Two Separate Subjects

A couple things I’ve discovered here in ישראל, first about tourists, second about this screwball language.

1: I know that the world thinks Americans are obnoxious. For a long time now, we’ve been traveling all over the world spending money, walking the walk, talking the talk. I know that the people that live in the “exotic” countries we populate during spring and summer and Christmas vacations think we’re terribly arrogant. But ladies and gentlemen, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I guarantee you, world, you will miss the days when Americans were the arrogant tourists. You know why?

The new arrogant tourists are French.

If Only...

Seriously, the first two weeks I was here, I caught the last wave of it. I’m not exaggerating, nearly 100,000 French people were chillin’ in this country, and they’re way worse than we ever were. So are the Brits, the Italians, and the Spaniards, all of whom are loving the strength of their currency and traveling the world with no shame whatsoever. And even the most obnoxious Americans are more polite than the Europeans. Plain and simple– the new Eurotourists SUCK.

They talk loud. They smell bad. They get pissy if you talk loud. They can’t handle their liquor– we drink a lot more, but we are just plain better at it (the Irish aren’t traveling). They only want their food– thus the influx of “fish n’ chips” on felafel/shuarma shop menus. And on top of all of this, they have that arrogance that our travelers have… only they talk arrogantly in silly accents.

The world will miss us.

2: This language has some weird rules. Take, for example, the following sentence:

Charlene opens the door.

In hebrew, this is:

שרלין פותחת הדלת

Transliteration is “Charlene pot’ach’at ha’delet.” Charlene is the subject, “potachat” is the feminine, present form of the verb to open, “ha” means the, and “delet” is the word for door.  Now if let’s say we add a qualifier to the door.

Charlene opens the microwave door.

שרלין פותחת את דלת המיקרוגל

Transliteration is “Charlene pot’ach’at et delet ha’mi’kro’gal.” The beginning of this sentence is the same– Charlene potachat. But now, since we’re talking about a specific, particular door, we add the word “et.” I don’t know how to translate it, but that’s what it is. Then, as if that’s not enough to think about: I understand that the adjective comes after the noun, just like in virtually every language but ours. But when you add a qualifier to a noun in Hebrew, you move the “the” to the qualifier. So a direct translation of the Hebrew above would really be “Charlene opens door the microwave.”

Here’s another one for you.

I am a doctor.

אני רופה

Ani Rofeh. I doctor. There is no word in Hebrew for “is” or “am” or “are.” There also is not a word for the verb “to have.” Instead, they say the equivalent of “there is to me,” or “there is to you,” or “there is to us.” Now you’re saying, wait, I see an “is” in each of those. No you don’t–there’s no “is,” just a “there is.”

So if I say, “Do you have money?” I ask, “?יש לך כסף” which is “Yesh lach kesef?” or “Is there to you money?”

Finally, if you think figuring out gender stuff and plural stuff is complicated in spanish, you aint seen nothin yet baby. Hebrew is less complicated verb wise in that it doesn’t have progressive tenses– “I eat” and “I am eating” are the same, “I ate” and “I was eating” are the same– but that also makes it more difficult to express exactly when and how things happen or are happening. But the feminine masculine, plural and singular, it’s a headache.

He eats an apple= הוא אוכל תפוח

They eat apples= הם אוכלים תפוחים

He eats a good apple= הוא אוכל תפוח טוב

They eat good apples= הם אוכלים תפוחים טובים

Do you realize that they pluralize the damn adjectives? That last sentence would read, literally, “They eat goods apples.” And if you specified, “They eat the good apples,” it would be literally translated as “They eat goods the apples.”

So that has been my day today… learning and wondering how (a) this language survived so long, and (b) how people are going to survive with the new crap tourists. I have a placement test for ulpan tomorrow, so hopefully this long post will come in handy for me as I fumble through this language I don’t know.

I’m going to be here at the compy for about an hour more, then I’m going to the American bar next to the American embassy to see if they might be satellite-ing the SC game. Fight on SC, Beat the Cavaliers!

Bunkin’ Donuts

When I was a kid, I once fell off the top of a bunk bed in my sleep.

I don’t remember it very well, I’m sure mom and dad have a better recollection of it, but I’m almost positive I didn’t just make this up in my head. I remember a chair breaking my fall on the way down. It sucked.

Anywhosits, I’m sleeping at this hostel tonight, slept there last night too. It’s strange… everyone is on vacation in the hostel, screaming and drinking and dancing and partying non-stop. But I’m not on holiday; I live in Israel now, for the next several months; this isn’t the big romp for me. So I seem like that loser who comes to a hostel but doesn’t explore the city, because I sit studying for hours at a time… but these people are here for like, 5 days, so whatever.

