Saturday, December 29, 2012

The Great Cat Divide

Cat in Baka, Jerusalem. Summer 2011? Photo courtesy of my father, David Nechamkin


My sister came to visit, and instantly fell in love with all the cats that creep around Israel, ruling the school that was Ulpan Etzion Beit Canada, pouncing on the garbage dumps and attacking each other in the night. She cooed at them, and pet them. And she is not the first anglo I've seen to approach the cats (at times, even I must admit to thinking they are cute. There was this fierce one at Ulpan that looked like a lion...)

Israeli cats match the terrain here. Supposedly they were brought over by the British to control the rat problem, but now they are true Israelis. They are tough and not to be trifled with. I have heard horror stories, urban legends involving cats. About a really macho, former big-deal guy in the army who got a cat bite, wasn't gonna go to the hospital, finally after much nagging did go to the hospital, and then was told that had he not gone to the hospital he would have died. And yet, for non-Israelis, the cats are cuddly-cute. Even in the ulpan, people took care of them and in anglo-heavy neighborhoods like Baka, cat kibble is left out.
My sister with a "meow-meow." Sorry, ma...

True story: at an outdoor cafe in the chic Tel Aviv, my little sister scooped up a cat and put it in her lap. PUT A STRAY TEL AVIV CAT IN HER LAP!!! The cafe goers were all horrified, but she insisted it was clean. The cat jumped on the table and its tail swooshed by the sugar packets. I've seen where those cats go, and I was terrified it would touch me.

This brings me to the great cat divide: Israelis do not understand Americans' obsession with the cats. Never have, never will. They do not get why we find them so cute, so adorable, so cuddly-wuddly. I am sure the lack of understanding between the two sides is indicative of something larger.

My sister and I went out with some Israelis and we were discussing the cat situation and the events of the past few days. My sister was saying how she wanted to get a cat now for sure. We were drinking choco (hot chocolate), sachlev and milk shakes on a Saturday night.

I was thinking about how much had changed since I first came here to about a year and a half ago. About how Israel makes sense to me, how it really is home and how the cats are really just rats here. About how certain things no longer wow me, how maybe I'm no longer so moon-eyed and perhaps the honeymoon phase is drawing to an end as I enter year II of Aliyah. How I am starting to feel like a local. How my Hebrew has improved B"H and how I am starting to understand the culture. But, just when I thought I had the Israeli mentality all figured out...

"Now squirrels," said one of the Israeli girls who had spent a year in Ohio. "Now those are funny."




Monday, December 17, 2012

Keeping It Real and Classy

Click on "article" for an excellent article about life as an oleh/ olah (olim olot, for those of you out there who did ulpan) from my former Pardes chevruta, Lance Levenson.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

All of the Lights (Part II)

Chanukah in Israel is something special. Delicious sufganeyot (filled with pistaccio cream, chocolate and halfa, or the traditional strawberry jelly) are popped out by bakeries and sold in corner stores; chanukiyas in glass boxes line the streets and larger ones consume the central squares; and Chanukah parties are all the rage, from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and beyond.

There is a communal sense of it all. The miracle is really publicized it, and you can really feel it. The Chanukah spirit is in the air. Much like when I saw throngs of people, the masses, migrating towards to Old City of Jerusalem during Sukkot, Chanukah in Israel makes me nostalgic. It makes me think of how it must have been the last time we held Jerusalem.... and how Chanukah, anywhere else in the world, could never quite compare.

My Chanukiya, Bought at the Artists' Market in Tel Aviv

Chanukah Kid's Party at a Bakery in Tel Aviv; Please Note the DJ
First Night Lighting, Tel Aviv
Sufganiyot (Oily Doughnuts) for Sale at the Bodega in Tel Aviv (Look Closely)
Chanukiya in a Box... Outside on of My Favorite Buildings on One of My Favorite Streets in Jerusalem
Chanukiya in Kikar Tzion, One of the Main Squares in Downtown Jerusalem
Close Up from the Second Night
Many of the Chanukiyas, Such as the Above, Are Sponsored by Chabad


Four Glass Boxes of Chanukiyas All Lit Up for the World to See on Bezalel Street






Saturday, December 1, 2012

Matchy-Matchy

It all started when my roommate told me that her fancy shampoo didn't work in this land, and the best stuff she has used is the cheapo caroline brand from superfarm (Israeli CVS). Sure enough, my fancy shampoo had not been working either and so I went out and bought 1+1 shampoo myself, and instantly my hair felt and looked better. The shampoo was harsh though, like all things here; it was designed to work with the hard Israeli water.

Still Life of Cat at Cafe in Brown and Beige, Emek Refaim
This whole soap debacle made me wonder. What is the Israeli landscape? What are nations, and how can someone look of that nation? Why do Israeli products have a distinct look, and how is it that Israelis can be spotted miles away? Sometimes now on facebook my Italian students post photos of their friends, and I think how perfectly they blend into their surroundings. But what does it mean to blend in?

