Monday evening, following a late coffee with a couple of friends at Orna and Ella's on Sheinkin Street, I was stopped by a young woman standing just outside the sex shop across the street from the restaurant. She was wearing a white lab coat and carrying a clipboard. "Excuse me," she said politely, "Would you be interested in attending a free 30-minute lecture on sexuality at the sex shop?"
Interesting. Usually I get stopped by the Greenpeace people. I told the young woman that 30 minutes didn't seem like a very long time to cover such a big topic - but she was oblivious to my irony. She assured me, quite earnestly, that half an hour would be long enough.
Sexuality seems to be quite the hot topic around here lately. Channel 8, a cable TV station, is currently broadcasting a multi-segment documentary called "More Israeli Sex," - a follow-up to last year's successful series called - wait for it - "Israeli Sex." The first series was an exploration of the evolving history of Israeli sexual mores, and how they are affected by uniquely Israeli circumstances; the second is about current attitudes to everything from romance to pornography to sex toys. Both series are actually quite well done - they offer a lot of information, insight and food for thought. I particularly enjoyed the last episode, about the commercialization of sex in Israel.
Since commercial television came to Israel only just over a decade ago, the idea that "sex sells" just about anything is relatively new. The advertising agencies, of course, have caught on quickly. Parents, however, have not. There are few expressions of outrage at the blatant use of sex to market products to pre-teens. My friend Diana told me that, at a recent event at her 10 year-old twin daughters' school, half the girls showed up in low-cut jeans revealing g-string underwear, belly-baring tops and a face covered in makeup. Another friend, who lives in a very posh North Tel Aviv suburb, told me that her 6 year-old daughter won't wear skirts to school anymore - because "the popular girls" had told her she had fat legs. P.S. the child is a beanpole.
Tantric sex has become very much the "in" topic, too. There is even an Israeli-born guru, Tyohar (born Moshe Kastiel), who gained enlightenment - and a new name to boot - at the hugely popular Osho Ashram in Pune, India. You know - the one that requires all program participants to take an on-the-spot HIV test at the entrance to the ashram.
Tyohar now has his own shop, called Pacha Mama, located in the jungle of Costa Rica, where he lives with his long-time French-Canadian girlfriend and hosts visitors from all over the world. The place is, according to all accounts, paradise. A documentary film about Tyohar and his ashram, made by an Israeli journalist, has been shown several times on Channel 8, and multi-page feature stories have been written about him in the Israeli press. He was even interviewed by Yair Lapid (son of Shinui party leader Yosef "Tommy" Lapid), on his popular TV interview show.
Tyohar comes to Israel quite frequently, to lead satsangs (guru-speak for Q&A) and to DJ at trance parties. He used to be a popular DJ in Goa, when he was still Moshe; now he uses trance music as a tool for reaching enlightenment. According to an email I just received, Tyohar will be here in late September, and during his visit he intends to lead a workshop at a tantra ashram in the Negev.
The last time I saw Tyohar was the night before the coalition forces invaded Iraq. About 150 people sat on the floor of a large room at a school of Chinese medicine, facing Tyohar - who was dressed in white, seated on a dais, looking beatific and and speaking in soft, measured tones. The issue he was trying to address was the importance of avoiding dualism, of being at peace with oneself and one's environment.
After Tyohar had spoken on the topic for about 15 minutes, a guy with a gold loop in one ear, who was lounging, cat-like, on a cushion, said, "Yeah, but listen man, it's like this. I just came back from 10 days on a beach in the Sinai. I lay in the sun, I swam, I sat around playing the guitar and drinking mint tea and I was at peace, you know? Then I got back to Tel Aviv and I had to rush to the Home Depot to buy plastic sheeting and rolls of tape to make a sealed room in my apartment [in case of a chemical attack], and some asshole cut me off when I was driving and I just wanted to shove the steering wheel down his fucking throat! You know what I mean?"
The audience burst into laughter. Tyohar, I was amused to note, was not amused.
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the war: edited by Michael Totten This Month
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Tuesday, August 31
Thursday, August 26
Wave of national pride
by
Lisa Goldman
on Thu 26 Aug 2004 02:25 AM PDT
As practically everyone in the Israeli and/or Jewish blogosphere has joyfully noted, Gal Fridman brought home a gold Olympic medal in windsurfing on Wednesday. I confess that under normal circumstances I'd rather read a handbook on modern accounting methods than watch any kind of sporting event (except figure skating), but even I got a little caught up in the excitement. After all, this is history - it's the first time Israel has won an Olympic event.
