The Binding of Isaac

And God tempted Abraham and said unto him, Take Isaac, thine only son, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt offering upon the mountain which I will show thee. – Gen. 22:1-2

On second day Rosh HaShannah we listen and read bits of the story of ‘The Binding of Issac’ during those quick breaths in between the schmoozing.

No one can have a neutral response to this story.

You admire Abraham’s faith, or berate his madness. You may have a reaction of anger toward both characters; Isaac for his absolute lack of agency, and Abraham for his inability to stand up for his child as he did for the evil-doers of Sodom and Gomorra. You may think of child abuse. And your heart will most certainly weep a little for Sarah.

Lately I have been struggling with this event in the biblical narrative which really is the foundation upon which the three major religions are build: In Judaism it is the final test of Abraham which secures his inheritance and relationship with God, in Christianity it has been interpreted as a prelude to the sacrifice of Jesus, and in the Muslim narrative Isaac is replaced by Ishmael.

The text is difficult, dramatic, painful and heart wrenching and leaves me questioning: “Did Abraham replace ‘morality’ for ‘obedience’?”

First I want to analyse the text a little.

The bible is structured upon a technique called ‘gapping’ which means that it couldn’t fit everything into the text so we need to be careful readers and pick up patterns to fill in holes we might find in the text.

One of the first instances this happens in our story is when the God calls to Abraham and commands him to sacrifice Isaac. God could have just said “Oy! Go and kill Isaac” but instead there is this build up and narrowing down of who exactly God wants sacrificed.

There is an almost implied dialogue – word’s in brackets are my interpretation of what’s missing:

God: Take now your son
[Abraham: Who?]
God: “Your only son”
[Abraham: Ishmael?]
God: “The one you love”
[Abraham: Which one exactly?]
God: “Isaac.”
[Abraham: Oh…]

Very similar sentence structure to “Go, from your house, from your birthplace, from the land of your father to the land that I will show you” – the original 'God-Promise' to Abraham that begins this journey. Only here, there is no promise of a reward.

The elongated command to sacrifice Isaac is there to emphasise the love-bond between the two. To explain to the reader that this isn’t someone Abraham wants to kill. With each specification of who to take, the tension increases.

It’s like when a mother gets a call from the police saying; there’s been an accident, someone in your family has been killed, someone you love, your one and only son. It’s a dramatic technique.

Abraham tries to avoid the command, but God doesn’t let him get away easily.

Emmanuel Kant in his book ‘The Conflict of the Faculties’ says:

 “but if God should really speak to man, Man can still never know that it was God speaking, it is quite impossible to man to apprehend the infinite by his senses, distinguish is from sensible being and recognise it as such. But in some cases Man can be sure the voice he hears is not God’s; for if the voice commands him to do something contrary to the moral law, then no matter how majestic the apparition may be, and no matter how it may seem to surpass the whole nature, he must consider it an illusion.”
In Kant’s opinion Abraham failed the test completely, he should have apprehended the voice he heard, saying; “if you want me to butcher my son, you must not in fact be God at all”.

Kierkegaard tries to validate what Kant is denying in his Fear and Trembling, he shares the thought with Kant that the sacrifice is immoral, but he also believes that God’s will transcends the moral order. It is a teleological suspension of the ethical goes on in the story.

They start off early the next morning, Rabbinic tradition interprets that this is a sign of Abraham’s eagerness to fulfil the word of God, but it seems to me that he either only received the vision in his sleep or he delayed starting his trip. Why didn’t he leave straight away?

It gives me chills when I read how the father and son then walk together, the son looks up to his father of the age of hundred and says “my father” to which Abraham responds “yes my son”. The possessive pronominal suffixes “my” solidify the deeply emotional connection between the two.

There are two people with them who are identified by the Midrash as Ishmael and Eliezer; two of the 3 potential heirs to Abraham’s wealth – Isaac being the third. (I don’t include Lot, he’s a douche).

The reason I bring up the ‘heir’ thing is that without an heir to inherit Abraham’s wealth, the promises God made to him cannot be fulfilled.

Abraham stops after 3 days of walking and tells the two unnamed men to wait as they go up the mountain to pray to God. But Abraham says “we will go up, and we will return” (וְנָשׁוּבָה).

Questions:

-          Does this imply that Abraham knows it’s a test?

-          Is he lying to prevent Isaac from freaking out?

-          Or is it both? i.e. is it something he hopes will come true, that they will return together?

Maybe he has faith in the promise from God that he will be a great nation, and he know he can only become a great nation if he has a living son who can procreate. Because if your parents don’t have kids, you won’t have kids.

The wood that is meant to burn his body to ashes as a sacrifice is laid upon Isaac. It’s like making someone dig their own grave.

Side note: It is not absolutely clear how old Isaac is, but he would have to be old enough to be able to carry enough wood to burn his body. Which could also mean that Isaac is 5 years old; a 5 year old can only carry  a small amount of wood but also needs less wood because their bodies are smaller. Morbid mathematics.

