I have nothing better to do with my life than send empty packages across the Atlantic Ocean. This is probably what my step-father thinks.
I am trying to smuggle in Commie literature and marijuana in "tea bags" to Pensacola, Florida. This seems to be what the Office of Homeland Security thinks.
I am never again sending a package to America. This is what I think.
Two weeks ago, to the day, I packaged a book of short stories by Etgar Keret, The Bus Driver who Wanted to be G-d (for the title story, click here) to send to my step-dad, Hampton. While I was at it, I decided to include a few Roiboos tea bags--if you don't know what this is, try it!--for my mom.
The short story is that it arrived in a state the U.S. Postal Service calls "damaged." While we are not mail-delivery experts, the rest of us would probably just say "empty."
Yes, it was empty. Filled with nada, nothing. The envelope (again, the empty envelope) had been packaged inside another envelope and had been forwarded on to its lucky recipient.
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Satisfaction Guaranteed
I've said it before and I'll say it again: You can find ANYTHING (including shampoo, salsa, diapers, fish food, garden hoses, Christmas lights, and shotguns) at Wal-Mart. Read about their latest product - Camels.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
There are No Cats in America . . .
(And the streets are paved with cheese . . .) These, my friends, are the hopeful words of my friend Fievel Mousekewitz.
As a kid, I loved "An American Tail," and growing up in a mainly non-Jewish world, I had no idea that Fievel and his family were a part of "Russian-Jewry." It was the words of Fievel that came to my head last night as I saw what is, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing I have seen in Israel. Well, I guess I cannot go that far. After all, this is a country where even the diapers are labeled "Kosher for Passover" (click here for my expose on Kosher for Passover products) And to be fair to Israel, I did grow up in a place where the trucks are larger than my current apartment. (Let's just say, "It's a draw." There are ridiculous things everywhere). What did I see? Well, in the "development" town of Herzliya Pituach (Hebrew speakers will get this joke), I saw, near a mall filled with expensive stores which is located on the beach, a sign for a "Planned Feeding Area" for cats. Fievel would have cried.
You see, Fievel dreamed of a land without felines. Had he arrived to Israel instead of America, he would have been deeply disappointed. That is, or eaten immediately. Israel has many, many, many (keep saying "many" to yourself) cats roaming the streets, yowling in the night, and scrambling out of dumpsters when you least expect it (i.e every time you try to throw away trash).
I myself have fed many a cat and even saved a small kitten from dying of malnourishment and disease. Even I, friend of the felines, was a bit shocked by the organized "soup kitchen for cats." Not because cats don't deserve it, but rather because people do.
Last week I visited the towns of Ramle and Lod, two cities located between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, which make me happy I live in the neighborhood I do. Ramle and Lod are what is called "mixed cities," meaning that their populations consist of a significant number of both Jews and Arabs. The reality on the ground is harsher, though. "Mixed," in most cases, translates to "separate," and "separate," in most cases, translates to "separate and not equal." Both of the towns, unfortunately, have in many respects been left to die. Both the Jewish and Arab populations suffer from low socio-economic statuses. However, the resources, rights, and privileges granted to the Arab communities--or rather, the lack of them--left me with a hole inside. As is the case in many poor areas, there is a huge problem with crime and drugs--I saw two drug deals go down in the few short hours I was there--and even those people who have been able to succeed are limited in their opportunities. For instance, the "all white" country clubs in 1950s America have found their "all Jewish" answer here in Israel--neighborhoods where even if you have the money to buy the house, you don't have the right blood to do so.
And so, I think now to myself, that the irony is just a bit too much for me to bear. One town where even the cats are looked after. And another one, a short 20 minute drive away, in which citizens of Israel live without municipal services such as water and electricity. When I think about the best way of addressing these issues, I come up with many simple answers that apparently the local and federal government seem to think are impossible or perhaps, simply, not worthwhile.
So, what is the answer? That is how I sign off now. With a question, with doubts, and as always, with hope.
As a kid, I loved "An American Tail," and growing up in a mainly non-Jewish world, I had no idea that Fievel and his family were a part of "Russian-Jewry." It was the words of Fievel that came to my head last night as I saw what is, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing I have seen in Israel. Well, I guess I cannot go that far. After all, this is a country where even the diapers are labeled "Kosher for Passover" (click here for my expose on Kosher for Passover products) And to be fair to Israel, I did grow up in a place where the trucks are larger than my current apartment. (Let's just say, "It's a draw." There are ridiculous things everywhere). What did I see? Well, in the "development" town of Herzliya Pituach (Hebrew speakers will get this joke), I saw, near a mall filled with expensive stores which is located on the beach, a sign for a "Planned Feeding Area" for cats. Fievel would have cried.
