On going home again...

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?

Things *NOT* to do if you want to seem Israeli

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...

How to tip like an Israeli

 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?

Are Israelis rude?

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)?

What War Zone?? T-shirts!

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. :) 

Sunset on the Mediterranean

Click on any picture to see a large version.

At sunset, my husband and I walked the boardwalk of Dado Beach in Haifa. Surfers waded out to catch the waves that splashed the pebbled beach.

The sun bathed circles of Israeli dancers in long yellow light. Down the beach, drummers beat as others swung legs in the Brazilian martial-arts dance, Caopeira.

We passed life-guard towers and restaurants, glad the heat of the week was finally breaking.

We settled in lounge chairs at a cafe to sip drinks and watch the sun sink low. One young surfer rode out in the waves. (On the right side of the photo, my husband's toes!)


Waves rippled with flame; clouds melted gold.

Just an Israeli evening.

For the best view in Israel, visit Muhraka

Muhraka monastery is one of those places that makes me feel Israeli-- it's the perfect place to take out-of-town guests, yet mostly locals know it exists. Muhraka is a Carmelite monastery on the Carmel Mountain (hence the name), and it is at one of the spots that Elijah is supposed to have fought with the prophets of Baal... hence this dramatic statue:

Elijah stomping out worshipers of Baal. Click to see a larger version.

For a ridiculously small fee (I think it was four shekels), you can climb onto the monastery roof, where you get this AMAZING view:

Different Israeli cities-- all of which you can see from this
roof-- are marked on the floor. Click to see a larger version.

When I stood on the Muhraka roof in December, I turned around to see the most beautiful sky I've seen in my life, complete with a glimmer of the Mediterranean in the distance:

Amazing sunlight. Click to see a larger version.

It's a bit hard to get the Muhraka-- with a car, you essentially turn right just before you reach the Druze village of Dalyat al Carmel (if you're coming from the east) and drive until you're convinced you're on the wrong road-- and then you're there. This site suggests a bus and then a taxi from Dalyat al-Carmel, which sounds like a good idea.

So if you really want to be Israeli, take your guests to this little gem on the Carmel mountain!

Visit the Hexagon Pool!

One thing I didn't realize about Israel before I moved here was that much of its mountains and rock formations are actually volcanic. This leads to some fascinating rock formations, some of which barely look natural-- but are. The picture above is of the Hexagon Pool (Birchat Meshushim) in the lower Golan, close to Nachal Yehudiah, and not far north of the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee). You can get a sense of the scale of this naturally-formed pool by noting the little heads of people along the bottom of the picture-- click on the picture to see a large version. The rock hangs down in naturally-forming hexagons that look as if at any moment they could break off and fall into the edge of the pool (and some clearly have). The rock is dark burnished grey. You hike down about one kilometer to get to this pool-- definitely worth the walk. Oh, and you get views like this along the way:


When we visited these pools during Pesach, the water was ice cold, and I doubt it gets that much warmer in the summer as it is fed by cold mountain rivers rushing down from the Golan Heights. It as wonderful to go swimming here on a hot day! This is the biggest of all the pools, but there are many more smaller pools accessible along hiking trails along the Nahal Yehudiah, including some fed by spectacular water falls. I'd never swum underneath a waterfall before coming to Israel-- now I've done so in both the north (Golan) and south (Ein Gedi). Definitely not an experience to miss!

The Israeli concept of "personal space" (or lack therof) applies to camping as well...

Americans visiting Israel are often taken aback by Israelis' concept of personal space. While in America we go to great lengths to avoid actually touching each other while, say, waiting in line, Israeli crowds rely on survival of the stubbornest-- you must stand your ground (and push into those around you) to keep your spot.