When I lived in Milan, my father said I looked Italian. Blond and fair, I am not so sure if any Italian was ever fooled. But still, it is true: I did dress differently when I was there, adapted myself to both the weather and the culture and what was available. Waterproofed all my shoes, put on eye makeup everyday, drank espresso in the morning and ate a lot of focaccia.

In Israel, sometimes I can't make sense of it all. The Hebrew language, Israeli manners, Israeli bureaucracy, Israeli schedules and how everything here can be so last minute or take so long. I meet the children of Anglo parents, and sometimes they speak english perfectly, and sometimes they have accents. Sometimes they seem quite American, and other times they are meah akhoz (100%) Israeli. Sometimes they marry other anglos or children of anglos. But still, somehow, they know how to get around here and there. They can make sense of the land, they can blend in and they can speak Hebrew without an accent. They look Israeli. But how, but why? We have the same genetics, most likely. Their parents probably look like mine.

Israelis match the hard but beautiful terrain of Israel. Israelis just get it, they can make sense of this country and know how to make an intimidating waitress smile or how to get around a certain rule. Or how to look good in hiking clothes and how to survive on an Israeli salary. How to get from point A to point B and how to act during an incoming rocket. They know what to expect, or know not to expect anything whatsoever.

Finding a shampoo that works after almost a year of looking was a big deal to me. I finally felt like I was figuring things out, finding my place in society and what worked for me. Cutting my dependence on foreign goods. I felt like I was starting to blend into the Israeli landscape, knowing what to get. Tiny battles, sure. But significant ones.

And perhaps now I look a little more Israeli.


Monday, November 26, 2012

Round Robbin

<<Ma sei giovanissima!>> But you are just so young.

I got that line at least once a day when I was living in Italy, teaching English in two public schools. I was twenty-two, so yes, I was young. But considering my accomplishments--graduating high school, graduating college, having a job, living in my own apartment--I was hardly considered so young for American standards. Life in Italy definitely had a different rhythm, and age meant something different. Life was done in different stages. High school years extended to age 19 and beyond. College trailed on sometime after that, if you went. Children didn't move out of their parents' houses for years to come.

In Italy, American notions of age-appropriateness, even with clothing, went out the window. But life here in Israel is something different, age is something different. Israelis can be simultaneously extremely mature and immature. High school is over at 18, and then it is time for mandatory army service, though some choose to do an additional year of public service before serving. And then it is traveling time, time to see the world and breath and not be on military time (as documented in the charming television series, Katmandu):

 

And then working, then maybe getting a college degree and another degree (Israelis are among the world's most educated) and maybe working several full time jobs all at the same time.

Time during Operation Pillar of Defense had its own feeling, each moment another rocket fell and another code red warning interrupted a song on the radio. Yet, we are past it. It seems ages away. It is over for now but for me the next bad front seems looming somewhere in the near to distant future. Hard for an American, where we are still processing 9/11 as a people. The work week speeds by, but so does the weekend (Friday and Saturday). The normal days are very dense and frantic, but then there are two relaxing weeks of vacation during Sukkot and Passover. Things slow down on the chaggim themselves, and life freezes on Yom Kippur: stores are closed, no one can drive, making you feel a lot like an actor on a stage. So time both runs very fast and very slow, and to crown it off are the seasonal items, time markers: crembos (like mallomars), pomegranates and their fresh-squeezed juice at corner stores, persimmons.

Often I walk around and feel like I am in a magical realism novel. How else could you explain Jerusalem, captured in a defensive war, a holy city full of contradictions? How can we explain any of it? The desert blooming, the desert of Tel Aviv becoming a stunning metropolis city, the way my neighborhood Nahlaot can look entirely blue, gold or red depending on the sky...

Life here has its own pace and its own logic. A lot of temporal folds, if I dare say.

At a bar where the entrance age is 25, with a friend on my 25th birthday next to the sign declaring you must be 25 to enter. While the drinking age in Israel is 18, many bars have a minimum age of 24 to keep a less mature clientele (presumably the post-army-service-traveling crowd) out. Yes, I have been carded, though never denied entry even at 23.

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Monday, November 19, 2012

Political Musings From a Blonde

Doesn't Hamas know that I am a nice Jewish girl from Scarsdale?

That was my first thought as I ran into the safe room on Friday afternoon. I had already kindled my shabbat candles, and so I knew it wasn't the weekly siren announcing the entrance of the sabbath queen. We all just kind of stood there in shock, debating what it was as the siren droned on and on...

Anyway, I guess Hamas must know, I guess that must be why the rockets come raining down. I have never been one to love politics, never been one to love clever arguments and I have no interest in starting now. But the rockets keep raining down on places I have visited before and places where dear friends live.

