Me to Friend: How did your mortgage meeting go at the bank?
Friend to Me: Great! We are approved for the mortgage! But we have to have another meeting.
Me: Why?
Friend: Well, they ran out of paper.
Me: What does that even mean?
Friend: The copy machine. It ran out of paper. So they could not print out our information.
Me: There was no backup paper? No other copier?
Friend: Nope!
Me: And I guess nobody’s job description in the bank includes running to Office Depot for more paper.
Friend: Nope.
Me: Well, congratulations!
Life insurance agent to me: Do you have any extreme hobbies?
Me to life insurance agent: Like jumping out of airplanes?
Agent: Yes. Somesing dangerous. Like jumping out of airplanes.
Me: Like living in the West Bank with many small children?
Agent: Well, this sounds very dangerous but it is not considered an extreme hobby.
Me: So then, no. No extreme hobbies.
Bob to me: Check out that lady’s grocery cart.
Me to bob: Wow! She’s really organized in there.
Bob: Look how she has the Nestea all standing upright on the bottom.
Me: I know! Look how she has every dot of space utilized perfectly!
Bob: I think we are staring.
Me: No, don’t worry – tell her! Tell her how impressive her cart is!
Bob: You know what? I think I will.
Proceeds to compliment woman on the immaculate organization of her cart. Woman responds with encouraging words of how tranquil life can be if one is just organized.
Me: Take a good look, Bob. She’s the one that got away.
Later
Me: You know, in Israel it’s an ideal to be so MISUDAR (organized). In America, there’s a clinical diagnosis for people like that woman. It’s called OCD.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Swirling Thoughts #206 - You've got mail!
We've finally reduced mail collection intervals to about once every 2 weeks. Which is a noticeable improvement (read: mail box is not stuffed/jammed/overflowing). Granted, the mail sits in a shopping bag on my buffet server for an additional week or two before I even take a crack at it, but who’s counting?
Well, maybe my downstairs neighbor who probably missed the wedding for which his invitation was (most unfortunately) lost in the black hole that is my mail pile.
And my around the corner neighbor who’s Rami Levy membership cards were (mistakenly) mixed in with my pile of neglect.
Maybe my ulpan is taking. Or maybe I feel guilty about the attention I don’t give my mail. Whatever the motivation, I actually made a good faith effort to read the mail today. And I noticed a few things. You’ll notice much of what I noticed was actually in English. But no matter.
I’m sure everyone’s mail looks just like mine
This one is by far the winner of todays prize for 'mail that is funny without trying to be funny'. I mean, funny in that Israeli paradoxical existence way. That says it's normal to showcase clowns alongside bomb-sniffing dogs.
Well, maybe my downstairs neighbor who probably missed the wedding for which his invitation was (most unfortunately) lost in the black hole that is my mail pile.
And my around the corner neighbor who’s Rami Levy membership cards were (mistakenly) mixed in with my pile of neglect.
Maybe my ulpan is taking. Or maybe I feel guilty about the attention I don’t give my mail. Whatever the motivation, I actually made a good faith effort to read the mail today. And I noticed a few things. You’ll notice much of what I noticed was actually in English. But no matter.
I’m sure everyone’s mail looks just like mine
This cute graphic was part of the electric bill. The guy all bundled up with earmuffs on the right is saying:
I feel like a popsicle!
The guy in the wife-beater with sunburn on the left is saying:
There's no need to freeze! 25 degrees is enough!
Maybe 25 C (77 F) is enough for him! He looks sort of happy - maybe satisfied with his electric bill - but not truly comfortable. If the drawing was of me, on the other hand, you would see me as comfy as can be, oblivious to my bill, happily advocating for a cool 21 C (69.8 F). 
This really important looking bill (note how I cleverly deleted Bob's personal information!) is my TV Tax Bill. For TV service. Which I do not have. And, as such, I ignore this bill. What I do have is a 42 inch screen. The purchase of which alerted the TV police to my existence. I'm just waiting for them to show up one day. I will invite them in to watch Season One of the Brady Bunch.
This next one is my Bank Statement (unbelievably) in English! I scanned it today, taking note of the putter-inners (Bituach Leumi child payments, Kupat Cholim reimbursements) and the taker-outers (Bituach Leumi husband payouts, Kupat Cholim monthly premium). I noticed a pattern of sorts. The housing department is a putter-inner around the first of each month (an aliyah benefit? most likely! thank you very much, housing department!) while the 'Osher Comm. is a taker-outer. But what is the 'Osher Comm.? And what are they doing with 17.95 of my shekels on the first of each month? Osher means happiness. Is this a happiness fee?
This one is by far the winner of todays prize for 'mail that is funny without trying to be funny'. I mean, funny in that Israeli paradoxical existence way. That says it's normal to showcase clowns alongside bomb-sniffing dogs.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Swirling Thoughts #205 - How do we cope?
Everyone has their fallback coping mechanisms. I have one friend who eats. Another who starves. Some shop. Some read. Some watch TV.
I cook and bake. I plan menus and shop for ingredients. And I talk about cooking, baking, menus and ingredients with whoever’s interested. For me it’s total escape and comfort.