“The two walked together” or “walked as one”. The Midrash says Isaac is 37 years old. He knows what’s going on, but he walked with Abraham as though he is on board with the cause.

You would think that, but then Abraham actually needs to tie Isaac up. You don’t need to tie up someone who is willing to be sacrificed. At the same time, Abraham couldn’t tie up his strong son without consent. MAybe Isaac is on board, but is worried he’ll have involuntary flinching and then he’ll get a small cut that will render the sacrifice invalid.

The Book of Jubilees suggests that the reason for the test is that the angels of God could see Abraham loved both God and his son, but want to see who Abraham loved more.

When the countermand comes for Abraham to stop there is a similar dialogue as when Abraham was commanded that the Midrash unravels:

The Rabbinic tradition explains that an angel went down and told Abraham for stop but Abraham responded "The Almighty Himself commanded me to offer my son to Him—only He can countermand the order: I will not hearken to any messenger!"

You would think that if someone was really that apprehensive toward carrying out a task that he would take any opportunity to avoid the task. But not our Abraham, he is caught up in this blind trance and wants to carry through with it.

You can see this because when the ram appears he just goes and kills it!

Firstly, rams belong to people, they don’t grow wild.

Even in Israel today if you find a ram and decide to slit its throat, a shepherd will shoot you.

And secondly, God doesn't commant Abrahab to kill the ram, but he has the kill look in his eyes and needs to carry out the action.

There is a Midrash that says the sheep’s name was Isaac. A direct substitute for Isaac. There is also a Midrash says that Abraham looked identical to his son, only when Abraham’s hair turned grey could people differentiate between them. So the ram becomes a substitute for Isaac, who is a substitute for Abraham.

Verses 15 through 18 are classified by academics as a the earliest interpretation of the Akeida [Binding] which were actually inserted into the text. God speaks to Abraham “A second time” and we get the original promises again from Genesis 12 only here it is a consequence of the obedience of Abraham, previously it was baseless “Go from your land and I will make you a great nation etc.” [paraphrase].

Yay Abraham! You’ve destroyed the relationship with your son, but you get showered in material possessions! A fair trade.

In verse 19 “and Abraham returned to the young men” – Where is Isaac? Abraham descends the mountain alone. There is no dialogue between Abraham and the rest of his family after this event.

The lists of names that come after this break the tension and move the story along. 

Abraham’s brother Nachor has 12 children, a parallel birth of a nation to that of Jacob later on. Nachor has 8 children with his primary wife, and 4 by secondary wife – Jacob too has 8 children by primary wives (Rachel and Leah) and 4 by his secondary wives (Bilha and Zilpa). Abraham’s grand niece, the daughter of Bethuel is Rebeka, Isaac’s future wife and second cousin.

This Akeida is a climax in the Genesis story after that event the story mellows out a bit.

I still have the question “Does Abraham replace morality with obedience?”

Yeshayahu Leibowitz’ in his The Meaning of Halakhah (1953) says:

“Ethics, when regarded as unconditionally asserting its own validity, is an aesthetic category par excellence… The Torah does not recognise moral imperatives stemming from the knowledge of natural reality of from awareness of man’s duty to his fellow man. All it recognises are Mitzvot, divine imperatives… Halakhah [the is, Jewish law and practice] as a religious institution cannot admit the category of the ethical.”

Which is a similar view of Kierkegaard mentioned above, that God’s will is above ethics.

I’m not so satisfied with that, Abraham argued his guts out for the sinner in Sodom and Gomorrah but said nothing to God regarding the life of his son.

Regarding the Ancient Near East and sacrifice we learn that sacrifice doesn’t necessarily involve killing. In Leviticus when they discuss the method of ‘burnt offering’ they don’t mention the killing at all.

The Haftorah for this Torah portion is that of Hannah begging God for a son which she promises to give back to him in service. This is equally as sad but is an example of a sacrifice that doesn’t involve killing at all?

Also in the Temple there were grain and fruit libations which were sacrifices that did not involve killing. (Sorry fruitarians)

And we've all heard our parents say "do you know what I've had to sacrifice to give you this?" - lets just hope its a "what" and no a "who".

So maybe Isaac was sacrificed on that mountain top, but wasn’t killed. Or maybe he was only in the form of a ram. What’s clear to me is that the father-son relationship was what was given up. Abraham chose God over his son. They didn’t walk together as one down the mountain as they did on the way up.

Another point, Kierkegaard sees Abraham as being “double-minded” torn between obedience and faith. When Isaac asks his father “Where is the ram?” Abraham responds “God will provide it.” Abraham cannot bring himself to speak of what God commanded him to do because his faith in God tells him that God will not let him go through with it. His obedience keeps him walking up the hill in “fear and trembling with a dagger in his hand.

Kierkegaard goes on to say that: 

“One may stay ethical, and have a satisfying life. Or one may go farther and embrace in fear and trembling and in dread and awe the faith in ones own choices, facing the terrifying possibilities of being deceived and of deceiving oneself."

