Who, moose?

A new direction...

2006-09-28T08:08:00.001-07:00

Coming soon, new thoughts and new directions. From me. About homeownership and the tribulations of opening a business in Philadelphia. It's like living in Israel, but in no way, shape, or form.

High Anxiety After a Return to the Bedoin Tent

2006-02-19T21:20:00.000-08:00

I've officially become that which I hate more than anything else in the world (no Mom, I haven't become a Muslim (no, reader, I don't hate all Muslims- just Palestineans, Iranians, and the stubborn few Iraqis who just can't stop hating freedom)): a non-blogging blogger. Cyberspace is clogged with so much useless, redundant, non-pornographic idiot-spout that I'm truly ashamed of my stagnant Internet real estate which has been bereft of even the most purfunctory update for nearly two months. I feel like I've regarded my blog with the same attention and respect that Americans regard the Winter Olympics.

Begin digression here:

And can you think of anything more talked up but less cared about than the Olympics? Especially the Winter Olympics? I mean, countries spend millions of (insert your country's currency here)s to try to curry favor with the Olympic Selection Committee to get their city chosen, and then the "lucky" chosen city spends like a billion (again, insert appropriate currency here)s to ready itself for the influx of tourists and , of course, the luge competition. Okay, my Mom watches the figure skating, but does anyone watch anything else? What is the skeleton? The only reason I've heard of the event is because the coach is a drunk or a child molestor or something. And curling? In college a couple of friends and I wanted to start a club curling team, but once we read the rules and discovered alcohol, this plan went out the window pretty rapidly. Can you fathom that there are people in the world who train in this event? Winning the gold in curling is like winning the "Most Likely to Become a Podiatrist" award in High school. Do these "athletes" try to impress people at parties? "You know, I'm a world-class curler. No, it's the sport where we push the stone down the ice, then try to shave the ice just so it gets as close as possible to the bulls-eye... wait, where are you you going?" It's a travesty that these people are on television. It's like televising the shuffleboard championships at the Easy Pine Home for the Elderly, but without the hope of a broken hip adding some excitement to the action.

And I can say without any doubt in my mind that by the time the Olympics are over, one of the more important players on the Flyers will hurt himself badly, severely compromising any chance the Flyers might have had of winning the Stanley Cup. Peter Forsberg, I know you're a regular reader, so please take my advice and just come home. Your groin, along with all Flyers fans, will be tremendously grateful.

In other news, I just got back from staffing a ten-day Birthright trip which was preceded by three and a half days in the States. I didn't tell my folks I was coming home. They wept. It was awesome. Birthright was pretty great also. The group was a lot of fun, I was horribly ill for five days in the middle, and I fed an alpaca.

So now I've started back up with Ulpan in the mornings, it looks like I might do some office-type work for my Birthright tour operator, and I'm going to be doing some catering gigs also. Busy busy busy. Annie just went to the States for a ten-day trip, so I'll be keeping myself occupied (like the West Bank!) here doing things like watching movies, commentating on the Olympics in my blog, and resolving the Israeli-Palestinean conflict.

And it's looking like I'll be coming home for good on the 28th of March. Philadelphia is the expected landing point, with some interesting opportunities still crystalizing. Ooh, mysterious.

Don't say it, Mr. Trump!

2005-12-25T15:07:00.000-08:00

My working ordeals have been somewhat well documented in this space, but things took a turn for the strange this week. To review: I got a job at a couple of places, decided to take one place over the other because I was going to work in the kitchen, trained there, was suspended from work pending acquisition of a work visa, and resumed working there after three weeks. Since resuming work, however, my place of work had relatively few customers and I was receiving relatively few shifts. In addition, there was a new manager, rendering all of my previous training invalid, but I was never exactly retrained. So I go into work this week, and I’m told, in Hebrew, that in the time that it took me to get my work visa, they hired other people, and they didn’t really need so many people, so it would be best if I didn’t work there anymore. Actually, the guy could have told me that I was a bad person and a terrible worker, but since I got fired in Hebrew, I’m relating things as I understood them. Let’s say I’m about 70% confident in my first explanation. This was actually okay with me, because I was dreading every shift at this place, and was kind of planning on quitting anyway. I guess this just made the decision that much easier.

So now what?

Well, since my shifts were so few in number the past couple of weeks, I’d already been considering the possibility of additional time on my hands. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been volunteering a couple of mornings a week for an organization called Livnot Ulehibanot. They send their volunteers to a soup kitchen, or to paint/repair the homes of the needy. So that’s been a good time, and I’ve met some very nice people doing it. Plus, I learned the Hebrew word for spackle. It’s “spatchtell.” Don’t you just want to say it over and over? “Spatchtell.” And, as in English, it’s both the verb and the noun. “Say, would you mind passing the spatchtell?” or “Just spatchtell right there, where you see that gaping hole in the wall,” or, less correctly, “That was a fine example of professional spatchtelling, until you came in and f’ed it up” Really, learning that word is probably one of the top five things that’s happened to me since I’ve gotten here. Which I guess says a lot, but not necessarily anything good.

I’ve also begun looking for other work, but in an entirely non-desperate way. Through Janglo (the Yahoo group where English-speaking Jerusalemites post anything from garage sale announcements to advice requests about infants with severe gas), I’ve found several part-time professional leads that could be financially if not spiritually rewarding. If I really wanted to ruin my time here, I’d work with IDT. IDT is a call center about thirty minutes from where I live that has all sorts of jobs for native English speakers, with hours either from four in the afternoon til midnight or from midnight til seven in the morning. I like sleep. So I don’t think I’ll be doing that.

Finally, I’ve talked to a couple of organizations about being a counselor for a short-term Israel trip. I don’t know why I didn’t think to apply for something like this sooner, since the vast majority of these trips are taking place in the next month and a half. But I’ve found some quality leads, and I’m confident something will come of this.

