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
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
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..."
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..."
Friday, March 14, 2008
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
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
Friday, March 07, 2008
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
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?
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?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Parents Visit, Other Visitors, B-ball, Mazal Tov, etc., etc.
Oy. I have a lot to write about, and not much time (I am in med school, after all). I will probably just run through most of it.
Hannukah in Israel was wonderful. Not only was it Hannukah, which is a great holiday in-and-of-itself, but everyone around me was celebrating! Eating at my favorite (read: the only) sushi place in Haifa, the three people working there took the time out of...making sushi....to assemble a make shift Hannukiah (three saki cups turned upside down) and light the candles. Even the dean of the med school gave a Hannukah talk, and then we ate sufganiyot. Actually, there were sufganiyot everywhere. At the hardware store, they had plates sitting around the store full of sufganiyot. It's amazing. On the other hand, the "latke" apparently never really made it to Israel, which is too bad, because I am a HUGE, HUGE fan. But...I think I imbibed enough sufganiyot to hold me over for a while, so it is probably not so bad that I didn't also have a bunch of potatoes weighing me down.
Best of all, my first Hannukah in Israel was also marked by my parents visiting me. I took the liberty of posting a few pictures from their trip here below (I hope you don't mind....). Besides treating me to a few nights at the majestic King David and eating at the finest restaurant Jerusalem has to offer, they also came back to Haifa to sit in on an Anatomy lecture (well...my dad did), and clean my apartment (thanks, Mom!) We also went to Tzfat (much more beautiful than I remembered it), and made quite a few trips to the Carmel in Haifa. Overall, it was really wonderful to have them here, and I hope they had as much fun as I did.
Since then, I've had a few other visitors. Shmuel stops in every so often. Elazar Volk has stopped by on his trip to look at the Technion. And I spent this past Shabbat up "on the mountain" (at Shmuel's) along with David Held and Jason Ruchelsman, both friends from MIT. After Shabbat, I showed Jason the better parts of Haifa (that is, Burger Ranch), and we make a very important pilgrimage to one of the most unfortunately named barbers this side of the Euphrates (let's just say common decency does not permit me to post the name in English....though, for all of those with a strong stomach and some knowledge of Hebrew, here is the barber's name: דודי פינס ).
This week was my second time playing in the weekly basketball game along with a rag-tag bunch of Israeli and American med students (as well as a few doctors). Actually, to call this a basketball game is a bit of stretch---it was more of an on-and-off debate with some basketball thrown in for good measure. I am not exaggerating that much when I say that almost EVERY SINGLE play was contested. Entering the gymnasium, an outsider might think we were arguing over a rather difficult page of the Talmud from the way people on the court were picking apart others' actions on the court and even the rules of basketball. There really was a point were my desire to leave was beat out by my appreciation of a good laugh. Plus, I got a few minutes of play-time in to show everyone that there are, indeed, terrible basketball players from Indiana.
Otherwise, I've been doing as much studying as I can possibly handle....and watching "Curb Your Enthusiasm." Actually, I had a discussion with Jason at the Shabbat table, where we came to the conclusion that most of the absurd things that happen on the show probably really happened in real life...in Israel. Indeed, there is something just sort of absurd about the way things happen here. And if subsequent blog posts haven't been enough proof of this, I will give example of something that happened today (!) that would make Larry David HIMSELF blush: I was sitting in my living room (watching "Curb," ironically enough), when I get a phone call from a friend of mine here in Israel who we will call "Lior." "Lior," who is currently a soldier stationed in Jerusalem, calls me up and says, "Michael, I'm going to need you to come down to Jerusalem next Motz'ash (Hebrew abbreviation for "Motzei Shabbat", or Saturday Night)."
"Why, Lior?"
"Well, I'm going to need you to play wingman. I just met this really attractive girl from Australia, and she has a very unattractive friend you're going to need to deflect for me."
"Come on, Lior. You could have at least lied to me....alright, I'll be there."
"Thanks, I owe you."
"Where did you meet this girl, by the way?"
"Well.....I picked her up at Yad Va'shem."
".........."
"We were there with my unit, and saw her get off the bus...and, well, I couldn't help myself."
Anyway, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time out to call/email/facebook-message me. As much fun as things can be here, it is still good to hear from all of my friends/family back home. Also, I wanted to give hearty "Mazal Tov" to my good friends Michal and David on the birth of their daughter, Nessa.
