Today is the One Year Anniversary of This Event

Mazal toooooooov!!!!!

An unidentified Israeli celebrating a big day just a few minutes ago.

More to come.

Chag Sukkot Sameach from Outkast

This one has been making its rounds but in case you haven't seen it...

Chag sameach, everyone!

Freaks of the Jewish World, Unite!

After this post, my mailbox was flooded by at least three (too dramatic a verb choice?) emails with personal blepharitis stories! This is my favorite:

Hi Benji! I've been reading your blog and I was so excited I have to tell you- I have blepharitis too! I got it on Year Course! My eye doctor makes me use those eyelid scrubs once a week, but I could never remember, so I created this concept: Blepharitis Sundays. So every Sunday before I go to sleep I do my little eye-lid ritual. I have to say my condition has improved a lot over the past year and a half. YEAAAA blepharitis!

NO LOOOOOOONGER WILL WE BLEPHARITIS-TIM (בלפרייטיסתים) BE SOCIAL OUTCASTS! NO LOOOOONGER WILL WE HIDE BEHIND CLOSED DOORS WHILE OUR FRIENDS TELL US "YIYEH B'SEDER!!!" THERE ARE MANY, MANY MORE OF US, AND WE WILL NO LONGER HIDE OUR HEADS IN SHAME!

Come out, my fellow men and women with blepharitis!!! Show yourselves!!!

A recent blepharitis patient seen at the local medical clinic.

Just Because It Makes Me Laugh

This has made me laugh all four times I've watched it.

Found it through Jewlicious. And if for some reason you haven't heard about it...

Time to Pick a New Kupat Cholim

Shalom from my beautiful mirpeset (balcony) overlooking Rothschild Boulevard, my loyal readers. It is here where I come to write, seeking inspiration for my most recent blog entry. At times, I find myself with writer's block, wondering from where my latest misadventure will appear. Just as I fear that I'll have nothing to make fun of, I need only venture down to the local doctor's office to remind myself that...well...some people on this planet have lost their minds.

I have to admit that I, at times, like many people, can sometimes procrastinate (did you like how I qualified it three times?) Why do we always put off the most important things that we know will bite us in the butt? It's always the worst stuff like doing your taxes or finishing a paper that we put off till tomorrow. I wish the most serious problems I had were related to not getting around to watching Season 1 of "Entourage" but no, it's never so simple.

Haven't seen it? Yiyeh b'seder!!!

So before the summer, I seemed to have developed a sty on the bottom of my eye. One doctor friend told me to simply cover it with a hot, wet towel but I didn't like that solution. When I walked into the dermatologist's office, he immediately told me I needed to see an eye doctor only a couple of days before I was to go to chul. The camp doctor recommended the wet towel again. Fast forward to last week when I decided it was time to deal with this thing that perhaps no one else notices once and for all.

I arrive at the guy's office just in time for my 6:20 appointment. Would it have killed the receptionist to get off the phone and acknowledge me within the first five minutes? I'm not sure exactly what she was saying but whatever it was, it didn't stop two people from trying to cut in line.

The woman who didn't feel the need to deal with me at the doctor's office.

As I'm waiting, a poor woman also in the waiting room says something to the effect of "This is not ok! I wait for an hour here with my young child and the doctor doesn't see me?!?! That's not acceptable!" Poor, poor woman. I should have started to see it coming.

When I walk into the doctor's office, what do I see? A maintenance guy fixing the machines...you know, the ones you look through while the doctor sits uncomfortably close on the other side. Before my tuchus can even think about sitting down, the guy says "No, I em soh-ry...I ken noht see you." But you don't even need the vision machines, it's just this little thing! "No, of course I need them, I ken not see you. You ken wait outside, I em waiting just ez you ahr, ez you ken see." So should I wait here, come back later, or what? "Go hev a cup of coffee and come beck in thehr-tee minutes." What??? Would it have killed someone to place a phone call to let me know not to come in? Seriously, what the hell??? What if I had traveled 45 minutes to see this doctor? What if I had missed an important meeting? What if these questions weren't ridiculous? All I could think of was George Costanza at the Chinese restaurant after the other guy cuts in line for the pay phone: "We're living in a society!" (And how is it possible that in 2007, this clip isn't on Youtube? I'm speechless.)

