Greek mythology speaks famously of the story of Pandora, who was sent by the god Zeus to punish mankind for Prometheus' stealing of fire (my geeky childhood is suddenly coming in useful, as is Wikipedia!), and who is sent to Earth, by Zeus, with a mysterious, secret box. Pandora, as legend has it, got curious and opened the box, thus unleashing evil and destruction onto the world. Anyone else finding a rather nice parallel to the story of Chava (Eve) in the Garden of Eden? Anyhow, we're digressing. The box, once opened, could never be closed and the evil could never be put back. Hence we have the saying that someone is 'opening Pandora's box', when someone decides to do something that might end up with negative consequences, and ultimately cannot be reversed.
I think you might know where I might be going with this one.
Last time out I wrote about how I was tapping into my Israeli side, and becoming a lot more assertive in the way I go about my business here in the Holy Land. I thought perhaps an update was in order.
This week started with me having a meeting with my boss and her boss about me and where they see me heading. Instead of my usual 'Do you mind awfully if I just point out a few things? You do? Oh OK, well thank you for your time' jobbies, I actually stood up and made some forceful points. I even stood up to my Manager, who is a firm and tough boss (but ultimately quite a good one), which is something her boss himself struggles with...
But that was a mere entrée to the main course.
I have, as my friends here know, a real 'bee in my bonnet' about drivers not stopping at pedestrian crossings when there are people already crossing. I play a dangerous game of chicken with some of the most lethal drivers in the world (unfortunately, this is an area where we should not be so proud to be world leaders). This week I had two run ins (or should that be run overs?) with Israeli drivers.
Firstly, I was crossing King David Street and was about halfway across when a car whizzed straight through. Had I not foreseen this and checked my step, I would be, G-d Forbid, writing this from a hospital bed. My reaction was natural, in that fury boiled over, and to give you an idea of how close it was, I was able to slam my hand into the boot of the car in a fit of anger. What was also natural, and ultimately interesting, was that my words of fury were not in English, but in Hebrew. Then on Tuesday night I was off to meet friends for a drink and I was crossing Emek Refaim. Once again I was halfway across a crossing, when I saw this car, driven by the world's most lethal category of driver, the 80+ driver, rolling (and I mean rolling, i.e. no great speed, no real desire to change speed, no real desire to stop), towards me. You know the type of driver I'm talking about. The ones who believe years of driving experience will counterbalance their loss of sight, hearing, common sense, memory, and most importantly, the loss of any basic anticipation and reaction skills they may have had. This time though I didn't check my step and carried on walking, until the old dear had to apply her brakes. She then proceeded to beep at me (hoot, toot, blast her horn, however you say it).
Now 3 years ago I would have just stood stock still and stared her down, and that would be that. Not any more. I proceed to stand in the middle of the road and start waving my hands around like a wailing banshee, indicating to her in no uncertain terms (both verbally and non verbally) that I am on a crossing and she has no right to beep at me. A car behind her beeped me as well, which elicited a shout of !תשתוק - be quiet/shut up!, from me. I then completed the proceedings with something akin to the Israeli hand twirl that symbolises disgust, and went on my way.
Now apart from being very funny in hindsight, it again symbolises a further evolution in my character. It might be maturity, it might be Israeliness, it might just be, as one friend put in, that I'm growing into my future life as an old git. Whatever it is, I find it all very interesting.
This got me thinking further. I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago, and they asked me if I liked what they were wearing. My response was something along the lines of 'not really' and 'you've looked better'. I was berated, understandably, for my opinion, and started trying to blame my increasing Israeliness for my tactlessness and rudeness. However I stopped. Because in all honesty, it's not true. I've always been rude, tactless and unsubtle, I've just broadened my audience. I am a Taurean, or a Ford Taurus as another friend enjoys calling me, and while I don't believe in the watered down, scatter-gun, lucky dip style of astrology that exists in most papers and magazines today, I do go at a lot of things like a 'bull in a china shop'. Ask my friends.
So am I now pretty much Israeli? Nope. Anyone who decides to make everyone in his department a cup of tea one afternoon can't be. Anyone who stills uses phrases such as 'just peachy', 'not too shabby', and 'good grief', is not even in the ballpark of being Israeli. However am I as English as I was? Well, I think that's the point. I'm evolving. I'm pouring character traits from English society and Israeli society into my own unique cocktail shaker, and mixing them up with the person I have always been.
The result?
Chaim. An Anglo Israeli Jewish Bull, who just happens to be finding himself in more china shops then ever before.
Friday, 24 July 2009
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Anybody Wanna Fight???
As I celebrate two years back home, I have been reflecting on how well I have integrated into my new life out here. The truth is, fairly well, I feel. True, 99% of my friends are Anglos, and outside of work, my Hebrew speaking is limited. I also live in an area with a large Anglo population, and I am yet to be found sitting in Baba on a nightly basis consuming a heart attack inducing amount of hummous. However, I have made really good and close friends who are now my family, I have a great set up at home, a job at a prestigious hotel, and feel that I am less English than I was a year ago, or even 6 months ago. More importantly, there is definitely a storm brewing that is blowing in some greater winds of change.
