Tongue and Cheek, People. Tongue and Cheek.

It IS understandable, after all. 

By way of a footnote I want to ensure that readers understand that I do not intend to disrespect Israelis. I find their utter rudeness amusing, as you can guess. BUT Israelis have every right to be cantankerous. At around age 21, every Israeli serves a mandatory three-year stint in the army. All five bordering countries hate Israel, and, for the most part, would happily obliterate it if they could. It is astoundingly complicated, but the bottom line is that about  7.7 million Israelis risk their lives or risk the loss of loved ones so that approximately one-trillion Jews around the world have a safe haven to flee to if they need one. With a load like that, it is no wonder that Israelis have tough skins.

Israeli Assertiveness Training Continued: Part 4 of 4: Fun and Games on the Streets

Back to the City


We returned to Tel Aviv to continue the final and perhaps most challenging part of our training: learning how to navigate the the City by foot. Literally.


We quickly adapted to the pedestrian etiquette in Tel Aviv. 

Let’s Play Chicken!

It all comes back to Israeli love of games. The game of the road is CHICKEN! Here are the rules:


Pedestrian vs. Pedestrian--
When you are walking on the sidewalks, if you get stuck behind someone walking too slowly, simply dart around them or shove right through them. Never say s'leechah ("excuse me") to them. Not only will they have  no idea why you are talking to them, but also, following a dirty look, they will go back to blocking you.

Pedestrian vs. Motorist--
When crossing the streets, you do not necessarily have the right of way. Ever. That means in all circumstances--If there are no traffic lights, no stop signs or no black and white striped street crossings--it is anyone's guess as to whether a car will stop so that you can cross the street.


You must handle this situation with finesse. Confidence is the key. When you begin to cross the street, never show that you are afraid for your life. Step off the curb and assess the situation by glancing at the road from the corner of your eyes. If there's more than a 50% chance that an approaching car will slow down, move forward with absolute confidence that you'll cross the street before the car.  That boosts you chances of survival to 75%.

A Fitting Goodbye

At 3 AM, hours after a sad goodbye to Marian and Marissa, we were in the backseat of a taxi on our way to the airport.  In the first few minutes of the ride, we exchanged pleasantries, but then Hannah and I were too tired to continue. At 3:30 AM, our cab driver pulled over to the curb, opened the trunk and literally threw our luggage out onto the pavement. One piece landed upside down, and two landed sideways--all with their wheels hanging in the air. 

Aboard the flight home, I asked the flight attendant for a glass of water when the beverage cart was nowhere in sight. When she graciously smiled and got me the water, I wanted to get down on my knees and thank her. As I passed another person in the aisles I heard a familiar phrase: "excuse me." At that point I re-incorporated "excuse me" into my lexicon. Our deprogramming had begun.

Assertiveness Training in Israel Part 3 of 4: Sitcom in the Desert

Confounding Bedouins

On our second day in Israel, Hannah and I went to a Bedouin camp in the Judean Desert. It was a dramatic point for me because this side trip slowed my metamorphoses into a true Israeli for two days. It's all because the Bedouins in the Judean Desert were as gracious and generous as they are reputed to be.

Oops!

From the closest bus station, you can only reach the Bedouin Camp by taxi or other private transport. In the taxi on the way to the Camp, I realized I didn't have enough cash to pay for all of the taxi fare. I was figured (well hoping) that I  could exchange money into Israeli shekels by using my credit card. After all, that was how I paid for our stay. But I was wrong. When we arrived, I caught up with a Bedouin who was passing by, and he told us that they couldn't take credit cards at the Camp. Without flinching he then paid for the rest of the fare for us. It was not added to our bill.