Its starts with the “I choose” and continues with the “I shall now act”.

Levinas in Existence and Ethics sees friction between the religious fervour of Kierkegaard’s “leap of faith” and morality, he views it as a subversion to ethical foundations and suggests that you need external justification and cannot just rely on the internal isolated passion.

Nietzsche says:

“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege for owning yourself.”

Each time Abraham does something separating himself from the tribe, he leaves his environment. He leaves his homeland to become a nation and then he leaves his encampment for the Land of Moriah to sacrifice Isaac. Maybe the real reward Abraham sought after is owning himself.

Let me know your thoughts.

Middle Eastern Predicitons

Arab Spring

This is my 42^nd blog post.

42 – The meaning of life.

Significant in a time in my life where I have chosen to abandon exploring the ‘why’:

-Why are we here?

-Why do I care?

-Why do I need to keep my elbows off the table when I eat?  

And focus more on the ‘what’;  

-What should I do today?

-What should I have for the lunch?

-WTF?

etc.

Distractions. It’s all about the distractions.

One perfect distraction is the upcoming UN delegation and subsequent impending doom on the State I now call home!  

I decided to do a bit of field work and find out what the people of this tiny land actually think is going to go down on that momentous day.

It seems that at most 2 million Palestinian refugees residing in Syria will march toward the Israeli border, partly because they want to reclaim the land of their ancestors, and partly because the Syrian government with mow them down with machine guns.

At least we might see a bit of colourless fireworks near the security fence along the 1967 armistice line.

Most people in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv will wake up as usual, go to their favourite, or most convenient, café and order their usual.

I think there’ll be unrest which could turn violent.

There might be a little fire. There may not. It could go either way. I think it’ll stop/pause some of the internal protests regarding social justice. Sorry for being vague, it’s the nature of my generation. 

I am of Israel

The Journey Outline

These past couple of days I took myself up north and did a bit of a trek. The main, I guess, catalyst for the trip was the line in Baz Luhrmann’s Sunscreen Song: “Do something every day that scares you”.

I don’t have a camping phobia per se. I’m just crap at it.

So I caught me a bus up to Tzfat, holy city which I would have loved to stay in and absorbed all its mystical energies, but I had walking to do. I headed down the hill out of the city to a place called Ein Chovesh which was the start of my trail.

By this stage the sun was well over head and its heat was unrelenting, but I pressed on until I came across a domed hut coated in moss overlooking the valley I planned to toddle through. A perfect place to cook myself a hearty lunch; vegetable curry with rice. This meal made no dent whatsoever in the 20kg I had packed in my backpack.

Oh the backpack, how I learned to hate it, forever imprinted in my shoulders.

I continued down in through Nachal Amud (Amud River), a once gushing stream, now  a rocky unsteady path. I had to scale boulders, and descending down hills covered with pebbles, there were cliff ledges and thorned bushes which loved to get under my skin.

I’ll admit I slipped and fell many times. Birds definitely blushed when they heard the profanities which rolled of my tongue each time I scrapped my knees, knocked my shins, or stubbed my toes.

The first night I found an abandoned overgrown clay oven, which looked like a great place to rest my travel-weary limbs and get shelter from the elements. Little did I think that other things also sought shelter from the elements. I spent half the night checking that the scorpions in the cracks next to my head weren’t advancing and that the mice weren’t digging too much at the mud which held the bricks over my head.

After dark I decided to light myself a small fire in my grotto, a feeble attempt at warding away the wasps nesting on some wild flowers sprouting through the cracks. I ended up smoking myself out of the hut. I at my dinner in the dark outside.

When I came back in I buried the dwindling fire under dirt I scooped up from the ground. The smell of burning garbage and faeces explained that it wasn’t just any old dirt. The dense smoke was replaced by an insufferable stench. My dinner was soiled.

I went to sleep after a cup of overly sugared tea at the responsible hour of 8pm only to be woken up by the sound of squeaking mice and hay being chewed. Wild horses had come to feed outside and then on top my already unstable shelter.

Although I was in my bed for 12 hours, I probably only got about 3 hours sleep.

The next day couldn’t have come faster. I only wish the end of my water didn’t come so quickly.

I managed to get to the motorway with half a litre left, the sun was already starting to bash my head in.

I checked the map (surprised I know how to read one?) and headed the 3km with my 20kg to the nearest gas station. Filled up, recovered, and walked the 3km back to start my day’s trek. Back into the river bed I went.

I met some fellow hikers on the way who commented straight away on how large my pack was. “What!? I had to take a jacket! And my mum would have killed me if she found out I didn’t take 8 days worth of food!”

I completed the rest of the 7 kilometres signing aloud and talking to myself excessively, passing banana plantations and some nice cliffs shaped by wind erosion – so many different layers of sediment! I set up camp on a camping ground next to a goat farm in Ein Nun near a town called Migdal.