Lookout Israel, I'm in the Ba'it

Last night I went out with these people. An Australian guy and gal, an American guy who just led an Oranim trip, and an Austrian guy named Jacob who sounded remarkably similar to the Governator. We went to this bar that only let you in if you were 25 or older, but they didn’t really check id, so they said, “How old are you?!” and i said “Twenty-Nine… thirty in November” and the woman gave me a sideways glance before letting me in. I can’t decide which is funnier; that the answer so sharply confounded her or that she eventually accepted it as possible.

The longer we stayed out, the more I drank, the more I missed the times when going out meant being with my friends, and my girlfriend, and being in familiar places with familiar people. I missed being able to point out d-bags (they’re very different here, although they do have a similarly fun name, Arse, plural Arsim) and complain in English about how in the good ole days beer was cheaper than six bucks a pint. I got home at 4 am, and woke up early in the morning to make sure I could call the states before sleepytime. I guess these are the pangs you live with on an adventure like this.

Today I took the bus out to Herzliyah Petuach, which is where Galia and I decided to meet up. Galia was one of two trip leaders for our Birthright trip in December. She’s sweet, but completely neurotic… she made Aliyah (which for those of you who don’t know means she emigrated to Israel, one of those Jews that “returns” to the motherland) a couple months back, and she’s been working for Oranim ever since.

We met at The Marina, where all of the rich Sfonbonim (which literally translates to people of the north, but is the term people use for the Israeli Gossip Girls and OC peeps) hang out. This is where the loaded old guys park their Mediterranean yachts. It’s where the rolex stores and the big fancy steak houses smile down on Israeli wealth, welcoming with outstretched arms the thousands upon thousands of sheckels it takes to make a life there. This was like Beverly Center meets Harrods meets… Moses.

Galia brought me about 300 minutes worth of international calling cards, which I used this afternoon to call Andy, Cathy, and Embly– Em was lucky enough to get a perky wake-up call from her role-model/personal hero (me) just before 8am WashU time. Wakey Wakey!! Galia also listened to my whole long story about getting screwed by just about every existing philanthropic jewish organization, and she told me she’d try to hook me up with a job during September in the Oranim office. Who knows if it’ll work out… but if it does, it gives me some income and yet another extension on “planned” life.

Galia asked me if I stay in touch with anyone from the trip, and I said that I really only stayed in touch with the soldiers. Also with my friend Bryan, I told her, to which she responded, “Shuarma?!?! Awww, Shuarma!!” She obviously remembers my brother.

Jacob the action hero (left) and Hila the chain smoker (right)

When I got back to the hostel, Jacob was waiting for me. He mentioned to me last night that he knows an Austrian girl who’s moving back to Austria for 4 months and needs to rent out her fully furnished, air conditioned, wireless internet connected, cable television subscribed, 2 bedroom-1 bathroom-kitchen-living room-washing machine-double bed in my own room-containing apartment during her brief return to her homeland. I visited the place and it’s great, but unavailable before September 29th. Either way, I may end up doing it– all inclusive, it will only cost me around $620 per month, and if I can find someone to take January from me, I’ll be made in the shade. It’s about 10 minutes south of the Ulpan I start on Tuesday.

Who is this crazy woman McCain wants to take over if the old age conquers him? and Alaska?? Is he serious? Cause nobody knows the plight of the average American worker, knows the strength and diligence necessary to lead a nation, like the woman who runs the great state of Alaska, with its booming population of 670,053 and its 3 electoral votes. No offense, cold dudes.

I digress. Galia says my hebrew sounds nice, and I seem to understand pretty well, but she agrees that my grammar leaves much to be desired. I still can’t really believe I’m here. I’ve been writing page after page of hebrew (check it out), like 40 pages so far, but i still just wish I could pull a ‘Matrix’ and get it implanted into my head. Man, that would make this trip easier. Also, I’d dig getting the helicopter crash course implanted in there too. I mean, while we’re on the subject.

Missing you all and wishing you a happy Friday and lovely weekend. As you can see… all’s well on the biblical front.

Still Oh So Sexy

Haifa nice night, and Tel Aviv thanks Eilat

Now that I’ve come up with that, I regret not saving it for a post about traveling to those cities. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s plagiarized from Mr. Bryan Sigman.

Today I took a bus in to Tel-Aviv and visited Ulpan Gordon, a little Hebrew immersion joint on the north end of Tel-Aviv, a block from the Sheraton on the beach. I’ve spent the last month and a half arguing with these morons from the Jewish agency, trying to figure out what’s supposed to happen, being told to do this and that and run here and there… and it took me 10 minutes in their office to get squared away on a 5-month course. Sunday thru Thursday, 8:15-12:45, from September 2nd until the day I leave. It’s about $650, and I’m golden. I’m on a waiting list– it needs to be 30 names long to start a class, and I’m name 27, so they’re pretty confident I’m set. If it falls through, they have an evening class I’m guaranteed.

So for the first time ever on this blog, I have this to say: something got taken care of today.

I tried to find a picture of the Ulpan. This was the 20th entry in the image search on Google.

Ulpan Gordon! Hmm...

