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Every Day is a Holiday

It’s amazing how many holidays are celebrated in this country. And they’re usually celebrated from sunset-to-sunset, not midnight-to-midnight like in the U.S.

Eric and I were chatting and cooking dinner when the sirens were activated on Sunday night for Soldiers’ Memorial Day. We did our best to stop what we were doing for a moment of silence, but the honest truth is that our vegetables were simmering loudly in the frying pan.

Independence Day officially began at sunset yesterday. The whole city was out with friends and family, most of them clamoring to catch a view of the fireworks over Haifa Bay. Everywhere we looked were crowds, flags, and lights -- I regret not taking any pictures.

As a side note, it’s kind of crazy to think that this very “old” country declared its independence only 59 years ago.

Fear of Dogs

I’ve always been afraid of dogs. Friends shake me furiously and ask, “What happened to make you so afraid???” but it’s impossible for me to answer that question, because I’ve just always been that way.

Of course, since I’m afraid of them, I’m always the one who gets sniffed, chased, or bitten. And of course, because of those incidents, my fear intensifies.

Now, I don’t actually have an explanation for the next thing I’m about to say, but you have to believe that I’d never, ever lie about this. For some bizarro reason, whether it’s historical, cultural, or just God’s gift to me... DOGS IN ISRAEL ARE NOT SCARY.

Dogs smell fear, right? Isn’t that what people always tell me? Then why, even though my heart pounds, knees buckle, and I pull my arms into my chest when I see a dog approaching, HE JUST WALKS RIGHT PAST ME? Walks on by like I’m nobody? It’s true, folks -- dogs here don’t seem to sniff, chase, or bite.

I don’t get it, either. But wow, if American dogs were like this, I think it would have saved me a lot of childhood (and, who am I kidding, ADULTHOOD) trauma. Hm, maybe this place is prime training ground for overcoming my fear.

So dog-lovers, good news! You can stop hating me now.

Shrine of the Báb

The Little Engine That Could

Happy Clouds

Sometimes you just need to stop what you’re doing and take a few minutes to draw a pretty picture.

Breathing Prohibited

I wonder if smokers would kick the habit if they could smell their own cigarette breath.

Probably not. I mean, I know my breath is gnarly after an onion, and that doesn’t stop me, does it? Nope, it sure doesn’t.

The Sea Behind the Tree

We see a lot of this around here.

Feels Like Home

Does everyone grow up with a friend who is more like family? Whose parents knew your parents? Whose home felt as safe as your home?

I have a friend like that, and her parents were those parents, and her home was that home. I spent entire weekends at her house, and somehow, miraculously, we never got tired of each other. It’s uncomfortable to describe her simply as “a friend,” because it doesn’t communicate my closeness with her family, so I often find myself saying, “She’s my cousin.”

When I was at home in December, I met her at her parents’ house a few times, and it surprised me how easy it was to be there -- still. The rooms were newly painted, and some of the furniture was updated, but the smell of the house and the creaks in the floorboards were the same. And I’m sure, if I had checked, there were pizza pockets in the freezer and Cheerios in the cupboard.

Lately we’ve been IM-ing a few mornings per week, and this morning she told me that her parents sold their house. Even though I knew that the house was on the market and would probably sell while I was overseas, until that moment it didn’t hit me that I’ll probably never set foot in that house again. I’ll never eat in the kitchen, sleep in the guest room, or creak on the stairs. The next time I visit her parents, it will be some unfamiliar house on some unfamiliar street in some unfamiliar neighborhood. The realization was heartbreaking.

Of course, it’s not really about the house. It’s about her and her family. Blood never connected us, but I always felt like a fourth sibling in that house. Even blind-folded I could have walked from one side of the house to the other, found leftovers in the refrigerator, heated them in the microwave, and then made a phone call to my parents. Will I still be connected to them once the house is gone?

It’s also about my longing for something familiar, since the past three and-a-half months have been anything but. I want to go home in a few years and know that some things are as I left them, that I can go back and it’ll feel like those things still belong to me.

Otherwise... will it even feel like home?

