Today, I participated in a political voting system for first the time in my life. This may be slightly irresponsible for a 25-year old to have not yet made a political stand, however minuscule an impact voting may have. Political decision-making has, up until now, never seemed a relevant part to my role of citizenship. British politics never bothered me, however relevant to my income and taxation levels. I never cared for what toffee-nosed elitists would have to say in Parliament, as I distant from such articulation. Political currents relating to the nature of being part of an Israeli society that I am now surrounded by, have awakened my conscience. Issues discussed on the news and in the K’nesset (Israeli government) are part of a citizenship identity to which I hold strong ties, being a Jew within a world dominated by non-Jews. When walking into the school near to my apartment to post my vote, a tingle of excitement overcame my emotions with the thought that I was playing a part of a history of struggle and Jewish living, however minuscule this impact would be. These politics play a part in shaping Jewish identity and residency within the world, which is something I actually give a damn about.
Living Politics
I can remember the month of my arrival to Israel being filled with political dynamics. An atmosphere of tension existed as events leading towards the disengagement of Jewish communities in the Gaza strip drew closer. Streets were filled with strips over orange and blue, as people and cars were tied with coloured ribbons representing their stand. Orange ribbons represented opposition to the disengagment and blue for support of the disengagement. The land was being evacuated for Palestinian control. Israeli television buzzed with excitement over its coverage of the events across the country. Boys and girls lined the traffic lights, handing ribbons and fliers. Every conversation resulted in a discussion of whether I supported the disengagement or not. I felt overwhelmed by this passion and awareness of national issues. This political current was real as it played a part in all Israeli lives. During the actual disengagement, I joined Effy’s family in front of the television, to witness the pain of the Jewish settlers, as they were evacuated taken from their homes. The (Israeli) coverage represented conflicting emotions of anger and unity. Grown men crying in pain from the struggle to leave their homes, mothers screamed in the face of Israeli soldiers and displayed anger of betrayal, as they held their children up in the soldiers' faces. The news reported the unity of a rabbi and a sergeant who were together as youths in the army, and now hugged in unity and pity. The sergeant walked the Rabbi out of his home in Gaza. For the first time, Jews came face to face with each other, conflicted by their differing needs, in front of the world who sat glaring. Israelis, those on the television and those watching it, had eyes filled with tears. I sat in disbelief from the feelings that overcame me and those around. My political conscience never felt more alive and government activity never had felt more relevant to living. These are the issues that we voted over today, conflicting stands over matters of safety, territory and religion.
Politics Laid Out on the Table
Identity and politics are regular features of discussions amongst Jews of all nationalities. It is something that I have always lived amongst, whether during Shabbat dinner with my family, or over shwarma in the local kosher restaurant with friends in London. Israeli and Jewish matters would be a topic of debate, something that didn’t seem to exist amongst my other (non-Jewish) friends. Tony Blair and the British government would rarely, or rather never pay a visit to conversations over a pint in the pub.
At work, a discussion concerning the recent film ‘Munich’ arose … fireworks were ignited. Politics and identity became the centre of the debate, ready on the table for thrashing. Munich is an American production ‘inspired by historical accounts’ of the kidnapping and murdering of 11 Israeli athletes and officials during the Munich Olympics in 1972. The movie portrays the events following the kidnap, with the 'events' surrounding a group of Israeli Mossad agents ( Mossad being the Israeli secret service) who are sent to assassinate those responsible for the kidnapping and eventual deaths of the athletes. Despite the fact the movie is a depiction of a specific historical account, its ‘representation’ is one of inaccuracy and misrepresentation. The film is based on a single account of the Munich games, hence the title, yet Hollywood, or more precisely Speilberg, decides to retell the story as such that it is more appetizing to the viewer, and consequently becomes a distorted account. Will the general public across the world be able to distinguish between the movie simply as a Hollywood blockbuster or as a history lesson?
Effy and I decided to see what the drama and hype in Israeli media surrounding the movie was all about, and satisfied our curiosity with a visit to the cinema. We left feeling drained, having gone through the emotional rollercoaster of this national tragedy, having identified with the raised issues relating to Jewish identity and Israeli-Arab political tensions. Indeed, the acting was brilliant, the ‘plot’ was superb; yet due to the fact I was so moved, or more accurately, insulted by its portrayal, meant I became tangled up with what I was absorbing. I couldn’t decipher what the film was trying to achieve.
Do movie producers not have a responsibility to the viewer? And if it is to portray the beliefs of other religions, why should that representation fall into the hands of Hollywood narratives. I was further upset by the blurred boundaries between the identity the Mossad agents were meant to be representing … ‘Israeli’ or ‘Jewish’. The director himself couldn’t seem to distinguish this in the movie, despite being Jewish himself. I myself am a Jew, something specific that defines my character and beliefs. Living in Israel and, therefore, being 'Israeli' is something totally different, it represents a whole new range of views and beliefs.
The discussion at work continued with a comment from a colleague who claimed that it annoys her when every time Jews are not represented in a favourable light (despite the fact she is'nt Jewish), we (Jews) bite back with the claim that it is ‘anti-Semitic’.
… Is this really wrong? Across Western society, political correctness has suffocated communication, with the drive to clamp down on racism on the premise of colour. Why can’t such political correctness extend to the Jewish race? As with many other minority communities, Jewish people have experienced racism throughout all generations, yet some still claim that we 'whine' about our misrepresentation … And another thought, should minorities be subjected to the impressionism of others? Should their beliefs be spelt out by those of other religions in the entertainment sphere? Haven' t there been enough mishaps in history that have allowed for misrepresentation? These questions ran marathons through my mind during the viewing of Munich.
With regards to the initial comment, I do not believe this is totally fair in light of recent public comments. In particular, Jewish communities across the world sat in silence to hear an Iranian leader openly state that he would like to see Israel ‘wiped off the face of the planet’ ... 'whining' from them did not exactly resound throughout the media.
I could go on about my qualms about the movie, but I feel this territory has had plentiful coverage by Jewish commentators and critics. My questions may seem harsh and I don’t mean to offend, but stating one's opinion is part of the political process, debate. This is something that needs to be fostered by the next generation, the ability to decipher what media and politicians are trying to portray, understand the core to their messages, and to play a part in deciding who will actually voice these messages.
N.B. If people do decide to comment on my blog, please refrain from rude name-calling, as did the previous comments that I have now deleted. And, if people would like to debate with me, at least you can leave your name so I can respond to the rude name-calling.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Sunday, March 19, 2006
1:9 Human Nature and Jelly Beans
One life observation is that human beings treat each other like jelly beans. Jelly beans come in an assortment of flavours and colours inside a jar. We will always dig our fingers in to pick out our favourite flavours, bubblegum, tropical fruit and strawberry beans; flavours we have previously tasted and know will provide us with satisfaction.
In Israel, I noticed how similar this behaviour is in humans. However hard politics and anthropological currents set in to scatter people around the world; we all seem to find our way back to a comfort zone, locating and residing in places amongst those of the same colour and flavourings. The dynamics of the population here seems to take a similar accord. In particular, I observed how Anglo-Jews flock together, how Ethiopian Jews build communities with each other, and how the French Jews and Russian immigrants come to build homes with other French or Russians.
This observation may be a slight generalisation … redesigning ‘facts’ to establish a point … many ‘new’ Israelis come here to set up a life independent of their origins, especially in central Tel Aviv where all Jewish origins blend into a colourful mix. For instance, Effy and I come from polar cultures, yet we are united on the basis of common ground, our love and respect for each other. Our similarities and differences are a constant battlefield, antagonism between culture and identity as a Jew. Yet I do hope the reasoning behind our unity ultimately triumphs.
My environment, although heavily dominated by an intense ‘Israeli’ culture, additionally coincides with my Jelly bean culture. Take note, ‘Israeli’ culture is, arguably, in itself non-existent, but rather a culmination of histories of Jews, from all corners of the world, who come to reside in Israel. This includes, Sephardic, Ashkenazi, Mizrachi and Western cultures. I came to Israel to be stimulated by people of a foreign language and culture, yet have recently found myself in the company of the same ‘types’ that I grew up amongst and left behind. These types speak English with the ‘north London Jewish’ accent and have come to Israel, planting themselves in an environment that mirrors their derivation. They have picked out all the other ‘north London Jewish’ types in this multi-cultural jelly bean pot, choosing to establish their life with others of the same definition. I have slowly succumbed to this comfort zone and feel irritated. The same issues, the same bickering that was a pinnacle to my previous frustration, have come to haunt.