With that, I leave you with a few pictures from the past few weeks:
Three Stars and the Volks
Me and my Dad Outside my Apartment
Me, my Mom, and the best shnitzel maker in Israel (in Tzefat)
Me in front of the unfortunately named barbershop
Hannukah in Israel was wonderful. Not only was it Hannukah, which is a great holiday in-and-of-itself, but everyone around me was celebrating! Eating at my favorite (read: the only) sushi place in Haifa, the three people working there took the time out of...making sushi....to assemble a make shift Hannukiah (three saki cups turned upside down) and light the candles. Even the dean of the med school gave a Hannukah talk, and then we ate sufganiyot. Actually, there were sufganiyot everywhere. At the hardware store, they had plates sitting around the store full of sufganiyot. It's amazing. On the other hand, the "latke" apparently never really made it to Israel, which is too bad, because I am a HUGE, HUGE fan. But...I think I imbibed enough sufganiyot to hold me over for a while, so it is probably not so bad that I didn't also have a bunch of potatoes weighing me down.
Best of all, my first Hannukah in Israel was also marked by my parents visiting me. I took the liberty of posting a few pictures from their trip here below (I hope you don't mind....). Besides treating me to a few nights at the majestic King David and eating at the finest restaurant Jerusalem has to offer, they also came back to Haifa to sit in on an Anatomy lecture (well...my dad did), and clean my apartment (thanks, Mom!) We also went to Tzfat (much more beautiful than I remembered it), and made quite a few trips to the Carmel in Haifa. Overall, it was really wonderful to have them here, and I hope they had as much fun as I did.
Since then, I've had a few other visitors. Shmuel stops in every so often. Elazar Volk has stopped by on his trip to look at the Technion. And I spent this past Shabbat up "on the mountain" (at Shmuel's) along with David Held and Jason Ruchelsman, both friends from MIT. After Shabbat, I showed Jason the better parts of Haifa (that is, Burger Ranch), and we make a very important pilgrimage to one of the most unfortunately named barbers this side of the Euphrates (let's just say common decency does not permit me to post the name in English....though, for all of those with a strong stomach and some knowledge of Hebrew, here is the barber's name: דודי פינס ).
This week was my second time playing in the weekly basketball game along with a rag-tag bunch of Israeli and American med students (as well as a few doctors). Actually, to call this a basketball game is a bit of stretch---it was more of an on-and-off debate with some basketball thrown in for good measure. I am not exaggerating that much when I say that almost EVERY SINGLE play was contested. Entering the gymnasium, an outsider might think we were arguing over a rather difficult page of the Talmud from the way people on the court were picking apart others' actions on the court and even the rules of basketball. There really was a point were my desire to leave was beat out by my appreciation of a good laugh. Plus, I got a few minutes of play-time in to show everyone that there are, indeed, terrible basketball players from Indiana.
Otherwise, I've been doing as much studying as I can possibly handle....and watching "Curb Your Enthusiasm." Actually, I had a discussion with Jason at the Shabbat table, where we came to the conclusion that most of the absurd things that happen on the show probably really happened in real life...in Israel. Indeed, there is something just sort of absurd about the way things happen here. And if subsequent blog posts haven't been enough proof of this, I will give example of something that happened today (!) that would make Larry David HIMSELF blush: I was sitting in my living room (watching "Curb," ironically enough), when I get a phone call from a friend of mine here in Israel who we will call "Lior." "Lior," who is currently a soldier stationed in Jerusalem, calls me up and says, "Michael, I'm going to need you to come down to Jerusalem next Motz'ash (Hebrew abbreviation for "Motzei Shabbat", or Saturday Night)."
"Why, Lior?"
"Well, I'm going to need you to play wingman. I just met this really attractive girl from Australia, and she has a very unattractive friend you're going to need to deflect for me."
"Come on, Lior. You could have at least lied to me....alright, I'll be there."
"Thanks, I owe you."
"Where did you meet this girl, by the way?"
"Well.....I picked her up at Yad Va'shem."
".........."
"We were there with my unit, and saw her get off the bus...and, well, I couldn't help myself."
Anyway, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time out to call/email/facebook-message me. As much fun as things can be here, it is still good to hear from all of my friends/family back home. Also, I wanted to give hearty "Mazal Tov" to my good friends Michal and David on the birth of their daughter, Nessa.
