Israel is a Movie, or other OR songs aren't good

In the past three years, since I caught the international travel bug with the Duke wrestling team on a romp through Poland and the Baltic countries (a trip full of stories as of yet untold, which may offer fertile soil when I'm in a dull patch like now), I've visited most of the countries in Europe, Montreal twice, Morocco once (for my only African trip), and the exotic climes of Nashville, TN. I've also lived (i.e. stayed longer than a week) in Madrid, Moscow, and now Israel.

As such, I'm a proponent of a post-national world, a place where our identities are culturally based but looser, and where our freedoms involve traveling. That's a fairly privileged, middle-class, young American male perspective, I agree. I'm not going to get into the details of any world view here, because I haven't thought one out and because it's not that interesting. Listen to parts of "Imagine" and you might get an idea of where I'm going.

But I did all that listing not to say what I was a proponent of, and not to brag (as fun as that is), but to share my experience with living abroad. Since I'm in Israel, I can say a few specific things about being a stranger in a land that is in many ways strange, and in many ways familiar.

For example, I've been approached for directions quite a few times. I get approached in other countries, yes; I tend to be an approachable sort. But, there's also the fact that I'm Jewish and look like it, which means I'm not such a strange figure in Israel. An obvious point, but still interesting; I've received a lot of practice in saying "Ani lo medeber ivrit."


I've said that Russian is something of the #4 language here, but in some instances it comes into play where English won't help. When trying to sort out all the issues with my cell phone (which I've still not sorted, because although Israel was apparently where the cell phone was invented, it was also where they invented all the possible obstacles to using one normally), I found that the operators on the helpline for Pelephone spoke Hebrew, Arabic, or Russian. I had a lot of practice speaking with a lot of Svetas or Yanas about why I had no money on my phone and how I didn't understand how much a text cost. My thinking is that most people who know English know Hebrew (and perhaps vice versa), whereas there's a significant percentage of Russians who know neither and need the specific help.

Here may also be the place to point out that I haven't yet found a freestyle wrestling club. Or more exactly, I went to a club and found judo, and that coach, a short fat Russian guy in his 50s who smokes, told me that there was a freestyle wrestling club in the same area, Bat Yam, a southern part of Tel Aviv. The problem is that the freestyle wrestling club coach is involved with the mafia, or so the story goes. Best to stay away from that...

While I'm on judo, I'd like to say that half the judoists at that practice (about 10 guys) were Russian or spoke Russian, and that if I do return to a practice as I plan on Thursday, I may end up with a fast friend in Timorbek. Timorbek is an Uzbek, a burly dark-skinned fellow who, after helping me out to get ready for practice and what not, had the following conversation with my a couple of times.
"You know, Da..what's your name again?"
"Daniel."
"Danil, you know? I took 2nd in the world in sambo."
"Oh yeah?"
"Thank you for you congratulations."
"Yeah, congrats."
"Not bad, huh?"
"Nope."

The second time we had the conversation, I remembered to congratulate him before he thanked me. I then dropped him off in Tel Aviv on my way home, a car ride which involved him saying that as wrestlers we should be friends, and that life isn't good without a girl. But he could not remember his cell phone number. Nor the name of the kid I practiced with. Timorbek isn't the sharpest fellow, it seems. But a nice guy.


Right, back on topic now. About being a foreigner. There are certain cultural things that we run into as Americans that are difficult to deal with, as a matter of our upbringing. Customer service is not a priority here; take the cellphone business, where some of the Russian ladies on the phone were kind and helpful, and others did all but call me an idiot when sending me to a kiosk to refill my phone. Or that our internet randomly cuts out with no way of asking for help. People are friendly here, but only if you're in a social setting that does not involve transactions. Actually, it just seems that way to us; a smile and patience will usually be rewarded.

Another thing is the bargaining thing here. When you go to a store and make a big purchase, supposedly you should ask, "What can you do for me?" The price is never a fixed item. The markets especially depend on bargaining, as they do most everywhere. We as Americans (myself included) hate that.

The counter to that, I've decided, is the American system of tipping, an odd concept that Steve Buscemi's character dissected in Resevoir Dogs (the only scene of a Tarantino movie I've ever seen). We're accustomed to giving 15-20% for tips, which is all nice and grand....except waiters/waitresses in the states get paid much less, with salaries built around tips. Let's just cut the crap and pay what should be owed, no? That would be the Israeli attitude, I think, and while I don't wholly agree (after all, I loved tips as a delivery driver), it's something to think about when we bitch about the bargaining.

I should add that whenever you make a large purchase (say over $75 worth), you will be offered to pay that in separate payments. They're very big on credit here, it seems, something I hope I won't adapt to.

For all the strangeness that one might face in Israel or anywhere else, at the end of the day, we return to our rooms, where our internet is usually working, and we're wired and well-connected, as the Hold Steady saying goes. Globalization and technology don't necessarily make the world smaller, but they make it all easier to handle and adjust to. Culture shock isn't quite the same when I can still keep my fantasy baseball team updated every day, and when I have millions of emails and comments to deal with about my previous blog posting and so forth. I don't shock easy as is, but these cushions take away much of the potential. Something is lost in that comfort.


But then we return to the beach, where the teachers gather after Fridays (or the occasional rough Thursday) for drinks and company. The air is calm and warm, the water warmer, the sun fading over the Mediterranean, the waves thrashing, and the sound of foreign tongues surrounds us. Every time I'm on the beach, especially at nighttime, it feels like I'm in a movie. I'll walk back from that bar to our local beach, a 15-minute walk or so, and see families cooking and camping out, or groups of 12-15 girls with lanterns in a circle, or a football team kicking a ball around and training (ok, that's usually before dusk, but indulge me), and it all falls on me as unreality.

It's a step away from this computerized, modern reality though, and a step back towards something more primal and emotional, and in the end something realer. Even with all the cushions and the strangeness, what living away from home does best is take us to a new place where we are forced to accept the reality, to appreciate it and adapt to it. And it's in those movie scenes that I feel most at home, as far away as I might be.