How to Be Israeli

How to give gifts like an Israeli

2012-01-22T10:17:00.000+02:00

If you're at an Israeli wedding, don't look for a gift table... look for one of these.

In the US, gift-giving is something to agonize over. I'm pretty sure that half of the letters Dear Abby receives have to do with either how to ask for gifts in a non-tacky way, how to choose gifts in a non-tacky way, and how incredibly tacky it is when gifts are not properly recognized with thank-you notes in a non-tacky way.

Israelis, on the other hand, have no qualms about being tacky-- see, for example, the Israeli Wedding Dress. At the same time, Israelis definitely have social norms about how gifts should be given, though these social norms would make Dear Abby stuff her keyboard in her mouth.

First, gifts should always come with a gift receipt. ALWAYS. In the US, I think this is considered fairly optional and possibly tacky, but in Israel, a gift without a gift receipt is like hummus without pita. If you get a gift without a gift receipt in Israel-- especially one of candles and soap-- you can be pretty sure it was re-gifted. On the other hand, "registries" seem to be an unfamiliar concept here in Israel, so I guess gift receipts are really just a way to pick out your own gifts after the fact.

Second, gifts have a proper time and place. When your Israeli friend has a baby, do NOT throw her a surprise baby shower before the baby is born. Before the baby is born, its potential existence should only be noted with lots of spitting and references to the evil eye and "good hours." Most Israelis I know literally do not allow any baby furniture into their house until the baby has been safely delivered into a hospital bassinet-- they order what they want in advance and have it delivered during the mother's hospital stay. (Confession: we set up our crib and painted a mural on Nitsah's nursery wall months in advance. Tfu tfu tfu bli ayin hara!.) If you want to give a baby gift to an Israeli woman, bring it to the hospital or to her house in the weeks after the baby is born... with a gift receipt.

By the way, one proper time and place for a gift, according to Israelis, is when you get invited to someone's house for a holiday meal. We're not talking a bottle of wine... we're talking an expensive ceramic platter, a nice vase, a huge gift basket, a potted olive tree. All kinds of gift items go on sale around Passover and Rosh HaShana because Israelis are buying gifts for their holiday hosts. When I invited a huge crowd over for Thanksgiving this year, I got a hostess gift from every Israeli guest and few of the Americans, so this is why you should always make sure you have lots of Israeli guests. :)

Third, if you're going to an "eruah" (an event like a wedding, bar mitzvah, or brit), do NOT bring a gift-- just bring a checkbook. While Americans agonize over how to hint to their guests that, um, gifts of money would be great, thank you, Israeli event halls literally come with envelopes and lock boxes in which guests can deposit checks. In fact, there's a whole calculus involved in figuring out how much to give, based on your proximity to the wedding party and the cost of the event. If you throw an Israeli event, you can actually count on earning money off of the whole thing, which could explain the development of the "britta"-- not a water filter, but a brit for a girl, without any actual female circumcision involved.

Finally-- and this is where Dear Abby really loses it--thank you notes do not seem to be part of the Israeli event-gift-giving social norms. Either that or I have rude friends. ;) So, um, if you are one of the people who received a very late thank you note from me after my wedding seven years ago, maybe I was channeling my Israeli side early?

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I have a guest post today up on A Mother in Israel, telling a story more serious than the ones I usually post on this blog. I also wrote a post about baby poop for the parenting blog Offbeat Mama-- read at your own risk. :)

Nitsah's Birth Story, or How to Get Your Way When Dealing with Israelis

2011-11-16T12:44:00.001+02:00

First, a promise: I won't talk about mucus plugs, dilation, or enemas in this post.

Ok, maybe a little bit about dilation. But I'll really try to spare you what my husband calls the "gory details." (Though, for the record, the enema was AWESOME.)

I actually want to tell parts of my birth story on this blog to make a bigger point... how you can get Israelis to do exactly what you want. I'd heard so many birth stories from olim that centered around frustration with the hospital telling them what to do, like this horrific story about breastfeeding twins in an Israeli hospital from the amazing blog A Mother in Israel. I'd heard of people spending their birth on gurneys in hospital hallways, being yelled at by midwives, or having their babies disappear after birth for hours at a time.

But I got pretty much the natural birth and recovery I wanted, and I think this was partly due to good luck, but also partly thanks to my well-honed Israeli Wrangling Techniques. Yes, I freely admit that behind my big, innocent, I'm-an-olah-chadasha eyes lies a canny manipulator of sabras. (I have a bad feeling that this won't help me deal with my own little baby Israeli... I think she's already on to me.) Seriously, my Israeli-born husband lets me do the talking when we need to negotiate with someone or deal with particularly tough bureaucracy.

Israeli Wrangling Technique (IWT) #1: Don't ask "sheelot kitbag." Every oleh should be familiar with the concept of a kitbag question. The origin of the phrase goes like this: a group of tzahal soldiers are sold to run ten kilometers. One of them asks if they should carry their bags of gear with them as they run. Cue groans from all his fellow soldiers. If you ask, the answer is always yes! In dealing with Israelis, pick and choose the information that you share and the questions that you ask. Do ask questions about alternatives that Israelis might not bring up themselves.

When I arrived at Rambam hospital at 4 AM on Friday morning, we were told that a) I wasn't dilated at all, b) that they were very full and had no bed for me, and c) that I wasn't allowed to go home because my water had already broken. Rather than spend the next 24 hours in the Rambam hallway, I asked if I could go to a different hospital... and (here's the don't-ask-she'elot-kitbag part) didn't ask if I needed to get to that other hospital right away. They found that there were open beds in Carmel hospital, and let me go. I thought about going home anyway, but instead we went out for breakfast, walked around the block a few times, and finally checked in at Carmel about three hours later. I think I might have scared the cafe owner when I slumped over on his counter in the middle of a contraction, but it was all good. We also never asked if we were allowed to leave the birthing ward during all 20 hours of my labor in Carmel hospital... we just snuck out through a side door to walk the stairs. It is very, very often better not to ask. It is also very, very confusing to random janitors when they encounter massively pregnant women in the middle of contractions walking DOWN the stairs away from the birthing ward, but they deal with it.

En route to Carmel... very slowly.

IWT #2: Be persistent, and don't stop at "no." My husband might call this personal trait of mine "stubbornness" or perhaps "bull-headedness," but I prefer to think of myself as sweetly persistent. Rather like a kindly pit bull. So when the midwife at Carmel told me it was against their policy to let me stay in my own clothes during labor, I didn't rush to change into the hospital gown she offered. Instead, I explained that I was a lot more comfortable in my own dress, and yes, I knew it could get ruined, and was there any way I could do so? Nobody ever bothered me about what I was wearing again. In my experience, a "no" doesn't usually turn into a "yes"... it just fades away if you ignore it. Though wearing a gorgeous open-backed hospital gown might have made those stairway trips a little more interesting...

IWT #3: Smile and nod... then get a second opinion. This one I actually learned from my husband, and it's the best way to deal with Israelis who insist on giving you unwanted advice. This piece of advice also basically sums up the way I survived my pregnancy (and very literally, how Nitsah survived the pregnancy... but that's a story for another day).

Basically any time Nitsah cried when she was in the hospital, a helpful nurse would suggest that I didn't have enough milk... despite the fact that Nitsah was churning out dirty diapers faster than the hisardut. I spoke to my doula (who doubles as a lactation consultant), read my crazy but crazy-useful La Leche League guide to the "womanly" art of breastfeeding, and kept similac bottles far away from my baby. Three weeks later, Nitsah has depleted our life savings in newborn-size diapers and is rocking serious thunder thighs. We're so proud!

IWT #4: Remember that you control your actions. I think too many Americans will go along with what Israelis tell them to do and try to argue after the fact. But if you've already paid the arnona bill that you think is inaccurate, you're probably not going to get your money back. Instead, remember that very few people can actually force you to do anything.

This was a factor over and over in Nitsah's birth, from when doctors tried to get me to lie still on my back or screw an electrode into Nitsah's scalp while I was pushing so they could monitor me more effectively (no, thank you-- so long as I could see my baby's heartbeat from time to time, I was going to take the position that was most comfortable to me) to when my husband insisted on holding Nitsah as she got her first shots and changing her first diaper, despite the fact that Carmel's official policy is that all family members have to stay at the doorway of the infant ward. Unfortunately, now my husband will never let me forget that he showed me how to change a diaper... a fact that I feel should be outweighed by relative percentages of diaper changes post-hospital. :)

You can't control other people's actions, but you can always try... part way through my stay in Carmel, I was surprised when nurses suddenly switched from barging through my door and flipping on fluorescent lights to tapping gently and waiting for me to answer. Then I realized that my husband had taped this sign to my door:

Translation: Please knock and wait for an answer before entering! Please don't turn on lights. Thank you!

The sign stayed up until the next morning, when a hospital worker felt it interfered with her serious task of taking my lunch order, but it had a nice run.

IWT #5: Don't take it personally. When an Israeli yells at you, he's probably not even angry... he's just being emphatic. Smile, stay cool, and respond as if the Israeli had just called you "motek" or "chamudah" instead... which he probably will do in his next sentence. And ok, sometimes the Israeli IS mad at you, as when the doctor who tried to convince us to do internal monitoring stormed out of the room as my baby was crowning, but that's ok... he ended up leaving me in the care of an awesome midwife, so it was win-win.

Most important of all... IWT #6: Don't be confrontational. This is the biggest way in which I think Americans misread their interactions with Israelis. Americans tend to get very frustrated and aggressive when they think Israelis aren't behaving properly. But dealing with Israelis is Judo, not Karate-- you don't get what you want by striking your opponent straight on but by using his weight against him. So instead of being confrontational, agree with the person you're talking to as much as possible. Smile sadly. Thank them up and down for their help, and explain that you understand why this is so difficult for them. Then, use the magic words that the Israeli cantor at my parents' synagogue taught me before I made aliyah: "az ma anachnu yecholim la'asot?" So, what can we do? By "we," you mean yourself and the Israeli you're dealing with-- you've redefined your enemy as whatever-is-keeping-you-from-getting-what-you-want. By this point, you have confused the Israeli so much that he thinks he was on your side to begin with, and he'll help you work your way through the bureaucracy until you get your way and probably grant you special protectzia for the rest of your time together and invite you to his mother's house for Rosh HaShana.

Typically, you spend 48 hours in Israeli hospitals after giving birth. But Nitsah was born in the middle of the night on Saturday, and after we spent almost two full days in the hospital recovery ward, my husband, Nitsah and I were DONE-- we didn't want to wait until morning on Tuesday to go home. My husband asked whether we could go home early, but a nurse told him no. I went back and asked the nurse to explain the situation, as if that I didn't really understand what my husband had told me. I thanked her up and down for asking the doctor (even though I suspected she hadn't), explaining (apologetically, not angrily) that we were really tired and had been there almost 48 hours already, and I just thought I would sleep much better in my own bed. I thanked her again for trying so hard to help us, and asked her what we could do now? Is there anything I could do to help her convince the doctor to let us go early? She didn't give me an answer on the spot, but ten minutes later a nurse arrived at my room saying that the doctor could do a check-up on Nitsah to release her now. A few hours later my husband and baby were crashed together on the couch at home. :)

Before anyone asks, no, we don't fall asleep with her like this. But it's pretty darn cute when she falls asleep on her daddy's chest.

What strategies do you find useful when it comes to Israeli-wrangling? What are your Israeli birth stories?

More Israeli than I ever will be...

2011-11-10T22:01:00.006+02:00

Meet the newest Israeli in our household:

~~Inbal Osnot Hadas~~ Nitsah, born on October 22nd.

I look at her and think:

She will speak Hebrew without an accent. (Will she speak English without an accent?)

She will brave the Israeli school system, something I haven't had the guts to do. (I teach English online instead!)

She will serve in the army.

She will some day look at me and realize that I don't speak Hebrew as well as her friends' moms do, that our apartment doesn't look like other kids' apartment, that the way we cook and eat is "weird."

She will go the US only as a visitor. She'll probably have those quirks that I notice in the Israeli kids of Americans... they speak very good English but get idioms wrong, they know about Thanksgiving but aren't sure when Christmas is...

What books will I read aloud to her? What books will she read to herself? Will she still wear nothing but pink (thanks, hand-me-downs) when she is four? How soon will she be riding the streets on Yom Kippur, and will I be brave enough to let her careen around by herself?

But mostly I look at her and think: how beautiful, how bright. Right now she's mine, mine and my husband's, sleeping peacefully on my chest and speaking only in grunts. I wonder what it will be like to parent as an immigrant, if this will make her less mine as she gets older, if she will feel like she's foreign to me. Or maybe she'll pull me along with her, the ultimate lesson in how to be Israeli...

(Perhaps this is an even more interesting question... am I really thinking of re-starting my blog now that I'm already juggling work (sadly, teaching online means that I don't get to take advantage of the wonderful Israeli maternity leave) and care of a three-week-old???)

Signs you may be becoming more Israeli than you realized...

2010-12-09T20:42:00.000+02:00

I had one of these moments today. The inimitable (and hilarious) Benji Lovitt of What War Zone??? posted a picture of Jerusalem's weather report (rain!!) on his Facebook feed, and for a second I was really confused by it. Then I realized that I was trying to read it from right to left, so I couldn't understand why the "first" day listed was Tuesday.

So, in honor of that moment, here are a few signs you might have noticed that this whole "absorption" thing might be going better than you'd thought...

1. You see just one clove of garlic listed in a recipe and assume there must have been a mistake (and put in five cloves, just to be on the safe side).

2. You use "walla!" in conversation.

3. Someone asks your shoe size, and "41" is the first number that comes to mind. (Yes, that's really my European/Israeli shoe size. Even though I'm only 5'5" tall. Yes, I'm bitter.)

4. You think of the first rain as the sign that winter has arrived, not the first snow.

5. If someone serves you hummus, you automatically look for the pita to wipe it up with.

6. You find yourself singing along to a Mizrachi song.

7. You think instant coffee is a perfectly good morning drink.

8. You no longer look at the speedometer on your car and panic when you see a number over 90 (it's kilometers, people...)

9. Someone asks you for directions and you actually know how to answer.

10.The pro-Israel comments that your American friends post to their Facebook pages start to seem a little... naive. (Don't get me wrong, I'm very pro-Israel... but, well, it's much more complicated than that when you live here. A blog post for another day...)

11. When you pick up a Jewish book, you automatically try to read it from right to left.

12. The names "Inbal," "Elmog," "Dudu," "Hadas" and "Tal" no longer sound funny to you. Ok, so Dudu is still funny. As is any name paired with the last name פינס. Because we all have an inner fourth grader.

13. You can't think of the right word in English.

Have you experienced any of these moments? Which would you add to the list?

A tale of two fires...

2010-12-07T12:12:00.001+02:00

Our menorahs last year... this year I remembered to put down foil first!

Sorry I didn't post last week-- I hope I didn't make too many people worry that I was somehow injured in the Carmel fire. We could see the smoke from the forest fire on the Carmel mountain from our apartment, but we weren't personally impacted beyond spending way too much time watching TV news and calling up friends close to the affected areas to see if they needed to be hosted.

Still, the disaster hit close to home, literally. My husband ended up riding his scooter through the thick smoke of a smaller fire lit by arsonists. On the first day of the fire, he rode the train back from work with the hysterical girlfriend of a rescue worker and some shell-shocked prison guards who weren't sure which of their colleagues were among the 40 killed as they evacuated prisoners from a prison on the Carmel. His cousin worked all night for days in a row on security at the Haifa University central command, leaving his wife to take care of their newborn daughter alone. Ordinary life came to a pause as we all watched the smoke rise off the Carmel mountain and mourned both the devastating deaths of more than 40 victims-- who died after protecting and evacuating others-- and the loss of a million trees in a country in which every tree ekes out a dusty, precious existence.

We lit Chanukah candles every night, but somehow posting about the grease-fest of Chanukah or the way Menta magazine takes all the fun out of 500-calorie Sufganiot didn't seem so appropriate just then. (Maybe tomorrow. :) Celebrating the persistence of flames burning for 8 days and 8 nights seemed inadvisable. (An unfortunate ad surrounding the Jerusalem Post coverage of the Carmel disaster read "Keep the flame of the Jewish people burning." Um, no, we're trying to put it out. Today, I notice that this tag-line finally changed to "A flame of resolve in the face of the inferno"... whatever that means.)

Finally, on Sunday night, it rained. Our first real rain of the year, our first rain that did more than dampen the dust floating in the air and paste it to our car's roof. And thanks to the supertanker from Russia, the Bulgarian firemen, the Turkish planes and-- in a bit of Chanukah irony-- firefighting assistance from the Greeks, the fire went out. And now we can think, again, about inviting friends over for jelly donuts (sufganiot) and candle lighting, of going out to the Chag HaChagim holiday celebration in Haifa, and of perhaps buying better housing insurance or taking the claims that Israel is unprepared to face a serious earthquake (something pundits have also been saying for years) seriously.

On the plus side, I now know how to say "firemen" (caba'im) and prison guards (soharim), that the same verb we use for clearing a table ("lefanot") also means "evacuation," and that the same word we use for the flames on the burner on my stove ("lehavot") can refer to 30 meter high flames. "Burn" (lesaref) has been transformed into the noun, srefah. On Israeli TV, the fire became simply known as "the Disaster on the Carmel": "ha'Ason baCarmel."

I hope everyone reading this blog is safe. Happy Chanukah! Were you following the disaster? Did it affect you in any way?

How to host Thanksgiving like an Israeli...

2010-11-23T22:43:00.001+02:00

(From http://simplyrecipes.com/photos/pumpkin-pie.jpg)

Ok, so if you really want to host Thanksgiving like an Israeli, don't host it at all. (Yeah, that whole "It's an American holiday" thing.) But unlike Easter, Christmas, Halloween, New Year's Eve, and Valentine's day-- also holidays not really celebrated here-- I feel Thanksgiving is worth keeping, in a nostalgic and let's-force-Israeli-friends-to-eat-American-food kind of way.

The problem is that celebrating Thanksgiving in Israel is a lot like celebrating Jewish holidays in America-- this country really isn't set up to take Thanksgiving into account. So here's a way around a lot of the problems you might encounter if you try to host Thanksgiving dinner in Israel.

1. Be flexible about dates. Thursday night is a great night to have people over, because it's right before the weekend (Friday to Saturday). However, chances are, something else will already be scheduled for that night, even if you're doing something with the English-speaking community. (Those Brits just don't seem to understand the importance of gorging oneself with Turkey in solidarity with Pilgrim forefathers.) I have a memorial service to attend this Thursday night, so we're doing our Thanksgiving dinner on Friday night.

2. To buy a turkey, go to a butcher shop. Preferably one that specializes in turkey and poultry. And you'll need to order it in advance and probably pluck a few final feathers when you get it. Sadly, no, turkeys don't go on uber-cheap sale around the holiday-- I'll pay 25 shekels a kilo for mine. But you can shock all of your Israeli friends with the size of a full turkey! And, er, don't forget to specify-- several times, in as many languages as possible-- that you want a whole turkey in one piece.

By the way, last year the butcher thought I was crazy. This year he invited himself over for Thanksgiving dinner. Progress?

3. To find cranberries, look for Russians. And then follow them until you figure out where they shop. This year I bought my frozen cranberries at a little Russian macolet (mini-market), and while they appear to be manufactured in Israel (and are kosher parve and everything), the writing on the clear plastic container is Russian, not Hebrew. You can find dried cranberries in almost any supermarket.

4. If you need sausage for your stuffing, buy chorisos. Last year I went on an epic sausage-finding mission in which I ended up using pieces of kabobs, kabanos and kishkes in my stuffing. It tasted fine (it's pretty hard to mess up stuffing), but later this year I realized that choriso sausages-- available in the frozen food aisle-- actually have the right taste. Israelis don't do breakfast sausage or turkey sausage, so you need to be a bit creative.

5. Find sage fresh, not dried. Sage is another one of those crucial "Thanksgiving" flavors, but for some reason you'll find it more readily in the fresh leaves section (or even in a greenhouse) than in a bottle, dried.

6. Make your pumpkin pie from scratch! You will not find pre-prepared crust, canned pumpkin, or pumpkin pie spice in any ordinary Israeli supermarket. You will, however, find large chunks of ginormous pumpkins (wrapped in seran wrap, in the fresh foods section), butter, flour, and every spice that goes into pumpkin pie spice. While our pumpkin isn't technically sugar pumpkin, I've found it makes a mean pie filling. Just steam it and then (this step is important) puree it in your food processor... the texture of our pumpkin is stringier than a sugar pumpkin. Last year I used this recipe for my pumpkin pie, and it was delicious. Oh, and two things-- 1) if you use an Israeli-size pie pan, double the recipe for filling and crust... those pans are huge. 2) Don't expect actually Israelis to like your pumpkin pie. To them it's a little bit like eating, say, a sweet broccoli custard. They don't get it.

7. Make sure your turkey actually fits in your oven. You have an Israeli-size oven. This is an American-size bird. Make sure you do the math. :) Also, you won't have any automatic timer to tell you when the bird is ready, so make sure you know how long it will take to cook.

Now if anyone can help me find real apple cider in this country, I'll be eternally grateful!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. :) Is anyone else hosting a Thanksgiving in Israel or for Israelis?

How to signal like an Israeli driver...

2010-11-17T14:34:00.007+02:00

Don't try these techniques when you are a Hyundai Getz going up against a semi-trailer.

"What??" you're saying, as you read the post title. Israelis don't signal while driving! After all, as I shared in my guide to driving like an Israeli, "Everyone Else on the Road is an Idiot," there's no point in sharing information like, say, the intention to shift lanes with drivers who are too stupid to understand.

But Israelis do have their own form of non-verbal communication while driving. To pass as an Israeli, master these techniques.

1. The Ex-Post-Facto Turn Signal.

Signaling before turning or making a lane shift would be giving away information (and might result in the person you're trying to cut off speeding up so you can't cut them off). But Israelis do know that signaling while changing lanes is mandatory. The simple solution? Signal after you change lanes. Barur.

2. The Nu-Pay-Attention Honk.

I come from a small, friendly American city in which someone at an intersection will only honk at you if you forget to turn left in front of them (cutting them off) after the light turns green. If people in my home town do honk in traffic, they're seriously upset-- blaring the horn is one step away from jumping out of your SUV and bashing in an offending driver's window with a baseball bat.

In Israel, on the other hand, honking (like shouting) is just another form of social interaction. Situations in which honking is expected include:

Another driver seems to be pondering the idea of pulling out of a driveway or parking lot anywhere in the vicinity of your moving vehicle. Because they are idiots, you assume that they will pull into your car unless you honk.
Another driver does not appear to have his feet poised above the gas pedal the moment the light flashes yellow (which happens before the light turns green here, in a little NASCAR "start yer engines" moment). If said driver hesitates for more than a millisecond or, G-d forbid, actually waits for the light to turn green, HONK.
You see someone you know.
You see people standing on a street corner holding signs.
You feel happy and you know it.

3. The Hey-Get-Out-of-My-Way Headlight Flash.

If the driver in front of you is going too slowly (i.e., only 10 kilometers over the speed limit), you should flash your lights urgently into their rear view mirror until they pull over or shift lanes. (You, obviously, are in too much of a hurry to be bothered to lane shift.) My husband and I were recently driving along a country road in northern Israel and a car started flashing his brights at us from about 100 meters back. This is the most annoying behavior of the Israeli driver, and you have my permission to block this car in and drive as slowly as possible instead of pulling over.

By the way, something good to know: Israeli traffic police drive with their blue-and-white lights flashing. This does NOT mean that you need to pull over. They'll put on their siren if you do. On the other hand, if American traffic police drive behind you with their lights flashing, you DO need to pull over. My husband learned this the hard way when he came to the US in his teens. Luckily the cop liked Israel.

4. The How-You-Doin' Intersection Stare.

Ok, this is one of those things I'll never really feel comfortable doing, but apparently when Israelis stop at a traffic light, it's considered polite behavior to turn and stare at the people in the car next to you. I learned this when I watched an Israeli morning show segment about body language b'chul (abroad), and the Israeli host was shocked to learn that in certain parts of the world complete strangers will get mad if you scrutinize them while waiting for the light to turn yellow, er, green.

5. The Tut-Tut-Tut Finger Shake.

The driving version of the Instructional Finger (which I discussed in my guide to Israeli body language), this is the gesture you make when someone does something foolish or misguided (like attempting to cut you off) while driving. Like a wise grandmother from a children's story, put a pained expression on your face and shake your finger sadly at the offending driver. Alternately, raise your hand in the air with your palm towards your face. Both of these are more effective than actually, say, giving another driver the finger, because these gestures indicate an extra level of parental disappointment at another driver's failings. And we all know how effective Jewish Guilt can be.

6. The No-Really-I'm-Cutting-You-Off Nose Nudge.

This maneuver (familiar to anyone who has attempted to drive in New York City) indicates your seriousness about actually cutting off the driver in the next lane. If you nudge the front end of your car into the other driver's lane, some of the time he'll brake to let you in. Most the time he'll swerve around you. Once I saw this result in the Slowest Accident Ever: we were driving in rush-hour traffic through Kiryat Ata when a Hareidi guy tried to nose-nudge his way in front of a young female soldier, who wasn't having any of it. She nose-nudged him back, blaring on her horn. Over the next ten minutes, they each jerked forward inch by inch, screaming at each other (and not the friendly kind of Israeli yelling), until finally-- at about the speed of a dandelion growing in a nature documentary-- they collided into each other and dented their cars. Am I a bad person if that made my day?

