Posts
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“He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.”
- Job 39:7
The drivers of Jerusalem are often given a bum rap. Well…
Jerusalem at dawn— a beautiful thing (also, I woke up at 6 AM anc couldn’t fall back asleep).
So I went running this morning and I negotiated the streets of The Holy City with some of the worst drivers in the world.
Translation of “negotiated”—tried not to get run over.
And you know what I’ve learned here?
Ironic—the “best” drivers are actually the STUDENT drivers!
Let me explain—this town was not built for the horseless carriage, Henry Ford’s metal contraption known “a car.” Like Boston, with its cobblestone pathways, the narrow, winding streets hearken back to simpler times of John Adams and King David (portrayed on screen by William Daniels and Richard Gere, respectively).
So taxi drivers that would normally seem merely “Manhattan-crazy” are exponentially more terrifying in the nooks and crannies of Jerusalem.
But not student drivers! The roofs of their cars are clearly marked with a white sign displaying a big blue “lah-med” (Hebrew equivalent of “L”), signifying “Lomed” or “learning.” And they are the only defensive drivers in this city. They are cautious and courteous and… usually women.
And 9 times out of 10, when I jog past a student driver, I see a lady behind the wheel, wearing a concentrated, slightly nervous expression and a head-covering. Sometimes it’s a sheitel (for Jewish women) and sometimes it’s a hijab (for Muslim ladies). Women driving cars. Religious women.
Even though there is a lot of old-school, backwards thinking in this part of the world, fundamentalism on all sides of the Torah, New Testament, and Qur’an—people living as they did 1,2 even 3 thousand years ago and thinking everyone else should do the same—we are moving forward, advancing into the 21st century… one green light at a time.
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Tuesday, May 25
Monday, May 24
Keep on Keepin' on
“And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold a man running alone.”
-- 2nd Samuel 18:24
“My body’s sayin’ let’s go… but my heart is saying no.”
The first quotation is from the Bible… big whoop.
The second quote was made famous in the song “Genie in a bottle” by Christian Aguilera, arguably the most gifted bible scholar of our time (actually she married a Jewish boy in 2008—check it out on wikipedia).
The song (penned by David Frank, Steve Kipner, and Pamela Sheyne) was HUGE the last time I was in Israel, starting the summer of 1999 till February 2000.
And its message, like that from the second book of Samuel, has withstood the test of time.
Well, running a marathon is essentially the opposite.
Your brain tells you, “Keep going! Come on!”
And your body says, “Check, please!”
You want to follow the advice of Dory in “Finding Nemo”—
“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”
Metaphorical for us, literal for her. Well, around kilometer 34 (or mile 21), my legs informed me, “Ahem, excuse us… Brain, I think you should be sitting somewhere right about now, eating a sandwich, watching clips on youtube, and not sweating anymore.”
My body was the minivan driving a cross-country road trip:
Legs= kids : “We’re hungry, we’re thirsty, we gotta use the toilet!”
Brain= parents: Damn it! Would you shut up! Do some Mad Libs or something!”
It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in over 15 months… when I got contact lenses. Talk about frustrating! It was like Algebra and juggling combined. My brain said, “Put it in!” And my eye said, “What, are you nuts? Nothing goes IN me! Stuff only comes OUT… like tears at the end of ‘Field of Dreams’ or an exceptionally moving episode of Two and A Half Men!’ ”
But my then- fiancée informed me that I was being a … less than masculine individual. That I should “grow a pair” (I assume she meant eyes… y’know, for the contacts… what else could she have been referring to?)
But I kept at it… and eventually conquered my contacts… and the marathon (nearly 4 hours after beginning) and that’s what we all have to do in our lives. I am sure it’s what Moses told the Israelites during those 40 years wandering through the desert.
(well, that and “No, I told you yesterday, we’re not stopping at Denny’s!”)
The same message the Brady Bunch taught us:
“We're gonna keep on, keep on , keep on movin’…”
Or…
“And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”
-- The final words of Tom Hanks’ character in “Cast Away,” screenplay by William Broyles, Jr.
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-- 2nd Samuel 18:24
“My body’s sayin’ let’s go… but my heart is saying no.”
The first quotation is from the Bible… big whoop.
The second quote was made famous in the song “Genie in a bottle” by Christian Aguilera, arguably the most gifted bible scholar of our time (actually she married a Jewish boy in 2008—check it out on wikipedia).
The song (penned by David Frank, Steve Kipner, and Pamela Sheyne) was HUGE the last time I was in Israel, starting the summer of 1999 till February 2000.
And its message, like that from the second book of Samuel, has withstood the test of time.
Well, running a marathon is essentially the opposite.
Your brain tells you, “Keep going! Come on!”
And your body says, “Check, please!”
You want to follow the advice of Dory in “Finding Nemo”—
“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”
Metaphorical for us, literal for her. Well, around kilometer 34 (or mile 21), my legs informed me, “Ahem, excuse us… Brain, I think you should be sitting somewhere right about now, eating a sandwich, watching clips on youtube, and not sweating anymore.”
My body was the minivan driving a cross-country road trip:
Legs= kids : “We’re hungry, we’re thirsty, we gotta use the toilet!”
Brain= parents: Damn it! Would you shut up! Do some Mad Libs or something!”
It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in over 15 months… when I got contact lenses. Talk about frustrating! It was like Algebra and juggling combined. My brain said, “Put it in!” And my eye said, “What, are you nuts? Nothing goes IN me! Stuff only comes OUT… like tears at the end of ‘Field of Dreams’ or an exceptionally moving episode of Two and A Half Men!’ ”
But my then- fiancée informed me that I was being a … less than masculine individual. That I should “grow a pair” (I assume she meant eyes… y’know, for the contacts… what else could she have been referring to?)
