Daylight saving whaaaa?
In the States, for about three weeks before the clocks get sprung forward or felled back, every media source feels it's their sole duty to warn the public about the catastrophe that will occur if they fail to change their clocks before they go to bed. It's printed in calendars, like a major holiday.
Here, I was told exactly once, yesterday, by my BF's mother, that clocks get changed tonight. I have listened intently to the news, confident that I can understand enough Hebrew to discern whether or not someone is talking about a clock, time, losing an hour of sleep (yes, that phrase is important enough to me to understand), etc. Zip, zero, zip, efes. And yet, there's this really annoying ad for saving water that comes on about every ten seconds. Save the Kineret, people, we don't care what time it is!
Maybe the problem is that they don't schedule the clock-changing for Friday night - that is, the night before Shabbat. I remember, growing up, that the reminders for daylight saving time were printed in huge bold letters on the church bulletins the week before, so that come Sunday, no one would be an hour early and stand lonesome in the sanctuary with their own thoughts and tired kids, or even worse, be an hour late and completely miss what God had to say that week. If the synagogues had a stake in this whole time-saving business, perhaps we'd hear more about it so as to avoid any ill-timed prayers.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
A sampling.
Some photos from my recent past.
Floods in the mountains outside J'lem. This is normally bone-dry, and I run here a lot.
Carmel mountains.
Orchids
Unknown flower
View from the Carmel
Judean hills
Oasis
Kennedy Memorial
Who's who?
(Ok, not taken in Israel, but in NYC's Chinatown. Never mind :)
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| From Life in Israel |
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| From Life in Israe |
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| From Life in Israel |
Orchids
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| From Life in Israel |
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| From Life in Israel |
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| From Life in Israel |
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| From Life in Israel |
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| From Life in Israel |
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| From Life in Israel |
(Ok, not taken in Israel, but in NYC's Chinatown. Never mind :)
Yeah? Well your mother doesn't make coffee like I do.
It's been a while. I stayed at home from work for the second day in a row today, and I'm to the point where I'm not feeling 100% healtyh but I'm bored outta my mind and restless. So, to the blog!
I'm not feeling particularly insightful today, so I'll just share a funny story that happened not long after I moved here. This incident pretty much explains the Israeli personality and the apparent contradiction between their aggressiveness and their consideration.
There is a monstrous new house going up next door to us. We spend a lot of time staring at this thing, making comments as to what we'd do better, and trying to understand why it's taking so damn long. This last mystery wasn't hard to solve, as there is evidence of workman presence approximately once a week, if that.
Well, about 7 months ago they were working more than today (yes, a year later, the thing still isn't finished). In fact, they would work until the sun would go down, and being as it was summer after the clocks changed, this meant about 8pm. You can imagine how thrilled we were to try to enjoy an al fresco dinner with the sounds of welding and crazy Israeli workman screaming at each other in the background. This wouldn't happen every day, but just often enough to drive us nuts. After a few times of this routine, DBF got fed up and started screaming at them over the fence. Now, this was before I could understand much Hebrew, so to my virgin ears the resulting exchange sounded like they were whipping out the "your mother" insults and threatening a Mossad-type assassination on one another. After a few minutes' screaming, DBF came storming into the house, and started making coffee.
Wait, what? You were just screaming at them, now you're having coffee with them?
Yeah, I told them I'd make them coffee if they'd stop now rather than later.
That's what you were screaming about?
Screaming? Who was screaming?
They spent the next 10 minutes chatting like they'd all known each other for years.
I'm not feeling particularly insightful today, so I'll just share a funny story that happened not long after I moved here. This incident pretty much explains the Israeli personality and the apparent contradiction between their aggressiveness and their consideration.
There is a monstrous new house going up next door to us. We spend a lot of time staring at this thing, making comments as to what we'd do better, and trying to understand why it's taking so damn long. This last mystery wasn't hard to solve, as there is evidence of workman presence approximately once a week, if that.
Well, about 7 months ago they were working more than today (yes, a year later, the thing still isn't finished). In fact, they would work until the sun would go down, and being as it was summer after the clocks changed, this meant about 8pm. You can imagine how thrilled we were to try to enjoy an al fresco dinner with the sounds of welding and crazy Israeli workman screaming at each other in the background. This wouldn't happen every day, but just often enough to drive us nuts. After a few times of this routine, DBF got fed up and started screaming at them over the fence. Now, this was before I could understand much Hebrew, so to my virgin ears the resulting exchange sounded like they were whipping out the "your mother" insults and threatening a Mossad-type assassination on one another. After a few minutes' screaming, DBF came storming into the house, and started making coffee.
