City of Jebus
A direct quote from the Vilnay Guide to Israel, which we were conusulting for activity ideas this Christmas day:

"Around the 13th c BC, during the invasion of the Land of Cana'an by the Israelites, Jerusalem was ruled by the Jebusites, known as 'Jebus,' and was related as the 'City of Jebus.'"

Merry Christmas from the City of Jebus.
- posted by @ 11:08 AM

 
Some Christmas Cheer (Sort of Ironic...)
It's Christmas in the Holy Land, so a hearty Merry Christmas to all those to whom that applies. Although we live only five miles from Bethlehem, we weren't tempted to go except in the abstract sense. Instead, we went to Ashdod. Our cousin Liat was out in Jerusalem visiting us (we saw Ocean's Twelve, which I can't decide whether or not I liked), and so we took her home and visited there for a few hours. On our way back to Jerusalem we stopped at the Supermarked Mania (since it is in a Russian community, it rhymes with Uncle Vanya) to get fresh chicken wings which do not need to be plucked--I've mentioned before that the immigrant standards are higher than the native standards. And here's what's interesting about that trip: all of the women working at the supermarket were wearing Santa hats.

It's clear from the outset that this store is not exactly a "Jewish" store: the giant pigs' heads hanging behind the meat counter are really the first big clue. But the Santa hats were the first sign I saw that suggested that Mania catered to a Christian market. Now, this is strange; everyone thinks of the Russian Aliyah to Israel as an immigration of Russian Jews (who eat pork, obviously). But Jews do not celebrate Christmas. So how did these Christian Russians manage to immigrate? I think that the answer lies in the Law of Return, which allows for any Jew in the world to emigrate to Israel at any time, and its second amendment, which states that the rights afforded to Jews "are also vested in a child and a grandchild of a Jew, the spouse of a Jew, the spouse of a child of a Jew and the spouse of a grandchild of a Jew." I'd bet, according to the Santa hats on the Russian women at Mania, that there are for more relatives of Jews who moved to Israel than I would have thought; probably for some of the immigrants, their relationship to a Jew might even be questionable at best. This, I think, offers a glimpse into the living conditions in Russia in the 1990s. Or perhaps I'm overusing my powers of logic: it could be that Santa hats are just Santa hats, and not social byproducts of political and economic history.

One Jew who came to Israel under the Law of Return and is now an Israeli citizen is my best friend from childhood, Jacob (whom we just saw with his girlfriend, Esther Tova, both of them pictured on the right). Well, I got great news from him the other day. He went to the kotel, the Western Wall, and there he and Esther Tova got engaged! We're very happy for him. His wedding will be in March, which means that we will be able to attend. When we came out to Israel, I had no idea that Jacob was thinking of moving here (I'm not even sure if he did). Now, as a bonus to our decision to study here, we get to attend the wedding of my childhood best friend. It's nice to think that life has a way of working itself out...

Mazal Tov, Jacob!

- posted by @ 8:53 AM

 
Moving Along
Life continues, although at a faster pace and fewer fumes, thanks to the little Renault that, thanks to its small stature and greenish color, has earned the name "Marvin."

Yesterday evening we went to a new friend's home for a celebration of the Winter Solstice. She is a Norwegian Jew (one of only 1,500; two of the others were there last night, as well), but celebrates the shortest day of the year as a family tradition. I wouldn't think they'd celebrate that in Norway, of all places, but maybe with all that darkness, cheer is necessary. It was a fun time, nonetheless.

School; homework; painting; applications. All is well. I should have some more interesting stories within the next little bit, though.

(Baba and Dyeda: Click Here).

- posted by @ 8:13 PM

 
One in Every Class
It didn't take long to figure out who it was in my Arabic class. You know, that student who always pipes up with the irrelevant question, or challenges the teacher on some inane point, each and every day. You can usually tell who it is when people start leafing through their notes or staring out the window when that person talks.

Today, the disturbances reached a boiling point. This student, whose name I am obviously withholding seeing as how this blog is public domain, has often been irritating, rude, and even hostile. She challenges the rules of the language, assertions to which our teacher responds most often that his job is to teach the language as it is; if she wants to understand why it is that way, she should seek out a linguistics course. And he's right, of course; we're there to learn the Arabic language, not to philosophize on its evolution.