Then, of course, there's the art of communicating on a cell phone while driving like an Israeli, but I'll save that for another day. (Here's a sneak preview: it involves lots of hand gesturing.)

Anything you would add to this list?

This blog has been shiputzed!

2010-11-10T14:26:00.001+02:00

Well, not really. But I just wanted an excuse to use the Hebrew word "shiputzim" (rennovations) as an English verb. Isn't that a great word? Shiputz. Sheepootz. Shipootz.

Today I did two things I've been meaning to do for a little while.

1. I brought back my blog roll! Thanks to your suggestions, I discovered some blogs I hadn't known about and added some of my favorites as well. Let me know if you think there are any more I should add and if importing the title of recent posts makes this page load too slowly.

2. I set up Facebook Networked Blogs! I mainly did this so that I could stop importing my posts to my personal Facebook account as notes, which A) makes my old college friends think I'm oddly obsessed with Israeli celebrities and B) means that sometimes the most interesting comments on my posts appear on my personal Facebook page rather than on this blog. Plus I want people to read my blog here rather than as a note because it looks prettier here and comments on this page make it look like more people read my blog. :) (Never mind that failing to post for three months tends to make comments go away... have I mentioned how incredibly lucky I feel that some of you still read this blog??) Anyway, my vanity will be infinitely flattered if it looks like I have more than three Facebook Networked Blogs followers, so feel free to add yourself to the list. :)

To see both of these changes, scroll down-- they're toward the bottom of the sidebar on the right.

Now if I only could get our neighbors to stop shiputzing their apartments, we could all be happy. I'm working from home to the sound of jackhammers and people shouting at each other in Arabic. At least it's better than when our downstairs neighbors sing...

On going home again...

2010-11-09T10:49:00.008+02:00

This is the home of some other rich Jews (ya know, the one

designed by Frank Lloyd Wright), not my home, but I visited

it when I was back in the US. Because I get to be a tourist now!

And that's my beautiful niece, Sarah.

This past August I went back to the US for the first time since I made aliyah in the spring of 2008. I honestly didn't know what to expect. Would buildings and cars in America suddenly seem gargantuan? Would the green scare me? Or (and this was honestly the most frightening possibility) would I go back to the US and feel so comfortable that I wouldn't want to return to Israel?

The culture shock started for me on the flight to the US. I was sitting next to an Israeli couple, and before the fasten-seatbelts signs on our Continental flight turned off, I found myself as the one better at communicating. I was the one explaining what "ginger ale" means and translating their requests for "no ice" to the stressed-out American flight attendants. Yet I felt relieved, for some reason, that I was sitting next to Israelis. I eyed the American couple in front of me-- an overweight family in sweats and t-shirts, squabbling with each other about things that seemed so trivial. The Israeli couple next to me talked with me about their feelings about religion, about aliyah, about cultural differences between Israel and America, about already missing the people we had left behind in Israel. To my surprise, I didn't want to stop speaking in Hebrew just yet. Interacting with the flight attendants in English seemed so... easy. Mechanical. They were polite but not kind; they smiled but seemed annoyed. Huh. Maybe this whole "Americans are nice" thing won't be so compelling after all.

As I waited for my transfer flight in Newark, I got a taste of what it means to be "Israeli" in the US. The former homeschooling mom (who reminded me of my own) with the blue T-Shirt LOVED Israel, in fact they celebrated the Holiday of Booths with their church! She looked at me expectantly: I was from the Holy Land. I felt like she wanted something from me, but I wasn't sure what. The reality of living in Israel feels so different from the idealized version that American Christians and even American Jews believe in. I felt like my own country, my own Israel was already being traded for the Promised Land, for some shiny myth rather than the complicated, vibrant, hilarious reality I had left behind.

On my transfer flight to my destination, I found myself (by complete coincidence) sitting next to an Israeli girl. She felt that she didn't belong in Israel and was about to end three years in the city where I grew up to travel to the Netherlands. Yet there was a kind of... commonality in our conversation, an ease of expectations, an honesty. For the next three weeks, this would be the last time I would speak Hebrew to a stranger.

During my time back in the US, I discovered a few things.

1. It was wonderful to see my family and friends. At the same time, being away from them for two years didn't matter as much as I worried it would. I was most worried about what it would be like to see my nieces and nephew-- two years in the life of a one, five, seven, and nine-year-old is a very long time. But after a bit of initial shyness, they were inviting me to go pick flowers, have tea parties, watch movies, run around, and play dress-up as much as ever before. And my one-year-old niece was just getting to know everyone, so I seemed no stranger to her than her grandfather or the dog. (Ok, so she did like the dog better.)

The pinkies in the air make it fancy. The expression on my face makes it creepy.

2. American service people ARE nice, though their niceness feels impersonal. One of my favorite I'm-not-in-Israel-anymore moments went something like this...

BARNES AND NOBLE CHECKOUT GIRL: You're paying by credit card? Ok, let me just see some photo ID.
ME (searching in my wallet): Oh, crap... The only ID I have in English is my Israeli driver's license... and I changed my name completely when I moved to Israel, so it doesn't match any of the names on my American credit card...
BARNES AND NOBLE CHECKOUT GIRL: Oh, that's ok. I just needed to see your photo.
ME (trying to figure out this logic): Ok.... um, great! *Shows her my photo while privately thinking, freyerit!*

To be fair, the American checkout girl was simply following procedure. I used my visa, so she had to see a photo ID. Never mind that the name on the visa and the ID didn't match up. An Israeli, on the other hand, would have been very suspicious of my credit card but then would probably have lent me enough change to pay in cash. Or maybe the innocent face that gets me through mall security with barely a swipe of the metal detecting wand also works in the US.

Oh, and a word to the wise: never try to give extra change to American checkout people so that they can give you fewer coins in return. In Israel, if I give 20 shekels to pay for something that costs, say, NIS 15.60, the checkout person is likely to ask if I have 10 agurot so that I can get one coins in change rather than four. (Israeli checkout people take great pride in conserving spare change.) Don't try this in the US. Unless American checkout people can enter in the total amount of money you give them into their cash machine, they get very confused.

3. The US is saturated in green, and what Americans (in the Northeastern US, at least) think of as "hot" Israelis think of as "early winter." I had to buy a jacket. But while I absolutely love the greenery of the US, I found myself missing the rockiness of Israel.

4. Things in the US are cheap. (It also helps that dollars are worth more than shekels... something that costs one dollar will always seem cheaper than something that costs 3.70 shekels.) Walmart and Target are amazing stores. Sam's Club is a little overwhelming. And it's really nice to be able to find size 9.5 women's shoes in any shoe store.

5. Teenagers in the rural US and teenagers in rural Israel have basically the same reaction when they learn you come from far away: man, I really want to get out of here.

6. A Cafe Latte is nowhere near as good as a Cafe Hafuch.

7. Those people who sell carved wooden animals "from Israel" in American craft fairs actually see themselves as being "from Palestine."

8. Wearing 3D glasses and going to see Step-Up-3 in 3D makes you cool. I don't care what anyone else says.

My sister and I in the packed movie theater on Step-Up 3, 3D's opening day.

9. If you want to buy second-hand bonnets off of old-order Amish women, it helps a lot to be able to say you come from the land of Israel.

10. No matter where I go from now on, I'll miss somebody and something. In Israel I'll feel American, but in America I'll feel Israeli. I guess that's a sign of progress?

A lot of other things I learned while in the US are harder to pin down in words. I realized that knowledge I now take for granted in my life-- the spices I use to cook, the Hebrew I read effortlessly, the Israeli cities I now have mapped in my mind-- isn't at all obvious to most Americans. I'm so used to thinking of my Hebrew as "not very good" that it was bizarre to me to realize that my brothers couldn't read the label on the halva I brought back as a gift (and, in fact, had never tasted halva before). Something about being in America made my Hebrew seem totally fluent... I got a little charge from speaking to my mother-in-law in Hebrew on the phone and knowing that nobody around me knew what I was saying.

Three weeks and two flight transfers later, I was back in Israel. My husband met me at the airport. And as we were driving back from Natbag through dry, brown, beautiful rocky hills, I felt like my mind was coming back to life, as if it craved the challenge of deciphering Hebrew. (I admit that I'm a bit of a masochist.) I missed the smells. The landscape. The sense of deep, long history. The sense of reality. I found myself laughing. I turned to my husband. "I get to live here!"

While it's nice to go on vacation, nothing quite compares to going home again... to Israel.

How does your perspective on the US change when you visit it from Israel?

What are your favorite Israeli (or wanna-be-Israeli) blogs?

2010-11-07T13:55:00.001+02:00

As part of Mission Convince Google my Blog Isn't Spam, I deleted my blog roll. Now I want to get it back! I have a few blogs in mind already, but I want to know which blogs you think I should add. In the comments, please tell me about your favorite Israeli blogs. If you have a blog, feel free to tell me (and other readers) about it, too!

Todah raba!

P.S. Israeli moment of the week: the waiter at Shipudei HaTikva (or as my husband and I like to call it, Shish-Kabobs of Hope) turning his back on us and walking away while we were in the middle of placing our order. Hey, he's a professional, and he had more important things to attend to at that moment. He also refused to sell us soup because "it's not winter yet." Discuss.

The remarkable inconsistency of Israeli telephone numbers

2010-11-02T12:03:00.000+02:00

Maybe I've just been thinking about phone numbers lately after, er, my own cell phone spent a night in the toilet (I have a new one now) but this is also one of those little things that struck me a lot after I moved to Israel.

In the US, telephone numbers have a very, very set format: (XXX) XXX-XXXX. This format is so rigid that US phone number forms can't handle an Israeli number. (In general, Americans seem confused by the concept of life outside the US.) When you tell someone your number in the US, you always pause after the first three digits and then say the final four. If my number were 123-4567, for example, I'd never dream of telling someone it was "twelve thirty-four five sixty seven."

In Israel, on the other hand, the number of digits in a phone number is in a state of basic flux. Most area codes are only one digit long, because, let's face it, we're pretty unlikely to ever need more than 9 major area codes in a country that could fit comfortably inside New Jersey. On the other hand, cell phones (somewhat inexplicably) come with their own two-digit area codes. In addition, certain phone providers come with two-digit area codes-- we originally got our phone number through HOT cable, so our home phone area code is "77" even though most landlines in our area start with "4." (When you dial area codes from within Israel, you always add a "0" at the start of the number.)

In theory, though, most phone numbers after the area code are seven digits long. (I say "in theory" because I'm pretty sure I've seen numbers of other lengths... eh, yiyeh beseder.) Israelis, though, never got the memo about three digits followed by four. I've seen numbers written like this: XXXXXXX, like this: XX-XX-XX-X, like this: XX-XXXXX, and in basically every other combination of clumps of letters. This really confused me at first, because Israelis WILL say their number as "twelve thirty-four five sixty seven," a possibility that boggled my American mind.

So anyway, if you need to ask your friend's telefone nayad (cell phone) number, be prepared. Oh, and if I had your telephone number, um... give me a call. Most of the numbers in my phone sank into the depths of our asla.

Btw, some useful Israeli phone etiquette:

To answer the phone, say "allo." If you don't pronounce the "h," "allo" is transformed into Hebrish. Nobody (that I know, at least) outside of a formal office says "shalom" when they pick up or hang up their phones. If the person on the other end of the line asks you who is speaking, do not answer the question. This would be Giving Away Information. Instead, play a game of Israeli phone etiquette chicken in both you and the person on the other end of the line ask who is speaking, eventually negotiating release of first names (never last names!) and reasons for calling. The proper way to say goodbye is "yallah bye," followed by more conversation, followed by insistence that you really have to go, followed by a little gossip, and finally closed with a resounding "yallah bye."

Oh, and all of the paragraph above is basically useless, because Israelis communicate primarily through text messaging-- "ess-em-ess-im"-- anyway.

Was anyone else surprised by Israeli phone etiquette? What did I miss?

Things NOT to do if you want to seem Israeli

2010-10-31T13:20:00.007+02:00

Here's a list of things I've noticed Americans doing that they (ok, we) tend to think makes us look Israeli... but that actually make us look like fresh-off-the-Nefesh-b-Nefesh-flight olim, or worse: here-for-a-year-on-a-gap-year-program Americans.

Disclaimer: these are great things to do if you want to seem Israeli when you're in America. Just not in Israel.

1. Wear wrap-around pants.

Yes, these pants are comfy, cool and only cost about 15 shekels in the shuk. But unless you're either A) cleaning your house with bleach on a Friday morning or B) Idan Raichel, don't wear these pants in Israel anytime someone else can see you.

2. Call the New Israeli Shekel a "shek."

This seems to be slang popular among the Jerusalem English-speaking crowd, but I've never heard it from Israelis. The formal term for the shekel is "shach," short for "shekel chadash," which could be the source of this bit of Anglo slang, but "shach" is only used by newscaster-types. Say it with me, folks: they're called are sh'kalim.

2. Wear tzahal clothing when you aren't in the army.

Source: http://www.ioffer.com/si/military+hebrew

Yes, I'll admit that I went on Birthright when I was 18 and bought the requisite army shirt. (Hey, it matches my eyes!) But in Israel, wearing army clothing means you're actually serving in the army. In fact, Israelis get so sick of wearing army clothes while they actually serve in the army that you would be hard-pressed to find any olive green in an Israeli wardrobe. So save that tzahal shirt as a gift for your friends back in the US. In fact, wearing basically any shirt with Hebrew writing on it, in Israel, is a decent indication that you aren't Israeli (unless that shirt has a cut-out neck and says "madrich"-- counselor-- on it somewhere).

4. Wear a kippa when you aren't orthodox.

My parents are very active members of a reform congregation in the US, but dress my ex-hippie dad up in the right clothing and he could pass as a chasid. I have literally never seen his chin. When they came to visit me in Israel last year, my dad decided to celebrate being in the Jewish state by wearing a kippa (yarmulke) all the time. Problem is, like a tzahal uniform, a kippa has a specific meaning in Israel. At the very least, it means that you are either on your way to a synagogue or shomer shabbat and shomer kashrut, so for my dad to wear a kippa while touring the country on shabbat... confusing.

5. Say "shalom!" to strangers.

My husband and I were recently in a national park when a couple walked past us, smiled brightly, and said "shalom aleichem!" We were not at all surprised when they turned out to be German Christian tourists... we would have been shocked had they turned out to be native-born Israelis. On the other hand, feel free to strike up a conversation with any shop owner, bus driver, or waiter that you see, and say "shabbat shalom" anytime to say goodbye to any Israeli you meet any time past Thursday morning. By Israeli standards, anyone you actually interact with for more than 30 seconds is no longer a stranger, so it's fine to greet them/share your life story.

6. Be loud, angry and combative.

"What??" you're saying. "Israelis are loud, angry and combative!" But here's the thing: Israelis are loud and combative, but they aren't usually angry. To Israelis, being loud and combative is all part of normal social interaction, and it's usually followed up with "shabbat shalom" and "tell Moshe I say hi." When Americans are loud and combative, on the other hand, we get angry, and we tend to leave in a huff with red faces and resolutions to never buy sandals in Israel again. As I said in another post, Americans are ruder (by Israeli standards) than we realize. If you want to seem Israeli, a better bet is to attempt to connect personally with whoever you meet. Being loud and combative is a higher level of Israeli-ness that we usually can't pull off.

I feel like there's more I should add to this list. Have you ever seen people on the street and just KNOWN they're not native Israelis? How did you know?

Then again, we American olim ALWAYS seem Israeli in America and American in Israel, so maybe we should just embrace it...

Israeli Famous People who look like American Famous People

2010-10-19T15:59:00.006+02:00

I bet this has something to do with the Mosad.

If you watch Israeli TV for long enough, everyone starts to look familiar. We seem to have only about 15 actors, who get cast in every series, game show, or what have you. The same politicians trade minister slots in the government... over and over and over again. However, some of these figures look familiar not because I've seen them before, but because I've seen their American doppelgangers. Take a look:

1. Israeli news anchor Yanun Magal (pronunciation?) and American president Barack Obama. It's in the ears, people. And the haircut. And the skin tone. I'd like to see Obama's birth certificate for proof that he doesn't put his teleprompter skills to use on Chadashot Eser.

2. Israeli opposition leader Tsipi Livni and US vice president Joe Biden. As Isreallycool so astutely pointed out, these two looked like long-lost siblings on Biden's awkward trip to Israel. Or maybe there was something in the water.

3. American comedian Steve Carell and Israeli Serious Dramatic Actor Lior Ashkenazi. Seriously, these guys could play twins. My theory is that Steve Carell is secretly fed up with playing the repressed idiot all the time and moonlights in Hebrew in dramatic roles. My husband laughs at me for always calling Lior Ashkenazi "the Israeli Steve Carell"... and then for calling Steve Carell "the American version of the Israeli Steve Carell."

4. Israeli actress Maya Maron and American Comedian Sarah Silverman. Actually, considering they're both Jewish, these two actually could be cousins. From the shoulders up, this is also pretty much exactly what I looked like when I was twelve.

5. Israeli "model and actress" Orit Fox and American "model and actress" Pamela Anderson. Ok, so Orit Fox is actually a terrifying premonition of what Pamela Anderson is going to look like 20 plastic surgeries down the road, but still-- isn't the resemblance kind of striking? I love how they are both attempting to give the same sexyface in the picture above. Or maybe Orit Fox is trying to smile. It's really hard to tell.

6. Israeli "Monit HaKesef" guy Idan Rosenblum and ~~American~~ Australian "Was in a Chick Flick with Jennifer Lopez" guy Alex O'Loughlin. When I was flying back to Israel from the US this summer, I watched "The Back-Up Plan," a really dumb chick flick starring Jennifer Lopez. The whole time I kept staring at the male romantic lead, Alex O'Loughlin, thinking, "Wow, he looks just like the Israeli money cab guy." What? Of course that's why I was staring!

7. The Israeli "Bachelor" and Nate Berkus, Oprah's design guy. Among the many reasons why I couldn't take "HaRavak" seriously: Guy Gior, the bachelor himself, is probably the only person in Israel to have Nate Berkus's hair. And face. And taste in clothing. And...

8. Israeli celebrity chef Aharoni and Mr. Miyagi. Just kidding-- Aharoni doesn't actually look like anyone. Nobody, not even Spock, can match those eyebrows.

9. My scuba instructor and Javier Bardem. Imagine Javier Bardem with George Clooney's hair and Homer Simpson's belly, plus an endless supply of Turkish coffee and cigarettes, and you'd have my Israeli scuba instructor.

Then there's the newscaster who looks exactly like Rupert Everett, and the Spanish/Israeli actress who looks exactly like Andie MacDowell, but I haven't had much luck trying to figure out their actual names in Hebrew.

Have you noticed any Israeli-American dopplegangers?

Wahoo! Problem fixed!

2010-10-13T09:22:00.003+02:00

Google no longer sees my site as an attack page... we're up and running again!

Maya

P.S. Tip for anyone who faces a similar problem: I ended up finding the bad link by downloading my site and doing a search in the code for the lines that Google had flagged. It turned out to be surprisingly easy. I also ended up deleting my blog-roll in case that was contributing to the problem, so if you want to be re-added, let me know!

I think I found the problem...

2010-10-12T15:19:00.002+02:00

The domain indicated in the warning message was the source of one image in my post about foods difficult to find in Israel. I removed it and resubmitted my post for review. Thanks for the help!

Any tips on how my site can be removed as an "attack" site?

2010-10-11T14:41:00.000+02:00

Hi everyone! I really do want to get back into blogging. In fact, I've been tossing around a lot of fun ideas. (Two posts I want to write soon: Things Americans Do That They Think Makes Them Look Israeli But Really Makes Them Look American and its sister post, Things Israelis Do That They Think Makes Them Look American But Really Makes Them Look Israeli. Just, um, maybe I have to work on snappier titles.) Problem is, I can't actually view my blog. When I try to open it in Mozilla Firefox, I get a message that it's been reported as an attack page, and these are the details I get when I click on more info (I'm cutting out the links to the attacking page in case that sets off more alarms):

What is the current listing status for howtobeisraeli.blogspot.com?

Site is listed as suspicious - visiting this web site may harm your computer.
Part of this site was listed for suspicious activity 1 time(s) over the past 90 days.

What happened when Google visited this site?

Of the 6 pages we tested on the site over the past 90 days, 1 page(s) resulted in malicious software being downloaded and installed without user consent. The last time Google visited this site was on 2010-09-23, and the last time suspicious content was found on this site was on 2010-09-20.Malicious software is hosted on 1 domain(s), including ****
1 domain(s) appear to be functioning as intermediaries for distributing malware to visitors of this site, including *****
This site was hosted on 1 network(s) including *****

Has this site acted as an intermediary resulting in further distribution of malware?

Over the past 90 days, howtobeisraeli.blogspot.com did not appear to function as an intermediary for the infection of any sites.

Has this site hosted malware?

No, this site has not hosted malicious software over the past 90 days.

How did this happen?

In some cases, third parties can add malicious code to legitimate sites, which would cause us to show the warning message.

Next steps:

Return to the previous page.
If you are the owner of this web site, you can request a review of your site using Google Webmaster Tools. More information about the review process is available in Google's Webmaster Help Center.

Updated 4 hours ago

*********

I AM the owner of this website, but I can't for the life of me figure out how I'm supposed to use Google Webmaster Tools to solve this problem. I gather that some people can still view my page, so if you're one of them, please help-- and don't click on any links posted in the comments, just in case.

I'm going to turn on comment moderation so that I can actually see your comments-- I can't open up my blog itself at all.

Thanks!

I'm alive :)

2010-09-24T07:31:00.000+02:00

Hi everyone! I just wanted to post quickly to let you know that I'm still alive, still Israeli, and still sweating even though Israel went onto "winter time" almost two weeks ago. Something about Israeli summers tends to sap all the post-writing energy out of me. I just checked in to see 58 comments to moderate, many of which were NOT trying to sell me Viagra, and I was really touched. I've been tossing around some new post ideas, and I hope to get back to posting soon...

Happy Sukkot, everyone!

Come see me perform with the Haifa English Theatre!

2010-06-02T15:42:00.001+03:00

Hi everyone!

Tomorrow night marks the first performance of an evening of one-act plays from the Haifa English Theatre. I'll be performing in the second play, a comedy called "The Bear" by Chekhov. It would mean so much to me if any blog readers show up... stick around afterward to say hi!

Here are full details:

LOVE UNREQUITED, an evening of one-act plays produced by the Haifa English Theatre, opens in June at Haifa’s Beit Hagefen Auditorium. The three plays focus on the inner psyches of the characters--their loneliness, longing and needs for love.

The plays included are Something Unspoken and Portrait of a Madonna written by Pulitzer Prize winning American playwright Tennessee Williams, as well as The Bear, a farce written by the well-loved Russian author Anton Chekhov.

In Something Unspoken, Williams draws from his Southern background in his portrayal of the imperial Cornelia Scott, and of her long-suffering secretary-companion Grace. The two of them share a silence “that nothing less than dynamite could break though.”

In Chekhov’s The Bear, Madam Popova (me!) is mourning her late husband when Grigory Stepanovitch comes to collect a debt. Popova’s loyal servant Lukeria witnesses the beginning of their romance.

In Portrait of a Madonna Williams explores the tragic story of Lucretia Collins who has aged in isolation. When she asks the building manager for help, he sends the elevator boy and the porter instead. They watch silently as a doctor and nurse enter. Time has run out for her.

LOVE UNREQUITED is directed by Murray Rosovsky and will be performed by the Haifa English Theatre on the following dates at the Beit Hagefen Auditorium, 33 Zionism, Haifa.

Thursday 3 June -- 20:30
Saturday 5 June -- 21:00
Tuesday 8 June -- Matinee 17:30
Thursday 10 June -- 20:30
Saturday 12 June -- 21:00

Tickets are available at the door and by mail order. For more information please call Hazel
at 04-872-7940 (evenings).

*****

All the plays look great in rehearsal, and I can't wait to go to performance tomorrow. I hope you can show up to support the Haifa English Theatre!

P.S. I also blogged about the Krayot recently at a new blog a friend started encouraging olim to move to the northern coastal areas. You can find my entry here, along with great info about all the coastal communities: http://go-coast.blogspot.com/

How to tip like an Israeli

2010-05-25T12:20:00.004+03:00

Yeah, your ulpan teacher may have told you that the

Hebrew for "tip" is "tesher," but it's not: it's "teep."

This is one of those random topics that seems inconsequential, but it's what visiting friends tend to ask about the most. So, here's a quick and easy guide to tipping like an Israeli. Hint: it involves exact change!

1. Most Israelis tip between 10-15 percent. This is something I'm still uncomfortable with... I get flashbacks to my college friends working in Chinese restaurants for 2 bucks an hour, plus tips and assorted leftover boxes of beef broccoli, and I almost always leave 15 - 20 percent as my tip. In my experience, though, most Israelis tip less.

2. Guard your tip with your life. When some of my Israeli friends leave tips, they cover their assorted shekels with their hands, flag over the waiter, point at the money, and in general operate with covert prowess. I guess the thought is that someone else might walk along and scoop up the ten shekels if you aren't careful. I don't worry about this one much either, but it's worth mentioning.

3. Most important of all... that little line below your total on your restaurant credit card receipt? It's not for your tip. I always wonder how many Americans shortchange their servers out of blissful ignorance this way. Yes, in the US this line usually lets you add in a tip to your credit card total, but here this line on your credit card receipt is for your telephone number. Which, by the way, you should never write down on any receipt unless someone insists... that would be giving away information. I've never found a way to tip using my credit card in an Israeli restaurant, so bring cash.

