My reaction to everything these days is, “It’s okay.” It’s okay I was just handed an extra class to teach. It’s okay Panini just started a two-week quarantine because a kid in her class tested positive for COVID. It’s okay the Boss is always mad at me even though I do everything right. It’s okay Netanyahu is still in office despite six straight months of protests.
Some things are actually okay.
It’s okay the kids have been in school, socializing with friends, doing some after-school activities, and improving their Hebrew. It’s okay the Boss sets up rabbi appointments for Panini’s bat mitzvah during the day, works during the evenings, and cleans the house at night. It’s okay I’m teaching my butt off, playing tennis regularly, and making tons of new friends with my adept social skills and blossoming Hebrew.
It’s okay that it hasn’t dropped below 50 degrees since we’ve been here and that I haven’t worn a fleece or jacket since April in Chicago. It’s definitely okay that we spent five hours in the sun at the beach last Saturday.
It’s okay that Shabbat dinners here are no joke: chicken, fish, basar (meat), pasta, rice, lentil soup, vegetable soup, lasagna, bourekas (stuffed phyllo dough), home-made tomato rotev (sauce), soup, salad, olives, cheeses, roasted zucchini, red wine, white wine, beer, cheesecake, chocolate cakes, cupcakes, and, of course, sufganiyot (Chanukah donuts).
It’s okay that Yoni, the Boss’ deeply insecure younger brother, has been here for the last month. He feeds and reads bed-time stories to my children to gain Favorite Uncle status, he demands validation from me during our late-night walks to Pedo Park, and he seeks constant attention from family members by announcing the imminent birth of his and his wildly gay partner Raph’s baby in June.
It’s okay we see the Boss’ family every single free moment we have. At least we’ve done some tiyulim (trips) over the past month. Last weekend, we spent the morning in Jaffa, an ancient port city in the southernmost part of Tel Aviv. It’s okay that Boni whined most of the time about the fact that we didn’t buy her any junk from the flea market; at least I had a great shawarma for lunch.
Some things aren't okay but it's still okay.
It’s okay we almost died. A few weeks ago, we hiked through Ein Gedi, an oasis overlooking the Dead Sea. It was a beautiful, perfect, sunny day, and the next morning, there were flash floods. It’s okay Broosevelt is not a great swimmer…
It’s okay there’s a new COVID strain in England. My kids still eat their vegetables, I somehow get stronger and better looking every day, and the insufficiently researched, politically motivated, Autism-causing vaccine has arrived.
So it’s okay that daily COVID cases in Israel are back up to 3,000 and the government is close to issuing another lockdown. We escape to COVID-free zones when things look rough. Last week during Chanukah, we spent five days in Eilat, a COVID- and duty-free resort town on the Red Sea where you have to show a negative test to enter.
On the way to Eilat, we stopped in the Negev Desert to view the Makhtesh Ramon, a stunning erosion crater not nearly as cool as the Grand Canyon. It’s okay Jews can’t help but associate misery with this natural beauty. There were some short films in the museum, one of which was about Ilan Ramon who became a national hero as the first Israeli astronaut and then a national tragedy when he died in his first space mission when the 2003 Columbia was destroyed upon re-entry. His son, Assaf, also became a pilot and died in 2009 during a training flight. Jews flourished in Spain before the Inquisition and were running shit in Germany before Hitler, so somehow these deaths seem tragic but fitting. It’s okay.
It’s also okay that humans and wildlife are living in absurdly close proximity in the Negev: We saw hundreds of ibex roaming the streets and parking lots of a small town (see below), and we visited Hai-Bar Nature Reserve, where we saw mountain gazelle, wild goats, and ostriches who stuck their heads in our car and plucked at Panini’s iPhone.
It’s okay that Eilat’s wonders are built on oppression. Once we got there, we hiked through the surrounding mountains and canyons, hung out at the beach, and snorkeled. The Boss, Panini, and OG also swam with dolphins who were captured from the wild, enslaved, and made dependent on human food and support. The dolphins are free to swim out to the sea, but they choose to stay 50 feet from the shore…
It’s okay and maybe even awesome that Israelis are as judgmental and condescending as I am. I bond with neighbors I barely know over our mutual disdain of the “nouveau-riche” in the next neighborhood over who wear Prada, smoke cigarettes, and host kids’ birthday parties with hair-straightening, make-up, and nail-painting.
It’s okay that we’re the only family in Israel without a giant woven mat used to have picnics anywhere, anytime: on the beach, in a park, or in the middle of a concrete parking lot.
It’s okay that Israelis have zero tact. I’m playing tennis with this dude for the first time, and when I tell him about my twins, he yells out from the other end of the court, “Were they natural?”
It’s okay that the next Israeli I’m trying to practice my Hebrew with who says, “I prefer to improve my English” is gonna get punched in the face.
It’s okay that my deeply privileged students from all over the world can’t get their work done on time and ask for extensions on nearly every major assignment. It’s also okay and deeply gratifying when I say no get the hell out of my face with that bullshit extension request.
