Just a moment?

Living in Israel for sixteen years means that I don't often pay attention to those "only in Israel" moments anymore, and events that may strike a new immigrant as unusual are no longer something out of the ordinary. The times when I'd wake up and go through my days being conscious of the fact that I was in a "foreign" country are long gone, and while I still mutter and mumble about some of the more maddening aspects of life here, it is more often than not with the full agreement of my native Israeli friends and acquaintances - in other words, I'm grumbling about life, and not about "life in Israel" (though admittedly, sometimes I become a bit more focused in my grumbling...). During my time here, I've gradually undergone a metamorphosis, changing from the wide-eyed, easily-excitable immigrant into a jaded, cynical Israeli (though the foundations for my jaded cynicism had, quite obviously, been laid far before I'd ever set foot in this country, so it really wasn't much of a stretch).

Yesterday, however, I had a rare "only in Israel" moment. While sitting at my home computer playing around on Facebook trying to get some work done, I was repeatedly distracted by a truck going through the neighborhood with a megaphone. From my seat in front of the computer, I couldn't see the truck, nor did I try very hard to hear what was being said. Ordinarily, these megaphone masters are trying to sell something, whether it be fruits and vegetables or household items, and frankly, I wasn't interested. I had to hand it to them this time around, though. He was nothing if not persistent, and I finally stepped outside to hear the message, which was clearly being broadcast by an individual who had honed his craft by watching reruns of old Peanuts episodes and emulating Charlie Brown's teacher. Well, I'll be damned! Nobody was trying to sell me anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. They'd come to collect something. They'd come to collect our gas masks. That's right, you heard me. These guys were here on official government business, asking citizens to please come outside with all gas mask kits in order to return them.

They'd left a notice in our stairwell last week, but I'd forgotten. We'd had them since the second Gulf war. I'd even opened mine to check things out, as per the instructions of the Home Front Command at the onset of the war. I carried it to work with me one day, following those same Home Front Command instructions. The Husband laughed at me and my gas mask kit, and once I reached the office, I understood why. The only other colleagues who had followed instructions were immigrants. The natives were blasé, and in my desire to "go native" (not to mention the desire to get the Husband to stop laughing), I immediately left my mask at home too. After all, I was determined to assimilate, and certainly wasn't going to let a small detail like the threat of chemical warheads get in my way...

The war came and went (at least the bits that were considered dangerous for Israel), and our gas masks were once again relegated to their spot at the back of the top shelf, left to gather dust until the next threat of war would require us to take them down again. As luck would have it, we did have another war, but fortunately, the missiles being fired in our direction weren't chemical-tipped, so instead of grabbing my gas mask (which was still at the top of the guestroom closet) as I ran to our safety room when the sirens went off (an infrequent occurrence in our area), I grabbed a glass of white wine, and found it to be equally, if not more effective than my gas mask.
I didn't give our masks another thought until yesterday, when the guy from Manpower (yep, you heard correctly – the government outsourced the gas mask collection) snapped me out of my reverie and sent me scurrying for a ladder, as no chair in the house would have allowed me to reach the top shelf in our closet. As sounds of the megaphone drew closer, I dug around, dodging falling playing cards and ankle weights as I perched on the ladder's top rung, plucking two dusty gas mask kits from the murky depths.

After returning the ladder to the porch (with the Little One so engrossed in "Dora the Explorer" that he hadn't even noticed when I'd walked past him with it the first time), I left my little couch-potato-in-training and scampered off with the kits, finding the collector downstairs dealing with one set of neighbors as a motley assortment of others made their way over with identical boxes. As we each patiently waited for our turn, we exchanged stories about the lengths we'd gone to in order to find our masks. Houses torn apart seemed to be a recurring theme, and one neighbor mentioned how relieved she'd been to have a child in the house small enough to fit into the attic crawl space and retrieve the family's masks.

As I ran back up the stairs, my mind replayed the afternoon's main event, and I couldn't imagine it happening anywhere else but here. After sixteen years spent honing my jaded cynicism and trying to become more native than the natives, I was having an "only in Israel" moment. Good grief. If I start peppering my English with Hebrew words spoken with an American accent more than I pepper my Hebrew with English words spoken with an Israeli accent, then we'll know that I'm truly "een da sheet".

Celebrating the holidays once again

There's something about the holiday season in Israel that makes me realize that there's no place I'd rather be at this time of the year. In some respects, it reminds me of the Christmas season in the US. The excitement and anticipation in the air are palpable, and talk inevitably turns to holiday plans. Strangers smile at one another and exchange holiday greetings as everyone gears up for the feasts and festivals that lie ahead, and inboxes are filled with electronic cards and wishes. At work yesterday, we gorged ourselves on the annual festive holiday meal served in the dining room, and found ourselves back there two hours later for a company toast of wine and sinfully delicious desserts. Leaving the office, I cheerfully exchanged my customary goodbyes for "happy new year" and "happy holidays", receiving smiles and holiday wishes in return.

Of course, given the events of last week, my usual joy is tainted with sorrow and feelings of loss, but life goes on, and given that we will have a house full of people tonight, sitting around in mourning isn't really an option. Fortunately, my sister-in-law, who loves to cook (which would be the exact opposite of me), is bringing nearly all of the food with her. Still, there's much to be done, especially as I have real work to do as well.

Happy new year to all...

Wahat al-Salam - Oasis of Peace

Neve Shalom ~ Wahat al-Salam (in English, Oasis of Peace) made headlines last year when former Pink Floyd frontman Roger Waters performed there. This unique cooperative village was founded jointly by Jewish and Arab Israelis in an attempt to show that the two peoples can live side by side peacefully, as well as to conduct educational work for peace, equality and understanding between the two peoples. The community was founded on land that was originally leased from the adjacent Latrun Monastery, mid-way between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and there are currently more than 50 families living in Neve Shalom ~ Wahat al-Salam, with an equal number of Arabs and Jews. Many more families from both groups are on the waiting list to join this very special place.

Neve Shalom ~ Wahat al-Salam's school system was the first bilingual, bi-national Jewish-Palestinian educational facility in the country, and the Jewish and Palestinian teachers each speak exclusively in their own languages to all the students, creating an atmosphere that allows the students to explore their own identities as well as gain appreciation for another culture.




As you can see in the above video clip, the people of Neve Shalom ~ Wahat al-Salam – those who live there, those who work and volunteer there, and those who choose to benefit from the wide variety of services and resources provided – are committed to dialog and co-existence.


So, here's your chance to check out a four-time nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize up close and personal. If you're going to be in the area (and it's a beautiful region, so I highly recommend it – don't forget to pick up a few bottles of wine made onsite at the Latrun Monastery), pop in and say "shalom" or "salam" and I'm sure they'll be happy to have you.

We Didn't Call You Behemoths

As promised in this post, here is the translated version of the article I wrote for Nana last week. I've tried to maintain the structure and links used in the Hebrew version, and I've made only one change to the content, in order to include a mention of Lisa Goldman's recent trips to Beirut, which could not be included at the time when the original article was published (who says I can't keep a secret?!).

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A rather interesting article was published on Nana's Computers portal recently, whose title was "We are all Behemoths". The article purported to provide an overview of the English-language blogosphere in Israel, with one of the more salient points being that as English-language blogs, the bloggers who write them are, in essence offering a skewed view of Israelis and of life in Israel, given that these bloggers, by virtue of the fact that they are native English speakers, are not at all representative of the average Israeli.

The article's author, Dana Peer, (whose mother, incidentally, is American), opts to focus on the blogs of relatively new immigrants, including "What War Zone?", "Zabaj", and "Ari Lives in Israel". The highlighted posts all have one thing in common – experiences mostly revolving around encounters with native Israelis. Peer then goes on to belittle the bloggers of the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere for choosing to focus on these experiences, and claims that,

"the Israeli image in the global blogosphere is proffered almost solely from the viewpoint of immigrants and tourists - and it's possible to say a great deal about them, except for one thing - that they faithfully represent the image of the average Israeli. Forget representing - most of them don't understand it at all."

One of the issues that Peer addresses is the way that some of these new immigrants poke fun at the way that Israelis have incorporated various English words into the Hebrew language. Peer points out in an ongoing email exchange (which began after the article was published) that it is a "natural phenomenon that words from one language are assimilated into another language, and then adapted to meet the relevant rules of grammar." I am inclined to agree with that statement, though as one whose native language is the one from which these words often originate, I must admit that it does sound amusing at times to hear native Hebrew speakers use words in "English" while speaking Hebrew.