4. Aside from restaurants, you're expected to tip workers in a number of other random transactions. Honestly, I still haven't figured this one out, so your best bet is just to ask the person recommending something to you whether you should tip. For example, we paid our movers 700 shekels and then tipped each worker and the driver 50 shekels each-- another 150 shekels. (They were worth their weight in shekels, btw... hiring movers was one of our best decisions. Aleks could lug 20 boxes up two flights of stairs in one trip like nobody's business.) Other transactions, such as getting our washing machine fixed or receiving a mattress delivery, didn't involve tipping. Remember, though, even if you don't plan to give a service person a tip, make sure you offer them coffee... failing to do so would be simply inhumane.

Ok, this appears to be a very simple topic. Is there anything I left out? How much do you usually tip in Israel?

Foods surprisingly hard to find in Israel (and foods to try instead!)

2010-05-06T12:16:00.003+03:00

One reason that I use a lot of Israeli cook books (in addition to the fact that they help me learn words like "diced," "sauteed," and "minced garlic" in Hebrew) is that some common ingredients in the US are hard to find in Israel... and some common ingredients in Israel are really hard to find in the US. Here are a few foods I was surprised to have trouble finding here, along with suggestions of Israeli foods you could eat instead.

Caveat: you usually can find these foods, especially if you go to a big grocery chain specializing in imports, like Tiv Ta'am. But it's harder, so why not adjust to Israeli supermarkets??

Hard to find: bagels & lox

This one took me by surprise when I made aliyah, because in US bagels and lox seemed like the most Jewish food in existence (after, maybe, matzo ball soup). Here, bagels themselves are almost impossible to find! Jewish state, indeed.

Instead, try: ikra! (Hebrew: איקרה)

I first ate ikra on Yom HaAtzmaut, at a barbecue with a bunch of Romanian Israelis. It's a salad made from fish eggs, cream, lemon juice, and a few other ingredients-- here's a recipe (in Hebrew) from Yediot Ahronot. The Romanians called it "poor man's caviar," but I'd say the taste is actually very cream cheese-and-lox-esque! You can find ikra in the salads section of any supermarket-- in our local super, ikra is behind the deli counter, next to the cheese and smoked fish. Good luck finding a bagel to eat it with.

Hard to find: molasses

I've actually never been able to find molasses in Israel (though I haven't looked all that hard in Tiv Ta'am, and my ginger snap cookie recipe has had to slum it with dark brown sugar instead. I guess Israeli grandmothers don't go for this "surprise" natural sweetener-- whatever that means.

Instead, try: silan! (Hebrew: סילאן)

Silan is date honey, and while it's a common ingredient in Israeli recipes (particularly savory recipes that need just a bit of sweetness), I never knew it existed before I made aliyah. It has a milder flavor than molasses or even honey, so I'm not suggesting it as a molasses substitute, but it's awesome on yogurt, in meat dishes, in desserts. Try to get 100% silan rather than a mixture of silan and sugar-- for some reason, I am able to find pure silan in our super around passover, but not at any other time.

Hard to find: grated mozzarella (forget about fat free!)

It's actually pretty difficult to find any kind of fat free dairy products in Israel. 1% milk, yes-- you can even buy it in plastic bags! Skim milk, what? You can find fat free yogurt, but you're much more likely to find 1.5% or 3.5% yogurt. Fat free cottage cheese is unheard of, though 5% is very common. I guess Israelis just aren't willing to sacrifice that much taste. Add to this the fact that mozzarella cheese isn't very common here, and you'll need to find a substitute for all your diet recipes that call for low fat mozzarella. Never fear!

Instead, try: crumbled emek! (Hebrew: פתיתי עמק)

Emek is more flavorful than mozzarella, and I'd say it's one of the major reasons why Israeli pizza is so delicious. Emek packages are marked with the percent of fat in the cheese, and the lowest-fat good-tasting variety is 22% fat. (Stay away from 9% emek. I think it's mostly plastic.) 22% fat sounds scary, but it's actually fairly equivalent to part-skim mozzarella-- according to nutritiondata.com, 100 grams of part-skim low-moisture mozzarella is 302 calories and 100 grams of regular part-skim mozzarella is 254 calories, while 100 grams of 22% emek is 299 cals. And did I mention that Emek tastes much better? On the other hand, if you want cheddar cheese or (chas ve'shalom) processed American cheese food, perhaps aliyah is not for you.

Hard to find: chili powder

I've actually made my own chili powder spice mix-- you can easily find recipes for chili powder online. But you won't find anything exactly like American chili powder on our shelves.

Instead, try: Tunisian Harissa Seasoning! (Hebrew: תערובת לאריסה תוניסאית)

Tunisian Harissa (in Hebrew, "Larisa Tunisait") is a chili pepper spice mix pretty similar to chili powder, but (big surprise!) more flavorful. Use it on fish, in soups, anywhere you want a bit of a kick.

Hard to find: fresh pineapple

We buy canned pineapple all the time, so you certainly don't need to go without pineapple in your salat peirot here, but you probably won't find fresh pineapples at your local veggie shop. Pineapple grows in hot, moist climates, while Israel has a hot, dry climate. So your oranges, avocados and bananas were probably picked yesterday at a farm an hour away from your veggie shop, but you won't find pineapples. I mention this because pineapples are just about the only fruit I don't find here, with the exception of more delicate berries like raspberries. Have I mentioned that I LOVE Israeli fruits and veggies?

Instead try: fresh shesek! (Hebrew: שסק)

In English, shesekim are actually called loquats, but you didn't know that anyway, did you? These taste nothing like pineapples, but they're absolutely amazing little fruits with a taste like a slightly tart, extra juicy apricot. Here's a gushy article about the loquat from NPR's foodie show, The Splendid Table, which makes them sound all exotic and rare. I bought a kilo of loquats from a fruit stand by the side of the road. They're slightly messy to eat because you pull out the seeds and the ends before popping them into your mouth, but they're delicious. Other fruits to try in Israel: persimmons, pomegranates, sabra fruit, passion fruit, and those big stinky wrinkly fruits that you should avoid storing in a close space...

Hard to find in Israel: corn chips.

My husband and I don't buy much snack food, but we once tried to find tortilla chips to serve with dip for a party. Eventually we realized that while supermarkets in this country sell dozens of varieties of potato chips, corn chips are basically nonexistent. Sorry.

Instead, try: bissli! (Hebrew: ביסלי, meaning "my bite")

Bisli are traditional Israeli snacks that started out as deep fried, spiced pasta back in the days when Israel really didn't import food from abroad. Each flavor has a different shape, and they're all delicious. Oddly enough, even though chips and salsa (let alone tacos) are pretty much unheard of here, you can find taco-flavored bisli. If you want to get the full Israeli experience, on the other hand, try the falofel flavored bisli. Just don't plan to breathe on anyone for a while afterward.

Hard to find in Israel: M&Ms, peanut butter cups, peppermint paddies, snickers bars...

If you're considering aliyah, take a deep breath, look at the picture above, and ask yourself if you can live without everything in it. Now stop hyperventilating. Breathe into a bag! In! Out! In! Out! I've never found M&Ms, Hershey's kisses, or anything combining mint and chocolate in a regular Israeli supermarket. However, never fear...

Instead, try: Israeli chocolates! (Hebrew: שוקולד)

I grew up a few hours from Hershey, PA, so I feel a little disloyal for saying this, but Elite brand Israeli chocolates can definitely give Hershey a run for its money. If you want peaunut-chocolatey goodness (along the lines of a snickers bar), try a pesek-zman bar. If you want a kit-kat, try a kif-kef. Personally, I love the 60% dark chocolate bars... I almost always have some in the house. But if you want an M&M or a Hershey's kiss, well, you're still out of luck. But did I mention that we have chocolate spread?

I could go on. For example, it's not easy to find drip coffee here, although we have some pretty good instant coffee-- I highly recommend Jacobs brand (the green lid, not the gold). You won't find "Italian Seasoning" on our shelves, but you can always mix together basil, oregano, and paprika... or go for a middle eastern spice blend, zatar. You won't find tylenol, but we have acamol. You won't find graham crackers, but Israeli tea bisvitim usually do the trick. For everything American you can't find in this country, you'll find three other products that Israelis can't find in the US... as I found when I translated an Israeli article this old blog post, What's Missing in America. A lot of the fun of living in Israel is discovering the local flavors that are "gourmet" in America and available in any corner macolet here.

What foods would you add to this list?

Be'tei avon! (Bon appetit!)

How to run a race like an Israeli

2010-04-27T10:53:00.003+03:00

I started running 5ks when I was ten or eleven, and in my early 20s (just a few years ago) I ran three marathons. But since moving to Israel, I've run two 10ks and, er, a 5.7k and a 4.9k, and I've come to realize that road running in Israel is in some ways completely different. So here's a quick and easy guide to running a race like an Israeli:

1. Go to shvoong.co.il to find races and registration info. The racing season in Israel runs from September to May, without many races in the very hot summer months. It seems more common for races to start in the afternoon or evening in Israel than in the US, so read starting times carefully. You'll see a lot of 10Ks and some other distances-- serious runners usually compete in the 10Ks. "Amami" means a fun run, "tachruti" means a competitive run.

2. Be prepared for any race info to be posted only a month or two before a race and for it to be changed at the last minute. Apparently, Israelis see posting definitive times and dates for a race as like putting on your turn signal-- it's better to do this at the last minute so that nobody else can speed up and cut you off. Kiryat Motzkin and Kiryat Bialik both posted 5Ks taking place around the same time, and after a little bit of chicken, Motzkin moved its date up a few weeks and Bialik moved its race back a few months. The brand new Tel Aviv marathon changed its date about a month before it happened, as as someone familiar with marathon training plans, that really, really isn't beseder. I can only imagine the runners who made it all the way up to their 20 mile long runs and prepared to start the taper in training before the big race... only to discover that they actually had to extend their training by four weeks. If you want a reliable marathon in Israel, go for the Tiberias marathon-- it's been going for years and draws international runners. Last year, I got to see a spidery Ethiopian runner cross the finish line in not much over two hours. The Tel Aviv marathon should be awesome when it gets its act together, but I want to wait and see.

3. Arriving at a race in the morning and picking up your race packet is basically the same as at any road race in the US, except that you might see this while you wait in line at the port-a-potties:

Yes, he brought his own toilet paper. Oh, and an ~~uzzi~~ M-16.

In all fairness, though, I only saw lots of machine guns at the race in the picture above because it was the army championship, so lots of Tzahal divisions bussed in to compete. I really wanted a picture of the girl in short shorts, pink shirt, and machine gun, but the guy above will have to do.

4. Israelis tend to take a pretty relaxed attitude towards the starting line (kav hazinuk). Why be a fryer and wait behind the line? At the most recent 5Ks that I've attended, most of the group started a good couple of steps in front of the line. Yiyeh beseder.

5. Race t-shirts in Israel tend to be pretty awesome. So far I've received three micro-fiber shirts (one that was Adidas brand) out of four races... the only lousy shirt was from the 10K at the Tiberias marathon, because it's one of those prestigious races that doesn't need to lure runners with nice shirts.

6. "Field races" mean that you will literally be running through fields. And trampling corn stalks.

7. Aside from blips like the Krayot (where I live in and train), Israel is very, very hilly. I don't think I'd be brave enough to run the Jerusalem half-marathon, and the Haifa 10K was intense. Check the elevation of the races you choose to run.

8. Israeli races have a slightly casual attitude towards actual distances run. The Tavor race was supposed to be a 5.5K (who knows why!) but it turned out to be a 5.7K. The Motzkin race was supposed to be a 5 K, but due to traffic re-routing, it turned out to be 50 meters short. Yiyeh beseder.

9. There are relatively few female runners in Israeli races, so sometimes our division gets awarded fewer prizes and less prize money, but that seems to be improving even in just the last few years. In the Har Tavor 5.7K, I won a trophy for second place in my age-category... wahoo!

10. The feeling of crossing a finish line is just as sweet on any continent. Enjoy!

Me getting REALLY excited to finally pass the guy right behind me

as my friend and I cross the finish line in Kiryat Motzkin's 5K

Have you ever participated in any road races in Israel? How about triathlons or field races? How was your experience?

I'm back!

2010-04-26T14:50:00.002+03:00

Part of what has sucked away my time this month: our new living room! It's much prettier now.

First, I never ever want to move again. We can make do with four rooms forever. (Four rooms = three bedrooms and a living room... if you want to understand how Israelis calculate "rooms" in apts, read this post.)

Ok, maybe that's not entirely true... someday I want a house with a yard so I can grow lemons and maybe get a dog. But this move was utterly exhausting, perhaps because I astounded every Israeli I know by insisting on doing most of the painting myself. We did hire four strapping Ukranians to move our boxes and furniture, and it was blissful... they hoisted our boxes about 20 at a time out of our old apt, into their truck, and into our new one all in two hours on a Thursday morning.

But it certainly is worth it... it's amazing to live in our OWN walls, and we love our new apartment. We wake up in the morning to the sound of birds, not cars (to the delight of our cats). Our cabinets are clean and white. My oven has a "convection" setting. Yes, little things make me very excited.

Anyway, I've missed a pretty momentous month of blogging. There was the end of Passover, Yom HaShoah, Yom Hazikaron, and Yom HaAtzmaut. (You can always read about what I did last year... it pretty much still applies.) While I agree that it's pretty shameful I didn't post for Yom HaAtzmaut (Israeli Independence Day), in my defense I was very Israeli... I stayed out really late Yom HaAtzmaut watching fireworks and free concerts by singers with the last name "Peretz," and then ate myself into a semi-comatose state at a "mangal," a barbecue, the next day. Between those two sources of brain cell death, and all the paint fumes, you should be glad I've recovered in just two weeks. (I also discovered that cotton candy in Hebrew is called "searot savta," Grandmother's hair. Isn't that awesome and mildly disgusting?)

Another day this month was momentous for me: on the day we moved into our very own apartment, I also hit my two year mark in Israel. It feels at once like it couldn't possibly have been two years and like it's incredible that I lived in the US just 25 months ago. I'm working on a post about that soon!

We've also been busy in other ways... my husband and I participated in a few Israeli 5Ks (well, actually a 5.7 K and a 4.9 K... Israelis aren't big on details) and I accepted a last-minute role in a Chekhov play (come see me with the Haifa English Theatre in early June!). I've also been painting some creepy Russian Orthodox Christian-esque props for said Chekhov play. Introducing the icon my husband and I have dubbed Gregor, Patron Saint of Constipation:

This is something I definitely wouldn't have predicted aliyah would lead me to paint....

My day job apparently also hasn't gotten the idea that it should stop demanding my attention when my life gets busy. Still, it was really nice to log in and discover that I have 90 followers and 15 comments to moderate. Wahoo!!

So I'm back... and this last month has definitely given me plenty of material to blog about. :)

How was your month? Anything interesting happen to you while I was busy ~~inhaling paint fumes~~ painting our new apt?

Ode to my First Israeli Apartment

2010-03-22T15:32:00.014+02:00

To my first Israeli apartment:

First, I'm sorry that we're leaving you in April. Well, ok, that's not exactly true, but trust me-- it's not you, it's us. We wanted to buy our own place, have one more room, and live on a quieter street, but we really appreciate you having been there for us throughout these first two years in Israel.

You've been taking a lot of abuse lately. Strangers have been walking over your mismatched tiled floors and criticizing little things like the way your 70s-era wood paneling is peeling off the walls or the paint on the bathroom ceiling is chipped. They laugh at your .5 room (the dining area) and complain about the car alarm going off outside your tinted, patterned windows. They also don't seem too impressed by the doorways that have been turned into shelving units and don't see the beauty in the fact that our cats can crawl through the bottom of the shelving units to go from room to room.

These low orange velvet chairs actually came with our furnished apartment.

Our cats loved them. As scratching posts. And wrestling arenas.

But hey, at least you put yourself out there. It's not your fault that your owner thinks you are worth hundreds more shekels a month than we currently pay and that the arnona taxes are high here. Yes, you suffer daily rejection, and yes, you are quite possibly wet between the walls, and yes, the bed that you came with creaks like it is undergoing torture whenever anyone breathes, but... what was I talking about again? Oh, yes, you suffered rejection daily while our landlord was trying to rent you out, but we're still proud of you, and there are things I'll never forget about our first apartment in Israel. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

1. You made 70s style Isra-fab. From your brassy, curvy ceiling lights to the naked Grecians silkscreened on our bathroom tiles to the plastic wood paneling on the kitchen cabinets, you truly showcase the one time in your life when anyone living in this apartment did "shiputzim" (renovations-- and a fabulous word).

2. The views from your windows were always interesting. Our cats will miss staring at birds, bats, and autobusim outside our window, and we'll miss watching them stare down at us in shock and concern when they see us approaching from the street. Every community parade in our town (as well as a lot of traffic) passed right below our front windows, including the traffic safety parade last Purim and the veterans parade on VE day. All the loud traffic passing outside your window only made the stillness during the siren on Yom HaShoah and YomHaZikaron more stunning. And the view outside your back window proves that Israel really does have seasons! Really! Take a look:

During July (when a branch fell off because of the drought):

In early December, when the grass started to come back:

Today (spring-- note the flowering trees!):

So yellowing grass isn't quite as pretty as yellow fall leaves, but it's still nice to watch time pass. Also, aren't those metal "soragim" (bars) kind of beautiful?

3. You have a different tile floor in every room, which helped us decide if we want to do any shiputzim of our own! (For the record, the dark brown tile in the shower room hides cat hairs much better than the light white tile in the toilet room.)

4. You taught me all about how to turn on a dude (er, not a guy... a water heater), how to close my trisim in a sandstorm, and how to flip the switch on the circuit board of our house each time you objected to the idea of me running the kumkum (electric teapot) and the stove at the same time.

I'll also miss your huge kitchen and the high ceilings in your living room. I'll miss having a random little closet to put the litter boxes into. I'll miss the time we looked at the uneven tile in the bedroom and hypothesized that your previous elderly residents had buried lirot in the sand beneath the tiles. I'll miss living within a block of any kind of store I could ever want, from a guitar store to a petshop, with a bridal store, a health food shop, three yarkans and a super thrown in for good measure.

Our landlord finally came down in his asking price and found a nice mother with three kids (!) to move into this one apartment. The new people seem to appreciate you more than we did-- the mother looked at that gold chandelier in the living room and thought it was ya-fe-fi-yah. The two eight-year-old boys in our building seem excited about playing with the two eight-year-old girls who are moving in. But don't forget us, ok? You were a very significant 100 meters during my first two years in Israel, and I know we'll never forget you.

Now, excuse me while I go pack.

P.S. Yep, we're moving in just over a week!! Wahoo! Blog posts might be pretty infrequent as we move, though I have some ideas I'm kicking around. The thing I'm most worried about: canceling HOT cable... any suggestions about how to keep HOT from taking any more of our money?

If you want to understand Israelis, read this book...

2010-03-09T11:26:00.012+02:00

We have an amazing library just down the street, housed in an old building from the Turkish period. It's just a few aisles of (mostly) paperback books, in Hebrew, English, and Russian (with a new Spanish section), and browsing its stacks is like looking through a friend's bookshelf. I get overwhelmed when I have to choose between all the many categories in a major library-- in our library, on the other hand, I always find a few books that I want (and have discovered the wonder of British chick lit). There's nothing fancy about our library, but that's part of why I love it: my library card consists of a number scrawled on a bookmark, and I've never been charged a late fee, even when I was pretty sure I was returning a few books a month late. I have to admit that I stick to the English books, but I often see translations written in spidery Hebrew above tricky words.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I borrowed Ask for a Convertible by Danit Brown from the library, and I've been meaning to recommend it to everyone I know ever since. In a series of beautifully-written (and funny) short stories about the same set of characters-- primarily a family who makes "yaridah" (moving out of Israel, the opposite of aliyah)-- Brown conveys the Israeli mentality better than any book I've read. Danit Brown (not to be confused with Dan Brown) is a close observer of both American and Israeli culture. I like to think that this book is what my blog would be if it became hyper-intelligent, self-aware, and moved back to the US. :)

The main character in the short stories is named Osnat, which is one of the names my husband and I joke we'll name our hypothetical future children so that they will never move to America. (As someone in the stories says, "What is it with Israelis being named after bodily fluids?") Osnat is transplanted from sun-baked Tel Aviv to cloudy Michigan at age 12. Through the course of the stories, she attempts to figure out where she belongs, even moving back to Tel Aviv as a young woman.

One of my favorite aspects of this book was the way Brown gets details right. She shows Osnat's mother attempting to find self-rising flour in Michigan-- I remember seeing self-rising flour on my post-yaridah Israeli mother-in-law's shelves, and now I realize this is what most Israelis use rather than plain flour and baking powder. Brown conveys the gulf between the ways Americans and Israelis see Judaism and Israel. In one story, a burned-out driving instructor moves to an American small town and meets the town's one Jew and a staunch Christian. They end up in a coffee shop, and the Americans want to know what it's like in the Israeli army. The Israeli starts to tell them his arsenal of funny, raunchy stories about his time in the army, and the Americans grow increasingly confused and shocked at this image of the "holy land." Yet the Israeli is also burying the pain of a family member dying in a terrorist attack; this isn't the kind of thing he talks about, even though perhaps it's what the Americans would rather hear. I could also relate to the emotional strain of moving to a new country, whether that country is America or Israel. I have felt the plunge in IQ that comes with not being able to remember the word for "pants" in a clothing store and the slow process of finding friends and the different sound of Israeli apartments compared to American wood-frame houses.

One of the most thought-provoking stories was called "Your Own Private America." In it, Osnat struggles to be Israeli while all of the Israelis around her are looking for an idealized version of America. Here's an excerpt:

There was something about the way her aunt was always urging her to buy, buy, buy that made Osnat feel like the fat girl whose skinny friend kept encouraging her to eat and eat. "That's just how much stuff costs here," her aunt liked to say. Or, "Surely your parents can help you pay." It didn't matter that she had the same number of televisions and drove the same kind of car as Osnat's parents. There was simply no arguing with the spacious homes and glitzy automobiles you saw on TV. It was easier to believe in those than in the pasty, blubbery people who lived in trailer parks and sometimes came to blows on American talk shows. If one of these realities had to be rigged, then let it be the poor one.

I see this attitude so often in Israel. Israelis yearn for their "private Americas," despite the fact that most of my Israeli friends vacation in resorts while almost none of my American friends did. Israelis constantly use "cmo b'chul"-- like outside Israel-- as a sign something is truly nice, and they find it hard to believe that I honestly think quality of life is better here. Yet life is noisy and stressful in Israel, and as Osnat says, "America was nice, with its air conditioners and manicured lawns." This book put my fuzzy, conflicted feelings about the emotional distance between America and Israel into focus like no other book I've read.

One small disclaimer-- if you're easily offended by language or sexual content, you might not like this book, although to me it seemed pretty mild. Also, this book risks keeping you up at night. I don't usually like short story collections, but this one pulled me through to the end.

Have you read Ask for a Convertible? Do you think you can relate?

P.S. I'll probably mess up the formula for choosing the links that appear below this post by writing this, but it strikes me that Danit Brown wrote about every one of the topics that appears below this post for me: getting an Israeli driver's license (and failing the test the first time, as an American), running into celebrities on the Israeli streets, and even experiencing a chamsin. No wonder I loved this book!

How to Wait in Line Like an Israeli

2010-03-03T13:13:00.003+02:00

Contrary to popular opinion, Israelis do wait in line. We do have, shall we say, a different line-waiting etiquette, as my sister discovered when she returned to NYC after a year in Israel, shoved her way onto a bus (elbows flying)... then realized that all the other passengers were staring at her from the pavement where they stood in a polite queue. So here's a guide to how to wait in line like an Israeli.

1. Ask "mi ha'aharon"? (Who's the last?) When you come to a meat counter or post office line in Israel, ask who is last in line. It often won't be the person who is actually standing in front of you-- it may be the person off in the corner getting stamps out of a vending machine or feeding a baby. This is probably why a lot of Americans get really upset when they wait in line, because they think Israelis are cutting in front of them when, really, Israelis simply have a more casual attitude about what "standing in line" actually means.

2. If you need to step out of line, remind the person in front of you where your spot is. This was a little odd to me at first. For example, if I were in a grocery store check-out line in the US and realized I had to grab one thing off a nearby shelf, I would ask the person behind me in line if they could save my space-- the reason being that they're the person who would be disrupted when I came back. But for the exact same reason, Israelis rely on the person in front of them to save their spots. After all, why would the person behind you ever give your spot back?? That would be being a freyer! The person in front of you, on the other hand, will defend you if the person behind you complains, and Israelis do have a strongly-ingrained sense of line-standing ethics.

3. Stand really close to the person in front of you. Honestly, I'm not even sure if Israelis do this... my sense of personal space has shifted since coming here so that now I feel no compunction about nudging my shopping card actually into someone else when I try to make it down a narrow aisle in the Super. (Israelis look at me like I'm crazy if I apologize for something like that!) So the fact that Israelis don't actually touch each other in line or (mostly) breathe on each others' necks seems like plenty of space for me. But if you're an American from one of the northeastern regions, you may need to take a few steps forward. If you leave too much space in front of you, you aren't asserting your spot in line and someone may cut. (Watch out for spots in which you might think you're waiting in one line for multiple cash registers-- your body language has to be assertive for people not to cut in front of you then!)