For those of you non-Hebrew speakers who are wondering about the unusual spelling of his last name, which in English is usually spelled Friedman, all I can say is that there seem to be no standardized methods for transliterating the names of Israelis into Latin letters. Shai is also spelled Shay; Greenberg could be Grinberg or Grinburg; Yishai is variously transcribed as Yishay, Ishay and Ishai... For those of you who do speak Hebrew, I apologize - really - for the jejune pun in the title of this entry (Gal means "wave" in Hebrew). In a post-victory interview, Gal said that he plans to dedicate his victory to the 11 Israelis killed in the Munich massacre at the 1972 Olympics, and to visit their memorial to show them his medal. I guess it's a Jewish tradition, this remembering of sad historical events at joyous occasions - like breaking a glass at the end of a wedding ceremony to symbolize the destruction of the ancient temple. Or, as the popular tongue-in-cheek saying goes, "They tried to destroy us, we survived, let's eat." Monday, August 23
Sabbaths and Holidays and the New Israeli Man
by
Lisa Goldman
on Mon 23 Aug 2004 12:53 AM PDT
On Sunday night the final episode of Shabbatot veHagim (Sabbaths and Holidays), the best Israeli television drama series ever, was broadcast. My friend Ilanit came over to watch, and we were so absorbed that we didn't exchange a single word throughout the entire episode - just snuffled a little, in unison, at the bittersweet ending.
For five years, Shabbatot veHagim followed the lives of a group of ordinary Israelis in their thirties (plus one teenage girl, played by the sublime Romi Abulafia), living in Tel Aviv and traveling the psychological/emotional journey with which we're all familiar - of gaining self knowledge, finding and losing and finding love, searching for happiness and personal fulfillment, making many mistakes along the way and not always learning from those mistakes. The only American TV series I can think of that comes close to Shabbatot veHagim is Thirtysomething, but it's not nearly as good - not as deeply felt, not as well-acted and not so completely and utterly real. As the final episode approached, the media became increasingly interested in analyzing the show, which had a cult-like following. Most critics agreed that Shabbatot veHagim broke new ground in portraying emotions onscreen, and in achieving a sort of ultra-realism in the plot and dialogue. There has also been much talk about the "new Israeli male," as portrayed by the characters of Rafi (Alon Abutbul, the thinking Israeli woman's sex symbol) and his best friend from childhood, Yoel (Dror Keren). In an article/interview with Abutbul and Keren published in the magazine section of Sunday's Ma'ariv newspaper, Smadar Hirsh, a female journalist, calls Rafi and Yoel "...pathetic. A little. The new kind of man. The crybabies, the vacillating types who talk constantly about their deepest feelings, who take care of each other when they're sick and aren't embarrassed to sleep together in the same bed." (my translation). And isn't it interesting that a woman journalist would write not-quite-ironically about "sensitive men"! Paul Newman is still alive, but the myth of Ari Ben Canaan has been dead for quite awhile in our post-Zionist society; nevertheless, there is still a deeply ingrained and unique type of machismo in Israel that is quite different from the South American and Italian varieties. It's not a bring-flowers-and-hold-the-door-for-the-little-woman machismo; it's a toughness, a strong preference for decisive action over emoting that often results in a marked inability to express feelings. And I'm quite sure that the mandatory three-year army service contributes not a little to this mentality. In general Israeli women are so used to machismo that they are surprised at its absence. I noticed this at my previous workplace, when an Israeli guy who'd spent much of his youth abroad and had not served in the army joined my team; he was tall, muscular and goodlooking, but also a sensitive, soft-spoken music lover who wrote poetry as a hobby. He wasn't interested in the hardcore porno photos that the guys emailed each other - despite my frequent, angry and totally disregarded objections. He got a lot of attention from the women on my floor, but they seemed to be stymied by his reticence. One 30 year-old woman from another team cornered me near the espresso machine one morning and said, "He's cute, but he doesn't seem very masculine. Is he gay?" Um, dunno, I answered - you'll have to ask his girlfriend. Attitudes are certainly changing, but it'll be awhile before Israeli men sit around beating drums and raising their consciousness. Also, there was never a feminist revolution in Israel. While Western women were debating about whether or not to shave their legs or wear a bra and how to word the Equal