This brings me to my next point; why do we bother getting on a plane to the holy land in the Middle-East just to recreate what we came from? What is our reasoning and/or justification for making Aliyah? Jerusalem and northern areas of Tel Aviv are dominated by communities of English and American Jews. They all talk the same language as they did back home; they eat all the same food that they have grown up eating and they all participate in the same ‘community’ activities that would have taken place back in their local gatherings in Anglo-land. Surely being Jewish is something that is in our souls, wherever we are based. So, if we (Jews) are to flock to Israel, shouldn’t we all be rejoicing in unity with existing communities together on the basis that we are all Jewish, and here to create the united nation that we have been fighting for, for thousands of years? It is incredible to be walking on Jewish soil, to have a home amongst other Jewish homes and to be in the land we read constantly about in synagogue every Shabbat.
“Do you think many of these people would be making Aliyah if Israel was based in Iceland,” a friend once asked. This may sound blunt, or even quite absurd, but I do wonder. Although, of course Zionism has a place in the hearts of all that make Aliyah. The fact that one chooses to reside in a place subject to overt hate and disacknowledgment is an act in itself to strengthen the legitimisation for Israel’s existence as a Jewish state. We can’t simply sit on our couches viewing Israel via the television set on the news and claim we support Israel. Using our feet to make a global stand is fundamental. And, the Aliyah movement is preferable even if segregation continues to exist, rather than having a lack of movement, with Jews remaining ‘bechuz la-Aretz’ (outside Israel) unpicked from the jelly bean jar.
Back to jelly beans, Mr Effy is definitely caramel flavour and I would say mine is orange blossom, if there was ever an orange blossom jelly bean.
In Israel, I noticed how similar this behaviour is in humans. However hard politics and anthropological currents set in to scatter people around the world; we all seem to find our way back to a comfort zone, locating and residing in places amongst those of the same colour and flavourings. The dynamics of the population here seems to take a similar accord. In particular, I observed how Anglo-Jews flock together, how Ethiopian Jews build communities with each other, and how the French Jews and Russian immigrants come to build homes with other French or Russians.
This observation may be a slight generalisation … redesigning ‘facts’ to establish a point … many ‘new’ Israelis come here to set up a life independent of their origins, especially in central Tel Aviv where all Jewish origins blend into a colourful mix. For instance, Effy and I come from polar cultures, yet we are united on the basis of common ground, our love and respect for each other. Our similarities and differences are a constant battlefield, antagonism between culture and identity as a Jew. Yet I do hope the reasoning behind our unity ultimately triumphs.
My environment, although heavily dominated by an intense ‘Israeli’ culture, additionally coincides with my Jelly bean culture. Take note, ‘Israeli’ culture is, arguably, in itself non-existent, but rather a culmination of histories of Jews, from all corners of the world, who come to reside in Israel. This includes, Sephardic, Ashkenazi, Mizrachi and Western cultures. I came to Israel to be stimulated by people of a foreign language and culture, yet have recently found myself in the company of the same ‘types’ that I grew up amongst and left behind. These types speak English with the ‘north London Jewish’ accent and have come to Israel, planting themselves in an environment that mirrors their derivation. They have picked out all the other ‘north London Jewish’ types in this multi-cultural jelly bean pot, choosing to establish their life with others of the same definition. I have slowly succumbed to this comfort zone and feel irritated. The same issues, the same bickering that was a pinnacle to my previous frustration, have come to haunt.
This brings me to my next point; why do we bother getting on a plane to the holy land in the Middle-East just to recreate what we came from? What is our reasoning and/or justification for making Aliyah? Jerusalem and northern areas of Tel Aviv are dominated by communities of English and American Jews. They all talk the same language as they did back home; they eat all the same food that they have grown up eating and they all participate in the same ‘community’ activities that would have taken place back in their local gatherings in Anglo-land. Surely being Jewish is something that is in our souls, wherever we are based. So, if we (Jews) are to flock to Israel, shouldn’t we all be rejoicing in unity with existing communities together on the basis that we are all Jewish, and here to create the united nation that we have been fighting for, for thousands of years? It is incredible to be walking on Jewish soil, to have a home amongst other Jewish homes and to be in the land we read constantly about in synagogue every Shabbat.
“Do you think many of these people would be making Aliyah if Israel was based in Iceland,” a friend once asked. This may sound blunt, or even quite absurd, but I do wonder. Although, of course Zionism has a place in the hearts of all that make Aliyah. The fact that one chooses to reside in a place subject to overt hate and disacknowledgment is an act in itself to strengthen the legitimisation for Israel’s existence as a Jewish state. We can’t simply sit on our couches viewing Israel via the television set on the news and claim we support Israel. Using our feet to make a global stand is fundamental. And, the Aliyah movement is preferable even if segregation continues to exist, rather than having a lack of movement, with Jews remaining ‘bechuz la-Aretz’ (outside Israel) unpicked from the jelly bean jar.
Back to jelly beans, Mr Effy is definitely caramel flavour and I would say mine is orange blossom, if there was ever an orange blossom jelly bean.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
1:8 Reminiscing in Rothschild
I am sitting in a coffee shop on a street called Rothschild, waiting for the caffeine to seep into my blood stream. It is already 2.30 in the afternoon and I have just got my hands on my daily supply of coffee. Maybe I am addicted, I never did drugs, but aren’t we all entitled to a daily substance-induced buzz of some sort. Anyway, my excuse of course is that is my parents fault. It was they who taught me the appreciation of good coffee, that being fresh espresso rather than instant Nescafe.
The sky is partially cloudy, yet I can’t complain; I have just spent the weekend on the beach. It was amazing, the end of February brought sunshine and blue skies … This type of weather will not take a great deal of getting use to, it just fazed me to be able feel the heat of the sun on my skin at this time of year. It radiated inside me, no longer winter stiffness, but rather a feeling of energy and tranquility. London is approximately 2 degrees, there is no sunshine, no blue sky, simply a sheet of white suffocates the sky … I definitely will not be missing that.
I have spent the day in a hypynotic state of reminiscing. So, with this in mind, I have decided to take my blog to the next level and elaborate on these thoughts. I want to spell out how I feel, rather than simply note my observations in Israel. A friend mentioned that she did indeed enjoy my writing, but more so, she would like to know what exactly was going on inside this complicated head of mine. So, I will try to attempt emotional elaboration.
…. So, back to Rothschild. I chose to sit in Café Hillel, a coffee shop situated on the corner of a junction on this beautiful boulevard. Rothschild is a favourite place of mine to sit and observe the world go by. It is a wide road with a centre piece of walkway, grass, trees and coffee shops running down the middle. It is the ‘Tel Avivian’ catwalk for dog walkers, joggers, coffee sippers and trendy designer mums with their designer buggies. It is here I have chosen to sit and reminisce.
Yesterday I experienced my one of many emotional rollercoaster moments. I have experienced one too many of these since moving to Israel, when at times one minute I feel on top of the world, and the next, I couldn’t be more miserable. I was told by my ‘Aliyah’ representative that this is the process of dealing with culture shock. I did believe it was getting easier. However, yesterday I was overwhelmed by a feeling of missing and loneliness. I do have companionship in Israel, I am fortunate to have made great friends and, in addition, I receive tremendous love and comfort from my boyfriend. Despite all this, nothing could ease the feeling of totally emptiness that possessed me. Yesterday, around 7 in the evening, I cooked dinner for Effy and I, chorizo sausages and sweet potato mash. We ate, he cleared up, I sat on the couch, switched on the television, and then suddenly, when all was done, when the realization that Effy would soon be off home hit me, I felt this sudden rush of emptiness, which hit the pit of my stomach and press against my heart. I hadn’t yet experience such ‘home sicknesses’, such a sense of emptiness from being away from my family and my friends.