The amusement is not necessarily directed at the speaker, but rather at the concept. For the record, I am similarly amused when I hear Americans in the US say the word "chutzpah" with a totally American accent (or any other random word that has entered the English lexicon from another language) in their daily lives, lest you think it is limited to Americans making fun of Israelis.

The Internet Changes the Rules

One of the suggestions that Peer brought up in her email is that perhaps she should have included a disclaimer at the beginning of her article, noting that it was not intended to be a serious look at the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere, but rather a humorous take on a very specific aspect of this virtual society. Indeed, one of the greatest "pitfalls" facing writers today is that the internet has created a situation where one's words have the potential to go farther than ever before.

As such, the writer essentially loses all control over their own creation. Writers can no longer get by with excuses about intended audiences, and it is something that we as bloggers and journalists must take into consideration, accepting that our words may reach unintended audiences who can twist our thoughts to suit their own needs.

A prime example of this would be an incident that occurred last summer, when Norwegian author Jostein Gaarder published an article about Israel and the Jews in a Norwegian newspaper. The article was intended for Norwegian audiences only, and Garder was reportedly completely shocked by the worldwide condemnation he received after his article was translated into other languages and seen to be rather anti-Semitic, even though Garder claimed that this was not his intention, and that his words were taken out of context.

I also think, perhaps, that Peer did not take into account that there might be immigrants reading her article who would not see it as being a funny, cynical piece at all, but rather a personal attack on "those immigrants". In her email, Peer explains that she has taken care to focus on both sides of the issue – that of the immigrant and that of the native-born Israeli, and has tried to maintain a balance in her criticism of both groups. However, in the same way that comedians can openly mock their own group without anyone raising an eyebrow, but will often be criticized for mocking another group, it should come as no surprise that immigrants would have issues with being criticized by someone who is not "one of their own". An indication of this can be seen in the responses to Peer's original article, which, while obviously quite amusing for the native Hebrew speakers (whose comments reflected a rather alarming trend to bash immigrants who had chosen to make Israel their home, which makes me wonder whether some of them had taken the article as seriously as I had), seemed to lose something when the article crossed cultures.

On the one hand, Peer is accurate in her assessment that the new immigrant bloggers among us often focus on their unique immigrant experiences and encounters, which is certainly not an unusual phenomenon, and indeed, is entirely legitimate. Of course, perhaps we, as immigrant bloggers, must also take into account that just we have chosen to make Israel our home, we must be more accepting and open to the nuances of Israeli culture and the local lexicon. Peer mentions an incident in her email of an immigrant blogger poking fun at native Israelis for not being able to say "Massachusetts". Frankly though, until you can master any Hebrew word or name with the letter "resh" in it, you're really not in a position to make fun of "the natives" (unless, of course, you are trying to emulate MK Michael Eitan).

Putting a Human Face on "The Monster"

Humor aside, though, Peer does a disservice to her readers by limiting her article to these few blogs while ignoring the richness and variety of the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere as a whole, a heterogeneous group of writers whose blog postings cover an incredibly wide range of topics, whether it be politics, current events, local culture, family, and so on.

Our corner of the blogosphere includes both new and veteran immigrants, religious and secular bloggers. We have bloggers in the Territories and bloggers who live in Tel Aviv's trendy Sheinkin neighborhood. To say that we've had a few battles over Israeli political issues would be akin to calling last summer's war a minor border incident.

Residents of our virtual neighborhood include bloggers like Canadian-born Lisa Goldman, a journalist whose blog "On the Face" not only received worldwide attention during the war last summer (and whose clips that touch on her recent trips to Beirut can be found on Nana's news portal), but also won the Best Non-Muslim Blog award in a competition held in the Islamic blogosphere; British expatriate "Anglosaxy", a non-Jewish blogger who writes about his view of life in the Holy Land; Bert de Bruin, a Dutch-born blogger who posts at "Dutchblog Israel" in both English and Dutch, primarily about current events and political issues; "Chayyei Sarah", a blog written by an American freelance journalist and teacher living in Jerusalem; Australian expatriate artist Nominally Challenged writes over at "A Whiff of the Med". And these are only a few examples of what can be found out there.

These Israel-based bloggers who write in languages other than Hebrew are the face of Israel for readers around the world. We are the writers who put a human face on the "monster" known as Israel, and do so on a daily basis. We are the writers who readers turned to during the Second Lebanon War last summer, when people the world over were anxious to dig up any shred of information they could find about the human side of the conflict.

It must be noted that the Hebrew-language blogosphere and the English-language blogosphere (not to mention the Russian and Arabic language blogospheres) serve very different purposes. While the Hebrew-language blogosphere is for domestic consumption, Israeli blogs written in English (or in other foreign languages) are often specifically targeted at the world outside of Israel. These bloggers see their natural role as being that of explaining Israel to the rest of the world.

Willingly and Not by Force

Judging by the article itself as well as the numerous talkbacks it received, Peer and her "Israeli" readers seem to think that these new immigrants, all of whom chose to live in Israel, are not allowed to be critical of their adopted country. A running theme throughout the comments was that if these Americans aren't happy in Israel, then they should just simply pack up and go home. If everyone who lived in Israel was asked to leave if they complained, chances are excellent that within a relatively short period of time, there'd be no one living here (except, perhaps for Ehud Olmert, who clearly lives in a world of his own where everything is good and everyone loves him...).

Western immigrants come to Israel because they want to, not because they have to. Israel is where they want to be, but that certainly doesn't mean that life is perfect here. I have been living here for sixteen years. My life is here, my family is here. Do I believe that daily life would be easier in the US? Yes. Do I believe there's a lot to complain about in Israel? Of course. Am I planning to leave? No.

Israel is my home, just as it is the home of all these new immigrants that people seem so keen to mock and send away.

War! What was it good for? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Life in Israel and Lebanon was irrevocably altered exactly one year ago. Illusions of calm were shattered and dreams lay torn, ripped apart by powers beyond our control. Physical recovery from the war has been difficult, harder in some places than in others. Emotional recovery has been equally fraught, as people attempt to gather the shards of broken lives and broken relationships, with some attempts being more successful than others.

A big deal is being made of this one-year anniversary in Israel. Special news reports abound (including several from intrepid fellow bloggers Lisa and Rinat, who are taking the Hebrew language news media by storm these days, following their recent trips to Beirut, as well as Rinat's harrowing journey into South Lebanon), and the Prime Minister toured the north yesterday, stopping along the way to make such unremarkable comments as, "I'm convinced as I was on July 12 last year that we took the right decision (by going to war) that this threat should once and for all be driven away from our border." Major Israeli websites replaced their main pages for five minutes yesterday morning with messages showing solidarity with the missing soldiers, and several local bloggers are also taking note.

Whether we want to or not, we cannot escape these images of the war last summer, and the big question on everybody's minds these days seems to be whether or not we'll have another one this summer, and indeed, it has been a popular survey question in the both the mainstream media and in the local blogosphere. I cannot help but remember how our world turned upside down, how the relative normality of our lives was blown apart. I remember the haunting sounds of the sirens signaling an incoming rocket (which fortunately, I didn't hear too frequently in my own area, as we were "only" in long-range missile range); I remember sitting on the train heading home in the evenings, wondering what would happen if the train were hit by one of these rockets, waiting to be picked up at the train station after hearing that a rocket had fallen in the vicinity. Rumors abounded as we all did what we could to find out where rockets had landed, and I remember how fascinating it was to observe how easily the collective national lexicon was transformed in order to include the words of our war; how every citizen became a military analyst.

To be sure, it was a frightening, tense time, and sadly, while I do not believe that we will have another war this summer, I'm rather inclined to believe that the regional situation is at least as bad as it was one year ago, and that important lessons have not yet been learned. Israeli society no longer believes or trusts its politicians to follow the right path, and Lebanon has not been this unstable since its civil war. Our soldiers are still missing, and we do not know whether they are alive or dead. Hizbullah is still entrenched in Southern Lebanon, and it is as though nothing has changed. Innocence is lost, replaced by cynicism and suspicion. There are no winners. We are all losers in this game, no matter which side of the border we live on.

And with that, I share with you the post that I wrote one year ago today - my first post about the war.

The Game of Life

“Due to the security situation, all trains heading north will terminate in Acco. No trains will travel to Nahariya under orders from the Israel Police. The Nahariya train station has been closed. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.”

