Day 106: Cautious Optimism

I woke up early on the morning of Wednesday, November 4th to very bad news: Trump was winning. It hadn’t rained in Tel Aviv for over three months, but it rained like crazy that day. I was practically in tears on the way to work because my country had failed in its shot at redemption, and cuz rain is dramatic. I taught my classes like a zombie and checked CNN every free second I had.

Later that evening, the momentum started to shift and, I shit you not, the sun came out. I went to bed that night feeling a sliver of hope. Over the next few days, Biden won Michigan and Pennsylvania, and all of a sudden we had ourselves a new president-elect. 

The joy and relief I felt once Biden passed 270 lasted for about ten minutes: I started thinking about the 70 million people who voted for Trump, the stacked Supreme Court, the likely-to-be Republican-controlled Senate, and the fact that moron Democrats and evil Republicans were the ones who got us Trump in the first place. Trump and His Crazies are going nowhere, and I’m curious to see where the hell this all ends up in two years, four years, etc. I am, at best, cautiously optimistic.

Same goes for our situation here. 75% of my kids are back at school, chugim (after-school activities) are coming back, and we’re finally getting to explore Israel. Two weeks ago, 14 of us (me, the Boss, Panini, OG, Broosevelt, Boni, the Boss’ mom and dad, the Boss’ aunt and uncle, the Boss’ cousin and his wife, and the Boss’ other cousin and his girlfriend) went to the northern tip of Israel, where the weather was cool and the natural beauty was stunning. Syria was a few miles to the east and Lebanon was a few miles to the west... 

We stayed on a kibbutz, a collective community traditionally based on agricultural and socialist idealism. Nowadays, many kibbutzim engage in pragmatic capitalist endeavors such as tourism, high-tech, and real estate. This particular kibbutz built a bunch of tsimmerim (cabins) and sold them to private individuals who now rent out those cabins to city-slickers such as myself. To be clear, these cabins are not rustic; they have TVs, cable, and wi-fi. And the best part is that they only have one bathroom, so my children were able to experience my daily movements as intimately as ever.

Breakfast, served al fresco on our tsimmer’s picturesque patio, was included: eggs, lox, herring, tuna, olives, olive tapenade, sliced cheese, feta cheese, cream cheese, caviar and other cheese spreads, labane (Greek yogurt), salat (diced tomatoes and cucumbers with olive oil and salt), granola, bread, butter, jelly, Nutella, hot coffee, cold choco (chocolate milk), and not freshly squeezed orange juice (see below). Per Jewish culture, we made six sandwiches with the left-overs, wrapped them up tight in paper napkins, and made sure we were prepared should we be struck that afternoon by another genocide.

On the first morning of our tiyul (trip), we went on a beautiful hike on the border with Lebanon, and I felt happy. The weather was perfect, pecan and fig trees were in abundance, and we ate sweet, wild blackberries. I was amused by the fornicating snails we discovered, but I was a bit taken aback by the sound of Hezbollah at a firing range just over the hill.

That afternoon, we had a muddy picnic lunch, saw some cows, climbed through natural stone fissures, and drove through the hills of the Galil (the region around the Sea of Galilee). One look-out had a memorial for a local Israeli soldier who died in one of the recent wars in Lebanon. I listened solemnly and carefully to the recording, and understood very little. 

That evening, we had Shabbat dinner at the home of friends of the Boss’ parents. 10 people sat together inside wearing masks, while my Family of Slobs and I were seated outside by ourselves. 

The next morning, we hiked through a river, the kids got soaked, and the Boss’ nice tuchus (Yiddish for butt) got wet. We had another picnic lunch, this time on the Jordan River, where I proved my bravery and impressed many onlookers by swimming upstream in very cold water to a small waterfall. Panini made it about 2/3rds of the way before turning back, OG turned back after 20 seconds, Boni turned back after 10 seconds, and Broosevelt jumped in, shrieked, and jumped out.

That afternoon, we drove into the heart of the Galil valley. Any Jew who knows the history of Israel knows that this is where the OG Zionists drained the swamps, developed agriculture, and helped feed the young nation. Though clearly that era was needed, Israelis discovered that the swamps wanted to be swamps: Over the years, the region experienced dust storms and fires, so the country decided to restore the wetlands to their natural state.

As a result, northern Israel today continues to be a mecca for migrating birds, and we were lucky enough to see tens of thousands of cranes, along with herons and flamingos, all enjoying each other’s company. We also saw some wild boars who seem to have plenty to eat and, if you’ll pardon me the pun, are in hog heaven.

That evening, the election was finally called for Biden, so we drank some wine and watched the news. The kids finished two pizzas by themselves, and the Boss and I ate shitty falafel, which clearly symbolized the cultural defeat within Biden’s political victory.

On the last day of the trip, we packed up our things, ate as much breakfast as we could, prepared our Holocaust lunches, and said thank you and goodbye to Nano, the owner of the tsimmer. We thought Nano was cool, but it turns out he is an ardent Trump supporter. We drove away feeling more cautious and less optimistic.

