80s Music Video Sunday #31

I have friends around the same age as me who grew up in Europe while I was growing up in the US, and it's interesting to note that while musical trends on both sides of the Atlantic were very similar, there were certainly differences in the way that these trends played out. Whenever I take one of those inane little music trivia quizzes, I know for a fact that I'll probably score much lower if the quiz is geared, for example, towards a British audience as opposed to an American audience, as many of the artists that were popular in the UK never came to the US.

Even when a band was popular on both continents, band names often had subtle differences, such as the group known in the US as Yaz, but in Europe as Yazoo which, incidentally, launched the phenomenal career of Alison Moyet, whose amazing voice is hardly known at all in the US, and probably wouldn't be known to me if I hadn't spent so much time in Israel during my high school and university years. I can even remember returning to the US following trips to Israel, dumbfounded that the music to which I'd grown so attached during my journey was almost completely unknown in the US.

While there are many popular European artists haven't been able to break into the US market at all, or have just barely made a splash, including my beloved Housemartins, there are other artists who, while popular in both regions, have select albums that were released in one area and not the other, or albums that were released in both places but with different album covers, such as Depeche Mode's album "The Singles 81>85". And of course, individual songs are often not released everywhere as singles, or songs might be released at different times. When we were in the US during June of 2006, NRG (who lives in Europe) and I were driving somewhere (we had coordinated visits to our parents for the first time ever) and Daniel Powter's "Had a Bad Day" came on the radio. The song had been a huge hit in Israel and Europe for over a year at that point, and we were both surprised to hear that it had only recently been released in the US.

This week's featured artist for 80s Music Video Sunday is one of those bands that were more popular in the UK than in the US. I can only remember two XTC songs being in relatively decent rotation in the US – "Senses Working Overtime" and "Making Plans for Nigel" – more so the former than the latter. A week spent driving around the UK nearly four years ago listening to copious amounts of local radio reminded me of this band's existence, and an online search when I returned to Israel introduced me to a treasure trove of songs by this band that I'd never known existed. Today's video is my favorite XTC song – "Mayor of Simpleton", which caught my ear the very first time I heard it.



Mayor of Simpleton
XTC

Never been near a university,
never took a paper or a learned degree,
and some of your friends think that's stupid of me,
but it's nothing that I care about.

Well I don't know how to tell the weight of the sun,
and of mathematics well I want none,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.
When their logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
you'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.

I can't have been there when brains were handed round
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton),
or get past the cover of your books profound
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton),
And some of your friends thinks it's really unsound that you're ever seen talking to me.

Well I don't know how to write a big hit song,
and all crossword puzzles well I just shun,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.

I'm not proud of the fact that I never learned much,
just feel I should say,
what you get is all real, I can't put on an act,
it takes brains to do that anyway.
(And anyway...)

And I can't unravel riddles problems and puns,
how the home computer has me on the run,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you
(I love you).

If depth of feeling is a currency
(please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton),
then I'm the man who grew the money tree
(no chain of office and no hope of getting one),
some of your friends are too brainy to see that they're paupers and that's how they'll stay.

Well I don't know how many pounds make up a ton
of all the Nobel prizes that I've never won,
and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.

When all logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton.
You'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor.
(Please be upstanding for the Mayor of Simpleton.)

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.

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.

80s Music Video Sunday #17

My parents grew up in the US against the backdrop of the World War Two. As such, like many other American Jews of their generation, their feelings regarding Germany were harsh at best. As a child of parents from this generation, I was brought up in a household with no German products, and my parents have never owned a German car. I can't recall my parents ever having said anything directly negative about Germany (they did not hate Germany, for instance), but all the same, I knew. I knew that we didn't buy German products because we would not spend any money that might potentially benefit those who may have had something to do with the Holocaust.