"Caht-right!!!"

When I came home ranting, my roommate Rotem at least unintentionally made me laugh with his Middle Eastern advice. "YOU HEV TO SHOUT ET THEM!!! TELL THEM YOU WANT TO SEE A DOCTOR NOW OR YOU WILL SUE!!! THEY ONLY AHN-DER-STEND SHOUTING!!!" Happy New Year, everybody!

Fine-so I call this morning and am fortunate enough to reschedule with the same guy. Am I the only oleh who is unfamiliar with the waiting room etiquette at the doctor? Outside the door is a list of patients' names, each holding a 10 minute slot. I feel like sometimes you're supposed to sit there and wait for them to call you in, and other times, you're a freier if you don't knock on the door to see what the hell's going on inside. At least you're always in the company of other people who are also hoping to G-d that their name is called within 30 minutes of the time they were actually scheduled.

So I enter the room and the dude says, "Yes, I remember you from Thursday." Thanks for the personal touch, Doc, now gimme the news. Dude sits me in the chair, checks out my eyes for roughly 30 seconds with his new and improved equipment, and begins the following conversation:

Dr. Frankenstein: "You have a bacteria called blapheritis."
Me: "Huh?"
Dr: "And you have had it for 20 years."
Me: (trying not to start laughing at his diagnosis) "What??? 20 years? How do you know?"
Dr: "How old do you think I am?"
Me: "Ummm...I don't know, fifty?"
Dr: "So how do you know?"

At this point, I'm looking around for Ashton Kutcher hiding behind the potted plant.

Ech omrim "you got punk'd"?

TWENTY YEARS??? What, did he count the rings in my cornea?

Dude then goes on to tell me that fortunately I'm still young and this will not be life-threatening. Thanks, Captain Obvious. Good luck getting published this year. He also tells me that my other eye (the one without the sty) is even worse and if I don't treat it will have more stys, droopy eyelids, and discomfort. So what's the cure, Dr. Feelgood? I can buy some kind of eye solution called Lid Care or, hey, just use baby shampoo! All I have to do is lather it up and rub right, left, right, left on my eyes, "jahst like you ahr brush-eeng your teeth." All right, you quack, everybody knows you brush your teeth in circles! BUSTED! WHERE'S ASHTON?

When the conversation turns to lenses and his recommendation that they don't go well with blapheritis, I ask him incidentally how much laser surgery costs. "Fifteen hundred dollars...per eye." Jesus! That's like 1000 falafels!!! I guess when you get laser done, you better really do your homework beforehand. Here's some advice: if your guy says "yiyeh b'sedeeeeeer!" or "no proh-blem!" during your initial consultation, flee the room immediately.

Fine, Doc, I get it. I do my best to not laugh in this guy's face (even as I'm furiously taking notes to post this on my blog) and get out of there. When I return home to give Rotem the update, he says "my friend hed thees. You mahst take care of eet or you weel hev droopy eye." ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? He's in on it too? And if this is all real, how come a Google search for "blapheritis" results in only FIVE things, two of which only provide information on the domain name? WHAT ONLY BRINGS UP FIVE RESULTS IN GOOGLE??? For G-d's sakes, I just Googled "cat eats falafel" and it came up with something! THIS IS A FREAKING MEDICAL CONDITION!!!

Whatever, I'm now the proud owner of a bottle of baby shampoo. Was this post too sarcastic for the day after the Day of Atonement? How would you deal? I better go clean my eyes, I can't afford to go blind. Especially since I want to rent "Entourage."

Next day: See comments below for breaking health news from a loyal reader. I'm going to be really upset if this doctor was right. That means I can't make fun of him anymore.

