I Scrubbed the Shit Out of That Thing

So here's another little cultural note for you:

A while ago my roommates and I organized a system in which we could maintain the cleanliness of our apartment. And It works well. One of us cleans the bathroom, another cleans the kitchen and then another cleans the living room.

Whenever it's my turn to clean the bathroom, I clean it as I've always cleaned bathrooms: with bleach, a sponge, a mop and some elbow grease... I feel that I've always gotten by with this system fairly well; however, this is apparently not enough in Israel. It has occurred to me that there is a national obsession in Israel with pointing out the littlest blemish in any sort of bathroom cleaning job, even if it looks immaculate afterwards.

A couple of weeks ago, my roommate Ofer got home from work, smelled the smell of bleach and soap in the air, and quickly inspected the bathroom. I saw him go into the bathroom and thought that he'd come out and give me a compliment on my great job. But no.

"Josh, man, there's a spot in the toilet bowl that you didn't get to".

"Umm really? I scrubbed the shit out of that thing (pun intended)".

"Ya look, man. It's right here. What were you thinking, man?"

Looking in the bowl there was a milimeter wide stain that looked like it had been there for years.

"Josh, man, you will suffer in the army, man" he said nodding with a wide grin, his eyes wide with delight. "But don't worry, man, you will learn how to clean like me".

I guess after the mental damage of scrubbing toilets that basic training incurs on young recruits (or draftees I should say), it must be like seventh fucking heaven to see another, silly younger guy, not making the "immaculate" grade with bathroom cleaning. Perhaps it a little sadism at work after having had commanders do the same to them.

The same thing happened a week later with my other roommate. I spent like an hour cleaning the kitchen one day trying to prove these goddamn roommates of mine wrong that I can clean well. Just as Ofer had done, Ayala, came home and looked at my "immaculate" job.

"Jooohsh"

"Ya"

"You didn't clean the inside of the trash".

"The inside of the trash??"

"Yes loook at this spot on the inside of the trash", she said referring to the trash can and pointing at a tiny spot of pasta sauce.

So this is what I will have to look forward to. One of the skills I'll pick up in the army will be not a skill, but an emotion. Sadism will run through my veins and will force me to quantitatively and qualitatively assess bathroom and kitchen cleanliness like some sort of OCD maniac. I'll be a head case like these guys. Great.

On a side note, yet related to this post. I found out that for my 6 months in the army, I'll most likely serve on a base in the north of Israel, near the sea of Galillee - which is one of my favorite places in Israel. I've been trying to set up a living situation on a kibbutz in the Golan Heights (closeby) for during my service. So, I'm excited about that and about the possible roles available to me. I'll keep everyone updated.

But, for now. I actually have to clean the bathroom again. It's my turn this week. Wish me luck.

Israeli/Syrian Music in the Golan

About a week ago, I was lucky enough to have had my dad and my older brother visit me in Israel. They were here for about a week or so and we really squeezed just about everything we could in Israel in such a short amount of time. Some highlights were:

1.) Discovering great neighborhoods in Jerusalem just walking around on the way to the old city.
2.) Going into the "western wall tunnels" that go underground tangent to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. On this tour, we were able to see essentially the entire Western Wall as it was before the second temple was destroyed. Incredible.
3.) Staying in a great hotel overlooking all of the Sea of Galilee (again, one of my favorite spots in Israel).
4.) Having an amazing lunch in a druze town in the Golan.
5.) Arriving in Eilat only to find that our reservations were somehow not made. Subsequently, we found a very expensive hotel room at the Hilton (the best hotel in Eilat) that overlooked the entire gulf of Eilat (gulf of Acaba). It was on the top floor looking south out over the gulf and we could see Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Egypt from the window.

But, I think one of the best experiences on this particular trip was when we were decending from the Golan heights down to the Sea of Galillee around sunset in our car. We tuned into a radio station (103 FM) that had great 60's and 70's Israeli music. The juxtapositon of these great songs and the timeless feeling that they exuded and the image of the peaciful Israeli frontier land, was really euphoric. What was especially interesting and amazingly metaphoric was how every now and then, a Syrian radio station on the same frequency, most likely from close-by Damascus would push the Israeli station out of the frequency, before the Israeli station would take over once again. I just sat there amazed at what I was hearing and how representative it was of the recent history of this land. But, back to the the euphoric feeling that this juxtaposition gave me - I often tell friends out here that sometimes I live vichariously through the feeling of how Israel was in its pioneer days, back when this special rugged collectivism was the central tenet of how Israel overcame the seemingly insurmountable odds of merely existing. I truly cherish that feeling and lament that this feeling has been swallowed up the folds of time, and slowly eaten up by the urban decay and selfish individualism I often find in Tel Aviv. I guess this is the main reason I want to move to the Golan. As well as as I can articulate it, I want to experience that feeling first hand "in the field". Imagine how living on a kibbutz in the northern Golan and serving in the military will instill this feeling in me. Let's hope this becomes a reality.