Granted, this announcement doesn’t affect me, as I am traveling south to Tel Aviv. That is, it doesn’t directly affect me. In a greater sense, it affects all of us here in Israel, a sign the times, so to speak. The situation is spiraling out of control at a frightening pace, and I feel like I just don’t know what to do with myself right now. Yesterday it was a series of attacks on the Northern border that left seven Israeli soldiers dead and two kidnapped into Lebanon. This morning a katyusha rocket slammed into Nahariya, killing one woman in her home and injuring tens of other people. Katyushas also hit near Mt. Meron. Israel has retaliated by hitting the international airport in Beirut and Hezbollah’s television station. Who knows what will happen next. Life is suddenly worse than it was a few days ago, and my pacifist persona has been abruptly shunted aside as I decide that nothing would delight me more than to see that arrogant smirk wiped off the face of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, preferably by an IDF explosives expert.

I think of the bloggers across the Arab blogosphere who have afforded me the privilege of making their acquaintance, exchanging comments and emails as we work together to break down barriers, barriers put in place by those whose greatest fear is the discovery that we are all merely people and not the monsters they make us out to be. We may not always agree, but there is both a mutual respect and curiosity that we have chosen to embrace. Despite the actions of governments and organizations in our countries, we are trying hard to make our neighborhood a better place. Now, as I sit here on this train heading south, I can’t help but wonder, is it all for naught? It is so easy to forget the big picture as we focus on the relationships, the bridges being built. We share the same interests, the same tastes in food (who would have thought that sushi is so popular throughout the Middle East?), similar musical tastes. Thanks to these bloggers, I have learned about life in Jordan, in Lebanon, in Egypt, and so on. Never before have I been in a position to see a trip to Damascus as something normal, or to discover the excitement and beauty of Beirut.

Fantasy trips between Tel Aviv and Beirut have been planned (*and one year later, some have even fulfilled the fantasy), and we eagerly drink in each others’ words as we enjoy getting to know one another. It’s almost like a drug, and it’s so easy to become addicted, as we get sucked into a virtual world where disagreements still exist, yet borders are there to be traversed and not fortified. Then suddenly, reality comes crashing down as those with the real power make their presence felt through violence and destruction, and you wonder if your dreams of normalcy are only childish visions that will never come to pass. Are we being foolish? Is our bridge-building mere folly, a way to pass the time while allowing ourselves to think that we can somehow make a difference? I have no doubt that for the most part, we are all quite sincere in our quest, but while the perfect sunny skies of summer in the Middle East are tainted with falling rockets and fresh graves are dug in the cracked, brown earth, I cannot help but feel that we are all very small and insignificant as the Nasrallahs of the world show us who is really controlling the game of life.

* Added today.

The Anglo-Israeli Blogosphere, part 2...

For those of you who read Hebrew (and especially for those of you who can read it AND understand it), the post that I wrote here has been edited, rewritten, and translated, and can now be found here on the Nana website. I'll put up the final English version soon...

The Role of the Anglo-Israeli Blogosphere

A rather interesting article (entitled "We are All Behemoths") was published on Israel's Nana internet portal last Friday. The article, written in Hebrew, purported to provide an overview of the English-language blogosphere in Israel, with one of the more salient points being that as English-language blogs, the bloggers who write them are, in essence offering a skewed view of Israelis and life in Israel, given that these bloggers, by virtue of the fact that they are native English speakers, are not at all representative of the average Israeli.

The article's author, Dana Peer, opts to focus on a few select blog entries from the blogs of relatively new immigrants, including "What War Zone?", "Zabaj" (whose recent blog entry tipped me off about this article), and "Ari Lives in Israel" (a blog which, incidentally, hasn't been updated for quite some time, as the writer is probably too busy freelancing and working as a waiter at one of the hottest cafes in Tel Aviv). The highlighted posts all have one thing in common – each one relays a different immigrant experience, mostly revolving around encounters with native Israelis. Peer then goes on to belittle the bloggers of the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere for choosing to focus on these experiences, and claims that,

"the Israeli image in the global blogosphere is profferred almost solely
from the viewpoint of immigrants and tourists - and it's possible to say a great
deal about them, except for one thing - that they faithfully represent the image
of the average Israeli. Forget representing - most of them don't understand it
at all."

I'm also inclined to question her understanding of some of the posts she mocks, seeing as she seems to have taken Benji Lovitt's (What War Zone?) recent tongue-in-cheek post about the infamous Israeli beach game of "matkot" seriously...

On the one hand, Peer is accurate in her assessment that many of the new immigrant bloggers among us often focus on their unique immigrant experiences and encounters. Just as many of the Hebrew-language bloggers focus on their everyday experiences (an excellent example being this blog written by Amit, the divorced father of a son recently diagnosed with a form of autism), it is entirely legitimate for immigrant bloggers to do the same. However, Peer does a disservice to her readers by limiting her article to these few blogs while ignoring the richness and variety of the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere as a whole, a heterogeneous group of writers whose opinions (political and otherwise) and blog postings cover an incredibly wide range of topics, whether it be politics, current events, local culture, family, and so on.

And, whether Peer likes it or not, Israel-based bloggers who write in languages other than Hebrew, whether it be Dutch, French, Spanish, German, or any other language that I've come across while cruising the local blogosphere, are the face of Israel for readers around the world. We are the writers who put a human face on the "monster" known as Israel, we are the writers who readers turned to during the Second Lebanon War last summer, when people the world over were anxious to dig up any shred of information they could find about the human side of the conflict.

Peer apparently fails to understand that the Hebrew-language blogosphere and the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere serve very different purposes. While the Hebrew-language blogosphere is for domestic consumption, Israeli blogs written in English are often specifically targeted at the world outside of Israel, and these bloggers see their natural role as being that of explaining Israel to outsiders, whether they be Diaspora Jews or anyone else. And, judging by the article itself as well as the numerous talkbacks, Peer and her "Israeli" readers seem to think that these new immigrants, all of whom chose to live in Israel, are not allowed to be critical of their adopted country. A running theme throughout the comments was that if these Americans aren't happy in Israel, then they should just simply pack up and go home. If everyone who lived in Israel was asked to leave if they complained, chances are excellent that within a relatively short period of time, there'd be no one living here (except, perhaps for Ehud Olmert, who clearly lives in a world of his own where everything is good and everyone loves him...). Western immigrants come to Israel because they want to, not because they have to. Israel is where they want to be, but that certainly doesn't mean that life is perfect here. I have been living here for sixteen years. My life is here, my family is here. Do I believe that daily life would be easier in the US? Yes. Do I believe there's a lot to complain about in Israel? Of course. Am I planning to leave? No. Israel is my home, just as it is the home of all these new immigrants that Dana Peer and her ilk seem so keen to mock and send away.

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By the way, after reading the article on Saturday, I sent an email to Dana Peer, outlining a number of the issues that I've mentioned here and asking for a response. I have yet to receive one, but I'll update accordingly if she chooses to comment.

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Update: I've been contacted by Dana. She sent a response, which I'm currently in the process of translating. The extremely short version of what she wrote is that she realizes that the Anglo-Israeli blogosphere has a lot more variety than what she mentioned in her article, and that her piece was meant to be a humorous, tongue-in-cheek commentary, and not a piece to be taken too seriously.

I hope to have the full translation up in a few days.

Sights of the North; Sounds of Israel

Last Saturday afternoon, following a tiring-yet-fulfilling day of wandering around fortresses and waterfalls in the North, I suddenly found myself feeling envious of my blogging pal Benji. Why was I harboring such feelings towards such an upstanding fellow, you ask? Okay. Picture this scene in your mind. You're sitting in the car with your loved ones, heading home from an excursion chock-full of the sights, sounds and smells of the Hermon region. Your mind is all a-jumble, as you think about Nimrod Fortress, the Banias nature reserve and waterfall, the deliciously cold mango slurpee you drank earlier, and the perfectly-timed iced coffee you're drinking now. The day was a success, and you can't help but wonder how it could get any better. And then it does. The radio station that you're listening to starts broadcasting an hour-long tribute to Naomi Shemer, and all of your old favorite songs are suddenly being played one after another.

Your thoughts start drifting back to the long, lost days of youth, lazy days of summer spent in summer camp. You can remember singing these songs, dancing to these songs. You think of the good times you had, the friends you made, and suddenly, you turn melancholy, wishing you were there again. And suddenly, you remember that Benji is there again. As you sit in your air-conditioned car, stuck in weekend traffic while singing along with the best of Naomi Shemer, ignoring the three year-old next to you who keeps asking for one last cookie, you realize that Benji is probably doing the one thing you'd give anything to be doing at that moment, and alas, you are indeed feeling envious of Benji.