Over Chol Hamoed Pesach, my husband and I decided to go camping in the Golan. (Actually, I wanted to, and my husband-- after much prodding-- agreed. But only if we went to a campground with bathrooms.) I've done a lot of backpacking and some camprground camping in the US. At US campgrounds, you pay for a specific numbered patch of ground-- usually about the size of my entire apartment, delineated by boards, and surrounded by trees to separate you from anyone nearby. You have your own picnic table, fire pit, and parking space (where you can pull in your RV and have all the comforts of trailer park life right by the campfire). While I prefer camping deep in the woods where the only sounds are howling wolves (really-- been there, done that), campground camping isn't too bad.

In the Golan, on the other hand, our campground was a fenced-in square of land maybe 100 meters by 100 meters. We paid to sleep overnight, not for any particular plot-- instead we simply found a nice spot near a small olive tree and pitched our tent. Camping in Israel seems to be most popular among groups of high-school or army-age kids who hitchhike up to campgrounds with just a few sleepingbags, a gas burner, and a frying pan. This being chol hamoed, the campground quickly grew more and more full. We barbecued hamburgers to eat on Matzo meal buns, lent matches to the group of woefully underprepared American gap year students nearby, and eventually, settled down for the night.

Just as we came back from the bathrooms, though, we discovered new neighbors. Three Israeli girls in skirts had pitched their sleeping bags about a foot from our tent-- when they moved, their feet kicked our tent side. And when they talked, and laughed, and sang, and shouted at each other, we heard every word.

We also noticed an interesting phenomenon. During the daytime, we heard mostly loud English voices in the campground. At night, exclusively loud Hebrew voices. The Israelis in the campground weren't trying to be rude, but they seemed to see no reason whatsoever to even attempt to whisper. After all, the night was still young! Why should they go around whispering like fryerim? (I suppose it could be worse. When I camped out by at "Lavnoon" on the Kinneret in college, an outdoor dance floor pounded music until about 4 AM.)

To be fair, the girls next to us did quiet down after a few hours when we told them we were trying to sleep. But by that point, I was totally awake, and like the Princess and the Pea, I could feel every lump through the layers of blankets we were trying to cushion ourselves with. At about 3 AM, wind started to beat against our tent and I got up and walked around the now-silent campground, lit by moonlight and lamps, sitting in the shadow of the Golan mountains.

Next time we go camping (if I can ever convince my husband again), we're bringing an air mattress and ear plugs!

Make Pesach Travel Plans (a crusader castle, anyone?)

Most Israelis get at least part of Passover off, which means that the price of bed-and-breakfasts (and flights to Turkey) double this time of year. My husband and I are planning to go down to the south to see friends who live in the "prairie" (arava) between the Dead Sea and Eilat-- we're very excited!! However, if you're still trying to think of a place to go, we highly recommend visiting Montfort, a crusader castle in the western Galil (about an hour's drive from Haifa). American tourists tend not to see the non-Jewish history of Israel, but this is a country that has archeological remains going back more than 20,000 years and all the way up to the present. Some of the Arab and Crusader castles are incredibly cool to visit... these are pictures from our hike to Montfort back in September.
Yes, I did say hike to Montfort. I believe there's a back way in by car, but the best way to get there is to hike the from the opposite hillside (where there's a nice little park for barbequing, as well as bathrooms). That IS the trail we hiked up.

Montfort is not treated like a "tourist attraction" per se-- there's some grafitti on the 600 year old walls, and there are no admittance prices or guards to tell you not to go too close to the edge.

My husband took full advantage of the "go as close as you want to the edge" thing... to my chagrin! These pictures don't do justice to the INCREDIBLE view because the sky was so sunny it washed everything out. Imagine a deep blue, cloudless sky above all of this.

So ok, I'm not too big a fan of the crusaders coming in and taking over our country, but they left behind incredible architecture like this in the middle of the wildnerness. Can you imagine being a European knight living here?

Btw, Monfort has a wikipedia page... go here for more info!

Do you have any fun pesach plans?

Driving through a Druz Village = Extra Fun Challenge

Not Druish... Druzim!

The Druzim are an ethnic group found across Israel and Syria. They're generally Israeli citizens and fight in the Israeli army. They're nice people and friendly to the idea of a Jewish state that leaves them alone. However, there recently were riots against the Israeli army in the Druzi village of Pekiin-- which is where we got lost on our way to the Gan HaSela this past weekend.