Since we made aliyah, I’ve fine tuned how to prepare some of the special foods my family is accustomed to eating. Syrian delicacies such as lahamagine (little meat pizzas?) and yebrat (grape leaves stuffed with meat and rice). Persian staples such as gundi (a chickpea and meat dumpling) and ashpolo (a pyramid of rice, chicken, carrots and raisins).
Unlike Brooklyn, where abundant full-service Middle Eastern groceries carry everything from raw ingredients to ready made cuisine, my experience in the actual Middle East is that such groceries do not exist.
There is Machane Yehuda, the shuk, which is as close as I’ve gotten. There you can find the rare vendor who knows, himself, what oot (temerhindi) is, but none of his workers have ever heard of it. There’s a ka’ak guy selling something that looks like ka’ak. They even call it ka’ak. But it’s just not. I once asked for ele’gefen (grape leaves) and was shown ready made parve yebrat. Like the kind they sell in a can. I had to go to the Arab vendors in the Iraqi shuk to get the actual leaves. Incidentally, they knew exactly what I was asking for and why.
And so, I’ve figured out oot (equal parts temerhindi paste and date honey), grape leaves (buy them fresh and boil them for 1 minute), allspice (ground English Pepper), chickpea flour (kemach humus), and even rose and orange water (which, imported from Lebanon to NY, come in tall bottles and are mostly water – here they come in tiny vials and are so concentrated, I use half a drop at a time).
Sadly, certain culinary staples we’ve let go. Our daily ka’ak is but a faint memory. So much so that we are able to eat shuk ka’ak with ever-diminishing reluctance.
Sembusak is a whole other story. Without the ready-made semolina dough easily available (yes, I know about the lady in Givat Shaul who sells dough), I tackled the daunting task of making the buttery pastry from scratch. For my only son, who lived on sembusak before we made aliyah, could I do any less? Except that my homemade version was too grainy (coarser semolina), too buttery (the ready made dough is made with margarine), too different.
Suffice it to say, I refuse to spend 3 hours making sembusak if my son, for whom I am making it, refuses to eat it. I’ve been in refusal for close to two years. And then my friend Tuni showed up with a bag of sembusak.
We baked Tuni’s sembusak and then fought over every last one of them. I shamelessly ate them from the tray before I served them to the kids, instructing them to take only one at a time. I made sure my baby had one (her first!) and then, as Asher took a sniff and rejected them without trying, it occurred to me that the rest of my family loves sembusak and that I need to get back to the business of making sembusak. I called Tuni for her (mother in law’s) recipe which called for an ingredient usually found in ka’ak – machlab.
If I was in Brooklyn I would have called my mother in law, my sister in law’s mother and a handful of friends to confirm that they’d ever heard of putting machlab in sembusak. Here all I could do was ask Tuni if she was sure that was correct. She assured me it was.
I have a good friend here who picks up my temerhindi paste from a certain spice guy in the shuk. She’s never used oot and, in fact, I showed her the packaging so she would know how to buy it. Now my friend, who, until recentely, didn’t know what a lahamagine was, brings me the quintessential lahamagine ingredient almost weekly. This week when she offered to pick me up temerhindi paste or anything else in the shuk, I couldn’t shake this desire I’ve had for the past few weeks to try my hand once again at sembusak. And every time I think of Tuni’s recipe and the machlab, I think of homemade ka’ak.
When Bob and I first got married, eager to please and impress, I took out the Red Deal Delights cookbook my mother in law had so lovingly bestowed upon me. I looked up the recipe for ka’ak, quickly shopped for the exotic ingredients at the Middle Eastern grocery across the street from our apartment, and started preparing the bracelet rounds. At some point the recipe instructed me to dip the bracelets into beaten egg and then to dip them into sesame seeds.
This is where I need to mention that I did not grow up making or eating ka’ak. In fact, the first time I took a bite of one I was expecting a sweet cookie. I nearly choked.
And so, as per my literal interpretation of the recipe instructions, I took each round, fully dipped it into beaten egg and then fully coated it with sesame seeds. Bob walked in as I was halfway through.
No, no. Not like that! Like this!
And for the first and only time in our 13 years of marriage, Bob rolled up his sleeves and dipped ka’ak with me – the proper way (a light brush of beaten egg, ideally with the palm of your hand and then a light dip into sesame seeds). It’s no wonder I went on to edit cookbooks. I had a keen appreciation for highly detailed recipe instructions that needed to be nurtured.
I answered my friend’s offer via email.
Can you ask the spice guy for machlab?
Can I ask what that is?
Why, it’s ground cherry stones. (Okay, so I only know this because I did edit two cookbooks subsequent to my ka’ak fiasco).
May I ask what you use it for?
Ka’ak. And sembusak.
Can you translate that into my language?
Those sesame bagelas you see in the shuk? Those are ka’ak. Sort of. And sembusak is a buttery cheese pastry.
Sounds hard. You should buy them!
I wish I could!
