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.

SOCALLED

I don't know how many of you have have heard the music of Socalled.

What he is doing, is taking old Klezmer albums, and mixing them into hip-hop beats. He throws in an accordian, and some stunning lyrics, and manages to create some of the most interesting music I have heard in a while.

His song, "You are Never Alone", really gained him some exposure, having been seen on youtube a couple million times.

The woman is singing, "Tonight I look to the stars, and they say Kaddish for me." It drips with sentimentality, and heritage, while still being cool and relevent.

I dig it!

WHO IS LAST? I AM AFTER YOU

A simple calculation, done automaticaly.

After collecting all my groceries, I push my shopping-cart up to the line, I believe has the least number of people, with the least number of items.
And you would think, assuming I have judged correctly, that this strategy would lead to my spending as little time as possible, waiting, before it is my turn to pay.

However, like everything else in Israel, time is negotiable. And so the jockeying for position begins.

An old man, with a single bottle of ketchup, pushes his way to the front, and asks the person who is next, "excuse me, I have only one thing, and it will just take a minute, do you mind if I go before you?"
No one standing in the line is consulted, and what is anyone to say, really?
He only has one thing, and to argue will take longer then just to let him go ahead.
Then a woman with a child, parks her cart behind me.
"Who is last?", she says. I look at what is in her cart. Only her kid and some fruit.
"I am", I say, with a sigh, because I know what will come next.
"I am after you", she says. Scurrying away to finish her shopping, leaving her cart and her kid behind, to mark her spot. I am now her witness. She said the magical Hebrew words.
"Ani achre-cha." I am after you. And with that, she is in the line, even though she is still clearly not finished shopping, and therefore, clearly, NOT IN LINE!
But I don't say anything.
To argue in Hebrew is exhausting. I can never say what I want fast enough, and often I can't understand my opponent's retorts. And besides, she is after me, not before me, so what do I care?
But what I don't realize (although by now I should), is that some one else has already claimed the place in front of me.
I have not begun unloading my cart, but I can see that, two spots ahead of me, someone is paying. Soon they will leave, and the checkout girl will begin scanning items, and it will be my turn, to put my stuff up onto the conveyor-belt.
As I am preparing to do this. A man appears with a full cart. He cuts in front of me.
"Excuse me!" I say in Hebrew, with an obvious tone of annoyance, "There is a line."
"Don't worry", he says with a guilty but indifferent smile, pointing to the man who is to pay next, "I am after him."
The man about to pay is now called upon to confirm this. He shrugs his shoulders and nods his head, barely paying attention.
"Then where were you?" I ask accusingly. I already know I have lost this debate.
"Here," the man says, grabbing things from his shopping-cart.
"OK", I giggle, under my breath.

All my anger defused, by the absurdity of his answer.

STILL, WE ARE MORE PEACEFUL THEN SOMALIA

Israel ranked 136 out of 140 nations, (1 being the most peaceful and 140 being the least) In the "Global Peace Index", unveiled today.

Ynet covers the story here.

This report is less important then it is interesting. No one's opinions are going to change, and the facts on the ground remain the same.

So why should any one give it a second thought?

Because it offers a good opportunity to show the level of anti-Israel bias, which exists in this kind of far left, elitist, world view.

When I saw that the study's endorsers, touted proudly on their web site, include Jimmy Carter, and Amnesty International, I knew it wouldn't be too difficult to expose the reports finding, as being less then intellectually serious.

The method they used for assessing which country is the "most peaceful" was pretty simple. Each country is ranked from 1-5 on a list of categories including things like, "Level of distrust in other citizens", and "Likelihood of violent demonstrations."

How these exceedingly subjective determinates were intended to be quantified objectively is never really explained. However, in regards to Israel, the opinions of the rankers becomes very clear in the results.

For instance, in the "Respect for human rights category", Israel scores a 4, the same score as North Korea, while communist Cuba, which has been denying basic liberties to its population for decades, scores a "more peaceful" 3.