The problem with Druzi villages (from a driver's point of view) is that they are built for horses rather than cars. In roads one lane wide (with stone buildings on either side in place of shoulders), cars pass in both directions, weaving between parked cars on either side. Drivers go full speed around 90 degree, 100% blind corners. Druzim also tend to have a lax attitude towards lanes; in Dalyat al Carmel, another druze village, cars came at me from every direction with a kind of mysterious internal logic-- "right of way" seemed to be a foreign concept. Pekiin is build on a steep hillside, which made driving in a stick shift car especially fun. And the roads in Pekiin wind mazelike up and down the mountain.

The Druzim appear to like bright colors, pagoda rooftops, roman columns, and whatever other architectural details they can think of

Eventually, we found ourselves at the bottom of the mountain and-- because we were willing to take any road that didn't lead back into Pekiin-- up the next mountain into Pekiin HaChadash, and a dead end in a new development of highly colorful houses. Way up on the ridge behind us, we could see the road that we had meant to take.

My husband didn't want to ask for directions for fear that we end up whisked away to a Syrian bunker somewhere, but eventually we decided that the risk of kidnapping was less frightening than the risk of climbing back up through Pekiin, so we asked a guy walking along the road how to get to the Gan haSela. "Turn around, I'll go with you!" he told us in very good Hebrew. (In America, this response would be unusual. In Israel, it's basically expected.) So he hopped in and took us straight to our destination-- which happened to be just a few hundred meters away.

On our way back, we got lost again and had to ask for directions again. A heavily-accented guy started to explain to us how we needed to go into the village, turn left, take a right, take a left, and go down the mountain side and then take a right to get to the main roads. "Just have them follow me," said a Druze man traditionally dressed in white hat and long robe. We were so glad we did-- the route to the main road straight through another village involved ducking into several unmarked alleys. Just before we reached the road, he pulled over and waved us on.

What about you, would you have asked for directions? Have you ever had any fun experiences driving through Druze villages?

Why Israeli women are named "Moran" and "Nurit" (get to know Israeli wildflowers!)

You can smell spring in Israel right now-- the air is light with the spicy perfume of blooming flowers. This weekend we went hiking in the "Gan haSela," a small park full of boulders in the lower Galil. The rocks were amazing (and fun to climb on)-- I'll post those pictures some other time. But on our trip, I annoyed my husband by spending most of my time photographing wildflowers. These are just a few of my pictures. I've tried to identify the flowers by their Hebrew names-- please correct me if I get any wrong!

Above: tofeach yerushaliym (left) and tzharon katan (right). The flower on the right is part of the iris family, obviously, but unlike the larger, showy irises, it's not called an "irus" in Hebrew.

Above: tiltan (good old clover, albeit a bit different from the clover I saw in Pennsylvania!)

Above: nurit (a "Jerusalem buttercup")

Above: rakefet (or, in the plural, rakefot)-- these are VERY common Israeli wildflowers. My husband bought me a pot of these as a houseplant last summer, but I promptly killed them. I guess they like Israeli outdoor conditions better!

In the picture above, you can better see how some of the rakefot are actually light purple!

Above: I'm pretty sure this are called nisanit (or possibly, nisnit). Does anyone know if the name comes from the month nisan?

Above: moran hachorash (I'm guessing this is why "moron" is an insult in English but a beautiful women's name in Israel!)

Above: Ok, so this is a foreign tropical tree (known as an "orchid tree" or bohenia) that has been introduced to Israel, and this flower is blooming in my yard rather than the Gan haSela. But isn't it beautiful?

Unfortunately, my picture of some of the most beautiful flowers blooming right now-- the calaniot-- came out blurry. I guess I'll just have to devote a whole post to them some other time!

I'm submitting this post to this site, which features more flower photography:
http://flowersfromtoday.blogspot.com/

Secrets of Successful Bargaining

I'm convinced that this chasid outside a shop in Netanya used to have a red suit and a sleigh.