Seriously. What could be better than spending your time with the words and music of the late Naomi Shemer, one of Israel's most popular and talented songwriters? Who hasn't heard "Yerushalayim Shel Zahav" ("Jerusalem of Gold"), or "Al Kol Eileh" ("For all these Things")? This prolific song writer, who passed away in the summer of 2004, played a definitive role in shaping the Israeli music scene, with her songs often reflecting the national mood of the day. Her music has accompanied Israelis through good times and bad, and her tunes have been sung by Israeli artists from all musical genres.

The clip below shows the Israeli singing group The Dudaim (Yisrael Gurion and the late Benny Amdursky) singing of one of my favorite Naomi Shemer songs. The title is "Tilbeshi Lavan" (You will wear White), and the first verse and chorus are translated as:

This summer you will wear white
You'll think clear thoughts
Perhaps you will receive a love letter
Perhaps we will make choices.

I will choose you and you will choose me
And together we'll mostly be
If this summer you will wear white
And pray for good.

Defining moments in the Diaspora

I have spent a fair amount of time during the last week-and-a-half reflecting on our recent trip, thinking about various moments and highlights, mentally rehashing certain experiences as one often does after returning from vacation. There were two events in particular that stand out, each one positively reinforcing my connection to Israel, yet so different from one another. The first one occurred during our flight from Atlanta to Sarasota. I was beyond exhausted, having not slept much on the flight from Israel, and having successfully navigated US customs and Atlanta's massive airport, not to mention successfully keeping the Little One entertained enough so that he fell asleep in my arms shortly before boarding the plane. The flight was full, and our seatmate waited patiently while I got the Little One settled, carefully propping him against the pile of blankets I'd managed to acquire and stack against the window. He even offered to move to another seat so that we'd have more room, and after I assured him that this would be unnecessary, we fell into the usual airplane banter that is so often marked by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, you will never see the person again, nor will you even go so far as to exchange names. He asked where we were from, which inevitably defined the direction our conversation would take, for our seatmate turned out to be a card-carrying member of the unconditional-love-for- Israel Christian right (and a firefighter to boot, which of course led to the Little One – once he woke up – referring to our seatmate as Sam).

What began as an ordinary, in-flight conversation with a stranger led to a fascinating exchange of ideas and experiences as he shared his convictions and I told him about life in Israel. He's never been here, but desperately wanted to visit, to see his belief system come alive, to see that which he'd only heard about, to commune with history. He told me of his great respect and love for Ariel Sharon and shared his opinions about Israel's current state of affairs vis a vis her neighbors. As a result of his religious beliefs, I actually found him to be more "pro-Israel" than many of the Israelis I know, and certainly more in favor of many of Israel's policies than I am. Despite his unwavering attitude that Israel could seemingly do no wrong, it was more than a little refreshing to meet someone who "got it", someone who didn't force me to defend my country, someone who understood that Israelis are not warmongering aggressors out to take over the region, and that neighboring countries are not simply innocent victims of Israeli aggression, that the situation is far more complex than many would have you believe.

The hour-long flight passed quickly and pleasantly, and while I desperately wanted our long journey to end, I was also a little sorry when this particular segment was over. I had enjoyed the company of our seatmate, who disappeared as we were getting ourselves ready to get off the plane. While we obviously didn't agree on every point (after all, living here on a daily basis, it is becoming increasingly more difficult to love my country unconditionally), and had we discussed other hot topics we might have come to blows, when it came down to it, I liked the guy. It was nice to talk to someone who passionately loved Israel instead of passionately hating it. I suddenly felt that maybe it wasn't so crazy to live here, that there are indeed those who do not believe that we should not exist, or even not have a right to exist. Despite my exhaustion, I was pleased that I had managed to stay awake during the flight and engage an anonymous young firefighter in conversation.

Israel's Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror fell towards the end of our trip. It felt strange knowing that I wouldn't be commemorating it in Israel, as I don't believe I've ever missed it in all of my years living here. For me, the day is special, a day of reflection and remembrance, a day when I feel connected to my fellow citizens as we collectively go through a state of mourning, even though it is one that has, to some extent, been imposed upon us (see Lisa's Memorial Day posts here and here, with the latter including a brief video taken during the siren). I imagine it would have been especially poignant this year, given that it would have been the first Memorial Day following the war last summer, and I wondered how I would commemorate the day while in the Diaspora. I was pleased when I discovered that the local Jewish Federation (in conjunction with another Israel-related group) would be holding a ceremony to commemorate Israel's Memorial Day. It was interesting to observe, as those in attendance were mostly from two distinct groups – elderly American Jews who have retired to Florida, and young Israelis and their families who had left Israel, but had chosen to remain connected. The program was led by the local Israeli emissary, and aside from one bizarre, rather long-winded rant given by one of the elderly American Jews (who I assume plays some prominent role in the local Jewish community), the events were rather well-done, if not a little frustrating for those who couldn't understand the Hebrew captions in the video clips that had been taken straight from Israeli television. We stood in silence, we sang meaningful songs, we watched as pictures of the fallen were projected onto the large screen at the front of the room. We said the mourners' prayer, sang Hatikvah, and then a break was taken in order to get the room ready for the next part of the evening – Israeli folk dancing and food to celebrate Israel's Independence Day, which begins at sundown at the end of Memorial Day.

I'm glad I went, but I felt a bit odd nonetheless. I felt like I didn't belong to either group in attendance, yet at the same time, I felt connected to both. To some I was Israeli, while to others I was American. I inexplicably found myself wanting to somehow let the Israelis know that I was "one of them", but was I really, or would they just have seen me as an American who lives in Israel, despite the fact that I have been here for so long, speak the language fluently, and feel that I have successfully integrated? I suppose this comes down to the very core of the expat experience, and knowing that I will always feel the draw of the other, no matter where I find myself. That night, due to the nature of the event, I imagine that I felt more connected to my Israeli side than to my American side, but given the circumstances at hand, I strangely did not feel completely at home with either. I assume this had something to do with the fact that aside from my parents and my son, I didn't really know anyone there, and no one really knew me. I did, however, run into someone I'd met before.

The last time we visited Florida was two years ago. The day after we arrived, my parents took us a beach known as South Lido Park. While we were unwrapping our sandwiches, two people approached from the parking lot, staking out the tables next to ours. As luck would have it, the people were speaking in Hebrew. Within about twenty minutes, we found ourselves exchanging pleasantries with a group of 15-20 Israelis and their partners/families, all of whom, live in Sarasota. It was a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon (and, incidentally, the only time during our entire stay that I felt comfortable nursing the Little One in public, knowing that those around me wouldn't look at me strangely, or even look at me at all), as we all chatted and laughed, and even drank Turkish coffee, which they had in abundant supply. Apparently, we made quite an impression, as one of the women in attendance (an American married to an Israeli) at the Memorial Day ceremony remembered having met me on the beach, two years ago. So very Israeli.

Israeli diplomacy at its most creative...

Like many of my like-minded friends, I find myself becoming tired - overwhelmed, even - by the way that Israel is always being portrayed in the news. It is exhausting to see the constant stream of bad press because of our actions in the Territories, our behavior at checkpoints, targeted assassinations etc. It is frustrating, because I know that we are capable of so much more than these acts of violence and humiliation, and that there are so many other faces that we can be showing to the world, which is why it was so refreshing to come across this article in Haaretz today, proving once again all that Israel is so much more than just an oppressor of Palestinians.

Envoy to El Salvador recalled, reportedly found naked, drunk
By Haaretz Service

The Foreign Ministry recalled Israel's ambassador to El Salvador,
Tzuriel Refael, after he was reportedly found on the street naked, drunk, bound and gagged, Israel Radio reported on Monday.

According to reports, two weeks ago San Salvador police approached a man that seemed to be in need of help. Upon reaching the man, they discovered that he was inebriated, his hands were tied, his mouth was gagged with a rubber ball and he was carrying accessories that implied he had been involved in sexual activity.

In spite of his inebriated state, the naked man identified himself by his full name and explained that he is Israel's ambassador to the country.

What kind of republic are we?

Until recently, I was under the impression that Israel was something of a banana republic, but it appears I was off the mark. Sure, the term that comes to mind these days can potentially resemble a banana (if one stretches their imagination just a little...) in shape, but that's where the similarity ends, I'm afraid. With all the excitement generated by our temporarily incapacitated president and our former justice minister, it would seem that Israel has turned into something far more sinister than a banana republic – we are now officially a penile republic.

