....And, I'm Back!

Happy Sukkot everyone!

That's right. I'm back in Israel, and back to updating this blog with the amusing stories that continue to perpetuate themselves a year into my medical studies here.

To sum up my summer:

-2 days in NYC
-1.5 weeks in Indiana
-1.5 weeks in NYC
-1 week in Michigan
-3 days in NYC
-4 days in Montreal
-1 night in Toronto (Daniel Ostro's wedding)
-3 days in NYC
-4 days in Boston
-1.5 weeks in NYC
-4 days in Indiana
-1.5 weeks in NYC
-2 days in Boston
-5 days in NYC
-2 days (Rosh Hashana) in Connecticut
-1 night in NYC
-Back to Haifa.

Now that I write all of this out, I wonder how I managed all of that traveling without going completely insane. I do not remember sleeping in the same place more than a few nights in a row (at this point, I'd like to give a big thanks to David Walfisch and Jordan Rubinstein's couch, Robert Peach and Joey Abram's couch, Alex and Jason Borschow's couch, Eitan, Nezzy, and Igor's couch, Jason Ruchelsman's couch, The Abrams' guest bed, Susie Gruda's couch, Lily Rossebo's couch, Brett Star's couch, Brett Star's bed [Indianapolis], MIT AEPi's couch, The Kaufman-Gulko's guest bed, Sam Raymond's couch, and Columbia University's East Campus Suite 1212's air mattress for being such comfortable sites to sleep at this summer. I also extend my thanks to the owners of these couches, beds, and air mattresses for welcoming into their homes/apartments/fraternity/suite. If I've left anyone out, I'm terribly sorry, and certainly do not mean any offense by it).

To add a brief reflection of this summer: I had a blast, and while there were times I felt it was dragging on, now that I am back in Israel, I already miss everyone, especially my family.

While I already have some great stories to share, I feel obligated to update all of my faithful and patient readers on changes that have occurred to my basic living situation here in Israel: I moved apartments. Yes, that's right: I left the ornery dude, the entertaining Russian neighbors, and the majestic Mediterranean views behind. It was not out of choice, but out of obligation: my landlord, always one to get the final laugh, sold the apartment, and the new owners wanted to actually live in it. Luckily, I was able to move into an apartment two blocks away with a third-year medical student named Jhon Faro. So far, it has been working out for me. And....I'm only a block away from the sea, so I cannot complain too much.

Since being back, I have been organizing my apartment, hanging out with my friends in Haifa, and celebrating Yom Kippur and (now) Sukkot. Also, I have managed to travel to Jerusalem on the days leading up to Yom Kippur, which was actually quite an adventure. It all started out when I jumped on the train to Tel Aviv, and switched over to the 970 bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. While waiting in line (well...."line" is being very liberal...it was the usual free-for-all with Chassidic Jews, old Israeli Grandmothers, and soldiers elbowing me in the face to get a spot on the bus), I was stopped by an old friend from Indianapolis, Sam Hasten. Not only was this a crazy place to run into him, but a crazy time: he is getting married in a few weeks, and had been trying to get a hold of me anyway to invite me! So, I've got another wedding to go to (the first one being...his cousin's).

After arriving in Jerusalem, I walked over to my favorite bookshop to sell some books and pick up a few new ones, then wandered around Me'ah She'arim and Geulah, where I picked up some other books, as well as a lulav (palm frond, willow branch, and myrtle branch) and etrog (citron) [the combination of these four "species" are called the "Arbah Meenim," which are traditionally bought for the holiday of Sukkot, and are symbolic of many, many ideas and concepts, though the symbolism that resonates most with me is that they represent the four different "kinds" of Jews, and in bringing them together on Sukkot, we are expressing our hope of Jewish unity in the coming year]. I then went to go meet up with my friend Matt Cons, who is going to be doing his Masters at the Technion this year, though is currently doing Ulpan in Jerusalem, and when I found out that he had never been to Tmol Shilshom, I took him there right away (I was also a bit hungry, so it worked out for both of us).

