11 July 2009

After the incentive of having an out-of-town friend free on a Saturday afternoon, we wandered over to one of the sites of the weekly riots. Ever since Jerusalem Mayor Nir Barkat decided to emerge from his cloister since being elected in November, his agenda has been primarily occupied by the opening of a parking lot in the center of the city to ease congestion caused by tourists and out-of-towners looking for parking. That this parking lot was to be the municipal lot under City Hall and to be open on Shabbat caused several of the ultra-Orthodox factions to protest. After enough threats, political and physical in nature, caused the mayor to close the lot, a solution was found by having the Supreme Court to issue an injunction to open a private parking lot close to the Old City. The protests continue, quickly becoming riots.

As we got closer to the lot, under the shadow of the Jaffa Gate and the Tower of David, the din of the protestors was already echoing through the valleys surrounding the Old City. The scene was more comical than incendiary: Crowds of ultra-Orthodox men in their Shabbat garb, bedecked in crème satin robes and topped in sable shtreimels, ebbing and flowing with each pushback from what few policemen were there. Shouts of “SHAAAAAABBESSSSSS!!” bounced from the protestors on the street to their kin cowardly perched above, cheering them on but reluctant to join the spectacle. As they congregated near the parking lot entrance spectators were to be found all over, from tourists busily snapping away with their cameras along with photojournalists; Arab kids, laughing away at the scene while sipping from soda can and performing daredevil feats on their bikes; and Shabbat-observant families trying to reconcile their otherwise-peaceful afternoon walk with the noise of repressed ultra-Orthodox youth whose bottled-up energy manifests itself into shouts of “Nazis!” at police. Their tactic was to lie down in front of passing cars, causing the police to hurriedly drag the protestor to the sidewalk. This would go on for some time, with an occasional escalation like someone standing in front of a bus filled with tourists while another would climb under the bus to disrupt it.

It was more sad than anything else, especially after I fixated my then-hypnotized stares at one particular protestor. Fully bedecked in the finest of heat-absorbing garb, the sandy side-locked boy was slowly keeling over from shouting for hours on end. He was more in a trance than I was, yet determined to vent his frustration to whoever would hear it while being surrounded by his community. Here is a boy, who may very well be good at his studies in Yeshiva, but nonetheless due to familiar and communal pressure will remain in Yeshiva and collects welfare checks from the State, instead of making a living from him and his family. His only source of teenage-fueled energy goes into protest like this, lest they be spent in less wholesome way. Once Shabbat ends, the hordes go back to their beighborhoods and light garbage cans on fire, causing extensive damage and whose cleaning is paid for by the municipality (i.e. non-ultra Orthodox taxpayers, as ultra-Orthodox who study in yeshiva get their municipal taxes paid off in full).

The results of David Ben-Grion's decision at the advent of the State, when he allowed the then-miniscule ultra-Orthodox community to receive welfare and continue studying, ends at the parking lot adjacent to the Old City walls. An impasse for the State, now beholden to their political parties to keep coalition governments stable, and an impasse for Judaism, as these same protestors have a monopoly on the Rabbinate (and thus control over which resturants receive a certificate confirming they're kosher; whose overseas conversion is acceptable; and who gets to marry whom and when).

There's nothing wrong with being ultra-Orthodox, nor is there anything wrong with being ultra-Orthodox and working at the same time (West 47th Street in Manhattan, for example); but this form of ultra-Orthodoxy, and halachic Judaism as well, leaves little over which to celebrate, much less emulate. It's only too ironic that we've just entered the Three Weeks, a period of religious mourning which culminates with the commemoration of the destruction of the First and Second Temples (traditionally destroyed due to senseless hatred among Jews) on that most existential of Jewish days, Tisha B'Av. Albeit a jumbled-up view of Jewish history, my mind invariably has created an image of these protestors knocking down the walls of the Old City, only steps away from City Hall, much like the Babylonians and Romans of long ago. A truly sad occasion for a Jew to have such thoughts of fellow Jews.

