Things that still drive me crazy in Israel

I know that most of my recent blogs have been surprisingly very positive. Those who know me remember that I was the one in our family who didn't want to come here. I always imagined us living happily ever after in Boston, perhaps moving to the warmer California or to the eclectic New York. Not Israel with all its political and social problems. However, over those three years since we moved back I somehow, unexpectedly, slowly fell in love with this country. Again. We are happier here now than what I ever imagined us to be.  Yet there are a number of things in Israel that still drive me nuts.

1. Reckless driving culture and the traffic police that does absolutely nothing to punish violation of the rules: speeding, lack of signalling, illegal lane change, no stopping at the crosswalks, no courtesy, texting and talking on the phone while driving. Ironically, buses that many of the foreigners so worry about thinking of suicide bombers, is the safest and easiest way to travel in Israel.
2. Government support for the settlements: more and more funds funneled into the development on the territories, new construction plans approved weekly. While there is plenty of opposition to it expressed in the Hebrew and English-language media, Russian-language media is maddeningly right-wing.
3. Some remaining barbaric cultural norms: luck of conversational culture, everyone is talking at once. Majority of Israeli men feel entitled to peeing like a dog anywhere outside along a curb or in the bushes. People are using toothpicks openly at the table at the end of the meal at home and in the restaurants. Somehow this private personal hygiene became a public activity. 
4. Despite all of the above Israel is wonderful country whose strongest natural resource is its people: creative, smart, caring, compassionate, and tolerant. Therefore it is especially sad to see a very negligent and primitive PR the Israeli government produces toward abroad presenting the country and its citizens as unreliable, extremist and rude.

The Sad Days and The Happy Days

A week ago: Holocaust Memorial Day. 10 am sirens caught us a a bank. Everyone stood with their heads down in silence commemorating the lives of 6 million Jews mass murdered in the concentration camps and ghettos.

I was surprised to learn that quite a few people avoid sending their 3-8 year old kids to day care and schools on this day. Apparently instruction of the education ministry require all public day care and school teachers mark this day based on their own judgement of the kids understanding and emotional capabilities and many parents do not trust this judgement. My boss brought his 7-year old daughter to the work instead. In our toddler's day care there were two 5-year old kids that used to attend this day care before and now came as visitors avoiding their public kindergartens.

A week later: Memorial Day honoring our fallen soldiers and victims of terror: over 23,000. In a tiny and tightly connected country as Israel everyone knows someone who died. In the evening many families participate in the ceremonies held at every neighborhood. We drove to the one in the old part of Beer Sheva, where the daughter of our friends performed. Organized by the student volunteers, it combined songs, poetry, and theater pieces mediating on the peace, war and memory.

In the morning: another chilling siren and very sad and beautiful ceremonies at all the schools. Our town of Ramat ha Sharon also held the traditional "Boys March" on Saturday: an organized 8 km walk in memory of local youth that died defending the country. It wasn't easy in the 90F heat but those who made it enjoyed the fruit ice and fresh oranges at the finish line:

In anticipation of the Independence day the whole country is decorated with the Israeli flags: on cars, buildings, street poles. The high tech park where I work is located in-between the town of Rosh ha Ayin and the Arab village Kasem. Sitting down at my desk recently I noticed a triplet of new flags outside the window on the Arab village side. In these days of sad "us-them" stories my first thought was that these may be Hamas and Palestinian flags posted by Kasem villagers as antidote to the Independence day fuss. But checking closer we realized that these are German, Portugal and Italian flags - in preparation for the Soccer World Cup starting in Rio De Janeiro in a month. The same Championship that people at my work are staring to make bets for...

The Memorial Day broke into into the Independence Day with a beautiful ceremony translated over TV from the Mount Hertzel in Jerusalem (where my mother-in-law happened to be singing).  This year the ceremony was themed on Israeli Women and their achievements. 14 remarkable Israeli women of various ages, colors, roots, accents and professions were selected to light the Independence Torches. Among them a beautiful paralympic champion, a Muslim woman entrepreneur, and a ultra-orthodox woman rabbi. Read more on them here.

Independence Night concerts, street fairs and fireworks continued well past midnight. Kids wondered the streets with their friends arriving at 1:30 am. I didn't last long as the streets were too crowded and loud to squeeze by with a stroller.

Next morning: beach time and traditional Independence Day bbqs.  On Hetzelya beach we first observed the parade or yachts and then the Air Force show:

This week between the Holocaust Memorial Day and the Independence Day is the most amazing week of the year in Israel. It is the strongest week of this nation: when the polarized country suddenly unites, when everyone goes from tears to joy, when we remember and honor together, when everyone feels very proud being a citizen.

From a Schindler's List...

This is an obituary note on a bus stop nearby. Such are being placed near the houses of diseased or their relatives notifying of the sorrow, stating the day of the funeral and place of the shiva. Yet this one is rather in-ordinary: it is written that Giza Leshem, dear wife, mother and grandmother, was one of those saved by the Schindler's List. 

