(Re)introducing Meshugana

Like I've done before, let me introduce my new kitten, Meshugana.

Hello kitty!

This lil lady has had an interesting start. Although she looks nice and content here, it's actually the first time in her life that she's been anywhere other than the courtyard of the ulpan.

Firstly, let's get down to the basics; 'Meshugana', if you don't know, is a Yiddish word, meaning 'nutcase': 

And, ever since she was born, she has displayed those nutcase-like qualities, time and time again. But, as they say, it takes one to know one, and I like her style ;) 

Peekaboo

'Eze cador!' - snuggled like a ball

A few days old

'Aha!  SHOES!'

She was born during my time in ulpan, an event which I referred to in a previous post. Since she was barely a few days old, Meshugana has always been rather spirited and a little bit naughty. So naughty, in fact, that the new ulpan (as in, the ulpan after the horrific one that I left), with no previous connection to her, quickly picked up on these traits and named her 'that naughty little grey kitty'.

Feeding with her brother, Marcus. 

As soon as she could open her tiny little eyes, and as soon as she had strength enough to walk, she would jump out of the protective box her mum kept her in without really knowing how to climb, or jump for that matter. But she tried and tried until she finally succeeded. What a meshugana!

She's a charmer too! Meshugana was (back in the ulpan days) the talk of the town, being such a cutie. I mean, just look at that panim!

Nom nom nom

But anyway.

Back in those ulpan days I would sit with Mummy, Meshugana and her brother, Marcus (more of whom later) most of the time. I would literally leave class to play with the kitties; on my way to work, on my way back from work and in the evenings. They were one of the only good things about living in that horrible environment for so long.

And then, the day came when I had to leave and start my adventure in Tel Aviv. I often thought of Meshugana - indeed, it felt a bit like I was reliving the separation from Corny Wallace all over again.

Koala kitty

But, I knew I couldn't keep a cat, as my first apartment wouldn't allow it, and neither would my current. I had to keep telling myself that she was a street cat ('Street cat! Street cat! I don't buy that. But if they looked cloooserrrr...') and there was nothing I could do.

And then, due to an, ahem, 'positive change of circumstances', I found myself back at that bloody ulpan at least once a week (the weird shit love makes you do, amirite?), and seeing Meshugana every so often. She looked very thin, and Mummy was pregnant again, and I couldn't find Marcus (I surmised he had died), but she was definitely the Meshugana kitty I had raised and loved.

To put a long story short, the day came when I finally brought Meshugana home. It involved rather strange convolutions, such as a vociferous and self-proclaiming cat-hater, who suddenly fell in love with Meshugana ('but I still hate other cats'), several night shifts, and a very snuggly, purry kitty.

It took 5 months or so, but finally - Meshugana was mine (or ours)! I went to buy her all of her things and then to pick her up from the ulpan. After a quick stop at the vets, she was home - and soon, she was as meshugana as ever:

What a lovely, snuggly addition to my new(ish) beginning! Even though I don't get to see her every day, having her (back) in my life has made a difference.

Even when I am unwell. Such a nice kiiiitty. 

She also does a great line in posing. 

And that's really all there is to tell. Other than I passed my driving test (thank gd) and the State of Israel is willing to acknowledge that I can competently drive with the gearstick on the wrong side! 

And with these happy news items, I bid you 'raow'. 

Riding into the headwind, minus a phone

Our title this post comes from experience.

But first! Your latest satire digest! I write here about the Zionist Conspiracy rigging the Israeli elections (a topic I covered in my last post) and a response to the worldwide surge in anti-semitism lately - brave crusaders searching for Israeli gold. 

As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I recently bought a bike and use it as my main means of transportation around this great city. It gives me a lot of time to think, not to mention helping me reacquire my once trademark muscular legs (phwoooarr).

I've never felt so free as when I'm tearing along on my bike, dodging people left right and centre and pretending I'm on a motorbike. But there is one problem.

As I ride over a lot of open spaces and bridges, I encounter quite a lot of headwind. Not really an issue, you may think, except for I have a predilection for skirts and dresses.

I have since developed a Filisiphy (A friend coined the term; Fliss philosophy = filisiphy. See also: soflisstication) - that riding into the headwind is thrilling and unavoidable, but eventually your skirt will blow up and everyone will see your knickers. There ain't nothing you can do about it but keep on peddling and continue your journey.

Sometimes it's anticipated, sometimes not. Either way, it's entertaining for others to watch.

And I've ridden into the headwind recently. An experience (which has now concluded, but it took a while) demonstrated the rarely-seen, awful side of Israel. I debated about whether to disclose it, but rationalised that this is something prospective, shiny new olim need to be aware of.

Mein damen und herren, let me preface this by reminding you that I am completely alone in this here country. When bad stuff happens, or potentially life-threatening situations occur, there is but one choice - to get through it.