Then I talked to the Hostel people. It’s a lot easier to get help on things when people know how handily you’ve been screwed by the rest of the world and how much you appreciate even the slightest generosity. The girl at the front desk gave me the location of the ministry of the interior in central Tel-Aviv so that I could go get temporary residency, which will give me the ability to work a little here. She also told me I can stay at the hostel as long as I keep paying, that a month at a time will give me a reduced rate, and that I may find an even better deal if I find a furnished sublet. She even gave me a website on which to find a place.

Mom just called me and told me I sound much better than before. Probably true… you had to know things would work out eventually, but it’s good to feel like they’re actually finally getting around to it.

I forgot to tell yall the reason I thought of RedBand when I was posting last night. Hadas and I were in Tel-Aviv yesterday, in that market that we went to on Birthright when they wouldn’t let us out of like a 2 block radius, and we saw a camera crew gathered around a bench. On the bench sat Leftie, Red, and Poncho, filming another episode. It was like being in [a really strange version of] LA all over again.

I walked past a storefront today that really jumped out at me. On the window was a painting, just in black, a portrait of Barack Obama, with hebrew writing above and below. Under his profile was written ”Vote Obama,” and above the painting was the inscription, “Our Blessed Hope.” A couple weeks ago, Hen said to me, “It’s so sad to watch. Your country is imploding. It collapses on itself, and we’re watching it happen, and it’s so sad.”

He’s right you know– we’re torturing POWs, changing laws on whims, burning our economy, and losing credibility daily. I can’t tell whether John McCain just doesn’t realize the system is broken, or he realizes it and hopes nobody will notice… and I also don’t know which would be worse… but I hope we don’t have to find out.

I honestly don’t mean to preach. But it is truly different to watch America spin its wheels from far away, and you would be astonished just how much hope the people here have for America to stay strong. It’s not just a hope– it’s a need, for as long as America’s strong, Israel can cling to the notion that it may be safe for another few days, weeks, even months.

I’m going to study for a while, and then Hadas and I may meet up with some friends of hers to shoot some pool or bowl. Today has been a good day, a precursor to many more to come. I hope everybody’s well.

It’s Too Hot for Me to be This Clueless

There’s this great TV show that just started here in Israel about a month and a half ago called “Red Band.” I obviously still don’t know a whole hell of a lot of hebrew, but my understanding of the premise is that these three guys, Red, Leftie, and Poncho, were a pretty popular rock band back in the early eighties/late seventies, and have decided to make a comeback. Two of them are living in Israel, and the third flies out to join them, and their manager and publicist are the only two other regular characters. Every episode features a different major Israeli musician– the John Mayer, Bob Dylan, Joss Stone, Ben Folds, and Gwen Stefani of Israel– as the focus of the episode, this really exciting guest star.

But the thing that makes this show so epic, above all else, is that Red, Leftie, and Poncho…. well, there’s no way to put this delicately. They’re puppets.

I’ve attached a video that should give you a pretty good idea of RedBand. DISCLAIMER: the standards for what is appropriate for basic cable here are much, much lower. So there’s some pretty vulgar language (Red speaks English, even though nobody else does) so those of you who don’t consider yourselves old, but whom I would consider kinda old… beware.

If you want to get a taste of the other part of Red Band, the less vulgar, more entertaining part… check the Audio section of this blog. The concept for this show’s just…great. Really think it’d be killer in the US, although the language would have to dial down.

On Thursday, Hadas mentioned to me that I would have to leave for the weekend because her sister was coming home, but that I could take a small bag and come back after the weekend. I said that sounded great, and she then said, “Okay, so we’ll leave in a few minutes?” I didn’t realize she meant right away, but it was cool because I had already made my hostel reservation in Tel-Aviv.

Or so I thought…

I arrived at the Mugraby Hostel on Allenby Street in Tel-Aviv and was told that because my arrival was so late in the day, they had already given my bed away. Tough luck. I was pissed, and had a stomach ache, and couldn’t hear out of my right ear, and I gotta tell you, I’ve had better days. So I wandered up Ben Yehuda Street into two other hostels that were both full until I found the last hostel with its VERY LAST bed, in an unairconditioned urinal of a room on the 4th floor of this dump. Whatever, it was a place to put my head.

Thursday night, once my stuff was all on my dorm bed and I had medicated and cleaned up a little, I took my guitar out to the beach and played for a while. It didn’t take too long before I was approached by two Israeli high school seniors who wanted to play some Beatles and Dylan tunes with me (the most universal music, period. I mean everyone knows the Beatles and Dylan) and to talk about American girls and the IDF. We hung out for about 45, and then I decided to pack it up and head back.

As I wandered through the sand back toward the hostel, another guy ran up and asked if he could borrow my guitar for one song with his friends, and being the friendly dude I am, I brought it over to them. Turns out they were in their first years of university, a bunch of younglings from france, checking out the motherland. I wish I brought my camera–I sat on the beach smoking hookah with a 19 year old version of my little cousin Margot Siegel. Seriously, Aunt Stacey, Uncle Johnny, this was the weirdest thing. Ever.