15 June 2009

I usually try to find fault with Thomas Friedman op-eds, more than often not skipping over them entirely in favor of the New York Time Style section. The Middle East has been a life-long interest, and while it’s commendable for someone to try and translate what’s going on here for the masses who otherwise don’t care or have the time to learn, I often find his analyses too simplistic and too rosy-eyed (not that there’s anything wrong with being an optimist in the MidEast – hell, how else can one get through the day here?). This past weekend, his column on the recent elections in Lebanon and Iran made me for once resist moving the cursor away and read it. He wrote about the elections that took place in Lebanon and Iran in the past week, highlighting the transparency civilians brought to the whole process – from YouTube clips of political ads to Twitter alerts on alleged voter fraud – as well as the sprit of change that President Obama has brought to the region.

For the past two weeks I’ve been glued to every Lebanese news outlet and blog following the elections, not just because the country is the subject of my thesis. It’s a country that has fascinated me for several years, many have tried to argue that an Israel-Lebanon alliance would have the most logical regional partnership, and its multilayer trifle political system makes the sectarian politics of Israel look like store bought pound cake (I’ve been watching a lot of cooking shows on YouTube).

In short: there are 128 members of parliament, divided evenly between “Muslims” and “Christians” (before 1990, there were 99 members in a 5:6 ratio). The Muslim camp includes Sunni, Shiite, Druze, and Alawite. The Christian includes Maronite, Greek Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Armenian Catholic, Armenian Apostolic, Protestant, and “Other Christians.” Each sect gets a set amount of seats in the Parliament and a set number of members from Lebanon’s electoral districts. However, just because one a member of a certain sect does not mean one will always have the same political ideology as another member, leading to various political parties on top of the sectarian demands (not to mention family and clan obligations, regional affiliations, and the hovering presence of Iran, Syria and the West).

In this election, the parties and sects were split between two camps called “March 8” and “March 14” (one of whose clever ads, above, was featured in bilboards across the country and on various internet sites). After PM Hariri was assassinated in 2005, the country was divided over Syria’s role in the attack: Those who participated in the March 8 rally were (roughly speaking) pro-Syria while those in the March 14 rally were anti-Syria and pro-West. The latter rally, with over a million participants, largely led to Syria’s military withdrawal from Lebanon.
March 14 won the Lebanese elections, attributable to at least five different reasons all of which would take several more posts to explain; but saying “they won” is like saying Kadima won the 2009 Israeli Knesset elections. Technically they did, but what matters more is the coalition building that needs to take place to form a stable government. Just as Kadima was unable to form one, March 14 might have to implode in order to form a stable coalition, will most likely have to form a coalition with Hizbullah and possibly continue the policies backed by the other Arab nations that have ironically given more power to Hizbullah. Not much has changed, despite Friedman’s optimism.

Yes, I did follow the Twitter updates on the elections and they allowed someone like me, only several hours’ away, to feel in the midst of it all. But the underlying question, like with all uses of Web 2.0 technology, is “What’s next?” Does the constantly updated-nature of this technology lead to action (including, but not limited to voting in elections) or is it providing a sought-after online soapbox for those more comfortable ranting from their homes? Here’s to embracing subtlety when ruminating over trends in the Middle East.

I watched PM Netanyahu’s speech on Sunday night via Channel 10’s website, which was also running a Facebook groupchat alongside the video box. There were few noteworthy comments, but I also kept asking “What’s next?” to those users who took the time to watch and respond simultaneously –assuming they were all in their 20’s and 30’s, are they going to relegate politics as their usual pastime or take an active stand in our government?

03 June 2009

So much happens on a day-by-day basis, not just because news from two hours ago is already history in this part of the world, rather because my mind constantly makes multi-chapter stories out of the seemingly smallest of occurrences. Not even obsessive status updates on websites like Twitter and Facebook can seem to keep up, giving more credence to the fact that time seems to be accelerating.