That's mainly due to such positive experiences with Israelis themselves. Israel may be a lot of things, but I've never felt more at home anywhere else. Israelis are referred to as 'sabras' - a weird little fruit which is rough and prickly on the outside, but sweet and yummy on the in.

Israelis are, ahem, very 'passionate' people. They generally (not all, but...) shout and scream a lot at anything and everything, but the second they detect an accent, they'll embroil you in a long-arse conversation, about your life (where you're from, why did you make aliya, are you single? Oh, that's a shame. I have a son/grandson/great-grandson), if you happen to accidentally trip up in the street, 5 people will rush to help you from all directions. I've never seen anything even remotely comparable to that in London.

But, there are always those dickheads that have to go and ruin it for everyone. Back in my teacher days, I would very quietly but publicly single these kids out - before they even tried anything - and let them know it would not be tolerated, and due to the relatively good behaviour of everyone around them, they'd be held even more accountable. Sometimes, examples need to be made in order to teach a lesson - literally.

And here we go. I mentioned a while back that I was happy, living in Tel Aviv and it was all coming up Milhouse, right?

Pictured: Vertical and positive happenings for Milhouse

And I was. Until I noticed that the woman I was living with was using me as an accessory to illegal activity,was the filthiest person I'd ever met (and I used to teach teenagers, so that's quite a tough competition) and was definitely more than a few fish short of an ironmonger; a few sandwiches short of a picnic. A few tea bags short of a cuppa.

In other words, she was batshit insane.

It all began when I was searching wildly for a place to live in Tel Aviv. This is no mean feat, and schlepping to view places from Jerusalem, an hour away, was problematic. When I would turn up, it would be a popularity competition - who 'fits' the other flatmates best, for example, or (as in one memorable case) someone signed for the apartment as I was sitting on the bus between the two cities.

So when this older lady, who stressed the urge for privacy, wanted to take cash every month and a lump sum security deposit, I ignored my (scarily accurate) gut feeling, being so relieved at finding somewhere that I agreed to live there. I returned a few days later to sign something she refused to call a 'contract', insisting it was an 'agreement' between us. In it, she signed her name (twice) as the landlady, alongside the amounts I had given her and the dates.

The ins and outs are unnecessary to know, but the salient facts are these: The bitch ripped me off and stole my money, later refusing to give it back. She believed that according to our 'agreement', I had to find someone to replace me should I leave early. I did succeed in sending around numerous people, only for her to dismiss somewhere up to 15 of these people. She said she wouldn't return my deposit money until I had found a replacement. Noticeably, her behaviour changed once I'd told her I was leaving. She would burst unannounced into my room, waking me up purposely in the morning. On one scarringly memorable occasion, she burst in on me in the altogether, standing there screaming 'Dai? Nu?' -something vaguely translatable as 'Well? So?' while I struggled to sort myself modesty-wise.

Anyway. It transpired she needed girls of a certain look - dark haired, around 27ish, quiet and who wouldn't communicate with the neighbours. After moving into my new flat, an offhand comment from someone led me to think - maybe this mental case wasn't actually the landlady, and was renting the place. If so, she had no right to have taken - and refuse to return - my money.

After a lot of super sleuthing (Yeah. Badass) I had confirmation that she wasn't who she said she was, had given me a false ID number, had rented the place illegally and was using me as an accessory to her crime. After trying and failing to locate the landlord, I contacted Sigal (such a beautiful name for such a גועל נפש) and told her I knew what she had done and that I'd be contacting her landlord unless I saw my money back.

Oof, she did not like that! I suddenly got a stream of vitriol, after she had ignored my messages for upwards of a month:

Even her texting look kray-kray

If your Hebrew ain't up to scratch, it says something along the lines of: if I even dared to try to exhort her, she'd get the police on me and DO ME IN. I was offered to come and take a portion of the money on a Sunday, but I'm a disgrace to my country and a cheeky-arse bitch, long story short.

So, I got myself a lawyer - a solid bloke named Tzvika, who has a passion for helping olim out - for free. He sorted it out, communicating with the Sea Witch (she bore an uncanny resemblance to Ursula the Sea Witch from the Little Mermaid:)

Like it says on the tin

...and a very, two month-long story short, Tzvika got my money back, barring 11 shekels, which the Sea Witch refused to return out of spite.

All of this is a life lesson, obviously - be careful what you sign (and coming from a whole family of lawyers, barring 2 of us, I shouldn't have been so stupid), and take the good with the bad. But also, more importantly - ridiculous people like these need to be taught a lesson. Aliya is difficult enough without 50 year old lonely petty criminals taking you for a ride.

In other news, I managed to lose my phone...and all of my aliya pictures so far. It flew out of my aforementioned bike at some point when I was aforementionedly tearing along the streets of Tel Aviv.

Maybe it was just time for a fresh start and to fully absorb into my new Israeli identity. Either way, I'm one fake security deposit up and one phone down.

