Purim in Israel

For someone who often confuses the words LeHitchapess (to dress up) and LeHitpashet (to undress / get naked), Purim can potentially be a testing time when asking people about their plans for the festival... and for someone who didn't think of bringing random colourful clothes when they were packing their 75kg for Aliya, the mass panic over what outfit to wear can raise some difficulties.

Yet at the end of the day, Israel is a great place to be for celebrating, even if there are a few too many fairies and cross dressed men (some enjoy that a little bit too much if you ask me - a bit like Purim is an excuse to do those things you always wanted to, but didn’t think you could get away with – and that is perhaps why the real frummers get really really drunk).

Yet seeing Israeli kids walking the streets in costume, store keepers wishing people Chag Sameach and the general enjoyment of a Jewish festival by mainly secular people is one of things that, in my opinion, is special about Israel and that one couldn’t find anywhere else.

So whether it’s the goth like Halloween-gone-wrong outfits sported by some, girls dressing up as monsters in Tel Aviv (I think they were dressed up) or those people i saw today in Bnei Barak that dressed up as Charedim, there are plenty of laughs and fun to be had over Purim.


















And if you really want to see something that will make you laugh on this joyous day, please click on the following two links (I know I will regret this, but hey its Purim…)

Politics and Arguments

For those who read the first posting on this blog, you would know that it wasn’t supposed to be about politics…But what to do – I live in Israel, its elections in two weeks, its something that everyone talks about, and for the past month I have been working in the Foreign Press Section of the Kadima Party.

I should probably start with a word of warning about those wanting to enter Israeli politics – if you mix in religious Zionist circles, shy away from arguments about politics, and generally don’t like conflict with people, you probably shouldn’t work for Kadima…

But I came to Israel wanting to work in some sort of political / governmental niche, I realized that the elections offered some sort of opportunity, and with a bit of self promotion and noodging of people, I started updating Kadima’s English website and arranging interviews for the foreign press a few weeks after I started at ulpan.

So whilst not wanting to make this blog into party propaganda, i will say that any election campaign that has a full on lesbian kiss in the political broadcasts (Green Leaf - the legalise marijuana party - the headline was 'we have other aspirations aswell') can't be that bad. And if you're not sure who to vote for, this website has come up with an easy way (for ivrit speakers) to decide who to cast their vote for.

enjoy the campaign - and remember that whoever wins, we will probably still be complaining over shabbat dinner about the state the country is in for the forseeable future

Frankenstein and Normal Lives

In my last email, I said how blogging and looking on site meters to see how many people read what you write is a bit like trying to get a tan – you think you're doing really well until you see other people and then you feel a bit rubbish. Yet, with a nice bout of winter sun, and a creative block for the last two weeks I now have a new more appropriate metaphor…the Frankenstein metaphor!

Blogs have a strange way of taking on a life of their own. Like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, you think that you are the creator, the controller, but really the blog controls you. Because once it’s up and running, you need to add, and even if you have nothing interesting to say, you need to write something – cos what’s the point of having a blog if you don’t update? And why should people keep checking the blog, if there’s nothing new? And then people end up in a sorry state of affairs, thinking whether each new moment, or each funny joke or awkward moment is bloggable cos the blog demands that it is updated…and then the final stage comes, when quality is cynically traded in for quantity, and we write stuff even though we have nothing newsworthy to say.

So apologies, but I don’t really have funny stuff, or interesting stuff, just a feeling of being busy, of meeting with friends, of trying to find work and learn Hebrew and enjoy the new life that I am trying to make for myself…

There was the time when the American woman in the central bus station told me she wanted to go to the Shomron to see what the government wants to give up and why she doesn’t understand how people can disobey Gods clear instructions in the bible (I told her that we don’t stone rebellious sons anymore…), the person who asked me if I wanted to donate blood before realizing I was English and withdrawing the offer; the getting on a Sherut that the day before had experienced a fatal stabbing and trying to speak on the phone whilst two people had a huge argument about smoking inside it.