I warned my friend that once she walks into the spice guy and asks for machlab, after asking for temerhindi paste for the last month, he will never believe that she is not Sephardic. No matter what she tells him. Sure enough, she asked for the machlab and he offered her a taste of his wife’s freshly homemade ka’ak. He had the plate hidden under the counter. He wasn’t giving out ka’ak samples to every customer. I’m sure he felt that as a member of an insider’s club of sorts, she would surely appreciate it. And she did.
I made lahamagine last night. And today. There are two stages of production when you make the dough yourself. I sent over a plate to my friend to taste the delicacy she made possible.
It’s her new favorite food.
Now she’s asking when I’ll be making the ka’ak.
I cook and bake. I plan menus and shop for ingredients. And I talk about cooking, baking, menus and ingredients with whoever’s interested. For me it’s total escape and comfort.
Since we made aliyah, I’ve fine tuned how to prepare some of the special foods my family is accustomed to eating. Syrian delicacies such as lahamagine (little meat pizzas?) and yebrat (grape leaves stuffed with meat and rice). Persian staples such as gundi (a chickpea and meat dumpling) and ashpolo (a pyramid of rice, chicken, carrots and raisins).
Unlike Brooklyn, where abundant full-service Middle Eastern groceries carry everything from raw ingredients to ready made cuisine, my experience in the actual Middle East is that such groceries do not exist.
There is Machane Yehuda, the shuk, which is as close as I’ve gotten. There you can find the rare vendor who knows, himself, what oot (temerhindi) is, but none of his workers have ever heard of it. There’s a ka’ak guy selling something that looks like ka’ak. They even call it ka’ak. But it’s just not. I once asked for ele’gefen (grape leaves) and was shown ready made parve yebrat. Like the kind they sell in a can. I had to go to the Arab vendors in the Iraqi shuk to get the actual leaves. Incidentally, they knew exactly what I was asking for and why.
And so, I’ve figured out oot (equal parts temerhindi paste and date honey), grape leaves (buy them fresh and boil them for 1 minute), allspice (ground English Pepper), chickpea flour (kemach humus), and even rose and orange water (which, imported from Lebanon to NY, come in tall bottles and are mostly water – here they come in tiny vials and are so concentrated, I use half a drop at a time).
Sadly, certain culinary staples we’ve let go. Our daily ka’ak is but a faint memory. So much so that we are able to eat shuk ka’ak with ever-diminishing reluctance.
Sembusak is a whole other story. Without the ready-made semolina dough easily available (yes, I know about the lady in Givat Shaul who sells dough), I tackled the daunting task of making the buttery pastry from scratch. For my only son, who lived on sembusak before we made aliyah, could I do any less? Except that my homemade version was too grainy (coarser semolina), too buttery (the ready made dough is made with margarine), too different.
Suffice it to say, I refuse to spend 3 hours making sembusak if my son, for whom I am making it, refuses to eat it. I’ve been in refusal for close to two years. And then my friend Tuni showed up with a bag of sembusak.
We baked Tuni’s sembusak and then fought over every last one of them. I shamelessly ate them from the tray before I served them to the kids, instructing them to take only one at a time. I made sure my baby had one (her first!) and then, as Asher took a sniff and rejected them without trying, it occurred to me that the rest of my family loves sembusak and that I need to get back to the business of making sembusak. I called Tuni for her (mother in law’s) recipe which called for an ingredient usually found in ka’ak – machlab.
If I was in Brooklyn I would have called my mother in law, my sister in law’s mother and a handful of friends to confirm that they’d ever heard of putting machlab in sembusak. Here all I could do was ask Tuni if she was sure that was correct. She assured me it was.
I have a good friend here who picks up my temerhindi paste from a certain spice guy in the shuk. She’s never used oot and, in fact, I showed her the packaging so she would know how to buy it. Now my friend, who, until recentely, didn’t know what a lahamagine was, brings me the quintessential lahamagine ingredient almost weekly. This week when she offered to pick me up temerhindi paste or anything else in the shuk, I couldn’t shake this desire I’ve had for the past few weeks to try my hand once again at sembusak. And every time I think of Tuni’s recipe and the machlab, I think of homemade ka’ak.
When Bob and I first got married, eager to please and impress, I took out the Red Deal Delights cookbook my mother in law had so lovingly bestowed upon me. I looked up the recipe for ka’ak, quickly shopped for the exotic ingredients at the Middle Eastern grocery across the street from our apartment, and started preparing the bracelet rounds. At some point the recipe instructed me to dip the bracelets into beaten egg and then to dip them into sesame seeds.
This is where I need to mention that I did not grow up making or eating ka’ak. In fact, the first time I took a bite of one I was expecting a sweet cookie. I nearly choked.
And so, as per my literal interpretation of the recipe instructions, I took each round, fully dipped it into beaten egg and then fully coated it with sesame seeds. Bob walked in as I was halfway through.
No, no. Not like that! Like this!
And for the first and only time in our 13 years of marriage, Bob rolled up his sleeves and dipped ka’ak with me – the proper way (a light brush of beaten egg, ideally with the palm of your hand and then a light dip into sesame seeds). It’s no wonder I went on to edit cookbooks. I had a keen appreciation for highly detailed recipe instructions that needed to be nurtured.