But I kept at it… and eventually conquered my contacts… and the marathon (nearly 4 hours after beginning) and that’s what we all have to do in our lives. I am sure it’s what Moses told the Israelites during those 40 years wandering through the desert.
(well, that and “No, I told you yesterday, we’re not stopping at Denny’s!”)
The same message the Brady Bunch taught us:
“We're gonna keep on, keep on , keep on movin’…”
Or…
“And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?”
-- The final words of Tom Hanks’ character in “Cast Away,” screenplay by William Broyles, Jr.
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Tuesday, May 18
Sweet Sassy Molassy!
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“And he was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water. And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.”
- Ex. 34:28
Tonight is Shavuot, which almost literally means the "Feast of Weeks"—because we count 7 weeks from the second night of Passover… 49 days until Shavuot, supposedly marking the moment of Revelation at Sinai (i.e., Moses receiving the ten commandments/Torah... or absolutely nothing, depending on who you ask).
Shavuot is often overlooked in the Hebrew School circuit because it occurs in late May, close to the summer, when Hebrew School is already over. Also, it doesn’t have the cachet of the more famous holidays: The piety of Yom Kippur, the commercial appeal of Hanukkah, the ritual of Passover or dancing of Simchat Torah.
But what food do we eat on Shavuot?
Well, you could argue that we should fast, just like Moses did, for 40 days.
But Jews (like most people) prefer eating TOO much, rather than NOT ENOUGH.
So we consume obscene amounts of Dairy! Hooray!
It's symbolic. Like eating bitter herbs on Passover because Pharaoh made the lives of the Israelites bitter.
On Shavuot we eat dairy, especially cheesecake! Because being slaves made the lives of the Israelites... lactose intolerant!
No, actually there is a teaching that God had not yet informed the Israelites which animals were kosher, and which were unkosher, so to play it safe—no meat (albatross? Camel? Y’know what, let’s just eat some goat cheese”)
So Dairy foods and receiving the Torah/Ten Commandments—there is also a tradition to stay up all night!
Woo-hoo!
Doing what?
Studying!!!
Yeah, Jews know how to party! Yay! Gemara and Gas!
Okay—to sum up:
Cheesecake and Ten Commandments.
Both good, plus staying up all night!
All these qualities SHOULD make Shavuot very popular.
And yet, it has fallen through the holiday cracks, even though it fills a seasonal holiday gap—
Fall:
Apples, honey… then no eating.
Winter:
Presents and chocolates and potato pancakes.
Spring:
Matzah and Seder and ten plagues
Today I went grocery shopping, then stopped by a bakery and purchased a cheesecake for the festivities.
I returned home and my beloved wife asked me where the mushrooms and pretzels were.
They were gone!
I sprinted back to the bakery and inquired—
“Sorry, I was here early today, had a bag with food. Will you have seen it?”
“Oh, the bag with pretzels and mushrooms?”
He produced my bag of groceries from behind the counter
I thanked him, “Yes, that is the bag! Thanks to you. If I went back to house with no mushrooms, my wife would take away MY mushrooms?”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
Israel has that type of hospitality and neighborliness—when I go running Friday afternoons, I usually pick up a bouquet of flowers for my wife (I’m not THAT great a guy-- I’m lazy, they sell ‘em right on the corner. Maybe back in Manhattan I’ll pick her up some crack).
Two Fridays ago I picked out some roses, then realized I didn’t have enough money.
“It’s okay,” the young flower dude told me, “you’ll pay me next week. Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t believe it.
Israelis really can be quite sweet—no wonder they call this place the land flowing with Milk and Honey (which sounds awesome… unless you’re a vegan).
“And it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give he shall eat butter: for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land.”
- Isaiah 7:22 (one of 22 instances in the Bible where Israel is referred to as the land of “milk and honey”)
.
“And he was there with the Lord forty days and forty nights; he did neither eat bread, nor drink water. And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments.”
- Ex. 34:28
Tonight is Shavuot, which almost literally means the "Feast of Weeks"—because we count 7 weeks from the second night of Passover… 49 days until Shavuot, supposedly marking the moment of Revelation at Sinai (i.e., Moses receiving the ten commandments/Torah... or absolutely nothing, depending on who you ask).
Shavuot is often overlooked in the Hebrew School circuit because it occurs in late May, close to the summer, when Hebrew School is already over. Also, it doesn’t have the cachet of the more famous holidays: The piety of Yom Kippur, the commercial appeal of Hanukkah, the ritual of Passover or dancing of Simchat Torah.
But what food do we eat on Shavuot?
Well, you could argue that we should fast, just like Moses did, for 40 days.
But Jews (like most people) prefer eating TOO much, rather than NOT ENOUGH.
So we consume obscene amounts of Dairy! Hooray!
It's symbolic. Like eating bitter herbs on Passover because Pharaoh made the lives of the Israelites bitter.
On Shavuot we eat dairy, especially cheesecake! Because being slaves made the lives of the Israelites... lactose intolerant!
No, actually there is a teaching that God had not yet informed the Israelites which animals were kosher, and which were unkosher, so to play it safe—no meat (albatross? Camel? Y’know what, let’s just eat some goat cheese”)
So Dairy foods and receiving the Torah/Ten Commandments—there is also a tradition to stay up all night!
Woo-hoo!
Doing what?
Studying!!!
Yeah, Jews know how to party! Yay! Gemara and Gas!