Rights Amendment, Israeli women were holding things together at home as their husbands were called up for reserve army duty during the Yom Kippur war and its aftermath. As often happens in this country, the exigencies of the "situation" marginalized other concerns. But Tel Aviv is rather different from most of the rest of the country; it sort of absorbed all the modern,western social attitudes without any great upheaval. Here you have gay couples wandering the streets hand-in-hand, you have lesbian couples with children conceived through artificial insemination, you have lots of hetero couples living as lifelong partners with children but without a marriage certificate, and so on - just like in any modern western city. Shabbatot veHagim only touched on political issues as they would affect any Israeli's day-to-day life; and even then, the references were quite subtle. During the 2002 season, when suicide bombings were an almost daily occurence (and for awhile, literally a daily occurence), one episode shows Yoel coming over to visit his friend Rafi to tell him about traumatic upheavals in his all-but-over marriage; Daniella, Rafi's teenage daughter, opens the door. Dad's not home, she tells Yoel, but he'll be here soon. Do you want something to drink? No? Okay, well make yourself at home. I'm getting ready to go out; if you're bored, you can watch the news about the suicide bombing that just happened in Jerusalem. A couple of months ago the director of Shabbatot veHagim, Rene Blair, was interviewed for the edgy, alternative Tel Aviv magazine called 42 Ma'alot (42 Degrees). Here's an excerpt. So why is the show practically devoid of political references? "The strongest social statement in the series is that we will live normal lives even though we're surrounded by shit. I don't want politics in my show. We'll love and suffer and be filled with longing and reconcile and live just like normal people in this place. That's our biggest political demonstration/statement." And so we have grieving? "The secret of drama is parting, longing and reconciling. Like in physics. The language of emotion works best in terms of abandonment, longing and "reunion" [uses English word]. Our life [here in Israel] is constructed completely differently from the way it is usually shown on television and in books. Once they [the producers] told us to make a happy season. But you can only talk about happiness for half a minute. The guy's happy, that's it – the movie's over. What are you going to do now – 13 episodes about a happy guy? Who's going to watch a show like that? People need to see problems. When there are problems then there's drama, you have something to get involved in, you have momentum, you have moods and emotions. When you're joyful there's no drama, it's over." And about his decision to end the series, Blair says: "Over the last 10 years I've experienced a revolution in my life and in the lives of my closest friends. I've seen people change completely because of true love, and I think that when you find your true love and relax, really relax, only then can you start to truly accomplish things. That's the way I feel about Shabbatot veHagim. It's difficult for me to continue talking about people who are looking for love when I've already found it." (again, the translation is mine). Friday, August 20
Historical baggage and Israeli chutzpah
by
Lisa Goldman
on Fri 20 Aug 2004 12:20 AM PDT
A friend of mine who once worked as a security guard for El Al at a German airport told me the following story, about an incident which she witnessed. It happened, I believe, in the early 1990s.
A large group of German priests were on their way from Germany to Israel for a pilgrimage to the holy sites. With the exception of their group leader, also a priest, none of them spoke English. Since there was only one El Al security officer who spoke German, the wait to go through the security check was very long. The group leader broke out of the queue and approached one of the El Al staff. The priest was angry and impatient. He complained about the long wait. He asked why El Al didn't try harder to recruit German-speaking Israelis to work for the airline in German airports. Surely it couldn't be so difficult to find a few more Israelis who speak German, now could it? The Israeli security officer looked at the German priest and said, "What do you want? You burned them all." Wednesday, August 18
Israeli hip hop goes global
by
Lisa Goldman
on Wed 18 Aug 2004 12:30 AM PDT
I'm quite fascinated by the international media interest in this summer's hit song Shirat haStickerim (The Sticker Song), by Israeli hip hop group Hadag Nachash. First Adina's friend Sarah Fulford wrote this article for Toronto's Globe and Mail, then the French daily Liberation published this article, and now the New York Times has come out with a two page story about the song.