Since I was carrying all of my new books and my lulav and etrog (which are quite bulky), we decided to drop them off at Matt Cons' apartment in the Nachloat neighborhood. On our way to his house, we noticed a few people ducking into a side alley in the Machane Yehuda Shuk, and we decided to investigate where these people were going at 10 pm in the market, since it appeared to be mostly closed at this point. In doing so, we stumbled into a medium-sized courtyard full of people...and chickens. Since this was the night before Yom Kippur, these people were performing Kapparot, the ancient tradition that consists of saying a Psalm, swinging a chicken above your head, having the chicken ritually slaughtered, and then donating the chicken to charity. The mystical tradition is that, in swinging the chicken over your head, the chicken takes up your sins, and then subsequently is slaughtered to atone for these same sins. Many Rabbis (including the Rambam) have spoken out against this practice, noting chiefly that it smacks of pagan traditions. However, other Rabbis disagreed, arguing that the tradition could help one focus his thoughts on his wrongdoings in the past year, as well as reflect on one's own mortality (in seeing the chicken die), also noting that charity is good for repentance. Thus, Kapparot is still carried out in more religious neighborhoods throughout the world.

Me questioning my own, and the chicken's, mortality (10/7/08).

Having now performed Kaparot, I'm going to have to go with the Rambam on this one: the whole thing made me feel slightly uncomfortable (though that could have also been the terrible smell of hundreds of chickens). Also, when I told my mother I had performed Kapparot, she made me feel guiltier than I had felt before the (supposedly repentant) ceremony.

After this, we got back to Matt Cons' apartment, I put my stuff down, and we asked his roommate for recommendations for a good local bar. She recommended a place call "Slow Moshe" (it's funny if you say it out loud, which was good enough for me). We wandered around the labyrinthian streets of Nachlaot, unable to find this bar with the slightly-funny name. We came to the Eastern-most edge of the neighborhood (actually right by my favorite bookstore), and we noticed a huge crowd outside a seemingly nondescript bar. A crowd outside a bar might be a normal sight in NYC or even Tel Aviv, but it just doesn't really happen in the Holy City of Jerusalem. As we approached the bar, I expressed my surprise that there was such a crowd, especially since there wasn't even a band playing, since we could hear what sounded like Matisyahu's latest CD being played. Except, as we got closer, we realized it wasn't a CD, but Matisyahu himself, who had apparently shown up at the bar with his guitarist and just decided to play; since the bar had large windows that they had opened, many people who were too late to fit into the small bar had congregated outside the bar to listen to the spontaneous concert.

Now, this would have been remarkable enough to tell about, but something even crazier happened. Now, I know what you are thinking: what could POSSIBLY be crazier than seeing Matisyahu in concert in a tiny bar in Jerusalem? Well, I know it will be hard to believe (especially those of you who have spent some time in Boston, and have partaken of the El Dorado of Israeli food that is Rami's), but I saw.....CHAIM COHEN, aka The Rami's Guy! That's right! I saw Chaim Cohen, the son of Rami Cohen, who runs the only kosher Israeli restaurant in Boston. And not only did I see him, but we hung out and talked for a bit. If only I had a camera to have taken a picture to prove that such a meeting took place. I suppose you'll just have to take my word for it. It happened.

After that, Matt Cons and I met up with some other Boston students we saw at the impromptu Matisyahu concert and went to a cool little bar off of Kikar Zion for a few drinks. We then went back to Matt Cons' apartment, and watched part of the Presidential Debate, which promptly put both of us to sleep.

So that's all I've got for now. I hope everyone is having a *very* happy Sukkot (one of the Torah's names for Sukkot is "Zman Simchateinu" or "The Time of Our Happiness"). If you have the time, I recommend finding a Sukkah to sit in, and a lulav and etrog to swing around. And be happy!!!

Joyfully,

Michael

I think I'm turning Is-rael-i, I think I'm turning Is-rael-i, I Really Think So

Being here in Israel for the past eight months has had its many ups and downs. The schwarma is good, but the ketchup is bad. The weather has been good, but constantly fighting cab drivers has been bad. And so on.

But one unknown consequence of being in Israel has begun to rear its ugly head, and now I live in constant fear of it. It's worse than the bureaucracy, it's worse than security lines, and it's worse than the way every Israeli stares you down wherever you go (even staring at you from a neighboring car).

What could possibly be worse than all of this? What keeps me up at night, with a cold sweat, worrying that it could strike at anytime. No---I'm not talking about a fear of terrorism, or a fear of cancer or some infectious disease. I'm talking about a fear of becoming Israeli.