I will humbly say that I'm a pretty good bargainer. Better, in fact, than my Israeli husband. :) Ok, so I have those occasional slipups when I bargain and end up buying something that I don't want, but generally I can get WHAT I want at a reduced price. My secrets:

1. Depression. I'm not actually depressed, but acting depressed is a great bargaining chip. I learned this not in Israel but in Brazil on a college trip. At first, I would go into Brazilian stores and "ooooh" and "aaah" over everything-- what a beautiful pot! Wow, I love this hammock! The store owners figured if I liked the pot so much, I could pay full price. So instead I started to look downcast as I admired something-- "What a beautiful pot. It's too bad I can't afford to buy it at this price. Oh well, it will probably break anyway when I travel back home." Maybe the store owners just felt badly for me, but I started hearing lower prices. So when you're in a shuk or a small shop, try not to smile. Imagine your long-suffering Jewish grandmother. Observe wares with wistful sadness... if only prices were lower, perhaps you could afford to bring a few of them home.

2. Speak Hebrew. I know some "Anglos" who speak English to store owners because they feel they get better service this way, but I find that if I'm shopping in a touristy area, speaking Hebrew and demonstrating that I live here helps immensely. Part of this is that, as I said in my last post, Israelis know that all Americans are as rich. After all, they see Americans on TV-- you know, on The Hills, True Hollywood Story, Sex in the City, Oprah. So if you're an American tourist, it's only fair for you to pay a little extra. (I'd have to agree, actually.) They have far greater sympathy for Americans foolish enough to move permanently to Israel-- then they assume you are probably telling the truth when you say you only have 35 shekels to your name. Of course, if you want to speak Hebrew to bargain, you must have a good grasp of Hebrew numbers-- see Lesson #16.

3. Decide your price and be willing to walk away. This is very basic bargaining advice, but key. Decide the price at which you will accept the product, and then offer a price somewhat lower. If you really think you're being overcharged, be prepared to walk away. Often shopowners will agree to the price you offered as you walk out the door, but often they don't. And if they don't, keep walking. Remember: bargaining is an act of fighting for justice. If you are not being offered what you see as a fair price, do not pay more.

4. Ramp up your bargaining by appearing to grow more and more indecisive. If a shopowner knows you are determined to buy, they'll wrangle with you until you meet them in the middle or pay full price. But if they see you starting to waver-- for example, wondering if this food processor is actually going to hold up, or if you could just continue to chop vegetables by hand, or if this brand is good after all-- they'll try to close the deal quickly before you talk yourself out of it.

5. Point out flaws in the product (noncombatively). When I was shopping in Jerusalem, I found a beautiful embroidered shawl that had a huge stain on it. The shop owner assured me that it would wash out, no problem, so why should he give me a discount? I helpfully suggested that the shop owners themselves wash the shawl, because then they would undoubtedly get full price; after all, it would be such a pity to get less for such excellent work. In other words, I called their bluff in the sweetest possible way. I got the shawl for a third the stated price. (I did wash it and the colors ran, but it's still very pretty.)

6. Get the seller on your team. Just as shop owners try to connect with customers to get higher prices ("You from Pennsylvania? Ok, 15 shekel!"), you can connect with the seller to get a lower price. Never be combative with a seller; say "Lo, lo, lo" with a smile when you're offered a price too high, clicking your tongue, and giving the seller a look letting him know you're in on the joke. Don't bully the seller, but rather cajole him-- sadly and sweetly say, "Oy, that's a little too much for me. Can't you give me a good price?" I never outright disagree with a seller when they point out, for example, the beautiful etching on a kiddush cup. Rather, I say "Yes, that's really beautiful. Oh, well, I wish I could afford it."