This "boycott", combined with a voracious appetite for books about children in the Holocaust, resulted in a strange curiosity about the Germany of today, which involved feelings of wanting to know more, while at the same time feeling slightly uncomfortable about wanting to do so. Whenever we had exchange students from Germany in our high school, I found myself attracted to their presence, but it was almost in a "forbidden fruit" sort of way, as though by reaching out and making friends I was doing something unusual and daring. Somewhere in the back of my mind lurked the possibility that somehow, my new friends may have had some connection to Nazi Germany, and this was exciting, for I felt that I was actively doing something to meet and beat my prejudices. And, as I discovered, my German peers were also anxious to cast off the dark skeletons of the past, to demonstrate that the grave sins of their ancestors were not their own. This was brought home to me one afternoon during the summer after high school graduation. I was out with a group of American and international students, including a number of German teens (and NRG, who just seems to pop up everywhere...). We were having a great time, laughing, joking and horsing around. One of the German students, a charming young man named Wolfgang (with whom NRG and her family are still in close touch), laughingly said to someone, "I'm going to kill you." Who among us hasn't said that to someone else at one time or another, right? Of course we don't mean it, and we often say it in a joking manner, which is, of course, what Wolfgang had done. One of the American girls in the group (who was clearly not the quickest bunny in the forest), jokingly responded with something to the effect of, "well, if you say you're going to kill me, you must be Hitler, because you're German!" I was completely and utterly shocked by her comment, and poor Wolfgang looked like he'd been physically slapped. I was horrified and embarrassed, embarrassed that someone could say something so stupid, embarrassed for Wolfgang, who was truly a nice, good guy. I don't remember what happened after that, but I don't think I'll ever forget that scene or how hurt our German friend looked.

I remember my first trip to Israel, and I was amazed to see all the Mercedes and BMW taxis and buses. Clearly, the Israelis were much farther along in dealing with their feelings regarding Germany than were the American Jews of my parents' generation. Today, many of the appliances in our home are German, and I've never thought twice about their purchase. I have never been to Germany, and was once asked during a job interview if I would have a problem flying to Germany periodically for business. I admitted that I had never been there, and privately wondered whether the slivers of my remaining emotional baggage would have a problem. I didn't get the job in the end, and I still haven't been to Germany (though not on purpose – it just hasn't happened).

As a result of growing up with this identity, hearing German being spoken was always something that stood out. Not in a bad way, but more like suddenly hearing something exciting, an unusual event (of course, I also felt this way when hearing Hebrew, and sometimes still feel this way when hearing Arabic outside of Israel). So of course, when, during the 80s, a number of songs were released in both English and the original German, I was quite drawn to them. I bought the singles (most likely in English), I felt a rush of adrenaline when hearing the songs in German. One of the songs became a favorite of mine, and the German version is today's feature video – 99 Luftballons (99 Red Balloons), by Nena.



99 Luftballons
Nena

Hast Du etwas Zeit für mich
Dann singe ich ein Lied fuer Dich
Von 99 Luftballons
Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont
Denkst Du vielleicht grad' an mich
Dann singe ich ein Lied fuer Dich
Von 99 Luftballons
Und dass sowas von sowas kommt

99 Luftballons
Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont
Hielt man fuer UFOs aus dem All
Darum schickte ein General
Eine Fliegerstaffel hinterher
Alarm zu geben, wenn es so war
Dabei war da am Horizont
Nur 99 Luftballons

99 Duesenjaeger
Jeder war ein grosser Krieger
Hielten sich fuer Captain Kirk
Das gab ein grosses Feuerwerk
Die Nachbarn haben nichts gerafft
Und fuehlten sich gleich angemacht
Dabei schoss man am Horizont
Auf 99 Luftballons

99 Kriegsminister
Streichholz und Benzinkanister
Hielten sich fuer schlaue Leute
Witterten schon fette Beute
Riefen: Krieg und wollten Macht
Mann, wer haette das gedacht
Dass es einmal soweit kommt
Wegen 99 Luftballons

99 Jahre Krieg
Liessen keinen Platz fuer Sieger
Kriegsminister gibt es nicht mehr
Und auch keine Duesenflieger
Heute zieh ich meine Runden
Seh die Welt in Truemmern liegen
Hab' nen Luftballon gefunden
Denk' an Dich und lass' ihn fliegen


99 Red Balloons
Nena

You and I in a little toy shop
Buy a bag of balloons with the money we've got.
Set them free at the break of dawn
'Til one by one, they were gone.
Back at base, bugs in the software
Flash the message, Something's out there.
Floating in the summer sky.
99 red balloons go by.

99 red balloons.
floating in the summer sky.
Panic bells, it's red alert.
There's something here from somewhere else.
The war machine springs to life.
Opens up one eager eye.
Focusing it on the sky.
Where 99 red balloons go by.

99 Decision Street.
99 ministers meet.
To worry, worry, super-scurry.
Call the troops out in a hurry.
This is what we've waited for.
This is it boys, this is war.
The president is on the line
As 99 red balloons go by.

