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

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?

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

 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?

How to signal like an Israeli driver...

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?

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?

The remarkable inconsistency of Israeli telephone numbers

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

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

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?

Come see me perform with the Haifa English Theatre!

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/

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

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

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?

Happy Tu B'Shvat!

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.)

Don't Call Between Two and Four

 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

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...

...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)

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?

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)?

You are more Lebanese than you think...

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.

Stereotypes are fun! (Please help...)

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?