And let me tell you something, till you hear an air raid siren, you don't know what its like. Sure, I had visited Sderot, the town that has endlessly been bombarded with rockets for the past few YEARS and saw the playgrounds with bomb shelters poorly disguised as purple snakes. You think you know, but you have no idea.

Coping Methods in Sderot

Still, a few days have passed and I am getting ready to laugh about all this. Israelis I have spoken to have been calm, carrying on. I saw a cartoon today with Fry from Futurama. The caption: Was that Hamas// Or Did Shabbat Just Enter? (in reference to the Jerusalem air raid siren).

Perhaps soon, I too will be calm and carry on.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

White Bread

Here in Israel, it's all, "where does your family come from?"

And by that, they do not mean, where are you from. They don't even mean, where are your parents from. They mean, way back when, where did your roots take place? Where did your family reside till they were kicked out?

Sephardic, Temani (Yeminite), Ashkenazi, Ethiopian and beyond, you can find it all in Israel. I am not even going to attempt to explain the stereotypes, except that much of the time I feel like American wonder bread walking around. Sliced bread is an ingenious invention but in Israel, pita rocks the landscape. A few months ago, I went into a shwarma place and the vender laughed at me when I ordered my shwarma spicy, incredulously asking if I was quite sure I wanted spicy sauce and exclaiming, "but you are Ashkenazic!" (typical). Yes, I was sure, though I guess being blond doesn't help.

In any event, between the shwarma and the chummus and the jachnun and the roasted eggplant with sesame sauce, Sephardic and Temani food dominate. Don't get me wrong, the food is delicious. In general, I even prefer Sephardic-style cuisine. But sometimes I do miss cholent and kreplach and sour dill pickles and Dr. Brown's black cherry soda. I miss warm pastrami sandwhiches. But if there is anything I've learned about living in Israel, if you seek so shall you find.

Here, there is always tons of delicious food everywhere you turn... and no time of the week is there more food consumed than on Shabbat. Little by little, I have begun to discover the shabbat take out menus, the fancy restaurant and tunisian cafe in Baka, Abu Rami in Talpiot, and more.

And so, last week in a desperate search for my grandmother's chicken soup, I found an Ashkenazi take out place. I've been back twice and couldn't be happier, though I do feel a bit like a stereotype, like an American eating in a McDonald's in the middle of Paris or Florence. But, alas, what do I know? I've done that, too.

Heimeshe's Ashkenazi Delight, Karen Kayemit, Rehavia

Tunisian Food from a Cafe on Derech Beit Lechem, Baka

Monday, October 22, 2012

Israel in a Bottle

If you do not live in Jerusalem, you don't understand. You can't understand how everything is somehow significant here, how Jerusalem is the most magical city in the world.

I do not really know how to explain it, except that everything in Jerusalem is ladden with meaning. Sausurre and Derrida just swim around in my head as I drift along. Neighborhoods say a lot about the person, shuk venders are so emotionally emphatic about selling their vegetables that it makes me uncomfortable and taxi drivers dispatch crucial advice.

About two weeks ago was one of those nights when surely everything was symbolic. Everything that is difficult about Israel, everything that is so hard the only way of coping is to laugh, everything that is beautiful about Jerusalem, the holy city, all in one Jerusalem moment.

It was Thursday night and I had just finished working my American hours and then some. It was about 2 AM Jerusalem time. I called up a taxi company and spoke with a man who refused to take me home to Bayit Vegan because it was too far and claimed the company couldn't go there, but then relented when I told them that they had taken me there the night before (a white lie). Beseder, the cab was sent.

Twenty minutes and about five pleading phone calls on my part later, I was finally picked up from my office in Nahlaot. The cab driver was religious and spiritual and played dance remixes of Jewish tunes. We talked for a bit, and I said I liked the music. And he said he would play something special, lecavod shabbat, so off we drove into the midnight sunset, a techno remix of the shabbat classic Lecha Dodi blasting.


Storefront from the Summer Collection of Israeli designer, Daniella Lehavi

Monday, September 24, 2012

Now & Then

If Israel is my one, true love, Italy is the one that got away. The one that could never be. And so on...

And yet, perhaps it is no coincidence that both countries pull me. As my mother says, the sunlight in Italy is the closest thing the rest of the world has to the light in Jerusalem. The cobblestone paths of Israel and Italy's historic centers blend together. The magical ability to get lost going anywhere in both Jerusalem and Rome. The Mediterranean Sea. The love of food and coffee. The hand gesturing. The many accents. The big, curly hair.

And sometimes, when I walk by an old smoky building I am back at my host parents' Florentine flat on via Giacamo Medici.

Galipoli, Italy. Spring 2008
Nahlaot, Jerusalem. Summer 2012

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I have spent three summers in Israel, but this is my first September 12th in the Land of Milk and Honey. So far, I am loving it and I think the chagim (high holidays, Rosh HaShana through Sukkot) are set to be my favorite time of year in Israel.

