Dualities | a jaymrosen blog

'Black and Jewish:' What Happens When Peoplehood is Shelved

2011-07-26T21:50:00.001+03:00

'Black and Jewish:' What Happens When Peoplehood is Shelved

There have been many, many, many satire clips about Jewish life that have become hits, proliferated by Facebook accounts, websites and emails. Once was so offensive that it merited being posted about on this blog as well.

The latest has been gracing my News Feed for some weeks now, and I finally succumbed to watching it. What a mistake. Entitled 'Black and Jewish,' it chronicles two women rapping about their "mixed" identities in a clip that looks like MTV circa 1995, replete with scenes of gangbangers sitting in front of low-income housing spinning dreidels.

Rolling around in stereotypes from both communities (African-Americans as ghetto dwellers, Jews as talit-wearing Ashkenazim), this might be what its creators had in mind. Profiting off Jewish stereotypes is nothing new in the entertainment business (ever see 'The Nanny,' 'Seinfeld,' 'Mad About You,' and 'Curb Your Enthusiasm?'); furthermore, if this clip gives African-American Jews a sense of pride, then far be it from me to impede on such expressions.

But if not, why is this clip so popular and so widespread among "white" Jews? I personally believe "white" is a state of mind, something for immigrants to aspire to in the multicultural mess of early 20th century America as a means of obtaining success (I urge you to read "A History of White People" for more background on this topic). Certainly there's plenty to be said about the racist tinges in this clip, and it should be said, but it detracts from my main point that links this clip with those that have come before and those to surely be produced in the future.

Call me a 29-year old stick in the mud, but clips like this are the opiate for the masses that satiate the young enough to obfuscate our real needs as the under-50 set: greater and affordable access to meaningful Jewish experiences and literacy, representation in communal and institutional policy-making, an understanding of Jewish identity as one that includes AND transcends Western conceptions of race/culture/history/religion/nationality/language/etc, and working together because of our inherent diversity to tackle the day's greatest challenges.

THIS is where the discourse of Peoplehood is so important -- so instead of snickering in the audience like tweenagers, we're digesting the tough issues. We're openly acknowledging both the complexities of what it means to be a Jew in the singular and plural, and taking advantage of said complexity to come up with new solutions and strategies.

David Breakstone recently wrote a response to Misha Galperin's push for Peoplehood, alarmed that Israel is potentially left out of the discourse, thus questioning the legacy of Zionism. Notwithstanding the argument that Zionism never was a mainstream movement, nor is to this day (how many Jews live in the USA?), we can't discuss Israel without the basic conversations of 'Who/What is a Jew' and 'Why Being a Jew is Important,' both of which sorely need to take place. Perhaps that's something that we who grew up in movements/day schools/Israel can't see, but it's there.

Peoplehood is a nuanced pedagogy for an age where we need nuanced talking points. I'm all for having this kind of dialogue, whether in public or private, in Israel or Diaspora. Just don't dare try to engage me with the request to "Challah Back."

The Week of Days: Bookends

2011-07-09T22:11:00.001+03:00

OK, so my last post was a bit audacious in that while I formulated seven different posts about the Week of Days, posting them in a timely fashion proved to be too much.

Instead, I focus on the first and last days of the Week, as they have different and meaningful lessons (and I want to start blogging forward, and fulfilling my previously posted promise will help). The week starts off with the most challenging day for me, Yom HaShoah veHaGevurah. As a day, it's actually very innovative, as it was instituted at a time in Israeli society where talking about the Shoah was a taboo .It's hard to imagine such a time, as the Holocaust has since then inundated every waking moment of Jewish life. As a child, I had nightmares of SS men storming our apartment building in Upper NW, which I later found out was a common occurrence among others my age.

There's a lot to say about this day, perhaps why it took so long to publish the first post, so I broke it down into categories of Jay's Issues with Yom HaShoah:

- Holocaust vs. Shoah: "Holocaust" comes from a Greek derivation meaning a sacrifice which went up in flames, while "Shoah" comes from the Hebrew meaning a catastrophe that suddenly came from out of nowhere. Both have their connotative drawbacks -- the former gives the impression of lambs being led to the slaughter, while the latter gives the impression that 1932 was its inception (and not 1919, or for that matter 1492 or 1099)

- Never Again: I love the irony of this phrase, as it originated with the black sheep of American Jewish mainstream and became the catchphrase of every youngster this time of year. Along with the next entry, it represents the dumbing down of Jewish identity, where education is supplanted by content-less experiential fluff (as I assume most "young Jews" are neither knowledgeable of its origins nor supportive of said organization and its actions). The latest "X-Men" film (which I so badly want to see) turn the phrase around, literally, making its contextual significance visible for all:

The other end of the Week of Days is Yom Ha`atzmau't (Independence Day), or more correctly, the consecutive 48 hours of Memorial & Independence Days. In trying to think how to relate to Independence Day this year, I kept thinking about Yom Kippur. For the twice-a-year observing Jew, the cathartic spirit of the day may be lost in the march to services and countdown to lox and bagels. There's a lot in common between the two days, in that they're both day-long periods for an entire nation to reflect on successes and setbacks, and how to move forward. Perhaps I was reading a few relevant bogs, or perhaps the collective unconscious caught up to me; either way, I was in shock to hear the Speaker of the Knesset's speech at the Lighting of the Torches ceremony (at the 20:00 mark, in Hebrew, on YouTube):

I love this ceremony, as it's one of the few moments every year that viscerally separates Diaspora and Israel through pomp and circumstance. But it was the President's speech that was the highlight this year, as he too was thinking about the connection between YK and YHa, as evidenced by his extensive paraphrasing of Kol Nidrei. Rather than talking only about achievements and accolades, he chose to speak of renewal and relevance in a way that gave me chills and made me proud to be living here. Putting into action, of course, is the next and bigger step; but, after all, it's a holiday.

The Week of the Days: A count-up/down to Israel's Independence Day

2011-05-03T18:13:00.001+03:00

It's a busy week in Israel. The Week of the Days has commenced and I'm back in the country after a short, two-continent jaunt.

The Week of the Days (my own name for this time of year) is a modern addition to the Jewish holiday cycle, which expectantly continues to provide controversy over its content and form. The Days in reference are Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom Hazikaron (Israel's Memorial Day) and Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel's Independence Day). The Week was unofficially inaugurated in 1953, when Yom HaShoah came into existence and two years after Yom Hazikaron was enacted as the day before Yom Haatzmaut.

I hope to blog each day this week -- an ambitious feat I know, but equally ambitious is this Week, which seeks to encapsulate 140+ years of history and 4,000 years of emotions -- as each of these days redefines time, space, and interpersonal relations between Israeli/Diaspora Jew, Jew/non-Jew Israeli, Diaspora/Homeland and more.

Keep reading!

Why Saint Patrick's Day is Good for the Jews

2011-03-17T01:09:00.003+02:00

We're loud, assertive, neurotic corned-beef eating hyphenated-Americans. Stereotypes and interfaith relationships abound when discussing Irish Catholics and Jews, and to be sure this post could be comprised only of those common traits to attract a few stragglers to read this blog. And the growing Israeli fascination with Saint Patrick's Day, mainly the imbibing aspect of it, is also enough fill a few lines' worth; but the intermediate identity of this holiday – between its Catholic origins as a Saint Day and an excuse to drink green beer – as an institutionalized ethnic holiday in American culture is the source of inspiration for millions of immigrants and its connection with Jews.

Few other immigrant populations in the USA endured the same processes of alienation, assimilation and cultural rejuvenation than Jews and Irish Catholics. And few other diasporas created as deep and complicated multi-generational connections with their countries of origin than these two communities.

Catholics endured ongoing stigmatization, if not outright discrimination, for much of the 19th and early 20th centuries with the brunt of this xenophobia leveled against the Irish. They were quickly stereotyped by the existing Protestant population as backwards and barbaric, with their thick brogues, violent temper and allegiance to the Catholic Church. The first examples of “Black” being used in a derogatory fashion in the USA were not against African slaves, but rather against the Irish. The theories of race, in fashion at the time, denigrated the Irish as sub-human.

So too did the Jews of Eastern Europe face similar discrimination in their initial absorption into American society, at the hands of both the Protestant population as well as German Jews. The American immigration experience created cultural hybridism, with some traditions being eschewed for fear of their isolating effects; some being relegated to the home or place of worship; and others being invented by said population or by the larger society. Think of foods, music, aesthetics; American culture is a composite of its immigrant populations, ever changing and quickly absorbing new experiences. The Wasabi craze of a few years ago turned into the Sriracha frenzy of today. Anyone in a major metropolitan area has experienced first-hand these hybrid zones of cultural manufacturing, tongue-in-cheekly described in a recent post on the New York Times.

There is no single holiday of the Jews in the American cannon like Saint Patrick’s Day, even with the childhood stories of baseball players refusing to play on Yom Kippur notwithstanding. But Jews, like other immigrant populations, contributed in other ways to American culture; furthermore, perhaps because of Jews’ inherent diversity of self-expression that there is no one, single day which celebrates Jews’ contribution to America like Saint Patrick’s Day has become.

The connection to one's homeland, while not exclusive no Irish Catholics nor Jews, has been championed by them in ways many other ethnic communities wich they could emulate. The Fenian raids against the British in Canada in the mid-19th century are a classic example of using diaspora relaities to further homeland ideals. the NORAID scandal of the 1980's, which inculpated Irish-American elected officials, has parallels with AIPAC and accusations of American Jews spying on behalf of Israel. Ironically, this common connection wth one's homeland (called by Jacob Neusner "enlandisment) was not heralded by the IRA but by the Northern Irish Ulster -- ostensibly, as the former was dependent on money and arms from countries hostile to the UK and thus banded with the growing anti-establishment Left of the Cold War era, whose financer was the USSR and Palestinian opposition groups as the go-between (another example of logistics preceeding ideology comes from the Basque separatist group ETA, who boycotted an Israeli food fair).
What was the point of this post's foray into American history, if not to justify my plans (or yours) for imbibing Guinness? To point out the commonalities of Jews with other communities that otherwise get used for more cynical reasons, like non-Jewish support for Israel without reciprocal support of other's homelands (hello, Armenia) or in the course of trying to publicly justify the otherwise personal nature of interfaith relationships, which can potentially help Jew and non-Jew alike in their self-identity development and relationship with their homeland.

Éire go Brách from Jerusalem.

Is There Room for Fantasy in Israel?

2011-02-26T21:21:00.000+02:00

Is there room for fantasy in Israel?
(Attempting to make my way back into the blogosphere by finally publishing a month-old post)

I went to see ‘Black Swan’ with two close friends, both of whom are native English-speakers. The film was like 'Carrie' and 'The Exorcist,' so naturally I was completely mesmerized. The cinematography gave it that realistic feeling found only in dreams, wherein we’re seeing our own actions, and can even manipulate ourselves physically, but are otherwise externally separated from our bodies.
While the three of us agreed that the movie was brilliant, we couldn’t help but become distracted from quite a few in the audience snickering at times during an otherwise intense film. This was a late showing in Tel Aviv, filled with mainly 20- and 30-somethings. I started explaining this as a defense mechanism in relation to Israeli’s jaded nature, and I found my words fading and failing.

Why was I trying to justify this kind of behavior?

To leave the theater meant walking down two flights of stairs, whose walls were covered in an abstract red-and-grey series of geometrics that caused me to say “and now we’re descending into a club.” And sure enough we were, as the exit for the theater was the entrance for a recently-opened club in the basment of a dental college. Bodies pressed up against one another, drinks and cleavage spilling all over the place, music blaring and lights on the verge of inducing fits -- I was ready to leave. In my exhaustion-induced stupor, I saw the lights and wraparound bar as the instruments of self-delusion, to willingly numb ourselves from the realities of the Middle East outside.
At first, I chastised myself for thinking so darkly, so being so jaded. And then I thought, how far is this from actual reality? After all, the movie theater led straight into the club. I personally become engrossed in any film I see, to the extent that my sensory awareness for some time afterwards is linked with the film – I think I’m living the film.

But are we meant, as Israelis, to quickly snap out of such alternative dimensions? Is there space for fantasy in Israel?

When I was younger, I used to create stories that stretched on and on, set off by the smallest of observances. Music is a great passion of mine, as it forces me as the listener to come up with the accompanying visual; but film is so wonderfully engrossing that I lament how much I miss it as soon as the credits roll.
I furst noticed this lack of space for fantasy at least year's Jerusalem Film Fesitval, blogged about here, with the premiere screening of "Andante." The film, avant-garde and entirely in Hebrew, disturbed more than a few people as evidenced by their leaving the theater. Several months later, I find myself less and less able to concentrate on such fantasies, becoming easily distracted by ADHD-inducing mechanisms like the “Shuffle” function on the iPod or the “Recommended” section on YouTube, making me feel lazy for not making the concerted effort in my choices for art.

(I’d also like to think my buying into this mentality is is the reason why this blog hasn’t been updated for a while....)

Perhaps that’s why I hold out in living in Jerusalem while working in Tel Aviv. The latter is a city, but what it lacks in fantasy is made up for here. For example, a short piece I coined in the heat of last summer:

"I was once told that there are no ghosts in the Land of Israel, despite inevitable shivers one feels here. Despite the Witch of Endor and Biblical prohibitions that do not deny their existence, some are too weary to admit to strange shifts in the wind at night.
Maybe not ghosts per se, but definitely supernatural events. The torpid quiet of a Shabbat night that for someone like myself, accustomed to an urban aural landscape, already presents itself as a chilling soundtrack. Or the imminent arrival of rain, as the sky turns asphalt to pave the way for clouds and thunder from the North, appropriately personified in ancient mythology as the storm god riding his chariot. The wind whips the trees’ branches into a frenzy, flagellating themselves and any miserable object not having found adequate shelter. Or the suffocating heat of the sharav, that wind-less heat from the East, whose breath is shortened momentarily by hiding in the air-conditioned indoors."

Here's to more fantasy and inspiration, speedily in our days.

Am I the Only Under-50 American Jew Who Didn't Like the AJWS video?

2010-11-01T07:15:00.003+02:00

Just like how the 'It Gets Better' campaign is all about the featured celebrities and not about the still-harassed LGBT teen, the Judd Apatow-produced ad for AJWS is another example of taking a very worthy and important cause and deep-frying it in ego and smothering it with a side of self-congratulatory condescension.

OK, before I continue on my curmudgeoned rant and in the interest of full disclosure, I did crack up at 4.25 from Brian Williams (I’m a laughing fool for gibberish) and Triumph (who sounded eerily like me at a wedding after a few gin & tonics)….only to vomit a bit in my mouth at the last part of 'goyim' cutting their teeth on one of 'our' languages. But it’s a Judd Apatow flick, which I suppose is meant to automatically trigger one’s gag reflex.

No less important than the argument that such multimedia campaigns satisfy primarily those who appear in them, this is another example of another Jewish organization trying to make itself relevant through online social media/network/blahblahblah to those youngsters among us apparently unable to comprehend the importance of the organizations’ daily mission. Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, Tumblr – whatever it takes to get dem youngins’!

While it’s true that online social networks have the power to make connections between otherwise-distant peoples and resources, and not all online social media users are youngsters (as evidenced by the PS in AJWS’ own campaign to promote its video (*I might be turning 70, but I can tweet with the best of ‘em. Follow me: @ruth_messinger, emphasis added) – I cannot help but feel that social media and the under-50 set are inextricably linked in the halls of Jewish organizations, perhaps as a way of keeping us involved enough to forget we’re still not letting you make communal policy decisions.

Cue the latest example: http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=166358540044295. Now my relationship with Jewish conferences is like my relationship with advanced math classes in grade school: I love them but I hate them. I love the euphoria, the optimism, the unending buffets, the unending inspeak with no need for simultaneous translation. All of that is for naught, however, when us youngsters are relegated to the kiddy table like it's one big Passover Seder.

How long ago was it that conferences were held hostage by youth delegates, demanding at least 25 percent representation on communal organizations' boards? Long enough that those same delegates are now in charge and clearly forgetful from where they came. It's all too easy for organizations to lament youth apathy but all too hard for them to alloacte a perceptange of their lay & professional leadership positions to those under 35 years of age.

I, like many in my age bracket, am able to comprehend complexity and nuance without the words “boobs” and/or “poop” being used. And I’m able to hold conversations without the use of my two thumbs or 140 characters.

In other words, it’s the same patronization as usual -- only this time, we're able to see just how many have drunk the Manischewitz in our News Feed.

Lessons Learned While Traveling Between Three Continents

2010-09-28T21:30:00.001+02:00

Lessons Learned While Traveling Between Three Continents:

-Never pack multivitamins in their original container if their country of production uses a non-Latin alphabet -- not only will they be opened but will spill all over one's suitcase as a result of security agents' ability to open childproof lids and inability to close them.

-Combining a frequent flyer membership and the evil eye results in at least two seats to oneself on transatlantic flights, as well as the envy of all other passengers. Guard the seats carefully by getting up when everyone's passed out after the "meal."

-Speaking of which, always order "Vegetarian (Dairy-Free)." It's healthier, identifiable, and reduces looks from suspicious-looking passengers curious as to why one ordered the Kosher meal. Be prepared, however, to explain in the flight attendants' native language, whould they lose your request, why you cannot eat the Halal meal instead.

-Never order the Halal meal. Serving passengers half a raw jalapeño pepper is an airborne disaster waiting to happen that no accompanying packet of fennel seeds can prevent.

-Almost everything in Spain contains some part of a pig. Even the coffee.

-One of the greatest museums on The Mall in DC is the Hirshhorn. Not only are the installations spectacular, the museum as a whole has the highest level of tourist repellant.

-There is a connection between the names of Japanese restaurants in DC and their unintended meanings in Hebrew (examples include Sakana on P Street ("danger" in Hebrew) and this one on K Street (the "n word" in Hebrew). Luckily the latter serves a great Negroni.

-The Starbucks by the 110th Street downtown stop on the Upper West Side serves out sartorial compliments to uncaffeinated customers, leaving them speechless and starting the day on a positive note.

-The best meals are home-cooked, be it butternut squash mac-and cheese in Midtown, 14 pounds of the best beef brisket ever made in Ohio, or roasted brussel sprouts back home.

-It's always good to go back to the States for quality time with friends and family. And television.

I may keep kosher, but I’m in the mood for Frog Kebab

2010-08-23T13:11:00.000+03:00

In this quasi-semi-weekly news roundup: French tourists, begrudgingly agreeing with Tom Friedman, and getting ready for the next Stateside trip

~It’s late summer in Israel which means staying indoors with air-conditioning and away from the tourists. I don’t mean Birthright Israel participants, though there were a few close moments where I almost side-checked a few standing idly in the middle of the shuk; no, this time I’m referring to the typical late-summer tourist in Israel – the French Jew. I’m doing my best to be tolerant towards all types, especially being the month before the High Holy Days, but there’s only so much American patience I can muster before hordes of cordovan-skinned screaming parents with equally screaming kids who assume every and any store will haggle over a marked price. My all-time favorite is when, upon breaking their teeth over English, they point to one of their eyes to begin a declarative sentence with “I am looking for....”

This has nothing to do with the ethnic origins of the majority of the French tourists, nor of being French citizens or Francophones per se; but combining government-mandated vacations with the ongoing Diaspora-Israel conflict leads to a level of self-entitlement that even American Jews couldn’t muster out of embarrassment. This article, besides being written by a Tel Avivcentric writer who clearly hasn’t been witness to the onslaught of the Gallic hordes in Jerusalem, paints these tourists in an unflatteringly positive light. I’m all for Diaspora Jews drawing closer and more complicated ties with Israel and vice versa (a trait long lost on this guy), but acting out the worst of Israeli stereotypes on a minute-by-minute basis in perforated Hebrew or English (or simply speaking in French loudly and slowly) doesn’t bode well for my growing taste for frog kebab.

~Because enough people haven't weighed in on the Muslim center to be built in lower mnahattan, here comes another voice: The problem with Ground Zero is neither this planned mosque, nor the strip clubs already in existence; it's the fact that nine years later, there is still a huge, gaping hole in the ground. There's been no post-pigua type collective closure, when the sad music on the radio stops, the memorial plaques go up, and stores re-open because we don't surrender to terrorism -- instead we've filled the hole with two wars and a Patriot Act stil in existence. Till then, when the hole's filled with a new building and we're able to think in nuances again, we're gonna have to endure Americans' ongoing love-hate relationship with their own xenophobia & racism, as well as a gluttony of talking heads. Even Tom Friedman, in his latest Op-Ed, begrudgingly agrees with me to a point.

I'm back in the States starting Thursday for a four city tour, two weddings, and a long stopover in Madrid, with perhaps some writing in between it all.

Launch of My Own News Reader Roundup

2010-08-03T23:56:00.000+03:00

I consume enough news, Op-Eds, style blogs and music to fill my own blog....oh wait, I do have a blog. In the course of job hunting and spilling over with things to say, I present you with the inaugural and semi-weekly roundup of news and homespun commentary. Sarcastic title TBD.

-JTA reports that increasing numbers of right-wing MK's are in favor of a one-state solution. Seems to have the same problem of those who say "all of Israel's problems are a result of the Occupation" -- they're completely wrong. It still won't solve increasing racism and inter-ethnic discrimination; leaves Law of Return and democratic representation hanging way too high in the air; doesn't solve increasingly poorer distribution of natural resources (blackout in Rehavia, anyone?); and continues to assume North American Jews will some day make Aliyah en masse to fill the demographic difference, despite the growing existential chasm between Diaspora and Israel. I'm not holding my breath to be back in Tulkarm.

-Jewcy Magazine tweeted "A Jew's Primer to Krautrock and Beyond." Maybe it's the 140 characters or the highschool music "been there, heard that" snob in me, but this otherwise-thorough list comes off just as holier-than-thou as this blog post. Not to mention, chances are if you're reading Jewcy and subscribing to their Twitter feed, you probably know the relationship between the genre and David Bowie's "Low" album. If you really want to educate your supposedly xenophobic readership, create a primer for the Arab music they listen to while smoking hookas in East Village bars.

-It's hot outside, really hot outside, so naturally it's time to let off some steam by trying to provoke an international war (caution -- article is in Hebrew!). While the UN-mandated patrol had the gall not to justify the Lebanese Army's heat-induced first shots, and in the first 12 hours of the event no less, the latter hands-down wins the ongoing debate over the better version of the Mediterranean English hit "Do You Love Me?": The Bendaly Family circa 1978 or their neighbor, slightly visible from the coastline, Sarit Haddad?

-If you haven't read this Statement of Principles yet, stop reading this noxious post and read it now. The first Op-Ed I wrote for my highschool newspaper was about the hypocrisy of Jewish students' intolerance towards homosexuals. 13 years later, a must-read breakthrough gets published, in English and Hebrew. I wish I really could back up such a connection, but clearly a lot of time and care went into this declaration and deserves to be praised.

2010-07-31T23:00:00.000+03:00

It’s been more than a fortnight since the World Cup final. The end of the month-long, Guinness-soaked Mundial can only be described time-wise by words like “fortnight,” as it runs so contrary to American culture. My watching cohort were non-American Anglos, so much so the sound of another Yank talking brought on levels of cognitive dissonance I seldom experienced outside switching passports in a European airport. Only a few moments of American interjection stick out – the US team’s Hollywood finish advancement in the group stage, the Germany-England game with an inebriated, 20-something Yank yelling in a fake English accent about the Holocaust, etc. – in a game seldom appreciated outside of expat circles.

If the World Cup runs contrary to American culture, the Jerusalem Film Festival runs contrary to Israeli culture. A week long event revolving around the city’s Cinematheque, the Festival brings in international actors, films yet to be released in Israel, and an onslaught of style so desperately needed. I managed to get to a total of eight films, largely due to a manageable work schedule and eating pasta to save up the money. What seemed like a challenge of seeing three films in a row in one day turned out to be a source of pleasure, like the first day of classes in a semester at college: three completely different experiences that lit up different parts of my brain. Some of the films were outstanding (the simultaneously funny and chilling "Four Lions" and the must-see "No One Knows About Persian Cats"), some made people in the audience leave prematurely ("Andante," one of the first Israeli surrealist films), some fell short of their real potential ("The Golden Pomegranate," with the very odd English-only dialogue) and other were nothing short of the perfectly descriptive 'bleccch' ("Life During Wartime").
Beyond the individual films, the Festival serves to burn a hole in the increasingly isolationist culture here. As with other aspects of Israeli society, American attitudes are pervasive here – fast-food, individualism, even clothing trends as of late – including the notion that "the rest of the World can go to Hell, we'll be just fine." It's a generalization, for sure, but has some bearing on how we absorb certain trands and eschew others; how entires sectors of society ignore others; and the growing, almost idelogically violent, divide between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

A Week in the Gutter: Food Poisoning, Flotillas, and Eurovision

2010-06-07T22:39:00.000+03:00

This was a trying week. Leave aside the events surrounding that now-overexposed contraption “flotilla” (I’ll come back to the topic), my sweet comfort snack of late poisoned me. To those English speakers who haven’t heard of a “comfort snack” before (believe me, there’s at least several), it’s one’s comfort food in the form of a snack or anything smaller than a meal (though easily consumed in a similar quantity). Mine of late has been Berman Bakery Cinnamon Rugelach, soft and pliable hand-sized pastries that look more like croissants and taste like serenity.

It’s a big deal when your comfort snack turns on you. There’s the obvious larger significance of betrayal from an otherwise source of solace; here, I’m too busy with thee genuflecting-inducing, gut-clutching, fever-inducing maleficence of that betrayal to ponder its larger existential dilemmas. To make a graphic story short, I’ve become a mini-expert on where to find the cheapest Gatorade in the city center (the price markup is astounding).

Back to the flotilla. As one Facebook friend put it so succinctly “I’m getting more updates on the Flotilla from my Facebook newsfeed.” People were posting Left and Right; I got invites to at least five different rallies and fifty different groups; I saw every IDF-released clip at least a dozen times; not to mention the innumerable puns on “flotilla” from a dish in a Mexican restaurant to requisite toilet humor.

I’ve been thinking about the f-word and how it relates to the annual Eurovision Song Contest, which took place in the shadow of the looming vessels. If you’ve never heard of it, much less seen it before, chances are you’re a full-blooded American. It’s the un-American contest, wherein camp and kitsch are held to such a high esteem no wonder this year was just awful. In the past, the winning songs became pop music standards; nowadays, they grace the pop charts on the Continent for a few weeks, if even that long. There were a few decent performances, but as usual politics determined the winner.

International relations have affected the scoring of contestants for some time now, in the form of point trading, or cultural affinities, or giving thanks for political/financial help. In this case, the award went to Germany, the newly minted financial savior of Europe and one lame ass song. But the more interesting voting trend was how well Turkey did, coming in 2nd place with a meh song. Turkey has placed in the Top 10 in the past four years in no small part due to the huge populations of Turkish workers in Europe. No wonder that not only Germany won this year, but German voting has given most of its votes to Turkey over the years.

Turkey has been playing the field for some time now, trying to be a member of the EU and a friend of Iran. Its current PM is following less in the footsteps of Ataturk, the secular founder of Turkey, and more in those of Ottoman sultans of yore. Look at all the moves the PM has made since taking office -- anti-Semitic programs on TV, striking a deal between Iran and Brazil (home to one of the largest Arab populations outside of the region), the rise of Islamic fundamentalism and the call of a vocal minority to reinstitute the Caliphate (last seated in Istanbul) and the rhetoric over the f-word -- and you have the telltale signs of a scimitar-brandishing, besuited firebrand sitting upon his bureaucratic throne in Ankara.

Living in a former vilayet of the Empire, I can tell you few things have united Arab and Jew in the past 100 years more than plotting against the Sublime Porte. Watch your doner kababs, Turkey.