A month ago, I was on my way back from the latest trip to the States. Since then I’ve been sick with what most likely was the H1NI/swine/Mexico flu (obtained after a day-long layover in Madrid), received money back from the National Insurance Institute, written sizeable chunks for my thesis, and laid the foundations for a much-needed tan.

That all being said, and for holding down two jobs and in school, my life feels anything but busy; almost like it’s been in hiatus for the past few years. Not that I haven’t been living, but it’s not quite the same when disposable income and time are personally lacking in the land of one’s dreams. Even my once-hyperactive imagination has been slowing down, satiated by an endless YouTube stream of cooking shows and African-American sitcoms from the 1990’s.

I’m back, more focused than ever on being done with school and finding a job, which will hopefully mean more regular updates on this blog (even if they sometimes lack the pithiness I’d like to bring).

20 March 2009

I've discovered a new illness affecting many people I know, and probably untold more. After going through senioritis in high school and college, I've moved onto Chulitis. Chulitis (CHOO-lie-tis, "ch" as in the Scottish loch (the usual point of reference for this sound)) is an affliction ("-itis") which magnifies one's existing problems with Israelis and intensifies one's longings for Diaspora ("Chul-," a Hebrew abbreviation for 'outside the country'). Usually occurs within several weeks of a planned trip to Diaspora. For me, nomal symptoms include increased listening to country music, introduction of southern drawl in speech, and complaining more than usual (e.g., "Ugh, does he have to be talking so loud on a cellphone while wearing lime green Crocs and a bright red sarape?!").

Purim has come and gone, leaving behind a trail of broken beer, bottles, unexploded firecrackers, and one too many cowboy hats. In its immediate wake come the Kosher for Passover makeover in every supermarket. Mine is packed with all the usual culprits and some new ones: Packaged "cakes" and "cookies" that absorb every last drop of saliva in one's mouth; bottles of plam oil so saturated the fat globules are visibly suspended in solution; gefilte fish making their annual pilgrimage out of the dusty corner; sweet chili sauce and soup almonds; and so many other products made kosher only for Kitniyot eaters that the inevitable "Why can't I eat anything here?!" gets shouted in a Long Island accent at least every half-hour.

At least twice a day, I pass the Prime Minister's Residence and whatever protest of the day that has set up shop alongside the security gate. The current one has been for the release of Gilad Shalit, now approaching his 1,000th day in HAMAS captivity. The entire scene is bizarre, especially after his family moved into the protest tent. Amidst banner calling for his release, buses of supporters pull up to an otherwise heavily-guarded area with business suit-and-M16-clad guards on patrol. Across the street is a counter-protest tent of the families of terror victims, plastered with placards calling fo no terrorists to be release in exchange for Gilad, understandably empty. Having someone like Gilad's father, often in the media, become the local celebrity is creepy. The discomfort that comes from watching people recognize him on the street and getting stuck behind him on the sidewalk is anything but comparable to what he's suffering, but at least has the capacity to humble the rest of us and remember the freedom we have.

That's it for now, have to finish some schoolwork before even thinking about packing for my trip to the States in a week. Campus is redolent of orange blossoms, jasmine, eucalyptus, and energy drinks guzzled down by students who star in their own fashion ads everytime they move and the hordes of Christian pilgrims are going to start rumbling in the streets with the twice-a-year holiday crowd who never fail to constantly speak slowly and loudly in English to anyone who remotely looks local.

18 February 2009

The lack of relatively cold weather this winter has made its arrival in February feel more like December, and with it a resumption of nostalgia for an American December. It comes and goes, the other night so burdensome I watched several episodes of Christmas cooking shows online. When it’s this cold, we deserve snow.

