Winds of war - a different perspective.

It has been a while since I wrote and I hate for this to be the impetus for me to write again, but it is. Just a few remarks on what's going on - obviously things I think.

It is very different to be here and experience these situations then to do it from abroad. Here, you see one side and barely the other. Abroad, you see both, obviously you see one more - which ever one comes across more 'rate-able' on the tv screen. Seeing things from outside though does give you a different perspective, as silly as that sentence is.

Both sides are to blame here. While that's almost always true, it does seem lost on people. I want to mention though that over 8000 rockets have been shot over at Israel since it pulled out of the Gaza strip 6 years ago. Over 8000. And yes Israel has put the Gaza strip under blockade since Hamas came into power. And is facing elections.
 I am not getting into politics beyond those sentences.

The sound of the siren takes me back to post 9/11 when every time I heard a plane I automatically looked up to the sky in fright. Now motorcycles speeding sound a bit like the siren... Memories of '91 (The Gulf war, numero uno).

They opened the bomb shelters here. The one closest to my house is very close and very roomy, almost friendly in its spacious-ness and white-wall-ness. It is also right under a kindergarten and the Northern TLV police station. Whatever that may mean...

My parents arrived just in time, I might add. They came in Wednesday. On the way to picking them up from the airport I heard on the news that the Hamas military leader was killed. Welcome to Israel eema abba!

And with all of this, Israelies deal with the situation with humor, very dark humor. Here are a few of the funnies from FB, with context explained...

 So there were two rockets shot over to Tel Aviv and then one to Jerusalem. As far as the cities are concerned, Tel Aviv is clearly the cool and fashionable one. So after a rocket was shot to Jerusalem, someone wrote in FB - the fastest move in history of a trend from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

Much criticism has been dished out to citizens of Tel Aviv, that they don't understand what its like to live under fire (true) and that while many parts of Israel are in the line of fire, they just go out to coffee shops and parties. After the first siren went out here someone wrote on FB, shit, I spilled my espresso. And of course the photo below...

Let's hope for a quick and peaceful end to this, there are children in both sides and they should be able to grow up peacefully, play and dream.

1000 paper cranes

3 am on the avenue. The street is completely empty. I am digging a hole in the hard ground.
A little bit earlier, knock knock at my neighbors door. ‘Do you have a shovel?’
A strange look greets me. I smile and say, ‘I need to bury a bottle.’
‘You never fail to surprise me,’ he responds.
***
A Japanese legend tells that if one was to fold a thousand paper cranes, then one would be granted one wish. The story has roots in Japanese lore, where the cranes were believed to bring luck and a thousand were given to couples on their wedding night. The story gained fame for a less celebratory tale, one involving a Japanese girl named Sadako Sasaki who was a resident of Hiroshima when the bomb dropped. A few years later she got sick with leukemia and attempted to fold a thousand cranes, wishing to be healthy again. She didn’t make it and her friends completed the 1000 origami cranes for her.
The story became a symbol of innocent victims of war and eventually of peace. On the anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, people fold a 1000 paper cranes and make a wish.

***
When the social protests began in Israel, I joined one of the main tent areas and slept there for a few weeks. Since the protests dealt with the quest for social justice and people’s wish for a better place to live, plus we were all sleeping in the avenue with trees near by, I thought it would be nice to start folding origami cranes, maybe even get to a thousand, but if not at least do something communal and decorative.
I thought that if I could get enough people interested, we would complete a 1000 quickly. I arranged a day with the guy who organized the activities, got some paper donated to me from a printing shop and cut it all into squares. I was excited.
The day before the planned origami activity, there was a terrorist attack in southern Israel. 8 people died. It was horrible. And when the time for the origami activity came about, instead there was an emergency meeting of the tent village – how do we deal with the attack. I was told that I can go ahead and do the origami with the kids that were around, or move the activity to a different day. I chose to do it with 7 kids, mostly folding the cranes for them. I explained the story, the legend, the purpose, as the kids struggled with Japanese art.
We eventually completed 7 cranes, 993 away from the wish. Except, not quite. Two of the kids took the cranes home to decorate their rooms.



***
A few weeks later, Dafni Leef, the main lady who started the protests, came over to our tent village for a Friday night dinner. I knew that this was my chance and I quickly came with my bag of now 50 cranes and told the story and tried to teach her. She didn’t complete her crane. But, a few other people did and two lovely ladies liked the idea and joined the folding.
One of them, N’, even came up with a way of folding a few cranes at once and would return from her very respectable job, with bags of folded cranes. She even taught officers that were watching us how to fold.
We were on our way.

***
On September 23rd, a Friday, we reached a 1000. We hung them all on fishing wire from the trees in the avenue.

All along the folding process people would ask what the wish was and I responded that in time I would tell them. Jokingly, I became known as the wish-dictator, or the crane-tycoon. That Friday eve, we did a community dinner. I requested to tell the story of the 1000 cranes. I then read a poem about fall and planting seeds. (It was a metaphor, no really ☺ ). I told everyone that I would talk about the wish after the Friday night blessing. We did the kiddush and poured the wine. As the empty wine bottle stood there, I said that we are building something here together and that we completed a 1000 cranes as a community. I said that since the project was communal, the wish should be as well. I asked each person to take a piece of paper and to write a wish and place it in the bottle.
Papers were taken, pens were held to them as kids and adults wrote down words from their hearts. The bottle eventually was completely filled with small pieces of paper and stood there, awaiting.