99 Knights of the air
Ride super-high-tech jet fighters
Everyone's a superhero.
Everyone's a Captain Kirk.
With orders to identify.
To clarify and classify.
Scramble in the summer sky.
As 99 red balloons go by.

99 dreams I have had.
In every one a red balloon.
It's all over and I'm standing pretty.
In this dust that was a city.
If I could find a souvenier.
Just to prove the world was here.
And here is a red balloon
I think of you and let it go.

Can you say that in English?

I can't believe it's been nearly a year since we were last in the US. I remember the trip vividly, as though it took place just last month, yet suddenly I find myself making preparations to fly once again. It will be different from last time though, for two reasons. First of all, we will be flying to Florida instead of New York, and second of all, the Little One and I will be flying solo without the Husband, as he has too much going on work-wise and can't get away right now.

I'm really looking forward to the trip, though not without some trepidation. We'll be flying the route recommended by SavtaDotty, which involves a direct flight from Tel Aviv to Atlanta lasting just over 13 hours, a layover of just under three hours, during which we'll have to go through Customs, grab luggage, return luggage, and probably take a train to our next gate (which I plan to milk for maximum entertainment value). The last leg of our journey should take a little more than 90 minutes, where the Little One's grandparents will be waiting for us by the massive aquarium to help us collect our luggage and make the fifteen-minute drive back to the house. I've ordered kiddie meals for the kiddie and selected our seats for all four flights (sadly, no bulkhead seats were available), and have more or less decided that potty training will be put on hold while in transit so that we won't have any unfortunate incidents at inconvenient times. The last thing I need while standing in the Customs line is "Mommy, doody/pee pee", and not having any place to run (and not wanting to give up our place in line).

But I digress. One of the things that concerns me the most about this trip (aside from having to keep my son entertained for three weeks straight) is language. As time goes by, he is speaking more and more in Hebrew, and less and less in English. He understands everything we say to him in English, he chooses books and videos in English, but the language he usually opts to speak in is Hebrew. If I ask him how to say a certain word in English, he can tell me, and occasionally initiates in English, but for the most part, his primary spoken language is now Hebrew. Our conversations usually occur with me speaking to him in English and him responding in Hebrew. I'm not overly thrilled with this situation, but don't like the idea of trying to force him to use English, as I don't want him to rebel against the language. I don't want him to see English as a chore.

I've begun preparing him for the trip, and he knows that in a few weeks we'll be getting on an airplane and flying to visit Grandma and Grandpa (and possibly Mickey Mouse, which has proved an effective deterrent when I want him to do something or stop doing something, as he doesn't want to miss meeting the mouse), and a slew of cousins, and aunt and uncle, etc. While gently pushing him to speak more English, I've been trying to explain to him that when we go to visit Mommy's family, he has to speak in English, as they don't speak Hebrew, but I'm not sure he understands yet. He seems to understand the concept in reverse, in that if we tell him to say something to someone else, and we tell him in English, he switches to Hebrew, even when it's a word that he normally uses in English. I'm hoping that once he's fully immersed in a totally English-speaking environment, the language will come to him naturally, and that after three weeks there, his English speaking skills will be on par with his Hebrew speaking skills. Needless to say, I don't relish the thought of having to play full-time translator for the duration of our trip, and I know that my parents will be incredibly frustrated if he responds to them only in Hebrew.

Given that he is not yet three years-old, I'm not sure how much he comprehends of his bilingualism. He understands that there's an accent he uses on certain letters when speaking in Hebrew and that the accent changes when speaking in English. Sometimes, if I ask him to say a particular word in English, he simply repeats it in Hebrew, using an American accent. While watching Balamory last week, Archie came on the screen. I made some innocuous comment about Archie and was immediately chastised by my son, who explained that it wasn't "Archie", it was "Ahhhrrrchie", and no amount of explaining and cajoling would convince him otherwise, even though Balamory is in English. On the other hand, while being read to in English by one of his young Israeli cousins recently, when the girl stumbled over a word or two, the Little One (who knew the book virtually by heart) corrected her while using his American accent.

Before we flew to the US last year, he was speaking, but not really connecting words into sentences yet. While there, he had something of a language explosion, and because it happened while we were in an English speaking environment, the "explosion" was mainly in English. After we returned to Israel, his Hebrew caught up with his English, and then surpassed it as he began to truly interact with his peers and other Israelis who were, of course, all around him. I am hoping for a similar explosion (or at least concrete recognition of the fact that there are two distinct languages, and that not everyone speaks both) during this trip, but given that his language skills are far more developed this time around, I'm not quite sure what to expect.

