I know, I know. It’s nowhere near soup season yet. But both of us were feeling run down this week, and I’ve been craving my vegetable soup since Sunday.
So, like Christmas shopping in October, here’s to starting the season early:
Sorry. But that’s a library.
I’ve been feeling let down by Bar Ilan lately. I guess I always thought the people who attended and sneer about it were just being patriotically negative, like so many of us are about our hometowns or schools.
But I’m feeling like the professors don’t even pretend to act inspired about what they do, what they’re saying. It makes me sad and uninspired and kind of like I don’t want to finish there.
How am I supposed to complete a Master’s Degree thesis with that kind of mentorship?
After working for an hour and a half on my assignment covering ethnocultural tension, multicultural citizenship, contact hypothesis and sustained dialogue, I left the office and waited for my ghetto bus with everyone else. There I was, holding my English newspaper, feeling 10,000 miles away from the group of teen Ethiopians sing songing next to me; there they were, feeling 10,000 kilometers away from the group of young arsim rowdying nearby; there they stood, seeming 10,000 kilometers away from the dati-leumi (national religious) girl, standing and waiting for our ghetto bus.
We all faced each other, but we were all 10,000 miles away, with our backs turned.
If only I could hand that in as my paper: an example of our little society, pre-sustained dialogue, pre-contact, pre-intergroup relations.
The Dublin pub in Jerusalem is the closest I’ll get to Ireland for now.
And it’s sooo awesome…
The more I am religious on my own terms, the more comfortable I am with it.
I used to be deathly afraid of having to explain my weird religion to people. I should say, my weird religious practices.
“So how come you can’t eat here?”
“It’s… not kosher.”
“But it’s bagels!”
“So why can’t you come out Friday night?”
“It’s the Jewish Sabbath… I can’t drive in a car or use money and stuff.”
“So, you’re Amish on the weekends?”
Well. As I’ve gotten older and more comfortable with myself in general, I have definitely seen an improvement in how I react to non-Jewish, non-practicing curiousity. I even slip a few jokes in there.
But man, are we Jews freakin’ weird.
I hate Fridays in Israel.
I hate that it’s a short day. I hate that everything closes at 2 even if Shabbat is at 7. I hate that if you sleep late, then you’ve lost your one day to get things done outside of work. I hate that you can’t actually plan a whole fun day because you can’t go very far before you have to be back. I hate that no matter what, you’re spending half the day cooking and cleaning on your day off.
To be clear on my own hypocrisy, I do keep Shabbat, so I’m being a brat on this rant. I’m also pro-everything closing for Shabbat and living in a country with a Jewish character.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I hate Fridays in Israel.