So here it goes: the obligatory apology for being a horrible blogger and not writing anything here for a long while. I'M SORRY.
There. That was easy.
And now for an update from the Middle East (as this blog promises). A month and a half ago I got a call from someone in the army whom I had been talking to with regard to expediting my enlistment date. She told me that I would be enlisting in 1 day and that I had to pack all of my things and be at a base in the center of the country at 7:30am. This was both great (I wanted to go into the army as soon as possible) and horrible (one day is just about enough to rummage through the clusterfuck of things in my old apartment and take stock).
I went into 1 month of basic training with a mix of people like me (post-grad immigrants) and 18/19 year old Israeli guys. Basic training involved shooting, running, pushups, hand to hand combat and all of the other things that you'd expect from basic training... actually, you'd probably not expect that my commanders were 19 year old girls and that they yelled at all of the old guys with various degrees as if we were 18 year olds. But that's exactly what happened. It was a pretty humbling experience, but also a great one. On rainy days, although all of my clothes, my sleeping bag and my equipment would be cold and wet because of a gigantic leak in my tent that let in torrential rain, I would still have laughed more that I had laughed in years because of simple, stupid things that happened in the army. Although being treated like an animal getting herded around crushed my ego and made me question my decision to put myself through that whole thing, I found solace in that my good friends were also going through the same thing, and saw the good in the decision and in the experience. This one month would make a terrific blog post. But, I just don't have any energy to write about it! Maybe when it's not 2:30 in the morning:)
Anyway, life has changed. I now walk around with a loaded M16, get into bulletproof busses, am relied on as an economic expert, speak Hebrew fluently and am even required to learn spoken Arabic. Why the Arabic and why am I all of a sudden an economic expert? Well, this is what I wanted to do in the army. And this is what the army wanted me to do because of my background in economic development and business studies. I'm an economic analyst for the economics branch of the Civil Administration of the West Bank. As the State of Israel now has an official policy of endorsing and finding a way to come to an agreement for a two-state solution with the Palestinians, and as a result of certain economic stipulations in the Oslo Accords, Israel finds it in it's interest to develop, grow and sustain the Palestinian economy. Not only is economic development empirically proven to reduce the level of violence in a fair number of war-torn corners of the world, but it also is an agent that works wonders in the area of combating Israel's delegitimization.
As I am soundly against the occupation from a political point of view, yet serve as a non-commissioned officer in the mechanism of the occupation, you can imagine how awkward I feel sometimes; however, I realize that the occupation does indeed exist with me or without me. I also realize that the unit I am in is despised by settlers and other political groups on the right for being too leftist and accommodating to Palestinians. On a personal level, with my service, I can knock a number of birds out with one stone: 1.) Integrate further into Israeli society (an original goal of mine), 2.) Progress professionally in an interesting, thought-provoking, and incredibly educational position that will be most likely the highlight of any professional or academic interview for a number of years; 3.) Perfect a language (Hebrew) and learn another one (Arabic).
I can't say that I'll post some more material about how the army is, what sort of work I'll be doing, etc - simply and frankly because I have more interesting things that I can dedicate my time to over the weekends. But, who knows, maybe I'll get an itch to start writing again. Until then - don't worry about my safety... but please wish me luck.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
...And Americans Are Superficial??
Just a quick rant.
It's kind of common knowledge that Americans are perceived to be stupid, fat, and superficial. Right? I've already ranted about this. But what I haven't ranted about quite yet is how unfounded that stereotype is compared to other cultures - specifically mediterreanean cultures. And specifically Israel.
When I was in talks with various kibbutzim in the spring to see if I could set a living situation up before I was going to go into the army, I had a bizzarre exchange of emails with the Baram kibbutz secretary. At first it was just the regular Israeli bullshit - questions tinged with distrust about "what sort of horrible things does this guy want to do to our kibbutz"/"how will he fuck us over". Then, as I got my boss to send them a 500 word recommendation about what a nice/innocent/quality guy I was, they started to warm up.. But of course the recommendation did nothing to paint the real picture that the kibbutz secretary wanted - my actual picture.
"Could you please send a few pictures of yourself that might help us with our decision"
ummm. Ok.
Anyway, the other things that I notice in Israel with regard to superficiality is an obsession with jewelry, shiny things, and hair. It's just my observation, and maybe I'm just paying too much attention to it, but girls on dates or girls who are glitzed up for a night on the town constantly check themselves out if they even remotely sense that there might be a shiny surface in front of which they could shamelessly check themselves out for a minute. The weirdest part is that boyfriends just stand, staring admiringly, entranced by this high maintenance idiot and her grooming skills.
Americans may generally like big cars, big houses and big tvs. But Israelis have them covered in spades with the whole physical appearance superficiality thing. That's it. Rant complete.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Country Music and Hebrew
When I lived in Tel Aviv, I used to feel strange every now and then when I was riding my bike, listening to country music that I had a craving for, and stopping for a conversation about Israeli politics in Hebrew with my friend down the street. It made me feel like two worlds were colliding.
"She said you're a ramblin man. You aint never gonna change. You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin".
"אגב מה דעתך על ההפגנה דיור?"
But I guess I've kinda always felt like that - I was the quiet guy in college who would play dream pop acoustic songs and bluegrass music, who just so happened to play bass in hip hop shows at fraternities: douche bags, gin and juice, and me, Mr. Sensitivo acoustic guy puttin down some mad bass line behind some black dude's rhymes. In elementary school, I was the inner city kid who had moved to the suburbs after getting stabbed with pins and living in a drive by shooting zone. The notable city "strut" that I had been procuring up until that point, that was widely commented on by my new teachers and friends, was strangely juxtaposed to my new life of smiling, good posture, good grammar, and a 99% white student body.