And onto my second-ever Israeli Pesach, starting tomorrow night. It's only the second time I've celebrated it without my family [YES ROBERT, I DID FIND THE AFIKOMEN FIRST AND YOU CAN'T DENY IT AS IT'S NOW IN WRITING], and my first as a real-life Israeli :)

חג כשר ושמח לכולם!

The Election Selection

And so I am back from my trip to London, with a shiny new sister-in-law!

The wedding was lovely - very nicely done, fun to be involved in and my first time as a bridesmaid.

Four days was the perfect amount of time, methinks, to spend back in the Mother Country. The weather held out nicely, I squeezed in a few friends and had some time (not as much as I'd have liked, but 'some' is better than nothing at all) with my doggies, but unfortunately did not manage to hit up Primark.

And, with the wedding now out the way (until my sister's in August, BH) I turn my thoughts to the elections, Israeli and British. Because that's an apparent benefit of being a dual national.

Yes - once again, Israel is going to the polls. Today. Eek. I'm a newbie (yes, still, after 9 months) and it's a totally different kettle of fish to how we do it back in Blighty.

It seemed inevitable, really - a Middle Eastern nation, with security issues on all sides, full of hot-blooded natives, ever-increasing immigration (from 1st world and 3rd world countries alike) and using a highly contested electoral system. It's no surprise that agreements are unreachable and governments fall quickly. In fact, I'm surprised there aren't elections here every year. Having said that, during the last general election in Britain (which I also spent here in Israel), voters managed to break the country, bringing back the bad old days of coalition governments while ushering in the age of the ConDems.

Before we get into all that, let's take a second to compare these electoral voting systems.

Britain's First Past the Post (FPP) states that whichever party wins the most votes nationwide gets to rule. No fuss, Brit-style. Israel's Proportional Representation states that parties winning a certain amount of votes will get a certain amount of seats.

Now, before you say anything - yes, they are both shit. As my man Winny C once said,

“Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others.” And it's true. 

Back when I was a young, green (so green. so many shades of green is so many ways) A level Politics students (*cough* A grade), this was something all of us kids, who'd never voted in our lives, were still at school and who had really no idea what we were on about, discussed endlessly. 

While most of what we said was a load of utter pretentious crap (and it really was) I do recall a few points of wisdom which have stuck by me throughout my aliya, and especially now that I'll be voting in both countries. 

First Past the Post can give rise to 'dictatorial' styles of government. What they say goes, whether you like it or not, as long as they have a nice majority in the government and can push legislation through. It's a more stable, British sort of government, with little fuss and no awkward silences.

Proportional Representation, in all its glorious forms, is both a blessing and curse. Yes, minority parties get to have their say and get into government, but think about the sort of parties which could get in. In Israel, it means the extremes of left, right and meshuganas all over. It's a very unstable form of government, hence the frequently recurring elections. 

But that's what makes the Israeli electorate such an involved one, with a high voter turnout. And we do get a day off. So that's nice. 

But there is one thing that I still can't really get my head around, as born and bred Brit - back in my old country, you do not, under any circumstances - when meeting new people, at work, in polite society etc -  talk about who you're voting for or your political beliefs, unless you want to start a quiet but heated discussion and cause widespread offence.  

Really. In England, even when there are only actually 2,.5 parties (I count the 'Dems as .5, as I'm still convinced that Cleggover is a crappy half-baked clone of Cameron), discussing political views is considered a terrible, highly personal piece of information which you should not disclose, on a par with mentions of sex or religion. Stick to the weather, and we're all fine. Noone can disagree about how much rain there is, can they (apart from that one time when we all disagreed about the amounts of rain, BUT WE AGREED TO NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN)? 

Israeli politics is pretty confusing. Here, in the Holy Land, practical every day stuff  which is the main campaigning points for voters back in Blighty - taxes, petrol prices, employment - ain't the frontrunning issues.

Here, its about real, slightly more pressing things which could affect whether or not there's another war soon, if we're going to piss off the international community yet again, and if so by how much. Will people have to leave their homes if they live outside of the '67 borders, for example? It's all one massive mindf**k, and with the added Proportional Representation balagan, there is much less likelihood of a wasted vote. 

The candidates are just as confusing. There are so many names and histories floating about - this one used to be this minister; that one was a war hero; that one did....you get the picture. 

It is much easier to work out who you don't want to vote for, and even that's saying something. Your average Israeli will outright ask you who you're thinking of voting for, shout you down for making a silly choice and then tell you about who they're voting for and why. 

Really. There have been very few things that have been difficult to adjust to since I moved here, but this is probably the biggest. Back in England, I didn't care who knew of my political views, partly because I advertised them and partly because it didn't really mean very much. 