By the way, Merry Christmas. Classic “I live in Israel” moment, courtesy of Joel Seltzer. Earlier this week, for Fantasy Football purposes, he was looking at the NFL schedule, and saw that almost all of the games were being played on Saturday. He couldn’t figure out why. It took him half a day before he realized that today, Sunday, was Hag HaChristmas. And honestly, you can’t blame the guy. Unless you watch non-Israeli TV stations (recommended, actually), or decide to take a quick jaunt to Bethlehem, you’d have no idea that it was Christmas. In the States, y’all are being bombarded by the “Holiday” spirit, while fighting in the trenches of the War of Christmas, while here in Israel, I was at the mall last night and the only indication of the holiday was a drunk guy walking around in a Santa hat and beard.

We have so many guests coming here in the next couple of weeks, I can’t even keep track of everyone. And that’s not counting the dozen or so people who I know who are here, but I don’t know that they’re here. So if you’re here, and I don’t know you’re here and you want to split a sufgania or something, let me know.

And one more thing: Sufganiot. The traditional Hanukkah jelly-filled donut that brings cheer to all the boys and girls in Israel. Is. Totally. Gross. I’ve probably tried a dozen of these things, and I’ve been unable to finish a single one. There is never enough jelly. There is always immediate heartburn. I keep trying them because people gush about them, and I’m trying to figure out whether it’s a national practical joke on me, or whether people are just ignorant of the superiority of a Krispy Kreme jelly donut, or even (and this is hard for me to type) a Dunkin Donuts jelly donut. Or do Israelis just have digestive tracts of steel? Are you supposed to pop a dozen Tums first? Can someone explain this to me?

And to all of my Jewish readers, a very happy Chanukkah / Hanukkah / Channukkah / Hanuka / Chanuka / Hannukka / etc / etc / etc.

How quiet things are...

2005-12-21T03:00:00.000-08:00

I've been wanting to post for awhile, but there's been so little going on. I've been working at the Cafe, but shifts have been infrequent and the patrons have been few in number. I tried to get a different job in a fancy hotel, only to be thwarted by the Israeli Bureaucracy. I've still got some other options, but I'm wondering whether gainful employment is ever going to be possible for me here. Sigh.

Annie's family is here, which has been very nice. Yesterday, we went to Ariel, one of the largest settlements in the West Bank. We got a tour from the mayor. It's a nice town, but the mayor's an insane person. The politics involved with settlements are a whole other blog post that I just don't have the strength to pen right now. After Ariel, we went to dinner in Yafo, and the power went out as the food was arriving. Good times.

Last weekend, we rented a car and travelled to Machtesh Rimon, a huge crater in the south of Israel with inspiring views and awesome desert hikes. We climbed a mountain, then we climbed down the mountain. On the way to Machtesh Rimon, we stopped in Abu Ghosh, an Arab village just west of Jerusalem, famous for its hummus. You know how you buy hummus in the store, and some flavors are Hummus Abu Ghosh, and the hummus has this red stuff in the middle that tastes kind of spicy, but you otherwise can't place the taste? Yeah, that stuff comes from Abu Ghosh. And let me tell you, they know from hummus there too. Just awesome. The restaurant we ate at was owned by a man who had moved to Illinois, and then won the lottery, came home with his $30 million, and opened up a restaurant. There are newspaper clippings of him all over the place. Good reading material while stuffing one's face with hummus.

But enough about the hummus.

Okay, just one more thing. I want to learn to make hummus before I leave. And I'm not talking about filching a recipe from the Internet and mucking around. I want to watch the pros do it. Then come back to America as the hummus king.

This post was only marginally better than the lame Thanksgiving post. I promise, the next time something exciting / hilarious takes place, I'll be sure to make fun of it. And maybe one day I'll write about politics, but that will be a low day indeed for not just myself, but for the entire Jewish people.

Bah, I'm not even going to edit.

The Israeli Bureaucracy: Not so bad after all?

2005-12-04T06:22:00.000-08:00

I know that the minute I post this, I'll get some phone call invalidating the title of this post, but what the hell, I'm feeling lucky after my experience today.

For those not carefully following along, last week a kind soul named Yuchi granted me an appointment at Misrad Hapnim to get a work visa, without which I've been unable to work. My appointment was set for 12:45 this afternoon; forty-five minutes after the office closed. Now, in any other country, this might have sent up a red flag, but in Israel, for whatever reason, I didn’t even think to question the logic. Just to be on the safe side, though, I arrived a full hour early. When I entered Misrad Hapnim, I mused to myself "this is exactly what it's like in hell," somehow appreciating this fact in a way that I hadn't in my previous visit. I walked into the door, and made it about a step and a half before I was nearly decked by a tall black-hatted man rushing in one direction while almost having my legs taken out by a three-year-old looking boy going in the opposite direction. I waited on a "line," which was more a clump than anything else, with people consistently pushing to the front and harassing the lone woman at the front desk. I decided that this woman probably has the worst job in Israel, which might explain why she only has to work four hours a day. By the time I'd “gently elbowed” my way to the front of the clump, the poor woman was as much as the end of her rope as she was at the end of her shift. She was very nice to me though, telling me that I shouldn’t have waited on this “line” at all, and that I needed to take a seat in the next room. As I walked through the clump to get to the corridor to the next room, it smelled like poopie pants.