*This post cross-posted to Brio.

Those worldy Americans

In nations where democracy reigns and leaders are elected by the people, it has been said that the country is given the leadership it deserves. I'd always thought that this was an interesting concept, though was somewhat dubious about whether or not it always held true.

Then I saw the video below, and suffice it to say, I no longer question how George Bush could have been reelected president of the United States. Thanks to friend and commenter Nicole for sending me the clip.

Open Sesame

Fortunately for me, my early childhood took place before big purple dinosaurs roamed the earth. My brother and I grew up on a diet of Mr. Rogers, the Electric Company, and Captain Kangaroo, among others. The unquestionable king of this genre was, of course, Sesame Street, where we learned our numbers in English and Spanish, we became intimately acquainted with the alphabet ("the sponsor of today's show is the letter 'L...'"), and discovered that people from different races, large birds, invisible elephants, and happily unkempt inhabitants of garbage cans could come together in harmonious diversity, teaching children that our differences should be embraced and celebrated. To this day, I have fond memories of Sesame Street, and admit that I felt a flutter in my heart upon seeing the Sesame Street display at the New York State Museum during our visit to the US last summer, containing sections of the original set, as well as explanations about the show's various rites of passage.

I tried to get the Little One interested in the current American version of Sesame Street when we were in the US, but he greatly preferred the numerous other shows being broadcast on PBS Kids and the Disney Channel. We do, however, have a few Sesame Street videos that we brought back with us, and he enjoys watching Baby Bear learn the alphabet (which includes the classic song shown below) and Ernie teaching the others how to count. It's not quite the same, though, and he'd much rather focus his attention elsewhere.



Therefore, you can imagine my joy at discovering that the Israeli version of this classic is now being broadcast on our local children's channel, not to mention my delight in seeing my son fall in love with this current local version just as I did more than thirty years ago. Rehov Sumsum (pronounced "soom-soom"), has captured my heart just as much as it has captured the heart of the Little One, and we snuggle together on the couch as we watch the antics of Arik and Bentz (the Hebraicized names given to Ernie and Bert) taken from the original American show, as well as the characters created especially for the Israeli version. They have continued with the tradition of diversity by including characters who are native-born Jews, native-born Arabs, and immigrants. Our favorite character is a trendy little muppet of Arab descent named Mahboob, who speaks mostly in Hebrew, but counts in Arabic and often teaches the others about different aspects of his culture.

I want my son to love his country and to be proud of his identity, and I also want him to understand and embrace the concept of diversity. I want him to realize that exposure to different cultures provides an opportunity to learn, whether it be the exotic cultures of distant lands or different cultures existing in Israel and the US. I want him to know that he has neighbors whose holidays are different from his own, and whose cultures are just as rich and beautiful as the one in which he is being brought up. Most of all, I want him to accept these people and their differences, and to know that different does not mean bad. And if it is spiky-haired, bespectacled Mahboob who teaches him such things, then so much the better. I know that life is not Sesame Street and Sesame Street is not real, but the lessons it offers my son are the lessons he will carry with him for a lifetime, just as the original Sesame Street did for his mother.

Be careful what you wish for...

The other day, I got an SMS from NRG, telling me that was feeling utterly miserable, having gotten sick during her trip with all sorts of ailments that have no place interrupting one's vacation. She was missing out and feeling bad, and I responded my telling her that I wished that I was the one who was sick instead of her. Clearly, I should have been more careful in my wishing, as I've now got a nasty cold (which wasn't even on the radar when I responded to her text) and thanks to antibiotics, she's started to feel a bit better.

What started Wednesday night with a mild sore throat, has progressed nicely into stuffy, runny nose, coughing and overall achiness, and I can't even begin to tell you how much fun it was as my ears were popping on the ride up to Jerusalem yesterday and on the ride back down to Tel Aviv. They still don't feel quite right, and I keep swallowing and yawning in hopes of a grand pop, which unfortunately hasn't happened yet. I'm secretly hoping that despite the pain and discomfort, I've got the same flu strain that the Husband had a few weeks ago, as he managed to lose five kilos...