Punk Preppies

2010-05-22T23:44:00.000+03:00

The last week or so was abuzz online with news that Elvis Costello cancelled his performances in Israel for political reasons. His letter of explanation is still indecipherable to me; he seems trying to capture the “two Jews, three opinions” shtick in his writing style, thus supposedly playing to a sympathetic ear. Instead, he comes off as rambling and almost possessed by some other’s ideologies

Hard cheese, Mr. Costello. If this was a political protest meant to raise awareness, one could make just as much of a PR stunt by publicly rescinding an offer of an Israeli producer, in front of a bank of journalists or from a Twitter feed, before they invest thousands of dollars into your performance; instead, he screwed civilians and actual fans who poured out actual money to show their appreciation as opposed to what I can only imagine to be email-sending, eMule downloading quasi-fans more riled by seeing the name Israel alongside a formerly publicity-making entertainer. Caesarea (the venue for his performances) is not Sun City, and punking out like this hardly makes one an activist.

Regardless, this country’s not big enough for two preppy dressers (AHEM), so it’s all as well Mr. Costello doesn’t show his face here. Next time he punks out like this, I hope the ticket-holders demand a refund from him in person.

Lazy Bones

2010-05-14T01:16:00.000+03:00

14 May 2010

There's plenty to be said about my last trip to the States, not to mention the past two months since I last posted on this blog (two jobs and a thesis, US Customs in Northern Kentucky, being stalked by a pollster, etc.); but for the sake of brevity and some things which cannot be published, invite me for a drink or few and I promise to entertain.

Since I've tried starting to write this post, I've been thinking about how much in my life and in others' has to remain offline. Not that I'm confirming or denying a secret agent identity that so many assume I carry; but with companies and aggregate search engines collecting any bits of profile info that are out there, supposedly protected or not, the Luddite in me like that offline face-to-face communication still has a role in our day. A new computer program, wonderfully called diaspora, might soon put an end to all this otherwise much needed self-censorship.

That being said, there's plenty more to come; My previously promised St. Patrick's Day essay has yet to be finished and I have a new essay topic on the linkage between the Spanish Inquisition and the 1970's British Punk scene; I'm going to start posting my DJ playlists in a tab ingeniously entitled "DJ Playlists" on the right-side of the screen, for those interested; and hopefully this belated post, along with the new multivitamins and extra cup of coffee per day will help shed my routine exhaustion for something more fitting for my age.

2010-02-25T23:51:00.000+02:00

Having quickly broken my promise to blog more, here's a quick recap since the last post:

-Fulfilled a long-standing dream of DJing. Two sets down, hopefully more to come. Surprise guests, crazy laser-laden dancers, couples making out in dimly-lit corners, undercover female Shin Bet agents flitring with me, lots of compliments...

-Started to work more regularly at my consulting gig, now hired part-time to open and maintain a website. Lots to say about this amazing project, stay tuned for the site's unveiling!

-The wettest winter in a decade gave way to the warmest winter in decades, leaving me salivating over all the snow dumped on the East Coast (my offer still stands to import some/all that remains over here).

-Updating my family tree online has led to new discoveries of distant relatives, including one I've known for several years. Geni.com rocks.

-Had an anxiety dream about flying to/from the States, which means it must be time for Passover! Back in the States late March-mid-April, including a flight from Israel to Hebron (Kentucky, that is).

Hoping to keep this blog updated more often, as Facebook and Twitter make my need for nuance intensify.

Future posts: New job, 3rd DJ set (hopefully), H&M opens in Israel, Why St. Patrick's Day is good for the Jews

2009-12-01T00:47:00.000+02:00

It’s time for an Israeli Thanksgiving.

I was thinking of ranting about how Tzabarim/Sabras almost always assume Thanksgiving is a Christian holiday, but playing the embittered Anglo card is getting old. Perhaps this train of thought is induced by one too many forkfuls of turkey and cranberry sauce, or from the separation from family and family (dys)functionality during this time of year. Whatever the reason, I know I’m not the only Anglo nor Sabra who’d be interested in an Israeli version of Thanksgiving.

(While this post is meant to be written in Hebrew, and will be shortly translated, for the sake of blurring border I’m leaving it in English.)

As I see it, there are three central themes to Thanksgiving: family/communal gathering, giving thanks in a secular format, and celebrating post-immigration freedom. Each has an aspect in the current roster of Israeli holidays, yet they often appear alone or in pairs.

A family and/or communal gathering in Israel takes place more often than not, sometimes not even needing the pretext of a holiday to take place. A tiny country plus a weekly holiday (ie Shabbat) make meeting up with loved ones more than easy. While there’s plenty to envy having that kind of nearby familiar comfort (so says the Anglo-Saxon here), is there something lost by being physically so close?

Having a family/communal-based holiday of giving thanks to all we have, with optional references to a Divine Being, is not present in the Israeli roster of holidays. Shabbat, Pesach, Sukkot, even the High Holidays – these days are all about gratitude, but attempts at changing their natures so as to include Israelis of all backgrounds and beliefs are a long way coming. A very tenuous argument could be made for the Yom HaZikaron/Ha`Atzma’ut 48-hour bloc, but with so many other emotions running through that time period, any Thanksgiving-like reflection often takes place afterwards. Another contender is Sigd, a holiday recently recognized by the government that was introduced by Ethiopian olim, which refers to the giving of the Torah and longing to return to Jerusalem. While it has religious overtones, and its Ethiopian particularism is often too exotic for many, it gets closer to what Thanksgiving means for many Americans – namely, post-immigration freedom.

Many Americans have been able to balance their ethnic and national pride without sublimating or elevating one over the other (think St. Patrick’s Day, Columbus Day, Cinco de Mayo, etc.), regardless of the content or expression of that pride. Thanksgiving has been claimed by all Americans as their holiday to retell their story of arrival. Recounting the journey one’s family took to get to the USA not only connects with the popular narrative of the Pilgrims seeking religious freedom, but strengthens one’s life in a country based on ideology like America.

The fact is that no American has to justify celebrating Thanksgiving to a Sabra, just as no Ethiopian has to justify Sigd or a Moroccan for Mimouna; these are hallmarks of our various identities that in an immigrant state like Israel have a place alongside and/or inherent within a burgeoning and single national culture.

Again, Yom Ha`Atzma’ut could play this role for all Israelis. I was watching TV at my friends after our annual Thanksgiving dinner in Tel Aviv, with an ad for a documentary about the Exodus 1947 refugee ship. I was too tired to think of it at the time, but this was the perfect parallel to what I am now trying to propose, namely focusing on the people that make up the State of Israel rather than the State as an entity unto itself.

I'll start thinking about a name for this holiday, as well as its specific observances, but in the meantime here is an approximation of what I'm talking about. It's a clip from Israel's answer to "West Side Story" -- it's old, blunt, and uses a word bordering on the in-PC/racist line, but it hearkens back to a time in Israeli and Jewish history when we were able to celebrate being Jews with Diaspora roots and Israelis simultaneously. The song's entitled "We're All Jews," and the lyrics are about that which unites Jews is stronger than what divides them. Simplistic and perhaps a bit too tribalistic for the Democracy Now fans out there. Warning: for those faint-heated among you, stop the clip at 3.50 lest you be subjected to a choregraphed version of this inter-immigrant lovefest.

2009-11-12T19:42:00.000+02:00

12 November 2009

This week was the annual General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities, now called Jewish Federations of North America. Amidst important and surprisingly relevant plenaries regarding the current financial crisis, Israel-Diaspora relations, and communal engagement came the speech everyone wanted to really hear: PM Netanyahu. Enough of the reports of delegates wanting to hear the new JFNA CEO or the last-minute cancelled President Obama – Bibi is always the crowd maker among North American Jews.

His speech was so incredibly directed at the heart (and purse) strings of the audience, the more provocative parts of his speech were seldom mentioned in the Israeli media. No, I’m not talking about peace negotiations or a two-state solution; we’re all falling asleep from those headlines.

Rather, it was two snippets I managed to catch on the streaming webcast on cspan.org. The first was in the framework of decreasing the global thirst for oil, offering Israel’s famous innovations in solar energy and desalinization. While generous of the PM to offer this to the far-flung and malnourished, I was wondering why he can’t offer it to his own constituents back here in Israel. True, Israel has the highest per capita use of home solar water heaters in the world, but this accounts for only 3% of the country’s total energy consumption. Recently, plans to build a massive array of solar panels were scuttled by landowners and private interests, despite being located deep in the Negev Desert; we just love our coal-burning power plants too much to give up precious arid desert.

The desalinization offer really got me boiling. There’s a oft-told story in public planning courses about how Israel passed on building multiple desalinization plants in the 1970’s because of the perceived costs – refusing to think long-terms brings us to the present day situation of the drought. You’ll almost never see the word “drought” or “famine” appear in English-language news about Israel, despite the dire predictions for this country’s water supply. Citrus groves have been intentionally decimated due to their large water intakes, apple and cherry orchards in the North are routinely uprooted to help falling water levels, and at one point we were supposed to be importing potable water from Turkey.

Just like I previously wrote about the Israeli industry of exporting outsourced customer service, which we never see here as consumers, the PM’s American-tailored speech proves that as long as we Israelis don’t care about customer service and accountability, the more we are tightening the straps on our own straightjackets.

The other snippet was the PM welcoming all Jews in the Diaspora, “of all denominations” as potential Israeli citizens with the right to religious belief. Amidst the billowing applause from the audience, over here in Israel we heard the proverbial sound of a turntable needle scratching a vinyl record in midplay. Last time I checked, non-Orthodox institutions did not receive any State funding, while millions of NIS pour into yeshivot and school systems run by the ultra-Orthodox political parties. Shas, the party with whom I mince my words the least currently runs the Interior Ministry which decides, among other things, who is a Jew and who is allowed to stay in this country. Nevermind the outrageous comments from some of this party’s members, who compare Reform Jews to all sorts of animals and co-conspirators with our worst detractors; and forget for the moment the current plans to expel the majority of foreign workers in the country, the majority of whom were issued work visas while Shas ran the Ministry; focus on the notion of Shas carrying out the myth of “Sfardi Tahor” on the entirety of Israel and World Jewry.
“Sfardi tahor,” or “Pure Sephardi,” varies in examples but refers to a difference in those Spanish and Portuguese Jews who fled the Inquisition versushose who converted and secretly practiced their Jewish beliefs. Its historiography is very hard to discover, its usage widespread, and in the hands of The Worldwide Sephardic Association of Torah Keepers (Shas) a moral hypocrisy for the Jewish people. Jews who haven’t practiced Judaism in generations and live in South American and northeastern India are brought here with taxpayer money and made to wear an Ashkenazi or Sephardi kippa, but God Forbid American Reform or Conservative Jews move here en masse and demand space for a synagogue.
Despite those who wallow in the Jews’ historic misery, and who mainly see an otherwise lachrymose Jewish history redeemed through the founding of the State, Jews aren’t defined by blood tests. Or at least, we shouldn’t define ourselves by them, thus negating the millions of Jews of color, Jews by choice, and Jews who have struggled to weigh modernity and tradition through a myriad of paths.

Probably by now you’ve deciphered how worked-up I got this week at the Jewish World, particularly with Israelis. Thankfully a bit of news from my hometown spread out the insanity. It seems a deer, one of the many which go into mating frenzy this time of year in Rock Creek Park, accidentally jumped into the lions’ den at the National Zoo. The gathering tourists wanted to deer the emerge from the lions’ den like some saintly victim in pre-Christian Rome; us filthy Jews (or at least me and my philosophic doppelganger Jeffrey Goldberg) wanted the tourists to shut up and let the lions have their Nature-apportioned meal in peace. Thankfully at least one Washingtonian is there to keep the turistas at bay.

2009-10-12T02:09:00.002+02:00

10 October 2009

This was a long week. The Jewish holiday season is in many ways more exasperating than the American Christmas season, which should just about be starting. While the buildup to it lasts only a month, it’s comprised of four different holidays, one lasting a full week. Add to this potentially stress-filled time hordes upon hordes of tourists, newly arriving students, itinerant dwellers of luxury apartments and equally anxious Israelis and you got yourselves quite a scene. Even the eastern side of town is relieved by the season being over, as the echoing sound of fireworks has been especially louder in the past day.

I ended up having to work extra hours this week, leaving myself prey to all manners of out-of-towners belligerently walking about town, some inebriated by alcohol, others by simply “being here.” While I remember and appreciate that kind of euphoria being in Jerusalem, which in many ways sustains me living in this town as opposed to Tel Aviv, some of these people walking around seem to have gone hypoxic from the altitude change, leaving their brains less oxygenated than normal.

Just an illustration of what the autumn can bring to Jerusalem:

A trio of black-clad 18-year old American yeshiva girls walk up Rivlin St., a pedestrian street in the city center, saturated with bars serving drunken expat teenagers and the occasional Israeli. One bumps into a yeshiva boy five times her size.

Yeshiva Boy: Excuse me (to get her attention)
(Yeshiva Girl keeps walking, ignoring YB, stops in her tracks after the bumpand looks right at me)
YG: Oh my God, I love what you’re wearing! Are you gay?
Me: I don’t think that’s any of your business.
YG: But I really love your bowtie!
Me: Since when is there a connection between one’s sexuality and how one dresses? That’s a really offensive question. (Walks away)
YB (turns around, half-hearing the altercation): Did she bump into you too?
Me: She wishes.

I’m not sure where that academic response came from, especially when she deserved something far more embarrassing in return. Maybe it’s because of the encounter’s proximity to the previous week’s Yom Kippur; maybe it was pitying this overly-sheltered kid whose left the clutches of Mommy and Daddy for the first time (anyone who equates neckwear with sexual identity deserves, at least, pity); or maybe it was because exhaustion seems to make me less witty (except for my last line in the above script). Frankly, I blame the girl’s parents for raising her to believe such a remark to a complete stranger (or anyone) would be acceptable. Regardless, the drink I was already off to get with a friend gained more saliency after this experience in absurdity.

I’ve said before that I find it an odd phenomenon for many of these 18-year olds who come to Jerusalem for a year in yeshiva, as for many of them it’s their first time away from home for an extended period of time. To be plunked down into the already- complicated and challenging situation in Jerusalem makes having one’s first taste of freedom from American suburbia equally challenging. For example, the Middle East is a region where one shows off the actual or perceived wealth of his/her family through one’s clothing – at least this is my theory explaining all the sequined T-shirts, gold-plated jewelry designer labels. While Jerusalem is no exception to this theory, there are limits to the extent of one’s material displays. American teenagers follow these rules by wearing luxury branded clothes all the time (North Face black fleece jackets, Lacoste polo shirts, etc.) but diverge when they dig their heels into the limestone and bust out with their feelings of entitlement: talking loud on their rented cellphones; talking loud and slow to us Israelis to help our comprehension (I love it when they do this with me); asking rhetorical questions aloud, actually intending to be answered by anyone; arguing about the price of everything; bumping into people on the street without apologizing; and all those other actions one doesn’t think of in the suburbs nor when one is supposedly living for the year in Disneyworld.

When I see or hear these roving bands of teenagers, I think about what kind of preparations their high schools and families back in the States give them before their flights. I also think about the larger picture, namely what does this say about Diaspora Jewish travel in Israel and relating to Israeli society while here. I’m all for creating a life for myself Here and There, and embracing some aspects of American culture while living here (if not using said aspects to make societal positive change at the same time); but what this annual influx of teenagers suggest is a parallel dimension to daily Israeli Jewish life (as opposed to those ultra-Orthodox who choose not to interact, or Arabs who are largely left out of this kind of interaction) that only entrenches Diasporans and Israelis in their views of each other.

On a non-negative note, my iPod seems to sense my mood lately. Long hours at work make the walk home a bit of a challenge, the only source of relief on the way being music. For the last week, almost every day, the shuffle function in the iPod plays either “So What” or “‘Round Midnight” by Miles Davis. A present from my father before one of my flights back to Israel, the two tracks always seem to lift me up long enough to get me home by adding a touch of class to an otherwise long and usually classless day.

2009-10-08T23:39:00.003+02:00

08 October 2009

This was a long, hot summer. School, job searching, little money, mosquitoes, thesis-writing, stress-induced stomach issues….little wonder I was rushing to get everything in order when the shared taxi came to collect me at 4am en route to the airport. Not done with the thesis, I needed the break badly. Arriving at the airport exactly three hours ahead of my flight, the scene in the check-in hall made it seem everyone else in the country was equally eager for a break. The place was so packed I had to wait 30 minutes before my flight’s check-in lane was listed. I breezed through security and check-in within 20 minutes, smugly smiled at the fools waiting in line at passport control while I swept through the biometric pass lane, and then spent the rest of the time doing what I do best in airports: convincing myself there are no deals to be had at duty-free after scoping out the merchandise for an hour; using my carry-on as a means of buffering those passenger equally interested in buying the last copy of the newspaper; wondering if anyone is traveling all the was to DC, who are the Americans, and why did he decide to wear THAT on a flight.

A loud flight to Paris as befits the end of summer, with families who spent the last few weeks on the beaches of Tel Aviv and Ashdod arguing with anyone non-French now letting their kids even more loose. Four hours of some spoiled girl kicking the back of my seat later, I arrived in gloomy, grey and drizzly Paris. It was heaven. After endless days of blue skies and warmth, I was craving this sight with upmost intensity. Staring at the watercolored windows a smile formed by the occasional sigh, I cared little for the reactions of those sitting nearby. My flight was in the newer of the two parts of Terminal 2E, with better food, shops, and sitting areas. Once able to pry myself from the outside’s grayness, my airport games made their usual shift of focus from Americans to Israelis. Travelling on two passports at all times means a few moments in limbo, usually in Western Europe, when I quickly shuffle the American and Israeli passports among the frequent flyer cards and travel documents, placing the American one with neon security stickers from past EL-AL flights in front. The games change accordingly, from Spot the American to Spot the Israeli, sometimes changing the level of difficulty and sometimes making for an even easier version: Families make for an early dead giveaway, as do oversized clothes and decibel level of one’s speech; poseurs and other pretentious passers-by, like myself, create a sporting challenge.

DC was great, only to be slightly eclipsed by a short trip to NYC. Having been away from the city for two years, the blurry first glimpse of the skyline from the Bolt Bus on the NJ Turnpike made me smile uncontrollably. Either the city is Babylon or a potential future home. Either way, it felt great to be back there (despite the gentrification that has turned everyone into a walking spokesman for American Apparel, and the bleachers in Times Square).

Ohio, as always, reaffirms how important family becomes while living in such a family-based society. Even for such a short trip, it was calming to be around extended family dynamics.

Paris was………mmmm, Paris. I got myself lost for several hours between flights, wandering around on hte perfect overcast day that make Parisians look even better and the surroundings all the more inviting.

And then there was the flight back to Israel. Nothing about the flight was particularly eventful, just my landing reception at 12am. After exiting the jetway, one goes up an escalator to be greeted by a poster reading “welcome to Israel” and, on non-EL AL flights, two agents who pick out the shady-looking passengers. Of course one of them picked me.

Agent (in Hebrew): Shalom, can I see some identification?
I hand him my Israeli passport.
Agent: Where are you coming from?
Me: Washington via Paris
Agent: Are you here for a visit?
Me: Nooooo, I live here.
Agent hands back passport and looks away.

I zip through passport control as I have a biometric pass issued by the Interior Ministry – perhaps the only governmental agency in the entire country who doesn’t think I am either a terrorist or a drug smuggler, as the next scene shows.

After getting my bags, I head for the exit which is after customs. A plainclothes officer stops me.

Agent (in Hebrew): Shalom, can I see your passport?
I hand it to him, trying to remain calm.
Agent: We’re looking for drugs.
Me: Okayyyyyy….
Agent: Do you have any drugs (gives me a look as if to say “C’mon, you know you wanna admit you do.”)
No. No!
Agent: Not even a little?
Me: No (my face filled with indignation, his signal that I am indeed smuggling in several kilos of drugs which I’ve packed right on my clothes).
Agent: Put your bags in the X-Ray machine.
I do it, he’s already looking for other weary passengers. I leave, feeling smaller than ever before, like some ironic Mark of Cain hovers over my head the moment I'm back in Israel.

Israel is a leader in hardware and software development, yet it takes several years for be introduced to the public. Israel has offices that seem to be opening nonstop, all offering positions in customer service representatives; yet customer service is such a low priority among Israeli companies and consumers alike that these already-outsourced jobs are outsourcing a need here.

When each agent handed me back my passport, they never said "Thanks," "Sorry," "Have a nice night," Shabbat Shalom" (I landed on a Friday morning) or even "Happy New Year." For a country obssessed with its demographics, who gave out thousands of tax breaks to returning citizens last year and hwo constantly ruffles the feathers of Diaspora Jewry by subtly or bluntly calling for them to move to Israel, this kind of reception home is anything but heart-warming.

That being said, it's great to be back.

UPDATE: No sooner did I post this that I saw this article on hte Yahoo! homepage: Police stop more than 1 million people on street

2009-09-26T21:35:00.001+03:00

26 September 2009

Just got back from the States yesterday, jetlagged as usual from a great trip of seeing friends and family, spending Rosh Hashanah in Cincinnati with relatives (the only way I know how to ring in the New Year), quality TV watching, and a much-needed pilgrimage up to New York after a two-year hiatus.

Wishing you and your family a Happy New Year, and your forgiveness for any wrongdoings I may have commited aagainst you in the past year.

For myself -- after a year of not taking advantage of the time I have to finish my thesis; of not keeping in closer touch with family, friends and colleagues; for letting opportunities slip by; not updating my blog more often; and for being too hard on myself when times got tough -- I'm resolved to a new year of potentials, finishing school, finding meaningful and profitable employment, and celebrating more being here in Israel.

G'mar Hatima Tova
Jay

2009-07-24T18:39:00.005+03:00

24 July 2009

Two seemingly opposite Jewish events have been in my thoughts lately: Tisha B’Av and weddings.

The usual way these two are connected is through the breaking of a glass at the end of the ritual, preceded by the groom reciting “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem…” While inappropriately followed by applause from the audience, the symbolism here is a reminder that the world and we as a people are not complete as we await redemption, even on such a joyous day.

In this case, a friend of mine is getting married in several months and are looking for a rabbi. She’s from a family with a converted mother, went through an Orthodox conversion herself, and is being denied the right to be married by several rabbis because her fiancee is a Cohen (Cohens are not supposed to marry converts).

While I usually blog this time of year about how much I like Tisha B’Av, I wanted to link the day with something that’s always fascinated me: Cohens. The family name and its derivatives (Kahan, Kogan etc.) refer to those who descend from the Cohanim, the priests who tended to the daily sacrificial rite in the Temples. With their destruction (on Tisha B’Av), their priestly roles have been relegated to certain rituals and traditions. I can remember wondering what was going on when the rabbi would ask the congregation to lower their heads, at the risk of seeing what was happening on the bimah: Men, with their heads covered by their tallit, were reciting the Priestly Blessing while holding both of their hands like the famous hand sign of Mr. Spock. I always wondered if Mr. Spock was allowed to do that on national TV, why were we supposed to not look directly at the guys onstage?

Maybe I have an inferiority complex, as I’m considered “just” a commoner Israelite, or maybe the problem is that I think in such terms. Why do we need more boundaries between us Jews when the purpose of Rabbinic Judaism and Hasidism – not to mention Reform and Conservative Judaism as well – is to tear down such boundaries? In the absence of the Temple, whose rebuilding would require a massive physical ritual purification of Jews – not just Cohanim – why should theses title persist to the level they do?

Without disrespecting this and other Cohen- related rituals, it seems incredibly out of place in Rabbinic Judaism. The revolution that came with the founding of synagogues was that anyone who learned enough could be considered a community leader, potentially becoming a rabbi. The Pharisees, whose descendants are mainstream Jews, are the ones who outright rebelled against the Cohanim’s authority, claiming become too enmeshed in pomp & circumstance and less in the spiritual welfare of the people.

The same seems to be happening to a friend of mine, a tragic and maddening story. God Forbid they should build a Jewish house and family together, countering the rates of intermarriage that these same rabbis will happily rail against; and God Forbid two people so clearly in love with each other should want to marry each other if it risks the groom losing his ancestral title. Since when are rabbis in the business of preventing two Jews from getting married?

As always I’m inspired by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, who writes in his weekly commentary on the Torah portion that the longing for the Temple’s rebuilding is also (more so) about building ourselves as the light unto the nations we are charged to be by the prophet Isaiah. Jews haven't been in the business of listening to priests over prophets for a long time, why should we start now?

With that, with talk of weddings and to end on a slightly more hopeful note, here's a beautiful video sent to me today which put me in a great mood. Shabbat Shalom.

UPDATE: After thinking about it over Saturday, I decided to post the letter my friend wrote to explain her situation. It's best in her words, and I'm honored that she'd want it posted on my blog.

A seemingly simple question I posed recently to a friend getting married soon. “Who is performing the wedding?” I asked. “Oy, what a question,” she responded.
It all started more than 30 years ago, when my friend, we’ll call her B, well it all started when B’s parents, met, fell in love, from two different religio-cultural worlds. B’s father was Jewish; her mother was not. They decided, perhaps foolishly, that two religions and identities were invariably better than one, and that they would allow their children to determine their own identities.
Fast forward 15 years. Lo and behold, B did go on her own spiritual-cultural-identity quest as a teenager, embracing her Jewish heritage, upbringing (not to mention her Jewfro and Yiddish inclinations) and at the end of her journey, she embraced traditional Judaism, which eventually concluded in a dip at the mikveh and a certificate confirming her status as a Jewess. She was free to marry and flourish as a full-fledged Jew!
But alas, many years later, the foolish decision of her parents crept in to haunt B. She had been warned by rabbis that despite her piece of paper signed by the Orthodox Beit Din guaranteeing her status as a Jew, there were still restrictions: mostly, she could not marry a Cohen, and if she did, he would lose his status as such within the community.
But a Cohen is who she fell in love with. And though B warned her Cohen love interest of this potential gliche, he assured her, “it’s not a problem for me or my family! Is that even a rule anymore?”
Indeed it is still a rule, a black-and-white, unbending rule according to many. Shortly before B and Cohen became engaged, they started looking for a rabbi who would agree to bless their union. B started with the rabbi who had overseen her conversion process. His response, “I am sure the person you have chosen [as your future spouse] is a very worthy one; good luck.” Next, Cohen reached out to his family rabbi: “My hands are tied; there is nothing I can do.” And so proceeded conversations with another 30 “progressive” Orthodox rabbis, if such a thing really exists.
So what happens now?
Perhaps the most tragic occurrence to result from this situation is that two passionate, committed, educated Jews have now been turned away from the Jewish community in which they had hoped to raise a family one day. They now question in what kind of Jewish community they belong, and where their children will belong.
I know some of you reading this may think, well, according to Halacha (Jewish law), this is a forbidden marriage, so it is the right thing for these rabbis to refuse to marry the two.
In B and Cohen’s journey to find a rabbi, they met with many Torah-versed men, learning a great deal about this issue. In fact, one rabbi pointed out that according to some commentaries, B is considered “m’zera yisrael,” or, “of Jewish blood.” The next rabbi they spoke with helped to further this line of thinking, discovering a Tshuva by Rabbi Uziel, the First Chief Sephardi Rabbi of Israel, which stated that the marriage between a Cohen and a giyoret who is m’zera yisrael is indeed permitted since the real problem with a Cohen marrying a giyoret is that a Cohen must marry a woman of Jewish blood. B and Cohen presented this Tshuva to a few rabbis who all commented, “Well, that is interesting! Sorry, still nothing I can do.”
If this line of thinking still holds no appeal or credibility for you, I will leave you with a few thoughts to consider. The intermarriage rate in the United State nears 50%, and according to Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, 47% of all identifying Jewish students on North American college campuses have only one parent who is Jewish. So while B and Cohen find themselves without a solution for their upcoming nuptials, and now begin a new Jewish journey together as displaced Jews, I doubt that B and Cohen will be the last young Jewish couple to grapple with this issue. And if the American Modern Orthodox community fails to grapple with the reality of the American Jewish community’s makeup, they will not be the last young couple to find themselves without a Jewish home, at a time when numbers increasingly dwindle.