First of all, the weather is quite lovely. It is starting to cool down, and by 5 pm or so it is already sweater weather. So it is a nice mix of summer in the morning and a chance to preview your fall wardrobe in the afternoon (even though I doubt so many other people in Jerusalem dream about back-to-school shopping and blazer season followed by chunky sweater season). On my walk home from work around 11 pm, it is chilly at first but by the time I make it to the tram, I am already warm again. It is nice to feel the crisp air, smell Jasmine plants and see flowering bushes overflow from gates and walls. For me, this is a truly Jerusalem sensation.

There is also a really festive atmosphere in Jerusalem. Israelis love to celebrate. Everyday, I see either a religious party or a birthday party or a bunch of people just celebrating for no reason. People are constantly barbequing in the parks and blasting dance music. Everyday here is a reason to eat cake. So when there is actually a real festival, it is quite exciting. Supermarkets are having special pricing. People sign their emails wishing a happy new year. Even store venders will wish you a happy new year. Outside the shuk, there is a booth selling stuff you might need for the chagim and for the year to come: pots and pans at a special price, tablecloths, sheets sets (for all the guests you will be hosting presumably), new years cards with French, English and Hebrew on them, calendars and more.

Which brings me to my next point: presents. The chagim are a great time because apparently people give and receive presents. It is also customary to buy yourself some new clothes, i.e. give yourself a new present. So there is a lot to love about that.

Last of all, there is some truly great seasonal produce going on here. You really realize that it is harvest season. I love seasonal things, they were one of my favorite parts about Italy. I loved hearing about the truffle mushroom harvest from my students in the vocational school and seeing my Florentine host mother whip up a cake with whatever was fresh, be in grapes during grape season or chestnut flour during chestnut season. Here, there are pomegranates literally everywhere in the shuk, and two types of long green beans. My guess is that one is sugar snap and the other is string beans, but when I talked to the vender at the shuk he said you had to cook both for about twenty minutes, so that doesn't sound like either. But he said that both types of ambiguous green beans are eaten this time of year and for the New Year. I also bought some special crystallized honey and one of my French roommates plans on making her Tunisian grandmother's special honey-sugar recipe.


All in all, this is a beautiful time of year and the chagim haven't even started. It is wonderful to see everyone getting excited and celebrating together. Next up: eating in a Sukkah at any ol' restaurant in Jerusalem.



sukka after sukka after sukkah



blurry view of sukkas over restaurants

post-sukkot etrogs on sale

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Ps and Qs



Over the past few days, I have been asked my age three times, held a Haredi woman’s baby on the tram (not the first time either I have been asked to play temporary babysitter in Jerusalem), discussed with a cab driver how being Shomer Shabbat affected his career as a policeman and had a waitress compliment my friend’s glasses, ask her where she got them and how much they cost.

"Behavior of the natives" and "customs of the land" are constantly discussed by new olim. Just the other day, I talked about the differences of manners in Europe, America and Israel with one of my French roommates. All this begs the question, what exactly are manners in this Jerusalem-stone jungle I find myself in? What are the rules of the game? From what I gather, apparently it is not rude to ask someone's age and it is dumb to the point of being offensive to wait in line patiently.


For some, Israel has a wild sort of atmosphere. Personal space is metaphorically and literally invaded. People push and don’t say “excuse me” unlike in New York where people push, say “excuse me” and then continue to push. Sometimes it feels like everything is a fight. At the bank, I am constantly begging to get any information about my account, am offered water when I show up sweaty (it’s a 15 min walk uphill under the hot Middle Eastern sun) and am obliged to listen to my bank teller lament about it being too hot outside for her party that is set to take place in just a few hours. Other times I am told (not asked) to put money into a savings account even though the majority of Israelis are in the red zone. And yet today, my bank teller was really helpful, above and beyond, when I asked her for help as an olah chadasha, even calling up VISA when I had a question about a charge and offering to get it cancelled for me. As much as I genuinely love the impersonal smiles Bank of America, you don’t get that type of help outside of Israel.

People, especially Anglos, seem to complain a lot about Israeli manners, how they could never get used to life there (here). P.J. O’Rourke in his typical good-natured stereotyping writes in his travel memoir Vacations from Hell:
        
 The larger the German body, the smaller the German bathing suit and the louder the German voice issuing German demands and German orders to everybody who doesn’t speak German. For this, and several other reasons, Germany is known as “the land where Israelis learned their manners”

(Definitively a new spin on the Israel-Germany relationship for those who claim Israeli exists only as consequence of the Holocaust. But I digress…). And sometimes it’s true—sometimes I would prefer it if the fruit vendor at the shuk didn’t make fun of me or my bank teller just smiled at me dully. And yet, perhaps because so many normal boundaries blur here, Israel almost feels like a socialist utopia where anything could happen. Israelis can be blunt, rude, aggressive. But after living here for about a year, I have toughened up and learned how to react. And, on the flip side, Israelis can be the most generous, genuine, open-minded and helpful people anywhere. In fact, I have even seen Israelis yelling (being blunt, rude, aggressive) when someone didn't give up his seat on the tram for a pregnant woman.

