Walking the Walk

After dithering for months about how to start this blog, I finally decided I'd start by describing my walk to and from school each day.

As I leave the apartment in the morning I pass our building's little garden, which includes lemon, peach, olive, and pomegranate trees. The lemon tree is still covered with lemons, which I sometimes pick on the way home to squeeze into my Israeli salad at dinner. I feel an astonishing amount of excitement every time I see trees with fruit on them that I'm allowed to pick! I'd forgotten just how much being around green things, especially ones that provide food, makes such a difference in my life.

I walk a block down the street and wind up at a major four-way intersection with cars whizzing by at alarming speeds. It was at this intersection that I discovered that traffic lights in Israel are not designed for pedestrians. It's impossible to cross the road in one try because the lights never last long enough to get across. Instead, one light lasts long enough to cross half the road, with the crosser winding up at one of the many traffic islands in the middle of the street. The lights aren't coordinated at all, at least from the pedestrian perspective, so once you reach the traffic island you have to wait through another cycle of lights to get to the other side, and then yet another cycle or two of lights to get to the opposite corner. There are also a few places where you have to cross from island to island without a light, which can be terrifying. (Israeli law does not require drivers to stop for pedestrians in crosswalks). Early in the morning and mid-afternoon young girls with crossing guard signs are stationed at these crosswalks to help pedestrians across, with varying degrees of success. Lefi aniyut da'ati (IMHO), it doesn't seem like a terribly brilliant idea to set up pre-adolescent girls against Israeli drivers.

Of late, the main corners of the intersection have also been occupied by striking teachers holding signs and blowing whistles. (High school teachers here have been on strike for six weeks, seemingly very justifiably, and kids haven't been in school, and the government's not budging yet. It's a crazy situation.) But more on this in a future post. For the moment, suffice it to say that the walk to school is really noisy, between the whistles and the many passing cars that honk like mad to support the teachers.

Once I get to the other side of the street I enter a beautiful, surreal sort of space. There is a grove of olive trees and big rocks and lots of dirt and various footpaths, but also a small paved road where Israeli parents in (increasingly large, SUV-like) cars wait to pick up their kids at the end of the day. It looks a little like no-man's land, except that it's two seconds away from a major highway and there are signs posted telling you which direction to walk in if you want to get to the Knesset, the central bus station, or the Israel Museum. Still, I've also encountered people who seem to be either Palestinian or Bedouin harvesting the olive trees by hand in traditional dress.

I take a winding path through the olive trees and begin an unbelievably steep ascent up the mountain. One element of Israel's history is represented on my left-hand side, as I pass the Monastery of the Cross, an 11th (or 6th or 4th, depending on who you ask) Greek Orthodox monastery. The monastery is a fortress-like compound with beautiful frescoes and the most amazing acoustics inside. It was originally built in a secluded location far, far on the outskirts of Jerusalem, but development means that it's now surrounded by the neighborhoods of modern West Jerusalem.

History of another kind is represented on my right-hand side, as I pass a whole enclave of Israeli scout camps and youth groups. (I haven't entirely figured out the different groups, but they include Betar and Shevet Modi'in.) No matter what time I pass them on my way home (noon, 2:00, 4:00, 6:00...) there are hordes of kids in uniforms milling around the enclave. (I get to school way too early-- 7:30-8:30 am, depending-- for any sane child to be awake.) Their activities mostly seem to consist of endlessly constructing and deconstructing wooden teepees, roasting snacks over small bonfires, flirting and listening to loud music, and creating obscene amounts of garbage. It's actually shocking to see how Israeli scouts behave. The long path through the scouting compound is filthy. Garbage (plastic plates and cups, leftover food, regular old garbage, etc.) is everywhere, thrown on the ground and just left there until it gets blown away or picked up by the garbage collectors. The sheer amount of waste is breathtaking, as is the fact that the preferred method for getting rid of something seems to be to throw it on the ground. There's not a hint of the environmental consciousness that's at the core of scouting in America.

So. I walk past the monastery and marvel at the vagaries of history, walk past the scout camps and get angry for the umpteenth time at how Israelis teach their kids to treat the environment, and then I forget about everything except how sweaty I am. In total it's probably a 7-8 minute walk/climb, but it's close to straight up. I also try to focus on not getting run over by cars coming up and down the hill at top speed without looking for pedestrians (on what is predominantly a pedestrian path). At the top of the path is a small neighborhood of apartment buildings and beautiful flowers. School is located in a residential neighborhood, surrounded by apartment buildings on one side, and a major museum on the other. "Out of the way" is an understated way to describe the location, but maybe that's how they like it. The view of the city from the top of the path (and from some of my classrooms) is truly beautiful. I'll try to remember to take a picture of it sometime soon.