In the morning I walked down the beach to find another hostel. The french kids had mentioned that there was a good one on Hayarkon Street, Hayarkon 48, which is where I ended up settling in. When I get my computer hooked up to the internet, I’ll post some pictures… the first night, the only availability they had was the “Roof Matress” deal. I thought it was some kind of special deal, but it turned out to simply be a matress on the roof of the building. I laughed myself to sleep.

I spent all afternoon friday and almost all afternoon saturday out on the beautiful beaches of Tel-Aviv, reading my book and swimming in the giant bathtub that is the Mediterranean Sea. I mean, it’s gotta be 80 degrees in that thing. So nice. Meandered through the streets of Tel-Aviv to a movie theater in the heart of town to see You Don’t Mess with the Zohan, which totally sucked but was a hell of an experience (has anyone else been to the Laemmle theater on Figueroa near 4th street? The one that seems like the kind of place you see in the paper as the backdrop to some nasty story about a politician in a sex scandal or Pee Wee Herman exposing himself? This place was the little Israeli version of that.), and Saturday night I went to a pub with some internet, studied, and drank.

There aren’t a lot of frills to this entry, I know, but it’s because I am getting tired and am trying to update on 5 missed days. So for those of you who want to know what’s up with the program and stuff, here tis: I talked to the woman again today– she finally called me back after like a week of waiting– and she told me she still hasn’t processed my paperwork and I probably won’t begin til mid september. So tomorrow I’m heading into Tel Aviv to try to sign up for an independent Ulpan there, and then I’m heading up to Kfar Saba to talk to Oranim (the people that brought me to Israel in December) to see if there’s anything they can do for me.

I’ve determined that the worst-case scenario has me living in that hostel for 22 bucks a night for a pretty good chunk of my time in Israel, studying in this ulpan in the mornings, and spending the rest of my time helping out around the hostel for some $$ and enjoying the beach for funsies (we’re a block away).  Who knows if a job will work itself out, or housing, but that scenario is worst-case, and it’s not so bad…right?

Lot’s of uncertainty out here, and it’s difficult to deal with in this heat. But I really am an easy going guy, and I will figure it out. No worries.

So check out the other pages on this blog… I’ve updated a few. I’ll try to be more regular in the future; it will get much easier once my life sorts itself out.

…which it’s bound to do eventually.

Hold ON, Holon…

The other day I asked Hen, “Do you remember my friend Bryan?”

He replied, “Was he the guy with all the puns?”

Of course.

I moved out of Hen’s place day before yesterday. He drove me down to Holon, which is another of these townburbs of Tel-Aviv, about 10 minutes outside the city. Cool place, actually… a lot more metropolitan than Herzliyah or Ra’ananna. Anyway, he dropped me off at Hadas’ apartment, where she lives with her mother, and I settled in yet another kind host’s layer.

Except this time, I have air conditioning. And a bed. And even a room of my own. It’s ridiculous how comfortable it is here, and they have been kind enough to allow me to stay for a while. I just can’t stay over the weekend, since Hadas’ sister is coming home and I am in her room. But tonight, and then Monday-Thursday of next week, I’m made in the shade.

We went to a bar night before last. The place was pretty hip… smoky as hell though. In Israel they just passed a law a few months ago that forbids smoking in bars, but nobody enforces it even a little bit. So my eyes burned and my clothes still reek of cigarette smoke, like I swam in cigarettes they way a junkie Scrooge McDuck would do. Then last night we ate Malawa Pizza, a Yemeni invention, and I crashed early.

I am legitimately ill out here, and I’m ready to bounce back so I can get back to the funsies. My stomach is all crazy, and now I have this crazy swimmers ear thing going… I haven’t been able to hear out of my right ear for like 3 days. Other than that though, I’m really living the dream.

When my stomach aches go away and I can hear again, I’ll have more and better updates. For now though, I have very limited access to internet, so this is all I’ve got. Talk to you all soon.

Teyshim v’Teysha–Oh! L’anachnu yesh BINGO!

Yeah, you heard me right people. Bingo.

Last night around 11 we left Hen’s apartment to go pick up his buddies (I realize now that none of you know who he is, so this is a picture of the infamous Hen Geron). Then we swung down into Tel-Aviv, to Allenby Street, where the hostel I’m moving in to on Wednesday is, and where the nightlife of Tel-Aviv apparently thrives. We parked Hen’s 1989 Subaru (duuuuude) and walked over to this bar, a rad little dive with cool deco posters and guys with pony tails.

 

Hen, in Palestine

And then we played Bingo. We played Bingo like there was no tomorrow.

 

Seriously, I’ve seen a lot of crazy things in my life. But Bingo til 4 in the morning? Grown, self-sufficient men playing Bingo around a bar drenched with beer and spilled chasers? Honestly, I never could have called this one.

