What's the definition of a "frier"? Let me give you an example:
Two people go out for a lovely lunch. Person B cannot finish her lunch, so she saves half of it to possibly have for lunch the next day. She could have easily nibbled away at the remaining yummy bits, despite being full, but utilizing her willpower, she fights the temptation.
When the waitress comes to clear the table, Person B asks (in Hebrew) for the leftovers to be wrapped to take home. Person B even does "the gesture" indicating that she'd like the food "to go." The waitress responds, in what to Person B sounded like (in Hebrew), "to take with you?" Person B responds in the affirmative. Despite this, Person B has the sneaking suspicion that the waitress is not going to wrap up said leftover food. This suspicion grows when the waitress stacks up the other dirty dishes on top of the leftover salad.
The bill comes. The take-away bag does not. Person B waits for a few minutes, then finally asks the waitress where the salad is, saying that she had requested it to be wrapped. The waitress responds, in English, "I don't know about it."
Person B, due to a lack of the proper vocabulary to say, "That's not my problem. I specifically asked you to wrap up my leftovers. You answered me. I deliberately left food over. I paid for my food and you tossed it. Please either make me a new salad, or give me a discount, or let me see the manager," sighs and quietly says, "B'seder" ("okay").
Person B is a frier. Any questions?
Monday, October 4, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Signs, signs, everywhere are signs
The government of Israel has a number of grants for new Olim (immigrants) to help them get started in new careers, or to establish an existing career in their new country. One of these grants is for artists, including singers. I figured, what the heck, I could use the grant towards setting up voice over shop.
Our Absorption Department submitted my information, and eventually, I received an invitation to audition. Actually, I received a faxed and photocopied piece of paper that was in Hebrew. Our always-to-the-translating-rescue cousins translated the paper and told me I had an audition. Since I wasn't initially told that there would be an audition, I had no idea what it was for. Once I spoke to the office, we figured it all out. I had applied for an audition to receive a grant. Ah, all is clear now.
These auditions are held once every 6 months. Here is the rundown of how they have been scheduled:
Audition 1, Oct '09: The day after I was leaving for a trip to the States
Audition 2, Mar '10: Two days before Passover. I guess people complained, because this was cancelled.
Audition 2, rescheduled, May '10: Two days after I was scheduled for surgery
Audition 3, Sep '10: Scheduled for September 13. The notice was dated August 25. I received it today, September 21.
I think I'm not supposed to be auditioning for this grant. What do you say?
Our Absorption Department submitted my information, and eventually, I received an invitation to audition. Actually, I received a faxed and photocopied piece of paper that was in Hebrew. Our always-to-the-translating-rescue cousins translated the paper and told me I had an audition. Since I wasn't initially told that there would be an audition, I had no idea what it was for. Once I spoke to the office, we figured it all out. I had applied for an audition to receive a grant. Ah, all is clear now.
These auditions are held once every 6 months. Here is the rundown of how they have been scheduled:
Audition 1, Oct '09: The day after I was leaving for a trip to the States
Audition 2, Mar '10: Two days before Passover. I guess people complained, because this was cancelled.
Audition 2, rescheduled, May '10: Two days after I was scheduled for surgery
Audition 3, Sep '10: Scheduled for September 13. The notice was dated August 25. I received it today, September 21.
I think I'm not supposed to be auditioning for this grant. What do you say?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
MAZAL TOV!
We went to our first Israeli Bar Mitzvah1 today. That's not entirely true, we've been to a number of family B'nei Mitzvot here in Israel, but our family is... well... unique. Considering the family alone makes up the bulk of the guests, there's always someone to talk to. And y'know, it's family.
But surprise, surprise, this was pretty much like every other Orthodox Bar Mitzvah we've been to. Except it was Thursday, not Saturday. And the party followed the davening (prayers), rather than having to be Saturday night (due to various Shabbat restrictions). And despite it being Thursday, there were still Cohanim2. One of whom was a teenager - so cute! (Is it wrong to refer to a Cohen as "cute"?)
