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Published: November 17th 2007
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It’s pomegranate season. I just finished a large one. I like that they have lots of seeds—you have to eat them slowly. No instant gratification as with seedless grapes. The shouk is full of really fresh vegetables and fruits, all seasonal. Lately I’ve been busing there every couple of days, buying what looks good, and then cooking dinner based on what I’ve purchased.
I’m glad to be here—finally. For the first five weeks I felt disconnected and adrift without a purpose. It’s no surprise actually. We left more than our jobs in Tacoma. We also abandoned a familiar city and our social network. I can see now that there is comfort even in something as mundane as a shopping routine: knowing where to shop, how to get there, what you will find, and how much it will cost. Here it’s all new. We have to put it all together from scratch. The surprise is really that I hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to establish new routines. Apparently I’m past that now, which is quite a relief.
Looking back, I can see two major obstacles that hindered my adjustment: physical isolation and social isolation. Of the two, the sense of physical isolation was by far the easiest to overcome. This problem was solved once we figured out how to use the bus system. Now we can get anywhere in the city—or the country for that matter. The more difficult problem was overcoming the sense of social isolation. We had this in mind for Zach when we put him in public school. I had a breakthrough quite suddenly on a Friday afternoon about three weeks ago. We took the bus down to the shouk for some last minute shopping before the city closed up for Shabbat. We arrived late and most of the shops were already closed, but we hadn’t eaten lunch and wanted to grab a bite to eat. Wandering around, we finally found an open falafel stand. Betsy and I had been to the stand before and the place is usually packed (a good sign). This time we were the only customers. Because the owner was not busy, he started to converse with us: about Haifa, about what we are doing here, and about the falafels (which were delicious, by the way). The significance of the interaction was not in details of the conversation. Rather it was that the conversation took place in Hebrew. I understood most of what he said, and I was able to answer him. For the first time I felt that I had entered Israeli culture (at least a little bit) rather than hovering around the edges looking in. Of course, this acculturation process is not as simple as figuring out how to get around town on a bus. Clearly, it will continue as long as we are here.
Learning Hebrew is key to integrating into Israeli culture. Shortly after we arrived I started studying Hebrew in earnest, going over flashcards from previous summer ulpans and reading an “easy” (not for me) Hebrew newspaper. The next step was the ulpan at Haifa University, which Betsy and I began two weeks ago. (The semester started with a three hour placement exam!) I’m happy with my progress and feel I’m reading, writing, and speaking better then ever. There’s still a mighty long way to go, of course, but I can tell I’m improving. How do I know? I fired the gardener about a month ago. He doesn’t speak English so I had to depend on my Hebrew. Apparently my rudimentary language skills were good enough because he clearly got the message. He wasn’t happy. I am also better able to read signs. The following ad currently appears on the back of many city buses: ."סובלים מבעיה בתפקוד המיני?" Translation: “Suffering from a problem with sexual function?” Is this why I’m learning the language?
I’ll end with a short account about why we fired the gardener. Apparently gardening is a lucrative profession in Israel. Shortly after we moved here, the gardener appeared at our doorstep to tell us his rates: 400 NIS (new Israeli shekels) per month. At the current exchange rate, this is equivalent to about $100. I expressed surprise, as the woman from whom we rented the apartment wrote that she paid him 300 NIS. He replied that he does a lot of work beyond cutting the grass, including trimming the shrubs and picking up debris. We did a little math. The lawn is about 90 m2 (900 ft2), puny by American standards. I estimate it would take about five minutes to mow, perhaps ten minutes if you include taking out the mower, starting it, emptying the grass afterward, and putting the mower away. Still, we decided to see how much work the gardener did. He arrived one Friday morning when we were at home. He trimmed two small branches from the rose bush, buzz cut the grass with a weed whacker, and raked the garden beds (but did not remove the invading grass). Time: thirty minutes. He comes twice a month, so that works out to $100 per hour. Pretty good wages. No wonder he was unhappy we fired him. (It develops he’s a pretty poor gardener. Turns out the lawn is infested with scarab beetle grubs. They’re fat and juicy, about the size of my pinky, and they eat the roots, mowing the grass from below the ground. Nearly all of the lawn has turned brown with only speckles of live green blades. We’re hoping most of it will recover with a little TLC, but we will have to apply pesticide and re-seed in spots. What’s particularly galling, though, is that it’s his fault that the problem got out of hand in the first place. Based on the size of the grubs, it’s clear that they were here long before we arrived, when he was still “taking care” of the lawn. Moreover, once the grass started dying he misdiagnosed the problem, telling us that the lawn was not getting sufficient water. Incompetent and overpriced … sounds like he’s got all the qualifications for government work.)
We took the picture of the scarab grub after I had written this post. You've probably noticed that the big bad grub is not quite as large as I said it was. I don't think I'm generally prone to exaggerate. Why in this case? Though I have picked up these grubs once or twice, I find it distasteful to touch them. Just look at them, all soft and squishy, white at the head end and with that dark stuff inside at their back ends. All those hard, bristly wiggling legs, and the moving jaws. And when you pick them up, grasping them at their sides, all the time keeping a respectful distance from the dark end and the jaws and legs, they writhe and turn to grab you. Maybe they'll exude some foul liquid from one end or the other, and it will get on you. Maybe you'll squeeze them too hard and they'll burst. Ick. They disgust me. I'll admit it, I'm a little afraid to touch them. I am sure it was this fear and disgust that caused me to imagine them larger than they are. I believe we exaggerate the size of spiders, centipedes, and other creatures we fear in the same way.
Weather report: sunny with daytime highs of 28-35 degrees Celsius (low 80’s-mid 90’s degrees Fahrenheit). Still wearing shorts.
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