Jackpot

Part of my job right now is approaching American companies in Israel about sponsoring the big 4th of July event at the ambassador's residence this year. We have to raise at least $70,000. We went to a bunch of companies and were trying to think of more. So we decided to approach Crocs. I know, I know. Ugliest shoes ever, right? But EVERYONE in Israel wears them. No joke. When my hosts made a list of things to bring to survive Israel, they included "crocs" to the list. I was skeptical. But I got here and everyone seriously wears them. I've seen orthodox Jewish people wearing crocs.  No joke.

So I found the number for the Crocs rep here in Israel. Karen called and got an appointment with the head honcho to sell him the sponsorship. And she sold it. They are in for big bucks AND a healthy dose of schmoozing got us some serious freebies. Karen got a sweet tote bag that hasn't even been released herein Israel and I got a pair of awesome shoes (that go for 400 shekels, roughly $114). They are leather on the outside and super comfy.

Life is good, my friends. Free things bring me unspeakable joy.

My office mate

I'd like to introduce you all to my office mate here at the embassy: Harold Stromford.

Harold is a 50-something FSN (Foreign Service National) is from England who immigrated to Israel about 15 years back. Harold is unique and never lets a not-awkward moment slip by.

Harold is small bald little man with beady eyes and a bad case of tourettes. I've observed closely and realized that every time he comes rushing into the room (which happens about every 5 minutes) he sits in his chair and says "$h!t" very loudly before then going back to work. He'll then move on to more colorful words as he sits muttering to himself as he works frantically.

Also, he spends a great deal of time staring at my chest. Which is remarkable because, let's face it, there isn't much to look at. I assure myself that it's my blinding beauty that keeps him from spending more than 2 seconds at a time looking at my face. The embassy must be full of unbearably attractive women because he just can't look at any of their faces. In fact, Sharon, the secretary in Commercial says that when he comes into use the fax machine (right in front of her desk) he just leans against the wall and stares fixated at her chest for minutes at a time as he waits for his faxes to go through. As unfortunate as this is for her, it made me feel better. 

When not talking or swearing to himself, he likes to tell me how rotten his marraige is to his Indian wife of 14 years. And how beautiful I look. 

"My marriage is %^$*. You look very lovely today. Did you do something new with your hair?" 

That's a direct quote from this morning. 

Harold isn't always what you would call *with it.* After spending three weeks preparing the flight, hotel and travel arrangements for my boss to go to a conference in Dubai,  the week our boss was at the conference he swept around the offices barking at people. 

"Where is John? Where the *&% is John?"

"Harold, he's in Dubai."

"Why the %#% is he in Dubai?"

Blank stares.

"Harold, he has that big conference there. You know, the one you've been planning for the last three weeks?"

Pause. A moment of reflection.

"Right. Right....Have you eaten yet?"

He then rushes back into his office, swearing and muttering all the way.

Just the other day we heard a baby crying in the hall for nearly a minute. Where a normal person would ask "Whose baby is that?" after over a minute of the newborn's sobbing, Harold seemed surprised when he suddenly declared, "There's a baby!"

Moments later, a colleague stepped in and began to speak to Harold. This is what I heard:

Office girl: "Martine brought in her baby today."

Harold: "Who the #$%!! is Martino?!"

Office girl (annoyed): "Martine. It's Martine's baby." 

Harold: "Oh, Martine."

While Harold can't seem to look me in the face, I can't seem to keep from looking at his. When I first met him I couldn't place what exactly was amuck, but I quickly found his quirk. Harold has a pencil goatee that should look like this:

But instead he looks like this:

As crude as my drawing is, it's quite an accurate description of his goatee. I wasn't sure if I was the only one who noticed. That is until I saw Doug, the Deputy Commercial Officer (the #2 guy in charge) with a black marker in hand which he used to point to the big pad of paper which he was showing Harold as they both stood in the hall. As I approached, I saw that Doug had drawn a picture much like the ones I drew above and was explaining to Harold quite visually what was wrong with his appearance. 

Harold defended himself saying that he didn't want to wake his angry wife in the mornings so he didn't turn on the light as he shaved. Doug just stared for a moment before suggesting that he "turn on the lights next time" because he looked like an "absolute mess." I though that the nasty goatee would be gone forever after that admonishment, but I was mistaken. The next day, there was no change to his crooked goatee.

But my favorite Harold incident involves my friend Sajeda, an Arab-Israeli girl who works at the embassy and is sassy as can be. She was in our office talking to our other office mate, Eitan, with her back to Harold. Suddenly she felt Harold behind her. Right behind her. She then felt his hand placed directly on her right bum. Needless to say, she flipped out. MAJORLY. He insisted it was an accident--that he was trying to get into his file cabinet, but she made it clear that if he even speaks to her, she will see that a) he never uses his arms again and b) he will be unable to reproduce.