Left Behind – The Irreplaceable
The last eight months of living in Israel seemed like a dream, the reality that I had left home as it was, to set off to establish a life in another country, hadn’t totally hit me. It was at this point the feelings of missing my loved ones came to haunt me. Once every person I know, the ones that I have relied on in more ways that are realised, are no longer around, I now have come to truly appreciate their existence in my life. Coming to Israel has made me clearly realise how amazing the people who have been blessed in my life are. Yesterday, I yearned for these people. I craved to experience the presence of my friends from home, to be around those that understand me, with those who I can breathe easily. It is around these people I do not need to taper my character, to polish up any undesirable facets, and to simply be my neurotic self without any judgement!
Yesterday, I yearned for my family. My mother and father, who may turn every screw inside me, are undoubtedly my best friends and I miss them greatly. My mother and father are chalk and cheese; they drive me crazy, they drive each other crazy. However, when these two individuals come together, they seem to fit like coffee and milk and nothing else seems more perfect. My brothers … energetic, charming yet ‘real’ young men … I wish I could be around them, to have the moment of behaving like the children we were when united together and bonded by our joint memories of innocence and childhood. These people will always play a part in the epicentre of my happiness. It is now that I have realised this.
Mike’s Place
I was too fragile to be left alone last night. I had planned to meet my friends, but couldn’t face returning to a potentially empty flat. So Effy decided that after I met with my friends, he would pick me up and we would go back to Ashdod together. With my fears settled, I was ready for some light relief in the form of a pint. It was around 8 in the evening when I joined my friends at Mike’s Place, an English speaking pub that faces Tel Aviv beach front.
Around three months into moving to Israel, Susi, my close friend, and I went to Mike’s Place for a few drinks. Whilst sitting at the bar, we strung up a conversation with a young American barman, Josh. We came to discover that he is a successful documentary producer. His most recent production was a documentary relating to the suicide bombing of Mike’s Place a few years back. This piece was an initial idea of an American director, who came to this pub in Israel to document an aspect of Israeli cultural diversity that takes place here. Some would say Mike’s Place represents Israeli Utopia, the unity of all cultures and religion in one place, with one thing dominating people’s thoughts, peace.
During his filming, a young British man approached the entrance of this pub, with explosives tied round his body and blew himself up, killing three and injuring many others. Some would say the attention the American director had given to the pub led to evil karma being cast upon it. Josh had assisted the director with this piece and was present during the explosion. The director was badly injured, and so Josh took it upon himself to continue with the filming.
Susi and I sat together to watch the documentary. Needless to say, it was unsettling and horrific to watch, leaving us both tearful and in shock. The documentation begins with insight of the lives of those who work at the pub; like characters in a film, you become involved, you feel empathy towards them like they are friends of your own. When it was revealed that some of these ‘characters’ actually died, we felt the real loss that had occurred that day.
Last night, the BBC was recreating the suicide bombing at Mike’s Place for an additional documentation. Friends of Josh were to be extras. Susi and I were given the role to cross the path of the suicide bomber on his entrance to Mike’s Place. The memories of terror and tragedy being played out dissolved and were taken over by the excitement and glamour of cameras, director’s calls for ‘action!’ and free beer.
Rollercoaster Ride
After leaving Mike’s Place, Effy and I returned to Ashdod to meet with his best friend who had returned from the US after a year. The evening ended in a triumph of contentment. It would be so simple if all moments of madness and sadness could return to equilibrium like this evening. After tragedy, such as the bombing of Mike’s Place; after moments of loneliness and depression; following any bout of downturn, it would much easier to deal the journey if it was simply like a rollercoaster ride. If at anytime, we get on the ride and deal with the emotions of life and the realities of war amongst humans, that once the ride had finished, once the dust settles, we would merely step off the ride, and continue with life. How simply life could be … we can only dream.
Other things I Reminisce About:
Tesco Metro
Marks and Spencer’s Mushroom Pate
Marmite
Cheese and Onion Walkers Crisps
London Underground (surprisingly)
London cabbies
Cobbled streets
Pubs
Pizza Express
Spring Blossom
The sky is partially cloudy, yet I can’t complain; I have just spent the weekend on the beach. It was amazing, the end of February brought sunshine and blue skies … This type of weather will not take a great deal of getting use to, it just fazed me to be able feel the heat of the sun on my skin at this time of year. It radiated inside me, no longer winter stiffness, but rather a feeling of energy and tranquility. London is approximately 2 degrees, there is no sunshine, no blue sky, simply a sheet of white suffocates the sky … I definitely will not be missing that.
I have spent the day in a hypynotic state of reminiscing. So, with this in mind, I have decided to take my blog to the next level and elaborate on these thoughts. I want to spell out how I feel, rather than simply note my observations in Israel. A friend mentioned that she did indeed enjoy my writing, but more so, she would like to know what exactly was going on inside this complicated head of mine. So, I will try to attempt emotional elaboration.
…. So, back to Rothschild. I chose to sit in Café Hillel, a coffee shop situated on the corner of a junction on this beautiful boulevard. Rothschild is a favourite place of mine to sit and observe the world go by. It is a wide road with a centre piece of walkway, grass, trees and coffee shops running down the middle. It is the ‘Tel Avivian’ catwalk for dog walkers, joggers, coffee sippers and trendy designer mums with their designer buggies. It is here I have chosen to sit and reminisce.
Yesterday I experienced my one of many emotional rollercoaster moments. I have experienced one too many of these since moving to Israel, when at times one minute I feel on top of the world, and the next, I couldn’t be more miserable. I was told by my ‘Aliyah’ representative that this is the process of dealing with culture shock. I did believe it was getting easier. However, yesterday I was overwhelmed by a feeling of missing and loneliness. I do have companionship in Israel, I am fortunate to have made great friends and, in addition, I receive tremendous love and comfort from my boyfriend. Despite all this, nothing could ease the feeling of totally emptiness that possessed me. Yesterday, around 7 in the evening, I cooked dinner for Effy and I, chorizo sausages and sweet potato mash. We ate, he cleared up, I sat on the couch, switched on the television, and then suddenly, when all was done, when the realization that Effy would soon be off home hit me, I felt this sudden rush of emptiness, which hit the pit of my stomach and press against my heart. I hadn’t yet experience such ‘home sicknesses’, such a sense of emptiness from being away from my family and my friends.
Left Behind – The Irreplaceable
The last eight months of living in Israel seemed like a dream, the reality that I had left home as it was, to set off to establish a life in another country, hadn’t totally hit me. It was at this point the feelings of missing my loved ones came to haunt me. Once every person I know, the ones that I have relied on in more ways that are realised, are no longer around, I now have come to truly appreciate their existence in my life. Coming to Israel has made me clearly realise how amazing the people who have been blessed in my life are. Yesterday, I yearned for these people. I craved to experience the presence of my friends from home, to be around those that understand me, with those who I can breathe easily. It is around these people I do not need to taper my character, to polish up any undesirable facets, and to simply be my neurotic self without any judgement!
Yesterday, I yearned for my family. My mother and father, who may turn every screw inside me, are undoubtedly my best friends and I miss them greatly. My mother and father are chalk and cheese; they drive me crazy, they drive each other crazy. However, when these two individuals come together, they seem to fit like coffee and milk and nothing else seems more perfect. My brothers … energetic, charming yet ‘real’ young men … I wish I could be around them, to have the moment of behaving like the children we were when united together and bonded by our joint memories of innocence and childhood. These people will always play a part in the epicentre of my happiness. It is now that I have realised this.
Mike’s Place
I was too fragile to be left alone last night. I had planned to meet my friends, but couldn’t face returning to a potentially empty flat. So Effy decided that after I met with my friends, he would pick me up and we would go back to Ashdod together. With my fears settled, I was ready for some light relief in the form of a pint. It was around 8 in the evening when I joined my friends at Mike’s Place, an English speaking pub that faces Tel Aviv beach front.