I answered my friend’s offer via email.
Can you ask the spice guy for machlab?
Can I ask what that is?
Why, it’s ground cherry stones. (Okay, so I only know this because I did edit two cookbooks subsequent to my ka’ak fiasco).
May I ask what you use it for?
Ka’ak. And sembusak.
Can you translate that into my language?
Those sesame bagelas you see in the shuk? Those are ka’ak. Sort of. And sembusak is a buttery cheese pastry.
Sounds hard. You should buy them!
I wish I could!
I warned my friend that once she walks into the spice guy and asks for machlab, after asking for temerhindi paste for the last month, he will never believe that she is not Sephardic. No matter what she tells him. Sure enough, she asked for the machlab and he offered her a taste of his wife’s freshly homemade ka’ak. He had the plate hidden under the counter. He wasn’t giving out ka’ak samples to every customer. I’m sure he felt that as a member of an insider’s club of sorts, she would surely appreciate it. And she did.
I made lahamagine last night. And today. There are two stages of production when you make the dough yourself. I sent over a plate to my friend to taste the delicacy she made possible.
It’s her new favorite food.
Now she’s asking when I’ll be making the ka’ak.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Swirling Thoughts #204 - you say forests are for camping. i say forests are for spas.
If you see dinnertime is an opportunity to counterbalance the effects of a day of sugary and salty snacks (staples of the “I’ll pack it myself, Mom!” school lunch), you’ll find the last two weeks of school to be of dubious nutritional intake.
First there is the week in which each class celebrates the culmination of its learning with an evening of song and coordinated dancing. Whether in Hevron (potato borekas), at the school itself (candy, potato chips, hot dogs), or in the old city of Jerusalem (rumors of pizza), the performances and ensuing nachas offer sufficient sustenance to the parent-only audiences.
By the second week, in which each after school activity enjoys a night in the spotlight (guitar, taekwondo, gymnastics) the siblings (who are now encouraged to join the audience) are getting a little antsy. And so we bring dinner along. With proper planning, that could be noodles, fish sticks, cheese borekas, freezer pizza squares. Poor planning could yield the dinner we had last Wednesday night. A shared bag of Bissli followed by ice cream for everyone.
Bob returned from two back-to-back trips to America, delirious from jet lag. He missed all the school celebrations but was just in time for our anniversary getaway. Which I planned because I wanted luxury. Bob wanted camping.
As my kids enjoyed their last few moments of school, Bob and I snuck off to the Carmel Spa for pampering and (more than) our fill of legendary healthy cuisine.
Are you sure you don’t want to go camping?
Please get directions to the spa.
When you look up Carmel Spa, it shows up as being in Haifa. And so we got on our favorite road, Kveesh Shesh (the pay road, for which we finally figured out how to pay), and drove to Haifa. On our way, Bob was most certain he saw a tehine tanker.
Did you see that tehine truck?
That’s an oil tanker!
But it said Tehine on the side.
Do you seriously think there’s an oil tanker filled with tehine driving around Israel?
Yes. Yes I do.
We continued on and I spotted a red velvet couch. In the middle of an olive grove. I’m not delirious from jet lag, either.
Did you see that couch?
No, where?
In that olive grove, next to the plush green office chair. It was red velvet!
As we approached Haifa we drove through an Experimental Area.
What do you think an Experimental Area is?
I had no witty reply for this and in fact, I just now looked it up on-line.
Seems the Iranians (who’ve been accusing Israel of stealing their rain clouds) are following the experimental work of Israeli scientists who are trying to turn desert dust into rain clouds. Or something like that. In Experimental Areas in the North and in the South.
We arrived in Haifa and started our ascent up toward the Carmel, as per every sign we saw. When we weren’t sure we asked the locals.
Carmel?
Lamala! (Up!)
And so comes the cruel punch line.
The Carmel Spa, Haifa is neither in Haifa nor in the Carmel. I know I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. Israel truly is an insiders club.
And so, after a scenic two hour tour of Haifa, we made our way to the Carmel Forest Spa, located deep in the Carmel Forest. But not before we happened upon these guys.
The drive in was eery.
For the rest of our visit we kept an eye on this woman (who turned up everywhere) keeping an eye on all of us. The first night at dinner, she was at the next table.
Bob was excited to try the food.
Let’s go check out the salad bar.
I’ll wait here until you come back.
The kids are not here. We can go to the salad bar together!
But your phone is here. I’m worried about… you know, the cell phone police.
We loved the food. But Bob was suspicious of the corn chowder. How could it be so thick, so creamy, so satisfying, and yet healthy? He posited a theory.
I think the food here is made to be delicious and they make it seem healthy but in reality it is NOT.
That’s a pretty bold statement.
He pointed to the corn chowder as evidence.
Tomorrow I will call their healthy food bluff.
Please don’t.
The spa was filled with detail people. Towel folders, chair pusher-inners, candle blower-outers. My friend told me when she was there she noticed a guy whose sole task was shpritzing bottles of the signature Carmel Spa scent all around the hotel.