Otherwise, there were the requisite speeches, ribbing by the siblings, tears from the mother, musicians, photographers, videographers and dancin' fools. The main difference between this Bar Mitzvah, and those I've attended in North America? The instant the music started, the teenage BOYS were out of the chairs and onto the dance floor. Yes, the boys. Here, boys think nothing of dancing together and holding hands when they do it. It's a beautiful thing to see. They were even line dancing at the end.
Oh, and the other difference? The photographer was a) packing heat3, and b) while walking around the womens' section during the repetition of the Amidah4, was responding "Baruch Hu uVaruch Sh'mo" while snapping away.
Mazal tov to the family, mazal tov to the Bar Mitzvah, mazal tov to Am Yisrael!
1 - Bar Mitzvah/B'nei Mitzvot. Rite of passage for 13 year old boys. Girls have a Bat Mitzvah at age 12. Contrary to common thought, the Bar Mitzvah is the boy, not the event.
2 - Cohen/Cohanim. Members of the priestly tribe of Judaism. Descendants of Moses's brother Aaron, their responsibilities lie mainly in the Temple. Until the Temple is rebuilt, may it be soon, we keep them busy by giving them small parts in the daily services.
3 - Packing heat. Really? You needed a definition for this one? ;) Carrying a gun. Not at all an uncommon sight in Israel. Except, apparently, in Eilat.
4 - Amidah. Silent prayer, which is then repeated out loud by the person leading the services. During the repetition, the congregation responds at various points with "Baruch Hu uVaruch Sh'mo" (Blessed is He and blessed is His name")
But surprise, surprise, this was pretty much like every other Orthodox Bar Mitzvah we've been to. Except it was Thursday, not Saturday. And the party followed the davening (prayers), rather than having to be Saturday night (due to various Shabbat restrictions). And despite it being Thursday, there were still Cohanim2. One of whom was a teenager - so cute! (Is it wrong to refer to a Cohen as "cute"?)
Otherwise, there were the requisite speeches, ribbing by the siblings, tears from the mother, musicians, photographers, videographers and dancin' fools. The main difference between this Bar Mitzvah, and those I've attended in North America? The instant the music started, the teenage BOYS were out of the chairs and onto the dance floor. Yes, the boys. Here, boys think nothing of dancing together and holding hands when they do it. It's a beautiful thing to see. They were even line dancing at the end.
Oh, and the other difference? The photographer was a) packing heat3, and b) while walking around the womens' section during the repetition of the Amidah4, was responding "Baruch Hu uVaruch Sh'mo" while snapping away.
Mazal tov to the family, mazal tov to the Bar Mitzvah, mazal tov to Am Yisrael!
1 - Bar Mitzvah/B'nei Mitzvot. Rite of passage for 13 year old boys. Girls have a Bat Mitzvah at age 12. Contrary to common thought, the Bar Mitzvah is the boy, not the event.
2 - Cohen/Cohanim. Members of the priestly tribe of Judaism. Descendants of Moses's brother Aaron, their responsibilities lie mainly in the Temple. Until the Temple is rebuilt, may it be soon, we keep them busy by giving them small parts in the daily services.
3 - Packing heat. Really? You needed a definition for this one? ;) Carrying a gun. Not at all an uncommon sight in Israel. Except, apparently, in Eilat.
4 - Amidah. Silent prayer, which is then repeated out loud by the person leading the services. During the repetition, the congregation responds at various points with "Baruch Hu uVaruch Sh'mo" (Blessed is He and blessed is His name")
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
A dance a day
There are lots of cool things about living in a country that has thousands of years of history in evidence everywhere you turn. I have written before I have apparently failed to write about the cool places right around us, where we take all our visitors. Five minutes away we have an archeological wonderland with remains of a Byzantine Inn, Jewish village with ancient mikva'ot (ritual baths), Arab village and a Crusader Fortress all in one place. Five minutes in the other direction, we have Ben Shemen Forest, which contains the graves of the Maccabees.
