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.
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