Finally able to move and breathe freely, I made my way to the visa waiting room, which was packed with mostly Anglo English speakers from workers from the Philippines. I found a place to sit and opened up my book, expecting to be called at some point in the approaching two to four hours. You can imagine my surprise when I heard my name called at 12:46, a mere minute after my appointed time. I sat down with Dalia, who was exceptionally friendly and helpful, but never smiled at any point during our twenty minutes of interaction. Apparently, I had all of my documents in order, and surprisingly, the requirement to bring two pack mules as tribute to the Israeli Bureaucracy is no longer binding for people seeking work visas. So if anyone needs a couple of pack mules, just let me know (By the way, I'm pretty proud of myself for resisting the overwhelming urge to make an ass joke there. You know you were just waiting for it, and there's a part of you that still wishes it had been there, but there's a larger part of you that appreciates my shunning of predictability there). Dalia asked me to fill out a green form, typed some stuff into a computer, had to get her supervisor to sign off on my visa (I was surprised that she only needed one additional person to approve my visa), and before I knew it, I was walking out of the office with an official Israeli work visa. I'm still kind of in shock.

There is still the matter of seeing whether the cafe that wanted to employ me a couple of weeks ago has given away my job, but for the moment I'm just content to bask in the glow of my work visa. I don't even think I would care if they found someone else. Plus, with legal permission to work, my options are wide open now. So thank you Israeli Bureaucracy, for (can't believe I'm thinking this, let along committing it to print) making my life easier and better, in a not terribly bureaucratic or obnoxious way. Okay, now I'll be struck by lightning or spontaneously combust or something like that, so if you don't see any more posts, you’ll know what happened.

In other news, I've decided that I haven't given up on the Eagles' season yet (officially confirming either incredible stupidity or brutal masochistic tendencies), and I'll be waking up at 4am on Tuesday morning to watch them come incredibly close to upsetting the Seahawks, only to fall "Kevin Dyson in Super Bowl XXXIV" short. So there that is.

In other other news, lots of people are coming here soon. We're excited.

And finally, I've written this entire posting on my porch. It's December 4th, and it had to be like 80 degrees out today. This is great news for people who live here, and all but guarantees that the weather will be atrocious for every minute that we have visitors. Sorry in advance.

Israeli Bureaucracy II: A New Hope

2005-11-29T18:30:00.000-08:00

I began my last entry with an unintentional falsehood, and in the interest of full disclosure, I feel it my duty to clear things up. I stated, only two days ago, that as of then, I had absolutely nothing to do. I then proceeded to explain how I needed to acquire a work permit, which would qualify as "something to do," under International law. I apologize for any embarrassment that my friends or family might feel as a result of this non-truth coming to light, and I know that, as I atone for it for the next ten to fifteen seconds, I have a strong support system behind me. I will get through this, no matter how hard the road ahead appears to be. I thank you in advance for your understanding, and may God have mercy on all of us.

Ahem.

Okay, NOW I have absolutely nothing to do. At all. And I mean it. And here's why.

On Sunday night, I was invited to a get-together in honor of a friend who finished a tractate of Mishna. I think. Okay, I wasn't paying much attention to that part, I just knew that a bunch of people were getting together to celebrate something Jewish, despite the fact that it wasn't a Jewish holiday. Future Rabbis reading this, please feel free to comment and explain exactly what I attended. But the point is, while at this party for a Jewish cause at a meat-eating-extravaganza restaurant, I met someone who had recently gone through the process of acquiring a work visa in Israel. From her, I learned that I, indeed, needed an additional letter from someplace in Jerusalem I'd never heard of, along with an official stamp, before I could actually get a work permit. I am so very thankful I met her, as she certainly saved my ass big-time.

So it's Monday morning. And instead of going to Misrad Hapnim, as I'd been planning since 1:03pm the previous day when I discovered it closed, I made my way to Misrad HaSochnut, the Jewish Agency. I was supposed to meet a man named Tziki. When I arrived at 9:01, I learned that Tziki was off, but his assistant, Damian, could help me. I stuck my head in his office, noticed that he was on the phone, and patiently sat around the corner, waiting for his call to wrap up. A minute later, a woman in her mid thirties came into the waiting area where I was sitting, stuck her head into Damian's office, and a minute or so later, as I heard him hanging up the phone, I heard her go into her spiel on why she needed help. Not wanting to cause a scene, I waited twenty minutes until they were through. But can you believe the chutzpah? Actually, in Israel, yes. Yes you can.

Once I got into Damian's office, it was about 9:30, and it seemed like things would go pretty quickly. He looked at the letter from my Rabbi that indicated my Jewishness, did a Google search of my Rabbi's name, saw that he exists, and stamped the letter from the Rabbi. This made some sense to me, as I guess the Jewish Agency is verifying the verification that I am Jewish. Let's not get into whether Googling someone proves their existence, let along their knowledge of my Jewishness. Next, he put together a letter for me, which serves a function that continues to escape me. It has my name, my address, my phone number, my passport number, and a stamp from this office. I figured that it was just one more bureaucratic step that was required in this involved, unfortunate process, and I was just happy that I knew that I had to go to this office in the first place. So he finishes typing the letter, and he hits the print button, and the paper jams. He tries about thirteen or fourteen more times, and the paper jams every time. You can tell he's getting a little exasperated and embarrassed by the eighth or ninth time. I ask if I can help, and on the first try, I get the paper to go through. Only he'd been abusing the ten-year old printer for the previous ten minutes, and when I finally got paper to go through, the damn thing printed an HP demo sheet. And then it did another one. And then jammed again. I struggled to get the thing unjammed, and finally got the letter to print. But he was out of black ink, so you couldn't read a single word on the thing. In the meantime, he'd moved on to doing other work around the office, despite the fact that we were in the middle of a conversation and there were three people waiting for him. When I showed him that he was out of ink, he tried to email the file to himself, only there were no other computers in the office with both email and a printer. Then he tried to put it on a USB stick, but the stick wouldn't work. Then we sat in his office and looked at each other for a while, with him alternating between apologizing every couple of minutes that things weren't working and pretending that he was trying to make things work. After twenty minutes of this, someone appeared across the hall and opened Tziki's office. We went in there, printed the letter out lickety-split, and I was out of there faster than you can say "Falafel, hold the tachini." In truth, it probably took longer than that to get out of there. It was on the 14th floor. Anyway, by this point it was 10:30.