2009-07-22T17:52:00.003+03:00

22 July 2009

I went to see the new Harry Potter film last night in Tel Aviv. True, the humidity there was so awful that the moment one gets off the bus from Jerusalem all the moisture in one’s skin ends up soaking one’s clothes, but I had to see it. Despite admittedly not having read the books, the movies have progressively addicted me to the series – so much so I invariably watch one of the movies each week.

I tend to become engrossed in film criticism and finding symbolism between the frames, but I think the Harry Potter series has something invaluable to teach. The whole series is about a group of humans who are considered different from the rest of humanity. They lead different lives, though otherwise act and look just the same. They invariably fight among one another over who more rightly carries the mantle of tradition and authority, not to mention who truly is part of the community. At the heart of this intra-communal struggle is one wizard who’s left feeling even more isolated from his surroundings because of his disconnected family and people's assumptions about him. Yet in spite of this, he knows he has to carry on his family’s tradition and that of his school’s, ultimately bringing the redemption from the evil lurking all around his loved ones.

The idea of Self vs/ Other, fights over authority and tradition, deciding who is included and who isn't....the movies are so Jewish that the Hebrew subtitles from the Tel Aviv screening were superfluous.

An article published in the LA Jewish Journal, and carried by Haaretz.com, completely missed this angle and instead focused primarily on the Jewish identity of several actors in the film. While the article starts off talking about the films' dichotomy between full-bloods and half-bloods, that it proceeds to talk about the Jewish "heritage" of the actors makes this Jewish geography article out of touch with Jewish heritage itself. The themes prevalent in the series, when connected with Jewish identity, have the potential of connecting otherwise disconnected Jews to discussing their identity; instead, it's about who's "out" with their Jewishness, thus more connected with the antagonists' obsession than with the positive messages of the protagonist. As soon as the thesis is done, I'll start reading the books.

2009-07-11T23:07:00.003+03:00

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.

2009-06-16T00:16:00.002+03:00

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?

2009-06-03T23:51:00.000+03:00

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).

2009-03-20T00:36:00.004+02:00

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.

2009-02-23T22:17:00.001+02:00

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.

2009-02-05T00:03:00.009+02:00

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.

2009-01-10T22:21:00.002+02:00

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).

2008-12-16T13:07:00.003+02:00

16 December 2008

Sorry to interrupt the usual gap between posts, but this is an Op-Ed too important to not read:

"The Shas version of Obama's 'yes we can'" by Alex Sinclair

If you haven't read this yet, do so. The Americanization of Israel is a topic I never find for lacking (as would any reader of this blog); but this example is so cynical and repugnant, it helps remove the so-called "post-Zionist" label given to writers like Tom Segev and Benny Morris and bestow it to its real recipient.
I have a lot of descriptions of Shas , an ultra-Orthodox political party that claims to represent Israelis of all the various Sephardi and Mizrahi communities yet was founded and is still run by Moroccans who went to yeshivot run by Lithuanian-originating ultra-Orthodox; and who claims to represent the interests of Jews of color discriminated by the ruling Ashkenazi elite, yet dress not like their own ancestors but rather those from 17th century Poland.

There's a term for this kind of whitewashing of oneself, taken from American culture, that while applicable is too American-centric to use here. For an actual example of the intersection of politics and the interests of these communities, check out the Black Panthers in Israel.

2008-12-11T03:04:00.002+02:00

11 December 2008

I’ve always been one to make the most out of the seemingly small things in life. Like how amazing the main street nearby my apartment has four cafes, a sushi bar, two bakeries, two gourmet food stores, and a 24-hour market -- and yet everything shuts down on cue for Shabbat. Or getting stuck in traffic for three hours.
After spending the night trying to finish schoolwork, I got my things together and slumped out the door to the bus station. I figured I could sleep the whole way from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, the 45-minute ride affording at least a 40-minute nap. After promptly passing out after finding a window seat, I wake up at some point looking at the airport and the sensation that the bus isn’t moving. Thinking it has to do with the police-escorted convoy zooming alongside the bus on the shoulder, and that we’ll be moving in a moment, I try to go catch a few more minutes of sleep before we enter Tel Aviv. But the bus still isn’t moving. My tired eyes can just make out the shapes of hundreds of cars not moving on the highway, stretching way into the western horizon.
Everyone else on the bus awakes from their respective slumbering to find out we’re stuck in traffic that has started a lot sooner than usual. Then come the cellphone calls and news updates: a truck crashed into a traffic sign bridge on the northbound side of the Ayalon Freeway, closing off the otherwise-packed-at-rush hour-thoroughfare and rerouting all northbound morning traffic. People paced up and down the aisle, heaved big sighs, and watched as the bus driver took us on a scenic tour of Central Israel. We drove on highways and through towns that I always hear about, usually on the radio in the course of traffic reports, but seldom visit. The country always gets bigger with each small discovery like this one. Three hours later, we alighted and landed in Tel Aviv.

In retail news, it’s now official: GAP and H&M are slated to open stores here within the next two years. The two developments were such big news that they each garnered a headline on the front-page of the free daily paper and the news websites. As several people have said in a half-joking manner, “now there’s one less reason to travel outside of the country.”
Whether either or both of the chains will do well remains to be seen, as the Israeli consumer can be incredibly cheap and have expensive taste all at once. If something looks expensive AND has the logo of an American company that can regularly be shown off, Israelis will jump on it; but if it’s marked down to Three for 100 NIS, you’ll need a bat and sharp elbows to keep the competing customers at bay.
Starbucks failed, not because of its logo being unknown, but because the prices were too high and Israelis were already used to high-grade coffee chains. There’s only so long before a Starbucks disposable cup in the hand of an Israeli becomes refuse; but a T-shirt with the logo of Old Navy? That’ll get worn even after it has been stretched well beyond its original size.
Hanes does well because it’s cheap and American. American Apparel (at least in Jerusalem) does not do well because it’s expensive and American. Coffee Bean does well, despite being expensive, because of its free refills, free WiFi and comfortable chairs.

In cultural news, the new musical director of the Israel Opera started his tenure the other week. In his first interview since taking the job, the unofficial ban on publicly performing works by Richard Wagner was upheld. Although he cited artistic reasons for doing so, the ban on Wagner is a time-tested tradition that all conductors in Israel have to uphold, lest they be booed off the stage. Several years ago, the often-controversial Daniel Barenboim began to perform Wagner, only to have audience members boo him and leave the theater (Wagner was a well-known anti-Semite and his works were celebrated by the Nazis).

Why is this issue important?
One, cultural re-appropriation has been an effective tool for different cultures in combating legacies of hate and discrimination. “Black is Beautiful” is but one of numerous examples, such as the TV clip (zoom to 4:07 for the relevant part) of turning the tables on stereotypes and prejudices. American Jews have yet to learn this, instead enabling and internalizing the continuance of stereotypes (the whiny JAP on “The Nanny,” the emasculated man who marries a non-Jew on “Mad About You,” Paul Newman playing the hero in “Exodus”), but that's part of a much longer rant of mine.
Israel has seen some progress in this, albeit sporadic and of questionable taste. True, one sees a lot of kinky-haired folks running around; but there are also plenty of Mizrahi girls who’ve straightened and bleached their hair. There are the “Stalag novels" from the first decades of the State and a bounty of self-deprecating jokes. But as shown from my second point below, we're too busy Americanizing ourselves here to care.

Second there is the issue of aesthetics. I’m less interested in the ban on performances of Wagner as related to freedom of expressions as to the general state of Israeli culture. After the ordeal of the Israeli version of “Survivor,” we’re now suffering through a localized “Big Brother” that is the topic to discuss. When in doubt of a word’s existence in Hebrew, all one has to do is say the English equivalent with an Israeli accent and everyone will understand. One could be dropped off on any thoroughfare in any moderate-sized town and fine the same sight: three different store fronts on the same block, all hair stylists, all decorated with chandeliers and overgrown fleur-de-lis stencils climbing up the walls. All about external appearances, little about our insides.

We’re willing to Americanize ourselves to extents that viscerally blur distinctions, and yet vociferously denounce anything that even remotely touches upon our own history and identity as Jews, much less individuals. A Jewish orchestra playing Wagner to a Jewish audience in a Jewish country seems to me to be an initial small step in moving beyond our past tragedies and focusing on our potential futures.

In the meantime, the Israel Opera is performing "Carmen" in the spring and there's always the following to satiate any potential Wagnerian stirrings whilst in Der Judenstaat:

2008-11-29T22:35:00.002+02:00

From 5 & 12 November 2008

A Tale of Two Elections

I've had the song "Oh Happy Day" stuck in my head since Wednesday morning. Despite fivethirtyeight.com's electoral prediction, which was after all accurate, I'm in shock. I cannot believe America not only elected a Black man as President, but elected him in a very clear majority. He got more Jewish votes than Kerry did in 2004. He won Ohio. He won Virginia. HE WON INDIANA.

After a long time waiting, my official ballot finally came in the mail. I rain off to send it back to DC, only to face a barrage of questions from the female clerk at the counter (whose hair, along with that of Arab teenage boys, further proved my theory that the Middle East is the final repository of the Jheri curl). “Wow, this is for the elections! Isn’t it late to be voting now?” began the barrage of questions in Hebrew: “Who are you voting for?” “Why?” “How do you say official results in English?”
Then the questions turned into personal favors, the clerk knowing better than to release a native English speaker before she’s satiated her linguistic needs. “What is this term in English?” explaining a phrase that seemed rather important to her job yet up until now totally unknown in English. I had never heard of it, so I passed. “Wait! I have one more question. Can you translate this thing I got and tell me what it’s for?” She proceeds to get her purse and extract two samples of Clinique moisturizer. I tell her they’re both skin moisturizers, even though the round container looks like it should be for eyes. She thanks me and I flee the scene.

Election Day commenced with work, a much needed nap and off to watch the results with friends. After a few episodes of The West Wing and some political but civil jabbing at one another’s presidential preferences, I offered a toast over kosher Spanish sparkling wine, celebrating democracy on America's election day and Israel's civil anniversary of Yitzhak Rabin's assassination.

It wasn’t until Pennsylvania was called, then eventually Virginia and Ohio that reality began to sink in. Watching CNN's live coverage from Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta and then Obama's speech in Chicago, choked up and at a loss for words at 7am, I came up with the following senitment I thought I would never say, certainly after the last eight years: I have never been more proud to be an American.

Exactly one week later, it was my first Election Day as an Israeli ctizen. Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and most cities & towns were to go to the polls to elect their mayor, town- and regional councils. In Jerusalem the stakes couldn’t have been higher, though most polls predicted a win for Nir Barkat, the “secular” candidate, a businessman from the hi-tech industry.

The day started off like any other, with me reluctantly getting out of bed after only a few hours’ of sleep and going to work. Hoping to vote before work so as to volunteer with the one of the candidate’s campaigns, I instead enjoyed a post-work Belgian waffle with coworkers and raced home to vote. Patrolling the streets were white vans with print-outs of how many people had voted by 4pm based on total number of eligible voters and whether they were “Haredi” (ultra-Orthodox) or secular.” The driver emphatically pleaded to the pedestrians via loudspeakers to vote, lest the Haredi candidate win.
I picked up my Interior Ministry voting information postcard, which had a print-out of my polling station’s address. My polling place is a religious public elementary school around the corner from me. The narrow road was packed with voters’ cars and booths of the various parties running for city hall. The security guard at the gate was checking bags and directing traffic to two different poll stations, mine and another school on the same campus. Once I entered the school, I was further relegated to a classroom that corresponded to a specific sub-category under which my vote is placed. One voter is allowed into a room at a time, with the setup featuring a table with four people and a sky blue science fair poster board display, behind which, is the voting booth.
After verifying my identity and checking me off in the roster, I was given two empty envelopes and instructions how to vote: the yellow ballots were for mayor, the white for city council. Only one yellow ballot was to be placed in the yellow envelope and only one white ballot in the white envelope. I went behind the science fair board, which had the official voting laws posted in small Hebrew print. Beneath it were multiple wooden cubbies with various white or yellow slips. The yellow slips had the names of the mayoral candidates in Hebrew, with only one listed in Arabic as well (the other official language of Israel). The white slips had the names of the parties in small type and one to three letters above it in large type for each party for city council. As Israel is a nation of immigrants, many of whom had to grasp Hebrew as a new language very quickly, measures were taken to ensure that anyone could understand how to vote. The large-type letters were understood to be easy enough for anyone eligible to vote to remember, and they’ve stuck for all this time.
I stuffed the correct envelopes left, dodging an array of electioneers and screaming voters trying to park on a one-way street. Initially planning to help volunteer on my candidate’s campaign, I was too tired to move and slumped into a chair, listening to the coverage on TV and radio. With the exit polls confirming my candidate would win, I joined friends at one of the many parties for people who voted. Eventually we ended up at my candidate’s official party in a hotel on the west side of town. The venue couldn’t have been better picked: on the other side of the road is the entrance to Mount Herzl, Israel’s national military cemetery, and on the other was the entrances to a Haredi neighborhood. In limbo between two worlds, the supporters inside waited all night for the first official results to come in from City Hall.

Not only did the Municipality post the actual results as they came in, but have a breakdown of votes by polling station. According to the results, my station saw 53% of its registered voters, 86% of whom voted for Nir Barkat. As for city council, the top four parties are a great demonstration of my neighborhood’s demographics: “Wake Up, Jerusalemites!” won the most (composed for secular and religious 20- & 30-somethings), followed by Meretz (non-socialist left wing party), “Jerusalem Will Succeed” (Barkat’s list), and a combined Mafdal/National Unity list (right-wing and Modern Orthodox).

Pictures from the day: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2400595&l=19d9a&id=818841

Here's to two of my candidates winning in the Trifecta of Democracy: The American Presidency and Jerusalem's Mayor.
Next race: 10 February 2009, Israel's National Elections.

2008-11-02T03:57:00.003+02:00

01 November 2008

The months of September and October in Israel are exhausting. Around every corner is another holiday waiting to start, just when you’re finishing digesting the meals and liturgy of the previous holiday, with a hangover haze just barely vaporizing away.

Yom Kippur, as always, is so unique in Israel – from no cars on the otherwise lethal roads to services that are less dirge-filled and more upbeat in nature and sound to the popular newspaper including in their pre-holiday edition a translation of “Into the heart of Darkness.”

Halloween has come and gone with little fanfare here. In line behind a few American tourists at the supermarket, who were trying to explain Halloween to the cashier in broken Hebrew, she asked semi-rhetorically why they were buying individual beers and why we didn’t have Halloween in Israel (or as she called it at first, “Holi-day,” ironic because she had an Indian last name). I explained that we already had Purim, which is just as crazy of a celebration. Incredulous at myself for defending Halloween’s absence in Israel, I gathered my items and sulked out of the store.

My taste in Halloween television specials has changed, due to the absence of American television channels (or television altogether). This year I did not watch “A Garfield Halloween,” which was always the scariest special, or the movie “Hocus Pocus;” nor did I watch the annual specials on The Simpsons or Roseanne, mainly due to their blocked statuses on YouTube. This year was devoted to “A Disney Halloween,” which proves The Magic Kingdom can tap into a darker side; and an episode of Little Mosque on the Prairie entitled “Swimming Up Stream” which is hilarious for its un-PC nature (Hallaloween, ‘nuff said).
Then there’s the ubiquitous but never disappointing “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” It’s such a classic that it deserves watching again and again, savoring the title sequence, Snoopy’s insane laughter and hallucinogenic voyage through the World War I French countryside amidst a horror film-worthy soundtrack. I could go on and on about it, but thankfully someone at Slate.com summed up its uniqueness.

Another October holiday is my birthday. After deliberating how best to celebrate, political & musical serendipity came into the picture. The Saturday night following my birthday held in store two important events: the town hall meeting in English of candidates in the Jerusalem mayoral elections, and a monthly dance party at a local bar with my type of music being played. The elections take place 11 November, exactly one week after a certain other election day.
I got to the event 15 minutes before it was planned to start and it was already packed to the rafters. Housed at the Great Synagogue’s social hall, every native English speaker squeezed him/herself into the massive hall. Seemingly the only non-Orthodox person under 70 years old and not from the NYC metro area, a BBC reporter latched her eyes onto me and asked me about my preference for mayor. Having prepared a question for the ultra-Orthodox candidate in advance, I gave her a 7-minute response that seemed to impress her. Finding a place to stand near the industrial air conditioner, I had a direct line of sight with the dais. Jerusalem Post Editor David Horovitz was the moderator and I didn’t envy his job for one second: Between the candidates who unanimously opted to speak beyond their allotted 15 minutes and an audience who got more and more ornery with each comment that didn’t exactly match their personal opinions, the scene was more like a general meeting at a kibbutz 60 years ago that some might find quaint and nostalgic but I found embarrassing. The ultra-Orthodox candidate doesn’t speak English, so his associate was asked to translate into English – only he thought he could give a paraphrased translation. “Translate what he said!” was the audience’s response. The Russian oligarch spoke meanderingly, accidentally using the word “Palestine” in describing the eastern part of town and where few of those in attendance would dare be caught frequenting. Actual booing and hissing was the audience’s response. Then the candidate I’m backing got up to speak and his eloquence got me all weak in the knees. Is if there wasn’t any one else for whom to vote this 11 November, his words was a much-needed relief to my ears.

I left early to start the second part of the celebrations, indie rock dance party in the city center. Far less drama and a lot of needed fun.

I’ve had a lot of conversations with people from various walks of life about the American elections, some of whom are cognizant of the issues and can argue intelligently. And then there are those who find it acceptable to use unsubstantiated arguments that at best make themselves sound dumb and at worst a racist.
I give native-born Israelis a lot of credit for their complicated national and local politics, not to mention all they endure in life. But before one more Israeli tries to convince me that Obama is some closeted Muslim out to destroy Israel, I have the following response: Instead of giving you an intelligent reason why he is none of those things nor do they matter if he actually was, take a look at how our collective culture views people of color and whether that has any thing to do with the garbage you’re about to talk about Obama:

Here's to the next two weeks' worth of elections that will usher in the change we so desperately need in the world.

2008-10-20T16:00:00.002+02:00

20 October 2008

That there was no on-board entertainment on the flight from Tel Aviv to Amsterdam allowed me to sleep for the majority of the flight. Although I was sitting next to a very attractive woman who ordered the kosher meal, piquing my interests, I was too tired to move my head out of the space between the window and seat to say anything.

I was on my back to the States for two weeks of refreshment and celebrating Rosh Hashanah with family. The previous months had been filled with endless bouts of procrastination in finishing papers for school, endless hours at work, and endless job interviews, all with little self-apportioned measures of success. While I still had work to finish during this trip, hopefully the change of scenery would accelerate its end.

A few hours wandering the Amsterdam airport before the transatlantic leg was already proving to be restoring. Being around a diversity of people is a pleasure for me, creating life stories and final destinations for fellow passengers.

Stuck on the plane for several hours with numerous choices for movies, I decided to lift a self-imposed ban and watch Adam Sandler’s latest movie You Don’t Mess With the Zohan. I saw Borat in Israel and laughed hysterically at the anti-Semitic jokes, acknowledging the irony of watching a Jewish comedian in Israel. But Zohan just didn’t appeal, because it was Adam Sandler and perhaps because it wouldn’t reach the social nuances that Borat had.
I was definitely wrong. I thought of the movie as not a satire of Israelis, but rather a satire of American perceptions of Israelis. The image of the hirsute, omnipotent, womanizing Sabra is an archetype still held by many, including American Jews and the title character was a caricature of all the ideals Americans want to see in the pioneering Israeli; that he wanted to lead a different kind of life, including with a Palestinian, was less a call for coexistence as it was a symbolic shattering of this mythical figure. Maybe I was over-analyzing the movie, having lots of time to spare on the flight; but if I was right, I’d have to give Sandler credit for creating a great piece of satire. Granted, it was still Hollywood and full of the requisite teenage humor expected in one of his movies.

Landing in the States, I felt like I hadn’t been away for the five previous months. The last time I had felt the same way, I was arriving in Israel to staff a Birthright Israel trip five months after a previous one. I enjoy and look for this kind of border-blurring, but it was still initially disconcerting.
A few days pass and there was little culture shock to overcome: still no heightened security on public transportation, still the same amount of overweight people as before, still the same amount of clueless tourists who stand in the middle of a Metro escalator, still the same simultaneous feelings of cultural affinity and separation.

Had I had any residual culture shock, the packed flight to the Dayton International Airport at 21.00 on a rainy night would have absorbed the last bits of it. No pushing to get a seemingly better seat for these folks, no overweight baggage or screaming at security for confiscating liquids. What a bunch of suckers, the Israeli passport in my carry-on bag sneered.
Time with family becomes more and more treasured, a fact not lost on anyone. That being said, it’s also treasured time to see the Halloween junk alongside the Christmas junk at the local Target: My mouth watered as much as it does for my grandmother’s brisket, my cousin and I pushed every moving and talking toy, I eventually constrained myself. A few days later and it back on a plane heading for Israel. It’s not so much that time flies as it escapes.

The holiday season is almost over, the few trees whose leaves change color are in full display, and the hours of sunlight have dramatically reduced to what seem like bursts of warmth and an extended dusk each evening.

Some little kid likes to scream for his mommy at the top of his lungs, particularly on Saturdays. He voice sounds like Damien from The Omen: demonic and British. “Mammmay!” “Mamaaaaaaaay!” reverberate through the stone walls of my apartment and give me the shivers, his diabolic demands likely to split open the ground with legions of macabre figure pouring out from the bowels of the Earth. Walking home today I finally found him screaming yet again at his front door – three blocks away, around the corner and up a hill. I took a quick glimpse at him, hoping to avoid his inevitably piercing eyes and the cue to some unseen dirge-droning choir. Man, I miss Halloween.

2008-09-07T00:04:00.003+03:00

07 September 2008

The other evening it got so cold that when I got home the classical radio station was playing the entirety of The Nutcracker Suite, or as literally translated into Hebrew " Suitat M'fatzeach HaEgozim" (The Suite Of He That Cracks The Nuts, in my too-literal translation of the Hebrew).

A Tale of Two Festivals: Jerusalem's Wine Festival begins the summer and its Beer Festival brings it a slow close. I got there early to avoid paying the entrance fee and to make it feel like a Happy Hour back in DC. Some of the beers from last year were notably absent, including the one brewed by Palestinians and one that claims to use nitrous oxide. We stuck with the local microbreweries with such names as Dancing Camel, Golda and Herzl. This was a much younger and more Hebrew-sepaking crowd than the wine festival, albeit with the same amount of parents pushing their babies around in strollers amidst the drunkards.

Anyways, back to my hermitic lifestyle, writing four papers that aren't due until the end of the month, but I want to get them all done before my flight to the States in 1.5 weeks (yikes!).

2008-08-25T00:34:00.001+03:00

25 August 2008

You know it’s getting towards the end of summer here when there are reports of rain in the North, pomegranates slowly reenter the markets, and the newspaper has a report on how many kilograms of books the average child carries per day.

The end of the summer is also the height of the French tourism import industry. There are stretches of town and hours of the day in which one only hears the language of Zola, Sartre and Truffaut, albeit screamed aloud by family clans from Marseilles wearing v-neck t-shirts and tanned to ‘racial profiling’ levels. The Israelis complain about the annual influx of French Jews, who supposedly numbered around 100,000 this summer, complaining that they’re rude and obnoxious tourists, who care nothing about their surroundings and only about themselves; the French call their hosts inhospitable and barbaric, reminding them they continue to come here even when American Jews get scared; and everyone else laughs at their respective accusations since both nationalities fare pretty low on the Most Affable Tourist scale, somewhere near American tourists in DC.

Alongside the swarms of French downtown is the demolition of Jaffa Street, the main thoroughfare that connects the western entrance to town and the Old City. Except for one lane, the entirely of the street has been torn up in order to lay tracks for the light rail that someday will arrive and give old ladies another venue to push otherwise hospitable people like me. Tractors roam the blocks-long ditch, separated from pedestrians and incoming traffic by a chain link fence, that for those with a short-term memory of the past two attacks in Jerusalem leave little to the imagination.
The most recent attack in Jerusalem had more to do with the French than some would like to admit, as the man operating the bulldozer was working on a massive apartment complex near the King David Hotel. Luxury apartment buildings are sprouting up in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, intended not for the locals but largely for the French and American Jews who come here twice a year (Passover and Rosh Hashanah through Sukkot). These people have no intention of renting their homes while abroad, evidenced by my downstairs neighbors whom I’ve never met in person, but am well acquainted with their alarm system that goes off with every cat in heat that finds its mate alongside their flat’s side entrance. When Haaretz.com showed live video of the bulldozer driver being shot to death by a civilian, it was introduced by an ad for one of these luxury apartment buildings.
There seem to be three connected results of all this construction, two awful and one still up in the air. There is very little housing available in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv that can be considered livable and affordable (I’m staying in my apartment, despite just being able to afford it). I know at least five different people looking for apartments that began their searches months ago. These massive buildings, since dependent on foreign investment, often stay vacant. With the dollar relatively weak against the shekel (who’da thunk that’d happen?), Americans are more reluctant than usual to invest in real estate. Huge buildings are being built with potentially few tenants, creating luxury ghost-towns in the middle of town. As if terrorism wasn’t bad enough, soon enough we might be facing crime-waves of burglaries.
The third result is related to yet-to-be-described picture up top. The picture is of a Help Wanted sign at the upscale shopping mall near the Old City for a store that will sell the clothes of the companies listed in English. I chanced upon it one day and almost fell over. Sure enough it has opened, and except for the lack softcore art on the walls, it’s a store that could be in any mediocre American mall. The store, like the mall in general, caters to the out-of-towners, but nonetheless pulls in a local crowd.

Slight digression: The other week I went with a friend for a self-guided night tour of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, a spooky enough of a place in daylight. Aside for very dim lighting, some unseen organist was tuning his church’s organ, holding each key down for five minutes apiece until it began to screech. After our early encounter with Halloween we walked back into town through the aforementioned mall, heartened to see it both full with people in general, and especially with so many Arab families.
If the change we need here, which can only come from North Americans (government accountability, quality of life, etc.), starts with Abercrombie and Fitch next to the Old City walls, then reluctantly so be it. At least the Help Wanted sign wants applicants who have already done their service in the Israeli army.

2008-07-22T14:50:00.002+03:00

22 July 2008

First off, I’m OK. I was at home when a second tractor driver in three weeks went on an attack before being shot dead by a civilian and a Border Policeman. We can only hope and work for happier days ahead, not just because of today's events.

Looking through the job classifieds has become a morning ritual as commonplace as drinking my cup of instant coffee. It’s a long and arduous process, sifting through the innumerable ads of hi-tech companies, with slim pickings for a graduate student like me who’s only in school twice a week and is looking to use his brain while working.

The group of us who were friends at NYU and moved to Israel started a new tradition of kidnapping each other on our birthdays and going on a road trip. ‘Kidnapping’ being a relative term in this region, of course. After lots of deliberation on the destination, we decided to take a trip to Nazareth, with me playing the role of “unofficial tour guide” (lest be accosted by licensed tour guides and possibly fined by a roving Ministry of Tourism official). After a quick ride up, we climb the Lower Galilee mountains, getting lost in the terracing roads. For a major tourist destination, singage in any language is at a serious loss.
Nazareth is the largest Arab city in Israel and as such one sees stark contrasts between the sites connected to the Annunciation and Jesus, and the Muslim majority population that has displaced the traditionally large Christian population. Coming from Jerusalem, the small streets and sprawling outdoor market look practically the same, albeit without the security precautions. I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t bring a camera to capture the poster of an Arab summer camp sponsored by the Israeli Communist party (a bright red poster in Arabic with a picture of a swimming pool underneath a hammer-and-sickle) and a poster for an Islamic fundamentalist group just under the Roman Catholic Basilica of the Annunciation. After sightseeing and a short tour, we climb upwards to a lookout over the entire area. Being the summer the 30-minute, 30 degree ascent left us exhausted yet satisfied from the view of the entire area, with me in typical tour guide fashion pointing out the sites we could see “on a clear day.” Back down the hill for food, we ended up at one of the most famous restaurants in Israel, enthralled by endless salads (my picks: fried cauliflower in tehina and baby spinach with sesame oil) and a perfectly juicy lamb dinner prepared right in front of us. Yummmm.