Back in the old, pre-aliya days, I was a true blue Conservative. Hell, I even once represented them and dressed up for the  school mock-election as Maggie Thatcher (I won 2nd place. I lost out only to the Monster Raving Loony Party, because they bribed the electorate of impressionable year 7s with chocolate. I hold no grudges - it was a pretty good tactic). Dammit, I once appeared on ITV and Channel 4 news meeting then-Tory leader Michael Howard. I was on first name, letter-writing terms with my MP and was in touch with him until recently, thanking him for his support for Israel during last summer's war. 

Here though...where my vote doesn't just rely on 'what's my tax situation going to be?' and 'who's more friendly towards Israel?' it's actually very tricky. They all have different views of the settlements. On the two state solution. On the Jewish Home bill.

Extremes of any sort are bad, in my books - both the right wing (breeding fascism, religious nutcases) and the left (breeding communism, self-hating apologists). I like the centre. 

Which, you'd think, would lead me to a nice, easy decision. 

Nope. 

My two preferences, Yesh Atid ('There's a Future') and Kulanu ('All of us') are the main centrist parties, discounting Bibi's Likud. I actually like Bibi - he's a fantastic speaker and not bad on the eyes, but he's not been strong enough on several things. That leaves me with the above. 

A pictorial representation of this dilemma

The bloke leading Yesh Atid - Yair Lapid - is also rather nice looking (it is a pleasant change to have a good looking party leader - that's something we don't get back in England) and speaks very well. He's a former journalist and his party comprises olim from all over the place. I like that. 

However, as the bf pointed out, he was a jobnik in the army - someone who's not really much to write home about. I countered by saying he has some great ideas for the country - there's a future, innit - to which he replied, 'what, is he going to interview Hamas to death?'. Touche. 

Moshe Kachlon, of Kulanu, on the other hand, is hot stuff. Also good looking (yeah, I said it), he was the bloke who broke the phone monopolies in Israel, making it a more competitive market. He's promised to do the same for other areas of society, but - according to my work wife, this is unlikely happen as he is besties with these naughty societal overlords. 

So I got into the booth earlier today. I saw all of the parties' acronyms (the way voting actually happens here is strange - your ID number is registered and you receive an envelope. You choose the acronym of the party you're voting for, seal it into your envelope and drop it into the ballot box. Interesting) and felt overwhelmed. Immediately eliminating the extremes of both left and right, I was left with the above choices. 

I cast that vote. I cast it real good. 

Eventually, I went with Yesh Atid. Because if there's one thing Israelis - native sabras, we're talking - will never understand, it's life outside Israel - being raised there and all that. 

It's all nice and well making policies for and about Israel left, right and centre, but without considering (even in the slightest, teensiest way) the impact it could potentially have on world Jewry? Or taking into account what olim here need and feel? Well that's something that has been pissing me off for years, pre and post-aliya. 

So I voted for the party who have unofficially tagged themselves as the party for Olim. I feel pretty damn proud of myself too for having exercised my democratic rights. 

Newbie voting

Oh and the British election? I'm voting Tory. Because old habits die hard, and Thatcher4LYF. 

Purim, with a side of toast

Suddenly, the month of Smarch crept upon us. Here's my latest trouble-making turn, this time for the Times of Israel, telling of an experience I had with a disgraced politician. Upon posting it, I saw the ugly side of quite a few people I used to otherwise deem as fairly decent. Plus ca change :)

This week, I've taken a turn for the healthy, I'm also preparing for a trip back to the Mother country (Remember that country I was born in, but which I no longer deem home? Yeah, that one).

I ride the 2 miles into work and back every day - that's 4 miles! - am eating lovely massive salads for lunch (most days...) and the biscuit drought on my floor is definitely helping.

Talking of the office, the other night was the office's Purim party. Purim (the festival retelling the story of Queen Esther from the bible) is one of my favourite holidays ever (the other is Chanuka - doughnuts!) because it's a custom to dress up. It's the one time of year that I get to coat myself in glitter, or blood, or any available shiny or gooey substance of my choosing and dress up however I damn well please without fear of society shunning me.

It's a fun occasion back in Blighty - a few years ago during my teacher days, I dressed up in the school's uniform.

Miss Fliss gets OLD SKOOL

 Craziness ensued. I got shouted at by members of staff for being in the staff room; confused (and slightly drooly) looks from some of my older pupils; almost got pulled over when driving home (trying to explain that one to the police was awkward - 'no, it's a fancy dress costume...yes, fancy dress during the day...I'm a teacher, I promise!') and then went home to have a further confusing conversation with the builders at my parents' house, who couldn't understand what sort of a mother would let a school-age child live away from home, drive and wear bright red lipstick to said school.

Here are a selection of my other costume choices for Purim:

Courtney Love, many, many moons ago:

I committed to the role by smiling like a smackhead in a public setting

Another school one, the year after the 'school uniform' confusion: I dressed as a more generic, less provocative leopard (Hi Mel!)

'Raow'. That is all. 

And, the same year, with not quite la piece de resistance but pretty awesome nonetheless, I was Superwoman: 

It felt right.