Allow me to elaborate.
Israel is a world renowned hotspot for anyone who fancies a good old fashioned barney. For the non-English amongst you that's what back in the Motherland we colloquially call, a hard core verbal argument.
What the Israelis do best is argue. They argue about their change, they argue about their food, their neighbourhood, who has right of way in traffic, who can negotiate peace, who cannot negotiate peace. The best way to open a שוקו בשקית, the quickest way to Tel Aviv from Jerusalem (is it the 1 of the 443?), and even what is setting off a metal detector outside the קניון('it's my belt, now let me in').
Over the last few weeks, things have started to rile me. Work, social life, sport, politics, I can feel my blood beginning to warm up on a daily basis. The, literal boiling point, came at the end of last week when my סבלנות - patience, ran out. The seed sowing, as I say, has been weeks in the making, but the sprouting started on Wednesday, and by Thursday, aided and abetted by a lack of food and drink, we had a complete fruition. I become blunt, rude, direct, and other assorted Israeli traits. I told agents to clear up their own mess, I started making people work for a discount and then I told them we didn't have any rooms. I invited myself to people for Shabbat meals, told people what I thought of their dress sense (and told others what I thought of other people's dress sense), and just generally became, well, Israeli.
Obviously, as I am now blogging about it as if it was an uncharacteristic blip for an otherwise 'awfully decent, awfully English, type of chap', the mood has passed somewhat. And yet, it still beats inside me. It's a door that although not fully open, remains ajar. And you know why I think it's still ajar? Because I enjoyed the darker side to me that came out. I enjoyed the assertive, no nonsense, Israeli like soul that appeared. There's a big part of me that feels he will be back soon, and you know something, I will roll out the red carpet and welcome him back with open arms.
My boss said something to me today that rang home. We were discussing me and the way I work and how she sees me in the work environment. One of the things she said to me is that I was still too English, still not tough enough, not Israeli enough, to really succeed in an Israeli workplace. Harsh, but on reflection, fair. Whilst I have no intention of killing my English manners and politeness, which I count as one of my great strengths, I recognise that without a little dose of Israeli stubbornness and patience-less assertiveness, my קליטה, my absorption, remains incomplete.
So that's my new project. Get a little more stubborn, be a little more blunt, and get a little more assertively Israeli.
Anybody Wanna Fight???
Allow me to elaborate.
Israel is a world renowned hotspot for anyone who fancies a good old fashioned barney. For the non-English amongst you that's what back in the Motherland we colloquially call, a hard core verbal argument.
What the Israelis do best is argue. They argue about their change, they argue about their food, their neighbourhood, who has right of way in traffic, who can negotiate peace, who cannot negotiate peace. The best way to open a שוקו בשקית, the quickest way to Tel Aviv from Jerusalem (is it the 1 of the 443?), and even what is setting off a metal detector outside the קניון('it's my belt, now let me in').
Over the last few weeks, things have started to rile me. Work, social life, sport, politics, I can feel my blood beginning to warm up on a daily basis. The, literal boiling point, came at the end of last week when my סבלנות - patience, ran out. The seed sowing, as I say, has been weeks in the making, but the sprouting started on Wednesday, and by Thursday, aided and abetted by a lack of food and drink, we had a complete fruition. I become blunt, rude, direct, and other assorted Israeli traits. I told agents to clear up their own mess, I started making people work for a discount and then I told them we didn't have any rooms. I invited myself to people for Shabbat meals, told people what I thought of their dress sense (and told others what I thought of other people's dress sense), and just generally became, well, Israeli.
Obviously, as I am now blogging about it as if it was an uncharacteristic blip for an otherwise 'awfully decent, awfully English, type of chap', the mood has passed somewhat. And yet, it still beats inside me. It's a door that although not fully open, remains ajar. And you know why I think it's still ajar? Because I enjoyed the darker side to me that came out. I enjoyed the assertive, no nonsense, Israeli like soul that appeared. There's a big part of me that feels he will be back soon, and you know something, I will roll out the red carpet and welcome him back with open arms.
My boss said something to me today that rang home. We were discussing me and the way I work and how she sees me in the work environment. One of the things she said to me is that I was still too English, still not tough enough, not Israeli enough, to really succeed in an Israeli workplace. Harsh, but on reflection, fair. Whilst I have no intention of killing my English manners and politeness, which I count as one of my great strengths, I recognise that without a little dose of Israeli stubbornness and patience-less assertiveness, my קליטה, my absorption, remains incomplete.
So that's my new project. Get a little more stubborn, be a little more blunt, and get a little more assertively Israeli.
Anybody Wanna Fight???
Sunday, 22 February 2009
The Jewish Problem
A few months ago I was sitting in a Sherut (communal cab/mini bus) on my way back to Jerusalem from the airport after a week's trip back to England, and I got talking to a lovely girl called Jude, who was out for a few days to visit her brother and also to look at some halls for her upcoming wedding. We got chatting about the differences in living in London and living out here, and I mentioned that one of the main differences I felt was that I had a much broader range of friends then I had in London. I have both more religious friends and also less religious friends, and we are united by the fact that we are all Olim.
