White Bread

Here in Israel, it's all, "where does your family come from?"

And by that, they do not mean, where are you from. They don't even mean, where are your parents from. They mean, way back when, where did your roots take place? Where did your family reside till they were kicked out?

Sephardic, Temani (Yeminite), Ashkenazi, Ethiopian and beyond, you can find it all in Israel. I am not even going to attempt to explain the stereotypes, except that much of the time I feel like American wonder bread walking around. Sliced bread is an ingenious invention but in Israel, pita rocks the landscape. A few months ago, I went into a shwarma place and the vender laughed at me when I ordered my shwarma spicy, incredulously asking if I was quite sure I wanted spicy sauce and exclaiming, "but you are Ashkenazic!" (typical). Yes, I was sure, though I guess being blond doesn't help.

In any event, between the shwarma and the chummus and the jachnun and the roasted eggplant with sesame sauce, Sephardic and Temani food dominate. Don't get me wrong, the food is delicious. In general, I even prefer Sephardic-style cuisine. But sometimes I do miss cholent and kreplach and sour dill pickles and Dr. Brown's black cherry soda. I miss warm pastrami sandwhiches. But if there is anything I've learned about living in Israel, if you seek so shall you find.

Here, there is always tons of delicious food everywhere you turn... and no time of the week is there more food consumed than on Shabbat. Little by little, I have begun to discover the shabbat take out menus, the fancy restaurant and tunisian cafe in Baka, Abu Rami in Talpiot, and more.

And so, last week in a desperate search for my grandmother's chicken soup, I found an Ashkenazi take out place. I've been back twice and couldn't be happier, though I do feel a bit like a stereotype, like an American eating in a McDonald's in the middle of Paris or Florence. But, alas, what do I know? I've done that, too.

Heimeshe's Ashkenazi Delight, Karen Kayemit, Rehavia

Tunisian Food from a Cafe on Derech Beit Lechem, Baka

Israel in a Bottle

If you do not live in Jerusalem, you don't understand. You can't understand how everything is somehow significant here, how Jerusalem is the most magical city in the world.

I do not really know how to explain it, except that everything in Jerusalem is ladden with meaning. Sausurre and Derrida just swim around in my head as I drift along. Neighborhoods say a lot about the person, shuk venders are so emotionally emphatic about selling their vegetables that it makes me uncomfortable and taxi drivers dispatch crucial advice.

About two weeks ago was one of those nights when surely everything was symbolic. Everything that is difficult about Israel, everything that is so hard the only way of coping is to laugh, everything that is beautiful about Jerusalem, the holy city, all in one Jerusalem moment.

It was Thursday night and I had just finished working my American hours and then some. It was about 2 AM Jerusalem time. I called up a taxi company and spoke with a man who refused to take me home to Bayit Vegan because it was too far and claimed the company couldn't go there, but then relented when I told them that they had taken me there the night before (a white lie). Beseder, the cab was sent.

Twenty minutes and about five pleading phone calls on my part later, I was finally picked up from my office in Nahlaot. The cab driver was religious and spiritual and played dance remixes of Jewish tunes. We talked for a bit, and I said I liked the music. And he said he would play something special, lecavod shabbat, so off we drove into the midnight sunset, a techno remix of the shabbat classic Lecha Dodi blasting.

Storefront from the Summer Collection of Israeli designer, Daniella Lehavi

Now & Then

If Israel is my one, true love, Italy is the one that got away. The one that could never be. And so on...

And yet, perhaps it is no coincidence that both countries pull me. As my mother says, the sunlight in Italy is the closest thing the rest of the world has to the light in Jerusalem. The cobblestone paths of Israel and Italy's historic centers blend together. The magical ability to get lost going anywhere in both Jerusalem and Rome. The Mediterranean Sea. The love of food and coffee. The hand gesturing. The many accents. The big, curly hair.

And sometimes, when I walk by an old smoky building I am back at my host parents' Florentine flat on via Giacamo Medici.

Galipoli, Italy. Spring 2008

Nahlaot, Jerusalem. Summer 2012

Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I have spent three summers in Israel, but this is my first September 12th in the Land of Milk and Honey. So far, I am loving it and I think the chagim (high holidays, Rosh HaShana through Sukkot) are set to be my favorite time of year in Israel.

First of all, the weather is quite lovely. It is starting to cool down, and by 5 pm or so it is already sweater weather. So it is a nice mix of summer in the morning and a chance to preview your fall wardrobe in the afternoon (even though I doubt so many other people in Jerusalem dream about back-to-school shopping and blazer season followed by chunky sweater season). On my walk home from work around 11 pm, it is chilly at first but by the time I make it to the tram, I am already warm again. It is nice to feel the crisp air, smell Jasmine plants and see flowering bushes overflow from gates and walls. For me, this is a truly Jerusalem sensation.

There is also a really festive atmosphere in Jerusalem. Israelis love to celebrate. Everyday, I see either a religious party or a birthday party or a bunch of people just celebrating for no reason. People are constantly barbequing in the parks and blasting dance music. Everyday here is a reason to eat cake. So when there is actually a real festival, it is quite exciting. Supermarkets are having special pricing. People sign their emails wishing a happy new year. Even store venders will wish you a happy new year. Outside the shuk, there is a booth selling stuff you might need for the chagim and for the year to come: pots and pans at a special price, tablecloths, sheets sets (for all the guests you will be hosting presumably), new years cards with French, English and Hebrew on them, calendars and more.

Which brings me to my next point: presents. The chagim are a great time because apparently people give and receive presents. It is also customary to buy yourself some new clothes, i.e. give yourself a new present. So there is a lot to love about that.

Last of all, there is some truly great seasonal produce going on here. You really realize that it is harvest season. I love seasonal things, they were one of my favorite parts about Italy. I loved hearing about the truffle mushroom harvest from my students in the vocational school and seeing my Florentine host mother whip up a cake with whatever was fresh, be in grapes during grape season or chestnut flour during chestnut season. Here, there are pomegranates literally everywhere in the shuk, and two types of long green beans. My guess is that one is sugar snap and the other is string beans, but when I talked to the vender at the shuk he said you had to cook both for about twenty minutes, so that doesn't sound like either. But he said that both types of ambiguous green beans are eaten this time of year and for the New Year. I also bought some special crystallized honey and one of my French roommates plans on making her Tunisian grandmother's special honey-sugar recipe.


All in all, this is a beautiful time of year and the chagim haven't even started. It is wonderful to see everyone getting excited and celebrating together. Next up: eating in a Sukkah at any ol' restaurant in Jerusalem.

sukka after sukka after sukkah

blurry view of sukkas over restaurants

post-sukkot etrogs on sale

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.

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.

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