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 :)

The Great Apartment Hunt

'Great' as in 'large', not 'great' as in 'good'.

Since I arrived in Israel, 4 months ago in a few days, I have dealt with overwhelming amounts of bureaucracy, and found getting pretty much even the most simple things done a borderline migraine-inducing test of strength and will. Oh, you want to open a bank account? Sit here for two hours, and don't even think you're going to get your bank card until you've been here 7 times over 8 weeks. You want to earn some money and make a living? Well, do you speak Hebrew? Ha! If it's a no, then it's a no. Come back when (and if) you do. You want to convert your driving license? No, I'm sorry. I'm going to give it to some randos in Talpiot, and you'll have to go to a tribunal in a month's time where they'll decide whether you're allowed to drive or not. The racists.

All that is manageable, and bearable, because I'm where I want to be, and I've managed to get through it all fairly unshaken. This is mainly as I know I've got a certain amount of time during ulpan to 'land softly' and get through most of it, surrounded comfortably by my safety net.

But soon, this is all going to change. In just over a month's time I will be out on my ear, having finished ulpan finally. Sounds great, but in reality, the flat-hunting is maddening, draining and saddening by turns.

Here's my formula while conducting the search: location, divided by cost, divided by access, divided by space. I'm looking for something near the centre of the city or in a nice, well-to-do place, up to 4000 schmekels a month. I don't want a million rooms (for some reason, in Israel property isn't advertised like in England as '1 bed, 2 bed etc, but 1 room - studio - two rooms, etc) but I don't want to squish up all in someone else's face either. 2 rooms minimum would be fine with me, and easy to keep clean.

I'm also beginning to realise that my flat in London is massive. Some of the places I've visited (I've been to 4 so far) have been about a third of the size of my flat - 30 sqm, whatever that is. some have been fantastically located, a great apartment, one even came with a little kitten (which I'm going to try and foster even if I don't live there) but is a lease for only 5 months. one I saw today is fantastic, newly renovated and in a lovely quiet neighbourhood, but is a bit far away from the centre. Another I saw was in the best location possible, looked great from the outside but then had this weird bunk bed/loft thing, and a shower hanging over a toilet. That's a step too far even for me, I'm afraid.

And - even if you manage to find he magical apartment that is everything you ever wanted in a place and location etc etc, you better be quick - here, the best apartments re advertised 'mi pei le ozen' - literally 'from mouth to ear', but colloquially 'by word of mouth'. People tend to avoid using agents, as they charge a full month's rent as their service fee, plus a security deposit of one month's rent, plus your normal rent. As a result, when a 'good' apartment is advertised, around 50 people show up to view it. And, if you're stupid enough to look in 'advance', as I am, with 4 weeks to go, you're going to have to pay to get it. If I want to move in in mid-December, I'd need to pay for the rest of this month too to secure the place for myself.

Anyhoo. Stress-rant over.

Two of the best things to happen today - my sudden nosebleed after my third apartment viewing earlier, which happened out of nowhere and had people scrambling to help me, rather embarrassingly, and my driving lesson earlier.

My driving instructor - fluent in English, yet throwing in some Hebrew here and there just to keep me on my toes -  turns out to be my bank mate's dad, is absolutely charming, and has a lot of belief in me. I kept telling him that it felt wrong to be on the other side of the road, but he didn't seem to care, and off I drove for a full hour, in an automatic. next time I'll have a go on the manual, which is the one I want to take my test on.

Impressively (I think!) I managed to stay on the right side of the road, and noone got hurt. My instructor said that if I'd wanted to take the test on an automatic, he would have given me the test right there and then. Score!

As I said just a few weeks into my ulpan sojourn, 'hakol yihyeh beseder' - it's all going to come up Milhouse, just as everything else has.

Like most other things in Israel, it will take zman, savlanut and koach - time, patience and strength - and then it will be ok.

Here's to another week.

The Dismembered Kitten, and other stories

...and so begins another week. It's beginning to feel like I've been here for quite a while now.

Here are my  latest satirical finger-smashes: Israel to host the 2020 winter olympics, 'The Expendables 4' to be filmed in Gaza' and how a yogurt caused mass Israeli emigration to Germany. You should also check out theisraelidaily.com. It's totes worth the click. And the signing up. And more. Sod it, just read it every day!

But to the main point of this post. As I may have made mention of before, Israel has a lot of street cats. Ulpan, a microcosm of this compact but strangely vast land, has shitloads.