Which leads me to my favorite part of the day, when Sajeda comes in to say hello. If Harold was fidgety before, you should see when Sajeda walks in the room. He usually darts out the door immediately. Or if he is outside, he loiters outside the office muttering to himself till she leaves. I love awkwardness. Just as long as it is someone else's. 

Christian

I know I've been totally awful about posting pictures of what has been going on here in Israel. So I'm going to just post a few pics of one of the most special and incredibly cute kids out there.  

I know what you are thinking, at least if you are anything like me. I know most everyone tends to think their kids are the most adorable things in the whole entire world and will plaster their blogs with images documenting every moment of their children lives' to prove it. I'd like to think I wont be that kind of person, but things aren't looking good. I'm not even related to Christian Eden and here he is making up for 80% of the pictures I've posted in the last month or so (I actually have no idea if that statistic is acurate--but it feels acurate). 
I love this kid. I guess it's because he is just spilling over with personality. And he really likes me and let's face it, we all like to be liked. Christian was born in Mexico with a severe medical problem (spina bifida, I think) and was adopted by the Eden family, an incredible family from Utah that is living here in Israel as the father works for Ford.
These pictures were all taken at BYU Jerusalem's amazing auditorium on Mt. Scopus. The stage in front is backed by a massive window (instead of a wall) that's looks over Jerusalem's Old City. Gorgeous. We were just waiting for district conference to begin and Christian wanted to take some pictures. 

Technologic

I've never been what you call "technologically savvy." If it has buttons, I usually try and avoid it. But seriously, I was bred to be this way. 

The microwave that is still in my parents home was made sometime in the 70s and has a turn-dial. It's the only microwave my parents have ever owned in their married life (29 years). I grew up microwaving things for "about" 3 minutes since you could never be certain. When I went away to university and was forced, for the first time, to see how far microwave oven technology had come, I felt like a viking trying to figure out how to sail a yacht. The other girls in my dorm would look at me with confusion and pity as I would just punch random buttons till the microwave started to cook my hot pocket. They would ask, perplexed, if I had ever used a microwave before. Sure, I'd say. Just never one younger than me. 

By the end of my freshman I was proud to say that I had learned to use a modern microwave without getting strange stares from anyone else in the common area of my dorm. But it left me with a serious complex with computers, digital cameras, ipods, and cell phones.

When I returned home from the mission in France, my parents had moved into a new house full of fancy gadgets that I couldn't work. I couldn't work the oven, or any of the entertainment centers controlled by a massive remote control with a computer screen on it. I couldn't even figure out how to watch TV. In fact, I was told not to even try because my family was certain I'd screw something up. Luckily, I could still microwave leftovers.  I found much solace in that turn-dial microwave.

To this day, I can't really work a cell phone without lots of coaching. When the embassy gave me one to use here, it took me a day to figure out how to change it from Hebrew to English then another week or so to figure out how to program numbers in the phone and send a text message. My cell phone makes me feel stupid. I've given up using it and just give out my e-mail to people. 

Which brings me to my point. Despite my shortcomings with everything else electronic, I actually love my macbook and everything that comes with it--especially the amazing world that is the blogosphere. You don't have to be savvy anything to enjoy this wonderful place. I mean, you've read how capable I am when it comes to these kind of things and look, I can manage a blog. These things are idiot-proof and allow incompetents like me to feel like they are somehow harnessing the latest technology and are an active part of the 21st century. 

In addition to validating my button-pushing capacities, the blogosphere also accounts for a great deal of my daily reading (in fact, click on themeanestmom to read my favorite blog ever) and keeps me feeling like I'm not so far away from the people I love. 

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I can't use most of it, I join Kip in boldly declaring that I love technology. 

Hey, where did I put my acid wash jeans? Yeah, the pleated ones.

I had a really upsetting experience today. I'm feeling just a bit shaken and need reassurance that the world is not going down the tubes while I am trapped in an office with a creepy guy who stares at my chest.

It was a perfectly fine day until I saw 4 pairs of overalls during a 5 minute stretch while on the bus home from the embassy today. And these pairs of overalls were not just lying on top of someone's trash, or being sported by the city's homeless or born-again redneck tourists visiting the Holy Land. Those things would have been expected and hardly caught my attention. However, in this case they were being worn by 4 trendy-looking Israeli girls (who seemed to have no obvious defect other than the overalls) walking the swanky street of Rehov Dizengoff in downtown Tel-Aviv. More distressing still was the fact that out of the four, THREE had on belts and let the overall straps hang down to their sides, bringing flashbacks galore from the awkward middle school years. 