A few days later it was time for Jerusalem’s annual wine festival. Located in the Israel Museum’s sculpture garden, the event epitomizes yuppiness in a city which is quickly replacing its yuppie population for the ultra-Orthodox crowd. The last time I was there, live jazz set the scene for would-be connoisseurs who strolled around with their all-you-can-drink glasses, trying to look dignified with a wine buzz. This year, on a Tuesday night, it was yuppie bedlam: the ticket line wrapped around the barriers like the most popular roller-coaster at an amusement park; and the event was mobbed with people, from the “Gimme whatever’s red!” guy to the attempting-to-be-a-oenophile to the “I’m so drunk!” reveler. There was another photo opportunity lost, just like in Nazareth and just as culture-shocked: While one gentleman offered his date his jacket to fend off the cool Jerusalem night, another man offered his talit katan to female friend as a scarf. Only in Jerusalem?

The night was the followed in the morning by the media spectacle that was the exchange for the Israeli soldiers Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev. I managed to wake up in time, with little residual effects from the previous night, to watch the live coverage. It was as if the last two years led up the few seconds when, answering a “reporter’s” question about whether the two soldiers were alive or dead, the Hizbullah spokesman in melodramatic fashion answered “Let’s find out” and out come two coffins. A huge thud followed by mournful violins went through my mind at the savagery of it all (kidnapped from the Israeli side of the border, no word on their fate for two years, exchanging the shameless Samir Kuntar without more concrete word on Ron Arad), finally coming to an end. I think every Israeli, regardless of their origin, wanted an American fairytale ending to this sad chapter in our history, hoping at least one of the two would be alive or that the bodies in the coffins would prove to not be those of Ehud and Eldad. While their families deserved an end to their misery and “Redemption of Captives” is a commandment in Jewish tradition, no one wanted an ending as sad as this one.

Happy and sad, light and dark, it's a bipolar kind of life here. I’ll do my best to keep up with the updating.

2008-07-02T12:48:00.002+03:00

02 July 2008

In case you have't heard the news, a bulldozer driver deliberately plowed into a bus by the central bus station in Jerusalem, turing the bus over on its side. The latest update is that two people were murdered and 30 injured. The location was on Yafo Street, a main thoroughfare here. The street is being torn up to make way for the light rail, so there are lots of bulldozers on the street on a regular basis.

I'm OK and was at home, nowhere near the attack. For more news, check www.haaretz.com and www.ynetnews.com

I'm with you, I hate these kinds of updates.

2008-06-24T13:20:00.002+03:00

24 June 2008

I walked out of the house on the way to work and I couldn't move. Not only was it incredibly hot outside, but there was enough humidity in the air to transport me back to summertime in DC: the inability to breathe outside, the need for constant air conditioning....yet no thunderstorm at the end of the day.

Other bits of DC in this sweltering capital city:

-http://www.foreignaffairs.org/20080701faessay87402/walter-russell-mead/the-new-israel-and-the-old.html

I came across this article via Haaretz. Their reporter who covers American politics and the Jewish community rhaphsodized about it, and after reading the first page, I voraciously read it in one sitting. An excellent read for US History fans, anyone still wondering what an Obama presidency will do/not do for US-Israel relations, and/or those who think lobbysists are the begin-all, end-all for dictating Congressional support for Israel.

-The other evening, as the temperature finally began to recede and the winds from the coast started to pick up, I walked up the street towards the Prime Minister's house. I've been avoiding that part of the street ever since being stopped again by hte police a few weeks back; this time, however, nothing would stop me. Freshly haven, I joined the hundreds of people gathered on the street to mark the two years since Gilad Shalit was kidnapped by HAMAS. Hundreds swelled to more than a thousand, casuing the police the close off the street and redirect traffic and at least five bus routes for the rally. While I've been keeping up with the developments surrounding possible deals to release Gilad, as well as a deal with Hizbullah to release Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev, it wasn't until the rally that I felt a sense of anger towards the government. It's been two years and in that time the current PM has chosen political suvivability over leadership as his MO, using the redemption of captives (an action on which Jewish tradition places a very high value) to keep himself in office amidst one political scandal after another.
My burgeoning rage was checked by that of Gilad's father, a friend of Ehud, the head of an organization for former POW's, and everyone else who attended.
It was great to be at a rally this important. Check out http://www.habanim.org/en/index_en.html for more info.

The dedication ceremony of the "Bridge of Strings," a bridge designed by Santiago Calatrava at the entrance to town that one day will carry the light rail, turned into yet another example of Jerusalem shying away from its status as an international capital. The Pride Paradce came and went with the usual ultra-Orthodox form of protesting -- setting garbage on fire in their own communities -- but the political machinations that became evident at the dedication ceremony are just too much, all the more reason for me to stay here, create a life, and vote in the upcoming municipal elections. That teenage girls have to cover themselves in quasi-Iranian style, lest they turn on the apparently always-horny ultra-Orthodox man, says as much about the community's apparent lack of self-control as it does about the general decline in Jerusalem's leadership (which arguably capped at Teddy Kollek z"l and has been on a steep downturn since Ehud Olmert).

The sun's setting, the temperature's dropping, the fan's been on for several hours now, and the weekend's bringing a little bit of calm and civility into the city. Even if the tranquility hangs around just for Shabbat, it's a welcome respite.

2008-06-17T13:26:00.002+03:00

17 June 2008

I got stopped again by the police, this time because I was apparently avoiding passing a cop on the sidewalk, which warranted being frisked in public. Somewhere in the ethers of Israeli bureaucracy, there’s a formal complaint that I lodged, written in rudimentary Hebrew and translated from the account I wrote, still shaking form the experience.

Instead of harping on that, I wanted to share an Op-Ed published in Haaretz about Obama and Israeli public opinion: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/992392.html

Just a sample:

"Obama, in other words, represents a change Israelis are not sure we know how to live with after 40 years of talk about our strategic military alliance. He symbolizes America's great power to attract, as opposed to its degraded power to deter. Indeed, he wants to be the face of global integration, from Rio to Jakarta - ironically, the very integration Israeli entrepreneurs excel at. John McCain says he will be the jihadists' worst nightmare. Obama reminds us that the war McCain helped launch has been their dream come true."

For all the complexity and nonsense Israelis have to put with on a daily basis, they like their American foreign policy to be monochromatic, George W. Bush Style: You're either with us or against us. No questions allowed. Combined with a unnerving level of racism, and you have the polinion of most Israelis about Obama.

2008-06-10T00:09:00.002+03:00

9 June 2008

Shavuot was great, as this year it pretty much entailed non-stop eating at a friend's and sleeping in.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have some problems with the YES cable commercials. Recently, a new one was posted that just hit the geopolitical spot. The Israeli Ministry of Transportation, Shaul Mofaz, recently threatened Iran with a preemptive stike on its nuclear facilities. Mofaz, who was born in Iran, was formerly the IDF Chief of Staff and Defense Minister, and is in the running to be the new head of the Kadima party, should PM Ehud Olmert resign.

With this escalation of words, who better than a cable ocmpany to make light of a situation while selling their package of Israel serial dramas?

Synopsis: An Ahmadinejad-lookalike is threatinening Israel with annihilation at a press conference in Farsi, and the audience is upset that if they attack Israel, they'll never see the next episodes of their shows. What results is unrest in the street, sung in Farsi and Hebrew to the classic tune of "Kol Hakavod" from the Israeli West Side Story-remake Kazablan.

Black humor mixed with current events and commercialism. Only the finest for us.

2008-05-26T14:58:00.002+03:00

26 May 2008

Man, did I ever need a break. School may be great, but my brain was fried. A trip back to the States in time for Passover was just what I needed to refuel. It was indeed great to be back, to be with family and friends; take advantage of cheaper prices on a variety of goods; take in a few museums for free; and more. Even the very rare earthquake that hit Ohio as I was visiting for Passover didn’t faze me (mainly because it occurred around 05.50 during a vicious bout of jet lag). Other things reminded me how much my base of comparisons for things has changed: lack of security on the subway and buses; how the dollar seems more like play money; driving rain storms; supermarkets that seem to stretch on for miles; and much more.

I came back in time for the buildup to the quintessential Israeli experience: the 48 consecutive hours that comprise Memorial and Independence Day. After just reciting during the Seder about being taken from “sadness to joy,” we prepared to jump from one emotional high to another. The country was in a wash of blue and white, with an infinite number of sales and specials marking the 60th birthday of the State of Israel. Food packages went “nostalgic,” using the same typefaces and designs that were used decades ago.
I spent the evening of Memorial Day in the courtyard of the Museum of Underground Prisoners, a former British jail in Jerusalem. Close to a thousand students crowded into the courtyard illuminated by spotlights and torches, with cold wind whipping in and out of the space. There, facing a small stage with musicians and a small screen showing a set of PowerPoint slides, we engaged in a time-honored tradition: communal karaoke. Call it whatever you want – a kumsitz or shira betzibur (“singing in a community”) – the emotions of the Jewish people always translate well into poetry and sound even better when sung in a communal setting. Add to this a historically rich and relevant location, and the shivers traveling through me were not just a result from the whipping winds.
The next day I took off for Tel Aviv for Independence Day. I watched on TV the official ceremony marking the end of Memorial Day and the start of Independence Day, a space separated by the seconds it takes for the Israeli flag to return to full-mast atop Mount Herzl (the national military cemetery), and otherwise full of nationalist kitsch that I especially enjoy. Fireworks and a massive street party in South Tel Aviv carried the festivities into the wee hours of the night.
The next morning, it was time to hit the beach for the air & sea military parade. Tens of thousands of people crowded onto the beach, promenade and esplanades to watch a show which was as much about showing pride in our strength, as it was a reminder of our vulnerability. The regatta of navy ships was followed by an even longer line of civilian sailboats and other luxury craft. It was great to see fighter jets and helicopters performing feats like refueling in mid-air and upside-down loops; yet I ended up focusing on the lone pilot pair of pilots manning each plane, wondering how many unnamed missions they’ve yet to participate in and how their identities will largely remain secret to the rest of us. In that moment of existential solitude, I snapped back into the surroundings of a beautiful beach day with friends.

A week or so later, I had the privilege of attending Facing Tomorrow, the Presidential Conference led by President Shimon Peres. While I am almost always in the mood for a big conference, complete with self-aggrandizing plenaries and open bars, this one epitomized that classic Yiddish word “schmaltz.”
There were great moments to be sure, with Mikhail Gorbachev addressing the crowd in person, along with major political and business leaders in the world. But the budget spent on decorating the convention center in Jerusalem, the plenary events, and buffet meals were way over the top. To add to the schmaltz was the tribute Israel paid to the USA, and more specifically, to President Bush. The event lasted several hours, replete with musical interludes, speeches, and so many standing ovations that even the college students in the crowd got a touch of rheumatoid arthritis in the hips. Considering all the political scandals that are happening here as I type, on top of the not-always-intimate relations between the two countries, the event got the point of being embarrassing.
The crowd went berserk when Bush entered the hall and eventually spoke. Few Bush supporters seem to remember that Israelis did the same for President Clinton, an equally obscene gesture of support. I’d like to think that Israelis are used to facing such complex and serious issues on a daily basis that when it comes to something as equally complex as Israel-USA relations, they’ve had enough and prefer a black-or-white reading of the situation: if the US President says he supports Israel, Dayyenu, never mind all the nuances. There’s a great article that sums up Israel’s idolization of the US with all its flaws (not the least of which we Jews aren’t supposed to practice idolatry): http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/1,7340,L-3546353,00.html

The words “friendship” and “relationship” were thrown around as freely as possible when discussing Israel-USA relations. Israel acts and then looks admiringly towards its big brother the USA in a variety of issues, expecting universal support; the US acts in the region and expects Israel to universally support, even if it’s against its own interests. This blunt description sounds more like the relation with an enabler than one between friends or significant others. On this 60th birthday of the Jewish State, when we continue to face existential threats, including a deterioration of the original communal values that helped create this country, let’s expect more from ourselves and our leaders than the status quo and enabling one another to the point of absurdity. Let's ask the hard questions and act with some degree of self-respect.

Throwing out everyone's pairs of Crocs would also be a good start.

2008-04-11T18:37:00.002+03:00

10 April 2008

After a very long day that ended with going to bed at 1am, I woke up at 03.50. Getting ready in record time and running on fumes, I made my way to the shared taxi stand. Around 5.00, the driver, still short of many passengers, agrees to a fair price between myself and the only other sucker out at this time of night. We’re off to Tel Aviv, letting me catch the 6.17 train and 6.40 bus to campus on time.

Why in the world would I wake up at such a satanic hour? School sponsored a free trip for the graduate students to Israel’s North, to meet with the two UN peacekeeping forces deployed along the borders: UNDOF along the Syrian border in the Golan Heights and UNIFIL along the Lebanese border.
The trip was a lot like the numerous ones I’ve taken in the past with Birthright Israel groups, only this time I was the participant and not carrying a binder full of medical forms and exhausted from a night of watching students drink at the hotel bar, not to mention the focus was on international peacekeeping.

The first stop was Mt. Bental, a dormant volcano on the eastern edge of the Golan Heights, overlooking the only-kilometers away Syrian frontier. We descend the bus in the parking lot and are met by a baby blue beret-clad soldier with an Austrian flag sewn into his khaki fatigues. I was doing my best not to laugh out loud at a soldier, with his thick German accent, tell a group of mostly Jews the minute-by-minute itinerary for the morning and to follow him along the border with Syria. There were off-color jokes being made that kept the exhausted cohort in high spirits, especially when we met the IDF liaison, originally French, whose knowledge of the situation on the border was the same of a low-level reporter on a local TV affiliate station. So far, the same old tour and talk of the region. I could do the same in my sleep, something I ended up doing unconsciously as I began to lose consciousness from the lack of sleep.

A few minutes later and we were in one of the two UNDOF bases in the area. The troops deployed there come from a variety of countries, all of which keep a strict sense of separation from one another. Each building was demarcated by which flag flew at its entrance. This one Japanese, that one Polish. We entered one of the Indian buildings, met by Sikh soldiers in baby blue turbans held fast with UN logo pins. Sitting in an auditorium that looked more like the set of a 1980’s teen movie, we were given a briefing by the security attaché to UNDOF, a middle-aged Dutchman. After nodding off to his monotone voice reading off his PowerPoint slides, it was time for questions. While I’m a big fan of anything international, the UN isn’t at the top of any Favorite lists of mine; as such, I asked a question about their troops’ preparations in relation to the language and customs of the region. The attaché responded that not only do they give a whole half-day of background training in the area to the contingents, but the troops themselves don’t even have to speak English – only their commanders do. I continued to push him on the absurdity of this (chances are that a Syrian shepherd doesn’t understand a lick of English, even when being shouted at by an Indian guard as he’s crossing No Man’s Land), and the attaché didn’t like being challenged by someone with near-perfect English who was most likely Israeli, so he started asking me questions back. We both got tired and he took one more question from the audience. Jay 1, UN 0.
After a reception in the Indian mess hall, complete with Sikh soldiers posing for pictures and an array of digestive biscuits and various juices, we were on the bus heading for UNIFIL. The ride through the area this time of year is spectacular, with the chlorophyll bursting forth in every leaf and the cherry trees showering the fields in a ticker-tape of flowers. Along the way, past picturesque Druze villages and rolling hills, we pick up a reserve soldier who’s the spokesperson for the IDF Northern Command. UNIFIL wasn’t going to met with us, but we were still going to get a tour of the area. We stopped in Metulla, the northernmost town in Israel which happens to be surrounded on three sides by Lebanon. With military escort, we’re allowed out of the bus and stand in a deserted parking lost a few yards from the border. Suddenly, I remember being in the exact same spot eight years ago in high school. Where there were tourist souvenir stands and a packed parking lot stand some rusted shacks and a lot overpowered by wildflowers and weeds. Eight years and a war make a huge difference. We stop at a nearby kibbutz, overlooking undulating green hills with Lebanese villages cascading down the slopes, and in the near distance a UNIFIL post sits quietly. I was hypnotized by the tranquility of the place, a stark difference from almost two years ago.

Back on campus, students were putting together an awareness campaign on Sderot, using the fragments of real Qassam rockets as props to illustrate actual attacks, and challenging the affluent student body if they would tolerate even one rocket hitting Tel Aviv.

It’s off to the States for almost three weeks, full of fat white people and relative quiet.

Have a Great Passover!

2008-03-28T17:40:00.001+03:00

24 March 2008

The other Friday night, as I was walking to a dinner I was invited to, the full moon was as bright as the surrounding lampposts. At times, the white light reflecting off the near-perfect disc illuminated entire street blocks. Walking past the iconic building housing Belgian Consulate, rabbits were romping through the estate’s backyard. Cadbury bunnies, huge grass-eating long ears that looked out of place amidst the palm trees.

Easter Round One has come and gone, swelling the town with sun burnt Catholics and Protestants. The ongoing language and culture gap between tourists and the natives takes on a new dimension, with old Spanish women screaming at the Sephardi grocery cashiers. This year the pilgrims with wooden crosses on their backs were met with drunken Jews celebrating Purim. A calendrical quirk made the Purim festivities in Jerusalem last close to four consecutive days, though not tiring out the more hardcore rabble-rousers. “Purim bombs,” makeshift fireworks that create a lot of noise, gave palpitations to everyone in a 10-mile radius throughout the weekend. With a heightened security alert, the last thing one wants to see is some overweight yeshiva kid ignite one of these bombs and hear its explosion ricochet through the alleyways. Last night, studying in my apartment was met with heckles in New York English from across the street: a group of yeshiva kids, continuing to fulfill the Tradition of getting intoxicated on Purim, were waiting for a ride. They blocked cars in the street, screamed expletives in an otherwise quiet residential area until midnight, and just as I was reaching to call the Police (my fraternity with Americans has very finite limits), I realized what was going on. The very drunk kids were trying to get their passed-out friend into the car, and hopefully to a hospital. This country can be a kind of Disneyland for many, with the words “Promised” and “Holy” connoting a sense of invincibility.

Spring is slowly creeping in, with the street block by the Prime Minister’s residence smelling like roses (ironic), and campus the other day perfumed in jasmine.

2008-03-09T01:10:00.002+02:00

08 March 2008

The ritual wiping away condensation from the windows has temporarily given way to the ritual of keeping the blinds closed until it gets dark outside: a type of heatwave called a sharav has enveloped the country. There’s very little wind, grey skies, and very hot temperatures. One avoids being outside during a sharav like the scene in The Ten Commandments when the 10th Plague creeps through Egypt, symbolized by green-tinted smoke: you don’t wanna be outside breathing in this stuff. Those who do venture forth into the pestilence use clothes as a shibboleth: the locals, knowing that winter isn't over and hotter weather has yet to arrive, are still in long sleeves and jackets; the out-of-towners think anything above 60 F is cause for wearing flip-flops and shorts.

After a long day at school on Thursday, I got a ride into Tel Aviv to catch the bus back to Jerusalem. As my carpool got into Tel Aviv, we learned that there was a terrorist attack at a yeshiva near the main entrance to Jerusalem. Coming from a class in terrorism, we compared this attack to one that occurred at a yeshiva several weeks ago near Jerusalem, as well as the phenomenon of shootings on college campuses in the States.
Although we haven’t had to deal with an attack for some time now, the onslaught of rockets on Sderot is a daily dose of depression; that HAMAS upgraded their supplies by sending GRAD missiles into the city of Ashkelon is cause for a bit more anxiety. Then the attack on the yeshiva happened and the buzz of seven million anxious citizens reenters the atmosphere.
The bus ride back was packed with exhausted soldiers and passengers rattling away on their cellphones. As we approached the suburb of Mevasseret Zion around 10:30 PM, traffic going towards Tel Aviv was at a standstill. No one was going into town, and as we wound our way up the road to the main entrance, we found out why: all traffic was diverted to the new bypass road, enveloping the cabin of the bus in silence as the hills reflected the blue strobe lights of police cars. Soldiers and police patrolled street corners downtown on Friday. People were out and about, but not in the numbers they have been in recent days.

The rains come back in a day or so; the alarm of the downstairs apartment owned by absentee Americans continues to get tripped by voracious alley cats; and we’ll all wake up tomorrow to confront together whatever version of BizarroWorld the Middle East and this living experiment called The Jewish State have to offer.

2008-03-06T00:02:00.000+02:00

03 March 2008

No sooner did the last semester end than the new one began. A combination of a one-test-per-week policy and the only-in-Israel phenomenon of retaking a test for a better grade create a virtual lack of a winter break vacation. For the last several weeks my brain has schemed to escape through one of the various orifices in my head, almost getting out through one of my ears the other day. While the classes I’m taking this semester are incredible and the professors are outstanding, I find myself oscillating between watching clips of American “junk TV” online to for the numbing effect, and episodes of The West Wing for the redemptive effect.

The endless look for a job has come to a stop for the meanwhile, having started a job in the retail world at one of the few stores out there I respect for their merchandise and business practices. I’m still sniffing around for something more in line with my previous employment experience and current academic pursuits, as one of this degree’s pluses is its ability to work and go to school 1-2 days per week, but bills have to be paid and customers have to be satiated.

More to come as my head slowly defrosts.

2008-02-13T22:41:00.003+02:00

13 February 2008

A week after the snowstorm, few blobs of grayed snow still dot the sidewalks, but the blue skies have returned and the air is so clear, the other night I could hear the Muslim call to prayer from the other side of town. It’s those moments, where the pieces of the puzzle that make up Jerusalem fit together, that make me want to stay in this town. They’re a reminder not only is this the Middle East, but how crazy and intense this place can be.
Another example? The other Saturday night, I went to the Cinematheque for a double-feature on a band from the late 1970’s named Joy Division. The stereotypical listener of their angst-filled music is the art school student living in Williamsburg. Aside from one single which became commercially popular, the music (as the first movie, a documentary, stated) reflects the turbulent and post-modern miasma that was the band’s Manchester, England hometown. It’s punk, it’s romantic, it’s scary, it’s uplifting. So many bands have since copied their sound. The second film was a biopic about the singer who committed suicide at the ripe old age of 23. The movie was cinematically impressive, shot in black-and-white to accurately portray the bleakness of Manchester, and the lead actor impeccably captured the singer’s youth.
The audience was mixed between students wearing brightly-colored wool ponchos from their post-army service trips to South America; elderly couples who have subscriptions to the Cinematheque and may not have known what they got themselves into; and the few patrons who I’d expect to see at this kind of movie, equally questioning what the rest of the audience was doing there. The late 1970’s in England gave birth to a lot of youth subcultures, all disenchanted with their socioeconomic situations. They recycled a lot of different aesthetics, including Nazi, while dispensing with whatever values they originally had; the band’s first EP contained iconic images from World War II as part of the artwork – including the picture of the young Jewish boy with his hands up as an SS officer has a gun pointed at his back. The image stayed on the screen for a few seconds, met with gasps from the audience. The final scene, after the singer killed himself, was the camera focusing on a village church’s brick chimney spewing smoke. I was squirming in my seat by that point, feeling everyone else’s supposed discomfort. Eventually leaving the theater and the building, the audience found itself facing the western part of The Old City, as the Cinematheque is perched against a cliff overlooking the walls. Again, memory and reality layered on top of each other for all to observe.

To top off the last few weeks of jumping around various identities, I got to vote in the Democratic Party Primaries in Tel Aviv. Democrats Abroad represents expatriate Americans in the Democratic Party, and this year decided to improve their registration drive by having voting centers set up in locations with the most expats. Since Israel has a rather large population of us, they set up a center in Tel Aviv for two days. The location was in Beit Daniel, a center for Progressive Judaism (what Reform Judaism is called in Israel). The voting center consisted of a small room packed with volunteers. After they inspected my US passport, I filled out two forms, one rejoining the Democratic Party and the other being the actual ballot with boxes next to the candidates to check off. As the forms were printed very early on in the campaign, lots of the now-withdrawn candidates still appeared.

(The picture above, by the way, is of the voting center. The banner in the background, part of Beit Daniel, more or less reads "Living anew the Jew that's in you." The legs at the bottom of the picture belong to a child waiting for their parent to vote.)

I’m still not sure how I feel about voting as an expatriate. While this election has far-reaching implications for how America is perceived in the world, not to mention a potential change in domestic policy which would affect family and friends, I’m not planning on living in the States for at least the near future. An argument could be made for the role expats play in promoting America abroad and in turn helping America through their unique global perspectives; it gets all the more complicated living in Israel, a choice born out of ideology. Since I didn’t move here for this country’s easy way of life, so voting from abroad fits into this increasingly complex living arrangement.

Back to studying for an exam, with little sleep in the immediate forecast. Long-term forecast calls for freezing temperatures and the S-word to return next week.

2008-01-31T21:09:00.000+02:00

31 January 2008

The other week, days before the now infamous January 2008 snowstorm, I bought waterproof boots. Besides being insulated and rather inexpensive, they were made in Israel. Just as I had lowered my moral standard and was willing to buy Made in China for the sake of dry feet, the clouds broke and a beam of ethical consumerism shone through the windows of a nondescript shoe store downtown.

They’ve more than paid their dues in the last week. They withstood horizontal rain in Herzliya, snowbanks near my apartment and tidal waves from passing cars driving fast through puddles. Trudging through the snow is much more fun when you can walk straight into a snowdrift and emerge dry. Today was spent helping a friend with a major appliance and taking more pictures of people enjoying the day off. I got videos of snow falling on a palm tree and the only plow noticeable on the streets (more like a bulldozer, holding up traffic on a one-way road). Snow can transport a place into another dimension, cutting it off from the humdrum of reality into a much-needed break, with people smiling and regressing in age. Sort of like Christmas in the States, but without the commercialism.

That break was exactly what everyone needed, as the second report regarding the war in 2006 came out yesterday during the storm. When the plows were nowhere to be found, they were probably escorting the panel to the press conference by the entrance to town. The report isn’t anything surprising, self-toned down in its criticism of the government. Everyone expected (or more appropriately, hoped) this would be the report, the one that would satiate the public’s disappointment with the war by damning the Prime Minister and government enough to force them to resign. The current PM has survived scandal after scandal – why would a report about a war in which hundreds of civilians on both sides died and exposed our lack of preparedness be any different from those other affairs?

Reading the coverage on the US Presidential elections from this side of the world is satisfying, perhaps ironically for those of you saturated by the ads and propaganda. At least over there, there’s a real potential for a turn-over in leadership – here it’s gonna be a long time until people my age, so disenchanted with the world of politics, not only will feel compelled enough to take on the mantle of national leadership but will be able to push past the barriers of cronyism and condescending attitudes.

The situation is that bad, there’s going to be a new reality show devoted to it. Move over “A Star is Born” (Israeli American Idol) and “Born to Dance” – introducing “A Legislator is Born.” Written up in last week’s weekend edition of the paper, a new show aims to find the best young leaders in Israel and the top nine winners will receive various parliamentary positions in the Knesset. A tremendous an important opportunity for this country that hopefully will begin the end of the “Lama, mi met? (Why, who died?)” attitude many of those in power have towards being questioned.

In the interest of making the competition as fierce as possible, if you know anyone with Israeli citizenship in their 20’s or 30’s, the website is http://www.manhigut-project.com/.