7. Don't show a lot of money, and pay in exact change. Definitely don't hold out a 200-shekel note if you still have hopes of paying less. If you've already agreed to a bargained price, it's usually ok to pay with a bigger bill. But in a flea market in Tel Aviv, I once bargained a seller down on a second-hand belt. But then, when I counted my change (which she suspiciously handed to me almost entirely in 50 cent pieces), I found out she hadn't given me enough. She insisted that she didn't have enough change, and ultimately (after making a little bit of a scene) I decided to get the belt anyway-- the change she gave me already put the price below the price I was willing to pay. But in the future, it always pays to have small bills when you try to bargain.

8. Have a mean spouse. I actually have a very nice spouse, but one key to bargaining is the old good cop/bad cop routine, and both my husband and I have played Mean Spouse when we're trying to bargain. In fact, all of the above strategies can be amplified by a Mean Spouse. A mean spouse can splash negative thinking on a nice spouse's enthusiasm. If one spouse appears to be trying to talk the other out of the purchase, the seller will quickly try to close the sale. One key: develop code language to indicate when your spouse is playing mean spouse and when he actually doesn't think you should buy something. Trust me.

9. Say thank you! If you establish a relationship with a store owner-- even one who sells light bulbs and paint-- you can continue to get great deals from him for years to come. Plus he might come help you when you can't fix your dripping toilet or when your sewage overflows.

Important Hebrew phrase: "Ul-eye atah yechol laasot li mechir?" = "Perhaps you can make me a price" (i.e. cut me a deal).

Any strategies I've missed?

When NOT to Bargain

My successful bargaining attempt in Israel was with a taxi driver in Karmiel, about seven years ago. I had heard (like most tourists) that you can bargain in Israel, so I was determined to drive down the 15 shekel taxi fare that was clearly listed on the meter by the driver. I'll tell him fifteen is too much and ask for thirteen shekels, I thought, feeling smug that I would not pay retail like all those other tourists and that I was about to put my semester of college hebrew to good use.

"Lo! Lo chamesh-esrei yoter!" I said. "Shmonah-esrei! Shmonah-esrei!"

18 shekels? thought the Taxi driver, and took me up on it.

Moral of the story: don't try to bargain if Hebrew numbers confuse you. And thirteen is shlosh-esrei... let's all say that together slowly. On the other hand, I may be the only person I know to have successfully bargained with a taxi driver! (For the record, those little meters are pretty good indication that prices are non-negotiable. As are the posted fares in train stations, busses, and group taxis. You will not look all cool and Israeli if you try to bargain in these places.)

If you want to be Israeli, knowing when not to bargain is just as important as knowning when to bargain.

Case in point: our good friends went to Akko and bought fresh-squeezed orange juice from a vendor. When they were told the price, though, they felt it was too high. As they tried to bargain the guy down ("Lo! Lo twelve shekels!") the guy decided to intimidate the tourists and started shouting at them in a mix of Arabic and English. A crowd of giggling children gathered, and the drama heightened as the orange-juice guy started to pour the fresh-squeezed juice out onto the ground, possibly invoking the way foreign Jews have spilled Arab blood for decades. Our friends finally threw eight shekels at him and took half a cup of juice.

The reality is that they probably were over-charged, but it's not a good idea to try to complain after someone prepares food for you, because then you have already demonstrated your willingness to buy at the stated price. It's not generally a good idea to bargain when you buy food at all-- the check-out ladies at the supermarket don't care enough to charge you less, and prices are listed on pieces of cardboard at the yarkan (fresh fruits and veggies store) for a reason. Similarly, restaurants do tend to mean it when they list the price of falofel or Israeli salad. (If prices aren't posted, listen carefully to the price that the store owner gives to an Israeli before you ask for anything. I paid literally double for the jam in the picture on the right sidebar... but then I made myself feel better by going into the gift shop next door and driving the price of soap down by two shekels. :)

You should also not bargain at the drug store, the department store, or any stores in which bored teenagers work behind the counter rather than the store owner. The exception, of course, is if you know someone high up in the store-- but that's protectzia, not bargaining. If you attempt to bargain in one of these places as a tourist with no chance of building a lasting relationship with a store owner, you will most likely come across as annoying and stingy, because every Israeli knows Americans are all very rich.