Nature Art - Another Magical weekend

 Right in the center of Israel, near busy freeways, close to luxurious ranches and crowded beaches, there is a little-known place where everyone could find a piece of mind.  Vast fields of nature art created by Israeli and International Artists. It is called The Green Gallery, located in Arsyf Kedem. For all the lovers of De Cordova museum in Lincoln, MA, this one is well worth your visit.

A Winter Weekend

One of my main concerns in weighing up living in Israel was the weekend. It is much shorter here than in the US. Many people work on Fridays, most of the kids study, Friday is devoted to errands, cleaning and cooking while the real day of rest for the whole family is only Saturday.

What did we do during the weekends in the US?  Met with friends, drove or took a train somewhere to explore, took our kids to sport competitions, went to museums and parks, read and watched movies.
What did we do during the weekends when we visited Israel? Went from one family table to another, stuffing ourselves with delicious food that was offered in abundance. Warm weather, lack of public transportation on Shabbat and laws forcing many entertainment places to be closed made travel and exploration very limited.

I was scared that Israel will turn us into lazy, fat, bored bumpkins.
And I am happy to report that I was wrong. We are constantly discovering more and more interesting weekend activities:

• Most of the museums are open on Shabbat. This includes the superb Israel Museum in Jerusalem, Children's and Design museums in Holon, Science Museum in Haifa and many others.
• Sport competitions do take place on both Friday and Saturday, which keep our son, Naor, and us very busy.
• There are plenty of places to jog or bike and I hope to join one of such biking groups soon. Meanwhile we occasionally take family biking trips in the Yarkon Park or in the nearby strawberry-grapefruit fields.
• Many restaurants stay open throughout the weekend despite the potential fine from the municipal authorities. Even if we do not eat out often it is reassuring to see city streets bursting with life.
• Travel. This country offers much more than what we remembered. In addition to the well-known historical attractions there is so much natural beauty: rolling hills with olive trees, almond groves that are now in a pink bloom, my favorite colorful anemones, poppies, cyclamens and irises. 

Today we drove up North to the Yokneham area, visiting a small reptile museum and stopping for picnic twice in random nature spots that looked very close to paradise.

My dear Bostonian friends, I know that this is cruel to show you our sunny and colorful day while you are battling one snowstorm after another this winter. But you should know that our kids miss the snow and all related winter activities very much and would switch in a second with yours. Life always seems better on the other side....

Israeli Realities

I started working in a high-tech company (Optitex) located in Rosh Ha Ayin.
First shock - my native tongue, Russian, is spoken freely, loudly and openly all around the office. I have used to a mix of Indians, Pakistani, Brazilians, Chinese and some "native" Americans in the US high-tech but never before I have had the privilege of a big Russian company.  There are also a few Canadians,  US immigrants, Argentinians, and as a result of such non-sabra mix we could not even do one couplet of the traditional Hebrew "Ma oszy yeshiati.." song at the Hanukkah party.

Second shock - on a hill near our busy high-tech park is an Arab village and twice every day we hear Muslim singing-style prayers translated via speakers to the whole area. Our new employee from Ashdod always jumps as she mistakes this sound for the air attack siren that they are so accustomed to in her area.  Once a week we go to this village to eat hummus and falafel with a freshly baked pita:

At home there is another reality. We are finishing our renovations.  I created a list of all the remaining projects to accomplish in Russian for our Russian-speaking project manager and my father who is left to supervise the work at home. My sabra husband attached a short Hebrew translation for him to keep a track of the things. The Arab worker that our contractor sent us to actually perform the work appended the Arabic translation of the items. This is the resulting multilingual work list:

Renovations in Israel: a Tragic Comedy

People say that life could be divided into good periods and bad periods, but these are the bad periods that leave you with many good stories to tell. This is one of such stories.

Six months ago we bought a house that was almost perfect.  All we needed is an extra unit (room+ bathroom) on the roof and new stairs, all 50 of them. The owners' style was classic and modest but a bit outdated for our taste, so we thought why not fit it to ours: add some color and light. People warned us, joked about their experiences and pointed to the couples that divorced after the renovations. But we thought - it is a small job, we have a contractor and a designer in the extended family, we can trust them, we would tell them what we want, give them the keys and two months after we will move in.

Five months later, double the budget, exhausted and not quite happy with the result, we are still not living in it.