2008-01-30T23:39:00.000+02:00

2008-01-30T23:32:00.000+02:00

30 January 2008

Last night, everyone had their noses pressed up to their cold windows, condensation forming all over the panes, eagerly waiting the snow this town has been preparing for since last weekend. The national news reports yesterday were all about Jerusalem’s preparations. The free paper that’s now delivered to my door every day gave tips on surviving the snow, including “Wear warm clothes and layers. On leaving the house, wear a coat, hat and gloves.” Another column discussed how those who study Kabbalah roll around in the snow in order to atone for sins, but fear not those of you who don’t study Jewish mysticism: the article goes on to say how rubbing your arms and forehead with anow along with the recitation of a verse has the same effect.

Having to trek out to school yesterday, I got stuck outside in the rain that was traveling horizontally across the coast.

After a few spats of wintry mix, the snow properly arrived some time last night. I didn’t sleep well, eagerly anticipating its arrival. I set my alarm for 8.30, but was well awake beforehand. I opened the blinds and there it was: winter wonderland. At least an inch had accumulated overnight, too heavy to be supported by the trees already in turmoil from the gusting wind. The streets look barely plowed, if at all, and are amazingly silent like only a snowstorm can make them. No public transportation this morning, no school, not even healthcare at the clinic next door. A few cars here and there; otherwise, nonstop snowfall. As I’m writing this, I’m watching the neighbor’s orange tree get covered in snow, the one lone orange atop a branch beaming brightly against the surrounding evergreens, wet limestone buildings and accumulating snow.

This afternoon, venturing out in the snow was like reliving snowstorms in DC. Two world capitals whose inhabitants are so consumed with manmade power than when nature reintroduces herself into the party, everyone leaves. More appropriately, runs screaming from the party, raiding the closest grocery of all bread, milk batteries and eggs.
The streets near me, adorned with multimillion dollar apartments, are unpaved, yet another similarity with DC. Assorted families build snowmen on sidewalks, a nice family outing, until they leave and their monstrous creations stay behind, waving passers-by with their twig hands and eventually decapitated forms. Schools are cancelled today and tomorrow, with the municipality’s Annual Snowman Building Contest taking place both days.

The snow doesn’t come alone, rather somewhere in a sequence of rain, freezing rain, hail and sleet. By this evening, a lot had melted and more had fallen, preparing the roads for a nice sheet of ice come morning. Day 2 in the snow to come.

2008-01-16T00:56:00.000+02:00

15 January 2007

I just got back from one of the oddest interviews. The job’s to help develop a website focusing on a very current and important topic in the Middle East and abroad. Arriving at its offices, the labyrinth needed to get there entailed choosing one of three doors: A, B, and yes, C (the correct answer, as opposed to the others with man-eating tigers). The interview consisted of me listening to the idea of the website and restraining any facial movements after understanding how myopic and bigoted the operation was. The only way I would work there, I thought to myself, was to not get credit for my work, as it could potentially damage academic and professional interests in the future.
To top it all off, I was asked after the interview to submit to a handwriting analysis, as part of the hiring process. I was told this was a procedure everyone did as a means to ensure the right personalities were brought into the organization. In Internet parlance, this is known as “WTF?!” I copied a random note to fulfill the requested ¾ page of writing, thrice signed my name, wrote out the numbers 1-10, and last but certainly not least drew two different trees. As soon as I was done I thanked them and hightailed it outta there.

As a postscript to the previous post about the cold and lack of insulation:

The windows are dripping with condensation. The process of wiping down the frames and panes, spraying the occasional Clorox on the windows to deter mold, and strategically placing American-bought chemical dehumidifiers around the apartment has become ritualized. It’s not just cold, it’s American cold. And if we’re gonna continue to be in the grips of this American cold, I think it’s only fair for us to get some snow. Bush and his entourage just paralyzed this city for 48 hours, mind as well snow now while people still remember what it’s like to be trapped inside for hours at a time.

Speaking of Bush, his motorcade caused havoc in the Capital City. Growing up in DC, one is always aware of motorcades and when streets are closed; but whole areas of major transport and commerce never close. When Bush came to town, every major street was closed down. For days ahead of time, residents were warned which streets would be closed and when, publishing maps of the motorcade’s routes and schedules. Even with the advance knowledge (which seems a bit problematic security-wise), people were trapped. I didn’t leave my house from the time he landed at the airport to when he left for Ramallah, giving me a few hours to get out of town to school. Between having to finish a paper, American sharpshooters everywhere, and the preferred target for a Walking While Semitic profiling stop by bored cops, I decided to hunker down indoors.

He’s long gone, with American flags still suspended on poles throughout the city and the ever-present American cold penetrating every layer of clothes valiantly worn outside. Whether or not Bush’s push for a comprehensive peace plan will be in place by the end of the year is completely up for grabs. Whether or not the strike in higher education will allow the semester to restart is equally up for grabs. In the meantime, I want some snow.

2008-01-14T21:18:00.000+02:00

14 January 2007

And now, a much-needed update.

It’s freezing here in the Middle East, the longest spell of cold temperatures in recent memory. It’s so cold, there was snow in Baghdad!
Despite living in the mountains and normally subject to temperatures lower than the rest of the country, Jerusalem homes are notorious for being poorly insulated. At the risk of jinxing the heat contained in my apartment through the use of a few different contraptions, I’ll only say that I’m staying as warm as possible.

Since there’s a chance of getting my power cut off, I’ll give the top highlights of the past few weeks and what’s in store:

-Finished coordinating another group of Taglit-Birthright Israel buses the other week. Completely wiped out afterwards, but had a great group of staff and students. A few good stories here and there, which I won’t repeat online, but in general drama-free.

-After finishing the trip, only to go right to a full afternoon of school, my mom arrived for a conference. We were both staying at family friends near school that night, so I dragged myself to their place, said hi, and went to go pass out for a few hours. As always, great to have a parent come and visit for a few weeks.

-The semester’s finishing up, so it’s been an onslaught of work and studying. One paper completely wore me out, now there’s one more paper and three tests left. Amidst all the talk of the public universities cancelling the semester, I remember how lucky I am to have transferred to “my private, bougie school” (as I call it), notwithstanding the trek it takes to get out there each time.

-The job search goes on. One position, after three separate interviews, has left me waiting for almost a month. I’m going on two interviews tomorrow, I sent out my resume multiple times today….Outsourced call centers are looking more and more attractive.

More to come, I promise, just wanted to give an update before a full month passed with no post.

2007-12-16T12:23:00.000+02:00

16 December 2007

Not much is new, the usualy schoolwork and jobhunting taking up the majority of my time. Having downloaded most of the classic Christmas songs and watched almost all the standard TV specials online, I'd say I'm fairly virtually satiated with the "holiday season." As I’m about to hit the road again with Birthright Israel (now in capital letters!) for ten days, here’s a bunch of words quasi-logically put together to tide over the rare reader of this blog:

I had a second interview for job where I’d be working for The Man. For fear of jinxing the potential, I won’t reveal the name. All I’ll say is if I get this job, it’d mean dressing up for work and getting paid well to schmooze. Can you understand why I don’t want to jinx this?
The interview was brief, intense but somewhat fun. In front of a five-person interviewing board, I was asked all sorts of questions about myself in Hebrew and why I’d be the right candidate for the position. 30-40 minutes later, with a reserve of adrenaline still stored up inside, I made my way to school.

The shtetl of Anglo blogs has been busy commenting on one of the most recent commercials of YES, Israeli satellite cable company.

Laughing? So was I. Did you ever see the one from 2005?

Not laughing as much now, right?
How about the latest for having the freedom to watch all the latest movies each weekend?

Where to begin….YES, a cable company which operates only in Israel is advertising in English, using a marketing strategy which satirizes popular aesthetics, only to succumb to (inevitable?) racism. For being a TV junkie, I’ve done a good job not signing up to a cable company just yet. Eventhough YES carries more recent American shows and the new Al Jazeera English channel, can I still sign up for a company who thinks this is acceptable?

(Feel free to weigh in on this debate and donate 200 NIS/month to the “Subscribe Jay to Cable” campaign)

I was in Israel when the 2005 commercial came out, and I remember debates raging in the Hebrew newspapers about it. Native-born Israelis thought it was funny, Anglos thought it was incredibly offensive. A commercial for a movie channel mocking Vietnam War POW’s? How about a commercial for life insurance using Israeli POW’s still unaccounted for in Gaza and Lebanon, my normal reply to those who find this funny.
The commercial with the ultra-Orthodox is particularly complicated, as it's full of American Jewish connections: Dancing in the streets of New York City to the track ubiquitously played at every Bar/Bat Mitzvah. Who is this ad marketed to, Israelis or American Jews? It’s definitely easier making fun of a group of people who seem so far away (ultra-Orthodox, America in general, etc.), but at the hands of a bunch of Jews? We do so well making fun of ourselves, creating masterpieces of satire that are part of Israel’s cultural cannon (the comedy troupe Hagashash Hahivver, for example), that perhaps we’re now bored of looking at each other.

The latest one hasn’t caused as much of a furor, perhaps because it’s brand new and also perhaps to this country’s fungible attitude towards those of color. Even in America, where the debate rages on about the acceptability of the usage of the “N-word,” I don’t expect there are commercials airing anywhere which use the actual word to help sell a product.

2007-12-03T00:55:00.000+02:00

03 December 2007

Rewind two weeks ago: After a long two days at school, I get a ride into Tel Aviv and meet up with two college friends. The plan was to spend a Thanksgiving Shabbat (Shanksgiving) that week with college friends in TLV and the following week have Shanksgiving with DC friends in Jerusalem. We loaded up the hundreds of shekels’ worth of groceries, including a gigantic turkey breast and six turkey drumsticks, into a cab and made our way to one of their apartments. My other college friend in Tel Aviv, who also goes to graduate school with me, wasn't in class that Friday morning and his phone was wasn't picking up. He must be asleep, I thought. As we’re about to arrive, the other friend calls and says he’s found a 16-pound turkey that he’s been cooking for almost the past two hours. After lots of initial frustration at the abundance of turkey, hours of cooking, a quick nap that did me little, and more cooking, it was beginning to look like Thanksgiving. All the turkey was cooked, and cooked to perfection, along with all the trimmings. There was a bit of a culture shock for the veteran Israelis who normally aren't sure what to make of a holiday they’d otherwise assume is Christian in nature; lucky for us Anglos they stayed clear of the jellied cranberry sauce I hauled in from Jerusalem. A successful dinner party.

A few days later, I was still eating leftover turkey with a huge smile on my face. Even more reason to smile, I had gotten a job interview. To be precise: I got a job interview before officially applying for a job. One of the perks of the protektzia system here (i.e. it's who you know that counts). The interview goes amazingly well. There’s potential to be cynical about how well it went – like being told before it’s over that I’d be coming back for a second interview – but I ain’t complainin’.

A few days after that, I took another Coordinator job with my colleagues at Hillel. Good money, good helping out colleagues, good experience to keep racking up.

Rewind a few days ago: Shanksgiving Part Two took place with DC friends in Jerusalem. Lots of wine, lots of great food, lots of unending entertainment. I think we all laughed hard enough in the course of the night to burn off a decent percentage of consumed calories.

Last night, after going out to see a friend’s band perform in the city center, the rain begins to pour down. I’ve developed a sixth sense for meteorology and luckily brought an umbrella, albeit small. Soon I was escorting two friends under my umbrella, which attracted the attention of every Ars in the area. “Can I use your umbrella?” they’d shout and try to get under it. “Not so much,” I would forcefully respond, only to get more and more annoyed with the volume of requests. Finally one teenager asked a bit too roughly and I let loose with a few choice expletives that still make me proud as an otherwise polite Anglo to have used.
We cross the street – jaywalk in front of a cop manning a car checkpoint, oy oy oy – speaking in loud English. At the sight of these three Anglos with their English, the female traffic cop standing in the pouring rain starts to sing the chorus of the pop hit “Umbrella” (Under my umbrella, ella, ella, ey, ey, ey). After a month of getting stopped by the police one too many times, this was just the response I needed -- getting to laugh at a cop.

2007-11-21T21:33:00.000+02:00

21 November 2007

The other day I got taken for coffee by my health care service. More correctly, the survey-taker they hired took me out for coffee. Apparently there’s enough interest in the satisfaction and needs of American immigrants that they hired a consultant to interview the likes of me. As if free coffee and participating in an Israeli institution’s newfound caring for new immigrants – especially the stereotypically rich Americans – wasn't rewarding enough, I was given gift certificates that are valid at stores as varied as Tower Records (we still got it here) and supermarkets.
The survey was exactly 30 minutes, entailing questions about my health care service back in the States and how much I knew about my services here. The best question was hands down about comparing the four health care funds: “If each of them was a person how old would they be, what would they do for a living and where would they live?”

The gift certificates and creative questionnaire were a great diversion from what has become a rather sedentary lifestyle. Aside from schoolwork, it’s been a lot of looking for jobs. I think about working so much so that last night I dreamt one of my former colleagues had moved his office to my graduate school, and was so excited to see me that he hired me as an inspector of security protocol for trips in Israel. I was basking in the morning sun atop the mountain fortress of Masada when the workmen renovating the apartment below woke me up.

It’s been grey, cold and wet here the last few days, but the weather wouldn't stop me from a job-hunting advice meeting. I arrive right on time, well-dressed and using English full of complex sentences and dependent clauses, hoping that somehow this meeting would transform into someone walking in with an employment contract to sign. I got great advice and a few leads on job postings, but alas, no contract to sign. I decided to stock up on discounted magazines at the bus station and made it home a few minutes’ ahead of the first deluge of the afternoon. The electrical storms that have graced the coast since Sunday finally made their way here, lighting up the terracotta-colored sky like a strobe light. The rain falling by my bedroom windows, amongst the still-leafy trees, gives the appearance of a frigid rain forest.

I have to now get myself outside amidst the continuing rainstorms, as I felt compelled the other day to rent Thanksgiving-themed movies. “What’s Cooking?” which must have repeated itself on the NYU closed-circuit station ad infinitum during my tenure there, was only a precursor to the modern classic “Home for the Holidays.” The movie’s witty, the writing is'nt so bad, and the dinner scene is one of the best portrayals of a dysfunctional family ever. As people were too lazy to illegally upload the movies onto YouTube, I rented them from the well-stocked video store a half-hour walk away.

Now they’re due, the rain’s still coming down, but there’s hope….once the requisite turkey and Beaujolais Nouveau is put away, out comes the most wonderful time of the year: Jelly doughnut time.

2007-11-11T20:59:00.000+02:00

11 November 2007

I’m walking to a friend’s for lunch on Saturday, dressed rather nattily: plaid pants, grey merino sweater over a pink oxford cloth dress shirt with a button-down collar. I live a total of five minutes away and arrive on her street just on time. As I’m crossing the street, a police car pulls in front of me from seemingly nowhere and the cop, easily in his 20’s, asks me for ID. Since it’s the law for citizens to carry ID, I take it out of my pocket and the guy asks me if I live in the neighborhood. Paralyzed with fear, I say yes, and he puts my number in his car’s computer. Five minutes later, he hands my ID back and wishes me a Shabbat Shalom, driving away. I’m shaking, I’m furious, I mouth an expletive at his rear window and walk up the stairs to my friend’s apartment.
I normally say I have no problem getting stopped, since as far as I know I’m not involved in any illegal operation. Sure, I blast Arab music in my apartment, but the neighbors and the next-door health clinic have yet to call the cops on me. And there are days when I know I could be targeted, based on how I look. I’m trying to believe that this cop was simply bored and wanted something to do by pulling me over. After all, he was darker in skin tone than me.
I’m trying not to think about it, remembering to write some snappier responses to bring along for the next time being stopped Walking While Semitic. In the meantime, I’ve joined the mainstream and am thoroughly enjoying The Next Big Thing: Little Mosque on the Prairie, a Canadian sitcom about the interaction between Muslims and non-Muslims in a small town in Saskatchewan. The show is funny, right on topic, and a great remedy for being racially profiled.

It’s becoming winter. The jelly doughnuts started appearing on bakery shelves a few weeks ago in a two-month preparation for Hannukah, the scarves are back, and it’s Festigal time.
Festigal (or Pestigal, for the grammatically correct) is apparently this annual nationwide concert/performance for kids featuring the most popular celebrities. Each year, there seems to be a theme song that gets its own music video, which is nothing more than rewritten classic (and already painful in their original form) international pop songs. One year it was “I Need a Hero,” another year it was “The Final Countdown”…this year is “Major Tom” by Peter Schilling, who wrote it as a response/idolization of David Bowie and his Ziggy Stardust image. I remember hearing this song ten years ago on the classic rock station along with the Moody Blues and Supertramp…and now it’s the theme song inevitably to be sung by thousands of schoolchildren.

After watching every conceivable Halloween special from American TV (it’s amazing how many Americans mark the holiday cycle by what’s on TV, a fact proven by the comments on internet sites with these videos), it’s slowly time for the Thanksgiving specials.

Postscript: It rained nonstop for close to two hours this evening! Hopefully they sell rubber galoshes here, otherwise maybe I can melt some Crocs into something more useful.

2007-10-29T22:40:00.000+02:00

29 October 2007

The other week, my healthcare fund wished me a happy birthday by sending me a deal on laser hair removal. I’m still not sure what to make of it (annoyed? flattered that I have no other helth concerns? confused?), except that it makes total sense in a country as Semitic as this one.

The last few days have been spent looking for two important things: a job and It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Looking for a job in this country isn’t difficult just because I’m a student; rather, all I’ve been seeing are spots in call centers (chances are, if the operator you’re becoming annoyed with over the phone isn’t from India he/she’s over here), which doesn’t have much in the way of intellectual stimulation. A few leads, but not many.
For me, passage of time is connected with specific television shows, and to a lesser extent, movies. If it’s Halloween, I have to see Garfield’s Halloween Adventure, Charlie Brown, and Disney’s Halloween Treat and Hocus Pocus. After many days of online searching, I finally saw the Great Pumpkin and now all is cosmically well. It just wouldn't be possible to pass 31 October without seeing it at least once.

(Hopefully) More to write on Halloween, as it’s one of my favorite holidays, especially passing the day in Israel as there’s very little equivalence in the Jewish holiday cycle.

2007-10-24T19:38:00.000+02:00

24 October 2007

Last week was the beginning of school. Here’s a concise summary of my new program:
-Going to school on a campus that was once a military base and now looks like Southern California. Palm trees, glass-and-concrete contemporary architecture next to log cabins, attractive people, Italian bottled water in the cafeteria….Graduate school or Beverley Hills 90210?
-First lecture by the professor I’m hoping to have as a thesis advisor. 90 minutes of brilliance on a stream of conscious thought.
-A self-imposed two hour break in the middle of the day to do research, catch up on reading, and of course time at the yuppie cafeteria.
-A class on politics taught by a former doctorate candidate I knew from NYU when he led a program for my student group. A lot of reading for this class – as expected – but could do without the passive-aggressive comments from students trying to sound witty but only end up sounding like they have no self-control.
-A mandatory course on decision making taught by the dean of the program which unfortunately veered at times into self-aggrandizing (we’re reading his book, using the software he designed, etc.).
-Waking up to get to school for an 8:30am class? Even if I sleep over at friends’ in Tel Aviv, it’s an hour commute in the morning…
-…only to arrive at a class with a soft-spoken professor presenting a slide-show with the lights off.
-Another required course that almost hits four hours with the first half taught by a professor so loved by his former undergraduates that he allows them to interrupt class with their tardiness and use Hebrew in what’s supposed to be an English program; the second half taught by a guy who thinks he’s funny, but his inability to pronounce English correctly and control his volume when pausing lends to moments where students jump out of their seats every five minutes out of terror as he screams his point through the microphone.

All of this, on top of not nearly enough books in the library for everyone (not to mention not being ordered for sale), and it’s still looking to be a great program. IDC’s quickly gain its’ own esteem with me, not just on it not being Hebrew Univ.

My birthday came and went, being one of the better ones I’ve had in a while. I got a surge of greetings on Facebook from friends and former students from birthright israel which is still very touching. The party friends threw for me was well attended, tastefully crazy, and next to no mention of the age connected with this year (I don’t really care for another five years or so).

Still looking for a job, not the most exciting of tasks...

By the way, if you want to get an update of my blog by email, sign up at the top righthand corner....I know that must sound riveting to some, but considering that my updating is anything but predictable, it could save on superfluous trips to this site (as opposed to more important ones like YouTube).

2007-10-17T23:57:00.000+02:00

16 October 2007

Monday was a nationwide awareness day for road safety, an issue that is incredibly important as thousands of citizens are killed in road accidents each year. How did I commemorate this special day? By getting a ticket for jaywalking.
Almost comically, I was waiting for the light to change at a very busy intersection. Two older people crossed against the light and I restrained myself at first, thinking that while the street was completely clear it wasn’t worth risking it; half a second later, I cross the street on a red light. Two seconds later, I catch in the corner of my eye a policeman walking towards me. Not wanting in the least to turn this into a scene, I quickly confessed to crossing on a red light. He took my ID, ran it through his car’s computer, and wrote out a ticket for 100 NIS. As much as I didn’t want to admit he was right, he was…if I want cars to respect the law, then pedestrians have to as well. Even though that cop didn’t bother ticketing the other pedestrians illegally crossing the street at the same time.

I also didn’t want to waste any more time, as I was on my way to my new school for orientation. After a few hours in Tel Aviv with a good friend from college, I ventured out to campus in the middle of rush-hour. Herzliya’s city center is kickin’ at 6pm, resembling an American beach town in the summer than a regular weekday evening.
After signing-in to the orientation, I join the rest of my soon-to-be colleagues in sizing up the competition, making the place already feel like being back at elitist NYU. The open orientation itself was a repetition of the open house several months ago, with some new information here and there, such as potentials for jobs and internships (USA-Israel Chamber of Commerce, Prime Minister’s Office, and *mouth-watering* UN Headquarters). Someone asked about moving from the non-research track to the research track (which I’m in) – the head of the program and soon to be dean of the school (and one of the foremost political scientists in the world, apparently) said that the research track was composed of a select group of students with very high profiles, GPA’s and backgrounds. Later, when we broke into our respective tracks, he repeated that factoid and said to me personally “Jay, I’m very glad you’re in this program.” Stroking my academic ego like he was, I was floating.
Getting home took forever, as I got a ride from another student along with another Jerusalemite to the neighboring town’s bus station where we waited for a full hour for the bus back.
Wednesday I woke up at a reasonable time to get to Tel Aviv for a job interview. I got a call from one of the tour operators for birthright israel to be a coordinator for their winter trips. I get to the place exactly on time, get ushered into a room where only one of the three interviewers introduce themselves, and I start giving my usual professional background story. We then get into the details of the job and five minutes later, it’s all over. The job requires someone to manage the logistics of trips on the ground, which are spread out over the country and thus requires a car. “You do have a driver’s license, right?” “No,” I respond, watching the main interviewer shoot a piercing look at the guy who phoned me about the interview, as if he left out a rather important question over the phone. “Clearly this wouldn’t work,” said the interviewer, understandably, but decided to continue with the meeting. Awkwardly, I was told I would hear from them this coming Sunday. As I left, I realized the job would entail me missing school for a long and extended period of time, something I may have considered back at Hebrew Univ. but not at a school where the soon-to-be-dean had me trying to deflate my head before classes had even begun.

Tomorrow's the first day of school!

2007-10-14T13:57:00.000+02:00

12 October 2007

When I was in the States, I decided to go to New York City for a few days out of a searing need to just be there. No plans needed, no places required, just to be back in The City. Meeting up with a friend from college, we decide to find each other at the rally by the UN Headquarters protesting the President of Iran’s presence at the annual General Assembly. While this was supposed to be an anti-Ahmadinejad rally, by the looks of the crowd it had the trappings of a pro-Israel rally. Buses of yeshiva students dressed in polo shirts and flat-soled shoes, agitated post-middleagers, Brooklynite cantors leading the crowd in Hatikvah: this was a bad flashback to rallies back in college. This trapping Jewry, energized political activism turned into ethnic particularism led by antequated leadership, is something I definitely don't miss in Israel.
After a few minutes of being there, I’d had enough and we left for coffee. As we’re walking we pass a bunch of swarthy men in ill-fitting suits, no ties, and speaking what clearly sounds like Farsi. “It’s his [Ahmadinejad’s] entourage,” I said, nudging my friend who at first didn’t believe me. After picking up coffee at the clearly Israeli-run joint (my Isradar spiked just by looking at the barista through the window), we retrace our steps only to be motioned by a Secret Service agent to the other side of the street. A crowd has gathered, using their arms as antennae for their cellphone cameras. Several minutes later the president of Iran comes out with his two body-doubles and board a convoy of various service vehicles (tinted SUVs, police cars and one ambulance) to the tune of New Yorkers cursing. Too many security agents to do anything drastic, and the convoy went on its way to Columbia University for the infamous speaking engagement. To be sure, we won’t be seeing that entourage any time in this neck of the woods.

More time zone-blurring moments:

-Arriving back from the States to find a pamphlet in Hebrew among my mail, a Jews for Jesus propaganda by an American missionary who uses cartoons and specious logic to debase anything except Southern Baptists
-TNA Wrestling in TLV! I already missed the monster truck rally in June.
-A Hebrew adaptation of the musical Avenue Q (the one with puppets)

Back in the States, an Icelandic band is playing at a synagogue! Múm is scheduled to play the Sixth & I Historic Synagogue in DC on 7 November…Yes, yes, my former job is co-sponsoring the Israeli Idan Reichel Project at the same venue on the 12th, but an Icelandic band at a synagogue? All I need is nonstop Tel Aviv-Reykjavik flights to see some of my favorite acts and all will more or less be well.

Tomorrow is the orientation for my new graduate school, will try to remember to take pics of the place.

2007-10-08T23:07:00.000+02:00

06 October 2007

Got back into the country a few days ago from almost a month back in the States.
Where to begin?

For starters, I’m not going into the Israel Defense Forces any time soon. After months and months, I received two letters in the mail the morning before my flight. While there was no IDF insignia on the envelopes, they both came from Human Resources: The first one read that they received my request for an academic deferment, the second one read that not only did they accept it but because of my age I would be receiving a total deferment from the army.
As much as being in the army would afford me some financial stability, being back in school is the best outcome – at least for my brain, which needs to get sharpened up again after a long period of dullness. I can now start looking for a job which would ideally allow me to break even after paying bills AND connect to my professional interests (just about any thing, returning to work for birthright israel, etc.)

I arrived back in the States about a month ago after a nondescript flight via Madrid (except for being lucky enough to have two seats to myself for the transatlantic leg of the trip). Although I had been back in the States in April, the culture shock this time around felt more pronounced. Everything seemed bigger and more spread-out, and not just because I flew into Northern Virginia. An average trip to the supermarket was overwhelming. Remarks like “Wow!” followed by “there are so many choices here,” sounding more like a bad sitcom script about a Soviet peasant visiting the USA after the fall of Communism, nonetheless comprised my vocabulary, already failing from the lack of English used in the past several months. Reacculturating to DC, everything was painted in a veneer of familiarity. Yet there was no honking of car horns every five seconds, no pushing, 65 degrees F feeling like the Arctic, countless Please’s and Excuse Me’s from complete strangers….this was turning into an even worse type of sitcom.
The trip to the relatives in Ohio for Rosh Hashanah was much needed and not just for the nonstop eating. This was the first year in a long time that I didn’t laugh out loud at synagogue during the more whimsical portions of the liturgy. True, I did smirk and had to shut my eyes to block out any potential encouragement form my family to laugh. Stricken with jet lag, I was up in time to save a row for the whole clan along with my grandmother and cousin. The cantor, who are been shipped in from his home in Israel for the holidays ever since he left the congregation, normally brings his wife on the dais to lead some of the liturgy and this year their sons helped as well. The cantor and his son, no older than 12, chanted together the Prayer for the State of Israel and I did all I could from breaking down in the middle of services. After months of general frustration and an eventual dodging of the draft, here is this boy, within 10 years of his call-up date, singing his heart out in blessing The State alongside his father in front of people he otherwise won't see for another year.

