Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Ps and Qs



Over the past few days, I have been asked my age three times, held a Haredi woman’s baby on the tram (not the first time either I have been asked to play temporary babysitter in Jerusalem), discussed with a cab driver how being Shomer Shabbat affected his career as a policeman and had a waitress compliment my friend’s glasses, ask her where she got them and how much they cost.

"Behavior of the natives" and "customs of the land" are constantly discussed by new olim. Just the other day, I talked about the differences of manners in Europe, America and Israel with one of my French roommates. All this begs the question, what exactly are manners in this Jerusalem-stone jungle I find myself in? What are the rules of the game? From what I gather, apparently it is not rude to ask someone's age and it is dumb to the point of being offensive to wait in line patiently.


For some, Israel has a wild sort of atmosphere. Personal space is metaphorically and literally invaded. People push and don’t say “excuse me” unlike in New York where people push, say “excuse me” and then continue to push. Sometimes it feels like everything is a fight. At the bank, I am constantly begging to get any information about my account, am offered water when I show up sweaty (it’s a 15 min walk uphill under the hot Middle Eastern sun) and am obliged to listen to my bank teller lament about it being too hot outside for her party that is set to take place in just a few hours. Other times I am told (not asked) to put money into a savings account even though the majority of Israelis are in the red zone. And yet today, my bank teller was really helpful, above and beyond, when I asked her for help as an olah chadasha, even calling up VISA when I had a question about a charge and offering to get it cancelled for me. As much as I genuinely love the impersonal smiles Bank of America, you don’t get that type of help outside of Israel.

People, especially Anglos, seem to complain a lot about Israeli manners, how they could never get used to life there (here). P.J. O’Rourke in his typical good-natured stereotyping writes in his travel memoir Vacations from Hell:
        
 The larger the German body, the smaller the German bathing suit and the louder the German voice issuing German demands and German orders to everybody who doesn’t speak German. For this, and several other reasons, Germany is known as “the land where Israelis learned their manners”

(Definitively a new spin on the Israel-Germany relationship for those who claim Israeli exists only as consequence of the Holocaust. But I digress…). And sometimes it’s true—sometimes I would prefer it if the fruit vendor at the shuk didn’t make fun of me or my bank teller just smiled at me dully. And yet, perhaps because so many normal boundaries blur here, Israel almost feels like a socialist utopia where anything could happen. Israelis can be blunt, rude, aggressive. But after living here for about a year, I have toughened up and learned how to react. And, on the flip side, Israelis can be the most generous, genuine, open-minded and helpful people anywhere. In fact, I have even seen Israelis yelling (being blunt, rude, aggressive) when someone didn't give up his seat on the tram for a pregnant woman.

In Jerusalem, you aren’t afraid of talking to other people, of asking for help, of looking at someone else in the eye. Kids play in the streets unsupervised. If you are a 50 agurot short it is ok. There is a certain spontaneity in everyday life here, freedom in knowing that no matter what people will care if something really bad happens, that you can always find a ride or someone’s phone to borrow if yours dies. Someone will even be there to take care of your child should you need to pop open the stroller on a crowded tramcar.

Monday, August 20, 2012

8 Days a Week

Because of Shabbat (Friday sundown to Saturday nightfall), everywhere in Israel has its own weekly rhythm, unique from anywhere else in the western world that I have been. Shabbat affects the whole country, even places that are considered "secular." Buses stop running. Like Sundays in Europe, most stores are closed on Saturday, even in Tel Aviv, although non-kosher restaurants and bars often stay open. Even all this aside, time in Israel definitely has its own way of going about.

Thursday is kind of like Saturday night--everyone goes out. Tables upon tables crammed into the streets (even up and down hills), tons of people walking around, everything open. In Jerusalem, this means that the several streets downtown that people go to are jam-packed. But Thursday is also special in its own right. Supermarkets stay open late to compensate for closing early on Friday, and if you look carefully, you can see bakeries preparing challah for Shabbat until the wee hours.


Bread Baking in the Basement of a Bakery on Yaffo Street

Friday, as I mentioned, is a great day to brunch. Also a terrible day to do kniyot (food shopping). It can get very hectic, but great deals can also be found in the rush to close for Shabbat.

And let's not forget Sunday. It is back to work, bright and early, for most of us. For many olim, this is the hardest part of all. But for others, this isn't the case. After the rush of Shabbat and then the calm, half the shuk's stalls are deserted. Just like everywhere else, sometimes people just want to take the day off.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Honey, I'm Home: A Countdown

I returned to Israel on Monday morning, bright and early. On Israel Time, somehow the week is fast approaching Shabbat. Here is a list of how and why I know I am back:

10. I had hardly been in the country one hour when I had my sanity questioned by an angry group taxi/ sheirut driver. "At NORMALIT?" he blared when I asked him to take me to the front of the apartment rather than the back (which seemed to have a locked gate). However, when I screamed back "Slicha, ani oleh chadasha!" (excuse me, I am a new immigrant!) he calmed down and may have even felt badly. He also argued with this girl on the way back to Jerusalem over the best route, but by the time she left they were already parting as old friends

9. An older married couple visiting from Haifa chatted with me on the tram. One of their first questions was, not if I was married but HOW MANY CHILDREN I had. They said, they love all of the people of Jerusalem (including me)

8. Another day (my first day back to work, no less!), there was a twenty minute delay on the tram, possibly because of an unidentified package that was left at the Central Bus Station which was being investigated. Unfortunately, security concerns part of everyday life in Jerusalem. Security precautions are one of the only things (perhaps the only thing) Israelis don't seem to argue and yell about that much

7. I bought delicious fresh bananas, nectarines and plums at the shuk, all for the ripe price of 9 shekles total (>$3!). I also passed a stand selling "shmeers" spelled out in hebrew letters

6. Speaking of food, I found amazing goat cheese in the Land of Milk&Honey, in the supermarket no less

5. In the same supermarket in the same Land of Milk&Honey, I also confused my white dairy products and wound up with sour cream (leben/לבן) instead of plain yogurt (lavan/לבן), not to be confused with a cream cheese spread of sorts (lavana/לבנה)

4. I had an extremely tasty freshly squeeze juice from the shuk made out of orange juice, carrot juice and ginger. Tasty! Another wining combination: dates and bananas. When I asked about the pomegranate, the juicer knowingly said to wait a few more days for them to come into season

3. I ran into a friend during my break at work on Bezalel Street, one of my favorite places in all of Jerusalem

2. 15 shekel shwarma at one AM

and... #1. I have had my pronunciation of my street name corrected twice by two different Israeli cab drivers. However, the first pronunciation was corrected by the second driver who insisted that the first pronunciation was the "American" accent. It seems Israelis can find a way to argue no matter what, even pending time and space. More power to them!

Hey, it feels good to be home!

Cafes, shops and tram tracks along Yaffo Street. Photo courtesy of my father, David Nechamkin