And so this year, with the office party's costume competition (first prize: an electric bike), I decided to outdo myself, going as the bloodied Bride from Kill Bill.

My first costume choice was to be Gaymy Winehouse (don't even ask), and smother myself with glitter. Either way, I didn't win, but a great time was had by all. 

I would say that Purim here is the equivalent of Christmas back in England - it's a a kind of festive atmosphere where people get a bit silly and offices celebrate with lots and lots of free alcohol. One of the commandments of the festival is to get so drunk that, when you hear the megilla you can't distinguish between the hero, Mordechai and the villain, Haman (although surely that defeats the point, and you should really know who is who in the story? I digress). 

But anyhoo. What gwans at the office party, stays at the office party. And even if that includes crazy drag queens, pole dancers, unfair costume competitions (YELLOW #$@^&*% JUMPSUIT???) and potentially a snake dance at the end (it was rumoured to have happened, but alas, we will never know), so it shall be. 

On to more pressing matters.

In 5 days - that's 5 sleeps - I will be going back to London for the second time since my aliya for a very special occasion - my baby bro is finally getting married!

It's been an 18 month engagement, which seems to have gone both quickly and slowly. I haven't been that involved in much, mostly due to preparing for and making aliya (obviously). Consequently, I hadn't really thought about the steps which my bro and his fiancée (soon to be wife!) will be taking in under a week, and how it sort of heralds the true, marked beginning of adulthood.

Obviously, I'm an adult myself - I made aliya (again, not exactly news to you, is it?) alone, in the middle of a war, gave away one of the only things I ever loved with all of my heart, a month before that losing another, managed to get the various strands of my life together just in the nick of time before emigrating and doing it all over again 5 months later moving to a new city, with a new job and surroundings.

But my 'baby' brother - we're actually pretty close in age. We even ended up in university in the same school year. We hung around with the same groups of friends, went out together and had experiences that we will still never, ever disclose to our mum.

I would still kill using only my bare hands absolutely anyone who would even dare to harm him, although nowadays he's bigger than me and I'm pretty certain both he (and his intended, come to think of it) can aptly (only 'aptly') manage the job.

People used to think we were twins - as the only tall, blue eyed members of our family. This is my favourite picture of us, where we're half-drunk at an event I'd organised and pulling the stupidest, cheesiest grins because neither of us knows how to smile completely naturally at a camera.

With being so far away from my family, it hadn't really occurred to me that the wedding would actually creep up as it has done. And so this blog post has derailed into a toast, of sorts, to my darling brother.

So here it is, Pol- a toast to you: I know it'll be too difficult to tell you on the day, or before, or even after (such are the strictures on us, with my flight and the preparation for the wedding). I almost wish this was someone else's wedding so we could hang out and catch up a bit, but, as you know, you'll be a bit busy. And as a chick, and a bridesmaid I'll be right there, a little further away than I would like, on the other side prepping your misses-to-be.

My amazing, strong, mature (sometimes) and dare I say it - clever (EDIT - 'supremely intelligent', on your own admission) - little bro - I am so proud of you, and everything you have become.

I don't think we thought you'd ever get there, because let's face it - you were bloody lazy and not the most natural of students (think back to the twattish, but pointed, words of Mr Luca), but you really surprised us and proved us wrong in the biggest, bestest way possible.

I know that especially lately you've had my back, despite being 1000-odd miles away. And, if you were ever stupid enough to get into those sorts of situations, you know I'd irrevocably have yours too.

Talking of which. if you were to ever mess around with my 'Legend of Zelda' SNES file, all of the above is null and void.

You're one of the only people who understands the difference between coke and lemonade, celery juice; a psychopath named Mugetsu and some blokes called Sion, Kou and Volt; that sometimes you just have to 'have a thuck! have a biiig thuck!'; that 'special stuff' is only for Local People; that I don't need a hand, I need a FACE and that we should be moving forward, not backward; upward, not forward; and always twirling, twirling, twirling towards freedom!

We're very happy that you're happy, Pol, and doing so well. You've never had it the easiest, but you've shaped your lot into something truly splendid, and the stuff you try in vain to explain sounds really impressive and important.

I don't think I've ever been prouder of you than I am right now, and that's really saying something - I once saw you wolf down something like 20 slices in a Pizza Hut Friday session.

So here's to you, little bro. See you soon. 

At last...!

I've now been in Tel Aviv for a month. I really never thought I could be this happy...ever. Despite all of the awful things that have been happening in Israel and around the world since I initially began drafting this post, things are pretty. Frickin'. Sweet.

Let us kick off with exciting things: here are the latest batch of my articles for theisraelidaily.com: A tongue in cheek response that the writers have gone into hiding, as satire is dangerous after 'Charlie Hebdo'; How all of the shit happening is most likely G-d messing with us; the sudden resurgence of Al-Qaeda, a la Eminem; How Saudi Arabia is secretly gay and trying to rid itself of women and how, following Eminem's shock (FAKE) announcement that he will be converting to Judaism, how Kim Kartrashian will be following suit. Not bad, eh?