Okay—to sum up:
Cheesecake and Ten Commandments.
Both good, plus staying up all night!
All these qualities SHOULD make Shavuot very popular.
And yet, it has fallen through the holiday cracks, even though it fills a seasonal holiday gap—
Fall:
Apples, honey… then no eating.
Winter:
Presents and chocolates and potato pancakes.
Spring:
Matzah and Seder and ten plagues
Today I went grocery shopping, then stopped by a bakery and purchased a cheesecake for the festivities.
I returned home and my beloved wife asked me where the mushrooms and pretzels were.
They were gone!
I sprinted back to the bakery and inquired—
“Sorry, I was here early today, had a bag with food. Will you have seen it?”
“Oh, the bag with pretzels and mushrooms?”
He produced my bag of groceries from behind the counter
I thanked him, “Yes, that is the bag! Thanks to you. If I went back to house with no mushrooms, my wife would take away MY mushrooms?”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
Israel has that type of hospitality and neighborliness—when I go running Friday afternoons, I usually pick up a bouquet of flowers for my wife (I’m not THAT great a guy-- I’m lazy, they sell ‘em right on the corner. Maybe back in Manhattan I’ll pick her up some crack).
Two Fridays ago I picked out some roses, then realized I didn’t have enough money.
“It’s okay,” the young flower dude told me, “you’ll pay me next week. Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t believe it.
Israelis really can be quite sweet—no wonder they call this place the land flowing with Milk and Honey (which sounds awesome… unless you’re a vegan).
“And it shall come to pass, for the abundance of milk that they shall give he shall eat butter: for butter and honey shall every one eat that is left in the land.”
- Isaiah 7:22 (one of 22 instances in the Bible where Israel is referred to as the land of “milk and honey”)
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Monday, May 17
(Don't) Look Back In Anger
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"We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves."
- Romans 15:1
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.”
- Mel Brooks
People are selfish.
“How dare he cut me off!”
“They shot at us!”
Don’t take everything so personally!
Right?
…Ahem. Let me explain (no, there is too much, let me sum up…)
We all think that everything is personally directed at US!
It’s not about YOU!
… it’s about ME!
Irony! Because people are selfish, they aren’t intentionally being jerks to YOU, per se (oooh, French!)! They’re not TRYING to piss you off, in fact, they’re not even THINKING about you—they are selfish, they’re thinking about THEMSELVES!
They just HAPPEN to be pissing you off indirectly.
I say “they,” but I am just as guilty as the next guy… not that I care who he is, because I am selfish!
Last week I was training for the marathon—which I ran this past Friday in Tel Aviv (I finished! Yeah! And… avoided vomiting!). Whilst I ran on the sidewalks of Jerusalem I would get easily frustrated when some random person would walk in front of me. I was keeping my steady pace, training diligently, then some putz would just walk in front of me… as if he owned the place! He didn’t realize that I was the center of the universe and that he should be walking backwards, so he could see me coming from behind and get out of my way!
God! The nerve!
I was thinking this last week, just as I ran past Derekh Beyt Lekhem (Way of the Bread House). Then I turned onto Emek Refa’im (literally “Valley of the Ghosts”… spooky), and I was tuning out the traffic, listening to my iPod, then I randomly glanced behind me. There was a middle-aged fellow on his bicycle, riding about 3 mph (or 5 km/h, which is 16 yen/millisecond, or 800 CCs/wingspan of an Australian condor).
And he wasn’t pissed off, or bitter, or hinting for me to move my butt. He was just calmly riding his bike very slowly, patiently waiting for me to move.
I nodded apologetically (you know the move, when you run into oncoming traffic, “oops, my bad”). He smiled and shook his head, as if to say, “You’re mother’s a whore.” No, not really, he was saying, “Don’t worry about it.”
And that’s when it occurred to me—Everybody takes turns being the person in the way.
Everybody is a pain in somebody’s ass. So really, we shouldn’t be so mean and impatient—because it won’t be too long before you’re in someone else’s way.
“Lean on me, when you're not strong and I'll be your friend/
I'll help you carry on, for it won't be long 'til I'm gonna need somebody
to lean on”
- Bill Withers, “Lean on Me”
.
"We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to please ourselves."
- Romans 15:1
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.”
- Mel Brooks
People are selfish.
“How dare he cut me off!”
“They shot at us!”
Don’t take everything so personally!
Right?
…Ahem. Let me explain (no, there is too much, let me sum up…)
We all think that everything is personally directed at US!
It’s not about YOU!
… it’s about ME!
Irony! Because people are selfish, they aren’t intentionally being jerks to YOU, per se (oooh, French!)! They’re not TRYING to piss you off, in fact, they’re not even THINKING about you—they are selfish, they’re thinking about THEMSELVES!
They just HAPPEN to be pissing you off indirectly.
I say “they,” but I am just as guilty as the next guy… not that I care who he is, because I am selfish!
Last week I was training for the marathon—which I ran this past Friday in Tel Aviv (I finished! Yeah! And… avoided vomiting!). Whilst I ran on the sidewalks of Jerusalem I would get easily frustrated when some random person would walk in front of me. I was keeping my steady pace, training diligently, then some putz would just walk in front of me… as if he owned the place! He didn’t realize that I was the center of the universe and that he should be walking backwards, so he could see me coming from behind and get out of my way!
God! The nerve!
I was thinking this last week, just as I ran past Derekh Beyt Lekhem (Way of the Bread House). Then I turned onto Emek Refa’im (literally “Valley of the Ghosts”… spooky), and I was tuning out the traffic, listening to my iPod, then I randomly glanced behind me. There was a middle-aged fellow on his bicycle, riding about 3 mph (or 5 km/h, which is 16 yen/millisecond, or 800 CCs/wingspan of an Australian condor).
