I figured out why the Israeli government has been cutting child allowance payments and grants to yeshivos. It's because they need the money for other things, like wasting it on rescuing stray cats from weird places.
I kid you not. I went to the Kosel last night to daven Maariv and to say "goodbye", so to speak, since I will be leaving Israel until Elul. When I got there, there were two major commotions in progress: a chefetz chashud (suspicious object, which may be a bomb) was being taken apart by a bomb squad robot, and a cat was stuck on a ledge about 30 feet off the ground right near the Kosel.
I don't know what's wrong with these people, but the cat was getting a LOT more attention than the potential bomb. A major rescue effort was launched, consisting of bringing a device that looked kind of like a free-standing elevator down to the Kosel plaza, and raising it up to the ledge, hoping that the cat would be stupid enough to give up its nice, comfortable perch in the center of attention in favor of a rickety metal platform that was whining and making all kinds of scary mechanical noises.
I don't even know why they were working so hard to try and save the cat - it's not like there's a shortage of cats around here. In fact, scientists estimate that there are approximately 2,000,000,000,000 different cats living under our dira's kitchen window alone. But it certainly made for a good show.
Anyway, when the Einsteins running the show finally realized that the cat wasn't going to climb onto the platform by itself without sending up someone to "help" it, they lowered the platform back down to the ground, and - you guessed it - sent it back up empty again. I'm serious. They actually raised and lowered the platform a few more times without doing a single thing to improve their strategy, as if they expected the cat to eventually give up and say, "alright, alright! I'm coming down!"
Finally, they realized that this just wasn't going to work, so they decided to try and appease the cat by sending it some food. Really. They put a tray with what appeared to be some tuna on it on the platform, and sent it back up.
At this point, the cat finally decided he had enough. Instead of going for the food, it turned around and jumped up a few feet into a window that was just above the ledge, leaving the guys who brought the machine open-mouthed. After a few moments, they just shrugged and lowered the platform down, and then carted the machine away. I kinda felt bad for them - they looked like they were hoping they were gonna get a round of applause when they got down, and now that opportunity was lost forever.
Now, here I am sitting in the airport, and my flight is being delayed. I wonder if maybe it's because there's a cat stuck on the wing...
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
All Aboard the ChaCha Train!
Filed under Tidbits
You know, I knew that my blog had been getting more and more visits lately. Especially since I was pretty much the first person to post the long awaited name of Tinok ben Aviva Feiner (Avraham Yeshayahu, after the Chazon Ish) on the web, being that I did it just moments after the name was given in Jerusalem's Great Synagogue this morning. But you know what really made me feel like I'm finally "on the map"? Getting noticed by ChaCha.
First, a quick little introduction for those of you who have just arrived from some distant planet and do not yet know what ChaCha is: ChaCha is a text-messaging-based mobile search service. Simply put, that means that you can send a text message with any question you want to "CHACHA" (that's 242242 on your phone's keypad), and you will generally get an answer within a short time. For example, you can ask "what is the current exchange rate from US dollars to Israeli Shekels?" or even "what time is candle lighting this Friday evening?" and they will tell you.
See, the way it works is, your question goes to one of ChaCha's many "guides" (people who ChaCha pays to answer questions). The guide performs a quick Google search for the answer, and sends it to your phone via text message. At the end of the answer is a web address that when accessed, shows your question, the answer, some info about the guide who gave the answer, and - here's the important part - a link to the site where the guide got the answer from.
So why am I mentioning all this? Because, like I said before, I am honored that ChaCha has begun to take notice of me. What I mean by that is that believe it or not, on more than one occasion, ChaCha guides have used MY humble blog as the source website for their answers! My blog has provided useful information (if that's even possible) for answering questions about everything from the major snowstorm in Jerusalem this past winter, to details of the aforementioned bris of Avraham Yeshayahu Feiner. So if that's not justification enough for wasting my time writing this thing, well, then I don't know what is.
So in closing, I would like to point out that I have suddenly become a much bigger fan of ChaCha than I already was, now that I see they're becoming bigger fans of me. I highly endorse (assuming I have the power to do that) ChaCha for all your mobile search needs.
But of course, one must weigh that against the fact that when asked recently what the Feiner baby's name is, a ChaCha guide replied: "The baby boy is named Tinok ben Aviva." So I guess maybe they aren't perfect, after all...
NOTE: Unfortunately, ChaCha only works in the USA, not in Israel or anywhere else.
You know, I knew that my blog had been getting more and more visits lately. Especially since I was pretty much the first person to post the long awaited name of Tinok ben Aviva Feiner (Avraham Yeshayahu, after the Chazon Ish) on the web, being that I did it just moments after the name was given in Jerusalem's Great Synagogue this morning. But you know what really made me feel like I'm finally "on the map"? Getting noticed by ChaCha.
First, a quick little introduction for those of you who have just arrived from some distant planet and do not yet know what ChaCha is: ChaCha is a text-messaging-based mobile search service. Simply put, that means that you can send a text message with any question you want to "CHACHA" (that's 242242 on your phone's keypad), and you will generally get an answer within a short time. For example, you can ask "what is the current exchange rate from US dollars to Israeli Shekels?" or even "what time is candle lighting this Friday evening?" and they will tell you.
See, the way it works is, your question goes to one of ChaCha's many "guides" (people who ChaCha pays to answer questions). The guide performs a quick Google search for the answer, and sends it to your phone via text message. At the end of the answer is a web address that when accessed, shows your question, the answer, some info about the guide who gave the answer, and - here's the important part - a link to the site where the guide got the answer from.
So why am I mentioning all this? Because, like I said before, I am honored that ChaCha has begun to take notice of me. What I mean by that is that believe it or not, on more than one occasion, ChaCha guides have used MY humble blog as the source website for their answers! My blog has provided useful information (if that's even possible) for answering questions about everything from the major snowstorm in Jerusalem this past winter, to details of the aforementioned bris of Avraham Yeshayahu Feiner. So if that's not justification enough for wasting my time writing this thing, well, then I don't know what is.
So in closing, I would like to point out that I have suddenly become a much bigger fan of ChaCha than I already was, now that I see they're becoming bigger fans of me. I highly endorse (assuming I have the power to do that) ChaCha for all your mobile search needs.
But of course, one must weigh that against the fact that when asked recently what the Feiner baby's name is, a ChaCha guide replied: "The baby boy is named Tinok ben Aviva." So I guess maybe they aren't perfect, after all...
NOTE: Unfortunately, ChaCha only works in the USA, not in Israel or anywhere else.
Monday, July 14, 2008
I Have Good News and... Well, More Good News
Filed under Tidbits
Tonight's update is about two very special simchas (well, to me, at least), Baruch Hashem.
First of all, it is with great joy and gratitude to Hashem that I report that my sister had a baby girl. (Thereby making me an aunt?) Now, I have plenty of nieces and nephews, b'li ayin hara. But what is special about little Blimi B. is that she is a major milestone for me (well, for our family): this is the thirtieth time I became an uncle. That's right - Uncle Moishe's "fan club" now has 30 members, b'li ayin hara!
Second of all, remember Tinok ben Aviva - the son of Rabbi Eitan Feiner Shlita, who was in the NNICU for several months after he was born? The one whom our "Super Bowl Seder" was to be a z'chus for (covered here)? Well, I am pleased to report that he is doing much better, Baruch Hashem - and is finally having his bris tomorrow morning!
May Klal Yisroel continue to share only simchas from now on!
UPDATE: Tinok ben Aviva finally has a name: Avraham Yeshayahu, after the Chazon Ish. Mazel tov!
Tonight's update is about two very special simchas (well, to me, at least), Baruch Hashem.
First of all, it is with great joy and gratitude to Hashem that I report that my sister had a baby girl. (Thereby making me an aunt?) Now, I have plenty of nieces and nephews, b'li ayin hara. But what is special about little Blimi B. is that she is a major milestone for me (well, for our family): this is the thirtieth time I became an uncle. That's right - Uncle Moishe's "fan club" now has 30 members, b'li ayin hara!
Second of all, remember Tinok ben Aviva - the son of Rabbi Eitan Feiner Shlita, who was in the NNICU for several months after he was born? The one whom our "Super Bowl Seder" was to be a z'chus for (covered here)? Well, I am pleased to report that he is doing much better, Baruch Hashem - and is finally having his bris tomorrow morning!
May Klal Yisroel continue to share only simchas from now on!
UPDATE: Tinok ben Aviva finally has a name: Avraham Yeshayahu, after the Chazon Ish. Mazel tov!
Friday, July 11, 2008
An Interesting Tail
Although we no longer have Tutzy or Norman (who are currently both pursuing lucrative careers in the field of decomposition), there is apparently no shortage of pets to be had in this country. And no, I'm not referring to the cockroaches the size of microwave ovens that one can sometimes find. No, I'm talking about something else completely: I'm talking about donkeys.