Naturally, at the end of our stay, we were in another bind when we had to take a taxi back to the bus. So a Bedouin family of three drove us back to town in their decrepit 70s pickup truck. I sat in the front seat next to the father, who was driving. He was ranting about something, in Arabic, I think. The mother and the son were in the back; Hannah sat one side of him, the mother on the other. covered from head to toe--we could only see her eyes. For the first time, we understood what Tyra Banks has told models to do for over a decade: "smile with your eyes." She did that! She smiled with her eyes! Too bad she lived in Israel. She coulda been a contendah. When we arrived to the town, the father walked us to the bank; when we got there, without pause he turned around and left. In other words, he did not wait for a tip or any kind of compensation.



Kicking it at the Bedouin Camp



OMG

The Bedouin stay comprised a camel ride and what they aptly called "Bedouin hospitality"-- dinner and a presentation of Bedouin customs.

First thing we did was ride camels amongst a desert scene straight out of a movie. In fact, we might have been in one: a comedy. 

The camel ride was glorious. The camel not so much. At first, they were all lying under the shade of an oasis of trees--they tucked their legs underneath themselves, it was so cute! As soon as the Bedouin made them stand up, they made these awful sounds that never really stopped until we got on them. I was surprised how obnoxious they sounded. They weren't like that at the Bronx Zoo. Our camel was brought to us, and we stood by it, waiting for our turn to climb on. Suddenly OUCH--it felt like something hard hit my butt. I looked around and there was the mailto:&@#$% camel looking at me. It had bit my butt! And it hurt! Without saying a word, I moved out of harm's way and kept smiling. We Bedouins know how to handle our camels.



Butthead the Camel



The stays at the Bedouin Camp are arranged so that there is a minimum number of people who go out at once. So they combined us with other tourists. To my utter horror, they were from two bus tours. These people were loud. And self satisfied. And Obnoxious. In short, they were my worst nightmares...typical AMERICAN TOURISTS! These tourists happened to be religious zealots. They were so inspired to be traveling in the footsteps of Christ that they belted out hymns while we were riding the camels. When they weren't singing, every time we went up or down a
slope, an older  man in their group regaled us with jokes about the ride's impact his manhood.



Onward Christian Soldiers,
Spectacular Judean Desert



We were so mesmerized by the landscape that we didn't care. We saved our laughing for afterwards.



WOW!



After the camel ride, the Bedouins served delicious tea and apples, took us on a tour of their camp, and then sat us on the beautiful carpets that covered the floor of a huge tent and told us about their way of life. Their camp was in one of 7 or 8 properties that Israel had designated as Bedouin land. They make rich, smooth coffee in the same way for thousands of years. Next Muhammad, a Bedouin who has traveled all over the world with his band, played Bedouin music on his guitar while my daughter played a Bedouin percussion instrument kind of like an old-fashioned candle-maker, a thin barrel with a handle and smaller cap attached. To play it you raise the handle and hit the sides. 



Dinner was served in a tent that was huge. Hannah and I sat by ourselves on the floor at one of the low-lying tables.  The food was simply delicious. In between dinner and dessert, one of the Christian  tourists came over to say hello. A nice, pleasant woman, she shared her story....she was a teacher....she did "bad things" ....she found Jesus, and had a way of life that we needed to try....

Without looking at each other, Hannah and I simultaneously interrupted her and said, "We're Jewish."

It must have been quite a shock to run into two Jewish tourists in Israel. But she took it in stride. At first she continued to tell us about her religiosity, but quickly caught herself and changed topics.

From the Bedouin camp, we traveled a bit north, and visited the astounding and vast ruins at Masada, the last stronghold of the Jews in the Roman era. The ruins overlook the mountains on one side, and the Dead Sea on the other.

We then went down to the Dead Sea and floated. When we got out, we realized that we were about to miss the bus, and the next time it stopped was in another hour or more. We were rushing, it was cold out, and we had to go to the bathroom. In our rush we forgot to to go under the outside shower and rinse the salt off. On the bus, my butt took another beating. Every body part that touched the seat burned. When we finally arrived at our bus stop, we stumbled out the bus, and, as soon as our feet hit the pavement, we raced to the hotel. The remaining passengers probably thought we had diarrhea. They would be half way right. We were racing to the bathroom--but to the shower, not the toilet.