This got me thinking. When we sit down to define ourselves, we always apply to do so via numerous labels. Orthodox, Charedi, Traditional, Reform, Conservative, Masorti, Modern Orthodox, Modern Charedi, we seem to be obsessed by what divides us and not by what unites us.
Amongst the religious communities it appears that you can be defined by which style of kippah you wear if you are male, or what type and length of skirt you wear if you are female. Whether a married woman does or doesn't cover her hair, and if she does, whether it is partially or fully. Which synagogue you daven at or which Kashrut authority you hold by, we seem to be focusing on what separates us.
Don't get me wrong. We still need definitions, but perhaps it's time to focus more on what unites us as opposed to what divides us.
A friend asked me on Friday night a very pertinent question. Did I believe that the establishment of the State of Israel had led to the Jewish people begin to implode? Let me flesh this out for you. For centuries, we as a persecuted and unloved people, have united to fight the external forces attempting to destroy us. Whilst there is no shadow of doubt in anyone's mind that we still battle these forces today, and in the current climate of anti-Israel feeling these forces are getting stronger, we seem to have switched our focus. Over Shabbat I was at friends for meals, and on both occasions I saw a foil container with a stamp of Kashrut on it's base. At first I thought this is ridiculous and laughed, and then I thought, herein lies a serious problem. As I see it, we have become obsessed with 'oneupmanship' and a passionate desire to define not only who is a Jew, but who is the best type of Jew. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not taking a swing purely at the Charedi community, although I do believe they are the main offenders, I am also talking across the whole Jewish spectrum. We appear to be edging towards a spiritual civil war and the prize is the soul of Judaism. When a non-Orthodox friend turns round to me and says 'because she does not keep Shabbat, this probably means she is going to hell', I have to admit I weep. When did we get so judgemental? When did one viewpoint of Judaism get the right to define what makes a Jew?
I believe that I am, first and foremost a Jew. File it down a little, and I fall into the category I suppose of being a Modern Orthodox Jew, whatever that may mean. I believe that the Torah is one of the most best life manuals ever written. Far from the rule book that many misrepresent it as, I see it as a guide to self improvement. I see it as a God given tome that, contrary to the prevalent view of being disabling (you should not do this, you should not do that), is in fact wonderfully enabling. Take an Eruv, for example. Most people who use an Eruv understand the notion thus. You cannot carry on Shabbat, but if you wish to, you must first create an Eruv. However, I remember hearing Rabbi Alan Plancey, the former Rabbi of the Borehamwood and Elstree United Synagogue community in England, turning this on its head. He argued that not only can you carry on Shabbat, we should be carrying on Shabbat. Far from the Torah saying 'if you need to, this is how to do it', the Torah does not even question your motives and it could be argued is saying 'you can carry, just you need to do this and this to enable you to do it.'
This is one of the themes central to my Bar Mitzvah Parasha of Kedoshim. I gave a D'var Torah a few years back on what does in mean when we are commanded to 'be holy, because I, HaShem, your God, am Holy?' To cut a long story short, I argued that God is commanding us to strive to see the world from His perspective and try and understand His motivations and intentions behind the commandments in the Torah. The very next verse after this is the commandment to fear one's parents and also keep the Shabbat. I believe here we hit two core themes of Judaism and our starting point for everything. Jewish Continuity. We can only be in the image of God if we understand and appreciate our links to our past, both as individuals (parents) and communally (Shabbat). This is how we as a people have survived the rise and fall of many empires, as well as almost all our enemies. The fact that we seem to be using these two foundation stones as a stick to beat each other with concerns me. Who gives this generation the right to look down on our parents' generation, on our Grandparents' generation? We owe them a huge debt, and who are we to question their commitment to Judaism? Does it make us more Jewish than them because our toilet paper is 'supervised', or that unlike some of us, they didn't spend twenty years in learning? What gives each of us the right to frown on someone's Judaism based on how or whether they keep Shabbat? If someone chooses to be stricter with the way they keep Shabbat, why should we look at that as somewhat 'cultish'? Who decides how we define Shabbat?
I was at a talk a few years ago that Chief Rabbi Professor Lord Jonathan Sacks gave to celebrate the launch of the newly revised edition of the "Authorised Daily Prayer Book", the official prayer book for Orthodox Jews in the United Synagogue communities in the UK. He explained his decision to change the translation of 'Shema Yisrael' from 'Hear Israel' to 'Listen Israel' as follows. The Chief Rabbi explained that 'hearing' is a passive action, something you can do without any semblance of concentration. 'Listening' however requires you to pay attention, it compels you to engage and focus on what you are hearing or as the Chief Rabbi phrased it back in 2006 in his weekly Covenant and Conversation email, 'there are two parties to a dialogue – one who speaks and one who listens, and having listened, responds'. It is the difference in Modern Hebrew between 'l'hakshiv' and 'lishmoa', 'to pay attention' and 'to hear'. At the epicentre of a dialogue there has to be an ability to respect and listen to the other side's point of view. It is obvious that one cannot counter an argument unless you understand and respect the other viewpoint. If you cannot, you are left with two sets of monologues, each disconnected from the other.