Today she argued, angrily, for five minutes, as he patiently explained that there is a difference between the present participles of the verbs "to say" and "to advocate;" they are homonyms in Arabic, with only a preposition changing the meaning from one to the other. She was set on the fact that her translation of the article was correct, so much so that she went so far as to say that there is no difference in meaning between "saying" and "advocating." English is not her first language, obviously (my father's comment: "I'm not just saying she should be thrown out of class. I'm saying something stronger. I'm advocating that she should be thrown out of class." Perfectly illustrated). Eventually, frustrated with what I describe without qualms as her attacks, the teacher said, "I am leaving the room for ten minutes. There's a line." She insisted that he overreacted, and maybe she was right if this was a one-time occurrence. But it was not. The rest of the lesson, after he returned, was chilly; most people spoke only tentatively, and it was with a sigh of relief that I left the room and got into the little green car and headed home.

Obviously there is more going on with her than an opinionated view of participle usage. It's just unfortunate that her hostility disrupts the class for the rest of us.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to gripe (or, at least, I don't mean to gripe without putting it into some sort of salient sociological or witty context). So I'll add some happy news at this juncture.

We've seen two of my old friends (who have now, like many others, evolved into our friends) over the past week: Sarah (aka Sechy), whom I met on the Kibbutz and is currently studying in Israel had dinner with us on Monday; yesterday night we were out with Jacob, my best friend since fourth or fifth grade who has recently made Aliyah, and his new girlfriend Esther Tova (a first and middle name, not a family name). With Sechy we had dinner at an Italian Restaurant in the German Colony; with Jacob and Esther Tova, at a small restaurant near Nahlaot which was really more of a living room with some tables and some woman's kitchen. Both nights were eminently pleasant, in that way that only catching up with old friends can be.

- posted by @ 1:43 PM

 
Requiem For a Cantankerous Old Coot
I write this with a mix of wistfulness, guilt and joy.

We have finally given up on the Shtinker.

It was important to me to keep this blog from becoming "Adventures in Israeli Car Maintenance," so I haven't been writing updates about the Shtinker. But I will say now that far from any sort of one-and-done trip to the garage, our '91 Subaru had me on a first name basis with Gabbai, the head mechanic at the Subaru dealer near our apartment.

On Saturday, for the second time, the Shtinker broke down on the highway; ironically enough, it was in the same spot it had broken down just over a year earlier. This time the car decided that hills were okay as long as they were downhills; any suggestion that he might want to go uphill was rejected with violent shaking and deceleration. We got the car towed back to our apartment, and on Sunday morning I brought it in to the Subaru dealer...once again. This made four times that the Shtinker had been in the shop since we came back to Israel in October, and twice in the past week-and-a-half. Talking it over, Elana and I decided that the car was in its endgame; it was beginning to fall apart. Well, really, it was continuing to fall apart; it was beginning to come apart at the seams. We did some research into our options, and discovered that renting a car for the remainder of the time is our best bet in terms of budget and ease. So, today, I picked up our car for the remainder of our stay: a cute little olive green Renault Clio. It drives without having to warm up, its engine is quiet, and, best of all, if anything goes wrong with it, we just take it back to the rental company and they fix it. We are going to take the Shtinker to some used car places, find out how much we can get for it, and let them do the selling. The amount of money we lose by not selling it ourselves is not that much, and is certainly worth the knowledge that whomever the next owner of the Shtinker curses as he sits inhaling fumes as the car warms up, it will not be us.

Renting a car was not without its hazards; there was a wide range of prices, and even one guy who tried to scam me, if you can believe that. The rental company Budget has changed its number, and the new owner of that number is offering great deals to those who call and say, "Hello...uh, is this Budget?" However, slightly troubled by the fact that his price was six times less than his closest competitors', I called back with a different voice from a different phone, only to discover that Roni on the other end is not a business at all. Ahem. You'd like me to reserve the car with my credit card over the phone, would you? I'd really rather see the car first, Roni.

The Shtinker was a big part of our lives here, and it wasn't just the headaches from the fact that it was more of a shoddy tractor than a car or the fumes it spit out every morning or the five minutes we'd have to wait before driving it, lest it stall in the middle of the Tzomet HaBankim intersection. There are fond memories, too: numerous trips back and forth between Jerusalem and Ashdod; the trip up to the north, where the plucky little boat actually managed to scale the Golan Heights (something even the Israeli Army couldn't do without tanks, although, to be fair, we didn't have Syrians shelling us on the way up). The car successfully traversed the desert to Eilat, and, during its time of service to us, carried us over a significant portion of the land of Israel. For everything else you can say about the Shtinker, it had real personality, something our new Renault lacks.

