Somewhere in the long days of cramming Hebrew into my head before I left for my brief trip to America, I managed to make a couple of friends. Most were Latin Americans here on some program or another in which they wanted to feel Israeli for a couple of months. I have no problem with that; after all, who knows how transient I will end up being. But it was those who were on the other end of the spectrum - the ones who have been here the longest - who are the most intriguing to talk to out here.
One of the friends whose acquaintance I had the pleasure of making, was a rarity in and of himself in our language learning "ulpan", as it is known, and, indeed, a rarity in these parts of Tel Aviv. Born and raised in the center of old Jaffo, an Arab town sitting quietly to the south of Tel Aviv on the meditereanean cost, the only Arab presently learning in the "ulpan" was Achmad.
I met Achmad in early October after I had started level ג (the third level), which was surprising to me, as I assumed that, by simply living in Israel and being raised 2 km from the the second biggest Jewish city in the world, Tel Aviv, that Achmad would be nearly fluent in Hebrew. And I was wrong to assume that. Achmad, as it turned out, was raised in a family that didn't allow him to integrate much into anything outside of Jaffo - especially into any Jewish community. In fact, Achmad's family didn't even know that he had started to take advantage of a not-so-well-known government program that aims to help Palestinians and Israeli arabs integrate into mainstream Israeli society (outside of the 20% arab minority) - presumably to increase upward mobility.
The first day that I met him, he walked into class smiling at everyone, which I found strange, as I knew he definitely wasn't American. And he certainly didn't look European. As he sit down next to me on my left, our eyes briefly and nervously met, as if not sure whether to acknowledge each other's presence. This is sort of the inherent dynamic in these ulpan classes full of strangers, representing almost every western nation you can think of. So, on top of the "stranger" boundaries that exist, there exist also cultural and national boundaries. Finally, when we had to do a partner exercise with reading, he broke the ice.
"Hi I'm Achmad."
"I'm Josh. I'm from America... where are you from??"
"Jaffo".
"No. I mean, which country are you from?", I asked, thinking that he didn't understand my question.
"Israel, man. I was born in Jaffo".
I couldn't believe it. Someone brave enough to break those iron-clad boundaries that exist between Israeli Arabs and Israeli Jews was in front of me. I was, of course, even more amazed later when, over a shot of espresso at the café down the block from the ulpan, he told me that his parents had forbidden him to venture into Tel Aviv to mingle with Jews. We sat there exchanging stories and viewpoints about what we thought of this chaotic society, an outside perspective and a hybrid perspective - both inside and outside. He was very much into asking about America and how it was going through an American university.
"So there are parties everywhere, chicks, big barrels of beer and everyone is just having sex, right?", he said, with his level ג Hebrew, and his eyes wide open in anticipation.
"Well, no. I guess you could find that somewhere back there, but it's not very common".
I actually get asked this question by Israeli Jews from time to time. The reaction is always confusion - and, of course, some obscure reference to a part of an American movie like American Pie or Animal House. I guess it makes sense with the way that American entertainment has captivated the world's attention for the last half century. But, I have to say, I was maybe equally or more blown away by what I heard from him regarding Arab's views to Jews.
Achmad started with a story about the first time that he met a Jew - in Jaffo - when he was a young boy.
"Dad and my uncle always used to tell me not to come into contact with a Jew when I was younger. They told me that they had tails and horns, and that I better not mess with them. So the first time I met a Jew, I looked in back of him to find the tail, and saw nothing", Achmad recounted.
I couldn't believe it. It's like a Middle Eastern-style Chupacabra tale that really makes you wonder how engrained and widespread this insane and parochial view is of Jews in Arab society. Maybe it's isolated to Achmad and a few others, but that experience really hit me in the face. It got me really thinking about what the psychological roots of anti-semitism, and indeed racism are. It turns out that many academics liken it to the psychology behind urban myths, like the Chupacabra or the Yeti. People cling to these stories, I imagine, perhaps out of the need to scapegoat, or purely out of the human being's propensity to naturally side with anything that promotes a feeling of belonging to another group, a sort of solidarity "us" against "them" sort of concept. Whatever it was, it opened my eyes, but still gave me hope for how the future of Israel might look like; individuals who can rise above the mistrust, hate and hyperbole to take advantage of the relatively (in middle eastern terms) egalitarian social construct that has been built here in this imperfect, but occasionally improving democracy. Glad to have finally met one of them from the other side: Achmad.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Beginning
A few days ago I began the first real live interactions with the army that I will be joining in the next couple of months. The purpose of these interactions was to acquaint both parties - myself and the Israeli army - with each other so that I can be matched up with a position that is appropriate for me based on my intelligence, propensity for tolerance of people different from me, social skills, linguistic abilities, education, profession pre-army, health and a range of other smaller factors. This process is aptly called "tsav rishon" - first order.
The day of my "first order", I woke up at the crack of 5:15am, fresh off the 2 hours of sleep that my still jet-lagged body was kind enough to permit me. The recruitment office - Lishkat HaGius - had ordered me through a letter to be at the Tel HaShomer base about 30 minutes outside of Tel Aviv at 7:30am sharp - although many Israelis said that I could arrive whenever. I guess the official beginning of my army career was to be that day, as I had agreed to heed to any further orders from the army, be they to draft earlier or to show up anywhere in the country upon the government's request. And it sure did begin like how most people describe the army, waking up extremely early and reporting to a base - albeit on this day I did wake up about 45 minutes later than most soldiers in uniform.
After scarfing a bowl of cereal and making some instant coffee, I was off into the still jet black night, walking toward the bus that would bring me to Tel HaShomer. About thirty minutes later, I arrived at the terminal for that bus line in Tel HaShomer; and, as I had received no instructions on how to get to the recruitment office, I just walked up to an entrance of the base, my heart beating fast, trying not to fuck this up with my nervous-early morning Hebrew. I asked the soldier guarding the entrance to the base if this was where Lishkat HaGuis was, he just rolled his eyes and said in barely intelligible, lazy Hebrew that it was not in fact there that I could access the recruitment office, but rather on the opposite side of the base.
Shit. It was already 7:25 and I really didn't want to be late. So I asked some soldiers around there how to get to Lishkat HaGius and they told me just to take the #2 bus. 15 minutes later, I had arrived at the recruitment center. Just inside the complex was a courtyard filled with families and young kids, presumably about to be shipped off on their first day of the army. I wondered how it would feel for me when my time comes to say goodbye to civilian life and step on to that bus with a 19 year old sargeant yelling at me. I also wondered how it would be with no family to say goodbye to. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that that's what I've managed to do for 9 months - to survive without the comforts of family and familiarity. At least that's what I was telling myself.
So after I managed to navigate through this gigantic crowd of well-wishers, I arrived at another portal to the base and gave my identification card to some soldiers guarding it. They told me to go to the first floor, scan the barcode that they gave me and present it to the yellow computer, where I'd be interviewed... And this is exactly where all of the waiting began.
I scanned my barcode and sat with the other younger people waiting for their turn to interview. For most Israelis, this "tsav rishon" takes place about a year before one turns 18. So it's just me, a relatively old guy with the ripe age of 24, surrounded by, presumably, 17 year old high school kids. Nice. This waiting continues for about an hour before a relatively nice looking woman walks into the lobby and calls "יהושע" - "Yehoshua", my official Hebrew name, which no one actually uses because it is such a "high hebrew" biblical name. I stand up and walk toward the woman, nervous about what is about to happen to me. I, like every other kid waiting in that room, was just about to take a Hebrew test. And I, unlike every other kid waiting in the room, was nervous about how well I would do.
The first thing the woman says to me is in frighteningly fast Hebrew. I tell her I didn't hear her. She repeats more slowly, and I realize that she is asking if this is the first or second time that I'm doing this. First OR second?? There are two times. Shit. Well, this is my first, I tell her.
"Ok great, follow me to my desk".
As she leads me across a massive room full of about 100 soldiers and 100 draftees, I feel like this is the first time that I'm in the thick of it. Surrounded by soldiers and conducting official army business. We sit down across from each other, and she starts asking me some basic questions about my familial situation, when I became a citizen, what I did before the army, how I make a living, etc. All of the basics. We kind of just shoot the shit about why I came to Israel and what I'm doing in Tel Aviv, and if I like it. I figure this is the Hebrew test that everyone has to go through.
And, then, of course, she tells me: "Ok great, now I'm just going to test your Hebrew. Don't worry, even the Israelis have to go through this test".
Oh great, that makes me feel so much better that I'm taking the same friggen test that people who are obviously fluent in Hebrew take. She starts off by giving me some written sentences from a huge binder full of laminated pages. She asks me to read them and tell her what they mean. I start to get nervous as I realize I only understand about 10% of each sentence. I did recognize one sentence was something about an eagle soaring through the afternoon calm or something like that, and my interviewer's head nods. Great. One down, but I have no idea what the other sentences mean.
"Don't be nervous, just tell me anything that you understand from the sentence. Everyone has to do this", she assures me.
But I don't understand most of the sentences. So I respond, "this is really high Hebrew isn't it?".
"Yes, extremely high and complex. I'm surprised you understood the verb 'soar'".
Relief.