Life in Tel Aviv is pretty frickin' awesome - I'm out and about a lot, there's always stuff to do and people to see.My job is great - I work in a really fun, young company, everyone is really lovely and there are all the free biscuits a girl could dream of (ok, so mostly they don't filter down to my floor, but lately I have been going on biscuit hunts on other floors, so I've had an excellent variety to sample). I feel much more in my element and comfortable in TLV, not to say that I don't miss Jerusalem because I do, in a weird way. I'm back there at least once a week anyway, so it's like I'm getting the best of both worlds.

And stuff is only going to get more exciting - on Sunday, I move into my own place with Deborah, located on one of the most exciting streets in the world - Dizengoff. It is a street that has been intertwined with my every experience of Israel in the past 10 years. To actually move there on my own terms and with someone I'm comfortable with, seems almost symbolic, like everything is coming full circle (FINALLY).

And and and - I'm scouting around for a new ulpan to go, in the evenings near where I work. This means I can continue developing the Hebrew I have already acquired, and one day, with practise I may even be something approaching fluent.

You see, the issue of actually practising Hebrew speaking is a bit of a touchy subject with Anglos (the ironically funny name given to native English speakers; ironic because we are not descended from the Anglo-Saxons, who had little to no Jewish blood in them. While the Anglo-Saxons were ravaging Britain, the 'Anglos' ancestors would have been in Jerusalem, schlepping about, kvetching, balaganing and such like). Whenever an Anglo, of any level of Hebrew proficiency, attempts to go native and speak their adopted language, their attempts are mostly futile.

For Israelis, detecting an accent means one of several things -
1. The Anglo's accent is sexy. Or funny. Or both. In any case, the Anglo must be told this immediately and repeatedly.
2. The Anglo can't speak Hebrew for shit, and the Israeli tries to 'help them out' by switching to English.
3. Suddenly, the Israeli has a great opportunity to practise their English with a native English speaker (because language lessons are expensive).
4. The Anglo is fresh meat and this is the Israeli's chance to befriend them/date them/continue the conversation for as long as possible for any number of other weird reasons (and believe me, some of these reasons don't get much weirder...).

...and each of these occur towards me frequently. It's amazing I even bother still trying sometimes...but I must. And I do. I did not go through that entire ulpan just to not speak the Hebrew I picked up. Damn straight.

I think this may be my most boring blog post yet. For once in my life, I have nothing much to report - everything is great, I'm happy, I feel fulfilled and like I have some potential, a real direction and that everything is as it should be.

For the first time in quite a while, there is no drama anywhere in my surrounding environs (THANK GD. FINALLY!!!), and I'm going to settle in one place for a very. Long. Time. No 'ifs' or 'buts' or knowing that I'll be upping and leaving 'soon', because I've already done it - first to Israel, then to Tel Aviv.

At long last - I have finally become that boring person I've always wanted to be - content, settled in one place and with nothing much to say... and exhale...

For now, anyway. ;)

Cultural clashes - London and Tel Aviv

Dear readers, I am pleased to announce that one of my aliya goals is now complete -

I write from my bed in Tel Aviv, having had an accidental 2 hour nap post-first day of my new job in Tel Aviv. Yes, you read correctly - I am living (!!) and working in Tel Aviv, as of a few days ago.

I am the happiest person in the world right now - thank G-d, a lot of amazing stuff has happened in the past few weeks since my last post, that has made my life in ulpan seem like a bizarre and distant cheese-dreamish memory. It's almost like it never really happened.

The last week or so of my stay in ulpan was actually rather great - I had the whole place to myself, and despite having some awful combination of laryngitis and bronchitis (the type of combo which of course only I could ever get), and having to go to the emergency doctor in the middle of the night, I had a great time. I hung out with the shomrim and the cats, climbed up on the roof and did some more exploring.

I ended up leaving a few of my things - the stuff I didn't put in Oranit - in a cupboard in one of the rooms in ulpan, somewhat naively. When I returned, I saw that a strange combination of items had been stolen as the door wasn't locked - most importantly, the thieving bastard had nicked my kettle and my hair straightners!! Such a combination is of course devastating to a Jewish Brit, but unfortunately, it seemd to be the case that my love of tea and straightened hair was my downfall. Never mind.

So, decaffineated and messy of hair, I returned from my trip to London.

It was very nice to go back and see my family and friends - even if I didn't get around to seeing everyone, or not even as much as I would have liked to. Little Louis is now a mahusive version of when I last saw him, with his enthusiasm and bounciness undiminshed. He almost knocked me over when I got through the door.