We spent the morning walking through Roman ruins, hiking down to an impressive waterfall, and driving up to an Arab village in the Golan Heights on the border with Syria, where Broosevelt met expectations by vomiting in the car. On our way back to Tel Aviv that afternoon, we stopped at the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) so the kids could swim, freeze, and dry themselves off with their own dirty clothes. 

It was a good trip.

Day to day, the Boss is, for the moment, living her best life. Last week, while I fed, bathed, and loved our four children, she presented at an international conference on Zoom for hundreds of psychologists and researchers and, on her night off, hosted an outdoor wine-and-cheese birthday party with the neighborhood moms. In Chicago, she worked out once a month. Here, she is working out twice a week: rooftop yoga on Wednesday mornings and group exercise in the park on Friday mornings. She humbly prepared a 70th birthday dinner for her parents, proudly figured out how to pay the electric bill, and, in her embrace of aggressive Israeli culture, publicly chastised a grocery store cashier for “extreme negligence and incompetence” (the Boss, 2020). She is evolving: Last week, Broosevelt and Boni’s teacher (Shulamit, shoo-lah-MEET) berated Boni for accidentally walking out of the building before being officially dismissed. The Boss, who is generally conflict-averse, yelled at Shulamit on the phone and, in so many words, told her to back the fuck off.

Though Panini is still mostly on Zoom for school, has gotten a couple migraines, and spazzes out on the keyboard when she fails at piano, life is good. She bikes to and from soccer practice, she has a bunch of neighborhood friends, her Hebrew is fantastic, she has had some in-person school sessions, and, at the time of writing, she is at a sleep-over with her new non-Hebrew-speaking Russian-British friend. Panini is becoming the brazen young woman I’d always hoped she’d become: On the first night of our tiyul, despite sharing one room with all of her siblings and a mattress with OG, she demanded three pillows. The next day on our hike, she and I were walking behind everyone, and she calmly looked at me and said, “Why am I walking with you? You’re, like, the least cool person here.”

We are even somewhat cautiously optimistic about OG, who looks and acts like Mary Lou Retton. OG’s self-created and self-taught gymnastics routine is dope, her shoulders and biceps are chiseled, and her dance moves are tight. I haven’t seen her actual Zumba class, but I know for a fact she’s the best one in there. She never plays with Panini, she is rudely sarcastic to Broosevelt and Boni, and her two front teeth are practically pointing at each other. But who cares? She might just be a winner.

Broosevelt is exchanging Pokémon pictures with one of my students. Broosevelt is playing soccer, basketball, tennis and baseball. Broosevelt is speaking Hebrew very well. Broosevelt is reading books. Broosevelt is crushing it on the piano. Broosevelt is the cutest, most well-liked boy on the block. Broosevelt is running into the classroom, slipping, and slamming his face onto the table. Broosevelt has bloody gums and a big gap in his mouth because his front tooth was so crooked and the roots were so damaged that they decided to yank it out. All of Broosevelt’s classmates told their parents what had happened and we received tons of WhatsApps about how Broosevelt was doing because everyone loves Broosevelt because Broosevelt’s the man.

The boys in Tochnit Lamed (the name of our neighborhood) have officially gone crazy for Boni. It was only a matter of time. The girls already love her, and Boni is running for Mayor of Lamed. But now I see these salacious 6-year-olds including Boni in all their games and chasing Boni around the park and using Broosevelt to get closer to Boni, and all I wanna do is strangle these little perverts who don’t even understand that the feeling they’re feeling is, in fact, a perverted one. Boni is blissfully ignorant. She does ballet in the park, she climbs the slides at the playground, and she runs barefoot through the grass while these little demons giggle and trip behind her. She cries when her teacher yells at her, she cries when her brother gets hurt, and she cries when she makes a mistake. Why? Because she’s the Mayor and leaders can’t make mistakes and we are less cautious and more optimistic when it comes to Boni’s Reign of Benevolent Terror.

I have finally found a group of dudes to play tennis with. My students are slowly but surely realizing that they’re the luckiest bastards on earth. People compliment my Hebrew a lot because my accent is perfect. Certain things are being delivered to me that will enhance my enjoyment of certain things.

The other day at work, I heard the school secretary asking random people in the halls, “Where is [Saul]? Have you seen [Saul]?” I called her into the room where I was sitting, and she handed me an envelope with 2,500₪ (about $700). I’d never been reimbursed for anything in cash, but it made me feel cautiously optimistic.

Bye bye, the Donald.

Day 89: The Fourth World

You are reading Saul’s Famous, which means you are intelligent and sophisticated, and thus aware of the fact that the “third world” is an anachronistic, Cold War term. As, of course, you already know, the “first world” referred to countries allied with the United States and NATO, the “second world” referred to those allied with the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact, and the “third world” referred to those schmucks allied with neither. Though the Cold War is over, these terms remain, particularly “third world,” which basically means developing, underdeveloped, or totally fucked.