I got back after a rough flight – on the last leg of the flight, I was surrounded by a group of Spanish Catholic pilgrims, including the two in my row who were easily the loudest and most obnoxious middle-age Spanish Catholic pilgrims I have ever encountered. For the entire flight they wouldn’t shut up, until finally I rolled my eyes hard enough for them to get the picture. Top it off with an Israel electronic music producer in first class who kept making surgically-lifted eyes at me under his sunglasses, and a Passport Control packed with so many Israelis returning that I contemplated jumping ship and joining the Foreign Passport line, and it was back to business in the Holy Land.

As I said the last time, the trips back to the States are not only good to see friends and family but to re-appreciate why I live where I do. This was a longer trip than the last, perhaps a bit too long, as my Hebrew and Israeliness need to be revved up again after all that drawl and politeness. Not having much to do this week isn’t the best way to return, and coming back for the crowds-inducing holiday of Simhat Torah was a bit overwhelming, but to be starting school in a place that at least sounds fantastic is enough for now.

Okay, that’s over…time to find a job…

2007-08-29T13:57:00.000+03:00

28 August 2007

The other day, I got so fed up with waiting around to find out whether or not I got the academic deferment, I emailed my contact at IDC to say I would go to the recruitment board personally and camp out until I get a reason based at least somewhat on logic. I asked for the name of the person she was working with, perhaps as a way to expedite the process. I got both the name and phone number of the person -- when I explained that not only had I been waiting for some itme for an answer but that I'd shortly be leaving the country for the holidays, that got the ball rolling. Soon they were asking for my acceptance letter to IDC, which had me going once more to my favorite place -- the recruitment board.
The guard at the entrance told me he thought the person in charge was in a meeting. Although it was already 3:30pm I decided to take my chance and entered. The floor looked like they had decided to commemorate the first anniversary of the Second Lebanon War by having soldiers trudge in fresh Lebanese mud. Two yeshiva students were waiting outside the office. After ten minutes of waiting, I decided I would return in the morning.
I'm almost home when the phone rings. It's the army. They want my recruitment letter faxed to them ASAP and my deferment request would be as good as approved. After explaining that I don't own a fax machine nor have any access to one, I ran home and asked my contact at IDC if she had a copy, and if so would be so good as to fax it over to the army. A few minutes go by as the clock on my cell phone flips to a quarter to five. Their office is closing, I nerviously say to myself, do they have a copy or not?! They did, they faxed it, and soon afterwards I got confirmation from the army that they received it.

Nothing is resolved quite yet, but two important lessons from this continuing epic:
-I got more done to advance my case in several hours than what had transpired thus far. I'm not doubting my contact at IDC at all, but it's interesting that I got father ahead after I was told we had bothered the army enough.
-Israelis have a fetish for fax machines. "Could you fax it to me?" was asked by three different people in one day. They're scared of email, but faxing? Fuggetaboudit.

Yesterday I decided to pursue an equally important goal: going to the beach. After a late start of filling my iPod with various radio shows (and getting introduced to This American Life), I headed out for Tel Aviv and its municipal beaches.
Just like in America, there are public places that are a microcosm of the entire society: transportation hubs, areas of entertainment, shopping malls, etc. Although I promised in this blog's intro not to fixate on "Only in Israel"-type moments, here are some from a random day at the beach in late August:
~A pack of arsim trying to bury their friend in the sand, incurring the wrath of the beach-chair rental guy for using his shovel, and the most adamant of the friends, the obese one, using every expletive known in the Semitic language family (including the Arabic and Hebrew versions of "son of a prostitute" in one breath. Very coexistence.)
~The two guys, one shirtless and the other in a polo, trying to sign up American tourists for a new credit card on the beach. Last time, they were spotted handing out cans of Goldstar beer to those who signed up. Ruin your credit score and get a free can of warm Israeli beer!
~French, French, and more French. Notable spotting: Improvising shade on a baby stroller with a monochrome Yves Saint Laurent scarf.

I met a friend from college and his dog for a walk and decided to check out a quasi-rally nearby. The parents of Gilad Shalit, a soldier who was kidnapped a year ago near the Gaza Strip, decided to celebrate his birthday the other day in public with a cake and stickers/magnets/flags calling for his and all MIA soldiers to return home. Drawing news vans and onlookers, the somber music and fake-looking cake combined with passers-by loading up on the free giveaways was not competition for the dog and his playful encoutners with other dogs. An interesting type of rally which hopefully had more participants after we left. A sad and pathetic state of affairs.

Coming home on a sherut, the driver made a detour to an alternate road since the main road was backed up with traffic. We took Route 443, that road, which during the worst of the violence in the past seven years was barred to American diplomats. The road takes a northern approach to Jerusalem, cutting through the "West Bank" and passing by all sorts of notable security-related landmarks. The van was silent, both because of the late hour and with the realizaton of where we were. Silent, except for the three women sitting next to me in the back. Their loudness increased when they answered their cellphones and the one next to me was at the point of hysteria upon retelling the story of how someone named Sharon was 90 minutes late in meeting her (Sharon can be a male or female name here). I was trying my best to not flip out at this irate woman's intense obnoxiousness by blasting my iPod and the broadcast of This American Life, ironically about heartbreak. If I wasn't slightly convinced that this woman would stab me with her eyeliner pencil if I told her to shut up, I would have; instead I sank into the corner and joined in the collective exhale of the other passengers shen the talkative trio got out.

2007-08-24T18:12:00.000+03:00

Scene: any time in the last month

Got over the ear infection quickly, only to discover a true miracle. After much searching, I finally found limes in this country. Incredible.

Summer in Jerusalem weather-wise is enviable: dry heat during the day and a 20-30 degree F drop at night that theoretically requires long sleeves and no air conditioning. Except for the occasional heat wave (like the one we’re in right now), “summer” is perhaps a misnomer here.
That all being said, one thing I could do without is the amount of fireworks shot here. It seems every night someone is celebrating something with a fireworks display of at least five minutes. Now I love fireworks like every other red-blodded American expatriot, but there's a limit to the amount of times one can hear 'BOOM' echoing across the valleys. Walking around the other night, I was amazed at Israelis and tourists out and about with looks of panic on their faces as a huge display was detonating in the center of town. Then again these are the same people who caused four deaths in car accidents in 24 hours the other day.

This country is currently experiencing the 2nd Plague of Egypt. Whether they’re from the Parisian suburbs or the port city of Marseilles, they’re to be found everywhere in this country on their vacation: loud and blocking sidewalks in Jerusalem; loud, half-naked and blocking sidewalks in Tel Aviv; and so on. They snatch up the bargains at the end of season sales, they cut lines without blinking an eye, and numerous other offenses that have me cursing under my breath. Their obnoxiousness rivals that of the American tourists, an incredible feat indeed.
A friend accused me of being a racist, which doesn’t really fit here. The Washingtonian in me naturally dislikes tourists, especially the ones who act as if they own the location they’re visiting and can do whatever they want because they’re throwing money around. Self-centeredness is not a good trait, even on the already awful French.

Anyways…

I let slip in a previous post that I was waiting for a deferment. The vast majority of Israeli citizens have to serve in the army or perform national service, including new immigrants. For myself, a single male who moved to Israel at age 24, the requisite service is six months; as I’m an only child, I cannot be automatically placed in a combat unit and will end up in a desk position, in slang known as a jobnik. While the term can be used in a derogatory manner, the last thing I would want to do is basic training for six weeks with a bunch of 18-year olds who’ve never worked a day in their lives, not to mention cause undue stress to loved ones back in the States. My call-up date is November 7, interestingly enough the anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution.

At the same time, I’m transferring to The Interdisciplinary Center Herzliya for a Masters’ in Government. From the day I applied I told them I would need help in acquiring a deferment from the army for the duration of my studies. A person working for Student Services would be working on the case, I was told. One week was spent getting a hold of the person. Another week was spent explaining my details. The next week involved me going to Herzliya in the middle of a lightning protest that shut down the main entrance & exit to Jerusalem, in addition to taking three separate buses, just to meet to go over my story. And then the last several weeks have been comprised of me calling and emailing said person for updates, being told we’d find out by such-and-such a time, and repeating the process over and over again. Sounds fun, right??

For the last month I’ve been waiting, unable to move forward with any plans, job prospects nor any thing else, waiting to find out what’s happening next year. Not just because I’m anxious for an answer, I decided a while ago that I would be fine with either outcome. While going into the army now will help me financially (soldiers with no immediate family in Israel get many perks) and potentially advance job prospects here, continuing in academics would be equally rewarding and beneficial.
So for now it’s a lot of waiting around, going to the beach in Tel Aviv, drinking water and exercising. If I don’t hear soon, before I head to the States for the holidays, then most likely I’ll ask for a deferment from school and get the army over and done with. I’m told I look good in green.

2007-08-03T00:20:00.001+03:00

2-3 August 2007

Random Political Celebrity Moment:

Tipsily walking back from the annual Beer Festival, a friend and I walk by two men engaging in a conversation in the middle of the street after midnight, one barefoot in shorts and a T-shirt and the other in a black suit. As I walk by, I notice their faces. As soon as we pass them, I turn to my friend and say “Omigod! Do you know who they are?! That’s Dan and Sallai Meridor!”
I call my friend who moved to Israel last week to tell her who was standing right by us, and she said I had to talk with them. Gathering all the strength a man has with his share of beer in the bloodstream on a Wednesday night, I went up to them.

Translated from the Hebrew:

“Excuse me, are you the Meridor brothers?”
“Yes we are”
“I just wanted to introduce myself, I moved to Israel from Washington, DC. I think you know my friend who used to work in the Embassy?”
“Of course! What are you doing now?”
“I’m transferring my studies in Government to the Interdisciplinary Center in Herzliya”
“Best of luck to you”
“Thank you, nice to meet you, Shabbat Shalom”

I was talking with a former Justice Minister and the current Israeli Ambassador to the USA in the middle of the street in the middle of the night with no security guards. Up there with motorcades and the drones of surveillance planes in the middle of the night, random politician spotting makes this place feel more like DC. WOW.

Today was mainly spent waiting for the doctor-on-call at my healthcare clinic to diagnose what I already self-diagnosed: ear infection. Never having one when younger, I could quickly tell that the black hole of pain on the side of my head wasn’t normal. After two hours of waiting, she finally prescribed a lot of antibiotics to be taken multiple times per day. Blecch.
The rest of the day was spent updating my CV, getting interviewed for an article on nightlife in Jerusalem, and stocking up on East Asian groceries at a store where the Japanese female cashier told me about a concert this Saturday night in flawless Hebrew.

Fun, pain and surrealism all at once. I think I'll continue my rental contract through next year...

2007-07-31T00:39:00.000+03:00

Enjoy the slightly blurry,

metaphysical pics of the outdoor market at night full of partygoers

2007-07-31T00:38:00.000+03:00

29 July 2007

Despite being one swelter of a day, the heatwave started to break this afternoon as the breeze that pours through my southern window returned, along with a very overcast sky. The temperature read 80 F on my alarm clock, which it hasn’t registered for some time. If this was summertime in my native DC, it would the sign to get inside as the heaven are about to send down a huge storm. Even here, overcast skies are a very ominous event.

At about 7:30pm, the sky got darker and as I looked outside I could’ve sworn I saw rain fall. To further investigate, I took out a rather empty garbage bag to the communal trash, just to see – alas, no rain. The branches of the willow tree across the street were waving about furiously like pompoms in the hand of an overeager cheerleader. Just as I convinced myself it was raining, a rumble seemed to come from outside the window.

Thunder?! I excitedly asked myself. Nope, the roaring boiling of water in my electric kettle.

I went to a party in the shuk, at first reaching what looked like a bar mitzvah party back in the States – out-of-date music, Jews awkwardly dancing, and a lot of people standing by the walls. Hoping we found the wrong party, turns out the Greek music party that took place the other week was going strong. Pictures above.

2007-07-27T16:50:00.000+03:00

27 July 2007

It’s hot here. Despite a daily regimen of several popsicles and cold showers, nothing can compete with the heatwave that stubbornly sits on the city. The air-conditioner that I’ve valiantly avoided using all this time needs to be fixed, helping my apartment turn into a walk-in humidor.
Today is hovering around 38 degrees Celsius, to which everyone has responded by lowering their inhibitions and proudly displaying their sweat marks. Today is also the start of several weeks’ of festivals, fairs and celebrations falling under the banner “Jerusalem Summer, A Special Summer for Everyone,” this year being the 40th year of the unification of the city.
One of the day’s events was a block party on an alley off of the pedestrian mall in the city center. While this pedestrian mall is home to tourist traps and equally annoying tourists, this alleyway is home to a café/bar normally unapproached by non-locals. There were vendors of all kinds, serving alcoholic drinks varying from the local arak to the more European shandy and even the dreaded Red Bull energy drink with vodka. The live bands may have a song or two on mainstream radio, but the tourists would have no context for their sounds (HaGirafot, MC Karolina, Soulico), providing a nice change of pace to the normal street music (Russian violinists playing Israel's Best Hits, Korean Christians singing a capella, American hippie-wannabees trying to capture the sound of their parents' generation). The scene was definitely young: the hipster-meets-Eurotrash look of Mohawks, white-rimmed sunglasses, slip-on Keds and t-shirts with incomprehensible English; the forced hippie look of flowing pants or skirts, meter-long dreadlocks and looks of smugness-cum-chill; and the occasional clueless who stumbled onto the scene. While it was fun and a nice break from the doldrums that usually encompass central Jerusalem, and the wind finally returned to cool off the pulsating crowd, it was still too hot to be outside.

More coverage to come, hopefully with pictures.

2007-07-25T14:05:00.001+03:00

24 July 2007

The cool breezes on which I last posted are all but gone, leaving us in full-fledged summer with little relief in the evenings. It’s back to crossing the street just to walk in the shade, two shekel (50 cent) popsicles every few minutes and extending one’s stay at a store or friend’s apartment to absorb their air conditioner’s bounty.

The other day was Tisha B’Av, “the saddest day in Jewish history” or more perhaps “the Jewish Friday The 13th” when we commemorate the destruction of the two Temples and a whole host of other catastrophes. Jews seem to always fight wars in the summer, with the heat potentially getting to their heads. Despite or because of its mood, the book which is read to commemorate the day, Lamentations, is one of the most powerful in the Bible. True, it’s full of gore and gloom as the author, traditionally ascribed to the melancholy prophet Jeremiah, describes the destruction of the First Temple at the hands of the Babylonians; but it’s so angst-filled and existential that the former teenager in me eats it up every year. We may be asking to return to the days of old, where devotion to our national deity entailed blood sacrifices and the subsequent communal barbeque on the Temple Mount; but when else during the calendar year do you hear Jews chanting, in the traditional Near Eastern poetic form of parallels within a verse, “Why have You [God] forgotten us utterly/Forsaken us for all time?” (5:19) Combined with the melody used to chant the scroll, and you got one public fast that predates that puts the Gothic outlook to shame.

After the open house at the Interdisciplinary Center the other week, I decided to apply. I only took one class in International Politics as an undergrad and I barely passed, being completely turned by the theory-based approach. True, my whole four years was about learning in an interdisciplinary manner, and the idea of being a diplomat floods my mind with images of Embassy Row in DC and cocktail parties with English being only one of several languages used to recall witty anecdotes, both of which compel me to start walking towards the Foreign Ministry under the blazing Mediterranean sun – but would that be enough to get in?
Two days after I applied and sent everything in electronically, I got a brief voicemail message that I was accepted into the four-semester research track which includes writing a thesis. There’s so much to consider before paying the inevitable bill that will arrive – am I willing to pay the difference in tuition from Hebrew University, am I going to move to Tel Aviv to be closer to campus, will their army liaison help me in getting the academic deferment that up until now I’ve been struggling to receive – that at first all I needed to hear was that I got accepted. That’s still sustaining me as I await further developments, look for a job and figure out when I’m next going back to the States to visit.

We’ve just entered another general strike declared by the Trade Federation. Almost every public sector of the market is affected, except most notably (and importantly) the banks and bus companies. Unfortunately, the strike includes the airport which will start tomorrow morning. Not only does this mess up the hordes of tourists that have thankfully returned to the country for the summer, but a very good friend of mine from high school is immigrating tomorrow morning, technically a few hours after the airport strike begins. Even if she is able to arrive, most likely it means she won’t get her luggage and the paperwork she has to fill with the various ministries will have to wait. Welcome to Israel, indeed.

Lots to figure out and lots of motivation but little interest in going outside and into the furnace of late July.

2007-07-14T21:50:00.000+03:00

14 July 2007

Thursday was Part One of my Arabic final which would entail solely of translating an article into Hebrew with the use of dictionaries. Called in the entirely original Hebrew an “unseen,” this type of testing baffles me. If there were vocabulary words we had to know in advance, or if there were questions about the article that needed to be answered, this would prove an important test; while knowing how to effectively translate is an important skill, somehow three hours of thumbing through a dictionary seems like a waste of time.
As if the style of testing wasn’t frustrating enough, the first sentence of the article summed up everything wrong with Arabic education in this country: “What’s Israel’s differentiation between an ‘agent’ and ‘spy’”?
I grew angrier and angrier as I translated the article, as it was clear we’re learning Arabic for the sake of working in the security services in the near future. Never mind understanding our neighbors in the way Spanish is taught in the States, let alone getting some history, culture, and society enrichment…we need to learn how to translate from the Arabic “the two spies were sentenced to seven years, one of which was commuted.” I left the test foaming at the mouth, cursing the school out as I made my way home.

How did I get over this? By going to an open house of a new degree program at the Interdisciplinary Center, the first private university in Israel. After a long time of planning and waiting, they’re finally ready to open an MA in Government program with a focus in either Diplomacy & Conflict Studies or Counter-Terrorism with an optional research track. My two good friends from NYU and I went, salivating over the program and its teachers. The registrar of the program is a fellow NYU graduate; the classes sound incredibly interesting; the place bills itself as an elite insitution of higher education; the three of us together again in a self-described elite school.…I know I’m not content at Hebrew U and often fantasize about leaving without a definite plan, but the morning at the IDC in Herzliya seemed to fit together.

Shabbat was spent eating at friends’ and catching up on sleep. Saturday was filled with cool breezes rushing through my apartment, carrying along with it the bells from the Monastery of the Cross, located in the nearby valley and thought to be the spot where the tree from which The Cross was made grew.

2007-07-05T02:07:00.000+03:00

04 July 2007

I thought Israelis were very patriotic for theUSA today. On the ride back from campus this morning, the neighborhood ultra-Orthodox were in droves along the road waving and screaming at passers-by; the same revelers created bonfires and set other things on fire, in good American fashion; and walking past the Interior Ministry office, I noticed they took the day off along with the postal workers and other civil servants.
Maybe I was hoping for a little bit of fireworks here, but it turns out Israelis weren’t being patriotic for America on this fine Independence Day. The ultra-Orthodox were protesting the newly appointed government ministers, the rise in bread prices or a myriad of other topics in the best way they know how: burning down their own neighborhoods. The civil workers were on strike, for reasons unreported in the papers today. Oh well, there’s still plenty of illegal fireworks to be shot off and beer to be consumed in this country of ours.
Despite (or perhaps because) I grew up in The Nation’s Capital, I’ve never been that patriotic. I’m a big supporter of nationalism in general, but the USA itself hasn’t been one of my passions. Sure I can’t stop watching reruns of “The West Wing” and I’ve always looked forward to the fireworks on the National Mall. Sure I met up with friends tonight and we ended up drinking Miller Genuine Draft beer. Not to mention I’m up at a very late hour listening to Ray Charles sing the best version of “America the Beautiful” ever recorded. But these are all symbols and clichés, and while they bring up great memories for me they have no patriotic weight.

But listening to the Israeli national anthem? That one gives me chills every time I hear it.

Happy American Independence Day from the land that inspired the quote on the Liberty Bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout the generations…”

2007-07-03T23:09:00.000+03:00

02 July 2007

So much to update and most I’ve already forgotten.

I finished another round of supervising birthright israel buses, this time as school already had resumed. When reading for each class amounts of 20 pages in English per week, homework for Arabic is already manageable, and being bored is one of the nicer ways of describing the state of affairs with my studies at the present time, taking off two weeks was exactly what I needed. Three of the four latest buses were comprised of participants who’ve already graduated college, creating a relatively calmer atmosphere and great bonding opportunities with them. Even with a few bouts of drama and one hospitalization for dehydration (I lost the bet with a colleague on this one), it was an excellent experience. Some good stories as well.
To add to the excitement, my mom and one of my aunts were here for the past three weeks. A combination of work and vacation for my mom, my aunt hadn’t been here in 34 years and so they traveled around the country, and we met up for a family friend wedding (playing The Muppets and 60’s British pop music during the processional) and quality time in Jerusalem. Originally I was going to hang out with them here and there, definitely when they would be in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, but the last group of buses came a few days after they arrived. At first I was hesitant to take the job because they were coming and undoubtedly wanted to see me. I decided to take the job, not necessarily because I needed the money, but because I want to make this situation as “normal” as possible. When a relative visits you from another state, often you don’t take off the entire time they’re in town to be with them. Even though a 6,000 mile flight is not a visit to another state, this place is going to be my home for the foreseeable future and so it feels great to have friends and especially family coming to visit as if it’s a routine event. Let’s hope more are coming in the near future, including both of my parents.

Last night I met up with colleagues and we all ended up meeting at an “Only in Israel” type of event in the covered section of the shuk (outdoor market). Crammed into one of its alleyways, with a café as its epicenter, is a Greek music dance party. The trio face the café entrance while the participants crowd around on either side, some a table strewn with empty glasses and bottles, others hovering around. Perspiration mixes with the cool breeze, leaving an eerie glaze on the olive-skinned revelers under the fluorescent lights. At the same time the music transports us to a more Aegean location, it’s clear we’re in the market where only hours before fish heads and sugared pecans would have welcomed us.

Off to sleep in a slowly cooling apartment. We’ve been smacked by a two-week heatwave which I luckily avoided by being on the road and away from home, where the antique air conditioner isn’t working. The cool evening breeze that typifies Jerusalem in the summer is slowly coming back, along with my favorite parasitic house pet: the mosquito.

*I just noticed that this hasn't been updated in quite some time. To the handful of readers who read this, thanks for not nagging me to update, and I promise to try to write more often*

2007-05-24T00:48:00.000+03:00

23 May 2007

On one of my few breaks from working the last two weeks, I read online that there would be a bus from Jerusalem going to a midnight produce picking in honor of the upcoming holiday of Shavuot.
One of the more popular service projects that birthright israel groups undertake is with a group called Table to Table, where students glean fields for fruits and vegetables. According to the Torah it’s a commandment for landowners to leave the corners of their fields unpicked so those who are poor can come and harvest for themselves. The holiday of Shavuot this week entailed bringing the first fruits of the harvest to the Temple as an offering, and The Book of Ruth which is read on the holiday details how the poor would glean the fields.
We arrive at a field in the seemingly middle of nowhere, driving on a dirt road with a green field in the distance illuminated by a row of floodlights and dotted with people. The crop du nuit is potatoes, grown in rows that have already been ravaged by school kids. Some may be above the soil, instructs the guy in charge, and some may need to be dug out with your hands.
It’s an amazing sight with native English speakers, girls in yeshiva and Ethiopian teens gathered in a field in the middle of the night with the same thought on their minds: Not getting dirty. Watching the teens run around and pelt each other with potatoes, I thought back to DC public elementary school and going as a class to a pumpkin patch for Halloween. Perhaps I’m reading into this too much, perhaps it’s the rampant racism in this country, but there’s some connection between people in a lower socio-economic bracket and not “getting into” picking produce on a farm for fun.
As much as I am and most likely will always be a city guy, there’s something in me that awakes when in nature. As the director finished his words, I’m on all fours wearing a backpack and clawing through the dense soil looking for potatoes. After 90 minutes, the skin on my hands is raw, my thumbs about to fall out, and many a designer fingerling potato has been found.
Soon we’re all spent, and we make our way to the bus and back to Jerusalem. As I didn’t get to participate with my buses in their service project, it was a great opportunity. Just like working again for birthright israel I left the program exhausted, needing a shower, and feeling great about myself.

School is re-starting after more than a month on strike. The Student Union and the government agreed on a plan to freeze any tuition hikes for the next two years, and allocate more funds to academic scholarships. The universities decided not to cancel the semester, and instead extend it 2-4 weeks into the summer. Meanwhile I haven’t been in class since before Passover, nearly two months ago. Looking over the last material covered in my Arabic course, I’m even more confused about it than before.
If you’ve read the last few posts here, it’s pretty clear I’m not psyched to go back to school. I’m looking into other possibilities to continue my studies in this country, but in the meantime attempt to soldier through the next 4-6 weeks.

2007-05-20T21:09:00.000+03:00

18 May 2007

I just got back from two weeks of supervising four Taglit-birthright israel buses, worked with more than a dozen staff, met more than 160 students, traveled from the Lebanon border to the “banana straightening factory” in the south near Dimona (as the you-know-what is euphemistically called), survived a heatwave in the mountains and rain in the desert…and school is still on strike.

It felt natural going back to work for Taglit, with the long hours and alcohol/hormone-fueled student drama. It felt great to be an accessible educator again, getting students to think and ask more questions. It felt exciting to travel through this country again and stay in some rather nice places (chalet in the North with a hot tub). Most of all it felt amazing to be doing something, feeling challenged and useful. Certainly says volumes on both the last two weeks and graduate school thus far.

I’m experiencing some interesting hangovers from the last two weeks (no, not the type experienced by my students during the trip from alcohol they theoretically weren’t supposed to have): I’m always hungry, after endless feedings from hotel buffet lines; my apartment looks smaller and smaller in comparison to hotel rooms; and I have a great tan (albeit of the farmer’s variety).

More to come after a night of gleaning the fields and some research into what’s next.

2007-05-02T23:29:00.000+03:00

02 May 2007

The strike continues, with several attempts to end it to no avail. Meanwhile, I'm going back to work for Taglit-birthright israel, supervising four buses from Hillel for close to two weeks. Besides getting paid (!), this will be an excellent respite from the boredom that has crept into my everyday life lately.

Anyways, gotta get back to packing and hopefully a small nap before greeting my first bus at the airport at 3am!

2007-04-24T22:01:00.000+03:00

22-24 April 2007

Sunday wound down quickly as everyone got ready for Memorial Day. As stores and restaurants closed early, I ventured out with a friend to the Kotel (Western Wall) for the official state ceremony. The original plan was to go to a local ceremony, but I got convinced to try to find a place at the state one. We get there early enough to get a standing spot by the barricade, several yards from the seats for select soldiers and bereaved fmailies, and appropriately far from the speakers' podiums. To our left were all my former students from Hebrew U -- a bit awkward but they were too excited to be there. At one point an Orthodox couple came up to us and the husband said to his wife "These nice people are going to move for us, so you can stand here and the men will move to the left, won't they?" After hearing the man huff and puff for a few minutes over no one's response, I turned around and told him that "that's not how it [gender separation, normal for praying at the Kotel] works on Yom Hazikaron." They left and I managed to calm down, furious at yet another American's insolent need to not speak Hebrew in Israel. Who's commemoration was this anyways?
The ceremony would get started in a few minutes, as the speaker a few feet from my head announced (I was the tallest for quite some distance in the growing crowd). The giggling yeshiva girls behind us were silenced by an irate Israeli woman, and in came the honor guard. Then the acting President & Speaker of Knesset. Then the IDF Chief of Staff. The one-minute siren went off. The ceremonial flame was lit with the help of a widow of a soldier from the Second Lebanon War, who it was announced used his body to shield his fellow soldiers from a grenade. The Israeli version of "Taps" was played. The President and Chief of Staff spoke humbly about consolation and security vs freedom. Mourner's Kaddish and the funerary prayer El Maleh Rahamim was said. The National Anthem was sung. And it was over.
In 30 minutes a wave of emotions washed over the attendees, myself included, in a way no other ceremony has. Short and meaningful, a great way to remember.
We decided to try for another commemoration, tihs one a night of classic songs about soldiers and lost loved ones. As we didn't reserve the free tickets in advance (as many didn't) we waited for a long time for any chance of getting in. After standing at the box office for a long time, many people had given up and gone. I was about ready to do the same, until we moved to the entrance door. More waiting, they finally found us seats which ended up being better than had we ordered in advace -- center orchestra.
The event was practically like Yom Hazikaron assemblies in high school: roses and candles strewn about the stage, readings and performances, and the Anthem at the end with no applause throughout. The difference? Besides two popular musicians' performances, there was the classic Israeli activity of communal singing. The words are projected on a big screen, but instead of the synthesized sounds of karaoke, there's a live band and everyone sings. All the classic songs of love, endless metaphors of gardens and beaches, and the multi-generational audience sang together songs as old as the State itself. A great way to end a powerful evening.