Following the news these days is like passing a car accident on the highway – you don't want to look, you know it's going to be horrible, but you just can't help yourself. Between the president's frightening display of emotion during his press conference last week to Haim Ramon being found guilty of indecent behavior yesterday, the usual disregard and contempt for the law that many of our politicians show on a regular basis has taken on a far more disgusting quality. Seriously, what is it with these men in power? Given the increasing levels of public awareness regarding sexual harassment issues, it is utterly shocking that these individuals and others of their ilk have the audacity to behave as they do. I'm not even going to address the alleged "misdeeds" of the president – I wouldn't know where to begin, and they have been covered ad nauseum everywhere else. I will say that I was disappointed that he resorted to the race card, insinuating that one of the primary reasons that he was being "targeted" was due to his background as a Persian immigrant, which was a pathetic attempt to downplay the incredibly grave charges made against him.

And then there is the case of Haim Ramon, Israel's former Justice Minister. I was never a big fan of his before this whole episode came to light, and needless to say, I now find him revolting. I still haven't decided what I think about this whole trial, but words escape me when I hear what he has to say about the incident at hand. The only thing that keeps running through my mind is, "he should know better". He should know better than to perpetrate such an act. He should know enough to control himself. He should know better than to make lecherous advances on a young woman less than half his age, especially given his position as a politician (justice minister, no less!) and hers as a soldier. He should know better, given that he appears to be in a committed relationship with another woman (why she's chosen to stay with him is beyond me). And now let's play devil's advocate for a second. Let's say that there is a tiny kernel of truth in his version, and that the young woman in question was, as he put it, "flirting", or that she was the instigator. He should have stopped it dead. He should have known that allowing it to continue was wrong. No matter what the circumstances surrounding the kiss, the point is that it should never have happened. It should never have been allowed to happen.

It is more than a little disturbing when a former justice minister opts for the "she wanted it" defense, when he allows his desires to cloud his judgment, and deludes himself into thinking that what he is doing is acceptable, when in fact nothing can be farther from the truth. With power comes responsibility, and as justice minister, it was Ramon's responsibility to ensure that he did not use the powers given to him to act inappropriately. He failed in that responsibility. He failed as a public figure and as a man. And for that, his deeds should not go unnoticed or unpunished. Precisely because of who he is and what he symbolizes, his case should be used an example. People must be made to realize that actions have consequences and that responsibility supersedes desire. Oh, and it doesn't matter what she's wearing, it doesn't matter if she's flirting. If she doesn't say yes, that means the answer is no. You'd think that in this day and age, that would already be understood, but clearly, if an Israeli justice minister, a president, various politicians, military personnel and other public figures here don't get it, we've still got a long way to go in getting the message out.

Ministry of What?

Whew! I must have just woken up from a very long, very bad dream. I dreamed that the President was accused of rape and sexual harassment, the Justice Minister was on trial for sexual harassment, and Israel went to war with Hizbullah (I mean, really! I had to dream that! How absurd to think that Israel would conduct an actual war with a terror organization!). I dreamed that Israel went back into Gaza, that Israeli soldiers were kidnapped, that Palestinian factions were firing Kassams at Sderot. I dreamed about strikes at the airport and general public-sector strikes. I dreamed that every time I turned around, Israel was in deeper and deeper, bother domestically and internationally, that poverty was getting worse and worse, that budget cuts were becoming increasingly harsh and once again taking a toll on the weakest sectors of our society.

Clearly, it must have all been part of some bizarre nightmare, and none of those things actually happened. Obviously, our national budget is balancing quite nicely, and we have some extra money in the coffers to play around with. I mean, what other plausible explanation could there possibly be for the government to give the go ahead for the creation of the Ministry of Magic Strategic Threats, a ministry which even the Attorney General admits that, "there exists a lack of clarity on the role of this ministry, and this considering the government's decision that 'the establishment of this office is not intended to reduce the authority of another minister in the domain of his or her ministry." Twenty staff positions have been approved for this new ministry. Apparently, it takes that many pencil pushers to decide what this office is supposed to do (or maybe it's just nineteen, and the twentieth individual will be in charge of taking food orders and making latté runs for the others).

Perhaps I'm the naive one who doesn't understand how politics works (hey, I thought the government was supposed to serve the citizens, not themselves!), but it seems to me that creating an entirely new ministry (especially one with such a bogus-sounding name) in order to show appreciation to the head of a large party for his role in strengthening a weak, corrupt, dysfunctional government is, hmmm, how shall I put this – a bit out of line. It would be out of line under any normal circumstances (though what passes for normal in this country stretches way beyond anything that my imagination can muster), but given that the politician in question is Avigdor Liberman, well, shit! The man and his party practically advocate transfer of the Israeli Arab population (offering financial incentives for them to leave qualifies, does it not?), and their platform is nothing short of racist and divisive – not really a recipe for success when society is already falling apart, I should think (but then again, what the hell do I know, anyway?). With this snarky little move, our politicians have proven once again that saving their own (very expensive) seats is more important than ensuring the integrity of our government. How do these people sleep at night, how do they look themselves in the mirror every morning, knowing that they're wasting funds that could be spent in a thousand different ways to improve the lives of regular Israelis?

How do the Labor politicians sleep with themselves, knowing that they're also sleeping with Liberman? To be honest, I never expected that Olmert would amount to much as Prime Minister. I never had high hopes for him (little did I know just how badly he would manage to botch things or how quickly he would manage to do so, but that's an entirely different kettle of fish). I sort of had a feeling that he would fly in whatever direction the wind took him, never letting his principles get in the way of his political career. As a result, while I am disappointed in his behavior, I can't say that I'm surprised. He's an opportunist who got lucky beyond his wildest dreams when Arik Sharon was struck down, and he's damned if he's going to give up his seat without a fight. Then there's the Labor party, associated with the political left and a proponent of workers' rights and welfare issues. I didn't vote for them, but considered doing so. I essentially agreed with their platform issues, and for the most part, liked their key politicians. Despite their relative appeal to my sensibilities, the idea of voting for them just didn't feel right, and in the end, I went with my gut and felt good about doing so. Thank bloody god! Apparently, unlike the majority of the Labor party members, my principles are important to me, and I'd have been quite perturbed if I'd voted for a party that forsook its ideals and instead opted to get in bed with the devil, just so they could keep the bed.

What I want to know is, why is it that when all of these people start playing around in bed together, I'm the one who wakes up with a bad taste in my mouth...

Empowered by Democracy

Call me naive and idealistic, but I find that there's something very empowering about the democratic process. Voting excites me, especially here, where there are so many parties to choose from, and a population small enough to feel that you might be able to make a difference, that you can make your vote count.

We went to our polling station this morning, Husband, the Little One, and I, greeting neighbors who were also doing their part for democracy. Until just a few days ago, I was still undecided as to who would get my vote, but in the end, I went with my conscience, and damn, did it feel good! I hadn't been sure if I'd vote for them or not, given that I don't like the party leader, but their platform matches my beliefs perfectly, and once I made my decision, I suddenly felt at peace. Standing behind the partition with my little blue envelope, I didn't even hesitate. I quickly spotted the paper I needed and slid it into the envelope, knowing that my party was getting my vote.

I suppose it may seem strange to get so worked up over the simple act of putting a small piece of paper in an envelope and dropping it into the election box, but I can't help it. I am fulfilling my obligation as a citizen, as a citizen concerned about the directions and decisions that my country will take. It is a privilege to take part in the democratic process, and this was brought home to me once again just last night as I watched the chaos currently taking place in Belarus, where people are willing to put their lives at risk in order to ensure that the democracy takes place. I wonder if I'd be strong enough to do the same if I was in their shoes, and am very grateful that I am not. Grateful that I can vote freely and know that my vote will count for something.

I have a hard time understanding those who are indifferent, those who don't feel the need to vote. Voting is one of the most important obligations a citizen can fulfill, and democracy should never be taken for granted. I could go on about why you should get out there and vote today (assuming, of course, that you are an Israeli living in Israel - for the rest of you, think about it when your turn comes, wherever you are), but instead I'm giving you a link to an article I came across on OneJerusalem.com, which sums it up better than I ever could.