Trip to Mazra’ih

At this time of year, the air at Mazra’ih smells like roses and jasmine. So exquisite.

In the last photo I’m standing with Leilah, a girl from Brazil who moved here the same day I did.

Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. In about forty minutes, loud sirens will be activated for two full minutes. Everyone is expected to stop whatever they are doing (all moving vehicles and machinery are expected to come to a full halt) and stand in silence during that time.

Subway Systems of the World

This is so fascinating. The complexity of Tokyo’s subway system versus the simplicity of Beijing’s? The enormity of San Fransisco’s versus the diminutivity of Budapest’s? Wow.

Thanks for the link, Lucas.

Captain Cactus and His Pet Olive

This olive was either placed here strategically, or it fell from the neighboring tree and was poked into balance. Either way, I like it.

Five Guilty Pleasures

1. E!Online’s Fashion Police column
2. Mentally editing every interior space I set foot in
3. Rainbow-colored sprinkles
4. Trying on all my shoes (again)
5. Walking to the beat of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’”

Heather, Lacey, and Patrick each have their own list. Now write yours.

Top Floor

Hey, I just realized that Eric and I always live on the top floor.

Wadi Signs and Streets

The fourth picture reminds me of my late grandmother, who used to eat Laughing Cow cheese every day.

Grand Kanyon

Last night Eric and I walked to Grand Kanyon, the “newest and largest” shopping mall in Haifa and, possibly, in Israel. We were not at all prepared for the experience.

It may be interesting to note that “kanyon” means “mall” in Hebrew. So “Grand Kanyon” is actually “Grand Mall.”

Anyway, we hadn’t really been shopping since we arrived in Israel, except for excursions to the Hadar and Druze Village -- but those are shopping experiences very unique to the Middle East. In fact, most of our day to day experiences feel uniquely Middle Eastern, whether we’re in a restaurant, a grocery store, or on the bus. My life in the U.S. feels worlds away.

When we stepped into Grand Kanyon last night, we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. It was gigantic, loud, crowded, flashy, multi-leveled, and completely overwhelming. It took enormous effort to step into the chaos. Once we did, we were just swallowed by the crowd, the noise swelling into our ears with each step forward.

There were gorgeous people everywhere -- thousands of gorgeous people, and twice as many perfect eyebrows. And the store windows were vastly different from the ones in the Hadar and Wadi, which are probably haphazardly thrown together by some guy with a cigarette and a hairy belly. No, the window displays at Grand Kanyon are done by professionals. This was one serious shopping mall.

We only stayed about an hour. Had we stayed longer, we probably would have developed amnesia (me to Eric: “Who are you? Do I know you? Wait, who am I? Do I live here?”).

So, we walked home. On the way, we agreed that the whole experience felt so very foreign. And yet... it was so very familiar.

Eva asked me weeks ago what the shopping was like in Israel. I told her I didn’t know, that I hadn’t explored it yet. (I think SHE got amnesia after that, because she gasped and asked, “WHO ARE YOU???” over and over. Very bizarre.) Fortunately, I can finally answer her question:

Eva, the shopping in Israel is amazing.

For Aaron in Coney Island

My friend Aaron lived right at the center of the Lubavitcher community in Brooklyn for a couple of years, so he knows all about Rebbe Schneerson, the deceased Jewish rabbi who led the Chabad-Lubavitch branch of Hasidic Judaism.

I promised Aaron that if I ever came across The Rebbe’s mug around town, I’d take a picture, just for him.

Pesakh

It’s Passover, or Pesakh, and the streets in Haifa are eerily quiet. We had heard that banks, post offices, and government offices would be closed, and that buses would have a holiday schedule, but we were still surprised when we went out to our usually-busy intersection to catch the bus this morning and there was not a soul in sight. About ten minutes passed before a car even drove by, and about thirty minutes past before we finally saw a sherut. I guess it’ll be like this all week.

Also, as you probably know, Jews don’t eat bread during Passover. So grocery stores are breadless and bakeries are closed. I even heard that if you order a burger at McDonald’s this week, you’ll get the beef sandwiched between two matzos.

Stone Buildings Against a Puffy Sky

Palm Sunday