Wait, what? You were just screaming at them, now you're having coffee with them?
Yeah, I told them I'd make them coffee if they'd stop now rather than later.
That's what you were screaming about?
Screaming? Who was screaming?
They spent the next 10 minutes chatting like they'd all known each other for years.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Lost in Transliteration
One would think names, brand names, and transliterated English words would stay the same from one language to another. I mean, we all pronounce 'Sarkozy' with a French accent, right? Right...?
Anyway, here is a short and incomplete list (sure to be expanded as time goes by) of funny Israeli pronunciations. This isn't just about putting the acCENT on the wrong syLLAble, but complete eff-ups of the words. First, I will list the English word, followed by the Israeli equivalent, and some hopefully witty comment about the latter.
Lauper (as in, Cindi): Laufer. This has an explanation, as the letter פ for P and F sounds is the same, and there are rules about when to use it as such, but c'mon! It's her name. Girls just wanna have pun? This country can handle פלפל = falafel without any p/f switches, which clearly explains their priorities.
Boeing: Boing. Talk about the mile high club.
Bowling: Bow-eling. There is a funny dipthong on this word that makes this game seem like it has drastic effects on your GI tract.
Lincoln (as in, Abraham): Lin-co-len. They spell his name with the Hebrew letter lamed (ל) in the middle, thus ensuring that every Israeli pronounces his name with a solid three syllables and ignoring every English grammar law that explain silent letters.
Anyway, here is a short and incomplete list (sure to be expanded as time goes by) of funny Israeli pronunciations. This isn't just about putting the acCENT on the wrong syLLAble, but complete eff-ups of the words. First, I will list the English word, followed by the Israeli equivalent, and some hopefully witty comment about the latter.
Lauper (as in, Cindi): Laufer. This has an explanation, as the letter פ for P and F sounds is the same, and there are rules about when to use it as such, but c'mon! It's her name. Girls just wanna have pun? This country can handle פלפל = falafel without any p/f switches, which clearly explains their priorities.
Boeing: Boing. Talk about the mile high club.
Bowling: Bow-eling. There is a funny dipthong on this word that makes this game seem like it has drastic effects on your GI tract.
Lincoln (as in, Abraham): Lin-co-len. They spell his name with the Hebrew letter lamed (ל) in the middle, thus ensuring that every Israeli pronounces his name with a solid three syllables and ignoring every English grammar law that explain silent letters.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Ech omrim "flatter your body" b'Ivrit?
Today was one of many-of-late abnormally lovely January Saturdays in Israel (how many qualifiers can I put in one sentence?) HaHaver and I started our morning with a run along the sea from Jaffo to the Tel Aviv harbor and back. We then had a great breakfast in Jaffo, and then headed to one of the many restaurant-bars along the sea just north of Jaffo for a beer in the sun before heading back to the J'lem mountains.
Guys, the people-watching in this country is amazing, especially in Tel Aviv and especially on the sea. There is such an amazing mix of locals and tourists, from all religions and classes and backgrounds. I remember being young and sitting in a mall or airport with my mom, and we would make up stories about the people walking by, so I know how to people-watch. Today, I had the most fun observing the fashion that paraded before me. It was a nice day, but it's still January, so people aren't exactly in beach attire. (For the most part). So it's that weird it's-nice-out-but-still-winter-so-I'll-just-wear-a-scarf-with-my-flipflops sort of a day.
I don't pretend to be incredibly fashion-forward, but I do have a fashion philosophy: clothes should make you look good. Why wear something if it makes you look terrible? Apparently, this philosophy has not made it to this country. Stacy and Clinton would have an absolute field day with the 30+ females here. Or maybe even they would throw their hands up in exasperation.
"I'm terribly sorry, but there's nothing we can do for you unless you
hand over the Bedazzler."
Guys, the people-watching in this country is amazing, especially in Tel Aviv and especially on the sea. There is such an amazing mix of locals and tourists, from all religions and classes and backgrounds. I remember being young and sitting in a mall or airport with my mom, and we would make up stories about the people walking by, so I know how to people-watch. Today, I had the most fun observing the fashion that paraded before me. It was a nice day, but it's still January, so people aren't exactly in beach attire. (For the most part). So it's that weird it's-nice-out-but-still-winter-so-I'll-just-wear-a-scarf-with-my-flipflops sort of a day.
