YOU ARE THE ANSWER TO YOUR QUESTION

Friday nights the buses aren't running, and so I take a taxi home.

I speak English at work all week, so the 40 minutes I am in the cab, is an excellent chance to practice my Hebrew.

In New York, you can always find an audience in the form of cab-drivers and bar-tenders. Either one will chat-it-up with you as long as you want, assuming the meter is still running, and you got money for another beer. Its no coincidence, that both professions rely on a salary paid in tips.

Well, tipping isn't exactly the national past time in Israel, and getting billed from a taxi meter, is money lost due to pure laziness. I find that every Friday, I am able to get a taxi home, at a negotiated price of 50 sheks, even though the meter would be closer to 60.

So, after arguing money out of my driver, and in so doing, making it pretty clear that my Hebrew is, lets say "limited", it isn't always so easy to strike up a conversation.

"So, what time are you working till?" I ask in Hebrew.
"All night", they usually answer in English.
"I prefer to speak in Hebrew, if that's all right", I say, in Hebrew, of course.
"O.K. If that's what you want", they say in English.

But eventually, the same question is asked.

"Why would you move from America to Israel?"

It is always asked sincerely. As if to say, "I was born here. I have no other home, but you... what? You don't like money?"

-Should I be offended? What are they saying, that Israel isn't as much my home as theirs?
-Should I be sympathetic? A taxi driver in Israel is working six days a week, to make the same money I made in High School, working part time.
-Should I be angry? They think life in America is so easy, and the life in Israel is filled with some sort of righteous struggle. Ask a taxi driver in New York how easy his day-to-day is.
-Should I be confused? After all, I don't know the answer to that question either. That's one reason I started to write this blog in the first place.

Usually I am just bored.

"Ca-cha", I say, shrugging my shoulders. It literally translates as, "like this", but what it really means is, "there is no good answer to your question." People say it all the time here. So many conversations end exactly like this, "lama? (why?)", "Ca-cha".

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. But it does give me a chance to look out the window.
I take in the end of a hard week of work, as the lights pass, and blurr the scenes of Tel-Aviv at night. The sun is down, it is Shabbat, and I will share it with 6 million Jews, living free, in their land.

Ca-cha! Like this!

SUNDAYS AT THE POST-OFFICE

Sunday is the day I get everything done.

I work for an American promotional products manufacturer. My work hours have to coincide with the United states. Generally I begin work at 2 and finish my day at 11. And of course, my week is from Monday through Friday.

The Israeli week, however, starts on Sunday and ends on Thursday. The Sabbath being the weekend.

Although working a different schedule from everybody else, can be a bit annoying, the one huge advantage, is that on Sunday, everything is open, and I am free. So, I usually save all my errands for Sunday, and one by one, get everything done.

One reoccurring chore I have, is paying my bills, and strangely enough, this is done at the post- office, in Israel. Last week my gas bill came, so my wife and I walked down to the post-office to prepare to wait.

We got there at 10:30. We found what we were expecting. We opened the door to a room full of retired people, each holding two pieces of paper in their hands- their number they took from the dispenser, and the same green colored gas bill, we had come to pay.

Everyone seemed to know at least a few of the other people there. The chatter was very loud, boisterous, and friendly- a much different atmosphere then you would find in an American post-office, where everyone is just looking to get done, whatever it is they came for, and get out of there. I do live in a nice little suburban neighborhood.

We take our number, and sit down. We have 145, they are now at 97. I watch how quickly each person is able to go to the counter, pay their bill and leave. I guess that we will be there about an hour.

So what do I do? Nothing. I sit there and wait. I talk to my wife. I make a phone call. I wait.

What do the Israelis do? They leave. They figure, "I have my number. It will be about an hour. Why should I sit here? I will go food shopping, or go home and watch TV, and come back when it is my turn."

And you can Imagine what ensues.

It usually goes something like this. Number 103 finishes his business and leaves the window. The teller, presses the button, and the digital red counter indicating the number whose turn it currently is, beeps, and turn to 104. But nobody moves. So she presses it again, and it turns to 105. Again, nobody. 106. Nobody. 107. An old woman gets up, and slowly makes her way over to the window. She pays her bill. Beep. 108. Nobody. Beep. 109.