If You Build It, They Will Come (After They Laugh at You)

As I sit here thinking about how I described Rosh Hashanah last year, struggling to exude the same emotions as I did then, I’m finding myself with a small case of writer’s block. While the holiday is still extremely meaningful, perhaps there’s only one first time. Although my dinner erev chag was incredibly delicious, what was lacking was my four-minute Oscar speech to Rani’s family about how incredible it was to be here and how the chagim here blow away those in the States (it was about 15 seconds this time, no less passionate). I guess that’s part of the process. However, getting another “chance” to experience this time of year, I’m looking forward to making choices on how to celebrate, taking into account what I did the first time around and what I didn’t do last year. Stay tuned.

So my 2nd Rosh Hashanah as an oleh has come and gone. What a great time to be in Israel. Everyone wishing another “shana tovah” and “chag sameach”. Great weather, smiles. Nothing like it.

The afternoon before chag, I made my first trip to the beach since my return and was not disappointed. The water was amazingly warm and the view of the tayelet from the sea was amazing. I ate dinner that evening with Rani and unlike last year, decided to attend services the next morning.

I was going to put on a suit and take a day off from work until I remembered…oh yes…I live in Israel.

Enjoy wearing this, my American friends. (By the way, does anybody else get weirded out by full-bodied yet headless mannequins? They give me nightmares.)

I should again mention Beit Tefilah. Thanks to my friend Assaf who plays piano there, I discovered last year a kehillah (a community) which is modeled after Bnei Jeshurun on the Upper West. Friendly, secular (as it’s called here, closer to Reform Judaism in the States), a real welcoming feeling. Several other olim from various places. I went for a couple of hours in the morning and then grabbed lunch on an outdoor patio in Neve Tzedek with Assaf and another friend. Rosh Hashanah feels like Shabbat-a relaxing day off with more meaning. Put it next to the weekend and I’ll tell you what you’ve got, my loyal readers. You’ve got a three-day break with lots of time for beaches and coffee.

You know what else the new year means? New beginnings. New adventures. New furniture. It’s year two, baby: time to drop some cash. I bought a desk from Office Depot to organize my room. Nothing fancy, believe me. For those of you who don’t know me, I seem to have been born without the male gene which is responsible for assembling things playing Madden football, and assembling things. I once said to my friend Hillery: “The man of the house is supposed to be the one who does all the home improvement stuff; what am I going to bring to the table?! I CAN’T EVEN BUILD A TABLE!” Hence, my purchase of the simplest model in stock.

I swear, especially after watching my friend Ari put together a bed, a closet, and Stonehenge, I told myself I was going to give it a real shot. So I tear open the box, hoping for a nice English-style manual with instructions, graphics, and such, only to find this.


No instructions, just one page with a graphic showing every step seemingly happening at once. No order. If Einstein had been hanging out in my living room, perhaps I would have been more successful, but my relationship with space and time is pretty much the same as yours. They even threw in extra pieces just to confuse me.

Office Depot worker: "Moti! Look! I em edding eks-trah wood parts! Deh stoo-peed Ah-mer-icahn weel neh-ver know waht hit him!"

The most humiliating part about these “de-structions”? In the lower left corner, they read “b’hatzlacha (good luck)!” Not only did they give me no chance to build this thing, they decided to rub it in as well. I could practically hear them laughing miles away.

Screw you, Office Depot.

Within roughly five minutes, I summoned my roommate Rotem who apparently received the same engineering degree I did. No luck. I told him how I had to convince the taxi driver to pick me up with the boxed-up desk in the back seat.

Driver: “Mah zeh (what is this?)”
Me: “Zeh shulchan (it's a table)!"
Driver: “Zeh hovala! (This is a move/you need a mover!)”
Me: “Nu, ani gar chamesh dakot m’po (Come on, I live five minutes from here).”
Driver: (silently deciding how much he wants to screw me) Shloshim shekel (thirty shekels, well above the meter)"

What, he’s gonna up the price because he has a box in the back seat? What the hell? I told Rotem this and he responded, “If you were fat, would he charge you more too?”