Okay, and I guess technically the fourth girl was wearing more of a denim short with built in suspenders like the picture below shows, but it still was not something I expected to see on someone trying to be sexy. Maybe I'm completely off, though.  

In my quest for visuals, I did a google image search and found the following pictures. Next to eachother.

I mean, other than about 150 lbs, a shirt and the obvious gender difference, I don't see that much of a variance between Bobby-Jo here and Miss Trendy.

I just don't understand what is happening? Don't even get me started on the high-waisted mom-jeans that I am seeing people who look like they should know better. I can't help but wonder why on earth this is happening.

Perhaps that in the face of war, global terrorism, and economic uncertainty people are longing for the security of the past. As the oil fields dry up, the rain forests are destroyed, the ice caps melt, and as we long for a cleaner safer world, are we seeking refuge in the memories of better days? Do we find that by dressing in the past, we can escape the realities of the present?

All I can say is whoever it was that decided to resurrect two of the most unflattering denim monstrosities ever conceived by man should be shot by a firing squad or guillotined.    

My typical day

So I've been asked quite a few times by the folks at home what it is I do exactly I do here at the embassy. I'll just tell you what I did today and that pretty much will sum up just about every other day I work.

6:25 - alarm goes off for me to get up and go run on the beach, but I instead hit snooze because I was up till 2am doing nothing of real importance

7:30 - finally get up and shower and wash my hair (or wait till 7:45 and determine that I don't really need to wash my hair [since it's only the fourth day] and steal 15 more minutes of sleep)

7:45 - decide on something to wear that would not included any ironing and get ready for work

8:10 - eat breakfast standing and while reading the newspaper 

8:11 - try not to freak out at the stock market and the incredible shrinking dollar and finish breakfast

8:25 - This is normally when John and I would leave for the embassy in his car, but since he is at a conference in Dubai, I take the bus (which never comes when it is supposed to)

8:30 - Run to catch the bus which is leaving even though it's not supposed to for another 5 minutes and hand over the 8.90 shekels it takes to get from Herzliya Pituach into Tel-Aviv and take my favorite seat by the window in the middle of the bus on the right side and put on my iPod headphones

8:50 - pray silently that the smelly weird guy looking for a seat on the bus doesn't take the one next to me

8:51 - Thank God that the smelly weird guy found another seat

9:30 - Get off at Ben-Yehuda, walk to the embassy and pass the gorgeous Israeli guards (whom I sheepishly smile at as they grin and wave), then the marines and head to my office (which I share with  two guys who we'll call Eyal and Chuck to protect their identities)

9:35 - Check my inbox and respond to either the American or Israeli company that contacted me for any variety of reasons and delete that mass e-mails from Washington that never apply to me

9:45 - Put on my cardigan (despite the fact the temperature is burning outside) because Eyal, an Israel-born bulldog of a man, has turned the AC down to 40F and will yell at me if I even think of touching the thermostat.

9:50 - Call some Israeli companies who are potential distributors for an American company that manufactures hydraulic and pneumatic torque wrenches looking for representation in Israel and send the necessary e-mails

9:55 - Listen to the hopelessly odd englishman with tourette's, Chuck (who has shifty eyes and is sorta creepy), yell at Eyal for turning down the AC so much and to "get out and bloody lose some weight" so he wont be hot all the time

10:30 - Call and re-call VERY LONG LISTS of American companies in Israel recruiting for sponsors (we need $80,000 total and in my work today, I got about $15,000) for a massive 4th of July event at the ambassador's residence which I wont actually go to (Can I just say that I will seriously miss being able to say "Hi this in Erin Thornhill form the US embassy" and have the person immediately connect me with whatever person I want--The CEO? The Chairman? No problemo. My skills of faking importance are becoming top-notch.)

11:45 - Get invited to the guard's party (as in the Israeli guard outside the embassy everyday) and feign coolness as I suppress the awkwardly giddy teenager who feels like the popular jock just showed up in his hot red sports car and asked her to the prom

12:30 - Go to lunch. Normally I eat with Alan, a real mensch who I like a lot (his daughter is Noa, the TV exec who has taken me under her wing). Every couple of days (like today) I buy something (schnitzel) and go sprawl on a bench by the beach and read my book about how scary law school is while enjoying the sun, the sea breeze, and my humus drenched schnitzel. 

