“Memoirs of Israel”
Wanna go to Israel but can’t afford it? Then, come with me and visit Israel through my eyes. Getting there wasn’t the problem. Arriving is something else. Ben Gurion Airport, like any other airport, was heavily congested with tourists and travelers from all over the world, endless lines of smokers puffing the world away and waiting an eternity for their luggage to arrive, and to top it all off, it was on SUNDAY!

A good friend of my father’s was the first friendly face to greet me. Oved took me and my two bags into his EuroRental car to my host family’s in South Tel Aviv. Since it was a Sunday, I was dismayed to see Los Angelean traffic everywhere. Whatever traffic laws I had in mind in America were soon to be disregarded without mercy. Crazy, ruthless drivers are in abundance, spotted as easily as a vanity plate in Southern California. Pedestrians however, are pieces of walking meat, who should know there are less painful ways to commit suicide.

But Israel thrives. Hundreds of cafes, stores, theaters, restaurants, galleries, resorts, kibbutzim, hiking and camping and historical sites greet the visitor. Israelis seek adventure. There are few restrictions for tourists who want to discover enough history to satisfy Lewis, Clark, and Josephus.

Yaffo, one of the oldest port cities on the Mediterranean, still has its authentic maze of cobblestone roads and corridors of stone. The Negev, Golan Heights, Dead Sea, Eilat, Akko, Halfa, Tzfat, Masada, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv. And imagine all those in a geographic space the size of New Jersey; that’s the tip of how incredible it is to be here.

Often mentioned by locals is how Israel is probably the only country in the world where everything is political, from the routine tradition of Prime Minister’s declaring how Israel will one day obtain financial independence,” to “Cornetto” being the most-eaten ice cream. Soldiers are everything, with their machine guns (safety lock on!) in shopping malls, on buses, in cafes, with purses and bags routinely and thoroughly checked in museums, movie house entrances and on trains. Police minivans with blaring blue sirens are never far away in a city.

Cultural differences abound for a visitor like me after two months here: constant interruptions during conversations, during meetings, typing, reading, writing, or in a dressing room trying on clothes. As the norm, and enough to irritate a Zen monk. Next time I’ll remember to bring a bullhorn — it’s the best way to get someone’s attention. But although it is difficult to get anybody to cooperate in a meeting, it is not impossible. Otherwise, how would this land have reached such prosperity? Israelis seem born with political savvy. Thus, everything has an explanation, and an opinion beyond that explanation. Taxi drivers divulge why falafel is the national food.

Forget about getting in line for anything other than kindergarten. There are few linear shapes here. People dash into movie theaters like they’ve got tickets to the Super Bowl. But unlike America, there are assigned seats here. For Deaf Israelis, this is one of the most widely enjoyed social events, since almost all the American films have Hebrew subtitles. It is relatively expensive to rent a video (NIS 15, between $4 and $5), so Israelis don’t make a habit of it here.

Supermarkets were another shock to me. Half-gallon milk or orange juice are unheard of here. There are no parking spaces, certainly no big lots like in the U.S. Shoppers make it a daily or weekly chore of carrying groceries to their flats, as opposed to emptying out the car American-style. And don’t expect to find any Ruffles for the basketball game on TV. In fact, people rarely eat chips here (unless they are “chips” in a cafe which are trench fries) . Party food consists of sunflower seeds, pita bread with hummus, tomato salad, chocolate wafers with Coca Cola. Alcohol is not emphasized here like in the U.S. Holidays are plentiful, but I have yet to see an Israeli with a six-pack of Maccabee eagerly heading home to party. It is more customary to bring a one-liter bottle of Coke to a function or a friend’s flat. Israelis are extremely hospitable; I’ve gone to strangers’ homes and always been fed from a plate of wafers, cakes, always accompanied of course by coffee and tea. (Or I just simply ask for Coca-Cola! Practically every household goes through it like water. Did they corner the market? Is there a law against Pepsi?)

For visitors, there is no dropping off and leaving, American-style. It takes a while to get accustomed to spending thirty minutes before continuing on to the next errand. I was stopping to visit a friend for an hour tops, and was gracefully persuaded to stay for dinner and coffee. Six hours later. . .

Midday meals from Saturday to Thursday are much bigger than evening meals, abiding by European custom. Dinner on Shabbat is usually a big feast. Other nights people have close-to-midnight meals as cafes are every where in the cities.

I am currently living in Tel Aviv, the city that never sleeps (“and looks like it.”) My flat is right in the heart of town. During my first month, I lived with a deaf family in south Tel Aviv near the Helen Keller Deaf Club. I have an internship at the Institute for the Advancement of Deaf People in Israel, the IADPI. I’m eternally grateful for their patience and hospitality. I came here knowing just two signs, taught to me by a professor of cultural anthropology at my university in Rochester. Now, because of Hava, the mother hen of the family, my ISL skills have improved tremendously in this short period of time. She never grows tired of having one-on-one conversations, and hasn’t from day one. Hava and her husband Roni introduced me to other deaf people. Their 26-year-old son and his 19-year old wife also introduced me to the young and restless side of Israeli deaf culture. They also have a younger, hearing daughter who is currently serving in the army. Although I no longer live with them, I make frequent visits back to Hava’s home.

I work as an intern at IADPI, locally referred to as “Mahcon.” There are approximately 150,000 people with hearing-impairments and 8,000 Deaf people in Israel. Mahcon provides programs and services to people of all ages. I’ve visited and observed schools for the deaf, deaf club meetings and functions, advocacy meetings for deaf young professionals and university students. I’ve been to interpreting classes at Tel Aviv University, and given presentations to different audiences ranging from first-graders to members of the Knesset. I work closely with the first and only deaf social worker in Israel. Together, we are the nuts and bolts, ideas constantly shooting at each other, papers scattered all over our desks, talking constantly by mixing ISL and English. I’d say we make a great team! Programs and services for the deaf are not as advanced as in America. However, after fifty years Israelis are becoming more educated about the deaf. Work opportunities remain as scarce as finding a well in the Sahara, but deaf people are certainly not being dormant about it. As for interpreters, for an all-day assignment, only one interpreter is appointed. Finding a male interpreter is like expecting to see the Loch Ness monster in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. As of now, there are no rules or policies for any possible injuries while interpreting on the job.

In spite of all the systemic flaws, deaf people are increasingly more vocal about their rights in the Jewish State. I am more impressed than disappointed with the programs and services they have here. If it is far from perfect, at least it’s progress.

In essence, Israel is full of surprises. I never know what the nerd day will bring. A contemporary country with all the modern facilities serves to challenge my preconceived ideas. As a Californian, I’m thinking there’s no surfing here, right? Nope, there’s a colony between Tel Aviv and Yaffo. I think I’m due for a visit. Lehitraot!