According to the JPost, it's (once again, as per my last post) the fault of the British:
'Cats were not prominent in Israel’s streets until the 1930s, when they were brought in to help eradicate a rat problem, but this decision ultimately caused a “cat infestation” in and of itself. No one knows exactly how many of the street cats live in Israel now, but estimates say about 2 million, according to Meow Mission.'

Obviously, cat are way preferable to rats. Much, much more so. The cats, providing they're not wholly diseased looking, are both a depressing and cute infestation to have. Add to this that quite a few of them seek affection (sometimes even post-eating), they really tug at the ole heartstrings - even my blackened, shriveled ones. Especially since I'm still feeling guilt about giving up Corny.

Since being here, I and some other ulpaners have unofficially (sometimes officially) adopted some of the cats in and around, mainly because of the boredom around here, anything to do with the various groups of cats - the ones who live in the back, in the garden; in the playground; by the entrance etc - causes excitement. There were three pregnant cats, all of whom gave birth about a month ago. All have interesting stories.

Mummy 1 - blind in one eye, black and white - the story goes, snuck into the building one day when we were all in class, and found an open suitcase outside in the corridor. She gave birth in it, to somewhere between 5 and 10 kittens (accounts vary). The suitcase's owner then returned, freaked out at its most recent usage and slung it outside, either with or without the kittens inside (again, accounts vary).

Someone then discovered to where the mother cat had fled - a tiny crack in a hidden away stone up a derelict and disused staircase, and put the suitcase near to the crack. People then started putting food and water into the suitcase, and the mother has kept her babies in the crack ever since.

Mummy 3 - a very friendly cat, one day we realised she was pregnant. Another day, I noticed she'd suddenly slimmed own and was defending a small corner of the courtyard - it turned out she'd given birth to two babies overnight - a little ginger one and a grey one. They are absolutely tiny and sleep together all snuggled. She has since moved the babies - to below my window, which is nice. I hear them mewing in the morning, and then mummy sometimes comes to the window to say hi.

Mummy 2 has had a very difficult time of it lately.

She initially gave birth to 3 kittens - two ginger ones and another, which looked just like her, with loads of different colours.

From the start, she had a hard time. Just a day after giving birth, people swarmed to look at the babies (like I said we're bored and they were really cute). For some reason, all 3 of the kittens have strange eye problems, where one of their eyes won't open fully, and developed crusts, later turning into almost a mask of gunk shrouding over half of their little faces.

To put a long and very sad story short, one of the ginger kittens died, of natural causes. It must be tough being a street cat-kitten. being around a lot of activity and not being able to see out of one side of your face. the kitten was very undernourished (cats are fascinating - the mother may have sensed that this one was weak and refused to feed it).

After it died, the mummy sat with it for a few hours. Then later, I went to check on it and possibly remove the body (in a public place, it would start to smell and rot quickly), but instead saw, horror of horrors -

The mother had decapitated it, and dismembered it limb from limb, not one foot away from her remaining kittens' shelter. A day later, only 4 little paws and half a skull were remaining.

Apparently, feral cats do this for several reasons - to fend off pray from attacking the rest of the family, or as a strange mourning ritual. Either way, it was pretty horrifying to see.

Another horrifying, sad incident involving Mummy 2 happened just this week. The other ginger kitten (who probably wouldn't have been much longer for this world anyway) mysteriously vanished.

According to the kitchen staff, she was last seen bleeding and being thrown on the floor (the Hebrew 'לזרוק', to throw, is different to 'לפול' to drop - one is active, one is passive) by a member of the ulpan. We hadn't found a body, or any trace of this - it could all be heresay, but disturbing heresay nonetheless.

Hot on the heels of that, someone decided to spread the rumour that the body of a cat had been found 'blugeund' ('bludgeoned') in the playground. We were horrified, with people out searchlight til 3am for the body of this cat. It later transpired to be one hell of a shit-stirring sick joke.

And that's ulpan for you.

It will end in 1 and a half months, and I'm crapping myself a little bit about finding permanent work - I have a few things up in the air currently - and a place to live. Do I stick around in Jerusalem (for a bit)? Do I up and move to Tel Aviv? What's my budget? We're all finding it a bit stressful at the minute.

But, onwards and upwards. With all of the chagim out of the way, it's much easier to crack on and plough through.

How time flies...unless it's 3 days of Chagim

...And suddenly, it became October.

I'm not sure how this has happened. It seems like only yesterday I was living my humdrum little life back in Britain. Fast forward to now and the spirit of change is in the air.

I like to think that I'm staying on top of things, news-wise, with my musings for The Israeli Daily - here's my thoughts on Scottish Independence and Lady Gaga's love of Israel. Check 'em before you wreck 'em.