In Jerusalem, you aren’t afraid of talking to other people, of asking for help, of looking at someone else in the eye. Kids play in the streets unsupervised. If you are a 50 agurot short it is ok. There is a certain spontaneity in everyday life here, freedom in knowing that no matter what people will care if something really bad happens, that you can always find a ride or someone’s phone to borrow if yours dies. Someone will even be there to take care of your child should you need to pop open the stroller on a crowded tramcar.

Monday, August 20, 2012

8 Days a Week

Because of Shabbat (Friday sundown to Saturday nightfall), everywhere in Israel has its own weekly rhythm, unique from anywhere else in the western world that I have been. Shabbat affects the whole country, even places that are considered "secular." Buses stop running. Like Sundays in Europe, most stores are closed on Saturday, even in Tel Aviv, although non-kosher restaurants and bars often stay open. Even all this aside, time in Israel definitely has its own way of going about.

Thursday is kind of like Saturday night--everyone goes out. Tables upon tables crammed into the streets (even up and down hills), tons of people walking around, everything open. In Jerusalem, this means that the several streets downtown that people go to are jam-packed. But Thursday is also special in its own right. Supermarkets stay open late to compensate for closing early on Friday, and if you look carefully, you can see bakeries preparing challah for Shabbat until the wee hours.


Bread Baking in the Basement of a Bakery on Yaffo Street

Friday, as I mentioned, is a great day to brunch. Also a terrible day to do kniyot (food shopping). It can get very hectic, but great deals can also be found in the rush to close for Shabbat.

And let's not forget Sunday. It is back to work, bright and early, for most of us. For many olim, this is the hardest part of all. But for others, this isn't the case. After the rush of Shabbat and then the calm, half the shuk's stalls are deserted. Just like everywhere else, sometimes people just want to take the day off.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Honey, I'm Home: A Countdown

I returned to Israel on Monday morning, bright and early. On Israel Time, somehow the week is fast approaching Shabbat. Here is a list of how and why I know I am back:

10. I had hardly been in the country one hour when I had my sanity questioned by an angry group taxi/ sheirut driver. "At NORMALIT?" he blared when I asked him to take me to the front of the apartment rather than the back (which seemed to have a locked gate). However, when I screamed back "Slicha, ani oleh chadasha!" (excuse me, I am a new immigrant!) he calmed down and may have even felt badly. He also argued with this girl on the way back to Jerusalem over the best route, but by the time she left they were already parting as old friends

9. An older married couple visiting from Haifa chatted with me on the tram. One of their first questions was, not if I was married but HOW MANY CHILDREN I had. They said, they love all of the people of Jerusalem (including me)

8. Another day (my first day back to work, no less!), there was a twenty minute delay on the tram, possibly because of an unidentified package that was left at the Central Bus Station which was being investigated. Unfortunately, security concerns part of everyday life in Jerusalem. Security precautions are one of the only things (perhaps the only thing) Israelis don't seem to argue and yell about that much

7. I bought delicious fresh bananas, nectarines and plums at the shuk, all for the ripe price of 9 shekles total (>$3!). I also passed a stand selling "shmeers" spelled out in hebrew letters

6. Speaking of food, I found amazing goat cheese in the Land of Milk&Honey, in the supermarket no less

5. In the same supermarket in the same Land of Milk&Honey, I also confused my white dairy products and wound up with sour cream (leben/לבן) instead of plain yogurt (lavan/לבן), not to be confused with a cream cheese spread of sorts (lavana/לבנה)

4. I had an extremely tasty freshly squeeze juice from the shuk made out of orange juice, carrot juice and ginger. Tasty! Another wining combination: dates and bananas. When I asked about the pomegranate, the juicer knowingly said to wait a few more days for them to come into season

3. I ran into a friend during my break at work on Bezalel Street, one of my favorite places in all of Jerusalem

2. 15 shekel shwarma at one AM

and... #1. I have had my pronunciation of my street name corrected twice by two different Israeli cab drivers. However, the first pronunciation was corrected by the second driver who insisted that the first pronunciation was the "American" accent. It seems Israelis can find a way to argue no matter what, even pending time and space. More power to them!

Hey, it feels good to be home!

Cafes, shops and tram tracks along Yaffo Street. Photo courtesy of my father, David Nechamkin

Thursday, July 12, 2012

How to Eat an Israeli Breakfast

When I lived in New York, Sunday brunch was one of my favorite things to do. Lie in bed for a little and drink coffee/ watch TV, and then around 1 or 2 go meet a friend for brunch. Living in Williamsburg, the options were endless and I definitely grew an affinity for poached eggs. However, there were also pancakes and waffles made out of creative batter and interesting breakfast sandwich combinations galore.