We continue through some other exercises that are exponentially simpler - completing sentences like "The people wanted to go to the beach, so they can _____" or "Getting up in the morning is _____. So I always _______". All of a sudden I feel like a genius in Hebrew.
We conclude the interview by her telling me that since I have "such good Hebrew", she won't send me to any army Hebrew courses or immigrant courses - exactly what I wanted to avoid. She also told me that I'd probably be called up in the next three or four months, depending on other factors like how my health checks out, my qualifications for certain positions, and the needs of the army. She then sends me to the second floor to have my physical.
I scan my barcode into the computer on the second floor and the machine tells me to find a cup to piss in and give it to the woman sitting in a window to my left. Hmm ok. Thanks computer.
After taking care of that business, I sit in a long blue hallway full of half-awake Israelis waiting to do the same thing that I'm doing.
Two hours go by.
I ask where I am in line.
"You're first. Just wait a little longer".
And hour goes by. And about 80% of the people waiting in the hall have been checked by the doctor.
"Ya man, you're still first"
Another hour goes by.
"Ok, let me check on your file. Yep, you're first. No worries."
Finally, I get called and walk into the office, where I'm told to sit in some closet and take off my shoes. The closet is full of drawings of dicks, asses, shit, vulgar words in Hebrew and all sorts of female body parts. As quickly as I take off my shoes, the soldier that escorted me in there tells me the doctors are going on a break. Nice.
An hour goes by.
The woman doctor who is about to check me, walks by, just off her break. She has gigantic boobs and is attractive. The Israeli guy next to me and I look at each other. The sides of his mouth curl up and he tells me "may you have something nice to show her, man".
"Ok come in", she tells me.
After height and weight measurements, blood pressure, vision and *ehem* other tests, I'm outta there and sent to the first floor again to undergo some psychometric tests.
I only had to wait an hour for this one... by this time I was starting to feel the effects of my 2 hour night's sleep. But what was interesting about the wait was that a soldier was asking me which language I'd like to take the test in. Naturally, I say English because I don't want to screw myself by not understanding the questions. She tells me that if I take the test in English, I might lower my profile and upward mobility in the army.
"So, let me get this straight - if I take the test in English, I will probably do better and will, therefore, have more options available to me, but will be discounted because it will seem as if I was too scared to take the Hebrew test. And if I take it in Hebrew it will look better, but I will probably screw it up somehow."
"Yes"
"So, that's a catch 22."
"Catch 22?"
"Nevermind."
I ended up taking it in English because I'm serving for 6 months - I will not need anything to help my "upward mobility" in the army.
So after a long day of tests, and no sleep the night before, I commuted home through rush hour traffic in a bus full of orthodox families. Great. The beginning of the army.
venedig hotell
The day of my "first order", I woke up at the crack of 5:15am, fresh off the 2 hours of sleep that my still jet-lagged body was kind enough to permit me. The recruitment office - Lishkat HaGius - had ordered me through a letter to be at the Tel HaShomer base about 30 minutes outside of Tel Aviv at 7:30am sharp - although many Israelis said that I could arrive whenever. I guess the official beginning of my army career was to be that day, as I had agreed to heed to any further orders from the army, be they to draft earlier or to show up anywhere in the country upon the government's request. And it sure did begin like how most people describe the army, waking up extremely early and reporting to a base - albeit on this day I did wake up about 45 minutes later than most soldiers in uniform.
After scarfing a bowl of cereal and making some instant coffee, I was off into the still jet black night, walking toward the bus that would bring me to Tel HaShomer. About thirty minutes later, I arrived at the terminal for that bus line in Tel HaShomer; and, as I had received no instructions on how to get to the recruitment office, I just walked up to an entrance of the base, my heart beating fast, trying not to fuck this up with my nervous-early morning Hebrew. I asked the soldier guarding the entrance to the base if this was where Lishkat HaGuis was, he just rolled his eyes and said in barely intelligible, lazy Hebrew that it was not in fact there that I could access the recruitment office, but rather on the opposite side of the base.
Shit. It was already 7:25 and I really didn't want to be late. So I asked some soldiers around there how to get to Lishkat HaGius and they told me just to take the #2 bus. 15 minutes later, I had arrived at the recruitment center. Just inside the complex was a courtyard filled with families and young kids, presumably about to be shipped off on their first day of the army. I wondered how it would feel for me when my time comes to say goodbye to civilian life and step on to that bus with a 19 year old sargeant yelling at me. I also wondered how it would be with no family to say goodbye to. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that that's what I've managed to do for 9 months - to survive without the comforts of family and familiarity. At least that's what I was telling myself.
So after I managed to navigate through this gigantic crowd of well-wishers, I arrived at another portal to the base and gave my identification card to some soldiers guarding it. They told me to go to the first floor, scan the barcode that they gave me and present it to the yellow computer, where I'd be interviewed... And this is exactly where all of the waiting began.
I scanned my barcode and sat with the other younger people waiting for their turn to interview. For most Israelis, this "tsav rishon" takes place about a year before one turns 18. So it's just me, a relatively old guy with the ripe age of 24, surrounded by, presumably, 17 year old high school kids. Nice. This waiting continues for about an hour before a relatively nice looking woman walks into the lobby and calls "יהושע" - "Yehoshua", my official Hebrew name, which no one actually uses because it is such a "high hebrew" biblical name. I stand up and walk toward the woman, nervous about what is about to happen to me. I, like every other kid waiting in that room, was just about to take a Hebrew test. And I, unlike every other kid waiting in the room, was nervous about how well I would do.
The first thing the woman says to me is in frighteningly fast Hebrew. I tell her I didn't hear her. She repeats more slowly, and I realize that she is asking if this is the first or second time that I'm doing this. First OR second?? There are two times. Shit. Well, this is my first, I tell her.
"Ok great, follow me to my desk".
As she leads me across a massive room full of about 100 soldiers and 100 draftees, I feel like this is the first time that I'm in the thick of it. Surrounded by soldiers and conducting official army business. We sit down across from each other, and she starts asking me some basic questions about my familial situation, when I became a citizen, what I did before the army, how I make a living, etc. All of the basics. We kind of just shoot the shit about why I came to Israel and what I'm doing in Tel Aviv, and if I like it. I figure this is the Hebrew test that everyone has to go through.
And, then, of course, she tells me: "Ok great, now I'm just going to test your Hebrew. Don't worry, even the Israelis have to go through this test".
Oh great, that makes me feel so much better that I'm taking the same friggen test that people who are obviously fluent in Hebrew take. She starts off by giving me some written sentences from a huge binder full of laminated pages. She asks me to read them and tell her what they mean. I start to get nervous as I realize I only understand about 10% of each sentence. I did recognize one sentence was something about an eagle soaring through the afternoon calm or something like that, and my interviewer's head nods. Great. One down, but I have no idea what the other sentences mean.
"Don't be nervous, just tell me anything that you understand from the sentence. Everyone has to do this", she assures me.
But I don't understand most of the sentences. So I respond, "this is really high Hebrew isn't it?".
"Yes, extremely high and complex. I'm surprised you understood the verb 'soar'".
Relief.
We continue through some other exercises that are exponentially simpler - completing sentences like "The people wanted to go to the beach, so they can _____" or "Getting up in the morning is _____. So I always _______". All of a sudden I feel like a genius in Hebrew.
We conclude the interview by her telling me that since I have "such good Hebrew", she won't send me to any army Hebrew courses or immigrant courses - exactly what I wanted to avoid. She also told me that I'd probably be called up in the next three or four months, depending on other factors like how my health checks out, my qualifications for certain positions, and the needs of the army. She then sends me to the second floor to have my physical.
I scan my barcode into the computer on the second floor and the machine tells me to find a cup to piss in and give it to the woman sitting in a window to my left. Hmm ok. Thanks computer.
After taking care of that business, I sit in a long blue hallway full of half-awake Israelis waiting to do the same thing that I'm doing.
Two hours go by.
I ask where I am in line.
"You're first. Just wait a little longer".
And hour goes by. And about 80% of the people waiting in the hall have been checked by the doctor.
"Ya man, you're still first"
Another hour goes by.
"Ok, let me check on your file. Yep, you're first. No worries."
Finally, I get called and walk into the office, where I'm told to sit in some closet and take off my shoes. The closet is full of drawings of dicks, asses, shit, vulgar words in Hebrew and all sorts of female body parts. As quickly as I take off my shoes, the soldier that escorted me in there tells me the doctors are going on a break. Nice.
An hour goes by.
The woman doctor who is about to check me, walks by, just off her break. She has gigantic boobs and is attractive. The Israeli guy next to me and I look at each other. The sides of his mouth curl up and he tells me "may you have something nice to show her, man".
"Ok come in", she tells me.
After height and weight measurements, blood pressure, vision and *ehem* other tests, I'm outta there and sent to the first floor again to undergo some psychometric tests.
I only had to wait an hour for this one... by this time I was starting to feel the effects of my 2 hour night's sleep. But what was interesting about the wait was that a soldier was asking me which language I'd like to take the test in. Naturally, I say English because I don't want to screw myself by not understanding the questions. She tells me that if I take the test in English, I might lower my profile and upward mobility in the army.
"So, let me get this straight - if I take the test in English, I will probably do better and will, therefore, have more options available to me, but will be discounted because it will seem as if I was too scared to take the Hebrew test. And if I take it in Hebrew it will look better, but I will probably screw it up somehow."