Anyway, I really want to get back to my couch and my BBC Prime, but I just had to take a moment to send you to check out a brand new site that I'm really excited to be a part of - Expat Women. The site is "designed to help all expatriate women living outside of their home country". Not only am I one of the mentors representing the Middle East (and the only one from Israel), but our favorite American expat living in Ireland is one the the mentors representing Europe, as are some other friends of mine.

So, take a few moments to visit Expat Women, and if you like what you see (and I really think you will), be sure to spread the word to others.

We do need education, but how do we get it?

The Little One is only two-and-a-half, and we are already concerned about where he will go to school. Rumor has it that our local elementary school is okay, though not fabulous, and our local high school doesn't have the best reputation, to say the least. Admittedly, my experience with the Israeli school system is limited to the grumblings of my friends, and while some schools are obviously better than others, I cannot help but compare the whole educational experience here to my own experiences growing up in Upstate New York, where our local school system was recognized nationally for its excellence. I have fond memories of the many hours spent in school libraries, reading book after book and learning to use the computer, which, in the 70s, was a rather different experience from using the computers of today. I remember being able to take the computer home over the weekend, using a small television as a screen and having to place the phone receiver in some rather space age-looking equipment in order to dial into our school system's local network so that I could chat with other students and play endless games of Dungeons and Dragons and other adventure games, as well as fool around with Eliza, the program that made you feel as though you were in a therapy session as it threw out a variety of psychological questions and responses.

I remember the joys (and sorrows!) of gym class, climbing the ropes, playing floor hockey, and learning to do all sorts of marvelous tricks with a basketball. They were good days. We were sheltered and we were happy (and I'm sure I must be blocking a lot out here), and I worry that I won't be able to provide the same kind of experiences for my son, as he enters a very different school system in very different times. I realize that we were very fortunate to grow up in such an area, with schools that were lacking for nothing (at least nothing that we students felt). Our elementary school even had a small greenhouse, whose walls were inevitably always lined with topless, half-pint milk cartons saved from endless lunches in the school cafeteria, and filled with soil, seeds and small plants, all waiting to be brought home to proud parents. We had music classes and musical instrument lessons, we put on plays and joined the chorus (obviously before I realized that my singing voice has the potential to bring entire nations to their collective knees in pain).

During a recent trip to the US, I had the pleasure of taking my son to the playground at my old elementary school. The playground is outstanding, with swings, slides, and bridges, places to climb and places to hide. Even I had fun as my son and I chased each other all around and up and down, sliding together and running together. The greenhouse is still there, and everything was exactly as I'd remembered it, aside from the fact that I hadn't realized that it was all so small! I looked around me, and I looked at my son, wondering if I was denying him the wonderful opportunities that I'd been given. While many of the newer schools in Israel seem to have a lot to offer, I have yet to see an Israeli elementary school that compares to my own. I worry about the violence in the schools, and I worry about him being robbed of his sweetness. I worry that he won't be challenged academically, and I worry that once the mandatory English lessons begin, the fact that he is more or less a native speaker will not be taken into consideration, and he will not be able to realize his full potential (some schools with a high concentration of native English speaking children offer special English classes for these children, but I don't know if our school is one of them). As one who did not grow up in this culture, I feel that I'm at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to navigating the ins and outs of the Israeli school system, and that I will not be able to obtain the best for my child, simply because I don't know the ropes. It is a rather daunting prospect, made all the more so because I know that any mistakes I make will affect the Little One. We've heard that schools in some of the surrounding towns are better than ours, and there are also a number of alternative types of schools that we are also considering, as we try to figure out how best to play the game and get the best education possible for our son, one which will hopefully allow him to use his bilingualism/multiculturalism to his best advantage.

For now, though, we will continue to enjoy his toddler years, and do our best to ensure that he is as well-rounded and as aware of his background as possible. I must be doing a good job, as only this morning I was told, "Mommy, you rock the house."

* This post cross-posted to Brio.

What's that you're saying?

One of the most interesting aspects of living in Israel is the melting pot of native English speakers that one can encounter. Over the years, I have had the pleasure of spending time with Scots, Welsh, English, South Africans, Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians, and many, many Americans. As a result of this, my English has become a bastard mix of words from around the globe, to a point where I’m no longer certain as to what is proper for my own American English. It affects my speaking, my spelling, and my general writing style (would you put a comma after the word “spelling” as I have?), and consequently, I am often forced to consider my words and punctuation very carefully. It makes life wonderfully interesting, and I enjoy expanding my vocabulary this way.