אין לי סבלנות

As most of Israel had already made its way to a friend or family member's house for the first night of the Jewish new year, a peaceful calm settled upon Tel Aviv. The roads were almost empty and I was riding shotgun in a car driven by my roommate to catch a family dinner that we were right on time for.

"אין לי סבלנות"-"ugh I have no patience" my roommate announced as she kicked the accelerator hard and sped toward the row of cars and their red lights not even 20 meters ahead of us, before sternly applying the brakes to a full stop. As we stopped, she pulled out another cigarette and lit it - her 20th of the day probably.

A few days back I was walking along a street close to my apartment, approaching the stoplight at the end of that street. A bus breezed by me with it's engine noticibly at high RPMs before slamming on its brakes in order to complete the right hand turn that it had to make without killing anyone aboard. Is that really necessary I wondered to myself, thinking about the bus drivers in Colorado, who with their cool and collected driving could lull me into doing something that usually alludes me: sleeping in a moving vehicle. How much gas do you waste and how many transmissions per bus-life do you go though with that insane driving? I started to think as I approached that intersection why was it necessary to honk at someone who fails to move within one milisecond after a light turns green. Or why it was necessary that there is a brief yellow light before the green light in Israel.

There is a palpable, thumb-twiddling, muscle-twitching, head-scratching impatience woven into the fabric of the Israeli national psyche that I never understood until recently. It is a national phenomenon and is a defining characteristic of the Israeli mentality: live in the moment. If something isn't available right now, you will go get that thing that you want without much regard for the immediate or distant future.

Tunnel vision => That thing you want

After listening to many Israelis offer an explanation of why they find it acceptable to build in the West Bank, I finally understand why and can decode their apathetic reasoning. After analyzing some of the political moves by the Israeli government I finally understand why there were made: solving a problem in the short term is a more attractive option than the non-indulgence involved in longer term solutions. The latter could be considered a means of existential defense but, you get my point.

Blah blah blah. It's 2:39 in the morning and I'm wrecked. Good night.

Summer in Tel Aviv Means:

1.) You constantly question the convention and purpose of putting on a shirt.

2.) Travelling 10 meters means you've already sweated through said shirt.

3.) You start looking at the jacket in your closet with a combination of nostalgia and sheer horror.

4.) You know the word "mazgan"(air conditioner) and employ it often.

5.) When you open the freezer to get something, you are pleasantly surprised by the temperature and stick your head in it for about 15 seconds until you realize that your head is indeed in a freezer.

6.) Your fan is your best friend. You take him with you to the living room in the morning, to the laundry room when you're folding laundry and to your bedroom where, even though he sits humming at you from a few centimeters away, you'd snuggle with him if you could.

7.) You put up with screaming children in indoor public places with "mazgan" just to feel a temperature of less than 36 degrees for a few minutes (or an hour or two as I do).

8.) The friend with the "mazgan" is the most popular one.

9.) Even if the sea has jellyfish that sting you, you risk it anyway because you just need to fucking cool off.

10.) If you are not at the beach, you are sequestered in your apartment or office wondering what it was like to not live in hell.

Let's hope I survive this inferno so that I can write a "Winter in Tel Aviv Means:" post in January.

I Live In France

Well today I took my cheap ass out for a much needed trip to the market. For weeks I've been surviving off of the pasta that my roommate's gracious Iraqi mother gave to me, cans of tuna, peanut butter-banana-honey sandwiches (delicious), and, last but not least - hummus and pita. Yes, I am a cheap bastard. Or maybe I'm more lazy than cheap. I don't know. Too many thoughts in the head. Too much effort.

Anyway, upon entering the main outdoor market in Tel Aviv - the famous Carmel Market - all I could hear was a constant hum of "Ce que doit nous achetons. Non cela est trop jaune. Peut-être nous devrions acheter ceci. Combien de baisant des euros avez-vous ? Quel est shakshuka ? Où la salle de bains est ? Oh ce n'est que 5000 euros ? Bien, je l'achèterai. Où la plage est ?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. The French have invaded Israel.

They are launching a "tour d'loud annoying voice" campaign to take over the city of Tel Aviv for a few weeks. They come to participate in loud pre-mating rituals, to gather and consume copious amounts of sustinance and fermented beverages, to change the color of their skin from white to red, and to generally distrupt the local ecosystem. And I am one of the many innocent bystanders in this precious ecosystem.