"Yes"
"So, that's a catch 22."
"Catch 22?"
"Nevermind."
I ended up taking it in English because I'm serving for 6 months - I will not need anything to help my "upward mobility" in the army.
So after a long day of tests, and no sleep the night before, I commuted home through rush hour traffic in a bus full of orthodox families. Great. The beginning of the army.
venedig hotell
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Novelty
Well, it's 3:08am and I'm severely jet lagged. When I woke up today I felt as if it was maybe 7am or 8am or so based on the fact that I had gone to sleep, completely exhausted from 26 hours of travelling, at 10pm the night before; but looking up out of my window, through the muddied spots of dried rain that a strong storm had left while I was gone, I noticed that the light was not coming directly from the sun, but rather dimly reflecting off of the west-facing side of a building outside of my window. Well, I thought to myself, it's definitely the afternoon. It must be 2 or so. Nope. 3:50pm. I had slept for 18 hours. I guess I learned that circadian rhythms are curious things that do indeed exist and are a force to be reckoned with. So, now I'm here with my friend 3:10am. I think most people would probably take some Nyquil, Ambien or Melatonin; And I really wish I had one of those options right now, but in haste I left my melatonin pills in the US. Oh well, night writing is better than day writing and I'll get to see a sunrise. :).
As for Israel, she's good. She's a little colder and less energetic than when I left in late November. Not as if everyone is completely frozen in this comparatively balmy weather, but there's a notable sort of hibernation taking place in the form of packed coffee houses and thinly populated streets that were truly teeming in November. Way back then, I could still sleep without a big blanket and I would sweat during the day. But now the days are short. Soldiers walk the streets of Tel Aviv with their rugged looking winter apparel. And 3:50pm seems like 6pm. Things change. And I'm glad for that. A novelty, whether in the air or in a life, is welcomed, simply because it's a novelty - at least for me. This novelty is one in a series of many, I'm sure, that will surprise me, will take some time getting used to and will generally keep me happy. Because after all, I did move here in part for novelty - America is great and I missed everything back there. At times I wondered why I was about to dessert people who love and care about me, and why I would leave that nice comfortable way of life in the rear view mirror - but in each place, America and Israel, it didn't take long for me to know that the chair was comfortable after I sat in it for a couple of minutes.
In America, just getting off the plane was a sigh of relief. Things were solid. Things were clean. People smile out of nowhere. Cars, and people, are all of a sudden gigantic. You know - America. I spent three weeks living the American life again - eating very good food, meeting up with old friends, hanging out with my family, cooking in a real kitchen, sitting outside my house with a noticible noise absent - the honking. Even hearing 100% English was a relief. It's very easy to fall in love with these things all over again. And I did. The thought of returning to a place without really any of these things was almost painful. And I'm not going to lie - the thought returning soon to America did cross my mind. I felt as if I had been given a heavy and irreversible dose of domestication. But in the midst of all of that confusion and pain I remembered how I had felt before leaving for Israel in March. That the feeling of sheer adventure and following a conviction 7,000 across the world was an exhilarating one and something that I felt was a necessity in my young life.
From the second that I stepped off the plane in Israel, I felt that feeling again. Things were still wild and different. Lugging my guitar, 50lb suitcase and full backpack on to a train and then into a "sherut" - a taxi with about 8 other people - I was surrounded by Hebrew, little Filipinos yapping away, young Russians in love and young American jews pushing their way through the train with broken Hebrew and god awful accents, it felt good to be back in the chaos again. And in chaos I will keep living - through the ordeal of finding a kibbutz to live on, through working on said kibbutz, through the horrors of basic training and the delights of putting on a uniform and guarding a border. It'll be a great adventure, even if it's a little uncomfortable. But who said adventures were comfortable. I've been on many, and comfortable they most decidedly weren't. I'll have time for comfort and good food and quiet living conditions and family in the future. For now, I'll make my way through the chaos here, after I finally get my sleep cycle fixed.
As for Israel, she's good. She's a little colder and less energetic than when I left in late November. Not as if everyone is completely frozen in this comparatively balmy weather, but there's a notable sort of hibernation taking place in the form of packed coffee houses and thinly populated streets that were truly teeming in November. Way back then, I could still sleep without a big blanket and I would sweat during the day. But now the days are short. Soldiers walk the streets of Tel Aviv with their rugged looking winter apparel. And 3:50pm seems like 6pm. Things change. And I'm glad for that. A novelty, whether in the air or in a life, is welcomed, simply because it's a novelty - at least for me. This novelty is one in a series of many, I'm sure, that will surprise me, will take some time getting used to and will generally keep me happy. Because after all, I did move here in part for novelty - America is great and I missed everything back there. At times I wondered why I was about to dessert people who love and care about me, and why I would leave that nice comfortable way of life in the rear view mirror - but in each place, America and Israel, it didn't take long for me to know that the chair was comfortable after I sat in it for a couple of minutes.
In America, just getting off the plane was a sigh of relief. Things were solid. Things were clean. People smile out of nowhere. Cars, and people, are all of a sudden gigantic. You know - America. I spent three weeks living the American life again - eating very good food, meeting up with old friends, hanging out with my family, cooking in a real kitchen, sitting outside my house with a noticible noise absent - the honking. Even hearing 100% English was a relief. It's very easy to fall in love with these things all over again. And I did. The thought of returning to a place without really any of these things was almost painful. And I'm not going to lie - the thought returning soon to America did cross my mind. I felt as if I had been given a heavy and irreversible dose of domestication. But in the midst of all of that confusion and pain I remembered how I had felt before leaving for Israel in March. That the feeling of sheer adventure and following a conviction 7,000 across the world was an exhilarating one and something that I felt was a necessity in my young life.
From the second that I stepped off the plane in Israel, I felt that feeling again. Things were still wild and different. Lugging my guitar, 50lb suitcase and full backpack on to a train and then into a "sherut" - a taxi with about 8 other people - I was surrounded by Hebrew, little Filipinos yapping away, young Russians in love and young American jews pushing their way through the train with broken Hebrew and god awful accents, it felt good to be back in the chaos again. And in chaos I will keep living - through the ordeal of finding a kibbutz to live on, through working on said kibbutz, through the horrors of basic training and the delights of putting on a uniform and guarding a border. It'll be a great adventure, even if it's a little uncomfortable. But who said adventures were comfortable. I've been on many, and comfortable they most decidedly weren't. I'll have time for comfort and good food and quiet living conditions and family in the future. For now, I'll make my way through the chaos here, after I finally get my sleep cycle fixed.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Coming to America
No - I'm not writing about the Eddie Murphy movie from the 80s - although that's an exemplary comedy from its time. I'm actually coming home for 3 weeks (Nov 22 - Dec 14) in a few days. It's been 8 months since I've enjoyed the pleasures of home; and while the list of things that I've been missing out here in Tel Aviv is not that long, the things on it are oh so important:
1.) Chipotle
2.) Hot sauce
3.) Chipotle
4.) Seeing my family (probably should come before chipotle)...
5.) Skiing
6.) Seeing old friends
7.) Wearing a jacket
8.) Going to Blackhawk to gamble
9.) Cooking in a real kitchen
10.) Watching snow fall
11.) Making a fire
12.) Not being cut in line
13.) Listening to American accents (thought I'd never actually want to hear that).
14.) Starbucks
15.) Being lazy, stuffing my face and drinking good beer on thanksgiving
Yup. That's what I need.
If anyone who wants to meet up, send me a message on facebook (I won't have a phone!). See you soon.
1.) Chipotle
2.) Hot sauce
3.) Chipotle
4.) Seeing my family (probably should come before chipotle)...
5.) Skiing
6.) Seeing old friends
7.) Wearing a jacket
8.) Going to Blackhawk to gamble
9.) Cooking in a real kitchen
10.) Watching snow fall
11.) Making a fire
12.) Not being cut in line
13.) Listening to American accents (thought I'd never actually want to hear that).
14.) Starbucks
15.) Being lazy, stuffing my face and drinking good beer on thanksgiving
Yup. That's what I need.
If anyone who wants to meet up, send me a message on facebook (I won't have a phone!). See you soon.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Tel Aviv Syndrome
Tel Aviv, translated into Hebrew as- Spring Hill - sprung up as a Jewish settlement north of the Arab city of Jafo in 1909 on the top of a sort of sand dune - as it's name implies. Jews came to escape persecution and violence leveled at them at the hands of the Arabs who, at the turn of the 20th century, were beginning to have a widespread intolerance for a growing Jewish community. The settlers who moved to the north, first to Neve Tzedek, and then on to Tel Aviv, layed the bricks for what would become the commercial capital of Israel only a few decades later. The city was founded and developed under the same frontier approach that I alluded to in a previous post - Rugged collectivism.