Technically, Israel was a first world country, as it was (and still is) closely allied with the United States. Cumulatively, Israel has received the most aid from the U.S. since World War II and about $3 billion a year for the last 40 years. This money has contributed to a powerful military, a modern economy, and a generally high standard of living. Now that things are opening up here, I’ve had a chance to make a few observations, and there’s some serious third world shit going on here. Therefore, this paradox of a nation shall henceforth be referred to as the “fourth world.”

In the fourth world, hot water is endless but cold water is nowhere to be found. Israel, one of the driest countries on earth, is known as a “water giant,” as it desalinates more than half of its drinking water. Furthermore, nearly every building has solar thermal water heaters on its roof, making my showers long and pleasant. But if you want a really cold glass of water, you’ll have to fill up the pitcher, put it in the fridge, and wait a while. Cold water from the pipes is not a thing, and neither is ice.

In the fourth world, people are active and fit, but they don’t believe in moderation. This past Saturday, the Boss’ cousins came over for Shabbat pancakes, syrup, and Prosecco. If I were invited to someone’s house for Shabbat pancakes and syrup, I would (make the Boss) bring juice or fruit, or perhaps flowers. They brought home-made cupcakes and multiple requests were made to add more Prosecco to the mimosas. 

Of note: The Boss’ cousins also brought three beautiful children with beautiful Israel names: Yam (sea), Shai (gift), and Mikey.

In the fourth world, communities unite around children living in denial. This past Friday, a bunch of kids from the neighborhood did a beach clean-up. As they picked up candy wrappers and cigarette butts, the life-guard gave them props over the loud-speaker, and nearly everyone on the beach started applauding. There were lots of Eze chamudim! (What cuties!) and Kol hakavod! (Good job!). What no one seemed to appreciate is that these children were carrying around giant, thick plastic bags, which they barely filled up. They then threw these huge bags in the trash, overwhelming local landfills and adding plastic pollutants to the ocean. 

In the fourth world, people play white collar sports but customer service means nothing. 20 minutes before closing time at a local tennis facility, I went to speak with the lady at the front desk to reserve a court for the following week. The reservations are on a paper calendar cuz it’s the fourth world, and even though that calendar was on the desk in front of her, she said I should call to make a reservation the next day because she was “already closed.” 

In the fourth world, the weather is perfect but it’s always hot. Israelis keep saying that fall has officially arrived because we changed the clocks back an hour, the chatsavim (squill) are blooming, and any day it’s going to rain. It is now November, I continue to use air conditioning in the car, it hasn’t rained a single drop, and today there’s a high of 82, again.

In the fourth world, everyone has a car but no one knows how to use one. The roads here are fantastic and the signage is excellent, but drivers have no idea what they’re doing. Bikers are also clueless and unsafe. Countless times, I’ve seen dads with no helmets and 2-year-olds on their shoulders (also with no helmets) going 25mph on electric bikes. I don’t wish pain or death on that 2-year-old, but how else will dad learn his lesson?

In the fourth world, everyone has an iPhone with an alarm, but no one uses it because the local wildlife wakes them up. I set my alarm every night, yet every morning the birds, the god damn fucking birds, are singing. The abundance of birds is strange because there are so many cats. As you know, cats kill billions of birds a year. Not here apparently. Israeli stray cats are friendly, plump, and well fed. I guess the cats and birds will continue to happily co-exist while I experience extreme sleep deprivation, which technically is form a torture.

Speaking of wildlife, in the fourth world, everyone has advanced technology, but no one has common sense. Residents of our apartment building vigilantly WhatsApp each other about not leaving our windows open at night because mice crawl up the side of the building. This wouldn’t be a problem if any of the windows had screens. On a related note, our building has a security code to get in, but it’s only relevant six days a week because the doors are left wide open on Shabbat so religious folks can avoid using electricity. I’m not sure who’s dumber, the tenants who leave themselves vulnerable once a week or the thieves who don’t realize that the Sabbath is a day to steal, not rest.

In the fourth world, natural beauty abounds, as does litter. It took me six seconds to reverse six years of propaganda to which young Broosevelt had been exposed. We were hiking through and around a stream in the Galilee (a mountainous region in northern Israel), and Broosevelt finished the water in a big plastic bottle. I jokingly told him to throw it into the bushes, and he said, “But Daddy, that’s littering.” To see how gullible he is, I said, “Ahh, don’t worry about it.” So he tossed it. The Boss said, “Broosevelt, what are you doing?? Don’t litter.” He responded, “But people in Israel do it all the time.”

In the fourth world, I discovered my professional passion: catering to every desire of those in the first world. I find great joy in spending over an hour on Zoom with a rich kid and his mom in Manhattan, walking him step by step through his 4,000-word essay so he can take my feedback and filter it through his tutor with whom he will get me in touch so both his tutor and I can continue to work closely with him and his mother to make sure his essay is worth every penny his divorced parents have spent.

In the fourth world, 9-year-old children squeegee the shower floor before and during the shower, and then they squeegee the soap off their own bodies. I have witnesses.

Big day today in the Mecca of the First World. Enjoy the emotional rollercoaster!

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