4. Let someone else cut in front of you if you decide to, and be ready to wait for a while. Israelis are generally pretty rushed and stressed out, but for some reason they have a more relaxed attitude towards line-waiting than most Americans. If you come to a supermarket line with just a few items, Israelis with lots of items in their carts will almost always allow you to cut in front of them. Cashiers will wait for five minutes while you go back to get the third bag of shnitzel that will round out your 2 + 1 free deal. The bank teller will make four phone calls about the missing card for the guy in front of you before she looks for your checkbook. Any you know what? I actually think this is kind of nice. I like that when my time comes, the cashier will give me her full attention and let me take the time I need. So what if I wait a few extra minutes in the process. (Or, ok, a few extra hours back when we were applying for our mortgage... waiting in lines in banks is basically an all-day affair.) And definitely, complain loudly if you feel someone is taking advantage of a situation.

5. In some spots (bus stops, train stations, traffic circles, mortgage brokerages) there is no clearly-defined line, so instead you need to push your way to the front. This is where marpekim, elbows, are essential. Push your way up there!

Did I leave anything out? What have you while waiting experienced in Israeli lines?

I'm in the Jerusalem Post!

2010-03-01T20:50:00.006+02:00

So... apparently I was featured in the Jerusalem Post "Arrivals" column this past weekend! You can view the whole interview here:

http://www.jpost.com/CafeOleh/CafeTalk/Article.aspx?id=169637

As with any published article, not every detail is entirely accurate-- for example, while I very much love and miss my mother, mother-in-law and grandmother, as well as my two brothers and my sister, I also very much miss my father, father-in-law and grandfather! (Not to mention my brothers-in-law and my sisters-in-law, and maybe most of all my six nieces and nephews-- two years in the life of a little kid is eternity, so I don't feel like I even know them any more, even if we sometimes talk on the phone. That's the saddest part about moving away.)

It's a great article, though, and I'm really flattered. The Haifa English Theatre very much appreciates the good publicity... the Haifa English Theatre is truly as awesome as I say in the article (see my post about the last HET performance), though I could also credit a lot of non-HET, non-Anglo friends for helping me in my aliyah. Check the article out if you're curious about my unusual childhood and pre-aliyah life, as well as a bit about my personal life in Israel.

And I guess my cover is blown... so here's what I actually look like (on a rare good-face day):

However, contrary to the impression you might get from the picture, I do have more than three fingers on my left hand. Maybe that's why they only used the top of the picture in the article. :) In the background you can see the amazingly beautiful castle Montfort... see my post about Montfort.

Now I need to figure out what to do about all the autograph-seekers who keep bothering me... at least, I'm pretty sure the lawyer was just using our final mortgage forms as a ruse to get my signature...

P.S. I actually did post one picture containing my face on the blog before... and now it's probably more obvious which post it was. :)

It's Purim, so go to the mall... to hear a megilla reading?

2010-03-01T14:08:00.001+02:00

So, last year I posted about the way Israeli teenagers celebrate Purim: by going to the mall in costume (usually as sexy-something, including sexy Santa Clauses... it was quite disturbing). This year, though, my husband and I had other plans: we were going to go to our synagogue to hear a megilla reading. Problem was, we got the time wrong, so we showed up just as Haman's sons were being taken into custody and only about ten minutes before clowns arrived to entertain the kids who had been chattering throughout the whole thing.

We didn't have plans for the rest of the evening, so instead we decided to go to the mall. But something was missing... it didn't feel like a proper Purim without a megilla reading (and it obviously isn't a halachically proper Purim either). Just as we were leaving Steimatsky with a few books, we saw a bunch of young Chabad guys dancing past shouting: "just 10 minutes! Hear the Megilla! It's a big mitzva!" So we followed along, and there next to the Cellcom booth in the Kiryon Mall, we heard a full (turbo-speed) megilla reading.

It was one of those simple, awesome moments that could only happen in Israel-- there we were in a busy aisle between the food court and the Fox clothing store, along with about 15 young Lubavitch guys, a couple of teenage arsim, a few freichot, some 10-year-old boys who stopped by for the novelty value and hamentaschen, a few Israeli guys who looked like they hadn't worn a kipa since their bar mitzvot decades ago, and a security guard who was upset that we were banging on the mall's table too hard when Haman's name came along. These were all probably people who wouldn't go to a synagogue to hear a megilla reading-- they would be VERY sure you knew they aren't dati'im-- but they stopped and listened respectfully as the Lubavitch guy read through the Megilla so quickly that his face turned red. (He read it with feeling, though!) My husband's fingers whipped from line to line as he followed along in the little megilla pamphlet another Chabad guy gave us. After the megilla was finished and the blessing read, the people in the cellcom booth clapped as the Lubavitch guys danced around the table, singing. We left into the wet night air... a good Purim.

Happy (belated) Purim! Don't forget to check out Haveil Havalim, the Purim edition, over on The Israel Situation!

Have exact change

2010-02-24T17:42:00.005+02:00

My actual hands, and my actual change. As captured by my web cam, as I couldn't find my camera. Also, I think I need to moisturize.

This is probably not one of my weightier posts, but it just might make a difference on your next trip to the shuk or even the super. If you want to be Israeli, plan on having exact change.

This is not because vendors run out of change. This is because vendors (from cashiers to department stores) see themselves as professional authorities, and it is their job to make sure that you don't disturb the balance of agurot to shekels in their change drawers. So what if this inconveniences you, the customer. In Israel, the sales person is always right!

Here's an example: today I went to Eden, which is essentially the Israeli Whole Foods. My total purchases came out to something like 90.23, and I paid with a 100 shekel bill. The checkout girl took my money-- something she might not have done if I had tried to pay with a 200 shekel bill. Then I would have heard the classic question, ein lach kesef katan? Don't you have smaller money (i.e. smaller denominations of money)? It's sometimes actually difficult to get rid of a 200 shekel bill... don't even think of using it to buy a 14 shekel felofel serving!

Back in the US, this is where our transaction would have stopped. The checkout girl would have entered in the money I gave her into the cash register and dutifully returned to me a five-shekel coin, two two-shekel coins, one one-shekel coin, one half-shekel coin, and three ten-agurah coins. (There are technically 100 agurot to a shekel, but they abolished the one agurah coin a while ago, so the smallest denomination in our money is 10 agurot. This means that the price of my wasabi beans and organic pitot gets rounded to the nearest 10 agurot, which always makes me feel special when I get a three-agura discount.) And, ok, technically a checkout girl in the US would not give me my change in shekels, but you get my point. American checkout people believe the customer and the computer are always right, so they don't like to do any hard math of their own.

Instead, the checkout girl looked at my money, looked at the total, and asked me if I had 20 agurot. I fished in my purse, found 20 agurot, and received back one ten shekel coin.

This is a really small example, but I can't tell you how many times this has happened to me in Israel. I'm always getting asked if I have fifty agurot, kesef katan, or smaller bills. Israelis will stand at their cash registers for 10 minutes while you find and solicit exact change from your spouse in the next store rather than give you a lot of extra change.

By the way, if you really don't have exact change, just tell the checkout person that and act really apologetic. They will take pity on you and dip into their stores of change in dire emergencies. Unless you're trying to buy falofel with a 200-shekel bill... then you might starve. What do you think they are, in the business of accepting and returning money from customers? Oh. Well.... still. You'll starve.

Have you noticed the Israeli mania for exact change? Has anyone ever actually refused to take your money because you couldn't pay in kesef katan?

Israelis: just not as obsessed by the Arab-Israeli conflict as the rest of the world

2010-02-22T13:58:00.015+02:00

First, today is my one-year blogaversary! I started this blog one year ago on February 22nd with a post about voting in the most fraught mayoral elections ever, and I'm happy to report that a year out Kiryat Bialik is still busily attempting to transform itself into Kiryat Motzkin. (Apparently, we're trying to do that by painting the large rocks that lie around our town in bright primary colors. Seriously. It's pretty hideous.)

If you want to make me really happy, go read some of my first few posts, including classics such as "This is a mop" and "Election Ads: Apply Directly to the Forehead." My second post ever-- how to make Israeli Salad-- is still one of the most visited posts on this site, thanks to all of the random people googling to impress their Israeli boyfriends (at least, that's my theory). When I google "Israeli Salad," I get my own blog as the second hit, which means that I now officially consider myself the world's second-most leading expert on the preparation of Israeli salad and, hence, by logical extension, on all things Israeli. Thank you. Thank you very much.

Hehe. Or maybe all this "I actually kept a blog going (more or less) for one year" euphoria is going to my head. (Plus, my husband says I come in fourth when he searches for "Israeli salad," which is just outside the medals. Darn it.)

Anyway, today I want to post about a phenomenon I've noticed since moving to Israel: Israelis are a lot less obsessed by every little shift in Israeli-Arab relations than the rest of the world. I mean, obviously Israelis care about "foreign policy" on a different level: if we go to war with Iran, nukes fall in our backyards. Hamas shoots missiles at Sderot and they land in our cousin's daughter's kindergarten. We launch a massive invasion into Gaza and that's our brothers, sisters, and children there on the front lines. Israelis have passionate (and polarized) opinions about politics and about the way Israel should navigate its relations with Arab nations and the Palestinians.

But so often, I see blaring headlines in American media about Israel and run to Israeli newspapers to find out the rest of the story.... only to discover that the lead news story in Israel is the finale of cochav nolad. For example, foreign media is currently obsessed by the assassination of a Hamas leader in Dubai. Israeli media has certainly covered this story, but ultimately it doesn't surprise most Israelis very much. The reaction of any Israeli I've asked can be summed up as "If the Mosad did it, it should have been done much more quietly." Or, for example, while Iran is a big news story here, Israelis are certain that Iran is developing nukes, so all of this breathless are-they-or-aren't-they speculation loved by NPR is passed over here. Israelis also tend to be quite cynical about the future of Israeli-Arab relations; they've seen every headline before, so they don't get all excited over each new possible development. And, frankly, daily life goes on.

To show you what I mean, consider the English and Hebrew websites of Yediot Ahronot, one of Israel's leading newspapers. Yesterday, this was the front page of the English edition, www.ynetnews.com (click any image to see a larger version):

Basically all of the stories are about Israeli-Arab relations, which I guess makes sense: that's all that people outside of Israel tend to see (or care about) in terms of our little country.

But here was the front page of the Israeli version, www.ynet.co.il:

Here's a translation (thanks to the creative word choices of Google translate):

I kind of feel badly that Tamar (whoever she is) is getting drilled, but what strikes me most about the Hebrew headlines is just how ordinary life within Israel feels when you're here. The top story was about a major traffic jam on "kvish hachof," one of our main highways. The article on the bottom of the screen that gets translated as "Occupation"? It's not referring to occupation of Palestinian lands, but to occupation for your hands as you make homemade Purim goodies. (It's actually a pun-- "mishloach yad" means this kind of occupation, while "mishloach manot" are the gifts we send on Purim.) The second story, which Google elegantly translates as "What do Csbdihh can not" is not an essay on what to do when UN inspections fail. Its title is actually "Ma osim ceshehabedicha lo matzliach," or "What to do when a joke falls flat," and it features an interview with two young people with special needs.

And, in a sense, this is what I've tried to convey through this blog. How ridiculous, beautiful, and ordinary life in Israel can be. How Israelis are stubborn, loud, quirky, and kind. How the question of "what do you use to mop a floor" can be more important to the daily life of a new olah than "what do you think about granting the right of return to Palestinian refugees." Certainly, the second question could impact my daily life even more than dirt on my floors, but life in Israel is so much more funny and full than NPR headlines would have you believe.

Here's to another year of being Israeli! Thanks so much for reading. Comments and links make me warm and fuzzy inside every time.

P.S. If you want to read good coverage of the Hamas assassination controversy, I highly recommend the daily updates being posted by www.israellycool.com. Also, Ruti Mizrachi posted a really beautiful edition of the Jewish blog carnival, Haveil Havelim, over at Ki Yachol Nuchal. Check it out!

Punning in Hebrish

2010-02-17T14:28:00.014+02:00

One thing I've come to appreciate since moving here is that English has a life of its own as a second language. At first I thought it was weird to see, say, Serbian Eurovision announcers talking to each other in awkward English, but then I started to realize that there are many forms of English: American English, British English, and International English (including its Israeli form, Hebrish). In some Israeli commercials, for example, you actually hear voice-overs in Israeli-accented English-- sure, they could have found someone with a flawless American accent, but they wanted Hebrish, not American English.

One of the most awesome and cringe-worthy aspects of Hebrish is the Israeli love for bad Hebrew-English puns. For example, a pizza shop down the street from us is called פיצה מן, which is a mild pun on "man" and "manna" (as in the bread that rained from the sky for the Israelites in Sinai). "Manna" in Hebrew is pronounced "mon." To any American, the vowel sound in "man" and "mon" are not the same (unless the pizza joint is rostafarian, mon). But Israelis don't hear the difference between these vowels, so... welcome to the world of Hebrish punning, where "dead pun" takes on a whole new meaning.

Here are a few other classic bad Hebrish puns... what would you add to the list?

1. The Grand Canyon... which is a mall near Haifa. "Kenyon" is the Hebrew word for "mall." What better name for a big mall than "Grand Canyon"? What... you don't think a majestic natural wonder and a shopping center have anything in common? Well... but... kenyon! Canyon! Get it?

2. Zer4U, a chain of Israeli florists. If you don't get this one right away, first consider the fact that "zer" means "bouquet" in Hebrew. Then say "zer 4 U" really slowly and imagine yourself speaking English with a thick Israeli accent... get it? Get it? I'm zer for you!

3. Cup O'Joe, an Israeli coffee shop chain. (Thanks to Toby for pointing this one out in the comments of my post about Israelis not being able to read their own language!) Ok, so this one really only works if you read the name in Hebrew as well. In the English version, you see that the name is "cup o'Joe," which obviously refers to a cup of coffee (Joe). But in Hebrew, the vowels and consonants are ambiguous, so the name just as easily reads as "cuppa joe" or "cafe joe"-- and the word for "coffee" in Hebrew is "cafe." See how that works? This is a little more sophisticated than Grand Kenyon or Zer4U, but still fabulous.

4. Top Gan... an Israeli kindergarten. So the word for kindergarten (and garden) is "gan," and that old Tom Cruise movie was called "Top Gun," and in Hebrish "gan" and "gun" are the same sound.... hence this actual name for an Israeli daycare center. (That's not the actual picture-- it's what came up when I ran a google image search for "top gan." Based on its context, I'd say it's some kind of knock-off image from Indonesia.) Do you really want to imagine Tom Cruise giving you thumbs up as you drop little Itay off at gan? Does a Tom Cruise flight movie and a kindergarten have anything in common other than the word "gan"? No... but that never stopped Hebrew punsters! ("Top Gan" is also the name of a chain of garden stores: www.topgan.co.il.)

Update: here's the real picture of the outside of the Gan, and though it isn't as pretty as a young Tom Cruise, it's about as creepy-looking:

Here's one that "anonymous" brought up in the comments, and it was too good to leave out...

5. Oh Magash, a chain of pizza shops. (Magash=pan of pizza.) Priceless! (For the record, I'm going to continue to believe that "Paz Gas" is not an intentional pun.... please don't tell me otherwise. That would just be too depressing. www.pazgas.co.il)

This phenomenon is so widespread that I'm sure there are examples I'm missing. Have you encountered any bad Hebrish puns?

The Art of Shopping at a Yarkan

2010-02-10T14:17:00.005+02:00

The yarkan where I shop-- click to see a larger version and read the prices :)

In many random ways, Israel is "greener" than the US-- for example, we heat our water using solar panels in the summer and generally drive fuel-efficient cars. But one of the biggest ways in which we're green comes is found in the little shops whose name sounds like the word "green" ("yarok"): we get almost all of our fruits and veggies locally, while the US flies unripe produce in from, say, Chile so that everyone can eat tasteless tomatoes ALL YEAR ROUND! Score! This means a few things:

1. If you want to get a peach or a slice of watermelon in February, you're out of luck. (According to the owner of my yarkan, the one veggie that comes from overseas-- and therefore is available out of season-- is the white garlic from China, which isn't nearly as flavorful as the purple garlic from Israel.)

2. Our fruits and vegetables actually have taste. I honestly thought cucumbers tasted like water (sometimes bitter water) before I came to Israel. Think again!

To shop for vegetables like an Israeli, go to the shuk or shop at any one of your neighborhood yarkans... we have at least three within two blocks of our apartment. (The word "yarkan" probably comes from the word for vegetables, "yerakot.")

Here are some tips for shopping at a yarkan like a native:

Everything is always on sale. In the Yarkan where I shop, all prices are written on scraps of cardboard boxes, and about half of the prices are accompanied by the word מבצע-- SALE! So, er, don't trust the signs. (Closely related is the idea that everything is seedless. Don't believe everything your yarkan guy says.) Instead...
Know what's a good price. A typical price for basics like tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, oranges, eggplant or potatoes is 2.99 shekels a kilo, which even with the weak dollar is equivalent to about 35 cents a pound. I've bought tomatoes at the yarkan for as little as 99 agurot a kilo, which is about 11 cents a pound. (Don't forget-- first divide by 3.8 or so for the exchange rate into dollars, then divide by 2.2 to convert kilos to pounds!) A good price for, say, persimmons, kiwi fruit, pears, apricots or avocados is about 6 shekels a kilo (equivalent to about 70 cents a pound). I buy about three canvas bags full of fruits and veggies every week and usually spend about 50-70 shekels.
Don't always buy the cheapest tomatoes. The fruits and veggies sitting out front on a really good sale sometimes have sat there for a while. Unless you plan to eat the tomatoes right away, you might want to splurge on the slightly more expensive tomatoes that are sitting inside in the shade.
Onions and celery grow in dirt. You may need to wash them when you get home. Live with it. Sometimes shopping at a yarkan takes you, er, a little closer to the earth than shopping in an American grocery store does. That's because American veggies get power washed and quite possibly didn't stay in the ground long enough to get dirty.
Don't squeeze the peaches. Sometimes the owners of the yarkan get a little, shall we say, possessive? It's only natural. After all, they own the yarkan and essentially own all the fruits and veggies on their shelves. Which means that a hypothetical brand-new olah trying to shop for peaches during one of her first days in Israel might get yelled at for pinching peaches before she chooses to buy them. At which point, hypothetically, she might get offended and shop at a different yarkan for a few months until she stops thinking like an American and realizes that her thumb print just might not belong on someone else's peach.
Save bags by putting all the veggies at one price together in one bag. The owner of my yarkan weighs veggies and types in their prices by hand-- no code stickers (or stickers of any kind, actually) on my fruit. So he doesn't care if I mix my tomatoes and potatoes so long as they're all the same price. Even so, you'll end up with a ton of the little colored yarkan sakiot nylon, but you do what you can.
Bring cash. Again, the yarkan isn't big on careful record keeping or fancy money transactions. It doesn't contain any kind of bar-code scanner and it certainly doesn't accept credit cards.
Ask the owner what weird-looking fruit and veggies are. He will laugh at you for not knowing the identity of the giant sooty radish, but you'll get over it. Then do a web search when you get home to figure out how to eat the food. Did you know that the yummiest way to eat a ripe persimmon is to cut off the top and scoop out the insides like pudding?
Let the owner pick out your watermelon half. He prides himself on getting you the sweetest piece, and he'll cut it open for you on the spot. Israelis rarely seem to buy a whole watermelon.
Never buy your veggies in the supermarket (or, in Hebrew, the "Sooper"). The vegetables there are overpriced, unripe (and possibly rotten), flavorless, and generally fairly equivalent to what you might get in the US.

Have you shopped in a yarkan? What are your favorite Israeli fruits and vegetables?

*Correction: people tell me that a "yarkan" is technically the person selling the veggies, not the store. So for the record, I've never actually been, er, "in" our local yarkan.

Oops... I may have spoken too soon...

2010-02-04T11:20:00.001+02:00

Last night snow fell all over Israel (though not here in the Krayot)... check out Yediot Ahronot for some amazing pictures: http://www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-3844235,00.html

(The captions are classic: "C'mo b'Europa!" "Choref amiti"-- Just like Europe! Real winter!)

Eat your heart out, Punxsutawney Phil!

2010-02-02T15:22:00.002+02:00

I grew up only about an hour away from Punxsutawney, PA, home of the famous groundhog who pops up out of the ground each February 2nd and predicts six more weeks of winter. (Some Israeli, somewhere, is going, "פנקסטווני פיל? Why an elephant?") My little sister and I would always look outside at the February landscape consisting of various shades of brown and hope that this year spring would come early, but it never did. Even if the groundhog didn't see his shadow.

So I get great pleasure in tormenting all of you US-bound readers with you these pictures of Israel I took today at a nearby national park (Ein Afek)-- this is where I go jogging three mornings a week. I know, I'm lucky. The red and white flowers (calaniot and rakefot) bloom all winter, but in the past few weeks we've started to see spring flowers as well...

Above: I found a little turtle among the rakefot (cyclamen) and the clover

Above: I wonder if this is one of those kosher grasshoppers mentioned in the Torah?

How do you pronounce שופרסל?

2010-01-31T18:12:00.003+02:00

In my last post, I posed a probing question that elicited riveting debate in the comments-- how do you pronounce the name of the grocery store chain found on these boxes of dried fruit? Take a closer look:

In case anyone reading this doesn't understand Hebrew, this is a tricky question in part because Hebrew is written without most vowels and some letters-- including two in this store's name-- can make more than one sound. ש can make a "sh" sound or an "s" sound, and פ can make a "p" sound or a "f" sound, so this word's pronunciation comes down to this: sh/s--oo/oh--p/f--a/e/i/o/u/silent--r--a/e/i/o/u/silent--s--a/e/i/o/u/silent--l. Are we confused yet?

But, see, Israelis all know how words are pronounced, so the system never fails. You just have to be in the know. Right?

So, let's narrow the answer down to the choices proposed by this blog's astute readers in the comments:

Supersell (which wouldn't be weird at all by Israeli standards, Bryan-- I mean, we have a mall known as the Grand Kenyon, in one of the worst English-Hebrew puns I know!)

Shufersal (means "quality basket," supposedly)

Supersal ("Super" makes sense because Israelis call any grocery store the "super"-- see this post about grocery shopping like an Israeli-- and "sal" still means "basket")

Supersol (no idea why "sol" would make sense)

One of the easiest ways to find the answer to this question is to try out all the likely URLs for the grocery store chain. The one that gets to the correct site is the right answer. Let's try it out:

Oops. Except for "supersell," they all work.

The answer to this trick question is that Israelis don't actually know how some of their words are pronounced. I most often hear people call this chain "supersal," but its name is technically "shufersal" and used to be "supersol." All those URLS redirect to this address, which expresses the brand confusion perfectly: http://www.shufersal.co.il/supersol_he/

In part, I suspect this name confusion lies in some kind of tax/anti-trust-lawsuit dodge: Who, us? But we're just a brand new chain, Shufersal. You must mean the old grocery story that used to try to drive all competitors out of the market, Supersol."Mark my words-- they'll be "Supersell" within a decade.

But the bottom line is that Israelis don't actually know how to say the name of this grocery store. In fact, you see Israelis mispronounce other words in fabulous ways too, especially when these words come from foreign languages. Anyone want to go bowel-ing with me? Then we can go get Whoffers at Boorger King! We can wash dishes in our Virlpool dishwasher! (And, as someone else in Benji Lovitt's hilarious Facebook feed pointed out, Israelis are still mourning the death of Parrah Paucett.)

So if you are struggling to read Hebrew without vowels, take heart: Israelis can't always read Hebrew either. :)

Happy Tu B'Shvat!

2010-01-29T12:01:00.003+02:00

When it's almost Tu B'Shvat (the "new year of the trees")...

And you live in Israel (where the "new year of the trees" is a widely-celebrated holiday resulting in massive sales on dried fruit in any super)...

And you go to visit Polish Grandparents (who had to fend for themselves as teenagers during the Holocaust, and who therefore think that they need to show their love by giving you all the abundance they lacked, plus some extra just in case you think they skimped on you or maybe you are still hungry because maybe you forgot to buy any food this week, and they want to make sure you don't run out too quickly)...

And they are very concerned about you not eating enough because you're on a diet (and can't seem to understand that deep-fried shnitzel is unhealthy while drinking water during a meal-- tfu tfu tfu-- is ok)...

And you can only stay a few hours for lunch, thus increasing their concern for your well-being (and their fear that you will catch your death of cold or swine flu or hunger while on the train ride back)...

Then you risk returning home lugging about 20 pounds of dried fruit and nuts (yes, those are three full-sized ice cream tubs full of pecans, apricots, and golden raisins).

On the plus side, bags and bags of dried fruit and nuts make a pretty good seat when the train is packed to the brim on Thursday afternoon. Happy Tu B'Shvat, everyone!

Bonus points if anyone can read the name of the grocery store (שופרסל) where my husband's grandparents bought this insane amount of food. (Hint: this is kind of a trick question. I'll explain later unless someone wants to beat me to it in the comments.)

Bundle up when you come inside!

2010-01-26T15:01:00.006+02:00

Last night was our coldest night so far, because it got down to only about 5 degrees above zero (Celsius), which is about 40 degrees Fahrenheit. I still go jogging in short sleeves most mornings and leave the windows open most days.

I grew up in Pennsylvania, so I remember weather that hovered around zero Fahrenheit for weeks on end, but Pennsylvania homes are built for cold weather. Our thermostat and central heating kept our hours a toasty 70 degrees F, and every other part of our life was arranged so that it involved a minimum of actual time spent outdoors. Wood and carpet floors stayed pretty warm (and of course we could always huddle over heating vents if we wanted).