The next morning, after not sleeping well at all, I got up early to trek to Har Herzl, Israel's Arlington Cemetary. I was invited by a family friend and former colleague to go with her family to visit the grave of her husband's brother, killed in the Yom Kippur War of 1973. I ran to catch the bus, only to end up getting off to grab some water (it got real hot all of a sudden). At the central bus station, free transport was being provided to the cemetary. The traffic got heavier and heavier, and we eventually were let out to trek the last few blocks on foot. At the entrance teenagers were giving out bottles of water, flowers for the graves and booklets of the prayers -- all for free. What a potential moneymaker, my American mind thought, and here they were giving away expensive flowers out for free.
We met at the gate, and walked quickly to the section where the grave is located. As we're running to get there, the two-minute siren goes off and we instantly stop where we are frozen in thought. The siren ends and we walk to the grave, up on a terrace with other graves of soliders from the same war and lots of family members at each one. Each grave says the persons name, their parents, their place and date of birth, and where & when they were killed. Each family had their own way of honoring their relative, from cleaning the tombstone to the types of strewn flowers. Family reunions were taking place, a seemingly odd choice of location but incredibly dignified and warm. We listened to the official ceremony through loudspeakers, the event taking place on the other side of the ridge. The Prime Minister spoke well, the pomp ensued, a 21-gun salute punctuated the air, and everyone sang the Anthem in a loud unison. Shortly afterwards, we left with everyone else. Once again, powerful and brief.
The rest of the day was a communal daze, with few cars on the road and few people out and about. It felt like a religious holiday, but without the rabbinic prohibitions against work. After taking a nap, I started making plans for the start of Independence Day. The music on the radio was amazing as always: the classic Israeli songs from the army entertainment troupes, classic singers, and more. Hebrew may not be the best language to convey facts and science, but it dones a great job with poetry and emotions. Combined with a sound stemming from traditional Jewish themes and pop structure, true classics.
I slowly got myself together and off I was to Tel Aviv. I met a friend from college at his place and walked to a party thrown by high-school friends around the corner. Their place was a huge apartment on the up-market street appropriately called Rothschild Boulevard. I saw a friend from high school who moved back to Israel eight years ago, as well as people from all parts of my life, stocking up on drinks before hitting the town. The target: a block party in the gentrified neighborhood of Florentin. After some time, we were off.
The crowd got bigger and bigger, until we were surrounded by people dancing to music pumping from the nearby apartments, a blend of Jamaican dancehall and house music that provided enough ethnicness for the crowd. The intersections were full of 20-somethings and stands of alcohol on sale. A party like this could never happen in Jerusalem. Not just the huge gathering of people outside with little security -- but the hordes of well-dressed young people who can stay out until dawn at a party. I stayed out for a while, witnessing all sorts of drama unfold, until my ability to stay upright began to fade. Let's just say there's a huge difference between 20 and 25 when it comes to staying out late and partying. I made it back to Jerusalem very late (birds chirping and night slowly dissipating) and woke up too late for another party.

Creating new rituals where the background is Jewish is mesmerizing. Everything about the last 48 hours felt Jewish, depite its secular content. Aside from a great 48 hours of reflecting and honoring this new country of mine, it got even better: I got asked to work again for birthright israel and Hillel, coordinating four buses starting next week for a very good price. From being bored at school and the lack of school (strike keeps going and going and going...) to feeling deflated from my last job experience, this is exactly what I needed to hear. We'll see what happens should school restart, but it'll be great to be doing something again that brings me some satisfaction.

2007-04-22T01:27:00.000+03:00

21 April 2007

One of the purchases I made while in the States, which I previously mentioned, was a large stack of magazines. Among those purchased are what I would call “grooming” magazines. Yeah, I bought them, so what of it? Granted, they push a lifestyle that is bent on buying brand labels and looking one’s best.

You were expecting a counter-argument here?

While some of these magazines try to transcend materialism by writing about current events, some of them end up turning their columns into soapbox rants, with poorly developed arguments and nonexistent research. One of the magazines notorious for this type of writing, after an interview with Justin Timberlake and a spread of a man with slicked-back hair dressed in various Italian labels, decided to publish what reads as the intro of Michael Chabon’s forthcoming “The Yiddish Policemen’s Union.” Chabon is the same author who wrote “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay,” the historical fiction novel that paralleled the origin of the comic book industry among Jews in the 1930’s.
The previewed pages spell out another dimension where there’s a Jewish states in Alaska, full of Ashkenazim who seem to have found familiar roots in the frozen tundra of North America. It reads like a combination of a season of Northern Exposure, an Isaac Bashevis Singer story, the Haaretz weekend section and numerous portrayals of Jews in American media, highbrow and lowbrow. While the average two hours of primetime American sitcoms probably contains a handful of Yiddish words popularized in popular culture over the course of a century, Chabon goes the extra mile in using terms and references that only Jews well-educated in their own history would know (e.g., “the big Litvak lady” at the “Polar-Shtern Kafeteria”). Even the setting in Alaska parallels the Jewish Autonomous Region in Siberia that Stalin set up in the hopes of solving “the Jewish question” through mass emigration to the other side of the USSR.
The chapter raises all sorts of issues, from usage of Yiddish or Hebrew as a Jewish lingua franca to Israel vs. Diaspora relations, written expertly by the author. After a few paragraphs of reading on a jetlag-induced narcoleptic afternoon, filled with streets named after Jewish thinkers and visions of a snow-covered shtetl with signage in English, I instinctively yelled out “WHAT THE...IS THIS DOING IN DETAILS MAGAZINE?!”
There are plenty of American Jews who have and do critique aspects of their identity in the mainstream media, much to the chagrin of the established Jewish community who becomes worried that these skeletons in the closet will be exploited by others or misunderstood by the vast majority out there otherwise unaware of the basics of Jewish identity, not to mention current issues and dilemmas. I tended to vaciliate between the two sides, usually based on whether or not I agreed with the the speaker. Living in the Jewish States, it's all viscerally academic.
I’m curious as to why a magazine such as this, otherwise hawking designers and high-end liquor, would not only choose to print literature but one so chock full of cultural essentialism. Is the readership of this magazine really the departments of Judaic Studies in top-tier colleges who swap advice over the latest in men’s fashion in between lectures on the Essenes?
I’m interested in seeing content of the May edition, even if it’s priced 400% more in Israel. In the meantime I’d suggest picking up a copy of Guilt & Pleasure. It may be funded by a mega-philanthropist, but it’s very insightful reading that’s meant to be discussed in a salon-style meeting and (hopefully) won't leave you itching to send a check to the ADL.

It’s finally getting warm here, taking a walk on Shabbat for the first time in a while on a nearby path past rosemary bushes so full of bees it sounded like the NASCAR race on TV you inadvertently flicked onto with the remote control.
The student strike continues on, and on the docket now are the ultimate in Israeli experiences: Memorial Day and Independence Day, 48 consecutive hours that fill the average Israeli with an extra helping of intense emotions. Teenagers have been selling Israeli flags with clips for cars all along the streets, with cars zipping by with at least one or two adorned flags. The local newspaper not only put out an official guide to all the memorial ceremonies and Independence Day celebrations, but published their list of the 100 most defining Blue and White concepts (even after last year’s Top 10 versions in the Haaretz and Yediot Ahronot papers, this is a must read for anyone looking for an understanding of Israeli society).
Here sales for coolers and beachwear are for Independence Day and never for Memorial Day, not like we do back in the States where we turn both into a moneymaker. Somehow the idea of a Memorial Day sale on grills and women’s clothes doesn’t fit into a country where the jury’s literally still out on the last war, not to mention practically everyone in this small country knowing someone who’s died in a war or terrorist attack (also included in the commemorations). That being said, tomorrow I’m hoping to buy a TV (at long last!) before the first of two nationwide sirens sound in the evening that announces the start of Memorial Day. I may not get cable installed for a few days' more, all I need in the meantime is a regular broadcast channel to watch the ceremony marking the end of Memorial Day and the beginning of Independence Day. Called "The Torch Lighting Ceremony," this ceremony annually broadcasted live from Har Herzl (the national military and political cemetery in Jerusalem) is the height of patriotism and nationalist kitsch. Think every patriotic symbol, performance and speech you've ever seen witnessed and then condensed into a square plaza.

More to come in the next few days.

2007-04-17T22:22:00.000+03:00

17 April 2007

Part 1
I arrived back in Israel Sunday afternoon, exhausted and rather disoriented. The flight back from JFK via Madrid was decent, save the non-defrosted kosher meals and the Israeli who had to make friends with everyone on the plane. I shot him a look of annoyance every time he tried to make eye contact.
Flying on Iberia to and from Israel was an interesting linguistic experience, as my six years of learning Spanish flooded back into my immediate brainwaves like blood rushing to one’s head after getting up quickly. Soon I was mimicking the stewardesses’ Castilian accents, full of lisps that came in handy as they were just as adamant as Americans in speaking their native tongue. Spanish and Hebrew blended into one seamless language full of long vowels and absent of the sound of the letter of my first name. The Madrid airport was visually impressive, the duty-free extensive but not as good as Israel’s (not that I could afford anything) and the little food that wasn’t covered in Spanish ham decent (read: a salad and a thick omelet sandwich that makes the thin Israeli version even more pitiful than it already is).

But this wasn’t a trip to Spain. I landed in JFK several weeks ago. I watched the overweight family in front of me go through security and the TSA agents screaming and cursing at one another, and knew I was back in America. After a few days in DC, my parents and I drove to our relatives in Ohio – a nine-hour drive that I normally hate, but this was my chance to soak up some Americana. In no time I was immersed in drawls and Cracker Barrel and endless tracts of land. Pesach was its usual spectacle, at least 20 people per night at my aunt’s with the requisite family dynamics. I lead the s’darim, trying to keep a progressively fading crowd captive, and helped to instigate a family-wide debate over the nature of freedom and existence of universal values that left me as the more philosophically liberal voice at the heated table (moral relativism, onward!). Just as important, I took advantage of my cousin’s free drinks perk at Starbucks several times, not to mention making her blast one of the country music stations while driving around. A good yet abbreviated trip to the Midwest.

My inability to shop like an Israeli at duty-free (read: with abandon for the sake of a good deal) was made up for in DC stocking up on magazines, clothes and the always important Airborne.

Friends and family keep asking how the trip was, my first once since emigrating. As I summed up to one person, “It’s great to be there, it’s great to be here.” Coined in a state of delirium after sleeping for 16 hours, tihs line that would make Dr. Seuss proud best sums up my situation. Even though I know I made the right decision in moving here (a crappy school and lack of work situation notwithstanding) it was great being back in the States and it’ll be great to be back again. For me it took a trip back to the States to internalize how much I missed family & friends, and how much they miss me – a great feeling indeed. Despite the almost 24 hour voyage each way, I didn’t mind the actual act of flying, so there will be future attempts at creating a life Here and There simultaneously.

Part 2
Trying to stay up as long as possible to avoid jet lag, I pass out around 10pm only to wake up a few hours later still dressed. Ten hours later, I slowly get up out of bed in time to hear the siren marking Holocaust Martyrs’ and Heroes’ Memorial Day. I was planning on going downtown to see life stop for a minute, crazy drivers and all – as it does every year – but all I managed to muster was getting out of bed and go right back to sleep. The siren, which will also be sounded next week for Memorial Day, is as much about a moment of reflection as it is about recognizing the fragility of everyday life here in Israel – the same siren, with its piercing winding-up and winding-down effect, is the same one sounded should something more immediate occur.

Several hours later, I forced myself to wake up after a self-record of 16 hours! The jetlag this time is fierce, overpowering even a second cup of coffee.

The Student Union began a strike before break was over, and continues at least through 18/4 with no reports of it ceasing soon. My interest in going back to working full-time grows with each day, as I’m finding myself more and more restless in a good way, wanting to get immersed in something impactful that can provide disposable income.
That's it for now, tomorrow's a new day of no school, a possible to Tel Aviv and the definite continuing of jetlag.

2007-03-27T11:11:00.000+02:00

27 March 2007

On the way to school this morning, two buses from my line came arrived at the same time -- a common occurence, as time-keeping is an abstract concept here for those who are expected. Gunning it down the narrow streets of the ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods all bus lines are obliged to cross, the driver spots a huge backup of cars at the next turn. He simply yells out in Hebrew "Traffic Jam!" and proceeds to make a detour around the street, missing two bus stops along the way which no one needed. Perhaps because we're so starved of strategic quick-thinking leadership here, I certainly felt more at ease with the driver (better than the situation the other day, when the driver started screaming at a woman who entered the bus through the wrong doors with a large suitcase and didn't understand the driver's insistence for her to get off. Everyone was holding their breaths).
As if there wasn't anough corruption going on here, now we have a Finance Minister accussed of embezzling funds from an NGO and a newly appointed Justice Minister who appointed 12 ultra-Orthodox rabbis to 15 rabbinic court positions who have the power to rule on conversions, marriages and divorces. At least there's a pending petition to annul the appointments.

I'm getting ready to leave the country for a bit, the first time as an Israeli citizen and traveling on two passports. People have asked me if I'm excited to go home. I tell them I'm excited, but the word "home" gets tricky. Granted, many of my English-speaking friends here are not immigrants themselves, so I don't necessarily expect them to instinctively think about the choice of words. If I had to explain it in detail, there's home and Home -- the former being where family and friends are, and the latter being where one's dreams and ideals are. For me, it's Israel, just as for some it's on a tropical island or in the house they grew up in. There's so much potential to come from this country in which I can have a direct part for it not to be the place of dreams and ideals for me.
There's a radio ad campaign on the Army-run stations with popular entertainers doing the voice-over. The script is more or less the same:
Celebrity:"You know all the trails in South America. You've hiked all over India and Thailand. But when was the last time you hiked a trail in Israel?"
Announcer:"Getting connected with Israel. Because Israel is us."
The Diaspora Israel activist in me loves this ad, agreeing that there's so much to discover and appreciate in this small country. The Israeli inside me says "chool" (an acronym for "out of the country/land") is the place to recharge one's batteries. I'm not sure if either side is totally convincing but just in case I'm bringing last week's extended weekend section of Yediot Ahronot to read in the airport with it's "51 Reasons to Live in Israel" guest column (I'm slowly witching back to the Hebrew newspapers, which are much more interesting and entertaining than the overtly pretensious English ones). I'm looking forward to the comfort and challenge of being back in the States, not to mention my 6-hour layover in Madrid to rev up my Spanish.

Ahead of Passover, the Yahoo! frontpage ran this AP article about a bus turned into an oven for baking matzah. Notwithstanding the fact that they spelled the plural of matzah "matzos," the combination of the words "bus" and "oven" resurfaced all the Holocaust jokes in my head. It's gross to be sure, but a sign nonetheless of my new Israeli identity -- laughing at the horror of it all.

A woman the other day in the supermarket was shopping for Kosher for Passover products. As I was picking up a few things, her fingernails-on-a-chalkboard American voice announced to the entire store "I hate this country, everything's got Kitniyot in it!" Had I felt better I would have retorted with something witty in Arabic or even Yiddish, as her attitude was not only offensive to those who do eat Kitniyot during Passover, but goes to prove the anachronistic nature of a Tradition that only causes more grief during an otherwise joyous holiday.
For those who don't know what I'm talking about: "Kitniyot" are legumes/beans/rice/corn/soy/etc., that were unfamiliar to Jews living in the shtetls of Europe several hundreds of years ago. While totally unrelated to the five grains mentioned in the Bible as prohibited from being leavened ("hametz") during the holiday, Ashkenazim nonetheless decided to ban the consumption of kitniyot during the holiday, lest they be confused with the real deal.
While there is a notion that one follows the traditions and customs of one's father, there's also a Rabbinic decree that "the law of the land is the law" applying to the potential conflict between Rabbinic law and non-Rabbinic law. If the US government demands all foods to be labeled with a list of ingredients, isn't that enough to prove that the contents don't have hametz and are thus K for P?
My Rabbinic rulings have a lot of sway, so don't be surprised to see them plastered up in large black print on the walls of your local neighborhood (as is done in this country).
Whatever, bring on the hummus and soy milk this Passover!

A long post indeed -- if you made it this far, a fantastic video from Passover 2006 as a reward.
Have a Happy and Meaningful Feast of Freedom!

2007-03-20T14:08:00.000+02:00

20 March 2007

It may be that the only sound at night that wakes me up is the buzzing of mosquitoes, but there's never a dull moment in Israel:

-A nationwide civil defense drill is taking place as I write, announced to the public by the "best" sound around: an air-raid siren. They canceled the siren for the communities around Gaza & the North, thinking it would be too traumatic for them. As if students here in the library didn't clutch their bags and look outside with trepidation when it sounded.
-The threat of a nationwide strike looms in the air, as the Trade Federation gave the government until today to pay back wages. As I've said before they have every right to strike...EXCEPT if it goes over a week, in which case my flight plans to the States could be screwed up as the strike would include airport workers.
-I haven't been feeling well for the past few days -- my self-diagnosis says it's most likely strep throat, but this afternoon I'm making my first trip to the doctor. Since I rarely go to a doctor in the States, this'll provide some extra fun.

Eight days till I'm back in the States and still lots to do....

2007-03-11T10:39:00.000+02:00

11 March 2007

The last few days have been wamer than usual, allowing us to shed those coats and long sleeves and expose our pale arms. Even though it's suppsoedly going to rain this week and get colder, it's definitely a nice respite and hopefully a sign of things to come for Passover.

Purim came and went, the drunken debacle it always is. I went to a friend's for the reading of Megillat (scroll) Esther, dressed as a blonder and preppier version of myself (no hair bleach was used in this costume -- we've evolved from high school. If pictures exist, I'll begrudgingly provide a link for you).

Last week the Israeli Grammy award ceremony took place, and despite not having a TV they were broadcast on the all-Israeli music radio station. As if the American version isn't disappointing enough, the Israeli one was down right embarrassing. Like many forms of art in contemporary Western society, music is by and large turned into a side dish for commercials, and so what gets played to a larger audience is appropriately called "Middle of the Road" or MOR, so as to appeal to the (lowest) common denominator. As a result, four of the six nominees for Song of the Year sounded so similar in their dulling balladry that I just about fell asleep at 9:30pm. Granted, this is a larger debate about whether music and all forms of art should be inherently accesible to all sectors of society, or if there are 'levels' of culture; but we're talking content and substence here, not how much it costs to experience art (a different yet connected subject).
What was most striking about the ceremony, and what ultimately brought some excitement to it, was a protest by a singer named Eyal Golan, one of the most popular singers of Mizrahi music. Mizrahi, literally meaning "Eastern," is a hodgepodge of Greek/Turkish/Arab/Western pop music defined by its sound, the accents of its singers and the topics sung (normally God, love and/or one's mother -- very similar to Country music). Golan wore a shirt that protested the fact that the nominees did not represent this sector of this industry.
The mid-1990's were seen as a breakthough for this genre, with the mainstream success of Mizrahi music and what was seen as the emergence of an Israeli melting pot. Perhaps the introduction of Mizrahi music into radio stations would mean better socioeconomic conditions for the "Mizrahi" community, composed of immigrants and children of immigrants from an area stretching from Morocco to Iran (read: non-European).
On the one hand, Golan had every right to protest. A substantial percentage of the population listens and supports this type of music, itself very diverse; press promotion of concerts are small and confined to one page, while MOR take up at least two pages of the weekend paper; and the most popular radio stations play a handful of Mizrahi songs (and usually the most watered-down sounding ones) in their daily rotations, lending itself to looking like the American phenomenon of the token minority on TV channels.
On the other hand, Mizrahi music suffers from the same blandness that exemplifies MOR: Over-production, more often than not sounding like it's performed on the same child's electronic keyboard I had in the 80's; covers of very recent songs that don't bring any innovations; and lyrics that are increasingly predictable. Mizrahi music is said to have reached a milestone with the popularity of Zohar Argov, known as "The King" here. The song "Eizo Medina" (What a Country!) by Eli Luzon, however, encapsulates the social frustrations that the community faces, in their own sound, in a way Americans take for granted with the protest songs of the 1960's. If there were more songs like Luzon's in any Israeli genre (there are, but in very small numbers), then perhaps we'd be cookin'.

Anyways, enough of my ranting for now -- I have to finish the reading material for a class.

2007-02-28T12:43:00.000+02:00

28 January 2007

Not having a television and a properly working computer at home, I've been engaging in a rather surprising activity: reading. I know, it scares me too, but I'm engrossed in Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man," given to me as a high school graduation present by one of my English teachers (as I never got into English Honors in high school, wherein they read this book, it was an interesting gift at the time which I'm only now appreciating.) As a I'm a huge fan of Self/Other discussions and wit-filled writing, this book is hitting the spot and getting me to think out loud about a lot of different issues, such as the following:

One of the great materialistic things about Israel for me is that clothing fits me, between the size and style norms. Granted, the propensity for what Americans would call "Eurotrash" here is very high -- to the point of it becoming ridiculous. Perhaps it's a product of getting older, but some of the stuff they sell here is too much even for me.
That being said, there's a handful of Israeli clothing stores, and that's it. If we take my belief that clothing should be both practical and some outward reflection of oneself, then this country tends to eventually look the same and become lazy -- lazy, in terms of outward appearances. Perhaps I'm missing the point and it means that somehow Israeli society as a whole has evolved to the point of looking inwards....Then again, with hairdressers on every block in every town here, not to mention the general Americanization of consumer culture here, that last comment is pretty much a joke.

(No kidding about the hair -- there are four different salons on two adjoining blocks in my neighborhood. And I haven't even mentioned the styles: mohawk with a mullet among teenage Jews, shaved on the sides with a Jheri curl on top among Arab teenagers.)

More important than aesthetics, however, is one of many criticisms leveled at the aforementioned "Americanization of consumer culture" here (or perhaps more appropriately, the development of consumer culture in Israel as part of a general Americanization); namely, the abundance of "Made in China" products. I have a lot to say on this matter, especially from my involvement in high school with the Free Tibet Movement, to the extent that I try as much as possible not to buy products with the above label. As a sad result, there's a lot of places in this country where I cannot shop, or if I do most products -- be they clothes or otherwise -- are out of reach. It's actually not so sad for my wallet.
Just as in America, or perhaps here more, the abundance of "Made in China" as a brand is staggering and gets me (at least) thinking about the need for material goods over values. I liken this phenomenon to Israel selling weapons to CapitalistCommunist China and prizing normalization of itself over values inspired by its prophetic heritage. For those who are engaged in the Jewish community and current politics, "Prophetic heritage" has become such a cliche that I have a hard time using it here; yet one of the main reasons I moved here -- like many other Anglos -- was to fulfill philosophy through action and make a difference.

Sorry if you were expecting something different here, but one can only write about the weather and frightening middle-age women in Israel for so long.
Don't worry, plenty more to be said soon about getting my laissez-passer and finalizing my resignation.

2007-02-27T11:02:00.000+02:00

27 February 2007

My computer is still possessed by some reincarnation of a Luddite, whom I'm convinced was blind in his/her life in the early 19th century, as my computer continues to function and play music off the internet but refuses to display anything after 10-15 minutes. As such, I've become a major fan/addict of WOXY.com, a former independent radio station outside of Cincinnati that has since begun broadcasting online. The WOXY Vintage station in particular is fantastic, with playlists that rival my iPod in diversity and weirdness.
The other saving grace is the computer lab on campus, with a very fast internet connection and very noisy student. Despite a colored laminated sign by each individual computer with a picture of a cellphone crossed out with a thick red line, everyone talks on their phone or at least lets it ring at the highest volume possible.

The strike proposed by the National Student Union on Sunday -- the first day of school -- was cancelled, yet there's still the strike planned for Wednesday by the Labor Federation. While one report claims it's not going to be a comprehensive strike, which would include the airport and banks, who knows? If there is one, it's supposed to begin tomorrow at 6AM....As long as it doesn't affect the buses, workers of the State unite!

(I'm really not that selfish, they're striking over a very legitimate cause -- not being paid after being promised)

Lots more to say, especially with the fact that I've been living here for 6 months now and tomorrow marks the Septennial of my first tiem in Israel. For now, gotta register for some new classes, finish up with my former job, and go to class.

2007-02-11T21:15:00.000+02:00

11 January 2007

At NYU we were warned about drug-dealers in Washington Square Park, and for women to be careful of their surroundings. What do we have to be careful of at Hebrew U? Packs of wild dogs.

Getting ready for a meeting in the evening, I heard the odd sound of dogs barking on campus. As the campus, like all of Israel, is overrun with feral cats (cats are to here what squirrels are to the States), the sound of barking dogs was very strange. I looked out the window, and sure enough dog after dog was pouring into a walkway between buildings, to the extent it looked like a remake of the scene from "A Christmas Story" where the next-door beighbors have a horde of bloodhounds that terrorize the protagonist's family. Ten dogs were now swarming the campus -- I called campus security, who promptly said "we already know the situation" and "we're taking care of it, someone from the Municipality is coming." The thought of running to my meeting for fear of running into this pack of wild dogs had me laughing to myself, something I definitely needed.
From the last post, not much as changed with work, I'm progressively unhappier there. I didn't get a job offer I was hoping for, but they promised to find work for me in the next few weeks.

Meanwhile, the lack of recent posts has to do with the fact that my computer is once again going blank on a regular basis. I've diagnosed it as either a faulty screen, an overheating battery or the fan is not working well enough -- because of the last two, I end up putting the laptop in the fridge to chill, on the top shelf just under the freezer with its beard of ice. It really does work, and back in the States I've seen a "cooling" mat for laptops that I'm intending to buy (I was actually thinking of buying it before moving here, but for some reason I didn't).

Two more finals to go, both in prerequisite classes, so I can hopefully be done with htem and start the process of writing a thesis.

2007-01-31T20:32:00.000+02:00

31 January 2007

I'm sick again, the second time this winter. This never happened in all my 25 years in the States, so to say "this sucks" would be an understatement. The weather has changed from bright, sunny and warm on the weekend to cold and rainy once again. While it's great that the rain returned...
I woke up this morning with a painful itch in the back of my throat, making me wince every time I swallow. As I began to go about the day, my sinuses felt like they were going to implode. I got through my work, and decided to go to SuperPharm to get throat lozenges. Wouldn't you know it, the day I'm sick and need to go there, only one register is open, and the guy behind it is not only a moron in that he can't properly ring up the woman employee who cut in front of me in line, but doesn't have the guts to say "sorry for the wait;" instead he proceeds to give me the same cold shoulder that I'm giving him. There's something about working in a convenience/pharmacy/toiletries store, whether it's Superpharm, Duane Reede or the infamous CVS that makes people turn into idiots, or else they're just hired that way. Either way, yet another thing in common with the States.
I have to now go back to the accursed store for better throat lozenges that have medication other than Ricola's elderberry extract flavor. Not to mention at some point soon keep working on my take-home test on Lebanon. Take-home tests: sounds like a great idea, until the attached procrastination kicks in and forces you to watch clips of "West Wing on YouTube. And/or makes you sick for the second time in a month.

