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.
22 July 2008
02 July 2008
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.
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.
24 June 2008
24 June 2008
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.
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.htmlI 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.
17 June 2008
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.
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.
10 June 2008
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.
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.
26 May 2008
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.
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.
11 April 2008
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!
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!
28 March 2008
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.
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.
09 March 2008
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.
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.
06 March 2008
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.
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.
13 February 2008
13 February 2008A 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.
31 January 2008
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/.
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/.
30 January 2008
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.
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.
16 January 2008
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.
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.
14 January 2008
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.
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.
16 December 2007
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.
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.
03 December 2007
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.
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.
21 November 2007
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.
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.
11 November 2007
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.
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.
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