But the problem with Israeli winters is that Israeli apartments are built for summer. Tile floors are refreshing in summer and frigid in winter. We have drafty windows, heavy blinds that block out light (or let in cold air), and cold, thick cement walls. Heavy rains drench me as I run to the yarkan to buy veggies and fruit, and our laundry struggles to dry on racks in our cold "service balcony." (Most Israelis don't even own clothes dryers.) Central heating? HA! Our only built-in heat source is the "heat" function on our air-conditioning unit, which has one setting: power-guzzle. In fact, our apartment is so good at keeping heat out that it's usually warmer outside than inside in the winter-- I huddle inside wearing four layers of clothing, then step outside and peel almost all of it off.

This winter, we finally broke down and bought several little space heaters. Now life is good. :) (To be fair, I'm also wearing two sweaters and a scarf.) We've learned to place slippers strategically close to the edge of the bed, sleep under down comforters, drink tea, and wear lots of layers. I've also discovered that it actually isn't a good idea to rest my crocs on our space heater... they melt:

Apparently sweatpants melt as well. Don't ask me how I know this.

Of course, our cats have found other ways to stay warm, which mainly involve mauling each other and sitting on various electronic devices around our house. Pixel spends hours every day curled up on top of our HOT cable box (I think he likes hot appliances more than HOT guys), and he recently took it upon himself to compose two separate blog posts while sitting on my keyboard... isn't he talented? I'm keeping his posts up, partly because I'm fascinated by how linkwithin calculates posts related to "xc#2.s!"

Hope you're staying warm!

,k0

2010-01-26T13:26:00.006+02:00

(Guest post by Pixel while Maya was having lunch)

,k0":?p

2010-01-26T13:26:00.004+02:00

(Guest post #2 by Pixel)

Still alive! (In which I blame the lack of posts on Lior Narkis)

2010-01-24T10:07:00.006+02:00

Just wanted to let y'all know that I'm not sick, have not been hit by a monit sherut, and have not decided to abandon Israel for a small Yurt in the Himalayas. I've actually just been busy, and I figure one of the perks of blogging for fun is that I can take vast unpaid vacations without any warning.

Really, though, what happened was that I saw this Lior Narkis music video and was at a loss for words for several weeks. I can't explain the video. I can't even tell you what aspect of Israeli culture would spawn something this odd, although most oddly, it doesn't surprise me at all. And I should further caveat this video by saying that this song is really popular and blares on Israeli streets from arse-mobiles at all hours of the day, Lior Narkis is a Mizrachi singer who sings love songs, and this is the song's real music video. The lyrics basically say "You're really sweet. Everything you do is really sweet. I want to hug you."

I can't embed the video, so just follow this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zqt-nZHrAfw
And I'm not talking about all the gratuitous bikini shots... watch to the very end.

Now you know.

P.S. In a serious story about Israeli medical rescue, I hope you're all aware of the amazing job that Israel has done in rescuing survivors in Haiti. We were one of the first to set up a fully functional field hospital and we've recently been among the last to pull survivors out of the rubble. Check out a sample story here (and from the Philadelphia Bulletin, just to show that the Jerusalem post isn't alone in applauding the Israeli delegation. I even found a positive mention of Israel's rescue teams at Aljazeera.net).

UPDATE: Oh. My. This music video is part of a series. Here's the next one, and again, you have to watch to the very end. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10c0FVoMfA4&feature=related

I guess you can say many things about Lior Narkis, many of them starting with "tasteless," but the guy definitely doesn't take himself too seriously!

Standing on the threshold of 2010

2010-01-01T07:06:00.003+02:00

I recently discovered this wonderful, thoughtful entry posted among the comments of past messages. Lisa, I can't access your blogger profile, so I can't give you proper credit or a link, but thanks for posting it. While she was talking about 2008, I find this an inspiring read as I move into 2010. (Btw, anyone else want to write a guest post about how you came to be Israeli or any other aspect of Israeli life? I'd love to post more!)

STANDING ON THE THRESHOLD OF ~~2008~~ 2010

I was just 14 when I first visited Israel and I never suspected that I was about to fall hopelessly and helplessly in love with a country...a nation...a new way of being. Photographs from that life-changing trip show me in tears in the Ben Gurion departure lounge and this became a pattern that continued with every annual visit that followed.

I could never quite understand my depth of emotion for this feisty little country. I was born and bred in South Africa and grew up surrounded by loving family, friends and all the luxuries typically enjoyed by a privileged White child. Why then did I feel so foreign as I drove the familiar streets and interacted with people I'd known for a lifetime and only felt I truly belonged when I stepped back onto Israeli soil?

My love for Israel defined me. I listened only to Israeli music. I lingered over books on Israel in every bookstore I entered and watched movies that were based in the Middle East with an overwhelming longing to transport myself to the world shown on screen. In 1991 I escaped the Gulf War just as the first scuds hit Tel Aviv and went to London where I found myself drawn to the local ELAL offices in the hope of savoring a taste of the country I loved best.

I once explained my attachment to Israel by saying that I went about my daily routine with a constant awareness of missing a piece of my heart and it was only when I arrived back here that I felt that illusive puzzle piece slip seamlessly into place.

Israel soothed my soul in way that nothing else could. It was for this reason that in 2005 I decided that I could no longer spend the rest of my days wishing I was someplace else and put plans in motion to relocate my family to the country of my heart.

We arrived at the Mirkaz Klitah absorption centre in Raanana on the 26th June 2006....and Israel went to war with Lebanon just 2 weeks later. The next 18 months saw me move home 3 times ... tackle the challenges of settling my children into an entirely new school and social environment ... reestablish my cookery school and make new friends ...and face a sudden divorce that saw me unexpectedly navigating my way through single parenting.

It also brought me sheer joy as I realised that this was not merely an infatuation and I truly had found the love of my life. I continue to thrill at the sight of the distinctive blue and white flags that flap in the breeze and I am always the last person on the street to remove my flag from the gate-post after the Yom Hautzmaut Independence Day celebrations are over. My eyes still fill with tears whenever I hear the Hatikva national anthem. And I constantly irritate my children by changing radio stations if the station I am tuned to dares to play anything but Israeli music.

2008 will be a momentous year as Israel celebrates 60 years of independence and I celebrate my 40th and a new found independence of my own. Being here for this momentous birthday is the greatest gift I could ever wish for and I am grateful each and every day to have been granted the opportunity to realise this dream.

Roll on another year of sunshine!

P.S. Wow, am I ever confused about dates. My original title for this post was "Standing on the threshold of 2009." Am I really senile already??

Celebrate Sylvester! (Or don't. Nobody really cares.)

2009-12-31T12:59:00.006+02:00

No, not this Sylvester. (Source: http://www.swapmeetdave.com/Humor/Cats/Sylvester.htm)

New Years Eve was actually the first "holiday" I ever experienced in Israel, on my Birthright Israel trip as a sophomore in college. (I went to Israel just because it was a free trip and I liked to travel... I didn't expect it to change my life so drastically and ultimately send me here!) On December 31, 2001, our group was staying in a hotel in Jerusalem. The Chabad rabbis leading our trip bought us fairly massive amounts of alcohol, and at midnight we stood on the balconies of a party hall near the top of the hotel, sipping vodka and orange juice screwdrivers, and waiting for the fireworks to mark the start of 2002.

They didn't come.

We finally saw a few little pops and fizzles way off in the direction of Bethlehem.

This was perhaps my first introduction to the vast differences between Israeli and American culture. I wasn't surprised by the lack of Christmas decorations in Israel, but no celebration of New Year's Eve??

To Israelis, New Year's Eve isn't really our holiday. Yes, we might think about going to a pub (especially in Tel Aviv, den of heathens that it is), or we might go for a late meal at a restaurant, but if January 1st falls on a weekday, we'll be working. In fact, the very name by which Israelis call New Year's Eve implies that it's a Christian holiday: "Sylvester," which refers to the anti-Semitic pope whose saint's day falls on New Years Eve. (To boot, "Silvester" is the term used by Germans for New Year's Eve. Nothing like the dual connotation of Nazis and Jew-hating Popes to dampen celebration!)

Because most Israelis are off on Friday, more Israelis are going out to celebrate Sylvester this year than normal. However, when one of my friends posted a call for Sylvester plans on Facebook, she got back the following suggestions: prepare cholent, clean the house, go to sleep early. (And for the record, my friend is about as secular as they get!) There may have been a banner wishing Kiryat Bialik a Sweet New Year and "only good things" in September, but the only sign of Sylvester here was a sale on sparkling white wine at the Super, and that could be coincidence.

So, celebrate Sylvester tonight. Or don't. Either way. Shabbat Shalom, and oh, what it is those Americans say? Eppy New Year?

P.S. My husband and I are going to stay up and celebrate with strawberries and champagne... what can we say, we'll always be American. :)

P.P.S. Heh... I just caught a typo in the version of this message that I posted originally. For the record, we were not partying on top of a hotel in Jerusalem on January 31, 2001, although that would certainly have explained the lack of fireworks...

Work doesn't stop at the end of December!

2009-12-27T18:47:00.009+02:00

In the US (and in the blogosphere), almost everything comes to a halt between Christmas and New Year's day. Even all my Jewish family and friends in the US are on vacation. It's the US equivalent of the "achrei hachagim" phenomenon that sweeps Israel every fall and spring.

Here in Israel, though, Dec. 25 is just another day. My husband and I went out for (amazing) sushi for lunch on Friday not because only Asian restaurants were open, but because we felt like soy sauce and wasabi with a little raw fish on the side. (Or maybe that was just me.) I went fabric shopping and got a great deal on Ultrasuede to reupholster my sofa. Our only rush was to get all our errands done before Shabbat, because everything shuts down from Friday night to Saturday night in Israel-- it was only part way through the day that I realized Americans were celebrating.

By the way, here's one of my favorite ways to identify true Sabras: ask them when "Chag HaMolad" (Holiday of the Birth, aka Christmas) happens. If they guess the wrong day in December, you know they're the real deal. The one possible exception might be the armies of young Israelis hawking Dead Sea products in US malls-- believe me, they understand the concept of a "holiday season."

My husband is back at work, so I've been using this time to catch up on my own rather intense backload of work for my day job. And, oh yes, Sunday's a work day. If you're an American coming to Israel, prepare for your internal clock to get confused.

There are, though, signs that Christmas happened here. Russian grocery stores send out advertising circulars covered in Christmas trees, which makes me kind of sad. I mean, yes, I know that the communists did a good job of convincing Russian Jews that these are secular New Year's Trees and should be in everyone's homes, but come on, Russim-- you're in Israel now. In the Arab neighborhoods in Haifa, a few strands of Christmas lights blink from balconies. Other than that, though, life carries on. I saw menorahs dripping in stores and booths in the mall during Chanukah, but no Christmas garlands or sales the past few days. No "Happy Holidays" from people who really mean "Merry Christmas."

It's nice. :)

Question from the comments: Where can you buy an in-cabinet dish rack?

2009-12-22T16:49:00.002+02:00

In response to my post about washing dishes in a water shortage, Rivka recently asked:

Do you know how I can buy one of those in the cabinet dish racks? I am very familiar with them.... used to live in Israel and now I'm back in the US. I really would love to have one of those!

This is the rack she's talking about:

As this blog is all about the joys of living an Israeli life (whether you live in Israel or not), I thought I'd turn this question over to you. I do know that these cabinet dish racks aren't unique to Israel-- I remember a thread about them on Apartment Therapy once, and many Europeans said they use these racks as well. Anyone know where to find them in the US?

To the uninitiated, these racks fit into the cabinet over a sink (or over a counter, but the drips are better dropped into the sink). They hide most of my drying dishes and free up counter space. Mine slides down on springs with the weight of dishes. My rack also makes an ear-splitting whine when it slides down, reminiscent of a metal rake being dragged across a chalk board, but nothing is perfect.

Please help Rivka!

By the way, there were no posts the last few days because my husband and I were off celebrating our fifth (!!) wedding anniversary in a tzimmer in the Galil. Must Israeli insanity ensued, and posts will follow. For the record: tea candles are best not placed in metal bowls with star-shaped holes in the sides, especially when extra matches dropped on top of the candles function as extra-long wicks/wax exit ramps. And jacuzzi water actually makes a wax fire get bigger. Just saying.

The Maccabis aren't just part of Chanukah

2009-12-16T12:00:00.009+02:00

If you live in Israel, the Maccabis quickly become more than just characters who lit a lamp in the Temple way back when. Instead, the name "Maccabi" shows up everywhere in the names of organizations, streets, towns, and even beer brands. In celebration of Chanukah, here are a few of the places that the nes gadol of the Maccabis is still happening here.

1. Cheer on Maccabi Haifa! (And Maccabi Netanya, and Maccabi Tel Aviv, and...)

Most of the Israeli sports teams grew out of the original labor unions in Israel, which is why most Israeli sports teams are named either Maccabi-Something or HaPoal-Something, with a few "Beitar-Somethings" thrown in for good measure. Really, the only soccer team worth caring about is Maccabi Haifa, the Israeli champions and hands down the best "football club" in Israel. Oh, yes... I went there, rabid Beitar Yerushalayim fans. You're no match for Yaniv Katan.

2. Go to a doctor's appointment at your local Maccabi clinic.

Israel has an effective form of socialized health care-- it involves the right balance of free-market competition and government funding. We choose between a handful of providers for our health care, and whichever provider we sign up with gives us basic, free service (with additional coverage you can pay for). We're members of Maccabi health care, and I'm guessing by the logo that this is another instance of the same labor union still influencing modern Israeli organizations.

3. Compete in the Macabiah games.

Ok, you know how the Olympics were originally Greek? And you know how the Maccabis fought against the Greeks? So you know what Israel calls its Jewish version of the Olympic games? Welcome to the Maccabiah, which proves that Jews actually are athletic after all.

4. Drive down Rechov Yehuda HaMaccabi

(source: http://www.mynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-3639464,00.html)

Here's a good one from the comments-- many cities in Israel have a street named after Yehuda HaMaccabi, leader of the Maccabis. Above, Rechov Yehuda HaMaccabi in Kfar Saba. (You can ALMOST read the street sign.) There are also numerous Maccabi museums, clubs, and even Maccabi towns.

5. Drink Maccabi beer!

(Source: http://www.winet.co.il/he-IL/185/1797/)

NB reminded me of this one in the comments, and it was too good to leave out. Yes, we have a popular beer brand named after the Maccabis. Don't you love this country?

Let me know if you think of any more!

The Commercialization of Chanukah (Dreidel washing machine, anyone?)

2009-12-15T15:01:00.005+02:00

Nah, this post isn't actually a rant about how commercialized Chanukah has become. In fact, I love Chanukah in Israel-- everyone gets together with family members, but gift-giving isn't the norm (although parents tend to give gelt money to their kids). Because Chanukah celebrates the burning of oil in a lamp for eight days, we eat all kinds of food fried in oil... mainly jelly donuts, or sufganiot. Oh, and we don't light a "menorah"-- a "menorah" is what we keep on our bedside tables so that we can read books at night. (Menorah just means "lamp" in Hebrew.) The actual Hebrew word for menorah is "chanukiah"-- just so we're clear.

In other words, Chanukah in Israel is just what it should be: a celebration of light, oil, and family. (And the triumph of Judaism over assimilation. Nah, mostly just light, oil, and family.) Just as the four sons from the Hagaddah showed up in Passover advertising, so do ads around this time of year reference Chanukah.

An oleh named Jacob Richman does an amazing job of encouraging aliyah and gathering resources to help olim. For Chanukah, he collected a number of Israeli chanukah ads. Here are a few of my favorites:

Translation: "No matter how to turn it, this is the number one tuna in the world."

Translation: "The Mall of the Negev invites you to celebrate the holiday exactly like the Maccabis." (I'm honestly not sure what that means, but that's a wonderful picture of a sufganiah. Mmmmm.)

Washing machines and ovens in the shape of dreidels. 'Nuff said.

Ok, the thing I like about the one above is the punning. Up top, it says "A great miracle is happening here," which is a pun on what our dreidels say in Israel: "A great miracle happened here." (In the US, dreidels say "a great miracle happened there." Ha. :) The second line essentially says "Amazing sales for Chanukah at the Mashbir for the consumer" However, instead of "amazing," it actually uses the word "madlikim," which literally means "turn on" or "light up" and is slang for hot, super, great, cool. Get it? Get it? The Chanukah sale lights you up.

Here's a clearer example of the same pun:

Translation: "Happy Chanukah at Auto Depot. An Amazing (madlikah) Present for those who buy more than 399 shekels..." I'll admit that sales are often referred to as "madlik" all year round, but I prefer to see this word choice as a pun at Chanukah.

Jacob Richman uploaded many more and provided translations of all of them, so definitely check out the full collection here.

After years of lip-service to Chanukah in the US (hey FarmVille, just because you call it a "holiday tree" doesn't mean it's part of my holiday), it's refreshing to actually see Chanukah reflected everywhere around me, from the Chanukiot glowing in the windows to the displays of chocolate money, jelly donuts and candles in the corner supermarket.

Chanukah Sameach!

Oh right, my list...

2009-12-14T13:45:00.002+02:00

In April, I posted a reflection on my first year of Aliyah, and I set some goals for the next year. Now that I'm more than half way through this next year, I was a little nervous to look back at the list-- I hadn't thought about it since April, and I didn't think I'd accomplished any of the goals. But if you're curious, here's how I'm doing.

In April, I wrote...

1. I will read five more full-length books in Hebrew this year. Er... no comment. I've read parts of a few books, but I need to get cracking. Does the Hagaddah count as one? Btw, I welcome suggestions of books that are easy to read in Hebrew. I think I'll start with books I've already read in English, as well as books written for younger readers.

(One of the books on my shelf... can you figure out the English title?)

2. I will go back to studying a half hour of Hebrew every morning. ... Maybe I'll subscribe to some kind of fun Israeli magazine? Let's see... umm.... no. I do this off and on, but I need to prioritize this again and stick to it. I am now a subscriber to Menta (essentially the Israeli Shape), though, which works really well on the months when nobody steals my magazine before I find it!

3. I will find a new volunteer opportunity that will put me out in my community, speaking Hebrew. I've been slow in getting this going, but just last week I made contact with an organization that tutors autistic kids. I found them through this excellent portal: ivolunteer.org.il

4. I'll try to watch Israeli news more often. I do this sometimes, but not enough.

5. I'm going to start exercise classes so that I get out of the house and learn how to say "downward-facing dog" in Hebrew. :) Yes! Finally something I can say I've done! Over the summer, I took a number of aerobics classes with a friend (which were pretty hilarious-- half the time the instructor and the women in the class talked about craving falofel), and during the past month I've started a yoga class along with my husband. I'm still not quite sure how to say downward-facing dog (the instructor usually use tells us how to move into the movement, not the movement's name) but I have learned about 10 different words for "relaxation." Yesterday we did the gesher malei for the first time, and I feel it today.

6. I'll make plans with Israeli friends (or at least, friends I speak with only in Hebrew-- two of my best friends are Brazilian!) more often, for more informal Hebrew practice. Yay! I've done this too! For example, now I go walking three days a week with one of my Brazilian friends (who has amazing Hebrew). We may do more talking than aerobic exercise, but it's more than an hour of Hebrew.

7. My husband and I will celebrate "Hebrew-only Fridays," in which we only speak Hebrew for 24 hours to each other.Oh, right... that... um...

8. We'll figure out which shul we actually want to join. Done! We're paying members and everything.

9. I'll try to remember to be kind to myself, because one year really isn't that long and I don't need to become perfectly Israeli all at once. I've been really good at this one. Maybe too good. But I still maintain that this is perhaps the most important item on my list, so I'm ok with that.

So... I have a ways to go. I often find, though, that the act of writing a list of goals pays off in the long run. Even if I don't accomplish everything immediately, the fact that I once stated a goal sticks in my mind and motivates me to say yes to opportunities as they come along. A stack of Hebrew books is waiting for me...

By the way, after I wrote that post in April, I started Olim Omrim, a Hebrew blog written by immigrants to give me (and perhaps you!) opportunity to practice my Hebrew. I let it slide, but I'm reviving it now with a new format-- go check it out and write a comment! All levels of Hebrew are welcome, as are comments both by olim and non-olim.

Do you have any Israel-oriented resolutions?

Don't Call Between Two and Four

2009-12-13T13:03:00.006+02:00

Our adopted street kitten Pixel (back when he was little and cute) demonstrating appropriate Israeli behavior between 2-4

In the US, I knew it was rude to call someone's home before, oh, 8:30 AM or after 9:30 PM. But in Israel, there's an extra layer to this rule: don't call between 2 and 4 PM. This is reserved as siesta time in Israel, perhaps because in the days before air conditioning it was too hot to do anything but nap at this time. In fact, lots of stores and offices in Israel are open from 10:00 to 1:00 and then again from 4:00 to 7:00... the middle of the day is reserved for lunch (the biggest meal of the day in Israel) and sleep.

Me, I don't nap. I can sleep in in the morning as late as my schedule lets me, but I can't lie down and sleep in the middle of the day. But whether you nap or not, remember: don't call any Israeli friend between two and four! When I forget and violate this rule, I'm often greeted by groggy, irritated Israeli voices. On the other hand, this is a good way to learn some new words.

P.S. Happy Chanukah! The menorahs are out in full force in Israel... :)

Be a Sexy Bride

2009-12-09T15:41:00.009+02:00

In the US, I think brides usually try to achieve a look that says "dewy," "virginal," "elegant." Israeli brides, on the other hand, tend to go for... well... not so virginal.

Take a look at the wedding dresses in this clip from a show by the Israeli comedian Adi Ashkenazi, whose insights about Israeli culture inspire me to write this blog:

There's a powerful trend among Israeli brides to wear, basically, thin polyester lace over white bra cups. If you dare, take a look at this Yediot Ahronot article about trends in bride dresses for winter weddings-- I would place the top photo here, but it is literally too skimpy for me to post on this blog. Winter weddings, people. Those girls look cold. (The bride looks cold, too.)

The thing that is especially impressive about these gowns is that they will inevitably be worn in traditional Jewish weddings, presided over by orthodox rabbis. My wedding in the US was performed by a Chabad rabbi, so I made an extra effort to insure that not even my collar bone was showing-- I modified the McCall's pattern for a long-sleeved dress so that its neck reached even higher than on the dowdy bride on the pattern bag. In this dress, on the other hand, I'm pretty sure I can see the bride's belly button:

(Source: http://kala-levana.index.co.il/kala-levana/siteFiles/1/2819/14086.asp)

In reality, I don't think Israelis look at these dresses and think "sexy." They look at them and think "yafefiyah" (soooo pretty)... which, as we know from Isra-fab home decor, usually involves dangerous levels of crackle paint and glitter. Furthermore, Israelis believe that showing skin is snazzy, not skanky. (See some terrifying examples of snazzy Israeli fashion in this post.) To the average secular Israeli, covering up too much skin is sad, while wearing skin-tight spandex at age 60 is festive. By logical extension, on your wedding day you should wear almost nothing with maximum sparkles and embellishment, and all eyes will be on you! Er, parts of you, at least.

If you're invited to an Israeli wedding, wear whatever you normally wore on Friday night in Jewish summer camp, and you'll be dressed appropriately. See this post from What War Zone??? for more insight into the frightening and festive beast that is the Israeli wedding. But if you're the Israeli bride, ask yourself whether Madonna would have worn your dress in a music video during the 1980s. If the answer is yes, your dress is probably yafefiyah.

Have you had any adventures in Israeli weddings? Was your wedding dress "yafefiyah"?

Only in Israel...

2009-12-07T08:00:00.003+02:00

...is this a Facebook group (with 100+ members and counting):

גם אני שונא שהגרעין של הלימון נעלם לי בסלט (ושונא יותר לתת ביס ולמצוא אותו)

Translation: I, too, hate it when lemon seeds disappear into my salad (and hate it even more when I take a bite and find one of them)

Update: follow my recipe for Israeli salad -- still one of the top search entries into my site-- to understand why seeds in the salad is such a pressing problem. Also, as of today, this Facebook group has over 200 members.

Also, check out this week's Haveil Havelim (the Jewish blog carnival)!

How to Shrug like an Israeli (a Quick and Easy Guide to Nonverbal Hebrew)

2009-12-06T12:00:00.008+02:00

Israelis are addicted to their cell phones, and despite this being illegal, love to talk on their cell phones while driving. This is especially terrifying because A) Israelis continue to drive like maniacs even while talking on their cell phones, and B) talking in Israel is a full body sport. I have actually seen Israelis take both hands off the wheel to gesture while driving and talking on their cell phones.

But if you want to talk like an Israeli, you'd better master the art of Israeli body language.

To assist me in this lesson, I'm going to draw examples from the PSA that a bunch of Israeli celebrities filmed to protest the 30% raise in insurance prices for scooter and motorcycle riders. My husband commutes by scooter, so he's been involved in these protests. Basically, our government is raising two-wheeled-vehicle insurance to rates higher than semi-trailer truck insurance, and many times the rates of two-wheeled-vehicle insurance in Europe. The government is delaying a decision on this insurance hike because they hope the organized movement to protest this hike will peter out. Let's hope it doesn't!

Here's the PSA (there's a little bit of crude humor in the middle, but if your Hebrew is like mine, you probably won't get that part anyway):

Now, let's break down the classic Israeli body language at play in this clip.

1. The Lip Shrug

Seen at 0:16 in the clip, the lip shrug involves pulling down the corners of the mouth and pushing up the lower lip in an exaggerated frown. Often accompanied by a slight shoulder shrug and the extension of one open hand, the lip shrug indicates, "Ani yodeah? Nu, who knows? I have no idea. Not my job. I am also slightly disgusted."