Now someone enters the room. They walk towards the counter. At the same time, someone else gets up from their seat, and also starts towards the counter. They recognise each other's intentions, and begin to move more quickly. Who will be first?

They arrive at the window simultaneously.

"What number do you have?", one asks the other.
"109. It is my turn", they say, pointing at the electronic counter.
"I am number 107, I am before you."

And a stupid argument begins. It always begins in Hebrew, and so I follow it, for the most part. But in my neighborhood, most of the older people speak Russian as a first language, and when people are emotional, they always revert back to their mother tongue.

This stinks for me, because one of my favorite things to do is watch a ridiculous Israeli argument. It is always so impassioned, and well reasoned. Everyone argues like they are in front of the Supreme court. It rarely gets nasty, although it is always heated. But the best part, is the end, after the silly petty issue is resolved, both parties, who have been verbally battling one another, say good bye as though they are good friends who have just shared a pleasant brunch. No hard feelings at all.

The whole thing is entertaining, and I got an hour to wait, so I wasn't pleased when someone turned my television, to the Russian channel. Luckily, my wife speaks Russian, and she did some good over dubbing work.

Then something a little out of the ordinary happened.

The woman from behind the counter, stopped processing people's gas bills, stood up from her seat, walked around, and out from behind her window, and stood, looking curiously, at something across the room.

"Le-Mi-Zeh?" (whose is that?), she asked, pointing to a pushcart, sitting in the corner. It was a simple nylon bag, attached to wheels. The kind everyone uses in the supermarket, to tote their groceries home.

At first, no one paid any attention. She thought a second, and then said again more loudly,"Whose is that?"

The chatter quieted. But no one answered.

"Is that yours?" she asked the woman standing closest to the cart.
"No", the woman said.

The teller poked her head out side, and asked if it belonged to anyone there. It didn't.

So what to do now?

Is anybody nervous? No, not really. It is pretty obvious what happened. One of the ever so considerate people, who didn't think they were obligated to actually wait in the building for their turn, left the cart behind.

I don't think there was a single person in the room who thought there was even the slightest chance that it was a bomb. But at the same time, everyone understood, that the teller would not just let the issue drop, until the matter was settled. Leaving behind a bag or package in Israel, is not just an inconvenience to you.

The teller went back behind the counter, to make a phone call. Everyone in the room, began to complain to one another. Two words were heard above the static, "Tipesh", (Hebrew for stupid), and "Durak" (Russian for fool).

What a pain. Although, it is worth noting that no one left. If people believed that this package might be dangerous, they would not have all kept their seats. There was simply a protocol to follow, in case of a stray object, and it was going to delay the all ready long wait. All we wanted to do was pay our gas bills.

After a couple of minutes, a man, who looked as though he was in a rush, became fed up. He was simply not going to wait for the people on the other end of the post-office teller's phone call, to fix the problem. He did the easiest thing. He walked over and the checked what was inside.

No one stopped him. Everyone was hoping someone would do just that. He looked. "Nothing", he said.

Good enough for us. We all got back to waiting.

10 SHEKELS FOR A SMILE

Watching a rushing mob of people push and shove, as they cram themselves onto the bus, as the driver peals away from the curb, hardly looking at the oncoming traffic, and completely unsympathetic to the old women, who is yet to find her seat, and has nearly fallen onto her face... and it is easy to forget, that this is one really accomplished and civilized country.

Some things you might not know.

-Israel has the highest per-capita percentage of computers in the home.

-Outside the United States, Microsoft and Cisco have only one research and development office each, and both are located in Israel.

-As a percentage of its population, Israel has the largest number of citizens with university degrees.

-The cell phone was invented here. (how's that for impacting the world?)

But standing in line, at the Dizengoff Center McDonalds I was blown away, by what can only be described as a true harbinger of cultural maturity.

Israel has a 10 Shekel Menu!

For the uninitiated let me explain. In 2003 McDonald introduced the dollar menu. It was a brilliant concept. It works like this. There you are, going to work or school, maybe you're shopping, or visiting a friend, and you see the golden arches. "I already ate lunch," you think. "But wait a second, whats this in my pocket? Some change. 6 dimes, 5 quarters and 3 nickels. Well that mine as well be 2 apple pies, with bus fare to spare. Yeah."