Now that I have moved to Israel, one of my favorite things to do is still brunch—but rather than on Sunday, on Friday morning. In Israel, the workweek is Sunday-Thursday because of Shabbat so Friday is the time people really go out to brunch. I also notice people tend to go earlier—perhaps to avoid the pre-shabbat rush of shopping/ everything shutting down.

Israeli breakfast food is also not like American breakfast food. Waffles are available in limited places, but they are thought of more as dessert or snack food. Pancakes I have yet to see. Israeli breakfasts seem to favor eggs—either scrambled, fried (in Hebrew, they are called something like “eye” eggs) or alternatively poached in shakshuka.

Israeli breakfast traditionally includes “lavana”, like cream cheese but healthier; Israeli salad made of cucumbers and salad; bread; and more. This means that Israeli brunch combines the best of American breakfast (eggs) with Israeli food--delicious espresso, mezze and salads. SO, here is how to order an Israeli breakfast!
1)   choose the coffee drink you want (cappuccino, latte, or sometimes an iced latte at an extra cost)
2)   choose a type of fresh squeezed juice (options are generally orange, red grapefruit or carrot)
3)   eat a huge chunk of bread
4)   with.... dips for the bread (cheese, Israeli salad, more cheese, olives, guacamole, tomato dip and more)
5)   choose your main course (eggs)
6)   finish with a green salad if you have room!
My Friend Rachel with her Coffee, Empty Juice Glass,
 and Selection of 6 Dips Before the Main Course Has Arrived

Then the Main Course and Salad Arrives.

Sometimes places will put their own spin on things. I went to a bagel place in the Americanized German Colony (Jerusalem’s very own Upper West) and on their menu they had Spanish, Italian and French interpretations of Breakfast.  No matter what you choose, you leave full of fresh fruits and veggies and some protein-rich eggs. Well, at least I tell myself that... But what really makes Israeli brunch so impressive to me is that it is an endless meal at an insanely reasonable price: I have never seen Israeli breakfast for more than NIS60.00 (approximately USD15.00). To me, Israeli breakfast is the breakfast of champions.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Reading Rainbow


One of My Favorite Used Bookstores Downtown
Israelis love books. I have  heard that more books are published per capita in Israel than anywhere else in the world. There are bookstores EVERYWHERE. Jerusalem’s Central Bus Station, instead of pedaling knock-off handbags, has tables and tables of discounted books, as well as an actual bookstore.  Used bookstores dot the downtown streets, selling books in many languages. A café downtown is named after a work of literature by Shay Agnon and is filled to the ceiling with books. 
 
The other day I decided to pay a visit the Beit Vegan library which was a disorienting experience in itself. I wandered around Hertzl Street peering into residential buildings’ courtyards for some time. After giving up looking, I stumbled on the library by chance while trying to take a shortcut to the Beit Kerem shopping center.

The library is located within the neighborhood’s community center and once inside the mysterious big building, I stumbled again on the library by chance. In a country with so much security—getting into Jerusalem Central Bus Station requires a body scan and a bag scan—I was surprised that no one seemed curious about a random girl with a backpack wandering around.

And so at age 24, a Smith College graduate with a degree in Comparative Literature and Italian Language & Literature, I find myself scanning the selection of children’s books, even putting some books down because they seem too intimidating.

Learning Hebrew has been a humbling process. I do feel like I am getting better; people finally respond to me in Hebrew, I am able to bargain with vendors and taxi drivers and I speak exclusively in Hebrew with one of my roommates. But still, I have a long way to go. And nowhere is this clearer than when I am reduced to reading books written for the same age level as the kids I babysit (incidentally, they approve of my choices).

Choosing a children’s book was in itself a challenge. I have the reading level of an elementary schooler, but have more sophisticated tastes than that. Even when I started reading Italian, I was able to jump into young adult literature (and no one does teen romance novels better than the Italians). Here, if there aren’t nikudot (vowel points), I struggle. And many children’s books don’t even have those.

Israeli kids must like book series because the children’s section was full of them. There was a Star Wars series, which was tempting, a series about a boy explorer that looked very old skool and a series called “Ezeh Pakhad” which roughly translates to “That’s Scary!” or “What fear!” The “Ezeh Pakhad” book I read was about an 8 year old boy who hears about a monster that lives in the Kenneret. When his family decides to vacation in the Kenneret, the narrator’s neurosis are exposed. I really couldn’t help but think about Woody Allen. They say the sabra is strong, not like his wimpy American counterpart, but now I am not so sure.