The only positive benefit that I have seen come out of this is listening to myself unconciously imitate French as I'm walking around my apartment in the morning, happily in my underwear, drinking my coffee, and eating my cereal. "je pre leuo ahn ba tititeh. Ouo je'leurs est m'crepres. Hoh hoh hoh oui oui oui".

I am nearly fluent.

Thank you French group of 18-year-olds sitting behind me on the bus to Jerusalem talking AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE.

That is all.

Me? Israeli?

Yes, you heard...eh... read right. I'm going to be an Israeli. I have applied to attain citizenship to the State of Israel - something called "Aliyah" here. It's something that about 3000 Americans do every year. But why me? Has zionism taken a hold of me to such an extent that I'll stay in this little Middle Eastern country forever and I'll never come back home? Is it the border tension, constant threat of war, rockets being launched from a terrorist group 40 kms away that wants me dead, or the blind international condemnation of "the zionist entity" that makes me want to become a citizen here?

Not particularly.

I just like it here.

I like being able to have entire conversations in this insane 12,000 year old language that has so much to do with who and what I am. I like the feeling of respect that radiates from Israelis when they find out that I want to make a life for myself here. I like the feeling of knowing that this is a country that wants me here. I like the Israeli McGuyver mentality and how they use it to create businesses the day that they conceive of them. I like how when I get into a mini bus, I'll be sitting with an Ethiopian guy, a Russian teenager, an Arab construction worker, an ashkenazi soldier and an ultra orthodox family. I like the unfettered honking outside my balcony. I like imitating the Arab Hebrew accent and the Russian Hebrew accent to Israelis and then hearing them laugh at it. I like working for an organization that helps to solve the gigantic problems that plague Israel. I like being part of the most improbable occurance in the last few centuries. I like the geographic diversity of this postage stamp-sized country - how desert turns into rolling wooded hills, that turn into lush mountainous fields, that turn into snow-capped mountains. I like walking 20 minutes to get the best hummus in the world. I like the feeling of walking through my neighborhood and being waved to by people I've met before. I even like "the Jesus" that lives in my neighborhood.

There, of course, are some things that I don't like at all about Israel. But, I can name you hundreds of things that I don't like about the United States; And I still love that country. Finding serious flaws in a certain person, place or thing does not preclude a person from having deep feelings for it nor from attaching one's self to it. So I've weighed my options, and have decided that, since I want to integrate deeply into a culture while I still can, it might as well be 100% and it might as well be in a country for which I have a true affinity and that welcomes me as a citizen with open arms. I'll stay here for a while, maybe for a very long time, or maybe just for a year. Either way, I'll accomplish my goal and desire of integration. But, of course, this goal does come with a price: Just as every other Israeli does, I'll join the army - though only for six months due to my age (I'm an old man out here) and most likely in a relatively safe position. The army is a medium through which one comes of age and it is an opportunity to contribute on a tangible level to the security of a state that needs security badly. I'm sure I'll love it and hate it at various points.

So, I guess this blog will be one American's account of this journey - through all of its trials and tribulations, challenges and joys. I'll be sure to share them on here so that someone else can get a taste of what it's like to go through this process. Stay tuned.

Funny Things

My upkeep of this blog is embarrassing. Neglecting it was never in my plans upon its creation, but things get in the way sometimes. Maybe the neglect is a testament to my larger involvement with my new life out here in Israel and, as an effect, a sign of effective cultural integration - or maybe it's a testament to my laziness toward doing "non-essential" activities. Although it's a mix of the two - I feel the latter wins out over the former.

Anyway, just to get a post up here, I'm going to tell all of you about some Veird (think Israeli accent) things that can only be seen in Israel. Screw the substantive stuff for now - it should be coming in a week or two - and believe me it will be substantive.

For now, here is a nice little list of weird/hillarious/shocking/awe-inspiring/stupid things that can only be found in the tiny enclave called Israel:

1. The 15 foot tall dancing polar bear that my friends and I saw walking through the Florentine section of town. Why not?

* Photo credit to my Dutch friend Annelien

2. The dancing rabbi brigade known as "Na Nachs" that cruises around various cities in Israel in their van pumping hassidic techno/dance songs to ridiculous decibel levels. This is complemented by some interesting dance moves:

3. The clientele walking out of the whorehouse from down my street. Most of them are orthodox Jews...

4. This store window display from a wig shop that I found on a street close to my apartment. Nice beard, bro.

5. Man with dog on scooter (look hard).

6. The man who claims to be Jesus - likes to give his sermons drinkin' a beer and smokin' a J. My friend saw him get arrested on the beach.