Of course it isn't healthy. Your probably right, if your thinking, that the dollar menu is everything excessive and glutinous about the American life style. But you have to understand, I am talking about a cheeseburger for a dollar, and I haven't been in the United States for nearly two years, and I miss it, so lighten up!!

Anyway, 10 shekels isn't exactly a dollar (as I am writing this the dollar is worth 3.29 shekels, a depressing fact, which I will address in a later post) , and the McDonald's fries in Israel aren't exactly, you know...good, but that isn't the point. The fact is, 4 ice cream cones, for the change I have from the bus ride in the morning, makes me smile.

We are making progress.

THATS A FUNNY T-SHIRT

"A-PLUS ACTION"- "FAIRY SWEET"-"EXTREME SQUAD"

It is nonsensical, action packed, and completely ridiculous phrases such as these, which make it imposable to buy a shirt in Israel.

My wife is from the Ukraine. Growing up in the U.S.S.R., new clothe were not something easily gotten. (Especially cool, or exciting western style clothe) She always explains that she wasn't poor. She had plenty of money, there was just nothing in the stores to buy.

So, even though Communist Russia fell a long time ago, she has never really gotten over this child-hood deprivation. The end result for me, is that no matter how new my clothe are, she is convinced that they are rags, and it is time for me to go shopping for a whole new wardrobe.

Honestly, I wouldn't mind, except buying clothes in Israel can be very difficult for English speakers. Every time I see something I like, it turns out to have some silly collection of high energy English words, written all over it.

And if it isn't a bizarre English phrase, it is the name of one of three American cities. "New York", "Miami", or "Los Angeles". The Israelis seem to think that these are the only cities in America.

"Where are you from?" they will ask.

"Boston," I answer.

"Is that near Los Angeles?"

"Not really", I say trying not to laugh.

"Miami?"

"Its near New York"

"OH!", They say with excited recognition, "NEW YORK!...I have an uncle in New York!"

"Don't you all."

So the real question is, do you think this guy knows what the word, "Stunning" means? And if not, why does he want it embroidered on his shirt in big purple letters?

Because its English- Because its American- Because its cool.

WAIT, DID YOU JUST REGA ME?

You ordered coffee twenty minutes ago.

There is a break in your conversation, and you realize that it just doesn't take that long to make a cup of coffee, and you begin to wonder if perhaps your waiter has forgotten your order.

"I'll go check on things," you tell the other people at the table.

You walk over towards the counter, and see that your waiter is speaking on his cell phone. Normally, this disrespectful lack of customer service would irritate you. But today you are in a good mood, and in no rush, and so you give a friendly smile, to make sure that it is clear you need attention, and begin to wait patiently for your waiter to get off the phone.

You expected that this would happen quickly, imagining that your waiter, feeling embarrassed, would tell the person on the other end of the line, "I have to go, I am at work", and then promptly apologise, and see what he could do to be of service.

Instead he turns his back, and continues his conversation, about something that really doesn't sound urgent. Now you start to get annoyed. This is rude.

"Excuse me!" you say loudly.

And then it happens. Time slows down.

The waiter curls his right hand, so that the tips of each finger are brought together with the tip of his thumb, raises his hand into the air, and with an out stretched arm, shakes the gesture a couple of times, clearly bothered that you have disturbed him.

You my friend have been given the REGA.

What does it mean? Literally, the word "rega" translates into "moment", but a more accurate translation, in this context, is "wait", as in "wait a moment".

Israelis use this hand gesture quite a bit. It isn't always rude, although it is never quite polite. And it can be done with a full range of nuanced meaning and individual style.

The Angry Rega- Thrown up quickly in the face of another, and shook violently.
The Feminine Rega- Done using only the index finger, middle finger, and thumb.
The Apologetic Rega- In which the hand is shaken quickly, as if to say, "Hold on, I will be ready for you in one second."
The F-You Rega- The arm is out right and stiff, and the hand is raised quickly in the air, and then abruptly halted, while the person giving it looks away, in the classic, "talk to the hand" pose.