2. The Instructional Finger

Seen at 0:18, this gesture demonstrates the authority of one who DOES know. Commonly used by Polish grandparents alerting grandchildren to certain danger and drivers explaining to fellow drivers how to drive, this gesture indicates that the listener should sit up and pay rapt attention. To correctly execute the Instructional Finger, raise your hand so that your palm faces your intended target. Keep both your finger and your head erect. In one swift motion, accent a particularly cogent point with an emphatic head nod and finger point.

3. The "I Really Really Mean It" Forefinger-Thumb Touch

Seen at 0:26 (and again at 1:02, to accent the phrase "b'emet") this is perhaps the most crucial gesture for would-be Israelis to master. It indicates that what is being said is urgent, crucial, and true. To execute the "I Really Really Mean It" Forefinger-Thumb Touch, place your thumb and forefinger together, keeping your other fingers loose and your palm facing towards your body. Accent your words with a shake of your hand and your listener will understand you to be earnest and sincere (or at least really emphatic in your attempt to swindle).

Note: Combine this with the final gesture-- pointing your other three fingers up rather than to the side-- and this gesture means "Techake Li Rega! Wait a second!" and need not be accompanied by words.

4. The Cooperative Two-handed Beckon

This gesture is at a more advanced level, and should not be attempted until gestures 1-3 are mastered. To execute this gesture (common among salespeople who are putting all their cards on the table and giving you the sincere advice that you should purchase their most expensive model, because they like you), move into your intended target's personal space. Extend your arms to the side and back from your body, so that your wrists are even with your hips. Raise your chin and eyebrows, open your palms, and say, "Tish'ma achi, what an I say? You want your water to taste like plastic, buy the cheap kumkum!)

5. The "Nu, Zeh Barur, Lo?" Shrug

At first glance, this gesture might seem to resemble the Cooperative Two-Handed Beckon, but note the key differences. In the "Nu, Zeh Barur, Lo?" Shrug, the shoulders are raised, the chin is lowered (and turned slightly to the side), and hands are extended out beyond the body. This gesture also differs from the Lip Shrug in that rather than indicate that the shrugger does not know, this gesture indicates that what the shrugger is saying should be obvious to any sane person listening. In fact, what is being indicated is so obvious that you shouldn't speak while making this gesture, because nu, it's clear, no?

6. The Two-Handed Precision Gestures

This encompasses a whole range of precise, two-handed movements. Using two hands together at close proximity indicates that the reader must pay close attention to follow the complex point the gesturer is making. (In this case, the gesturer is indicating the one spot in Tel Aviv where, just maybe, between 6 and 8 in the morning, street parking is available.)

7. The "Zeh Oh Zeh" One-Handed Swipe

In another gesture that is executed without talking, this gesture involves a dismissive sweep of the hand from the center to the side. This gesture indicates that all worrying is over (that's it-- zeh oh zeh) and a situation has been taken care of. If the gesture's recipient still worries, click your tongue and make a patting gesture to the side. As a side note, the person in this picture looks eerily similar to our landlord.

8. The Emphatic Finger

This gesture-- seen in the clip at 1:28 and elsewhere-- might at first be confused with the Instructional Finger. Not so-- this is the Emphatic Finger, and the palm facing the body makes it completely different. Execute this gesture by leaning slightly forward, raising your eyebrows, and shaking your hand forward slightly with every word. Frequently accompanied by baffled outrage at the government, this gesture indicates not only that the speaker really, really means what he is about to say, but that he has a very important point to make.

Now go and gesture like an Israeli! Which gestures are your favorites? Which ones do you actually use? Would you add any to the list?

Shop at Ikea!

2009-12-03T11:14:00.005+02:00

Israel has one Ikea (in Netanya), and this store probably attracts more Israeli pilgrims each year than the Kotel. I've been there once, and I barely found parking twenty minutes before the store was to officially open. The restaurant features Swedish meatballs and Israeli salad. Our Ikea gets all the same products as other Ikeas, so it's kind of fun to be able to buy a cheap wok and look at the same sofas I see on American design blogs. (Yes, I read home decorating blogs. I am a woman of many obessions, or perhaps of too much free time. :)

The bad news is that according to the Ikea Billy Bookshelf price index, Ikea products here are more expensive than anywhere else in the world. Our Billy Bookshelf costs the equivalent of 103 US dollars, compared to 59 dollars in the US. I knew our prices were expensive here, but... that's ridiculous. We even beat Kuwait, and prices in Europe look cheap by comparison. The Billy Shelf costs only about $60 in Japan! I think Ikea might have the reputation of being a little more up-scale in Israel than it actually is, although maybe the fact that almost all our furniture is made from cheap particle-board also raises the Ikea profile. Seriouly, though, Israelis tend to overestimate the quality of things that come from chul. The GAP recently opened a store in Israel, and Israelis act as if it's Ralph Lauren.

I'm going to stick to www.yad2.co.il for most of the furniture in our new apartment.

Still, I went to Ikea about a month ago and found a fun office chair in the scratch-and-dent section, which I went on to cover in fabric that's even more fun. My chair is featured today on the cool blog Ikea Hacker (which features creative modifications of Ikea products), so check it out! (More pictures on the Ikea Hacker site.)

Have you had any adventures in Israeli Ikeas? Can you vouch for the craziness? Why do you think Ikea products are so expensive here?

A second spring...

2009-12-02T13:02:00.002+02:00

Back in Pennsylvania, December always ushered in months of monochrome: gray trees, white snow, brown grass, sometimes a little tan mud. Here in Israel, though, everything is just starting to turn green again after the long, dry summer. On my morning walks with a friend, I find myself captivated by the lush grass growing in a ditch or the feathery shoots of dill in a farmer's field. (This isn't exactly conducive to maintaining a brisk pace!) Even the courtyard of our apartment building is getting green again.

Remember, this was the tree in our courtyard in June, when a branch fell off from lack of water:

And remember, we had three more months of NO rain after that (although nightly light watering kept the grass somewhat alive).

Here's that same tree now, as seen through the bars in our kitchen window:

The grass is still patchy, but it has that vibrant green of spring growth.

Except that it's December.

I love Israel. :)

Water saving measures actually save water!

2009-11-30T18:22:00.013+02:00

In late June, I posted about living in a water shortage and about the new measures we were taking to save water. I have to admit that for some reason I never think what I do actually makes a difference. I don't actually USE electricity when I leave the light on in the bathroom, do I? The fridge doesn't actually get dirty if I don't clean it, right? (Er, don't answer those questions.)

But since we started taking some simple measures to save water, this happened to our water bill:

Now take into consideration the fact that Hebrew goes from right to left, and look at that bill again.

That's right.. we went from using more than 20 cubic meters of water every two months (for just two people-- yikes) to using, recently, just 10. We literally used half the water in September-October this year compared to September-October last year. I'd call that results!

These are some of the things we started to do differently... I'm going to be really honest here, so I'm sorry if this means you no longer want to sit next to me on a bus or set foot in our apartment. :)

1. We don't flush our toilet every time. You know, "if it's yellow, let it mellow, if it's brown, wash it down." When I do flush, I always use the little "half-tank" lever rather than the big "full-tank" lever. (Israeli toilets have two different flush settings.) Yes, letting yellow mellow is a little gross, but on the plus side it has made me much better about remembering to put the toilet lid down. (Putting the top lid down was a really hard skill for me to learn. I have much more appreciation for my husband's consistency in putting the seat down now!) This alone saves a TON of water, especially because I work from home and have a notoriously small bladder. Isn't it insane how much treated, cleaned, potable drinking water we just flush down every day? We started being strict about not flushing in the spring of this year, and you can see the difference in our water usage. In our next apartment, we're going to hook up our toilet so that we can flush using the "gray" water we collect from our shower. Which brings me to...

2. We save water from our shower, mostly just from that cold water that runs as we wait for the hot water to arrive. We put this water into buckets and use it for things like watering plants and mopping the floor. Again, it's insane just how much perfectly good water we were throwing away. I end up with more water than I know what to do with.

3. We take quick showers and turn off the water while soaping up. I don't shower every day, or if I need to shower every day, I don't always wash my hair. Yes, I know this sounds really gross. But showering every day isn't actually healthy for your skin-- it strips your body of natural oils. I once heard a beauty expert (an expert!) liken washing hair every day to scrubbing a delicate silk blouse daily. I don't smell bad, really! (Aren't you glad you interact with me via the Internet, not in person?) Once again, this saves a TON of perfectly good drinking water.

4. I wash dishes like an Israeli Follow the link to learn how. I've now started to put all my dishes in the sink when I rinse off the soap, so the water rinsed off one dish starts to clean the next. I'm thinking now that I can start collecting that mostly-clean water in a bin and use it to soak my dishes for next time. I don't have a dishwasher, so this is the best I can do for now. I'm trying to convince my husband that we never need to wash dishes at all... imagine how much water we'd save. (I'm kidding! Mostly. Some of you suggested switching to plastic plates to save water, but because our shortage is year-round, I think we'd do more harm to environment than good that way.)

5. I don't do silly things like wash my sheets every week or my jeans and sweaters every day. It's for the Kinneret, people.

Now that it's winter, we need to make even more effort to saving water so that we have water to use next summer. 2.5 cubic meters per person per month still sounds like a lot, though, and I want to try to cut our water usage down more. Any suggestions? What do you do to save water? How much water do you use each month?

Listen to David Broza!

2009-11-29T16:11:00.005+02:00

A few weeks ago I went to my first concert where I knew most of the words to most of the songs performed... and no, I don't mean Madonna or Leonard Cohen. (I was probably one of the 47 or so people in Israel to not see either singer when they came to Israel recently!)

Instead, I saw David Broza, an Israeli/Spanish singer who could be considered, oh, the Israeli Bruce Springsteen. David Broza was born in Israel but spent most of his childhood "b'chul." (Israelis have a wonderfully self-centered way of talking about the world. We refer to Israel as haAretz ("the land") and everything outside Israel as chul, which is an abbreviation of chutz la'aretz-- "outside the land.") Broza sings some songs in Spanish and English, others in Hebrew. The Argentinians in my ulpan class knew many of the folk songs that he translated into Hebrew (and turned into Israeli hits). The "David" in "David Broza" is pronounced in the English/Spanish pronunciation (Day-vid) rather than the Israeli pronunciation (Dah-veed)... as I learned after attempting to sound Israeli in my pronunciation of his name for years and actually making myself sound a little clueless.

The concert was incredible. Broza came out saying that he was putting on this concert to spoil himself, and the pleasure he took from singing and playing guitar was contagious. Oh, and the man is an AMAZING guitar player. In concert, he seemed to tickle his guitar and incredibly complex melodies and rhythms just flowed out.

So if you want to be Israeli, get to know the singer who (like all good olim) took pieces of other cultures and made them very Israeli.

This song ("Mitachat LaShamayim"-- Under the Sky) is one of my favorites, and for once it isn't a translation of a Spanish folk song! The story Broza tells at the start of the clip is about the origins of the song, and you can see a translation of this story if you click through to youtube.

Here are the words (from MP3Music.co.il), along with my own rough translation. One caveat: at some point during the David Broza concert I had to ask my husband if one of Broza's new songs was about a girl growing up or a girl being kidnapped. You might want to take my translation with a grain of salt.

באנו לכאן
מתחת לשמיים
שניים
כמו זוג עיניים

We came here
Under the sky
The two of us
Like a pair of eyes

יש לנו זמן
מתחת לשמיים
בינתיים
אנו עוד כאן

We have time
Under the sky
In the meantime
We're still here

את ואני
את ואני
את ואני
והמיטה רחבה
לתת אהבה

You (feminine) and me
You and me
You and me
And the bed is wide
to give love

לילה ויום
לילה ויום
לילה ויום
והחיוך מתנצל
שהוא מתעצל

Night and day
Night and day
Night and day
And the smile will apologize
for being lazy

באנו לכאן
מתחת לשמיים
שניים
כמו זוג עיניים

We have time
Under the sky
In the meantime
We're still here

שנינו אחד
שנינו אחד
שנינו אחד
אחד שלם ועגול
שלם וגדול

The two of us are one
The two of us are one
The two of us are one
One full and round
full and big

בואי ניתן
בואי ניתן
בואי ניתן
אני אתן לך לתת
לתת לי לתת לך

Come and let's give
Come and let's give
Come and let's give
I will give you to give
to give me to give to you

באנו לכאן
מתחת לשמיים
שניים
כמו זוג עיניים

We came to here
Under the sky
The two of us
Like a pair of eyes

ולמרות הפער
ולמרות הכאב
ולמרות הצער
אני אוהב
ואוהב
ואוהב...

And despite the divide
And despite the pain
And despite the sorrow
I love
and love
and love...

(In the performance above, David Broza adds a final verse. I'll leave that one to you.)

Hmm. On second thought, in English that comes across as a) incomprehensible or b) a ploy to get a woman into bed. It's much better in Hebrew. Trust me. Or it might be a better song if you only understand about half the words, which could possibly be why I like Hebrew music so much.

This next song ("Cmo SheAt"-- "How you are") is not "pretty," but it moves me and sticks into my soul each time I hear it. The performance that I saw was accompanied by three young musicians on violins... it was intense. The version below isn't as good (I think Broza's voice has become more gravely and moving with age), but it gives you the idea. And, er, you might not even want to read my attempt at an English translation down below. (For the record, though, I like this song even more after learning the words.) Just watch the video:

Here are the lyrics (once again from MP3Music.co.il):

חיי הם אבן,
כמו אבן,
אבן הם חיי.

My life is a stone,
Like a stone,
But it's my life.

כמו שאת אבן קטנטונת,
כמו שאת אבן נזרקת כמו שאת.
כמו שאת זמר של הלך,
כמו שאת אבן של דרך כמו שאת.
כמו שאת אבן של נחל,
כמו שאת אבן שוקעת כמו שאת.

Like you are a tiny stone
Like you are a tossed-away stone as you are.
Like you are a song of a wanderer,
Like you are a stone of the path as you are.
Like you are a stone in a river,
Like you are a settled stone as you are.

כמו שאת אבן קטנטונת כמו שאת.
כמו שאת אבן של נחל כמו שאת.

Like you are a tiny stone as you are.
Like you are a stone of the river as you are.

כמו שאת ביום של גשם,
כמו שאת אבן שקר לה כמו שאת.
כמו שאת אחר כך נוצצת,
כמו שאת חצץ של רכבת כמו שאת.

Like you are on a day of rain,
Like you are a stone and you feel chilly as you are.
Like you are afterward sparkling
Like you are gravel of the train as you are.

כמו שאת אבן קטנטונת כמו שאת.
כמו שאת אבן של נחל כמו שאת.

Like you are a little stone.
Like you are a stone of the river as you are.

כמו שאת אבן מתלכלכת,
כמו שאת אבן מתהפכת כמו שאת.
כמו שאת לא אבן של חן,
לא אבן חומה,
לא אבן שלמה,
כמו שאת.
כמו שאת.

Like you are a stone that gets dirty,
Like you are a turned-over stone like you are.
Like you are not a stone of beauty,
Not a stone of a wall,
Not a complete stone.
As you are.

כמו שאת אבן סוררת,
כמו שאת אבן מתפוררת כמו שאת.
כמו שאת אבן נזרקת,
כמו שאת אבן קטנטונת כמו שאת.
כמו שאת.

Like you are a rebellious stone,
Like you are a crumbling stone as you are.
Like you are a glittering stone,
Like you are a little stone as you are.
As you are.

David Broza has so many other incredible songs that I have to make myself stop... look up "Yiyeh Tov" (which is kind of the Israeli "We Shall Overcome"), "HaIsha SheIti" (a great Spanish-inspired song), "Shir Ahava Bedui" ("Bedouin Love Song"), and so many others. Just search for David Broza on Youtube. And if you ever get a chance to see him in concert, go for it.

What are your favorite David Broza songs? Who are your favorite Israeli musicians?

Nazi plate update

2009-11-25T08:01:00.002+02:00

You will remember that a few weeks ago, my husband and I made a disturbing discovery: one of our serving platters used to be in the possession of the German Luftwaffe. It has a swastika on the bottom and everything. Thank you so much for all of your ideas and suggestions in response.

I contacted Yad Vashem to see what they suggested and received this in response:

באוסף החפצים של מוזיאון יד ושם נאספים פריטים
ומוצגים ששימשו את הנאצים ואחר כך נלקחו על ידי הניצולים לשימוש פרטי.

כדי לאפשר את העברת הכלי לידי המוזיאון ביד ושם, את מוזמנת ליצור איתי קשר.

If your Hebrew isn't quite up to translating that, here's the bottom line: they have a collection of artifacts like these, and they're interested in receiving this item as a donation. Next time we're in Jerusalem, we'll deliver the plate to the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum. I'm excited to make a donation to such an amazing museum, and I'm glad they want the plate. I do feel that this item represents a pretty interesting history, and I'm happy that it can be stored in a place that will set it in the appropriate context.

I'll let you know what happens when we actually make the donation!

My first Israeli recipe ever: Ketzitzot!

2009-11-24T13:09:00.016+02:00

This week, I plan to subject my husband's Israeli family to a full Thanksgiving dinner. I ordered a full turkey from a butcher shop-- they thought I was crazy, and I'm not sure the turkey will fit in my oven, but it's on its way! I found kosher frozen cranberries in Tiv Taam. I bought fresh sage (which is for some reason readily available, while dried sage isn't), and I am planning to boil down the chunks of pumpkin sold in every veggie shop into pumpkin pie.

The last one is almost guaranteed to disgust my guests, because Israelis see pumpkins as a purely savory food-- I guess they see pumpkin dessert the way I see those Asian bean curd pastries. Is it bad that I am highly entertained by the idea of inflicting American recipes on Israeli guests?

Anyway, trying to cook American for a change made me think about the first Israeli recipe I ever managed to cook, way back before I made aliyah. I had eaten at my Israeli mother-in-law's house countless times and attempted to duplicate her cooking, but whatever I cooked always tasted so... American. I began to think that something on my birth certificate made it impossible for me to get the seasonings right. Finally, I sucked it up and figured out the Hebrew in one of my M-I-L's cookbooks, and I made these meatballs (ketzitzot). They were a revelation! My food finally tasted completely Israeli!

After that, I began to improvise my own Israeli-tasting dishes simply based on the confidence (and seasoning insight) I gained from this one recipe. I also learned that it pays to use Hebrew cookbooks. Not only do they help me cook like an Israeli, but they improve my vocabulary-- I may not be able to tell you what the word for "shoelaces" or "steering wheel" is in Hebrew, but I know how to say "frying pan" (machvat) and "minced" (katzutz dak)!

This recipe is found on page 136 of the book BaRega Aharon (At the Last Minute) by Benny Saida, one of the foremost Israeli cookbook authors. Saida's recipes are easy, delicious, and very Israeli. The Hebrew he uses is simple and the directions concise. I've never been disappointed by any recipe from any of Saida's books. You can order this cookbook online in the US here.

Veal Meatballs with Green Tahini Sauce

Click on the image below to see a larger version. The translation is my own... it may not be perfectly accurate, but hey-- I've made this recipe many times, and the ketzitzot are always delicious! Comments in italics are from me.

Prepare large quantities, because these meatballs will disappear from the table even before you have had time to fry all of them.

5 servings

Ingredients

For the meatballs:

700 grams (1 1/2 pounds) ground veal (Ground turkey and ground beef also work well)
1 cup chopped parsley
1 onion, grated (or chopped finely)
4 garlic cloves, minced
1-2 eggs
4 tablespoons bread crumbs
salt, freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon sumac (sumac powder might be hard to find in the US, despite the fact that sumac bushes abound. You can harvest your own from a weedy patch-- being careful to avoid the poison-ivy-like poison sumac-- or check out a kosher, middle-eastern, or possibly Indian grocery store. You can try replacing the sumac with paprika, although the bittersweet flavor of sumac adds something special to this recipe.)
1 teaspoon cumin

oil, to fry (Just enough to coat the pan is ok. I never deep-fry these.)

For the green tahini sauce:

1 cup tahini (available in most grocery stores-- this is sesame seed butter, and it's an ingredient in hummus as well as halva. In Hebrew, tahini is pronouned tachina.)
4 cloves garlic (Yes, 8 cloves garlic total. Israeli food is FULL of garlic!)
1/4 cup lemon juice
3/4 cup water
1 1/4 cup coarsely chopped parsley
salt

To prepare the meatballs: Mix all the ingredients of the meatballs in a bowl, and form the mixture into oval-shaped balls (kind of flat and long, like in the picture). Heat up the oil to fry, and fry the ketzitzot in the hot oil (high heat, fry until they are firm and golden).
To prepare the tahini: Put all of the ingredients of the green tahini into a food processor, and mix to a thick sauce. (If it's too thick, add more water. If you want it to look more like the picture rather than a green paste, add in the parsley only at the end.) Taste, and adjust seasonings.
To serve: Divide the meatballs onto individual serving plates, and spoon over them three tablespoons of the green tahini. Serve with hot pitas.

So that was my first Israeli recipe. By the way, ketzitzot are a very popular Israeli food, which makes it all the more strange that Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs became Geshem shel Falofel (Falofel rain) when it came to this country. If you've never had Israeli meatballs, definitely try this recipe-- no spaghetti involved!

What was the first time you felt like an Israeli cook? What are your favorite Israeli recipes? What Israeli foods would you like to learn how to cook?

Are Israelis rude?

2009-11-22T15:05:00.017+02:00

I was actually just going to post a link to today's Haveil Havelim blog carnival, hosted by A Mother in Israel, but as I was browsing her wonderful blog, a post about Israeli "rudeness" struck a nerve with me, and I had to add my own thoughts. (I agree with A Mother in Israel's response to this question... I'm not ranting against what she said, but rather at the attitude she addressed!)

We've all heard that Israelis are rude, and to some extent this is true. More often, though, Americans coming to Israel are ruder than they realize. What is polite in America is not the same as what is polite in Israel.

For example, I've posted before about the way the relationship between Israeli sales people and customers is different from the relationship in America. In America, the customer is always right-- and the customer is therefore entitled to demand service RIGHT NOW, monopolize a sales person's time and then walk away, ask to speak to the manager if anything is wrong with service, etc. In Israel, on the other hand, the sales person sees himself as an authority-- and is therefore entitled to take his sweet time in coming to serve you, give you advice you didn't ask for, and refuse to sell you a more expensive product if he's convinced a cheap one will do. The flip side of this, though, is that sales people usually feel invested in helping you find the right product, and they often have good advice to offer. Americans who come in expecting sales people to be subservient come across as arrogant and demanding... sounds familiar?

In other situations, I think Israeli "rudeness" stems from the feeling that we're like a big family crowded into a too-small apartment. Of course we tell each other what to do! Yes, strangers might ask pointed personal questions after spending two minutes with you in the supermarket checkout line. (If you don't want to respond, adopt the teenager-tested strategy of refusing to give away information. "Where are you going?" "Out." "What are you going to do there?" "Stuff.") Imagine if a family member was simply indifferent to you-- wouldn't that sting more? And here's the thing: when Israelis yell at you, it's something like your brother yelling at you. At the end of the day, he still loves you and you love him. It's not personal. Two strangers in Israel can have a loud, heated disagreement, and at the end of it clap each other on the back, call each other "achi," and buy each other coffee. An American after the same disagreement might nurse a grudge for years, while Israelis were just voicing their opinions and having a little battle of wills.

Israelis see Americans as friendly and polite on the surface but aloof and insincere in this kindness. Imagine: Americans see someone else's child misbehaving or crying and don't do anything! Americans might obey traffic laws, but they don't pick up the teenagers hitchhiking along the side of the road or invite strangers into their homes for a meal. When Americans give directions, they rarely offer to show the asker to his destination. Americans don't offer coffee to repairmen or shots of homemade peach liqueur to customers in their shops. When a friend of mine moved back to America after a decade of life in Israel, she was shocked by the dirty looks she received in American supermarkets when she accidentally nudged strangers with her shopping cart, and by the indifference of fellow travelers on American city buses as she attempted to lug around a baby and a small child. Again: Israel and the US have different definitions of "polite." Americans are offended that someone bumps into them in the grocery store yet don't consider that giving a dirty look in response could be rude.

In the US, social norms often call for you to be indirect and perhaps even passive-aggressive in how you state your opinions. You smile when you don't mean it. You say "thank you" when you don't mean it. You complain to everyone except the person with whom you have a problem. In Israel, social norms call for you to be direct and assertive. You honk your horn and flash your lights at the car that is going too slowly in front of you, and then pull over if they seem to need help. For me, the Israeli system works so much better. I hate being around people who might be upset by my actions and not say anything. I'm notoriously bad at picking up subtle non-verbal cues and like it when people are direct with me and I can be direct with them. It's tricky to nail the right degree of assertiveness (rather than combativeness) in your interactions with Israelis, but when you find it, you develop a relationship based on mutual respect. If you avoid confrontation at all costs, on the other hand, this might not be the country for you.

I feel for tourists-- I really do. The American strategies of smiling and being polite (until you're REALLY upset) send the wrong signals to Israelis and so elicit responses that only make Americans feel more attacked and annoyed. Because Americans assume you have to be furious to shout at a stranger in the street or lay on the horn, they must get freaked out by fairly normal interactions in Israel. Yes, Israel might gain a better reputation in the world and among visiting tourists if we learned about tact. But if you're in Israel, maybe you should try acting like an Israeli. People are so much nicer that way!

Ok, that's my rant. Told you that touched a nerve. What do you think? Have you had experiences with "rude" Israelis (or rude Americans)?