While in university (which the Americans usually refer to as college, and in most countries outside the US, there is a difference between the two), I even wrote a paper on the subject, garnering an “A” for noting terms like “lorry” vs. “truck”, “lift” vs. “elevator”, and “eraser” vs. “rubber”, with the last of these generating an embarrassing mistake for a friend when he was in high school. This friend was born in Israel, living here until age 9. He then moved to England, where he lived until age 15. At that point, he was transplanted to Long Island. His accent was positively indescribable, though absolutely charming. Anyway, Guy was taking an exam in his American high school, writing in pencil. Upon making a mistake, he turned to a classmate and asked to borrow a rubber. As you can imagine, his request went down a treat, given that in the US (and perhaps elsewhere, I just don’t know), a rubber is not an eraser, but a condom. Poor Guy!

Being named Guy was no picnic in the US. It certainly didn’t help that when he moved to England, the officials spelled his given name of “Haggai” as “Chagay”, leading to endless pronunciation issues. But Guy is not a popular name in the US, despite its popularity in the UK. Interestingly enough, there are quite a few names that don’t work if you are hopping between English-speaking countries. What Brit hasn’t chuckled when meeting an American (male or female) named Randy? If my name happened to be Fanny (I swear it’s not!), I’d definitely be using a nickname when traveling around the UK. And of course, let us not forget the names that don’t transfer well to Israeli culture. I knew an American Jewish woman named Sheva once, many years ago. On the face of things, it sounds like a beautiful name, no? At least, if you don’t know what it means, it sounds beautiful. In Hebrew, “sheva” is “seven”. Yep. The number seven. And given that I met poor Sheva as we were participating in a year program together in Israel, you can only imagine what it must have been like to spend an entire year having people ask you why your name is seven. Less fun than you might think.

What caused me to dedicate a blog entry to this subject? Well, recently I learned a new word from a colleague who grew up in South Africa. Before I share the new word with you, I’d like to point out that South Africans, bless ‘em, use some very bizarre terms. For instance, did you know that in South Africa, a traffic light is known as a robot? I swear! Or when a South African tells you that he will be taking care of something “just now”, it means that he will be taking care of it at any time between now and, say, any old indefinite time period. Neat concept, eh? It took me a while to catch on to that one, when my South African colleagues would tell me that they would get to whatever it was that I was waiting for just now, and I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long. Do you know what a “braai” is? Why, it’s a barbecue, of course! If a South African invites you over for a braai, consider yourself lucky indeed, as these folks are unquestionable masters of meat, and you’re sure to leave quite sated. Which brings me to today’s new word. Brinjal. That’s right, brinjal. I can just see you, scratching your heads, quietly asking yourselves, “what the hell is a brinjal?” Well, depending on which English speaking country you’re from, it’s either an eggplant or an aubergine (probably good that I didn’t only use the term “aubergine”, as you’d probably start scratching your head with wonder again). I thought I’d heard it all. To be quite honest, I actually thought she was making it up, until she popped it into Babylon and showed me that it was a real word.

I seem to recall a quote that Steve Martin once gave. “Boy, those French! They have a different word for everything!” After the “brinjal” incident, I’m thinking it’s not only the French who are guilty here. Hey, what other “strange” words can you come up with?

Cabalay

I’ve been asked to get a bit more personal and write about my son. Well, I’m nothing if not accommodating (or at least try to be when possible), so here it goes! Our child is now nearly 20 months old (annoying isn’t it, how parents count the age of their children in months?), and needless to say he is the light of our lives, the apple of our eye, and pretty much any other drippy sweet platitude you can think of. It was a long, complicated, emotional journey to bring him into our lives, and we are doing our best to enjoy every moment (though some moments are admittedly more trying than others!).

The Little One is highly entertaining, as I would expect any child of mine to be, and he clearly has a sense of humor, laughing big belly laughs at anything he deems to be funny. He is, unfortunately, already enchanted by the “wonders” of television, and is particularly taken with a number of shows, especially "Brum" (causing him to smile delightedly and call out “Brum! Brum!” whenever it’s on), "Thomas the Tank Engine" (his grandparents just sent him a Thomas video and miniature train engine, and he runs around the house saying “Tómas? Tómas?”), "Balamory" (“Mory?”), and essentially anything else starring a tractor, truck or train. Oh, and by the way, with regard to the television, he's also taught us that it can be turned on by pressing the "Program" buttons on the set itself, as well as things we never knew about our stereo system...