I'm not sure what on earth possessed him to do so, but last week a guy from my dira purchased a donkey from some passing Israeli kid for just 100 shekels. I dunno if it was a smart idea, but hey, nobody asked me for my opinion. But hey, a hundred shekels is a small price to pay for some quality entertainment, no?
In fact, when you think about it, it can actually be a pretty good investment. With gasoline going for the equivalent of roughly eight dollars a gallon here in Israel, even a moped ("tus-tus" b'laaz) can start costing some serious cash. A donkey, on the other hand is a nice, convenient, environmentally-friendly grass-powered form of transportation, although perhaps it's a bit bumpy. Plus if you want lots of attention, you don't need to install chrome rims or anything: everyone will be staring at you as it is.
One of my yeshiva's diras has a front yard with a fence around it, so we kept the donkey there. For a week or so it lived there, eating and performing whatever other activities donkeys like to engage in, occasionally being taken for a ride or even just a walk through the streets.
Unfortunately, the fun was not to last. Once of the neighbors, who had apparently been learning the part of this week's parsha (Parshas Balak) about Bilam's donkey with too much kavana - decided to rat us out to the authorities. I didn't know donkey ownership is illegal, but then again, I don't know a whole lot of other things, either. All I know is that the municipality sent someone down to investigate the matter, and when he saw that there was indeed a donkey present, he promptly called for backup - meaning someone with a truck - to come take it away.
Fearing for our beloved pet, two guys distracted the municipal worker, while a third guy snuck the donkey out of there and ran off with it. When the guy with the truck finally came to take away the donkey, it was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, though, since donkeys are not a very common sight around here, everyone along the escape route noticed it, and thus the municipal people had plenty of eyewitnesses to tell them where the donkey went. They followed the trail of eyewitness accounts all the way to the Arzei Habira park, where they finally caught up with the donkey. Unlike Bilam's donkey, though, ours was unable to talk and defend itself, and thus found itself being taken away in the back of the truck to who-knows-where.
Wherever it is, I hope it's having a good time. And maybe, eventually, it'll meet the grandchild of Bilam's donkey, and learn to tell some good jokes...
I'm not sure what on earth possessed him to do so, but last week a guy from my dira purchased a donkey from some passing Israeli kid for just 100 shekels. I dunno if it was a smart idea, but hey, nobody asked me for my opinion. But hey, a hundred shekels is a small price to pay for some quality entertainment, no?
In fact, when you think about it, it can actually be a pretty good investment. With gasoline going for the equivalent of roughly eight dollars a gallon here in Israel, even a moped ("tus-tus" b'laaz) can start costing some serious cash. A donkey, on the other hand is a nice, convenient, environmentally-friendly grass-powered form of transportation, although perhaps it's a bit bumpy. Plus if you want lots of attention, you don't need to install chrome rims or anything: everyone will be staring at you as it is.
One of my yeshiva's diras has a front yard with a fence around it, so we kept the donkey there. For a week or so it lived there, eating and performing whatever other activities donkeys like to engage in, occasionally being taken for a ride or even just a walk through the streets.
Unfortunately, the fun was not to last. Once of the neighbors, who had apparently been learning the part of this week's parsha (Parshas Balak) about Bilam's donkey with too much kavana - decided to rat us out to the authorities. I didn't know donkey ownership is illegal, but then again, I don't know a whole lot of other things, either. All I know is that the municipality sent someone down to investigate the matter, and when he saw that there was indeed a donkey present, he promptly called for backup - meaning someone with a truck - to come take it away.
Fearing for our beloved pet, two guys distracted the municipal worker, while a third guy snuck the donkey out of there and ran off with it. When the guy with the truck finally came to take away the donkey, it was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, though, since donkeys are not a very common sight around here, everyone along the escape route noticed it, and thus the municipal people had plenty of eyewitnesses to tell them where the donkey went. They followed the trail of eyewitness accounts all the way to the Arzei Habira park, where they finally caught up with the donkey. Unlike Bilam's donkey, though, ours was unable to talk and defend itself, and thus found itself being taken away in the back of the truck to who-knows-where.
Wherever it is, I hope it's having a good time. And maybe, eventually, it'll meet the grandchild of Bilam's donkey, and learn to tell some good jokes...
Thursday, July 10, 2008
We're Back in Business
Filed under Tidbits
My apologies for the lack of new posts here on the blog recently. I have been having some severe problems recently with my Blogspot account, which prevented me from posting. Long story made short, I had several Blogspot employees burned at the stake, and the rest of them, seeing I meant business, got things working again.
And now, back to myderanged ranting informative journalism...
My apologies for the lack of new posts here on the blog recently. I have been having some severe problems recently with my Blogspot account, which prevented me from posting. Long story made short, I had several Blogspot employees burned at the stake, and the rest of them, seeing I meant business, got things working again.
And now, back to my
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Water, Water Everywhere...
Filed under Tidbits
Try to picture this: I'm walking down Rechov Sonnenfeld this past Friday afternoon, carrying a case of 2-liter Ein Gedi water bottles in my right hand, and two bags of shirts from the cleaners in my left. (Don't ask why they're in bags. For some reason, in this country, someone decided that "boxed" actually means "bagged", and I'm smart enough not to try to ask any dumb questions as to why. I just wonder what you get if you ask for "bagged".)
Anyway, as I approach the intersection of Sonnenfeld and Lendner, almost without warning there is a huge RIIIIIIIP!!! (Kinda like the sound you might end up hearing if you wear pants that are way too small for you.) The case of Ein Gedi water, in a dramatic display of balance, splits in half RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE, ejecting 3 bottles out of each side and sending all six 2-liter bottles rolling down the hill, each one racing off in its own direction, some down Sonnenfeld and some down Lendner.
As I toss the shirts aside and go racing after my precious water, I think to myself: someone is gonna get it over the head for this one. I'm not sure who, but someone is gonna get it. I mean, this is ridiculous. What has this world come to?! Exploding water bottle cases?! Whatever shall we do if the terrorists get hold of these things?!
Try to picture this: I'm walking down Rechov Sonnenfeld this past Friday afternoon, carrying a case of 2-liter Ein Gedi water bottles in my right hand, and two bags of shirts from the cleaners in my left. (Don't ask why they're in bags. For some reason, in this country, someone decided that "boxed" actually means "bagged", and I'm smart enough not to try to ask any dumb questions as to why. I just wonder what you get if you ask for "bagged".)
Anyway, as I approach the intersection of Sonnenfeld and Lendner, almost without warning there is a huge RIIIIIIIP!!! (Kinda like the sound you might end up hearing if you wear pants that are way too small for you.) The case of Ein Gedi water, in a dramatic display of balance, splits in half RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE, ejecting 3 bottles out of each side and sending all six 2-liter bottles rolling down the hill, each one racing off in its own direction, some down Sonnenfeld and some down Lendner.
As I toss the shirts aside and go racing after my precious water, I think to myself: someone is gonna get it over the head for this one. I'm not sure who, but someone is gonna get it. I mean, this is ridiculous. What has this world come to?! Exploding water bottle cases?! Whatever shall we do if the terrorists get hold of these things?!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Introducing the Tidbits System
I received a complaint about my blog the other day.
Well, that's not really news, since I get complaints about my blog all the time. (Such as: "Who taught you English? Some kind of weird alien from planet Talabojo?") The nature of the complaint wasn't new either: it's one that I get at least 20 times a day. The complaint was that, in a nutshell, my blog is kinda short on reading material these days - in other words, I should be posting a lot more often. But unlike all the other complaints I get of this nature, this one was different. This one was special. This one was unique because...
Okay, I lied. It frankly was not more special than the identical complaints I get from people all the time, who must have way more spare time than I do if they have been reduced to reading my blog as a way of killing time. Oh, sure, they claim they're just interested in knowing more about what goes on in my life. As if I'm really supposed to believe that, when I'm not even so sure I'M so interested in what's going on in my life...
But getting back to the complaint, it got me thinking (which I have to admit must take talent, since I'm sometimes accused of not using my brain often enough). I decided to analyze the situation, and here's what I came up with:
See, the reason I don't post that often is that I've kind of "painted myself into a corner", so to speak. I've gotten into the habit of making my blog posts into these long, 800-word articles, as if this were my own personal newspaper column or something. Which is all very fine and good, except that most topics don't occupy 800 words, even if you really stretch it. So I'm left with two options: either mention a few lines about that topic as part of another full-size post, or simply scrap that topic altogether. And more often than not, I end up going with option B, because it's much simpler.
But due to the aforementioned complaints, I've decided to make some serious changes around here, to accommodate more frequent posting. I will be starting a new category of posts called "tidbits". These will be kind of like mini-posts, possibly only a few sentences in length. The difference is that tidbits will have a "label" at the end of the piece declaring it as such, which you can click on to read only the tidbits. Likewise, ordinary full-size articles will have a label at the end of each one declaring it to be an article, and you can click on the label to view articles only.