The trip was indulgence defined. Lazy swims, fuzzy robes, treatments, relaxing in the garden, and 3 delicious meals daily. We had a great time and a ton of laughs. Bob enjoyed himself, even as he poked fun.
What’s people’s fascination with walking around all day in a robe? And getting rubbed?
But I got him to join the hotel “club” so we can enjoy discounts in the future.
Will you agree to come back?
Can we go camping in between?
Once I give birth? Absolutely.
Then, yes. We can come back.
And so we returned home, rejuvenated, pampered, refreshed, to a bunch of missed cell phone calls and, more importantly, to a bunch of kids who were all too happy to eat Bissli, instant soup and pizza in our absence.
First there is the week in which each class celebrates the culmination of its learning with an evening of song and coordinated dancing. Whether in Hevron (potato borekas), at the school itself (candy, potato chips, hot dogs), or in the old city of Jerusalem (rumors of pizza), the performances and ensuing nachas offer sufficient sustenance to the parent-only audiences.
By the second week, in which each after school activity enjoys a night in the spotlight (guitar, taekwondo, gymnastics) the siblings (who are now encouraged to join the audience) are getting a little antsy. And so we bring dinner along. With proper planning, that could be noodles, fish sticks, cheese borekas, freezer pizza squares. Poor planning could yield the dinner we had last Wednesday night. A shared bag of Bissli followed by ice cream for everyone.
Bob returned from two back-to-back trips to America, delirious from jet lag. He missed all the school celebrations but was just in time for our anniversary getaway. Which I planned because I wanted luxury. Bob wanted camping.
As my kids enjoyed their last few moments of school, Bob and I snuck off to the Carmel Spa for pampering and (more than) our fill of legendary healthy cuisine.
Are you sure you don’t want to go camping?
Please get directions to the spa.
When you look up Carmel Spa, it shows up as being in Haifa. And so we got on our favorite road, Kveesh Shesh (the pay road, for which we finally figured out how to pay), and drove to Haifa. On our way, Bob was most certain he saw a tehine tanker.
Did you see that tehine truck?
That’s an oil tanker!
But it said Tehine on the side.
Do you seriously think there’s an oil tanker filled with tehine driving around Israel?
Yes. Yes I do.
We continued on and I spotted a red velvet couch. In the middle of an olive grove. I’m not delirious from jet lag, either.
Did you see that couch?
No, where?
In that olive grove, next to the plush green office chair. It was red velvet!
As we approached Haifa we drove through an Experimental Area.
What do you think an Experimental Area is?
I had no witty reply for this and in fact, I just now looked it up on-line.
Seems the Iranians (who’ve been accusing Israel of stealing their rain clouds) are following the experimental work of Israeli scientists who are trying to turn desert dust into rain clouds. Or something like that. In Experimental Areas in the North and in the South.
We arrived in Haifa and started our ascent up toward the Carmel, as per every sign we saw. When we weren’t sure we asked the locals.
Carmel?
Lamala! (Up!)
And so comes the cruel punch line.
The Carmel Spa, Haifa is neither in Haifa nor in the Carmel. I know I’ve said it before but it bears repeating. Israel truly is an insiders club.
Evidence in support of my claim
* The vowels, yes, we know.
There are none. To read Hebrew you must already know the words.
* The Carmel
Spa. It’s listed in Haifa. Why on earth would you then not go to Haifa. Why on
earth is there a place in Haifa called Carmel that is not the location of the
Carmel Spa. And if this is a 5-star destination of tourists, why is getting
there shrouded in secrecy (our story was matched by at least 4 other couples
once we arrived).
* The maps. Better yet, Google maps. Overloading you with
undeserved confidence in how to drive from door to door, Google maps relies on
good old fashioned street names. OF WHICH ISRAEL HAS NONE.
Conclusion: You must know the language, know that names
of places are not necessarily the names of places, and know the names of streets
which appear to be nameless. An insider’s club? For certain!
And so, after a scenic two hour tour of Haifa, we made our way to the Carmel Forest Spa, located deep in the Carmel Forest. But not before we happened upon these guys.
The drive in was eery.
Do you think it’s strange one of Israel’s top luxury spas is flanked by prisons on both sides?
Maybe.
Maybe.
There were charred trees all around us. Just as I wondered if a particular spot was where the prison guards had been caught in the fire, just six months ago, we passed a makeshift memorial urging us to remember the fallen guards.
My babysitter had told us about new growth in the forest. I shifted my attention to the new growth.
We arrived, more than ready to commence relaxation and pampering. My cell phone rang as we were checking in and a slight woman, not taller than myself, bum-rushed me out the front door, all the while pointing to signs prohibiting cell phone use in the hotel’s public areas.
My babysitter had told us about new growth in the forest. I shifted my attention to the new growth.
We arrived, more than ready to commence relaxation and pampering. My cell phone rang as we were checking in and a slight woman, not taller than myself, bum-rushed me out the front door, all the while pointing to signs prohibiting cell phone use in the hotel’s public areas.