Raining on your parade

I know we need the rain. Really I do. I just don’t need it right now, though. The walk between my office and the train station was simply dreadful today. God is spitting down buckets of the wet stuff, and I cling to my umbrella for dear life while navigating sidewalks that were clearly not created with any serious thought for inclement weather, pedestrians, etc. The water on the sidewalk has a slight element of depth to it, and the angles, dips and irregularities allow for fast-moving streams and currents. It feels like the sluice gates of a mighty dam have been opened, and I discover for the second time in two days, much to my dismay, that my beloved, uber-comfortable black flats are not waterproof (note to self – get waterproof shoes), and my toes are snugly engulfed by a mushy, cold black mass that used to pass for socks. Thank God for my long, black winter coat, which Husband laughed at me for purchasing several years ago in London, telling me at the time that I would never use it. Let me tell you, it is one practical item of clothing, and I can’t imagine getting through the winter without it. Likewise for my new umbrella (second one of the season), which seems to be as strong as promised so far.

The rain has a funny effect on Israelis. Every year when winter rolls around (as it inevitably does, given the nature of time, seasons passing, etc.), we are hit with a form of collective amnesia and act as though it’s the first winter we’ve ever seen. It’s quite astounding, really. We forget how to drive in the rain, tending to use surrounding cars and other obstacles to stop in a manner not unlike the way we used to use the wall to stop at the roller or ice skating rink (think “slam! ooof!”). We are amazed when we hear about the old streets and housing being flooded in certain neighborhoods of Tel Aviv, despite the fact that these same streets and homes flood every year when it rains; you could set your watch by the predictability of it all. Every year we have these floods. Every year we see the poor homeowners on the news. Every year we hear the officials promising to do something about it. Anyone noticing a pattern here?

Of course, the flip side of all this amnesia is that we are all absurdly happy when the first rains of the season hit. Following the rise of the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) becomes the national pastime, with each additional centimeter being cause for celebration. We also flock in great hoards to all natural water sources in order to watch the torrent of waters rushing by. When driving around the Northern part of the country on any given Saturday during the winter months (as long as there has been some rain), it is quite easy to locate these rushing water spots, for all you have to do is watch for the places that are absolutely packed with cars parked haphazardly, either just off the roadside or all along the shoulder. If you hit one of these, rest assured, you’ve found the water.

Aaah, yes. Winter in Israel is such a happy time. Rainy, cold and windy one day, sunny and warm the next. The Israelis going water and wildflower crazy, and reaching one’s destination successfully is often a hit or miss situation, as already bad driving takes on mammoth proportions, assisted by poorly designed roads and potholes that mysteriously come out to play, adding a touch of excitement to every ride in the car. And those of us with a penchant towards pedestrianism get to have even more fun, dodging the waters spilling onto the sidewalks from building gutters while simultaneously trying to avoid being the victim of a drive-by drowning as cars splash by. Can you feel my joy? Can you? But alas, we really do need the rain. One of the few issues on which all Israelis can actually agree, so who am I to be the drippy one, the wet noodle? Who am I to rain on anyone's parade?

Here come those clouds again...

Crystal ball time

It's that time of year again, when everybody and anybody rustles up a list of events that took place during the previous year. More often than not, a small crystal ball is also dusted off and predictions given for the forthcoming year. Well, as Something Something wasn't around for the whole of 2005, you'll just have to put up with my predictions for 2006. Here we go...

January
Another top politician joins Arik Sharon's Kadima party. After crying live on TV.
Yair Lapid wears something that is not in black.
The blogger Jeru Guru is revealed to be a Haredi mother of six.
Something Something is pipped into second place at the Jewish & Israel blog awards.

February
Sharon farts rather noisily during a live TV interview.
A second x-ray reveals that Sharon's suspected tumour is in fact a bagette lodged in his stomach.
Eilat hosts the Winter Olympics after unexpectedly getting snowed in.

March
Kadima win the elections. Sharon is PM.
Labour and Likud pick up the scraps and tie for second place.
Peretz resigns to launch a moustache grooming service.
Netanyahu tries crying live on TV, but it's too late...
Peres returns to lead Labour after Sharon refuses to make him Sports Minister.
Shas is decimated. They vow to appeal to the Ashkenazim next time round.
Tommy Lapid wins one seat. That seat is the co-host seat alongside his son Yair as Tommy returns to television.

April
Out of the blue, Iran's President invites Sharon to his Passover barbeque. An international incident is almost caused when Sharon devours the President's prize flock of sheep.
People flock to see Betar Jerusalem play after they sign Ronaldinho on loan until the end of the season.
The Israeli Air Force sends a squadron of F-16s to Iran. To drop flowers.

May
Pictures of Iran's President and Sharon embracing inject fresh optimism into the region and throughout the world.
A shortage of sunflower seeds threatens to ruin the average Israeli's summer. A cabbage flavoured alternative fails to win over consumers.
Hamas, Hizbullah and the Islamic Jihad decide to trade in their military uniforms for a new powder pink look.

June
Record numbers of Iranian tourists converge upon Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.
Palestinian Chairman Abbas calls a tearful press conference to denounce Sharon after a story is leaked that Sharon refused to return Abbas' PSP (PlayStation Portable).
Peretz's English skills (after studying at Anglosaxy's English school) are the deciding factor in Sharon recruiting him as his new Tourism Minister.

July
An "Iran Day" is declared. Israelis are forced to eat Persian delicacies, such as Gondi.
An all out strike by air conditioning workers brings the country to its knees.
The streets of Israel are flush with youth wearing "Rooney 9" England t-shirts and shouting "Fuck Off!", after England's stunning World Cup success.

August
Ehud Olmert temporarily takes control of the country as Sharon takes rather too long in the little boys room.
In an astonishing move, the teachers union decides not to strike and teachers (and children) face having to come in to school on September 1st.
The name Mahmoud becomes Israel's favourite name for newborn baby boys. And girls.

September
Reformed gangster Ze'ev Rosenstein wins an award for services to the community.
The new craze sweeping the country is cursing in Persian. "Borogumshuh!"
Tragedy strikes during secret "make up" talks with the Palestinians. Travelling in the same car, Sharon falls on Nabil Shaath on a hairpin bend.

October
The Rolling Stones cancel their 5 dates in Tel Aviv due to "security concerns". Rumours abound that Mick Jagger couldn't get insurance for his aging lips.
Sharon adopts a goldfish and calls him Nabil out of respect to the departed Palestinian Deputy PM.
Madonna confirms her conversion to Kanabbalism in yet another visit to Tel Aviv. Sorry, that's Kabbalism. She is now known as Esther Goldberg.

November
A successful and historic visit by Iran's President to Jerusalem ends in tearful farewells.
Rumors of a sex tape of the President and Sharon are dismissed by Sharon's aides.
Yair and Tommy Lapid decide to split up their ratings disaster partnership.
Snow once again hits Eilat as Mount Hermon bakes in a 40 degree heatwave.

December
A new one-calorie, low carb sufganya (donut) is created just in time for Hanukkah.
Arik Sharon is Israel's slimmer of the year, now weighing in at a svelte 100kg.
Jesus makes a one-off Christmas appearance at Bethlehem. No "security concerns" for this guy, though he does surprise many with his overweight, balding and tattooed appearance.
Something Something picks up 8 nominations for the upcoming Jewish & Israel blog awards.

Chilly willy

Up until a few years ago, central heating was considered a luxury in Israel. With the exception of most housing in the Jerusalem area, whose high altitude brought biting cold winters that often included snow, most people made due with space heaters, portable radiators, gas heaters, coil heaters, and the like, which more often than not did nothing but take the chill off, if that. Our town has bitter cold winter nights, and before we put in our heating system, I was utterly miserable as soon as the weather turned cold. I hated the fact that it was colder inside our house than out, and rainy days were simply a form of torture, spent huddled underneath a blanket, whether it be in the bedroom or the living room. It was absolutely wretched. The feelings were that since winters were “short” (hardly!), it didn’t pay to invest in decent heating. Same thing held true for air conditioning for the summer months. What a load of crap! The best thing we ever did was to install our central heating and air conditioning system, making all seasons bearable and comfortable.

As far as I can recall, all of my work places have had central heating and air as well (which is also the case in most public buildings like shopping malls, hotels, etc.), and I can remember not wanting to leave the warmth of my office for the cold and damp of my home. How lovely to be all nice and toasty warm when it’s oh so nippy beyond the windows, to not have to wear multiple layers, to not be forced to sit in front of the computer wearing gloves.