What are the symptoms of becoming Israeli, you might ask? They affect all aspects of life, from the way you do your hair (lots of gel), the clothes you wear (t-shirts with nonsense English phrases on it, tight pants, tight shirts, et al), to what you eat ("Israeli salad" which has only cucumbers, tomatoes, and some lemon juice).

More importantly, it changes the way you interact with people. Being from Indiana, I was raised with something we like to call "manners," which includes being "polite" and some level of "patience" with people. All of these ideas are foreign to the Israeli psyche.

I bring this up, because I have started finding myself taking on more and more of these Israeli mannerisms. This first dawned on me when I initially started writing this post (about 4 weeks ago), after an incident that occurred in Tel Aviv. To sum it up (and not embarrass my Midwest-Polite roots)---as I was waiting in line with some friends to board the Tel Aviv to Jerusalem bus at Arlosozoff, I this kid in front of me was trying to get on the bus with a HUGE piece of luggage. Now, I probably wouldn't have said anything in normal circumstances, but the bus was already almost full, and it was clear to me that, if he actually tried to get on the bus, one of the following things would happen:
a) The gigantic bag would take up its own seat, not allowing some other poor passenger to sit down
b) The kid would dump the piece of luggage in the aisle, making it impossible for people to get down the aisle without jumping over it
c) After trying these things, and realizing it isn't working, he would be forced to haul the large luggage off the bus to put it in the under-the-bus compartment where most (normal) people were putting their luggage.
So. Instead of just ignoring this issue, and letting this kid be, I tapped him on the shoulder, and told him to put his bag under the bus. When he tried to ignore me, I started yelling at him for being unreasonable. Naturally, his mother starts yelling at me, and the bus driver starts yelling at all of us. He finally says, "What are you all yelling about." And I told him. And he says to the kid, "Yallah. Put your bag under the bus." Like a true Israeli, I felt vindicated.

Only after getting to my seat, and reflecting on the events that had just transpired, did I look down at my hands, and feel the need to run off the bus, screaming, "Oh L-rd, WHAT HAVE I BECOME?" The question, of course, would have been rhetorical.

Since then, I've noticed that I've been progressively buttoning less and less buttons on my shirts, that I speak in one-word commands as opposed to full sentences ("Yallah", "Sababa", "Nu?", "Ahhlan", "B-seder-gamoor", etc.), that I wear too much cologne (well, Sam Kesner might point out that this was a trait of mine before coming to Israel...he wouldn't be completely wrong), my diet almost completely consists of pita stuffed with some greasy products (i.e. schwarma or falafel), I haggle over EVERY thing (right down to the price of milk at the grocery store), and, as already noted, I will argue with any stranger over any issue at the drop of a hat.

What can be done to fight off this disease? Does anyone know of any cures? Or will I eventually have to accept the fact that I will be come a full-fledged, tight-shirt wearing, chain smoking, Israeli?

-----------

In other news, since last post, I have had a great Shabbaton at my house ("ShabBat Galim"), in which we were able to fit about 15 people into my apartment for the weekend. I attended at Haredi Bar Mitzvah (that of Itamar Edelstien, the son of a middle school teacher of mine), I've taken a final (that made me miss the Israeli 60th Birthday Celebrations), and I saw Nathan Englander, Jonathan Sanfran Foer, and Etgar Keret (famous Jewish-American and Israeli writers) speak in Jerusalem. I will probably post more about these events in the future. But for now. Back to the medical school grind.

Best,

Michael

Apologies

Sorry about the false-start on the "DIB Moment of the Day." I guess I was being very optimistic about how interesting life here in Israel really is. I am going to have to renege on this promise, and instead go back to my old format, of just informing you of the funny things that happen as they come along.

In a short update on things here, I should note that I spend most of my time in the medical school library, so I don't have much to tell. Well. In fact, the Dude saga continues, as it turns out that the guys who installed my new dude ALSO broke into my apartments safe. This left me in a strange position, as I keep absolutely nothing in that safe, and I could find nothing missing in my apartment, so I could just imagine trying to call this one into the police:

"Allo. Mishtarat Haifa."

"[In terrible American-accented Hebrew. To add effect, I'll just translate what it would sound like in English] Hello. The persons who were to installing a new dude at the attic of the apartment of mine also wants to stealing from the safe."

"They broke into your safe?"

