Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Bathroom Adventures (I Have Seen the Face of Evil...)

And it looks something like this.
Who is this woman, you might be asking, and why is she the root of all evil? Well, my loyal readers (and let's welcome Allison, Max, Katherine, Ruthie, Gilly, and Lisa to the party), it's a sad, sad state of affairs. It's not so much who this woman is but what she's chosen to do for money. For this woman, for reasons I can only imagine, charges innocent people to use the public bathroom.

I'm not enough of a world traveler to have enough perspective on this topic so my distaste for this practice is reserved for bathroom goalies in this country. So there I was...taking a 2 hour bus ride from Jerusalem to the Judean Desert to join my program participants on tiyul (hike). By the time I went down from the bus (Jesus, I'm starting to translate directly from Hebrew...WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?????????????) at the Ein Bokek Visitor Center, Ema Teva was calling. I ran inside, followed the signs...and then it happened...I saw the sign.

For those who can't read Hebrew, the text above can be loosely translated to
"We are rat bastards. Management."

Sorry to go Ace of Base on you there but what's the deal with THAT?! This seems to be fairly common at bathrooms at bus stations in major cities in this country. Who decided it was ok to charge people to take care of business? That just doesn't seem right to me. What's next? A fee to respirate? Sometimes the security system is a revolving door requiring a shekel coin (G-d help you if you don't have change), and sometimes, it's a woman like the one shown above. At least she was nice enough to hand me some squares of toilet paper during my grand entrance. I'll have to remember that when Hanukkah begins next month.
"All that she wants is another bay-bee!" (And the right to urinate for free.)
What kind of benefits could a job like that offer someone? Do you think she gets to use the bathroom for free across the country (ech omrim "professional courtesy"?) That could certainly come in handy when traveling (especially after a few cups of Nescafe). What happens when she calls in sick? Does a temp show up? Management can't be losing their 2 shekels! I asked Mrs. Dr. Evil why they charge and she explained that management has to raise money for upkeep and whatnot. It's a BATHROOM! What, are they installing some French windows in there??? This is one of those annoying situations where management passes on their expenses to the customers (like how tenants in New York City have to pay exhorbitant amounts of money to their doormen for Christmas. For Christ's sakes, that's what EMPLOYERS are for! I never understood why they relied on our Christmas tips to put food on the table. I hate Christmas tipping in New York-it's as if certain businesses arbitrarily decided,

"You know what, Bill, I have a crazy idea but it just might work. Let's pay our employee less than minimum wage, create a culture that says that the CUSTOMERS have to pay for his/her salary, and you and I spend our winters in Bermuda!"

"Jack, you crazy rat bastard! It's crazy but it just might work!"

They suck.)

In the end, there was a happy ending, I guess. I did get to go to the bathroom and am only two shekels poorer for it. I even got a good laugh as well from a poor speller.
It's not like I don't want to fak, bat that's not really my idea of fan.

Until next time...laila tov (and stay off the Nescafe).

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Dude, Where's My Dood?

Sit right back, my loyal readers, for I've a story to tell. When I lived in America (in the old days...you know, like July), my Israeli friends would tell me that life in Israel was hard. And on the flip side, life in America was easy. Or, to be more accurate, convenient. Go to your run-of-the-mill (ech omrim "run-of-the-mill"? Rahn ahv deh meel) grocery store in the suburbs and you'll see what I'm talking about. In the last 15 years, they've turned into the ultimate one-stop shops: pharmacy, movie rentals, photo developing, and more. (This is in direct contrast to the grocery stores in New York City where Calista Flockhart can barely fit down the aisle.)

Somebody call Harrison! I'm stuck in the croutons!

Dude, I had to buy note cards a few weeks back to study for my Ulpan. In the States, I'd head straight to the local Publix, Kroger's, etc. Here? If you're expecting to find anything but food and the essentials at a supermarket, you'll be looking for a long time. I had to go to Kravitz, the supply store, to find them. So what am I bringing this up? Dude, you don't want to know.

Let's take just a moment to recap significant dudes in history:
1) The Dude, a.k.a., Jeffrey Lebowski:
Shomer (bleeping) shabbas!

2) Dude, Where's My Car?
Horrible movie. Let's just move on.

3) I got home yesterday to my roommate saying "Dohnt show-ehr!" What, like ever? "No! There is no hoht wahter! The dude is noht wohr-keeng!" Excuse me? Who is the dude and how can we get him back to work?

The dude...is not a dude. It's the dood, otherwise known as the hot water boiler. As in the individual hot water boiler for each unique apartment. As in there's no central water heater. As in each owner maintains his or her own. And as in ours BROKE yesterday and Daddy's got no hot water. OMIG-D. Yeah, I know there's this whole situation with the Arabs but in case you didn't hear, I DON'T HAVE HOT WATER!!! Now mind you, I often don't have hot water. Because with a dude, you have to flip the hot water switch outside your bathroom somewhere between 10 and 30 minutes prior to getting into the shower. Which means you have to wake up, flip the switch, then kill some time before getting Zestfully clean. That certainly doesn't fall under the category of convenience.

My roommate suggested that I clean myself like she did on her Indian vacation, using a "hot bucket". A hot bucket is when you boil water in your kumkum (electric water kettle, warrants its own post), pour it into a bucket, mix it with cold water, and then pour it over yourself. In other words, absolute insanity. When I asked her if she had lost her mind, she said "you ken write about eet een your blohg." Yes, I can! BRILLIANT! I was prepared to do some investigative journalism until it was fixed tonight. The landlady sent a maintenance guy to fix it. Thank G-d...somebody wouldn't have smelled good tomorrow.
A dude working on the dood. Also, a dude wondering why the strange American is taking a picture of him.

I'm glad it got fixed. I wasn't prepared to use a hot bucket (it sounds like the latest special from KFC.)

It seems that a crisis was averted, my loyal readers. I can shower again tomorrow. I just wish I could rent a few flicks in the bathroom as well. It sure would be convenient.

Happy Thanks...Ehhhhhhhhh........

If a holiday falls on the calendar in a country that doesn't celebrate it, does it make a sound?

This past Thursday was Thanksgiving. Especially on the heels of the chagim a few months ago, I have to say that Thanksgiving doesn't do much for me. Don't get me wrong, my loyal readers-it's nice to watch football and put food in your mouth until you're about to vomit...but that could happen any Sunday afternoon in the US of A. At a belated Thanksgiving dinner tonight, a Brit asked, "So what's the story behind this holiday?" Ummmm...I think it has something to do with Ben-Gurion and yams. Ok, it's Pilgrims, but were they before or after the Saducees? The prize for "line of the night" goes to Daniel who answered with "this part of the evening is called the Maggid. (Everyone together now: "You had to be there...")