Surprisingly less to worry about when you’re sleeping under the stars. Just cats scrounging around for garbage.

From there I took a bus up to Rosh Pina where I met up with a friend and after a much needed shower we heading to the river stream near the Lebanon border where we hiked, played cards, camped and donated blood to needy mosquitoes.  From there we hiked to Kiryat Shemona and bussed back to Rosh Pina where I headed off to spend Shabbat in a small town near Nazareth called Hoshe’a (Hosea) which was just lovely.

I went on this hike to iron out the kinks in my head about the purpose of it all. I needed a chance to think about what exactly I’m doing here, and why it feels more important for me to be in Israel than to be with my friends, my family, those remarkable beaches, the super funky bars in and around Oxford St, and the cafes which actually prefer you to order a specific and complicated cup of coffee where the waitresses should be walking up and down catwalks instead of crooked stairs from the kitchen to the tables. Also why I feel a responsibility to this country when so many other places around the world could use a helping hand. What is the attraction, the magnetism I feel to this people, to the soil.

I didn’t really work out all the answers, and the ones I did work out are difficult to explain. I think put plainly, I feel as Yeats did to his motherland, I just simply feel that I am of Israel.

Northward Bound

For a while now I have been going through a bit of an existentialist saga. Some friends tell me it’s because I expect too much of myself, others say, I don’t do enough.

This feeling of meaninglessness didn’t germinate from a point of depression or from a broken heart. Clichés like that bore my entire generation.

Instead, I think, this feeling of being enveloped by pointlessness sprouted when I was caught up in the routine of work.

I was working then eating, then sleeping just so I would awake for work, to eat, to sleep. Working on sleep eating, and eating sleep at work. I don’t eat sheep, but I need sleep.

As you can see, my world began to unravel at the seams like the psyche of Dr. Suess on acid (or rather, more acid.)

So I turned to the books and to movies. Watched a junk-load of Charlie Kaufman films which were overly unhinged – just the way I like it.

Then to a theological master, Rav Soloveichik’s. I figured his essay Lonely Man of Faith would give me some direction toward the path to meaning.

As eloquent a writer he is, extended metaphors are only good for the first 20 pages. He stretches the Adam and Eve stories (plural, Gen. Ch. 2 & 3) to a point where my stomach convulsed and I vomited out my nose – figuratively.

The essay also ended with a question, which frustrated me though it did help me arrive at a couple of conclusions.

Firstly, that I am not a man of faith. Just a simple Yid. I find it difficult to believe in the Character we call God in the bible. I think it is a juvenile way of conceptualising an ultimate, infinite being and can be almost directly compared with Michel Foucault’s ‘Panopticon’ – a prison design in which the prisoners’ cells encircle a watchtower which they cannot see into. The inmates’ behaviour drastically improves as they never know whether or not they were being watched.

The second and third aren’t developed enough to be published in this ramble.

What is worth mentioning is that on my last day of work the random playlist which shuffles between genres like a prostitute and sexually transmitted infections –  every once in a while you get the same song on again, but mostly it’s just a mixed bag, started playing The Sunscreen Song by Baz Luhrmann.

Listening to that song while mopping whipped cream off the floor, I found myself riding a wave of emotion. I felt both happy and sad and eventually – satisfied.

It was then I decided to listen to the song repeatedly until the message got through my head, and I acted upon at least 70% of his advice. Some are easier than others.

Some examples:

“Dance”  - done, too easy  

“Don’t read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly” – Easy

“Sing” – Always

“Understand that friends come and go” – getting there

“Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults” – Okay

“Do one thing every day that scares you”…

This is one I’m going to start working on tomorrow. That’s not me procrastinating, I’m actually going to.

Tomorrow I’ve decided to hike from Tzfat to Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu.

I can’t say I’ve done it yet, but my bag is packed.

For those who know me, I’m not the manliest of men, and I’m not so good at camping. That’s why I’ve decided not to take a tent…

The hike will go for 4 days, 3 nights and I hope to cover around 80km (ish) – totally doable.

Let you know how it goes. But either way, it'll give me a moment of beauty.

Funemployed 2

I’ve been using my Funemployed time relatively well. I spend the first days of relative freedom (because we can only be ‘relatively free’) in Tel Aviv catching up with friends and drinking pretentious coffee in pretentious cafes. I don’t claim I was an island of pretentiouslessness in those cafes. Sometimes I enjoy sitting with friends who can distinguish between the tightness of the bubbles in their foamed milk and judge whether in fact their beverage a latte of a cappuccino.

Then returning to Jerusalem I found myself dancing at the beer festival with friends who’d followed me from Tel Aviv.

The Jerusalem beer festival attracted more a ‘younger’ crowd than the wine festival. We all know that: Young + Beer = hooligans. I enjoyed trying some cool beers from around the globe we live on.

This past Shabbat we spent hosting people. I made stuffed vegetables.