I spent all day yesterday–from 8 am until 10 pm, with small breaks in between– studying this crazy ass language. I’m serious about nailing it, getting it down, but there are so many things I just do not know. And it doesn’t help that I’m a terribly slow reader… the characters are totally different. Also, the program I’m using is great, but it has taught me some terribly irrelevant things. For example:

האסטרונאוטים לובשים חליפות חלל– “Ha’astronautim lovshim chalifot chalal,” which means “The Astronauts wear space suits”

כמה גלות יש פה? — “Kama gulot  yesh po?” which means “How many marbles are there here?”

So if I decide to play marbles or join NASA, I can do it in Hebrew. Otherwise, I’m SOL.

Also, I’m sick. I’m really struggling to digest the food here, and what with the jetlag, the new food, and the unbelievable humid heat, I’m in all kinds of agony. I took a bus to סופרפרם, or “Superpharm” (acy… get it?) and picked up some tums, some antacids, and some other funsies. But I gotta tell you, sick in Israel is not what I had in mind.

On the plus side, I’ve started to figure things out. Tomorrow I’m going to Holon (with a chhh, not a hhh) to spend the day with Hadas, another of my soldier friends from the Birthright trip. I’m staying at her house tomorrow night, and then on Wednesday I’m moving into Mugraby Hostel, on Allenby in the heart of Tel-Aviv. They have agreed to allow me to use a dorm bed until September 2, which is when I’m supposed to be allowed into the absorption center to begin my hebrew immersion and part-time internship. I talked to the difficult woman from the Jewish Agency for Israel, the people who run the program, and I’m hoping things will work out–despite her knack for incompetence.

Ok I’m going to take a little nap, sleep this stomach ache away again. I hope yall are enjoying reading this blog as much as I’m enjoying writing it. It’s not every day you get to do something as exciting as the stuff I’m doing out here, and it’s a real pleasure to share it with everyone.

Allah Akbar, I think is what they say

I visited Palestine yesterday.

Seriously.

Yall know how a while back, Israel told Israeli citizens to move back within the borders of the original Israel (with a few exceptions) so that the Arabs could settle Palestine? I’m not a historical or political expert, of course, but the very, very short cliff’s notes are that some Israelis who had settled in these regions moved inside, and some chose not to.

The people that chose to stay out are technically, according to international law, outside of the approved borders of Israel, and in the abyss of Palestine. Hen’s father, Yosi, heard Hen explain this to me, and said in English, “Don’t give me this bullshit. I am in the real Israel. Herzliyah is bullshit. Palestine. Don’t give me this.”

So, as you can see, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is inches from resolution.

I guarantee I will have more to say about this stuff, but not right now. I’m tired, I’ve been studying Hebrew since 10 this morning, and can’t focus.

Anyway, we did Kabalat Shabbat at Yosi’s house, and it was lovely. Great food, great drink, and best of all, music. Yosi is a carpenter by trade, a real talent with wood… but he’s also a big music guy– there are about 20 hand drums scattered around his house, and an ud, a lyre, and a sintur to boot. The sintur is a Persian string instrument that you hit with tiny wrapped sticks. It’s the most primitive form of the piano.

So he put the sintur in my lap and laughed and said “go,” and I did, and he was so overjoyed that he almost cried. I don’t think he gets to play music with people very often, so we had a great time. By the end of my time there, he had pulled me aside to tell me that I could come over for anything, any time. He gave me his phone number and told me to call him whenever, and he would come pick me up from wherever I’m living to give me food and drink and to play music.

I made my first new friend. Granted, he’s like 55, but still.

I haven’t seen Ayala since I was dropped off at Hen’s house, but I’m bummed she’s leaving today for the Americas. She’ll be in San Francisco for a couple days in late October or early November, if any of you want to meet her. Class act.

 

This is Your Brain on Hebrew

I feel like my brain is doing thanksgiving dinner, every day. Like, Thanksgiving’s awesome, but if I had to eat like that every day, ten hours a day, I would die. My head hurts from all this learning. But it’s a healthy pain, right? Anyway, I’m relatively certain my brain is going to explode. Morbid? Absolutely. Hyperbolic? Maybe. But regrettable? No way, jose.

 

Ok I’m going to grab a snack, and then I think I may go see a movie or something. Good morning america…

Mediterranean Magellan

 

I went on an expedition yesterday.

 

I decided I needed to try to find a place to sleep in order to get out of the Geron family’s way, especially since Hen’s brother בר (Bar) just came home for the weekend from the army. So now there are five of us in this little place… and I feel like kinda an ass. They keep insisting that I stay, that it’s a mitzvah for them to host me. But I can’t help but feel like I’m burdening them.

So I caught the 48 bus from Herzliyah into Tel-Aviv. I compare Herzliyah, Ra’ananna, and Kfar Saba to Winnetka, Highland Park, and Evanston– they function as their own towns, but they are absolutely suburbs of Tel-Aviv just like the latter three are subsidiaries to Chicago. Took me about a half hour on the bus, and I jumped off as soon as I saw something familiar (I was guessing). I wandered into Rabin Square, the place where Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995, and from there navigated my way to Ben Yehuda Street, the busiest street in Tel-Aviv.