There are the cute kids who go to school near Ulpan with their huge rucksacks and responsibility for letting people cross at the pelican crossings; the fact that almost every week since I have been here a major political development has happened; There's the fact that almost everyone thinks what happened in Amona is awful, but some because settlers threw rocks at police and called them Nazis and some because police hit settlers and injured MPs; There’s the constant tension between living our life with memories of terrorism and crises in the foreground (how can I not say tehillim and go to the beach instead – Sharon has just had a stroke or how can I go out to coffee in a place where 10 people lost their lives 2 years ago?) and being ambivalent and indifferent about peoples’ pain and difficulties;

There are the cafes and restaurants and friends and Shuls that are a 15 min walk from Ulpan, the new acquaintances and old friends I’ve had an opportunity to hang out with, the fact that I have a list of people in my ulpan class who I want to chuck out (for any ulpan friends reading this – don’t worry its not long, and if you are reading this, it probably means we’re close enough that its not you…)

There’s the going to the Muslim and
Christian quarters of the Old City because it’s a disgrace I had never been there before (pretending to be Christian, yet not being interested in the different stations of the cross was not particularly easy); the attempts at sending CV’s and arranging meetings or how one day can be the best day ever, with jobs and new opportunities on the horizon and the next can be depressive because everything fell through (and vice versa);

There’s the fact that every day feels like a week, that the Jerusalem Ball was similar to Leeds JSOC's (I think a few less people were sick after it, and that there were a few less naughty goings on in the toilet, but I don’t have any independent verification)

In some ways there's a lot of stuff, and in other ways there is very little. And then there's the fact there are the things that have happened that, whilst being interesting, I don’t necessarily want to put online…

In short, life in the Holy Land is great, its exciting, its full of opportunities; but its not necessarily about jokes. And its not always bloggable…

With apologies

Calev

p.s for those who felt the last posting was ambiguous i wanted to confirm that i passed my driving test!

Driving Lessons

Israeli roads – where people reverse into parked cars and then shout at the owners for stupidity, where to take hold of the wheel is to take your life in your hands and where a court recently fined someone 3,000 shekels for slapping a taxi driver who refused to put the meter on. Venturing onto the road in Israel is no easy mission, especially if you are used to driving on the other side of the road (apart from British historical isolationism and ‘better than thouness,’ does anyone know why we still do that?) Yet apparently it’s a rite of passage no Oleh should miss out on, so after the initial bureaucracy had been sorted, what better next step than to get that much sought after Israeli driver’s license?

For new drivers, no test can be arranged until they have taken a minimum of 28 lessons and a theory test. But if you have a foreign license already, it’s not so bad. You need to go to a place to fill out a form, have a ‘physical’ (which involves having your blood pressure taken) an eye test and then you can have a couple of lessons and take the test. It dawned on me that there are two ways one can fail the eye test; either by actually being blind, or not knowing how to say blue, red and white in Hebrew! (I won’t actually reveal the correct order so as not to allow blind people to pass their test – we have enough people here who don’t look where they are going…) but basically its pretty easy.

Driving itself proves slightly more of a problem. It dawned on me that not knowing the words for ‘indicate’ ‘hand break’ and ‘parallel parking’ may complicate my chances of passing (the first warning signs were when I reversed parked instead of doing parallel parking) Luckily the words for ‘u turn’ and ‘gas’ are the same. I then realized that things that will pass you in England (not crossing your hands on the steering wheel, putting up the handbreak up at traffic lights) will fail you in Israel…yet the most surprising revelation was when my instructor told me that hooting is ONLY allowed in Israel to prevent an immediate accident…someone should really tell that to the number two car in the queue at traffic lights.

In retrospect, perhaps the best preparation for a driving test would not have been a torrential downpour for two days prior to the test; nor the pre test lesson being cut short because the post office where you pay was closed due to electrical problems. Yet once the examiner came into the car, things went smoothly. Munching on a croissant, he casually asks me if I mind him eating and, seeing my Kippah, hastily puts his hand on his head and says a bracha over the food. I was just happy he didn’t start trotting out Tefillat HaDerech.