Husband and I are speaking to the Little One only in English, as it’s important to both of us that he be as comfortable in English as he will be in Hebrew. His daycare center is also bilingual, so he’s getting additional English-language reinforcement there as well. The result so far is that most of his words are in English, with a smattering of Hebrew. Of course, in our attempts to improve the Little One’s vocabulary (and maximize his entertainment value), we have successfully managed to teach him a number of words and phrases that will undoubtedly help him in the future. When asked a question, the response will often be a confident “Oh yeah.” If the question involves cake, cookies, etc., the response becomes an emphatic” OHHHHHHH YEAH!!!” Upon waking from a nap in daycare one afternoon, the woman in charge told him that she’d call his father to come pick him up (we live close enough so that if he’s asleep when it’s time to go, Husband leaves, returning once he gets the call that he’s woken up). His response? “Oh, nice!” When planes fly overhead, he will point up at the sky and say, “the plane! The plane!” in a manner not unlike Tattoo from “Fantasy Island”.

Speaking of speaking, he’s also quite the little parrot, often picking up on certain words while we speak and trying to repeat them. Some of the more amusing examples would have to be “whayaname?” (“what’s your name?”) and “nipple” (don’t ask, because I won’t tell you). Other unusual words in his vocabulary include “cacti” (we have a large collection – it was one of his first words), “insect” (thank you, Baby Einstein!), “sushi” (courtesy of “First Book of Sushi” by Amy Wilson Sanger), and “manatee”. Husband, much to my dismay, has taught him to say “cusit” (or “babe”, in its less derogatory translation). He seems to have a problem connecting between “the cute things we teach him now” and “the cute things we once taught him that will certainly come back to bite us in the ass”, and “cusit” is certainly one of those things (another is described below). One afternoon, when Husband and Little One picked me up at the train station, Little One looked at me, gave a big, beautiful smile, and said “cusit!” Charming, no? Words fail me…

Husband thoughtfully (thoughtlessly?) taught him how to open the refrigerator, because he thought it would be cute when the Little One helps him make coffee by getting the milk. And you know what, it is cute. What could not be cute about a kid who, when you tell him you’re making coffee, looks up at you with wide eyes, says “coppee?”, and runs to the refrigerator to get the milk, shaking it before he gives it to you? Of course, what is less cute is that he seems to believe that the refrigerator is a special play area, from which it is possible to remove all sorts of items for his own personal use – wine bottles (had a harrowing experience once, where he grabbed a bottle of red wine and ran into the living room with it. I proceeded oh so cautiously, given the potential damage, and successfully retrieved said bottle), eggs, syrup, juice cartons, etc. And, if he’s not removing stuff, he’s casually sitting on the bottom shelf, feet on the floor, trying to pull the door closed (don’t worry, he can’t).

Sitting in the refrigerator, you ask? Well, it seems the Little One has a penchant for hiding. When he suddenly runs from the living room (usually yelling "running! running! running" as he runs), I race around the house quietly, listening for rustling sounds. He’s not afraid of the dark, and will often be found standing quietly in his dark room, grinning when he sees me, or hiding in a corner of our home office, kneeling quietly, either wedged between a cabinet and a bookcase or squeezed behind the vacuum cleaner. He thinks it’s hilarious (see belly laugh paragraph above), and I must admit, it certainly makes me smile.

Little One also loves to dance (though sadly, he seems to have inherited his mother’s unfortunate sense of rhythm), bouncing his little body up and down whenever a catchy tune is playing. His latest creative foray is in singing. What began with him imitating his mommy imitating Louis Armstrong (think small child running around his room saying “Cabalay, cabalay” in a fake gravelly voice, because he can’t actually say “Cabaret” yet), has recently turned into mealtime songfests, where, while sitting at the table, he suddenly takes my hand and Husband’s hand and, with the three of us holding hands, starts singing “la la la. La la la.” We have no idea where it came from, but given how the entertainment factor is a main feature of our relationship, we encourage it.