***
Today is the first day of Spring, a time when seeds germinate, flowers grow and a new cycle begins. Today I will plant a bottle in the avenue.
And wait for it to grow.

Occupy Wallstreet/Beit Ze Ohel - Same Revolution?

The revolutions that have spontaneously burst across the Arab world caught almost everyone by surprise. No one saw them coming, no one realized the people were hurting. Some how in those dictatorships, no one thought that the citizens that have been disenfranchised for decades upon decades, might actually wake-up, stand-up and fight for their rights.

"Rotschild corner Tahrir"

Then, a few months later, a similar awakening happened here in Israel. The fight here wasn't against a dictatorship nor against a complete disenfranchisement but rather about the fact that the ordinary citizen felt powerless. That the government only listened to a handful of citizens with really deep pockets, or really strong political cards, and didn't care, help or fight for the rights of the rest of the citizens. Even the opposite as the lives of the ordinary became harder and harder.
When the protests began in Rotschild street, everyone wondered - who is that group of young adults? They seem to lack an actual leadership, speak in too many voices and lack an agenda - what do they want? What are they saying?
The protesters were met with cynicism and skepticism. Oh no worries, its just a group of hippies and this episode will pass like a breeze on a summer day. Then suddenly, the tide switched. People realized the fight was about the rights of the ordinary citizen, you, me, to receive equal treatment from the government just like the citizens who yield deeper pockets, whose last names are more famous, who happen to live, metaphorically or not, next to those who are close to the political plate.
The government tried to stall. Tried to divide and conquer the protesters. They said it wouldn't last. It did.
Then they took down our symbols - the tents. While you can take down a tent, you can't stop an awakening. You can't stop knowledge. Once people know that they are being disenfranchised and they want to do something about it - they'll fight. Fight for their rights.



We are awake here in Israel - don't hit the snooze button in the U.S..

Demonstration and Aftermath

Amidst cries that the demonstration has lost stream, that the voices calling for change are divided and unfocused, two Saturdays ago, over 400,000 people came out to the streets and yelled in unison. Tel Aviv’s only round square was filled as the appropriately named kikar hamedina (the country’s piazza) could have been placed in any given European city.



The energy at the demonstration and immediately following it was incredible. It felt like a change was happening; people cared, came out, yelled for change and even more importantly committed to bringing that change about. A sentiment of true empowerment and the volition to bring about a better future.
The next day, I suffered from major big-demonstration-withdrawal. In my head, question marks hovered, what have we accomplished so far? Can we continue doing this? Can we unify all the different voices pulling in different directions? It was a difficult day for me.
My tent village had voted twice to minimize our area, to leave only a few symbolic tents and move beyond the symbols into the actual work that lay ahead. We even cleaned, swept and polished the avenue where we slept in preparations. But as the moment of truth came, people didn’t want to fold - their tents. Suddenly, solidarity with those who had no choice but to sleep in a tent became a burning issue. This gained steam the next day as reports of forced evacuations and such plans surfaced. The city of Tel Aviv though, offered us flowers. City officials came by and placed a red rose on each tent along with a cute note saying that the city supports the protests but still would like to get the streets ‘clean’ by Rosh Hashana – Jewish new year at the end of the month. The city committed to continuing a dialogue with the tents and to notify the tents inhabitants if any ‘cleaning’ would happen. Satisfied with the city’s support, I, like many of my fellow tent dwellers, went to sleep at home that evening.



At 5:30 am the next morning, trucks arrived at various tent areas and picked up tents that were ‘uninhabited’ and in general ‘trash’.
Lies lies lies.
The foreign workers that were doing the dirty work, picked up a tent that suddenly became alive as the grandmother that sleeps in the tent village, all 73 years of her, woke up and yelled. She alerted others and suddenly people came out to stop the ‘cleaning’. A bit too late, two trucks had already left with ‘trash’ - tents, couches, sofas, and other belongings to the big trash area of Tel Aviv county. The third truck, we were able to stop and re-place many of the tents. Still, much damage had been made. Of the over 150 tents, only 32 remained. Luckily for me, mine was one of them.
These events led to a protest in front of the city hall, which became violent – much due to the police though (ok, I can say that as a protester and be ‘unbiased’…). Protesters that Saturday yelled in respect to the police, like we yelled at every demonstration, dear police officer, you are worth more (in the sense that the protests were also about their rights for fair wages and chance to live adequately), suddenly were yelling – police state, police state.
The city mayor came out and spoke about why he ‘wiped the streets clean’ from the dirty anarchists, the drug users and homeless inhabitants of the tent villages. None of these things were true of my tent village.
None.
A legal fight began about the right of the city to forcefully remove tents (who are there illegally, true, but for over 30 days at this point which gives them some rights) and for the compensation of people’s belongings. Suddenly, we had 24/7 presence of city inspectors making sure that no new tents were placed in the streets.
The protest was changing directions, and losing some of its previous focus. Many discussions ensued about where are we going and what is our goal, with differing opinions.
Last Saturday, the next stage of the protest began with round table discussions that included many of the community who previously had been less active. The idea is for people to suggest solutions and to eventually enact them. The mayor came to one of these collection of tables, the largest one, upon an invitation. He received a chorus of boos and yells, eventually leaving. We invited him to our tent area, but on condition that he come with no press.
He came, and even apologized. A political, weak and in fact meaningless apology in which he claimed he didn’t know that the events would take place this way and that the timing was wrong. But still, he acknowledged. He said that the city is willing to allow for a community space to remain in which people can meet and talk and do what we have been doing, but he repeated, strongly, his demand that the streets be ‘clean’ by new year’s.