"Yes. They did this."

"And what did they take?"

"They taking nothing. I am keeping nothing in the safe."

"***********Dial tone**************"

"Hello? Hello?"

Anyway, I finally called up my landlord's grandmother (who takes care of things in my landlord's absence), and informed her both that the new dude doesn't really work (it takes 6 hours to get water that could generously be described as luke-warm), and that they tried to break into my safe. At first, she didn't think she heard me correctly, but when we finally understood each other, she informed me that this was not possible, as her husband had been present the entire time.

I wouldn't hold your breath to find out how this one ends. I just hope she doesn't hire the same team to fix my (new) dude.

Anyway, the new adventure starting now for me (along with this entire country) is one of the most dreaded and hated of Israel's national pastimes: when the entire country attempts to clean their houses leading up to Passover. Maybe I'll take some "before" and "after" pictures.

Anyway, off to study for a biochemistry quiz. As always, it's great to hear from everyone.

"Leads? Yeah, sure. I'll just...check in with the boys down at the crime lab....They've got four more detectives working on the case.....They got us working in shifts! Leads!" ---Big Lebowski

Michael

DIB-Moment of the Day (26/2/08)

"We cannot install your Dude-Shemesh (Solar-Powered Boiler). We tried to, but the owner of the building saw that we were trying to install it, and he came with the police, and his papers proving that he owns the roof of your building, and told us we can not put a Dude-Shemesh on his roof"

"Is there a reason? Is there anything else on the roof?"

"No."

Kol Tuv,

Michael

New Idea

If anyone is still reading this blog, I realized that it must be pretty boring, considering I only seem to update it about once a month with some boring stories about my water heater.

So I just had the idea that I would try to post something EVERY DAY. That's right. You heard me. EVERY DAY. And not just anything...

I decided I will post the funniest, silliest, most Israeli thing I have seen/heard/done that day. I will call it the "DIB-Moment of the Day." (To those of you that don't know what "DIB" means, go here; it is the fifth on the list). To those of you unfortunate enough to know the true "DIB" essence, I must admit that this daily post may at times (and even often) deviate from true DIBishness, but I just thought the name was funny.

Anyway, without further ado, I give you 24/3/08's DIB-Moment of the Day:

"I talked to the janitor about putting more liquid soap in the bathroom, since it's been out for the past week. He told me he won't do it, because the construction workers from upstairs are stealing it."

byebye,

Michael

The Dude, Z"L

In Memoriam:

At 7:55 AM this morning, March 23rd, 2008, my dude, the bearer of my hot water, the heart and soul of the plumbing system at Shikmona 1/3, was pronounced dead by officials from "Home Center." [In their exact words, "Ken. HaDude holech." or "Yes, the Dude is gone."]

Having served this residence for at least the past 7 months, and probably decades before, the dude was a vital part of my life. He not only provided me with my daily bathing, but also helped ease the pain of washing dishes, and made boiling water easier when I would fill the pot with hot water from the dude before putting it on the flame.
"
The Dude's burial is slated for tomorrow. Though he will be replaced (hopefully) with a sleeker, more environmentally friendly model (a "dude shemesh" or "solar dude"), it will never be fully replaced in my heart.

Condolence calls can be made at Shikmona 1/3 between 10-11 PM, and donations can be made to the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers."

Below is an excerpt from his eulogy earlier today.

Good night, sweet prince.

-----------------------------

"The dude was a good dude. He was one of us. He was a dude who loved the outdoors... and bowling, and as a surfer he explored the beaches of Bat Galim, from the Navy Beach to the Church Beach and... up to... Hof HaCarmel. He died, like so many young men of his generation, he died before his time. In your wisdom, Lord, you took him, as you took so many bright flowering young dudes at Tzefat, at Chinese Farm, at Hill 18..."

Not-Very-Interesting-Post

I guess I would call it that because, unlike last week, this week has been nearly completely without the normal weird occurrences that seem to follow me around Israel like a particularly weird dark cloud. Maybe I'll throw in some of my filler "political commentary," or, maybe I will not subject you to such torture.

I guess this week has been so uneventful because I spent much of it safely inside the confines of the library of the Bruce Rappaport Faculty of Medicine. As I am med student, I guess this should be the norm, yet I think the reason I mention it here is because I may have gone a bit overboard this week, and spent a bit too much time there. I think I need a hobby of some sorts to drag me out sometimes.