1:30 - mourn the end of my schnitzel and go back to work

2:00 - Start to feel a huge underground zit emerging from my chin

2:55 - Continue to be really annoyed with the mutation that my chin is giving birth to

3:15 - Get caught by some girl from ECON while in front of the bathroom mirror trying to pop the zit on my face

3:16 - Go back to my office and think of ways to avoid seeing the girl from ECON

4:00 - Relish the fact that the woman on the other end of the phone went off in Hebrew and I understood

4:45 - Call it a day and go home with Doug. Normally I go with John or the shuttle (if John has a meeting or something) but sometimes I go with Doug, the really cool Deputy Senior Commercial Officer here at the embassy.

5:00 - Pass the two haggard looking Russian prostitutes squatting on rocks in the hilly sand lots that Doug off-roads through in his Blazer to get home quicker.

 5:20 - Walk in the door, throw down my purse and kick off my shoes and get ready to go to the beach to run/read.

Well, that was pretty much my work day. You're probably no less confused about what I actually do here even after all that. Let me try again. I basically make a lot of calls, send a lot of e-mails and try to get people to either come to some event, sponsor an event, consider representing an American firm in Israel or give me detailed information about a US export to Israel so I can then write an official report about it. I'm also doing some market research on renewable energy R & D in Israel. I go to receptions from time to time and get to dress-up and hobnob with important folks and try not to act like an idiot. 

I'm actually working on really fine-tuning my resume to send to a really great contact I made out here who worked on The Hill for 30-something years and I've been thinking about what I will put down for this. Somehow, I don't think putting down "Governmental bee-otch" would really sound quite right, but essentially, that's what I am. 

And I actually love it. 

Clarity

So I've decided to trash the whole idea of expressing my feeling about the arab-Israeli conflict. I'm not one to shy from danger normally, but I've decided that such an undertaking in a relatively public forum would be like asking to be beaten repeatedly with a wooden paddle. This is because NO MATTER what I say, someone will become irate and think I'm a) ignorant b) brainwashed c) blind and d) worthy of positively scathing insults that would leave me rocking back and forth in a corner mumbling to myself.

I'm guess I'm just not feeling that masochistic today. 

But I have come to some incredible realizations and come to some conclusions. Firstly, I can't make everyone happy and not offend people no matter how hard I try. I can't convince people of truth if they refuse to believe/listen. It's impossible. This is probably pretty obvious stuff to all of you, but I've always felt deep down that if I was just a little (or a lot) better, I could really do it. I could make everyone happy and understand. If only I was just good enough.

Let me give you some examples. I'm a Mormon, okay. Loads of people will say that because I am a Mormon, I am not a Christian. In fact, they will say all sorts of stuff that is completely bogus and they will be completely convinced that they are correct and nothing will dissuade them from thinking what they think. While I am quite sure that I know much better about what I believe than another person, there are plenty of people who would continue to believe the bogus stuff and completely ignore me. I know this. I was a missionary and would talk to people who were convinced I believed one thing or another because they read it somewhere or someone told them, EVEN THOUGH I was standing before them, a real live Mormon, explaining that I did not believe that at all (and that it actually made me a little nauseous). People will think what they will. 

I could say something about the conflict and try to stay as neutral as possible, but at the end of the day, there will be people on both sides who think I'm totally sympathizing with their enemy. So I can't please everyone. The real revelation is that I just don't really care anymore. Oh man, and it's such a relief. It's the most beautiful thing of it all.

People can think and do what they will and it just can't influence my happiness or self-satisfaction (Ghela, I'm finally getting it!).

Also, I've decided that I don't sympathize with a certain side in this colossal mess. It's far too complicated to be black and white like that. Instead, all I can say is that I sympathize with the victims of hatred and am adamantly opposed to disregard for human life. 

I am appalled and disgusted at Israeli school teachers who teach 10 year-olds to hate all Arabs, at gunmen who fire upon innocent children at a religious holiday celebration, at suicide bombers who kill innocent men, women, and children, at Israeli soldiers who force young devout muslim women to kiss them in order to pass a check point and subsequently face rejection from their community. On the other hand, I mourn with the families of the victims and the families of the suicide bombers who also lost a loved one. I mourn the suicide bombers themselves who are mostly just young desperate people poisoned by the nightmare that is their reality. I could go on. But I wont. 

So that's what I've decided. And I don't care if someone hates me for it. 

Meet Wally

Please see "The Wally" for a full description of the kid.

Part I of my thoughts on the conflict: my background and an intro to Zionism

I really don't even know where to begin on this one. I've feel caught between two worlds, two opposing sides that I will never join or fully understand. I've had so many thoughts swimming around my head being here in Israel and I just hope I can satisfy my need to articulate myself with semi-intelligible writing. I know this is a really touchy topic (biggest understatement of the century) so please bear with me (and PLEASE don't leave angry comments). I've decided to just start giving some background info into the issue so that I can really explain how I feel and why. This is going to take a few posts to get it all out... 