The meals were great because my new Chicago born roommate and I were the only native English speakers. Despite the supposed language barrier, I found myself completely involved in the discussion. Almost as much as I would have been, had it been in English.

I admit that after I stuffed myself beyond the point of breathing, my eyes began to droop and my bed was looking enticing, my participation in the conversation died down a little. But that’s to be expected.

Shabbats are really social here, and are also a great way to keep track on how my community building is going.

My social groups now vary, and the participants have grown. I’m settling in well.

FUNEMPLOYED

So I’m finally free of that soul crushing ice cream shop!

Being overly dramatic is fun.

I’ve written a list of things I want to do with my newly acquired free time. I wouldn’t call it a ‘bucket list’ by any means, because a lot involve personal hygiene; shave, cut toe nails, wash sheets, mop room. But there are others which involve adventure!

Today I’m going to Tel Aviv, hangin’ out on the beach and chillin’ with friends. Tough life I not lead.

I’m planning a camping trip up north, going to go hiking for a bit. I don’t really know how that’s going to pan out, seeing as the last time I tried to set up a tent I needed the help of teenage girls. Really strong teenage girls…

Might just have to pack some teenage girls.

I’ve gotten back into reading, both English and Hebrew, my next blog post might be a book review. Wild!

And, I’ve been hosting meals!

 

We have a new roommate, an American girl I know from Ulpan. The house is still a Hebrew speaking zone, just not when my Israeli roommate is out.

So in honour of her joining the party we hosted Friday night, and Saturday Shabbat meals.

For both meals we had a typically Jewish mis-catering error, whereby too many people brought too much food. So my fridge has been filled with leftovers ever since, which is great because although we don’t have an oven, we have a microwave, so leftovers can be disguised as freshly cooked meals!

In my apartment we usually eat in the kitchen, but the kitchen is basically a kitchen for ants, in needs to be at least three times bigger. So if we have more than four people over, we eat in my room. This works even better for me, ‘coz after the meals I just got up from my chair and plonked my body onto my bed and went to sleep.

When I woke up, I realised some of my guests had joined me. 

7 Stages of Grieving

I am now in the final days of my work at the ice cream store and I’m sure you, the reader, are just as excited as I am, because after next Tuesday you won’t need to hear about it anymore.

Even though I have a couple more days to go, I feel I have already been blessed with a little bit of hindsight and can already look back on the experience from a week and a half from now: I think I would describe my ebb and flow relationship with work as similar to that of the 7 Stages of Grieving.

I started work with the idea that I wanted to practice my Hebrew, make friends and learn a little bit about  the ‘minimum wage’ culture of Israeli society.

The first Stage was ‘Shock and Denial’:

I was definitely in a numbed state disbelief that I had in fact got a job in Israel, “how exciting!” I thought with wide-eyed naivety.

Then the ‘Pain and Guilt’ set in:

I was struck with insufferable pain and guilt of my decision to work there, both physical and emotional.

The physical was just the other week when the carpometacarpal join in my left hand was sprained from scooping the Dark Chocolate ice cream. My thumbs were also swollen from overuse (mainly from texting out of boredom), so I had to learn to scoop with my right hand.

 

The Third Stage is ‘Anger and Bargaining’:

I started bargaining with my boss as to how many shifts a week I had to do; he wanted 7 double shifts, I wanted two. I started saying “why me?” and muttering profanities as the ice cream behind the sneeze protecting glass.

Then the ‘Depression’ sunk in. I pictured my corpse frozen in the ice cream display and the other workers scooping my body into sugared covered cones.

When I reached the 5^th stage, “The Upward Turn”, I decided to give my notice of retirement from the gelataria business and pull myself out of that half dug grave.

‘Reconstruction and Working Through’ came next, I now can look to the future, and become a more productive member of society.

The final stage is ‘Acceptance and Hope’ – I’ve accepted the experience and decided to bottle and repress it in the back of my mind, to later seep out in forms of physical abuse to small kittens.

As they say in Israel “היה טוב, אבל טוב שהיה” “It was good, but good that it was” (rough translation).

In reality it wasn’t as bad as I thought I was while I was in it.

Outta here!

Lately the ice cream shop has been melting my mind, and not in a good way. So the other day I decided to give my notice and just work till the end of the month, and finish that chapter of my life earlier than expected.

I felt like I was going to have to break up with my boss. I wanted to find the perfect moment, be a man about, and not do it over the phone, but face to face.

I was going to let him down easy, the whole “It’s not you, It’s me” routine.

I thought up this whole story so as not to leave him suspicious that I was in fact leaving because the job was sucking my will to live. I was going to do the ‘complement sandwich’.

Eg. “this job has been a great experience, if I have to scoop one more ice cream I might just cook my face in the waffle machine, but I have really enjoyed working here.”

After two days of brooding I finally told him, ended up just blaming it on the army – “I need some time off before”.

He was completely unfazed.

I can imagine that kind of job had a high turnover of staff, but I thought we had bonded!