Although it shouldn't surprise, it's shocking how easy you can forget Thanksgiving when you're not in a country that celebrates it. And even though we're spared the pre-Christmas shopping rush, it's nice to find a group of Americans to have a Thanksgiving dinner with in Israel, if only because hanging out with friends is fun, as is eating good food. But as I said to someone a few days ago, if you want to know why Americans are fat, look no further than Thanksgiving (and the hefty portions at the Cheesecake Factory.)

Oh, beautiful for spacious skies...
Thursday night, a friend of a friend had a huge dinner which I kind of invited myself to (in this land of Milk and Hospitality, I wasn't too worried about offending anyone). There were probably 30 or so people with tons of turkey, stuffing, salads, cranberry sauce, etc. I even watched the first half of the Cowboy game before leaving at halftime.

The highlight of the night...from the mouth of an Israeli watching the game: "Mah zeh 'first and 10?'" I don't care where you're from, that's funny.

Tonight, it was Part II at Amalia's house for more of the same foods. One of the topics of conversation was the upcoming release of "Borat" in Israel. Jews must take more pride in our own, kvelling, than any other people on the planet. Take a list like this for example or the ridiculous jewhoo.com Yahoo-themed search engine from a few years back which you may have come across in an email forward. If a celebrity has a Jewish relative within seventeen degrees, someone will try to claim him/her as one of our own (despite the fact that 90-something percent of said celebs couldn't find Israel on a map and couldn't spell "Kippur" if you spotted them the kuf, yud, pay, and vav (that is how you spell it, right? (Starting to sweat...)) Example: people love to claim the Beastie Boys as Yeshiva-boy Jews despite the fact that at least one member is a practicing Buddhist. Jewish by blood, fine, but real-life practicing, shul-going Jews? Not even close. Someone actually suggested (wrongly) to me a few years ago that Derek Jeter was a Jew. Gimme a break. Who's next, Muhammed Ali?
Why is this bicep different from all other biceps?
Now, for a good reason to brag: At dinner tables across the world, Jews are kvelling over one of the hottest stars around, Sasha Baron Cohen. Not much to say that hasn't been said by someone else over the last month. The man is a comedic genius, his movie...while I haven't yet seen it, I can confidently proclaim from having seen Da Ali G Show...is brilliant, and this reaffirms the idea that while Jews may not control the world (although I'm working on it myself), we do control what is funny. It comes out in Israel on Wednesday...who's with me? I'm excited to see how much of the Hebrew I can understand.

I sure do have a lot of links in this here post...(did anyone find that amusing besides me? This is how you alienate your fan base...oh well, it was fun while it lasted.)

Me and Chief Amalia...hey, does anyone know any Thanksgiving songs?
"I have a little turkey..."
And one final topic which is too important to not address. Amalia and I briefly discussed VJs from MTV, back when it actually played music. Why in the music world are/were there two Dr. Dre's? Has anyone ever adequately answered this question? Does anyone else find this strange?

Comments! Comments! Yaaaaaaaaaaay, comments!

Thursday, November 23, 2006

My Day with Shimon Peres

Nothing new to write about this moment...but here's an "oldie but goodie". I invite you to read about my adventures with former Prime Minister (and current Deputy PM) Shimon Peres. (Can anyone keep track of what he does? I feel like politicians in this country bounce around positions so often, it's like a game of musical chairs. Ech omrim "musical chairs"?)

When you have about 10 minutes to spare, have a read...


I miss that suit, Z"L.

From the spring of 2003...

My job can be pretty darn cool. If not the best, then certainly the latest example would have to be my incredible experience recently when I got to re-enact Morgan Freeman's role in Driving Miss Daisy. Instead of driving an old, Jewish woman around Atlanta, I got to drive around an old, Jewish man, namely the former Prime Minister of Israel and living legend, Shimon Peres.

Since he was in the States anyway, the Consulate decided to bring him down to Atlanta which benefited both parties. He represented us and he had some productive business meetings for his center (the Peres Center for Peace). Anyway, I knew I had to document the day's events so I thought you might be interested to read about what was probably one of the more interesting days I've had in some time. I can't call it a tell-all as a couple of things I didn't see fit to print. But it's a tell-most.

Without further ado...

Day 1

The middle of the night...

3:10 My home phone rings. I answer and hear beeps. I have to wake up at 5:45 and now I'm wide awake. This is just great.

3:30 I recall the words of the Consul General's driver Ted: "You know that the driver is the first one the bad guys target, right?" Yeah, I don't see myself falling asleep anytime in the near future.

4:10 Hey, Ted, thanks a lot, buddy.

5:45 Alarm clock goes off.

6:23 I'm driving in my rented suburban on my way to pick up my boss and hear 50 Cent on the radio. I have a strange feeling this is the last time I'm going to hear him today.

6:47 On the way to Peres' hotel to check him in, my boss, one of the Israeli diplomats, catches me looking at my maps and driving directions for the day which I had nicely typed out. "Do not, under any circumstances, read your directions in the car while driving today," he tells me. "We have an 80 year-old man in the car." Anyone have a Rolaid?

6:48 I decide that screaming "No brakes! No brakes!" would probably not be that funny.

7:03 I test the waters by casually mentioning to my boss my admittedly far-fetched idea of having Peres wish my friend Caren a happy birthday over the phone. I throw out that there's probably a 1% chance that I could ever see myself pulling that if things are going really well.

7:04 Benji is shot down.

Benji: "The odds of that happening are only like 1%".

Boss: "Less"

Benji: "Okay, half a percent."

Boss: "Less and falling fast."

Benji: "A quarter?"

Boss: "Less than zero."

Benji: "The pollen count is pretty high today, huh?"

That was much like bargaining at the shuk except that when haggling, it's recommended that you head in opposite converging directions.

7:25 On the way to the airport, Boss launches into his exaggerated Peres impression: "The Palestinians must realize?" He then reminds me not to laugh when I hear Peres talk in that voice which is kind of talking about how terrible some R-rated movie is and then telling your teenage son not to see it.

8:00 Various representatives of the Consulate are standing on the private runways of Hartsfield International Airport watching beautiful people walking by. We're surrounded by tons of security. This is like the 40 year-old version of the club where you can't get into because you don't have "the right look". Remember that Seinfeld episode where George enters "the forbidden city" and hangs out with the models, knowing he'll never be back here? That's kind of how I'm feeling at this point.

8:10 I'm surrounded by State Department officials, diplomatic security, cops, airport staff, and air marshals. The ratio of sunglasses to heads is roughly 1:1. They all get together to go over procedures. I briefly consider dropping a few lines of NWA's "F**k the Police" but then reconsider.

8:30 We drive to the taxiing area. The private plane of the Atlanta Thrashers and Hawks drives by.

8:40 Peres and his group of Israelis should be here in six minutes.

8:46 No Shimon.

8:50 WHAT??? The plane has landed at McCullum Airport in Cobb County, roughly the same distance from Hartsfield that Jerusalem is from the nearest TJ Maxx. Working in the Consulate is like working in Israel. Only in Israel, my friends.

Benji: "How are they going to get to the Capitol by 10?"