It seems to me that this approach to life and to development of the country dissappeared from Tel Aviv over the ensuing decades. The focus is not on Israel itself and it's crucial development as a state, but rather on being something that is largely foreign to Israel. What is commonplace here is life lived vichariously through The West. Tel Avivians' eyes light up when the topic of Europe or American lifestyles come up. Although for Tel Avivians, the latter is synonomous with obesity, stupidity, and superficiality, it is also synonomous with opportunity and excess, two important things that I feel are wanted here. The former is like the latter, only that it carries less of an x-factor, that I would say is the American Dream. In a country where the median salary is 96,000 shekels (roughly $26,000 per year), it is no surprise that when Tel Avivians, already star stuck with the American Dream that they have seen on TV and in Movies, hear that American salaries are so high and that America is not like this developing country, they switch into "escape mode" and dream of Times Square, Hollywood and big bucks. The same is also true with Europe. It is also no surprise that Tel Avivians are trying desperately to obtain passports of European Union countries by tracing back their closest relatives and scouring through European countries' laws to see if they are admissable. This "escape mode" is also the "escape" from how the country used to be. For this reason, there is a pallatable difference outside of the Tel Aviv bubble in which one can feel the nationalism, the collectivism and the altruism, even if it's thinly veiled by the typical Israeli brashness.
That's not to say that it has dissappeared completely in Tel Aviv. It's still here, only buried under the ubiquitous "banana" porn mags littered over the streets and sidewalks, the gays discos, the miles (or kilometers I should say) of strip malls full of European and American stores, and of course the also ubiquitous dog shit all over the place. It's there, in it's own special way; it's just that the pull of the developed "Western dream" that American and European influence has infused in it has trumped almost everything that once was. The "Mediterranean Capital of Cool" has no tolerance for all things non-superficial. So one can fully understand why Tel Aviv is known as "the Miami Beach of the Mediterreanan".
Is this my sanctimony seeping out? Is it getting the better of me? Not sure. I think it's just a generalization partly from the reactions that are illicited when I explain to people that I hope to live on a kibbutz in the north and that I'll be in the army.
"The army? What the fuck man? I don't understand. Why the fuck would you not try to escape that shit? You made aliyah knowing that you'd serve in the army and you still did it?"
Maybe the most Tel Avivi comment known to man. On the other hand, a comment from my friend in Jerusalem:
"That's really cool man. This is what Israel needs, more people like you who want to contribute."
Night and day. I guess it's safe to say that, although I enjoy living in this city, I need something a little more suiting.
It seems to me that this approach to life and to development of the country dissappeared from Tel Aviv over the ensuing decades. The focus is not on Israel itself and it's crucial development as a state, but rather on being something that is largely foreign to Israel. What is commonplace here is life lived vichariously through The West. Tel Avivians' eyes light up when the topic of Europe or American lifestyles come up. Although for Tel Avivians, the latter is synonomous with obesity, stupidity, and superficiality, it is also synonomous with opportunity and excess, two important things that I feel are wanted here. The former is like the latter, only that it carries less of an x-factor, that I would say is the American Dream. In a country where the median salary is 96,000 shekels (roughly $26,000 per year), it is no surprise that when Tel Avivians, already star stuck with the American Dream that they have seen on TV and in Movies, hear that American salaries are so high and that America is not like this developing country, they switch into "escape mode" and dream of Times Square, Hollywood and big bucks. The same is also true with Europe. It is also no surprise that Tel Avivians are trying desperately to obtain passports of European Union countries by tracing back their closest relatives and scouring through European countries' laws to see if they are admissable. This "escape mode" is also the "escape" from how the country used to be. For this reason, there is a pallatable difference outside of the Tel Aviv bubble in which one can feel the nationalism, the collectivism and the altruism, even if it's thinly veiled by the typical Israeli brashness.
That's not to say that it has dissappeared completely in Tel Aviv. It's still here, only buried under the ubiquitous "banana" porn mags littered over the streets and sidewalks, the gays discos, the miles (or kilometers I should say) of strip malls full of European and American stores, and of course the also ubiquitous dog shit all over the place. It's there, in it's own special way; it's just that the pull of the developed "Western dream" that American and European influence has infused in it has trumped almost everything that once was. The "Mediterranean Capital of Cool" has no tolerance for all things non-superficial. So one can fully understand why Tel Aviv is known as "the Miami Beach of the Mediterreanan".
Is this my sanctimony seeping out? Is it getting the better of me? Not sure. I think it's just a generalization partly from the reactions that are illicited when I explain to people that I hope to live on a kibbutz in the north and that I'll be in the army.
"The army? What the fuck man? I don't understand. Why the fuck would you not try to escape that shit? You made aliyah knowing that you'd serve in the army and you still did it?"
Maybe the most Tel Avivi comment known to man. On the other hand, a comment from my friend in Jerusalem:
"That's really cool man. This is what Israel needs, more people like you who want to contribute."
Night and day. I guess it's safe to say that, although I enjoy living in this city, I need something a little more suiting.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Fulbright
In an effort to add to my ridiculousness of my scattered, peicemeal life these days, I've decided to apply for a Fulbright research grant in Peru. This has been something that I've wanted to do ever since my junior year of college. And I feel that I'm pretty qualified right now and am in a good position to apply for this particular grant doing this particular research in this particular field. So why not?
Without writing out the entire proposal here, I'll just give you the start of my proposal:
Title: BoP Approaches in Peru: Inclusive Capitalism as Poverty Alleviation
The term "Base of the Pyramid" (BoP) is used for two interrelated concepts:
1. A socio-economic designation for the 4-5 billion individuals that live primarily in developing countries and whose annual per capita incomes fall below $1,500 per year (in purchasing power parity (PPP) terms); and
2. An emerging field of business strategy that focuses on products and services to serve people throughout the base of the world's income pyramid.
Proposal Summary
Recently, in the wake of the waning welfare state, many private sector initiatives have begun to pull the world's poorest people – The BoP – from the fringes of globalization and out of poverty through an unlikely means: profits. By intimately understanding the consumer needs of BoP populations, private sector firms have been tailoring the packaging, unit size and supply chains of products and services to efficiently provide equitable and viable solutions that allow the poor to enjoy the products and services that the developed world enjoys. These equitable solutions mitigate the "poverty penalty" – the premium put on basic goods due to BoP consumers' lack of credit, inability to buy goods in bulk, and distance from product origination and distribution channels. The lowering of this premium by these innovative approaches frees up disposable income, increases quality of life and is executed in an environmentally sound manner.
I propose to study current and historical private sector initiatives aimed at alleviating poverty in Peru's BoP populations through inclusive capitalism. By studying these initiatives in Peru, I will gain an understanding of the extent of this paradigm in Peru and will be able to benchmark my findings to analogous BoP research in other Latin American countries, thereby contributing to a much needed consensus on fundamental characteristics of successful BoP initiatives. It is my hope that this consensus will help guide future BoP efforts to alleviate poverty successfully.
This proposed project has a lot to do with my current position at Ashoka, the non-profit for which I work. On top of that, since I majored essentially in Spanish business, it makes a lot of sense that my major and post graduate plans would be a leveraging factor.
The grant is for an academic year starting in August of 2011, although many Israelis here tell me that I'll never come back. It's tough to hear that since my heart tells me that I will - that I'll still have this special place and special feeling for Israel after so much time. I simply feel that I have to live and to see things, and to progress professionally at the same time. A Fulbright is exactly the vehicle through which I can accomplish all of these things at once.
I just submitted the application that took up a month of my life writing to all sorts of organizations in Peru, professors from Boulder, social sector workers in Israel and many many people that corrected, critiqued and really improved my essays.
I'm terribly happy that this is behind me, but am very excited of the prospect of getting this coveted award. Wish me luck with this endeavor as well. I'll need it, as Fulbright scholarships are about as competitive as they come. And of course, I'll keep you updated.
Without writing out the entire proposal here, I'll just give you the start of my proposal:
Title: BoP Approaches in Peru: Inclusive Capitalism as Poverty Alleviation
The term "Base of the Pyramid" (BoP) is used for two interrelated concepts:
1. A socio-economic designation for the 4-5 billion individuals that live primarily in developing countries and whose annual per capita incomes fall below $1,500 per year (in purchasing power parity (PPP) terms); and
2. An emerging field of business strategy that focuses on products and services to serve people throughout the base of the world's income pyramid.
Proposal Summary
Recently, in the wake of the waning welfare state, many private sector initiatives have begun to pull the world's poorest people – The BoP – from the fringes of globalization and out of poverty through an unlikely means: profits. By intimately understanding the consumer needs of BoP populations, private sector firms have been tailoring the packaging, unit size and supply chains of products and services to efficiently provide equitable and viable solutions that allow the poor to enjoy the products and services that the developed world enjoys. These equitable solutions mitigate the "poverty penalty" – the premium put on basic goods due to BoP consumers' lack of credit, inability to buy goods in bulk, and distance from product origination and distribution channels. The lowering of this premium by these innovative approaches frees up disposable income, increases quality of life and is executed in an environmentally sound manner.
I propose to study current and historical private sector initiatives aimed at alleviating poverty in Peru's BoP populations through inclusive capitalism. By studying these initiatives in Peru, I will gain an understanding of the extent of this paradigm in Peru and will be able to benchmark my findings to analogous BoP research in other Latin American countries, thereby contributing to a much needed consensus on fundamental characteristics of successful BoP initiatives. It is my hope that this consensus will help guide future BoP efforts to alleviate poverty successfully.
This proposed project has a lot to do with my current position at Ashoka, the non-profit for which I work. On top of that, since I majored essentially in Spanish business, it makes a lot of sense that my major and post graduate plans would be a leveraging factor.