 

The Beautiful Waterfront

I didn’t really know what I was looking for out there, to be honest. And it’s surprising how few people speak enough English to communicate with me. I really thought everyone spoke enough English to get by, but it’s very minimal, and I find myself wandering these streets absolutely alone. So I walked south on Ben Yehuda until I decided I had gone far enough south (they say South Tel-Aviv is pretty rough and tumble. Poor, with a high crime rate, so I decided not to venture farther), and I turned right, toward the beach. Lo and behold, I found myself standing at the front door of the hotel where Bryan and I first met Hen and Ayala.

Also, Bryan, check this out: that building you like so much is for sale. Want to go halvsies?

I walked over to the American Embassy, which is right on the waterfront, and found them closed. In fact, they are apparently only open to US citizens between 8 and 11 in the morning, Monday through Friday. Does anyone else think the US government doesn’t work nearly enough? I blame George Bush.

And Condi.

So I walked up Ben Yehuda, all the way north until it ended, then I moved over to the waterfront and followed the beach all the way south. I walked through our Birthright trip; past the place where they gave us cheese sandwiches and Bry got a hotdog and we sat on the stairs and stuff, past the stupid hookah bar that we wanted to leave but couldn’t during our birthright trip, all the way down to the little shopping center where I tried to order pepperoni pizza. Not the same without you, buddy.

I bought myself a felafel and a coke, and, with the kind of satisfaction that you really only feel after a 4 hour walk in Mediterranean heat, I finally sat down to enjoy my little meal. I didn’t realize it, but I sat

A Felafel Sunset

there studying for about 3 more hours. It was dark when I stood up, stretched my legs, and meandered onto the sand.

I listened to The Most Serene Republic and watched the waves beat down on Israel. They’re like an indie Mars Volta… or I feel that way just because there’s a lot of noise. But after a few listens, they’re pretty solid. Good drummer.

On my way back to find the bus, I discovered another street that was even more fun than Ben Yehuda, and since I still had a bit of time before the busses stopped running, I went exploring. I found a bookstore, which I had wanted to find to get myself some children’s books to help me in my quest for knowledge. I had to wait for a little bit while some function was running in the back of the shop, and looking around, I found some reminders of home.

Mayim L'Pilim-- Water for Elephants

 

 

This here is for Kelsey. Your FAVORITE!! Psych. I almost got it for you–it would have made you actually enjoy the english.

 

 

 

 

 

Second Life

 

 

 

And this is for Jeff and Luisa. Is that a guitar on your back???

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s something fun for you– did yall know a bad movie in America is still a bad movie in Israel? I got home and that Mike Judge movie with Luke Wilson, the one where he wakes up in the distant future and is suddenly the smartest guy in the world because everyone is so damn stupid, was on TV in Hen’s room. He looks at me when I walk in, and he goes, “have you heard of this movie? it is a waste of my life. worst movie ever. i am getting dumber.”

Also, a good movie is still a good movie– we watched The Big Lebowski day before yesterday. It’s his favorite movie.

So tonight is erev shabbat, which means everything closes early today, we eat dinner around seven, and we will go kick it with Hen’s buddies tonight. Ms. Geron had me help her make schnitzel and a sort of platter this morning, of which you can find pictures (yes I’m quite proud) in the pictures section of this blog.

Emily, I got you a present at the bookstore. I can’t decide whether to mail it or just give it to you when you’re out here in December. I’ll probably mail it, it’s too heavy to carry around all the time.

I’m still alive, relaxing and enjoying the motherland. Every day I’m a little better at hebrew… I promised Ayala that when she returns from Central America, I’ll be speaking hebrew perfectly. So I have to get back to work. Much love to all

 

A Picture of America from Here

I’m Joining the Army!

Just kidding.

It’s 7:06 in the morning, and I’m writing to you from a tiny apartment in Hertzelia. I’ve been here a little over 48 hours now, and it feels like I’ve been wandering this country for 40 years, like jews do.

 

Descending into Tel-Aviv

I landed at 5:30 am on Monday at Ben Guryon International Airport. The in-flight entertainment system on my British Airways flight was busted, so we couldn’t watch movies, which I think turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as I was able to sleep the whole way to Tel Aviv…last time I was here, the jet-lag was debilitating for 9 of my 10 day trip, so I tried really hard to side step it as much as possible. We landed about 10 minutes early, and it was still dark when we got off the plane.

 

By the time I got through customs, it was daylight. Swear to god I picked the longest, slowest line in Israel, for anything. I mean, you know those lines of nerds that waited six days for an iPhone outside the Mac store? I was in one of those lines. And just like the mac lines, there really was no need to wait like that–I watched people walking in right beside me. I was going nuts. Also, it didn’t help that I had two people who I swear to god must have been sitting at Rick’s when Ilsa Lund and Victor Laslo came to stay at Casablanca. Seriously, straight out of the movie. And they smelled like Phyllis’s perfume, like a combination of pine and funeral parlor. Great way to start out here in Israel.

