple of weeks to search while moving from Ziv’s a few weeks back to a co-worker’s apartment in a great location just a few blocks from the beach. Last Monday, Rani spent a few minutes on Homeless and set up about 4 apartments to look at that night. I can’t tell you how many people have told me in the past few months how hard it is to find a place in Tel Aviv these days. When you show up to look at an apartment, you’re often competing for the current tenant’s attention as everyone shows up at the same time which makes it hard to have any significant time to get to know the tenants, one of which you’ll be living with if we’re talking about sublets. It definitely helped to have Rani with me at the apartments, as he’s a likeable guy who basically did the talking for me. One of the people liked me (us) enough and the next day, he called back to tell me I had “won”. Although this person is doing the subletting, the person I’ll be living with is a woman, a 32 year-old English teacher who apparently gave me points because I speak the language. A couple days later, here I am. Granted, the floor is a mess (memories of New York), the walls are painted with huge colored squares, and I don’t own a single piece of furniture, but at least...did I mention the squares? My friend Michal is going to lend me her furniture and the subletter is supposed to re-paint so hopefully I’ll be settled in about a week. Until then, it will be, um, trying. Sigh...I’ve lived out of a suitcase for the last 3.5 months, what’s another week?

As for the details, it’s on the cheaper side I guess although it’s only two bedrooms with no living room. Not unheard of in Tel Aviv (it keeps the price down), but not ideal. Both rooms do have a mirpeset (porch) which is nice although my roommate’s is definitely nicer, overlooking the street on which we live. Mine faces the next building but with a couple of chairs, it will be good for relaxing and drinking coffee with friends, as we Israelis are wont to do. Like most (all?) homes here, the toilet is in a separate room from the shower which might actually make more sense. The apartment is near HaBima, the national theater. (Here comes the educational part: Bima means stage. Like the bima in a synagogue. All of you together: “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh...”) It’s off Rothschild (pronounced Rote-sheeld), apparently a great location here.

So that’s it...I’m one step closer to being settled. I have to thank Rani and Michal for being so incredibly helpful (more about Michal in the next entry maybe). I hope I can clean this place and move in before the weekend...it’s Rosh Hashana!

Year Course Begins...Let’s Hike!

Thanks for tuning in, loyal readers. As I wrote, work has been crazy. The little monsters (not so little really, no monsters thusfar) arrived from the States and the UK a week and a half ago, ready for fun. Only two lines in and I have to digress already. So Young Judaea has a sister movement in the UK called the Federation of Zionist Youth, or FZY. Most members of YJ can get away with being completely ignorant of everything related to FZY because the world as we all know revolves around America. During staff orientation, my friend Michael led a session on the British Jewish community to the Year Course staff. Afterwards, I walked up and said, “Ok, don’t make fun of me, but I’m representing every single American citizen on the planet. None of us have any clue of what the difference is between England, Britain, the UK, etc etc etc. Anyone who says differently is lying.” Ten minutes later, I had a napkin full of notes. Without looking, can anyone define these three terms? NO CHEATING! I know most of you don’t know so don’t lie. I’m talking thorough explanations and a visual map, not “England is one country, Britain is many.” Just like a few years ago when I bet some friends visiting Atlanta that our waitress at Cafe Tu Tu Tango in Buckhead would have NO IDEA who the Prime Minister of Canada was, despite our sharing a border. Do any of you know? Yeah, me neither. WHAT IS WRONG WITH US???

ANYWAY...the program began with taking all the participants up north for an opening hike, and gibush (bonding). The 160 or so kids and staff in my department slept in Peki’in, a Druze village where Jews, Arabs, Druze, and Christians co-exist (is anyone really satisfied with just “co-existing”? It literally means not killing each other. Let’s raise our standards. They should co-hug.) Apparently, ours was the first group to stay in this youth hostel since the war so the staff were very appreciative. Over the next 2 days, we camped out in Nachal Amud, did a couple of hikes, and had some tours of the northern borders of Lebanon and Syria. We visited Kiryat Shmona, a town in the Golan Heights. In the previous 30 years, I believe the tour guide said it was hit with 3,000 missiles (no small number). In the recent month of war, one thousand. While driving through the town, someone stopped our bus and invited us inside his apartment. We saw the damage done to his house and heard his stories of how he had to race to his bomb shelter to stay alive.