People who know me know how much I like speaking Hebrew to Israelis (even when its not necessary,) but I have to admit to having difficulty concentrating on driving whilst listening to the examiner telling me his dreams of working in the Israeli Embassy in Romania, cos his parents were Romanian 'and ‘the Carpathian mountains are supposed to be very beautiful there.’ Yet bearing in mind it was his 15th test that day, I figured he was probably bored and it would help my chances of passing if he was concentrating on the conversation rather than my driving skills.

As we near the end of the test, he asked me where my wife was. And when I replied that I don’t have one he gets very animated – that I must find a kallah, and the best sort of girls for me are ones from Bnei Brak, because they’re proper and serious… And whilst I am still unconvinced by his shidduch suggestions, I was happy to humour him for the remaining minutes of the test.

As I have said many times already over the last 3 weeks, ‘only in Israel…’

Aliya - Oleh or Immigrant?

I’m not sure if irony is the word, but it was strange that my first day in Israel was marked in the Jerusalem Post by having an article called ‘an open letter in response to why i am making Aliya - the harsh truth about living in Israel' and beginning ‘Dear Calev Bender…’

I was kind of hoping more for a ‘welcome to Israel, Calev, so happy to have you’ but I settled for seeing my name in print. The article I wrote on my reasons for making Aliya touched a bit of a nerve amongst Olim who discussed the pros and cons of moving to Israel over the next few days in the pages of the Jerusalem Post and the talkback section of the online edition.

I can’t claim to have been recognised in the street yet, but its still early days…

I arrived Sunday night in Israel where the rain on the tarmac at Ben Gurion made my decision over whether to kiss the ground for me. At the airport I received my Sal Klita, (apparently it’s the only time you see 200 shekel notes) my Teudat Oleh, a blue booklet you need to get other things later (it’s a bit like those old Monkey Island games – you need the booklet to get another booklet to get the bank account, drivers license etc…) and was on my way relatively quickly and painlessly. The first week was spent getting an identity, bank account, health insurance, mobile phone (only one for now) and of course a couple of visits to Ikea (some things are the same whatever country you are in.) The second has mainly been spent on the beach. I’d also like to thank the unsuspecting people who have allowed me to piggy back on their wireless internet from my flat (although I’m pretty confident and hopeful they don’t read this blog.)

And although so far it’s been great, and I still feel like I am on holiday, there is no question that it’s not the easiest place to live. Clearly I completely disagree with her and don’t consider that spending two paragraphs on Israel’s problems and bigging up London as 'making Aliya with rose tinted glasses,’ but I think what my Jerusalem Post nemesis Noga Martin was trying to get across was that things are tough here and that in our ideological fervor, we shouldn’t ignore the difficulties when talking about Aliya. And whilst I am yet to find a western liberal democracy in which issues of crime, racism, and domestic violence don’t occur, yet to live in a country that is perfect and doesn’t have stuff that gripes you (any foreigner who has tried to open a bank account in England will understand…) I think the point needs to be kept in mind.

But having said all of this, it does the country an injustice to focus on the small things and ignore the big picture - a sovereign Jewish polity for the first time in 2,000 years in which the Jewish people re-entered history as owners of their own destiny…and we have an opportunity to be a part of this ongoing struggle in whatever small way we may choose. In addition to the problems, Israel is about girl scouts offering people doughnuts in the mall on Chanukah, people wishing you Mazal Tov and good luck when you tell them you made Aliya, an elderly woman at the bus stop offering help and ending up giving me her number and address in case ‘I needed anything’ (now I just need to work on the younger ones…)

And it does seem a bit of a cliché to say it, but I believe that we are all one family here. And yes, that does include the arrogant guy in the vest top or the obnoxious women smoking in the non smoking area and the loud kid that pushes in the cue just as much as it includes the strangers who go out of their way to help us. But I believe those type of people really bother us because we care and expect more…because we believe that Israel can be much more than another country, more than just another nation state like Albania.