I don't pretend to be incredibly fashion-forward, but I do have a fashion philosophy: clothes should make you look good. Why wear something if it makes you look terrible? Apparently, this philosophy has not made it to this country. Stacy and Clinton would have an absolute field day with the 30+ females here. Or maybe even they would throw their hands up in exasperation.
"I'm terribly sorry, but there's nothing we can do for you unless you
hand over the Bedazzler."
What do I mean? Well, most 18-25 year old are incredibly good-looking and trendy - right now it's kind of a blend of hipster and 80s. Leggings and Converse sneakers are everywhere. If you're under 25, gorgeous and thin, you could wear a potato sack and look good, but I also won't feel visually offended if you wear leggings as pants and a style of shoe I begged my parents for when I was 10. (Punky Brewster hot pink hi-tops, baby).
The problem is, these fashions are also seen on 40 year olds with more than a few extra pounds on them. NOT FLATTERING, I don't CARE how "in style" something is. It's like they saw something on a 50-kilo model, bought it in the same size, squeezed into it, and then went out of the house without one backward glance into a mirror. I know, I know, it happens everywhere, but here for some reason it is just so apparent - maybe because in general Israeli women truly are gorgeous and you find yourself pitying the woman who has such POTENTIAL to look SO amazing. Combine this with the obsession with sequins and nonsensical English t-shirts, and you have yourself a fashion crisis, my friends. I found myself wishing for a camera to document some of the atrocities I saw today, but I would have run out of memory on my zillion GB memory chip.
The problem is, these fashions are also seen on 40 year olds with more than a few extra pounds on them. NOT FLATTERING, I don't CARE how "in style" something is. It's like they saw something on a 50-kilo model, bought it in the same size, squeezed into it, and then went out of the house without one backward glance into a mirror. I know, I know, it happens everywhere, but here for some reason it is just so apparent - maybe because in general Israeli women truly are gorgeous and you find yourself pitying the woman who has such POTENTIAL to look SO amazing. Combine this with the obsession with sequins and nonsensical English t-shirts, and you have yourself a fashion crisis, my friends. I found myself wishing for a camera to document some of the atrocities I saw today, but I would have run out of memory on my zillion GB memory chip.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Only in Israel: the Runner's Installment
Last Thursday, I participated in the Beit Shean Half Marathon. This wasn't the official name of the race, but it's what everyone referred to it as, because the largest town along the course is Beit Shean. All I will remember of this (supposedly) lovely village are: 1-the only two hills of the entire course and 2-the post-race feeding frenzy at their one and only proper restaurant.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This was my second race in Israel - the first being a 10K in Ashdod - and I found myself quite amused with several differences between US running races and those here, as well with many "only in Israel" moments. The running culture here in Israel isn't quite as "mainstream" as it is back in the US, especially in NYC. This is fun, in a lot of ways, because it brings a pretty intense energy. It also means that a 10% showing by women is huge. You'd think that this would better my chances of placing, but remember there are tons of Ethiopian immigrants here. And turns out, they're fast...
The fastest way to Beit Shean from Jerusalem is through the West Bank. So, with four of us in the car, we took off before 7 for the 1.5 hour drive. One of the passengers had lobbied for an earlier departing time, saying "there are over 1500 runners! We have to be there early!" for the 9:30 starting gun. After dozens of 5ks in NYC that pulled at least 4000 people, this comment made me giggle. The road from Jerusalem starts dropping towards the Dead Sea, before we turn north. The terrain is desert-desert-desert with a few agricultural settlements - most notably Jericho - and suddenly, it's green. This change of terrain coincides almost precisely with the border crossing, giving the differences between the Palestinian and Israeli landscapes even a more drastic appearance.
With four runners, all doing their best to hydrate, the obvious happens: nature calls. Which brings me to Israeli Experience #1: who needs a gas station when a ditch will do? Every time I've driven outside of a center of a city in this country, I have seen a car pulled over on the side of the road, with the driver doing his business in front of god and everyone. Usually this happens when the sign for the nearest gas station is well within view. We at least had the excuse that there were no gas stations for our four-man pit stop. It's a little trickier for yours truly, but mid-squat I started laughing at our sight: a car running on the side of the road, three men turned with their backs to the road and to each other, and some lady squatting, mooning the West Bank.