Before I finish there the boss is going to milk me for all the hours he can get, but it doesn’t matter coz after that life begins!

Going to go hiking in the hills, camp, eat food from a coal fire, and find an oven, couch and table which mysteriously walked out of my apartment this week. You know, just get back to walking to beat of my own drum.

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. 

A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed

I recently realised my circle of friends in Israel, who are my current acting family, is quite small.

I don’t mean circle of people I feel comfortable having a drink with or seeing out in public and having a little chat. Of those kind of people I have enough. I mean my friends friends. The people I invite over for meals and get invited in return. The people I shoot the shit with, chew the fat, banter n junk.

This isn’t something that really worries me - quality over quantity for me any day.

My worry with this group of friends is that I found myself latched onto them like a pack of angry kittens on a ball of florescent yarn, only a lot less bloodshed.

I worry that they might turn around and say, hey, we see that guy all the time, and he always uses cheap similes in his writing and often makes crude jokes about genetalia <see>. Also he’s vegetarian and smells as though he’s replaced the meat in his diet with garlic. (probably true)

To avoid the relationship getting stale I need to maintain my independence and keep my distance. So when they call me, I’m usually not expecting it, and they’re like:

“Hey man, you wanna go shoot some pool, or find a natural spring and swim in it”

Sometimes I just play it cool and say in a really lez a faire kinda way: “Nah man, would love to, but I got shit to do… ‘The Green Lantern’ movie has just loaded on my computer”

In hindsight, probably should have thought of something cooler, but everyone is so cleaver in hindsight.

Now I’m more of the opinion that I should just enjoy it while it lasts. So what if i see them 3 times a day, for coffee, brunch then beers. People love those things! And who knows they could be thinking the same thing - that they dont want to smother my will to live, n such. 

If both parties are playing it cool and keeping their distance then things just cool down too much. I’m talking James Brown cool – HOUGHH! 

And at the end of the day, they’re olim too, we need eachother.

Cooking Frenzy

Lately I’ve been in a little bit of a “let’s-be-gourmet” kind of mood. But it’s important when trying to be something to keep it rustic. You don’t want people to know you tried too hard. You want to come across casually good at cooking.

Like “[sigh and look disinterested] yeh, I just whipped up this three layered chocolate marquise with a crusted sugar top, felt like something sweet after my <something French> dinner.”

So of course I went straight to the absolute master of rustic-meets-gourmet cooking – Jamie Oliver.

He helped guide me. But, like all organised religion, it’s important not to have blind faith and stick 100% to the book. You need interpretation.

So below are pictures of the things I made recently:

1.        Parmesan, red onion, mushroom quiche I made (felt like a quickie ;-P), I even made the base from scratch. Huge hit on the Sabbath table.

2.       Thai rice paper rolls (not their not filled with Thai people, that would be racist, or sexist, or murder, or cannibalism, or some shit)

3.       <stolen image> lentil patties

I might post the recipes up soon, if you ask for them in the ‘comment’ section below.

They are Me original recipes.

Got Milk

One of my professors at uni used to say that Milton, who was blind and so got his daughters to write down his poems for him, used to wake up in the morning full of verses he had dreamt about and say “he wanted to be milkd” which is a fun metaphor. Without comparing myself to Milton, or putting sick images in your head, I just want to give a pashut update.

Start with the general:

This country’s disregard for nut allergies has just caught up with itself. Someone was killed by a Belgium waffle she was told was not coated with Nutela but rather chocolate spread (Read more). The waiter was wrong, the girl died. We all knew this was going to happen sooner or later. You lawyers out there, I’m wondering, who gets charged for manslaughter?

In other news, university students are now entering their second week of camping outside the municipal building protesting the rent prices. You can smell the camp from a larger radius each day. There was a huge march in Tel Aviv as well

This started as a protest about the high prices of cottage cheese (which has become the icon/scapegoat for the high prices of all milk products). It’s funny to see the students merge the two causes in their banners which read: “Let’s go live in Bibi’s Cottage house!”

Cottage in English is a word used for a small house, but in Hebrew it just means a house made out of cottage cheese. Funny image.

Meanwhile up the road each Friday afternoon DJ’s and bands pack the streets for a pre-Shabbat street party which are a barrel of fun. This week they covered a small area with sand and small kiddie-pools and splashed around the blearing music. If your ears didn’t melt from the heat, they would have from the music.

Still working at the ice cream store. The ice creams still taste oh so sweet and are so brightly coloured that this week a kid actually smashed her face against the glass trying to get a closer look.

I publicly apologise for laughing.

But it was hilarious head this massive thud and seeing a face print on the glass, and then the three second pause before the crying begins. She was fine after her parents stuck some ice cream in her mouth.

Despite this, the work is actually sucking the life out of my soul. To hold my sanity together I decided to embrace the inevitable shattering of sanity hoping that the paradox would confuse the system and I would leave each shift unharmed.