Strangely, the whole Hebrew thing seems to have clicked. Although it takes slightly longer to form a whole sentence - without mistakes, hesitations etc - than it would in English) as I need to think about what I'm saying more, not necessarily a bad thing), my conversational skills and vocabulary are definitely improving. I'm even beginning to understand some of the logic behind the (intensely complex but deep and beautiful) language!

Although sometimes, my accent leads people to assume that I don't know Hebrew, or that I'm American. Both presumptions offend me.

The other day in the shuk, upon stocking up for the 3 day festival bonanza, of which I shall shortly discuss, I was buying fruit. The bloke behind the till, hearing my accent, began to address me in English. In competent - if imperfect, but I can live with this realisation - Hebrew, I let loose: that I needed to practise my Hebrew; that as a new immigrant here, he shouldn't assume that I couldn't or wouldn't speak Hebrew, that I wasn't stupid and he should be happy that I was at least trying to communicate. The bloke apologised, and I asked him how much my purchases would cost.

Just as I did so, by sod's law, there were a chorus of loud noises - someone shouting next to me; a van driving past - and I didn't hear what he said.  I asked him to repeat.

Cue the other chap, next to the first. After my whole, glorious sphiel about proud new immigrants etc, he turned to me and said, in heavily accented English: 'It nine shekel!'

What a time to make a point! I turned, and with my strongest English-accented Hebrew, retorting and enunciating every distinct word: 'I. Understood. I. Didn't. Hear. Because. Of. The. Noise!'

But que sera, sera. I'm now over halfway through my ulpan program - we had our מבחן אמצה - midway test - this week, and I think I did ok. I have noticed my test scores, spoken and written Hebrew have definitely improved since I've been practicing, attending class more and doing my homework every night. I'm willing to begrudgingly admit these are direct correlations.

And so it came to pass that Rosh Hashana - the Jewish New Year - this year ended up being a 3 day festival, incorporating Shabbat too. It's a time where people go to their family or friends and celebrate with them.

Having precious little of either in this country (most of my ulpan mates had gone to their families, alas), I stayed in ulpan for the 3 days. It did feel a bit weird initially - as usually I'm with my family over the holidays, apart from last year as I was looking after Corny, who wasn't very well, but that passed.

It was actually quite nice - some of my friends from ulpan were also staying there, being in the same boat as I am! - and we tried to make it as special as possible. The ulpan's kitchen tried to make everything that much more special, either because it was a festival or they pitied us poor sods with nowhere to go, but I appreciated it all the same. The food was good, the company was good and I had a really nice time!

And then, on Shabbat, just as a few more people returned to ulpan, we were fed yet another delicacy - beef. Now, I've been a little bit suspect of places which feed people en masse, other than restaurants, for some time. It's a tendency with these places, when people aren't paying directly for their food, to feed as many people as possible, as quickly and cheaply and possible. The unfortunate timing of the 3 day chag/Shabbat combo also meant that he food for Shabbat had to be cooked before the chag began.

Hence the slightly suspect timing of the beef's appearance on the Friday night. nevertheless, with not a care in the world, we ate, drank and were merry.

And then, the next day, we weren't. It soon transpired that the beef had been cooked, cooled and reheated a few days prior (aha!), and to cut a rather unpleasant story, we all got the runs. While painful, revolting and unfortunate, it was also one of the strangest bonding experiences I've yet had in ulpan. Yelling at some other pale, weak-looking soul across the courtyard, 'how many times have you had the shits today?' really goes to show just how close some of us have become.

And so. Not much else to report - this weekend will be the first time in 33 years that Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and Eid al Addha, the Feast of the Sacrifice, will coincide. It's due to get heavy, and security has been beefed up across Jerusalem, so that should be fun. But that's probably just how stuff is, when you've got two sets of people (who already have 'issues' with one another), with one set praying, crying and fasting, and the other set feasting, celebrating and making a lot of noise.

Ironically, Eid was always my favoruite time of year when I was a teacher, as none of my pupils would be in, and I'd manage to plough through my work, free of distractions, for one blissful day.

Wishing all a גמרכתיבה וחתימה טובה וצום קל ושבת שלום! - 'may you be written and sealed in the book of life, have an easy fast and shabbat shalom'.

'The British'

I have now been in Israel for two months, as of yesterday.

I really don't know where the time has gone - between waiting out the war and settling into ulpan, it seemed to have just slipped away.

