Travel Log #37

May 26, 2010
It is 8:30 a.m. and in the way I like, I've been woken by the sun. It's a special morning because I'm in Yeruham, a very small town in the Negev, about a ten-minute car-ride from Ben Gurion's resting place in Sde Boker.

As always, I'm in love with the desert. I can't get enough of it. People of all backgrounds--Jewish, Arab, secular, religious--all say that there's something about Jerusalem that catches them. None can articulate the feeling given them by that city. For me, Jerusalem doesn't do much. The streets are dirty, the air overlaid with tension, the Wall is just a wall, like any other with great historical and archaeological significance.

If it's holiness we're talking about, God is in the desert. Or maybe the emptiness here is more inviting, or the city drowns God out with the din of people. Or maybe the emptiness makes room for God and cities are too busy drafting false gods and forcing them on everyone all at once.

In any case, I'm here to conduct interviews for the book I'm writing. Over the weekend, I went to Efrata, a Jerusalem suburb just over the Green Line, to conduct two interviews there. I went from there, directly to Yokneam to finish up another interview, attend the Korin Allal workshop, and conduct another interview. Monday, I had a day of rest, but spent most of it transcribing.

May 28, 2010
Collecting interviews from people across the country has been an amazing experience. Some of them, I know very well, but the details they give about their lives reveal so much about them that I never knew existed. It's almost as if I'm speaking to perfect strangers and diving in to the story of their lives. Others, I don't know at all. I'm a proactive person, so I scope people out wherever I go. I tell friends about my project and they link me to people they know. People like you, people like me.

When I was in Yeruham, my friend and fellow OTZMAnik hosted me for a day and night and arranged three interviews for me. Each of these people met me when the interview started and were still very receptive to the idea of the project which, by nature asks them to divulge their life stories. Because of them it is really coming to fruition.

The everyday lives and opinions of these people go so far beyond what the outside world conceives of this place. Many will be shocked to learn the millions of tiny details of daily life, or even that a daily life exists. These details outweigh, or at least balance the scale against what the rest of the world magnifies in the Israel-Arab Conflict. What I have found (like my friend who recently made Aliyah said yesterday) is that the quality of life here is much higher than where we came from.

There will b a familiar story: what is the country's greatest problem today? and you'll hear something along the lines of "the disintegration of the education system". Many will say that the Israel-Arab Conflict, though dire in need of resolution and the poser of existential threats to the country (not everyone agrees on this, I have to note), is no more than a convenient distraction for the host of internal issues suffered by the State. These issues are normal, though, and are present in nearly every Western country I can think of in one form or other: illegal immigration, immigration absorption, foreign workers, resource management. The list goes on.

I do have to acknowledge these two unfortunate facts before any others are mentioned about my interviews:
1. Most of them are conducted in English, and this language barrier limits me to a very specific group of people: those of Anglo background or those with a Western education that taught them English. One interview will be conducted almost entirely in Herbew, because Hebrew is his second language, Arabic his first, and English is basically non-existent.
2. As Eve Harrow pointed out: No matter the language barriers or anything else, I am only able to attain the narratives of those people willing to talk. The silent majority is never represented.

So, with these fact in mind, I admit that they project is inherently flawed.

For some, I have offered the choice of remaining nameless. A shroud over their identity opens a slight chance for those who would otherwise remain silent to speak aloud. No matter what, though, the voices are important. They are everyday voices like yours and mine and this is what is important.

In real life, the mundane takes precedence, so the greaser hitting on me on the street for five minutes (hopefully less than that) is an important part of the story. So is the long line of bureaucracy we have to go through here in order to get things in order like Social Security or a checking account. Or how we have to wait 35 minutes in the grocery line for the old lady to pick up all of her spilled change. Or how the shuk vendors all have degrees in screaming about whose avocados are better. Because Israel might be high-tech to the nth degree, but it still doesn't trust technology. Everything has to be in hard copy from beginning to end. It's 2010 and some of the shuk vendors still weigh out the kilograms in scales that use weights and stones. Like I said earlier, it's the Middle East. We're stuck in the past alongside heading the way into the future. "The Future is Now" but so is yesterday.

Like anywhere, this place is full of contradiction. Democracy vs. Theocracy, liberal vs. conservative, religious vs. secular, computer vs. stones.