That for me is why this place is special, because enough people care about what happens here – and whether that causes them to love this place or hate parts of it is less important to me than the fact they care at all. What we all share is a passion, a passion for how we want the country to be, and that inevitably leads to potential disappointment if the reality doesn’t match the dream.

I had an interesting conversation with someone who made a successful Aliya from Canada around 25 years ago. He advised me that people who move to Israel should see themselves more as immigrants than Olim and that to succeed here, you need to be tough. ‘You know that Puerto Rican guy in West Side Story with the knife?’ he said, ‘That’s who you need to be, that’s how you need to fight here.’ And whilst I have difficulty taking seriously cinematic gang members who seem to break into song and dance at every street intersection, I think the distinction between the two is the key to integration. Olim come to a country expecting to be welcomed, given good jobs and taken care of financially. Immigrants arrive knowing they need to work hard, that it’s an almost constant uphill struggle. To succeed here and to be ready for the bureaucratic and social deluge, you need to be more of the latter and less of the former. And the real question is whether one can do all this whilst still maintaining a culture of politeness and manners that we are rightly proud of in England.

I’ll keep you posted on the answer…wishing everyone a happy new (Gregorian) year of caring more about the big picture…

Why I made Aliya

(published in the Jerusalem Post 20th December 2005 p15)
















England has given me a lot – a good liberal enlightened education, a healthy respect yet suspicion of authority, the patience to stand in queues without complaining. I have a fantastic family, wonderful friends and live in a beautiful area. London provides a platform for tolerance and multiculturalism, of respect for differing faiths and opinions, places of culture and entertainment - galleries, cinemas and cafes. It’s hosting the Olympics, has little unemployment and offers good social and financial opportunities for young professionals.

So why I am leaving this to move to what many people consider a war zone?

The issue of safety is perhaps not as clear cut as it may seem. Despite the fact people live a relatively normal life in Israel, there are definitely safer places to be. Things we take for granted in Britain (or perhaps used to before 7/7) about being safe on public transport, that people love life instead of glorifying death are not as certain in a place that has experienced suicide bombings in buses, cafes, clubs and university campuses. And no one knows how Israel will deal with the very real existential threat that a nuclear Iran would cause. Yet if you would have told the Anglo-Jewish community a decade ago that Synagogues would be burnt and cemeteries defaced in the UK they would have been shocked. And no one knows if the slow rise to power and positions of influence of those who thrive on Anti Zionism and Israel bashing, and the increasing influence of those who see Jewish conspiracies behind every policy they dislike is a harbinger of things to come. In short, I think the jury is still out on the case of where it is safer to live as a Jew in the 21st century.

For me, Aliya is more an issue of being in a place where the national holidays are Jewish, the culture is Jewish, a country where even the football commentator on Saturday TV wishes people a Shabbat Shalom (so I’m told.) It’s a place where you can walk down Shimon, Levi and Gad streets, pass through the Kings of Judea and the Rabbis of the Middle Ages and get to the date of the partition plan via modern Israeli poets and writers. Its somewhere where B’ezrat Hashem can be used by someone eating Chametz on Pesach, where you can walk through the Old city and be fulfilling the dreams of a hundred generations, where Israeli phrases conjure up images of Biblical verses; it’s a country still finding its feet, and as yet undefined society.

And yes of course there are problems. The conflict with the Palestinians, what years of wars and checkpoints have done to Israel youth, what future withdrawals from the West Bank and probably East Jerusalem will do to an already strained society. The question of the relationship between religion and state, how Shabbat should be celebrated or marked, how a Jewish state deals with the gap between rich and poor and how a Halacha written and developed in exile can be relevant to a modern 21st Century state. And on top of all of this is the very real issue of how best to integrate the Israeli Arab population and the numerous Aliyot from the former Soviet Union, as well as creating a joint identity for people from over seventy different countries who have all found their home in Israel.