Lately I've kept myself busy writing satirical news reports at theisraelidaily.com (because the only way to deal with the ever-present situation is to laugh at it, really): I've written about Kate Middleton's pregnancy; The West Bank starting their own bank; Evangelical Christians becoming radicalised by IS. A little bit close to the cuff, perhaps, but why ever not?

Anyhoo. Not much has been happening, as I've been a working lady. My job finishes at 9pm, so my social life has been pretty non-existent, as I'm usually exhausted and starving afterwards.

But, ladies and gentlemen. The real reason for which I write is to tell you of a particular, varied experience I had one day this week.

On Wednesday last, the ulpan took us on tiyul - a trip - to the north. The north of Israel is a very interesting place - beautiful scenery, very hot heat, as opposed to the humidity down south and in Tel Aviv, and an all-together different sort of vibe to the rest of Israel.

The last time I went up north on a tiyul, I ended up on a drip, having dry-retched for 3 hours after a 6 hour hike, although out of iron deficiency, not dehydration. It was perhaps one of the worst days of my life. So I was quite excited that we'd be going back north-wards, as last time that whole business had overshadowed my previous visit somewhat.

The day began at 6am. Yes, 6am in the morning. Us ulpaners seem to have some issues when getting up for 8.30am class just downstairs (I look back on all of those 6am wakeups in London and wonder how I did it/how I became so lazy), and this was no exception. What should have been a 6.15am leaving time became a 6.45am one instead - Israeli time.

But, no matter. Off we went to Ganei haNadiv - the Gardens of the Benefactor. It is next to the lovely, picturesque (and eyeballs-bleedingly expensive) town of Zichron Yaakov. We visited the gardens, which is actually a collection of different gardens , which our tour guide (called Ben Hur - am I the only one who finds that funny?!) told us included a traditional European rose garden; a garden with all fauna and flora from each different world continent and a sensual garden especially for blind people. Amazing, innit? there's also a wildlife park surrounding, which is home to many wild animals, and is more like a nature reserve. I have to go back and explore it all properly one day.

We were knackered and starving, and so we were fed (a very interesting Israeli 'continental' breakfast, of two rolls, some cheese, cream cheese, a pot of tuna, a pot of salad, butter and jam. I loved it!) and then taken off to our next location: Mount Carmel, just before Haifa.

Last time I saw the Carmel was on that disastrous trip up north, a month or two before I returned to England for a Very Long Time. Aside from that, I have many fond memories of Carmel - I stayed for a time in a youth village up there called Yemin Orde, where - coincidentally enough - my old school used to take the Year 9s on a trip. Just after I left Israel that last time, there was a massive forest fire, which destroyed a lot of the forest, scars which are still visible today from most angles. It also burned down Yemin Orde (which I believe was relocated somewhere else) and an artists' village just below it.

And off we went for what had been described as a 'stroll'. Maybe I hadn't been listening, but everyone seemed to be wearing proper walking shoes. I had on my favourite sandals, which, while comfortable, are unsuitable for a 'stroll'. I was also wearing - for some stupid reason - a little dress.

Readers, never EVER trust an Israeli 'stroll'. We were schlepping up and down vertical rocks (everyone must have seen my knickers when I was climbing) and going over sand and cliff edges - it was quite unlike any stroll I'd ever been on - way more exciting, for a start. It was absolutely amazing. And the views! Totally worth it. It was also lovely just to be in the fresh air, as opposed to cooped up in an alternatingly freezing cold/sweltering classroom.

After a pit-stop to view the memorial for those killed in the forest fire(the explanation of which I listened to in the French group, because I couldn't find Ben Hur), we went to our last destination of the day - the Atlit Detention Camp.

It's a name that I've seen so many times in books I've read, and never really taken in. I didn't really put two and two together until I realised that we were walking into something that looked like a DP camp; we were near Haifa and it was fairly modern looking - not from the 'ancient' side of Israeli history, but from the 'other' more recent bit.

Now, non-Brits reading - I want to tell you that people of my generation - unless they've studied History in university - don't know much, if anything, about the British Empire. Even if you'd attended Jewish schools your whole life, as I have, you learn absolutely nothing about the British Occupation and the British Mandate, pre-State of Israel. Except for those times when your dad holds up a map and exclaims, 'all this used to be pink!', which, I confess, used to leave me confused, and wondering if half the world used to maybe be gay.

The long and the short of it is, the British were very, very bad in the region. That part of history is pretty much why everything is so f*cked in Israel and the Territories today. It's a tragedy partly of (unclear) promises made and then broken; anti-Semitism; people-pleasing, downright lies and some other random shit.