To cut a short story long, we are a people with a long history of arguing and heated discussion. One of our central learning texts, the Talmud, is made up in the main of discussions and disagreements. It remains a most remarkable example of hearing both sides of an argument, in so much as even what is eventually disproven and discounted, is still included in full as a valid viewpoint.
Pirkei Avot - Ethics of The Fathers, asks what is a discussion for the sake of Heaven? The answer, the discussions between the schools of Hillel and Shammai. What is a discussion that is not for the sake of Heaven? Korach and his congregation. Interestingly, it is not Korach and Moshe, and that, according to a number of commentators, is because Korach and his congregation did not want to hear the other side. They lacked respect for the other viewpoint. They were engaged in a monologue with themselves.
It is time for us to stop judging people and stop playing this dangerous game of 'oneupmanship'. Discuss, argue, disprove, but I challenge every Jew to look beyond aesthetics. We must return to respecting each others viewpoints, even if we may disagree, and pull back from using our faith as a stick to beat each other with. I may be wrong in your eyes, may have completely missed the point from your perspective. If so please tell me.
As a Jew and as your brother, I welcome your feedback and your views.
This got me thinking. When we sit down to define ourselves, we always apply to do so via numerous labels. Orthodox, Charedi, Traditional, Reform, Conservative, Masorti, Modern Orthodox, Modern Charedi, we seem to be obsessed by what divides us and not by what unites us.
Amongst the religious communities it appears that you can be defined by which style of kippah you wear if you are male, or what type and length of skirt you wear if you are female. Whether a married woman does or doesn't cover her hair, and if she does, whether it is partially or fully. Which synagogue you daven at or which Kashrut authority you hold by, we seem to be focusing on what separates us.
Don't get me wrong. We still need definitions, but perhaps it's time to focus more on what unites us as opposed to what divides us.
A friend asked me on Friday night a very pertinent question. Did I believe that the establishment of the State of Israel had led to the Jewish people begin to implode? Let me flesh this out for you. For centuries, we as a persecuted and unloved people, have united to fight the external forces attempting to destroy us. Whilst there is no shadow of doubt in anyone's mind that we still battle these forces today, and in the current climate of anti-Israel feeling these forces are getting stronger, we seem to have switched our focus. Over Shabbat I was at friends for meals, and on both occasions I saw a foil container with a stamp of Kashrut on it's base. At first I thought this is ridiculous and laughed, and then I thought, herein lies a serious problem. As I see it, we have become obsessed with 'oneupmanship' and a passionate desire to define not only who is a Jew, but who is the best type of Jew. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not taking a swing purely at the Charedi community, although I do believe they are the main offenders, I am also talking across the whole Jewish spectrum. We appear to be edging towards a spiritual civil war and the prize is the soul of Judaism. When a non-Orthodox friend turns round to me and says 'because she does not keep Shabbat, this probably means she is going to hell', I have to admit I weep. When did we get so judgemental? When did one viewpoint of Judaism get the right to define what makes a Jew?
I believe that I am, first and foremost a Jew. File it down a little, and I fall into the category I suppose of being a Modern Orthodox Jew, whatever that may mean. I believe that the Torah is one of the most best life manuals ever written. Far from the rule book that many misrepresent it as, I see it as a guide to self improvement. I see it as a God given tome that, contrary to the prevalent view of being disabling (you should not do this, you should not do that), is in fact wonderfully enabling. Take an Eruv, for example. Most people who use an Eruv understand the notion thus. You cannot carry on Shabbat, but if you wish to, you must first create an Eruv. However, I remember hearing Rabbi Alan Plancey, the former Rabbi of the Borehamwood and Elstree United Synagogue community in England, turning this on its head. He argued that not only can you carry on Shabbat, we should be carrying on Shabbat. Far from the Torah saying 'if you need to, this is how to do it', the Torah does not even question your motives and it could be argued is saying 'you can carry, just you need to do this and this to enable you to do it.'
This is one of the themes central to my Bar Mitzvah Parasha of Kedoshim. I gave a D'var Torah a few years back on what does in mean when we are commanded to 'be holy, because I, HaShem, your God, am Holy?' To cut a long story short, I argued that God is commanding us to strive to see the world from His perspective and try and understand His motivations and intentions behind the commandments in the Torah. The very next verse after this is the commandment to fear one's parents and also keep the Shabbat. I believe here we hit two core themes of Judaism and our starting point for everything. Jewish Continuity. We can only be in the image of God if we understand and appreciate our links to our past, both as individuals (parents) and communally (Shabbat). This is how we as a people have survived the rise and fall of many empires, as well as almost all our enemies. The fact that we seem to be using these two foundation stones as a stick to beat each other with concerns me. Who gives this generation the right to look down on our parents' generation, on our Grandparents' generation? We owe them a huge debt, and who are we to question their commitment to Judaism? Does it make us more Jewish than them because our toilet paper is 'supervised', or that unlike some of us, they didn't spend twenty years in learning? What gives each of us the right to frown on someone's Judaism based on how or whether they keep Shabbat? If someone chooses to be stricter with the way they keep Shabbat, why should we look at that as somewhat 'cultish'? Who decides how we define Shabbat?