In the "Potential for terrorist act" category, Israel again receives a very violent 4, while Iran is given a 2. Laughable! (unless they mean acts committed against the state, in which case Israel should be given credit, not demerits)

Unfortunately, the only thing that will be reported is the actual ranking itself, and Israel will again be portrayed as violent, in the media.

ZERO COOKIES, GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME

What happens to my salary every month. But still the plate is delicious.

THE ISRAEL BASEBALL LEAGUE

Opening day, of the second season, of the IBL (Israel Baseball League) is June 22!

Tickets are cheap, and you get to sit right on the field.

Any of you follow it last year?

A few things maybe you didn't know.

-8 players from last year's season were signed to professional contracts, including Eladio Rodriguez, last years MVP, who scored a deal with the AAA Yankee club.
-The Petach Tikva Pioneers have been moved to Jerusalem and renamed the Lions.
-The league has applied for Israel to be represented in the World baseball Classic. Because Jewish American major leaguers will be eligible for the team, Israel could be competitive right away.

I will be following the season closely, and posting regular updates.


Tel Aviv Lightning RULES!

HERE THE CATS ARE RATS

I live in Holon, a suburb of Tel Aviv.

Granted it is more urban then the suburbs back home. For instance, just about every one lives in an apartment building, instead of a house with a yard. But for the most part, it does have that suburb feel.

Things like, I don't know:
-Kids on bikes after school.
-Familiar faces at the bank, the super market, and the post office.
-Old people sitting on benches talking about the good old days, back in soviet Russia.

Well maybe that last one is particular to the suburbs of Tel Aviv, and you know Moscow.

What ever. The point is I don't live in the city.

So some one please tell me. What's with the stray cats?!

Seriously, they are every where.
-Living off of the garbage that over flows from the dumpsters.
-Mating and fighting loudly in the night.
-Dirty, mangy, battle scarred, flea covered creatures brazenly sauntering about, without the slightest fear of the human beings, who forfeit half their monthly salaries, just for the pleasure of sharing this neighborhood, with disgusting stray cats.

I swear, there is a nursery school up the street, leaving food out for them every day. Can you imagine? An institution intended to provide a safe environment for children encouraging filthy street cats to hang out on their property.


Its really not a big deal. I mean, why should I care? Its not like the cats are in my house. But I am baffled. It is such a simple problem to fix, a basic duty of the municipality to provide normal levels of animal control.

But no one seems to see it as a problem.

The level of Israeli tolerance for inconveniences, and nuisances, will always amaze me.

BUT FIRST A QUICK DISCLAIMER

Please try to disregard the complaining tone I am apt to adopt when discussing my life in Israel. I can't help it.

18 months ago I made Aliah. In that time I have had countless experiences, frustrating in a way unique to Israel.

-The bureaucracy infecting every institution, making necessary chores take three times longer than they should.
-The entitled attitude of the citizenry, turning the most benign public activities, like shopping, or getting on a bus, into hectic pushy fights.
-The complete lack of customer service, common manners, or a suitable living wage.
-The fact that everyone tells me I need to practice my Hebrew, but the second they hear my American accent, they begin to speak with me in English.

Its enough to make you as crazy as they are!

So, when constantly confronted with the following question, asked with confusion and envy, "Why would you come here from the United States?", what's a poor oleh-hadash (new immigrant) to do, but answer with a goofy smile, "I don't know, but apparently I love...."'

Balagan!

Its a Hebrew word, or maybe just an Israeli word (there is a difference), which translates into English as "messed up"

Its a popular word here in the holy land.

The great thing I am starting to understand, however, is that it is always said with a smile.

So that's the topic of this fledgling blog entitled, "Happy-Balagan."

I do have other interests, and I reserve the right to post anything I want. Digressions are good, and luckily for you I am a very smart, funny guy, so stay tuned.

Thanks for visiting my blog.