The grant is for an academic year starting in August of 2011, although many Israelis here tell me that I'll never come back. It's tough to hear that since my heart tells me that I will - that I'll still have this special place and special feeling for Israel after so much time. I simply feel that I have to live and to see things, and to progress professionally at the same time. A Fulbright is exactly the vehicle through which I can accomplish all of these things at once.
I just submitted the application that took up a month of my life writing to all sorts of organizations in Peru, professors from Boulder, social sector workers in Israel and many many people that corrected, critiqued and really improved my essays.
I'm terribly happy that this is behind me, but am very excited of the prospect of getting this coveted award. Wish me luck with this endeavor as well. I'll need it, as Fulbright scholarships are about as competitive as they come. And of course, I'll keep you updated.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I Scrubbed the Shit Out of That Thing
So here's another little cultural note for you:
A while ago my roommates and I organized a system in which we could maintain the cleanliness of our apartment. And It works well. One of us cleans the bathroom, another cleans the kitchen and then another cleans the living room.
Whenever it's my turn to clean the bathroom, I clean it as I've always cleaned bathrooms: with bleach, a sponge, a mop and some elbow grease... I feel that I've always gotten by with this system fairly well; however, this is apparently not enough in Israel. It has occurred to me that there is a national obsession in Israel with pointing out the littlest blemish in any sort of bathroom cleaning job, even if it looks immaculate afterwards.
A couple of weeks ago, my roommate Ofer got home from work, smelled the smell of bleach and soap in the air, and quickly inspected the bathroom. I saw him go into the bathroom and thought that he'd come out and give me a compliment on my great job. But no.
"Josh, man, there's a spot in the toilet bowl that you didn't get to".
"Umm really? I scrubbed the shit out of that thing (pun intended)".
"Ya look, man. It's right here. What were you thinking, man?"
Looking in the bowl there was a milimeter wide stain that looked like it had been there for years.
"Josh, man, you will suffer in the army, man" he said nodding with a wide grin, his eyes wide with delight. "But don't worry, man, you will learn how to clean like me".
I guess after the mental damage of scrubbing toilets that basic training incurs on young recruits (or draftees I should say), it must be like seventh fucking heaven to see another, silly younger guy, not making the "immaculate" grade with bathroom cleaning. Perhaps it a little sadism at work after having had commanders do the same to them.
The same thing happened a week later with my other roommate. I spent like an hour cleaning the kitchen one day trying to prove these goddamn roommates of mine wrong that I can clean well. Just as Ofer had done, Ayala, came home and looked at my "immaculate" job.
"Jooohsh"
"Ya"
"You didn't clean the inside of the trash".
"The inside of the trash??"
"Yes loook at this spot on the inside of the trash", she said referring to the trash can and pointing at a tiny spot of pasta sauce.
So this is what I will have to look forward to. One of the skills I'll pick up in the army will be not a skill, but an emotion. Sadism will run through my veins and will force me to quantitatively and qualitatively assess bathroom and kitchen cleanliness like some sort of OCD maniac. I'll be a head case like these guys. Great.
On a side note, yet related to this post. I found out that for my 6 months in the army, I'll most likely serve on a base in the north of Israel, near the sea of Galillee - which is one of my favorite places in Israel. I've been trying to set up a living situation on a kibbutz in the Golan Heights (closeby) for during my service. So, I'm excited about that and about the possible roles available to me. I'll keep everyone updated.
But, for now. I actually have to clean the bathroom again. It's my turn this week. Wish me luck.
A while ago my roommates and I organized a system in which we could maintain the cleanliness of our apartment. And It works well. One of us cleans the bathroom, another cleans the kitchen and then another cleans the living room.
Whenever it's my turn to clean the bathroom, I clean it as I've always cleaned bathrooms: with bleach, a sponge, a mop and some elbow grease... I feel that I've always gotten by with this system fairly well; however, this is apparently not enough in Israel. It has occurred to me that there is a national obsession in Israel with pointing out the littlest blemish in any sort of bathroom cleaning job, even if it looks immaculate afterwards.
A couple of weeks ago, my roommate Ofer got home from work, smelled the smell of bleach and soap in the air, and quickly inspected the bathroom. I saw him go into the bathroom and thought that he'd come out and give me a compliment on my great job. But no.
"Josh, man, there's a spot in the toilet bowl that you didn't get to".
"Umm really? I scrubbed the shit out of that thing (pun intended)".
"Ya look, man. It's right here. What were you thinking, man?"
Looking in the bowl there was a milimeter wide stain that looked like it had been there for years.
"Josh, man, you will suffer in the army, man" he said nodding with a wide grin, his eyes wide with delight. "But don't worry, man, you will learn how to clean like me".
I guess after the mental damage of scrubbing toilets that basic training incurs on young recruits (or draftees I should say), it must be like seventh fucking heaven to see another, silly younger guy, not making the "immaculate" grade with bathroom cleaning. Perhaps it a little sadism at work after having had commanders do the same to them.
The same thing happened a week later with my other roommate. I spent like an hour cleaning the kitchen one day trying to prove these goddamn roommates of mine wrong that I can clean well. Just as Ofer had done, Ayala, came home and looked at my "immaculate" job.
"Jooohsh"
"Ya"
"You didn't clean the inside of the trash".
"The inside of the trash??"
"Yes loook at this spot on the inside of the trash", she said referring to the trash can and pointing at a tiny spot of pasta sauce.
So this is what I will have to look forward to. One of the skills I'll pick up in the army will be not a skill, but an emotion. Sadism will run through my veins and will force me to quantitatively and qualitatively assess bathroom and kitchen cleanliness like some sort of OCD maniac. I'll be a head case like these guys. Great.
On a side note, yet related to this post. I found out that for my 6 months in the army, I'll most likely serve on a base in the north of Israel, near the sea of Galillee - which is one of my favorite places in Israel. I've been trying to set up a living situation on a kibbutz in the Golan Heights (closeby) for during my service. So, I'm excited about that and about the possible roles available to me. I'll keep everyone updated.
But, for now. I actually have to clean the bathroom again. It's my turn this week. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Israeli/Syrian Music in the Golan
About a week ago, I was lucky enough to have had my dad and my older brother visit me in Israel. They were here for about a week or so and we really squeezed just about everything we could in Israel in such a short amount of time. Some highlights were:
1.) Discovering great neighborhoods in Jerusalem just walking around on the way to the old city.
2.) Going into the "western wall tunnels" that go underground tangent to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. On this tour, we were able to see essentially the entire Western Wall as it was before the second temple was destroyed. Incredible.
3.) Staying in a great hotel overlooking all of the Sea of Galilee (again, one of my favorite spots in Israel).
4.) Having an amazing lunch in a druze town in the Golan.
5.) Arriving in Eilat only to find that our reservations were somehow not made. Subsequently, we found a very expensive hotel room at the Hilton (the best hotel in Eilat) that overlooked the entire gulf of Eilat (gulf of Acaba). It was on the top floor looking south out over the gulf and we could see Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Egypt from the window.
But, I think one of the best experiences on this particular trip was when we were decending from the Golan heights down to the Sea of Galillee around sunset in our car. We tuned into a radio station (103 FM) that had great 60's and 70's Israeli music. The juxtapositon of these great songs and the timeless feeling that they exuded and the image of the peaciful Israeli frontier land, was really euphoric. What was especially interesting and amazingly metaphoric was how every now and then, a Syrian radio station on the same frequency, most likely from close-by Damascus would push the Israeli station out of the frequency, before the Israeli station would take over once again. I just sat there amazed at what I was hearing and how representative it was of the recent history of this land. But, back to the the euphoric feeling that this juxtaposition gave me - I often tell friends out here that sometimes I live vichariously through the feeling of how Israel was in its pioneer days, back when this special rugged collectivism was the central tenet of how Israel overcame the seemingly insurmountable odds of merely existing. I truly cherish that feeling and lament that this feeling has been swallowed up the folds of time, and slowly eaten up by the urban decay and selfish individualism I often find in Tel Aviv. I guess this is the main reason I want to move to the Golan. As well as as I can articulate it, I want to experience that feeling first hand "in the field". Imagine how living on a kibbutz in the northern Golan and serving in the military will instill this feeling in me. Let's hope this becomes a reality.
1.) Discovering great neighborhoods in Jerusalem just walking around on the way to the old city.
2.) Going into the "western wall tunnels" that go underground tangent to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. On this tour, we were able to see essentially the entire Western Wall as it was before the second temple was destroyed. Incredible.
3.) Staying in a great hotel overlooking all of the Sea of Galilee (again, one of my favorite spots in Israel).
4.) Having an amazing lunch in a druze town in the Golan.
5.) Arriving in Eilat only to find that our reservations were somehow not made. Subsequently, we found a very expensive hotel room at the Hilton (the best hotel in Eilat) that overlooked the entire gulf of Eilat (gulf of Acaba). It was on the top floor looking south out over the gulf and we could see Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Egypt from the window.