It's certainly true that Israelis are mad about bumper stickers - which they are more likely to stick on the rear window rather than on the actual bumper. Political slogans are the most common, but there are plenty of stickers that proclaim faith in God, that admonish you to love your neighbour or be kind to animals. A couple of days ago I even saw a sticker that proclaimed "A friend of mine was killed in a car accident" - a reference to the appalling carnage on Israel's roads; with the exception of 2002-2003, when terrorist attacks were at their peak, many more Israelis are killed annually in car crashes than in bombings. It's also undeniable that politics is a big deal in Israel. As Gadi Taub, a well-known local cultural critic, says in the New York Times article, ''Israel is such a small place that taking a political position is like declaring the very core of your identity. For many years it was unthinkable for Israelis that if you're a Likud voter you could marry someone from Labor. It would be a battle over every dinner and every breakfast. So your car, too, will declare your identity. You don't think you can even make friends across bumper stickers.'' This is an interesting statement, but it's not the whole truth about Israeli society. More and more, people here are concerned about universal issues - like the environment, finding a balance between career and family demands, love, intimacy and so on. For example, a friend of mine recently told me, during a conversation about what is called in Israel "the situation" - "Listen, five years after the Nazi Holocaust ended, West Germany had an embassy in Israel. Ultimately, there will be a peace agreement between the Israelis and the Palestinians - because there is no other choice. What really worries me is whether my two little girls will have clean air to breathe and water to drink when they grow up." This trend towards universal concerns is reflected in two recent Israeli films that deal with family relationships, both of which received a lot of international recognition and critical praise - Dover Koshashvili's Late Marriage and Nir Bergman's Broken Wings. I was living in Tokyo when Broken Wings won the prize for best film at the Tokyo film festival (in fact, I lived just up the street from the cinema where the films were shown), and I remember emailing a friend in Tel Aviv that I felt sort of...proud (of what? it wasn't my achievement!) when the winner was announced. I also remember that a couple of articles about the film insisted that it was about the Israeli search for normalcy - a statement that anyone could see was absolute nonsense. I thought it ridiculous and strange to assume that Israeli films must, simply because of their provenance, be about politics. Okay, now I get to tell a gossipy little story that concerns Mr. Taub. A few months ago I met him at the opening of Noga Gallery's exhibit of Israeli New York-based photographer Elinor Carucci's work. Taub was accompanied by a friend of mine from France who now lives in Tel Aviv, and her friend - a striking black model from Paris. The model was then in Israel to pose in a controversial photo shoot for the catalogue of Comme il Faut, an upscale (translation: bloody expensive) Israeli fashion house, at the separation barrier in Abu Dis. My French friend introduced me to Gadi, and we exchanged just a couple of pleasantries; I sort of had the impression that he was more interested in talking to the model ;). Before I and my plastic wine glass could move on, however, a photographer from Time Out Tel Aviv popped out of nowhere and snapped our picture. The photo was published in the next issue of the magazine, in the section called "The most interesting events of the week". There was French girl number one, French girl number two, Gadi Taub and...the border of the photo. They airbrushed me out! And thus I was deprived of my 15 minutes of fame. Ah well... Monday, August 16
Indian food and live music
by
Lisa Goldman
on Sun 15 Aug 2004 11:10 PM PDT
Today a friend and I drove out to Ramle, a small mixed (Arab and Jewish) city about 30 minutes' drive from Tel Aviv, for the sole purpose of chowing down on good Indian food. The restaurant is called Maharaja, and - for those who share my passion for "the real thing" - it's located at 100 Herzl Street, near the entrance to the shuk. Maharaja is owned and operated by Indian Jews from Bombay and it's strictly no frills: with its greasy high-back upholstered benches, fluorescent lighting, formica tables, and waiters in stained white shirts, the place reminded me of a particularly grungy hole-in-the-wall I used to frequent in the seedy Pahar Ganj area of New Delhi. Except in Delhi one would not expect to see Indian men who cover their heads with crocheted yarmulkes before tucking into a nice big tali for lunch.