With that, I leave you with a few pictures from the past few weeks:
Monday, December 03, 2007
Crazy Israeli Cab Driver #1,320,837
Last night, I had to take a cab since it was late and the buses had stopped. Now I should first point out that even the act of getting into a cab for me has become so fraught with injustice and indignity that I shy away from it as much as I can, due to the knowledge that, no matter how much strength I muster up, I know that these cab drivers are going to take me for the proverbial ride. That is, when they hear my American accent, they hit the special button on their meter that charges me double what someone with an Israeli accent will get.
Anyway, I wandered over to the cab stand (actually the worst place to get a cab, since the cab drivers ascribe to the idea of "power in numbers," and collectively agree to screw you over), and asked for a cab to Bat Galim, about 10 minutes away from where we were. One of the drivers stepped forward and offered to take me. Just as I was about to get in, the friend I was with remembered something, and held me over for about 5 minutes, while the cab driver impatiently (i.e. constantly reminded me of his presence every 15 seconds) waited.
In hindsight, I realized that this action of making the cab driver wait around for me was the best thing I could have done: it showed him (inadvertently, in fact) that I was going to preempt his rip-off-of-a-cab-ride by wasting as much of his not-very-expensive time as I felt like. And, considering he probably wouldn't be getting any fares that night, he was forced to wait for me. I should point out that I did not mean to be so rude, but I think it at least invoked some amount of respect in the man's heart.
So it was possibly this imagined respect, or some recent traumatic event in his life, that this cab driver immediately began telling me some of his old war stories in a very funny half-English, half-Hebrew (his English was arguably worse than my Hebrew...which is saying something). When I say "war stories," I don't just mean old yarns; the man started telling me about his life as an Israeli commando in Lebanon and elsewhere.
If I understood him correctly, he was trained in anti-terrorist activities, which he incorrectly (and probably a little ironically) translated as "terrorism." He told me stories about being in Beirut in '82 ("I got shot in leg. Here." Me: "Oh wow. That must have been terrible to remove..." Cab driver: "No. It is still there. It does not hurt so much. Only when it gets cold out."), about being in Lebanon multiple times after that ("We landed by sea, and there was a spy who saw us. You know what ambush is? They surround us, and 8 of our men died"), and his time in Italy, ("I dressed like real Italian, with sunglasses and suit. I studied his life. This Arab, driving in Mercedes around Italy. He killed many Jews. He planned the attacks. One day, he went to turn on his car, and BOOM. I put a bomb under the car.").
But he kept coming back to the fact that he didn't feel bad for doing what he did, because he is "protecting Jews." He put it this way: "Here in Israel, we are not just protecting other Israelis. We protect Jews in America. And Jews in Europe. We protect Jews everywhere."
Anyway, it was a pretty intense conversation which I realized could only happen in a cab in Israel. It made me think about how I hope to give back to Israel, somehow, in my life. Then, I considered the fact that, thinking me an American tourist, he though I might enjoy a few made-up war stories that sounded bad ass. Though I honestly doubt it.
And, in the end, I didn't really mind paying him the 50 shekels for the cab ride.
Michael
Anyway, I wandered over to the cab stand (actually the worst place to get a cab, since the cab drivers ascribe to the idea of "power in numbers," and collectively agree to screw you over), and asked for a cab to Bat Galim, about 10 minutes away from where we were. One of the drivers stepped forward and offered to take me. Just as I was about to get in, the friend I was with remembered something, and held me over for about 5 minutes, while the cab driver impatiently (i.e. constantly reminded me of his presence every 15 seconds) waited.
In hindsight, I realized that this action of making the cab driver wait around for me was the best thing I could have done: it showed him (inadvertently, in fact) that I was going to preempt his rip-off-of-a-cab-ride by wasting as much of his not-very-expensive time as I felt like. And, considering he probably wouldn't be getting any fares that night, he was forced to wait for me. I should point out that I did not mean to be so rude, but I think it at least invoked some amount of respect in the man's heart.
So it was possibly this imagined respect, or some recent traumatic event in his life, that this cab driver immediately began telling me some of his old war stories in a very funny half-English, half-Hebrew (his English was arguably worse than my Hebrew...which is saying something). When I say "war stories," I don't just mean old yarns; the man started telling me about his life as an Israeli commando in Lebanon and elsewhere.