You see, Fievel dreamed of a land without felines. Had he arrived to Israel instead of America, he would have been deeply disappointed. That is, or eaten immediately. Israel has many, many, many (keep saying "many" to yourself) cats roaming the streets, yowling in the night, and scrambling out of dumpsters when you least expect it (i.e every time you try to throw away trash).
I myself have fed many a cat and even saved a small kitten from dying of malnourishment and disease. Even I, friend of the felines, was a bit shocked by the organized "soup kitchen for cats." Not because cats don't deserve it, but rather because people do.
Last week I visited the towns of Ramle and Lod, two cities located between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, which make me happy I live in the neighborhood I do. Ramle and Lod are what is called "mixed cities," meaning that their populations consist of a significant number of both Jews and Arabs. The reality on the ground is harsher, though. "Mixed," in most cases, translates to "separate," and "separate," in most cases, translates to "separate and not equal." Both of the towns, unfortunately, have in many respects been left to die. Both the Jewish and Arab populations suffer from low socio-economic statuses. However, the resources, rights, and privileges granted to the Arab communities--or rather, the lack of them--left me with a hole inside. As is the case in many poor areas, there is a huge problem with crime and drugs--I saw two drug deals go down in the few short hours I was there--and even those people who have been able to succeed are limited in their opportunities. For instance, the "all white" country clubs in 1950s America have found their "all Jewish" answer here in Israel--neighborhoods where even if you have the money to buy the house, you don't have the right blood to do so.
And so, I think now to myself, that the irony is just a bit too much for me to bear. One town where even the cats are looked after. And another one, a short 20 minute drive away, in which citizens of Israel live without municipal services such as water and electricity. When I think about the best way of addressing these issues, I come up with many simple answers that apparently the local and federal government seem to think are impossible or perhaps, simply, not worthwhile.
So, what is the answer? That is how I sign off now. With a question, with doubts, and as always, with hope.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
May His Memory Be a Blessing
Why? Because he was mentally unstable.
Why? Because America's gun laws are too lax?
Why? Because violence is now a way of life, a heroic, praised method of dealing with your problems.
Why? Only G-d knows, and maybe not even G-d.
Where can we feel safe? At home of course. But yesterday's "massacre," as CNN has now labeled it, proves that even there you aren't safe. Shot in their dorm rooms, their home away from home. Shot in their classrooms, the place that is supposed to open you up to the world, to culture, to history, to knowledge.
And whose story touches me the most? (I apologize to all the others for singling this man out) Liviu Librescu. The cruel irony, the cruel coincidence of his death. A Holocaust survivor, murdered years later on Holocaust Remembrance Day so far away from the place of the atrocities he witnessed as a child. In my eyes, a true hero.
Holocaust Survivor Saved Students' Lives
May his memory be a blessing.
Why? Because America's gun laws are too lax?
Why? Because violence is now a way of life, a heroic, praised method of dealing with your problems.
Why? Only G-d knows, and maybe not even G-d.
Where can we feel safe? At home of course. But yesterday's "massacre," as CNN has now labeled it, proves that even there you aren't safe. Shot in their dorm rooms, their home away from home. Shot in their classrooms, the place that is supposed to open you up to the world, to culture, to history, to knowledge.
And whose story touches me the most? (I apologize to all the others for singling this man out) Liviu Librescu. The cruel irony, the cruel coincidence of his death. A Holocaust survivor, murdered years later on Holocaust Remembrance Day so far away from the place of the atrocities he witnessed as a child. In my eyes, a true hero.
Holocaust Survivor Saved Students' Lives
May his memory be a blessing.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Three Things I Learned This Week
Yes, yes. I know, it's been . . . well, too long, since I have written. But here's the deal. School (MA in Political Science at Hebrew University), Work (Translating/Writing for the Reform Movement in Israel), and Love (1.5 years with the world's "best" dresser; "best"=he likes blue . . . a lot . . . so much so that an entire blue outfit--something resembling Papa Smurf--is high on his list of favorite outfits), and Life (see above) has been keeping me very busy.