"Ezeh Pachad"
StarWars



















After reading about an 8 year old’s fears for an hour, I went to the Beit Kerem shopping center to pick up my dry cleaning. I passed a Stiemansky’s, an Israeli bookstore chain. They were having a promotion of four books for NIS100, I think in honor of Israel Book Week. Unlike in America, and surprising giving Israel’s sometimes-gruff customer service, employees are really helpful in bookstores in Israel. I explained to them that I am a new oleh (immigrant), aged 24 but with a low level of reading, and am going crazy reading children’s books. They suggested Etgar Keret, and Caster Bloom who I have never heard of. I was shown a beautiful collection of Keret’s short stories—shinny Tiffany’s blue cover, nice paper, not too long, but without nikudot. NIS79.

As much as I don’t want to spend the money, books are a sentimental thing for me. I still have the first real books I read in Italian and Spanish, and have taken the book that I translated for my final project in Italian Translation with me, across the ocean, to Israel. I would love to have the first adult book I will read in Hebrew displayed proudly in my bomb shelter room, resting next to classics as Open Heart, The Forsythe Saga, a commentary on the book of Shmuel, and of course Dod Arieh (Uncle Arieh), winner of the Israel Prize Award in Children’s Literature.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Home&Garden


So as I may have mentioned, I live in Bayit VeGan now. The looks on people’s faces when they hear I live in Bayit VeGan is often interesting to say the least. “That’s quite frum, isn’t it?” is the typical response of people in the know, manly modern orthodox Jews.

When I lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, people would usually nod with an approving look, even smile. Williamsburg, or “the Burg” or as some of my former coworkers would say “WillieB” is located in Brooklyn just over the bridge and is really more part of Manhattan than Brooklyn in attitude and in access to public transport. It has become extremely gentrified in the past few years, although historically it hosted Jewish immigrants (such as my grandma when she was a little girl) and later hipsters. Even some historical rap videos were made a few blocks away from my former apartment. But now it is a mix of everything—hipsters, gentrified hipsters (high rises on the waterfront galore), a few streets with Latin American stores and ultra-orthodox Jews. In this way, my living in the Burg appealed to anyone I might talk to, especially fellow gentrified hipsters.

Like Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Bayit VeGan also has its fair share of ultra-orthodox Jews. In fact, the vast majority are, dafka, ultra-orthodox Jews. There are no hipsters insight. However, similar to the Burg, there are a lot of French people (including two of my roommates, one of whom seems to know many people in the ‘hood including her aunt) and supposedly some Americans, though I have only seen three of my compatriots thus far.

Bayit VeGan, meaning House and Garden, is located in southwest Jerusalem directly off the city’s new tramline. It is near Har Hertzel and Yad VaShem, the Holocaust memorial museum. Like Williamsburg (and actually most of Jerusalem), Beit Vegan is a mix of new and old:

While most of Jerusalem is pervaded with ancient history, the archaeological discoveries at the border of Bayit Vegan have been particularly rich. A 4,000 year-old cemetery that occupies more than half an acre has been found near Bayit Vegan, as well as many Canaanite artifacts. Archaeologists believe that burials took place in the cemetery during the Bronze Age.

In the 20th century, Bayit Vegan was one of the six neighborhoods designed by the Bauhaus architect Richard Kaufman, along with Beit HaKerem and Rechavia. The picturesque charm of Kaufman’s design has increased with age: today, the weathered stone facades gleam softly in the sunlight. Verdant greenery seems to escape from every crack in the aging walls and overflow from windowsills.
      
(http://www.gojerusalem.com/discover/item_11332/Bayit-Vegan)

Stairway to Heaven
The neighborhood is very beautiful and flowering trees overflow. There is also construction throughout the neighborhood.

Bayit VeGan is Jerusalem’s highest neighborhood. Many apartments have balconies and the views really are quite amazing—you can see the city’s bright lights and Jerusalem’s hills in the background. Like East Talpiot, where Beit Canada was located, the best way to get around is to go up or down like shoots or ladders rather than to go around and around the mountain at a slow incline. Thus, getting to my bank was 15 minutes up several flights of stairs to the tippy top of the hill.

I still have more to explore but at the very least, the walk to my apartment is nice. A playground, a few synagogues, one happening pizza place and an event space where festive Hassidic tunes are played until late at night.

One of the Many Synagogues on My Block

Olam (literally "hall") Events Space
Happening Pizza Joint

Views of the Jerusalem Hills


Sunday, June 17, 2012

My New Apartment is Da Bomb, or You Know You Live in Israel When....

I finished ulpan on Wednesday. While it is true that I am not as sentimental as most (I have never been called “waterworks” even in jest) it is a little sad to be done with Ulpan Etzion Beit Canada. It was the co-ed dorm experience I never had at Smith College, a beautiful but tame all-women’s school in Western Massachusetts.