Another difference is that tidbits will be announced by a different kind of email notification message than regular articles. You have the option of being notified of tidbits only, articles only, or both (or neither, for that matter). If you want to be added to or removed from either list, now would probably be a great time to let me know.
Anyway, I hope this new system will work out. If you have any questions, comments, or requests, post them in the comments section below.
Well, that's not really news, since I get complaints about my blog all the time. (Such as: "Who taught you English? Some kind of weird alien from planet Talabojo?") The nature of the complaint wasn't new either: it's one that I get at least 20 times a day. The complaint was that, in a nutshell, my blog is kinda short on reading material these days - in other words, I should be posting a lot more often. But unlike all the other complaints I get of this nature, this one was different. This one was special. This one was unique because...
Okay, I lied. It frankly was not more special than the identical complaints I get from people all the time, who must have way more spare time than I do if they have been reduced to reading my blog as a way of killing time. Oh, sure, they claim they're just interested in knowing more about what goes on in my life. As if I'm really supposed to believe that, when I'm not even so sure I'M so interested in what's going on in my life...
But getting back to the complaint, it got me thinking (which I have to admit must take talent, since I'm sometimes accused of not using my brain often enough). I decided to analyze the situation, and here's what I came up with:
See, the reason I don't post that often is that I've kind of "painted myself into a corner", so to speak. I've gotten into the habit of making my blog posts into these long, 800-word articles, as if this were my own personal newspaper column or something. Which is all very fine and good, except that most topics don't occupy 800 words, even if you really stretch it. So I'm left with two options: either mention a few lines about that topic as part of another full-size post, or simply scrap that topic altogether. And more often than not, I end up going with option B, because it's much simpler.
But due to the aforementioned complaints, I've decided to make some serious changes around here, to accommodate more frequent posting. I will be starting a new category of posts called "tidbits". These will be kind of like mini-posts, possibly only a few sentences in length. The difference is that tidbits will have a "label" at the end of the piece declaring it as such, which you can click on to read only the tidbits. Likewise, ordinary full-size articles will have a label at the end of each one declaring it to be an article, and you can click on the label to view articles only.
Another difference is that tidbits will be announced by a different kind of email notification message than regular articles. You have the option of being notified of tidbits only, articles only, or both (or neither, for that matter). If you want to be added to or removed from either list, now would probably be a great time to let me know.
Anyway, I hope this new system will work out. If you have any questions, comments, or requests, post them in the comments section below.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Hafganah!!!
Okay, we finally have some serious action to talk about. Not a snowstorm or another boring visit from George "Dubya" Bush, but something way more interesting, as measured in total number of dumpsters set on fire. I'm talking about the wave of hafganot that started last night, are continuing tonight, and may continue for the whole next week.
"Hafganah" is the Hebrew term for demonstration. But we're not talking about a simple demonstration by a few bored souls yelling "power to the people!" or some other mindless slogan; we're talking about serious stuff, the kind of demonstration where if Iran fired a missile at us, it would never hit us because it would be blocked by a dense protective layer of flaming garbage receptacles covering the streets of Jerusalem.
See, what happened was that some poor guy from Brazil was killed in a car accident on Kvish Shesh (Highway 6), Rachmana litzlan. Not content with letting the victim rest in peace, the police want to do an autopsy on the body. They want to investigate the "cause of death"; apparently they believe that being dead is not enough proof that something caused the victim to die.
Needless to say, autopsies are forbidden by halacha, so the anti-religious cops are all excited that they have an excuse to tick off the Chareidi community. However, the Chareidi community has no intention whatsoever of taking this sitting down, and so a wave of hafagnot has begun.
Your average protest around here consists of taking the huge green dumpsters that can be found all over Jerusalem, setting their contents ablaze, and pushing them into the street, thereby clogging the city's already delicate traffic system and causing massive jams. Ironically, while making the biggest "hefker velt" possible out of the city, the participants yell "Yerushalayim eino hefker!!!"
Thinking about this system, I decided to carefully analyze the cons and pros of such a protest.
CONS: Such protests are an inconvenience for innocent civilians such as myself, cause untold property damage in the form of destroyed dumpsters (which rumor has it the city will no longer be replacing, forcing the residents and merchants to figure out some other way of disposing of their garbage), cause a major chilul Hashem in the form of non-religious taxi drivers and cops cursing out all chareidim in general, and result major traffic delays and ridiculously altered bus routes (in one case, a number 2 bus headed for the Kosel ended up passing through Denver, Colorado).
PROS: On the other hand, they sure are fun to watch.
So we can be sure that there will be lots more action in the coming days. Last night alone I personally saw protests on Meah She'arim and Shivtei Yisroel, on Yecheskel near Kikar Shabbos, on Yoel near Hoshea, and on Shmuel Hanavi near Kikar Zvill. And those were only the small ones.
I wonder what tonight will bring...
Other news that I never got around to posting:
- Tutzy is dead. She died a few days into the zman; we have no idea what caused her to die, but we sure miss her. We buried her in a dirt lot near my yeshiva, and marked her grave with a small piece of Jerusalem stone
- My refrigerator is dead. Remember the little portable one that I paid a fortune for (specifically, 320 shekels)? Well, it currently keeps things "cold" at a comfortable 75 degrees Fahrenheit. So I'm guessing I got ripped off as usual.
- On the plus side, my dira finally got a full-size refrigerator/freezer combo. So I guess life isn't so bad after all, huh?
- Norman (the turtle) is not dead, although he does a great job of pretending he is.
- I never got around to finishing The Ukrainian Chronicles, and probably never will. Too bad on you. If you don't like it, sue me.
- The dollar hit an all-new low of 3.26 shekels, continuing its trend of declining in value against every major world currency, as well as several major brands of tissue paper.
- Am I forgetting anything else? Post a comment if you think so...
"Hafganah" is the Hebrew term for demonstration. But we're not talking about a simple demonstration by a few bored souls yelling "power to the people!" or some other mindless slogan; we're talking about serious stuff, the kind of demonstration where if Iran fired a missile at us, it would never hit us because it would be blocked by a dense protective layer of flaming garbage receptacles covering the streets of Jerusalem.
See, what happened was that some poor guy from Brazil was killed in a car accident on Kvish Shesh (Highway 6), Rachmana litzlan. Not content with letting the victim rest in peace, the police want to do an autopsy on the body. They want to investigate the "cause of death"; apparently they believe that being dead is not enough proof that something caused the victim to die.
Needless to say, autopsies are forbidden by halacha, so the anti-religious cops are all excited that they have an excuse to tick off the Chareidi community. However, the Chareidi community has no intention whatsoever of taking this sitting down, and so a wave of hafagnot has begun.
Your average protest around here consists of taking the huge green dumpsters that can be found all over Jerusalem, setting their contents ablaze, and pushing them into the street, thereby clogging the city's already delicate traffic system and causing massive jams. Ironically, while making the biggest "hefker velt" possible out of the city, the participants yell "Yerushalayim eino hefker!!!"
Thinking about this system, I decided to carefully analyze the cons and pros of such a protest.
CONS: Such protests are an inconvenience for innocent civilians such as myself, cause untold property damage in the form of destroyed dumpsters (which rumor has it the city will no longer be replacing, forcing the residents and merchants to figure out some other way of disposing of their garbage), cause a major chilul Hashem in the form of non-religious taxi drivers and cops cursing out all chareidim in general, and result major traffic delays and ridiculously altered bus routes (in one case, a number 2 bus headed for the Kosel ended up passing through Denver, Colorado).
PROS: On the other hand, they sure are fun to watch.
So we can be sure that there will be lots more action in the coming days. Last night alone I personally saw protests on Meah She'arim and Shivtei Yisroel, on Yecheskel near Kikar Shabbos, on Yoel near Hoshea, and on Shmuel Hanavi near Kikar Zvill. And those were only the small ones.
I wonder what tonight will bring...
Other news that I never got around to posting:
- Tutzy is dead. She died a few days into the zman; we have no idea what caused her to die, but we sure miss her. We buried her in a dirt lot near my yeshiva, and marked her grave with a small piece of Jerusalem stone
- My refrigerator is dead. Remember the little portable one that I paid a fortune for (specifically, 320 shekels)? Well, it currently keeps things "cold" at a comfortable 75 degrees Fahrenheit. So I'm guessing I got ripped off as usual.
- On the plus side, my dira finally got a full-size refrigerator/freezer combo. So I guess life isn't so bad after all, huh?
- Norman (the turtle) is not dead, although he does a great job of pretending he is.
- I never got around to finishing The Ukrainian Chronicles, and probably never will. Too bad on you. If you don't like it, sue me.
- The dollar hit an all-new low of 3.26 shekels, continuing its trend of declining in value against every major world currency, as well as several major brands of tissue paper.
- Am I forgetting anything else? Post a comment if you think so...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Now it's Time to Say Shalom, Uncle Moishe's Going Home...