Around three months into moving to Israel, Susi, my close friend, and I went to Mike’s Place for a few drinks. Whilst sitting at the bar, we strung up a conversation with a young American barman, Josh. We came to discover that he is a successful documentary producer. His most recent production was a documentary relating to the suicide bombing of Mike’s Place a few years back. This piece was an initial idea of an American director, who came to this pub in Israel to document an aspect of Israeli cultural diversity that takes place here. Some would say Mike’s Place represents Israeli Utopia, the unity of all cultures and religion in one place, with one thing dominating people’s thoughts, peace.
During his filming, a young British man approached the entrance of this pub, with explosives tied round his body and blew himself up, killing three and injuring many others. Some would say the attention the American director had given to the pub led to evil karma being cast upon it. Josh had assisted the director with this piece and was present during the explosion. The director was badly injured, and so Josh took it upon himself to continue with the filming.
Susi and I sat together to watch the documentary. Needless to say, it was unsettling and horrific to watch, leaving us both tearful and in shock. The documentation begins with insight of the lives of those who work at the pub; like characters in a film, you become involved, you feel empathy towards them like they are friends of your own. When it was revealed that some of these ‘characters’ actually died, we felt the real loss that had occurred that day.
Last night, the BBC was recreating the suicide bombing at Mike’s Place for an additional documentation. Friends of Josh were to be extras. Susi and I were given the role to cross the path of the suicide bomber on his entrance to Mike’s Place. The memories of terror and tragedy being played out dissolved and were taken over by the excitement and glamour of cameras, director’s calls for ‘action!’ and free beer.
Rollercoaster Ride
After leaving Mike’s Place, Effy and I returned to Ashdod to meet with his best friend who had returned from the US after a year. The evening ended in a triumph of contentment. It would be so simple if all moments of madness and sadness could return to equilibrium like this evening. After tragedy, such as the bombing of Mike’s Place; after moments of loneliness and depression; following any bout of downturn, it would much easier to deal the journey if it was simply like a rollercoaster ride. If at anytime, we get on the ride and deal with the emotions of life and the realities of war amongst humans, that once the ride had finished, once the dust settles, we would merely step off the ride, and continue with life. How simply life could be … we can only dream.
Other things I Reminisce About:
Tesco Metro
Marks and Spencer’s Mushroom Pate
Marmite
Cheese and Onion Walkers Crisps
London Underground (surprisingly)
London cabbies
Cobbled streets
Pubs
Pizza Express
Spring Blossom
Sunday, February 19, 2006
1:7 Life in Tel Aviv ... working 9 till 5
Tel-Aviv is a microcosm of London, with a beach and sun of course. I have moved into an apartment in the centre of the city. The roads are slightly dirtier, the glamour of high society may not exist, but what is present is a sense of freedom in this city. I can walk the streets and feel alive. Maybe this is due to its geographical size, as here I don’t need to rely on transportation. I can wander the streets at my will. Even more so, this new found freedom derives from the fact that for once, I can be a Jew on Jewish soil in an environment that doesn’t press religious expectations; here I simply can be one as I wish.
As with every major city in the world, life can be silent and lonely in a place so bustling, noisy and overpopulated. When embarking on a new life in a foreign country, I was never quite aware of the effect this transition could have on my emotional wellbeing. Coming here, I felt stripped bare of all thing comforting and familiar. My slate was wiped clean and I could finally understand the person I was in England, my character, and all my flaws. I could have easily slipped into my boyfriend’s life, but I wanted to do this myself, the one chance I could fully understand my life so far. If I am to establish an independent life here, the only person I can rely on is me.
Work
I was fortunate to find a job quite early in my search, in a financial derivatives pricing company. I decided to put a pause on my somewhat small journalism career, an industry that doesn’t carry the prestige and pay in Israel that it does to its Western counterparts. So I decided to press on with the finance.
Despite the familiar corporate foundations to this company, the Israeli work culture was definitely something that would take a lot of adjustment. Only in Israel can the CEO get away with walking around in flip-flops and socks. No formality is applied to dress and time management. Even dialect amongst colleagues seems ‘non-business’ like, with shouting being a means to and end. A country whose economy has grown from its superior on technology on a global level still resides in operating within a system of ‘balagan’ ( Hebrew for chaos/mess) and disorganisation. Something has to give here.
Thursday’s end of week ‘happy hour’ at work consists of another common theme to every social dynamic in Israel … eating. At my place of work, on times of celebration, such as meeting sales targets, we would be invited to drinks and canapés at work. The first form of celebration at my new work place consisted of a table of food ... hummus, meat, falafel, pita bread, an array of salads. My ‘English’ expectations of wine and a few nibbles had been trashed. Any form of social gathering here seems to imply eating, and a lot of it. I partially believe it to be an influence of our Jewish roots. Eating has always seemed to be a top priority throughout my life. In Israel, this food-devoted culture seems to have extended into the workplace. But of course, I am not complaining, even if my tuchus is (‘tuchus’ is Yiddish for buttocks).
Enjoying oneself and devoting time to relaxation seems more prominent here than in London culture. Although on the flipside, this emphasis placed on life outside the workplace leaves the work environment feeling quite empty and flat. People seem to lack the drive and ambition that has been the driving force for my life back home. In London I was defined by my work, yet here I feel loss and this identity is no longer important to the people I am surrounded by. Work doesn’t seem to be an important feature to ones identity, but rather what ones hobbies are, what one enjoys to do in the evenings, or more precisely, after work. This may be a positive aspect to Tel Aviv life … I have learnt to discover that there is more to life than a job, that life can be fulfilled through so many more means … painting, photography, dancing, watching the sunset on the beach with friends. Something that was so important to me has required to take a back seat ; and through this, I am learning to enjoy life in different ways. Yet, I can’t help but feel slightly incomplete; maybe the London girl in me is still around. I am a career woman G-d dammit! One step at a time … I am considering joining a knitting group … out of work hours are so fulfilling!
As with every major city in the world, life can be silent and lonely in a place so bustling, noisy and overpopulated. When embarking on a new life in a foreign country, I was never quite aware of the effect this transition could have on my emotional wellbeing. Coming here, I felt stripped bare of all thing comforting and familiar. My slate was wiped clean and I could finally understand the person I was in England, my character, and all my flaws. I could have easily slipped into my boyfriend’s life, but I wanted to do this myself, the one chance I could fully understand my life so far. If I am to establish an independent life here, the only person I can rely on is me.
Work
I was fortunate to find a job quite early in my search, in a financial derivatives pricing company. I decided to put a pause on my somewhat small journalism career, an industry that doesn’t carry the prestige and pay in Israel that it does to its Western counterparts. So I decided to press on with the finance.
Despite the familiar corporate foundations to this company, the Israeli work culture was definitely something that would take a lot of adjustment. Only in Israel can the CEO get away with walking around in flip-flops and socks. No formality is applied to dress and time management. Even dialect amongst colleagues seems ‘non-business’ like, with shouting being a means to and end. A country whose economy has grown from its superior on technology on a global level still resides in operating within a system of ‘balagan’ ( Hebrew for chaos/mess) and disorganisation. Something has to give here.
Thursday’s end of week ‘happy hour’ at work consists of another common theme to every social dynamic in Israel … eating. At my place of work, on times of celebration, such as meeting sales targets, we would be invited to drinks and canapés at work. The first form of celebration at my new work place consisted of a table of food ... hummus, meat, falafel, pita bread, an array of salads. My ‘English’ expectations of wine and a few nibbles had been trashed. Any form of social gathering here seems to imply eating, and a lot of it. I partially believe it to be an influence of our Jewish roots. Eating has always seemed to be a top priority throughout my life. In Israel, this food-devoted culture seems to have extended into the workplace. But of course, I am not complaining, even if my tuchus is (‘tuchus’ is Yiddish for buttocks).