I went to Misrad Hapnim, only about a 10-minute walk away, and waited on line to make an appointment. I got to the front fairly quickly, and was "informed" that I needed to make an appointment over the phone between 10:00am and 2:00pm, and was given the appropriate number. I tried to call for about five minutes, and the line was busy. I later learned why the number is always busy, but we're not there just yet. I started walking around the massive office, looking for someone to help me skirt the rules. I turned a corner and saw my friend Roseanne waiting on line outside the door of the office of Yuchi, the Director of Visas. She had a similar, but somewhat more complex problem, and also needed help from someone high up. She recommended that I go speak to Nava, the Manager of Visas, in an office down the hall. She had started with Nava, and had been sent to Yuchi when Nava was unable to help. Thinking my problem simpler and possibly more within Nava's realm, I waited outside her door for fifteen minutes until the desperate person who had been begging for help emerged, and I went in with my most charming smile. I got five or six words out before Nava said to me, in one of the less friendly tones I've heard, that she had no time for me, and that I needed to speak with Yuchi.

So now it was time to wait for Yuchi. And wait I did. I was fifth on line, and waited for an hour and a half or more. Someone was in there for half an hour. I heard shouting. Maybe some crying, too? There was also an angry American guy walking around the office, cursing at the employees, who seemed to need some visa help. After I'd been waiting an hour, he walked up to Yuchi's office, knocked on the door, and barged in on her and someone else. Now, I'm sure this guy had a very important problem, and I'm also sure that no one helped him because he acted like such a colossal jackass to everyone. Finally, after considering leaving several times, I made it into Yuchi's office. We spoke for two minutes. I told her my story. She told me she would see what she could do. I followed her into the next room, and couldn't believe what I saw there. It was one woman with a headset, and a huge appointment book. That's right, one woman. Hundreds of people calling every day, trying to get an appointment for their visas, and there is a single (grumpy) individual who answers the phone for four hours a day. And when she speaks to people, and makes them their appointments, she scribbles their appointments in a huge, handwritten binder. My mouth agape, I watched Yuchi open the book to the front, find a space on the margin on page three for December 4th, and write my name and phone number. And that was it. In her office, out of Misrad Hapnim in eight minutes, appointment for six days later in hand. It was a little after one in the afternoon. There went my plans of sitting at Misrad Hapnim every day for a week until someone helps me, leaving me, as stated earlier, with nothing to do at all.

Weeee!

Now the question on my mind is whether I get the visa on the day of my appointment, or whether I'll need to come back for it several months later or something ridiculous like that. The Israeli Bureaucracy was easy on me this time, but there is little doubt in my mind that the moment I let my guard down, it will take me out. It's just a matter of time...

The Israeli Bureaucracy Strikes Back, Part 1

2005-11-27T19:40:00.000-08:00

Today I began my first day of 100%, unadulterated nothing to do.

On Thursday I graduated from Ulpan, taking a test that, as far as I could understand, meant nothing. We began preparing for this test a month ago, and it's all we've been talking about for two weeks. We've taken a couple of practice tests, we've done exercises to simulate sections on the test, and we've discussed strategies for conquering each section in a timely manner. It was a couple of days ago when I decided to ask my teacher, the fabulous Zmira (To be clear, I added the "fabulous" part. She is, in fact, fabulous, but doesn't go around calling herself "The Fabulous Zmira" like a magician or an attraction at the circus or something like that.), what the test meant. The conversation, translated into English and summarized, follows:

Me: So, Zmira, why does this test matter exactly?
Zmira: It's for us to know when our students pass to the next level of Ulpan.
Me: Okay, but don't you know when your students are ready to move to the next level?
Zmira: Sure, but the country requires that we give the test. It's the same test that the department of education gives to every Ulpan in the country. There are students all over the country taking this test at the same time.
Me: So how do you know when students are ready to move to the next level?
Zmira: It's based on your score on the test.
Me: What score do we need to move on to the next level?
Zmira: You need to do as well as you possibly can.
Me: And I will, I promise, but what is the minimum score that I should shoot for?
Zmira: The best score you can get!
Me: But what number means I pass?
Zmira: 65.
Me: All I need is a 65?
Zmira: No, you need to do as well as you can.
Me: But why have we been preparing so much if all we need is a 65?
Zmira: Because YOU need to do much better than 65. That's not nearly the best you can do.
Me: Fine. I'll do the best I can. How do I find out my score?
Zmira: You don't, actually. You just find out whether you pass. You'll get a certificate.
Me: So I'm supposed to do as well as I can, but won't actually find out how well I did?
Zmira: Right!
Me: So does anyone find out how I did?
Zmira: Well, the ministry of education finds out. And we know the average scores of our students. We're running out of time, we have to move on to the review of changing passive verbs to active verbs now.
Me: But...
Zmira: The book WAS read by Shmuel. Shmuel...

And so class continued without my questions really being answered. Here's what I've decided must be the case: We take these standardized tests and based on our scores, Ulpan teachers receive bonuses and/or different Ulpans get more or less Federal money. These are the only reasons I can think of that would justify our teacher pushing us so hard to succeed on a test that we could all easily pass after a night of heavy drinking, or after slamming our heads in a car door a couple of times. If you have another possible explanation, I'd be glad to hear it.