Unfortunately, I also was told that Dylan, my other doggie who was left alone after Benjy's sudden death in the summer, is (in the words of my mother), 'not very well'. In 'in your face Israeli' translation, it means that he is slowly - but naturally - dying. It wasn't the nicest thing to come home to - both of my babies, Benjy and now Dilly - who I raised from puppies - will have died within a year of each other, one suddenly, unpredictably and horrifically, and the other slowly (but apparently not painfully, so thank G-d for small mercies) and gradually. It's a horrible thought to think that the next time I see him, when I return for a few days for my brother's wedding, he will be either a diminished version of my beautiful and proud little boy, or potentially not there to greet me. but, that is the price I have to pay for my life choice.

It was very strange being back - I had obviously not expected life to stand still sans moi, but I also didn't expect my return to reflect how much I had changed in such a short space of time. It has become apparent that I have Israelified, in the (slightly bastardised) words of my mother. I hadn't realised how quiet and calm stuff in England is, and the shock of suddenly it being Christmas, and cold (it reached -8 degrees C one night I was there), and everything being in English, and the types of discussion going on around - the weather; inevitably, forthcoming weddings; Christmas TV (of which I watched none); some headline news about late trains - was quite a shock to the system, and different to the stuff of everyday Israelis, which is more along the topics of (to put it in a condensed manner) - when will there be another war; from which direction and who; the respective merits and conditions of living in Jerusalem,, Tel Aviv, the North and South (these last two points are inextricably linked); cultural clashes and segmentation amongst the olim (immigrant), religious and secular communities and much, much more.

Being back at home with my parents and siblings, and going to all of the places I used to when I was back in England made me realise how different and new my life is in Israel. I am thrilled that I live in one of the most insane, by turns frustrating, wondrous and beautiful countries in the world, where I am (FINALLY) able to communicate with people from all over the world in one common unifying (resurrected) language, which is concurrently highly logical and illogical; that I've achieved something that most people only dream of, and which doesn't usually go beyond a mere dream - I've emigrated and shaped my life to almost exactly how I wanted it to be - it is by no means perfect, but it's made me feel content.

And therefore, as great as it was to see people, I realise the sheer extent of all the stuff I needed to do to set up the next leg of my adventure, making the decision to return two days early, which turned out to be a rather good move.

Moving from one city to another in Israel is unlike anywhere else. It's not a case of get up and go; more of you need to move every aspect of your life - bank, medical centre, formal re-registration of your address, bus pass etc - to your new city, which is often only an hour or so away. Event though I haven't yet done this, the extra two days gave me time to get my stuff from Jerusalem and Oranit and schlep it to my new place in Tel Aviv.

I hired a car for this purpose, which was rather a strange experience as I'd become confused about driving on English roads during my London trip. On my first drive out after six months in my lovely little car, I had to really concentrate on which side of the road I stuck to, and how roundabouts worked (because, if you think about it, it actually makes far more sense to go around it anti-clockwise, as in the rest of the world).

And so, driving along from Jerusalem to Oranit to Tel Aviv on the right hand side of the road, on the way to my new life in Tel Aviv, Lana Del Rey blaring from the radio, I felt pretty damn chuffed with my lot (and the 700-odd tea bags I schlepped back from Tesco because, however Israeli I become, I will always need real, hard-core English tea).

Even if this elatedness (is that a word?) is only a temporary thing and eventually subsides into every day contentment and/or I eventually take it for granted, I know for certain that there are two moments of this past year that will forever remain etched into my conscious mind as two of the happiest (with please G-d more to come) - the day I finally made it back to Israel, and the day I finally set up shop in Tel Aviv.

I was also really excited to start work today - where I timed my first day to a 'First Sunday' company party (complete with wine and decadent food treats) and a free company umbrella. It's a 15 minute commute from door to door, my boss is awesome and the company is really young, friendly and fun.

I've not always made the best choices in life, or even so far on this journey (read: that whole ridiculous 'relationship' episode), but every so often, even in the depths of a massive oncoming rain and snow storm (expected this week in Israel), things seem to have a way of evening out.

Happy new year to you all, from one of the best cities in the world.

The End: A fork burial and a birthday

And just like that - it was all over.

The last 5 months of my life - which, if I'm honest, always seemed like it would never come to an end - have been filled with everything and anything, from the wonderful, to the unpredictable, to the downright crazy.

Talking of which, let us continue a hallowed tradition of first discussing the cats.

Last week, I found myself sitting arse-down in the mud outside the kitchen area. I was digging a grave using a fork while my friend looked on, cradling a dead kitten. If that doesn't signal the end of ulpan or encompass the transformation I have undergone, then I don't know what does.

This is a different dead kitten, by the way, to the one I discussed last post- Scruffy (BDE). This week's dead kitten was one of Black and White Mummy's 4, one of the ones I called 'the twins', as they looked so alike. The other twin has since also died.

I'd noticed that she was semi-abandoned and having difficulty breathing on Friday night. Much like Scruffy, she wasn't eating. Unlike Scruffy, the kitten had a support network around her, and was being kept warm by her siblings and Mummy.