But I love the contradictions and the way one, single voice can really affect change here in an immediate and tangible way.

I love the way public transportation here is cheap and insanely efficient, the way health care is one of the best in the world and costs $15 a month.

Really, what sold me what the shuk, where I can buy a kilo of plump and crunchy fresh tomatoes that taste like heaven for one shekel.

I love the way people appreciate life here. The way every moment counts. Every moment is precious and so is every individual because you never know when it's over. But I've never felt safer anywhere else in the world.

Maybe the media makes it seem more dangerous, but I learned definitively that the cushy suburbs of North America are even more so because that's where you're caught off-guard. You don't expect the world to come into your Chapel Hill bedroom and hurt you.

The whole world's a war zone, you just have to pick your location and method of fighting. I've chosen mine. As always, for what I've chosen, the price is worth it.

Travel Log #36

May 15, 2010

One thing I think I have mentioned briefly is my newly-found flood of male attention. It started, I think, around December or January.

Sexual harassment laws here do exist, but not like in the United States. According to a friend of mine, there was opposition to the nth degree by many conservative men in the Knesset whose argument against outlawing it was "But we're men. This law will prevent us from being how G-d created us". To this paraphrase, his wife rolled her eyes and said "See? This is the chauvinist state we live in". Yet both of them chose Israel over America and choose to remain.

To get back to my original point about my experiences here with it, I could have had at least twelve men locked away for a significant amount of time in the States, or at least black-listed them as sex offenders. Here, it's a different story. Some things, you just have to let slide. I let slide all of them because they don't involve contact. But they still go on the record as awkward moments. For example:

In January, I was in Jerusalem and went to meet my friend Chana--typical girl's-night-out, dinner/dessert and a movie. When it was over, I caught a cab back to where I was staying because buses only run every 45 minute at that time of night, if they run at all. I get in the cab.

The cabbie looks at me and casually asks me "Do you like spontaneous sex?" Hmm...how do I respond to this? Especially to a creepy, 50+ Jerusalem cab driver? Holy City...right. "No, thanks." "Oh, come on. Why not?" he pleads with me, half in Hebrew. "You are beautiful. It is good for you." "I have a boyfriend." "What will he know? Trust me. It is good for you. I am good. Trust me. Just half an hour. I kiss you from here to here" --he motions from foot to head-- "I take you to my home. Not far from here. Or I park up the street. Just half hour. Trust me. Please. You are beautiful. It is good."

Really? Do I seem that easy? Seriously, if he wants to seduce me, he's going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that. Or at least offer a back massage.

"No. Let me out here, please. Thanks." He actually does. He waits until I'm inside the building. He waits another five minutes, probably to make sure I don't change my mind. Then, finally, he drives away.

Meanwhile, some random person, who I can only speak with in Hebrew, keeps calling me at 3:00am and other inopportune times, telling me he likes/loves me and wants to see me--from a "Private Number". I have no idea who he is, how he knows my number or my name. Sorry.

I walk everywhere in Tel Aviv. The שוק (shuk--open market) is about five blocks from my apartment on the corner of הירקון (HaYarkon) and אלנבי (Allenby). Within five blocks I get hit on at least four times, each time I go to the שוק, two to three times a week.

Or it's like this: to get to Assaf's house (at night) I take the bus. The 16 to the תחנה מרכזית (Central Station) is a half block from the apartment. About ten feet from the bus stop is a restaurant/cafe. Old 60+ man is sitting there. I have Therem with me, always doubles my attractiveness apparently. He asks me to play for him and to come over to his house. I decline. He says he'll pay me. Gives me some sob story about being a widower as if that'll win me over. I get flashes of being dumped in a gutter somewhere in Yaffo.

I tell him I have a boyfriend. (Different from last time--better, real, an actual relationship.) The guy complains: "What kind of boyfriend? He can't even pick you up?" "He doesn't have a car." "Then he's good for nothing! I'll show you what I have. Cars, buildings, lots of money. Want to work in real-estate? I'll hire you." Now that's tempting...a well-paying job (if I can actually sell anything), but not if I have to sleep with Mr. Creep-Bomb to get it--and keep it.

"Sorry. Not interested. I love my boyfriend." The Beatles start playing in my head.

I walk to the bus stop which is about ten feet from him.