This is what modernity has produced as a side effect. Increased mobility and ease of information dissemination has created a higher chance that people will have attachments to different cultures that, when juxtaposed, create a strange, dissonant noise.
The whole reason I bring this up, is because every now and then I find it hard to reconcile the fact that I'm a guy who could see himself living in a cabin in the Colorado mountains, fishing and hunting and listening to country, and also driving around in an armored tank, speaking Hebrew and carrying an M16. These two things are so different from each other and come really from different worlds that never, never intersect. Maybe this is what adventuring creates. This blog is even a product of worlds colliding, creating dissonance. But what can I say. Sometimes I enjoy the sound.
But I guess I've kinda always felt like that - I was the quiet guy in college who would play dream pop acoustic songs and bluegrass music, who just so happened to play bass in hip hop shows at fraternities: douche bags, gin and juice, and me, Mr. Sensitivo acoustic guy puttin down some mad bass line behind some black dude's rhymes. In elementary school, I was the inner city kid who had moved to the suburbs after getting stabbed with pins and living in a drive by shooting zone. The notable city "strut" that I had been procuring up until that point, that was widely commented on by my new teachers and friends, was strangely juxtaposed to my new life of smiling, good posture, good grammar, and a 99% white student body.
This is what modernity has produced as a side effect. Increased mobility and ease of information dissemination has created a higher chance that people will have attachments to different cultures that, when juxtaposed, create a strange, dissonant noise.
The whole reason I bring this up, is because every now and then I find it hard to reconcile the fact that I'm a guy who could see himself living in a cabin in the Colorado mountains, fishing and hunting and listening to country, and also driving around in an armored tank, speaking Hebrew and carrying an M16. These two things are so different from each other and come really from different worlds that never, never intersect. Maybe this is what adventuring creates. This blog is even a product of worlds colliding, creating dissonance. But what can I say. Sometimes I enjoy the sound.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Your Son's Name is Moron?
Israelis, however magnificent as they may be with English, have unfortunate luck with how some of their names sound in English. Not only do they sound goofy due to their pronunciation with an Israeli accent, but some of them are hilarious because of what they mean in English.
Sometimes I imagine an American businessman who is salivating over some new contract with an Israeli company, who wants to call the contact guy on the other side to see if both of them can ink the deal, only to realize that he's about to call a guy name Nimrod. Or Moran. It's a wonder that names like "Idiot" or "Shithead" do not exist out here. Aside from the names synonymous with imbecile, there are the names that are, perhaps even more unfortunately, synonymous with excrement. "Doodoo" is a fairly popular name, and is the first name of a very famous singer here, Dudu Aharon. There is also the common variation of "Doodee". If I have a son, I'll seriously consider naming him "Jackass" or "Poop" as my way of adding to the diversity of great Israeli names.
"Yes, these are my Sons Ahhree, Ooohree, Oooori, and Ohhhhhhhh." - (complete with a look of abdominal pain on the last one).
Maybe I'll just have a daughter. That way I won't have to worry about a life of torment in the English speaking world...
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Same Street, Different Fireworks
Well, I was sitting in my room, happily working my way through some practice GMAT questions today - shabbat. Usually the jewish sections of Jerusalem and even the arab parts are much quieter than any other day of the week on Shabbat. It's the day of rest, and usually the lazy man inside of me, although not shomer shabbos, happily conforms to the prevailing mood.
Over the last week, there have been intermittent fireworks going off around the old city. I guess Jerusalem day was a couple weeks ago and Shavuot was a week ago, but I'm still not exactly sure why these stupid fireworks keep going off. The first couple times I heard them I thought they were automatic gun fire and made a point to stay inside my room. One night I went to a barbeque with some friends and heard the same noise as I was looking out over the rooftop where we were perched to see some very colorful fireworks exploding over the Jewish quarter of Jerusalem. Ok, I thought, it's just fireworks. No more rubber bullets, no more light rounds, not more flying rocks.
Today was a little different, however. During my study session I heard the same firework noise and didn't think too much of it - in fact I barely noticed it because I was so concentrated on studying. But a minute later, the fireworks sounded about twice as loud. Within 30 seconds I heard non-stop honking and police sirens blasting away from a distant part of Jerusalem, getting closer. There were people yelling on the street below me and the loud fireworks continued. I decided to get up and see what the hell was happening, so I walked into the main lobby area of the hotel only to see that one of the windows looking out over the street had been broken. Within a couple of seconds I started to smell what I thought initially was gunpowder, but as my throat and eyes began to burn, I realized that it was indeed some tear gas that had wafted into the lobby. The other guys in the room, some arabs and some tourists, were bent over coughing and, well, crying. We all retreated to an adjacent area to the lobby to try to recover, and I went over to another smaller lobby to get some water. I decided to look out of the lobby window into the square where all of this noise was coming from, and saw Israeli SWAT officers firing light rounds into the air with handguns and rifles. There was pandemonium on the street, bloody faces and, most surprisingly, arabs fighting arabs.
Apparently, two arab families, one of whom owns the falafal/kebab shop that I eat at frequently, have a history of violent quarrels. By the time the Israeli police had moved in to disperse the families and the crowd that had gathered, the falafel shop was wrecked - windows smashed, signs destroyed, frying oil vat tipped over and blood over the ground. The Israeli police had arrested the offenders and had created a perimeter around the scene.