But when all is said and done, I would rather be in the thick of things then clapping or shouting from the sidelines, rather be able to lend my voice (however small) to a cause or idea I believe in, than to be 3,ooo miles away complaining.

No one knows what the future brings, and if things don’t turn out the way I would like, London is a great place to live and raise a family. But for two thousand years, the Jewish people had a dream that was put into action over a century ago by Zionism, a modern day version of Jewish nationalism. Zionism had a vision – to create a modern liberal state where Jews could go and be safe, where never again would they be unprotected, a democracy in an area that has never known freedom, a state where the Jewish language and culture (and religion) could develop and flourish. And despite the many successes socially, technologically and democratically, that experiment is not yet over and the battle to shape Israel in the way we want still continues…and the only place where that battle can be fought is from within.

Maybe this is all a bit ideological. Maybe its enough justification to say that I am moving to a hot climate, with a beach, friendly people and lots of Humus. You earn less, but at least people speak to you on public transport. People may be slightly ruder (or more open) but strangers will go out of their way to help if you are ever in trouble. When friends of mine ran out of petrol in the middle of nowhere, a car of strangers drove them for miles to the nearest station and then back. In England, people would either be too indifferent or scared to stop.

There’s a book by American/Israeli educator Daniel Gordis called ‘if a place can make you cry.’ It describes his Aliya before the Intifada and how he and his family have coped with the violence. Its well worth a read in itself, but his main point is that if a place can make you cry…how can you not live there? And for me, that’s what it comes down to; if there’s a place that drives you crazy, that makes you shout about who the Prime Minister should be or gets you depressed over a traffic accident, or makes you proud that you’re soldiers are helping people beset by tragedy in India, Armenia or Turkey, a place that can cause joy and depression in equal measure…if there’s a place where you can find all of these things…how can you not live there??

I am off on 25th December, the first night of Chanukah and I can’t wait!

Buenos Baby

Buenos Aires - a city of bars, cafes and markets, where people drive crazily and pedestrians play a contiunous game of 'lets see if the car i am steeping out in front of will stop'.

A place where despite the fact that siesta lasts for a few hours less than in other parts of the country (where it was 11am-3pm) you still cant change money after 3pm, and AIDS awareness was marked by a huge red condom being put on a 30m high obelisk that stands on the main junction in the city centre.

A capital city that wouldnt look out of place in Western Europe yet which has huge levels of poverty.

Where there are more Jews than in England and a 400g steak with chips costs less than a Shwarma at Sollys.

Where no one goes out before 1am but still somehow manage to get to work the next day.

A place where there are police on most street corners, newsagents appear every 50 yards selling the same things, lots of anti Bush grafitti, street demonstrations, street bands, beautiful women and an unhealthy obsession with Che Guevara.

A place where watching Tango helped me to understand the prohibition on watching women dance (i am not planning on stopping...i just understand better where the Rabbis were coming from) and perhaps most importantly, a place where the sun shines in December.

Getting here wasnt as easy as i would have hoped. A pilots strike on an airline that has a virtual monpoly on internal flights left me with the unenviable choice of hanging around on my own in El Calafate or taking a 40 hour bus journey. Yet through a mixture of perserverance, asking the right questions, quite a bit of luck (and i would like to think a certain amount of charm,) i managed to get a flight the next day...its amazing how much calmer you can be if you are not in a hurry!

i had left this group of Israelis who were kind of convinced that because i was dati i could guarantee us good weather on Tiyulim (i dont like to be dogmatic, but i'm pretty sure there is no link between prayer and weather and that Gd has better things to do than to make sure Calev and his friends get a tan...and that if you did believe such stuff, you should definitely consider not being secular...but the theory did work out so im not complaining) and have just spent the last few days walking around Buenos.

i brought my flight forward by a week so i am coming home Wednesday morning. Its been great, but i decided i wanted more time at home whilst it is till home and I look forward to seeing you all in the next few weeks. There are a few hours yet till 1am so may have to twiddle my thumbs till then...

Calev