And this is where we stand today, a legal fight that continues (next decision is due tomorrow) and now, a dialogue with the city in search of a compromise. And still, we are here, the fight continues and the focus, a bit lost but still hangs around, to better our lives here, still leads the way.
Social justice is the name.

Tent Politics

It's been nearly six weeks now since a 25 year old girl who got kicked out of her apartment and tired of having to pay ridiculously high rent and repeatedly be abused by greedy homeowners, opened a tent on Tel Aviv's best known street.



6 of her friends joined her initially to form the '7'. Since then, many other tents villages have opened across the country (now over than 90's) and many other groups, from divorced fathers asking for more rights, to the settlers offering the solution to the high prices in the West Bank, have joined giving their angle on what is termed the fight for social justice. Many political conversations were held in the tent village that formed on Rotschild street and in the other tent villages across the country. Even gestures to show agreement or displeasure with a speaker. Since the meetings became large, it was decided to avoid clapping in agreement. Instead, quick semi twists of the hand, as if changing a light bulb in a Bollywood film, became the sign of agreements.



At the beginning of the protests, 3 of the '7' went to the Israeli parliament, the Knesset, to listen to a government discussion of what is happening. They were quite unhappy but as visitors to the Knesset are not allowed to make any kind of noise, they remained silent. Instead, the 3 stood up and held their arms crossed, making a large X. They were kicked out of the Knesset at that point, and that has become the symbol for disapproval with a speaker.



Finally, to show that a speaker is continuing on and on, rumbling and rumbling, one does the 'ata hofer' symbol - you are digging, with arm over arm rotating in a circle, like traveling in basketball...





The '7' continued to lead the protests, deciding many times in small closed forms. As many people have joined the tent villages and even more the protests themselves, there was a strong cry for more representation in the 'deciding board'. The initial system had each tent village send a representative to some meetings to find out what was going on and the country divided into five areas, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Be'er Sheva, Haifa and the North, and each one of those allowed one representative in the deciding body. A bit of a democracy, except that the power of the '7' was too large in that situation.

This was problematic as this is the definition of a grassroots movement (even though most of us actually sleep on sand...). Almost all decisions are voted on in circles of people who come out, community members, folks in tents, even passerby's who want to make a statement. Everything is discussed, sometimes too much (at which point one does the traveling sign...).



Finally, early last week, the representative from Nordau (my tent village, I am proud to say :) ) suggested a new system, 10 + 3; 10 representatives from the different tent villages, elected in the villages themselves, and 3 representatives from the '7'. A developing democratic system... This will be the protest's leading board and soon, it will be time to negotiate, to decide if the government is doing enough - and maybe even eventually, to stop the protest once enough changed have been made.

Hey, one can always hope...

Life in the tent village(s)

As of today there are 78 tent villages across Israel made of 3383 tents! How official is that count? Not sure, there may actually be more. But considering the swelling heat here (circa 30 degrees at night) and high degree of humidity, its quite impressive. I wake up every night because of the heat and in the morning I can no longer sleep as the tent becomes an oven, albeit a nylon-walled-strangely-shaped oven, but plenty uncomfortable for the inhabitant.


"Rotschild Tahrir corner"

Either way with so many people living in these villages, there is a quite a community life that has burgeoned. In Rotschild, the original spot, every street corner has a camp-center where there are couches, carpets, pillows and people sit. There is also a kitchen where people donate food, make communal meals and naturally, hang out. Bathrooms, electricity and water are provided by local businesses which are supporting the demonstration, or at least standing pat while people come asking for a visit to the toilet.







The police has reported that the residents of the near-by streets do complain about the noise – people hang out till very late, there is music, chatter and just general clamour all over the place. Also trash has accumulated even though there are strong efforts to keep the areas clean and to recycle as much as possible.



My tent village, Noradu street, is now the second largest in Israel with over 150 tents (just for comparison, Rotschild has circa 2000!!!). New tents are popping up all the time. When I first set mine up, I was third from the end. I am now sixth on one side and on the side across from me there are 3 new ones. So people are joining all the time.