Anyway, I'm holed up in my room, listening to more fire fights that are happening around the corner wondering when I can get safely leave the hotel. I'm not sure it's in my interest to stay in this volatile of an area of Jerusalem for much longer... I think I'll move soon. In the meantime, where will I get my felafel?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Jews Throw Rocks? Arabs Throw Wood? I'm Back in Israel?
It's been about 2 months since I've been in Israel. In the face of some serious bureaucratic messes, I decided to go home and attend one of my best friends' wedding and my brother's medical school graduation. It was refreshing to be back, not only because I was able to enjoy a glimpse back into domesticated, homely stability - a total rarity in these parts - but it got me away from complications that had arisen from the Israeli army.
Excuse the metaphor, but the army is being very much of a selfish girl right now, I would say. Unsure of whether "she" really needs me right now based off of her needs and my advanced age (in military terms). "She" is indecisive and is making me sweat it. But the good news is that this old guy has a meeting with the head honcho at the recruitment center to see if some decision can be made, rather than keeping me up in the air. Despite the ambiguity of my future, I decided that I'd return to Israel to attend some work interviews (in high-tech, project management, and non-profit) and keep on trucking in Israel. I still love the place and know that even if I do end up serving in the army, it will be later this year. I want to continue building a life, speaking Hebrew, learning Arabic, meeting people and travelling around this fascinating country.
So, after a day of travelling, I arrived in Jerusalem to get acclimated and ready for some upcoming interviews. I just so happened to choose a hotel right outside of the Damascus gate in the Old City of Jerusalem. The owner, who showed me around the hotel and my room, is a dishonest and seemingly conniving arab guy who, according to tripadvisor.com, has a history of fuzzy math, hugely inflated currency conversion rates, and a "violent attitude". In keeping with the reviews, he did try to screw me over with a 30% premium on the room that I had booked on a website; however, I held his reputation captive by threatening to write an honest review of the place on various travel review websites. He begrudgingly relented and we went our separate ways.
Anyway, at about 5 in the afternoon, a procession of religious Zionist Jews was beginning to swell into a relatively small square directly below my balcony. These guys were celebrating "Jerusalem Day" - the commemoration and celebration of the retaking of Jerusalem from Jordan in 1967. As the numbers grew, so did the decible level of their chants - "HaTikva" and "Am Israeli Chai", among others. As I was sitting on my balcony, taking all of this in, I started to notice that every now a group of teenaged boys would walk up to the barricades and police tape separating the square from the hotel area - a completely Palestinian neighborhood - and would start taunting the bystander Palestinians by yelling racial epitaphs toward them and boasting of Israel's reconquest of Jerusalem. The Arabs were standing and observing the spectacle while cleaning up their shop areas for the end of the day; and I was fascinated that this palpable tension that I had always noticed when in Jerusalem was now tangible and brewing before my eyes.After a hundred or so more Israeli teens ran over to the gathering along the barricade, carrying Israeli flags, some Palestinians started to lined up on the other side, making the few police officers noticeably nervous. I went downstairs to get a picture of this from behind the Palestinians:
Excuse the metaphor, but the army is being very much of a selfish girl right now, I would say. Unsure of whether "she" really needs me right now based off of her needs and my advanced age (in military terms). "She" is indecisive and is making me sweat it. But the good news is that this old guy has a meeting with the head honcho at the recruitment center to see if some decision can be made, rather than keeping me up in the air. Despite the ambiguity of my future, I decided that I'd return to Israel to attend some work interviews (in high-tech, project management, and non-profit) and keep on trucking in Israel. I still love the place and know that even if I do end up serving in the army, it will be later this year. I want to continue building a life, speaking Hebrew, learning Arabic, meeting people and travelling around this fascinating country.
So, after a day of travelling, I arrived in Jerusalem to get acclimated and ready for some upcoming interviews. I just so happened to choose a hotel right outside of the Damascus gate in the Old City of Jerusalem. The owner, who showed me around the hotel and my room, is a dishonest and seemingly conniving arab guy who, according to tripadvisor.com, has a history of fuzzy math, hugely inflated currency conversion rates, and a "violent attitude". In keeping with the reviews, he did try to screw me over with a 30% premium on the room that I had booked on a website; however, I held his reputation captive by threatening to write an honest review of the place on various travel review websites. He begrudgingly relented and we went our separate ways.