In the two practice tests, I got an 85, then I got a 90. I figured that with no study at all, I would get between an 85 and a 92. With hours of intense study, I determined that I would probably get between an 86 and a 94. And no matter how much I studied or didn't study, I wouldn't find out how I did anyway. So my studies weren't exactly dedicated, but I feel pretty confident that I passed. The great news: I didn't even have to experience any head trauma beforehand. The better news (well, maybe not better, but...): Even if I didn't pass, none of it matters, because the Ulpan at Beit Canada, where I've been learning since I got here, only goes up to the level I've almost certainly passed with the completion of the meaningless test. So if I want to go study at another Ulpan, they're just going to give me their own test, making the pointless test that I just took take on a whole new level of uselessness. Thank you Israeli Bureaucracy!

Speaking of Israeli Bureaucracy, I'm not working right now (which is why I'm currently doing a whole lot of nothing). In order to work, I need a work permit. To get a work permit, I need: My passport, a letter from a place that wants to hire me saying that they want to hire me, proof that I am a Jew, health insurance, multiple passport photos, one of Randall Cunningham's shoelaces from the 1988 season, a burlap sack, and any eight-track tape. I have all of these things, I swear. I have to take this collection of items to an office downtown called Misrad HaPanim that only helps people if they make an appointment weeks in advance. I have not made any such appointment. My plan is to show up and beg for their help, and to continue to show up every day until they help me. Figure some person will not be able to make it for some appointment at some point, right? Today was Day One of my quest to get legal permission to work. I showed up at Misrad HaPanim at 1pm. They had been closed for the day since noon. Can you believe this? They're open four hours a day, from 8am til 12pm, except on Wednesdays, when they're open from 2pm til 5:30pm. Wow, they really have to tough it out that day when theysuffer through a three and a half hour work day. There must be some very hardworking people in that office.

I can't wait to meet them tomorrow morning.

Thanks full ness

2005-11-23T11:46:00.000-08:00

On this day before a day that's meaningful in no way out here and is, in fact, based upon some pretty iffy history, I offer my thanks to you for reading this blog, whether out of a desire to while away the hours at work or out of a genuine desire to keep tabs on me.

Coming soon: The Israeli Bureaucracy Strikes Back as I try to get legal permission to work here. Stay tuned...

Give me my money back, you bitch!

2005-11-14T07:37:00.000-08:00

I've come to the conclusion that men in Israel shop at exactly one store (it's called FOX), and they've purchased all of the black short sleeved t-shirts in the country.

So I got a job. Actually, I got two jobs, but I'm still working up the courage to reject a job offer in another language. The first job offer came from a cafe down the street. They are in need of waiters, and I was in need of employment, so it seemed to be a good fit. Something that I've come to better understand through this process, though, is that it's completely critical to nudge people in this country if you ever want anything to happen. To wit, the first time I stopped by the cafe, I left my name for the manager and I was promised that he would call me in short order. A week later, without hearing from him, I returned to the cafe and asked to speak with him. I exchanged four words with him and learned that he was far too busy to speak with me at that time, but received assurances that I would be hearing from him that night. Now, in America, if you reach this point, you wait around for a few days, expecting a phone call that will almost certainly arrive. In Israel, it seems, that call just doesn't come. Ever. So the next day I decided I would drop by to see whether the manager had time for me. I waited a bit, then we talked things over (him in fluent Hebrew, me in somewhat less fluent Hebrew), and he said he needed to think it over and that he'd get back to me. I gave him the benefit of a day and a half before I showed up again. He said that I got the job, but he couldn't give me any details then. He promised to call me. When I came back later that afternoon, he found time to talk to me and told me that he needed a waiter, and asked me if I thought my Hebrew was up to par. Without thinking, I ironically replied in broken Hebrew that it wouldn't be a bit of an issue. The lesson here is that persistence to the point of what we in America consider obnoxiousness is not only NOT considered impolite, but it's pretty much a required way of life.

A few days later, on the day my training was set to begin, I spent an afternoon on a quest for the aforementioned black t-shirt (the standard cafe uniform 'round these parts). My first stop was the Mega Mall, named for the mega-sized Mega market in the basement. I went into a number of stores, and found only FOX selling a selection of men's clothing. I spent 20 minutes going through their shelves trying to find a plain black shirt. To no avail. I then ducked my head into a handful of other stores that I couldn't immediately identify from the outside as to whether they sold men's clothes in addition to women's clothes. When I couldn't make a clear decision after four to six seconds, I bolted. Yes, I could have asked, but I'd have been embarassed to ask such a question in my native language, let alone in Hebrew where I'm finding that I stutter lately when I speak to Israelis. For the next couple of hours, this scene repeated itself in two other malls and a couple of discount stores. I finally found my black t-shirt in a store that I nearly walked out of before spotting men's underwear on my way out. Honestly, I probably went into 20 stores, and no more that four of them sold men's clothing. I never thought I'd have a stronger urge for the simplicity and clarity of choice presented in a place like the Gap. Ugh, typing that last sentence made me throw up in my mouth a little. And hey, re-reading it had the same effect. Try it at home, kids!

Later that afternoon, a couple of hours before I was set to begin my training, I stopped by a different cafe where I remembered seeing a sign that they were looking for people. I asked for the manager, had an interview, and within eight minutes I was scheduled for a week of training starting this past Saturday. I am assuming that this is the rare circumstance in Israel where desparation on the part of the employer trumped the standard persistence challenges. In this place, everyone does everything, but everyone starts in the kitchen. Which is okay by me. Shortly after I walked out of the second cafe, I got a call from the first cafe asking if I could reschedule my training for a later date. Done and done. Have I talked to cafe #1 since? Not exactly. I know, I have to get on that.

As for cafe #2, I've worked two nights of training, and I'll save any observations for a time when I've gotten a little better feel of the place. But it's going good so far.

In other news, my visa expires in a month, and I have to figure out somewhere to go. It has to be inexpensive, not too cold, and yes, I've already ruled out Jordan.