Our waiter, who had paan-stained teeth and henna-dyed hair, told us that he had moved to Israel (from Bombay)15 years previously, but had never really learned to speak Hebrew (actually he didn't need to tell us that; we took pity on him and switched to English almost as soon as he opened his mouth); he spoke English with that characteristic Indian lock-jaw accent that Peter Sellers imitated to hysterical effect in one of his movies (can't remember what the film was called). He (the waiter, not Peter Sellers) was convinced that my friend and I were British; when I asked him why he thought we were from the UK, he answered, "Because you are being so polite, isn't it." We ate, and ate, and ate: saag paneer, alu gobi, iddly, hot chappattis, steamed basmati rice and vegetable pakoras; for dessert, ras malai and gulab jamun accompanied by chai masala (no milk). Then we dragged our tummies to the little grocery store in back and purchased boxes of home-made Indian sweets, bags of spicy peanuts (imported from the Old Country) and ayurvedic soap to take home. I continued automatically to speak English to the man who boxed our sweets, but stopped when I saw his look of confusion and switched back to Hebrew - which he spoke with an Israeli accent. Anyways, I'm still digesting that meal and do not think I will ever be hungry again. Saturday night my friend Shira and I went to an outdoor concert - one of a series sponsored by the municipality of Tel Aviv-Jaffa - in Old Jaffa. The mother-daughter duo Alidin , who have gorgeous, sensual voices, sang a series of Balkan, Middle Eastern and Mediterranean folk songs to an enthusiastic audience. There was an absolutely adorable and pretty precocious 4 year old boy next to me who stood on his father's lap and danced, thrusting his hips out and pointing his fingers skyward; every so often he'd grin at me and then turn his attention back to the stage. His mother caught my eye over her son's head and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. In addition to the concert there was a craft market just outside the Catholic church - where foreign workers can hear mass in several different languages (including Tagalog). There were also jugglers, food stands where kids could buy cotton candy and steamed corn on the cob, and mime artists. The whole atmosphere was happy and relaxed: everyone was having a good time, there was a lovely breeze from the sea, the palm fronds swayed and the restaurants were full. The concert ended around 11:00 - early, by Tel Aviv standards. So we went to Shesek (after trying three other places where there was absolutely no standing room anywhere), a laid-back lounge bar where there's an excellent DJ and the crowd is very relaxed. We hung out until nearly 2:00 AM, but the place was still going full swing when we left - and bear in mind that Sunday is the first day of the work week. Tel Aviv at night reminds me a lot of New York, in the sense that you're always left with the feeling that no-one has a regular job that makes it necessary to go to bed at a reasonable hour. But towards the end of my time in New York I got really sick of the "irony". Not the posing - Tel Aviv has plenty of that, and I've never been one to be put off by posers - but the endless layers of cynicism. Here people take open pleasure in simply having a good time; it's not "fashionable" to be unhappy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Thursday, August 12
Jewish diaspora humour
by
Lisa Goldman
on Thu 12 Aug 2004 12:36 AM PDT
Okay, am I the only one who thinks that this site, and especially this page is hysterically funny? (Or this photo?) And please note that this site is not only for Ashkenazi Jews! (despite the Yiddish-influenced English transliteration of terms like "chassan" instead of "chattan" (groom)).
About a month ago I had a long conversation with an Israeli friend, who is doing his grad studies at a university in the USA, about the huge cultural gap between Israeli and non-Israeli Jews (in his case, American Jews). We agreed that there there was sufficient material there for a doctoral dissertation in sociology. And no, I will not go into a long-winded analysis of this issue now - or perhaps ever - because it's vampire time now and my brain is a bit soft. But I'll provide two little illustrative anecdotes (discuss amongst yourselves):
And yes, there is a connection between the first paragraph of this entry and what follows - but I'll leave that open for interpretation. Tuesday, August 10
Why are religious children afraid of dogs?
by
Lisa Goldman
on Tue 10 Aug 2004 12:16 AM PDT
My neighbour the sculptor shows up at the corner cafe every morning at about the same time with his two mutts, Precious and Strawberry. He orders a machiatto for himself and a chocolate cookie for each of the dogs, greets all the "regulars", downs his coffee in a couple of gulps and continues on his way. The other day I was sitting at my usual place on the bar, drinking a double espresso and reading the newspaper, when I saw the following incident take place.
As my neighbour exited the cafe, with his two very old and very harmless dogs skittering (from the sugar high, no doubt) ahead of him, three Belzer boys, aged about 10, approached from the opposite direction, on their way to school. As soon as they saw the dogs they pulled back, expressions of stark terror on their faces. The only way to circumvent Precious and Strawberry was to step off the narrow sidewalk and into the path of oncoming insane Israeli drivers. And that is what the boys did - without looking first. Screeching brakes, tooting horns, etc. Children unharmed. Sculptor enraged! He started to yell at the children: "Does it really seem logical," he asked, "to step in front of an oncoming car in order to avoid walking past two dogs? Does it? Well, does it? The poor kids were white-faced and silent. They were scared of the dogs, they were scared of the alien secular (and unkosher) Jew and they were still in shock from their near-death experience. Eventually the sculptor, realizing he wasn't going