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.

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.

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.