Unnamed Israeli: "Don't worry."

Benji's Rule Number One of Working with Israelis: When they say "don't worry", start worrying.

9:15 We join Ted's consulate car and two squad cars in a four-car motorcade, with a police car in front and back to leave the airport for the Capitol.

9:16 I have trouble picking up speed.

Benji: "What the hell is going on?"

Unnamed Israeli passenger: "What gear are you in? You're in neutral."

Did I mention that I'm driving a suburban?

9:17 I just ran my first red light. WHOO-HOO!!!

9:20 The motorcade proceeds to cut off four lanes of traffic on I-85 to move to the HOV lane. Unnamed Israeli shouts, "Follow him! Go, go, go!"

Why don't we stick to what we know best: Israelis, irrigating deserts; Americans, operating vehicles in a safe manner. Understand?

9:25 We arrive at the Capitol. Governor Perdue walks out to greet us.

Benji: "Governor Perdue, sir. Pardon my ignorance but which came first, you or the chicken?"

Get it folks? Perdue chicken? I'm kidding. Let's move on.

9:35 The van carrying Peres and his entourage pulls up. He gets out and there he is. He looks me straight in the eyes. Seeing that my job today is as Peres' driver, I resist the urge to run up and start acting like a schoolgirl at an O-town concert, instead opting to speak when spoken to. By the way, the passengers include myself, the security guard, Peres, one of his business partners who's worth more than everyone reading this, a couple of representatives from the consulate, and maybe someone else I'm forgetting.

How the hell do I address Shimon Peres anyway? Mr. Prime Minister? Mr. Peres? Shimmy shimmy cocoa puff?

9:43 I unload the baggage into our vehicle. Geez. You guys are here for 2 days. What did you pack -- Masada? I resist the urge to peek into Mr. Peres' handbag. I place it on the seat.

9:45 The important people enter the Capitol, leaving me and Ted to do what drivers do: chill.

10:07 Ted and the 2 cops discuss a 9 millimeter. They're not talking about film, are they?

10:38 My legs hurt.

10:55 They're out of their meeting and the action begins. It's time for their next meeting at CNN. Unnamed Israeli yells at me to turn on the AC.

10:57 The security guy in the front seat outlines the important things for me to know about driving, like which lane to be in when we approach red lights. I thought driving on the highway with my cell phone and the radio was a lot of stimulation. Try sticking to the car in front of you and chauffeuring one of the architects of the Oslo accords while trying to process orders from a security guard. In-flight movie, anyone?

I wonder if security officers can detect the smell of gas. It's going to be a long day. (Ladies, that was for the guys. Keep reading.)

11:01 We pull up to CNN where one of the big execs is waiting outside. Peres and his entourage jump out of the car and I'm free for an hour. I'm not even exaggerating -- between watching the road and listening to the guard, from the time we left the Capitol to the time we arrived this minute, my eyes did not land on Peres or anyone else in the car for even a second. The entire cast of The Love Boat could have been in the car and I wouldn't have noticed. (And what the hell was a pursor anyway and was Gopher his real name? And whatever happened to Charo? You know you've made it big when you are recognized only by your first name.) By the way, there's a big FOX News billboard directly across the street from CNN Center. That's priceless.

11:20 The two drivers and two cops chow down in the CNN Center food court. Mmm, Arby's. Why do the sandwiches always look bigger in the picture?

11:49 Ted explains to me that generally speaking, a driver needs to be ready to take off as soon as the passengers arrive.

12:02 We get the call-they're on their way down. Ok, I'm camped out in the driver's seat just like Ted instructed, AC pumping full blast, all ready to go as soon as they get out to the car. I hear my boss yelling, "Open the door!" So I whip open my door, run around to the other side, and as I turn the corner of the suburban, I do my best impression of Derek Jeter sliding into third base. (Unfortunately, the comparisons end there.)

Dad, you were right, I was wrong. I do need new dress shoes, ones with traction. By the time I pick myself up, they've opened their own doors and one of my co-workers is laughing. The only way I could possibly look cooler is if I hike my pants up to my armpits. (Dad, that's a joke. It's not stylish.)

12:10 We arrive at the Metro Atlanta Chamber of Commerce. Not only is my knee bloodied but Ted points out the nice tear in my suit pants. Nothing says professional like a hairy leg playing peekaboo out of your slacks.

I may not have served in the army but I have spilled blood for Israel. Please rise for the singing of "Hatikvah."

12:17 One of the Chamber of Commerce staff finds some black electrical tape to temporarily hide the visible hole in my pants. I don't need Peres thinking his driver is Shlomo the kibbutznik. I lock myself in an office, remove my pants, turn the left leg inside out, and do my best to cover the hole from the inside with the tape. What's that phrase about a pig in a prom dress?

12:22 Someone knocks on the door. Yeah, this is great. I can just see it...

"Hello?"

"Uh, yes, just one second please."

"What are you doing in my office?"

"Um, I'm taping up my pants."

(Pause)

"Jim, can you get security please?"

12:45 Ted tells me a story about how when he lived in New York 30 or so years ago, he caught his jacket on a cab door and ripped it. Nice story. I check my pants. Nope, they're still ripped.

1:30 Next stop, Hyatt Regency. The motorcade pulls up. As we walk inside, some out-of-town bystanders say in their best country accents: "Who was that?" I was tempted to say the ghost of Dale Earnhardt just to see their reactions. The entourage goes to their rooms to sleep.

1:47 A group of Israelis and myself sit down in the hotel restaurant. Unnamed Israeli proceeds to eat a small packet of jelly with a knife. You can't make this stuff up.

3:15 An hour and a half of Hebrew. My head is hurting. "Yesh li k'ev rosh gadol kacha v'Exedrin katuv al hakol."

3:30 Two new cops show up. The second string.

3:55 Peres and friends exit the side door of the hotel. The string of cars head to the house of one of the richest Jewish donors in the city for a small reception. As we exit the highway, some crazy driver actually drives into the motorcade while yapping on his cell phone.

4:25 We arrive at probably the richest house I have ever been to in my life which sits on top of a hill. Wow -- Ted and I are invited inside.

4:35 This place is phat. I just coughed on the couch and devalued it by ten million dollars.

4:37 Um, excuse me, ma'am, but do you have any single granddaughters?

4:45 As Peres addresses the group, a few people, as Jews sometimes do, whisper, and make noise while Peres is speaking. Ted holds my leg to prevent me from lodging it into their skull.

4:47 We can barely hear him. After all, he is 80-years-old. He looks great for his age but he's certainly not dunking from the free throw line anytime soon. He's a sweet, grandfatherly type. After a few minutes, his personal assistant walks up, fixes the microphone, and suddenly we can hear him.

Peres: "Can you hear me?"

Audience: resounding "Yes!"

Peres: "You are so polite."

Crowd laughs.

Peres mentions that when he was last in Atlanta 25 years ago, it was almost a shtetl. Crowd laughs.