If I understood him correctly, he was trained in anti-terrorist activities, which he incorrectly (and probably a little ironically) translated as "terrorism." He told me stories about being in Beirut in '82 ("I got shot in leg. Here." Me: "Oh wow. That must have been terrible to remove..." Cab driver: "No. It is still there. It does not hurt so much. Only when it gets cold out."), about being in Lebanon multiple times after that ("We landed by sea, and there was a spy who saw us. You know what ambush is? They surround us, and 8 of our men died"), and his time in Italy, ("I dressed like real Italian, with sunglasses and suit. I studied his life. This Arab, driving in Mercedes around Italy. He killed many Jews. He planned the attacks. One day, he went to turn on his car, and BOOM. I put a bomb under the car.").
But he kept coming back to the fact that he didn't feel bad for doing what he did, because he is "protecting Jews." He put it this way: "Here in Israel, we are not just protecting other Israelis. We protect Jews in America. And Jews in Europe. We protect Jews everywhere."
Anyway, it was a pretty intense conversation which I realized could only happen in a cab in Israel. It made me think about how I hope to give back to Israel, somehow, in my life. Then, I considered the fact that, thinking me an American tourist, he though I might enjoy a few made-up war stories that sounded bad ass. Though I honestly doubt it.
And, in the end, I didn't really mind paying him the 50 shekels for the cab ride.
Michael
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Getting Locked Out of My Apartment, and Other Fairly Stupid Stories...
This actually happened about 3 weeks ago, so everyone who has heard it can skip to the end of this post, where there are other updates.
There I was, finished with work for the afternoon, a beautiful day, the sea is almost calm enough to see my reflection in...so naturally, I decide to go for a swim. This is especially of note because, despite the fact that I have to take about 15 steps to get to the ocean, I have never actually swam at the beach in front of my house. So I had to make a few preparations including taking a key with me that I wouldn't lose in the sea, since I was living alone at this point. So I found my extra key, and tied it to the inside of my bathing suit pocket (that velcro's closed) and set out to go swimming.
As I was leaving my apartment, I had to get the key out of my pocket to bolt my door...and it wouldn't lock. It was the right key, it fit in the key-hole, but it wouldn't lock. So I start trying to open my door (which needs a key to open even when it is not locked), and it wouldn't open, either. Try as I might, I could not figure out what was going on. And then it struck me: since I had taken my spare key, I had left my regular key on the inside of the door (where you need your key to lock/unlock the door as well), and Israeli doors have this peculiar safety function, whereby NOBODY (even someone with a key) can unlock your door if you have the key sitting on the inside.
So I'm standing there, feeling like the dumbest kid ever, wondering how am I going to get out of this fix. Should I call a "instalehtor," the Israeli version of a fix-it man, to take my door out? Will he even be able to do anything to my monstrous door? I don't even have my cell phone....Hmmm....Can I climb into the window? There *must* be a way I can use my awesome climbing skills to get me out of this bind...
So I walked around the apartment, only to realize for the first time how very far my second floor apartment is from the ground (about 25 feet). And...nothing that even looks remotely sturdy enough to handle my girth. So I really start panicking. What am I going to do? Will I have to call the fire department to put a ladder up to my window? Does Bat Galim (my neighborhood) even have a fire department? And, again, how am I going to do any of this without a cell phone?
Ugh. Anyway, to cut out the rest of the hysterical thoughts running through my head ("... what am I going to do about medical school?!") I finally realized that I need to do what I should have done about a month ago when I first moved in: meet my insane Russian neighbors. Well. I actually had no reason to believe they were insane. Or Russian, for that matter (besides the fact that 90% of this neighborhood is Russian). But they were, in fact, crazy Russians.
So I knocked on their door, and a Russian Grandfather (he will henceforth be referred to as "the grandfather") who looked a little too much like my physics adviser from college, but with a few gold teeth, the thick, undeniable reek of cheap vodka on his breath, and no knowledge of English...or Hebrew, for that matter. After it became quite clear that we had no common language with which to communicate, he went and got a woman I suppose to me his daughter, and the "mother" of the house. She did know Hebrew, and I was able to communicate my need for a tall ladder. She starts yelling to wall in Russian, and a massive, baby-faced man who looked about my age emerged quite clearly from a nap, and got a ladder that was about 6 feet tall (not quite the 25 feet I needed to get into my apartment's open window).