However, I was definitely ready to leave my apartment (and especially my bathroom) at Beit Canada behind. They were also part of the dorm experience I never had, and hope never to have again. On Thursday I moved to a unbelievably amazing apartment in Beit Vegan, Jerusalem. And because of this, somehow I have found myself in MTV land, straddling MTV Cribs because the apartment is actually a mansion, and an episode of True Life because upon moving in, I realized that my bedroom is actually a bomb shelter.


My Bedroom Window. Instead of the Normal Window Blinds, I Have Heavy Metal Panels that Bolt Shut
My Light Features an Emergency Panic Light


My Heavy Metal Door Which SLAMS Shut (and as a happy coincidence, keeps out a lot of noise)

Bomb shelters are everywhere in Israel. I believe it is a law that every building must have one in case the rockets come a-falling. In Beit Shemesh, I even slept in one that had been converted into a guest room. Don’t get me wrong: the apartment is amazing and I am incredibly grateful to live there. But never in my wildest dreams did I EVER think I would move from a lovely, spacious and open house in grassy Scarsdale, NY to a BOMB SHELTER. 

All Ulpan Etzioners talk about life post-ulpan as the beginning of our “real” lives in Israel. I guess this is my "true" life moment as well.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

ALL OF THE LIGHTS


Picture of the Top of the Entrance to the Lights Festival


In many ways, Thursday night was a full circle….. of something. Perhaps of the last year in Israel? My hopes? My dreams?

The night started off at the Jerusalem Lights Festival. I went last year with a dear friend and really loved it so I was excited to go again. It takes place inside and on top of the walls of the Old City throughout in the different quarters. At the entrance to the festival, right outside of the Mamilla Mall, there is an enormous dome made out of lights, quite beautiful to admire from within or outside of it.

Part of a Series of Shadow Projections
When you enter the walls of the Old City through Jaffa Gate, there are several different color lines you can take, different paths to explore. I started on the orange line, which wove through the Jewish quarter. There were some cool parts—a projection of “faces of Jerusalem” projected on a white oval, high up with different faces, some human, some humanoid; large spider-esque sculptures made up of cascading lights; and a musical instrument that reminded me of a gamelan (image) made out of non-musical components, accompanying a light show projected on to an old city wall. We took a small detour and left the Lights Show via the blue line and wove through the Arab market. The blue line seemed a little cooler than the orange one, but at that point we were all eager for a stiff (or soft) drink and left the Old City to find “the closest place.”

And I knew just the place, or so I thought. There were two places (bars) I had passed the other day and that night on the way to the Old City and wanted to check out—a pink bar and a grungier bar next door. At this point, the pink bar had already filled up completely and may have had a bouncer and a velvet rope, so it wasn’t so appealing to the male half of the group. And the grungier bar apparently wasn’t grungy, just an irish pub, and being Thursday night at 11 pm, it was pretty full already and not appealing either to everyone. So we were just going to give up and go to another Irish pub which I had frequented all too often during my days as a MASA participant, but beseder. We took a shortcut down a road less traveled road to get to the Irish pub when low and behold, a beacon of light, incidentally a salmon and dark brown beacon of light with outdoor seating that was unusually empty of the time of night, and unusually non-Irish pubby for Jerusalem standards. We went to that bar and it was nice—spacious, interesting decor, good selections of drinks. The only problem was, they seemed to be short on ice. But no matter, it was definitely a place I would go to again, out of the hustle and bustle that is downtown Jerusalem.

After the drinks, some wanted a little nibble and as we were walking up the hill to get back to downtown Jerusalem, we see it—Hummus Ben Sira, what I call a “hummuseria” that sells…. Hummus. Hummus with toppings, hummus with falafel, hummus with pita. Hummus Ben Sira is open late and fairly inexpensive (NIS22 or about $6 for a bowl of hummus topped with chickpeas, a small bowl of fafelal balls and two pitas), and supposedly the best hummus in Jerusalem. So while I was not super hungry per say, I jumped at the chance to eat there, having wanted to pay Hummus Ben Sira a visit for over a year. And eat there we did. After ordering for my friends and being made fun of for my Hebrew and its glorious/somewhat mysterious argentine accent (I still have yet to learn to deal with the Israeli good-natured-but-at-times-harsh teasing), the moment of truth arrived. My friend got a falafel sandwich in a pita, which she described as the best of her life. I split an order of hummus and pita with a friend which came with falafel balls, as described above. The falafel was a bit fried for my taste, but the hummus was very good—creamy and flavorful and topped with warm chickpeas, just the way I like. My friend who has worked in the food industry and makes his own hummus said Ben Sira’s hummus was just the way he liked it and that he was inspired to use more tehina next time to mimic the hummus’ texture. Impressive review! I can’t say that this was the best hummus of my life, only that it was very tasty.

So to conclude, thursday night, I took a trip down memory lane, as they say, found a new hangout (a must as a New Yorker in need of endless options) and visited a place I have been wanting to find for over a year. Oh, Jerusalem!

View of Entrance to Lights Festival from Outside