He says that the new Palestinian Prime Minister Abu Mazen, though certainly not a supporter of Israel, is a responsible man. How does he know this? Because he has negotiated with him. Mazen also believes that the intifada has done his people harm. Peres says that the Arabs are the way they are. We can't decide that since we don't like the Arabs, we're going to make peace with the Swedes. We have to make peace with the Arabs.

5:05 It's pointed out that the national director of the Anti-Defamation League is in the crowd. (He happens to be in town the same day and stopped by.) When Abe Foxman is merely a spectator, you know you have a great keynote speaker.

5:45 We leave with the police escort into the heart of Atlanta rush hour traffic. Out of our way, soccer moms.

5:55 He said my name! He said my name! No, he didn't. He said "eventually."

6:10 Without the cops, we simply could not have done have of what we did today. It's incredible how quickly they lead us through traffic.

There's a Georgia Tech professor in the car escorting us up to McCullum airport where Peres arrived this morning. The two of them discuss nanotechnology for 30 minutes, one of the topics that Peres came to Atlanta to talk about, as one of the primary foci of his center is technology (he's big on nanotechnology these days). "Dude, can we talk about something interesting? Like shwarma?"

6:15 Wait! Someone asked me to turn down the AC. I think it was him. Those might have been the first words we've exchanged today. I can't recall for sure.

6:17 Someone cuts into the motorcade again and the lead cop firmly points at him to, ahem, get the hell out. That was some visual bitch-slap.

6:40 Peres et al take a 30-minute flight to visit President Carter at his home in rural Georgia. (That's almost kind of redundant.) As an important unnamed Israeli wishes those of us who are staying goodbye, he backs up towards the plane, trips over a pylon, and almost falls flat on his tuchus. Hilarious.

6:42 There's something beautiful about watching a plane take off from the rear in the middle of the country. Of the things I've witnessed in my life, that ranks up there with watching a cow give birth. Actually, that was more just freaky.

6:50 Ted and I start driving back to town in one car, leaving one at the airport. For the first time all day, I don't have to follow anyone.

6:51 Ted reminds me that I'm not following anyone when I start to turn right after some random car.

7:15 We throw out some ideas for restaurants. He wants something close. I'm in the mood for someplace nice. We settle on Hooters.

7:25 For the love of God, what kind of a place makes you buy fries separate from the burger?

8:10 We drive back towards the airport.

8:20 My friends Ben and Julie call, the first friends I've talked to all day. They laugh at the pants story.

9:45 Ted and I have been in the tiny airport lounge now for two hours waiting for the group to return. I'm starting to get delirious. Ted catnaps. It's been a long day and I need a shower. If Shimon wants to hit the club scene, he's on his own.

10:35 The group arrives one hour late due to thunderstorms. Apparently Shimmy and some others polished off half a bottle of whiskey on the return flight.

10:36 They walk towards the car. It's late at night, everyone's tired, screw protocol. I walk right up to Mr. Peres and welcome him back. My boss, as I suspected he would at some point, finally has the chance to introduce me and says some kind words. I shake his hand. Wow, that was incredible. In Hebrew, I thank him and tell him it's a once in a lifetime honor that I've been given. I think I said that right. Hopefully I didn't accidentally say "your mother is a ninja turtle".

I also told him "kol hakavod" for his speech which translates, not literally, to "good job". Later on, as I suspected, I confirmed with someone that that might have been too informal.

11:10 We're almost back to the Hyatt downtown. As we get close, I swear to God, someone in the car suggests that we take Peres to Hooters. Someone else then says that we should take him to the Cheetah. Peres replies in his Hebrew accent: "What is Cheetah?" I tell you, give someone an accent and have them remove the articles from a sentence and I'm laughing for hours. That's the phrase that pays, folks: "What is Cheetah?"

(For the non-Atlantans out there, it's exactly what you think it is.)

11:15 Back at the hotel, an unnamed Israeli can't figure out how to open the door of the suburban. Instead he repeatedly raises and lowers the window.

11:55 After dropping off a few people at home, I head home. While trying to look in my side mirror to park the car, I hit my head against the window. It's been a long day.

Day 2

Early in the morning...

6:29 The trip is coming to a close. I get dressed and put on the same traction-less shoes again. I'm just asking for trouble, aren't I?

6:45 While waiting for an unnamed Israeli in the parking lot of the apartment complex, I win a $50 gift certificate from a local radio station by being the first to name one of the cars named in "Baby Got Back". The phone was dialing half a second after the question. (I answered "Mercedes")

7:00 We pull into the Hyatt with two new cops. These cops are all mammoth.

Benji: "You guys are all big. Do they make cops my size?"

Cop: (laughs)

I have a feeling that if you're on their good side, they're fun as hell. If not, watch out.

7:30 Group gets into the car for their final meeting of the day. I welcome Mr. Peres into the car. We drive towards Home Depot to meet with one of the co-founders, a rich Jew who has more money than you and I have. Unnamed Israeli briefs Peres on this guy in English so someone else in the car can understand. Nothing's funnier to me than two Israelis conversing in English.

7:51 The cop has us going every wrong way possible. Apparently we got the big, oafish ones today.

8:15 Ted, the cops, and I get a mini-tour of the headquarters. They don't call it a corporate office, they call it a "store support center" or something. Whatever -- it's orange and rich. We eat at the cafeteria. Eggs, hash browns, and sausage for $2.49? I guess there are some good things about corporate America. I'm so used to the escort, I just cut off some woman walking to the cashier. I've become completely oblivious to everyone else around me.

8:22 The lead cop tries to justify going the wrong way on the highway. Dude, I was driving in neutral yesterday. You don't have to say another word.

It's so funny how the two founders of a home improvement store are Jewish. I didn't think of that, I'm just the most recent to write it down.

8:45 I call my friend Jonah to ask who created the Segway, that new-wave scooter thing. It's Dean Kamen. Peres couldn't remember his name yesterday.

9:23 As we're waiting outside for them talking with the cops, I bring up the small locked case loaded in the back of the suburban with the luggage, which we assume contains a weapon. Cop #2 makes some joke about what the Israeli security guard would say if he caught us fooling around with it. The cop does his best foreign language mumbo jumbo "blah blah blah" line in an Indian accent.

Well, at least our local law enforcement officers are large.

9:30 Peres et al get into the car for the last time and we make our way down to Hartsfield Airport.

Benji: "Mr. Peres! Remember yesterday you wanted to know the creator of the Segway? It's Dean Kamen."

Peres: "Yes, Dean Kamen. Todah lecha."

Go, Benji! It's your birthday! Get busy!

Points to Jonah. Some of you other guys didn't answer your phones.

10:00 We arrive at the airport and quickly say our goodbyes. I shake Mr. Peres' hand again, tell him how meaningful it was, and luckily get a picture. If I hadn't gotten one, I would not have been happy. Everyone says their goodbyes and in a couple of minutes, they're on the plane to Washington, D.C.