Anyway, at about 5 in the afternoon, a procession of religious Zionist Jews was beginning to swell into a relatively small square directly below my balcony. These guys were celebrating "Jerusalem Day" - the commemoration and celebration of the retaking of Jerusalem from Jordan in 1967. As the numbers grew, so did the decible level of their chants - "HaTikva" and "Am Israeli Chai", among others. As I was sitting on my balcony, taking all of this in, I started to notice that every now a group of teenaged boys would walk up to the barricades and police tape separating the square from the hotel area - a completely Palestinian neighborhood - and would start taunting the bystander Palestinians by yelling racial epitaphs toward them and boasting of Israel's reconquest of Jerusalem. The Arabs were standing and observing the spectacle while cleaning up their shop areas for the end of the day; and I was fascinated that this palpable tension that I had always noticed when in Jerusalem was now tangible and brewing before my eyes.After a hundred or so more Israeli teens ran over to the gathering along the barricade, carrying Israeli flags, some Palestinians started to lined up on the other side, making the few police officers noticeably nervous. I went downstairs to get a picture of this from behind the Palestinians:
It looked to be dying down after 5 minutes of this face off, and so I went up to my room to try to take a nap. I was about to knock off for a bit when I heard some more yelling and commotion. Stepping toward the window that leads to my balcony, I saw an Arab guy launch a huge piece of wood, while another threw some sort of heavy metal object at a cop trying to quell the situation. As quickly as that had started, a bunch of elite SWAT style commandos ran in and started shooting a few rubber bullets at the Arabs. The Jews' reaction to this was, for some reason, to throw rocks at the Arabs and at the hotel building. A few rocks hit my balcony and came very close to hitting my window. Check out the video:
Although the celebrations are merited in my mind, as I believe that Jerusalem, in some capacity or another, should be an integral part of Israel proper, this celebration and the quality of people that it attracted truly exposed the warts in Israeli society. I know I may sound naive when I say that people should really make a concerted effort to co-exist in Jerusalem and in Israel in general; but I feel that the root of this type of discrimination and cycle of hate comes from a deceivingly small number of people on each side of the conflict, and it is at these nationalistic gatherings (Jerusalem Day and Nakba Day, for example) that these diminutive groups are exposed. While it is a sorry spectacle to witness, I can find solace in the fact that maybe since these people are exposed as who they are, the rest of society can ostensibly learn from their poor example of egalitarianism and humanity.
No matter what the moral is of these clashes, it was an interesting thing to come back to. And I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but I really did feel like I came back to a war zone for a bit.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Me and My Muddled Accent
Over time, and definitely due to my international experience, I've been losing my native accent. I have never noticed it myself, but it has been brought to my attention by former coworkers, random people on the street in Israel, and even my family. I've been told that not only has my pronunciation changed, but also that my rhythm, diction and register have changed. Nobody can put a finger on exactly what it's morphed into, but a few claim that it sounds Spanish (after I told them I had just come back from Spain).
I have mixed feelings toward this transformation. On one hand, being an American without one of the ugliest accents in the English speaking world (the American accent) is a plus. It is also something that might give me more of an "international aire" and, thus, perhaps an advantage with employers or graduate schools actively pursuing more diversity. On the other hand, my accent is muddled and indistinguishable. It is neither blatantly American nor blatantly belonging to any other country or culture. I feel that while it may be intriguing to some people, it could also be something that would unconsciously create space between me and someone who is less accepting of foreign-seeming people (would only be a problem in America I feel).
Ya. I'm probably thinking too much about my stupid accent. But it's interesting that it's happened. And interesting what might happen as a result of it.
I have mixed feelings toward this transformation. On one hand, being an American without one of the ugliest accents in the English speaking world (the American accent) is a plus. It is also something that might give me more of an "international aire" and, thus, perhaps an advantage with employers or graduate schools actively pursuing more diversity. On the other hand, my accent is muddled and indistinguishable. It is neither blatantly American nor blatantly belonging to any other country or culture. I feel that while it may be intriguing to some people, it could also be something that would unconsciously create space between me and someone who is less accepting of foreign-seeming people (would only be a problem in America I feel).
Ya. I'm probably thinking too much about my stupid accent. But it's interesting that it's happened. And interesting what might happen as a result of it.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
So You Want to Drive in Israel?
As a new immigrant to Israel, I am allotted 3 years to convert my American driver license. This means that in my first 3 years, I don't have to take the pain-in-the-ass theory test and pay an extra couple hundred dollars. So, I decided to take advantage of this nice little "grace period" and get an Israeli driver license.
I've heard this conversion process being described as "an expensive scavenger hunt". And I think that does some justice to it - at least from an American perspective. It may seem like a simple and painless process to some europeans who tell me their licenses cost them thousands of euros and 6 months to attain. But, to me the whole process was a two-week affair of running around town, waiting for hours on end in the Israeli DMV, and witnessing the ridiculousness of the actual practical test itself.
First, I had to pick up a form from some optometrist in central Tel Aviv, and then, for some reason, walk to another optometrist and get a quick eye check. The next step was to go to a doctor for a "check up". It consisted of him asking me none of the questions on the form, making eye contact with me for about 2 seconds; and then sending me on my way after 2 minutes of checking boxes and signing the form. A couple of days later, I took a bus to Holon, just southeast of Tel Aviv to get the DMV to sign the form saying that I was medically ok to drive. I get there at 8, tear off a number from an extremely conspicuously-placed ticket roll and wait... and wait.. In the 5 hours that I was waiting there.. ya I said 5 hours..
Something registered in my head about how bureaucracy works in Israel in those hours of waiting. Not once but thrice were there huge outbursts from people trying to NEGOTIATE the terms of how the bureaucratic process of whatever motor vehicle issue they were dealing with, would be carried out. In two of these instances, security guards were called in to quell the outburst. You would obviously never see anything like this in the States. I brought this up to my roommate who told me that she felt that people think they can negotiate the terms of anything - even in a government institution - because the wages are so low in Israel that workers feel it is not necessary to do some of the more effort-intensive (and required) tasks that their jobs entail. So, Israelis feel that if they push hard enough and in the right way, they can get whatever it is that they want out of an institution, because, presumably, it is something that is definitely a part of the job description of the person with whom you're dealing.
Anyway, after 5 hours of that, I set up the second-to-last thing that I had to do for this conversion process - setting up driving lessons. It basically consisted of driving around in a piece of shit car and listening to the driver instructor lazily go over Israeli traffic laws for an hour.