But, I think one of the best experiences on this particular trip was when we were decending from the Golan heights down to the Sea of Galillee around sunset in our car. We tuned into a radio station (103 FM) that had great 60's and 70's Israeli music. The juxtapositon of these great songs and the timeless feeling that they exuded and the image of the peaciful Israeli frontier land, was really euphoric. What was especially interesting and amazingly metaphoric was how every now and then, a Syrian radio station on the same frequency, most likely from close-by Damascus would push the Israeli station out of the frequency, before the Israeli station would take over once again. I just sat there amazed at what I was hearing and how representative it was of the recent history of this land. But, back to the the euphoric feeling that this juxtaposition gave me - I often tell friends out here that sometimes I live vichariously through the feeling of how Israel was in its pioneer days, back when this special rugged collectivism was the central tenet of how Israel overcame the seemingly insurmountable odds of merely existing. I truly cherish that feeling and lament that this feeling has been swallowed up the folds of time, and slowly eaten up by the urban decay and selfish individualism I often find in Tel Aviv. I guess this is the main reason I want to move to the Golan. As well as as I can articulate it, I want to experience that feeling first hand "in the field". Imagine how living on a kibbutz in the northern Golan and serving in the military will instill this feeling in me. Let's hope this becomes a reality.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
אין לי סבלנות
As most of Israel had already made its way to a friend or family member's house for the first night of the Jewish new year, a peaceful calm settled upon Tel Aviv. The roads were almost empty and I was riding shotgun in a car driven by my roommate to catch a family dinner that we were right on time for.
"אין לי סבלנות"-"ugh I have no patience" my roommate announced as she kicked the accelerator hard and sped toward the row of cars and their red lights not even 20 meters ahead of us, before sternly applying the brakes to a full stop. As we stopped, she pulled out another cigarette and lit it - her 20th of the day probably.
A few days back I was walking along a street close to my apartment, approaching the stoplight at the end of that street. A bus breezed by me with it's engine noticibly at high RPMs before slamming on its brakes in order to complete the right hand turn that it had to make without killing anyone aboard. Is that really necessary I wondered to myself, thinking about the bus drivers in Colorado, who with their cool and collected driving could lull me into doing something that usually alludes me: sleeping in a moving vehicle. How much gas do you waste and how many transmissions per bus-life do you go though with that insane driving? I started to think as I approached that intersection why was it necessary to honk at someone who fails to move within one milisecond after a light turns green. Or why it was necessary that there is a brief yellow light before the green light in Israel.
There is a palpable, thumb-twiddling, muscle-twitching, head-scratching impatience woven into the fabric of the Israeli national psyche that I never understood until recently. It is a national phenomenon and is a defining characteristic of the Israeli mentality: live in the moment. If something isn't available right now, you will go get that thing that you want without much regard for the immediate or distant future.
Tunnel vision => That thing you want
After listening to many Israelis offer an explanation of why they find it acceptable to build in the West Bank, I finally understand why and can decode their apathetic reasoning. After analyzing some of the political moves by the Israeli government I finally understand why there were made: solving a problem in the short term is a more attractive option than the non-indulgence involved in longer term solutions. The latter could be considered a means of existential defense but, you get my point.
Blah blah blah. It's 2:39 in the morning and I'm wrecked. Good night.
"אין לי סבלנות"-"ugh I have no patience" my roommate announced as she kicked the accelerator hard and sped toward the row of cars and their red lights not even 20 meters ahead of us, before sternly applying the brakes to a full stop. As we stopped, she pulled out another cigarette and lit it - her 20th of the day probably.
A few days back I was walking along a street close to my apartment, approaching the stoplight at the end of that street. A bus breezed by me with it's engine noticibly at high RPMs before slamming on its brakes in order to complete the right hand turn that it had to make without killing anyone aboard. Is that really necessary I wondered to myself, thinking about the bus drivers in Colorado, who with their cool and collected driving could lull me into doing something that usually alludes me: sleeping in a moving vehicle. How much gas do you waste and how many transmissions per bus-life do you go though with that insane driving? I started to think as I approached that intersection why was it necessary to honk at someone who fails to move within one milisecond after a light turns green. Or why it was necessary that there is a brief yellow light before the green light in Israel.
There is a palpable, thumb-twiddling, muscle-twitching, head-scratching impatience woven into the fabric of the Israeli national psyche that I never understood until recently. It is a national phenomenon and is a defining characteristic of the Israeli mentality: live in the moment. If something isn't available right now, you will go get that thing that you want without much regard for the immediate or distant future.
Tunnel vision => That thing you want
After listening to many Israelis offer an explanation of why they find it acceptable to build in the West Bank, I finally understand why and can decode their apathetic reasoning. After analyzing some of the political moves by the Israeli government I finally understand why there were made: solving a problem in the short term is a more attractive option than the non-indulgence involved in longer term solutions. The latter could be considered a means of existential defense but, you get my point.
Blah blah blah. It's 2:39 in the morning and I'm wrecked. Good night.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Summer in Tel Aviv Means:
1.) You constantly question the convention and purpose of putting on a shirt.
2.) Travelling 10 meters means you've already sweated through said shirt.
3.) You start looking at the jacket in your closet with a combination of nostalgia and sheer horror.
4.) You know the word "mazgan"(air conditioner) and employ it often.
5.) When you open the freezer to get something, you are pleasantly surprised by the temperature and stick your head in it for about 15 seconds until you realize that your head is indeed in a freezer.
6.) Your fan is your best friend. You take him with you to the living room in the morning, to the laundry room when you're folding laundry and to your bedroom where, even though he sits humming at you from a few centimeters away, you'd snuggle with him if you could.
7.) You put up with screaming children in indoor public places with "mazgan" just to feel a temperature of less than 36 degrees for a few minutes (or an hour or two as I do).
8.) The friend with the "mazgan" is the most popular one.
9.) Even if the sea has jellyfish that sting you, you risk it anyway because you just need to fucking cool off.
10.) If you are not at the beach, you are sequestered in your apartment or office wondering what it was like to not live in hell.
Let's hope I survive this inferno so that I can write a "Winter in Tel Aviv Means:" post in January.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
I Live In France
Well today I took my cheap ass out for a much needed trip to the market. For weeks I've been surviving off of the pasta that my roommate's gracious Iraqi mother gave to me, cans of tuna, peanut butter-banana-honey sandwiches (delicious), and, last but not least - hummus and pita. Yes, I am a cheap bastard. Or maybe I'm more lazy than cheap. I don't know. Too many thoughts in the head. Too much effort.
Anyway, upon entering the main outdoor market in Tel Aviv - the famous Carmel Market - all I could hear was a constant hum of "Ce que doit nous achetons. Non cela est trop jaune. Peut-être nous devrions acheter ceci. Combien de baisant des euros avez-vous ? Quel est shakshuka ? Où la salle de bains est ? Oh ce n'est que 5000 euros ? Bien, je l'achèterai. Où la plage est ?"
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. The French have invaded Israel.
They are launching a "tour d'loud annoying voice" campaign to take over the city of Tel Aviv for a few weeks. They come to participate in loud pre-mating rituals, to gather and consume copious amounts of sustinance and fermented beverages, to change the color of their skin from white to red, and to generally distrupt the local ecosystem. And I am one of the many innocent bystanders in this precious ecosystem.
The only positive benefit that I have seen come out of this is listening to myself unconciously imitate French as I'm walking around my apartment in the morning, happily in my underwear, drinking my coffee, and eating my cereal. "je pre leuo ahn ba tititeh. Ouo je'leurs est m'crepres. Hoh hoh hoh oui oui oui".
I am nearly fluent.
Thank you French group of 18-year-olds sitting behind me on the bus to Jerusalem talking AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE.
That is all.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Me? Israeli?
Yes, you heard...eh... read right. I'm going to be an Israeli. I have applied to attain citizenship to the State of Israel - something called "Aliyah" here. It's something that about 3000 Americans do every year. But why me? Has zionism taken a hold of me to such an extent that I'll stay in this little Middle Eastern country forever and I'll never come back home? Is it the border tension, constant threat of war, rockets being launched from a terrorist group 40 kms away that wants me dead, or the blind international condemnation of "the zionist entity" that makes me want to become a citizen here?
Not particularly.
I just like it here.
I like being able to have entire conversations in this insane 12,000 year old language that has so much to do with who and what I am. I like the feeling of respect that radiates from Israelis when they find out that I want to make a life for myself here. I like the feeling of knowing that this is a country that wants me here. I like the Israeli McGuyver mentality and how they use it to create businesses the day that they conceive of them. I like how when I get into a mini bus, I'll be sitting with an Ethiopian guy, a Russian teenager, an Arab construction worker, an ashkenazi soldier and an ultra orthodox family. I like the unfettered honking outside my balcony. I like imitating the Arab Hebrew accent and the Russian Hebrew accent to Israelis and then hearing them laugh at it. I like working for an organization that helps to solve the gigantic problems that plague Israel. I like being part of the most improbable occurance in the last few centuries. I like the geographic diversity of this postage stamp-sized country - how desert turns into rolling wooded hills, that turn into lush mountainous fields, that turn into snow-capped mountains. I like walking 20 minutes to get the best hummus in the world. I like the feeling of walking through my neighborhood and being waved to by people I've met before. I even like "the Jesus" that lives in my neighborhood.