I was at a talk a few years ago that Chief Rabbi Professor Lord Jonathan Sacks gave to celebrate the launch of the newly revised edition of the "Authorised Daily Prayer Book", the official prayer book for Orthodox Jews in the United Synagogue communities in the UK. He explained his decision to change the translation of 'Shema Yisrael' from 'Hear Israel' to 'Listen Israel' as follows. The Chief Rabbi explained that 'hearing' is a passive action, something you can do without any semblance of concentration. 'Listening' however requires you to pay attention, it compels you to engage and focus on what you are hearing or as the Chief Rabbi phrased it back in 2006 in his weekly Covenant and Conversation email, 'there are two parties to a dialogue – one who speaks and one who listens, and having listened, responds'. It is the difference in Modern Hebrew between 'l'hakshiv' and 'lishmoa', 'to pay attention' and 'to hear'. At the epicentre of a dialogue there has to be an ability to respect and listen to the other side's point of view. It is obvious that one cannot counter an argument unless you understand and respect the other viewpoint. If you cannot, you are left with two sets of monologues, each disconnected from the other.
To cut a short story long, we are a people with a long history of arguing and heated discussion. One of our central learning texts, the Talmud, is made up in the main of discussions and disagreements. It remains a most remarkable example of hearing both sides of an argument, in so much as even what is eventually disproven and discounted, is still included in full as a valid viewpoint.
Pirkei Avot - Ethics of The Fathers, asks what is a discussion for the sake of Heaven? The answer, the discussions between the schools of Hillel and Shammai. What is a discussion that is not for the sake of Heaven? Korach and his congregation. Interestingly, it is not Korach and Moshe, and that, according to a number of commentators, is because Korach and his congregation did not want to hear the other side. They lacked respect for the other viewpoint. They were engaged in a monologue with themselves.
It is time for us to stop judging people and stop playing this dangerous game of 'oneupmanship'. Discuss, argue, disprove, but I challenge every Jew to look beyond aesthetics. We must return to respecting each others viewpoints, even if we may disagree, and pull back from using our faith as a stick to beat each other with. I may be wrong in your eyes, may have completely missed the point from your perspective. If so please tell me.
As a Jew and as your brother, I welcome your feedback and your views.
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Tell me, what makes an Israeli?
Holy cow Chaim, you're not thinking of tackling this subject are you? Dear God man, everybody writes about this and no one has an answer...do you? Well, no. So now you're all thinking two things. One, what's Chaim writing this for? Two, does Chaim realise he's showing the first two signs of madness, namely talking to himself and then answering himself??? Well, I'll answer the first question below, and yes to the second question...
I was at a wedding about a month ago when I said to a friend that I don't like olives. This brought about the response of 'you do realise that if you don't like olives, you can't be Israeli!' I then mentioned that I don't like Garinim (Sunflower seeds, which Israelis eat by the bucket load and then spit out in random places...I believe that they would like this to be added as an Olympic event for the 2012 Olympics as they feel they would have a fair chance of the Gold!). So my friend told that me that was it, I may as well make Yeridah and go back to Ingerland.
Joking aside, (yes, yes, I was trying to be funny...hmph...), it got me thinking. In a land filled with immigrants from all over the globe, what makes an Israeli?
Do you have to be a rude, opinionated, know it all to be an Israeli?
If you can walk past a falafel or shwarma stand and not feel the urge to have one, does that mean you need to book a plane ticket back to the land of your birth?
If you have manners and are polite, are you just a foreigner abroad?
Does being an Israeli mean that you must develop for the rest of the world infinite amounts of new technology, and then never use any of it, so much so that you still think that stuffing a piece of paper with the name of your chosen party into an envelope, remains the best way to cast a vote?
Is it believing סלטים - dips, are perfectly alright as a first course?
Is it going to a supermarket chain and finding the prices are completely different to the sister store just up the road?
Is it also about queueing up to pay (standing in line, for the North Americans), when you have only done half your shopping?
Perhaps it's the knowledge that anybody that works in a clothing store knows your size better than you do, and reserves the right to shake their head when you ask for your size and then bring you a size larger?
Is it knowing that a visit to any government office, requires you to pack food and clothing for a few days until you'll be seen by an official who then tells you that you needed to bring every single piece of paper you have ever had in your hand from the moment you stepped off the plane and then go to another office that's served by a bus that comes once every never?
Could it even be haggling with your bank manager over what rate they will give you on your account, or how much your overdraft limit will be?
Is it standing in a DIY store and thinking, 'isn't it great to see so many Jews here' (well, we plan, we design, we don't build), and then realising that most of these people are employees of the store?