#2: the girl at the border-crossing knew all about the race and wished us good luck.
The race started and finished at a park near a spring-fed creek. The place was a balagan in every sense of the word. We did a creative left turn to enter an annexed parking lot. Which brings me to Israeli Experience #3: find the closest parking spot even if you stand in a line to get there. We were out of the car and on our way past the rows of cars looking for a spot 10m closer before others had even turned into the parking lot.
Israeli Experience #4 is uniquely running-related: the bib pick-up. Maybe it's because the latest races I've done are marathons and much bigger, but there was no ID check, no formal process. First, find your name on the sheet which will have your number next to it. This was not sent out before hand, so people were fighting trying to find their name. Then, go to the table according to your number, tell them what it is, get a b'hatslecha and on your way.
#5: the pre-race. Everyone knows everyone. My boyfriend ran into 3 people he knows, though didn't know they were running. The entire crowd was separated by about three hugs. Really, awesome.
#6: the start. There is a big yellow line on the road. People lined up 10 meters in front of it. The race started 10 minutes late because that was how long it took the guy on the megaphone to tell everyone: "haverei. The race will not start until everyone is in place. Move to the yellow line." Only the front row of people would attempt to move back, then have to stop. Rinse. Repeat.
#7: the start, part 2. There is no "line up according to pace." It is a big free-for-all. Israelis are good at free-for-alls. I love needing my elbows to pass the 7-min/km dudes.
#8: there was a road kill victim in the middle of the road near the start. "Eh, it's just a cat, they're everywhere, ain baiya."
#9: the one and only rule I was aware of was that bikes or escorts of any kind were strictly forbidden along the course. Did this prevent them? Of course not. But, true to Israeli fashion, when someone would accept contraband refreshment from their bike-riding spouse, they would take a swing and immediately offer the bottle to the runners in their vicinity.
#10: the groups of military units running together. At least they didn't have their guns with them.
#11: The guy sitting in the middle of the road in his running car, smoking a cigarette out his window, as we were forced to detour around him less than 500m from the finish line. Yoffi. At least I think he has a few good dents in his hood...
#12: The finish. I've never had so many people - strangers - approach me after a race, seeing how I did, wanting to compare notes. Thankfully, running with a group has taught me enough running-related Hebrew that I could manage to keep up!
#13: The Sachne! The spring-fed creek is a great temperature all year round, so everyone jumps in, in their running clothes, at the end of the race. We were 20m away from the Israeli marathon champion, who looked... normal.
#14: Beit Shean has one restaurant. It's your typical Israeli bbq restaurant: they pile the tables full of salads, pickles, chumus and laffe so that you eat till you're stuffed and then they make you order meat. Our group made reservations, so of course when we entered the restaurant, it was full. Restaurants in small towns do not understand the concept of reservation when it means turning away groups of 10. Starving, giving up hope, wouldn't you know it: the door opens, and the manager is lugging inside a huge plastic table with chairs from the outside. A little Windex and a cheap paper tablecloth, and we're elbow-deep in chumus and Goldstar. They might not understand reservations, but they understand the word achi.
Oh, and I ran pretty well too: 1:37.44, 8th woman in the <35 age group!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This was my second race in Israel - the first being a 10K in Ashdod - and I found myself quite amused with several differences between US running races and those here, as well with many "only in Israel" moments. The running culture here in Israel isn't quite as "mainstream" as it is back in the US, especially in NYC. This is fun, in a lot of ways, because it brings a pretty intense energy. It also means that a 10% showing by women is huge. You'd think that this would better my chances of placing, but remember there are tons of Ethiopian immigrants here. And turns out, they're fast...
The fastest way to Beit Shean from Jerusalem is through the West Bank. So, with four of us in the car, we took off before 7 for the 1.5 hour drive. One of the passengers had lobbied for an earlier departing time, saying "there are over 1500 runners! We have to be there early!" for the 9:30 starting gun. After dozens of 5ks in NYC that pulled at least 4000 people, this comment made me giggle. The road from Jerusalem starts dropping towards the Dead Sea, before we turn north. The terrain is desert-desert-desert with a few agricultural settlements - most notably Jericho - and suddenly, it's green. This change of terrain coincides almost precisely with the border crossing, giving the differences between the Palestinian and Israeli landscapes even a more drastic appearance.