Since I arrived in Israel, I've been silent on my political opinions surrounding the Arab-Israeli conflict. My thoughts and feeling are constantly evolving and it has just been too complicated to get into. This issue is so incredibly convoluted.

My reluctance may come as a shock to many who have spoken to me about the issue and know that at the slightest provocation I freely express my opinion, lecture, and draw maps and diagrams on napkins, paper table coverings, and scrap paper to prove my point. The question, "Hey Erin, who exactly is HAMAS?" would result in an hour and a half tirade about how people are simply the products of their surroundings and that zionism+the oppression of Palestinians=HAMAS and Israel is just sleeping in the bed it made. 

Last December, I hosted a documentary night in which I gave a presentation on AIPAC, showed a documentary (Occupation 101) on the human rights violations in West Bank and Gaza, and then had a discussion group which included two Palestinian girls (who've faced ridiculous conditions) and my professor and his wife, both from Syria and both the children of Palestinian refugees ejected from their homes in 1948. Many people approached me when it was over and said that the experience was incredibly enlightening--even shocking-- given the one-sided news coverage the American media feeds the American public for a variety of reasons that I wont get into here. I've read countless books and taken several classes on the subject. 

I don't say this because it gives me ANY authority on the subject. Saying that would only prove my incredible ignorance. I say this only to explain why exactly it is that I have no shortage of things to say concerning the matter.

I definitely came to Israel with some reasonably strong opinions about the issues as a result of a great deal of studying the issues. I wondered how living in the situation would change my opinion about the circumstances. It's just confused me more, I think.

Let me back up a little and first explain a few things. Many people really don't know a great deal about the conflict so I will provide an brief tutorial on a ridiculously complex conflict that seems will never end. I'm going to start today with explaining the idea of "Zionism" which is really at the root of the conflict we see on the news everyday. In light of current events, I usually get upset when I think too much about Zionism, but here I explain why it was actually a completely understandable movement. If you are interested in more info, just e-mail me (erinvthornhill@gmail.com) and I'll recommend some good stuff to you. Here goes:

The Jewish Diaspora (usually just referred to as The Diaspora) began when the Jewish temple was destroyed in about 70 AD and the Jews were pretty much rocked hardcore by the Romans. This ejection from Israel forced them to spread out into the surrounding areas. Jews are broken up into three groups based on where they ended up settling. Ashkenazi Jews were those in Europe and Russia (eventually the victims of the Holocaust), Sephardic Jews were those in the Iberian Peninsula and the Morocco area (usually darker in complexion). And finally, the Mizrahi "East" in Hebrew) Jews were those in the Middle Eastern/Arab countries. 

Jews still today think of themselves within these separate groups. Let me share an experience to just illustrate this point: There is this salad place near the embassy where "the salad lady" throws together these really great salads for 21 skekels. A guy who I work with commented that she looked Algerian (his wife is Algerian) and asked where she was from. She answered that she was from Afganistan. She said she was "mizrahi." When we sat on the sidewalk table eating our salads, we saw some old men completely chewing each other out (a common sight is Israel). It was all in Hebrew and my Hebrew definitely did not cover the words spewing from these men's mouths so I was asked Alan, an Australian-Israeli I was with, to tell me what they were saying. They were taxi drivers arguing about who stole who's fares yada yada yada. Finally, one guy was trying to calm one of the arguing taxi drivers down. He said in Hebrew "Listen, that guy is Sephardic and just doesn't like Ashkenazi. Just cool it."

I knew from talking to several Israelis that even within Israel, there were ethnic divisions and conflict. This little experience just illustrated to me how Israeli Jews come from all over the world (and don't necessarily like each other too much).

Okay, so let's back up a few hundred years and get back to the "brief" explanation. Jews were basically horribly persecuted for centuries, most especially in the Christian-European countries. Anything that seemed to ail these people, including The Black Plague, was blamed on the Jews. They were cast into the periphery of society and just basically treated as non-humans. Really awful stuff (interestingly enough, Jews under Muslim rule fared better). We can just look at Shakespeare's villain Shylock of "The Merchant of Venice" to see how Jews were commonly perceived. Later, you then have publications like the 1897 publication "The Protocols of the Zion," a widely-believed bit of fiction that paints Jews as horrible, evil creatures. It's anti-Semitic garbage and one would have to be a complete and utter moron to believe any of it. So naturally, the book is still widely read and distributed throughout the world. In fact, the website that had the complete work online (which I gave a link for) is, I'm pretty sure, run such morons. This is just brief image of what they endured at this time.  