Voting the other week felt very anticlimactic, despite the fact it was pouring rain and I still hadn’t decided who would get my vote as I left for the polls. No lines, as only one person is allowed into each polling room at a time; no complicated machinery or drawing necessary, as all one does is drop one slip of paper into an envelope; and no sticker that says “I Voted.” If I ever get into politics, getting that into the electoral budget will be my first piece of legislation. To hell with a new F-16, Israelis deserve a sticker that sets them apart from the maddening crowds in the malls who didn’t fulfill their democratic obligations.

I’m surprised more people haven’t asked from who I voted. Outside of immediate friends and colleagues, the conversation never gets to that specific topic which is good since I’ve been hesitant to approach the topic. Not that I’m embarrassed about my vote, but I wonder to what extent it’s the business of particularly those who don’t have the right to vote in Israel. I’m all for blurring the lines and complicating Israel-Diaspora relations to the extent it complicates notions of identity and belonging; but I also believe in the sanctity & sovereignty of a state and its definitions of who is a citizen. Until the Jewish States decides to take the Law of Return one step further and automatically give it to all Jews regardless of where they live, thus expanding the voter eligibility to my family and friends, my vote stays within these borders.

One of only a few great articles about the 2009 Elections: http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1233304810588&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull

I’m doing my damnedest to focus on school work, but it’s hard when there’s a long break.

05 February 2009



An update and current events


-For Inauguration Day, the eexatriate branch of the Democratic Party organized a party in Jerusalem with a live viewing of the ceremony and speech. Amidst hordes of viewers and watching Frace 24's live coverage, we cheered and cried. I got filmed for the website of Yediot Aharonot, Israel's most read newspaper. You don't need to understand what's being said (especially since they didn't use my quotes), it's just me in front of the camera. Here's the link.



As soon as I came back from the party, in my mailbox was waiting the official announcement from the Interior Ministry ocnfirming my eligibility to vote in the upcoming elections.


-Elections for the 18th Knesset are this coming Tuesday and I still do not for whom I'm voting. Here's a basic understadning of how elections work:

~ There are 33 eligible parties, each with their own interests and concerns that range from the environment, workers' rights to the decriminalization of marijuana (two different parties' platforms).
~Each eligible party is given an allotment of time on radio and TV for their campaign ads, based on how many seats in Knesset they currently have, which are broadcasted in blocs starting 2-3 weeks before Election Day.
~The Central Elections Committee has to approve each ad that is slated to air on the same day. They also determine by lottery the day's schedule of ads.
~If you're really that curious, Israeli Election Laws in English can be found here. The site also have a GREAT cartoon about how Election Day works, put together by the Interioir Ministry and the Central Elections Committee (in Hebrew): http://www.bechirot.gov.il/elections18/heb/home.aspx

Nevermind how this compares with American electoral laws: the ads are one of the best forms of entertainment in this country. Every night, so long as I'm not working, I make sure to catch at least one of the TV broadcasts streaming online (the three network channels show the blocs at different times each night, except on Shabbat). After the introduction to the night's broadcast, which is a picture of the Knesset building, the ads are introduced by a blue screen with hte party's full name and its 1-3 letter symbol used on the ballot slips.

Each party has opened their own channel on YouTube with their clips, allowing for repeat performances of some of the best and worst in ads. Some of the ads have been translated by one of my jobs here, with a lot more still out there.

I've been simultaneously commentationg on some of the ads while they are broadcast, and so I present to you (with the help of YouTube) highlights from ads thus far:

Best Jingle: Habayit Hayehudi (The Jewish Home), formerly Mafdal (The National Religious Party). Voted as having the best jingle of all time by Reshet Gimmel, which is running an Election Day broadcast of the best jingles from Israeli history.
The electric guitar, the darbuka, the ay ay ay's, the spinning lazy susan of items that apparently epitomize Religious Zionism, a spokesman in a purple shirt and kippah: wow. Hebrew only.