In other other news, if the Eagles don't come through for me when I wake up tomorrow morning at 4am to watch them play, I may consider a boycott for the rest of the season. But don't hold me to that.

And finally, the avalanche of visitors in only about a month away. If you're coming to visit, drop me a line and let me know when you'll be here, what you like on your falafel, etc. We'll make sure we do it right.

Bucking Broncos, et al.

2005-11-01T12:27:00.000-08:00

Let's just say that I pulled myself away from the Internet radio broadcast and went to sleep mid-way through the 2nd quarter the other night, and it's a decision I don't regret. I'll admit, I did wake up occasionally over the course of the night, imagining a miraculous comeback and another unbelievably sweet, utterly undeserved victory. But it was not meant to be. Now what am I looking forward to? Next Sunday night's game against the Redskins. It will be on TV. At 4am. Horse shit.

As I was walking to Ulpan today, I discovered horse shit on the sidewalk. And it wasn't in a neat and tidy pile either. It looked as though several people had tracked through it, and to be honest, it didn't appear to be particularly fresh. And this isn't the first time this has happened, either. This brings me to an issue that should get much more press than it does in Israel and abroad: Shit all over the sidewalk. It's literally everywhere in this country. I imagine that American cities had a similar problem until fairly recently, when cities began enforcing strict fines for not curbing dogs. Either this concept hasn't yet arrived here, or no one cares about having shitty shoes all the time, but it's really getting on my nerves. I mean, walking at night on the sidewalk is a scary thing. I'm considering starting a grass-roots campaign. Okay, glad to have gotten that off my chest.

Another thing that's bugging me has nothing to do with Israel. What's the deal with this Alito nomination? It's all been said already. The President missing a great opportunity to unite with a moderate, the impending nuclear option debate, the real possibility that this could hamper a woman's right to choose in the near future. It goes on. So though I have nothing to add to the debate this minute, I just shake my head from afar about the whole thing. But for the good news, we're going to spend $7.2 billion dollars to fight the pandemic that may or may not come. And if you don't want to hunt down pandemics and kill them where they live and breed, then truly you hate freedom.

I've been on a bit of a seesaw in terms of finding a job here. Before I got here, I was told that I wouldn't need a work visa or citizenship to work here. I've learned, however, that a work permit is generally required by law-abiding employers and regulators tend to frown upon illegal workers. Then I also was told that acquiring a work visa was a difficult process, almost impossible for someone like myself looking for part-time work. Then I learned that getting a work visa is actually pretty easy, so long as your employer is willing to write a short letter to the appropriate government official. So as of now I'm actively looking for work. I have some good leads, and hope to be settled on something by early next week. It should be just in time to learn that the office that handles foreign work visas will be closed until February for renovations or something unfortunate like that.

On a more positive note, Annie started working this week. On an altogether neutral note, I really should get around to cutting my hair. On a less positive note, I can't seem to find blueberries in this country. Okay, I did find a bush not far from our place with berries that looked like blueberries, but I was afraid that they were poison. If I ate one poisonous berry, I'd probably live, right?

Sukkah the Hut

2005-10-20T04:56:00.000-07:00

There's a nip of autumn in the air in Jerusalem. Tuesday was the first morning that I awoke to cloudy skies and intermittent rainy weather.

For the uninitiated, the non-practicing, or the unaware, things have been awfully off in Israel recently, as everyone's life has been taken up by the "Haggim" or "Holidays."

Imagine if you will, a string of National holidays taking over a country’s collective consciousness for a solid three weeks. You know how, in America, there’s that one-week period between Christmas and New Year’s when schools are off and people tend to get a few days off from work? Now stretch that societal limbo over the period of three weeks. And it’s not like the August in France, where everyone just heads out of town for the month. People here not only participate in the celebrations, but thousands of tourists descend on the country, just to observe the holidays. So no one expects any business to get done, and kids haven’t started school yet. People try to make plans, and invariably yet another holiday celebration interferes, bollixing things up.

And suddenly, two weeks into this holiday period, restaurants, cafes, and hotels all over town start building small huts outside of their establishments. And this is literally all over town. Picture Manny Brown’s, Abilene, and Malokai’s blocking South Street foot traffic with little wooden huts with bamboo roofs so people can opt to eat and drink in the succah (the Hebrew word for the aforementioned huts), if it is their religious preference. Imagine all the Indian places in Central Square offering a lunch buffet in the succah while 1369 Cafe comes up with a special Succah Shake for the week. Chew on the image of your local Burger King putting up a hut next to the kiddie playground area.

Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Succot, are the holidays that have pretty much paralyzed Jerusalem for the past few weeks; a paralysis that will continue through next Thursday. Rosh Hashanah, a new years holiday that lacks both binge drinking and Dick Clark, was the Chag that most approximated my experiences in America. Over the course of two days, you're either praying or eating big meals. It's the type of thing where lunch and dinner merge into a massive late-afternoon meal where you eat so much you're tuckered out by 8pm. We were fortunate enough to be invited out for all three of the main Rosh Hashanah meals, and all were sumptuous feasts.

On the other end of the spectrum, Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, was a new experience. The best part about Yom Kippur, aside from the fasting which of course everyone loves and wishes happened more often, is the fact that the roads are almost entirely deserted. And this is, I should note, very different than the typical Shabbat in Jerusalem. Sure, most people don't drive in Jerusalem on Shabbat. But on Yom Kippur, it's totally empty, except for the police cars that drive around to prevent locals from throwing rocks at the less-than-wise people who decided that Yom Kippur was an opportune way to beat traffic. So instead of cars, the roads are full of kids on bikes, roller blades, scooters, and power-wheels. It's unreal and it's everywhere. All I'm saying is, I've never seen this on say, Rt. 70. Oh, and the fasting ended at 5:45pm. That's because Israel changes the clock back between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, making the fast so much more manageable. Seriously, easiest day of not eating ever. And then after we broke the fast, a bunch of us went out to celebrate Annie's birthday. Yes, her birthday was on Yom Kippur. No, I don't think it was as bad as one might expect. It was good times and maybe I'll even post some pictures someday.