In the late 1800s, Jews began to realize that persecution against them wasn't getting any better. Even those who were completely secular and were in positions of respectability endured ridiculous treatment (e.g. The Dreyfuss Afair). It was around this time that the idea of modern Zionism was born. Jews needed a Jewish State where they would be free from the violence and persecution that had plagued them for centuries. This violence eventually lead to the Holocaust and the claiming of 6 million Jewish lives (11 million was the total death count consisting of various other peoples that didn't fit into the Aryan vision of things). The danger they faced was very real and they needed sanctuary.

Theodore Herzl (I live in the Israeli city named for the man--Herzliyya) was one of the most famous zionists and in 1896 he laid out his ideas for a Jewish State in Palestine under the shocking title of The Jewish State. Please understand that this part of the world wasn't the only option considered for a Jewish homeland. Various locations around the world were considered for mass Jewish migration. However, Palestine (what it was called then--the State of Israel did not exist until 1948) was the popular choice as it was the land of their fathers. They felt a strong link to the area. And they wanted it back. Every Passover ends with the group saying together "next year in Jerusalem. It is interesting to note, however, that the majority of Jews actually immigrated to the US and not to Israel. 

Jewish immigration to Palestine began in the 1880s. One of the slogans for Zionism was that Palestine was a "land without a people for a people without a land." They thought of Israel as an empty land without any inhabitants. In other words, it was just waiting for them to take refuge. This is where the conflict begins. This area of the world was, in fact, inhabited. It was part of the Ottoman Empire and was populated by bedouins tribes other peoples. So it wasn't a "land without a people" after all. And surprise surprise, these people didn't want to just hand over the deeds to their homes and to make way for Jewish immigration.

Okay, enough for today's installment of "Erin trying to organize her thoughts and explain her opinions without taking sides or offending people (which is impossible)."  Stay tuned for "How the Jews took over the land and why the Arabs were livid." 

I want to be a Corleone

I learned to speak Rocky when I was 15 and got really into Sly's five best movies. It was difficult at first, but I managed after a while. I'm gifted with languages, what can I say? I would then translate for my friends (who usually couldn't figure out why I loved the movies so much) as we watched the films. Slurred speak is so sexy. 

The first one is forever my favorite. I mean, how can you not be totally won over by a guy who proposes marriage by saying, "I think we make a real sharp couple of coconuts - I'm dumb, you're shy, whaddya think, huh?"

I don't know about you, but I'd be putty in his very capable hands. 

Well, tonight I finally watched The Godfather and I don't know if the sound was too low, but I had to read the Hebrew subtitles at times to figure out what the heck Vito Corleone was saying. This is when I knew there was a problem. When strange scribbles and lines make more sense than Marlon, something is definitely amiss. 

Wait, what did he say? Oh, איפה מיקייל. Right, "Where's Michael?"

Well, I guess the good news is that my Hebrew is getting better.

Diva

In our little branch here, there are loads of Filipinos. Filipinos? you ask, but aren't you in Israel? Yes, but I tell you what, Israel has loads of people from the Philippines. And I love them. 

So this past Saturday was the birthday bash for 1 year-old J-Lo (that's not a typo), a ridiculously adorable little thing. Her parents are a humble, yet happy couple from the Philippines with little means. Apparently, though, in their culture, they splurge on these massive parties for the 1st birthday of their offspring. Apparently, they had been able to secure a restaurant for the event. So Saturday evening, John, Sabey, Nydia and I set out in search of the "Diva" resaurant for the party. 

When we arrived at "Diva," we found ourselves in a really dodgy area. This is when my mind began working out my surroundings. Are there normally big burly bouncers outside of a restaurant housing a birthday party of a 1 year-old? I asked myself. We walked into the building only find that it was just a massive open room exploding with gawdy decorations, incredible food, a woman dressed as Minnie Mouse MCing the event, and about 300 Filipinos. In other words, it was the paradise I've been longing for since I arrived in Israel over a month ago.

I quickly made my way to the buffet and found an incredible feast waiting. The DJ was busting out some killer tunes to which me and my quickly-acquired posse of Filipinos were jamming to. They assured me "the real crazy party" started much much later, after this little bash was over. My eyes kept wandering to interesting elements of the giant room that hinted at its real identity. There was a stage located in the front of the room that was full of decorations, presents, people performing various musical numbers, and firecrackers going off. In the madness, I noticed that pink tissue paper and bright yellow streamers were draped over posters for "Caberet."  