We take Maimo on hikes to these places, especially since he seems to enjoy peeing on the Crusaders. So yesterday, Maimo and I packed up and went for a hike through the forest, starting off at the ancient tomb of a local Sheik. There are a number of Orthodox Jews who believe the tomb is not that of a Sheik, but rather, it's the tomb of Matityahu HaCohen, father of Simon and Judah and the rest of the Maccabees. Quite frequently, we see families coming to visit the kever (tomb). It's kind of funny, because the State of Israel has placed a plaque identifying the tomb and giving some background on the Sheik. The Jews who believe it's the grave of Matityahu, spray paint over it with the words, "Matityahu HaCohen." The government comes back and replaces the plaque, the group comes back and spray paints. Ad infinitum.
On our way back from our walk, I noticed a Chassidic man strolling the path ahead of us. Not wanting Maimo to run up and say hello and possibly scare the man, I put Maimo back on his leash and continued to the car. Good thing, too, because while I was looking for the keys to open the car, a police officer drove by (dogs are supposed to be on leash pretty much everywhere. No running free for them, sadly). We got into the car, and since I was on the phone, we sat there for a few minutes so I could finish my conversation.
Which gave me the opportunity to see the man come back to his car, another man got out of the driver's side, and in the middle of the forest, next to the tomb of an old Sheik, the two of them proceeded to dance in the middle of the gravel road.
So not only did the Chassidic men save me from a possible ticket for having an unleashed dog, they also put a huge smile on my face. How can you not smile at men dancing with joy in the middle of ancient history and modern trees?
We take Maimo on hikes to these places, especially since he seems to enjoy peeing on the Crusaders. So yesterday, Maimo and I packed up and went for a hike through the forest, starting off at the ancient tomb of a local Sheik. There are a number of Orthodox Jews who believe the tomb is not that of a Sheik, but rather, it's the tomb of Matityahu HaCohen, father of Simon and Judah and the rest of the Maccabees. Quite frequently, we see families coming to visit the kever (tomb). It's kind of funny, because the State of Israel has placed a plaque identifying the tomb and giving some background on the Sheik. The Jews who believe it's the grave of Matityahu, spray paint over it with the words, "Matityahu HaCohen." The government comes back and replaces the plaque, the group comes back and spray paints. Ad infinitum.
On our way back from our walk, I noticed a Chassidic man strolling the path ahead of us. Not wanting Maimo to run up and say hello and possibly scare the man, I put Maimo back on his leash and continued to the car. Good thing, too, because while I was looking for the keys to open the car, a police officer drove by (dogs are supposed to be on leash pretty much everywhere. No running free for them, sadly). We got into the car, and since I was on the phone, we sat there for a few minutes so I could finish my conversation.
Which gave me the opportunity to see the man come back to his car, another man got out of the driver's side, and in the middle of the forest, next to the tomb of an old Sheik, the two of them proceeded to dance in the middle of the gravel road.
They had regular hats, not "shtreimels" and longer coats, but this is how they were dancing.
So not only did the Chassidic men save me from a possible ticket for having an unleashed dog, they also put a huge smile on my face. How can you not smile at men dancing with joy in the middle of ancient history and modern trees?
Monday, July 26, 2010
Well, who needs a balcony - or sleep - really?
Oh, the pounding in my head. Oh, wait. That's actually the pounding outside my head. When we lived in Vancouver, everywhere you turned, there was construction. Houses were bought, torn down and new monster homes - usually du- or triplexes - were built in their place. It happened to the house across the street from us, the house next door, the house behind us and the house diagonally across from us. Every. single. day we would wake up to the crashing noises of timber being ripped off its foundation, bulldozers razing walls. Then it began next to us. The house next door was so close, we were convinced the bulldozer was knocking into us. Every few minutes, we'd hear a crashing noise and our house would vibrate. Since we had already decided to make aliyah, we couldn't wait to get out of there and get some peace and quiet!