There were these really cute little kids in the line next to mine, and I thought about taking their pictures because they would really have cracked yall up. Three little boys, probably 5 years, 3 years, and 2 years old, all wearing the same striped shirt and blue shorts, with the exact same buzz cut and 4-inch sideburns (little people pais), and little yarmulkes with their names sown into their tops. They were gobbling up licorice, and they looked totally ridiculous, and I was about to pull out my camera when I came upon two important realizations: (1) that taking a picture of someone’s small children is a little bit weird and creepy, and (2) taking pictures of Israeli airport security would probably get me interrogated in a dark room without windows. So I just kept to myself and continued to enjoy my neighbors’ scent.

Ayala was waiting for me on the other side of the customs doors, and it really was great to see her. I stank like holy hell though, so I went into the bathroom immediately after handing off the laptop I brought for Josh Miller and giving her a big old hug. I changed shirts (Kelsey, don’t make fun, I still have plenty of clothes) and then Ayala, her friend Irit, and I all hopped in the car and headed into town. Ayala made me read every freeway sign to her, though the English transliterations below every hebrew word didn’t make it a terrible challenge.

Ayala picks me up from the airport

 

 

Here’s a good little anecdote for you: About a week ago, a friend of Irit’s decided to make some mischief–apparently that’s what this girl does. So she and a couple of her guy friends got together one night, and a few hours before daybreak, they hopped the fence of the Tel Aviv Zoo. Unfortunately, while her two buddies landed in a pedestrian walkway, this girl landed in the elephant cage. So one of the elephants saw her, freaked out, and picked her up with its trunk…and when one of her guy friends chucked some stones at the elephant, it dropped her and trampled her. I know this sounds morbid, but the girl’s fine– broken pelvis, two broken legs, and lots of cuts and bruises, but she’s going to be perfectly fine… so I happen to find the story pretty funny.

I mean, how many people do you know who can actually say, “One time I was attacked by an elephant,” and not be starting a joke?

So we got some breakfast, dropped off Irit, hung out at Ayala’s house, took a little nap, and then ate lunch with Ayala’s mother, Ariela, her brother, Amnon, and his friend, whose name I missed. The food was unreal. Some kind of cuscus, schnitzel, pasta, and sweet potato. It was absolutely phenomenal. They all had lots of fun with my limited knowledge of Hebrew, and got a chance to practice their English. All around, good fun.

 

Gash Beach

Ayala and I went to the beach around 4:30 in the afternoon. It’s called גש (gah-sh) beach, and it was hidden and spectacular. I’ll tell you what, living in LA you forget just how awful our beaches are compared to real beaches. Even Manhattan Beach and Hermosa Beach and as far down as Huntington Beach really had nothing on this place. And the water was warm and clean and just terrific. We drank a beer and watched the waves, and I snoozed some, and Ayala started her new book, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” translated into Hebrew. She showed it to me, and I read the cover and realized what it was… funny how when they say “international phenomenon,” they really mean “international phenomenon.”

 

 

The beaches are so much nicer here.

After the beach, we showered and changed clothes, and late in the night we dropped by an indian restaurant. Was delicious. I was in bed by 9:30, though when I flipped on the TV in my room, “The Deposition” was on, followed immediately by an episode of Arrested Development. Halfway through AD, though, I turned it off and passed out.

 

I was up at 5:00am the next day–jetlag’s crazy, even if you do your best to avoid it. When Ayala woke up around 7, we got dressed and headed over to the neighboring Moushav. Here’s a little factoid to widen your knowledge: a Moushav is like the on-purpose version of Terrell Hills/Alamo Heights. In other words, it’s a big old neighborhood of houses, no apartment buildings or offices, just residences, and most of the people who live there grew up there too. So Ayala’s grandmother lives on one street, and since her father was a son of a resident, he was given priority to find a property in the Moushav, and one day Amnon will have priority to live within the same Moushav. Their Moushav was called סדה ברבורג (Sde Varbourg), and it’s the longest Moushav (they all stem off of one road) in all of Israel.

Anyway, we headed over to the next Moushav to meet up with Ayala’s friend Eilad, who trains horses for a living. Apparently, Ayala used to do the same, so we went on a little journey on horseback. For those of you who remember or who I told about my previous horseback riding exploits, I hate horseback riding. Last time I did it, when Sara and Dillon and I were in Chile last summer, I was pretty confident I’d never make babies. Ever. So I was more than a little apprehensive about the prospect of allowing my balls to, once again, take a pounding they didn’t deserve. But Ayala and Eilad were much better teachers than that crazy dude in the Atacama, and my horse was very well trained and well behaved, and I actually enjoyed myself. We rode through avocado fields and orange trees and squash patches, and we all had a great time.