to get any kind of a response, gave a disgusted snort and waved his hands dismissively in the children's direction. They made a dash for the gate to the schoolyard. It's a strange thing, this fear the ultra-Orthodox have for dogs. At the corner grocery store I once saw a teenage ultra-Orthodox girl flinch and leap aside when old Mrs. Goldberg's little white poodle sniffed gently at her ankle. At a recent performance of the Batsheva Dance Company, one of the dances was actually called, "Why are religious children afraid of dogs?" It's also strange that there is a Belzer community in the middle of my heterogeneous neighbourhood of actors, musicians, artists, students, yuppies, and octogenarian Holocaust survivors. Why do they live here, instead of in Bnei Brak (and what is this service doing in a town that's nearly 100% ultra-Orthodox??) or Jerusalem? A casual observer might conclude that the lack of tension between the religious and secular residents is the product of tolerance bred by the liberalism of Tel Aviv - the gay-friendly, party-loving city that never sleeps. In Jerusalem they're at each other's throats, but in Tel Aviv we all get along. Ah, but is the status quo really a result of tolerance? Or is it the result of majority rules? There are more synagogues and kosher restaurants in Manhattan than there are in Tel Aviv. This is secular turf, and secular Israelis can be just as intolerant of religious Jews as the reverse. So the few ultra-Orthodox Jews live among, but apart from, the rest of the population. They don't look at the damp, bikini-clad girls and their bare-chested boyfriends returning from the beach on Saturday morning when they're on their way home from morning prayers at the synagogue. They don't complain when my neighbour blasts a track from Infected Mushroom's latest CD while they're eating their Saturday afternoon cholent. They don't respond when I greet them on the street - even though we see each other practically every day. They simply ignore us. They live in their own little bubble. And I think the complete lack of any kind of mutual understanding is well-illustrated by the incident of the sculptor, his dogs and the Belzer kids. He was angry and hurt that anyone could shy away from his beloved mutts, didn't know that they are taught to fear them, and the kids were so afraid of the "other" (ie, bad) kind of Jew that they couldn't even work up the courage to answer him back. ********************* Graffitti seen today on Nachlat Binyamin: "The lesson of the Holocaust: to wage war against the extreme right." Sticker seen today above the deep fat fryer at a felafel stand: "Only love brings love." Music I am loving: the Algerian female singer, Souad Massi; specifically, the album called Raoui. A knowledge of Arabic is not necessary for understanding the emotions conveyed by Massi's astonishing voice. Pet peeve of the day: The enormous pop-up advert for the South Beach Diet on the homepage of the New York Times. Monday, August 9
The neighbourhood schizophrenic
by
Lisa Goldman
on Mon 09 Aug 2004 01:36 AM PDT
His name is Meir, and he could be any age between 40 and 60. He lives in a nice building on Balfour Street, and he is the neighbourhood schizophrenic - harmless, but annoying. His illness manifests itself chiefly in nocturnal (after midnight) shouting: he likes to stand outside the 24-hour kiosk on Yehuda haLevi, near Mazeh Street, and yell in an incredibly penetrating voice, over and over, "be healthy!" According to local rumour, Meir used to be a sports announcer. If this is true, it certainly makes sense. When he shouts out "tee-hee-yee bree-yaaaa" (be healthy, addressed to a woman, with each syllable draaaaaged out) he sounds like a drugged sports announcer yelling goooooaaaaaal!
When Meir's not shouting, he asks passersby for cigarettes. Sometimes he walks into the local cafes and asks for a glass of water: if the staff is in a good mood, they give him one; if they're busy, they tell him to go away. But mostly they're kind. They give him water, offer him cigarettes. Everyone agrees that he's a "misken" (someone to pity). I used to live just behind the 24-hour kiosk. One hot summer night Meir's shouting got so bad that I couldn't stand it any longer. Tolerance went out the window. I got out of bed, pulled a sundress over my head, thrust my feet into a pair of flip-flops and went out to confront him. "Meir!" I shouted, "It's four o'clock in the bloody morning! Shut up already!" He looked at me, with my wild sleep-creased hair and my raging eyes, and he said, in what can only be described as a lascivious voice, "Aaah! You are beautiful!" The local juvenile delinquents, lounging on their mopeds and smoking Marlboros, watched the confrontation and smirked. I turned to them and said, "You guys shut up too. I've heard you torturing him and mocking him. You're just making him worse." Meir looked at me and asked in a hurt voice, "Yael, what have I done to you? Why don't you love me?" I realized that I was behaving like a total idiot, trying to reason with someone who was mentally ill, a misken. He was deep in ga-ga land, confusing me with someone named Yael. So I went home... A year has passed since that night, but Meir's memory is long. Whenever he sees me, usually outside Gili's cafe on Rothschild Boulevard, he starts to follow me, one hand holding up his trousers, which are perpetually falling down. He holds out his free hand in a supplicating gesture, his face a mask of pleading as he cries out, over and over, "Yael, what have I done to you? Yael, why don't you love me? Yael, isn't it true that you love me?" Friday, August 6
Pop culture and humanity
by
Lisa Goldman
on Fri 06 Aug 2004 12:12 AM PDT
Ai yai yai! After twelve hours straight of reading, editing, fact-checking, double fact-checking and dealing with the egos of terribly erudite but exhaustingly pedantic professors who think they know English better than me (you talkin' to ME?!), je suis completement crevee. (so crevee, in fact that I cannot figure out how to insert the proper accents over the "ee").