Anyway, the story ends in embarrassing fashion with Rani coming over and putting it together in FIVE MINUTES. He might as well have just taken my genitals as well.

Hey, but now I have a desk. Thank G-d my room has a built-in closet. Shana tovah to all of you, my loyal readers. It’s gonna be a great year.

Shana Tovah from 30,000 Feet!

It’s great to be back in Israel where the feel of the chagim just doesn’t compare to that in the States (in the best of ways). Both at camp this summer and during my three years recruiting for Young Judaea’s Israel programs, I constantly talked to teens and families about the powerful experience of visiting places like the Old City of Jerusalem, Kikar Rabin, and the Golan. However, it's also true that the Israel experience really begins not at the Kotel, but at the El Al check-in area at your home airport. I recently went through the standard security interrogation before returning home. Everyone’s been through it, but I always wonder… seriously, where do they get these questions from?

“Ehhh..how you know Hebrew?”
“Um…Ulpan”
“You had Bar-Mitzvah?”
“Yes, at Congregation Beth Torah.”
“You have sees-tehr?”
“Uh…yeah…why?”
(big grin) “I am seeeeeeen-gel!”

Back off, Mr. Security Guy. And get your suspicious package outta here.

How did these guys get hired by El Al?

It’s such a specific skill, the asking of the questions. What are these people going to do when they quit their jobs? El Al security driving carpool!

“Boker tov, keeds. Ehhh…did you pack your own lunch? Who prepared your homework? B'seder, enjoy your class.”

Nothing gets past these guys.

But you really enter Israel the moment you board the plane. The Hebrew, the people, the food. And just as the chagim are a special time here, you can even feel them on the flight. Check out what I captured on camera just a few feet away from my seat.

Who needs TVs on the back of your seats? THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT!

From the Israeli airlines and our entire staff in the Zone, we wish you a happy and sweet 5768.

SHANA TOVAH V’CHAG SAMEACH!

Lions and Tigers and Bears!!!...EHHHHH....

Well, my loyal readers, it’s great to be back. For those of you have followed my hilarious first year living in Israel, welcome back. For first-time visitors, welcome to the party. Many of my friends over the past year have delighted in asking about my now “ex-roommate” who landed herself in the unofficial Blog Hall of Fame with this disgusting incident. Sadly, she and I went our separate ways before the summer and I returned to a new apartment, located a whopping 2 minutes by foot from my old place. It’s on my favorite street in Tel Aviv, Rothschild Boulevard, with a mirpeset (balcony) directly overlooking the street. And…get this…I actually have a salon (living room)! Wow! More on all this to come in future posts.

Let’s start the new year by quickly meeting the new roommates, named with aliases, at least for now. First, there’s “Dudu”, the 28ish year-old reporter. Laid back, sense of humor. Next is “Osnat”, the 28ish illustrator, also working in the media.

So I’m sitting in the salon a couple of days ago watching Fox News to get my fix of American news. The story is about the economy and housing market with the headline on the screen: “Bulls and Bears: To Buy or Not to Buy?” There is complete quiet as we both watch intently. After about 3 minutes, Dudu breaks the silence as he suddenly exclaims, “Who deh fahk are all these bulls and bears?”

It’s going to be a funny year.

Who Wants Drama?

This is one for the ages. Did I convince you about the merits of camp? Jewish identity...friendships for a lifetime...yada yada yada.

Lucky for me. My mother just unearthed this letter I wrote home circa '84-'85 from Camp Young Judaea in Texas where, ahem...apparently things got off to a rocky start. Next time any of you youth workers are dealing with an unhappy kid, just show them this letter and tell them the happy ending. I hope you laugh as hard as my friends did.
Overheard in 2007: "Please give me more chumus on my falafel OR I'LL DIIIIIIE!"