That is, until now.
Last week, as the holidays--Passover and my 25th birthday--descended upon us in a frenzy of cleaning up bread crumbs and drinking ourselves silly in Jerusalem's newest "Irish" pub, Dublin's, so did a period of freedom for yours truly. Freedom from Egyptian slavery, yes, and freedom from the "daily grind." School is on hold for two weeks and work for one week. I've been sleeping in, hiking, eating matzah-ball soup, watching movies, and buying kitchen appliances--all in all, a good vacation.
But despite the blender-buying excursions and the attempt to be creative in the culinary world ("What can I make with matzah, a cucumber, an egg, and the tail of a newt?"), I have had time to think. And I've learned a few things this week:
1) On your birthday, always drink one less beer than you think you should, especially if you live in a country that has beers with stronger alcohol content than the one you went to college in. Note: You cannot trust your friends to cut you off because sometimes they are more intoxicated than you are.
2) Do not celebrate your birthday (read: drink too much) on a night when the clocks change to Daylight Savings time. That hour of sleep is crucial to your post-birthday recovery.
3) "Kosher for Passover" labels have gone too far in this country. This just in: Kosher for Passover diapers have been spotted in several supermarkets in the Holy Land.
But there is actually a fourth thing I learned this week, something more serious than the light-hearted comments above. And that is that life is precious. Today, now, I am waiting to hear that someone's brain surgery--to remove a tumor from her brain stem--has gone well. That she will be healthy, pain-free, and without side effects. That she will return to be the wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, teacher, friend, living being that she was before the tumor was found.
At the end of the Passover seder, we say, "Next year in Jerusalem!" sometimes not even realizing that neither of these things are promises, but rather, hopes. Today, I saw the Jewish "pilgrims" pouring into the city I call my home to visit the Kotel (Western Wall) in order to be present for Birkat ha-Kohanim (Priestly Blessing, now conducted by those who are part of the Kohayn Tribe). This Sunday, Easter, Christian pilgrims will make their way along the Stations of the Cross, retracing the steps of Jesus, their connection to the Divine. These people, all of them, are here in an attempt to touch something holy, something beautiful. I hope they find it, I hope we find it. This year, next year, wherever we may be.
That is, until now.
Last week, as the holidays--Passover and my 25th birthday--descended upon us in a frenzy of cleaning up bread crumbs and drinking ourselves silly in Jerusalem's newest "Irish" pub, Dublin's, so did a period of freedom for yours truly. Freedom from Egyptian slavery, yes, and freedom from the "daily grind." School is on hold for two weeks and work for one week. I've been sleeping in, hiking, eating matzah-ball soup, watching movies, and buying kitchen appliances--all in all, a good vacation.
But despite the blender-buying excursions and the attempt to be creative in the culinary world ("What can I make with matzah, a cucumber, an egg, and the tail of a newt?"), I have had time to think. And I've learned a few things this week:
1) On your birthday, always drink one less beer than you think you should, especially if you live in a country that has beers with stronger alcohol content than the one you went to college in. Note: You cannot trust your friends to cut you off because sometimes they are more intoxicated than you are.
2) Do not celebrate your birthday (read: drink too much) on a night when the clocks change to Daylight Savings time. That hour of sleep is crucial to your post-birthday recovery.
3) "Kosher for Passover" labels have gone too far in this country. This just in: Kosher for Passover diapers have been spotted in several supermarkets in the Holy Land.
But there is actually a fourth thing I learned this week, something more serious than the light-hearted comments above. And that is that life is precious. Today, now, I am waiting to hear that someone's brain surgery--to remove a tumor from her brain stem--has gone well. That she will be healthy, pain-free, and without side effects. That she will return to be the wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, teacher, friend, living being that she was before the tumor was found.
At the end of the Passover seder, we say, "Next year in Jerusalem!" sometimes not even realizing that neither of these things are promises, but rather, hopes. Today, I saw the Jewish "pilgrims" pouring into the city I call my home to visit the Kotel (Western Wall) in order to be present for Birkat ha-Kohanim (Priestly Blessing, now conducted by those who are part of the Kohayn Tribe). This Sunday, Easter, Christian pilgrims will make their way along the Stations of the Cross, retracing the steps of Jesus, their connection to the Divine. These people, all of them, are here in an attempt to touch something holy, something beautiful. I hope they find it, I hope we find it. This year, next year, wherever we may be.
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