10:10 Ted and I drive back to the consulate with no police escort. It's almost like when you take off your roller skates and it takes a while to adjust back to that alternate reality.

10:15 50 Cent comes on the radio. It's full circle. I love when that happens. "Don't try to act like you don't know who we be neither." I've heard better English in Gaza City.

And that was that. I guess this recap ended up being more about me than the guest of honor. I had naively hoped to get to know Shimon Peres just a little bit but with such a hectic schedule, it wasn't possible. All in all though, it was fun. I can tell my grandkids that I spent a day driving around the former Prime Minister and someone who has truly played a major role in the growth and history of the state of Israel. I hope you have enjoyed this recap as much as I enjoyed living it.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Ulpan Addendum

And the number of women in my class with an Israeli significant other has climbed to five this morning. A woman from Amsterdam is the most recent addition to the club. We'll see what happens tomorrow.

In class yesterday, we read a paragraph about a couple who has a dilemma: the husband was offered a promotion which requires him to work abroad* for a year. However, the wife was also offered advancement in her job so she doesn't want to leave. Our homework was to write the dialogue as if the couple were talking it out. When I got to class this morning, some of the girls nearby were comparing their creations: "I had him talk to his boss to see what could happen." "Mine went through an amicable divorce." What a soap opera! Boy, I was boring in my story. I'm going to rewrite it with the husband discovering that the wife is having an affair with the chumus dealer at the shuk. "Next...on As the Falafel Turns..."

"Don't miss tomorrow's exciting cliffhanger...
when Shmulik and Osnat fight over the kumkum."

And as long as we're talking about Hebrew, I stopped in a hardware store yesterday to buy a new adaptor. I struck up a conversation with the couple who owned it (when you're playing Taboo in Hebrew to get them to guess what you want, it's never unusual for it to lead to questions). Whatever country you're in, you can't seem to tell people you're from Texas without it eliciting some kind of reaction, related either to the fact that 1) you must ride a horse, or 2) you must have some kind of connection to George Bush. The shopkeeper then told me that Bush ohev milchamot (Bush likes wars) and that he also likes petrol. That was funny.

*Anyone know how to say "abroad" in Hebrew? If you're talking about outside of Israel, it's chool, an abbreviation which stands for CHUtz L'aretz. It means exactly that, outside of Ha'aretz, or Israel. Funny how it is used as if it's a location. Like, translated into English, I'm going to chool this weekend.

Ulpan Adventures, Vol. II

A couple of weeks ago, I chronicled my first day of Ulpan. It’s been three weeks now, 3-4 days each week, and it's going great. I truly felt my Hebrew getting significantly better after only a week and a half of learning new words. One day, I was flipping pages in one of the national papers, Yediot Achronot, and found two new words I had learned in one headline, a cause for major celebration.

Because of this man, I wake up daily at 7 AM for class.
Remember that Far Side cartoon? What you say to your dog: "Oh Ginger, that was a bad thing. You're a bad, bad dog, Ginger." What a dog hears: "Blah Ginger, blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah, Ginger." That's kind of how I experience Hebrew. I was at my friend Rani's last week while he was deep in a conversation with a friend of his. I completely zoned out, lost in a web of fast-spoken Hebrew words when suddenly, I was awoken from my linguistic slumber by a familiar phrase from Ulpan, m'chaneh m'shutaf. I immediately started screaming "COMMON DENOMINATOR! COMMON DENOMINATOR!", quite possibly the first time outside of MIT that those words have ever been exclaimed with such glee. To recognize a familiar word...aside from the birth of a newborn, does anything else bring about such a sense of pride? And furthermore, does anything else make you look like such a dork?

I couldn't decide which picture would more better convey my point...which is don't get TOO excited speaking Hebrew. (Ok, I really just wanted to include a picture of Booger.)

In any event, I've learned that while the classes are nice, it's (becoming proficient, that is) all about the practice, specifically doing the homework and speaking outside of class. I need to practice more; it's hard to dedicate time (l'hakdeesh z'man).

So what have I learned?
  • It's true-the Jewish people really do want peace. As the propaganda says, we educate our young (and future Hebrew speakers) for it. On a recent worksheet, one of the sentences to be translated stated "We hope there will be peace"; we had to conjugate the verb. I wonder what the language proficiency tests of some our neighbors look like?
1. I want to _____ the Jews.
a) kill
b) killed
c) would have killed
d) Allah Akbar!
  • A lot of women come to Israel because of their Israeli boyfriends. And not all of them Jewish. Ok, so maybe not a lot but at least four in my class who I've met so far. One from Canada (not an MOT), another from Vermont (nope), one from Japan who is married to one (take a wild guess), and one from South Africa (card-carrying member!) What is it about Israeli men? And why in the world would you come to this country if you weren't Jewish? Do you WATCH the news? IT'S A WAR ZONE!!! (If you believe that last sentence, please find yourself a new blog to follow.) I have had one conversation with the nice Japanese woman. A few minutes into our talk, I prefaced the next question with "this is a really silly question" in Hebrew before asking if she had seen "The Karate Kid." Maybe it's better that she didn't know what I was talking about...
  • That singing "Hatikva" is somewhere between often and always a spine-tingling experience (as so recently explained here). One day last week, a woman from the Ulpan (let's call her "the music lady") joined our class for a few minutes, presumably for the first of many times, to teach us a song with her guitar. She sang "Hatikva" and taught us the words, although I imagine most of us knew them. To look around the room at a room of immigrants, all gathered together for the same reasons, learning the language together...if that doesn't give you chills, what does? (How about biting teeth-first into a popsicle? That usually does it for me. Ugh, I just got chills. Ok, this ALWAYS gives me chills. Is there a more incredible five minute segment in cinematic history? If you can't take five minutes out of your busy day to watch it...well...I just don't know if we can continue this relationship. Lastly, several years ago, I was flipping channels and came across "The Karate Kid" on Telemundo. Mr. Miyagi in Spanish. Now THAT'S funny......now what the hell was I talking about?)
If he taught class, we'd speak Hebrew fluently in a month.
(Plus, we'd know how to paint the fence. "Up...down...breathe in...breathe out.")

  • Hebrew is a language of few words. It's funny how every English word has 57 synonyms. Just a few for the word "angry": mad, furious, irritated, incensed, outraged, sulky, ill-tempered, fuming...I think I'll stop here. Hebrew's pretty simple-its modern form has only been around for about as long as the automobile. My teacher Dafna is always directing the class in single words. "OK!" "Kadima!" (forward!, or let's continue) "Tov!" (good) "Naaaaa-chon!" (right) I love Dafna. Starting last week, we have a different teacher on Thursdays. Unlike Dafna, she did not talk to us in the "you're a four-year old" tone of voice. I was very upset by this.
Sticking with the language observations. Israelis are known to be direct (not rude). Did their directness cause the language to develop as it did, with people speaking in a short, direct manner? Or is it simply the absence of words that causes them to get to the point quickly? It's the old camel and the egg argument. My co-worker Lymore in New York used to get mad at me when I'd say something to her in Hebrew in a single word, like "ZU-zee" (move), accusing me of being rude. That's how Israelis talk though. They don't say "excuse me, kind sir, would you be so kind as to move a little bit out the way so I could possibly maneuver my way around you if it's not inconvenient, please?" They say "move". It sounds weird for Americans but, hey, when you're busy fighting wars, who has time for small talk?
  • I've also learned that, Jesus Christ (or as my co-worker says, Shema Yisrael!), the immigrants in this country smoke a LOT. We need a new unit of measurement for the amount of time it takes for those people to light up during break time. I don't even know what else to say here.
Only 7 hours till class begins. Time to go to sleep.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Movin' On Up...