I'm sitting on a plane, waiting for takeoff for the sixth time in ten days. But this time, there's a difference: instead of the relatively small coach-bus-with-wings aircraft I've been flying on until now, this time it's a jumbo jet - a Boeing 747-400, to be specific. That's because I'm finally going home.
You're probably wondering why this is my sixth flight in ten days. Well, it's simple: I went on a trip with a bunch of guys from my yeshiva, first to Ukraine, and then to Italy. I haven't posted anything about the trip yet because I've been quite busy with the trip itself, and then with packing up to go home for Pesach once I got back to Israel. With Hashem's help, I hope to catch up on that over bein hazmanim.
In the meantime, while I'm waiting for takeoff, I'm taking a few minutes to reflect on the past six months. I'm remembering how apprehensive I was about coming here, how worried I was about what would be if it wouldn't work out. My first time in a foreign country, alone. Could I really make it?
Now, six months later, I am happy to report that in my humble opinion, it has Baruch Hashem been a smashing success. I don't think I ever had such a great zman in my life - not just in ruchnius, but in gashmius as well. Although being cut off from my "supply lines" by a six thousand mile gap was challenging, it was definitely an awesome experience. I had a great time, with lots of interesting experiences, many of which I didn't get a chance to post about (well, at least not yet). Things like my visit to Machneh Yehudah, getting into a fight (not physical, thankfully) with an Arab taxi driver, "The Kosel Project" - these are only some of those which come to mind...
And now, to answer the big question: was it worth it? Definitely. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I am Baruch Hashem blessed with an amazing yeshiva, with the world's greatest Rosh Yeshiva, in the world's holiest city. What could be better?
It is with these reflections that I leave the holy land. But trust me, I'll definitely be back. They're gonna have to cancel all the flights - and most of the freighters - if they don't want me back here.
And now, time for takeoff. See you across the Atlantic!
You're probably wondering why this is my sixth flight in ten days. Well, it's simple: I went on a trip with a bunch of guys from my yeshiva, first to Ukraine, and then to Italy. I haven't posted anything about the trip yet because I've been quite busy with the trip itself, and then with packing up to go home for Pesach once I got back to Israel. With Hashem's help, I hope to catch up on that over bein hazmanim.
In the meantime, while I'm waiting for takeoff, I'm taking a few minutes to reflect on the past six months. I'm remembering how apprehensive I was about coming here, how worried I was about what would be if it wouldn't work out. My first time in a foreign country, alone. Could I really make it?
Now, six months later, I am happy to report that in my humble opinion, it has Baruch Hashem been a smashing success. I don't think I ever had such a great zman in my life - not just in ruchnius, but in gashmius as well. Although being cut off from my "supply lines" by a six thousand mile gap was challenging, it was definitely an awesome experience. I had a great time, with lots of interesting experiences, many of which I didn't get a chance to post about (well, at least not yet). Things like my visit to Machneh Yehudah, getting into a fight (not physical, thankfully) with an Arab taxi driver, "The Kosel Project" - these are only some of those which come to mind...
And now, to answer the big question: was it worth it? Definitely. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I am Baruch Hashem blessed with an amazing yeshiva, with the world's greatest Rosh Yeshiva, in the world's holiest city. What could be better?
It is with these reflections that I leave the holy land. But trust me, I'll definitely be back. They're gonna have to cancel all the flights - and most of the freighters - if they don't want me back here.
And now, time for takeoff. See you across the Atlantic!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Excuse Me, Do You Have the Time?
Okay! It's that time of year again: daylight savings time! Early Sunday morning was the time for the semi-annual pointless ritual of changing every clock you can think of by one hour. You are required by federal law to do so - in fact, if you do not own a watch, you are required to purchase one for the express purpose of changing the time on it (although unfortunately, you may not claim the expense as a deduction for income tax purposes).
Here in Israel we're not changing our clocks until April, so for a while, the time difference between the US and Israel will be just six hours instead of seven. This is excellent for confusing those of us who were finally just barely getting used to the seven hour time difference to begin with. Not that I'm complaining or anything. No siree.
Daylight savings time is referred to by the acronym "DST", which stands for, well, "Daylight Savings Time". Although I personally feel it would be more accurate to say it stands for "Dumb, Silly Thing", because in my opinion, that is exactly what it is: a pointless attempt to "save" daylight, whatever that's supposed to mean.
There is a major misconception that DST was invented by Benjamin Franklin. This directly leads to many people believing that DST has to be a smart idea, because after all, if it was invented by Benjamin Franklin, it must be a brilliant concept. However, we must not forget that Benjamin Franklin was also the same genius who flew a kite in a thunderstorm which got struck by lightning (the kite did, not the thunderstorm), which fried his brain so badly that he spent the rest of his life speaking in silly idioms like "don't think to hunt two hares with one dog" or "we must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately". So maybe we should be taking his "brainstorms" with a grain - or perhaps a whole sack - of salt.
But as it turns out, that doesn't really matter, because Benjamin Franklin was in fact not the one who invented DST, although he did lament the waste of daylight hours that came about through waking up late and going to sleep late. Or, as Franklin put it: "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man - OUCH!" (At that point, Franklin was finally smacked across the face by some heroic individual whose name escapes me at the moment, which shouldn't really matter to anyone, since I just made him up anyway out of wishful thinking.)
According to Wikipedia, DST was actually invented by somebody called William Willet. I don't blame him: if I were him, I would also try to come up with some brilliant concept so people would remember me for something other than my absurdly silly name. Mr. Willet published some kind of pamphlet advocating the concept of forcing the day to start earlier after observing that many people's shutters were still closed during his pre-breakfast horse ride. Personally, I'd like to know why he was trying to look into other people's windows - the pamphlet went through nineteen editions, and none of them actually explain this critical detail. Maybe he was trying to make sure they were up for Shachris.
But getting back to the main issue here, another thing that disturbed Mr. Willet, who was an avid golfer, was that he had to cut his round of golf short at dusk. So he came up with the idea of shifting the clock. If DST were implemented, he argued, not only would people's shutters be open in the morning (although I frankly cannot determine the advantage of that, anyway), but he even would be able to play all the way through his round of golf while it was still light outside. Apparently he figured it would be easier to put the whole nation through the hassle of changing their clocks and getting used to a new schedule than it would be to simply start his round of golf a little earlier.
So anyway, fast-forward a bunch of years to today, and that's where the matter stands right now: we have to change our clocks twice a year because of someone's lousy game of golf. This should further highlight what a pathetic sport golf is: in addition to being the only sport where the game would look exactly the same and proceed at exactly the same pace with the exact same level of excitement as it would even if all the players involved were deceased, golf now has the distinction of being the only sport capable of getting the clock changed in its favor.
Hang on, I think there's a thunderstorm brewing outside. Let me go get my kite...
Here in Israel we're not changing our clocks until April, so for a while, the time difference between the US and Israel will be just six hours instead of seven. This is excellent for confusing those of us who were finally just barely getting used to the seven hour time difference to begin with. Not that I'm complaining or anything. No siree.
Daylight savings time is referred to by the acronym "DST", which stands for, well, "Daylight Savings Time". Although I personally feel it would be more accurate to say it stands for "Dumb, Silly Thing", because in my opinion, that is exactly what it is: a pointless attempt to "save" daylight, whatever that's supposed to mean.
There is a major misconception that DST was invented by Benjamin Franklin. This directly leads to many people believing that DST has to be a smart idea, because after all, if it was invented by Benjamin Franklin, it must be a brilliant concept. However, we must not forget that Benjamin Franklin was also the same genius who flew a kite in a thunderstorm which got struck by lightning (the kite did, not the thunderstorm), which fried his brain so badly that he spent the rest of his life speaking in silly idioms like "don't think to hunt two hares with one dog" or "we must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately". So maybe we should be taking his "brainstorms" with a grain - or perhaps a whole sack - of salt.
But as it turns out, that doesn't really matter, because Benjamin Franklin was in fact not the one who invented DST, although he did lament the waste of daylight hours that came about through waking up late and going to sleep late. Or, as Franklin put it: "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man - OUCH!" (At that point, Franklin was finally smacked across the face by some heroic individual whose name escapes me at the moment, which shouldn't really matter to anyone, since I just made him up anyway out of wishful thinking.)
According to Wikipedia, DST was actually invented by somebody called William Willet. I don't blame him: if I were him, I would also try to come up with some brilliant concept so people would remember me for something other than my absurdly silly name. Mr. Willet published some kind of pamphlet advocating the concept of forcing the day to start earlier after observing that many people's shutters were still closed during his pre-breakfast horse ride. Personally, I'd like to know why he was trying to look into other people's windows - the pamphlet went through nineteen editions, and none of them actually explain this critical detail. Maybe he was trying to make sure they were up for Shachris.