And he wasn’t pissed off, or bitter, or hinting for me to move my butt. He was just calmly riding his bike very slowly, patiently waiting for me to move.
I nodded apologetically (you know the move, when you run into oncoming traffic, “oops, my bad”). He smiled and shook his head, as if to say, “You’re mother’s a whore.” No, not really, he was saying, “Don’t worry about it.”
And that’s when it occurred to me—Everybody takes turns being the person in the way.
Everybody is a pain in somebody’s ass. So really, we shouldn’t be so mean and impatient—because it won’t be too long before you’re in someone else’s way.
“Lean on me, when you're not strong and I'll be your friend/
I'll help you carry on, for it won't be long 'til I'm gonna need somebody
to lean on”
- Bill Withers, “Lean on Me”
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Monday, May 10
Prickly on the outside
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“And the LORD said unto Moses, ‘Depart,… unto the land which I sware unto Abraham… Unto a land flowing with milk and honey: for I will not go up in the midst of thee; for thou art a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 33:1-3
My last entry mentioned stubbornness, particularly that of “the children of Israel.” Those of you who’ve spent time in Israel know what I’m talking about will understand why I focus on that aspect of the Israeli persona.
The past 8 months have been great. I have loved my time living in the Holy Land. But sometimes I think the full title could be the (Ass)Holey Land. Israelis are a gruff bunch. During my first Hebrew class here, my very sweet teacher explained, rather apologetically, the term Sabra to our class. A native Israeli is called a “sabra,” which is Hebrew for “cactus.” Why? Because they are prickly on the outside, and sweet on the inside. Well, I’m not a surgeon, so I don’t know what’s on their insides, but many Israelis sure put the “prick” in “prickly.”
Truth be told, New Yorkers are the same way—brusque, loud, smelly… but really decent and helpful once you get to know them.
An “oleh” (someone who moves to Israel from elsewhere, usually the USA) explained that the biggest fear of Israelis is not war, bombs or terrorism… it’s being suckered by someone—jilted, cheated, taken advantage of. The fear of being a “friar” (not Tuck-- pronounced “fry-ah,”), or “chump” is the chief motivator behind much of Israeli rudeness—aggressive driving, aggressive price-haggling, an aggressive attitude towards… pretty much everything (including religion and land). I guess because Jews have gotten the fuzzy end of history’s lollipop for so long, Israelis are intent on not tolerating it anymore. NO more playing the victim. Makes sense—the were formed by the survivors of the Holocaust, and became a world power by the subsequent generation. Maybe that’s why the country’s military is so kick-ass—the attitude being “Maybe the world walked all over our ancestors and beat the crap out of them, but NOT US!”
I witness the “Sabra”-ness of Israelis totally, from 2 separate instances, within 30 minutes of each other.
Last Tuesday I went to return some headphones I purchased for my iPod. I had purchased them two days earlier. They cost 18 shekels… which is less than $5. I thought I was getting a great deal! Well, within a few hours, the left earpiece stopped working and started coming apart… not surprisingly. The lesson—you get what you pay for. I tried to return the headphones, at least for store credit.
Here’s how the store owner explained it to me:
“No return. You pay 18 shekels, of course they did break. Of course”
I complained. His response:
“This isn’t America.”
How did he KNOW I wasn’t a Sabra?
After that I wanted to say, “No, if this were America you’d be a deceitful contractor and I’d have you deported.”
But my Hebrew isn’t that good. So I just said,
“Is there no mercy in you?”
“What mercy? It’s 18 shekels. No mercy for 18 shekels.”
“But me buy these before 2 days ago from now!”
“So? What do you want me to do?”
“Me want new headphones.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can be fair!”
“ ‘Fair?’ What is this, ‘fair?’”
“Not you!”
“What can I do?”
(and because I ran out of ideas…)
“You can give me your pants!”
“I don’t have any.”
Liar! I looked over the counter (curios, I suppose)—he TOTALLY had pants!
What a douche.
From there, I angrily went to the open-air market: The Shuk. Shouting, haggling, money changing hands, fish heads on display, it’s exactly like the movie “Aladdin” when Jasmine starts slumming it outside the palace walls:
Big hairy guys screaming at you—“Sugar dates! Sugar dates and figs… and pistachios!” “Fresh Fish!!”
But all in Hebrew.
“Hello! Hello! Hello! Strawberries, 10 shekels!”
“Get Hummus! Felafel! Cheap and Good!”
I actually purchased two containers of hummus, 6 shekels each (good deal, believe me). I gave the vendor what I thought was a 50 shekel note. My change would be… (come on, SAT-time)… 38 shekels. And yet-- he gave me back 88 shekels!
“No no,” I tried to hand him back a 50 shekel note, “I gave YOU 50 shekels, this 50 is yours. I only get 38 back, not 88.”
The guy paused, thought, then said, “No, you gave me 100. That’s why I was confused before, so much money for just 12 shekels of hummus.”
“No no, I gave you—”
But he drowned me out, “No, no, you gave me 100, trust me. Take 88.”
I was speechless. I gave him 3 opportunities to steal from me. And he didn’t.
What the hell is WRONG with him?
The Hebrew word for “righteous person”, tzaddik, comes from the word for “right” or “correct”—“tzodek.” This man was both.
Just when you lose faith in people… a hummus vendor can restore it.
