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...

Contrabando Dominicano

I suppose that while this post doesn't really have to do with Israeli culture directly, it does serve to highlight the diversity of the folks that Israel attracts to it's shores. This diversity can come in all sorts of flavors: culturally imperialistic Russians from the most recent wave of Aliyah with their hole-in-the-wall stores complete with Russian-only signs, the eastern European hassidic Jews who, in the 110 degree heat of the summer, can still run around the streets of Tel Aviv dressed head to toe in black, yelling at the gays for poisoning the Jewish purity of Israel, the hyper-groomed, ultra aggressive males dubbed "arsim" driving their subwoofers-on-wheels, and of course, the Dominican guy who comes to Israel looking for, among other things (whores and drugs), a way to get to Madrid to join his extended family and to become a hair stylist.

If you were to ask me how this Dominican guy, Juan, got to Israel or under what specific circumstances he fled the Dominican Republic, I honestly wouldn't be able to tell you the truth. He was more slippery than a goddamned bullfrog. But, in between the Spanish rants full of hyperbole, lies and ignorant, racist garbage, I was able to surmise a few indisputable facts about the man:

1. He liked women

2. He had a burning desire to make sure that you knew that he liked women

3. He was ambitious in his 'highly developed' strategies of arriving on EU soil

4. He was running from the law

5. He wore snakeskin boots

The other problem with this muchacho was that he couldn't speak a lick of English. Now, this is generally a problem outside of the Spanish-speaking populations of South America, Western Europe and the United States. Case in point: One day, about two weeks ago, back when I was still staying in the hostel, I was walking past the reception desk when I looked over at a scene that was developing. A latin-looking guy, about 5'4", with greasy, frosted hair, and a bad attitude (even for Israeli standards) was chewing out the Israeli receptionist all in Spanish.

"Como te dije, pana, quiero que me asegures de que si me quedo acá y si dejo mis maletas acá, que no hay ladrones en los cuartos que me las van a robar, comprende?"

The receptionist had no clue what this guy was saying. Even though Israel is known for having some of the best language teaching methods in the world and teaches English to every Israeli from 1st grade on, Spanish is not what would be considered a very high priority language to learn around here. So, needless to say, all the receptionist could do was look around for someone to help him and try to talk to the guy in English. Sensing that this situation had to be diffused somehow, I started to speak to the Dominican in Spanish. As soon as I spoke to him, he smiled at me like I was a picture of Hesús or something and calmed down a bit. After about 20 minutes of translating between the receptionist and the Dominican about everything ranging from whether there were thieves staying in the room they had assigned to him to what the spoken language was in Israel, the Dominican trusted the hostel enough to book one night there.

I, of course, had become his only outlet to the world, his only way of expressing his aforementioned racist and chauvanistic bullshit. And while I was quietly disgusted by what this individual was saying to me, it was nice to speak a little Spanish again - to feel a sense of self worth in the face to the brutal day-to-day blows that learning the Hebrew language inflicts upon my self esteem. But some of the tangents that this guy would fly off on were simply ridiculous.

One of the first questions he asked me was, "so, where do you get women?"

"Um, you might end up running into some Spanish speakers at the hostel. Maybe you could start something there".

"No. What I mean is where do you get the women?"

Pause. "Well, I don't know. There might be some bar around here that has some sort of side business like th.."

"What kind of women?"

"I don't know. I've never gone looking for whores".

As if I had cursed his mother or said I was gay, he stared at me with his eyebrows turned down like he couldn't believe what had just come out of my mouth.

He did eventually find his whores. He told me that upon entering a whorehouse that his Panamanian friend had recommended to him, he made the money sign with his hands and started humping the air, all the while making a confused face to convey the fact that he was asking a question. This seemed to work; however, he came back only half satisfied; the whore was way too expensive for his taste.

The straw that really broke the camel's back for my relationship with the Dominican was when he asked me if I would accompany him up to Haifa (a fairly large Israeli port city about an hour north of Tel Aviv by train) for a day. Suspicious, I asked him why.

"Well, I'd pay for your round trip transport, your breakfast, lunch and dinner if you walk around the port with me and try to negotiate with one of those cargo-ship guys for them to ship me to Europe as contraband. Do you know what contraband is, Joshua?"

I just stood up, shook my head and walked out of the room, leaving behind my old scheming Dominican friend to his own thoughts. Maybe he managed to make it up to Haifa and get somebody to jam him into one of those little barrels and ship him off to the EU. That's how I like to imagine it, anyway. A little, hot-headed, melodramatic Dominican guy cramped in some barrel waiting as patiently as he can as he makes his way to Barcelona.

Homeless No More

Well, after 3 weeks of listening to Afrikaners throwing up at 6 in the morning on the tail end of a 3 day bender, after catching the inevitable "hostel flu" and paying dearly for it, and after having at least one item of my food stolen every day, I've moved out of the hostel I was staying at and finally signed a sublease for an apartment that is one block from the beach in Tel Aviv.

Even though my room could not by any means be described as quaint, charming or spacious, it is, for all intents and purposes, decent pad for a foreigner to live in for a while. With a balcony from which one can see the Mediterranean, two Israeli shootafim (roommates) and an unbelievably low pricetag, I have to say that I lucked out a little bit when I stumbled upon this place on a great housing website called "www.HOMELESS.co.il". That's not to say that securing this apartment was a cakewalk... quite the contrary, actually.

In typical Israeli fashion, an Israeli couple who was looking at the apartment at the same time I was told me that they had already signed the contract and had, consequently, secured the apartment.

"eeehh vat are you saying?", Ofer, my current roommate and the tenant giving the tour, asked - surprised as I was.

"!אההה... כבר חתמנו את החוזה, אז הוא לא יכול לעשות שום דבר!" - rapid fire Hebrew with finger pointed at me...

"Ok, we talk with landlady and see what a fuck is going on", Ofer frustratingly said.

Two minutes later, Ofer came back with an answer: The landlord had never met or spoken with the Israeli couple on the tour with me.

Acting confused, the couple just shrugged it off as if maybe they had spoken with an associate of the landlord. Either way, they never signed the contract and I had already set up a meeting with the landlord to sign the contract just to get a foot in the door. I guess seeing the way Israelis successfully and stealthily weasel around these processes rubbed off on me in a positive way. With a few more situations like this one to navagate, I'll hopefully be a pro.

There was also the issue of me not being an Israeli citizen. There was absolutely "no way" that the landlord could let a tourist sign an official contract; but after a few minutes of sweet talking her with the other Israeli tenants - assuring her that I was just a nice Jewish American boy looking to study Hebrew in peace - she reluctantly conceded that it would be ok for me to move in... under the condition that I accept some "Jewish penicillin" (chicken soup) from her family's restaurant the next day. For the sake of securing the apartment and for the sake of killing off my "hostel flu", I accepted. All that was left to do was to move out of the hostel.

Not all was rough and tumble in the hostel; It was a great place to meet people from all around the world - and believe me I met some INTERESTING people that will be the subject of the next post - but to keep my sanity (in all senses of the word), to save a couple hundred dollars a month, and to give myself the best environment for achieving my goal - Cultural integration - it was a must to move out. Now, I can study all the Hebrew I want to in peace. Let's just hope that the block that separates this incredible beach from myself and also the temptation to have a little party every night on the balcony is not enough to throw me off course... it will be hard.