But getting back to the main issue here, another thing that disturbed Mr. Willet, who was an avid golfer, was that he had to cut his round of golf short at dusk. So he came up with the idea of shifting the clock. If DST were implemented, he argued, not only would people's shutters be open in the morning (although I frankly cannot determine the advantage of that, anyway), but he even would be able to play all the way through his round of golf while it was still light outside. Apparently he figured it would be easier to put the whole nation through the hassle of changing their clocks and getting used to a new schedule than it would be to simply start his round of golf a little earlier.
So anyway, fast-forward a bunch of years to today, and that's where the matter stands right now: we have to change our clocks twice a year because of someone's lousy game of golf. This should further highlight what a pathetic sport golf is: in addition to being the only sport where the game would look exactly the same and proceed at exactly the same pace with the exact same level of excitement as it would even if all the players involved were deceased, golf now has the distinction of being the only sport capable of getting the clock changed in its favor.
Hang on, I think there's a thunderstorm brewing outside. Let me go get my kite...
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Elevating the Super Sunday
I should have posted this a week ago. I really should have; I just didn't have the time. But like they say, "better late than never". Especially when the subject is something as amazing as what I am about to tell you.
Sometimes you come across something so wonderful, an idea so incredible, that you have no idea how to describe it. But you have to try. And thus, I will try to describe what transpired in my yeshiva last Sunday night.
First, let me give you a little background information. Let's analyze what was going on in the rest of the world. For those of you who are not followers of sports, last Sunday night was the Super Bowl (I'm not into sports either, mind you, but even I heard of it). The Super Bowl is the championship game of the National Football League. It is perhaps the most watched sports event in the world. Additionally, "Super Sunday", as it is called, is the second-largest U.S. food consumption day, following Thanksgiving. So you can imagine what a big deal it is.
People all over the world watch the Super Bowl, even here in Israel. With the advent of Internet broadcasting, there is almost no corner of the world left untouched by this frenzy. Almost.
I say "almost" because I am here to tell you about a place in the world that is an exception to the rule, an oasis of normalcy in this insane world. I am here to tell you about my yeshiva, and the Kiddush Hashem we made. On a night when millions of people were watching a bunch of grown men chasing a ball, we dedicated the night to Hakadosh Baruch Hu. We stayed up the whole night and learned.
This is actually the second year that my yeshiva has done this, but only my first year here, so it's only my first time experiencing it. The fact that we do this on the night of the Super Bowl has earned it nicknames like "Torah Bowl" or "Super Seder". But whatever you call it, the idea is the same: to dedicate a night to Hashem. And not just any night: a night when the rest of the world is busy with other pursuits, and there is a very strong nisayon (for some people, at least) to join them. A night when the world is full of tumah, we attempt to turn it into a night of kedusha.
It is interesting to note that even though the seder was not mandatory, everyone nevertheless participated. And I mean EVERYONE: bochurim, avreichim, rebbeim - it looked like the middle of the day.
This year's seder was dedicated as a z'chus for the refuah sheleimah of the three-week-old son of Rabbi Eitan Feiner Shlita. Rabbi Feiner is a famous lecturer for Gateways, and a close friend of my rosh yeshiva. He speaks in our yeshiva every second Monday night. His son, who was born several weeks ago after many years of childlessness, has been in the NNICU (Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit) since he was born. The doctors have absolutely no idea what is wrong with him; they say that in the history of medicine, they have never seen a case like this one.
When Rabbi Feiner heard that the seder is being dedicated as a z'chus for his son, he was so touched that he said he wanted to be part of it. And thus he came to join us, and he spoke for us at 1:00 AM. He spoke very well - in fact, it was one of the best speeches I have heard recently, and I hope to soon be able to post it online so that you can download and enjoy it as well.
After staying up the whole night learning, the whole yeshiva walked together to the Kosel to daven Shachris vasikin. After davening, we danced in a circle and sang "ashreinu, mah tov chelkeinu, uma na'im goraleinu" - how lucky we are, how good is our portion, how sweet is our lot. Truer words have never been sang, I thought, watching the rising sun. We were not the only ones to stay up all night, I'm sure... but we are fortunate that we, at least, have what to show for it. We made a Kiddush Hashem.
May it indeed be a z'chus refuah sheleimah for Tinok ben Aviva, b'soch shaar cholei Yisroel. Amen.
Sometimes you come across something so wonderful, an idea so incredible, that you have no idea how to describe it. But you have to try. And thus, I will try to describe what transpired in my yeshiva last Sunday night.
First, let me give you a little background information. Let's analyze what was going on in the rest of the world. For those of you who are not followers of sports, last Sunday night was the Super Bowl (I'm not into sports either, mind you, but even I heard of it). The Super Bowl is the championship game of the National Football League. It is perhaps the most watched sports event in the world. Additionally, "Super Sunday", as it is called, is the second-largest U.S. food consumption day, following Thanksgiving. So you can imagine what a big deal it is.
People all over the world watch the Super Bowl, even here in Israel. With the advent of Internet broadcasting, there is almost no corner of the world left untouched by this frenzy. Almost.
I say "almost" because I am here to tell you about a place in the world that is an exception to the rule, an oasis of normalcy in this insane world. I am here to tell you about my yeshiva, and the Kiddush Hashem we made. On a night when millions of people were watching a bunch of grown men chasing a ball, we dedicated the night to Hakadosh Baruch Hu. We stayed up the whole night and learned.
This is actually the second year that my yeshiva has done this, but only my first year here, so it's only my first time experiencing it. The fact that we do this on the night of the Super Bowl has earned it nicknames like "Torah Bowl" or "Super Seder". But whatever you call it, the idea is the same: to dedicate a night to Hashem. And not just any night: a night when the rest of the world is busy with other pursuits, and there is a very strong nisayon (for some people, at least) to join them. A night when the world is full of tumah, we attempt to turn it into a night of kedusha.
It is interesting to note that even though the seder was not mandatory, everyone nevertheless participated. And I mean EVERYONE: bochurim, avreichim, rebbeim - it looked like the middle of the day.
This year's seder was dedicated as a z'chus for the refuah sheleimah of the three-week-old son of Rabbi Eitan Feiner Shlita. Rabbi Feiner is a famous lecturer for Gateways, and a close friend of my rosh yeshiva. He speaks in our yeshiva every second Monday night. His son, who was born several weeks ago after many years of childlessness, has been in the NNICU (Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit) since he was born. The doctors have absolutely no idea what is wrong with him; they say that in the history of medicine, they have never seen a case like this one.
When Rabbi Feiner heard that the seder is being dedicated as a z'chus for his son, he was so touched that he said he wanted to be part of it. And thus he came to join us, and he spoke for us at 1:00 AM. He spoke very well - in fact, it was one of the best speeches I have heard recently, and I hope to soon be able to post it online so that you can download and enjoy it as well.
After staying up the whole night learning, the whole yeshiva walked together to the Kosel to daven Shachris vasikin. After davening, we danced in a circle and sang "ashreinu, mah tov chelkeinu, uma na'im goraleinu" - how lucky we are, how good is our portion, how sweet is our lot. Truer words have never been sang, I thought, watching the rising sun. We were not the only ones to stay up all night, I'm sure... but we are fortunate that we, at least, have what to show for it. We made a Kiddush Hashem.
May it indeed be a z'chus refuah sheleimah for Tinok ben Aviva, b'soch shaar cholei Yisroel. Amen.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Winter Wonderland?
You know, if you stick around Israel long enough, you get to see some pretty interesting things that you would never otherwise see in your life, such as the Egged No. 2 bus arriving on time. Last night and today, I got to see something very interesting that I may otherwise have never seen: a snowstorm in Yerushalayim.
Six months ago, I never would have dreamed of witnessing snow in Yerushalayim. That's because I never dreamed I would come to learn in yeshiva on this side of the Atlantic. I figured the only time I would ever come to Israel would be to visit, and the chances of running into an Israeli snowstorm during a short visit are probably about as good as Ariel Sharon's chances of becoming Prime Minister again in his current vegetative state (although considering what an incompetent fool Olmert is, Sharon would probably be more competent even if he were deceased).
But time has passed, things have changed, and now here I am, learning in Israel. And here I am, experiencing my first ever Israeli snowstorm.
Snow is very uncommon in most of Israel; non-existent, even, in certain parts of the country. (And you thought only Customer Service was so hard to find, eh?) My brother-in-law tells me that people from B'nei Brak come all the way to Yerushalayim when it snows just to witness this amazing sight. And of course, whenever it snows, the cover of every self-respecting Jewish American newspaper is required by federal law to show the same picture: the Kosel plaza covered in snow.
Two of my friends, who I will refer to only as "Y." and "A." so that you will not figure out that they are "Yechiel" and "Avrumy" (and I certainly will not tell you their last names out of a sincere desire not to find a huge, wet snowball inside my pillowcase as punishment for disclosing their identities), decided to get such a picture. But while most run-of-the-mill (meaning "sane") would-be photographers would wait until a decent amount of snow had accumulated, Y. and A. decided to hike to the Kosel just a short while after it started snowing... at one o'clock in the morning.