There, of course, are some things that I don't like at all about Israel. But, I can name you hundreds of things that I don't like about the United States; And I still love that country. Finding serious flaws in a certain person, place or thing does not preclude a person from having deep feelings for it nor from attaching one's self to it. So I've weighed my options, and have decided that, since I want to integrate deeply into a culture while I still can, it might as well be 100% and it might as well be in a country for which I have a true affinity and that welcomes me as a citizen with open arms. I'll stay here for a while, maybe for a very long time, or maybe just for a year. Either way, I'll accomplish my goal and desire of integration. But, of course, this goal does come with a price: Just as every other Israeli does, I'll join the army - though only for six months due to my age (I'm an old man out here) and most likely in a relatively safe position. The army is a medium through which one comes of age and it is an opportunity to contribute on a tangible level to the security of a state that needs security badly. I'm sure I'll love it and hate it at various points.
So, I guess this blog will be one American's account of this journey - through all of its trials and tribulations, challenges and joys. I'll be sure to share them on here so that someone else can get a taste of what it's like to go through this process. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Funny Things
My upkeep of this blog is embarrassing. Neglecting it was never in my plans upon its creation, but things get in the way sometimes. Maybe the neglect is a testament to my larger involvement with my new life out here in Israel and, as an effect, a sign of effective cultural integration - or maybe it's a testament to my laziness toward doing "non-essential" activities. Although it's a mix of the two - I feel the latter wins out over the former.
Anyway, just to get a post up here, I'm going to tell all of you about some Veird (think Israeli accent) things that can only be seen in Israel. Screw the substantive stuff for now - it should be coming in a week or two - and believe me it will be substantive.
For now, here is a nice little list of weird/hillarious/shocking/awe-inspiring/stupid things that can only be found in the tiny enclave called Israel:
1. The 15 foot tall dancing polar bear that my friends and I saw walking through the Florentine section of town. Why not?
* Photo credit to my Dutch friend Annelien2. The dancing rabbi brigade known as "Na Nachs" that cruises around various cities in Israel in their van pumping hassidic techno/dance songs to ridiculous decibel levels. This is complemented by some interesting dance moves:
3. The clientele walking out of the whorehouse from down my street. Most of them are orthodox Jews...
4. This store window display from a wig shop that I found on a street close to my apartment. Nice beard, bro.
5. Man with dog on scooter (look hard).
6. The man who claims to be Jesus - likes to give his sermons drinkin' a beer and smokin' a J. My friend saw him get arrested on the beach.
7. Israeli girls in their final year of army service, in civilian clothes, walking around with an M16 slung around their necks.
I guess that should suffice for now. Vat a vierd land. Hope you enjoyed.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Amurica
Maybe I'm straying (again) from the central tenet of this blog - adapting to Israeli culture - but I just have to get something off my chest that bothers me every time I go abroad.
It is needless to say that when those Americans who are fortunate enough to be able to travel outside of the States arrive to their destinations abroad, many reactions, both verbally communicated and internally conjured, are elicited simply by being American. Out of all of these reactions, there are a few reactions that have irked me in my four transatlantic trips:
1. You're an American?? But you're not like most Americans. Why are you not fat, loud or superficial??
2. You're an American?? Did you know that only 10% of Americans have passports?**(see below) They are so culturally inept and too lazy to leave the comfort of their rich, materialistic suburban havens.
(the elaboration is only to group all of the similar comments into one).
3. You're an American?? You know your women are sluts, right? I mean, jeeeez, have you seen the way they dance?
I'm not saying that these stereotypes and, indeed, characatures that are employed in conversation have materialized out of thin air. In fact, I see very clearly where most of them come from (the ubiquity of American entertainment), how they are construed in such a way (the human being's propensity to compartmentalize and mindlessly deduce), and how it is thought as acceptable to bring something like this up to an American (It feels good. America is one of the biggest superpowers in the world, if not THE superpower. So let's fuck with her). I see how they are construed clearly because even I myself am guilty of indulging in the "Characteristic X of Culture X is weird/funny" rapport with my fellow Americans.
Some examples are:
The French are existential frogs who smoke cigarettes all the time and make love in the glow of Parisian afternoons
The Spanish are lazy socialists
The Dutch are drug-addicted hookers
Brits have bad teeth
Arabs throw rocks
Italians would be rendered mute if one of their arms fell off
...and so on.
But,
Do I take these exaggerated stereotypes seriously, as an indication of how the culture operates on a macro level or of the intrinsic value of members of the culture? No.
Do I communicate these exaggerated stereotypes, seemingly in the form of statement of fact to members of those particular cultures? No.
If, for example, you're from Spain, how would you feel if I came up to you and said, "you know, you guys are super lazy. I don't know how you get any work done ever when your day consists of going to work at 9:30, having an hour breakfast with your friends, work for an hour, another breakfast, work for another hour, siesta, maybe come back to work - if it's not too hot out." You would take exception to my comments and call me an "hijo de puta"; then you'd probably go on vacation for 4 months. (an obvious exaggeration and I wouldn't say that to a Spaniard!).
It is the essence of cultural imperialism to look at some action through the tunnel vision that is your culture's boundaries, rush to a judgement based off of whatever perception is bounced off of your own culture's norms, and make a resulting comment in the form of statement of a fact to a member of that culture.
Am I being too sensitive? Am I not practicing what I'm preaching about cultural imperialism by noting these insensitive comments through the lens of my own culture's boundaries - the lens of polite American etiquette? I'm not so sure. Make a comment to a member of any one of the above cultures about one of his or her culture's negative stereotypes. Bring it up as if you are speaking of a fact or as if you seriously believe in the stereotype as something valid. What sort of reaction do you think would follow?
**-The number itself is inaccurate (the most recent statistics published by the U.S. State Department suggest the number is closer to 30%).
-Here's a little breakdown: The average income for American households, according to the U.S. Census, is $50,233. Housing, according to the Consumer Price Index, will cost, on average, 32.6% of your income; you're left with $33,857. Two children will cost you about $11,300 each; so, you're left with $11,500. The Environmental Protection Agency tells us that buying gas for a 2005 Dodge Neon will cost $2,088, and it will cost at least $1,400 to insure two people in your house to drive, according to the Insurance Information Institute. The average annual premium for an employer health plan covering a family of four, as determined by the National Coalition for Health Care, will cost another $3,300. What's left is around $4,600 (after the necessities of an average family from any developed nation are satisfied). So it's either buy food, save for retirement, and save for college with the extra $4,600, or go on an international vacation -average price for family of four in off season: $3610....Meanwhile, Europeans can fly to Budapest, Rome or Lisbon for less than a normal-priced dinner in London.
Monday, April 19, 2010
My 'Brew
Since the previous post had more to do with "how I'm adapting to pompous British filmmakers" than "how I'm adapting to the chaos of Israeli culture", I figured I was due to add some more appropriate content to guide this blog back to its intended character with some much needed substance. The more appropriate content in this case is the daily embarrassment that I experience in my pursuit of achieving relative fluency of the Hebrew language.
It's not like I didn't face this type of embarrassment when I was testing out my Spanish a few years ago in Spain. After all, it was I who walked into my Spanish family's living room one evening to inform them that I thought my dresser drawer was broken, only to be, subsequently, the target of unfettered, unrepentant laughter for about fifteen minutes - and for the rest of my stay for that matter. It turns out that instead of saying "creo que mis cajones están rotos" (translation: I think my drawers are broken) I actually said "creo que mis cojones están rotos" (translation: I think my balls are broken). Of course it makes sense, right? The American kid puts on a deer-in-the-headlights look in the face of all this laughter and that in itself makes the whole thing 100 times funnier, leaving my Spanish brother gasping for air on the floor from laughing so hard at the Americano's ridiculous mistake. So, I am well aware of how the mispronunciation of one stupid letter in a foreign language can immediately make you look like some stupid asshole.
Now, fast forward a few years to a harder language that looks like Klingon and that has far fewer cognatic (yes it's a word) advantages as Spanish does in relation to English. (example: What is excellent in Spanish? Answer: excelente. What is electricity in Spanish? Answer: electricidad. What is diarrhea in Spanish? Answer: Diarrea. - you know, the essentials). Maybe the severity and comedic value of my mistakes so far have been light in comparison to that of the mistakes that I still have the pleasure of committing in the future. But that doesn't change the fact that they happened....
One bright and early morning -in fact, the first morning that I commuted to work, I was sipping some coffee in a mini bus called a sherut, about a few blocks away from my destination in northern Tel Aviv when I realized that there were no buttons to press to let the driver know that I needed to stop and get off. There is only the phrase that is translated literally as (driver, stop me here, please) that must be shouted out in the direction of the driver... this is Israel after all. Figuring this was my only option and also a great way of starting to adapt to the culture, I did my best to shout out this phrase when we were closing in on the street that I needed to get off on.
"נהג, תעזור לי בבקשה!"
I didn't get the reaction that I had hoped for; in fact, a wave of pure horror-infused adrenaline ran through my veins when the driver, along with most of the other passengers looked at me like I was about to have a seizure or something.
"מה ?מה אתה צריך?" (What? What do you need?)
uuhhhhhh.... פה פה אני רוצה.... (here, here, I want), I clumsily replied.