For the rest of our visit we kept an eye on this woman (who turned up everywhere) keeping an eye on all of us. The first night at dinner, she was at the next table.
Bob was excited to try the food.
Let’s go check out the salad bar.
I’ll wait here until you come back.
The kids are not here. We can go to the salad bar together!
But your phone is here. I’m worried about… you know, the cell phone police.
We loved the food. But Bob was suspicious of the corn chowder. How could it be so thick, so creamy, so satisfying, and yet healthy? He posited a theory.
I think the food here is made to be delicious and they make it seem healthy but in reality it is NOT.
That’s a pretty bold statement.
He pointed to the corn chowder as evidence.
Tomorrow I will call their healthy food bluff.
Please don’t.
The spa was filled with detail people. Towel folders, chair pusher-inners, candle blower-outers. My friend told me when she was there she noticed a guy whose sole task was shpritzing bottles of the signature Carmel Spa scent all around the hotel.
The trip was indulgence defined. Lazy swims, fuzzy robes, treatments, relaxing in the garden, and 3 delicious meals daily. We had a great time and a ton of laughs. Bob enjoyed himself, even as he poked fun.
What’s people’s fascination with walking around all day in a robe? And getting rubbed?
But I got him to join the hotel “club” so we can enjoy discounts in the future.
Will you agree to come back?
Can we go camping in between?
Once I give birth? Absolutely.
Then, yes. We can come back.
And so we returned home, rejuvenated, pampered, refreshed, to a bunch of missed cell phone calls and, more importantly, to a bunch of kids who were all too happy to eat Bissli, instant soup and pizza in our absence.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Swirling Thoughts #203 - the yoman reshet has made its impact!
Somebody’s been paying attention
I’ve been asking these questions since I got here. Did Israelis never need a svetshirt, eat a sanvich or a mahfin, go on a dayt, or be in shok before Anglos showed up? Of course they did! And now the Misrad ha Chinuch (the people who invented school, according to Asher), have implemented a campaign throughout our Anglo community to let us know that in Israel, we speak Hebrew.
There are signs hanging all over Efrat, each with a word that has been adapted from the English (such as shampu, deesk, trampolina, teeshu & veeroos), followed by the official Hebrew word (for shampoo, disk, trampoline, tissue and virus).
I’ve been busy compiling my photo mi-lone (dictionary). The highlights, so far…
I’ve been asking these questions since I got here. Did Israelis never need a svetshirt, eat a sanvich or a mahfin, go on a dayt, or be in shok before Anglos showed up? Of course they did! And now the Misrad ha Chinuch (the people who invented school, according to Asher), have implemented a campaign throughout our Anglo community to let us know that in Israel, we speak Hebrew.
There are signs hanging all over Efrat, each with a word that has been adapted from the English (such as shampu, deesk, trampolina, teeshu & veeroos), followed by the official Hebrew word (for shampoo, disk, trampoline, tissue and virus).
I’ve been busy compiling my photo mi-lone (dictionary). The highlights, so far…
AHN-LIYN (mekuvan)
GPS (navtan)
and my favorite,
BLOG (yoman reshet).
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Swirling Thoughts #202 – a mixed bag
I got a call today from Asher
Mom, we have a substitute teacher for math today and he doesn’t want me to wear my hat. He said to go the mazkiroot (secretary's office) for a yarmulke but I don’t want to do that because, you know...LICE! And I can’t tell the teacher that! So can you please bring me my yarmulke from home?
Otiot
Rosie was talking about otiot (letters) on Shabbat. So Bob asked her,
What are otiot in English?
Pause.
Aye-bees!
I’m losing sight of the weirdness!
It seemed so totally natural for the Teva Outlet at Kfar Etzion to be selling cherries today – after all, cherry season is only exactly one month long and most of the cherry trees in Gush Etzion seem to be concentrated right around Kfar Etzion. Asher was excited to see I had picked up cherries.
Where’d you get the cherries, Mom?
At the shoe store!
Mom! Cherries at the shoe store?
I guess that is kind of weird.
When spiritual nourishment is not enough
Becky has her end of the year siyum/mesibah/celebration-thing this Tuesday in the Old City of Jerusalem. There’s actually a grainy map of the Old City that came with the invitation pointing to the specific location. I can’t make heads or tails of the map so I’m excited to see where I end up. I’ve heard about this siyum/mesibah/celebration-thing. I’ve heard it is really special, meaningful, amazing and 3 hours long at dinner time with absolutely no dinner served. So I am getting ready. Grainy map, check. Camera, check. Potato chips, granola bars, water bottles, check.
When enough is enough!
Rosie was talking about how her swim teachers keep rotating in a degem (pattern). Before I could coax the meaning of degem out of her, Becky interrupted.
Rosie, can you please speak in ENGLISH?
Mom, we have a substitute teacher for math today and he doesn’t want me to wear my hat. He said to go the mazkiroot (secretary's office) for a yarmulke but I don’t want to do that because, you know...LICE! And I can’t tell the teacher that! So can you please bring me my yarmulke from home?
Otiot
Rosie was talking about otiot (letters) on Shabbat. So Bob asked her,
What are otiot in English?