I think it could be all of the above and much more. But maybe it's the most simple thing of all. To be an Israeli is all about feeling that any place you go to in this country is your home, and in the same way that within the confines of your home you are free to do whatever, be whoever, say whatever you want, whenever you want; why?; because this is my house and I make the rules; so to you have the right to do all of these things wherever you are. Why? Because Israel is my house, and I make the rules.
I am an Israeli!
I was at a wedding about a month ago when I said to a friend that I don't like olives. This brought about the response of 'you do realise that if you don't like olives, you can't be Israeli!' I then mentioned that I don't like Garinim (Sunflower seeds, which Israelis eat by the bucket load and then spit out in random places...I believe that they would like this to be added as an Olympic event for the 2012 Olympics as they feel they would have a fair chance of the Gold!). So my friend told that me that was it, I may as well make Yeridah and go back to Ingerland.
Joking aside, (yes, yes, I was trying to be funny...hmph...), it got me thinking. In a land filled with immigrants from all over the globe, what makes an Israeli?
Do you have to be a rude, opinionated, know it all to be an Israeli?
If you can walk past a falafel or shwarma stand and not feel the urge to have one, does that mean you need to book a plane ticket back to the land of your birth?
If you have manners and are polite, are you just a foreigner abroad?
Does being an Israeli mean that you must develop for the rest of the world infinite amounts of new technology, and then never use any of it, so much so that you still think that stuffing a piece of paper with the name of your chosen party into an envelope, remains the best way to cast a vote?
Is it believing סלטים - dips, are perfectly alright as a first course?
Is it going to a supermarket chain and finding the prices are completely different to the sister store just up the road?
Is it also about queueing up to pay (standing in line, for the North Americans), when you have only done half your shopping?
Perhaps it's the knowledge that anybody that works in a clothing store knows your size better than you do, and reserves the right to shake their head when you ask for your size and then bring you a size larger?
Is it knowing that a visit to any government office, requires you to pack food and clothing for a few days until you'll be seen by an official who then tells you that you needed to bring every single piece of paper you have ever had in your hand from the moment you stepped off the plane and then go to another office that's served by a bus that comes once every never?
Could it even be haggling with your bank manager over what rate they will give you on your account, or how much your overdraft limit will be?
Is it standing in a DIY store and thinking, 'isn't it great to see so many Jews here' (well, we plan, we design, we don't build), and then realising that most of these people are employees of the store?
I think it could be all of the above and much more. But maybe it's the most simple thing of all. To be an Israeli is all about feeling that any place you go to in this country is your home, and in the same way that within the confines of your home you are free to do whatever, be whoever, say whatever you want, whenever you want; why?; because this is my house and I make the rules; so to you have the right to do all of these things wherever you are. Why? Because Israel is my house, and I make the rules.
I am an Israeli!
Saturday, 3 January 2009
Still Alive
The last time I wrote a post in my blog, (yes, yes, I do have a blog, although it was supposed to be written every 1-2 weeks as opposed to every two years!), I had just moved here, I had just experienced my first Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur and was pondering what the future held for me. A year and a bit on, I thought maybe it's time to have another go at this blogging lark. So lets use this one as a bit of a catch up, a sort of 'last time on Chaim B'Yisrael...'
Well here I am, a year and a half into my life as an Israeli, and I can't quite figure out where the time has gone. I've finished Ulpan (which has now closed altogether, something I might write about next time), found myself a flat, found myself a job, and rather nicely, found myself a life.
I am currently living in Katamon (where else?!) in a rather nice 3 bedroom flat with David Brummer and Paul Gross, two other olim chadashim also from England. David was my room-mate in ulpan and Paul was David's room-mate back in university. We all get on really well, share a similar sense of humour (see there are other people out there with my sense of humour!), and we've just signed on for another year. In fact, we've already had people asking when one of us is moving out because they think our flat set up is so great, one of whom is even married, mentioning no names (Shame on you Gabe!! lol).
I've just completed a year working at The David Citadel Hotel, Jerusalem's premier hotel (unless you prefer the King David...which I do...). I work in the Reservations Department, and no, I can't get you a good rate on a room. You have to be fleeced...I mean pay...like everyone else. What's that? Give us a funny story Chaim. Oh alright then.
This American calls up one evening and asks about rooms and suites. So I'm explaining to him about all the rooms and suites and what the rates are, and to honest he's quite a fun guy and we chat a bit about Israel and living in The Hold Land. Then we get back to the point and he asks me about which suites or rooms have Jacuzzis. So I tell him that because the hotel has some sort of accreditation from The Ministry of Health, we don't have any Jacuzzis anywhere in the hotel. So he asks what if he takes the top suite in the hotel, would they put one in. So I told him that there is a stand alone deep bath, but no jacuzzi. So we have a little back and forth with him saying he really wants a jacuzzi and me telling him we don't have one. Eventually he says to me, 'Chaim, if I said to you I will take The Royal Suite, but how are you going to solve the problem of the jacuzzi, what would your solution be?' So, God bless me, I respond...'Well, I could leave a tin of beans and a packet of prunes on the side of the bath and well...' I know, 'eewww'.