Those of you who have given money to your Jewish Federation’s Israel Emergency Fund, perhaps some of it is going to this man.

In terms of the borders, nothing much looked different from the last time I saw them. It’s on a big mountain. Pretty, actually. No sense that anything had been any different a few weeks ago.

Benji enjoying a hike sporting his Longhorns cap
(while they were still undefeated).

Benji realizing that he needs to buy new hiking shoes. That’s my foot on the right, the one whose sole is completely unattached from and in front of the shoe.

In case you hadn’t paid attention, the world has changed a bit since we were teens. Signs that we’re old? Overheard on a hike when I was on Year Course: “Hey guys, let’s play 20 questions!” Overheard on a hike last week: “I have ‘Old School’ on my iPod!” I did a double-take and fell off a mountain.

I definitely need to do more tiyulim here. It’s cliche to say but there’s really every kind of geology (mountains, deserts, etc.) in this little country and people are often spending their weekends jumping in the car and driving off somewhere to camp out.

Funny Israeli-isms of the week:
1) My co-worker Hilla told me she was going to buy me an “inflammable doll” for my birthday. Not much more to say about that.
2) Last night leaving a bar. My co-worker Reuven waxed poetic about the American phenomenon of grinding. “Eet is crayzee! You jahst touch dem...hey, you want to drink shoko?” And on that note, does it look weird for a grown man to walk around sucking on a small plastic bag of chocolate milk? Is there an age limit? I think I’m past it.

There are probably many more that I don’t remember. Ok, more later.

(Deutschie, to answer your question, the breakdown is as follows: 320ish (?) North Americans and 120ish (?) Brits. That includes about 20 Canadians, the biggest number ever. A vast majority of the N. Americans were never active in YJ before which makes it a little shocking for all the kids who have gone to camp for a jillion years.)

Busy, busy, busy

Don’t lose faith in me, loyal readers (all six of you)! It’s been another crazy week which I hope is leading to the light at the end of the tunnel (downtime). I have lots to blog about including my tiyul (hike) up north, my potential apartment, and my recent love affair with Bar Rafaeli:

Ok, so excuse the cheap attempt to keep your interest piqued. Just another day or two till I write...

Which Way Did He Go George, Which Way Did He Go?

In just a few hours, 437ish teenagers will be landing at Ben-Gurion airport to spend the next 9 months living in Israel on Year Course.

(insert screaming sound)


(resume breathing) We’re all going directly to tiyul (a hike) where I should smell really nice 3 days from now. It should be a great time. No updates for a few days.
Remember this, kids?

So I just raced to my bank branch to pick up my ATM card and checks. I asked directions along the way. Israelis seem to give directions in a very specific manner which must include the following five things:

1) They first look off in the general direction of the destination, deep in thought, despite the fact that they probably live in this neighborhood and should have no problem telling you where you’re going.

2) They say the word “yashar” (straight) no less than 457 times while doing the “keep going” motion with their arm, before ending it with “ad ha sof” (until the end).

3) They do not give you a single street name.

4) They do not tell you how to get where you need to go, causing you to ask someone else one block later.

5) Repeat steps 1-4.

If the directions don’t include these five things, you’ve just spoken with a foreigner.

I was excited to get my ATM card. It looks like a credit card (what else would it look like?) but, of course, in Hebrew. I said to the woman waiting in line next to me with a smile “this is my first card written in Hebrew”. Suddenly, without warning, she said it. Huh? “Yiyeh b’seder” doesn’t even apply there! Apparently this phrase is more powerful than I first thought and can be played anytime under any circumstances, much like the Wild (Draw Four) card in Uno.

Finally, on the way home, I saw a driver stop his car, roll down his window, and scream at the construction worker who was standing next to a barricade, blocking a road. After yelling at each other for a minute, the driver got out, pulled the barricade to the side, and drove through anyway. Only in Israel.