About fifteen seconds later, he gets up and gets into his car, a blue BMW convertible. He turns it on and starts driving, or so I think. Really, he drives it ten feet up the curb to right in front of me, stops, looks at me and smiles, gestures at the vehicle around him, makes sure I acknowledge it, then puts the car in reverse. He parks, gets out of the car, sits back down at his seat and winks at me.

"You, I'll drive you," he says.

Thankfully, the bus shows up. 5.80 is more than worth the price of getting quickly away.

Once, on the way back from Assaf's, I was walking to the bus stop and got stopped by a guy who asked me to a concert and begged me to give him my number. It's ridiculous, really, but I do have to admit rather flattering, considering my previous record. I just keep wondering when I actually got attractive.

Travel Log #35

April 23, 2010
When a group of Americans in their early twenties was asked to list cultural differences between themselves and Israelis, this was what they came up with: Israelis are aggressive, lack the notion of personal space; they are direct but simultaneously laid back, abrupt, are quintessentially inefficient and have no idea of how to plan anything; they smell, they have no sarcasm (I think this is false, and that the group of Americans has no sense of dark humour), are task-focused, are less prompt (e.g. multiply every ETA by at least three), and lack professionalism. They are always out to screw the system, are quick to take over-advantage of office supplies; they can't drive, they dress less formally, and their cell phones are always on--all two or three of them--and they answer at any time*; they are aggressively hospitable--if you knock on their door, you will come in and you will, goddammit, drink a full pot of nana tea and eat all refreshments, a full meal, and dessert.

Americans usually get a bad wrap for being loud and obnoxious when abroad and infinitely moronic. Israelis by far outdo us. Apparently India has a separate set of tourist maps highlighting the roads and regions that are Israeli-free for those who would like a quiet and uninterrupted vacation; Indians are surprised Israelis aren't actually from India (they have their own country??) because there are so many romping around their country, it's hard to believe they all don't actually live there. Many of my Israeli friends declare that they turn away and run fast when they run into a group of their fellow countrymen abroad--no, they have nothing to do with that group of cretins--new nationalities are conjured out of thin air in moments like this and new accents are created.

May 10, 2010
The fields here are lush. They go on until they fade into fog or until they run into the sea or mountains, depending on which direction you're looking.

I've met more than one Israeli who has an aversion to east coasts--"they're unnecessary because Israel doesn't have one".

Maybe I'm paranoid. I know this is all ending. Happiness is foil-wrapped, like candy: sweet illusion.

So much fits into this tiny space of a country where everything can be said but doesn't have to be. It's all already understood. And when I go back, I'll have everything to say and nowhere to say it. Blank pages must suffice.

Words spill with precision, as blades of the shochet through flesh. Is it possible to find yourself destroyed and remade at what you thought was the end of the world? In the one place you were so certain you would never really be? No, I'm thinking. I'm not just a visitor here. I was a visitor at home and a guest nowhere.

Sometimes, I'm alone with a well-kept secret. We embrace; he kisses me lightly on the cheek, giggles, and runs away. I keep it to myself. Some people are only meant for speculation, for dreams, and he is one of them.

In the car, my friend tells me that he's worried about another war ruining his travel plans.

"Don't think about it," I say. "Not until it happens."

I don't add my usual hopeful "if"--"if it happens" doesn't exist here. War is an inevitability. And we're due.

Back to the mundane insanity of everyday life here:

On the train from Haifa (another doctor's appointment--I'm doing well) back to Tel Aviv. The train stops at Binyamina, the station I would get off at if I were going to Zichron Ya'akov.

They kick all of us off the train and chaos ensues. I hear many stories: there is a fire between Binyamina and Hadera, so no trains can run. Not to mention that the entire line north of Haifa is out for maintenance until Thursday. Other stories: there is a chemical fire right on the tracks, no one can breathe there; there's a volcano, there's a terrorist attack, etc etc.

Everyone gets their ticket stamped: "We're sending three express buses to Tel Aviv". People are idiots. They pile into the middle of the street. The usual pissy Israeli drivers get more pissed. When buses arrive, people step farther into the road, smack on the bus, bang, scream. The drivers yell and gesticulate angrily. People get trampled. I think they want to get hit by the bus they claim to want a ride on. I love mobs.

I look over and see a familiar face, then lose it in the crowd. When I get out of the gates, I find him again. His back is to me, he's on the phone. I walk up to him.