Otherwise all is, Thank God, going well. I have made loads of friends and I honestly feel the move was the right one, at the right time. Taking up a challenge like making aliyah is never easy and I still admire everyone who does it, even if it doesn't work out. But I am pleased that this is one challenge I pushed myself to tackle.
From Israel, Shalom and see you all soon, Please God.
Well here I am, a year and a half into my life as an Israeli, and I can't quite figure out where the time has gone. I've finished Ulpan (which has now closed altogether, something I might write about next time), found myself a flat, found myself a job, and rather nicely, found myself a life.
I am currently living in Katamon (where else?!) in a rather nice 3 bedroom flat with David Brummer and Paul Gross, two other olim chadashim also from England. David was my room-mate in ulpan and Paul was David's room-mate back in university. We all get on really well, share a similar sense of humour (see there are other people out there with my sense of humour!), and we've just signed on for another year. In fact, we've already had people asking when one of us is moving out because they think our flat set up is so great, one of whom is even married, mentioning no names (Shame on you Gabe!! lol).
I've just completed a year working at The David Citadel Hotel, Jerusalem's premier hotel (unless you prefer the King David...which I do...). I work in the Reservations Department, and no, I can't get you a good rate on a room. You have to be fleeced...I mean pay...like everyone else. What's that? Give us a funny story Chaim. Oh alright then.
This American calls up one evening and asks about rooms and suites. So I'm explaining to him about all the rooms and suites and what the rates are, and to honest he's quite a fun guy and we chat a bit about Israel and living in The Hold Land. Then we get back to the point and he asks me about which suites or rooms have Jacuzzis. So I tell him that because the hotel has some sort of accreditation from The Ministry of Health, we don't have any Jacuzzis anywhere in the hotel. So he asks what if he takes the top suite in the hotel, would they put one in. So I told him that there is a stand alone deep bath, but no jacuzzi. So we have a little back and forth with him saying he really wants a jacuzzi and me telling him we don't have one. Eventually he says to me, 'Chaim, if I said to you I will take The Royal Suite, but how are you going to solve the problem of the jacuzzi, what would your solution be?' So, God bless me, I respond...'Well, I could leave a tin of beans and a packet of prunes on the side of the bath and well...' I know, 'eewww'.
Otherwise all is, Thank God, going well. I have made loads of friends and I honestly feel the move was the right one, at the right time. Taking up a challenge like making aliyah is never easy and I still admire everyone who does it, even if it doesn't work out. But I am pleased that this is one challenge I pushed myself to tackle.
From Israel, Shalom and see you all soon, Please God.
Sunday, 23 September 2007
Life - Israeli Style
Hello again. It's been quite a while since the last post, so I thought I'd do a catch up. Thank G-d, all is going well here. Studying hard, playing harder, and generally having a good time. I can hardly believe that I've already been here over two months. It feels like yesterday since I left (although it'll be the day after tomorrow when I pop back for Succot!!).
Rosh HaShannah was really great. I stayed with my Great Uncle and Aunt in Rechavia, and davened at a minyan called Nafka Mina, where I have to say all the Tefillot were excellent. It's a minyan for young Israelis and Olim (who technically are Israelis I know, but you catch my drift). I went back to my Great Aunt and Uncle for Yom Kippur and again davened at Nafka Mina, where the davening was once again superb. It so nice to go somewhere where people are joining in and in the main not talking.
However there were two contrasting images that summed up the ups and downs of Israeli life, which I experienced over the past week. Last Wednesday, I went to the Kotel to do a bit of pre-YK davening for forgiveness. As I was leaving the actual wall, I could see a little commotion ahead of me, and a Security Guard stopping people from going up onto the plaza. It turns out that they had discovered a Cheftz Chashud, a suspicious package by the restrooms at the Kotel. Whilst a little concerning to be in the midst of all this, it was amazing to see the police robot that checks and if needs be, defuses the bomb, and I was able to get up close to the control van and watch the robot check the bag. However all this brought me back to the reality of life in Israel. Whilst 90% of the time everything is fine and you're just merrily making your way through one of the most uniquely amazing experiences of your life, you are also confronted by the day to day reality of having people who harbour such a level of hatred towards you and every other Israeli, that they would be willing to kill you to achieve their ultimate goal. The bag, Thank G-d, turned out to be harmless, but nonetheless it made me stop and think.
The second image was Yom Kippur in Israel. As I said before, I stayed with my Great Uncle and Aunt who live in the Villas down the bottom of the Wolfson buildings. The balcony to their flat backs onto Ben Zvi, one of the main traffic arteries that head through J-Town. However from the start of Yom Kippur, the road, like every other road in J-Town (and so I believe most of the country), fell silent. It's very eerie. Imagine the North Circular Road in London falling silent. It is also truly amazing, and something that is so special to Israel. That a country can just shut down and just rest, is so uplifting and makes me feel so lucky to be here and experiencing it.
For the good and for the bad, this is Israel. This year, at the end of the Yom Kippur davening I truly felt the power of saying, "L'Shana HaBa B'Yerushalayim HaBnuya" - "Next year in a rebuilt Jerusalem". I hope Please G-d to experience another Yom Kippur in Jerusalem, and Please G-d be able to personally share this unique experience with each and every one of you. G'Mar Tov, Shana Tova, Chag Samayach and L'Shana HaBa B'Yerushalayim HaBnuya.