The next day however, early in the morning, I counted up Mummy and one kitten, two kittens, three... but couldn't see the other, ill one. I scanned around a bit more and eventually saw it much in the same place we'd left it only 12 hours before.

It couldn't move. Mummy had clearly left it to die, and moved the others away (yet more fascinating cat psychology I've learned), so I grabbed it and took it to my room, trying to keep it warm.

To put a very sad and distressing story short, the little kitten - one of whom I'd helped raised and fed ever since they were born - sat with me for about 20 minutes, before dying in my arms.

Her little nose went white; her eyes, glassy. So along came Sarah and we set to finding a way to give the kitten a good burial.

I had to keep double checking with her that the kitten was in fact dead. Despite seeing it happen literally infront of me, I found it very hard to believe it.

The only thing we could find (despite searching far and wide) to dig with was an abandoned fork. So Sarah sat cradling the dead kitten, while I channelled my inner dog and started going hell-for-leather with the fork.

After a while, I'd managed to create a large enough hole to safely cover the dead kitten and be sure that noone would step on her. We put the earth back over her, almost like we were tucking her in to sleep. I covered up her face last. I still couldn't quite believe the sequence of events, all in the space of an hour.

Sigh.

But, onto less scarring things - finally, after all of the crap that rained down (it feels like years ago now, but I think it was only a month ago. Once again, the Ulpan time-space paradox), I finally have some exciting news to report -

It's all looking UP!

 I have found a job. But, not only a job - the perfect job! - in online content writing.

It's in a perfect location, right by a Cofix and some bars etc, in the heart of Ramat Gan, and I'd be writing THE. WHOLE. DAY. It's also in a really cool company and my boss seems amazing.

I've also managed to find an apartment, located in central TLV, in walking distance of pretty much everything. So I'm a fairly happy bunny.

I'm also heading back to London for a week, to visit my family and 'celebrate' Christmas (read: eat chocolate, watch TV and get my haircut/go sales shopping).

I'm excited to be going, also because it's the first time I've ever left Israel, being absolutely certain of the exact timing of my next trip. Previously, I'd be quietly distraught and scheming internally at ways in which I could stay in Israel for just a little while longer.

This time, I know that London is there and waiting for me and that I'll be visiting again in a few months. I don't have to worry that I will never make it back to Israel, because it is now where I call home - for real.

I'm leaving on a high, having finally got all my shit together, and - despite some rather horrible bronchitis/laryngitis and self-imposed sleep deprivation - I feel great - happy, relaxed and excited for what will be and is to come.

Otherwise, the ulpan has vacated, and ironically I'm literally the last person to leave.

The place is quite nice but a bit eerie without the hustle and bustle of everyone and everything. The cats are free to roam the hallways, uninterrupted by people. It's pretty great, actually.

It does come over a bit like 'The Shining' at points though. The other day I got so bored (and hungry - I 'd forgotten the ulpan stops providing us food now), that I went exploring. I climbed up all 3 buildings and tried to get on to the roofs. While all doors were locked, using my cat-like abilities, I managed to climb up and squeeze through the window to gain access.

I can't believe I left it until the last few days I was in ulpan to do this. The view was absolutely breathtaking - I could see the West Bank!! -

Armon Hanatziv - West Bank to the left; East Jerusalem to the right

Later, I went back to the roof at night. The sky was clear, the stars were shining (I didn't realise how polluted the sky is in London - sometimes there I could barely see the stars) and so I started, what Grandpa would call, 'aving a fink'.

I've had a great time in Jerusalem lately. Despite what happened, despite the random terror attacks, Jerusalem has actually rather grown on me.

For me, it used to be a place of only bad memories, tension and general lack of opportunity. It was where I was biding my time until I left.

But, then several things happened - I met some fantastic people, namely my colleagues at Masa; some of the girls from my ulpan (they made my birthday one of the nicest, calmest and best I've ever had), as well as some other factors.

But Tel Aviv is where I've set to lay my hat...well, as soon as all my things are in one place - as I've had to stay in Jerusalem to finish my job at Masa (which actually I don't really mind so much), I've had to stay at the ulpan until I leave for London. When I return, it'll be to Tel Aviv. I therefore need to keep my bags all in one place, and move them before I leave for London.

Once again, David HaRomani has helped me out. He kindly offered to pick me up form the ulpan in his car and schlep my cases from ulpan to Oranit, just outside Tel Aviv, leave them there for a week and let me collect them when I return to move them to Tel Aviv. It's a massive help - I needed them to be near Tel Aviv! - and puts a lot of worry to rest in my mind.

In the meantime, just like I said, it's all coming up Milhouse,....or Fliss. The 11th hour is better than the 12th. I knew I'd get there eventually!      

All that is left to say is Merry Flissmas to you all... and a Happy Jew Year :)