Next up was the practical test. It started at 7:30 in the morning in front of some train station. Sketch. I started to drive and stopped at a stop sign, waiting to make a left turn onto a busy street. There was a lot of traffic coming from the left and the right and, although I could have made a quick maneuver to make the left turn, I decided to wait and play it safe so that I could pass the test without a hitch. After about 30 seconds of waiting, the tester sighs and postures in his seat uncomfortably as he tells me, "we could have already made the turn 3 times. This is a very unsafe way of driving".... WHAT? NOT driving quickly to get into to crazy crowded traffic is considered to be unsafe? I know that that is how Israeli drive... but in the driving test, this is what they test for? To make sure you're as crazy as the other maniac drivers out there?
So, finally, I floor the accelerator and get into traffic, driving like a typical Israeli asshole. The tester comments, "that's more like it"... and after 10 minutes, I had an Israeli driver license..
I've heard this conversion process being described as "an expensive scavenger hunt". And I think that does some justice to it - at least from an American perspective. It may seem like a simple and painless process to some europeans who tell me their licenses cost them thousands of euros and 6 months to attain. But, to me the whole process was a two-week affair of running around town, waiting for hours on end in the Israeli DMV, and witnessing the ridiculousness of the actual practical test itself.
First, I had to pick up a form from some optometrist in central Tel Aviv, and then, for some reason, walk to another optometrist and get a quick eye check. The next step was to go to a doctor for a "check up". It consisted of him asking me none of the questions on the form, making eye contact with me for about 2 seconds; and then sending me on my way after 2 minutes of checking boxes and signing the form. A couple of days later, I took a bus to Holon, just southeast of Tel Aviv to get the DMV to sign the form saying that I was medically ok to drive. I get there at 8, tear off a number from an extremely conspicuously-placed ticket roll and wait... and wait.. In the 5 hours that I was waiting there.. ya I said 5 hours..
Something registered in my head about how bureaucracy works in Israel in those hours of waiting. Not once but thrice were there huge outbursts from people trying to NEGOTIATE the terms of how the bureaucratic process of whatever motor vehicle issue they were dealing with, would be carried out. In two of these instances, security guards were called in to quell the outburst. You would obviously never see anything like this in the States. I brought this up to my roommate who told me that she felt that people think they can negotiate the terms of anything - even in a government institution - because the wages are so low in Israel that workers feel it is not necessary to do some of the more effort-intensive (and required) tasks that their jobs entail. So, Israelis feel that if they push hard enough and in the right way, they can get whatever it is that they want out of an institution, because, presumably, it is something that is definitely a part of the job description of the person with whom you're dealing.
Anyway, after 5 hours of that, I set up the second-to-last thing that I had to do for this conversion process - setting up driving lessons. It basically consisted of driving around in a piece of shit car and listening to the driver instructor lazily go over Israeli traffic laws for an hour.
Next up was the practical test. It started at 7:30 in the morning in front of some train station. Sketch. I started to drive and stopped at a stop sign, waiting to make a left turn onto a busy street. There was a lot of traffic coming from the left and the right and, although I could have made a quick maneuver to make the left turn, I decided to wait and play it safe so that I could pass the test without a hitch. After about 30 seconds of waiting, the tester sighs and postures in his seat uncomfortably as he tells me, "we could have already made the turn 3 times. This is a very unsafe way of driving".... WHAT? NOT driving quickly to get into to crazy crowded traffic is considered to be unsafe? I know that that is how Israeli drive... but in the driving test, this is what they test for? To make sure you're as crazy as the other maniac drivers out there?
So, finally, I floor the accelerator and get into traffic, driving like a typical Israeli asshole. The tester comments, "that's more like it"... and after 10 minutes, I had an Israeli driver license..
Friday, March 11, 2011
Actually, I'm An Extra
That's right, I was on the silver screen for 3 seconds of a 6 hour movie about the British Mandate in Israel. I'm an amazing extra.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Lull
To everyone who checks this blog: sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been too busy trying to organize my life for the next year (and failing miserably). When something moves, I'll start up again. Wish me luck.
Monday, February 7, 2011
The Jesus Can Drink
Last week I went out with a friend to a neighborhood bar to have a couple of beers and let loose. Like most bars on Allenby street, the appropriate word for this place was shabby. And the fact that it was death metal night didn't really help the bar in that arena. But, whatever, the place had cheap beer and I didn't really feel that the place next door - a half strip joint, half whorehouse - was really my cup of tea either. So we took our seats on a couple of the ripped leather bar stools, ordered some shitty beer and started to absorb the filth of this place.
Being that I wasn't really paying too much attention to the German death metal music videos blaring on the big screen tv perched impossibly high on the wall, I decided to scope the place out and see what sort of people go to German death metal bars on Tuesday nights in Tel Aviv. Much to my surprise, through the billowing smoke coming from the guy next to me, I was able to make out the visage of my neighborhood Jesus.
This guy is known in Tel Aviv, and maybe has some notoriety in other parts of Israel, as being the guy who sits out in front of the iconic Carmel market, and proclaims that he is the Jewish Messiah (not Jesus - but I'm glad that I was confused about his status at first because saying "the neighborhood Jesus" rolls better of the tongue than "the neighborhood Jewish Messiah). He usually garners a lot of attention from his Jesus-like shawl, the sign that he advertises himself with and his biblical looking beard.