It’s okay that teachers drink wine at holiday lunch parties and then spend the afternoon with students. It’s sick that those same teachers rip cigs behind the building and then help students with their essays. It’s bad-ass that these teachers smell like alcoholic ashtrays and then teach their classes.
It’s okay that Israelis are so soft. It’s fine that they wear winter coats when it drops below 70 and rain boots when it’s not raining and cancel soccer practice when it might rain. It’s reasonable that every child in Israel gets what he wants when he wants it: shoes, balloons, gummy candies, chocolates. And it’s definitely acceptable that Israeli 6-year-olds don’t know when their birthday is. They know how old they are, but they have no idea on which day or in which month they were born.
It’s also perfectly normal that 6-year-olds here don’t know how to tie their shoes. Or put on their shoes. Or put on their socks. Yes, it is true that numerous able-bodied Israeli 6-year-olds literally cannot put on their own socks and shoes because, presumably, Mommy has been doing it for them forever. Broosevelt and Boni had a playdate with Ariel, the most athletic 6-year-old on the block. When Ariel left, he brought his socks and shoes to me with out-stretched arms and, I’m pretty sure, a tear in his eye. I told him hell no figure it out, son. So Boni spent the next ten minutes putting Ariel’s socks and shoes on him.
It’s okay that Boni, the softest of all my soft-ass children, notices how soft Israelis are: “People in Israel are such wimps!”
WARNING: Do not read the next paragraph if you are a total loser who can’t get down with the nuances of sport.
It’s okay that Israeli tennis players are fucking hooks. It’s okay that any ball on, or even near, the line is out. In civilized countries, when a ball lands near the line and the receiving player doesn’t see it perfectly, he’ll often take a quick walk over to the line, take a look, non-verbally convey “Well, I’m pretty sure it was out, but I didn’t see it that well, so I guess it’s your point” with a frown and shoulder-shrug, and walk away. In Israel, players walk over to the line a couple seconds after the point has ended, identify an imaginary ball-mark, and call it out.
It’s okay that my children don’t understand that every action has a reaction. Like, for example, it’s okay they don’t understand that if a 9-year-old puts a bed sheet in a 6-year-old’s mouth and that 6-year-old clenches it with her teeth as hard as possible while the 9-year-old yanks the sheet as hard as possible, the 6-year-old might lose a tooth and cry for a long time and bleed profusely.
It’s okay that Panini’s on a soccer team but won’t hook me up with the squad’s merch. It’s great she has school friends and neighborhood friends, and that she’s dreaming in Hebrew and going to Tel Aviv villas for Bat Mitzvah parties. It’s also cool that Panini has violent tendencies. It’s awesome that sometimes she slaps OG in the face “out of instinct” and knocks the wind out of OG when she “didn’t mean to punch her that hard.”
It’s okay that I have to coach OG through her showers. And it’s fine that, despite my love and support, OG doesn’t appreciate me. It’s okay that she said, “If Mommy weren’t around, things would be grim.”
It’s also okay that this 9-year-old girl, Mika, is super mean to OG for no reason. Scratch that; there is a reason: She’s a jealous little bitch who can’t handle that OG is cuter, smarter, and a better dancer. True story: OG wrote Mika a note (in Hebrew) saying that Mika hurts her feelings when she says mean things and asking her to please be nicer. Mika read the note, yelled at OG, and ripped up the note in front of OG’s face. We happened to be going out of town the next day, but we discovered that afternoon that a bunch of girls in OG’s class had brought her balloons and candy in a show of support because they love OG and know Mika is a little beotch. It’s okay, Mika. Bring that shit any time you want.
It’s okay that Broosevelt continues to praise 6-year-old soccer-star Segev even though Segev hits and isn’t a good listener and doesn’t play fair and likes Atai more than he likes Broosevelt.
And it’s okay that Broosevelt is accident-prone. It’s fine (as previously mentioned) that he slipped and smashed his face into a table at school and lost a tooth. And it’s normal that a couple days later he somehow got caught up in one of the window shades and the whole thing came crashing down on him and a large metal piece nailed him in the back of the head and he had a giant lump and hopefully not a concussion.
It’s okay that Boni is also an accident waiting to happen. After Broosevelt lost a tooth, her front tooth became loose. Boni then bit into an apple, causing herself tremendous pain, and then a couple hours later, she accidentally knocked out the tooth with a Kindle.
It’s also okay that Boni has no friends. It’s kinda awesome that Ms. Queenie is finding it hard to adjust to the way 6-year-old girls play in Israel and that sometimes the other girls ignore her. It’s about time Ms. Popularity felt the sting of rejection.
And I suppose it’s okay that the Boss called up Boni’s teacher (Shulamit) to discuss Boni’s difficulties. It’s not like Shulamit has to worry about 30 other kids who can’t even read. It’s totally reasonable to ask Shulamit to pay extra attention to our little precious Boni who comes home crying because a few girls won’t play pretend with her.
I’ll leave you with the infamous Israeli phrase: Yihye beseder. Its denotation is, “It’ll be alright.” Its connotation is, “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fucked.”
Merry Christmas!