Personality in cars is good for stories, and we have those in spades with the Shtinker. For now, it's important to have a car that works. It seems such a luxury to be able to turn on the car and go without waiting for it to believe that you actually intend to drive it today. There will always be a soft spot in our heart for our Shtinker, a car that was as loyal as it was unreliable, as comic as it was infuriating. But for our safety, our time, our noses and our lungs, the Shtinker had to be retired.

- posted by @ 8:29 PM

 
Keepin' On
This blog, which I used to update every few days, seems to have evolved into a once-a-week activity. That's okay, though.

There's plenty going on here; preparing applications for next year, both of us at our respective schools almost every day, life in general. Grisha's birthday was last week, and Liat's is this week (we're going to Ashdod tomorrow to celebrate with them). It's Hanukah, of course, and we've been lighting candles and singing songs. This year is the fourth Hanukah of my life in Israel, and the second in Jerusalem; it's a much bigger deal in the States, mainly because it coincides with Christmas and so has become a kind of Jewish equivalent of that holiday.

The weather has been gorgeous the last couple of days (a rainy day yesterday notwithstanding) and we've mostly settled back into our routine. I'm looking forward to the three-day weekend I have starting now (Sunday is off because of Hanukah; that's right, one measly day!). That's about it. Happy Hanukah, everyone.

- posted by @ 1:46 PM

 
A Little America-sickness
So you may be able to take your home with you in some sense. But there are some things, when you live abroad, which you certainly gain a greater appreciation for: people, places, conveniences that you have left behind.

We have been preparing applications for next year, and our recent trip back to the States, combined with our discussions about next year have directed our eyes and minds westward.

Don't get me wrong, we love living in Jerusalem. It's exciting, rewarding, and there are so many things that we admire about the people and the culture. We're very happy with our academic situations here; we have a comfortable apartment, and a car that, at the very least, makes for some good stories and some jolts of adrenaline.

But this blog's focus, though it is lost sometimes in my narrative digressions, is the experience of living in Israel. There is a lot that we will take back with us to States, but also come to appreciate more that is there. Our recent trip has made us realize how much about America that there is to appreciate.

1. A more functional bureaucracy. Professor Sharon came into class yesterday and discovered that there was no desk at the front of the room. Admitting to a certain unease with having no separation barrier between him and the students (make of that what you will) he set off in search of a solution. After a few minutes he came back, and another few minutes saw the school custodian dragging a desk into the room. At that point he breathed a sigh of relief and stopped his lecture. He told us what an effort it was to obtain this result, a meager desk. First he went and talked to the main secretary, who informed him that she did not deal with the desks, and directed him to the secretary who did. That secretary told him that she was in charge of ordering desks, but that she had nothing to do with where the desks were placed. The woman to whom that secretary directed him confirmed that she was indeed responsible for assigning the teachers' desks to the various rooms, but that if someone had moved the desk, he would need to talk to another secretary to find it. That fourth secretary made a call to the custodian (who, incidentally, had been right outside the classroom the whole time), and he promptly fetched the desk and delivered it. Professor Sharon said to us, "This is Israeli bureaucracy. It takes five people to move a desk into a room, and they all get paid a salary." Of course, we've had more than our fair share of this bureaucracy ourselves, but rather than repeat the stories I've mentioned here, I think that Professor Sharon's anecdote illustrates the point, and is a microcosm of our experience with Israeli bureaucracy. Except that we don't always get the desk at the end.

**Addendum: Our marriage certificate with an apostille seal finally arrived this week from Sacramento, meaning we could finally go to Misrad HaPnim and get Elana's Israeli identity card. With all the necessary documents, we went in this afternoon. The woman tried everything--EVERYTHING--to avoid giving Elana her ID. She asked where her husband was (right here!), where is his identity card (not an Israeli!), does he have a visa (right here!), how did she get the passport with her married name (at the consulate!) and why did it take us this long to register as married (because of people like you!). Out of questions, she looked up at us sourly, somewhat stunned: how in the world had we penetrated all the bureaucratic barriers they erect to avoid having to actually do any work? Defeated, she directed us to window number nine, where, lo and behold, they assembled the I.D. card before our eyes. We snatched it away and ran down the street before they could call down to security to stop us. Sometimes, we get the desk, after all.