The most important time not to bargain, though, is when you don't actually want what you're bargaining for. I've fallen into this trap several times, especially when I go some place with a lot of shiny objects like Jerusalem. I'll vaguely like something, and then get caught up in the battle for shopping justice that is bargaining, insisting that the vase should be only fifty shekels, not 100-- and then when the store owner actually offers me 55, I suddenly realize that I didn't want the vase in the first place. But by that point, I feel obligated to buy and I usually do.

And store owners know this-- they use bargaining as a way to guilt tourists into purchases. My parents and I went to into what appeared to be a consignment shop in a Druze village on the Carmel mountain. With mild curiosity, we asked how much, say, a pair of moccasin-style slippers cost. "Fifty shekel!" he replied. "Real sheepskin! Very warm!" I muttered to my dad that the plasticy fabric on the inside of the slippers was probably an indication they weren't skinned off the owner's own herd of sheep. "Ok, ok, forty shekel!" the owner said huffily, with an air of giving in, of acknowledging that these shoppers were clever. "Forty shekel! My sheep! I pack for you!" He hustled my father over to the cash register, packing the slippers into plastic bags, banging open the register tray. "They're very good! Very warm! You like them very much! Thirty shekel! Just Thirty shekel! You from America? Ok, ok, twenty! I give you two for twenty! Because I like you! Ok, we agree to fifteen. " By this point my father was under the dazed impression that he had been locked in long negotiations with the store owner. I guess I wanted to buy slippers, he thought, or I wouldn't have bargained so hard. And it would be rude to back out now after getting him to push the price down. At least I'm not paying retail like those other tourists! This is how my father ended up with a souveneir of polyester slippers made in China from his trip to Israel. What my father didn't realize was that the store owner was actually bargaining him down-- building a sense of obligation and trying to figure out what price my father would accept simply to be able to leave.

I'll post about when and how TO bargain soon! Any advice on where you can and cannot bargain? (Am I wrong, and can you bargain at the supermarket? :)

The Sales Person is Always Right

We all know that in America, the customer is always right. But in Israel, the sales person is always an expert.

An example: while my sister spent a year in Israel, her laptop computer mysteriously stopped charging. My father, visiting from the US, decided to buy her a better power adapter. Laptops have a converter in that power brick, so mostly you just need to buy a converter for the American plug, but my father decided to buy something more heavy duty.

When he went into an Israeli electronics store, on the other hand, the sales guy (being an expert) knew what my father should buy better than my father did. He insisted that my father didn't need a massive power adapter and was fine with the little plug adapter. In fact, he refused to sell my father the massive adapter-- despite the fact that it was more expensive!

In Israeli stores, I've often seen sales people push less expensive products because they're the "right ones to buy." Maybe it's some kind of reverse-psychology sales ploy, but more often it's because the sales people pride themselves on giving good advice-- and aren't pleased when customers don't take this advice.

Another reason why the Sales Person is Always Right in Israel is that more often than not, the sales guy in a little shop actually is the shop owner. They build relationships with their customers, like the guy in the Tambour hardware store across the street from us who actually came to help dredge out our bathroom when the sewer overflowed. Or the guy from the kitchen supply store down the street who sells homemade fig brandy underneath his counter. Or the manager of our local grocery store, who my husband's aunt pulled aside before Passover to ask when would be the best day to do her shopping. And actually, I think one reason American tourists often think Israelis are rude lies in the fact that, to the Israelis, the Americans are rude-- the Americans don't say "shalom" when they exit or enter a store, they don't appeal to the Sales Person for good advice, and they act as if they're entitled to good service rather than honored when the Sales Person decides to bestow it.

I got very good advice from an Israeli before I came to Israel: when you're dealing with a sales person or some other kind of Israeli professional, you must balance a little bit of kissing up (solicit good advice) with enough toughness to convey that you aren't a sucker (point out flaws, question prices). When you do it right, the sales person often cuts you a good price.

Have any of you had adventures in Israeli shopping?