In sum, my twelve minute walk to school includes beautiful fruit trees, 12-lane highways, Jews, Christians, probably some Muslims, rowdy teenage scouts, elderly olive-pickers, a massive nationwide strike, an ancient religious compound that was built-- at the very least-- a thousand years ago, and lots of garbage. It's a nearly perfect microcosm of life in Israel.

Customer Service

I wrote this a week or two ago, but it's still relevant:

After at least a week of (relatively) cold days and freezing nights (no heat in my building yet, if at all) today was a balmy 75 and sunny. I went out to do some errands in a t-shirt, happy to be alive and living in a place where the fact that it was 75 degrees in the middle of November didn't necessarily mean that the world is on the verge of environmental collapse. One of my stops was at a hardware store to buy some silicone caulk for the kitchen faucet, which has been leaking enormous quantities of water onto the counters and down into the cabinet below the sink. It took me a few minutes to figure out where the caulk was, and one local phone call to confirm that the word shakuf means "transparent," but I finally picked out a tube and brought it to the cashier. There were two cashiers and three other employees gathered around the cash desk, but none of them moved or said a word after I placed the tube on the desk. Finally I asked them if I could pay. After a few seconds of silence, the first cashier said flatly, "no." I was a little surprised and said "no?!" And she confirmed: "no."

Then all five of them started to talk at once. My Hebrew is okay, but not good enough to understand five people shouting simultaneously about silicone . I gathered up all the Israeliness I have in me and loudly asked them to stop and speak one at a time. One of the employees then explained to me that the silicone had dried up and they wouldn't sell it to me. I thought this was a little weird, but said fine, I would take a different brand of caulk. He impatiently responded that all the caulk in the store had dried up. I asked, "so what's it still doing on the shelves?!?" and he just shrugged. Then he offered to cut the container open for me to prove it was really dried up. He did and... the caulk was totally fine, not dried up at all. He grumpily said, "okay, fine" and let me buy it. I left with an open tube of caulk and continued amazement at how bizarre this place can sometimes be.

My next errand was at Mr. Zol, one of the big supermarkets near my apartment. Mr. Zol translates into English as "Mr. Cheap." The name would never fly in America, especially since Mr. Zol is anything but zol. It's actually one of the more expensive supermarket chains around. In fact, the special pre-Rosh Hashanah edition of the national newspapers featured a full-page ad demanding that Mr. Zol ask for forgiveness from its customers for overcharging them and suggesting that the chain change its name to Mr. Yakar (Mr. Expensive). On top of all this, Mr. Zol is dirty and dark and their tomatoes-- even at the peak of fabulously wonderful tomato season-- are the greenish, rock-hard things you find in suburban East Coast supermarkets in February. But it is the closest "real" grocery store near me, so sometimes I just deal.

Today I was wandering around in the frozen food (read: ice cream) section and noticed some stickers on the Zoglovek products* noting that they didn't contain any partially hydrogenated oil. I got all excited, because Israeli is the worst when it comes to trans fats-- they're in everything. I decided to buy some, and then the madness began.

I stood at the checkout line for a long time and then finally paid for my things. When the clerk handed me my receipt I thought the total was too high and I had been overcharged for two items. I asked her if she could check it for me, but she shrugged and told me I had to take all my groceries over to the customer service desk and they would deal with it. After waiting on line at that desk, I finally explained what I thought had happened and the clerk went off somewhere to check the details.

Nearly ten minutes later (!) the clerk returned and said there was a mixup with a "buy 2, get 1 free" special. (I had thought it was "buy 1, get 1 free.") I decided I didn't want three boxes of Zoglo's and told her I wanted to return the two I already had. She looked at me with what seemed like genuine hostility and said "WHY NOT? Just buy another one!" When I replied "I don't NEED three boxes of veggie shnitzel" she grumped at me, but did begin writing out a receipt and finally pushed it across the desk. I then asked her where to take the receipt so I could get my money back. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "It's for next time. You can have a credit when you come back!" Since I'm (obviously) not a Mr. Zol fan and try not to shop there that often, this wasn't such a great option and I politely told her I'd like my money back. The clerk glared again and said that in that case I had to go back to the cashier who originally rang me up.

I grabbed my several bags of groceries and shlepped back to the cashier, where I had to wait until she was finished with the line of people she was checking out. When I explained what I wanted, the ensuing dialogue went like this:

Clerk: So, where are your groceries?!
Me (confused): Here! (pointing to my shopping bags on the floor)
Clerk: Take them out again!
Me: Huh?!?
Clerk: The only way I can give you your money back is to ring up your groceries again. Take them out!

So I unpacked all the groceries that I had just bagged 20 minutes ago, and she checked me out again. And I finally got my money. It couldn't have been a more ridiculous, inefficient process if I had tried. A few days ago someone asked my Hebrew teacher how to say "customer service." She paused for a moment and then said, "what's that?"


SAR: Zoglovek is the original Israel brand name for Zoglos! Crazily, they're not that much less expensive here than they are in the US.