However, freshly equipped with some equipment, I am determined to not be locked out of my apartment forever, and I start to look for somewhere around the building that an extra six feet of height might actually help. The grandfather accompanied me on this most silly of quests, and even in his mid-afternoon alcohol induced stupor, he was able to send an agreeing nod to me that this was, indeed, not going to work.
I then notice, for the first time, that there is a porch off of this happy Russian household that is about 4 feet off the ground, which would put me another 4 feet closer to the end of this farce. So I climb up onto the porch with their ladder, and realize....that it is still about 15 feet short of my living room window.
This is the point where things turned towards the funny. My new friend, the drunk Russian grandfather, started bringing all of the various pieces of broken furniture that had been sitting in our shared yard rusting away for Lord knows how many years, developing sharp points and other things that would make them distinctly NOT good for climbing on. Yes---he had brought over these aging living room pieces not because they reminded him of his days cruising for ladies along the Moskva River in the 1920's. He wanted to stack them up into a pile.....on which to put the shoddy ladder....to try to climb up to my window.
Fortunately, as soon as the pile was up to his standards (read: a mess) and was about to attempt an ascent of Rusty Mountain (despite my pleas in a combination of Hebrew and English he couldn't possibly have understood), his "grandsons" emerged from the house to pull him off of the hill o'junk. Once grandpa had been convinced to give up on his climbing adventure, I had a new item to ask for: a rope. The grandson was unsure, then asked the grandfather if he had a rope in Russian. The grandfather ran inside with a speed and focus that could only be attained by a man his age with the help of some particularly strong concoction....and emerged a minute later bearing a long rope with a grappling hook at the end. You might be asking yourself, "why did this old Russian man living in Bat Galim have a grappling hook?" That, my dear readers, is a mystery to me to this day.
So grandpa looked up at the rusty, metal apparatus directly below my window (that was apparently there to hold an air-conditioner at one point), and started twirling the hook above his head, for enough time for me and the grandsons to get out of the way. After about 5 tries, the old man actually had got the hook solidly caught on the air-conditioner holder. To test the stability of the air-conditioner holder, grandpa started swinging around on the rope with all of his weight...and it held.
So let me try to paint a picture of this scene right now: Russian Grandpa, Russian grandkids, and I are all standing outside my apartment building, on a small porch piled about 4-5 feet high with rusty, old furniture, on top of which is a ~6 foot ladder, looking up at this criss-crossing of metal about 20 feet above our heads, to which is attached a grappling hook, which a drunk old Russian man is swinging around on.
Well, I was the first to volunteer to try to climb this rope. I figured, it WAS my fault that we were all out here; also, this Russian grandpa was certainly not going to (succeed at a) climb up this rope, and his grandkids weighed about 50-75 pounds more than me, when I feared that weight was going to prove a big issue in surviving this climb. So climb I did. And I got as far as the air-conditioner holder, when the grandkids started yelling for me to come down. I was *so* close, but I was worried that they saw something that I did not, and, as I did not want to die, I listened to them. In fact, I do not believe they saw anything, since as soon as I got down, one of them took off climbing the rope, climbed onto the air-conditioner holder (which trembled under his weight), and jumped into my living room window.
One minute later, I was in my apartment. Home, sweet home.
I thanked them numerous times in Hebrew and English. Then we parted ways, and I rushed to tell someone about this story. Fortunately, the story doesn't quite end there. About 30 minutes later, the Russian expedition team knocked at my door, along with a heaping plate of shnitzel (breaded chicken breast). I invited them in, showed them around my un-furnished apartment, and brought them into my kitchen where I offered them a drink. We talked about our respective lines of work, and the grandkids drank some orange juice.
The grandfather (I kid you not) helped himself to 2 shots of vodka (that I had offered everyone). The end.
Anyway. My life:
Things are going well. I conquered another bought of Jerusalem Sickness, which is some unexplained virus I seem to pick up every time I go to Jerusalem (I think I started calling it Al-Husseini's Revenge, after the last Mufti of Jerusalem, a good friend of Hitler, among other terrible things). I was in Jerusalem en route to Efrat, where I spent Shabbat at my former Yeshiva (Yeshivat haMivtar). Which was very, very relaxing (except for the bus ride there, which was running late due to a crash, so a detour was taken through Beit Jallah (aka a Palestinian town)...but we made it in one piece, so alls well that ends well).