Enjoying oneself and devoting time to relaxation seems more prominent here than in London culture. Although on the flipside, this emphasis placed on life outside the workplace leaves the work environment feeling quite empty and flat. People seem to lack the drive and ambition that has been the driving force for my life back home. In London I was defined by my work, yet here I feel loss and this identity is no longer important to the people I am surrounded by. Work doesn’t seem to be an important feature to ones identity, but rather what ones hobbies are, what one enjoys to do in the evenings, or more precisely, after work. This may be a positive aspect to Tel Aviv life … I have learnt to discover that there is more to life than a job, that life can be fulfilled through so many more means … painting, photography, dancing, watching the sunset on the beach with friends. Something that was so important to me has required to take a back seat ; and through this, I am learning to enjoy life in different ways. Yet, I can’t help but feel slightly incomplete; maybe the London girl in me is still around. I am a career woman G-d dammit! One step at a time … I am considering joining a knitting group … out of work hours are so fulfilling!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
1:6 The Western Girl, Not So Western Anymore (Sunday, January 29, 2006)
Since coming to Israel, I spent the weekends, whilst in Jerusalem, and the last few months in Ashdod, a quiet town in Southern Israel. This community, located an hour south from Tel Aviv, replicates a card-board cut-out of American suburbia. Tall, simple, white rectangular buildings, planted in mounds amongst the neatly paved roads, which are lined with pink and yellow flowers and palm trees. This new clean 'ghetto' provides homes to communities from North Africa, Ethiopia, Russia, France and India, making its social makeup slightly peculiar and awkward.
In Ashdod I have been living with Effy's family. It was amongst these wonderfully dynamic people that I felt truly suffocated by Middle Eastern living. In this setting, all my familiarities disappeared. As I became immersed in an environment totally foreign to me, it was here that I have come to fully understand the culture I come from and truly appreciate the diversity of human beings that exist in all corners of the world. Western values that I have taken for granted are yet to be developed in Israel. In every social setting, the role of men, women and the family structure echo underlying values labelled as archaic and backward in Western countries. It has been somewhat of a struggle and journey to learn to leave aside the values that have shaped my conscience, and enter a home in which this understanding of life is contradicted to entirety. I have literally learnt to shut my mouth, and observe to the extent I can this 'new' to me yet 'old' way of living.
Effy's maternal and paternal grandparents came to Israel during the late 1940's after experiencing anti-Semitism and persecution in Tripoli, an Italian colony of Libya, Northern Africa. His family settled in Ashdod and continued to develop their Tripoli foundations, with marriage and offspring being maintained within their community... The result being this huge Tripoli tribe, in other words, Effy's family. The immediate members consist of him, his two brothers, and parents. Following this, on his mother, Miriam's side is the grandparents, three uncles, their wives and about 20 children. It is on his father, Yitsak's (Hebrew for Issac) side where things start to get interesting. Yitsak has nine siblings (one brother and eight sisters), extended from this we have Effy's stereo-type, 'made for mafia movies', Sephardic grandma and around fifty, yes fifty, first cousins, eight of which are also called Effy (taken from his late grandfather); and finally the remaining three pet dogs, one of which recently having eight puppies. Of those who speak English: around 3, maybe four. It is amongst these people, I came to realize how different human beings can be so different in nature, despite the biological construction of us all being identical.
In Ashdod I have been living with Effy's family. It was amongst these wonderfully dynamic people that I felt truly suffocated by Middle Eastern living. In this setting, all my familiarities disappeared. As I became immersed in an environment totally foreign to me, it was here that I have come to fully understand the culture I come from and truly appreciate the diversity of human beings that exist in all corners of the world. Western values that I have taken for granted are yet to be developed in Israel. In every social setting, the role of men, women and the family structure echo underlying values labelled as archaic and backward in Western countries. It has been somewhat of a struggle and journey to learn to leave aside the values that have shaped my conscience, and enter a home in which this understanding of life is contradicted to entirety. I have literally learnt to shut my mouth, and observe to the extent I can this 'new' to me yet 'old' way of living.
Effy's maternal and paternal grandparents came to Israel during the late 1940's after experiencing anti-Semitism and persecution in Tripoli, an Italian colony of Libya, Northern Africa. His family settled in Ashdod and continued to develop their Tripoli foundations, with marriage and offspring being maintained within their community... The result being this huge Tripoli tribe, in other words, Effy's family. The immediate members consist of him, his two brothers, and parents. Following this, on his mother, Miriam's side is the grandparents, three uncles, their wives and about 20 children. It is on his father, Yitsak's (Hebrew for Issac) side where things start to get interesting. Yitsak has nine siblings (one brother and eight sisters), extended from this we have Effy's stereo-type, 'made for mafia movies', Sephardic grandma and around fifty, yes fifty, first cousins, eight of which are also called Effy (taken from his late grandfather); and finally the remaining three pet dogs, one of which recently having eight puppies. Of those who speak English: around 3, maybe four. It is amongst these people, I came to realize how different human beings can be so different in nature, despite the biological construction of us all being identical.
'What's up' from Gangsta Nana
This 'new' culture I entered half a year ago contradicts all that seemed 'normal' to my very existence. I could envisage an imaginary knife slicing through the demographic of this family, one side being determined by a subtle form of male dominance and the other by all possible forms of female domesticity. However, do not misunderstand this situation, these Tripoli women stand far from the weak, subordinated ones that may seem to have been concocted. These women are strong and dominant in their own right. It is, however, the physical nature of their presence, the constant cooking, the repetitive cleaning and nurturing, which seems almost automatic in nature, and which unsettled my understanding of what it is to be a women in the Twenty-first century.
Table Manners
This lesson in cultural diversity took place in various daily social settings of human interaction. For example, I have always understood that eating does not simply mean 'to eat'; even more so, it has come to incorporate certain habits and behaviours. From childhood, I was taught to withhold from placing my elbows on the table, to keep my mouth closed when I eat and to try not to raise my voice at the dinner table. Put simply, certain communities in Israel seemed to miss the boat when it came to adopting a way of culinary mannerisms.
Miriam's family lives amongst each other in a 'Moshav' (this being a communal settling, similar to that of a kibbutz). Her three brothers live with their families in small bungalow-style houses, which surround the dynasty's leadership, the grandparents. The most jolting experience, so far, has been dinner time with the family. All relatives gather round grandma's table and eat mounds of meat and couscous. I do not believe my digestive system has ever quite got over the trauma of the food it has faced the last few months. One time, this consisted of eating every organ of a lamb that just had its throat slit by the local rabbi in the garden. The uncles and aunties enjoyed the delicacies of throat, brain and heart. Lunchtime is like food-lovers marathon, without a serviette or a complete cutlery set in sight.
My understanding of how humans live amongst each other was incomplete. Western people, with western values and western way of living was all I knew, yet which was what I was ignorant of until I surrounded myself with unfamiliarity. The people I came to know have a different history and foundation for living. Their behaviours may seem to shock or even insult, but this is what they know best, this is how they see fit to live in a world dominated by war and ideological terror. It works for them, so why bother changing it, even if their Western visitor may nod her head in disbelief of cultural snobbery.
1:5 Happy Birthday (Sunday, December 11, 2005)
As promised
September 2004
One night in Tel Aviv, a few words from a passing stranger led to the world spinning from under my feet. The humor of this stranger and the grin on his face was totally endearing. My ‘British’ presence in this bustling Israeli nightclub was to be the brunt of his jokes.
This night lead the way to my life as it was taking on a whole new meaning. It defined the beginning of our future together. I had finally met my best friend.
His presence reminds me of the smell of burning lavender oils. On entering a room, aromas of comfort intoxicate the air. There is no escaping its fragrance. Theis sweet smell makes me feel soft inside, I feel calm and complete again.
He urged to see me again, ‘at least one time’ before I return back home to London. I dropped my veil of stubbornness and gave into his sparkling chocolate eyes and soft voice. Something felt so right and butterflies in my stomach flickered to confirm this. It was just so simple, it could not have been anything but right. This was how it was meant to be and there was no going back.
His presence lightens my soul. He makes me laugh like no other. This laughter lightens my world and his soul has given my life the happiness I have always yearned for.
The ‘final’ day before returning home felt like something I wanted to grab hold of and pull back with a rope. Acknowledging the feeling of emptiness to come sickened me inside. He slotted into a place in my heart. The afternoon in the airport would signify the time when my heart would become incomplete until the time of his return to my life, to fill it once more.
His presence is my focus in life. No one so kind, so giving, so sweet, so generous as he. My living angel has taught how to care and to love undividedly. He has helped me grow into a complete woman.
Today
Only two weeks following my departure, he came to London and back in my life. My darling has continued to stay in my life. He completes my heart.