Welcome to my new and improved blog. Well, new address and host, anyway. I decided a couple of months ago that my Mac-ish blog wasn't the best long-term so I should move it at some point (plus, it seemed to load slowly for some reason). So here we are at Blogspot after many hours of copying, pasting, importing, and formatting (if there is an easy to way transfer a blog from Mac's iWeb to Blogspot, PLEASE don't tell me).

Using this host, now I really am the cliche traveling American blogger but at least the URL is easier to remember. Blogspot seems to have a lot of features so we'll see what comes out of this. Anyway, I hope you keep reading, and if you actually enjoy what you read, forward this to your friends! (It's time I start doing a little self-promoting.) There's a nice little button at the bottom of each post which allows for easy forwarding...see this switch is paying off already. And of course, keep posting comments which are always fun to read.

And now for a picture...I bought jeans a week ago (an incredibly scary endeavor, I might add, since jeans seem to be different here. ) Not that they're worn over the arms or anything, but they certainly are tighter and a different style (they're still blue). When I was trying them on in the dressing room, there was a credit card ad on the wall. So what was the faux name on the card? John Doe? Shmuel Ben-Tov?

The Israeli Express card...don't leave home without it.
(With a name like this, don't leave Israel.)

Thanks to Amalia, a college friend and Tel Aviv resident, for the shopping help. Ok, time to go drink coffee...

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

GOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!!!!!!

Hey, did you happen to know that I’m a sports fan? No, really! Thank G-d for the internet; I don’t know how I survived for 9 months here after high school without sports. Oh yeah, my mom mailed me the sports page so I could follow the Cowboys’ championship season as I missed every game but the Super Bowl. Thankfully, times have changed, more than anyone could have dreamed back when Troy, Emmitt, and Michael were leading us to the promised land (no, not this promised land). Today, I can listen to ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption” on my iPod which makes my bus ride to work that much more enjoyable. It’s just unbelievable how accessible information and media are these days. So with NFL games on cable Sunday night and the Sports Guy at my fingertips, living halfway around the world ain’t what it used to be. Who says I can’t still be a sports fan?

Technology is amazing...unless your iPod looks like this...from Halloween 04 (I think they call this holiday Purim over here. And no, funny friends, this is not the same bad music that I have on my iPod. I have different bad music.)

That all said, my loyal readers, it’s a different world over here. Writing is from right to left, you have to leave your tip in cash at restaurants, and people ride camels all over the main thoroughfares in Tel Aviv (duh, how else would they get around?) Even crazier though, if you turn on a football game, you won’t see 300 pound men in tight pants. You’ll see goals, corner kicks, and crazed fans singing cheers. Last night, I was introduced to the world of “football.”

Since American’s successful display in the 2002 World Cup, I’ve actually spent approximately 1.2 seconds thinking that it might be time to give soccer a chance (roughly 1.2 seconds more than in the first 28 years of my life). After all, the rest of the world loves it. And now that I’m part of the rest of the world, and rubbing shoulders with a bunch of Brits on the Year Course staff, the time seemed to be right to finally take the plunge. Then a month ago, I received an email from my friend Dan Feldman, imploring me to attend a game of the Israeli national team in the EURO 2008 tournament (in which Israel plays a bunch of European teams in a mini-World Cup style event. How this man manages to raise two boys, work as a lawyer, and know more about sports than I do is beyond me. Dan is also the only person I’ve met who can go toe-to-toe with me on 1980’s Texas Rangers team trivia and name-dropping; therefore, when he tells me to go to Ramat Gan’s Bloomfield Stadium, by George (Wright; Dan, what did he injure, never to be the same again?), I’m going!* Israel-Croatia...IT’S ON, BABY!

Bloomfield Stadium** is located in Ramat Gan, a suburb of Tel Aviv. I went by bus, along with a few YC staff members, and arrived about an hour before the game. The moment I walked onto the grounds, I realized the difference between it and an American sporting event. Everything about America is monstrous; you can see it at a stadium, especially in the suburbs when the walk from the parking lot to the stadium is 10-15 minutes. The signs, the ads, the uniformed stadium employees, concessions, souvenirs, stadium music, video highlights, and and so on...it’s quite a sight. There wasn’t nearly as much to this place. In other countries, I guess it’s all about THE GAME, not the experience.

There were some vendors outside the stadium selling simple souvenirs and security checking everyone of course. When I walked in, it was great to be under the big lights and see the green grass. There’s nothing like the energy before a live game. Here is a list of some of my observations and thoughts from the rest of the night:
  • “Hey, who’s pitching?!”
  • My friend Ari made his way to the tiny high-school stadium scaled concessions stand. For 10 shekels, he got a pita with chumus and a pickle wedge. Turkey leg, anyone?
  • I think the San Diego Chicken just got patted down at security.
Does this look like a terrorist to you?
  • Where is Morganna, the Kissing Bandit? They need more kitsch at soccer games. When the score is 1-0, who can pay attention?
  • The on-field band just played “Heveinu Shalom Aleichem”. What is this, a Bar-Mitzvah?
  • Before the game begins, we rise for “Hatikva”. Wow-that is something else. When you hear the national anthem in the States, it reminds you of baseball. Here, it feels completely different. Really powerful.
  • Ok, this is interesting. Here is Israel’s version of the alternating fan cheer (like when one half of the stadium screams “Texaaaaaaaaaaaaas!” and the other responds “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!”) I have no idea how anyone is able to organize this. First, a group sings na na na’s to the tune of “I don’t know but I’ve been told” and continues to do so until they become loud enough for the other half of the stadium to respond. When it reaches a critical mass of “NA na na, na na na NAAAAAH!”s, they change the words to “Yisrael Milchama! (Israel War)”. Hmmm....that’s a little odd. I hope Kofi Annan isn’t paying attention. I guess it’s no more strange than “Chaaaaarge!” or singing a song about the YMCA, but in a country where there IS war, it sounded a little funny to us Anglos.
  • Throughout the night, we see confetti flying through the stadium. Where is it coming from? From people tearing up paper advertisements and throwing them up in the air.This is me, sporting Israel’s official colors: blue, white...green...and burnt orange?
  • Five minutes into the game, we score a goal to go up 1-0. I immediately look up at the scoreboard for the replay. DOH! There’s no video on this scoreboard! WHAT KIND OF A THIRD-WORLD COUNTRY IS THIS?
  • You can’t sit quiet at a sporting event. I wanted to scream something...but what? “Goooooo, Israel”?
  • Croatia just tied it up. The announcer says “sheevyon”. I learned that in Ulpan last week, it means “tie!” How cool am I?
  • Are there team names and if so, what are they? The Israel Fighting Line-Cutters?
  • Croatia scores two more goals. The guy behind me says “Yofi, Hagana, Yofi” (Nice, defense, nice!) I got that, too! Anybody wanna help with my homework?
  • Down by 2 goals with only 10 minutes left, it appears over...until we score with three minutes left! The crowd erupts, like when the home team hits a home run in the bottom of the 9th inning to bring the tying run to the plate. A few minutes later...so much for that; the game ends and we lose. The people nearby just started chanting “Hashofet Ben Zonah!” (The referee is a son of a bitch.) Why don’t I learn things like that in Ulpan?