They actually invited me to go along with them and have a snowball fight along the way; however, I am pleased to report that my brain is still somewhat functional, and thus I declined. In the short walk back to my dira, I had already gotten soaked to the bone even without the benefit of being pelted with wet wads of slush travelling at speeds exceeding one hundred miles per hour, so I could only imagine what I would look like after a nice, fun-filled hike in such glorious weather. Besides, I don't have any gloves here, so if I tried making snowballs, my fingers would probably be ready to crack off after the third one.
But Y. and A. made it all the way there, and came back looking like they forgot to take off their clothing before diving into the swimming pool. They got some pretty interesting pictures of the virtually empty Kosel plaza, but as I predicted, there wasn't much snow to be seen. In fact, most of the white stuff in the pictures was actually kvittelach wedged into the cracks in the wall, not snow. But hey - who's gonna know the difference, anyway?
But unfortunately, the nice part did not last very long. Although we were expecting approximately 20 centimeters (8 inches) of snow, we never made it that far - the snowstorm changed into a heavy rainstorm, making a big, wet, sloppy mess of the streets. And since this country does not possess snowplows - apparently, they've never even heard of such wondrous inventions, except perhaps in fairy tales - the stuff is not gonna get cleared, either. It will have to melt on its own, which will be no easy feat, seeing as how the weather does not seem to be improving. Not only does the precipitation continue, but it keeps changing every so often between rain, snow, sleet, and occasionally even hail.
I guess it goes without saying that most people here do not have proper winter gear, including me. Jerusalem stone is slippery enough as it is, but a slush-covered sidewalk made of the stuff has me sorely missing my Yaktrax. And let me tell you a little secret: not having boots is probably not the smartest idea either, if you prefer to keep your feet dry.
Many local establishments have bravely responded to the adverse conditions by remaining closed today. I don't think the Egged buses were running either, and the taxis that were operating today were having a field day, charging as much as five times the normal rate for some trips. And you would have to be really brave (meaning "stupid") to try to drive a moped in this weather.
The truth is, the snow alone probably wouldn't have been too bad. A snow-covered Yerushalayim would even make a nice postcard picture. It's when things started getting slushy that everything went to pot. In fact, when I first started writing this post, I titled it simply "Winter Wonderland", since it was still snowing nicely. It was only when the snow switched to rain that I added the question mark, since that's when I realized that the kind of weather we're gonna have is the kind where you get the feeling that it should be illegal to have to get out of bed in the morning on that day.
But I'm not complaining. I still love Eretz Yisroel, slush or no slush. I'm glad to be here, even in such adverse weather. I'm also excited to have merited the possibly-once-in-a-lifetime experience of witnessing an Israeli snowstorm.
Now, if only I could witness the No. 2 bus arriving on time...
Six months ago, I never would have dreamed of witnessing snow in Yerushalayim. That's because I never dreamed I would come to learn in yeshiva on this side of the Atlantic. I figured the only time I would ever come to Israel would be to visit, and the chances of running into an Israeli snowstorm during a short visit are probably about as good as Ariel Sharon's chances of becoming Prime Minister again in his current vegetative state (although considering what an incompetent fool Olmert is, Sharon would probably be more competent even if he were deceased).
But time has passed, things have changed, and now here I am, learning in Israel. And here I am, experiencing my first ever Israeli snowstorm.
Snow is very uncommon in most of Israel; non-existent, even, in certain parts of the country. (And you thought only Customer Service was so hard to find, eh?) My brother-in-law tells me that people from B'nei Brak come all the way to Yerushalayim when it snows just to witness this amazing sight. And of course, whenever it snows, the cover of every self-respecting Jewish American newspaper is required by federal law to show the same picture: the Kosel plaza covered in snow.
Two of my friends, who I will refer to only as "Y." and "A." so that you will not figure out that they are "Yechiel" and "Avrumy" (and I certainly will not tell you their last names out of a sincere desire not to find a huge, wet snowball inside my pillowcase as punishment for disclosing their identities), decided to get such a picture. But while most run-of-the-mill (meaning "sane") would-be photographers would wait until a decent amount of snow had accumulated, Y. and A. decided to hike to the Kosel just a short while after it started snowing... at one o'clock in the morning.
They actually invited me to go along with them and have a snowball fight along the way; however, I am pleased to report that my brain is still somewhat functional, and thus I declined. In the short walk back to my dira, I had already gotten soaked to the bone even without the benefit of being pelted with wet wads of slush travelling at speeds exceeding one hundred miles per hour, so I could only imagine what I would look like after a nice, fun-filled hike in such glorious weather. Besides, I don't have any gloves here, so if I tried making snowballs, my fingers would probably be ready to crack off after the third one.
But Y. and A. made it all the way there, and came back looking like they forgot to take off their clothing before diving into the swimming pool. They got some pretty interesting pictures of the virtually empty Kosel plaza, but as I predicted, there wasn't much snow to be seen. In fact, most of the white stuff in the pictures was actually kvittelach wedged into the cracks in the wall, not snow. But hey - who's gonna know the difference, anyway?
But unfortunately, the nice part did not last very long. Although we were expecting approximately 20 centimeters (8 inches) of snow, we never made it that far - the snowstorm changed into a heavy rainstorm, making a big, wet, sloppy mess of the streets. And since this country does not possess snowplows - apparently, they've never even heard of such wondrous inventions, except perhaps in fairy tales - the stuff is not gonna get cleared, either. It will have to melt on its own, which will be no easy feat, seeing as how the weather does not seem to be improving. Not only does the precipitation continue, but it keeps changing every so often between rain, snow, sleet, and occasionally even hail.
I guess it goes without saying that most people here do not have proper winter gear, including me. Jerusalem stone is slippery enough as it is, but a slush-covered sidewalk made of the stuff has me sorely missing my Yaktrax. And let me tell you a little secret: not having boots is probably not the smartest idea either, if you prefer to keep your feet dry.
Many local establishments have bravely responded to the adverse conditions by remaining closed today. I don't think the Egged buses were running either, and the taxis that were operating today were having a field day, charging as much as five times the normal rate for some trips. And you would have to be really brave (meaning "stupid") to try to drive a moped in this weather.
The truth is, the snow alone probably wouldn't have been too bad. A snow-covered Yerushalayim would even make a nice postcard picture. It's when things started getting slushy that everything went to pot. In fact, when I first started writing this post, I titled it simply "Winter Wonderland", since it was still snowing nicely. It was only when the snow switched to rain that I added the question mark, since that's when I realized that the kind of weather we're gonna have is the kind where you get the feeling that it should be illegal to have to get out of bed in the morning on that day.
But I'm not complaining. I still love Eretz Yisroel, slush or no slush. I'm glad to be here, even in such adverse weather. I'm also excited to have merited the possibly-once-in-a-lifetime experience of witnessing an Israeli snowstorm.
Now, if only I could witness the No. 2 bus arriving on time...
Sunday, January 27, 2008
BANG!
My dira is suddenly plunged into total darkness: the main fuse has blown for the 4,000th time this week. And it's only Sunday night.
You'd think that we'd be used to it by now, but every time the power blows, it somehow still comes as a rude, unexpected shock (har!) to everyone. And as the guys perform various rituals related to getting the power going again, I begin to think if there is anything I can do about the situation.
I suppose I could write a really nasty post about the situation. It wouldn't help matters much, but it would definitely help me blow off some steam, although considering how cold it is these days, I don't think I could afford any. Besides, there is always the lashon hara aspect of things; in fact, this is actually my third attempt at writing this post - I scrapped the first two drafts despite putting a lot of hard work into them, because I was worried that they contained too much negative information. So let's see if I can try to give a somewhat impartial analysis of the problem:
The main fuse has been blowing steadily for at least the past two months. Nighttime is bitterly cold these days, and apparently, the building's power supply can't handle all the heaters in the dira. It is getting to the point where I am tempted to tape the breaker into the "ON" position, fire hazard or no fire hazard. Worst comes to worst, the wires will catch fire, which will probably make the dira a lot warmer than it is now.
See, the problem is that our main breaker has a capacity of 40 Amps. In laymen's terms, that is a lot of electricity for a one-family dwelling, perhaps, but a pitifully small amount for 21 people spread out across 3 floors. Four electricians have allegedly been here already, and they all claim there is no way to increase the amount of incoming electricity without the cooperation of the electric company. The electric company, in turn, refuses to cooperate because a good deal of the dira consists of (surprise!) an illegal extension.
Meanwhile, pretty much everything here operates on electricity - the lights, the heaters, the hot water boiler, some people's brains, etc. - so we naturally have a bit of a problem. You know how those old-fashioned car radios had a row of buttons that could have no two buttons pushed in at once - whenever you pushed one, all the others would pop out? That's kind of what it's like in my dira: we can have lights, heat, or hot water, but we can't have two of them at the same time. The heat and hot water in particular do not coexist well; if you try turning on the hot water heater (or "dude", as it's called in this country) while too many heaters are on, then BANG! - you can guess what happens next.