Pause.
Aye-bees!
I’m losing sight of the weirdness!
It seemed so totally natural for the Teva Outlet at Kfar Etzion to be selling cherries today – after all, cherry season is only exactly one month long and most of the cherry trees in Gush Etzion seem to be concentrated right around Kfar Etzion. Asher was excited to see I had picked up cherries.
Where’d you get the cherries, Mom?
At the shoe store!
Mom! Cherries at the shoe store?
I guess that is kind of weird.
When spiritual nourishment is not enough
Becky has her end of the year siyum/mesibah/celebration-thing this Tuesday in the Old City of Jerusalem. There’s actually a grainy map of the Old City that came with the invitation pointing to the specific location. I can’t make heads or tails of the map so I’m excited to see where I end up. I’ve heard about this siyum/mesibah/celebration-thing. I’ve heard it is really special, meaningful, amazing and 3 hours long at dinner time with absolutely no dinner served. So I am getting ready. Grainy map, check. Camera, check. Potato chips, granola bars, water bottles, check.
When enough is enough!
Rosie was talking about how her swim teachers keep rotating in a degem (pattern). Before I could coax the meaning of degem out of her, Becky interrupted.
Rosie, can you please speak in ENGLISH?
Monday, June 6, 2011
Swirling Thoughts #201 – spring cleaning
Seven weeks and a few sandstorms since Pesach, Shavuot is upon us and another round of pre-holiday cleaning begun. Not the kind of pre-Pesach cleaning that causes an entire country to run short on paper towels, but more the, ‘oh, it’s been almost two months since I moved my Mai Eden machine’ kind of cleaning.
And for me, some switch has been tripped in my brain (I wish I knew how to trip that switch on purpose) which has caused me to do things like sift through the ‘TO DO’ list on my Blackberry. The TO DO list which, until yesterday, still contained such tasks as ‘Register Rosie for Gan’ and ‘Rosh Hashanah Menu’.
There were some tasks I didn’t recognize
For example:
Seven Wagon With Stove
I’m not sure if this is a car reference or a camping concept.
Others I recognized and was ready to delete
For example:
Beytza Reka
I kept this for a really long time, thinking it would help me order a soft-boiled egg. Until I actually tried to order a soft-boiled egg.
When you go into an Israeli restaurant (or anywhere in Israel), you have to accept that there will be something you want and someone to tell you that you really don’t want that thing.
For example:
I’d like some ice for my drink.
Your drink is cold enough.
Can I get ice?
We are out of ice.
Ani rotza lehazmin beytza reka. (I would like to order a soft-boiled egg.)
Ayin Hafook? (Over Easy?)
Lo! Beytza Reka! (No! Soft Boiled egg!)
Beytza b’mayim? (Egg cooked in water?)
Hmmm. Sort of.
Im haklifa. (With the shell.)
Lo. Blee haklifa. (No. Without the shell.)
Bob interrupted.
I think they mean poached egg.
Mevushal b’mayim im haklifa l’meshek shalosh dakot! (Boil in water with the shell for three minutes!)
Ani tzareeka livdok. (I must to check).
We were in the Café in Wolfson Tower – a residence popular among American retirees. I wondered to Bob how a restaurant catering mainly to a 70+ population could not know about soft-boiled eggs. The waitress returned.
Hem lo maskimim. (They do not agree.)
Hem lo yecholim la’asot et zeh? (They can’t do it?)
Yecholim aval lo maskimim. Ein efsheroot. (They can but they do not agree. There is no possibility.)
I actually went through this routine in a few restaurants before I just gave up and started ordering my eggs poached.
There were tasks I have yet to accomplish
For example:
Ani Ohev Song
This one I actually remember – there was a cute song on the radio with a guy (or girl?) singing about how they love this and they love that. I want to find it and buy it but I don’t know how to find and buy music in Israel. So for now, it stays on my TO DO list.
Hagiga B’Snuker
This is an Israeli movie my friend Yigal told me to watch. I actually know where to find it – there’s a movie guy in the shuk – I just have to remember to go there when I’m in the shuk! Somehow between buying lettuce, halva, meat and pickles, it never occurs to me to go looking for movies. Still on the list.
Hayiti B’Shok!
This is an expression in Hebrew that means (you’ll never believe it), I was in shock. This was on my task list to remind me that one day I want to post about all the English words that have made their way into the Hebrew. Apparently before the Anglo influence, Israeli’s did not go on dates (dayt), have perspective (perspectiva), or be specific (spetzifi). What surprises me more are the words that DO NOT mean what they sound like in English. For example, yeediot is not idiot and ananas is not bananas.
www.cho.co.il
On our brief Netanya get-away (to the prison/hotel with soft robes but no pool access) we were given the most delicious chocolate rations. I have big plans to procure more of this chocolate some day.
And then there were the tidbits which were intended for blogging but just never made it
Like the Cellcom conversation.
Once a week I have this conversation (in Hebrew) with Cellcom (the Israeli cell phone service provider we chose one fateful day…)
Hi, this is Cellcom. Can I speak with Robert.