In the end, we lost 4-3. It was a good time and, I guess, my first small step to understanding that other football. I just hope somebody scores a touchdown next time.

* Truth be told, I tried to sell my ticket the day of the game, only a day after buying it. Somebody hasn’t studied very hard this week and wanted to spend the evening doing his Ulpan homework and relaxing. Eventually, I realized that sometimes...



** Seriously, Dan, how do you even know anything about this tournament and the name of the stadium?

*** Lastly, I did just a little research before the game began. Has anyone in America ever clicked the Soccer link on espn.com? I feel like I just discovered another world, kind of like when Scooby Doo would lift up a candle on a piece of furniture, causing the entire wall to rotate, revealing a secret passageway leading to a giant wing of the house. Who ever knew all this content was there?

Monday, November 13, 2006

Born to Be...Ehhhhh....

Having picked up and moved to a new state three times (Georgia, New York, and the State of Israel), I am often described by my father as a risk-taker. However, no one should confuse me with Evil Knievel or any other daredevils. I got scared on the Mini-Mine Train at Six Flags, I haven’t bungee jumped, and no amount of money could persuade me to skydive. So to what do I attribute my adrenaline rush from Saturday afternoon?

I made tentative plans with my friend Rachely (seen here) to see her and her family who I haven’t seen since Year Course. Saturday afternoon she called me and invited me to her brother’s house who lives fairly close to the beach, maybe a 20 or 25 minute walk from my place. However, by the time Rachely called me, we were running late and there are no buses on Shabbat. How in the world was I going to make it in time??? (Insert suspenseful music, ignoring the possibility of taxis.) Well, my loyal readers, I, Benji Lovitt, for the first time...rode a tustus.

Giddyup, you metal beauty! (A tustus in its natural habitat.)

The tustus, or scooter/moped, is a popular form of transportation in Tel Aviv. It gets you where you want to go and is infinitely easier to park in this busy city. And it’s also fun to say “toos-toos”. Try it!

Rachely picked me up near my apartment and handed me a helmet. As I put it on, visions of “Easy Rider” went through my head. Well, that or the blood-curdling scream soon to be emitted from yours truly. Ok, so I was excited but again, I hadn’t done anything remotely like that. Lemme tell ya...once you put that helmet on, it does something to you. “GET YOUR MOTOR RUNNING!” I grabbed the handles on either side of me and we took off. “HEAD OUT ON THE HIGHWAY!” It was amaaaaaaaaaazing! Driving through the streets of Tel Aviv, wind in your...um, helmet (work with me here)...what a rush! First of all, from a purely transportational standpoint, it was incredible to feel the city shrink as we crossed it in only a few minutes. And of course, in regards to pure fun, it was incredible. Think about the difference between driving a normal car...and a convertible. It’s almost fundamentally different; although you’re getting from one place to another in an automobile, everything we know about cars is that we are in them, us safely away from what’s going on out there. Convertibles remove that separation; it’s at least one small step closer to flying. Well, the tustus gets you even closer. I’m not justifying the behavior of Ben Roethlisberger (the Super Bowl winning quarterback who famously and stupidly almost killed himself riding a motorcycle in the off-season WITHOUT A HELMET) but I can understand why he and other thrill-seeking athletes feel the need to ride motorcycles.

As we approached the stopped cars at the traffic light, Rachely made her way between them to the front of the line. She could tell I was nervous when I squeezed my legs close to the bike around her. Really though, after 3 seconds, any nerves passed.
Maybe I’ll buy a helmet to walk around with just to boost my coolness quotient.
With my luck, I’d look like a Power Ranger.

It was a lot of fun. Don’t worry, Mom and Dad, I’m not going to buy one (although Hanukkah IS coming up...hmmm.)

More updates coming soon!

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

David Hasselhoff Who???

A few weeks ago, my friend Rani invited me out for coffee to meet his neighbor. Apparently, he discovered that a non-Jewish journalist named Kathrin from Germany is living next door to him while on assignment. “She has a blog...you have a blog...” The three of us went out along with our friend Michal B. and chatted with Kathrin about Israel. I felt as if I was representing the entire country when explaining to her the diversity of the people, political opinions, levels of religious observance, etc. Well, I was. Her English was fairly good and I tried to put my best face on the place we’re both living in.

OUT
IN
(Look into these eyes...I’m HUGE in Berlin.)

She emailed me a couple of weeks ago with a link to her blog which I plugged into my trusty translator. It’s hilarious-proof that you can’t trust an automated machine to translate linguistic nuances. I tried to remember exactly what the heck I could have been talking about. (Do you have to be important to be misquoted?) Since this was before my Ulpan even began, I have no idea who are the “two looking unbelievably good Brazilians.”

Just go here and plug in this.

Select “German to English” and have fun. Anyone know what a mad contact stock exchange is?

By the way, the highlight of the evening was when I asked her if she knew who Dirk Nowitzki was (which of course she did). That made for a fun few minutes of chatting.

On a completely unrelated note, I have to tell you something but you have to promise not to tell my roommate that I told you. She was telling me what to do the other day, to the effect of “you were sick last week so I cleaned by myself, now you’re going to clean”. She then proceeded to instruct me how one is to clean the apartment (I was under the impression that I knew already. Apparently not...check THIS out...) She takes the toilet brush, sticks it in the toilet, scrubs, THEN USES THE SAME TOILET BRUSH TO CLEAN THE SINK. Umm...did I dream that? I asked two of my friends if that’s normal here. This is basically how they answered.
“She did WHAT?”

She of course thinks I’m the idiot foreigner.

I promised my friend/boss Michal A. that I would say that she was disgusted and that Israelis do NOT do this. I can’t wait to learn what “they don’t do” next.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The International Language (No, It’s Not Love)

Well, my loyal readers, I’m back, spending my Shabbat catching up. Quick: what are the official languages of Israel?

Give up?