Succot, the third of the Haggim, is the festival of huts or something like that. I kind of already described what Succot looks like, but the more relevant issue with Succot is the fact that it last for a week. The first day is the only day that's technically a holy day where no work is allowed, but over the rest of the holiday, business hours are hazy and many people go on vacation.

Thankfully / unfortunately, all of this comes to an end this coming Wednesday night, when we tack on one more holiday where we dance with Torahs. More on this next time.

We're going to Tel Aviv for the weekend, and there's a pretty good chance I'll actually be able to watch the Eagles game on Sunday.

And when are we going to see some indictments at the White House? Is anyone else as excited about this as I am?

Every time the Yankees lose a playoff series, an Angel gets its wings

2005-10-11T14:35:00.000-07:00

Hm, unintentional pun.

Keeping up with American sports while here in Jerusalem is not easy. To wit, I've only actually watched one Eagles game while I've been forced to listen to three games on the Internet.

On the one hand, Merrill Reese's smooth baritone trumps even the best Fox coverage by roughly one-thousand percent. Now that I think about it, I could probably be a better announcer than most of the guys on Fox; and the best part would be Tony Siragusa's guaranteed absence. Okay, Joe Buck probably does a better job than I could, but I ask, are there not ten-year-olds in America who could do better color commentary than Chris Collinsworth? And seriously, don't even get me started on Tim McCarver. And Dad, if you're reading this, I'm with you on the "John Madden is too distracted by thoughts of buffets to properly call a game" bandwagon.

Three channels broadcast NFL games in Israel. ESPN shows Sunday night football (live, at 3am) and Monday Night Football (also live, also in the dead of the night). METV shows a couple of games that are being broadcast on CBS in the states (roughly 1-2 Eagles games per season). Fox Sports shows a seemingly arbitrary 1pm Fox (NFC) game, but has thus far neglected to broadcast any 4:15pm games. And as luck would have it, the Eagles are playing a staggering eight late games on Fox this season. So unless anyone has any bright ideas, it's going to be me, Merrill, Mike Quick, and the Eagles, going late into the night together another six times. Sigh. And yes, I was listening to the game this week until 1:30ish, desperately hoping for an Arrowhead-like comeback that never arrived. Double sigh.

When I woke up this morning and had a little spring in my step. I guess my soul knew that the Yankees lost before I could read about it on ESPN.com. Such a shame to see two-hundred and six million dollars go to waste like that. Now the Angels can go and get smoked by the White Sox, which could set up a World Series of the oh-for-forever Astros vs. the aforementioned oh-for-the-last-eighty-something-years White Sox. As a Philadelphia sports fan, this moves me on the one hand, because I have a soft spot for hard-luck teams, but frustrates me on the other hand, because I'd have trouble rooting against either team. And as we all know, the only thing that compares to rooting for Philadelphia sports teams is rooting against non-Philadelphia teams for valid (they beat us last year) or inane (ugly uniforms) reasons. And all that being said, I probably won't see a minute of any of the baseball playoffs. Ah me.

Well, this had nothing to do with Jerusalem, or the fast approaching Yom Kippur, but I just needed to get this off my chest today.

Hm, another unintentional pun. Sorry.

Due to an unexpected error, Mozilla Firefox will now close

2005-10-10T17:25:00.000-07:00

And so I learned my lesson to never, ever attempt to blog for more than ten minutes without saving a draft of my entry. That’s two hours of effort down the drain.

To summarize the entry that might have been: We got to Jerusalem, eventually finding a place in Baaka. Getting an apartment took longer than anticipated, and our friends Joel and Eliana put us up for an entire week at their place. They are awesome people, despite Eliana’s allegiance to the Yankees, and we owe them more than a little bit of gratitude.

Our place is only one room, but it’s one fancy room. We’re in the attic of an old Arab house on a quiet street, but we’re very close to a number of supermarkets, coffee places, restaurants, and friends in Jerusalem. We have hardwood floors, whereas most floors in Jerusalem are high-school-hallway tile. Seriously, the outsides of the buildings here are made out of Jerusalem stone, and all the floors I’ve seen are made out of this ugly, grainy grey tile. It’s like all the Jerusalem contractors got together and decided they would put down the ugliest color imaginable inside buildings on all the floors, just for a bit of contrast. Anyway. We have a washer/dryer (uncommon in Jerusalem), central air/heat (less common in Jerusalem), and a Jacuzzi (are you kidding?). Yes, we have a Jacuzzi that also functions as the shower, and it doesn’t work right now. To clarify: The shower works, but the Jacuzzi function needs repairing. The place came fully furnished, and included dishes and cooking utensils. We have a porch that I’m sitting on right now that’s perfect for a group of 6-8 people. The previous tenant had allowed all of the plants to wither to near-death, so we’re trying to nurse some flora back to health. There are few drawbacks to the place. It’s a little small. The fridge could be bigger. The oven is actually a toaster on steroids. That’s all that really comes to mind.

Oh yeah, and the toilet is a little temperamental. We moved in on a Saturday night, and around 6:30 in the morning on Monday we were awoken to the sound of water rushing through our apartment. The toilet, at some point during the night, broke, and the tank filled well past the point of being full. We had about an inch of water over about half of the apartment and no electricity. The entrance to our place is actually on the 2nd story of our building, so we also had to sop up water inside our place and underneath, as water had leaked through our floor into the 2nd floor hallway. And did I mention that the circuit box was soaked? After a few hours and ten rolls of paper towels, things were mostly dry and I bravely flipper the breaker, giving us power once again. So in the end, just a minor annoyance and a couple of hours cleaning up water, right?

