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?

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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