So, as you can see, we’ve been having quite a lot of fun with our little chap. We take him hiking so that he will develop a love for nature and the outdoors. We’ve taught him to love animals (especially dogs), though sometimes, he tries to love them with a bit too much gusto. We show him pictures of family and friends abroad so that they will be familiar to him when he sees them (thanks to this method, he recognized his grandparents at the airport straight away when they came to visit in October). Most important of all, we let him know how much we love him and how much he means to us, through lots of hugs, kisses, and attention. I look at him sometimes, and can’t believe he’s ours, can’t believe we managed to create such a beautiful, intelligent, loving little child after so much anguish. If he learns nothing else, he will know that his Mommy and Abba love and treasure him more than life itself, and that he will never be taken for granted.

Happy Festivus to all, and to all a good night...

I feel very fortunate to have grown up in a multicultural society. My friends were Jews and non-Jews, Asian, South American, Greek, and so on. You get the picture. A veritable United Nations. Growing up in such an environment allows you to be exposed to so many different and exciting things, whether it be foods, customs, holidays, etc. It was a wonderful experience. Of course, living in Israel has exposed me to many different kinds of Jews, but in some ways, it’s just not the same. I mean sure, the Persians, the Moroccans and the Iraqis each have their own customs, their own ways of celebrating the Jewish holidays, and sure, it’s interesting, but when it comes down to it, I mean, when it really comes down to it, what do I miss? Christmas.

Yep, I miss Christmas. I miss the lights dancing in the trees and bushes, seeing the Christmas trees through the living room windows (and you shouldn’t infer that I’m a peeping tom, I’m referring to those trees that can be seen from the street), I miss the music, I miss the festive feeling in the air. I suppose that some aspects would be similar to the feelings that we get here in the period leading up to holidays like Rosh Hashanah, but it’s not quite the same. Of course, I didn’t actually celebrate Christmas in the truest sense. I mean, it’s not like we had a Christmas tree or anything. I miss the feeling of Christmas. The excitement of Christmas. I miss going to the neighbors’ Christmas parties. I miss eggnog. I miss watching “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” I miss going out for Chinese food and a movie with all the other Jews (when one of my Israeli friends relocated to the US a few years ago, I explained the Jewish traditions vis a vis Christmas and he thought I was kidding. Later on, when I asked him what he’d be doing over the Christmas holiday, surprise, take-out Chinese food, and renting movies with friends, or perhaps some skiing, the other favorite Jewish pastime on Christmas. He even went so far as to admit that he hadn’t believed me, until he actually witnessed it with his own eyes.).

My fondest Christmas memories were created with my best friend and her family. For years I would go to her house in the days and weeks before the holiday, helping her family to decorate the tree, while lovely Christmassy music played in the background (care to remind me what the music was, my dear?). To this day, whenever I drink Chamomile tea, its taste comforts me, taking me back to those tree decorating days, when we’d all sit around the living room, drinking tea and admiring our work. There were even years when they would schedule the decorating so that it coincided with my trips home from university (thanks for that, guys!), or at least leaving it up after the holiday long enough for me to see it, if I hadn’t been able to make the decorating session.

Being the inquisitive lass that I was, I even went with my friend to Midnight Mass one year, just to see what it was like. Well, it was beautiful. A church full of happy people dressed in their holiday clothes, celebrating the birth of Jesus. I enjoyed the singing, the spirituality of the evening. I enjoyed watching (and participating) as everyone offered good wishes to those around them, as part of the service. And, for those of you who are worried, you needn’t be. You’ll be pleased to know that when the time came to take communion, I decided against it (visions of the church falling down around me while being repeatedly struck by lightning if I did so was the primary deciding factor).

Now here I am, living in Israel. The Holy Land. The land where it all began. Christmas is distant, and it just feels wrong. Needless to say, there’s no snow on the ground, only big dirty puddles. No Christmas lights so blinding that you’re not even sure if there are bushes underneath. No overdone Christmas/Nativity scenes. Call me crazy (go on, most of you do anyway!), but I miss it all (well, not all. I can certainly do without the “mall” music). A large chunk of the world is building up a feverish holiday frenzy, and here in Israel, we go about our daily business as if nothing is happening (same thing happens with New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, but that’s for another blog entry). To keep myself entertained, I periodically play a selection of Christmas songs on my computer, running the gamut from the original Band Aid tune to various Muppet Christmas ditties, and needless to say, a punchbowl full of eggnog certainly wouldn’t hurt.

In any event, us folks over here at something something wish all of our readers who choose to celebrate a Merry Christmas. And, given that Chanukah begins on Christmas day (how terribly convenient!), Happy Chanukah to all of our Chanukah-celebrating readers! Or perhaps we should just wish you all a Happy Festivus…

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?