Well, not exactly. Two days later, when I tried to shower, there was no hot water. So I flipped the “dude chashmal” (In Israel, your water heater is located on your roof and is accompanied by a solar panel, known as a “dude shemesh.” It’s a brilliant way to save energy, as the sun gives you hot water in the summer, and in the winter, you can flip a switch inside (the aforementioned “dude chashmal”) to electrically heat your water), figuring that the water just needed an electric kick in the proverbial pants. The power went out. I went downstairs, flipped the breaker, tried the “dude” again, and the power went out again. So I took a very cold shower. When I left the apartment shortly thereafter, a downstairs neighbor was waiting for me and pointed out that we had a waterfall flowing from our apartment roof. We called the plumber and he explained that an electrical surge had caused the “dude” to “explode,” thus explaining the lack of hot water and the waterfall. By the end of the day, we had a new “dude,” but were still without power. As the plumber was leaving, we showed us that our electric meter had been holding about a liter of water, possibly explaining the sensitivity of the electricity since the flood. He assured us that once the meter had the chance to dry out, we’d have power again. We left for the evening, and when we came home at 10, we were still without power. The 24-hour electrician (do these guys exist in the US?) showed up rapidly but couldn’t help us and called the electric company to take a look. The guys from the electric company showed up around 12:30am and fixed whatever wire had atrophied from being under water for several days, and miraculously the power was back. Now our only reminder of the flood is slightly warped hardwood floor and the lingering concern that it could happen again. I think we’ve been largely drama-free since then, and we’ve been settling in the past couple of weeks.

I’m currently enrolled in an intensive Hebrew ulpan, where I’m learning the language five days a week, about five hours each day. I’m learning at an absorption center called Beit Canada (House of Canada) about 30 minutes from our place. I’m in a class of eight or so recent immigrants to Israel who hail from Argentina, Russia, Iran, and France. It’s amazing what a difference just a couple of weeks has made in my confidence speaking and understanding Hebrew.

I’ve also gotten a temporary, part-time job with a caterer, helping to prepare food for the Holidays. The other night I made gefilte fish for two and a half hours. Guh. Tonight, I think it’s shnitzel and meatballs. Hopefully, within a month or so, I’ll feel confident enough with my Hebrew to try to get a job in a restaurant or bakery. Annie is still finalizing her plans for organizations to work for, after interviewing with almost a dozen places. When she decides, I’m guessing she’ll blog about it.

In other news, the Eagles got killed by the Cowboys last night and I stayed up til 1am listening to the massacre on the Internet. I’m 0-4 in my Fantasy Football League. We switched to Standard time this past weekend, so I think it’s only a 6 hour time difference with the East coast of the US until whenever.

Want to visit? Northwest and American have very inexpensive fares for the end of December / beginning of January. I’m talking less than $650 round trip. So get over here! The pastries alone make it a worthwhile trip.

Wow, I still have to write about Rosh Hashanah. And I have some general observations about Jerusalem, Israel, etc. But this is a good start. Shanah tovah all!

A beginning of a retrospective that's already been forgotten a little

2005-09-29T14:43:00.000-07:00

Since my arrival here in this bizarre yet awesome country nearly two weeks ago, I feel like I’ve experienced much, accomplished nearly nothing, and eaten a metric ton of hummus. But it’s all good. Please read on as I relate the joys and sorrows of life as an unemployed, somewhat language-impaired American in Israel...

Annie and I arrived in Israel on the morning of Friday the 16th. Her cousins picked us up from Ben Gurion airport and shuttled us to their home in Netanya (the 4th largest city in Israel, but you’d never suspect that this is true). These are somewhat distant cousins of Annie's, but her mom studied with one of them at Hebrew U 25 years ago, so the bond is stronger than the actual relation might imply. My memory of our two days in Netanya is a little foggy (jetlag), but I am certain that hummus consumption began almost immediately and some serious napping took place within a few hours of our arrival. Our first Shabbat began that night and was decidedly un-Shabbatish, with Kiddush (NJN: blessing over the wine) at dinner being the only real difference from the norm.

On Saturday, Annie and I went to the beach. The water was bathtub-warm, and the sand was frat-party-packed. The beach at Netanya reminded me of a beach I visited in LA, with a large cliff separating the town from the beach, and with long and winding staircases providing the only access from one to the other. This might have been one of the best beaches I’ve ever visited. And I hate the beach.

A fun exercise: When spoken in an Israeli accent, the word “beach” sounds a whole lot like “bitch.” Reread the last paragraph and substitute appropriately.

On Saturday night, Annie’s friend Hannah (See link to: Hannah Rocks Jaffa) came to Netanya and we went to dinner. Hannah and Annie were roommates at Brown, and Hannah is in Israel on the same fellowship as Annie. We went to some Moroccan place and I had my first experience struggling with a menu written entirely in Hebrew. It was at about that time that it began to dawn on me that I’ve forgotten roughly 87% of the Hebrew I’ve learned in my life. Which is something of a problem, I guess, when you live in a Hebrew-speaking country.

On Sunday we took some of our stuff and caught the express bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem to begin a quest to find a place to live. We had gotten advice that a real estate agent could show us around and we figured that he could show us a number of places in rapid succession, which would in turn lead to a swift, decisive, and satisfying conclusion to our apartment hunt. Unfortunately, the agent that we visited only had two places to show us and they were both total crap. So we moved in with friends on a temporary basis, certain that the search for an apartment would come to a rapid end. I guess a week is a fairly brief search, and there are certainly those among us who would have been more than satisfied with said time frame, but for me it felt like a very long time...