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, ‘Depart,… unto the land which I sware unto Abraham… Unto a land flowing with milk and honey: for I will not go up in the midst of thee; for thou art a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 33:1-3
My last entry mentioned stubbornness, particularly that of “the children of Israel.” Those of you who’ve spent time in Israel know what I’m talking about will understand why I focus on that aspect of the Israeli persona.
The past 8 months have been great. I have loved my time living in the Holy Land. But sometimes I think the full title could be the (Ass)Holey Land. Israelis are a gruff bunch. During my first Hebrew class here, my very sweet teacher explained, rather apologetically, the term Sabra to our class. A native Israeli is called a “sabra,” which is Hebrew for “cactus.” Why? Because they are prickly on the outside, and sweet on the inside. Well, I’m not a surgeon, so I don’t know what’s on their insides, but many Israelis sure put the “prick” in “prickly.”
Truth be told, New Yorkers are the same way—brusque, loud, smelly… but really decent and helpful once you get to know them.
An “oleh” (someone who moves to Israel from elsewhere, usually the USA) explained that the biggest fear of Israelis is not war, bombs or terrorism… it’s being suckered by someone—jilted, cheated, taken advantage of. The fear of being a “friar” (not Tuck-- pronounced “fry-ah,”), or “chump” is the chief motivator behind much of Israeli rudeness—aggressive driving, aggressive price-haggling, an aggressive attitude towards… pretty much everything (including religion and land). I guess because Jews have gotten the fuzzy end of history’s lollipop for so long, Israelis are intent on not tolerating it anymore. NO more playing the victim. Makes sense—the were formed by the survivors of the Holocaust, and became a world power by the subsequent generation. Maybe that’s why the country’s military is so kick-ass—the attitude being “Maybe the world walked all over our ancestors and beat the crap out of them, but NOT US!”
I witness the “Sabra”-ness of Israelis totally, from 2 separate instances, within 30 minutes of each other.
Last Tuesday I went to return some headphones I purchased for my iPod. I had purchased them two days earlier. They cost 18 shekels… which is less than $5. I thought I was getting a great deal! Well, within a few hours, the left earpiece stopped working and started coming apart… not surprisingly. The lesson—you get what you pay for. I tried to return the headphones, at least for store credit.
Here’s how the store owner explained it to me:
“No return. You pay 18 shekels, of course they did break. Of course”
I complained. His response:
“This isn’t America.”
How did he KNOW I wasn’t a Sabra?
After that I wanted to say, “No, if this were America you’d be a deceitful contractor and I’d have you deported.”
But my Hebrew isn’t that good. So I just said,
“Is there no mercy in you?”
“What mercy? It’s 18 shekels. No mercy for 18 shekels.”
“But me buy these before 2 days ago from now!”
“So? What do you want me to do?”
“Me want new headphones.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can be fair!”
“ ‘Fair?’ What is this, ‘fair?’”
“Not you!”
“What can I do?”
(and because I ran out of ideas…)
“You can give me your pants!”
“I don’t have any.”
Liar! I looked over the counter (curios, I suppose)—he TOTALLY had pants!
What a douche.
From there, I angrily went to the open-air market: The Shuk. Shouting, haggling, money changing hands, fish heads on display, it’s exactly like the movie “Aladdin” when Jasmine starts slumming it outside the palace walls:
Big hairy guys screaming at you—“Sugar dates! Sugar dates and figs… and pistachios!” “Fresh Fish!!”
But all in Hebrew.
“Hello! Hello! Hello! Strawberries, 10 shekels!”
“Get Hummus! Felafel! Cheap and Good!”
I actually purchased two containers of hummus, 6 shekels each (good deal, believe me). I gave the vendor what I thought was a 50 shekel note. My change would be… (come on, SAT-time)… 38 shekels. And yet-- he gave me back 88 shekels!
“No no,” I tried to hand him back a 50 shekel note, “I gave YOU 50 shekels, this 50 is yours. I only get 38 back, not 88.”
The guy paused, thought, then said, “No, you gave me 100. That’s why I was confused before, so much money for just 12 shekels of hummus.”
“No no, I gave you—”
But he drowned me out, “No, no, you gave me 100, trust me. Take 88.”
I was speechless. I gave him 3 opportunities to steal from me. And he didn’t.
What the hell is WRONG with him?
The Hebrew word for “righteous person”, tzaddik, comes from the word for “right” or “correct”—“tzodek.” This man was both.
Just when you lose faith in people… a hummus vendor can restore it.
.
Very Mature
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 32:9
For the longest time, as far as I was concerned, the holiday of Yom Kippur was essentially one prayer-- the Vidui (pronounced Vee-Doo-ee)—literally, “Confession” (makes sense, since that’s kinda what the day is all about).
Everyone recites the Vidui prayer together, lightly beating their hearts with the left hand each time another sin is read, through all 22 phrases, a list of sins that we confesses to, in the order of the Hebrew “Aleph-bet.” It is a symbolic means of self-flagellation. The idea is that obviously not EVERYONE committed each of these sins, but we don’t want people to feel singled out so everyone stands and recites them all together.
I wish I could say the prayer jumped off the page for some profound reason—that all people should be responsible for one another, or that everyone is guilty of doing SOMEthing wrong (both noble and terrific idea)… but the truth is… it was because it made me think of erections.
I know! Me! What are the odds?!
“How?” I hear you ask rhetorically, with your eyes.
Well, Number 19 on the list of things we’ve done wrong in the past year is “kee-shee-noo Oh-ref”—literally translated: “We were stiff-necked.” It means being stubborn, something all of us have been guilty of doing. But I didn’t know that, I’d never seen that word before. I’d never seen “neck” used as a past-tense verb, either, so I thought it was pronounced “nekkid.”