Halfway through tribal dancing with my eyes coated over with white chocolate spread I remembered that my boss can watch the cameras from his computer at home. Too bad I had also just used the toilet with the door open. He can enjoy that in his spare time I guess.

The other way I not amuse myself is by turning each request into an innuendo – In your end-oh!

We have a flavour called ‘alfahores’ which is based on an Argentinean biscuit, but Americans come in drunk late at night and just read half the sign and ask “What’s an ‘Alpha-whore’?”

Then some people come in and ask “Can I try your Belgium chocolate?” Having dark skin I just take a moment, laugh to myself and carry on.

Then after they take eat my Belgium Chocolate they ask if they can pay me.

Then there’s the people who say “ah its dripping all over me” and when the freezers are on too high they say “it’s so hard” and I’m just like –“ YEH IT IS!”.

See what this place is turning me into, a sick old man!

Anyway, that’s all from me, I’m out!

Tel Aviv Street Art

The Israeli culture, in my experience, is all about getting your message out there, getting your voice heard. There are many way the people here do it; some through their voice, some through their car horn, other silently through a simple hand gesture. What better way to do this than leaving a permanent mark on someone else garage door, wall or body.

Tattoo culture is getting really big. A girl I worked with got her grandfather’s number tattooed on her arm. I think that’s a bit far, but I wasn’t going to mess with a survivor wannabe.

As well as tattoos street art is also becoming popular. I’m not talking about some punk kid with one hand holding a joint and the other on a spray can attempting to write his name on a wall like COPE2 on crack. I’m talking about artists who are turning the museum inside out, tacking the art to the streets.

There’s heaps around Jerusalem, in the back streets where the cats chill with the people who jabber like prophets. But I spent the last week in Tel Aviv (with my mum) and saw a bunch of cool stuff. Not sure who the artist is or what the meaning is behind it, all I know is it makes the city more aesthetically pleasing. These are some of the shots I took:

Sydney Eyes

My mum’s been visiting here for the past week along with half the Australian Jewish community.

It has been really great to take a break from Aliyah and just enjoy being a tourist here. I’ve even taken a holiday from Hebrew. Even simple things which I know would be easier in Hebrew I say in English. I’m on holiday from Aliyah, no Hebrew. Pure tourist. I even hold a map 24/7 so people don’t even try to ask anything. I’m not from here. If someone asks for directions I just respond with a wide-eyed “Slicha, ani iparon, lo Ivrit”.

On the other hand it has been so good to give my mum a window into my life here, I think each day she’s taking to the idea of me living here more and more. She actually let me stay.

It’s also been great to take a break from kvetching and just to have my mum feed me and sleep in hotels by the beach – this is the life!

When I heard that some of my friends from Mother Oz were coming, I got quite nervous. I didn’t really feel that 6 months was enough time to set up my life to a point where I felt comfortable showing my friends. It’s was an unwelcome clash between the old and new.

I kind of anticipated that if they saw my place, job, or new friends they would instantly think to themselves; “You left us for this?”

It was difficult for me to imagine that through their ‘Sydney Eyes’ my life here would appear settled and that I would look happy – of which I am both.

By ‘Sydney Eyes’ I mean eyes that compare here, to Sydney; Firstly Jerusalem has no beach. Second, my place hasn’t been refurbished since the 70’s (it’s still swinging baby!), although there a plenty of flowers around town you often get a waft of sewage poking your nostrils like a curious kid with a packet of skewers.

Also, my city has had more conflict in a week, than the whole Australia has had in its entire history (excluding denying asylum seekers entrance, and the stolen generation).

I would just curl up into a ball of inadequacy at the thought of comparing the cities.

I decided to confront my fear by having a close friend from Sydney sleep over. We had a ball. She got along great with my roommates, enjoyed our nightlife experience with a friend of mine from Ulpan and felt comfortable in my place.

After her visit I realised I was the one who had ‘Sydney Eyes’ and that it’s me who has to get used to my lot here.

Still haven’t returned to Aliyah life yet, in fact I’m sitting on a balcony now with the rays of the late afternoon sun poking my skin looking out at an unadulterated 180 degree view of the beach.

The Mediterranean is so close I could pee in it.

But when I do return, I will jump back into Aliyah with new found vigour! Like a young stallion in the prime of his youth with nothing to lose and everything to gain. And gallop off into the horizon!

Jerusalem in the Summer

Jerusalem is about to start buzzing with culture and music and I'm getting exctied. The Shuk is going to buzzing till late at night with the smell of parsley and the buzz of poetsm live bands and I'm sure the odd screaming chanting prophet here and there. That's one thing Jerusalem seems to keep recruiting - screaming prophets.

Most of the prophets though tend to profess the present though. With dread locked bears and dirst smeared faces they grumble "AHHHH! Its HOT today! No chance of rain! And Wo unto those who dont slip, slop, slap! Thou shalt get burnt! That is thy Lord who burns you! AHHHRRGGGG"

The last couple of week my local ancient city was lit up with light instilations thoughout the city for the Jerusalem Light Festival. It was cool to see on the backdrop of ancient stones with 80's disco lights. STAM! It wasnt tacky, it was actaully really cool.