Actually, I'm going to go now. I guess this post really lived up to its name. I'll try to make the next one worth reading.

Sorry,

Michael

Strange Week

For those of you who I haven't regaled with my Twilight-Zone-worthy week, I will put a short summary of the weird things that have happened to me since last Sunday.

Starting on Sunday afternoon, I found myself at "Kanyon Haifa" (the Haifa mall), looking to change some (nearly worthless) dollars into (Monopoly money) Shekels. Finding that the rate had dipped too low for me to in good conscious change money, I retreated over to the Supersol (grocery store) to buy some groceries. After stocking up on the necessities (hummuous, pita, schug (Middle Eastern chili sauce), frozen pizza), I went on a quest to find some packaged gnocchi that I had previously eaten that had been quite good. Joining me in this search was Daniel Ostro, a fellow med student who had the bad fortune of being born in Canada.

After about 15 minutes of our search, we finally found the small Italian section of the Supersol, which included the sought-after gnocchi. While comparing the various brands the Supersol had to offer, a short, funny lady approached us and starting asking about the relative merits of...gnocchi. "Is that any good?" she asked (in Hebrew, of course). "Definitely. It's very tasty," I responded. What followed was a five minute conversation about how she had heard that gnocchi was good, but never tried it, and was excited to find someone who backed up the claim that it was good, even though that someone was some random guy (me) at the Supersol in Kanyon Haifa. After this small talk, as she was walking away, Danial turned to me and asked me something in English.

"Wait---are you two from outside of Israel?" she asked (the term she used was "Chool", which is an acronymn all Israelis use for countries that are not Israel, meaning "outside of the land"). I replied that, yes, we were both from the States. Daniel, looking somewhat insulted, butted in that he was not, in fact, from the states, but from Canada. As if it mattered.

She then went on to tell us that she had been to Boston for work. I told her I was in Boston for University, but that I was actually for Indiana. We were starting to part ways, when she started saying something about how she also had family in Boston: the Suissa Family.

I stared at her for a second, a bit weirded out by the comment, and asked her if she knew Paz Suissa. "Paz Suissa! That is my niece!" she screamed. Now, it should come to no one as a revelation that Jewish people LOVE playing "Jewish Geography"---the game where we find out if you know the people that I know from a certain place. Why we, as a People, enjoy this game so much is somewhat obvious: the feeling of discovering that the world is full of connections we are not aware of, and that it is much smaller than we sometimes think it is is somewhat satisfying. Either way, it may surprise some people to know that Israelis, more than other Jewish people, have an almost perverse pleasure in this game, and Paz's aunt (Vivian?) was no exception. She nearly acted as if she had just discovered a long lost brother in me.

"Paz Suissa dated my brother," I explained to her. "To tell the truth, I don't think they are dating any longer." This didn't really seem to faze her. She insisted that I write down my name, my brother's name, and my phone number (to come over to her house for some future meal, which she promised, looking at my Kippah, would be kosher).

So much for crazy story number one.

The next day, after hours of toiling away at my physiology textbook in the library, I emerged from the "Faculta" (the strange word they use for the med school building) around 8 pm to go my weekly basketball game at the Technion main campus. As I was leaving the building, about 50 yards away I saw a couple walking towards the Meyer Children's Hospital that is next door to the medical school. Something about them---I'm really not sure what---reminded me of my 8th Grade teacher and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Edelstien. I called out his name ("Mr. Edelstien!"), and he spun around to find out who it was that was calling his name.

I'm not sure if he was more surprised to find me studying in Haifa, or that I was able to recognize him from so far away. Either way, him and his wife then went on a tirade, chastising me for not getting in contact with them sooner. I apologized profusely, and they invited me over for Shabbat (where I will be going to shortly).

That's crazy story number 2.

The third strange occurrence this week was at a party celebrating the release of my friend and former next-door-neighbor (in Indiana), Danny Farahan (ben David, as he now adds), from the Israeli Army. Having done 2.5 years of service in the IDF, he is now planning on doing some traveling, including hiking the Appalachian Trail.

Either way, as we met up at Mike's Place in Tel Aviv, I was sitting talking to his former roommates from Hebrew University, when they asked me what I was doing in Israel. "Oh, I'm studying medicine at the Technion." "Really? Hey, Ben, don't we know someone who is studying medicine at the Technion?" "Hey---isn't Sherman there?"