Nordau is considered the more family-oriented, academic tent village. It also located in the northern part of TLV which has that stereotype… There are children activities every evening, comprised at times from famous authors coming and reading stories to various others leading activities (I am going to lead an origami making activity with the goal of making a 1000 cranes hoping for the Japanese legend). Later in the evening there are two lectures. We have had famous economists, an Israel-prize winner, a bible-study and just general discussions during these lectures and following them. Our nearest bathroom is a bit far (especially from my tent ☹ ) and is located in the Aroma coffee shop across the street by the village’s kitchen.




Friday evening we have special Shabat welcoming dinners with people from the near by synagogue coming by and leading prayer. And people just sit down and talk about the revolution, explain why they are here, what they think must be done, hang out, sing a little, laugh and most of all, remember that the fight is for actual social changes and, well, hope.

It all started with cottage cheese.

It all started with cottage cheese.

You could even say it all started with a poor vegetable salesman in Tunisia. On a local scale though, it started with cottage. The price of cottage went up, and suddenly people were protesting. All on facebook, nothing out in the streets, but protesting, and in large large numbers. This meant they stopped buying cottage, a meagre protest but still, a protest. Now if you have never had Israeli cottage then maybe you don’t know, but it’s really good and for many was a staple food, a basic product on the table. Either way, people showed some will to organize for social causes, albeit only for cottage and only on facebook, but still.

Then about three weeks ago, a 20 something lady who couldn’t find housing in Tel Avid and was getting frustrated at how difficult it was to live in this country unless you were rich or had rich parents, decided to take a tent and sleep in arguably the best known street in Israel, Tel Aviv’s Rotschild’s Avenue.


Within three days there were over 50 tents there.





A week later, a huge protest over the government’s repeated policy of ignoring the poor and helping the rich ensued. Suddenly people were taking to the streets. Tent-villages popped up like mushrooms after the rain in Jerusalem, Beer Sheva in the south and Kiryat Shmona in the north and in many other cities. The tent village in Rotschild suddenly grew to enormous size, taking over the entire walkway of the avenue (circa a mile long) and many groups joined the cause. Everyone suddenly had something to say. The doctors fighting for public medicine better wages and livable hours, the students asking for lower tuition and more public housing, mothers wanting public education for their toddlers, everyone suddenly had a booth and tents. Every street corner on Rotschild suddenly had some major activity – a lecture discussing a cause, a movie explaining an issue, a musician coming to support.








The government tried to paint the entire protest as a leftwing thing. Now in Israel left and right are mostly identified with the security situation with the left wing willing to give the West Bank for a Palestinian state and the right wing wanting to hold on to it for security or religious reasons.

But this issue dragged people from all over the map. This was evident in the different visitors who came to Rotschild, which became the center of the protest. Further, various groups opened tents – an Arab-Jewish coalition at one part, settler teenagers at another end, orthodox Jews next to supporters of gay rights. Everyone came out, and the most amazing thing was that people talked! And are still talking - about social policy, about better living conditions, about the peace process, about how fricken hot and humid it is! About everything and anything. But mostly about social justice.

The people want social justice became the slogan of the protest. Bumper stickers, signs, posters were seen just about anywhere stating this.
The events culminated in tonight’s huge protest. Estimates are that over 350,000 people showed up to protest. Now just to put that into scale, Israel has circa 7.5 million inhabitants. In the UK, if a similar percentage came out to the streets, that would mean 2.9 million. In the U.S.? 7.2 million people!!! And on top of that, it was ridiculously hot and humid – an Israeli summer.

And people came. From near, from far, with their kids, with their grandparents. Walked in the streets, painted signs, yelled till their voices went coarse. What will happen? A smart (very smart) man once said, man plans and God laughs.





“The people want social justice, the people want social justice!”

Fear of commitment

Whenever I enter a pool, I go through the kiddies section first. There I can enter slowly. First putting my foot in, and then taking small steps, slowly getting my shins wet, water up to my knee. The mid region is always painful, but the part that is always most difficult for me to stick in the water fast, is my chest. My ribcage with my heart inside, really struggle with the cold water. Or maybe they have a hard time with the different temperatures felt by the body. Of course if I jumped, it’d be more painful initially, but easier in the long run.

My grandmother has two jokes which she likes. One of them is very polish about a thirsty guy in a train. Its actually funny.

I will not tell it.

The second one talks about a horse in London during world war II. A boy and his father walk down the street when they see that the horse is standing with two feet on the street, and two feet on the sidewalk. When the boy asks his father what the horse is doing, the father remarks – he is thinking about what England will do next.
Half a foot here, half a foot there. Torn between this and that. Not sure how to decide. Slowly picking up a foot leaving it in the air while the others form a base. maintaining a commitment to more than one thing, and hence to none.


Is it time to jump?

I quit today.

as i was running into my office to collect all of my belongings and prepare for the weekend, uzy called me into his office. he asked for some help with the right wording in english. he asked if the expression to stand up to one's expectation is the right one. i said that no, and suggested a few others till eventually we remembered meet one's expectations.