It always makes me a little bit uncomfortable.  Everywhere I go, there seems to be a plaque commemorating a tragedy where 'the British' did something inexcusable. Not to say that the Jews didn't - the Lehi and the Irgun certainly attest to this! - but kidnapping randoms and torturing them just isn't cricket.

 In Atlit, we heard about the ways in which the Jews - the majority of which had just survived the Holocaust - were gender-separated, bundled up into barracks and sometimes deported back to Europe. Not like a concentration camp, but not exactly welcoming  treatment either. We also heard about how Britain harshly restricted immigration to Jews; other countries refused to accept Jews and how the fledgling state were begging for the Jews to 'come home', yet the British refused, so as not to create a Jewish majority. So then the Jews began commandeering boats to get to Haifa, which the British then intimidated and refused to allow in to port, or would allow them to dock and then deport/detain those inside.

And - and - and. It always seems to be a story with so much more to say - they never mention the ramifications on British Jewry. According to Grandpa (who is my source of information on all things WW2/post related), those young enough to do so left to Haifa to fight/help etc (such as the late Vidal Sassoon), or stayed behind as wave upon wave of anti-Semitism hit the community in Blighty.

But I digress. It's always interesting to learn a bit more about one's history - both the Jewish/Israeli side, and the British side. Britain is what bred me and made me, and is an integral part of who I am. I've always felt that I was too Israeli for the Brits, and too British for the Israelis. I fit into this weird middle ground,where I find myself saying exactly what I think of something/someone, and then needing a cup of tea and to demonstrate the art of queueing.

With this new knowledge in mind, off we went back to Jerusalem, another place which the British f*cked over majorly, and continue to do so nowadays, politically and foreign policy-wise.

But maybe I shouldn't be so harsh. After all, I have the strongest British/slightly French (don't even get me started...!) accent when I speak Hebrew. I'm immediately identifiable - I out myself.

To be honest, it's not even an issue here in modern Israel. There are so many British tourists here- all of those I met during the war were non-Jews, actually - that it seems all has been forgotten. It's never something that is made an issue, just a historical, commemorated issue that I keep inadvertently noticing. I suppose it's inevitable, really. And a wee bit surprising.

All in all, an exciting, varied and pensive - if not all-out knackering - day out. Nice one, Etzion.

Lines and Wines

Or - 'The One Where I Start to Dislike Humanity and Visibly Show It'.

This week has been exciting in ways different to last; you'll be happy to know that this week, I have not suffered any animal bites, and the ones I do have have scarred over nicely (I have two little teeth marks engraved on my knuckles for a good few years yet), and due to the 'open ended ceasefire' dealy, it seems that there will be no further azakot for the time being, unless I venture up north, where there are rocket attacks from Syria and Lebanon.

I've started working 4pm-9pm at the MASA offices, answering calls about Israel programs and other hullaballoo. So far, so good, but I've been here since 12 and had to speak to my fair share of Americans who can't understand a word I'm saying. But, it's a half-Hebrew, half-English speaking environment, and everyone seems lovely, so I'm quite happy. 

Anyhoo. This week has seen hellos and goodbyes once more, aswell as a trip beyond the Green Line. By the way, did you know that the 'Green Line' name comes from the green ink used to draw the line on the map during talks? As in, it's nothing more symbolic than that, as some have suggested? This country never ceases to amaze me.

So. Last week, my Ulpan class said goodbye to one of our two teachers (for some reason, we have one teacher 2 days a week an another for the remaining 3. The other teacher goes to teach the class below. As they say in Israel: 'lama?(why)'- 'kacha!(because)'). Amira is a very sweet, docile older religious lady, who was actually really funny - she has a great sense of humour (barring some slightly random racist outbursts by way of demonstrative examples), speaks pretty good English and has the patience of an absolute saint.

It must be bloody difficult teaching adults, and not just that - a cross-section of olim chadashim, all of whom speak vastly different first languages - in my class, mostly Russian and French, but also Spanish, Portuguese and Italian. The class is all taught in Hebrew, but occasionally we slip into our defacto second language of English. Matters are further complicated as some of the class don't speak English. So, when something potentially confusing happens, such as the class doesn't understand some vocabulary, people start shouting across the room, at the teacher etc in every sodding language under the sun. Some voices are impressively (and irritatingly) louder than others, and it becomes difficult to concentrate.

I found teaching Jewish children a nightmare, but we're all adults - (mostly) Jewish adults. Whether or not this means we are amplifications of the worst aspects I saw in my Jewish pupils - assumptions of superiority, general egocentricity and apathy - or not, it definitely does not bode well for the teacher, making her job even more difficult than mine ever was.