Robert cannot speak but I am his wife. I will speak for him.
We want to *something something something*.
Can you say it again? Slowly?
We want to *something something something* monthly bill.
Is there a problem?
No! No problem!
Are you offering me gifts?
Yes! Gifts!
Robert does not want gifts.
What are you talking about???
No gifts!
Are you sure?
I am sure!
Okay.
I stopped asking them to stop calling. Apparently there is no ‘do not call list’ in Israel. I look at it as an opportunity to practice my Hebrew. Each week I get further and further into the conversation before I stop it cold with the “Problem or gifts?” question.
I guess I can take Cellcom conversation off my TO DO list now.
Oh, yeah. And this guy. Eggplant Gumby. I've been meaning to post him for a while. He's just been sitting on my Blackberry waiting.
Hag Sameah!
And for me, some switch has been tripped in my brain (I wish I knew how to trip that switch on purpose) which has caused me to do things like sift through the ‘TO DO’ list on my Blackberry. The TO DO list which, until yesterday, still contained such tasks as ‘Register Rosie for Gan’ and ‘Rosh Hashanah Menu’.
There were some tasks I didn’t recognize
For example:
Seven Wagon With Stove
I’m not sure if this is a car reference or a camping concept.
Others I recognized and was ready to delete
For example:
Beytza Reka
I kept this for a really long time, thinking it would help me order a soft-boiled egg. Until I actually tried to order a soft-boiled egg.
When you go into an Israeli restaurant (or anywhere in Israel), you have to accept that there will be something you want and someone to tell you that you really don’t want that thing.
For example:
I’d like some ice for my drink.
Your drink is cold enough.
Can I get ice?
We are out of ice.
Ani rotza lehazmin beytza reka. (I would like to order a soft-boiled egg.)
Ayin Hafook? (Over Easy?)
Lo! Beytza Reka! (No! Soft Boiled egg!)
Beytza b’mayim? (Egg cooked in water?)
Hmmm. Sort of.
Im haklifa. (With the shell.)
Lo. Blee haklifa. (No. Without the shell.)
Bob interrupted.
I think they mean poached egg.
Mevushal b’mayim im haklifa l’meshek shalosh dakot! (Boil in water with the shell for three minutes!)
Ani tzareeka livdok. (I must to check).
We were in the Café in Wolfson Tower – a residence popular among American retirees. I wondered to Bob how a restaurant catering mainly to a 70+ population could not know about soft-boiled eggs. The waitress returned.
Hem lo maskimim. (They do not agree.)
Hem lo yecholim la’asot et zeh? (They can’t do it?)
Yecholim aval lo maskimim. Ein efsheroot. (They can but they do not agree. There is no possibility.)
I actually went through this routine in a few restaurants before I just gave up and started ordering my eggs poached.
There were tasks I have yet to accomplish
For example:
Ani Ohev Song
This one I actually remember – there was a cute song on the radio with a guy (or girl?) singing about how they love this and they love that. I want to find it and buy it but I don’t know how to find and buy music in Israel. So for now, it stays on my TO DO list.
Hagiga B’Snuker
This is an Israeli movie my friend Yigal told me to watch. I actually know where to find it – there’s a movie guy in the shuk – I just have to remember to go there when I’m in the shuk! Somehow between buying lettuce, halva, meat and pickles, it never occurs to me to go looking for movies. Still on the list.
Hayiti B’Shok!
This is an expression in Hebrew that means (you’ll never believe it), I was in shock. This was on my task list to remind me that one day I want to post about all the English words that have made their way into the Hebrew. Apparently before the Anglo influence, Israeli’s did not go on dates (dayt), have perspective (perspectiva), or be specific (spetzifi). What surprises me more are the words that DO NOT mean what they sound like in English. For example, yeediot is not idiot and ananas is not bananas.
www.cho.co.il
On our brief Netanya get-away (to the prison/hotel with soft robes but no pool access) we were given the most delicious chocolate rations. I have big plans to procure more of this chocolate some day.
And then there were the tidbits which were intended for blogging but just never made it
Like the Cellcom conversation.
Once a week I have this conversation (in Hebrew) with Cellcom (the Israeli cell phone service provider we chose one fateful day…)
Hi, this is Cellcom. Can I speak with Robert.
Robert cannot speak but I am his wife. I will speak for him.
We want to *something something something*.
Can you say it again? Slowly?
We want to *something something something* monthly bill.
Is there a problem?
No! No problem!
Are you offering me gifts?
Yes! Gifts!
Robert does not want gifts.
What are you talking about???
No gifts!
Are you sure?
I am sure!
Okay.
I stopped asking them to stop calling. Apparently there is no ‘do not call list’ in Israel. I look at it as an opportunity to practice my Hebrew. Each week I get further and further into the conversation before I stop it cold with the “Problem or gifts?” question.
I guess I can take Cellcom conversation off my TO DO list now.
Oh, yeah. And this guy. Eggplant Gumby. I've been meaning to post him for a while. He's just been sitting on my Blackberry waiting.
Hag Sameah!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)