Please Pass the salt! (Floating on the Dead Sea.)



The next day we were back in Tel Aviv with Marian and Marissa.









The Incognito Tourist: Assertiveness Training in Israel, Part 1 of 4

The Incognito Tourist:

Assertiveness Training in Israel

Installment One

Travelling is not just about site-seeing or learning about the country. It’s about experiencing the country—experiencing life through native eyes. When I travel to other countries, I become an inhabitant and fit right into the foreign culture. My secrets are simple: Before I go I learn to say “hello,” “thank you,” and “please” in the native language; I use a regular bag and not a backpack; I never wear sneakers ( I conceal the inevitable blisters); and I never ask directions unless I have been wandering aimlessly  for at least an hour.

However, on a recent two-week trip to Israel with my daughter Hannah, it took us a bit more than usual to grasp the Golden Rule:

The Hebrew word for “excuse me” is “s’leechah” (guttural “ch”).  NEVER EVER USE IT!

Even the softest utterance of this platitude invites abject humiliation and blatant scorn.

We flew to Tel Aviv where my niece Marissa has been living for the year.  Several days later her mother, Marian, would join us.

Tel Aviv is a fun, sea side city that is on the cusp of civilization. The beaches on the Mediterranean are gorgeous.  The ubiquitous cafes are unique, their fare delicious; the architecture is eclectic and cutting edge; and the night life is said to be smashing. I am sure that the fashion is sure to catch up some time in the near future.

Once we learned the Golden Rule, it didn’t take long to understand the ins and outs of this complex culture:

Every Question is Dumb

--On the first morning of our stay, the hotel receptionist put a quick stop to my questions about the locations of various sites, tourist information offices and places to exchange my dollars into sheckles. Although I was obviously in a jet-lagged, nonfunctional haze, he cleverly deflected my questions by appraising me of the facts that 1, it is not hard to navigate a map; and 2, there was a tourist info office close by that could answer my questions. (Said map was one of those that hotels give out that are missing three quarters of the city streets.) (Said tourist office was simply a tourist bookstore with personnel who had no clue about traveling in Israel.)

--This lesson was solidified in Jerusalem, on the morning of my daughter’s beautiful Bat Mitzvah. Jerusalem, of course, is as magical and wondrous as one might imagine from a glance at the Bible. It was a great privilege for us to have my daughter Bat Mitzvahed there. We did everything we could to make it happen—through a network of generous people starting with our friend Adam.

The night before the Bat Mitzvah, the rabbi had told me to bring sweet wine and a sweet to the ceremony, which was first thing the next morning. We got up extra early the next morning so we had plenty of time to get to the store. Up until that point, some of the people working in the grocery stores did not speak English. So in Jerusalem that morning, I thought I’d save us some time by stopping by the receptionist’s desk on the way to the store. I asked the receptionist how to say “sweet wine” in Hebrew. What a faux pas! Instead of answering my question, the receptionist replied that I didn’t need to know it because in that well-touristed area, all the store owners know English. Still, I persisted. Still the guy didn’t tell me what I wanted to know. After a brief impasse, his colleague confirmed that I didn’t need to know how to speak Hebrew at the store. Minutes later, we were at the store, playing a hearty round of charades with the store owner. Why? Because he didn’t speak English.

The Mediterranean Coast in Tel Aviv

Bar Mitzvah in Jerusalem 

Contention as a Way of Life

--One day while we were in Tel Aviv, we went to a bank to exchange dollars for sheckels. I was fourth in the bank-teller line directly behind an elderly woman who was vehemently arguing with a young man standing at the teller’s window.  With much animation and gesticulation, they argued back and forth—then it got a little more intense and the two started yelling at each other, of course in Hebrew. 