***
it turns out that the israeli interior office is only open for three hours a day. no, seriously, governmental work means something different here. some days, they messed up and are open for four hours. yesterday, was NOT one of them. so i had three hours to get my identification card - which is equivalent to a resident proof in a sense. so that was my first step of making my stay here official in some sense. but also that wasn't really something i meant to do.

i just went there because sunday i have an appointment at a different governmental office, to find out about possible postdoc scholarships and they said i had to have my identification card.

so there.

***
there was a wedding yesterday of one of the students' in uzy's group and naturally the entire group was there. i had mentioned to one of them, excitedly, that i am now legal here! i even blurred out my now memorized identity card number.

the group congratulated me. uzy congratulated me as well. i bet there was some cynicism there somewhere, but i failed to notice it.

***
it just kind of happened. and the thing is, i didn't even mean to. not that i didn't mean to quit, i have been thinking about that for quite a long time now. i just didn't mean to tell him today, and definitely not while i have a ride waiting for me outside and i have to run, collect my belongings, jump to the printer, and then suddenly quickly break things down for him.

but that's how sometimes things are.

***
next week begins passover here. my birthday, naturally, occurs during this holiday, this year both of them in fact. this sucks, yes, as passover is also the holiday of matzah (=constipation) and that means crappy cake.

it is also known as the holiday of herut, that is the holiday of freedom.

***
i mentioned to uzy that i may not come sunday as i have a meeting about fellowships and who knows how long it'll take. he quickly synthesized this information along with yesterday's and asked, so that means you are done with cardiff?

i had to act quickly. i already knew what i wanted. so i just said it.

my contract started in august two years ago, so why don't we say that i'll continue till then?

ok, he said, that seems fine. you might have to give the university three months head notice as well.

oh, i said, could you also sponsor one last trip for me back to cardiff so i can close my office and collect my belongings?

sure, just do the paperwork.

***
now i am sitting at home, drinking a glass of lumbresco, leftover from one of my wednesday evening dinners that i host. writing this blog before telling anyone.

freedom.

it feels good. and it looks pink in a wine glass.

Furnishings

The apartment stood empty. Strikingly empty considering that my roommate had lived there for over a month. The living room had a non-functioning tv that sat on the floor, alone, facing a corner of the room. Two chairs that lacked four-leg-touch-the-floor coordination graced a small round table that could have easily been a war survivor and, well, actually that’s it. The huge living room felt even bigger, its space echoed as the walls moved farther apart with every word that was uttered in its quarters.

The kitchen meanwhile was not ready in any way for any kind of activity. Well, that’s not completely true, it stood thirsty and hungry for some serious cleaning.
Very telling, in hindsight at least, was that my roommate’s bedroom was actually well groomed. A nice bed, two pillows, a desk, shelves overwhelmed with books and even a couple of paintings.
I quickly began searching for some furniture. My first obvious need was for – you might think a bed, but you’d be wrong, I was searching for cooking stuff. That is the room where the magic happens. I collected odds from family members, an old bowl from an aunt, an unused pot from my grandmother, etc. Still, it was not enough. I then turned to agora.co.il. This is the equivalent of freecycle in the states, a place where people list things they no longer need and give them away for free or in the case here for an ‘agora’. Amongst a birdcage, a few statues of dragons and elephants, a tv that doesn’t work and a coffee table that’s missing a leg, I also found three boxes full of kitchen stuff, and a desk for my room. A good friend moving to the states to get married gave me her bed, and after a bargaining session at the flea market with my uncles reducing the price in half, I had two nice Persian carpets.


The living room still stood empty.



Then one day I came home and my roommate was there, for the very first time. ‘I solved our problem,’ he told me.
‘Please explain,’ I requested.
‘You probably don’t know, but my father is a cinema and tv producer here (I didn’t know this though a friend visiting my flat once remarked that his name sounded familiar), and Monday they finish shooting a sitcom in an apartment. After they finish, I’ll go ‘shopping’ in the apartment and bring us back what I like.’
I, of course, immediately imagine that the sofas from Friends will suddenly adorn my living room.
‘What show?’ I ask.
****
Srugim, the so-called religious Friends of Israel, is a tv series that takes place in Jerusalem and deals with the single life of a group of religious Jews from the national-religious movement. The show deals with different social/romantic aspects in the religious community, ranging from dating as older singles, problems in married life, dating a non-religious person and becoming non-religious (“returning in question”).