This is some examples of the instilations.

Greener Grass

The other day a friend of mine told me they were considering making Aliyah and I just about had to wrap both hands around my mouth to prevent a violent “WHY!?” from exploding out of it.

Not really sure why that was the first thing to wiz through my head. Maybe it was the result of the ache in my back from washing chocolate soiled dishes at the ice cream shop, added to the twitch I now have in my right eye from reading fine print to make sure I don’t screwed over by some asshole boss with a crafty accountant, in addition to my sore throat from explaining to the seventh person I was transferred to on the phone that in fact I am in Israel and they should be providing me with medical insurance.

Or maybe it was just because my jeans were sticking to the sweat that was running down my crack like Niagara.

Some days I really feel that you can solve both Israel’s water and electricity problems just by harnessing the water and potential hydroelectricity from the sweat that runs down Israeli’s cracks during the Middle Eastern Summer.

Today wasn’t really a rough day in the grand scheme of things, but it wasn’t a “wow! I’m living the dream” kind of day.

My morning coffee was interpreted by a siren used in war times to tell people to get to the nearest bunker.

Too bad the siren couldn’t also announce that it was a drill… If we were under attack my last words would definitely not have gotten me into heaven.

Just like in Sydney I have good days and bad days. Today I was quite pissed off at having to walk for an hour to fill out some forms so I can get payed for a job I did 2 months ago. But surprisingly after a slice of pizza with extra cheese and a couple of table spoons of Nutela, I felt a lot better.

The grass for me has been greener one this side and I’m happy. It’s just some days I have to remind myself that for green grass to flourish you also need the worms which bore through the grass like maggots through a corps, you need water, and every so often you need a little shit.

A Day in the Life of Ulpan Etzion

Sorry for the hebrew, was going to translate but really can't be assed.

 A Film By Ben Goldman

This film, although in hebrew, gives a pretty good summary of the months I spent at the Absorption Centre/Ulpan. I feel it describes the excitment, the frustration of standing in lines to sign stupid forms and then not having the right piece of paper, getting lost, dealing with the hebrew language and making friends, all of which I've probably written about somewhere in this blog.

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.

Ice Cream

Finding a job and a place to live has been great, I move in in a week and I’ve already been working for a week. I really enjoy being a part of the Ben Yehuda back drop. Seeing Birthright groups come and go and satisfying pregnant women’s craving for Snickers ice cream and Coconut sorbet. I have to admit I have started to find the work a bit mind numbing.

Two days ago I did an 11 hour shift. Which means I probably wiped sticky ice cream of the tables 55 times, scooped 123 ice cream cones (give or take) which is about 356 balls of ice cream (give or take), made 14 waffles, 12 milkshakes, 5 take away tubs of ice cream, and 4 lattés (they were for me).

Now after you’ve tasted the 26 different types of ice cream three times, you already feel a little sick, so you need a latte for some savoury. Then your mind starts playing tricks on you. You forget who ordered what ice cream and end up giving whisky flavour to a 3 year old (which is fine, they’ll just sleep well). You forget what language you meant to be speaking to the customer (Hebrew, English or French). You even forget what languages you speak. It ends up sounding like this:

  Customer: Shalom

Me: Errr…

Customer: Can I try the Twix ice cream

Me: Errr…. Weh

Customer: That’s delicious

Me: Tu vous gutey encoure?

Customer: What?

Me: Oh, סליחה, רוצה לטעום, I mean, ah, what?

<then I blame my confusion on the noise>

Me: Sorry the music’s so loud, what can I get you?

Customer: What music?

Me: … (I don’t have an answer) …We don’t have that flavour.

Customer: … (silence) Can I try the mint chocolate chip…

You get the point

I was worried that my mind was going to melt like a little boys ice cream in the Middle Eastern sun, I was worried my mind was going to get smeared all over some hungry kid’s face.

I decided to start playing mind exercises to make sure I don’t lose mine.

When I whipped down the tables I estimated how long the ice cream had been smeared over the table for. There are a lot of factors; temperature, humidity, sun/shade, thickness of the blob, even the sugar content of the flavour.

As I used my finger nails, brute elbow grease, and a thousand sprays from the Windex equivalent I turned physical labour into actuary.

It gets a little worse.

Yesterday I found myself speaking to the ice cream. “C’mon Ferrero Rocher, get in the cone, I’m always so good to you, whenever people ask me for my recommendation you’re my go to guy, why are you being difficult”.

I looked up at the confused customer, and fade out surreptitiously and faded back in with the words of the song playing in the background pretending I was singing it all along…

Besides the worry that I’m losing my mind, I also worry that I might have lost my bandaid in a scoop of strawberry sorbet.

Other than that, I get lots of visitor which is fun, and I think I’ve mastered waffle making.