“Stiff” and “nekkid.”
See where I’m headed?
I thought, “Well, if you’re gonna be stiff, you WANT it to happen when you’re nekkid.”
And then I LOL-ed. Guffawed, really, in the middle of synagogue... On the holiest day of the year… during one of the quiet parts.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned towards me. I couldn’t tell anyone what I found so funny, so I faked stomach pains and left the sanctuary.
Repentance is some serious stuff.
.
“And the LORD said unto Moses, I have seen this people, and, behold, it is a stiffnecked people.”
- Exodus 32:9
For the longest time, as far as I was concerned, the holiday of Yom Kippur was essentially one prayer-- the Vidui (pronounced Vee-Doo-ee)—literally, “Confession” (makes sense, since that’s kinda what the day is all about).
Everyone recites the Vidui prayer together, lightly beating their hearts with the left hand each time another sin is read, through all 22 phrases, a list of sins that we confesses to, in the order of the Hebrew “Aleph-bet.” It is a symbolic means of self-flagellation. The idea is that obviously not EVERYONE committed each of these sins, but we don’t want people to feel singled out so everyone stands and recites them all together.
I wish I could say the prayer jumped off the page for some profound reason—that all people should be responsible for one another, or that everyone is guilty of doing SOMEthing wrong (both noble and terrific idea)… but the truth is… it was because it made me think of erections.
I know! Me! What are the odds?!
“How?” I hear you ask rhetorically, with your eyes.
Well, Number 19 on the list of things we’ve done wrong in the past year is “kee-shee-noo Oh-ref”—literally translated: “We were stiff-necked.” It means being stubborn, something all of us have been guilty of doing. But I didn’t know that, I’d never seen that word before. I’d never seen “neck” used as a past-tense verb, either, so I thought it was pronounced “nekkid.”
“Stiff” and “nekkid.”
See where I’m headed?
I thought, “Well, if you’re gonna be stiff, you WANT it to happen when you’re nekkid.”
And then I LOL-ed. Guffawed, really, in the middle of synagogue... On the holiest day of the year… during one of the quiet parts.
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned towards me. I couldn’t tell anyone what I found so funny, so I faked stomach pains and left the sanctuary.
Repentance is some serious stuff.
.
Tuesday, May 4
Mr. Fix-It
.
“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary…”
- Mark 6:3
“You're about to witness the most heterosexual moment of my life."
I spoke these words to my lovely bride two weeks ago, as I sat on the kitchen floor, preparing to screw...
... a wooden chair leg into the base with a screwdriver and screws I purchased at the Shuk.
(ahem)
Have you ever been to a hardware store in Jerusalem?
No. Y'know why? Half of 'em don't carry screws or nails!
It’s all electrical adapters and cholent pots. I’m not kidding.
Flanking our kitchen table, we have to two white, wooden folding chairs-- bulky, ancient, like little picnic tables.
And the seat of one chair was unstable because a washer bent and broke and the screw fell out.
Technical stuff, I know.
So I needed a new screw and nut.
Okay, I can’t go any further without addressing the propensity of woodshop terms to serve as sexual innuendos:
For starters: Wood, Screw, Nut, Nailed, and “Righty tightey, Lefty Loosey”
(ambidextrous erotica?)
So I ventured into the Shuk, Jerusalem's open-air market, in search of ... a screw (I thought they just sold produce and rugelech there).
I finally found a decent hardware store.
And then it hit me: I don't know ANY hardware terms in Hebrew.
This was the broken exchange:
Me: I need a small thing... to put in... a place... I want to move it...and go around and around... it is iron or silver?
Israeli: You mean you want "skroo"?
Me: (Ahem)... Yes, yes, that is it. Me want skroo.
(I sounded like a Frankenstein prostitute)
(oooh, I smell a sitcom!)
(... and it smells like crap)
Why would Israel have anything to do with carpentry?
It’s not like there was a famous carpenter who… wait… a… minute!
Bob Vila!
(Dated reference? Shall I say Ty Pennington? Hey, what about Norm Abram?)
Actually, we don’t know anything about Jesus’ carpentry skills… I’m guessing he wasn’t that good… since he didn’t stick with it. Did he just walk on water because he knew his boat would be shoddy and poorly-constructed? We hear about loaves and fishes, but nothing about bureaus or cabinets! Coincidence? Hardly!
And while we’re on the subject-- were the Romans just being super cruel and ironic when they killed Jesus, a carpenter, by nailing him to some pieces wood?
(“Here ya’ go, Jesus! How much would you charge for… yourself?”)
Like a Mexican chef being drowned in a vat of gazpacho… yeah.
Or if the Marx Brothers died of laughter.
Or if Beethoven died by getting a piano dropped on his head.
(sorry, I just watched “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”… Shave and a haircut...)
“Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark…”
- God to Noah, Genesis 6:14
“Noah… how long can you tread water?”
- God to Noah, acc. to Bill Cosby
.
“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary…”
- Mark 6:3
“You're about to witness the most heterosexual moment of my life."
I spoke these words to my lovely bride two weeks ago, as I sat on the kitchen floor, preparing to screw...
... a wooden chair leg into the base with a screwdriver and screws I purchased at the Shuk.
(ahem)
Have you ever been to a hardware store in Jerusalem?
No. Y'know why? Half of 'em don't carry screws or nails!
It’s all electrical adapters and cholent pots. I’m not kidding.
Flanking our kitchen table, we have to two white, wooden folding chairs-- bulky, ancient, like little picnic tables.