There is one strange anomaly in all of this, though. For some reason, bathrooms in Israel are not heated, whether it be in homes or in offices. Sure, many people put up a little heater on the wall, but not everyone does it (especially in guest ½ baths, nor in our very small en suite bathroom, though our full guest bathroom does have one), and offices certainly don’t. “Makes sense”, you say. “How much time do you really spend in there?” you ask. I say bull. Call me crazy (and some of you already have!), but frankly, when it comes down to it, why would you not put heat in one of the few rooms (and hopefully the only room in your office) that requires you to remove clothing? A vexing question to be sure, one that drives me to distraction these days as I enter the refrigerator-like facilities, where one could chill wine quite nicely, were one so inclined to do so (though I might be inclined to question one’s mental faculties, were one so inclined as to chill wine in the restroom). Not exactly the environment that screams, “drop your drawers”, I dare say.

This morning, I had the distinct “pleasure” to run out of hot water during my shower, which doesn’t often happen, as I’m usually the first one to shower. Today I was third, and I paid dearly. Of course, what made it even worse was that we’ve got no damn heat in the bathroom, as it’s so small and the ceilings are so low that there’s no place to put up a heater! And then, after quickly toweling off and coming out into what should have been a warm bedroom, I was dismayed to find it somewhat chilly, Husband having turned the heat towards the living room (quick explanation – heating system is divided into regions, the living room/kitchen area is one and the bedrooms make up the other. There’s a dial in the middle that allows us to direct the heat between these regions, and it can never be at 100% in both. Get it?) so that he and the little one wouldn’t be cold (a perfectly legitimate act). In any case, who was I to deprive the little one of heat, just so that I could be warm? If I'm ready to give my life for him, I'm certainly ready to share the heat with him.

I suppose I should be thankful that we’ve at least got a timer on the water heater, so we don’t have to get up in the middle of the night just to turn the thing on. That’s another crazy thing. Water temperature in most places is controlled by a hot water heater. Ours is solar, so in the summer, we don’t usually have to turn it on, and can just let the sun work its magic. In winter though, you’ve got to turn it on whenever you want hot water, at least an hour before you think you’ll need it, so that the water has a chance to heat up. If you don’t have a timer, it can be a major inconvenience. Of course, the big problem here is that it’s quite easy to run out of hot water, and unless you’re prepared to pay exorbitant electricity bills to keep your water heated all day long, you’re going to find yourself repeatedly losing feeling in your hands every time you need to wash them. It’s an especially refreshing experience at work, as you wash your hands with ice cold water while standing in a room cold enough to chill wine, and you actually feel elation as you leave the bathroom to return to the relative warmth of the rest of the office.

The joys of an Israeli winter. When I bought my winter coat several years ago in London, Husband just laughed, claiming that I would never use it. Needless to say, it is one of the staples of my winter wardrobe. It can get surprisingly cold here (especially while waiting for the train at 7am in Northern Israel!), but having grown up in a cold climate (much colder than Israel!), I learned early on that you simply have to know how to dress in order to stay warm. Of course, all rules go out the window when it comes to the bathroom, where the layers must come off for the trip to be successful. In Norway, in addition to the room being heated, the bathroom floors are actually heated as well. In England, our towel racks were heated. For Israel, I propose a drastic, yet revolutionary measure – heated toilet seats, anyone? Perhaps I’m talking out of my ass on this one, but seriously, how great would that be? Definitely not a shitty idea, no sirree, Bob! Would just require a wee bit of design. Any engineers out there care to take this on? Come on now, don’t be sissies! The person who succeeds with this will surely make millions – definitely not a bum deal, eh?

Okay, enough is enough. I’ve made you laugh, I’ve made you groan. Suffice it to say, I’ve done my duty, and, feeling a little flushed, I think I’ll take my leave, before this post drains my mind any further. Hey, stay warm out there (and of course, in there)!

Shirking Responsibility 101 - A required course for Israeli bureaucrats at all levels

Even after so many years in Israel, there’s one thing that happens here that still amazes me, despite the frightening degree of regularity with which it takes place. It’s that unwavering ability to wait for something horrible to happen, and only then to react with shock and dismay that the event happened in the first place. The signs are all there, of course, but those in charge repeatedly choose to ignore them. It happened with the Versailles wedding hall, it happened with the Maccabiah bridge, and these days, it’s happening in our schools. Bureaucrats are playing with the lives of our children, ignoring the signs and failing to take action. It is a travesty in the making, and if action isn’t taken soon, the children will pay the price.

My friend A has been at the forefront of a battle against the school board in the Sharon area town of Kfar Yona (there are many similar stories, and Yediot Ahronot’s Hebrew website has even created framework forpublishing these stories via public complaints). His daughter is a first-grader at the Amal school there, which has been turned into a treacherous construction site. What originally began as a battle waged by the parents over asbestos ceilings has turned into a situation where the school grounds have turned into a perilous obstacle course. One part of the school has been torn down and preparations have been made to begin reconstruction, which will, of course, take place while school is in session, subjecting the students endless noise distractions, not to mention the inevitable increase in dust levels that accompany all such work.

Promises have been broken right, left and center; it was agreed upon that certain aspects of the work would take place and be completed during the holidays, when school was not in session, but it seems that they’ve been unable to stick to the timetable. A fence was supposed to be erected to keep the children away from the construction site, which is currently a large, two-meter deep hole in the ground (and contains additional narrow 12-meter deep holes for poles to be inserted). The fence has been erected, but it is not complete, has holes in it (including a gate that allows people to enter the school grounds freely, contradicting local laws designed for security reasons), and was built too close to the hole, a fact that became quite evident following recent rains that shifted the sands in which the fence was erected, creating a situation where the fence threatens to topple into the hole itself. As a result of this dangerous situation, the children were forced to remain in their classrooms all day long, and were not allowed to go outside during breaks.

In the midst of this big balagan (mess), the local council is claiming that everything is going according to plan and that all security precautions are being taken. Was this the case when tragedy was narrowly averted the day a tree cut down by the workers fell over the fence and into the school yard? What a miracle that no children were hurt, given that it occurred DURING school hours! A and the other parents have been waging this battle for their children’s safety since July (who can blame A for not wanting to send his daughter to school on a construction site?), and have met with little success as all agreements have been ignored, all promises broken, and all concerns belittled?

This situation is a tragedy waiting to happen. All it will take will be for one curious and industrious child to make his way to the other side of the fence. After all, isn’t such an obstacle merely an invitation to these children? Who wouldn’t want to take a look to see what was happening? Who among us hasn’t tried to steal a look between the gaps in a fence to see what was on the other side? In this case, the results could be disastrous, even fatal. I can already see the recriminations, the passing of blame that so many Israelis in positions of power seem to be so good at in situations like these. As is par for the course, they will claim that they didn’t know. That all security regulations were being met. That something unexpected must have gone wrong. But none of that will matter, as a child may be injured or dead. The nation will be shocked and outraged, will demand that something be done. And something probably will be done, but it will be some token measure, taken to pacify an outraged public. The cycle is sadly predictable. We will move on to other issues, and everyone will forget about what happened in Kfar Yona. And then, once this tragic episode is firmly behind us and forgotten, the nation will once again rise up in awe and anger when it happens again, because someone chose to shirk their responsibilities until it was too late.

For more info on this situation, check out this link from the local Kfar Yona newspaper (in Hebrew), or this article that appeared in Haaretz back in August (it's the story entitled "Parents protest overcrowding during school reconstruction").

Expat Musings...

For nearly 15 years, I’ve been an expat living in Israel, absorbing the culture and doing my best to assimilate. It hasn’t always been easy, though overall, I think I’ve managed to do a pretty decent job. It’s taken some time, but I’ve managed to build myself a network of friends and acquaintances, many of whom are even Israeli; I live in a Hebrew-speaking community (as opposed to one of the English-speaking enclaves like Raanana, Jerusalem, or any one of a number of settlements); I speak and read nearly fluent Hebrew (though admittedly, my writing leaves something to be desired), and even dream in Hebrew on occasion. I can understand the news (as much as one can understand the news here, anyway), I can make people laugh (intentionally!), and I can argue with the best of ‘em. My life is here, and for the most part, I’m happy.