Hebrew words that sound like English but mean something else

2009-11-20T14:04:00.016+02:00

One of the more confusing things about learning Hebrew is that some words sound like English but don't have the same meaning as their English counterparts. Or rather, their meaning has taken a life of its own in Hebrew, such as the way "super" means "grocery store" here. (In many cases, these words came to Hebrew from a different language, like French.) We all know of הוא (sounds like "who," means "he"), היא (sounds like "he," means "she"), and דג (sounds like "dog," means "fish"). Here are a few examples you might not learn in Hebrew school:

Hebrew word: cuckoo (קוקו)
Sounds like:

Actually means:

"Cuckoo" in Hebrew means ponytail. Does anyone have any idea why? Maybe ponytails swing off your head like the weight in a cuckoo clock?

Hebrew word: mommy (מאמי)
Sounds like:

Actually means:
This is Miri Mesika's absolutely gorgeous song, "Mami," and no, she isn't singing to her mother. In Hebrew, "mami" actually means "sweetie," and it's a term of endearment you might use for a friend as well as a lover. Another term of endearment is "boobie," but I didn't want to post a picture of what that sounds like.

Hebrew word: bagel (בייגלה)
Sounds like:

Actually means:

Bizarrely enough, bagels are pretty hard to find in Israel. When someone asks you if you want a "bageleh," they're usually not offering a little bagel-- they're offering a pretzel.

Hebrew word: nylon (ניילון)
Sounds like:

Actually means:

Who knows why, but a plastic bag (particularly the kind that you can get at the grocery store) is called a "nylon" here. (Sometimes you hear "sakit nylon," nylon bag.)

Hebrew term: kabob (קבב)
Sounds like:

Actually means:

When I was first offered a "kabab" in Israel, I expected a shish kabob-- in other words, chunks of meat and veggies roasted in a stick. Instead, "kabab" in Israel (and it most of the Middle East, I suspect) means ground meat and spices shaped into a kind of sausage. Traditionally, they're shaped around a stick, but not always. If you actually want a shish kabob, ask for a shishlik (שישליק).

Hebrew term: salat mayonnaise (סלט מיונז)
Sounds like:

Actually means:

Actually, potato salad basically is mayonnaise salad, so maybe that one is not misleading after all. Israelis just have a more honest take on the salad's primary ingredient.

Hebrew word: Mafia (מאפיה)

Sounds like:

Actually means:

(That isn't an Israeli bakery. If it were, some of those pastries would be mushroom-filled.) Technically, the Hebrew word for bakery is pronounced ma-a-fi-a, and it comes from the verb "leefot," which means "to bake." I was relieved to discover this after being told to go down the street to buy bread from the mafia. On the other hand, if someone tells you to buy your challah from one of the mishpachot pesha... you're probably in Netanya.

I can think of a few more. French fries are "chips" (although that should come as no surprise to anyone who has traveled outside the US), the secular New Year's Eve is "Sylvester," etc. To me, "arse" (the term for a slicked-up, dressed-to-the-nines in too-tight and overly-trendy-clothing young-mizrachi-guy) always sounds like the British word for, er, hindquarters. This blog post offers a great list of some more Hebrew faux-amis.

What are your favorites? Have you ever been confused by a sound-alike Hebrew term?

Grocery shopping like an Israeli

2009-11-18T13:21:00.004+02:00

There are a lot of differences between Israeli and American grocery stores, as I learned on my very first day in Israel. I was strolling down the street, feeling all cool and Israeli, and I decided to look around the inside of our local Machsane-Lahav.

By the way, basically half of the big stores in Israel these days is calls Machsan-something. Machsan means "warehouse" (or storage room, as in the machsans on the ground floor of most apartment buildings) and I guess it indicates "cheap" and "big" to the Israeli consumer. I bought our fridge in Machsane-Chashmal (Electrical Warehouse), I passed a lamp store called Machsan-Teorah (Lighting Warehouse) last night, a butcher shop might be Machsan-Basar, etc. Machsane-Lahav means "Flame Warehouse"... I'm really not sure where that one comes from.

Anyway, on my first day in Israel, I strolled into the grocery store (known as a super in Hebrew--pronounced "soo-pear" and short for "supermarket," I guess). A guy standing at the door tried to get my attention as I waltzed in, but I had heard Israeli men tend to be aggressive. Was I going to be the clueless American who made eye contact and encouraged Israeli pickup artists? Not me! I was Israeli! Cool as a melafafon, I strolled towards the bread section, only to see the guy coming after me and shouting... and he had a gun.

Turns out he was the security guard at the door who was supposed to check my purse before I entered. Oops. And for the record, having pretty decent Hebrew when you arrive backfires when you need to convince a security guard that you are a fresh-off-the-plane olah who didn't know any better.

These are some other fun things you should know about shopping in an Israeli super:

Be nice to the security guys. If they get to know you, they'll let you go in without being searched. Also, they can watch your little-old-lady-wheeled-cart (post about that later) or your bags of veggies from the yarkan (post about that later too) or your stroller at the door while you go shopping.
The grocery store (unless it's a non-kosher basar-lavan-selling chain like Tiv-Taam) will close early on Fridays and be closed all day on Shabbat and holidays.
If you have just one or two items, Israelis almost always let you cut in front of them in line if you ask.
The check-out lady might not say "thank you" or "have a nice day," but she will tell you that you have only bought one bottle of olive oil when you get a better price for buying two, and she'll wait for you to go get another bottle. She will also attempt to sell you a range of products from dark chocolate to hand lotion that she has sitting on her checkout counter. She will also do this for all of the people ahead of you in line, which means you should be prepared to wait for a while to check out.
Buy-one-get-one-free in Hebrew is denoted in simple math: 1+1 (echad ploos echad). Buy two get one free is 2+1 (shteim ploos echad) and is WRITTEN as 1+2... Hebrew goes right to left, remember? (Thanks for a commenter for reminding me of this!)
You probably need to bag your own groceries and you probably need to ask the checkout lady to throw some bags up on the checkout counter for you.
When you buy more than, say, 200 shekels of groceries, you will be asked "kama tashlumim," which means "how many payments?" If you want to pay everything at once, you can say "echad" or "ragil" (normal). A rumor circulates among olim that the way to ask to pay everything at once is to say "makah" (hit), but when an Argentinian told me this in the checkout line once, the checkout lady said she'd never heard it before.
On your receipt when you pay with a credit card will be two lines. The top is for your signature, and the bottom is for your phone number. To be really Israeli, don't write your phone number in this space unless the checkout lady insists. This would be giving away information. I've barely ever written my phone number on a receipt, despite the fact that every receipt contains a spot for it.

I think I'll devote a whole post some time to the differences between food packaging in Israel and the US. What general super shopping-tips did I miss? Have you had any adventures in Israeli grocery shopping?

It's winter, so go eat a krembo!

2009-11-17T13:32:00.001+02:00

Source: http://www.tipo.co.il/news.asp?nid=40860

Most Americans associate Israeli food with falofel or shwarma, but the Krembo is just as iconic and unique to Israel. In fact, it has its own Wikipedia page. My husband has a theory that the Krembo grew out of the fact that Israelis traditionally do not eat ice cream in the winter-- in fact, you used to not even be able to find ice cream in grocery stores in the winter. Krembos, on the other hand, are very delicate and melt in the summer heat, so they are the Israeli winter junk food... and they're soo good.

Although I have a sweet tooth, I didn't like the American junk foods like twinkies or hostess cupcakes that are JUST sweet and fatty with no taste or texture. But Krembos taste light and melt-in-your-mouth delicious, and the mocha-flavored varieties are luscious. The base of a Krembo is a pretty tasteless round cookie, topped with a dollop of cream, and then covered in a thin layer of chocolate. (Here's a youtube video in Hebrew showing how they're made... they actually have to be wrapped by hand!) The "cream" isn't really cream-- my husband thinks it's made from egg whites, though it tastes something like a cross between marshmallow fluff and miracle whip. Then, of course, there's the foil wrapper, which my husband insists on smoothing out until every wrinkle is gone (another tradition from his childhood).

As the Wikipedia page attests, the most important question when you eat Krembos is whether you go from the cream side down or the cookie side up. From the Wikipedia page:

In Israel, the krembos are a seasonal treat and the "krembo season" is very short, only four months a year, from October to February. Nevertheless, 50 million krembos are sold each year—an average of 9 per person in Israel. According to a study funded by Strauss, Israel's leading krembo producer, 69% of Israelis prefer to eat krembos from the top down (starting with the cream), and only 10% start with the biscuit at the bottom; the rest had no preference.^[1]

What I find most significant about that statistic is that almost 80 % of Israelis have a clear preference... Krembos are such a ubiquitous snack that you practically aren't Israeli if you don't know how you eat your Krembo!

Personally, I'm actually an eat-in-from-the-side kind of gal. I like to have a little bit of cream, a little chocolate, and a little cookie in each bite. How about you? Have you started on your nine-Krembos-per-winter allotment yet? :)

New Haveil Havelim!

2009-11-16T14:00:00.000+02:00

Here's a link to an excellent edition of Haveil Havelim, the Jewish blog carnival: http://imabima.blogspot.com/2009/11/haveil-havalim-243-nablopomo-edition.html

This edition is especially readable and engaging, so enjoy!

I'm sick right now and have been staying up all night coughing... not so fun when this is on my plate. All I care about is not getting laryngitis.

Of to go eat some soup...

You are more Lebanese than you think...

2009-11-12T13:08:00.009+02:00

My husband and I have a good friend whom I met on my birthright trip to Israel, and who eventually was my fellow board member at our campus Chabad House. After college, he worked as an Arabic translator for the US Army in Iraq. He is now studying for his master's degree in Beirut, and he'll probably get his doctorate in Middle Eastern politics in Israel. Altogether, he's a pretty incredible person.

Anyway, it often strikes me that we live SO close together... if our coastal highway and train service didn't end before Rosh HaNikra, we could probably get to our friend's apartment in a few hours.

He reads this blog, but for some reason he can't post comments directly onto it. The other day, he wrote a bunch of comments on the version of this blog posted on my personal Facebook account.

On a post about the recent heavy rains: Ouf. The water was about half as much up here but we have the same problem.

On the post about Isra-fab decorating: I broke my camera recently, but you will get pictures of my VERY yafefiyah apt soon. I was looking at what you were putting up and the similarities are eerie.

On the post about medusot: They're called "Medusin" here, but they all make their way up north!

On the post about not giving away information: It's a very similar dynamic here. Though facebook is an exception. In fact there is a saying here: "What happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas, but what happens in Beirut goes straight to Facebook!"

(My favorite comment!) On the post about what's missing in America: We have the mop issue here too. In fact when I moved into my first apt with an American roommate here, when we went to clean he found the squeegee and said "I don't know what to do..." I responded "Wait! I have a friend from Israel that wrote a blog post on just this problem!" (I really did.) and explained based on your blog just how to use it!

Striking commonalities, no?

People from the blog Israelity (which talks about Israeli culture) have been working on world report videos for CNN. I agree with them that the most striking comment from this video is that the Jewish and Arab youths making a music video together look so SIMILAR:

I don't want to downplay the Israeli-Palestinian conflict or even the difficulty of making peace with Lebanon. I doubt I could meet a member of, say, Hamas or Hezbollah and glibly celebrate our similarities. Our country faces deep, difficult issues, and I am not comfortable making many of the concessions that Palestinians demand (or that Syrians demand in exchange for peace with Israel, which would lead to peace with Lebanon), and I see most of Israel's security measures as justified.

But the fact is that it's so easy to dehumanize any Muslim country as the "enemy" in this conflict, despite the fact that we're both sprinkling our pizzas with Zaatar and eating watermelon with labaneh in the summer. (I just made the last one up, but I bet they do that it Lebanon too.) We experience the same weather. We watch the same imported American and British TV shows. I mean... at times, Israel really does feel like one country among neighbors. My blond, blue-eyed friend says that in Lebanon (as opposed to Iraq) he is often mistaken for a native, and I guess I have a similar experience in Israel.

And yes, for the record, relations between Lebanon and Israel are not as fraught as Israeli-Palestinian relations. In fact, my friend says that there is deep discrimination against Palestinians in Lebanese society. But our two countries haven't exactly gotten along in recent years. I can't travel to Lebanon with an Israeli stamp on my American passport, let alone my Israeli passport. Lebanon is now upset at Israel for laying claim to hummus, and I got an anonymous comment on my hummus recipe informing me that hummus is Lebanese, not Israeli. (I didn't post the comment. To me, that's like claiming that Apple Pie isn't American because it has its origins in Europe. I don't think you need to have invented a food to have it be central to your culture.)

Maybe the more important point is that we're both swiping up hummus with our pitas.

What War Zone?? T-shirts!

2009-11-11T13:52:00.005+02:00

One of my favorite funny blogs about Israel is Benji Lovitt's What War Zone?? If you haven't checked it out, do so now... and you might just be able to catch Benji's standup act in the US!

Benji also just came out with a line of t-shirts featuring from his his favorite Israeli-isms and humorous lines. Click here for the full line. The "yiyeh beseder" t-shirts are great, because they capture the Israeli attitude towards everything from nuclear bombs to clogged storm drains, but I have to say that this one is my favorite:

It says "everybody loves a HOT guy," which only makes sense if you realize that one of Israel's two big cable companies is called HOT (with that logo). This results in fun conversations:

Me: I asked a HOT guy to come over this morning while you were at work.

Dear Husband: Oh? Why?

Me: Well, I was in the mood for some HOT Fun! but I couldn't seem to get it started on my own, so I called the HOT guy.

DH: You know, I really prefer it if you let me take care of this kind of thing myself.

Me: Well, the HOT guy went back to his truck and called a few other HOT guys, and they got Israeli Entertainment going, but then...

Riiight.

I'm not sure that I can wear these shirts on the Israeli streets (well, maybe one of the yiyeh beseder ones... those might even catch on among regular Israelis!) but they would make hilarious gifts for anyone you know who has spent enough time in Israel to get the jokes.

What would you put on a t-shirt to celebrate all of the quirks of Israeli life? I'm very tempted to make bumper stickers saying "honk if you're Israeli." Get it? Get it?

Good times. :)

Aliyah after the honeymoon...

2009-11-10T11:32:00.007+02:00

I think I'm one of those people who is happier after the "honeymoon" wears off. My relationship with my husband, for example, is better now than it was five years ago when we got married. Of course, we have bad days, especially when it's... er... the time of the month when I just NEED to sink my teeth into some petty argument and shake my head around. In general, though, we are kinder to each other now, less likely to freak out at little faults, more vulnerable, better at giving each other what we need. Most of all, I value being comfortable together. I can dress in a ripped t-shirt and sweatpants and feel as attractive around him as when I'm dressed up. (Well, mostly. Regular showers are also important.)

I've been thinking about this a lot, lately, because in my life in Israel, I think I've moved past the honeymoon stage. And I love it.

First, a disclaimer: I know I'm very lucky, and I also know that I have probably moved to the phase of feeling comfortable in Israel faster than most olim. (I've heard it takes about three years, and I've been here for a year and a half.) I mean, this blog didn't grow out of nothing-- I was obsessed with becoming Israeli for years before I actually made aliyah. I came here with pretty good Hebrew and an Israeli husband, so I have someone to throw the phone to when I'm not sure whether the dentist is suggesting a teeth cleaning or a root canal.

When I first moved to Israel, though, I got easily embarrassed in stores when I couldn't communicate what I wanted or when the owners of the vegetable stand yelled at me for squeezing their peaches. I forced myself to read a whole novel in Hebrew, to cook from Israeli cook books, to eat salad for breakfast. I was like a person in the early stages of a relationship who is determined to prove that she has everything in common with her guy, that she is the perfect girlfriend and he a flawless paragon. Just as that isn't a realistic formula for a relationship, it's not a realistic expectation for aliyah.

There were good things about these early stages, too. Every holiday thrilled me (wow, we have concerts on Yom HaAtzmaut! People other than me are celebrating Sukkot!) and I generally looked at the world around me with shiny, love-struck, oil-glazed-from-too-much-falofel eyes.

Today, though, I forgive myself for reading newspapers in English or eating muesli and yogurt for breakfast. In some ways, I'm much more Israeli now-- I have grown to love nescafe, for example-- but I'm also comfortable with the ways in which I'm American. While driving somewhere strange in Haifa used to be a terrifying ordeal, it's now simply a trip to the nearest city. I expect to walk out the door and speak Hebrew. I listen to Galgalatz in the car and NPR over the internet at home, although many aspects of American culture and politics seem irrelevant and a little annoying to me now. And... please don't shun me, siblings... but I'm just as excited by a victory for the Maccabi Haifa football (er, soccer) team as the Pittsburgh Steelers. Whereas we used to go hiking to see as much of this beautiful country as possible, now we go because this, here, is our life, and we want to enjoy it. It's hard to explain this shift in feeling, but it's powerful. I live here. This is now my life.

I'm also much more comfortable acknowledging the imperfections of life in Israel. I look at politicians on TV and am more likely to think "scum bag" than "champion of Zionism." Before I came here, I idealized Israelis-- I saw them as more real and profound, less inhibited and fake. Some of that's true, some of that isn't. Israelis have shortcomings just like Americans.

The aliyah-as-marriage analogy works in many other ways, too: you must get to know each other first, you must be committed, you must discuss money and how to raise the kids and where to live. (I bet that the percentage of people who "divorce" aliyah over financial concerns is at least as high as the percentage of marriages that dissolve over money.) I once heard someone say that the best indication of how happy you will be in a marriage is how happy you are out of it. In other words, if you are miserable, don't expect marriage (or aliyah) to transform you. We are responsible for our own happiness. As I waited for aliyah, I reminded myself to practice enjoying life then so that I would be able to enjoy life in Israel.

Yet the fact is that I am happier now than I have ever been, just as I am so much happier and so much more myself with my husband than without him. I am growing into myself in Israel. The honeymoon is over, and life is good.

Now, if only Israel would remember to put the toilet seat down...

New Haveil Havelim!

2009-11-09T12:38:00.002+02:00

Check out a last-minute edition of the weekly Jewish blog carnival here:

http://wwwjackbenimble.blogspot.com/2009/11/haveil-havalim-242-taking.html

Thanks, Jack!

Come see "Just Say Yes" at the Haifa English Theatre!

2009-11-08T12:37:00.003+02:00

If you really want to be Israeli, you all need to see the Haifa English Theatre perform "Just Say Yes" at some time during the next two weeks. It's practically a prerequisite. I have it on good authority that El Al will soon be quizzing you about the plot of this play as part of their security screening. Here's the blurb in the "Anglofile" section of the English version of HaAretz:

SAY YES TO LAUGHS: Life in Israel is tough, says Betsy Lewis Yizraeli, the chairwoman of the Haifa English Theatre, adding that her only goal is to counterbalance the daily stress and make her audience feel good. That's why the theater chose to perform Tom and Jack Sharkey's "Just Say Yes!" "It's a comedy all about the joys and the difficulties involved in living a life based on the power of positive thinking," the Washington, D.C., native explained, adding that in the theater's 29th year, both veteran immigrants, such as Murray Rosovsky, appear on stage as well as new immigrants who are performing for the first time in Israel. Rebecca Dekanu, for example, who moved here recently from Oregon, will start her army service next month. Directed by Ruth Willner, "Just Say Yes!" will open next Saturday. For tickets call (054) 539 8196.

More details:

You will JUST SAY YES! to this delightful Haifa English Theatre production opening in November at Haifa’s Beit Hagefen Auditorium.

Charismatic Blaize Caraway is a hard-nosed, ambitious self-improvement guru in the comedy JUST SAY YES! written by Tom Sharkey and Jack Sharkey.

Will Blaize learn something about life from his daughter Faye? Or will one of the other women in his life show him the light?

Both his “irreplaceable assistant” Irene Joyce and her replacement Nell Eager have many ideas on the subject. Arnold Adderby is the unlikely serpent in this hilarious “Garden of Ego.”

JUST SAY YES! is directed by Ruth Willner and will be performed by the Haifa English Theatre on the following dates at Beit Hagefen Auditorium, 33 Zionism, Haifa on

Thursday 12 November at 20:30

Saturday 14 November at 20:30

Tuesday 17 November at 17:30

Thursday 19 November at 20:30

Saturday 21 November at 20:30

Tickets are available at the door and by mail order.

And no, I didn't mean "Theater"-- by English, we mean "Angli," not "Anglit"! (However, they allow Yankees to participate too. :)

Fair disclosure: attending this production might not be the best way to be Israeli. However, it's a fun way to connect with the Haifa-area English-speaking community. A certain wanna-be-Israeli blogger is just possibly a cast member.

Please come!

A creepy piece of history

2009-11-05T10:51:00.010+02:00

My husband woke me up this morning with an unusual question:

"Did you ever look at the marking on the bottom of our big serving platter?"

My husband isn't exactly the kind to get excited about porcelain makers. In fact, his main concern is usually the food on a plate rather than its brand name. So I was intrigued. He refused to tell me what the mark was until I went up to look at where it was drying on the counter top. (I'd used it to serve chicken on Shabbat, and it had sat in the fridge covered in plastic wrap since then. The plate is very large and heavy, but I manage to fit it into our microwave.)

I stumbled into the kitchen and saw this on the underside of the platter:

Didn't quite catch that? Maybe a closeup will help.

After a little bit of Googling, we learned that FI. U. V. stands for "Flieger Unterkunft Verwaltung"-- inventory of the German Luftwaffe (air force.)

I've been serving Shabbat chicken on a Nazi plate.

Yikes.

Now we are in a quandry. Do we A) continue to use this as a normal serving platter, B) save it as an interesting historical artifact, or C) try to sell it?

Option A doesn't feel right. For one thing, I can only imagine the reaction of my husband's Holocaust survivor grandparents if they noticed that I served fish to them on this Nazi platter. These are people who shudder at the sight of Volkswagons, let alone dishes marked with actual swastikas. Besides, I think I've lost my appetite.

Option B is kind of tempting. The platter was obviously brought to Israel by Holocaust refugees (and ultimately left in our cupboards by the previous tenants). In a way, it represents Jews rising out of the ashes of the Holocaust to live in freedom in our own nation. Take that, Nazi pilots! I served Shabbat dinner on your plate! On the other hand, it feels wrong to give any Nazi item a place remotely resembling honor in our home.

So then there's Option C, selling the plate. It's probably worth about 150-300 dollars (see similar, smaller plates here: http://www.redrumautographs.com/His2.html). But people who collect Nazi memorabilia creep me out... this guy, for example, seems way too enamored with Hitler and swastikas. The ideal option might be to donate the platter to an Israeli museum, but I'm not sure which one.

So, that's how I woke up this morning. What would you do? Have you encountered any Nazi items in Israel? Any suggestions?

Stereotypes are fun! (Please help...)

2009-11-04T11:36:00.012+02:00

Despite my complete lack of free time (believe it or not), I'm toying with the idea of creating a quiz to help y'all answer this critical question: what kind of Israeli are you?

Here are a few of the result categories that I have developed so far.

Arse/Freicha:
You love hair gel, polyester, skin-tight clothing, heavy perfume, and nightclubs. You are also quite possibly thirteen years old and/or in the Bublil family. Your home is an Isra-fab marvel. You believe in working hard and partying harder! If only it didn't take you so long to get ready for the club each night...

Kibbutznik:
You connect to Israel through its nature. You love sweeping vistas, the smell of cow manure, and produce picked straight off the tree. You probably know how to milk a goat. In your daily life, you rarely meet anyone you haven't known since infancy. You favor peasant skirts, white cotton tunics, long hair, and quiet nights with the hooka. You probably know how to play acoustic guitar.

Hareidi:
Your life revolves around Torah study and prayer. You may have more children than fingers. You are likely to live in Jerusalem or B'nei Barak. You know exactly what you will wear every day and exactly how you will spend each moment. You unwind on Friday nights with a good niggun and fabringen. If you own a cell phone, it's probably kosher.

American Oleh:
You probably live in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Beit Shemesh, or Zichron Yaakov. Your first question when you go anywhere is "atah medaber anglit?" You've never quite mastered the Hebrew "r" or "ch." You were the only person applying for your job in a suit and tie. You actually allow other cars to cut in front of you on the highway, and you never forget to use the turn signal.

Russian Oleh:
You came to Israel because it was easier to get into this country than the US, but really you'd rather be back in Russia. This whole Jewish/Hebrew thing... not so much your style. You know how to hold your vodka and you can tear through pickled herring. In the wintertime, you like to turn on the Christmas tree lights and pretend that the sand on the beach is snow. Whether in chess or ballroom dancing, you are determined to turn your children into prodigies. Back in Russia, you were a nuclear physicist. Here in Israel, you clean floors. What? Bitter? You?

Tel Avivi:
You wear black, sip espressos in coffee houses, and recycle. You attend poetry readings in support of gay, underprivileged Palestinian youth. You are fairly certain that there is no civilized life outside a thirty kilometer radius of your two-million-shekel studio apartment, and you wish the rest of Israel didn't bring the reputation of your country down.

Ok, what did I miss? What would you change in these categories? What categories would you add?

It wasn't just Kiryat Bialik...

2009-11-03T12:45:00.006+02:00

Here's a youtube video of Hertzeliya (near Tel Aviv) on Sunday:

Here's an even more impressive film: one of my friends took this video on his way to work through Haifa yesterday.

(I hope he had both hands on the wheel... those are geysers!) Last night, I was on one of the streets in the video. The water(falls) had cleared, but slabs of asphalt lifted from the road littered the parking spaces.