"Do you mean Michael Sherman?" I asked. "YEAH! Hey---do you know Sherman?" "Yes, I know Sherman. He's my roommate. How do you guys know him?" "No F**King way! Michael Sherman was OUR roommate at Hebrew University four years ago.....Hey Danny, guess who Michael here is living with?" "Who?" "Michael Sherman!"

So it ends up that Michael Sherman has lived with both me and Danny Farahan, and never made the connection. When I asked him about it, he looked confused and said, "Wait---Danny Farahan is from Indiana?"

So, yeah, this week has been pretty crazy. There's also been some studying of medicine in there as well. Classes are actually going pretty well so far. I'm taking Physiology, Histology, Endocrinology, Anatomy II, Biochemistry II, First Aid, Genetics, and Hebrew this term. It's going to be a tough semester, but I am enjoying the classes. Also, last night I attended Shmuel (Sam) Korb's second (and hopefully final) Tekes (or graduation) from his Officer's Course on the Navy Base. (Picture of me, Shmuel, and two of the Gershons, after the Tekes):



Unfortunately, this week has ended with the terrorist attack on the Merkaz HaRav Kook Yeshiva in Jerusalem---G-d should console all of the families of those who lost sons, grandsons, and brothers under the gates of Zion and Jerusalem. My angry response below was (clearly) a bit emotional, but I stand by it. My only correction to it is the claim that horrible events like these bring the Jewish people closer together. Unfortunately, I feel that an event such as this one---targeting the sector of the population that already feels that too much security has been compromised in the name of a delusional peace process---will only lead to further harmed relations between the various sectors of the Israeli Jewish population.

I also realize that I haven't really written since my trip to the States. I want to thank everyone who came to my parties (in Indianapolis and NYC). It was great to see everyone, and I hope to be back soon to visit.

I need to go get ready for Shabbat. I wish everyone a Shabbat Shalom.

Michael

Questions 7/3/08

I can imagine that everyone has heard of the catastrophe that occurred at Merkaz Harav Kook Yeshiva in Jerusalem last night. 8 Yeshiva students, ranging in ages from 15 to 26 were killed in cold blood by a terrorist of unknown origin, though they now suspect that he was from East Jerusalem, and probably carried an Israeli ID card, identifying him as a citizen of Israel.

In the face of such ruthless and inhumane violence, what can really be said? The initial response is one of revenge: the desire for those who planned and carried out this attack to be murdered. Maybe even some signs of strength---ruthless violence of our own---to show the Arabs that we are much, much better at killing them then they are at killing us. After all---goes the much repeated mantra---these "animals only respond to violence." I put that in quotes because I am quoting an article in an interview in the New York Times with residents of Gaza---who said the same thing about Israelis.

Now, the next day, what will be the government's response? After all, this is the first major terrorist attack in Jerusalem in over two years: the Shin-Bet (the Israeli Agency in Charge of Policing the West Bank and Gaza) has managed to foil hundreds of attacks like these, that we fortunately do not hear about. Israeli jails are full of thousands of Palestinians and Israeli Arabs who have been arrested while in the planning states of carrying out an attack to kill innocent Jewish civilians. Why does it take the death of 8 fellow Jews to hear the calls for revenge? Do we need to wait until the rest of the world is sated by sight of spilled Jewish blood---(are 8 boys enough?) to get the green light to do what we've been waiting to do anyway? Maybe, when Israel has a particularly gruesome task at hand, it should stage a terrorist attack, complete with fake Jewish blood, ambulances, and those Haredim who wander the scene, looking for the body parts of those who have died, so that they can be buried with as much as their physical parts as possible? Who cares if the Palestinians in Gaza will celebrate the fake death of a hand full of non-existent Jews? It's them who will be awoken by the sounds of jets and bombs at night, and their cheers of joy at the death of Jewish children will be turned to the sounds of mourning at the death of their own innocent children.

And why do they make us do this? Why can't they leave us alone? Why do they make us relive the nightmares of our past---the pogroms of Russia, Poland, Germany, England? Wasn't the creation of the State of Israel supposed to end all of that? What has changed, besides our ability to turn around and kill them?