In the end I was just too tired and cranky to join friends at Jah-Pan, a great club in the Florentine neighbourhood, for live music and drinks. (I must be getting old.) I just wanted to shower off the day and crash... Dinner consisted of crackers, cottage cheese and carrot sticks (I swear, I really do know how to cook), consumed while watching the hysterical reality TV show, Double Date - hosted by the ever-cynical, hyper-cool and reliably funny comic duo, Dana Modan and Ro'i Levy. The premise is this: attention-seeking guy and attention-seeking girl are set up on a three-part blind date that consists of (1) an initial meeting, (2) participation in an event planned by the show's producers (e.g., circus acrobatics, visiting a sex shop together, going hand-gliding) (3) an intimate dinner for two - usually at one of the dozens of restaurants within a 5-minute walk from where I live. The TV audience is amused by thought bubbles over the participants' heads, catty captions and special effects such as red lasers extending from the guy's eyes in the direction of his date's breasts. Dana and Ro'i provide commentary between each of the date's three stages - and man, are they mean. The highlight of my day was the warm, funny and utterly unexpected letter published today by an old friend of Adina's from her days at Concordia University. Ran and I have never met, but Adina tells me he is a wild, cool and generous guy who is an amazing athlete and a very creative person (who is obviously a hell of a lot more adroit with Web stuff than I am). Ran was born in Israel, raised partly in Jerusalem and partly in Montreal. Today he lives with his wife, whom he married at a drive-by wedding chapel in Las Vegas, in Hong Kong. What he does there, I do not know (but I will find out). Ran's post was in response to a letter I wrote to Adina, which she posted on her blog. I hesitated a lot before linking to that letter. As I wrote in my first post, this is not a political blog. It's not that politics doesn't interest me (it does); it's just that humanity (human beings and being humane) interests me a lot more. Ashley, I hope you will forgive me for betraying the tacit pact of the non-political bloggers with this slight - and, I assure you, isolated - deviation! And I hope that everyone, no matter what her opinion, will see that mine are musings on humanity - and not a political manifesto. And now I really must get to bed so that I'll have enough energy for my 8:30AM yoga class. Thursday, August 5
Mobile rant
by
Lisa Goldman
on Thu 05 Aug 2004 12:07 AM PDT
I know I promised to write about my neighbourhood today, but I am absolutely wiped out and must get up early tomorrow morning (ie, later this morning) to face a long day.
So be patient, dear readers - I've got lots of stories to tell and promise to write more in the next day. Or two. Meanwhile, I offer up the following anecdote as evidence that Israel may well be on its way to becoming an enlightened country. Today, while riding the No. 2 bus on Allenby Street, I was absolutely flabbergasted when the bus driver blew importantly into his microphone and intoned, "Will the young lady speaking on her mobile phone turn it off immediately. Can't you see the "no mobile phones allowed" stickers right above your head? Yes, you! Look up!" For my non-Israeli readers, here is a little context-for-comprehension:
I guess I've made my point. Could it be that things are changing? (oh please, let it be so). Wednesday, August 4
Klezmer headache
by
Lisa Goldman
on Wed 04 Aug 2004 01:15 AM PDT
This morning I was awoken by the sound of pumped-up-to-the-max Klezmer music. Evidently the teachers at the yeshiva elementary school across the street, which is run by the Belz hasidim, had decided to give the kiddies (who, it seems, do not get a summer vacation) a morning of dancing in the playground. There they were, dressed in collared shirts buttoned to the top and tucked into dark trousers that were belted under their armpits, long sidecurls and ritual fringes bouncing as they danced wildly. The corpulent, bearded, black-clad rabbis surveyed them indulgently, no doubt as glad as their charges to have a break from the classroom.