The temperature in the dira is also not helped much by the fact that the window above my bed is faulty: thanks to the brilliance of the rocket scientist who installed it, I have a window frame that is about two inches narrower than the opening it is supposed to fill, and that gap lets in an awful lot of cold air. It is slated to be fixed (like everything else around here) sometime during the next century, and in the meantime I have taken to stuffing the gap with all sorts of otherwise useless garbage - towels, plastic bags, politicians, etc. It doesn't really help much, but it's the best I can do for now.
Perhaps the problem wouldn't be so bad if people here had common sense. But simple ideas like turning off your heater - or at least putting it on a lower setting - before turning on the hot water boiler just doesn't seem to occur to some people. "What," they say, "are you crazy?! I should shut off my heater?! It's WINTER, man!"
I've all but given up on trying to educate these people. I've also all but given up on trying to get the yeshiva to do anything about the problem - they claim they're working on it, and I believe them, although I frankly don't know why I do. Somehow, I get the sinking feeling that if this were, say, the Beis Medrash, it would have been fixed ages ago, by hook or by crook. But in the mean time, I'm just gonna have to learn to live with--
BANG!
Sigh. Where's my flashlight?
You'd think that we'd be used to it by now, but every time the power blows, it somehow still comes as a rude, unexpected shock (har!) to everyone. And as the guys perform various rituals related to getting the power going again, I begin to think if there is anything I can do about the situation.
I suppose I could write a really nasty post about the situation. It wouldn't help matters much, but it would definitely help me blow off some steam, although considering how cold it is these days, I don't think I could afford any. Besides, there is always the lashon hara aspect of things; in fact, this is actually my third attempt at writing this post - I scrapped the first two drafts despite putting a lot of hard work into them, because I was worried that they contained too much negative information. So let's see if I can try to give a somewhat impartial analysis of the problem:
The main fuse has been blowing steadily for at least the past two months. Nighttime is bitterly cold these days, and apparently, the building's power supply can't handle all the heaters in the dira. It is getting to the point where I am tempted to tape the breaker into the "ON" position, fire hazard or no fire hazard. Worst comes to worst, the wires will catch fire, which will probably make the dira a lot warmer than it is now.
See, the problem is that our main breaker has a capacity of 40 Amps. In laymen's terms, that is a lot of electricity for a one-family dwelling, perhaps, but a pitifully small amount for 21 people spread out across 3 floors. Four electricians have allegedly been here already, and they all claim there is no way to increase the amount of incoming electricity without the cooperation of the electric company. The electric company, in turn, refuses to cooperate because a good deal of the dira consists of (surprise!) an illegal extension.
Meanwhile, pretty much everything here operates on electricity - the lights, the heaters, the hot water boiler, some people's brains, etc. - so we naturally have a bit of a problem. You know how those old-fashioned car radios had a row of buttons that could have no two buttons pushed in at once - whenever you pushed one, all the others would pop out? That's kind of what it's like in my dira: we can have lights, heat, or hot water, but we can't have two of them at the same time. The heat and hot water in particular do not coexist well; if you try turning on the hot water heater (or "dude", as it's called in this country) while too many heaters are on, then BANG! - you can guess what happens next.
The temperature in the dira is also not helped much by the fact that the window above my bed is faulty: thanks to the brilliance of the rocket scientist who installed it, I have a window frame that is about two inches narrower than the opening it is supposed to fill, and that gap lets in an awful lot of cold air. It is slated to be fixed (like everything else around here) sometime during the next century, and in the meantime I have taken to stuffing the gap with all sorts of otherwise useless garbage - towels, plastic bags, politicians, etc. It doesn't really help much, but it's the best I can do for now.
Perhaps the problem wouldn't be so bad if people here had common sense. But simple ideas like turning off your heater - or at least putting it on a lower setting - before turning on the hot water boiler just doesn't seem to occur to some people. "What," they say, "are you crazy?! I should shut off my heater?! It's WINTER, man!"
I've all but given up on trying to educate these people. I've also all but given up on trying to get the yeshiva to do anything about the problem - they claim they're working on it, and I believe them, although I frankly don't know why I do. Somehow, I get the sinking feeling that if this were, say, the Beis Medrash, it would have been fixed ages ago, by hook or by crook. But in the mean time, I'm just gonna have to learn to live with--
BANG!
Sigh. Where's my flashlight?
Monday, January 14, 2008
Boxed In
I'm missing a chasuna tonight. It's not the first chasuna this winter that I'm missing, and it certainly won't be the last, although it is probably the one I am most disappointed to miss of all the chasunas I've been invited to throughout the winter zman. It's yet another chasuna that I'm missing because it is taking place in America, and I am in Israel.
I have to admit, it makes me feel kind of boxed in, as if I'm living in a different world than my family and friends back home. I mean, I love living here in Eretz Yisroel, and to a certain extent I'm still very much in contact with America - I can still call, email, or SMS people just as if I were in the states - but there are certain barriers that cannot easily be broken. Such as the barrier of location, of being - seemingly - in what may be perceived as "the wrong place at the wrong time".
It takes missing a special event like this to really hammer home the fact that after all is said and done, despite the fact that home is just a phone call away, the Atlantic Ocean is still a formidable barrier that is expensive and time-consuming to cross. And unless the occasion is special enough to warrant it, the barrier will simply not be crossed.
Am I upset? Do I regret being here, instead of America? Of course not. I have the privilege of living here in the holy land, and I am loving every minute of it. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But there are definitely sacrifices to be made, and this is one of them, perhaps even one of the smaller ones. In fact, I am thankful to Hashem for providing me with yet another opportunity, another stepping stone along the path of learning to appreciate that which I do have. After all, there are many possible reasons for a person to miss a wedding, many reasons that are far more mundane. Some that are even dreadful and tragic, chas v'shalom.
I am happy for the chosson and kallah. I am happy for their families. But most of all, I am happy that my reason for not being there is a privileged one.
Mazel tov!
I have to admit, it makes me feel kind of boxed in, as if I'm living in a different world than my family and friends back home. I mean, I love living here in Eretz Yisroel, and to a certain extent I'm still very much in contact with America - I can still call, email, or SMS people just as if I were in the states - but there are certain barriers that cannot easily be broken. Such as the barrier of location, of being - seemingly - in what may be perceived as "the wrong place at the wrong time".
It takes missing a special event like this to really hammer home the fact that after all is said and done, despite the fact that home is just a phone call away, the Atlantic Ocean is still a formidable barrier that is expensive and time-consuming to cross. And unless the occasion is special enough to warrant it, the barrier will simply not be crossed.
Am I upset? Do I regret being here, instead of America? Of course not. I have the privilege of living here in the holy land, and I am loving every minute of it. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But there are definitely sacrifices to be made, and this is one of them, perhaps even one of the smaller ones. In fact, I am thankful to Hashem for providing me with yet another opportunity, another stepping stone along the path of learning to appreciate that which I do have. After all, there are many possible reasons for a person to miss a wedding, many reasons that are far more mundane. Some that are even dreadful and tragic, chas v'shalom.
I am happy for the chosson and kallah. I am happy for their families. But most of all, I am happy that my reason for not being there is a privileged one.
Mazel tov!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Last Year's News
I have recently come under fire for not writing anything on my blog in a long time.
Actually, I am lying through my teeth. The truth is that besides for one or two people, no one has said a word to me about the fact that I haven't written anything in almost a month. But it sounds more impressive this way.
Anyway, I have not written anything in a while for several reasons, not the least of which is that I'm running out of interesting topics to write about. I guess I could write about the leaky toilet in my dira, or the new payphone they're installing in my yeshiva, but somehow I don't think that would cut it. Perhaps it is time to engage in the real challenge of journalism: writing about truly mundane, boring topics in an exciting fashion, as if they were the Presidential Elec- no, wait, that's still too boring...
On second thoughts, that IS what I have been doing until now - writing about theoretically boring topics as if they were majorly exciting world events. And judging by the fact that I've succeeded in stringing along my readers for several months like that, I'd say it's working. So I guess for now I'll continue on the same track.
Meanwhile, until someone is kind enough to suggest a more interesting topic, let's do a little history lesson: I think I'll write about some of what's been going on in my life since the last time I wrote almost a month ago. After all, I believe that was meant to be the original purpose of my blog, as stated here, before everything went to pot. I am, however, calling it a history lesson since the following events technically occurred last year, during 2007, which is no longer with us. (Sniffle, sniffle...)
First on the list of recent events of historical significance is the marriage of my cousin to a girl from South Africa. (No, no one in the family has a series of shrunken human heads on a stick. They prefer to put their shrunken human heads on a chain instead.) Since the wedding took place here in Israel, it meant that I merited a full-scale familial invasion, consisting of my parents, my brother, three of my sisters, several aunts and uncles, and a truckload of assorted cousins.