Have we, the Jewish people, done something terrible to deserve this? Or maybe we're looking at this the wrong way---that the ongoing death and destruction we have going on with our Arab neighbors is actually a gift, since it is the only thing that is able to bring all Jewish Israelis together, and that Israel would fall apart at the seams if it weren't for the glue made from the common hatred of those who seek the country's destruction. Does it make me a terrible person to consider the good that comes from Jewish death? Or---the opposite---does it make us a terrible people that the only thing that brings us together is the wholesale slaughter of our brethren? Why can't we be united around a desire to create a beautiful, just society here in Israel? Or creating beautiful, open, engaging Jewish communities in the Diaspora? Or maybe it's the human race that is terrible---that they only stop their insane, illogical anti-semetic rhetoric for brief periods when others actually carry out the violence that was planted in their heads by that very same rhetoric, and they only shut up about us running the world and all that other bullshit when it becomes undeniably clear that not only do we not run the world, but we are so pathetically dependent on their poor excuse for society that our lives are held in the balance at the whims of women strapped with suicide belts, children bearing guns, Cossacks with knives, Germans with gas chambers?

Why do we care what they think? We have our own set of morals---we know we can kill those who seek to kill us (does it matter that the reason they want to kill us is because they think we killed them first? Or because we took their grandpa's olive grove?) Why do we care when some UK Human Rights group says we are Nazis and we are creating a second holocaust in Gaza and all sorts of nonsense? Why do we put their insane reports on the front page of our newspapers?

Why won't they leave us alone? Why can't we get along? Why can't we get along with ourselves?

Current Situation in Gaza

Recently, Israel closed off all of Hamas-controlled Gaza, in effect creating a blockade, in response to heavy rocket fire on civilian populations in Israel.

The world has condemned Israel for this, calling it "collective punishment."

The world also condemns Israel for targeted killings of members of Hamas' militant wing.

The only other option is for Israel to do nothing, and allow its citizens live in constant fear of being killed/maimed by Kassams and Kayatushas, which will eventually lead to the total evacuation of cities such as Sderot. My only logical deduction is that this is, in fact, what the world wants Israel to do. After all, Israel has already given back all of pre-1967 Gaza, so its not like they can sing the usual "End the occupation" song.

I think its about time Israel stops listening to these people.

Crazy Israeli Cab Driver #341,979

Conversation:::: (at 12:05 AM on January 1st, 2008---I have just been picked up on a city corner in Haifa wearing a sweater, loafers, a black beanie, and...basketball shorts)

Cab Driver: (in thick accent) Why aren't you celebrating the New Year?
Me: Well....it isn't new years to me unless the ball has dropped in Times Square. You know?
CD: Well...I don't celebrate New Years because I am a Jew!!
Me: (meekly) I'm a Jew, too.
CD: You know? We have Hannukah. We have Purim. We have Rosh Hashana. Why should we celebrate this goyishe day.
Me: It is the day of when we reset the calender year.....
CD: I don't understand it! I've worked in Russia. I've worked in Iran. I've worked a lot in Nigeria. I was once in Florence, and I hear these two Israelis speaking Hebrew, and they turn to me to ask me where a certain church is. I tell them, "It is over there. But---look---there is a very nice Synagogue over there. Why don't you go there first?" And they tell me, "Why would we go there??" I don't understand it...
Me: I know what you mean. I read it in papers every day how so many Israelis want Israel to just be another "normal" country, like any European country. Why would anyone want to be normal when we are special?
CD: You are right. There is nothing good about the Europeans. I was once in Zurich with my wife. We went to a bank to take out money, and I have my Magen David (Jewish Star) necklace out, and we got up to the teller, and he is about to help us, when the manager comes and waves us off and says, "Nicht helfen die ferfluchta Juden" [Which means something to the effect of, "Don't help the fucking Jews."] So I punched him in the head until there was blood. I beat him almost to death. The police officer cames and I tell him what happened. Then, my sister's husband calls me a "ferfluchta Jude" and I beat him up, too [Note: He really said his sister's husband. I have no idea what to make of this]. The police told me I had to leave the country. I told him that is fine, that I will take my money and leave....My friends told me they thought I was brave to do this. I told them that I would kill anyone who called me a ferfluchta Juden.
Me: I probably would, too.
...........

I have more to post about this past weekend. Coming soon.

Happy New Year (?),

Michael