Medical school is going along: nothing special there...just the normal human dissections, biochemistry, cell biology, neuroscience, embryology, Hebrew, Introduction to Clinical Medicine, and Ethics and Law. Ugh. Gone are the lackadaisical days as a physics undergrad at MIT....
I gained a roommate. His name is Michael Sherman (yes, it has gotten a bit confusing with all the Michaels around), and he is from Boston, and a fellow student on the medical school program. You will all meet him if you visit.
And....back to work. I plan on updating this a bit more often with glimpses into my somewhat boring life. I also enjoy hearing from you....please write!
Michael
There I was, finished with work for the afternoon, a beautiful day, the sea is almost calm enough to see my reflection in...so naturally, I decide to go for a swim. This is especially of note because, despite the fact that I have to take about 15 steps to get to the ocean, I have never actually swam at the beach in front of my house. So I had to make a few preparations including taking a key with me that I wouldn't lose in the sea, since I was living alone at this point. So I found my extra key, and tied it to the inside of my bathing suit pocket (that velcro's closed) and set out to go swimming.
As I was leaving my apartment, I had to get the key out of my pocket to bolt my door...and it wouldn't lock. It was the right key, it fit in the key-hole, but it wouldn't lock. So I start trying to open my door (which needs a key to open even when it is not locked), and it wouldn't open, either. Try as I might, I could not figure out what was going on. And then it struck me: since I had taken my spare key, I had left my regular key on the inside of the door (where you need your key to lock/unlock the door as well), and Israeli doors have this peculiar safety function, whereby NOBODY (even someone with a key) can unlock your door if you have the key sitting on the inside.
So I'm standing there, feeling like the dumbest kid ever, wondering how am I going to get out of this fix. Should I call a "instalehtor," the Israeli version of a fix-it man, to take my door out? Will he even be able to do anything to my monstrous door? I don't even have my cell phone....Hmmm....Can I climb into the window? There *must* be a way I can use my awesome climbing skills to get me out of this bind...
So I walked around the apartment, only to realize for the first time how very far my second floor apartment is from the ground (about 25 feet). And...nothing that even looks remotely sturdy enough to handle my girth. So I really start panicking. What am I going to do? Will I have to call the fire department to put a ladder up to my window? Does Bat Galim (my neighborhood) even have a fire department? And, again, how am I going to do any of this without a cell phone?
Ugh. Anyway, to cut out the rest of the hysterical thoughts running through my head ("... what am I going to do about medical school?!") I finally realized that I need to do what I should have done about a month ago when I first moved in: meet my insane Russian neighbors. Well. I actually had no reason to believe they were insane. Or Russian, for that matter (besides the fact that 90% of this neighborhood is Russian). But they were, in fact, crazy Russians.
So I knocked on their door, and a Russian Grandfather (he will henceforth be referred to as "the grandfather") who looked a little too much like my physics adviser from college, but with a few gold teeth, the thick, undeniable reek of cheap vodka on his breath, and no knowledge of English...or Hebrew, for that matter. After it became quite clear that we had no common language with which to communicate, he went and got a woman I suppose to me his daughter, and the "mother" of the house. She did know Hebrew, and I was able to communicate my need for a tall ladder. She starts yelling to wall in Russian, and a massive, baby-faced man who looked about my age emerged quite clearly from a nap, and got a ladder that was about 6 feet tall (not quite the 25 feet I needed to get into my apartment's open window).
However, freshly equipped with some equipment, I am determined to not be locked out of my apartment forever, and I start to look for somewhere around the building that an extra six feet of height might actually help. The grandfather accompanied me on this most silly of quests, and even in his mid-afternoon alcohol induced stupor, he was able to send an agreeing nod to me that this was, indeed, not going to work.
I then notice, for the first time, that there is a porch off of this happy Russian household that is about 4 feet off the ground, which would put me another 4 feet closer to the end of this farce. So I climb up onto the porch with their ladder, and realize....that it is still about 15 feet short of my living room window.