And the seat of one chair was unstable because a washer bent and broke and the screw fell out.
Technical stuff, I know.
So I needed a new screw and nut.
Okay, I can’t go any further without addressing the propensity of woodshop terms to serve as sexual innuendos:
For starters: Wood, Screw, Nut, Nailed, and “Righty tightey, Lefty Loosey”
(ambidextrous erotica?)
So I ventured into the Shuk, Jerusalem's open-air market, in search of ... a screw (I thought they just sold produce and rugelech there).
I finally found a decent hardware store.
And then it hit me: I don't know ANY hardware terms in Hebrew.
This was the broken exchange:
Me: I need a small thing... to put in... a place... I want to move it...and go around and around... it is iron or silver?
Israeli: You mean you want "skroo"?
Me: (Ahem)... Yes, yes, that is it. Me want skroo.
(I sounded like a Frankenstein prostitute)
(oooh, I smell a sitcom!)
(... and it smells like crap)
Why would Israel have anything to do with carpentry?
It’s not like there was a famous carpenter who… wait… a… minute!
Bob Vila!
(Dated reference? Shall I say Ty Pennington? Hey, what about Norm Abram?)
Actually, we don’t know anything about Jesus’ carpentry skills… I’m guessing he wasn’t that good… since he didn’t stick with it. Did he just walk on water because he knew his boat would be shoddy and poorly-constructed? We hear about loaves and fishes, but nothing about bureaus or cabinets! Coincidence? Hardly!
And while we’re on the subject-- were the Romans just being super cruel and ironic when they killed Jesus, a carpenter, by nailing him to some pieces wood?
(“Here ya’ go, Jesus! How much would you charge for… yourself?”)
Like a Mexican chef being drowned in a vat of gazpacho… yeah.
Or if the Marx Brothers died of laughter.
Or if Beethoven died by getting a piano dropped on his head.
(sorry, I just watched “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”… Shave and a haircut...)
“Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark…”
- God to Noah, Genesis 6:14
“Noah… how long can you tread water?”
- God to Noah, acc. to Bill Cosby
.
Monday, May 3
In- Laws
.
“And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee,… for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
- Ruth 1:16
Ruth, the most impressive daughter-in-law of all-time… simply makes the rest of us look bad.
Following the death of Ruth’s husband and her dead husband’s brother and father, Ruth is left alone… along with the wives of the other two dead dudes.
Once the three miserable widows arrive in the land of Moab,
Naomi, Ruth’s widowed mother-in-law, tells Ruth and the other widowed broad (Orpah… so I guess her dead husband was Stedman”) they should go find other husbands and make some babies.
Ruth sticks by Naomi and says those famous words mentioned above.
I spoke with my wife’s parents last night. They are warm, sweet, and thoughtful.
I met my wife’s parents six years ago, on the island of Manhattan (so there was no escapre).
I was 21 years old— I had no direction in life, no future, no anything (so much has changed).
I had to win over my (then) girlfriend’s folks with something! What to do?
I simply reverted to the same trick I use in most social situations, pleasant or uncomfortable…
I quote stuff!
“So, Aaron,” they asked, as they drove their youngest daughter and the guy she’d been smooching to a nearby kosher restaurant on the Upper West Side, “What are you interested in, career-wise?”
I paused, swallowed the lump in my throat… then blurted out, “Plastics?!”
There was a beat, I glanced at my girlfriend, who looked at me quizzically, then…
Raucous laughter from the front seat.
“Oh, delightful.”
Phew!
Sigh of relief.
Our relationship would grow from there… one quote at a time… then we advanced to jokes.
“What do you call a dog with silver testicles and no hind legs?”
“Sparky.”
Zing!
The in-laws loved it!
And it’s been a steady climb towards the summit of me-worshipping ever since.
There have been ups and downs, especially with my “sense of humor.”
They saw me sweat out the longest 22 minutes of my life—at a Long Island synagogue, doing stand-up for 120 old Jews (average age 72) one Sunday evening, who thoroughly drowned out my yammering while eating their dinner and discussing episodes of “Monk.” It was rough. One valiant congregant actually stood up in the middle, grabbed the mike and defended my honor (“This young man is trying to entertain us, show him some respect!”… it didn’t work).
But then there was last Shavuout, when I won over their congregation with a winning D’var Torah, an interpretation of the holiday and that week’s portion from the Bible (why do Jews traditionally eat cheesecake on Shavuot? To remember that freedom from slavery is sweet… and goes straight to my thighs… it’s funnier in a synagogue).
Now, the in-laws are two of my biggest fans, and we have a wonderful relationship.
They’ve even let me drive their cars!
And to think, it all started with plastics.
.
“And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee,… for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
- Ruth 1:16
Ruth, the most impressive daughter-in-law of all-time… simply makes the rest of us look bad.
Following the death of Ruth’s husband and her dead husband’s brother and father, Ruth is left alone… along with the wives of the other two dead dudes.
Once the three miserable widows arrive in the land of Moab,
Naomi, Ruth’s widowed mother-in-law, tells Ruth and the other widowed broad (Orpah… so I guess her dead husband was Stedman”) they should go find other husbands and make some babies.
Ruth sticks by Naomi and says those famous words mentioned above.
I spoke with my wife’s parents last night. They are warm, sweet, and thoughtful.
I met my wife’s parents six years ago, on the island of Manhattan (so there was no escapre).
I was 21 years old— I had no direction in life, no future, no anything (so much has changed).
I had to win over my (then) girlfriend’s folks with something! What to do?
I simply reverted to the same trick I use in most social situations, pleasant or uncomfortable…
I quote stuff!