Srugim (knitted)-trailer for first season


****
Jokingly, I add, ‘can you bring me some yarmulkas?’

The search for a home

Every journey begins with a single step, and my search for a home began with a search for place to live.
Israel has a few websites dedicated to home-searching, one of them is appropriately called homeless. Most of the apartments I saw were via that site. I began the day after I arrived, with much hesitation, anxiety and apprehension. For some reason the interaction with possible roommates, worried me. The first two apartments I saw quickly calmed those fears though. I got into nice conversations with both of the possible roommates, was offered a hot drink in one case (and hence the possible roommate passed the tea test; the important let’s-sit-down-for-a-drink-and-talk test) and overall enjoyed the experience.
I had to sleep-on one of the apartments, couldn’t decide right away if it was a good fit. This became a repeated ritual in the decision process as usually I couldn’t say no right away. Yes’s on the other hand, were much easier.
Looking for an apartment is a bit like dating. You may not be sure what you want, and you learn along the way. It is also usually much more difficult to say that you are not-interested in an apartment that that you are. How do you let them know that their apartment did not appeal to you, that you decided not to live with them? Do you send a text? Do you call? Do you wait a couple of days or let them know right away? And more often than not, people don’t even bother to communicate a lack of interest, figuring it would be much easier to simply not respond and that the person would understand on their own.
I found it quite difficult to find an apartment. I saw maybe 30 apartments, and learned that I wanted a living room that was somewhat big – a communal space to hang out and host. I wanted a street that has some trees in it, some green for my eyes and lungs. I looked for places that felt homey, comfortable. Since I have very few possessions, I looked for places that were furnished, kitchens well equipped. As far as roommates, I looked for people that not only would I get along with, but also would be able to befriend in some way.
The search for a home began with a bit of difficulties in finding an actual physical home.
I had some funny experiences along the way. One apartment had the name of a girl on the mailbox. As I walked in, two cats ran out and the guy explained to me that those were his ex’s. Though he didn’t mention her anymore, I noticed that the house itself still had some of her stuff (e.g. girl clothes). I asked him if the break-up was new, fresh, and he said dismissively, over a month and asked why. I explained what I saw. He had an epiphany, realizing that he wasn’t completely over her. He responded by taking a door-sign with their names that used to hang on the front door and that now was lying faced down on the tv, and dramatically tossed it in the trash. We finished the eve with a hug and a gentleman agreement to meet for a beer and have a - ‘girl’s talk’…
Some of the apartment visits were like a reality show, with many people coming to see the room/roommates at once and trying to impress them, each in their way. One of these times, I was led into the living room with two other guys and we were interviewed by two girls/prospective roommates. One of the guy was well dressed and had gel in his hair (I – mathematician - was impressed by this) and then the usual questions – how old are you, where do you live now, what do you do… He responded that he worked for a tv channel and when the girls asked what programs he does, he said Big Brother. That was it for them I think as their excitement levels reached height never seen before in apartment searches.
Finally, one time I was actually offered marriage by a girl who was also looking for an apartment. I responded that, you know, we should probably get to know each other a bit before. And also that her boyfriend may have an issue with it. She said, hmm, yeah, but I really want a green card. At the end she just tried to set me up with her sister.
Today, I finally chose a place. At the end I took an apartment with a big living room, on a quiet and green street and what looks like a very nice roommate. Interestingly, I chose an apartment with very little in it. A place that I can shape a bit and carve a home of my own. Hopefully.


(press link on the left, tel aviv yafo part...)
http://maps.google.com/maps?q=%D7%A9%D7%93%D7%A8%D7%95%D7%AA+%D7%9E%D7%95%D7%A6%D7%A7%D7%99%D7%9F&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wl

January 7th, 2011

I have a pretty strange memory for dates – in that I remember really random ones. For instance, I can’t forget that MLK was shot on April 4th, 1968, nor that the first Israel-PLO peace agreement was signed September 13th, 1993.
Some indelible dates though are much more personal to me. August 11th, 1991 was the date we left Israel. I remember different pictures from that day, different scenes very vividly. I remember saying goodbye to the grandparents as we all very anxiously, and fearful walked up the stairs at the old airport. There was a very good architectural division there, as if the architect was a movie director. The steps up were blocked quite fast by a low hanging wall and we lost eye contact with the adieu-bidders as we ascended into a hall cramped with people standing in line to have their passports checked. This added to our, or at least my feeling of anxiety, confusion and a complete lack of understanding of what was next.
I also remember leaving Italy quite clearly, though the date I am not sure of. I think it was the 13th of September as well. I remember saying goodbye to Amanda, calling her on a public phone from the airport and her saying something that sounded like I love you and me saying something that sounded like that back. It was the first time.
Tomorrow, I leave for Israel. I have left for Israel from the UK before, a few times in fact, one of them, last winter, for a long term visit of three months. This time feels different. Very different. I am leaving a sort of love interest behind, yes. I am reuniting with part of the family, rather than leaving it. But the main reasons why it feels so different are that for one, it’s really a big work move. I am not changing jobs. No. Not at all. In fact one of the reasons I am going is to be closer to Uzy so that he’ll push me further. But I will also be seriously considering other opportunities while there, looking at math-education and who knows what else.
Maybe the most important fact about this move though is that I have talked about it and planned it for so long, telling myself that I need it. Need to understand who I am, where I am from, where is my home – and where to start if not from where you were born and grew up? Funny enough though, I am not so sure if I need that any longer. I have realized that I actually enjoy being a foreigner, the look that people give you when you realize you speak with an accent and then ask you if you are Canadian, scared to ask if you are American so as to not offend you if you were Canadian. The death stare I give them in response clearly puts them in their place and clarifies that I do not come from frozen land.
The point is though that there is a fun element to being a foreigner, always feeling a bit out of place, a bit not belonging. Maybe, at this point, its just part of my personality, of who I am… will tomorrow be the beginning of a change?
Will I remember tomorrow’s date not as a leaving date, but rather as an arrival?

