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...
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
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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