What most of us have is motivation (even me, when I don't give up completely). We need to learn this language in order to survive here. And we are learning - even though I'm still a bit shy to speak, in class and in real life contexts, I understand directions, words and more every day.


But I digress. Last week, ladies and gentleman, I learned not only Hebrew, but about human nature. It's a bit like ulpan is a petri dish , and I am presented with many wonderful opportunities to study the life and habits within.

It all began with a trip to beautiful Oranit, courtesy of David HaRomani (who you may recall from a previous post), who put me and 9 other people up for Shabbat. Oranit is kind of near Tel Aviv-Hod HaSharon (indeed I passed my kibbutz on the way there, and it has the sweltering humidity of TLV and surrounding environs). What I didn't know was that it's beyond the 'Green Line', but infront of the separation barrier.

It was interesting lesson in politics too - the 'Green Line' demarcates Israel's pre-1967 borders, separating the West Bank from the rest of Israel. The separation barrier is there to...well, I don't really know any more. Especially when David's brother drove us to it and explained how the Palestinian Arabs behind the fence regularly - and illegally - cross over to Israeli Arab villages to work, as they get better pay and healthcare etc if they work here and not there. I did not know any of this. Like I said - a messed up but fascinating country.


But I digress once more. David had been kind enough to offer us full reign of his house ('Italian style') for the weekend and a fabulous time was mostly had by all. The one (or two) thing(s) detracting from this was the selfishness and unwillingness of those around me.

Now, I'm in no way suggesting this was an issue with everyone. Oh no, no, no. But what I observed was that some people are natural 'givers' in life (such as our gracious host), helping in whatever way they can, giving generously (although sometimes too generously, as it's not reciprocated or appreciated) and contributing to the group in whatever way - be this meal preparation, washing up or otherwise.


Unfortunately, I also saw a lot of 'taking' - people inviting themselves along, without having been asked beforehand, waiting for everyone else, usually the same people, to clear up after them; do their washing up etc. Maybe I've just been well brought up, but I found it disgusting. I had a real Holden Caulfield moment of misanthropy.

Even more so when, at about 2am, I was made to leave my bed (where I was just drifting off to sleep!!!) for another person to use. I ended up sleeping outside on the ground, resulting in not only a bad back, a lack of sleep but also numerous painful and infected-looking mosquito bites running all the way up my legs.But it gets worse. I went back to the room in the morning to retrieve my stuff, which was still in there, noticing an empty bed on the way down, only to find an 'opportunist', to use the polite euphemism (because there are oh so many disgusting and terrible words I could use to reflect my disgust and rage) had joined someone in the room.

I'll let you make of that what you will. Moving on to the other area of latent disgust I've acquired for our dear species, last week was the Jerusalem Wine Festival, a calendar highlight.

The way it works is you pay a certain amount, get a free glass at the entrance and are then free to taste as many (and there are MANY) wines as you like. You're then free to buy the wines you taste, or just to keep drinking more.

The price is kind of worth it, but a little on the pricey side - 85 schmekels, but, had shit not gone down, it would've been totally worth every last drop. Twice.

The night all started well. The ulpan took us on a trip to the Israel Museum during the day - the same place which was hosting the wine festival later. Because we'd been out since the afternoon, not many of us had adequately eaten beforehand. You can see where this is going, can't you?

The Israel Museum is fascinating, if not a little overwhelming - think along the lines of the British Museum, or the New York Metropolitan. I felt a little bit drunk just walking around there, if I'm honest - there was just too much amazing stuff to see.

But, off we all went, 'wine tasting'. It was incredibly fun. That is, until some twattish people could not handle their drink and managed to completely and utterly ruin the evening for everyone involved, including yours truly.

But, that has been dealt with now, and all respective parties have either been, as my darling grandfather would say, 'sawted aaahhht' ('sorted out', which usually means punched) and shouted at. And lessons have therefore been learned by us all.

And so... I feel like things are finally starting to settle for me here. I feel better now that I'm a bit more busy and, most importantly of all, I've discovered that Israel has Dorothy Perkins, my most favourite shop ever in the entire world other than Gap. It's a massive schlep - near Oranit, but one day I shall make a pilgrimage there. This discovery was perfectly timed, as I was ready to buy out almost all of their current collection in my size and have it shipped to the Holy Land.

As I have emerged from the past week feeling so optimistic, I may even make extend this approach towards my ulpan classes, and may even make it to a few of them. Note the conditional tense, and that I mentioned no word about homework.

Have a great week, people.

Alarming, biting stuff!