Voldemort and I

In the last Harry Potter, darling wizard Harry tackles the seemingly impossible mission of locating different Horcruxes and attempting to destroy them in his road of finishing Lord Voldemort once and for all. See, Voldemort realized that in order to increase his chances of survival, he should divide his soul and install pars of it in different objects, or a snake – the Horcruxes. This is done with mal-intent, of course, I mean he is Lord Voldemort, the one-who-should-not-be-named, the one who believes in purity of the wizard race, the true leader of the dark side (oh wait, wrong movie). He partitions his soul by killing people, his soul divided into smaller parts and in consequence his whole being suffers as it cannot be complete.
In my life I have formed a few very close friendships. And I’d like to think that I have shared part of my soul with them. Of course I can say some of those friendships have been with objects, like my dear old bike Totto and my new bike E (I have an aversion of snakes so we’ll stop there and cheer Saint Patrick – who, naturally, was born in Wales!!!), but the strong deep connections, those also give back and enrich my soul via this exchange, have been with humans, and of course, some pets. I have also divided my soul. And I can say that it has hurt my wholeness, especially with these great distances that now separate me from many of my loved ones (cheesy moment, I suggest Caerphilly cheddar, a great Welsh cheese).
How different is this partition of the soul than Voldemort’s? It is also a mechanism for survival. The process is more dynamic than dividing the soul with an object, and is based on an expected exchange. Yet that exchange is rarely equivalent on both sides, and this sometimes does lead to pain and hurt. Maybe Voldemort just wanted love and was denied this, and hence shared his intimacies with a snake and a small diary?
Maybe we have misunderstood Lord Voldemort all this time and Harry is the bastard…

Mystery

Tuesday, 6 pm, London. More than 11,000 tube workers, members of the tube union (?) walked out to protest plans to robotize some 800 jobs. The strike is meant to continue for over 24 hours, till Thursday morning. Over ground traffic increased, many folks learned how to use their feet in ways long forgotten and buses were overloaded.

Wednesday morning, 8:00 am, still London. Hillel arrives in the midst of rush hour to one of the main lines to find out that it is not shut completely. Rather, the stops where no connections between different lines meet are completely skipped and a couple of the main lines are not running at all.

Enjoying the experience of being in London, H doesn’t pay much attention to the rather sour mood of many of the fellow passengers. Due to the onslaught of people, he misses the first one he tries to get on. For maybe the first time in the UK, he has to push his way onto a train. Eventually, many people get of and H gets an actual seat. A well dressed man sits next to him and starts chatting with him.

Now this is pretty rare in the tube, where most people seem to carry with them glass boxes which block out all others peeping into their private space and accidentally knocking their bags. But still, H engages. The man asks H about the tube strike and what his reaction was to it when he heard it will be happening. Did he get upset and annoyed or did he just go on his regular plans as usual?

H is wondering whether to tell the man that he actually doesn’t live in London but rather in Cardiff, that capital city in the well shaded areas away from the English limelight. But instead he simply responds that he just went along with his plans. No point in getting annoyed, transit can still be made and a bit of delay will not affect things greatly. The man proceeded to chat more, to which H responded with short yes’s and no’s. At this point the man turns to H and says, why do I feel that for some reason you work in mathematics?

H is a bit shocked. Huh? What in his answers gave that away? Was this man following him? Did a math paper leak out of H’s bag? Huh again? The man begins to explain. H gets up as the train has arrived at his station and the man gets up with him, they both exit as the man begins explaining. Suddenly he looks around and says, wait, this is not my station, and runs back into the train.

Mystery unsolved.

the longest town name in the UK

Llanfairpwllgwyngyll is the short version, and even that is already impossible for ordinary immortals outside of the phlegm-spitting-land of Wales to pronounce. Double L's are pronounced as a mixture of the Hebrew/Arabic ch with an 'l' sound mixed at the end, which my Welsh teacher instructed me, comes from the right-back of the mouth. W is an 'oo' sound except with a 'y' attached to it when it becomes like in simple American English, as in wind... but why am I even spending time on this name, this isn't the full town name!!! Try your hands (mouths) at this,

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

yeah. maybe these pictures will help a bit,



the town received its name when the train was built from somewhere in England to Holyhead at the edge of Wales and quite close to Ireland (a port from which lots of boats leave towards the green land of ire) and this village was chosen as a station. a group of astute businessmen decided to give the town, a very boring little place with not much there, a name that would attract tourists. and what better than a name that has 58 letters in the english alphabet (51 in the welsh one...)? and well, even some welsh folk can't really pronounce it.

but this very nice lady from the tourist info was able to (and no she is not reading it from a piece of paper, but straight from memory!!!).



the town itself? a big shopping center which amazingly attracts loads of tourists simply due to its name! (hmm, yeah, we went there as well due to this fact).



the longest name in the world for a place? Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu, a hill in New Zealand... if you really want to count - 85 letters!!!