With four runners, all doing their best to hydrate, the obvious happens: nature calls. Which brings me to Israeli Experience #1: who needs a gas station when a ditch will do? Every time I've driven outside of a center of a city in this country, I have seen a car pulled over on the side of the road, with the driver doing his business in front of god and everyone. Usually this happens when the sign for the nearest gas station is well within view. We at least had the excuse that there were no gas stations for our four-man pit stop. It's a little trickier for yours truly, but mid-squat I started laughing at our sight: a car running on the side of the road, three men turned with their backs to the road and to each other, and some lady squatting, mooning the West Bank.
#2: the girl at the border-crossing knew all about the race and wished us good luck.
The race started and finished at a park near a spring-fed creek. The place was a balagan in every sense of the word. We did a creative left turn to enter an annexed parking lot. Which brings me to Israeli Experience #3: find the closest parking spot even if you stand in a line to get there. We were out of the car and on our way past the rows of cars looking for a spot 10m closer before others had even turned into the parking lot.
Israeli Experience #4 is uniquely running-related: the bib pick-up. Maybe it's because the latest races I've done are marathons and much bigger, but there was no ID check, no formal process. First, find your name on the sheet which will have your number next to it. This was not sent out before hand, so people were fighting trying to find their name. Then, go to the table according to your number, tell them what it is, get a b'hatslecha and on your way.
#5: the pre-race. Everyone knows everyone. My boyfriend ran into 3 people he knows, though didn't know they were running. The entire crowd was separated by about three hugs. Really, awesome.
#6: the start. There is a big yellow line on the road. People lined up 10 meters in front of it. The race started 10 minutes late because that was how long it took the guy on the megaphone to tell everyone: "haverei. The race will not start until everyone is in place. Move to the yellow line." Only the front row of people would attempt to move back, then have to stop. Rinse. Repeat.
#7: the start, part 2. There is no "line up according to pace." It is a big free-for-all. Israelis are good at free-for-alls. I love needing my elbows to pass the 7-min/km dudes.
#8: there was a road kill victim in the middle of the road near the start. "Eh, it's just a cat, they're everywhere, ain baiya."
#9: the one and only rule I was aware of was that bikes or escorts of any kind were strictly forbidden along the course. Did this prevent them? Of course not. But, true to Israeli fashion, when someone would accept contraband refreshment from their bike-riding spouse, they would take a swing and immediately offer the bottle to the runners in their vicinity.
#10: the groups of military units running together. At least they didn't have their guns with them.
#11: The guy sitting in the middle of the road in his running car, smoking a cigarette out his window, as we were forced to detour around him less than 500m from the finish line. Yoffi. At least I think he has a few good dents in his hood...
#12: The finish. I've never had so many people - strangers - approach me after a race, seeing how I did, wanting to compare notes. Thankfully, running with a group has taught me enough running-related Hebrew that I could manage to keep up!
#13: The Sachne! The spring-fed creek is a great temperature all year round, so everyone jumps in, in their running clothes, at the end of the race. We were 20m away from the Israeli marathon champion, who looked... normal.
#14: Beit Shean has one restaurant. It's your typical Israeli bbq restaurant: they pile the tables full of salads, pickles, chumus and laffe so that you eat till you're stuffed and then they make you order meat. Our group made reservations, so of course when we entered the restaurant, it was full. Restaurants in small towns do not understand the concept of reservation when it means turning away groups of 10. Starving, giving up hope, wouldn't you know it: the door opens, and the manager is lugging inside a huge plastic table with chairs from the outside. A little Windex and a cheap paper tablecloth, and we're elbow-deep in chumus and Goldstar. They might not understand reservations, but they understand the word achi.
Oh, and I ran pretty well too: 1:37.44, 8th woman in the <35 age group!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
You see what I'm up against?
On Facebook, I'm a member of the "Anglos in Israel" group. They so nicely emailed the group with an opportunity to participate with JCorps in volunteer activities. Curious, I mosied on over to their FB page. Does anyone see anything wrong with this disclaimer?
"We are non-religious, non-denominational, and 100% free. We are open to all unmarried Jews aged 18-30."
To which denomination within the Jewish religion are they referring? Jews for Jesus??
"We are non-religious, non-denominational, and 100% free. We are open to all unmarried Jews aged 18-30."
To which denomination within the Jewish religion are they referring? Jews for Jesus??
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