Israel is a Small Place

The primary topic of this post was going to be the solidarity “rally” Thursday night in Rabin Square (the plaza in Tel Aviv renamed for Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin after his assassination there at a peace rally). I put the word in quotes because as written here, this was not supposed to be a protest but rather a show of support to the kidnapped soldiers being held in Gaza and Lebanon, Gilad Shalit, Ehud Goldwasser, and Eldad Regev, and a reminder that Israel will never forget about any of its missing soldiers.


This type of event has a different name in Hebrew although I’m not sure exactly how it’s translated so I’ll just call it a rally. The banner of choice was the following, translated as something like “We will not abandon soldiers in the field.”


I thought it would be an interesting event to attend so I walked from Ziv’s house, about a 20 minute stroll. By the way, I’ve noticed my slower pace of walking since I left New York. Most people think Manhattanites are always in a hurry. I’m not certain that New Yawkers are in any more of a hurry than suburbanites, it’s just that their method of speeding is on foot bumping into people rather than cutting them off on your local interstate. I sped when I had a car (no I didn’t, Mom and Dad, I’m just kidding) and for some reason in Manhattan, I always felt like I had to pass every pedestrian to hurry to my destination, elbowing grandmothers along the way. (Don’t judge, non-NYers, but I was often overcome with devilish pleasure at bumping someone, racing away, and not having to turn around and say “excuse me” because after all, who says “excuse me” in New York? If you don’t understand what I’m talking about or think I’m insane, well, try crossing midtown during rush hour.) Anyway, since I arrived here, I’ve found myself walking at a MUCH slower pace. Perhaps that will change when my schedule gets busier but for now, I’m doing my best to re-learn, umm, MANNERS by giving people the arm wave and letting them cross in front of me at times like a human being.

ANYWAY...I got to the event at start time, 7 PM. Crickets. It was pretty much empty. I failed to remember that things in Israel start LATE. At 8:00, the plaza was full but by no means completely packed. A number of friends and relatives of the missing soldiers spoke and a couple of songs were performed by famous Israeli singers including “Ein Li Eretz Acheret (I Have No Other Land)” by the original singer from decades ago. Despite the lack of an intended political message, there were of course protesters wearing shirts that said “Olmert Go Home”.


So why the chosen title of this entry? Last week, I talked about how small the world is when you’re Jewish. Well...at the end of the rally, I saw a former co-worker of mine from New York, a woman named Tali, who lived in the States for 2 or 3 years and overlapped with me for about a year. Two minutes later, I saw an acquaintance of mine named Leora who I briefly met in Atlanta who I tracked down here and had dinner with earlier this week (she moved here last year). Ok, fine-you run into people here. But...the real thriller of the night was on the beach where my friend Michal was having her goodbye party before moving to the States to work in the national YJ office for a couple of years. It was an amazing night. Relaxing on the beach with music in the background after a week of work...nothing like it. As she introduced me to one of her friends, my jaw dropped. Before I even saw her face, my ears perked up when Michal said “this is my friend Racheli”. I’ve only met one Racheli before, my friend Evan’s “adopted sister” on Year Course 14 years ago when we lived on a moshav. Those of us who lived there razzed Evan jealously for having the best family. When this mystery woman Racheli turned around, I knew immediately it was her (since more than 50% of the women I know look EXACTLY THE SAME now as they did in college. And for some reason, more than 50% of the women I know also think they’re the only ones who seem to get carded and are shocked by it). Were all my pictures not boxed up in Texas, I’d include one from back then. Here is one from Thursday night about 30 seconds after we freaked out.


I know I said last week that I should never be surprised when these things happen but how can you not be surprised when you run into your friend’s adopted sister 14 years later at a beach party? (Evan, I would have called you if I had your number. By the way, I told Racheli that you fell into some gambling problems and became an exotic dancer. Was that wrong?) That was as obscure a meeting as any I’ve ever had...I can’t wait to see who I meet next.