Being away from the one you love is a struggle, it is impossible to breathe freely, to sleep at night with a rested mind and continue each day without a clouded thought. You cannot continue to live until they are back to fill that hole in your heart again. London was not my home anymore without him. When I am in his presence, I feel at home inhaling the scent of sweet lavender again.
Happy Birthday, I love you my baby, Effy.
XXXX
September 2004
One night in Tel Aviv, a few words from a passing stranger led to the world spinning from under my feet. The humor of this stranger and the grin on his face was totally endearing. My ‘British’ presence in this bustling Israeli nightclub was to be the brunt of his jokes.
This night lead the way to my life as it was taking on a whole new meaning. It defined the beginning of our future together. I had finally met my best friend.
His presence reminds me of the smell of burning lavender oils. On entering a room, aromas of comfort intoxicate the air. There is no escaping its fragrance. Theis sweet smell makes me feel soft inside, I feel calm and complete again.
He urged to see me again, ‘at least one time’ before I return back home to London. I dropped my veil of stubbornness and gave into his sparkling chocolate eyes and soft voice. Something felt so right and butterflies in my stomach flickered to confirm this. It was just so simple, it could not have been anything but right. This was how it was meant to be and there was no going back.
His presence lightens my soul. He makes me laugh like no other. This laughter lightens my world and his soul has given my life the happiness I have always yearned for.
The ‘final’ day before returning home felt like something I wanted to grab hold of and pull back with a rope. Acknowledging the feeling of emptiness to come sickened me inside. He slotted into a place in my heart. The afternoon in the airport would signify the time when my heart would become incomplete until the time of his return to my life, to fill it once more.
His presence is my focus in life. No one so kind, so giving, so sweet, so generous as he. My living angel has taught how to care and to love undividedly. He has helped me grow into a complete woman.
Today
Only two weeks following my departure, he came to London and back in my life. My darling has continued to stay in my life. He completes my heart.
Being away from the one you love is a struggle, it is impossible to breathe freely, to sleep at night with a rested mind and continue each day without a clouded thought. You cannot continue to live until they are back to fill that hole in your heart again. London was not my home anymore without him. When I am in his presence, I feel at home inhaling the scent of sweet lavender again.
Happy Birthday, I love you my baby, Effy.
XXXX
1:4 Lesson on Life (Monday, November 21, 2005)
“In every work of genius, we recognise our own rejected thoughts and they come back to us as alienated majesty.” Emerson
A few weeks ago I attended a “shior” (‘lesson’) in Jerusalem given by Professor Zornberg of Cambridge University. Amongst the abundance of information and historical commentary given on Jewish philosophy, I was presented with the above quote. The shior was impressive and inspirational, giving insight into human potential and instinct through the analyzing of the lives of biblical figures. This quote, or interpretation of human behaviour, has haunted me since its recital, echoing insecurities that have often possessed my mind.
Explanation
Many, during life, encounter thoughts of potential that they truly believe can be achieved, avenues they wish to venture, which can take them to new places. These thoughts can be ideas, beliefs, simple dreams or day dreaming ‘gone crazy’. In most cased, these thoughts are repressed, ignored and eventually forgotten. In the case of the lecture, it was Abraham who actually chose to overlook the possibility for repression. He actively acknowledged and ‘lived out’ all thoughts and epiphanies of the existence of God, conclusively leading him to Judaism.
There have been countless times I have repressed motives and ideas, which could have surely taken me towards alternate directions in life. For instance, if I had taken piano lessons more seriously, surely it would have been my destiny to perform in front of thousands. Or, I am certain my passion for justice could have led to my posting of leader for the British Government, if I had even bothered to participate in the debate team at school. The ‘would haves’ and ‘could haves’ tend to be stunted by dismissiveness, laziness and comfort for the norm and simplicity. Sometimes, life is better lived when it is more complicated, just to ensure that true happiness is an optional pursuit.
At least I can say my passion to live in Israel is being ‘lived-out’ rather than simply remaining a dream. Furthermore, writing these accounts reflect my passion for writing finally being acted out. I just hope I can continue to live life by this rule. I wish to no longer add to my list of regrets and be left with the thought that my potential dreams are the “alienated majesty” of others’ fulfillments, left with the thought that “I knew I could have done that”.
A few weeks ago I attended a “shior” (‘lesson’) in Jerusalem given by Professor Zornberg of Cambridge University. Amongst the abundance of information and historical commentary given on Jewish philosophy, I was presented with the above quote. The shior was impressive and inspirational, giving insight into human potential and instinct through the analyzing of the lives of biblical figures. This quote, or interpretation of human behaviour, has haunted me since its recital, echoing insecurities that have often possessed my mind.
Explanation
Many, during life, encounter thoughts of potential that they truly believe can be achieved, avenues they wish to venture, which can take them to new places. These thoughts can be ideas, beliefs, simple dreams or day dreaming ‘gone crazy’. In most cased, these thoughts are repressed, ignored and eventually forgotten. In the case of the lecture, it was Abraham who actually chose to overlook the possibility for repression. He actively acknowledged and ‘lived out’ all thoughts and epiphanies of the existence of God, conclusively leading him to Judaism.
There have been countless times I have repressed motives and ideas, which could have surely taken me towards alternate directions in life. For instance, if I had taken piano lessons more seriously, surely it would have been my destiny to perform in front of thousands. Or, I am certain my passion for justice could have led to my posting of leader for the British Government, if I had even bothered to participate in the debate team at school. The ‘would haves’ and ‘could haves’ tend to be stunted by dismissiveness, laziness and comfort for the norm and simplicity. Sometimes, life is better lived when it is more complicated, just to ensure that true happiness is an optional pursuit.
At least I can say my passion to live in Israel is being ‘lived-out’ rather than simply remaining a dream. Furthermore, writing these accounts reflect my passion for writing finally being acted out. I just hope I can continue to live life by this rule. I wish to no longer add to my list of regrets and be left with the thought that my potential dreams are the “alienated majesty” of others’ fulfillments, left with the thought that “I knew I could have done that”.
1:3 Change of Reality (Friday, November 11, 2005)
Since coming to Israel, my perspective on living, on life, has been altered. The news I watch represents a different reality; my priorities have a taken on different values, and my outlook on life has transformed.
Lately
The last few months have been somewhat stressful. Searching for a life on the internet hasn’t created a sense of hope for me. The language and culture is a huge obstacle to finding the ideal job and apartment. The system in Israel is based on nepotism rather than meritocracy. To find a job, you must know ‘someone’ ... what do you when you have moved to country in which you don’t know anyone. My situation exactly. Lately, I have been spending most evenings searching on the internet for work, sending my resume to anonymous e-mail addresses, in the hope that someone will notice mine amongst the many other hundreds. Career wise, journalism doesn’t seem to be calling for me in Israel, so I have decided to take a career shift in the hope to actually find a job!
My new society
I live in a society in which, at times, the atmosphere can be cut with a knife. The reality here is different to the western societal comfort I took for granted whilst growing up. Life in Israel has been infiltrated by fear and terror. Israeli youths are committed to three years in the army from 18 years. Children grow to learn that death is very much normal and common; they grow into adulthood with a gun in their hand and learn to appreciate the sounds of firing as simply background rhythms to their teenage hood. Seeing a youth with a machine gun crossed against its back on the bus home from Jerusalem is something totally normal to me now. In London, this site would probably have shocked me somewhat; but now living amongst a generation that truly appreciates the meaning of life is my present reality.
Flip-side
“How bloody miserable”, you must all be thinking. Well, you can all rejoice in the fact the life here isn’t all doom and gloom. The other side of reality is one of joy and magic in Israeli culture. In a country where one truly learns to appreciate death, they learn to totally appreciate life (Mitch Albom). And this is what makes living here so much more exciting and real.