Oh, maybe this place is used for musical theatre, I thought. Cool. "Gosh, I love Liza," I thought as 15 children on the stage started to sing "Happy Birthday" to little JLo, who was decked in a huge pink satin dress and cradled in her father's arms. Soon, my eyes wandered to the back of the joint, where a long bar was located. Above the bottles of Beefeater and Absolut, I noticed two massive paintings of 6 very sassy, scantily-clad women. Wait a minute, I thought, what kind of place is this? 

It took a few more minutes, but on closer inspection, I realized that the women in the paintings were, in fact, not women at all. They were drag queens. Wait. Then it dawned on me. Diva. Dodgy part of Tel-Aviv. Liza. 

Oh.

The Wally

Every so often I ache for certain people. Today, that person was my little brother, Austin Wallace (Wally). If any of you know him, you know he is probably one of the funniest people on the planet. He is one of the few people who can make me laugh so hard I cry. And he doesn't even really try. 

But frankly, he is a total spaz. Case in point: Christmas 2006. 

So I had just arrived from a REALLY long drive home from school to spend the holiday with my family in Arizona. What would have normally taken 9 or so hours took over 12 because of snow storms and the fact that my windshield wipers were broken. I'll just say that the combination of snow falling violently and broken windshield wipers isn't going to keep your blood pressure on the low side. Luckily, we make it unscathed. Completely exhausted after the car ride from Hell and a week of sleep-deprivation and cramming, I arrived.  But wanting to finish my Christmas shopping, I set out with my 17 year-old (at the time) brother Wally to go battle the crazy hordes of people at the mall. We had been shopping for our sister in a store and were leaving with the intention of heading straight to another that we had before designated, but a huge crowd separated us on our way. When I arrived at the store, he was no where to be found. 

Let me first say a few words about this kid. He is pretty much nuts. The way he acts most of the time probably is best described as a caffeinated bee. I don't think he's ever spent a straight five minute without talking (if you don't count sleeping). He's unique and I love him unspeakably, but from time to time, the kid makes you want to run around screaming like someone lit your clothes on fire. This was one of those times.

With my nerves completely shot from a month of nearly no sleep and insane stress coupled with a 12-hour drive through a snow storm (with completely broken windsheild wipers), I nearly flipped out. I paced the mall three time doing all I could not lash out with a string of obscenities at the masses. I would have left him, but I didn't have a purse and so I had given my car keys to the moron for "safe" keeping. A good 40 minutes had passed and I was unsure if I would ever see him again--if I'd ever get the chance to kill him for putting me through this hell. Finally, I decided to see if they could page him. I stood in line for 15 minutes before they told me that they "don't page at the Superstition Springs Mall." I think I was completely mental and at the end of my rope because without skipping a beat, I said nearly in tears and with great emotion, "But it's my brother and he's mentally handicapped."

The man flipped out and began to reassure me that the mall security and police on hand were very capable and would find my special little brother. They were immediately alerted and I gave a detailed description of what he was wearing. I felt bad as I imagined security approaching my brother and treating him like he was mentally handicapped. This lasted about 10 second before my anger resurfaced and I thought "SERVES HIM RIGHT." I hope they make him hold someone's hand.

He finally sauntered past me as I was speaking to an officer. I ran to him, and bless his heart, he acted the part so well and I didn't even have to explain a thing to the police. He just stared at me dumbly, mouth gapped open as I laid it on him for wandering off. I ordered him not to move and ran back to the officer and told him I'd found him. My brother was so confused and freaked out at my transparent maniacal mood and just stood there blankly with his mouth still gapped open. The officer and mall manager didn't think a thing. As I looked back over at him, I nearly wet myself because the kid could have been best friends with Corky. I thanked them then ran back to my brother, letting him have it the whole way to the parking lot. 

I told my brother in the car on the way home what I'd done. The anger left me and I was laughing uncontrollably. He was really hurt and pouted for the rest of the evening. He became especially huffy when I recounted, with tears of laughter in my eyes, the story to my parents. My parents were soon rolling on the ground and Austin stormed off to his room and slammed the door.

At my father's request, I repeated the story at each of the Christmas parties we attended. The day after it happened, he (along with EVERYONE else) was able to laugh at himself. 

This is why he is so great. When he started dating his girlfriend, I started to tell her the story and she butted in and said that he had already told her that one. 

I mean, who does that? I think I would try and hide a story in which despite my acting as I always had, a large number of people were convinced I was mentally handicapped.  But that's what makes the kid so wonderful. Because no matter how much anyone laughs at him, in the end he'll always laugh harder .

Cravings

I'm a crack addict waiting to happen. Seriously people. I have such an addictive personality (as in I am easily addicted to things, not that people are easily addicted to my glowing personality). 

