Waiting for Doubtfire

We’re currently looking for a new housemate because one of my housemates is moving out to go study in Tel Aviv.

So far I’m kind of feeling that it’s like that sequence of calls from the movie Mrs. Doubtfire.

It seems that each person that calls interested in the apartment is a degree more deranged or twisted than the one before. I guess that’s the problem with the internet, equal access for all.

Damn freedom.

The first person that called was a guy, despite us specifically advertising for a girl – preferably good looking, French or South American, and single – but these weren’t a necessity.

We’ll just call this mystery man ‘Tomer’, mainly because that was his name.

He comes late to see the place so neither I nor my other housemate could wait for him, just a girl who’s subletting from us at the moment who shows his round the place. He calls my housemate later and says with the confidence of an American stunt man:

“Hi, I was looking at the room that’s available and, well, it’s a little small. Then I saw the other room (my room), and I understand he’s going to the army soon. I mean good on him and all. But why does a soldier need such a big room? I was wondering if I could rent his room?”

Ah… No…

The next person to call starts off by saying in a slow nasally voice that she’s 27 years old and 80% disabled.

We live on the 3^rd floor of the building, no lift. She says that’s fine. Last I checked legs were more that 20% of your body, so what else works?

I’m confused.

She asks “can I see the room now?”

My roommate and I aren’t home.

“Oh, so how about later today? You see I have to go tomorrow to see my son on the other side of the country. He lives with my ex-husband”

“We probably won’t be home till later”

“Oh, okay, so I might just go to the shopping centre till you’re back. Will you call me when your back?”

“It might only be late in the night”

“Also, I’m quite a social person, but I like my privacy. And also I’d appreciate it if you could tell me before you have people over. And I hope it’s okay if my son and ex-husband come over occasionally for dinner. So can I come and see the place now?”

(…)

“So are you home now, because I really need to move out of my apartment soon?”

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU SAY TO THAT!?!

It would make for some cool blog posts if she actually moved in. Or it could just turn me into a tortured poet.

What’s awkward now is that she knows where we live!

We had one girl who came to look at the place. Sauntered through the place with absolute grace. She’s doing her masters at Hebrew U in Israeli History. Really sweet. ‘Religious light’, meaning she keep kosher and Shabbat but is cool. And best of all – sane.

I hope she calls back, she seemed to like the place. We’ll see. 

I am ready, I am.

Today I moved out of the bubble the government provided for me and 249 other Olim Chadashim (new immigrants). My toilet roof was leaking most of the time, the drains vomited frequently, it was infested with fruit flies for a bit (despite the complete absence of fruit - wtf), it was freezing in the winter and hot in the summer, and the walls we paper thin so I was privy to my Argentinian neighbour’s domestic disputes, but for 5 months it was home.

It’s really quite liberating. I’m still in the same city, same job, same friends, only now, I filled with this sense of independence. That life has begun. It’s real.

I think I could really liken my experience in the Ulpan to purgatory. You’re neither here, nor there, but you know something big has just happened, and something even bigger is going to happen.

Unlike the old place, the new place is definitely more furnished than the room of a teenage Buddhist monk. My new housemates don’t live in the same room as me. They are also both of the female gender.

The final party at the ulpan was really nice. Looking around at the people I remember looking at in the same room. I remember judging them at first glance; hot, not so hot, cute, potential friend, indie etc.

At the end of year party I had deeper adjectives by which to describe my friends, my family; the laugher, the woman who cares, my neighbour, the guy who’s always up to party, the stoner, the girl with the butch waddle, the talker (avoid when in a rush), the shtettle mum, etc.

During ulpan 5 couples go engaged, 3 got married, a couple people dated and broke up, and 3 people were in an intensely awkward threesome. Memories.

I was a little apprehensive to leave the nest, but I think now I can safely say “I’m ready to start living!”

Stay tuned for my video apartment tour.

The Idealism of Huge.

Last week I was fretting about several things, namely; my army draft date, work, and accommodation after Ulpan. Three important facets of life which weren’t sorted by any means. But I kept my chest in the air, and thought to myself “the early pioneers had a shit-load more to deal with, so calm down”. I let this phrase circle my head like a mantra, calming me, soothing me…

Recently everything just fit together.

It didn’t help. I sat in class quietly freaking out. I was simultaneously learning how to conjugate weak roots (which sounds a lot dirtier than it is), and facebook stalking people when I stumbled upon a friend who posted that his apartment is up for subleasing for two months in the exact dates that I needed! HOO-HA!

I pounced on that one and got to cross one worry off the old list. But how am I going to pay for this new expense? “The early settlers didn’t even have a roof over their head” I chanted.

On the way to check out this apartment I get an email from the owner of a restaurant I interview at saying: “When you memorize 80% of the attached menus in Hebrew and English you can start work”. About eight excited breaths later I get a call from an ice-cream shop on Ben Yehuda St I applied for asking if I can come in tomorrow for a trial. “Amazing!” I sung out loud while dancing and politely thrusting my hips as a sign of ‘Yay-ness’.

Now when I was at the apartment having a look around I  get a call from a private number. “Shalom, this is the army”, “Shalom Chaver!”, “Can you come in on Sunday for your final interview before we sort out your draft date?”, “YESH!”

Three strikes and my life seems sorted!

But no, my Jewish genes can’t cope with being ‘ok’. I feel the wretched worry-worm creep up my neck and start nibbling the inside of my scalp. I have everything the early pioneers didn’t… except idealism.

My mind start ticking as though it has a mind of its own, or, it’s its own mind. I’m confused. Anyway…

I start thinking about the idealism behind scooping ice-cream balls. What would Ahad Ha’Am say about it? Would Herzl approve?

I guess ice-cream can be used to help solve the conflict. Everyone’s smiling when they have ice-scream, even Abu Mazen would smile if he got an ice-cream…

And I guess you could take and ‘idealistic reading’ into being a waiter in a Charedi Italian restaurant. I mean waiters listen to people, and are easy going, which is something you could use to make Israeli society more tolerating.

There, I’ve managed to justify it to myself. It’s not making the desert bloom or promoting coexistence or helping new migrants integrate. But it’s something.

Apartment

This is a short tour of my apartment. It's minimal, but functional.

This was taken about four months ago so the cupboards and fridge are more full, and the bathroom is less clean.

Production, cinimatography, lighting design, set design, costume design, script, acting, editing is all me - could you tell?