Best Use of Only Attractive Supporters: Hadash, which partially consists of the Israeli Communist Party (a fact many of their supporters would have you forget). Between the last two wars, candidate Dov Khenin's candidacy in the Tel Aviv-Yafo mayoral elections, and general malaise, they're poised to get a good number of seats. Hebrew & Arabic, English subtitles added.


Most Deservedly Talked About Ad: Shoah Survivors & Green Leaf Graduates. An unlikely combination for a party, including non-supporters of the Pensioners' Party and non-members of the Green Leaf Party (a marijuana legalization party). "Sorry, but there's no credit for this number" is the line wirtten after the scene in the market, and "The Moral Choice" written under the, well, cannabis leaf. Hebrew, with English subtitles.

Finally, at least for the next few hours until the poll open, the two aesthetically best ads:

Koach L'hashpia (Power to Influence), advancing the issues of those handicapped and Da`am, a workers' party with the woman speaking as its head

Da'am: http://babelbear.com/player.php?v=dKgiRfK8mjk&s=99 Hebrew & Arabic, with English subtitles

Koach L'hashpia with the caption "There are people who automatically remain outside" at the end:



We're also expecting a major thunderstorm to coincide with Election Day, so stay tuned to developments.

10 January 2009

I feel the need to start off this post by saying that I’m physically and mentally OK. After two weeks of living through my first war living in Israel (one of many means of marking time in this country) I’m relatively sane. Even though it’s going on 2-3 hours away by car, and every day the news is nonstop coverage, normal life goes on in Jerusalem: tourists still abound, tractors still plow up the main street to make way for the light rail, bills keep appearing in my mailbox.

The center of the country where the majority of the population resides and works is referenced as “from Hadera to Gedera” after the northern and southern towns which mark the terrain. The phrase is also poignant as they are the borders of the area immune from rocket attacks from Lebanon and Gaza as the 2006 Lebanon War and the current war have proven. “The bubble” of Israel’s center is getting more and more solidified, with the only possible opening coming not fromthe influx of residents from the South, but rather the Center’s willingness to think about those other than themselves.

I wrote the following several days after the beginning of the war to illustrate what’s going on in the rest of the country:

I restarted watching live news from the Israeli network channels’ websites the other day. Not having cable and reception on my TV leaves much to be desired for my otherwise-TV addicted lifestyle, but I decided radio and news websites weren’t filling the involuntary need for information during the current war/operation/whatever in the South.

After about 20 minutes of watching the reporters in various locations and manners of field dress, the bright graphics and headlines, and listening to sentences with syllables so punctuated with emphases the spit practically came through the screen, I had to turn it off. I’ve had my fill in the past of being glued to the TV in times of crisis, from 9/11 to the 2006 Lebanon War.

I saw “Waltz with Bashir” the other night in Tel Aviv as part of my new internship. After sitting through the artistically amazing and emotionally devastating movie, I couldn’t help but have the strongest flashback to 9/12/01 at NYU. After spending the night inside and watching the news, I ventured outside to find a newspaper commemorating the attacks. Having nothing to do, as everything below 14th Street was declared a “dead zone” and no businesses were to be open, I went with a few friends to the nearby movie theater to watch whatever was playing for free. Every movie was packed; the only seats available were for “Apocalypse Now.” While it’s an incredible film with artistic importance and a moral regarding human behavior in times of crisis, it perhaps wasn’t the best choice during that period of time; this point was furthered when we got outside, introduced for the first time to the smoke from the ruins now entering the city northwards and military humvees patrolling the streets.

While leaving Dizengoff Center didn’t have the same feeling, the environment definitely felt changed. The chilled air which normally pushes pedestrians faster down the sidewalks was balanced with stopping every few meters for the latest news update beaming from a TV or radio inside a market. After ducking into an incredibly well-stocked organic market, I crossed the street for a drink with friends. If there’s one lesson I learned from 9/11 and living through a disaster, it’s to be sure to surround oneself with friends (and drink with them).