7. Israeli girls in their final year of army service, in civilian clothes, walking around with an M16 slung around their necks.

I guess that should suffice for now. Vat a vierd land. Hope you enjoyed.

Amurica

Maybe I'm straying (again) from the central tenet of this blog - adapting to Israeli culture - but I just have to get something off my chest that bothers me every time I go abroad.

It is needless to say that when those Americans who are fortunate enough to be able to travel outside of the States arrive to their destinations abroad, many reactions, both verbally communicated and internally conjured, are elicited simply by being American. Out of all of these reactions, there are a few reactions that have irked me in my four transatlantic trips:

1. You're an American?? But you're not like most Americans. Why are you not fat, loud or superficial??

2. You're an American?? Did you know that only 10% of Americans have passports?**(see below) They are so culturally inept and too lazy to leave the comfort of their rich, materialistic suburban havens.

(the elaboration is only to group all of the similar comments into one).

3. You're an American?? You know your women are sluts, right? I mean, jeeeez, have you seen the way they dance?

I'm not saying that these stereotypes and, indeed, characatures that are employed in conversation have materialized out of thin air. In fact, I see very clearly where most of them come from (the ubiquity of American entertainment), how they are construed in such a way (the human being's propensity to compartmentalize and mindlessly deduce), and how it is thought as acceptable to bring something like this up to an American (It feels good. America is one of the biggest superpowers in the world, if not THE superpower. So let's fuck with her). I see how they are construed clearly because even I myself am guilty of indulging in the "Characteristic X of Culture X is weird/funny" rapport with my fellow Americans.

Some examples are:

The French are existential frogs who smoke cigarettes all the time and make love in the glow of Parisian afternoons

The Spanish are lazy socialists

The Dutch are drug-addicted hookers

Brits have bad teeth

Arabs throw rocks

Italians would be rendered mute if one of their arms fell off

...and so on.

But,

Do I take these exaggerated stereotypes seriously, as an indication of how the culture operates on a macro level or of the intrinsic value of members of the culture? No.

Do I communicate these exaggerated stereotypes, seemingly in the form of statement of fact to members of those particular cultures? No.

If, for example, you're from Spain, how would you feel if I came up to you and said, "you know, you guys are super lazy. I don't know how you get any work done ever when your day consists of going to work at 9:30, having an hour breakfast with your friends, work for an hour, another breakfast, work for another hour, siesta, maybe come back to work - if it's not too hot out." You would take exception to my comments and call me an "hijo de puta"; then you'd probably go on vacation for 4 months. (an obvious exaggeration and I wouldn't say that to a Spaniard!).

It is the essence of cultural imperialism to look at some action through the tunnel vision that is your culture's boundaries, rush to a judgement based off of whatever perception is bounced off of your own culture's norms, and make a resulting comment in the form of statement of a fact to a member of that culture.

Am I being too sensitive? Am I not practicing what I'm preaching about cultural imperialism by noting these insensitive comments through the lens of my own culture's boundaries - the lens of polite American etiquette? I'm not so sure. Make a comment to a member of any one of the above cultures about one of his or her culture's negative stereotypes. Bring it up as if you are speaking of a fact or as if you seriously believe in the stereotype as something valid. What sort of reaction do you think would follow?

**-The number itself is inaccurate (the most recent statistics published by the U.S. State Department suggest the number is closer to 30%).

-Here's a little breakdown: The average income for American households, according to the U.S. Census, is $50,233. Housing, according to the Consumer Price Index, will cost, on average, 32.6% of your income; you're left with $33,857. Two children will cost you about $11,300 each; so, you're left with $11,500. The Environmental Protection Agency tells us that buying gas for a 2005 Dodge Neon will cost $2,088, and it will cost at least $1,400 to insure two people in your house to drive, according to the Insurance Information Institute. The average annual premium for an employer health plan covering a family of four, as determined by the National Coalition for Health Care, will cost another $3,300. What's left is around $4,600 (after the necessities of an average family from any developed nation are satisfied). So it's either buy food, save for retirement, and save for college with the extra $4,600, or go on an international vacation -average price for family of four in off season: $3610....Meanwhile, Europeans can fly to Budapest, Rome or Lisbon for less than a normal-priced dinner in London.

My 'Brew

Since the previous post had more to do with "how I'm adapting to pompous British filmmakers" than "how I'm adapting to the chaos of Israeli culture", I figured I was due to add some more appropriate content to guide this blog back to its intended character with some much needed substance. The more appropriate content in this case is the daily embarrassment that I experience in my pursuit of achieving relative fluency of the Hebrew language.