Kiryat Motzkin used to have the nickname "Agam Motzkin"-- Motzkin Lake-- because it flooded so often in the wintertime. As Doron said in the comments on Sunday's post, the primary reason that Israeli streets flood so badly when we DO get rain likes in Israel's "yiyeh beseder" attitude: ehhhhh, there probably won't be bad rain this winter. Why would be possibly need to clean fallen leaves and trash out of our storm drains?

On the plus side, though, the air smells like springtime, and the grass in the yard is already greener. A strong breeze whips in through my open window. The sky is deep, clear blue. Time to go hang laundry outside! (Did I mention that hardly anyone in this country owns a dryer?)

Every long-term Israeli I meet says that winters used to be much colder and wetter here. In recent years, winters have been warm(ish) and dry, plunging the water level in the Kinneret to dangerous lows. Let's hope this winter marks the shift of weather back to old patterns rather than a blip in global warming.

Bring on the rains!

You are TALL

2009-11-02T10:52:00.005+02:00

In the US, I was considered a normal height. At five feet five inches (1.67 meters), about half the women I knew were taller than me, half shorter.

Here in Israel, this is me:

I cannot tell you how many times I have been called "gavoha" (tall) here. Sales people hear my shoe size and think I must be joking. (True, I have especially big feet, but size 9 1/2 shoes-- 41 European-- are at least usually available in the US!) When I'm with a crowd of Israeli women, I feel like that one tall girl in middle school... and I was really short at age 12.

Of course, it's not just me. In the US, my husband was on the shorter side of average, but now he is more often than not one of the taller people in a room. One of my olah friends is my height and bemoans the fact that it's hard to find guys who are taller than her. When the Israeli national soccer team plays, say, the Austrians, they can pretty much forfeit any head-butting duel.

To be fair, there are tall Israelis. I attended a bar mitzvah recently for a boy who had to be over 6'2". (His mother's speech consisted primarily of references to his height... in a loving way, of course!) If I hear about my height this often, I can only imagine what it feels like to be truly tall here. Does anyone have experiences to share?

So if you want to be Israeli, remember: you are probably taller than you think!

P.S. It's STILL raining.

And then it kept raining...

2009-11-01T12:20:00.005+02:00

One hour (and no additional rain) later...

Word to the wise: Israeli streets don't drain very well. Possibly because they don't usually need to.

P.S. New Haveil Havelim (the Jewish blog carnival): http://simplyjews.blogspot.com/2009/11/haveil-havalim-241-blogoversary-edition.html

One of the most beautiful sights in the world...

2009-10-29T12:13:00.013+02:00

Rain in Israel.

It has already rained a few times this year, but this morning we experienced one of the first rainstorms that was long and steady.

What is left of the grass in our yard soaking in the rain.

A tiny iridescent-indigo bird hiding from the rain in a bush.
(The picture is blurry, but the bird was gorgeous.)
Click on any picture to see a larger version.

Rain in Israel in the fall is like those first drinks of water after Yom Kippur. It doesn't go down easily, necessarily-- the ground is sometimes too parched to accept water-- but it's the start of renewal. Fall in Israel is a second spring. Flowers bloom. Plants return to life. The words we say in prayers gain extra meaning when we say them here:

You are eternally mighty, my Lord, the Resuscitator of the dead are You, abundantly able to save. You make the wind blow and the rain descend.

Dude! (Shemesh, that is.)

2009-10-28T07:00:00.002+02:00

On the roof of every Israeli apartment building you find water heaters and solar panels-- the solar water heater is known (in one of the most fabulous Israeli appliance names) as a dude shemesh. In a country with this much sun, it only makes sense for us to heat our water using solar energy.

In the summer, this means that we have hot water all day long without paying a dime for heating. In the winter, you have to plan your showers carefully-- you can usually shower with hot water in the middle of the day, but in the evening you often need to heat the water using electricity (via a special switch in everyone's home-- if you flip a switch in your new Israeli apartment and nothing appears to happen, you may be heating your water). It takes about a half hour for the water in our dude shemesh to heat. Some people even use timers to insure hot water at specific times during the summer.

Don't forget to clean off your solar panels every so often! Dusty solar panels can't collect sunlight.

Are you a heat-at-specific-times or a flip-the-switch-and-wait kind of winter showerer?

A Quick and Easy Guide to Living in Celsius

2009-10-27T07:00:00.002+02:00

When I first arrived in Israel, I had a very hard time gleaning anything meaningful from the weather report. Was I supposed to wear a coat in 20 degree weather?? What did it mean that the weekend would get up to 35?

I'm not alone. I once saw approximately this dialogue on Martha Stewart's TV show:

GUEST: It was very hot in Abu Dhabi. The temperature was about 37 degrees Celsius.
MARTHA: What is that in Fahrenheit?
GUEST: I think about 70 degrees.
MARTHA: Oh, that's not that hot.

(37 degrees Celsius is actually 98 degrees Fahrenheit.)

Yes, there are formulas to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, but these usually involve complicated formulas and knowledge of the number of times a grasshopper's wings beat per second. What I really need to know is this: should I wear a coat?

So here's my handy-dandy guide to living in Celsius.

If the temperature is in the 40s: It's HOT. Going outside is actually dangerous. The ocean will feel like a hot bath. Even in the shade, sweat will stream down your body. Close all of the trisim, turn on the air conditioning and drink lots of water. Any food you consume should be cold. (Farhrenheit equivalent: 100 and above. It actually got to this temperature in Haifa just a few weeks ago.)

If the temperature in the 30s: It's hot, but not HOT. You can probably go outside with proper precautions. Wear shorts and sleeveless shirts or light cotton clothing. It's too hot to wear full-length jeans or socks. You can probably handle a warm falofel so long as it's accompanied by a cold drink... although be warned, ice does not come standard in Israeli soft drinks. This weather is typical of the entire summer in Israel, except when it gets HOT, and is perfect for a game of matkot on the beach and a dip in the Mediterranean. (Rough Fahrenheit equivalent: the 90s.) Note: the upper 30s are HOT. If temp is 37 or above, follow guidelines for the 40s.

If the temperature is in the 20s: This is known as "mezeg avir naim"-- pleasant weather. It is warm but not sweltering. This weather (typical for October-November in Israel) is perfect for strolling around outside in jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, and sandals. You don't need a jacket but you probably don't need air conditioning. Kick out the grill and mangal some meat! Keep a light blanket near your bed, but you might not need it. (Rough Fahrenheit equivalent: the 70s.)

If the temperature is in 10s: This weather is cool, but not cold. You will probably want a blanket at night and a light jacket if you go outside. You might even want to wear socks, and you will probably appreciate hot soup for dinner. (Rough Fahrenheit equivalent: the 50s.) This temperature is typical of the Israeli winter.

If the temperature is in the 0s: This is what Israelis consider cold (and Americans where I come from consider normal fall weather). Wear a fairly warm jacket and warm shoes. Israelis turn on their heaters and bundle up in hats and scarves in weather like this. Because your house will still not be very good at heating up and staying warm, sleep with a thick feather blanket at night. (Rough Fahrenheit equivalent: the 30s.)

If the temperature is below 0: Israelis consider temperatures below zero almost too cold to bear. They will avoid going outside and will sit around huddled under blankets at home. They may or may not own mittens and so will be cold and grumpy when they emerge into the freezing air. If you own a warm winter coat, wear it. At least, this is what I guess happens-- it never got below zero last year in the Krayot. (Rough Fahrenheit equivalent: 32 degrees and below.)

You WILL see a celebrity in the Israel streets

2009-10-26T07:00:00.001+02:00

Israeli Judo Champion (and olympic bronze medalist) Arik Zeevi, along with my

left eye and my husband's right ear. We're not that short; he is actually that tall.)

So far, I've seen the singer Miri Mesika in a mall, the fat and thin guys from the Israeli Amazing Race in a Tel Aviv coffee house, and some girl from the "Mifratz HaAhava" (who I'm ashamed to say I recognized) in a pizza shop around the corner. I've also actually met the Israeli judo champion, Arik Zeevi... and thanks to this post, I'm Facebook friends with Maya from the Israeli Amazing Race. My husband regularly sits next to the Israeli equivalent to Dr. Phil on the train to Tel Aviv.

This list isn't all that impressive, but in my defense, reality TV stars become actual stars more quickly in Israel than in the US. (The blondiniots from the Israeli Amazing Race are now doing condom commercials.) Yet in 24 years of life in the US, my closest encounter with a celebrity came from knowing someone who went to high school with people who went to high school with Christina Aguilera. I never once saw anyone I recognized from national TV without specifically going somewhere to do so. By contrast, we ran into all of the people in the paragraph above within the last year.

Here's the thing: Israel is really, really small. You are likely to run into people you see on TV because there simply aren't many places for them to go. National news in Israel is equivalent to local news in the US; you see a house fire and probably know someone who lives near that street. (This might be one reason why Israelis watch the nightly news obsessively, gasping at any act of violence, shocked that someone in their "neighborhood" could be capable of murder or theft.) Imagine if every reality TV show cast only people from the three cities closest to your home. If you don't see someone you recognize from TV in Israel, you probably just don't pay enough attention.

Have you had any close encounters with celebrities in Israel or in the US?

New Haveil Havelim...

2009-10-25T18:55:00.000+02:00

I just wanted to point you to the newest Haveil Havelim (Jewish Blog Carnival) at artzeinublog.com.

Yisroel, great job, and thanks for including this blog! I tried to post a comment in response to your HH edition, but the comment link didn't seem to be working.

Get One Car Ahead

2009-10-25T10:12:00.003+02:00

The car on the right in the picture above is not signaling-- don't worry. It's breaking as it figures out how to cut in front of the pickup flying the giant Israeli flag.

If you are an Israeli driver, remember: it is crucially important that you get One Car Ahead. You must reach the light before the car in front of you so that, as you both sit waiting for the same light to turn green, you can feel smug knowing that you are One Car Ahead. If you reach a roundabout, it is crucially important that you cut off the person about to enter it by entering first. If a lane is about to end (usually around a bend and without warning-- this is Israel, after all, and little things like advance notice of lanes ending are for goyim), it is crucial that you get IN FRONT of the car in the other lane rather than behind it.

There are two reasons why getting One Car Ahead is so crucial:

1. You are always in a hurry.
2. You are always late.

This actually mystified the Argentinians in my ulpan class; they came from a culture of manana, but Argentinians are late when they go places because they aren't in a hurry. Israelis are late when they go places because they are. If an Israeli just spends a little more time getting things done (and organizing combinot) before leaving home, he will surely get rich. Every Israeli, remember, is an expert on just about everything, which makes their time more valuable than yours.

Getting One Car Ahead is also closely related to the principle that every other driver on the road is an idiot. If another driver weaves in and out of traffic without using his turn signal, he is clearly an idiot because he is obviously not paying attention. You, on the other hand, don't need to signal because the other drivers are obviously not paying attention and therefore wouldn't notice if you did. Also, every other driver on the road is an idiot, so if they're all driving slowly, it's because they can't drive... not because, say, cows are wandering into Rt. 4 during the middle of rush hour. (We actually saw this happen. They were happily grazing on the median strip by the Lev HaMifratz mall.)

The other day I saw a car full of chassidic men, long payot and all, swerve between cars along the Derech Akko-Haifa. My theory is that they were on the way to a wedding in Nahariya, because they rolled down their window to ask me for directions before careening off.

OY.

Fall Foliage in Israel?

2009-10-22T14:51:00.006+02:00

Kinda!

(See those bits of yellow on certain clumps of leaves? HA! Take that, Vermont!)

(What, you say the dried-up chives and thyme in my window boxes don't count?!)

[First three pictures were taken today (Oct. 22) out my windows; last picture was taken Nov. 29 2008 in the Golan Heights]

Remember the Lirah?

2009-10-21T13:40:00.009+02:00

Before Israel switched to shekels, it used "lirot"-- the Israeli lirah. I was reminded of this when I reupholstered some chairs I found on www.yad2.co.il and found these tax stamps on the base:

These stamps probably date the chairs to at least the 1960s, but I found someone selling an almost identical luxury tax stamp on ebay claiming that it was from 1951. (The stamp was selling for 24 dollars! Too bad I already covered these ones up!) I'm pretty sure that ל''י is the EARLIER abbreviation used for the lirah, before Israel switched to a symbol similar to the British pound in 1955. Can anyone confirm this? Can you help me date these tax stamps?

At any case, I love the chairs. Here they are pre-reupholstry:

I'm pretty Zeus preferred them when they were grimy and worn, as in the picture above.

Can anyone identify them? I think they're Yugoslavian versions of Danish Modern furniture, but I'm not sure. By the way, I'm discovering that flea markets in Israel aren't great for finding really old antiques but are awesome if you like midcentury/Danish modern-- a whole lot of people moved here in the 50s and had to buy everything from scratch. This country is also a treasure-trove of 70s decor... let's hope that becomes trendy. :)

Anyway, here's one of the chairs post-sanding and reupholstery. The new fabric is micro-suede because that's the only thing our cats have trouble destroying. I stained the wood to a reddish shade (sorry, purists!) to contrast more with the fabric. I'm still getting the hang of reupholstery, but I'm happy with how this chair turned out! Click on any picture to see a larger version.

Good times. (Can you tell yet that I'm a little obsessed with decorating and furnishing our new apartment? Too bad we don't move in until April!)

Make your apartment Isra-Fab!

2009-10-20T11:22:00.005+02:00

Before I post this, I should say that Israel has fabulous designers and lots of Israeli apartments are gorgeous. At its best, Israeli style involves cool tile floors, white walls, textured carpets, modern lines, colorful ceramics, etc. But there's a certain trend in Israeli design that my husband and I call "Isra-fab."

I have to admit that I am sometimes drawn to Isra-fab myself... I was about to buy plates edged with fake gold for Passover when my husband's cousin pulled me aside and explained Isra-Fab to me. During our apartment search, we knew to be worried if a seller would describe an apartment as "ya-fe-fiyah"-- sooo pretty! An example of ya-fe-fiyah: we even visited a penthouse in Kiryat Motzkin in which the entire apartment was tiled in blue, red, and gold screen-printed floors. "Ya-fe-fiyah" basically splatters the Israeli epidemic of ADD all over otherwise nice apartments.

To transform your house into Isra-Fab, take note of these pointers (illustrated by pictures from www.yad2.co.il, the Israeli Craigslist):

Tip #1: The more baroque, the better!
Maybe this is because we live in a country without much actual antique furniture (that whole peopled-by-refugees thing meant that most people's grandparents barely brought a suitcase with them, let alone family heirlooms). Whatever the reason, Isra-fab style demands as much fake-ornate detailing as possible.

Tip #2: Buy mass-produced artwork in 70s-esque colors.
Ok, the artwork above isn't all that bad, and this wouldn't even make it on the list did not almost every apartment in Israel contain this identical "artwork."

A bonus point if the edges of the artwork are decorated with crackle paint. Double bonus points if the artwork is African-inspired and involves silhouetted figures. Triple bonus points if the painting involves glitter.

Tip #3: Real wood is curved! (And honey-colored!)

This cabinet is Isra-fab in so many ways. The honey-toned wood! The excess glass! The odd curves! Yafefiyah!

Tip #4: Simple curtains? Boooring. Go for creative draping.
I especially love the bit of red polyester curtain that hangs from the left side of each window frame.

Tip #5: If you can't go baroque, go Greek!

Or Roman. And I always get ionic and doric columns confused. The thing that makes this column plant stand especially Isra-fab? It's actually plaster.

Tip #6: Everything is better if it is shiny and gold. With sparkles.

Bonus points if said item involves crackle paint. Double bonus points if it is, in fact, a sign to go on the door of the bathroom.

Remember, if an Israeli tells you something is "ya-fey-fi-yah," be afraid... be very afraid.

About my sudden return to the world of blogging...

2009-10-19T17:34:00.008+02:00

I haven't posted much at all in the past two months... this blog almost made it to the 100 post mark and then I petered out. I blame Israeli summers. It's really hard to do anything while melting. (Speaking of which, 41 degrees-- CELSIUS-- in October?? Really??)

I've been busy in part because of a writing project that actually propelled me BACK into blogging this week. The first paragraph of my novel-in-progress was selected as one of the ten finalists (out of 2500 entries!!) in a contest over on literary agent Nathan Bransford's blog. I didn't want to post about the contest while the voting was going on because we weren't supposed to campaign for our paragraphs (other finalists did seem to campaign... not that I'm bitter or anything), but I figured there might be some new hits to this blog from the contest, and I didn't want them to be greeted by tumbleweed... or whatever tumbleweed's Israeli equivalent would be. (I'm guessing roaming jukim. They'll totally outlive us.)

I also discovered that blogger lets me write posts in advance and automatically post them later! (Yes, I'm sometimes a little slow to catch on. Bear with me.) So I can absolutely guarantee that there will be a post here tomorrow. And the day after that. AND the day after that!

Anyway, if you're stopping by for the first time, welcome! Everyone needs a little more "Israeli" in their lives. (Well... ok... many would disagree. But let's not talk politics.) If any former blog readers are still out there... please... comment. I know that I broke your trust by walking out on you at the beginning of the summer, but maybe we can still be friends?

If you're curious, here's the first paragraph from my novel--

The pomegranate seeds burst between my teeth, releasing tart-sweet juice. Wind licked my eyelids, and the orchard rustled and creaked. I relaxed into the fork of the tree. In that moment, nothing mattered-- not marriage, not exile, not my mother's pursed lips. Persia became smaller than the nub of bark digging into the back of my leg.

It's historical fiction, so while I don't have all that much written yet (about 15,000 words), I've done a lot of research and now know more about... well... a certain time period than I ever thought I would need to know. Can anyone guess when and where this novel takes place? Double bonus points if you can guess the city!

Hint: the next line is this:

“Naara! Nehemiah! Get out of there, now!” Ah, our little chaperone.

It feels good to be back. Hope you're still out there!

Don't drive during the first rain...

2009-10-19T15:15:00.001+02:00

The first rain in Israel-- after months of endless sunny days-- usually arrives in late September. This year it came on Rosh Hashana-- a driving rain that left puddles in the streets. The air smells like wet clay, like cool breath. I opened the sliding doors on the mirpeset of our apartment and let the raindrops flick in onto my boxes of herbs. The first rain feels like a shower at the end of a long camping trip, when your hair is greasy, bits of leaves cling in weird places, and you don't want to know how your armpits smell. It rinses dust out of the air so that we see the radio towers on hills along the border with Lebanon all the way from Haifa, and deposits this dust on cars: brown splats of raindrops cling to our windows after the first drizzle.

It also releases the motor oil and dust and grease from the asphalt on the roads. I bet a lot of olim aren't aware they need to drive carefully during the first rain, no matter how gentle. We scoff at the way Israelis might drive during snow and don't understand that this film of released grime can be just as dangerous. But Israeli drivers crawl along during the first rain-- and if you have ever seen Israelis drive, you know how significant it is when they actually go slowly.

I always get the urge to run outside and frolic during the first rain, but I settled this year for sitting on our balcony, feeling the water against my face, petting my freaked-out cats, and smelling the air.

Let's hope this winter is wet!

There's no pork in Israel...

2009-10-18T15:01:00.002+02:00

...just a bunch of euphemisms: "basar lavan" (white meat), "basar acher" (other meat), etc.

Most grocery stores in Israel are kosher. At our local Machsane Lahav, I don't need to look for hekshers to know that all the meat is kosher and the margarine parve. This grocery store also closes every Shabbat, which means that if we run out of milk on Saturday, we have to wait until Sunday to buy more. This is one thing I love about Israel; keeping kosher in the US took real effort, but here it's effortless.

Eating treyf, on the other hand, takes effort. It might even involve a trip to the chain store Tiv Ta'am, set far back from the road-- and open on Shabbat. Tiv Ta'am specializes in imported goods and all those nonkosher meats that Israelis see as delicacies. (The difficulty of buying pork raises its value... many Israelis love ordering pig or shrimp when they travel abroad.) But even at Tiv Ta'am, delicate euphemisms prevail in place of the word "chazir," pig/pork. In the picture above, you can see pig parts at Tiv Ta'am ranging from tongues to hearts. Sorry, did I say "pig" parts? I mean "white"... "white tongue," "white heart," "white tail"...

I'll stick with the other other white meat. (As in, chicken. My husband felt I should specify. This is a no treyf zone!)

"Achrei haChagim"...

2009-10-17T18:00:00.002+02:00

A phrase you quickly learn after moving to Israel is "Achrei haChagim"-- after the holidays. Every fall, national productivity ceases for almost a month for Rosh HaShana, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Simchat Torah. If you're trying to get a dentist's appointment any time in September, you will almost certainly be told to wait until achrei hachagim. If you want a bank to process your mortgage, wait until achrei hachagim. I even know a pregnant woman who waited until achrei hachagim to give birth, although I suspect that was involuntary. (In this country, you never know!)

These are a few of my favorite moments from the chagim in Israel...

Rosh HaShana: I love how connected this country is to old food traditions... especially our Polish and Romanian relatives. At a Romanian home for the first meal, we ate gefilte fish actually stuffed inside a large carp (gelled carrots for eyes and all), as well as beef aspic (take that, Julia Child!), tsimmes, and pomegranate seeds. The next day, my husband's grandfather was shocked that I knew how to make potato kugel and started telling me stories of his childhood (although I have to admit that my version contained some Osem soup powder).

Yom Kippur: From sundown to sundown, the world sounds and smells like no other day. Nobody drives-- and I mean nobody, except for the occasional emergency vehicle. Instead, the streets fill with kids on bikes (and the occasional roller blades or electric car). Pollution levels in Israel visibly plummet. The sounds from the street are hard to describe... the babble of voices, the echo of laughter, the buzz of the electric cars and the whish of skateboards. At night, our cats watch the fruit bats landing to suck on the dates that hang from the palm tree outside our window; in the morning, I wonder if this many song birds chirp every day. On Yom Kippur everyone takes to the street: parents pushing strollers down by the supermarket, kindergartners on training wheels at a roundabout, teenagers clumping in the middle of Rt. 4, sitting on the highway divider and lobbing twigs at the blinking traffic lights.

Sukkot: My husband was on holiday during Sukkot, so we spent the holiday together. Next year, we'll build our own Sukkah-- this year, the stores had sold out by the time we went to buy. One highlight of the holiday: attending a Renaissance Festival in an actual crusader castle.

Simchat Torah: Chabad rabbis dancing to Klesmer music in the atrium of of our local mall. Enough said. :)

My favorite part of this season: the first rain...

[Picture: A fruit bat hanging from the dates outside our window during one of the first rains. To give a sense of scale: the dates are 2-3 inches long.]

How to Be Israeli

How to give gifts like an Israeli

Nitsah's Birth Story, or How to Get Your Way When Dealing with Israelis

More Israeli than I ever will be...

Signs you may be becoming more Israeli than you realized...

A tale of two fires...

How to host Thanksgiving like an Israeli...

How to signal like an Israeli driver...

This blog has been shiputzed!

On going home again...

What are your favorite Israeli (or wanna-be-Israeli) blogs?

The remarkable inconsistency of Israeli telephone numbers

Things *NOT* to do if you want to seem Israeli

Israeli Famous People who look like American Famous People

Wahoo! Problem fixed!

I think I found the problem...

Any tips on how my site can be removed as an "attack" site?

I'm alive :)

Come see me perform with the Haifa English Theatre!

How to tip like an Israeli

Foods surprisingly hard to find in Israel (and foods to try instead!)

How to run a race like an Israeli

I'm back!

Ode to my First Israeli Apartment

If you want to understand Israelis, read this book...

How to Wait in Line Like an Israeli

I'm in the Jerusalem Post!

It's Purim, so go to the mall... to hear a megilla reading?

Have exact change

Israelis: just not as obsessed by the Arab-Israeli conflict as the rest of the world

Punning in Hebrish

The Art of Shopping at a Yarkan

Oops... I may have spoken too soon...

Eat your heart out, Punxsutawney Phil!

How do you pronounce שופרסל?

Happy Tu B'Shvat!

Bundle up when you come inside!

,k0

,k0":?p

Still alive! (In which I blame the lack of posts on Lior Narkis)

Standing on the threshold of 2010

Celebrate Sylvester! (Or don't. Nobody really cares.)

Work doesn't stop at the end of December!

Question from the comments: Where can you buy an in-cabinet dish rack?

The Maccabis aren't just part of Chanukah

The Commercialization of Chanukah (Dreidel washing machine, anyone?)

Oh right, my list...

Don't Call Between Two and Four

Be a Sexy Bride

Only in Israel...

גם אני שונא שהגרעין של הלימון נעלם לי בסלט (ושונא יותר לתת ביס ולמצוא אותו)

How to Shrug like an Israeli (a Quick and Easy Guide to Nonverbal Hebrew)

Shop at Ikea!

A second spring...

Water saving measures actually save water!

Listen to David Broza!

Nazi plate update

My first Israeli recipe ever: Ketzitzot!

Are Israelis rude?

Hebrew words that sound like English but mean something else

Grocery shopping like an Israeli

It's winter, so go eat a krembo!

New Haveil Havelim!

You are more Lebanese than you think...

What War Zone?? T-shirts!

Aliyah after the honeymoon...

New Haveil Havelim!

Come see "Just Say Yes" at the Haifa English Theatre!

A creepy piece of history

Stereotypes are fun! (Please help...)

It wasn't just Kiryat Bialik...

You are TALL

And then it kept raining...

One of the most beautiful sights in the world...

Dude! (Shemesh, that is.)

A Quick and Easy Guide to Living in Celsius

You WILL see a celebrity in the Israel streets

New Haveil Havelim...

Get One Car Ahead

Fall Foliage in Israel?

Things NOT to do if you want to seem Israeli