Hebrew and Arabic. So what does it really mean to be an official language? Not that I can speak from experience (as I’ve never been an official language myself), but these and only these languages can be spoken on the floor of the Knesset. So what’s with the English all over the place? Ok, that’s a silly question considering the number of English-speakers in the world and in Israel, but it doesn’t explain the abundance of completely ridiculous English t-shirts I’ve seen during all my visits to Israel. If I had my pictures with me, I’d upload the one of my adopted moshav mother from Year Course. A Moroccan woman...couldn’t link together a subject and verb in English...wearing a Nirvana shirt. (Don’t ask me where she got it but when those music “critics” talk about Kurt Cobain being the spokesman for a generation, I’m quite sure he wasn’t talking about hers. What kind of angst can you really have while harvesting roses?)

The English t-shirts are something that every American laughs about, but let’s face it-a lot of them come straight from the States and the dumb era of “take a sarcastic or biting phrase that shouldn’t be funny to anyone out of high school and put it on a sticker, shirt, or pin”. Like this one...

Nice shirt. And by the way, you’re never gonna get this.

But somewhere in transit, some completely non-sensical ones got stuck in the shipment which always makes for a good laugh. Here are just a couple that I captured on film.
No, seriously, what the VIP ever do to you? I’M SERIOUS!!!!!

What exactly is a “d1.ck” and how does one “5uck” it?

Oh yes, I forgot this one rule. The shirts may have some sort of inappropriate language, drug reference, or sexual innuendo which may or may not be lost on the wearer of the shirt. As to how this can all be explained...what do Americans expect when we export our pop culture around the world? Also, profane words lose meaning in other countries. Mom, would you have punished me a kid if I walked around screaming the F-word in Mandarin Chinese?

Allright, what else can I tell you? I went to the Dizengoff Center mall yesterday to buy my note cards for Ulpan and walked around with my friend and co-worker Ofra for fun. There’s a food “market” each Friday where you can buy all kinds of prepared foods. We had Indian, bought from an Indian woman (imagine that) who moved here five years ago to open a restaurant. If Israelis are interested to hear my story (and those of other Jewish immigrants), I’d be really interested to hear why a non-Jewish Indian woman would pick up and move here.

Mmm...lots of food. The red sign on the left, by the way, says “Home Center”, a hardware store.

We stopped in a bookstore. For those of you who read “Freakonomics”, here’s the Hebrew version. Good book.




Mom and Dad, don’t buy it. It’s in one of my boxes somewhere.)

Shabbat shalom, everyone!

Friday, November 03, 2006

FINALLY...bo n’daber Ivrit!

Here is a list of just a few of the benefits provided to me by the Misrad Klitah, Ministry of Absorption, as an oleh chadash (new immigrant):

  • Free health insurance for 5 months
  • Free Ulpan (Hebrew class) within my 18 months
  • Free falafel for my first 40 years
While these things would make incredible change in my life, unfortunately they are not all true. I will receive health insurance for six months. (Insert silly laugh here, hardy har har.) Ok, so I get to take a free Ulpan, the classes offered in facilities across the country to help assimilate me into this diverse population. Yes, someday I too will answer the phone "AH-lo!" and precede my thoughts with “Ehhhhhhhhhhhhh..”

As someone who loves speaking Hebrew (especially when it involves ridiculous slang or pretending to be an ars (this word requires a whole nother entry...)), I have just been waiting for my classes to begin. Unfortunately, as I have probably mentioned before, I was told Israel’s national fall-time phrase when trying to register: “acharei hachagim (after the holidays)”. Despite arriving almost 3 months ago, I just this week finally began my Ulpan and it couldn’t have started soon enough for me. Here are some thoughts and observations that went through my head on the first day...
  • As I walked onto the small campus holding a plastic grocery bag with my lunch, it was impossible not to avoid the horrible memories of junior high flashing back. I glanced around wondering who all these people were and how many lockers I would get stuffed into. Fortunately, only two my first week. So in this country, do the perpetrators tell you “yiyeh b’seder” as they’re cramming you in there?

Remember this guy?
  • Jesus, I’m on the fourth floor! I’m definitely going to be in shape from this thing even if I don’t learn the language. I’m either going to be running marathons in a month or flunking my way down to the basement.
  • There was no room number posted outside the door. I walk in, take a guess that somebody speaks English, and ask the few people already there “What room is this?” The Asian woman stares at me but doesn’t say anything. Another woman answers in a European accent, “thirty-one”. I’ll be speaking to you later, Anglo.
  • I think I’m gonna try out for quarterback. When is our first pep rally? Go, Rydell!
  • My teacher’s name is Dafna. I love Ulpan teachers! Why can’t everyone speak in that slow, reassuring and reinforcing tone? I feel like I’m 4. “Tooooooov! Nachoooooooon!” She tells us not to worry if we don’t understand every word she says: “Lo lih’yot b’panica.” ANI B’PANICA! CALL THE POLICIA!
  • I really find listening to her entertaning. When she’s describing something and we’re supposed to call out the answer, it’s like being in a big game of Taboo. I found myself wanting to grab a bag of Doritos and watch for half an hour before remembering that this is not TV; I should participate.
  • We do “hekerut”, introductions/getting to know each other. Or as Dafna calls it “heh-keh-roooooooooot!” I love being talked to like a seven year old. If I don’t get a gold star, somebody’s gonna pay. What do you do in hekerut? Duh! You go around the room, saying your name, where you’re from, and a word that begins with each letter in your name. I offered up bedichot (jokes) for Bet, noar (youth, who I work with) for Nun, garti (I lived) b’New York for Gimel, and I couldn’t think of anything for the letter Yud. “Yisrael!”, exclaims my teacher! Ohhhh, Dafna, you are a smart one! It turns out that out of 25-30 students, we have people originating from Canada, Sweden, Ukraine, Japan, Brazil, Tunisia, Turkey, France, Peru, Russia, South Africa, and of course, the States (but I shouldn’t say of course because there’s only one other American in my class. Wow.) What a diverse group! It’s like the UN but with fewer anti-Semites.
  • I wonder if we have to do a science project. I’m going to attempt to split the chickpea.
  • Dafna passes out a sheet to fill out with our contact info. In the Comments section, she asks us to write anything we want her to know about us. I write that I’d like to study Hebrew through Israeli pop music. When she reads it, she says in front of the class, “That’s what I’d like to see!” I’m definitely going to get beat up now. Ech omrim “meet me at the bike racks”?
  • On the second day, Dafna passes out a worksheet with a map of Israel from an atlas with all kinds of facts: population, area, religious breakdown, etc. When going around the room, one woman accidentally reads type of government as “dictatorship” instead of “democracy”. A gasp rings out from the crowd. There’s a way to endear yourself to your pupils. I hope I don’t get matched up with her during group work.
L’at, l’at (slowly, slowly), my Hebrew will improve. My big self-assigned task for today is to buy note cards to write all my new words on. Until later...l’hitraot!