“So, Aaron,” they asked, as they drove their youngest daughter and the guy she’d been smooching to a nearby kosher restaurant on the Upper West Side, “What are you interested in, career-wise?”
I paused, swallowed the lump in my throat… then blurted out, “Plastics?!”
There was a beat, I glanced at my girlfriend, who looked at me quizzically, then…
Raucous laughter from the front seat.
“Oh, delightful.”
Phew!
Sigh of relief.
Our relationship would grow from there… one quote at a time… then we advanced to jokes.
“What do you call a dog with silver testicles and no hind legs?”
“Sparky.”
Zing!
The in-laws loved it!
And it’s been a steady climb towards the summit of me-worshipping ever since.
There have been ups and downs, especially with my “sense of humor.”
They saw me sweat out the longest 22 minutes of my life—at a Long Island synagogue, doing stand-up for 120 old Jews (average age 72) one Sunday evening, who thoroughly drowned out my yammering while eating their dinner and discussing episodes of “Monk.” It was rough. One valiant congregant actually stood up in the middle, grabbed the mike and defended my honor (“This young man is trying to entertain us, show him some respect!”… it didn’t work).
But then there was last Shavuout, when I won over their congregation with a winning D’var Torah, an interpretation of the holiday and that week’s portion from the Bible (why do Jews traditionally eat cheesecake on Shavuot? To remember that freedom from slavery is sweet… and goes straight to my thighs… it’s funnier in a synagogue).
Now, the in-laws are two of my biggest fans, and we have a wonderful relationship.
They’ve even let me drive their cars!
And to think, it all started with plastics.
.
Sunday, May 2
“Life is what happens when you’re making other plans” - John Lennon
.
“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not…”
Isaiah 35:3-4
Last Wednesday I was lost in the West Bank with my wife and two friends. We left the area without incident. Honestly, I didn’t even know we were IN the West Bank till afterwards. All I knew was that we had not reached our destination (Tiberias) and all the billboards and store signs were written in Arabic. Not a big deal, after all- over half a billion people speak it as a first or second language (thank you, Wikipedia).
But when we finally got back on track and reached a security check point run by a dozen Israeli soldiers, my companions were all relieved… quite literally, since we had to pull to the side of the road so we could all go #1 in some shrubbery.
Anyway, after returning to the highway, we had about twenty minutes of giddy relief, which we filled by playing a rousing alphabet game.
Some of the highlights of “I’m going to the West Bank and I’m gonna bring...” :
A my Ass handed to me (a constant fear of what fate had in store)
E Elderly Toyota Driver (we followed his rusted pick-up, which appeared to be from 1986, out of a small Arab village, finally bidding him farewell with the Arabic version of “Thanks”— “Shook-rahn,” and the classic “Salaam Aleikhem.”)
F Fear, blinding fear
G Guts
J Jews, on the D.L.
L Lost and Helpless look on my face
N No clue
P Pissing behind a tree
Q Quotes from “Indiana Jones” (esp. from “The Last Crusade,” spoken by Sean Connery—“We are pilgrims in an unholy land.”)
R Regrets… so many regrets
S Stories to tell
U Uncomfortable conversations with Arab men
V Voices in my head, telling me “Go back!”
W Westward the wagons… to safety
X Xenophobia
The West Bank is a huge chunk of land. Not like the Gaza Strip. But the people we met didn’t look any different than Israelis.
And the experience brought me and my wife and our friends closer than any trek up Massada or trip to the Western Wall ever could.
Not that I would recommend it.
But remember—
Nothing in life goes “according to plan.”
Always bring an extra pair of underwear... just in case there's no shrubbery.
.
“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not…”
Isaiah 35:3-4
Last Wednesday I was lost in the West Bank with my wife and two friends. We left the area without incident. Honestly, I didn’t even know we were IN the West Bank till afterwards. All I knew was that we had not reached our destination (Tiberias) and all the billboards and store signs were written in Arabic. Not a big deal, after all- over half a billion people speak it as a first or second language (thank you, Wikipedia).
But when we finally got back on track and reached a security check point run by a dozen Israeli soldiers, my companions were all relieved… quite literally, since we had to pull to the side of the road so we could all go #1 in some shrubbery.
Anyway, after returning to the highway, we had about twenty minutes of giddy relief, which we filled by playing a rousing alphabet game.
Some of the highlights of “I’m going to the West Bank and I’m gonna bring...” :
A my Ass handed to me (a constant fear of what fate had in store)
E Elderly Toyota Driver (we followed his rusted pick-up, which appeared to be from 1986, out of a small Arab village, finally bidding him farewell with the Arabic version of “Thanks”— “Shook-rahn,” and the classic “Salaam Aleikhem.”)
F Fear, blinding fear
G Guts
J Jews, on the D.L.
L Lost and Helpless look on my face
N No clue
P Pissing behind a tree
Q Quotes from “Indiana Jones” (esp. from “The Last Crusade,” spoken by Sean Connery—“We are pilgrims in an unholy land.”)
R Regrets… so many regrets
S Stories to tell
U Uncomfortable conversations with Arab men
V Voices in my head, telling me “Go back!”
W Westward the wagons… to safety
X Xenophobia
The West Bank is a huge chunk of land. Not like the Gaza Strip. But the people we met didn’t look any different than Israelis.
And the experience brought me and my wife and our friends closer than any trek up Massada or trip to the Western Wall ever could.
Not that I would recommend it.
But remember—
Nothing in life goes “according to plan.”
Always bring an extra pair of underwear... just in case there's no shrubbery.
.
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