Last night, I was introduced to sushi for the first time by a new friend of mine, Noa, a fantastic young Israeli TV exec. I am no longer a sushi virgin. And it was amazing. Granted, it was a tad pricey, but well worth it. So now all day today while at work, all I could think of was "sushi, sushi, sushi." I could practically taste the deliciousness in my mouth. I'd then snap out of it long enough to focus hard on my market research on Israeli alternative energy sources for about, oh, 45 seconds. Then it was back to "sushi, sushi, sushi." It was ridiculous.

But this seems to be the story of my life. When I first got to Israel--within my first 24 hours here--I was introduced to this organic apricot fruit leather. It was gone almost instantly and I spent the next three weeks daydreaming about it. And I'm not kidding or exaggerating. I would have paid anything to get my hands on more of it. Good thing I don't drink, smoke, gamble, experiment with any drugs or scrapbook.

So now, I'm pretty frightened about what lengths I am going to go to get a sushi fix. Who knew crispy salmon skin could be so intensely delicious?

Good Day

Today was a crazy day. Absolutely crazy. Sometimes I need to pinch myself because everything just happens so fast. 

It began at 6:45 when I finally peeled myself out of my bed, ironed my shirt, and threw on dress slacks and heels, did something with my hair and ran out the door by 7:15 to walk to the ambassador's residence (in 4in heels). I live in the most expensive neighborhood in the entire country of Israel. So weird. Anyways, I make it there, get cleared by the 5 guards outside the residence and meet my colleagues at the embassy to prepare for the event I've been recruiting for this past month. I mix and mingle with some of Israel's top lawyers and business executives and get in plenty of practice at pretending to be important and knowledgeable. At one point my name was read off as a major contributor to the success of the event and these people actually clapped. So surreal.

But there were really three different things today that really made my day:

1) During the event, I didn't get a chance to eat much breakfast because I had to check in all the guests. So while the representatives from Coughlin, Stoia, Geller, Rudman and Robbins gave their schpeel about their asset-recovery program that was responsible for getting $7.8 billion from the Enron case, the manager of the ambassador's residence, David (who is way too charming for his own good), took me into the kitchens and let me help myself to the incredible food. The staff was hilarious. David, Collin the cook, Ali the embassy's main media guy and I sat around and chewed the fat. They made fun of me for being an intern and I didn't mind because I wasn't pretending. I was just being dorky me and it was nice. And the food was sooo good.

2) We worked with a consulting firm in the recruiting for the event. The head of the firm is a guy named Lenny, a former American who had emigrated to Israel. Lenny worked on Capitol Hill for 30-something years. He has incredible stories. I approached him and told him how much I enjoy hearing him talk and he told me how pleased he was when I had told him weeks before that I went to BYU. He had really good experiences with the Mormon Democratic senator who assisted in the acquisition of the property the BYU Jerusalem center is on. Anyways, we got to chatting about my future (everyone's favorite subject) and I decided not to be embarrassed about not knowing exactly what I wanted to do. So I told him I was planning on working in DC for a year before law school. I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to do during that year, and I was willing to do another internship. He said he knew of several organizations that would be very interested in me considering my background and experience with commerce in Israel. He asked me to send him my resume. This man is very connected and could REALLY help me out. Cross your fingers.

3) As I was coming home with work with John, I FINALLY felt like I wanted to talk to the dog owners and make sure that Satan had its shots. We drive up only to see a woman in an SUV mercedes and a policeman. I interrupt and ask if there was a dog at this residence. The woman flipped and said it had bitten her 20 minutes earlier and she had called the police. I told her my story, and basically, my timing was perfect. If I would have gone any earlier or later (not within that 40 minute period), they would have done what they did to her (slam the door in her face and deny that it could have happened) and I wouldn't have known what to do. But Ricky is an Israeli fireball so she is going to sue. I sent her all the pictures of the bite and my ripped pants. Sweet justice.

Au bord de la mer

Dangers of running on the beach at night in Herzilia Pituach:

1) People having sex all over the place. It's quite dark and I've nearly tripped several times.

2) Stray dogs. They didn't used to freak me out, but that has changed since my encounter with Lucifer, the rabid dog from Hell (stay tuned for more on that front).

3) Randomly high tides. I run near the water (because the sand is firmer) but like I've said, it's dark, and every once in a while there is a renegade wave that creeps up on me. In my mind I'm thinking, "Oh, it's gonna stop. It'll miss me." 

But then it keeps going and I my shoes get soaked and sandy and I look like a moron who was too mentally slow to avoid the creeping tide. This is usually the only time during my run when I encounter people who are actually watching me. 

4) Naked men skinny dipping. Alone. Is it just me or is that a little suspicious? I mean, who skinny dips alone? 

I'm starting to feel like I'm watching a French film every time I go for a night run these days.