Set your aspirations high…

…and your expectations low.

Spotted in Tzur Hadassah: an effort to be funny and effective! Stickers adorning the public garbage cans, with the following message:

אם כל אחד לא ילכלך, יהיה פה נקי כמו בשוויץ

If everyone wouldn’t make a mess, it could be clean here like in Switzerland.

Nice touch, Va’ad Tzur Hadassah! Seriously. Now, can you also put stickers that read:

When you throw out your trash and don’t close the bin, or throw out your trash next to the bin, or behind the bin, or outside the covered bin room, cats and dogs come and tear it apart, leaving dirty diapers, food scraps, and plastic dishware all over the sidewalk. We’ll never look like Switzerland now!

And what about stickers on dog owners’ doors saying:

If you didn’t let your dogs run loose, scare the $&#@ out of my kid, and shit on the ground where we walk around, this place could be orderly like… anywhere else!

Ok, I’m not really bitter. The dog situation is old and cliche in Tzur Hadassah. But, like any small town with a budget and elected officials, there are lots of ‘small’ issues, that until someone gets hurt, are being ignored. The gaps, hills, and shifts in the sidewalk brick that my kid trips in (ok, I also trip in them!). The playgrounds that need the rusty stray nails sticking up removed. The hole in the ground I saw across from building #30 on Rechasim street, just a foot or two from the sidewalk:

Maybe it’s because I’ve been outside more lately. Maybe because I have a kid that actually walks and plays outside now. Maybe because I’m now committed to Tzur Hadassah, I’m noticing lots of things I’d want to report to the local Va’ad. Shame the obvious email link on the official website is broken. No worries, the tiny יצור קשר link at the bottom works.

Hebrew-speaking dogs.

I’m sitting on my couch and I hear a scratch at the door. My first thought is, did a jackal from the forest across the street come all the way upstairs to haunt me?

My second thought is, it does, however, sound like a dog.

After peeping through the door, I realized it was a dog. A big, fluffy, yellow, gentle, wet and smelly dog. And it was indeed ‘knocking’ at my door.

This is the second time a dog has confused our apartment with their owner’s. Tzur Hadassah is filled with domestic dogs who are sent to roam free and come home whenever they please.

We tried to shoo it away but it insisted on coming inside. He probably lost track of the scent of his trail since it’s really the first or second big rain we’ve had here.

But I felt sorry for him, probably wanting to be home curling up in his pillow. I realized we could send him home with a few key words.

Shev. The dog sat and I checked his collar for a house number. Nope.

Bo. We made him come towards the steps to go downstairs.

L’mata. I tried to encourage him to go downstairs but he needed more, he needed company, so we bo‘d him all the way down, until he started wandering over to the apartment building next door, which looks exactly like ours.

Hebrew-speaking dogs. There’s no place like home.