Rosh HaShannah was really great. I stayed with my Great Uncle and Aunt in Rechavia, and davened at a minyan called Nafka Mina, where I have to say all the Tefillot were excellent. It's a minyan for young Israelis and Olim (who technically are Israelis I know, but you catch my drift). I went back to my Great Aunt and Uncle for Yom Kippur and again davened at Nafka Mina, where the davening was once again superb. It so nice to go somewhere where people are joining in and in the main not talking.
However there were two contrasting images that summed up the ups and downs of Israeli life, which I experienced over the past week. Last Wednesday, I went to the Kotel to do a bit of pre-YK davening for forgiveness. As I was leaving the actual wall, I could see a little commotion ahead of me, and a Security Guard stopping people from going up onto the plaza. It turns out that they had discovered a Cheftz Chashud, a suspicious package by the restrooms at the Kotel. Whilst a little concerning to be in the midst of all this, it was amazing to see the police robot that checks and if needs be, defuses the bomb, and I was able to get up close to the control van and watch the robot check the bag. However all this brought me back to the reality of life in Israel. Whilst 90% of the time everything is fine and you're just merrily making your way through one of the most uniquely amazing experiences of your life, you are also confronted by the day to day reality of having people who harbour such a level of hatred towards you and every other Israeli, that they would be willing to kill you to achieve their ultimate goal. The bag, Thank G-d, turned out to be harmless, but nonetheless it made me stop and think.
The second image was Yom Kippur in Israel. As I said before, I stayed with my Great Uncle and Aunt who live in the Villas down the bottom of the Wolfson buildings. The balcony to their flat backs onto Ben Zvi, one of the main traffic arteries that head through J-Town. However from the start of Yom Kippur, the road, like every other road in J-Town (and so I believe most of the country), fell silent. It's very eerie. Imagine the North Circular Road in London falling silent. It is also truly amazing, and something that is so special to Israel. That a country can just shut down and just rest, is so uplifting and makes me feel so lucky to be here and experiencing it.
For the good and for the bad, this is Israel. This year, at the end of the Yom Kippur davening I truly felt the power of saying, "L'Shana HaBa B'Yerushalayim HaBnuya" - "Next year in a rebuilt Jerusalem". I hope Please G-d to experience another Yom Kippur in Jerusalem, and Please G-d be able to personally share this unique experience with each and every one of you. G'Mar Tov, Shana Tova, Chag Samayach and L'Shana HaBa B'Yerushalayim HaBnuya.
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
Standing In The Middle Of The Road Waiting For The Little Man To Go Green
Someone asked me what's the deal with my Facebook status (for anyone not blighted by this particular curse, my status reads "Chaim is waiting in the middle of the road waiting for the little man to go green"). My intention was to write this first and then change the status, but hey, I'm Israeli! So let me explain. For anyone who has attempted to cross a road via a pedestrian crossing anywhere in the world, it's a fairly simple exercise. You go to the crossing, and in most places across the Western world, press a button, wait for the man to go from red to green, or go from a red 'Don't Walk' to a green 'Walk'. Then you walk from one side of the road to the other. In some countries if the road is wide, then you might find some sort of island in the middle, so if you get onto the crossing late you won't be caught stranded precariously in the middle of a road.
Now, let's speak about Israel.
In Israel, if the road is too wide to be crossed in one go and therefore requires you to negotiate two consecutive crossings, there are two sets of lights. However, rarely are these two sets of lights co-ordinated, and usually the light that goes green first is on the opposite side of the road. This means that you end up crossing to the middle of the road when your side goes green, and that's where you stand for the rest of the day...well it feels like it. Cars whipping you back and forth and you standing there like a lemon. So why don't you just wait till there are no cars and then run across Chaim??? Tut, tut, tut. That's illegal!!! The police enforce penalties against jay-walkers here with a relish rarely seen outside of a traffic warden in Westminster. Not really worth taking the chance in my opinion.
So here I stand, in the middle of the road, waiting for that little mean to feel a bit queasy and go green. Hopefully you'll visit me there soon.
Now, let's speak about Israel.
In Israel, if the road is too wide to be crossed in one go and therefore requires you to negotiate two consecutive crossings, there are two sets of lights. However, rarely are these two sets of lights co-ordinated, and usually the light that goes green first is on the opposite side of the road. This means that you end up crossing to the middle of the road when your side goes green, and that's where you stand for the rest of the day...well it feels like it. Cars whipping you back and forth and you standing there like a lemon. So why don't you just wait till there are no cars and then run across Chaim??? Tut, tut, tut. That's illegal!!! The police enforce penalties against jay-walkers here with a relish rarely seen outside of a traffic warden in Westminster. Not really worth taking the chance in my opinion.
So here I stand, in the middle of the road, waiting for that little mean to feel a bit queasy and go green. Hopefully you'll visit me there soon.
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