2. Conveniences of life. This is something that some other countries tend to deride about Americans, that they want everything handed to them on a silver platter, as quickly and easily as possible. I don't think that's something to scoff at, since we shouldn't have to fight for every scrap if there is an alternative way to be, but it's certainly something that we, as Americans, don't appreciate enough. It starts with customer service. In America, you walk into a store and sometimes, if you duck quick enough, two customer service representatives will bonk heads with each other in their simultaneous efforts to leap to your aid. In Israel, you have to bonk them on the head yourself--sometimes repeatedly--to get them to acknowledge your presence. And then they're often bound to be surly, and act as though they are resentful of having to deal with you and by the way doing you a huge favor for answering questions such as, "How much does this cost?" But it doesn't end there. Nothing is easy to get, with the exception of perhaps food. But not ethnic food. We miss good Thai food, Indian food, sushi, Chinese food. The Middle Eastern food they do pretty well. And all the fruits and vegetables are excellent when you can find them--but many things generally are not available year-round. It's been a while since we've seen a peach. Heaven help you if you want an English book; in fact, book stores in general are pretty scarce. There are no convenient, huge book chains, like Barnes and Noble or Borders, and many of the curious little English bookstores that pop up around Jerusalem have an unfortunate tendency towards targeting ultra-Orthodox readers or Jewish mystics rather than the general, Anglo-literate, fiction-reading public. We order from Amazon, thus depriving ourselves of the immediate gratification of American book-buying, and end up paying as much for shipping as for the books themselves (unless we want it shipped quicker, which will cost even more, not to mention the customs tax we must pay). There is only one tiny corner shop in Jerusalem that sells the type of linen Elana needs for painting, and the legitimate art supply store here is sorely in need of competition. It's sunk in a basement somewhere beneath downtown streets, charges an arm, a leg, and, if you want to buy Williamsburg paints, your first-born child as well (they accept this on credit). If they don't have anything in stock they are in no particular rush to get it; after all, what choice do you have but to wait? This is in stark contrast to the helpful mega-stores like Utrecht, Michaels, Charrette, and Guiry's; here, there is Shlomi's, and that's that. We don't want to make it sound like we are supporting big business at the expense of the little guy; several competing small businesses would do quite nicely. May we never take convenience for granted again.

3. Politeness. Israelis tend to see Americans as very passive-aggressive and fake, and sometimes we are. In fact, America is the crown princess of passive-aggressiveness (all hail Mother England!). But Israelis especially over-perceive this, and sometimes leap to the conclusion that being polite is, by default, being dishonest. A friend of my family, who grew up and still lives on a Kibbutz (Kibbutzniks are prototypical Israelis in this regard), told us a story of her stay in the States. While being checked out at the supermarket early in her stay, she said, the checkout clerk smiled at her and asked her, "How are you today?" She bristled in response, offended; after all, what business was it of hers how she was doing today? Israelis don't have any problems with politeness--they just tend to forsake it all together. A passing acquaintance won't hesitate to tell you when you look as though you've gained a lot of weight, and people on the street will, with the best of intentions, pull you over to recommend a good acne treatment to help you with all that post-apocalyptic warzone stuff (thank the Lord I'm through puberty). Upon being introduced to someone, the first four questions they will ask you are your name, your salary, how much you pay for rent and how much your car cost. Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it certainly feels that way sometimes. Just as Israelis are put off by American surface politeness, so Americans can be put off by digging personal, financial, political, and religious questions. There is also a considerable amount of chutzpah involved in everyday life here: "Slicha!" doesn't mean "excuse me," so much as "Get the fuck out of my way!" as the little old lady rams into your side with a shopping cart (perhaps tossing in an elbow for good measure) and pushes in front of you in a checkout line which you (silly you!) thought were standing in. I've already written a lot about driving here, so I'll just mention the chariot race from Ben Hur and leave it at that.

4. The Language. I get by in Hebrew (my Hebrew education tending towards political discussion), and Elana does well in Russian and can make herself understood in Hebrew, but when business is conducted in English it becomes so unbelievably easy. This is obviously a reflection on living in any land with a foreign language, and is more particular to the state of being an outsider than Israeli life in general. There is thankfully a lot of English in use in this country, but we are too often caught up in Hebrish conversations, struggling to keep up, understand, and make ourselves understood on the finer points. Phone business becomes a huge hassle. In a certain sense, we can't really come across as who we are because we don't have the language skills to express the nuances.

We miss our families, we miss our friends. People here tend to avoid getting close to us because they know we are leaving, which makes for some lonesomeness. Our relatives here have been wonderful, but we can only see them sporadically. Being here has been so important for us, and we are not ready to leave yet. There is still a lot here that we want to experience and accomplish. But we're also starting to really look forward to our homecoming next year.

- posted by @ 8:53 AM