Well, our peace and quiet lasted about a year or so. Over the course of the last year, construction - which has been in the planning stages for years - began in earnest on the apartment complex and park on our street. Right across the street from us. Like, directly across the street.
For months, we've been waking up to the sound of breaker machines tearing apart the boulders that make up the lovely hillside across the street from us. They finally stopped a few weeks ago, and we thought, "At last!" They were ready to pour concrete.
No dice. They stopped long enough to throw down some rebar, and put up some construction walls, then started completely decimating the hill right outside our patio. The machines are now right outside our bedroom window, at the same height as our 3rd floor apartment.
Which means not only are we hearing the noise (the volume has necessitated sleeping with earplugs, because the construction starts at 6:30am), but we are now enjoying the vibration of the d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d. Any thoughts of dining on our balcony have been quashed under the layers of dirt and dust tossed about by the construction.
So now we're left with dust and noise in the front, and noise in the back. We haven't been able to open our windows in over a month, and I'm going through dust rags (even through closed windows!) like crazy. Which, of course, means that the air conditioner has to be on far more than it would otherwise. Which also means, of course, we're going to have one nasty electric bill.
When our landlord first told us he was not renewing our lease (he wants more money for the apartment. Or to sell it. Good luck with either one right now), we were disappointed. We like our neighbourhood, and our neighbours, and really love our apartment. The development companies are conspiring to make us really look forward to a change of environment. We even considered moving to a settlement, if only because there's a construction freeze.
I may be forced to go to the beach tomorrow, just to get some peace and quiet.
Update: our landlord must have come around the neighbourhood, or he called his agent who said, "are you effin kidding?!" because he called us asking if we wanted to stay. So to save expenses and the pain of moving, we're staying. The electric bill will be cheaper than paying for movers.
Well, our peace and quiet lasted about a year or so. Over the course of the last year, construction - which has been in the planning stages for years - began in earnest on the apartment complex and park on our street. Right across the street from us. Like, directly across the street.
The hill across the street - before
For months, we've been waking up to the sound of breaker machines tearing apart the boulders that make up the lovely hillside across the street from us. They finally stopped a few weeks ago, and we thought, "At last!" They were ready to pour concrete.
No dice. They stopped long enough to throw down some rebar, and put up some construction walls, then started completely decimating the hill right outside our patio. The machines are now right outside our bedroom window, at the same height as our 3rd floor apartment.
This was a couple of weeks ago. There's even less of the hill now.
Which means not only are we hearing the noise (the volume has necessitated sleeping with earplugs, because the construction starts at 6:30am), but we are now enjoying the vibration of the d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d. Any thoughts of dining on our balcony have been quashed under the layers of dirt and dust tossed about by the construction.
I couldn't transfer the video I took of the actual machines, but this is the exact same melody. Just multiply by two and take less breaks.
To top this off, work has now started in the field behind our apartment. The field is already flat, so the breaker machines aren't necessary. The machines that pour concrete for the foundation aren't quite as loud as the breakers, but that's not saying much.So now we're left with dust and noise in the front, and noise in the back. We haven't been able to open our windows in over a month, and I'm going through dust rags (even through closed windows!) like crazy. Which, of course, means that the air conditioner has to be on far more than it would otherwise. Which also means, of course, we're going to have one nasty electric bill.
When our landlord first told us he was not renewing our lease (he wants more money for the apartment. Or to sell it. Good luck with either one right now), we were disappointed. We like our neighbourhood, and our neighbours, and really love our apartment. The development companies are conspiring to make us really look forward to a change of environment. We even considered moving to a settlement, if only because there's a construction freeze.
I may be forced to go to the beach tomorrow, just to get some peace and quiet.