But I digress. This Jesus was slamming shots of what looked to be vodka with his woman and was speaking Russian rather loudly. I mean, I had heard that this guy had been arrested on the beach for something and had seen him smokin a spliff once when he was setting up his Jesus exhibition, but now I get to see, with my own eyes, the majesty of Holy Messiah himself getting all shitty. If only this was the image that was laminated onto his advertisement sign....
Being that I wasn't really paying too much attention to the German death metal music videos blaring on the big screen tv perched impossibly high on the wall, I decided to scope the place out and see what sort of people go to German death metal bars on Tuesday nights in Tel Aviv. Much to my surprise, through the billowing smoke coming from the guy next to me, I was able to make out the visage of my neighborhood Jesus.
This guy is known in Tel Aviv, and maybe has some notoriety in other parts of Israel, as being the guy who sits out in front of the iconic Carmel market, and proclaims that he is the Jewish Messiah (not Jesus - but I'm glad that I was confused about his status at first because saying "the neighborhood Jesus" rolls better of the tongue than "the neighborhood Jewish Messiah). He usually garners a lot of attention from his Jesus-like shawl, the sign that he advertises himself with and his biblical looking beard.
But I digress. This Jesus was slamming shots of what looked to be vodka with his woman and was speaking Russian rather loudly. I mean, I had heard that this guy had been arrested on the beach for something and had seen him smokin a spliff once when he was setting up his Jesus exhibition, but now I get to see, with my own eyes, the majesty of Holy Messiah himself getting all shitty. If only this was the image that was laminated onto his advertisement sign....
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Egypt: The US's (& Israel's) Dilemma
As most of the world already knows, Egypt has been in a state of turmoil since last week and is flirting with a full blown revolution/coup d'état. The people have had enough of the high unemployment rate (the gov. says it's 9.4% but it's definitely higher, most believe) and the rising prices of everything from fuel to food. It is natural that they would blame the man who seemingly clings to power through corruption.
Of course, Israel is quietly, and most decidedly nervously, observing this ominous storm that is rearing it's ugly head right over the border into the Sinai. And we over here in Israel have good reason to be nervous: President Mubarak represents the continuity of the regime that signed the first peace agreement with Israel in 1979. It represented and continues to represent a precedent that peace is possible with Israel, and paved the way for Jordan's King Hussein to sign the 1994 peace accords. Mubarak, aside from his embrace of corruption and ineptness of fomenting proper living conditions for his 80,000,000 citizens, represents the stability of normalized relations that Israel and Egypt have enjoyed for 30 years, but unfortunately for the US and other western nations, also represents an obstacle to true democracy.
Does Obama, the one to whom the world has deferred for leadership in this crisis, turn a blind eye toward what true democracy might mean for US interests in the Middle East? Does he turn a blind eye to the sobering poll of Egyptian's views toward the US and Israel - that they are overwhelmingly "against" both of them? Or does he try to accomplish the goal that he was seeking when he made his famous "Cairo Speech" - to "reach out to the Arab world". It's a tricky line to walk, for sure. On one hand, Obama doesn't want to be the Jimmy Carter of the Middle East (losing the opportunity to lead Iran into a non-islamist revolution); and on the other hand, he doesn't want to be the George Bush of the Middle East (forcing "democracy" onto a people for whom democracy cannot work). I just hope this young, idealistic American president takes everything into account when invoking THE central tenet of the "Obama doctrine" that he rolled out to the world during his inaugural address:
"To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history, but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist."
If I were president of the United States, I would find a way for Mubarak to step down and for Omar Suleiman, the new (and FIRST vice president of Egypt), and a trusted American ally who is not seen in the same light by Egyptians as Mubarak, to take the reigns. This would preserve the status quo of relative stability in the Middle East, would keep the precedent of the Egypt-Israel peace accords alive, would keep Palestinian-Israeli peace alive, and would bring a more democratic government to the Egyptian people. This is the idealistic solution. It seems anything less than Mubarak and his sons flying off into exile will propagate the bloodshed witnessed in the streets of Cairo.
My personal problem with Mubarak disappearing into exile is that after the dust settles from the riots in Tarhir square, the spawned creature that emerges will be, as all signs (polls, studies, statistics) point to, a democracy killer and a foreign policy status-quo killer. Israel will be forced into a tight spot and will be under a 1973 Yom Kippur war-type of existential threat. Talk to any of the people still out there, Jew or gentile, but who haven't divested from Israel quite yet, what that means to them, and you'll see that this crisis has a potential to not only put into question Israel's future survival, but the stability of the world. These are some of the most uncertain times in a while and I sincerely hope that whatever decisions made in this dilemma will be the right ones - not only for Israel's intests and the US's interests, but the world's interests.
Of course, Israel is quietly, and most decidedly nervously, observing this ominous storm that is rearing it's ugly head right over the border into the Sinai. And we over here in Israel have good reason to be nervous: President Mubarak represents the continuity of the regime that signed the first peace agreement with Israel in 1979. It represented and continues to represent a precedent that peace is possible with Israel, and paved the way for Jordan's King Hussein to sign the 1994 peace accords. Mubarak, aside from his embrace of corruption and ineptness of fomenting proper living conditions for his 80,000,000 citizens, represents the stability of normalized relations that Israel and Egypt have enjoyed for 30 years, but unfortunately for the US and other western nations, also represents an obstacle to true democracy.