At first it was charming, in an atavistic sort of way. I padded around my apartment barefoot, humming to vaguely familiar melodies with lyrics that varied between yai dai dai and cheeri bim cheeri bam. But after an hour I was clutching my head. Oy vey! Please, let it stop! It's too hot for all this noise! I was saved by the alte sachen man. Several times each week, an Arab guy from Jaffa appears in my neighbourhood, riding a horse-drawn cart and shouting repeatedly in Yiddish, "alte sachen" (old things). People lean out their windows and call out for him to come and take away their leaking refrigerators, broken-down furniture and worn-out clothes. Presumably, he sells the stuff somewhere. But why does the Arab junk collector call out in Yiddish? My theory is that the original Tel Aviv junk collectors were Yiddish-speaking Jews from Eastern Europe, and the cry "alte sachen" became a sort of trademark. Anyways, the kids at the Belz yeshiva, who do speak Yiddish, love the alte sachen man. As soon as they hear his cry they rush to the schoolyard gate and press their faces between the bars as they shriek out "alte sachen! alte sachen!" For kids who spend at least 8 hours per day in the classroom from the age of 4, and who aren't allowed access to television, cinema, secular literature or the physical outlet of sports, I guess this is a major source of entertainment. So they were distracted from the klezmer music, and the rabbis, I guess, didn't see any point in continuing. They went back to the classroom and I had some peace and quiet. More stories about my colourful neighbourhood tomorrow. Meanwhile, for some excellent video clips that are good examples of how irreverent Israeli humour can be, click on this link. My favourite is the third (and last) one down: it was filmed on Rothschild Boulevard, about 2 minutes from my apartment, at a time when suicide bombings were a very regular occurence. Monday, August 2
Consumer society
by
Lisa Goldman
on Sun 01 Aug 2004 07:14 PM PDT
When I lived in New York, I spent a lot of money on my appearance. Don't get me wrong - I was no Carrie Bradshaw: I browsed at Barney's, but I didn't buy (much). Haircuts that cost "somewhere in the low three figures", regular facials, leg waxings, pedicures and expensive moisturizers were, however, a big part of my life. I was particularly brand-loyal to moisturizers - if they weren't Lancome, Dior or something equally overpriced, I wasn't interested.
This is no longer the case. Israeli salaries are relatively small; my income is about 25% of what it was in New York, but Tel Aviv is an expensive city - so-called beauty products, in particular, cost about double what they do in North America. Reality had to be faced: even for one as careless with money as I, spending 3% of one's monthly after-tax income on a jar of glamorous-smelling face cream was - obviously - ridiculously impractical. The transition to generic moisturizers was somewhat traumatic: my mother introduced me to Seventeen magazine when I was 12 years old; I graduated to Vogue and Elle about three years later, and by the time I reached adulthood I was completely brainwashed: all of the magazines issued regular, dire warnings about the consequences of using the "wrong" moisturizer (think reptile). So when I started to use a (relatively) cheap face cream, I examined my face in the mirror, daily and anxiously, for signs of premature aging. Incredibly, nothing happened. (although I did recently read an article about long-term consequences...) Now whenever I need a new face cream I just ask the charming, heavy-set and heavily made-up Russian-born saleswoman at my local SuperPharm (Shopper's Drug Mart, for my Canadian readers) one blunt question: what's on sale today? But here's the strangest thing about making a purchase at SuperPharm: the wait at the cashier. It's almost always long, but no-one pushes or complains. This, in a country where impatience is the rule; where pushing and shoving are the norm. This, in a country where the driver behind you honks if you haven't shifted from neutral to first within a nanosecond of the traffic light turning from red to orange (before green). At SuperPharm, people wait their turn without making a fuss. Meanwhile, I am the one rolling my eyes, sighing and shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The cashier starts by asking if you have a Lifestyle card (a credit card issued by SuperPharm that entitles you to various special offers). No? Would you like to apply for a Lifestyle card? No. "Since your purchases total more than 200 shekels, you can buy a beach blanket for an additional 10 shekels. Are you interested?" Hmm, says the customer. Let me see that beach blanket. Do you have it in any other colours? No? Then I'm not interested. Any other special offers? "Yes," says the cashier, "for 15 shekels you can purchase a set of suntanning products." Again, the customer must examine and consider the product. Sometimes this goes on for several minutes. (I swear.) And when you finally go to pay, the cashier asks sweetly if you would like to donate 10 shekels to the Israeli Cancer Society (no). Once I tried to pre-empt the process with a typical New Yorker's impatient attitude. I placed my items on the counter and, before she could open her mouth, smiled with dangerous politeness and said, "I'm not interested in any of the special offers." She looked at me as if I were just the most uncouth person on earth. Can anyone explain this weird cultural anomaly to me? |
The most blogged war: a retrospective
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