Update: our landlord must have come around the neighbourhood, or he called his agent who said, "are you effin kidding?!" because he called us asking if we wanted to stay. So to save expenses and the pain of moving, we're staying. The electric bill will be cheaper than paying for movers.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
How to look like an idiot without even trying
The conversation went something like this:
I didn't understand the question. Who is going to the doctor? I don't know - his patients? Is there a party at his office? Do I need to bring a date? It's a contextual thing; I've never been asked this before when making a doctor's appointment. I'm going to the doctor. Who else would it be? (Remember, I do not have children, so I am not used to making appointments for other people. Plus, I've never been asked this before.)
Finally, I get it and I say:
Then the brain really shut down. "In Hebrew"? I answered him in Hebrew. I don't understand. He asked me if I'd prefer English, I said yes, he said something really quickly that I think was he'd get me an English operator, wished me a good day and then hung up.
So.... does that mean someone's going to call me back? Did he accidently disconnect when he meant to put me on hold? Is he banging his head against his desk, sighing, "Anglos"? Did he go on his lunch break thinking, another day, another dumbutt?
:sigh:
Making a doctor's appointment is not difficult Hebrew. I know all the words necessary to make an appointment. Yet, I failed. I know what to say, I just can't understand what people say to me, especially if it's out of context or unexpected. And once I'm thrown, I can't get myself back on track.
This is true for a number of situations. I can get along okay in simple Hebrew, as long as I keep the sentences short and no one ever answers me. Just let me talk, and if you need to tell me something, use hand gestures.
We'll manage just fine. Who needs actual conversations, anyway?
Me: (in Hebrew) I want to make an appointment with Dr. X
Guy on phone: Im Dr. X b'Modi'in? (with Dr. X in Modi'in?)
Me: Ken. (yes)
GOP: Mi holech l'rofe? (who is going to the doctor?)
Me: [Brain fart]
I didn't understand the question. Who is going to the doctor? I don't know - his patients? Is there a party at his office? Do I need to bring a date? It's a contextual thing; I've never been asked this before when making a doctor's appointment. I'm going to the doctor. Who else would it be? (Remember, I do not have children, so I am not used to making appointments for other people. Plus, I've never been asked this before.)
Finally, I get it and I say:
Me: ani. Aliza Ahltmahn (me. Alissa Altman)
GOP: b'ivrit (in Hebrew)
Me: Ma? (What?)
Then the brain really shut down. "In Hebrew"? I answered him in Hebrew. I don't understand. He asked me if I'd prefer English, I said yes, he said something really quickly that I think was he'd get me an English operator, wished me a good day and then hung up.
So.... does that mean someone's going to call me back? Did he accidently disconnect when he meant to put me on hold? Is he banging his head against his desk, sighing, "Anglos"? Did he go on his lunch break thinking, another day, another dumbutt?
:sigh:
Making a doctor's appointment is not difficult Hebrew. I know all the words necessary to make an appointment. Yet, I failed. I know what to say, I just can't understand what people say to me, especially if it's out of context or unexpected. And once I'm thrown, I can't get myself back on track.
This is true for a number of situations. I can get along okay in simple Hebrew, as long as I keep the sentences short and no one ever answers me. Just let me talk, and if you need to tell me something, use hand gestures.
We'll manage just fine. Who needs actual conversations, anyway?
Monday, July 19, 2010
Jerusalem Romance
A poem for Tisha B'Av (the 9 Days)
Jerusalem Romance
Walk with me through ancient alleys
on polished cobblestones
by stations of bygone sallies
Walk with me through ancient alleys
seven hills and graven valleys
filled with long-forgotten bones
Walk with me through ancient alleys
on polished cobblestone
Walk with me through ancient alleys
on polished cobblestones
by stations of bygone sallies
Walk with me through ancient alleys
seven hills and graven valleys
filled with long-forgotten bones
Walk with me through ancient alleys
on polished cobblestone
Copyright 2010 Morey Altman
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