Does Obama, the one to whom the world has deferred for leadership in this crisis, turn a blind eye toward what true democracy might mean for US interests in the Middle East? Does he turn a blind eye to the sobering poll of Egyptian's views toward the US and Israel - that they are overwhelmingly "against" both of them? Or does he try to accomplish the goal that he was seeking when he made his famous "Cairo Speech" - to "reach out to the Arab world". It's a tricky line to walk, for sure. On one hand, Obama doesn't want to be the Jimmy Carter of the Middle East (losing the opportunity to lead Iran into a non-islamist revolution); and on the other hand, he doesn't want to be the George Bush of the Middle East (forcing "democracy" onto a people for whom democracy cannot work). I just hope this young, idealistic American president takes everything into account when invoking THE central tenet of the "Obama doctrine" that he rolled out to the world during his inaugural address:
"To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history, but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist."
If I were president of the United States, I would find a way for Mubarak to step down and for Omar Suleiman, the new (and FIRST vice president of Egypt), and a trusted American ally who is not seen in the same light by Egyptians as Mubarak, to take the reigns. This would preserve the status quo of relative stability in the Middle East, would keep the precedent of the Egypt-Israel peace accords alive, would keep Palestinian-Israeli peace alive, and would bring a more democratic government to the Egyptian people. This is the idealistic solution. It seems anything less than Mubarak and his sons flying off into exile will propagate the bloodshed witnessed in the streets of Cairo.
My personal problem with Mubarak disappearing into exile is that after the dust settles from the riots in Tarhir square, the spawned creature that emerges will be, as all signs (polls, studies, statistics) point to, a democracy killer and a foreign policy status-quo killer. Israel will be forced into a tight spot and will be under a 1973 Yom Kippur war-type of existential threat. Talk to any of the people still out there, Jew or gentile, but who haven't divested from Israel quite yet, what that means to them, and you'll see that this crisis has a potential to not only put into question Israel's future survival, but the stability of the world. These are some of the most uncertain times in a while and I sincerely hope that whatever decisions made in this dilemma will be the right ones - not only for Israel's intests and the US's interests, but the world's interests.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Whatever Gever
So, after I got back from America, I came to find that through some twisted coincidences I, a silly, bumbling American, have had a definite and tangible effect on the Hebrew language.
When I was a but a young, foolish man struggling with wrapping my head around the intricacies and difficulties Hebrew before I visited America (wait... I still am a young, foolish, bumbling man struggling with Hebrew. Crap). Anyway, before I left to go home for a bit, I had coined the phrase:
"Whatever gever"... "ווטבר גבר"
-as a way of just saying, "dude whatever" - (Literally a "Hebrish" version of "whatever dude"). I had used it at ulpan with my friends there, in my apartment and probably in the Ashoka office.
Anyway, I was in ulpan the other day just hanging out and speaking... Spanish.. with my latin american friends. And what did I hear some Germans say to each other?
"ווטבר גבר"
Nice.
Transfixed by what had taken place at my hands, I asked the Germans where they had gotten it. They answered from their teacher. MY OLD TEACHER.
So ya. All the sudden I'm super important in Israel. Real famous for my contribution. No seriously, I thought it was just hilarious that such a stupid but addictive phrase would be adopted by a Hebrew teacher. Now, let's just hope it spreads like army slang. I think it has good potential because Israelis embrace English and even use it as a part of their means of communicating - walking on the street listening to a women on her phone saying:
אז הייתי בחוף ורייתי אותו שם עירום anyway
So it has potential. I'll give an update on its status in a couple of months:)
When I was a but a young, foolish man struggling with wrapping my head around the intricacies and difficulties Hebrew before I visited America (wait... I still am a young, foolish, bumbling man struggling with Hebrew. Crap). Anyway, before I left to go home for a bit, I had coined the phrase:
"Whatever gever"... "ווטבר גבר"
-as a way of just saying, "dude whatever" - (Literally a "Hebrish" version of "whatever dude"). I had used it at ulpan with my friends there, in my apartment and probably in the Ashoka office.
Anyway, I was in ulpan the other day just hanging out and speaking... Spanish.. with my latin american friends. And what did I hear some Germans say to each other?
"ווטבר גבר"
Nice.
Transfixed by what had taken place at my hands, I asked the Germans where they had gotten it. They answered from their teacher. MY OLD TEACHER.
So ya. All the sudden I'm super important in Israel. Real famous for my contribution. No seriously, I thought it was just hilarious that such a stupid but addictive phrase would be adopted by a Hebrew teacher. Now, let's just hope it spreads like army slang. I think it has good potential because Israelis embrace English and even use it as a part of their means of communicating - walking on the street listening to a women on her phone saying:
אז הייתי בחוף ורייתי אותו שם עירום anyway
So it has potential. I'll give an update on its status in a couple of months:)
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The Pomegranate Republic
It was early morning on the banks of the Sea of Galilee - that enchanting oval mass of crystal blue water in the North, perched just above the staircase down to the Jordan valley, and just inside the imposing shadow of the Golan Heights. I had just woken up from a night of good beer, good fire-roasted kebab, and good friends from Tel Aviv. The summer sun's early light had managed to convince me to leave the strangely comfortable confines of the rainfly of my tent that I had, for reasons not immediately clear to me at the time, chosen to sleep in for the night. This day, or maybe our hangover, was christened almost immediately by my Kazakh friend, Valentine, a self-proclaimed Russian, with a beer - a custom, I assume of any self-respecting Russian man, after a night of drinking. We split it and as we were basking in the glow of the flittering light that the palm trees allowed in to our Garden of Eden - a small slice of paradise that, if there was indeed a real Garden of Eden, was on the very banks of the very lake where it probably existed, I started to notice that there was a leafy tree about 30 meters away with small, bright red dots hanging from it. These dots must be some sort of fruit in this Garden, I thought to myself.