Needless to say, a visit from home is the best thing that happened to me since I got here. That's right: I finally got some more cold cuts and tuna fish. But best of all, I got to have my very own Amigo for a week. An Amigo is a rental cellphone from the Israeli cell carrier Mirs, which is the local equivalent of Nextel. This means that they have a "walkie-talkie" feature, which enables you to talk to another Mirs phone user just as if it were a regular phone, except that there is a distinctive "prip-prip" sound at the beginning of each transmission, which serves the important function of notifying anyone nearby that you are using a Mirs phone.
The wedding itself took place at the Hadar Sheraton City Tower in Ramat Gan, on the night of Sunday, December 23rd. In case you haven't figured it out from the name "Hadar Sheraton City Tower", it was an extremely memorable (meaning very fancy, and presumably expensive) affair. I personally had a blast, and hope to be completely sober once again sometime before Pesach.
I am, of course, lying through my teeth again. I couldn't have gotten drunk if I would have tried; anyone who knows me at all knows that I can't stand alcohol. My primary interest in an alcoholic beverage would be to see if I can set fire to it. But I thought it sounded good, so I wrote it anyway. If you don't like it, sue me.
On Monday night, I spoke at the sheva brachos. It was the first time I allowed myself to be coaxed into speaking in front of a large audience since my arrival in Israel. I think it went pretty well, despite my initial nervousness. I attribute my success to the fact that I consumed three shots of Johnny Walker Green Label before ascending the podium, which, to be frank, is three shots more than I ever drank in my whole life. I'm not sure what I said in my speech - it seemed to make sense to me (and any other patrons of Mr. Walker) at the time, though I'm not sure it made any sense in the long run...
On Tuesday, we rented a bus, and all my family members and cousins who were interested went to Teveria, Tzefas, and Meron to daven at various kivrei tzadikim. We were roughly 20 people on a 50 passenger bus, so it's a good thing we had the walkie-talkie phones, or some people may have gotten lost. Come to think of it, maybe some people DID get lost. So if you ever rent a bus here in Israel and you find some random, dazed individuals who don't appear to be from your tour group, give me a call. Thank you.
Perhaps the most interesting sheva brachos of all was the Shabbos Sheva Brachos, which took place in Netanya, at the Galei Sanz hotel, smack in middle of Sanz-Klausenberg-ville, and right on the shore of the Mediterranean. The kallah's family had sent out scouts to hotels across the country, and Galei Sanz was the only one that met the two critical requirements of 1) having a top-notch hechsher, and 2) being available in the middle of holiday season. The entire Shabbos was beautiful, and very well organized. There was even a printed schedule that was distributed to all the guests, which was strictly adhered to.
I am, of course, lying through my teeth again. As I'm sure you have figured out by now, trying to get a bunch of "Heimishe Yidden" to conform to a printed schedule is like trying to fit an elephant into a Volkswagen Beetle: it just won't work. Period. So everyone got used to a new schedule: one that was dictated more or less orally, created pretty much on-the-fly. Which suited me just fine: I'm a big fan of improvisation, just so long as it doesn't spread to, say, helping a choking person. ("I can't remember the Heimlich maneuver, so let's try sticking this vacuum cleaner nozzle into the victim's mouth and see if we can't suck the ole' blockage outta his throat.")
Seriously, though, Shabbos in Netanya was absolutely wonderful. But for me, the highlight was that I merited to meet Rabbi David Orlofsky, whom I quoted extensively in Coming Home to the Wall. To my pleasant surprise, he told me that he had actually read it when it was published in the Hamodia, and had even commented to his wife "Hey, look! This is the first time I've been published in the Hamodia since I stopped writing for them!"
And this time, I'm not lying through my teeth.
Actually, I am lying through my teeth. The truth is that besides for one or two people, no one has said a word to me about the fact that I haven't written anything in almost a month. But it sounds more impressive this way.
Anyway, I have not written anything in a while for several reasons, not the least of which is that I'm running out of interesting topics to write about. I guess I could write about the leaky toilet in my dira, or the new payphone they're installing in my yeshiva, but somehow I don't think that would cut it. Perhaps it is time to engage in the real challenge of journalism: writing about truly mundane, boring topics in an exciting fashion, as if they were the Presidential Elec- no, wait, that's still too boring...
On second thoughts, that IS what I have been doing until now - writing about theoretically boring topics as if they were majorly exciting world events. And judging by the fact that I've succeeded in stringing along my readers for several months like that, I'd say it's working. So I guess for now I'll continue on the same track.
Meanwhile, until someone is kind enough to suggest a more interesting topic, let's do a little history lesson: I think I'll write about some of what's been going on in my life since the last time I wrote almost a month ago. After all, I believe that was meant to be the original purpose of my blog, as stated here, before everything went to pot. I am, however, calling it a history lesson since the following events technically occurred last year, during 2007, which is no longer with us. (Sniffle, sniffle...)
First on the list of recent events of historical significance is the marriage of my cousin to a girl from South Africa. (No, no one in the family has a series of shrunken human heads on a stick. They prefer to put their shrunken human heads on a chain instead.) Since the wedding took place here in Israel, it meant that I merited a full-scale familial invasion, consisting of my parents, my brother, three of my sisters, several aunts and uncles, and a truckload of assorted cousins.
Needless to say, a visit from home is the best thing that happened to me since I got here. That's right: I finally got some more cold cuts and tuna fish. But best of all, I got to have my very own Amigo for a week. An Amigo is a rental cellphone from the Israeli cell carrier Mirs, which is the local equivalent of Nextel. This means that they have a "walkie-talkie" feature, which enables you to talk to another Mirs phone user just as if it were a regular phone, except that there is a distinctive "prip-prip" sound at the beginning of each transmission, which serves the important function of notifying anyone nearby that you are using a Mirs phone.
The wedding itself took place at the Hadar Sheraton City Tower in Ramat Gan, on the night of Sunday, December 23rd. In case you haven't figured it out from the name "Hadar Sheraton City Tower", it was an extremely memorable (meaning very fancy, and presumably expensive) affair. I personally had a blast, and hope to be completely sober once again sometime before Pesach.
I am, of course, lying through my teeth again. I couldn't have gotten drunk if I would have tried; anyone who knows me at all knows that I can't stand alcohol. My primary interest in an alcoholic beverage would be to see if I can set fire to it. But I thought it sounded good, so I wrote it anyway. If you don't like it, sue me.
On Monday night, I spoke at the sheva brachos. It was the first time I allowed myself to be coaxed into speaking in front of a large audience since my arrival in Israel. I think it went pretty well, despite my initial nervousness. I attribute my success to the fact that I consumed three shots of Johnny Walker Green Label before ascending the podium, which, to be frank, is three shots more than I ever drank in my whole life. I'm not sure what I said in my speech - it seemed to make sense to me (and any other patrons of Mr. Walker) at the time, though I'm not sure it made any sense in the long run...
On Tuesday, we rented a bus, and all my family members and cousins who were interested went to Teveria, Tzefas, and Meron to daven at various kivrei tzadikim. We were roughly 20 people on a 50 passenger bus, so it's a good thing we had the walkie-talkie phones, or some people may have gotten lost. Come to think of it, maybe some people DID get lost. So if you ever rent a bus here in Israel and you find some random, dazed individuals who don't appear to be from your tour group, give me a call. Thank you.
Perhaps the most interesting sheva brachos of all was the Shabbos Sheva Brachos, which took place in Netanya, at the Galei Sanz hotel, smack in middle of Sanz-Klausenberg-ville, and right on the shore of the Mediterranean. The kallah's family had sent out scouts to hotels across the country, and Galei Sanz was the only one that met the two critical requirements of 1) having a top-notch hechsher, and 2) being available in the middle of holiday season. The entire Shabbos was beautiful, and very well organized. There was even a printed schedule that was distributed to all the guests, which was strictly adhered to.
I am, of course, lying through my teeth again. As I'm sure you have figured out by now, trying to get a bunch of "Heimishe Yidden" to conform to a printed schedule is like trying to fit an elephant into a Volkswagen Beetle: it just won't work. Period. So everyone got used to a new schedule: one that was dictated more or less orally, created pretty much on-the-fly. Which suited me just fine: I'm a big fan of improvisation, just so long as it doesn't spread to, say, helping a choking person. ("I can't remember the Heimlich maneuver, so let's try sticking this vacuum cleaner nozzle into the victim's mouth and see if we can't suck the ole' blockage outta his throat.")
Seriously, though, Shabbos in Netanya was absolutely wonderful. But for me, the highlight was that I merited to meet Rabbi David Orlofsky, whom I quoted extensively in Coming Home to the Wall. To my pleasant surprise, he told me that he had actually read it when it was published in the Hamodia, and had even commented to his wife "Hey, look! This is the first time I've been published in the Hamodia since I stopped writing for them!"
And this time, I'm not lying through my teeth.
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