In between swipes, the old woman would turn back to me to exchange pleasantries in English.  It went like this: I am behind the woman, we’re both facing forward. She yells at the guy in Hebrew, he yells back in Hebrew, she turns to me, and in perfectly civilized English, asks me how long I have been in Israel.  Lest he forget she was angry, she turns back to the man, yells some more; he yells back, she turns to me and sweetly asks, “Where are you visiting while you’re here?” After a few more rounds, I finally asked her what the argument was about. She explained to me that the guy was slowing down the line by doing a huge time-consuming transaction that should not be done at a teller’s window.  He was so guilt-ridden, she explained, that he felt the need to tell her the reason he took such a long transaction to the bank teller. (I guess the need to get it all off of his back was so strong that he screamed it. )

Of course, not all was so bad. I showed her my map and asked her for directions.  She wasn’t sure, but the guy in back of me gave me directions in perfect English.  I am confident that the Israelis were as impressed with my English as I was with theirs.  After all, they thought I was Israeli too!

Let me set the context for the  part of our assertiveness training. There is no place in Israel that is devoid of fascinating history and rich culture.  One day we rented a car and went up north of the Sea of Galilee, almost all the way to the border of Syria.

First, we went to a park north of the Sea of Galilee, near the Syrian border. We visited historic sites from 3,00 BC to 1967. Part of a small waterway ran through the park—In 1967 Six Day War Syria attached Israel for control of this tiny water source. (The Syrians lost and Israel pushed the Syrian border back, part of which was given back in the next war as part of negoti.ations.) As we walked among ruins from 1200 BC, we saw the old and the new Syrian border.  Then we then drove to another historical site nearby -- ruins of Israel’s oldest middle-aged fort, the Nimrod Castle. 

--At the entrance to Nimrod’s Castle, the security guard refused to sell us a youth or student ticket for 15-year-old Hannah because we had no proof of her age.  Marissa was valiantly steadfast; she would not change her argument, which relied on the obvious. Hannah looks her age—or certainly younger than 18. But the ticket agent was a formidable opponent. He did not even let anything distract him--including the honking of the cars behind us, waiting to enter the Castle. In the end, the security gardy could not overcome the obvious, and we bought Hannah a youth ticket.

--Nimrod’s castle was wonderful. Dating back to the 1300’s, it was relatively young. It was really cool because there were a few new additions over the years, and it was used as a fortress right on up to the 1967 War, when the Israelis pushed back the Syrian border (as we saw in the other park). There was even a romantic tale to be told--very recently a tourist found a note in a bottle that was left by French soldiers, commissioned to stand guard during WWI.  The note listed the members of the battalion and granted its finder ownership of it.

--At some point, Hannah, Marissa and Marian had gone off into another part of the castle; and I was alone reading a plaque with a historical explanation. I could hear the frolicking of child and his family nearby. The father broke off from the group and approached the plaque. Apparently the high winds that day must have swept some sand in his eyes. He must not have noticed that there was no one else in sight besides me. He came right over to the plaque and stood a few feet directly in front of me, and began to read.

That was my chance—the incognito tourist was ready to go Israeli and chastise this guy for intentionally blocking my view. Since I didn’t know much Hebrew, I gave the guy’s back a sour, dirty look raised my arms towards him in exasperation. By then the wife had caught up and she saw me do that. She grabbed his arm and then uttered the forbidden—“s’leechah.”

What a moment!!!  I WON! What an amazing moment: a respectable exchange between Israelis!

Well….almost. My triumph didn’t last long. Of course the husband did not move out of the way. He yelled at his wife, turned around and scornfully looked at me, turned back to his wife, argued with her some more, turned around looked me up and down, and then gave me a look that almost shrunk me down to inches. But then he did step aside. I had already finished reading the sign, but I was righteous. I stayed a little bit longer to make a point.

(No doubt the husband must have told the wife I could move if I needed to, but I stood my ground.)

                                             Waterway under Contention in 1967



Nimrod's Castle





3,000 BC  entrance to .....