Last summer was filled along the streets of Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and across Israel with music, love, art, culture and atmosphere. There was a plethora of festivals, concerts and parties that continue on every year. It is surprising that in a country smaller than the size of Wales back in the U.K., they have more going on than what I ever experienced living in London. All I can say is that Israelis definitely know how to party. In September during the holidays, Effy and I danced along the promenade in Tel Aviv at the Love parade. On one side was the beauty of the sea and the sand. On the other side were the same young Israelis I see on the bus, those who spend there weeks in army bases with armory in their hands; this time were holding banners, drinks, and balloons, moving and singing along with the floats parading along the center of the street. The fears of terror and sadness were dissolved into the sounds of the beats and laughter. Israel felt very much alive.
In Jerusalem, spirituality suffocates the air, and beauty resides in the ancient dusty white lime stoned buildings along the cobbled streets. This city is totally incredible. There is no other place in which I experience such uplifting feelings, stimulated by something so invisible and unbelievable. Down the road from my residency exists a single view of Jerusalem, which incorporates the foundations of the three dominant world religions, Christianity, Islam and Judaism, on which the city was created upon. From the window of the building I live, at night I can see the wall of the old city light up (the remains of the Temple), alongside the glow of the golden dome. Jerusalem is truly breathtaking. Every turn you take, you blown away by yet another amazing magical view.
This is the beauty of Israel. The country has been blessed with a rainbow of colours, and a world of environments … green hills and waterfalls of the north, turquoise water and the desert of the south, religion, spirituality, ethnicity, music, and food. This is the country I live in, so even though life here can be unbearably tough, I have so much more to live amongst. This is my new reality.
Lately
The last few months have been somewhat stressful. Searching for a life on the internet hasn’t created a sense of hope for me. The language and culture is a huge obstacle to finding the ideal job and apartment. The system in Israel is based on nepotism rather than meritocracy. To find a job, you must know ‘someone’ ... what do you when you have moved to country in which you don’t know anyone. My situation exactly. Lately, I have been spending most evenings searching on the internet for work, sending my resume to anonymous e-mail addresses, in the hope that someone will notice mine amongst the many other hundreds. Career wise, journalism doesn’t seem to be calling for me in Israel, so I have decided to take a career shift in the hope to actually find a job!
My new society
I live in a society in which, at times, the atmosphere can be cut with a knife. The reality here is different to the western societal comfort I took for granted whilst growing up. Life in Israel has been infiltrated by fear and terror. Israeli youths are committed to three years in the army from 18 years. Children grow to learn that death is very much normal and common; they grow into adulthood with a gun in their hand and learn to appreciate the sounds of firing as simply background rhythms to their teenage hood. Seeing a youth with a machine gun crossed against its back on the bus home from Jerusalem is something totally normal to me now. In London, this site would probably have shocked me somewhat; but now living amongst a generation that truly appreciates the meaning of life is my present reality.
Flip-side
“How bloody miserable”, you must all be thinking. Well, you can all rejoice in the fact the life here isn’t all doom and gloom. The other side of reality is one of joy and magic in Israeli culture. In a country where one truly learns to appreciate death, they learn to totally appreciate life (Mitch Albom). And this is what makes living here so much more exciting and real.
Last summer was filled along the streets of Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and across Israel with music, love, art, culture and atmosphere. There was a plethora of festivals, concerts and parties that continue on every year. It is surprising that in a country smaller than the size of Wales back in the U.K., they have more going on than what I ever experienced living in London. All I can say is that Israelis definitely know how to party. In September during the holidays, Effy and I danced along the promenade in Tel Aviv at the Love parade. On one side was the beauty of the sea and the sand. On the other side were the same young Israelis I see on the bus, those who spend there weeks in army bases with armory in their hands; this time were holding banners, drinks, and balloons, moving and singing along with the floats parading along the center of the street. The fears of terror and sadness were dissolved into the sounds of the beats and laughter. Israel felt very much alive.
In Jerusalem, spirituality suffocates the air, and beauty resides in the ancient dusty white lime stoned buildings along the cobbled streets. This city is totally incredible. There is no other place in which I experience such uplifting feelings, stimulated by something so invisible and unbelievable. Down the road from my residency exists a single view of Jerusalem, which incorporates the foundations of the three dominant world religions, Christianity, Islam and Judaism, on which the city was created upon. From the window of the building I live, at night I can see the wall of the old city light up (the remains of the Temple), alongside the glow of the golden dome. Jerusalem is truly breathtaking. Every turn you take, you blown away by yet another amazing magical view.
This is the beauty of Israel. The country has been blessed with a rainbow of colours, and a world of environments … green hills and waterfalls of the north, turquoise water and the desert of the south, religion, spirituality, ethnicity, music, and food. This is the country I live in, so even though life here can be unbearably tough, I have so much more to live amongst. This is my new reality.
1:2 The Alef Bet, Men and Women (Monday, October 10, 2005)
My newly acquired skill: to beable to order falafel and humus in the most polite and appropriate forms.
I have been at an ‘ulpan’ since July, this being a place that one learns Hebrew having made ‘Aliyah’ (this being “Jewish immigration to the Land of Israel”, Wikipedia encyclopedia).
Hebrew is an interesting language. Despite the fact it has developed upon biblical Hebrew, Aramaic, Babylonian and other ancient languages, gender somehow worked its way into the equation and played a defining part in determining its formation.
Now, I am sure in ancient times people had already determined that men and women just don’t talk the same language. I am assuming the whole men are from Mars and women are from Venus theory existed in some form back then. However, this conflicting relationship just seemed to work its way through to communication, and gender was incorporated into the construction of the Hebrew language.
This certainly did not make things easy for me. For example, I can say the word ‘love’ in about a thousand ways, including: masculine singular, masculine plural, feminine singular, feminine plural, as a noun, as the root of the verb; past masculine singular, past masculine plural, past feminine singular, past masculine plural, future forms, imperfect form and the list is endless. Why can’t love just be simple … men always seem to know how to complicate the situation.
The difficulities of the Hebrew language didn't end there. You may be thinking, it can't be that hard, it must be the same pattern to say each verb, for example to say I love, I hate. Oh well, uh oh, no pattern at all. Each bloody single verb is part of one of the plentiful, complicated groups that exist, each having its own pattern of how they are constructed, spelt and pronounced. On top of that, there are the thousands of bloody exceptions, just to throw a spanner in the pipeline (English phrase), the logic explained by my teacher as ‘Cacha Cacha’, i.e. just because.
Conclusion to my dilemma: I wont be surprised once having ordered my falafel and humus that the guy at the counter asks if I had a sex change.
(No I haven’t ... but if you haven’t got the last line, please read again, this time slowly!!)
I have been at an ‘ulpan’ since July, this being a place that one learns Hebrew having made ‘Aliyah’ (this being “Jewish immigration to the Land of Israel”, Wikipedia encyclopedia).
Hebrew is an interesting language. Despite the fact it has developed upon biblical Hebrew, Aramaic, Babylonian and other ancient languages, gender somehow worked its way into the equation and played a defining part in determining its formation.
Now, I am sure in ancient times people had already determined that men and women just don’t talk the same language. I am assuming the whole men are from Mars and women are from Venus theory existed in some form back then. However, this conflicting relationship just seemed to work its way through to communication, and gender was incorporated into the construction of the Hebrew language.
This certainly did not make things easy for me. For example, I can say the word ‘love’ in about a thousand ways, including: masculine singular, masculine plural, feminine singular, feminine plural, as a noun, as the root of the verb; past masculine singular, past masculine plural, past feminine singular, past masculine plural, future forms, imperfect form and the list is endless. Why can’t love just be simple … men always seem to know how to complicate the situation.
The difficulities of the Hebrew language didn't end there. You may be thinking, it can't be that hard, it must be the same pattern to say each verb, for example to say I love, I hate. Oh well, uh oh, no pattern at all. Each bloody single verb is part of one of the plentiful, complicated groups that exist, each having its own pattern of how they are constructed, spelt and pronounced. On top of that, there are the thousands of bloody exceptions, just to throw a spanner in the pipeline (English phrase), the logic explained by my teacher as ‘Cacha Cacha’, i.e. just because.
Conclusion to my dilemma: I wont be surprised once having ordered my falafel and humus that the guy at the counter asks if I had a sex change.
(No I haven’t ... but if you haven’t got the last line, please read again, this time slowly!!)