"Hey," I say. "Are you Raz?" By some advanced miracle, I remember his name: Raz, from Avichai, where I met Assaf back in February.

We pair up and wait in the mob, under the burning sun. We find a tree. Yay for shade.

Over ten buses show up, lots of 70s--all to Hadera, none to Tel Aviv.

"Welcome to Israel," everyone keeps saying and rolling their eyes.

So much for "express buses". They're banging on the sides of a full school bus, hanging off the mirrors.

I call Assaf to find out what actually is going on. The Israel Train employee told me about the "chemical fire" and I relay this over the phone. He finds nothing.

"But the guy told me chemical because of some explosion," I say.

"Yeah, well, he's an idiot." He has to go to work, so we hang up. I relay the info to Raz. He tries calling a friend to come get us. Won't work.

I tell him about my interviewing project. He's interested, so I get his number and tell him I'll call him tomorrow to set something up for next week. This week is already insane for me and he's doing part of the Shvil anyway.

We wait for about an hour and give up on our days. But it's nice reconnecting like this.

A bus shows up. Sheirut size. "Are you kidding?" I ask. Raz laughs.

Then he says: "Someone just said the trains are running again."

A bunch of buses pull up.

We look between them and the trains, then at each other. We decide on the train.

He laughs. "Someone just said that someone probably screamed that the trains were working just so they could get on the bus."

"Oh, crap. Is that true?"

But we're already at security and they're letting people through.

"Guess not," he says, and we're in.

A very enthusiastic announcer tells us that all trains are up and running again. Yay!

We get on and amazingly find two seats next to each other.

Turns out, Raz is a counselor at Coleman, arch rival of Ramah Darom. But I get excited because it's Georgia and tell him to come visit. If I actually go back to Georgia.

We ride on the train for about two minutes before Raz tells me to look out the window. Lo and behold! There actually was a fire almost on the tracks. A farm burned and the tracks were lined with heaps of ashes. Remnants of bushes and crops stretched away from the tracks.

Raz and I commented on the terrible brush fires in the States and how they take days, weeks, and sometimes months to get under control.

"Well, think of the size of the area we're talking about getting under control," I say. "California, etc., mid-western prairie, versus some tiny little strip you can drive by in two minutes between Hadera and Binyamina."

It's worth noting here that for all of Israel's ETA x3 (because we're lots of Jews from concentrate), the rule does not apply to emergency situations like this one. True, the buses took hours to show up for us (and we didn't even end up using them), but the fire was completely extinguished in less than that time. That's about two hours total between start of fire (probably because of some idiot and a throw-away cigarette butt), discovery, extinguishing, and getting all citizens affected back on track--quite literally.

Raz got off around Netanya and the woman across from me started up a conversation about the day's insanity after asking me if I speak Hebrew, too, which I affirmed. She got off at the University, which left me with three stops to go on my own.

I got off at HaHagana and made my way around to the bus stop to get home. By the way, they need to rethink this efficiently (like almost everything else around here): bus stop is directly across from the station but there's no cross walk. Instead, there's a barrier. In order to get there, I have to walk about half a kilometer around and navigate two cross walks instead of walking twenty feet forward. Yay Israel. But we already know the priorities. And if it's not an emergency, act first, think later.

I and the other remaining passenger on the sheirut asked the driver to drop us off in front of Aroma. Beeline for the coffee after this nutcase day. God, it was good.

I get home and start to change. I'm pants-less and can't find what I'm looking for and there's someone knocking at the door. I tell them to wait a minute. They knock again.

I give up on the pants and answer the door with sweat pants on that I forget to change out of later. It's the maintenance guy seeing if the internet's working. He doesn't seem to understand our request for a secure network. Welcome to Israel! "Who would try to hack you?" he asks. "How should I know?! That's the point!" He says he'll work on it. Just like those light bulbs I requested last week that he'll get to me "this second".

He tells me he hasn't slept since two days ago because he was up until 5:30 playing poker. He leaves. The internet connects with a full signal but doesn't work...I use my usual mooch connection. Off to Ulpan now and then Assaf's. And Dexter...my latest addiction.


*In the Emergency Room, my doctor's phone rang and she promptly answered. A ten minute conversation ensued. When she hung up, our conversation picked up without a pause, as if nothing had happened.