Lazily meandering over toward this leafy tree, these small red dots started to take the distinct shape of pomegranates, though not yet fully ripe. It was all a big coincidence, not only because it was fruit in The Garden, but because right before I had left for this weekend getaway, I had learned that the word for "pomegranate" - "רימון" - was also the word for "grenade" in Hebrew. Holding a pomegranate in my hand that I had just pulled from a branch of that tree, I couldn’t help but be reminded of what my roommate Ofer, an officer in the Israeli Defense Forces, had nervously told me a few days earlier:
“There will be a war this summer with Hizballah. I mean, a big one, man. Pack your grenades.”
This was a frightening prospect, even if it is what every Israeli claims every year roughly between the months of May and July. The last time I was in Israel, in 2006, I flew out of Tel Aviv back to the States the day that Lebanon 2 had started, thankfully. But the missile attacks both in Israel and in Lebanon reverberated and rippled across the world and onto the New York Times that I was reading the morning that I had returned to America. That morning I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand why or how a political entity could be built up over a period of 30 years, be blindly supported by millions of people, or be unsatisfied by a complete, unilateral, UN-certified pull out of Israeli forces from southern Lebanon, and still declare that their one and only impetus for existing is built completely on one thing: resistance.
A resistance to a state, of which a portion of its 20% Arab minority find the idea of succession of land that they live on to a future sovereign Palestinian state to be a much bigger "Nakba" - or catastrophe - than the first one, because they would lose the privileges that a democracy offers: free speech, religious freedom and economic freedom. A resistance to a state that grants asylum to sudanese refugees from Darfur and other Africans who have felt the sting of the biting, sand sweeping political winds that their native war-torn countries had blown in their faces. A resistance to a state which 300,000 Filipinos have made their home due to the economic and political chaos of their own troubled country.
Valentine and I, after having witnessed first hand the amalgam of different cultures and peoples that now make up this country, had come to the conclusion that Israel, in its intrinsic and modern state, is not only the Jewish state and a place of refuge for Jews, but the de-facto shelter state of the Middle East, Africa and even many parts of Southeastern Asia. It's oasis of democracy and economic prosperity is enjoyed by a wide variety of people coming from a wide variety of sort of banana republics strewn out all over the world. These people come here for an important reason: to be protected under a more stable state. Unfortunately, when stability is rocked in Israel, the pomegranates must be used from time to time to ensure that a shelter state keeps on existing not only for Jews, but for other persecuted peoples who reside within its borders.
It is certainly a sour taste in anyone's mouth and a load to bear at times, but, Israel must be The Pomegranate Republic, even if it falls from grace to maintain its status as the Shelter State.
Lazily meandering over toward this leafy tree, these small red dots started to take the distinct shape of pomegranates, though not yet fully ripe. It was all a big coincidence, not only because it was fruit in The Garden, but because right before I had left for this weekend getaway, I had learned that the word for "pomegranate" - "רימון" - was also the word for "grenade" in Hebrew. Holding a pomegranate in my hand that I had just pulled from a branch of that tree, I couldn’t help but be reminded of what my roommate Ofer, an officer in the Israeli Defense Forces, had nervously told me a few days earlier:
“There will be a war this summer with Hizballah. I mean, a big one, man. Pack your grenades.”
This was a frightening prospect, even if it is what every Israeli claims every year roughly between the months of May and July. The last time I was in Israel, in 2006, I flew out of Tel Aviv back to the States the day that Lebanon 2 had started, thankfully. But the missile attacks both in Israel and in Lebanon reverberated and rippled across the world and onto the New York Times that I was reading the morning that I had returned to America. That morning I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand why or how a political entity could be built up over a period of 30 years, be blindly supported by millions of people, or be unsatisfied by a complete, unilateral, UN-certified pull out of Israeli forces from southern Lebanon, and still declare that their one and only impetus for existing is built completely on one thing: resistance.
A resistance to a state, of which a portion of its 20% Arab minority find the idea of succession of land that they live on to a future sovereign Palestinian state to be a much bigger "Nakba" - or catastrophe - than the first one, because they would lose the privileges that a democracy offers: free speech, religious freedom and economic freedom. A resistance to a state that grants asylum to sudanese refugees from Darfur and other Africans who have felt the sting of the biting, sand sweeping political winds that their native war-torn countries had blown in their faces. A resistance to a state which 300,000 Filipinos have made their home due to the economic and political chaos of their own troubled country.
Valentine and I, after having witnessed first hand the amalgam of different cultures and peoples that now make up this country, had come to the conclusion that Israel, in its intrinsic and modern state, is not only the Jewish state and a place of refuge for Jews, but the de-facto shelter state of the Middle East, Africa and even many parts of Southeastern Asia. It's oasis of democracy and economic prosperity is enjoyed by a wide variety of people coming from a wide variety of sort of banana republics strewn out all over the world. These people come here for an important reason: to be protected under a more stable state. Unfortunately, when stability is rocked in Israel, the pomegranates must be used from time to time to ensure that a shelter state keeps on existing not only for Jews, but for other persecuted peoples who reside within its borders.
It is certainly a sour taste in anyone's mouth and a load to bear at times, but, Israel must be The Pomegranate Republic, even if it falls from grace to maintain its status as the Shelter State.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Achmad
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.
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.
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.
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