Horses and I have never gotten along... nevertheless, it worked out.

 

 

After all of this was done, I packed up my stuff and we went to meet up with חן והדס (Chen and Hadas) in Tel Aviv. We went to some little italian restaurant and caught up with them, and then Ayala pawned me off to Chen– she leaves for Panama on Saturday, and has a lot to do before she goes. When these guys and gals get out of the military, around their 20th birthday, they usually go to work for a few months, save up money, and then go on an adventure. Most of them travel either to the states or through south and central america, though I have heard of people going through Europe. It’s cheaper for them to go through the southern americas though, so that’s the most common. She’s going to Panama, Guatemala, Costa Rica, and Mexico, and she’ll be back in November. I’m kinda bummed– she is a GREAT teacher, and I get along with her better than the other soldiers… but you know, I roll with the punches.

Chen’s house is a lot different. Ayala’s house was like being in a nice american suburb in a lot of ways… Chen’s apartment makes my college apartments look like luxury suites. All of them. Like, Eddie and I lived in a palace. Grant and I lived in a yacht. Austin, Ron, and I lived in a mansion. Chen lives here with his mother and two little brothers, although only one of them is here (he’s 10 and speaks zero english. The other brother’s in the army, so he’s only around every so often). His mom and little brother sleep in the same room in the same twin bed, and Chen sleeps in the room opposite them that is roughly the size of the bathroom from my summer apartment in downtown LA.

 

Ayala tries to get me set up with Ulpan and my Internship... which I still know nothing about.

Honestly, they are so kind to be such giving and inviting hosts, but I am trying desperately to find a place to go quickly. At Ayala’s house, letting me live there for a while would be no big deal because I’m out of the way and can give them all their space. Here, my presence is imposing, and as nice as they are, I feel like I’m a really overwhelming burden. So today my mission is to explore Hertzelia and find a Hostel or talk with the Jewish agency about putting me in the absorption center early.

 

 

Yesterday, Irit said something and Ayala laughed at her and said, “I’d think twice about that. No, don’t… Eh, Don’t think twice.” Then she looked away and said, “It’s alright.” Took me a second to realize, but she was referencing a great Bob Dylan song. Jeff, I don’t know if you’ll read this, but I thought of you and how much you’d like her. Really a great person. And she digs Dylan and reads the Hitchhikers Guide, so she’s right up your alley.

Alright, I’m going to Skype a bit, and then it’s off to town. Hope everyone’s well.

Ayala calls me a חנפן, which is the hebrew way to say I'm a kiss-ass mama's boy. I disagree... but this is me with her mom, Ariela Kerekesh.

Mind the Gap, Dude

To all friends and family that I was unable to connect with over the phone before my departure: I am very sorry I didn’t get to talk to you. I tried to return as many phone calls/messages as I could, but at the end of the day, I just couldn’t get to it all. Also, I got tired.

I’ve landed in London, although I don’t depart for Tel Aviv for another 6 hours and 50 minutes. The flight was gnarly–thanks to some miles and some love, I was in a chair that reclined almost all the way into a bed, drinking wine and watching, on my personal tv screen, ”The Green Mile” (good call, Kels) and some episodes of The Office (The Secret, Traveling Salesmen, The Return, and Product Recall) amidst my several cat naps. I know it sounds terribly stressful, but I found it surprisingly relaxing.

Some quick things I’ve noticed about London, just by walking through the airport:

   1.  Everything is retarded-expensive. I’m pretty sure you have to pay 3€ just to pee in this airport, which is approximately $25 (I was a music major. The math’s not right, but you get my drift.)

   2.  The keyboard for this computer is stupid. There are odd letters, like this strange L/F thing (£) and crazy =E symbol (€). I’m guessing they’re code for something, probably national security related. Seriously though, the dollar sign is sooo much more badass than this crap.

   3.  Ok this is a real one. I’m really not an idiot, so I know that different countries have different methods of providing electricity to household appliances; I get that the wall sockets in each country are different. But the crazy Brits have about 40 different sockets–wtf?? There are the two rectangle things, the two rectangle things with a perpendicular rectangle above them, the two omega-shaped sockets, and random holes all over these walls. Do you think British people know how to distinguish each one? Or is it possible that only a couple of these things are real, and the rest are just randomly placed along the wall to confuse and disorient idiot foreigners?

   4.  It smells funky in London. Like sweaty people who haven’t srecently bathed. To be fair, though, I’m pretty sure it’s me that smells funky. The smell follows me around, I’ve been sitting on an airplane for almost 11 hours, and I have, for weeks, refused to wear deodorant. (kidding…but seriously, it’s time for a shower.)

I get in to Tel Aviv tomorrow morning at 5:30AM, which is 7:30PM Sunday, Los Angeles time. My friend, Ayala, and her friend, Lila, are picking me up from the airport, and after that I have no clue what’s happening. When I’ve figured out my life, I’ll let everyone know whats up. Hope yall are well.