I apologise pre-emptively for the continuing negativity of my recent blog posts. I'm aware that my initial blog posts pre-aliya were admittedly much more positive and hopeful. However I'm still a FOB, so I'm allowed to be a bit whingey for now.

Today, dear readers (and I really am grateful for your readership, if a little confused as to why you'd want to regularly read the drivel which spills forth from my mind) we will be discussing alarming and biting stuff. Specifically, the siren - an 'azaka', as you may remember from recent posts - which surprised Jerusalem on Tuesday night, and an incident the other day where I was bitten by a dog, under circumstances which could only ever happen to me. 

1. The Azaka-towel incident

Picture it - a standard Tuesday night in Jerusalem. Nothing too exciting going on midweek; I'd been out shopping after ulpan, returned and gone to take a shower. I planned on having an early night, which in ulpan terms means any time before 1am. 

So there I was at half 11, post shower and switching on my laptop when two things happened; a siren began wailing somewhere outside my window, which sounded like those azakot I experienced in Tel Aviv a few weeks ago (You remember? If not - the first was rather scary; the second was quite irritating). 

I was actually quite taken aback - here in Jerusalem, surrounded by some of the holiest sites in the world to the 3 Abrahamic faiths, one doesn't really expect to have rockets shot at them. I mean, can you imagine what would happen if one hit anywhere near the Temple Mount?! All hell would break loose, from several places. It would start an apocalypse. 

But anyway. I was a bit confused about what was going on, to say the least, until my 'Red Alert' phone app also started blaring a second later. Up it flashed with 'Jerusalem', and stuff began to thump into place in my evidently shrinking brain. 

So it was really happening - but why now? So I had to run - now - to the bomb shelter? When I was sporting only a towel and my irritation? Could I struggle into some clothes and make it 3 floors down in only 90 seconds? 

Life is cruel, but I'm not stupid. Since I arrived to the ulpan over a month ago (!), I've kept a dressing gown by the door, 'just in case', much to the amusement of visitors to my room. Yet, in that moment of indecision and potential social embarrassment, it saved my skin quite literally. 

In a split second of the only triumphant thing in this whole sad story, I grabbed the dressing gown and shoved it on over my wet skin, all the while slamming the door shut, running and screaming to the others on my floor, 'AZAKAAAAARUNNNAZAKAAAAA' in a dignified, non-panicky fashion, obviously. 

And off we bolted to the bomb shelter. 200 people,all at once, in various states of dress. 

It was actually a bit scary this time, as it was so unexpected. In Tel Aviv, pre-extended ceasefire, it had become almost commonplace: people would talk about making arrangements before the evening bombardment. This one came completely out of the blue. 

And while we're on the subject of out of the blue/'wtf' style incidents: 

2. Dog bites and bitches

Now. I'll start by telling you the fictional account of what will most likely be the stupidest, most embarrassing injury I'll ever receive (BH):

On Friday, while strolling in Jerusalem's Tachana Merkazit (central bus station), I saw a child encircled by three menacing, slobbering alsatians, ready to pounce and attack. As the child cried and screamed in terror, I leaped towards it, kicking the dogs out of the way, when - unbeknownst to me, so busy was I - one attached itself to my right hand, clamping down as hard as it could. There was blood everywhere, but it didn't matter, for I had saved a child's life. 

Had that, chas v'chalila, actually happened, my injury (and the subsequent pain//lethargy/blood loss etc) would have been explicable and worth it. What actually happened was nowhere near as dramatic, and even makes it into the 'top 5 stupidest things that have ever happened to me, ever' list. 

It all went down while I was waiting to meet someone in the Tachana Merkazit. Having some time until this was due to happen, I had a wee mooch around all the shops I always see but never get a chance to go into, as I'm usually running for a bus. Or food. 

One such shop had interesting weird little gifts and was full of fluffy and shiny things. I think I've always known that my pursuit of shiny things would inevitably lead to some kind of downfall or injury. And so it came to be.

Anyway. As I entered the shop, I noticed there was a little rat-faced dog sitting on the floor by the till, his lead lying next to him, unattached. I registered that this was an interesting sight to see in such a shop, and continued on, touching and playing with all the (other) fluffy and shiny things around the shop. 

Once I had carried this out to my satisfaction, I rounded back towards a stand near the till, to look at some particularly glittery things near the bottom. I reached down to take a closer look, and - out of the corner of my eye - saw a blur of something moving. 

The dog - for g-d knows what reason - had launched himself at me, quite out of nowhere, and attached himself to my hand! Later, I'd see that there were several other grazes along my hand, and scratch marks all the way up my knees - but at that moment, all I registered was the feeling of him sinking his teeth in. 