1:1 (Part 1 'Can't take the London out of a Londoner) The Background, The Result, The Conclusion (Sunday, October 02, 2005)
So here we go … the explanation to why I left one of the most prosperous, buzzing cities of the world to live in the heated melting pot of all religion, all culture … the epicenter of it all … Israel.
I fulfilled my life ambitions by the age of twenty-four. I had my dream job, a financial reporter for a huge corporation. I had a pension plan, health cover, gym membership, a new car and everything seemed to be in my reach. Yet, the shiny surface of this Western package can be a reality of dull undertones. It was in these shades of grey I lived. The clouds shaded the music, laughter and joy. I was left in a lonely place … my bed, my desk at work and the train ride home.
My reality
Work … an 11-hour a day, at the desk by 5:45am, the constant pressure of accuracy and speed (the core policy of real-time news writing), the daily grunting of verbal abuse amongst colleagues and the lack of sunlight ... glamorous city life! My name had even developed into “f#@king c#Ô" by the night-time editor, and accompanied the beginning of depression and RSI that had spread across my back.
My colleagues
I was experiencing life amongst a bunch of egotistical and self-righteous being (journalists, in other words), whose opinions were clouded by a “middle-class” superiority complex.
Insight into a few of these attitudes
Office banter often brought views and beliefs of these beings to the surface, and often leaving me with feelings of resentment and anger. I can recall one conversation with one young, white and English (questionably 'middle class') colleague concerning the topical matter in British Politics, the practice of fox hunting. This sport, which involves people riding horses, in bowler hats and red jackets and competing to kill foxes, had finally been banned in the United Kingdom. This particular colleague disagreed with this governmental decision and attempted in every measure to justify the sport.
Him: “It has been a tradition for thousands of years imbedded in British culture, why should it change now? It is important to maintain our tradition”
Me: " Hmmm ... forget about the foxes for a sec, slavery and women being denied the right to vote didn’t happen that long ago!"
He abruptly ended the conversation with a grunt.
Morning conversations often included a session of digging over the contents of the daily tabloids (for example, “The Sun”), which involved humouring over how the alien “working class” conduct their lives. “Ohhh, pregnancy of a 16-year-old” … “oh my, drug abuse, how could this be happening!” (N.B. sarcasm on my part ladies and gentlemen).
My so-called colleagues even demonstrated an acceptance for public figures to wear Nazi symbolism at fancy-dress parties (i.e. Prince Harry’s doing in other words). This discussion did seem to fade out with my arrival in the office that day ... I recall one saying "why would such an act offend Jews”. Well, what about the fact that if I had been born 50 years earlier in certain parts in the world, I would more likely be dead than alive. I simply bit my tongue and continued with the day. My passion to defend my beliefs and my identity had worn quite thin over the years. I learnt to shut my mouth and just live with what I believe.
Result
My life didn’t seem to equate with the city life I had quite imagined. It didn't involve sipping on cosmopolitans and lunch dining as envisaged when I finished university. Reality was a cup of tea and a lousy soggy cheese cling-filmed sandwich.
One night, I began thinking (something I seem to be a pro at) “I am in my 20’s, a miserable old cow who can’t seem to find happiness in the life I am living. Hold it … what the hell am I doing with myself?
… I know, I am going to make a stand with my life and determine it's direction. I am buggering off to a country that I have a passion for, a connection to, that serves Kosher kebab 24 hours a day. I am going to live in Israel.
Yes, I do have my ties there. Being Jewish and having an Israeli boyfriend did help prompt my decision, but I was sacrificing all the things every Jewish mother dreams for their child, a career. Well, what could I do, I needed an escape route from this life I somehow fell into.
I wanted to get back in touch with who I am and what I believe. I didn't want have to defend my postion anymore to people that didn't understand the half of it and didn't even care. I wanted to be amongst 'real' life ... living politics and living beliefs. Israel incorporates all of that and more.
Conclusion
So here I am now, four months down the line having moved to Israel … studying the language, immersing into Israeli culture … it is brilliant!!!!!!! I spend my weekends at the beach. I get to spend time sipping on what the hell I want; I get to relax and breathe in the atmosphere and enjoy the life that I have always dreamt of. I meet people from every corner of the world, the greatest people. My pains are finally dissolving, I can drink, dance, relax …. I am finally happy.
I fulfilled my life ambitions by the age of twenty-four. I had my dream job, a financial reporter for a huge corporation. I had a pension plan, health cover, gym membership, a new car and everything seemed to be in my reach. Yet, the shiny surface of this Western package can be a reality of dull undertones. It was in these shades of grey I lived. The clouds shaded the music, laughter and joy. I was left in a lonely place … my bed, my desk at work and the train ride home.
My reality
Work … an 11-hour a day, at the desk by 5:45am, the constant pressure of accuracy and speed (the core policy of real-time news writing), the daily grunting of verbal abuse amongst colleagues and the lack of sunlight ... glamorous city life! My name had even developed into “f#@king c#Ô" by the night-time editor, and accompanied the beginning of depression and RSI that had spread across my back.
My colleagues
I was experiencing life amongst a bunch of egotistical and self-righteous being (journalists, in other words), whose opinions were clouded by a “middle-class” superiority complex.
Insight into a few of these attitudes
Office banter often brought views and beliefs of these beings to the surface, and often leaving me with feelings of resentment and anger. I can recall one conversation with one young, white and English (questionably 'middle class') colleague concerning the topical matter in British Politics, the practice of fox hunting. This sport, which involves people riding horses, in bowler hats and red jackets and competing to kill foxes, had finally been banned in the United Kingdom. This particular colleague disagreed with this governmental decision and attempted in every measure to justify the sport.
Him: “It has been a tradition for thousands of years imbedded in British culture, why should it change now? It is important to maintain our tradition”
Me: " Hmmm ... forget about the foxes for a sec, slavery and women being denied the right to vote didn’t happen that long ago!"
He abruptly ended the conversation with a grunt.
Morning conversations often included a session of digging over the contents of the daily tabloids (for example, “The Sun”), which involved humouring over how the alien “working class” conduct their lives. “Ohhh, pregnancy of a 16-year-old” … “oh my, drug abuse, how could this be happening!” (N.B. sarcasm on my part ladies and gentlemen).
My so-called colleagues even demonstrated an acceptance for public figures to wear Nazi symbolism at fancy-dress parties (i.e. Prince Harry’s doing in other words). This discussion did seem to fade out with my arrival in the office that day ... I recall one saying "why would such an act offend Jews”. Well, what about the fact that if I had been born 50 years earlier in certain parts in the world, I would more likely be dead than alive. I simply bit my tongue and continued with the day. My passion to defend my beliefs and my identity had worn quite thin over the years. I learnt to shut my mouth and just live with what I believe.
Result
My life didn’t seem to equate with the city life I had quite imagined. It didn't involve sipping on cosmopolitans and lunch dining as envisaged when I finished university. Reality was a cup of tea and a lousy soggy cheese cling-filmed sandwich.
One night, I began thinking (something I seem to be a pro at) “I am in my 20’s, a miserable old cow who can’t seem to find happiness in the life I am living. Hold it … what the hell am I doing with myself?
… I know, I am going to make a stand with my life and determine it's direction. I am buggering off to a country that I have a passion for, a connection to, that serves Kosher kebab 24 hours a day. I am going to live in Israel.
Yes, I do have my ties there. Being Jewish and having an Israeli boyfriend did help prompt my decision, but I was sacrificing all the things every Jewish mother dreams for their child, a career. Well, what could I do, I needed an escape route from this life I somehow fell into.
I wanted to get back in touch with who I am and what I believe. I didn't want have to defend my postion anymore to people that didn't understand the half of it and didn't even care. I wanted to be amongst 'real' life ... living politics and living beliefs. Israel incorporates all of that and more.
Conclusion
So here I am now, four months down the line having moved to Israel … studying the language, immersing into Israeli culture … it is brilliant!!!!!!! I spend my weekends at the beach. I get to spend time sipping on what the hell I want; I get to relax and breathe in the atmosphere and enjoy the life that I have always dreamt of. I meet people from every corner of the world, the greatest people. My pains are finally dissolving, I can drink, dance, relax …. I am finally happy.
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