I'm baaaaaack! / BREAKING NEWS: Thirty-two Year Old Survives Return to Jewish Summer Camp

"How I Spent My Summer Vacation." Six words which bring back memories of elementary school and long layoffs. Kids returned to school with stories of…umm., what were their stories about? Lemonade stands? Swimming pools? Having gone to summer camp for as long as I can remember, I always wondered what the heck kids did who stayed at home between June and August. Whaddya mean not everyone has heard of ga-ga, the sport which separates the men from the boys? It’s not normal for a group of forty-five kids to stand on tables and sing songs about having the “bagel blues”? And don’t even pretend like all Israeli teenagers aren’t tsofim (scouts), traveling around the world to spread their goodwill through ridiculous cheers and pita-making. Laugh all you want, my loyal readers, but for those of you who had the privilege of attending Jewish summer camp as a kid, you recognize these behaviors to be completely normal. (For all the camp freaks out there, you can laugh and relive your youth here. And to those of you who are staring blankly at your monitor, what the heck did you do from June to September?

Remember this classic movie? (Me neither. I was at camp and never saw it.)

Of course, we all know that although we didn’t realize it at the time (nor did our parents probably), camp was less about the rules of ga-ga and more about the lifelong friends we made and the experiences we had which would tie us to our Jewish identity much more than however many thousands of dollars my parents poured into Hebrew school three days a week. Saying we weren’t motivated for Hebrew school is like saying Michael Vick wasn’t motivated for his plea trial.

Who let the dogs out? WHO! WHO! WHO! (Boy, I really missed writing.)

Summer camp is an environment that simply can’t be found anywhere else where kids learn without realizing it, grow exponentially in a matter of weeks, and become who they are with and because of the people they are surrounded by. It’s not hyperbole to call it one of THE most influential and identity-forming experiences that a Jewish teen can experience and it’s for that reason that in recent years, more and more attention, praise, and money are coming the way of Jewish camps. (Foundation of Jewish Camping, you can make my check out to…)

For various reasons which I won’t mention here (such as a desire to pass on my love for this crazy country), after a short fourteen year break, I decided in the spring to return to Young Judaea’s high school camp, Camp Tel Yehudah. Throughout my summer and after its conclusion, I was inevitably asked the following question by roughly 8.3 bajillion of my closest friends, all of whom attended camp along with me back in the day: “well, how was it?” The answer was usually some combination of “good”, “it feels more like a job at this age”, and “while I often felt like a 90 year-old, camp doesn’t change.” Sure, they can’t live without Facebook. And, fine, maybe they’ve never heard of Wham! (although this statement may say more about me than them)…but camp is still camp and the magic always remains, no matter how old you are.

To answer those of you who have asked “when are you going to start writing again already?” questions and finally address my anxiety of trying to summarize the last 3 months in less than 10,000 words, I’m going to end the summer wrap-up there. Yes, there were the hilarious “how to be a gever gever” lessons I received from my manly Israeli staff members…and the quite useful Hebrew slang brought to my attention about “returning to deh Blohk-bahs-tehr deh movie you ahr lee-veeng een”…but I’m back in Israel for another year, and looking forward to more cultural differences, distasteful English t-shirts, and of course…EHHHHHHHHH…….

So welcome back, my loyal readers…forward this blog to your friends who possess a sense of humor and love of Israel, and let’s get it started.

Just a few pics from the summer...

Giving an inspirational Shabbat talk to my 47ish 11th graders. Clearly, they’d rather be on Facebook.

Remember raids? "Hey, where’d the bed go?"

Once upon a time, in 1991 (as evidenced above), I was “Ben.” The animal growing on my face was last seen in Texas crossing a highway.

An Israeli couple dressed up for the themed end-of-summer banquet. For some reason, I remember the hippies spreading a different message. (If you can't read it, the signs say "Make aliyah, not war." The Jewish Agency is loving this.)

The aforementioned gever gevers. Well, three of them anyway.

Only at camp can a 32 year old befriend 18 year-old women without law enforcement intervening.