And yet, when it comes down to it, I am, and probably always will be, American. My formative years were spent in the US (I moved here after graduating from university), and as settled and as comfortable as I am here, I will probably always feel a little more comfortable there. Not for lack of trying, you understand. It’s simply a fact. There is a big difference between growing up in a culture and learning to adapt to a culture. What came naturally to me in the US is not necessarily par for the course in Israel, and vice versa (in a really big way!) with regard to the norms I’ve internalized in my adopted culture. And, with all that I have going for me here, there is always that pull to go back to the US, even if only for a few years. Since my first trip to Israel, I have never felt 100% in either place – always being drawn to one when I am in the other. Perhaps it would be different if I had opted for a country whose culture is more similar to American culture (I could certainly see myself living very happily in England, uber-Anglophile that I am…), but then again, perhaps not.

At times, I feel limited as a foreigner, a non-native speaker; limited in my work choices, limited in my study options, severely limited in my ability to understand Israel’s greatest comedic/cultural icons – Hagashash Hachiver (as fluent as I am, the nuances and cultural references simply escape me – Husband has given up trying to help me understand)… Granted, mother-tongue English is often quite desirable here, but usually only in very specific sectors like hi-tech. If my interests were in a different direction, I might not feel so restricted. However, I can’t help it. I want to write. My Hebrew writing will never reach the levels of my English writing, so essentially, I’m screwed. It’s the deal I accepted when deciding to move to a non-English speaking country, a decision that I’ve chosen to live with. All part of being an expat, I suppose.

Hands down, though, the hardest part of being an expat is the altered dynamic between yourself and those you’ve left behind. My whole family still lives in the US – I miss births, deaths, weddings, family reunions, etc, as do they (we postponed our son’s brit for two days after he was born a week early, so that my parents could be here for the big event). Visits are high-pressured affairs, as we try to cram as much as we can into two or three-week stints once or twice a year, generally invading each other’s personal space and getting on each other’s nerves with a degree of regularity that could compete with the precision of a Swiss watch.

Then, of course, there are the friends who are no longer physically a part of your daily life. People with whom you have actively chosen to forge emotional ties, who are suddenly forced into the periphery of your new, distant life. People who you’ve left behind, people who have left you behind. A natural part of the life cycle, for sure, but painful nonetheless, and with a greater degree of finality when you live in different countries. My best friend in the world is also an expat – an American living in Europe. We’ve been friends since high school, and have lived our lives on parallel tracks. She has enriched my life in so many ways, seen me at my best and gotten me through my worst, given of herself in ways that have touched me more than I could ever express in words. We are in touch on an almost daily basis, whether by phone, email, SMS (when I got my new cell phone last year, I opted for GSM so that we would be able to text each other, and I specifically inquired as to the cost of text messages to the country where she lives), etc. It’s not the same as being there, though. Knowing exactly what she’s doing on a given evening or weekend is not the same being an active participant in the activity, and though we are still very close, the fact that she is not physically present in my life leaves a gaping hole. I’ve made some very close friends here, but it’s just not the same.

Anyway, I’ve rambled on here much more than I ever intended to do, and as I read what I’ve just written, I realize that it’s actually quite depressing. I just want to make it clear – I am happy here, happy with the life I’ve chosen (or the life that’s chosen me, depending on how you look at it). It’s not always an easy life, but it’s certainly an exciting one. It’s exciting to live in a country that’s small enough to allow its regular citizens to have their say and make a difference. We’ve got the greatest reality show in the world – the world of Israeli politics (nobody could simply make up the stories that unfold here on a regular basis!). We have socialized medicine (for better or worse). We have amazing coffee. I can wear jeans to work everyday if I want. Yet despite all of that, I just want a little more sometimes. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

Laboring over Israeli politics

Israel woke up this morning to discover that a revolution had occurred in the Labor party. Shimon Peres is to Israeli politics what Susan Lucci is to the daytime Emmy awards in the United States – always a candidate, yet no matter how deserving, never a winner. In yesterday’s Labor party elections, Amir Peretz, who is also the chairman of the Histadrut labor union, managed to pull off a victory, beating Mr Peres by winning 42% of the vote to Mr Peres’ 40%, with Binyamin Ben Eliezer trailing too far behind to even be noticed.

I have great respect Mr Peres. I share his beliefs and admire his courage. His ability to be a true statesman and a politician whose goal actually seems to be to make Israel a better, safer place for all its inhabitants (instead of the tendency of most Knesset members who only seem to want to improve their own lives) makes him a rarity in today’s political scene. The man has worked tirelessly on behalf of the country, promoting its interests abroad, and striving for peace. He has led an incredible life, and has created a legacy of hope, of optimism, of courage to fight for belief in the greater good, never giving up even when the odds are stacked in the wrong direction. Mr Peres is to be commended for his actions. There is no other politician in Israeli today who embodies the true spirit of politics. Whether one likes or dislikes his beliefs, it is hard to deny that he is an elegant, elder statesman in the truest sense, and that if more politicians behaved as he has, Israeli politics would be quite a bit more civilized.

Part of me believes that the time has come for Mr Peres to leave the crumbling world of the Labor party and focus his efforts elsewhere, as there must be many areas and realms in which his talents would receive the proper appreciation, given that he has been so dreadfully underappreciated in Israeli politics throughout his career. Then there is the other part which is reluctant to see him go. The Labor party is already in tatters, and despite Mr Peretz’ recent win, I do not see him or any other prominent party activists who are suitable to pull the party out of the mire in which it has been swimming for quite some time now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else capable of successfully leading the party, let alone leading the country.

All of this leads me to one final thought. If Mr Peretz should be elected Prime Minister, will he finally be forced to resign as chairman of the Histadrut, a position he has retained throughout his tenure as a Knesset member, or will he be able to continue to perpetuate this absolutely astounding conflict of interest, organizing labor strikes for the most absurd reasons and paralyzing the country he leads? I can hardly wait to see how the latest chapter in the soap opera known as the Israeli government unfolds.

Spine Chiller

Before I get started, this is in no way a political post leaning leftwards, but I'm sure the odd idiot out there will take exception to something or other I write...so, if you are an idiot, please read no further.

Tomorrow sees the 10th anniversary of the Rabin assassination. Can you remember where you were 10 years ago tomorrow?

Crazy, eh? 10 whole years, 10 years since we heard those spine-chilling words read from the PM's spokesman at the entrance to Ichilov hospital in Tel Aviv, pronouncing the death of Rabin, followed by cries of despair from the crowds surrounding him. I don't do spine-chilling much, as She might vouch, but this is a moment which almost gets my tear-ducts juicing up...

I'm guessing most of you (at least those in Israel, or those connected in some way to Israel) know exactly where you were when you first heard the news that Rabin had been shot. I know exactly where I was. I was shopping with my then girlfriend, as it was actually her birthday, and we had gone out to celebrate. Don't remember where we'd been before we walked into Super-Pharm (and don't remember her much, if I'm honest, though every Rabin anniversary flashes me back to this moment when we were together) but we heard some of the cashiers talking about somebody getting shot. When we asked, they looked at us in surprise: "What, you didn't hear? Rabin was shot!"

I remember us making our way back to her parents' place (unable to talk as we were on the back of my scooter, and probably numb with nothing to say anyway) and entering a noisy house complete with TV blaring. My girlfriend's father had his head in his hands and was mumbling to himself that he wished he hadn't said the things he'd said about Rabin. As you can guess, her father leaned so far to the right he was walking on three limbs...

It wasn't long before the confirmation of Rabin's death came through and the trauma that was solely Israel's was underway. Who can't forget the endless crowds at Kikar Malchei Israel (eventually renamed Kikar Rabin), the candlelight vigils, the tearful kids that seemed to take it the hardest, the funeral procession, Clinton's magical "Shalom Haver" ("Goodbye, friend") quote. And then, we moved into the blame process, with endless stories of conspiracies, undercover agents, "rabid right-wingers" and "looney lefties"...and despite the trauma, a cleverly-waged election campaign from Netanyahu saw the right-wing Likud take over the governmental reins only a few months after Rabin's death. Oslo and any dreams of peace were dead and buried for now.

You know what's most galling about this 10th anniversary? That his killer, Yigal Amir, the one with that arrogant sneer that really needs wiping off, is still in the headlines. What with his ambitions of procreating with his nutter groupie of a wife and fresh announcements of a cover up, he still fronts our newspapers, still has his face greeting me when I access news websites...

10 years on and there are still people who don't appear to have learned. Conspiracy theories still abound, but it looks like most are clutching at straws. A myth has been created, even Rabin himself has become a myth and comes out smelling like a true hero, despite his obvious flaws. I'm a big advocate of free speech, but how this guy is getting away with publishing his theories and doctored pics of Peres, I don't know. Sad stuff.

10 years on, eh?

Well, do you remember where you were when you heard Rabin was shot?