2007-01-29T12:05:00.000+02:00

29 January 2007

I'm not trying to insult anyone's intelligence when I write the following: I'm fine, nowhere near the suicide bombing that happened today. I don't assume everyone who reads this blog knows Israel's geography -- Jerusalem is in the center, and Eilat is the southernmost town in the country, a four-hour drive away.
That being said, it's rather scary that Eilat was hit. On the one hand, there hasn't been an attack in the country for a long time, in part thanks to the security buffer; on the other hand, Eilat, being a resort town for Europeans, never gets attacked and this could be a huge setback for the tourism industry in this country.

Thought I'd update the blog while taking a nap after Part 2 of my Arabic final (it went well, although I didn't remember the literal translations of some of the words that we were assumed to memorize. Once again, it's all about the assumptions here.)

2007-01-20T23:08:00.000+02:00

20 January 2007

My computer is working for the moment, after finally deciding to reformat the hard drive (i.e., erainsg all files and starting from scratch). I saved what I could triage-wise on a USB key, completely forgetting all my Favorites page and a good percentage of mp3's (they still exist on my iPod, so we'll see what happens when I reinstall the iPod software).

All Saturday I wanted to take a walk, yet I knew it was at some point going to rain. Just as Shabbat ended, the wind picked up, the sky turned an ominous shade of mauve, and the rain began. Just like three weeks ago, it poured and poured. I guess the best equivalent to this kind of rain is a monsoon -- seasonal and when it arrives, it arrives in buckets, complete with thunder/lightning. I had an engagement party to go to, trudging through the rain to get there. After a little bit I left, only for the hail to begin. With no cars out, the sound was amplified, as if I was walking in the middle of one of those "rainsticks" they sell in nature stores. My normal way of walking home was blocked by a huge tree which had fallen over, taking some power lines with it.
It's amazing how a Mediterranean storm can make me feel like I'm back in DC.

2007-01-19T14:19:00.000+02:00

19 January 2007

My computer has gotten possessed by some sort of demon, which in a fit will cause the screen to start flickering, eventually turning the screen completely gray with several white horizontal lines placed in a way that would make a great design for a sweater at Gap, but not on my computer. If I start up the computer in "debugging mode," it seems to help. The demon is probably a Luddite, and as a result I haven't spent hours on You Tube or a new site I just hear about from a friend with full TV shows and movies.

Where to start? Last weekend I went up to Tel Aviv for a few hours to see good friends from college. As soon as I got out of the minibus, I took a deep breath of Central Bus Station air, full of smashed Russian beer bottles and illegal migrant workers, and was so happy to be in Tel Aviv/out of Jerusalem. We sat outside at a café notorious for poor service, and I absorbed the warmth and view of the sea.

Flash forward a week and it's surprisingly warm here in Jerusalem. So much so that I opened the windows in my apartment. While it's great that it's somewhere in the 60's today, we haven't had any rain since the Great Flood two weeks ago. If the dew point is at a certain level (I never understood the dew point), everything is covered with a skin of moisture, and when one inhales the moisture fills one's lungs. An odd feeling, but that's life on a mountain surrounded by desert.

Sunday brings another strike by the Student Union, making students go a bit berserk because exams are soon approaching; not to mention the new overseas students for the spring semester arrive on Sunday for registration. More than 200, to be exact. Hebrew U is going to have an amount of students that it hasn't seen in several years, which is amazing, even if I'm still part-time staff.

The computer is starting to flicker again, especially when I started playing a movie. Damn. I'm hoping it's a software problem that can easily be fixed.

2007-01-19T14:17:00.000+02:00

08 January 2007

After weeks and weeks of resisting getting sick, the cold/flu/virus/whatever that been spreading through Jerusalem finally caught me. This morning I was able to get to my 8.30 class relatively on time, which definitely meant something was different. As the morning progressed, the pressure in my head increased. After grabbing lunch on campus with a great friend from high school, I told work I had to go home. I had to stop at the pharmacy downtown, and unfortunately took the bus with the scenic tour of Jerusalem. The pharmacy, part of a chain in Israel, was having a Buy One Get One Free sale, so the customers and staff were going insane. The pharmacist was kind enough to explain the difference between two different types of cold medicine, and I was soon enough out of there.
Looking at the box, which contained both day & night medications, I regretted that it included the dreaded pseudoephedrine, but my throbbing sinuses couldn't wait. I got home, took the pills and ate food, and tried to rest by watching a movie. Turns out watching "Donnie Darko" (an amazing movie) while on Dexamol Cold daytime formula leads to some odd feelings, one of which being a near-complete blurring of time. Not quite sure if I was asleep or not, I got out of bed, made sure to eat something, and eventually met up with two friends for a drink. My drink being hot tea.

2007-01-07T23:20:00.000+02:00

07 January 2007

PS: One of the other rules I forgot to mention in the previous post was that I am also forbidden to get involved with any one named Tiffany, Brittany, and Brandy.

The strike last Wednesday really did happen: The gates to the university were closed, covered in posters and locked with thick chains. The main gates for cars and buses were blocked. There was a gate open for campus staff only, which I begrudgingly entered. Anyone who showed a student ID to the security guard would be heckled by an intimidating member of the Student Union, wedged into the entrance.
After a 2-hour meeting which was uneventful, to put it mildly, I ran out of the building to get off of campus. Members of the Student Union were blowing whistles at any student they saw, despite the fact that the overseas and pre-college prep students were not affected by the strike. While they stated in an email/communiqué that due to the upcoming finals period, they will wait to wage a protracted strike until next semester, I am nonetheless impressed with how well the protest went, even though pictures from the protest showed them burning tires. As if Jerusalem wasn't polluted enough.

Regardless of the strike, I was in a hurry to get off of campus to see my mom. She was asked to co-staff a 2-week trip for DC area college students, many of whom I know as birthright israel past participants. Although I have lots of friends in Israel, and plenty of work to keep me busy, it's a whole other experience to have a family member be here. Despite keeping a very busy schedule, we managed to see each other several times in the course of her program, including coming over for lunch this past Saturday.
On top of my mom's visit, I have lots of friends visiting from the States now. Friday night dinner saw the reunion of several friends from DC, all of us managing to resort to our once-usual conversations on politics, Israel and Jewish identity. I've definitely missed those meals, as they fed my native Washingtonian soul. This week sees no less than ten people from various walks of my life passing through Israel, and with the semester for overseas students over, I can actually go out during the week to see them, and even invite them over to my recently-cleaned apartment.

This past weekend saw one of the most vicious storms in recent memory. The rain began Friday afternoon with buckets of rain pouring down on a friend & me, as we bought food for Shabbat dinner. The rain never let up, eventually escalating into hail, and then very dramatic bouts of thunder & lightning, eerily bright and booming. In Israel, it's not very common to have long thunderstorms with thunder that rattles the windows. Those of us from DC who were at dinner are used to this kind of weather, albeit not normally in the winter. I couldn't help but think about the native-born Israelis in Jerusalem, who are not only unaccustomed to such weather, but don't have the happiest of connotations with bright flashes of light and crashing noises. On the plus side, the Kinneret/Sea of Galilee, Israel's main freshwater reserve, rose by 5cm this past weekend.

2007-01-02T22:55:00.001+02:00

02 January 2007

Tomorrow there is a planned general strike on campus by the Student Union. While I understand the strike is about the proposed increase in tuition at public universities, the concept of an organized group of students striking, not to mention canceling classes, is foreign territory. The last new I heard is that classes are cancelled, it's going to be hard to get onto campus, and they're going to let campus workers in the gates. I have a staff meeting at 10am, and while I'm planning to go, there's the issue of having to potentially cross a picket-line.
I may not take my father's advice to heart all the time, but there a few principles I've been taught to live by him: Don't get involved with a woman who's from New Jersey and/or a Republican, and never cross a picket-line. The first tenet is pretty easy to live by, but I've never encountered an instance where the second one would need to be followed. After I graduated from NYU, the graduate students held a strike in front of the library – had I been there, I would not have entered the building. Regardless of the issues and whether I support them or not, this is a legal demonstration that is planned, enshrined in Israel's young democracy, and as such should there arise the issue of facing a "mishméret shovtím" (in this country, of course there's a parallel phrase in Hebrew for a picket-line), I would have to go all the way to campus only to turn around.

To add to the sanity that is tomorrow, I'm volunteering with my old job, Taglit-birthright israel, at the "Mega-Event" this Wednesday and Thursday nights. The M-E is non-creative title for thousands of participants from around the world who come together at the convention center here in Jerusalem to hear politicians, philanthropists, and celebrate their ability to be in Israel for free. I'm manning the Alumni Association booth, and as such will be likely to bump into lots and lots of people I know, plus all the familiar sights I've grown to love: The Brazilian/Argentinean fights, the drunk American students, and the roll-call of countries present and the subsequent upping the ante of who can scream the loudest longest when their country is named.

2007-01-02T22:54:00.000+02:00

30 December 2006

The snow came, freaked everyone out, and has just about disappeared. The resulting pandemonium on the faces and in the voices of Israelis, coupled with the instant turning of freshly fallen snow into grey slush, brought back warm memories of DC. Although it may be cold here, bright blue skies trump any possibility of slush turning into ice.

Shabbat was spent catching up the news and much needed English-language magazines on culture and music. I have just about lost all patience for the two English newspapers in Israel, which either suffer from a horrible translation job or a lack of coverage beyond the often self-enclosed English-speaking communities here in Israel (known as "Anglo-Saxons"). As for the magazines…they cost a bloody fortune here, but well worth it. If this MidEast Studies gig doesn't work out, I'm going into the print importing business.

2006-12-27T19:05:00.000+02:00

27 December 2006

Any reader of this blog will quickly understand that I am missing the entire Christmas season. Looks like we got a little bit of the season spirit here.

After a long dry spell here, it began to rain last night. No drizzle, no sprinkling -- serious downpours with thunder & lightning. The rain continued through this morning...then turning to hail...then sleet...and finally at about 2pm, snow.

The snow went in and out in terms of intensity, but think snowflakes were soon covering the entire area, eventually sticking to the ground. My view from campus of Jordan got fuzzier and fuzzier with time, until it was a total whiteout. The Israeli students and staff were flipping out, getting their pictures taken outside. They all kept asking me if it felt like Christmas, which of course it did. Soon enough the Israelis, myself included, started acting like Washingtonians in a snowstorm -- freaking out. Rumors were spreading of classes being cancelled, and everyone was abuzz with what would happen with the multiple high-profile programs at Hillel tonight. By 4pm, all events and classes were cancelled, even mine which was supposed to be at one of the dorms.

WOOHOO! Snow Day in Israel! We had it comin', not getting off for Christmas.
I get on the bus, and as we pull into the winter wonderland, I turn my iPod on the random shuffle mode. What comes up as the first song? "Snowstorm," by an indie rock group named Galaxie 500, only to be followd by the Xmas carol "Joy to the World" in Arabic. Coincidence?

Getting home was surprisingly unadventurous, through the slick and mucky streets and the incredible views of this city under snow. The pictures above are from my balcony at around 6:30pm, so the lighting isn't as dramatic as it was before.

I'm still doing my homework, so as to fulfill the requirements of Murphy's Law for school to be cancelled tomorrow. My street hasn't been plowed nor treated with snow, and when I left campus, the outside walkways were filled with slush and liable to freeze over into ice tonight.

If I dare to venture outside tonigh , I'll bring the camera.

2006-12-23T23:46:00.000+02:00

23 December 2006

I don't know what others dream in their sleep. Sometimes it's several different thoughts or experiences from the last few days that are mushed into one seamless narrative that is on par with work by Dali. And then there are dreams which fall somewhere between memories and predictions that leave me with constant bouts of deja vu.
Take the other weekend for example. I was helping lead a group of overseas students to Eilat for the weekend. Eilat is the southernmost town in Israel, located on the Red Sea, with Jordan and Egypt visible from the city center. In the past 6 months, I have had two dreams about Eilat which left me rather reluctant to go down there.
The first was connected to a beach that I grew up going to on the Delmarva Peninsula (I've taken a vow of silence in naming this place, for fear that the encroaching tourism from other locales will soon reach it). The ocean has been slowly but surely encroaching on the beach, to hte point where every few years the parking lots on the other side of the sand dunes are covered in water. My mind equated this already tiny piece of land with Eilat, with my entire extended family trying to flee the encroaching water by driving endlessly. The second was again had my entire extended family as cast, this time going on a vacation to Eilat. The land got progessively narrower and and narrower, to the point that at the last hill overlooking the town, once could see the ferries that took passengers to Eilat, which was now an island in the middle of a raging sea.
There's a lot more for me to explore in this country, and every time I take the train here I'm amazed at how big the land feels here....yet we're still talking about a country whose length is less than that when I drive with my parents from DC to our realives in Cincinnati. Part of immigrant absorption here is not just the culture and bureaucracy, but the compactness of things. Interesting that this lesson got taught through dreams.

It's Christmastime and I'm missing it intensely. I've downloaded more than a dozen songs, watched "Charlie Brown Christmas" and "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" online, and my mom (who just arrived the other day staffing a trip here, definitely nice to see her), brought me my CD of a famous Arab singer and her Semitic covers of classic Christmas songs, and a copy of "A Christmas Story," a true classic that I grew up watching.
It's going to take a long time to get the Christmas affinity out of me. There's something about the lights, artificial happiness, and constant biblical-themed programming on cable stations that gets me very excited in a way that Passover only can vis a vis Jewish holidays. Despite living in Jerusalem, there's very little awareness and visiblity that it's Christmastime. The other week I had to go to the city center by chance, and lo and behold the main pedestrian throroughfare was decked in lights. The parallel road was covered in icicle lights, leaving me speechless. The flower stores in the shuk are selling poinsettias, almost tempting me to buy one.

I make no apologies about my connection with Christmas, not when I sang carols with the overseas students while in Eilat, and not tomorrow when I listen to them on the way to work and classes.

2006-12-12T00:30:00.000+02:00

12 December 2006

Postscript to the previous post: You absolutely have to click on the link for the Lottery here, www.pais.co.il. Click on the blue button at the bottom of the screen and you can see the taped lottery drawing from tonight. All I wanted were the numbers, and instead I good a huge dose of laughter.
In anticipation for the drawing, there's a studio that looks lie it's from the early 1990's (i.e., contemporary Israeli), with an orchestra andsingers performing everything from "The Impossible Dream" in Hebrew, "If I Were a Rich Man," "Money, Money, Money", and the drawing is set to a live jazzed-up redntion of the theme song from the promos. This is too good.
Much to my astonishment, I did not win. The most I got in one row (the ticket looks a lot like Powerball from the States, but a LOT more expensive) was two. Oh well, better luck next time, right?

2006-12-11T18:27:00.000+02:00

11 December 2006

Tomorrow, in my required course entitled "Problems and Methodology in MidEast Studies," I'm giving a short presentation ("Refarat," the Hebraized form of "report") on the biography of the late Edward Said. I'm working on polishing up the 15-minute report now, including translating it into Hebrew (I'm not quite at level of original compositions in Hebrew).
A few things struck me as I was reading up on his life:
-For a moment, skip his politics and ideologies regarding Israel, American Jews and the West. The trained English professor was intellectually and academically dishonest. In his seminal work "Orientalism" he not only chose works that proved his already-formualted thesis regarding the West's inherent racism and feelings of superiority over the East (and thus left out even more evidence that contradicts his thoughts), but he lumped together writers and thinkers with varying levels of academic background and respectability. His insistence to generalize and leave out other, non-supporting examples sounds a lot like, um, his argument against the West's generalizing of the East.
-"Orientalism" was introduced as an upcoming topic to the class last month, so people could read it. From the reactions of students, I have to unfortunately assume they never read it as an undergraduate. Again, say what you will about the man and his influence on making my field of study one bug subjective mess in the States, but this is a pretty important book. And these students are only now reading it??
-This Methodologies class feels incredibly out of place in Israel. The class is an ongoing discussion on history and social theory, with philosphy thrown in for good measure. For a system that's that seems driven (at least by the students and administration) on final examinations and a "getin & out of class fast" policy, this class is out of place. Mind you, I think it's great.

I broke down this evening and bought a lottery ticket for tonight's big 50 Million Shekel drawing ($11.5 million). Supposedly half of Israel's adult population has bought a ticket in this drawing, whose promotion has gone on for way too long. You can see the promo at www.pais.co.il, but I'll explain its significance: The zero in the "50" is shaped like a hamsa ("five" in Arabic), a common Middle Eastern symbol meant to bring good luck and more importantly keep away the Evil Eye. Just as some people will say "tfoo tfoo tfoo" to ward off bad luck, many in ths neck of the woods will say "hamsa hamsa hamsa." The jingle, "50 Million, Let's hope it's for me" is set to the tun of a recent and famous Mizrachi ("Oriental") song that anyone in Israel recognizes.
Granted, the liberal arts-NYU alumnus-DC liberal in me wants to tear apart the promotional posters in the name of ending the commodification of the socio-economic lower class' cultural and ethnic traditions for the sake of a product that naturally preys on the lower classes...but I still haven't found the corresponding word for "commodification" in Hebrew. Not to mention I cannot stand Marxist theory.
It's interesting, I bought a ticket, and that's all for now.

2006-11-29T21:11:00.000+02:00

29 November 2006

I get all sorts of looks when I say the following, but I could care less what others think: I like Christmas, from the near seizure-inducing flashing lights and metallic tinsel, to the cartoons and music I have memorized over the course of many years, to watching Midnight Mass from The Vatican on NBC. I will find some way of celebrating the holiday in this country -- I'm sure I can find some Christians hawking some Xmas gear (there's always good Jesus memorabilia to be had near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher), find a recipe for egg nog that doesn't leave friends stricken with salmonella, download music and movies (including an album of classic songs in Arabic, which I left back in DC), or go shopping until my wallet shows signs of wear-and-tear.

I've been thinking about Christmas, despite the 62 degree F weather here, especially after going to the supermarket. Slowly but surely, the cheap Menorah wax candles are making their appaearance, along with sufganiyot (more or less a jelly doughnut), a traditional food during Hannukah (hell, anything deep-fried is traditional food on this holiday). I was joking the other week with some of my Israeli co-workers that the only flavor North Americans know from sufganiyot is "red," that indeterminate filling that's somehow a combination of strawberry/raspberry/cherry/Red #4 yet tastes like none of the above. Once they understood I wasn't making a mistake with my Hebrew, they erupted in laughter. So far I've seen "Red" and Dulce de Leche, but more should be coming.
Despite how great it is to see Hannukah goods front and center in a store, instead of in the back corner with the numerous jars of borscht and boxes of matzah, I miss the tinsel and vain attempts to mask a decidedly Christian holiday with consummerism. Sigh.

On the socio-economic flip side, we're in the middle of a general strike here. The Trade Federation in Israel is pretty powerful, able to collpase everyday society with one cellphone call. No flights are leaving or entering the aiport, garbage isn't being collected, banks and post offices are closed, and a whole host of other basic services are halted.

How is this affecting me?
Not so much:

-I took out a lot of money the other day from the ATM. Today, the lines were ridiculous at every ATM on campus, since once the strike began they won't be refilled till it's over.
-Garbage collection is every other day on alternate sides of the street. Regardless of sides, the can are piled to the brim and slowly cascading into the streets.
-There's a package waiting for me at the Post Office, which will continue waiting for me for the time being.

For those of you in the States, soak up your Wal-Mart ads, auto-sensor Santa Claus robots that make you jump with their bellowing greetings, and the nonstop playing of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" that quickly becomes psychological warfare and less of a holiday greeting. I'm envious.

The weather forecast on weather.com said it was going to rain this weekend -- instead it's going to continue being in the low 60's, brigh and sunny, deep blue skies, and incredibly dry. Everyone has been getting sick lately, and I made sure to stop at the drugstore to pick up a new bottle of vitamins, Samubcol which is available in the States and is incredibly effective, and Israeli generic acetaminophen. A co-worker of mine who shares an office laughed at my American ways when she was getting sick and I popped a few aspirin. The next day, she was home sick and I was at school/work as normal. Neurosis some times has its benefits.

2006-11-27T22:13:00.000+02:00

27 November 2006

The students and staff are still glowing about Thanksgiving, which has given my professional ego a much needed inflation. With only a month left in the overseas school's semester, and approximately 8 more programs, I'm feeling better for the time being.

I was making copies of some bills today at work when I turned around too look at the view. Mt. Scopus, where I sutdy & work, is on the east side of Jerusalem and one of the highest points in this mountain town. The views from any window here are spectacular. From the stairway up to my department's office there's a commanding view of the Old City and Western Jerusalem, undulating and rolling across the hills.

The view from the copy room, adjacent to the balcony, is just as majestic. Facing east, one sees the surrounding Arab villages, Judean Desert, and a dark patch of green that is the remainder of the Jordan River before it meets its end in the Dead Sea. At the right time of day, the Moab mountains that make up the border with Jordan come into focus, their mauve (comes from Moab, the Biblical term for the area) facade seemingly a stone's throw away.

I got home by 6pm, an amazing accomplishment. Aside from nights I have programs (2 per week maximum), I'm gonna try to make this a regular ritual: I got lots of books from school calling my name.

2006-11-25T19:01:00.000+02:00

24 November 2006

Turns out there is an Autumn in Israel. Yesterday and today, a muted smell of autumn was detectable -- a combination of crisp, dry air and fermenting leaves still holding on to the last drops of moisture.

Thursday night was the annual Thanksgiving dinner for overseas students at Hebrew U, organized by yours truly. As the night started, I began to feel like I had just turned in a 20-page paper: Relief and freedom. In three weeks, I had managed to organize a 5-figure event at a hotel with dinner and a live band, sell 100 tickets, and annoy the hell out of multiple businesses in the greater Jerusalem area. Normally this job takes two months with a volunteer staff of at least a dozen...but why should anything be normal? Sleep, serenity, sanity: who needed those for three weeks?

The night turned out great, the students were happy, my colleagues and supervisors were happy, and I slept incredibly well Friday night. I'm hoping the rest of this semester (i.e., one more month) goes by much more chill than the last month, where I've managed to make some small and medium-sized mistakes and incur the wrath of two different organizations.

On a much more positive note, I caught up on some reading by going to the bookstore and buying a whole stack of the magazines I grew to like from the States (though considerably more expensive here, even if they're European in origin).

Next week it's off to the university's fitness center, in the hopes of getting a membership.

2006-11-20T22:12:00.000+02:00

20 November 2006

First, let me say that I'm completely exhausted. Maybe it's because of the Thanksgiving dinner I'm planning for 150+ people, maybe it's because I have yet to find a balance that makes school a priority and allows work to be done as well....I'm pooped.

This evening, after shopping for decorations for Thanksgiving, I met up with a friend at the Save Darfur rally in downtown Jerusalem. As opposed to the last rally, where there were only a handful of English-speaking yeshiva students and a bullhorn for the few speakers, this rally was notably different. It took place in Zion Square, the epicenter of downtown Jerusalem, with a full stage, sound & lighting systems, and a bigger array of speakers. The crowd was still overwhelmingly English-speaking, but more speeches were in Hebrew, more rabbis and teachers spoke, and attention was paid to the 250 Darfur refugees currently in Israel, mostly incarcerated as security prisoners. I never got into Darfur as much as others -- Tibet was always my cause, and in the absence of working on that, joining the rally on a cold Jerusalem night felt appropriate.

I left the rally early with the same friend, grabbed food, and bumped into another student from my Arabic class. It was finally a relief to talk with another student, an atmosphere that's definitely missing from campus. He said something profound about the course, which in retrospect I've heard before and currently couldn't say as succinctly (certainly in Hebrew): The MidEast Studies and Arabic Departments are full of wannabe intelligence and security-minded students. All our reading comprehensions for homework, he pointed out, are about "Gen. Chief of Staff said" and "the bilateral communiqué between Iran and Yemen" and so on. Hell, even one of the dictionaries we have to use is published by the Defense Ministry. Whereas in the States MidEast Studies is plagued by partisanship and subjectivity, here it's so pareve (neutral), lacking any cultural enrichment, no wonder it's so connected with the defense establishment.

Off to do Arabic homework and dream of a post-Thanksgiving 2006 reality.

2006-11-13T21:45:00.000+02:00

12 November 2006

Instead of coming up with something witty, I figured I'd finally show some more interior decorating pics from my place (furniture as seen in the IKEA Winter 2007 catalog, assembled by yours truly)

2006-11-13T21:41:00.000+02:00

9 November 2006

As I haven't written in some time, on account of both not having an internet connection in my apartment and the encroaching cold outside, I thought I'd restart this blog with two vignettes.

(1)

Jerusalem is burning, literally. For the past week, there have been riots in the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea She`arim every night. Every night, regardless of when I left campus, the ritual was the same: My bus would approach the neighborhood from across the intersection, only to make a sharp detour around the entire area. Only once did the bus driver announce the change; otherwise, as the bus was filled with college students going home for the night, there was an unspoken understanding of what was going on. Police cars and red tape would block every street entering the neighborhood, and if one looked hard enough beyond the barricades, one could see dispersing hordes of males of all ages. The detour was abnormally packed, making an already long trip even more unbearable.
In the morning, so long as there wasn't another riot, the bus would take its original route and showcase the events of last night to all its passengers: Garbage either in large piles, or strewn about in stream-like lines alongside the curbs; Green garbage cans turned black from the smoke of burning trash, some still smoldering with thick black smoke; And the occasional fire, still raging, with pedestrians quickly walking by without a notice. The bus passengers would be glued to the windows, astounded at the third-world setting they were witnessing.
The smell of the smoke from the riots has engulfed the entire city, even on days with the bluest of skies. If one left a window open, whether on the west side of town or all the way on the east side up on Mount Scopus, the pungent smell was impossible to ignore. The association with something pleasant began to change in me, not entirely, but slowly reaching a darker period of history: September 12-14, 2001. When the smoke from the wreckage of the World Trade Center and the two planes changed direction, all of lower Manhattan (and my apartment at the time) was permeated with the smell of Burnt. This week couldn't be over sooner, because the smell is getting intolerable.

(2)

Bus 28 from Mount Scopus on a Thursday night is a sight to be seen. I had to go to the phone company's store to pick up an external modem, which is by the central bus station, and thus a different bus line from my normal one. I'm one of the first to get on, which means I have a window seat. Slowly but surely, the bus fills with students with duffel bags. The majority of students at Hebrew U are not locals, so they live in the dorms or in town. As this is somewhat of an elite university, there are no classes on Friday and few activities on Thursday night, meaning students can go home. At each bus stop the bus picks up more and more students with duffel bags, to the point where the bus is just as stuffed as the bags. Most people have two bags, one of clothes to be worn and one to be washed. People are crawling into the bus at this point, gasping with the contortions of their bodies for the last cubic centimeters of space to claim as their own. The sight of all these students, grungy guys and headscarved Muslim women alike, going home for the weekend was very sweet, even if they were clamoring about the bus.
The bus entered the main streets of Mea She`arim, but went through similar neighborhoods. At one point, in the middle of one of Jerusalem's many steep hills, an ultra-Orthodox man pushed his way onto the bus. I could clearly see him from my seat, and from his body movements it was clear he knew there was little chance of him entering; yet something internal made him try. He forced the bus doors to open to such an extent that the bus' engine shut down. The students are obviously not happy, and all I think of is walking in the middle of this neighborhood and getting attacked just for not wearing a 17th century Polish fashion trend (a friend of mine, only hours before, was on a bus that was stopped by protesters, when they hurled a flaming garbage can into the streets. The passengers were forced off the bus and my friend safely got home on foot). I gave the guy such a dirty look, hopefully it was part of the reason he didn't get on the bus.

--

The rest of this story has to do with getting an internet connection, which I'll detail in its absurdity here very soon