Makeup sex

You know that feeling you have when you are breaking up with someone? That rock that is stuck somewhere in your throat, that heaviness in your chest? The feeling that you just need to end this, to finish this chapter of your life and move on, and then things will be better, the rock will be gone, the heaviness will dissipate? I have had this feeling once in my life, and have had it described to me on the receiving end once as well. And well, yesterday I had it, again.

With math.

It just seemed that every minute I was able to concentrate and think about the mathematical concept I was exploring (having to do with discrete graphs and the way they are divided into smaller graphs by a specific function), was followed by a moment of misery, with the rock in my throat, the heaviness in my chest. This was followed by a few minutes of the mind wandering in unfocused domains and by a few minutes of tracking and redirecting it. And then the cycle continued. Man, talk about efficacy and productivity.
So yeah, it seemed that the break-up was inevitable, we’d both continue in our separate directions. Somehow, I imagined that math would manage just ok on its own. It would be able to use strong, clear-cut logic to understand what had succumbed, to deduce that this was the best step forward, and to systematically continue on its rational path. I? I would be more of a humming bird searching for its GPS till it understands that it has been carrying it for quite some time.

And then today happened. Today? Makeup sex.

German Housemate and Holocaust Books

Andreas was one of Alex’s housemates when I initially crashed there about a year ago while looking for an apartment. He then finished his masters, minus the viva (the defense) and had moved to Spain. He had asked to come and crash with me when he had to come back to defend his thesis and I promptly agreed, assuming that at most we were talking about two weeks.
Wrong.
*********
I hadn’t read a Holocaust book in maybe 15 years. I always found them very depressing to read and hence struggled reading at my favorite time, before going to bed. This always lengthened greatly how long it would take me to finish one of these books. So I just simply avoided reading them after I went through the period in which my thirst of knowledge about my history and my people was great.
Then these past few months suddenly I read not one but two Holocaust books. Of course this had to occur when I shared my humble abode with a German friend, Andreas. Now let me say a few more about Andy German as he is listed in my mobile. He is a very very nice guy. He is also quite big as he does judo and is very fit. And strong. Shoot, the guy is strong. And just to set the scene, he does have blond hair and blue eyes. Not implying anything at all here, but just saying. Masha in the math department, did ask me once if there was anything weird about him or curiously wrong with him, just searching for a flaw, because how could someone be, in her words, so perfect, smart, strong, nice.
**********
The first book I read was a gift I got from the lovely Jo for my birthday, everything is illuminated. This book deals with a Jewish American guy who returns to Ukraine to explore his family’s roots. It describes the discrimination and conditions that the Jews there lived with before the war, and the horrors of what happened during the war. It also coincided with me finding out that most likely my maternal grandmother’s family (Guralnik) comes from Ukraine.

The second book, I picked up while visiting my fam in San Diego. It’s an Israeli book written by a contemporary author I recently discovered, and its called Our Holocaust. It talks about the author’s life (it seems biographical...) in the great shadow of the Holocaust, from growing up with his entire neighborhood seemingly composed of survivors who would not tell him their stories remarking, you are too young to understand. Then as a grown man, each one of them recounts his traumatic story of survival and the memories of those who didn’t. The book also deals with the fact that Germany somehow did not really prosecute fully a lot of the people who participated in the Holocaust and released many that were prosecuted, after very short sentences. It is a very powerful and moving book. This as I explained above, means its harder for me to read it - I still haven't finished it…

**********
Andy ended up staying for two months. Since during one of these months I ended up in the states, our shared time in the flat was not that long. And he was a very well behaving flatmate. Very quiet, relatively clean and helped out with a lot of the house chores. Still, many-a-time, I found myself angry with him. Almost always, for no apparent reason. It was one of those angers that is a volcanic interruption waiting to happen from the very core of your soul, a purely emotional and neurotic-like reaction. One of those that shakes your stability and makes you think you don’t really know yourself as well as you thought you do.
Now I never did actually erupt or release any ash, smoke or lava. And I am not sure Andy ever noticed the build-up that was occurring to me as I was flipping pages, but still. The mere fact that it was there, in this way, was a very new experience to me.

that volcano thing.

email to department from prof. M.M.:
Subject Seminars and volcanos
Dear Colleagues,
This week's seminar has been cancelled due to the lack of flights from
Germany to the UK.
It may be re-scheduled for early May.

from facebook (via dr. D. S.): Can you see the ash cloud from Eyjafjallajokull? Can you pronounce Eyjafjallajokull?

text message from G. C.: Due 2 a volcanic eruption in iceland my dads flight has been cancelled,so he's crashing here another night.I'm sorry,i can't make the cinema. U around tomorrow?

final note. iceland owns the UK lots of money. the joke here is that instead of paying with cash, they decided to pay with ash.