It's not like I didn't face this type of embarrassment when I was testing out my Spanish a few years ago in Spain. After all, it was I who walked into my Spanish family's living room one evening to inform them that I thought my dresser drawer was broken, only to be, subsequently, the target of unfettered, unrepentant laughter for about fifteen minutes - and for the rest of my stay for that matter. It turns out that instead of saying "creo que mis cajones están rotos" (translation: I think my drawers are broken) I actually said "creo que mis cojones están rotos" (translation: I think my balls are broken). Of course it makes sense, right? The American kid puts on a deer-in-the-headlights look in the face of all this laughter and that in itself makes the whole thing 100 times funnier, leaving my Spanish brother gasping for air on the floor from laughing so hard at the Americano's ridiculous mistake. So, I am well aware of how the mispronunciation of one stupid letter in a foreign language can immediately make you look like some stupid asshole.

Now, fast forward a few years to a harder language that looks like Klingon and that has far fewer cognatic (yes it's a word) advantages as Spanish does in relation to English. (example: What is excellent in Spanish? Answer: excelente. What is electricity in Spanish? Answer: electricidad. What is diarrhea in Spanish? Answer: Diarrea. - you know, the essentials). Maybe the severity and comedic value of my mistakes so far have been light in comparison to that of the mistakes that I still have the pleasure of committing in the future. But that doesn't change the fact that they happened....

One bright and early morning -in fact, the first morning that I commuted to work, I was sipping some coffee in a mini bus called a sherut, about a few blocks away from my destination in northern Tel Aviv when I realized that there were no buttons to press to let the driver know that I needed to stop and get off. There is only the phrase that is translated literally as (driver, stop me here, please) that must be shouted out in the direction of the driver... this is Israel after all. Figuring this was my only option and also a great way of starting to adapt to the culture, I did my best to shout out this phrase when we were closing in on the street that I needed to get off on.

"נהג, תעזור לי בבקשה!"

I didn't get the reaction that I had hoped for; in fact, a wave of pure horror-infused adrenaline ran through my veins when the driver, along with most of the other passengers looked at me like I was about to have a seizure or something.

"מה ?מה אתה צריך?" (What? What do you need?)

uuhhhhhh.... פה פה אני רוצה.... (here, here, I want), I clumsily replied.

Noticing that I had a goofy accent, the driver put two and two together: I had meant "Driver, please stop here for me!", but just because I screwed up the sound of one stupid letter, it came out as "driver, help me please!". Look for yourselves:

"נהג, תעצור לי בבקשה!" - Correct

"נהג, תעזור לי בבקשה!" -Incorrect

Goddamn צ and ז.... Stupid Hebrew words that are designed to make you look like some kind of moron. All that one can do is bury one's head in one's lap when the adrenaline subsides and try to learn from the embarrassment. At the very least, it is a very fast way of learning as it is a good form of negative reinforcement. But, there is actually a type of mistake from which one does not benefit in any way: the inevitable non yes-or-no question in wickedly fast 'Brew that you think you understand, but of course do not and just nod stupidly at. This nod is quickly followed by either a burst of laughter or a shaking of the head, "you didn't understand...". Classic.

"ג'וש, איך אתה מרגיש על העברית שלך אחרי כמה שבועות פה?" (Josh, how do you feel about your Hebrew after being here for a few weeks?)

Nod. Smile. Slight glint of confusion in eyes.

But seriously, after suffering a bit as anyone does with these common problems of learning another language, I still feel very good about my Hebrew. Whereas I only understood about 30% of what was being said around me when I first got to Israel, now I feel that I can understand around 50% of what is being said (depending on all sorts of factors ranging from native/immigrant accents, socio-economic status, venue differences (school or bar) and age). I have also stacked up a couple hundred words' worth of new flash cards since I arrived in Israel five weeks ago. And even if I make these stupid mistakes, I am usually complimented at some point or another for knowing as much as I do for having only studied the language intensively for 2 months or so - which helps with my self confidence (50% of speaking a foreign language). I'll just have to live in resignation that I WILL say stupid things in Hebrew over which I will only have a small amount of control. I am reminded of this nice little poster:

Actually, I'm an Actor

...Not really. Just a lowly extra. But, at least now I can say that I was an actor in a movie about Israeli Independence. I played a British soldier - uniform, beret and 1940's-era rifle. Take a look (and excuse the quality):

Don't worry - Just because I'm a budding star doesn't mean that I'm giving up my day job...