Noticing that I had a goofy accent, the driver put two and two together: I had meant "Driver, please stop here for me!", but just because I screwed up the sound of one stupid letter, it came out as "driver, help me please!". Look for yourselves:
"נהג, תעצור לי בבקשה!" - Correct
"נהג, תעזור לי בבקשה!" -Incorrect
Goddamn צ and ז.... Stupid Hebrew words that are designed to make you look like some kind of moron. All that one can do is bury one's head in one's lap when the adrenaline subsides and try to learn from the embarrassment. At the very least, it is a very fast way of learning as it is a good form of negative reinforcement. But, there is actually a type of mistake from which one does not benefit in any way: the inevitable non yes-or-no question in wickedly fast 'Brew that you think you understand, but of course do not and just nod stupidly at. This nod is quickly followed by either a burst of laughter or a shaking of the head, "you didn't understand...". Classic.
"ג'וש, איך אתה מרגיש על העברית שלך אחרי כמה שבועות פה?" (Josh, how do you feel about your Hebrew after being here for a few weeks?)
Nod. Smile. Slight glint of confusion in eyes.
But seriously, after suffering a bit as anyone does with these common problems of learning another language, I still feel very good about my Hebrew. Whereas I only understood about 30% of what was being said around me when I first got to Israel, now I feel that I can understand around 50% of what is being said (depending on all sorts of factors ranging from native/immigrant accents, socio-economic status, venue differences (school or bar) and age). I have also stacked up a couple hundred words' worth of new flash cards since I arrived in Israel five weeks ago. And even if I make these stupid mistakes, I am usually complimented at some point or another for knowing as much as I do for having only studied the language intensively for 2 months or so - which helps with my self confidence (50% of speaking a foreign language). I'll just have to live in resignation that I WILL say stupid things in Hebrew over which I will only have a small amount of control. I am reminded of this nice little poster:
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Actually, I'm an Actor
...Not really. Just a lowly extra. But, at least now I can say that I was an actor in a movie about Israeli Independence. I played a British soldier - uniform, beret and 1940's-era rifle. Take a look (and excuse the quality):Don't worry - Just because I'm a budding star doesn't mean that I'm giving up my day job...
Monday, March 29, 2010
Contrabando Dominicano
I suppose that while this post doesn't really have to do with Israeli culture directly, it does serve to highlight the diversity of the folks that Israel attracts to it's shores. This diversity can come in all sorts of flavors: culturally imperialistic Russians from the most recent wave of Aliyah with their hole-in-the-wall stores complete with Russian-only signs, the eastern European hassidic Jews who, in the 110 degree heat of the summer, can still run around the streets of Tel Aviv dressed head to toe in black, yelling at the gays for poisoning the Jewish purity of Israel, the hyper-groomed, ultra aggressive males dubbed "arsim" driving their subwoofers-on-wheels, and of course, the Dominican guy who comes to Israel looking for, among other things (whores and drugs), a way to get to Madrid to join his extended family and to become a hair stylist.
If you were to ask me how this Dominican guy, Juan, got to Israel or under what specific circumstances he fled the Dominican Republic, I honestly wouldn't be able to tell you the truth. He was more slippery than a goddamned bullfrog. But, in between the Spanish rants full of hyperbole, lies and ignorant, racist garbage, I was able to surmise a few indisputable facts about the man:
1. He liked women
2. He had a burning desire to make sure that you knew that he liked women
3. He was ambitious in his 'highly developed' strategies of arriving on EU soil
4. He was running from the law
5. He wore snakeskin boots
The other problem with this muchacho was that he couldn't speak a lick of English. Now, this is generally a problem outside of the Spanish-speaking populations of South America, Western Europe and the United States. Case in point: One day, about two weeks ago, back when I was still staying in the hostel, I was walking past the reception desk when I looked over at a scene that was developing. A latin-looking guy, about 5'4", with greasy, frosted hair, and a bad attitude (even for Israeli standards) was chewing out the Israeli receptionist all in Spanish.
"Como te dije, pana, quiero que me asegures de que si me quedo acá y si dejo mis maletas acá, que no hay ladrones en los cuartos que me las van a robar, comprende?"
The receptionist had no clue what this guy was saying. Even though Israel is known for having some of the best language teaching methods in the world and teaches English to every Israeli from 1st grade on, Spanish is not what would be considered a very high priority language to learn around here. So, needless to say, all the receptionist could do was look around for someone to help him and try to talk to the guy in English. Sensing that this situation had to be diffused somehow, I started to speak to the Dominican in Spanish. As soon as I spoke to him, he smiled at me like I was a picture of Hesús or something and calmed down a bit. After about 20 minutes of translating between the receptionist and the Dominican about everything ranging from whether there were thieves staying in the room they had assigned to him to what the spoken language was in Israel, the Dominican trusted the hostel enough to book one night there.
I, of course, had become his only outlet to the world, his only way of expressing his aforementioned racist and chauvanistic bullshit. And while I was quietly disgusted by what this individual was saying to me, it was nice to speak a little Spanish again - to feel a sense of self worth in the face to the brutal day-to-day blows that learning the Hebrew language inflicts upon my self esteem. But some of the tangents that this guy would fly off on were simply ridiculous.
One of the first questions he asked me was, "so, where do you get women?"
"Um, you might end up running into some Spanish speakers at the hostel. Maybe you could start something there".
"No. What I mean is where do you get the women?"
Pause. "Well, I don't know. There might be some bar around here that has some sort of side business like th.."
"What kind of women?"
"I don't know. I've never gone looking for whores".
As if I had cursed his mother or said I was gay, he stared at me with his eyebrows turned down like he couldn't believe what had just come out of my mouth.
He did eventually find his whores. He told me that upon entering a whorehouse that his Panamanian friend had recommended to him, he made the money sign with his hands and started humping the air, all the while making a confused face to convey the fact that he was asking a question. This seemed to work; however, he came back only half satisfied; the whore was way too expensive for his taste.
The straw that really broke the camel's back for my relationship with the Dominican was when he asked me if I would accompany him up to Haifa (a fairly large Israeli port city about an hour north of Tel Aviv by train) for a day. Suspicious, I asked him why.
"Well, I'd pay for your round trip transport, your breakfast, lunch and dinner if you walk around the port with me and try to negotiate with one of those cargo-ship guys for them to ship me to Europe as contraband. Do you know what contraband is, Joshua?"
I just stood up, shook my head and walked out of the room, leaving behind my old scheming Dominican friend to his own thoughts. Maybe he managed to make it up to Haifa and get somebody to jam him into one of those little barrels and ship him off to the EU. That's how I like to imagine it, anyway. A little, hot-headed, melodramatic Dominican guy cramped in some barrel waiting as patiently as he can as he makes his way to Barcelona.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Homeless No More
Well, after 3 weeks of listening to Afrikaners throwing up at 6 in the morning on the tail end of a 3 day bender, after catching the inevitable "hostel flu" and paying dearly for it, and after having at least one item of my food stolen every day, I've moved out of the hostel I was staying at and finally signed a sublease for an apartment that is one block from the beach in Tel Aviv.
Even though my room could not by any means be described as quaint, charming or spacious, it is, for all intents and purposes, decent pad for a foreigner to live in for a while. With a balcony from which one can see the Mediterranean, two Israeli shootafim (roommates) and an unbelievably low pricetag, I have to say that I lucked out a little bit when I stumbled upon this place on a great housing website called "www.HOMELESS.co.il". That's not to say that securing this apartment was a cakewalk... quite the contrary, actually.
In typical Israeli fashion, an Israeli couple who was looking at the apartment at the same time I was told me that they had already signed the contract and had, consequently, secured the apartment.
"eeehh vat are you saying?", Ofer, my current roommate and the tenant giving the tour, asked - surprised as I was.
"!אההה... כבר חתמנו את החוזה, אז הוא לא יכול לעשות שום דבר!" - rapid fire Hebrew with finger pointed at me...
"Ok, we talk with landlady and see what a fuck is going on", Ofer frustratingly said.
Two minutes later, Ofer came back with an answer: The landlord had never met or spoken with the Israeli couple on the tour with me.
Acting confused, the couple just shrugged it off as if maybe they had spoken with an associate of the landlord. Either way, they never signed the contract and I had already set up a meeting with the landlord to sign the contract just to get a foot in the door. I guess seeing the way Israelis successfully and stealthily weasel around these processes rubbed off on me in a positive way. With a few more situations like this one to navagate, I'll hopefully be a pro.
There was also the issue of me not being an Israeli citizen. There was absolutely "no way" that the landlord could let a tourist sign an official contract; but after a few minutes of sweet talking her with the other Israeli tenants - assuring her that I was just a nice Jewish American boy looking to study Hebrew in peace - she reluctantly conceded that it would be ok for me to move in... under the condition that I accept some "Jewish penicillin" (chicken soup) from her family's restaurant the next day. For the sake of securing the apartment and for the sake of killing off my "hostel flu", I accepted. All that was left to do was to move out of the hostel.
Not all was rough and tumble in the hostel; It was a great place to meet people from all around the world - and believe me I met some INTERESTING people that will be the subject of the next post - but to keep my sanity (in all senses of the word), to save a couple hundred dollars a month, and to give myself the best environment for achieving my goal - Cultural integration - it was a must to move out. Now, I can study all the Hebrew I want to in peace. Let's just hope that the block that separates this incredible beach from myself and also the temptation to have a little party every night on the balcony is not enough to throw me off course... it will be hard.
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