I did what anyone would do - start running away - but he followed me, trying to get at my knees, my ankles, anything he could reach. I think I even threw a few shiny things at him to stop him, which finally attracted the attention of the owner and shop assistant. 

You'd think they'd be sympathetic - a foreigner being chased around by an apparently bloodthirsty dog - but no. Even though the bites were bleeding pretty badly by that point - down my wrist; onto the floor - the owner's only reaction was to pick up that little gobshite and try to leave! 

Seeing this, I shouted at her - in Hebrew, noch - to come back here right now and look at what her dog had done to me. She was hysterically shouting at me, stuff I didn't even understand as it was too fast, but the gist was that she thought it was all fine; he'd bitten her loads of times before (as if that makes it acceptable) and I shouldn't worry - and then she tried to leave again. I pointed at the rather impressive amounts of blood emitting from the bites (and on the floor) and said I'd have to check that out. And if I had to have it checked, she'd be the one paying for it. 

She started shouting at me again, that he had certificates stating he was clean (again, translating from Hebrew here, I know it sounds a bit sordid in English) and I was being dramatic, that I didn't need to go to the hospital. Then she tried to leave again. 

At this point I got angry. I shouted that, if she left, I was calling the police (despite not actually knowing the police's number in Israel, but still). That stopped her. Despite yet more protestation from her, I made her give me her phone number (she refused; I started dialing 'the police' again) and she started crying, saying that thing she called a pet would be put down if I went to the hospital, that he didn't have rabies (or 'rabbis', as one of my pupils once wrote - 'The squirrel bit her, and she got rabbis', I recall. Either way, both are scary methods of contracting deadly diseases and religious leaders). 

Obviously I don't want the little bastard to be put down - I'm still feeling the loss of Benjy.  On the other hand, I'm in a new country and I was bleeding loads. It was fairly obvious that I would have to get this thing sorted.

So that charming female finally surrendered her number and left. And then, once the battle was over, I realised I had no idea what to do next. In Blighty, I'd go to the A&E, but here, my doctor's surgery closed at 12 (Israeli institutions and services keep weird hours, which bizzarely change day to day and usually end at 12pm) and their 24/7 phoneline was bloody useless, is difficult to hear and had no English speakers (if I have to speak Hebrew, it has to be on a clear phoneline, and when I'm not sobbing, you see). I didn't even know if there were any emergency rooms near, or how I'd find one. So I did what I suppose any bleeding, knackered olah chadasha would do - I burst out crying. And that's when the person I'd been meeting there called. Through the tears, I said: 'dog, bite, blood' and hung up. 

I've had a bit of a crap week. This was merely taking the piss. I stopped myself crying quickly (DAMMIT I AM BRITISH AND WE DO NOT CRY IN PUBLIC) and went off to the pharmacy. I got an antibacterial wipe to clear up the blood, shut my eyes and went blank for a couple of minutes while I considered my next move. 

I thought a bit about Corny, and my friends back home, and my flat, and Pizaza, and my (lovely, very well raised, non-biting) dogs. I also thought, had I contracted Rabbis, my mum would have a shit fit and want me to go back. 

In the midst of all that crazy, I received a phonecall. The person I'd been waiting for came to meet me, taking a cab over as I had sounded 'a bit off' (for that, read 'crazy').

Off we went to the emergency clinic around the corner,and - as I was having my blood pressure taken and some tests done - he went to collect the service fee (a total of 82 schmekels) from that charming female counterpart of her pet. 

I had a tetanus shot, which didn't hurt at the time, but dear g-d! About half an hour later, my whole arm went numb and felt really heavy, and it didn't subside until Monday morning. It was all a massive faff which I would have liked to have done without, and was absolutely knackering to boot. One arm was numb, while the other had pain radiating all the way from my war wound.

It was even more of a faff when, on Monday morning, still feeling exhausted, I had to bunk off class to go and get the once over by my doctor, who said that I wasn't going to die of Rabbis as the bites were healing well. Once I knew I was out of the danger zone, we had a laugh about the whole thing. 

But never mind, it did happen, and there were even some positives to come out of this - I have a cracking story to tell about my in-shop-dog-bite, amongst some other stuff.

As for what I've learned, I'm not entirely sure. What lesson/s can I derive from this experience? Never be...in the same shop as a dog? A little dog?

I don't know. But take heed, people. Avoid dogs with clear symptoms of Small Dog Syndrome.

Here's to a less exciting week.