From the very first day, our renovations turned into a tragic comedy.  The actors are:
- Black kippa contractor that appears at the site once a week, usually to pick the check. Not much can take him out of his balance.
- Russian immigrant project manager that hourly rushes in-between all 6 of his construction sites and is easily inflammable. He screams daily that everything is a BIG AND IMPOSSIBLE PROBLEM, but cools down shortly and does it.
- Two to four Arab workers that have been working with our contractor for 20-30 years, some since they were 14. They live on the territories and have to wake up at 4 am to stand in line for a border control in order to get to our house at 7 am.
- A wooden stairs expert that behaves like a prima donna and is hated by all of the above but paid by me.
- Two joyful AC experts (black kippas as well) that seem to like everyone and be liked by everyone.
- A cousin designer who is patiently ushering us into her idea of what we need.
- A carpentry shop that is making what we should have bought at IKEA many months ago.
- An Arab carpenter from Nazareth that did a quick and reasonably priced job but he doesn't acknowledge that there are many different shades of white in the inner part of the closet he built for us.  For some reason he is not very much liked by the Arab workers from the territories.
- A door expert - it is still unclear whether the character he is playing is good or bad.
- Five town hall personas that I visit weekly to get all the building permits.
- A person at the National Institute of Standards that showed me that even standard fees are negotiable.
- Neighbors, that include a powerful ex-wife of a local celebrity and an unidentified photographer that sends us pictures of the garbage our workers leave behind. Among the neighbors are those that are happy to see our renovation delays since they could use our free-for-now parking spot, and those that seem genuinely supportive comparing our renovation saga to theirs.

Scene 1:
First planning meeting in the newly purchased house. The contractor, who is also our relative,  realizes that he made a big mistake, but it is too late.  He promised us, we promised him, he is our brother-in-law and intends to keep it this way. We start working together.

On a second meeting our designer suggests that we made a big mistake. Everything here is either modern or country style. But we want retro, plus an orange-and-brown kitchen, plus keep the blue Belgian windows. "Your taste is so different than mine. Why did you chose me?"  Well, she is also our relative... We are trying to convince ourselves that she is a professional, she knows better and we should listen to her.

We are shocked to realize that nothing works smoothly without our micro supervision. I leave all the consulting jobs aside and show up daily at the house managing the project manager and the project.

Tens of bureaucracy steps.  Among them, taking pictures of our bomb shelter and proving to the Home Front ministry that it is up to standard. In my purse is a 5-inch screw from the vent tube of the bomb shelter and I am hopelessly trying to find where to purchase 3 more of those so that our Arab workers can secure them. By chance I notice that screws in the playground have the same print on them. No, I didn't unscrew the playground.

We realize that we do not have a measuring tape with meter marks at home - only inch-marked tapes. We use inches and convert them to cm on our iPhones.

Scene 2:
A few months later.
The newly purchased meter becomes the most useful item in my purse, credit card is the next. Through trial-and-error we seek experts in various fields. The experts didn't always like each other and we find ourselves mediating the tension. Every two weeks the contractor sends our project manager to a few days off at home to recuperate his nerves.

We finally agree with the designer that orange-and-brown kitchen may get tiring soon and switch to a white and gray-wood-print pattern. Few weeks later, unable to find the right gray, we give up to the simple white-and-oak.  Even the carpenter is shocked by our change of heart.

The planned small job has slowly turned into what seems to be an infinite spiral. There are many more parts to this house than what we thought. Floor panels that no one has noticed before suddenly become a major issue. The designer explains to us that ceramic floor should have stone panels as ceramic panels have an un-interesting edge. I spent a few weeks searching for the right panels for each room. Panel tips have weird names such as bird beak and alligator head.

I discover the stores and prices and shocked to realize that half of our budget should be set aside for building materials (stone, windows, carpentry, sanitary equipment etc). We learn that no one likes to pay the 18% VAT tax on work and goods while we are used to being good citizens.

We are losing sleep, walking around angry and irritable. There are moments, when I am hoping Iran will bomb us now and free us from this renovations nightmare.

Scene 3:
A few more months later.
Iranian intelligence has undoubtedly spotted the disaster of our renovations, and afraid to inherit them, the Iranian president is starting to broker the peace. There is no escape for us from the renovations project but to pull it through.

Things are starting to come together but there are problems everywhere and we are starting to just ignore most of them, anxious to wrap it all soon.  We learn that we can disagree with our designer and still be friends. I happily sidestep from the color white and buy a bright red lamp but the designer allows to hang it only in the kitchen. We still want painted walls but the designer thinks it is too simple. She suggest a wall-paper. It is too expensive. Walls stay white. We buy ceramic panels with a flat tip. We now know how things should have been done but it is too late: never again will we repeat such adventure.

At the basement entrance we have a row of 6 light switches.  It takes up to 12 tries to turn the desired light into a desired state because each light could be also controlled from one or more light switches spread throughout the basement.

Every second night one of us is having renovation nightmares. We are still married but drained and pale. Our kids couldn't hear any more about the house project. They are not interested in seeing its progress either. Our son spends two weeks in the US and on his return suggests we go back there. "But what about the house?" we think.

Our friends decide to forgo renovations on their house, likely influenced by our experience. A neighbor describes her nightmarish 4-year long renovation at a block party and we feel good.