An Israeli space shuttle is getting ready to launch. A booming deep voice, amplified loudly through the speakers, prepares the large crowd, who are waiting silently filled with anticipation.
COUNT DOWN IN.... TEN MINUS... NINE...EIGHT...SEVEN...SIX...FIVE...FOUR...THREE...TWO...ONE...REGA, REGA, REGA....

ENGLISH AND HEBREW, WHATS THE DIFFERENCE?

When I was studying Hebrew on the ulpan, my teacher would write a few new words on the board each day. Usually a couple verbs, an adjective, a noun or two, and then at least one of what she called, "International words."

Quickly it became clear to me that "international" means English.

There are a thousand examples of this. It gets to the point, that when I am speaking Hebrew, and am unable to come up with a word, I simply try saying the English word with an Israeli accent.

As I am riding the bus to work, I often watch attentively out the window, trying to read the Hebrew in the signs and advertisements. Its just a good time to practice. When I have seen a particular word several times and am still unable to decipher it, I will jot it down, and check the dictionary at home. (the kind of homework that never really stops for a new immigrant)

When this fails, the next time I see that sign with my wife, I check to see if she knows what it means. She has been in the country the same amount of time as I have, but has managed to pick up the language a lot faster. The problem with this method, is that my wife's first language is Russian, and she is prone to translating a word into Russian first, and then into English. Like a game of telephone, as the word is passed from language to language, it can lose its original meaning.

But I digress.

There was a funny instance in which we were riding the bus together, and I pointed to a sign above a restaurant door. "Do you know what that says?" I asked. "Boor-gar?, Is that some one's name?"

"You Americans are so smart," she said, "Burger, you know this word?"'

Strangely enough, they will actually write English words with Hebrew letters, even though they have a word with the same meaning, which they use in normal conversation.

One of the largest banks in Israel is called, "Discount". There is a Hebrew word, "mivtsa" that directly translates into the word, "discount". But instead of using the Hebrew word, they phonetically write the English word, using the Hebrew alphabet. As though the English name offers them some sort of cultural cache.

Another example, is the most popular beer in Israel, "Goldstar". Again, there are Hebrew words that mean both "Gold" and "Star". But they choose not to translate. On the bottle the name of the beer (beera in hebrew by the way) is written first in English, and then the English name is repeated using Hebrew letters.

Here's a good one. This is a sign above a drugstore. Sound the word out in Hebrew, and it says, you guessed it, "Drugstore".

"Drugstore", they will say, "that's not English, its an international word."

"OK", I say.

NA NACH NACHMA NACHMAN MEUMAN

It is a mantra, popularised by a Rabbi Odesser, one of the founding figures in the Breslov Hasidim movement, in Israel.

Its origins contain all the necessary poetry, magic, and mysticism.

It is chanted, sung and screamed, by overjoyed Hasidic men in the streets, standing on top of their cars, and vans, blasting upbeat music, and honking their horns. It is written with reverence over the doors of shops and homes, in an effort to invite positivity, into the inhabitants lives.

And, surprisingly enough, it is one of the most impressive graffiti campaigns I have ever seen.

I lived in New York for eight years. Although, I was a supporter of Giuliani's efforts to clean up the graffiti problem, I couldn't help but admire some of the artists and their work. Not because it was beautiful. Lets be honest, for the most part it was all done hastily with spray paint on a dirty wall. If I wanted to see fine art, I would go to the Met. Instead, it's merit came from its phenomenal prevalence.

When a particular image or text, is repeated through out a city, forcing everyone to encounter it, casually, in their daily lives, over and over again, the presence of the art becomes its meaning. Graffiti can be like a visual mantra, constantly reoccurring, as we navigate the cities we live in.

And so the religious Mantra, Na Nach Nachma Nachman Meuman, becomes the Secular Mantra, in the form of graffiti, in the city of Tel Aviv.

There is another example of this particular juxtaposition, I want to mention. "Am Yisrael Chi" is also endlessly reappearing. This case is noteworthy because I believe it may be done by a single artist, who deserves credit, for shear determination, because he has manged to blanket the walls of Tel Aviv with his graphic message.