This is the point where things turned towards the funny. My new friend, the drunk Russian grandfather, started bringing all of the various pieces of broken furniture that had been sitting in our shared yard rusting away for Lord knows how many years, developing sharp points and other things that would make them distinctly NOT good for climbing on. Yes---he had brought over these aging living room pieces not because they reminded him of his days cruising for ladies along the Moskva River in the 1920's. He wanted to stack them up into a pile.....on which to put the shoddy ladder....to try to climb up to my window.
Fortunately, as soon as the pile was up to his standards (read: a mess) and was about to attempt an ascent of Rusty Mountain (despite my pleas in a combination of Hebrew and English he couldn't possibly have understood), his "grandsons" emerged from the house to pull him off of the hill o'junk. Once grandpa had been convinced to give up on his climbing adventure, I had a new item to ask for: a rope. The grandson was unsure, then asked the grandfather if he had a rope in Russian. The grandfather ran inside with a speed and focus that could only be attained by a man his age with the help of some particularly strong concoction....and emerged a minute later bearing a long rope with a grappling hook at the end. You might be asking yourself, "why did this old Russian man living in Bat Galim have a grappling hook?" That, my dear readers, is a mystery to me to this day.
So grandpa looked up at the rusty, metal apparatus directly below my window (that was apparently there to hold an air-conditioner at one point), and started twirling the hook above his head, for enough time for me and the grandsons to get out of the way. After about 5 tries, the old man actually had got the hook solidly caught on the air-conditioner holder. To test the stability of the air-conditioner holder, grandpa started swinging around on the rope with all of his weight...and it held.
So let me try to paint a picture of this scene right now: Russian Grandpa, Russian grandkids, and I are all standing outside my apartment building, on a small porch piled about 4-5 feet high with rusty, old furniture, on top of which is a ~6 foot ladder, looking up at this criss-crossing of metal about 20 feet above our heads, to which is attached a grappling hook, which a drunk old Russian man is swinging around on.
Well, I was the first to volunteer to try to climb this rope. I figured, it WAS my fault that we were all out here; also, this Russian grandpa was certainly not going to (succeed at a) climb up this rope, and his grandkids weighed about 50-75 pounds more than me, when I feared that weight was going to prove a big issue in surviving this climb. So climb I did. And I got as far as the air-conditioner holder, when the grandkids started yelling for me to come down. I was *so* close, but I was worried that they saw something that I did not, and, as I did not want to die, I listened to them. In fact, I do not believe they saw anything, since as soon as I got down, one of them took off climbing the rope, climbed onto the air-conditioner holder (which trembled under his weight), and jumped into my living room window.
One minute later, I was in my apartment. Home, sweet home.
I thanked them numerous times in Hebrew and English. Then we parted ways, and I rushed to tell someone about this story. Fortunately, the story doesn't quite end there. About 30 minutes later, the Russian expedition team knocked at my door, along with a heaping plate of shnitzel (breaded chicken breast). I invited them in, showed them around my un-furnished apartment, and brought them into my kitchen where I offered them a drink. We talked about our respective lines of work, and the grandkids drank some orange juice.
The grandfather (I kid you not) helped himself to 2 shots of vodka (that I had offered everyone). The end.
Anyway. My life:
Things are going well. I conquered another bought of Jerusalem Sickness, which is some unexplained virus I seem to pick up every time I go to Jerusalem (I think I started calling it Al-Husseini's Revenge, after the last Mufti of Jerusalem, a good friend of Hitler, among other terrible things). I was in Jerusalem en route to Efrat, where I spent Shabbat at my former Yeshiva (Yeshivat haMivtar). Which was very, very relaxing (except for the bus ride there, which was running late due to a crash, so a detour was taken through Beit Jallah (aka a Palestinian town)...but we made it in one piece, so alls well that ends well).
Medical school is going along: nothing special there...just the normal human dissections, biochemistry, cell biology, neuroscience, embryology, Hebrew, Introduction to Clinical Medicine, and Ethics and Law. Ugh. Gone are the lackadaisical days as a physics undergrad at MIT....
I gained a roommate. His name is Michael Sherman (yes, it has gotten a bit confusing with all the Michaels around), and he is from Boston, and a fellow student on the medical school program. You will all meet him if you visit.
And....back to work. I plan on updating this a bit more often with glimpses into my somewhat boring life. I also enjoy hearing from you....please write!
Michael
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