The Israeli PM and me

Yes this blog title is slightly over-zealous, but this is my party (blog) and I'll lie if I want to - you (so) would too if it happened to you. I realise I blogged only earlier today, very uncharacteristic of my behaviour of late, but I was reminded of an episode I forgot to share.

About a month ago I interviewed a lovely British man, Joe Wohlfarth, now living in Israel, who competed in the third and fifth Maccabiah Games (1950 and 1957 respectively) as a footballer representing Great Britain. Joe was born in Frankfurt and came to England on the Kindertransport, aged seven, and unfortunately lost his mother and two brothers who perished during the Holocaust. In England Joe spent much of his youth living in hostels around the country, which is when he first realised he had a talent for football. (The full article can be found on The Jerusalem Post website). He returned to the games this year, aged 77, this time representing Israel in the tennis masters.

Joe was a pleasure to interview, and a real inspiration - we had several chats after the interview and after the piece was published. One of these took place a few weeks ago - the morning after the 18th Maccabiah opening ceremony. Joe, as calm and modest as usual, called to explain that while at the opening ceremony he was approached by some government officials - the Israeli PM Binyamin Netanyahu's "people" - who told Joe that Bibi had requested to meet him. Joe thought the whole thing was an elaborate practical joke, ringing his children to rumble their game, but they had no idea what he was talking about, and before long Joe found himself in a room with Netanyahu. He'd read about Joe in my Jerusalem Post article, telling Joe that he was a source of inspiration for world Jewry. Bibi asked Joe to sit with him during the Maccabiah opening ceremony, and sure enough was celebrated in Bibi's speech which quoted parts of my article. (Take a look at the English transcript of Bibi's speech from 13th July).

If you have some time, take a look at his story, it's an amazing one and he definitely deserved to be mentioned by the PM on this momentous occasion.

Ok, that's it on the over-zealous front. For now.

Endings and beginnings (again)

I didn't finish summing up last time, and as usual my "get back to you next week" turned into a fortnight... I'm blaming the ridiculous scorching weather (the tan lines are more than disturbing, and I'm pretty sure my swimming costume marks glow in the dark, though I've yet to find a nudist nightclub here that wouldn't involve me being forcibly contorted around a poll) and I'm also blaming my five-hour long Hebrew classes that begin at 8.15am and end with me in a gibbering heap, audibly reciting verb forms to myself, without blinking for minutes on end.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves, thousands of thrilling things happened before I hauled myself back into a classroom... At the beginning of July, my group had a rather emotional closing seminar to sum up the past five months, discussing what we'd learnt and loathed, and it was also a good opportunity to see who'd been brainwashed into staying out here = a lot. I guess "brainwashing" is a little strong, but there was a lot of emotive and transformative phrases bouncing gleefully around the room, like "I feel like I've come home", "I'm a changed person in Israel", "I never want to leave" and "everyone is my brother and sister here" - which may, in another life, give me goodbumps if I wasn't busy being so crushingly cynical in this one.

Part of the seminar featured a talent show, which I and three other girls wrote and presented. We got the group to nominate people they'd like to see compete for the title "Mr and Ms Career Israel 2009", which required them to go through a number of treacherous but rigorous rounds to demonstrate how much they'd learnt about Israel and Israelis throughout their time here. These rounds, determined by a certified academic board, included fitting as much Bisli (Israeli crisps) in your mouth as possible and saying weird and wonderful Israeli-themed sentences in English but with an Israeli accent - such as: "You’re asking if my falafel balls are healthy? They’re made of chickpeas and after I cooked them, I dropped them in floor cleaner. Nothing gets your heart rate moving as healthily as bleach" (a reference to all the dodgy falafel stands that are curiously absent from the department of sanitation's records) and "Are my trousers too tight? I’m only asking because my testicles feel like they’re being used as stress balls by Michael Jackson’s life insurance company" (a nod to the millions of pairs of tight trousers currently on sale in mainstream Israeli men's shops).

Between rounds, various members entertained the group with their juggling, singing, dancing, drumming and comedy, and the organizing committee also presented awards as voted for by the whole group - including "best-looking", "most athletic" and "best fictional couple". I won "most intelligent" but would like to stress (though not too much, obviously) that many of the Americans are fooled by my apparently "posh"-sounding British accent. Nonetheless, I'm not one to argue with the wisdom of the masses. It's proven itself many times over the years if we skip over the minor incidents occuring in historical "episodes" such Nazi Germany.

The day after the seminar's end, I completed my last day at The Jerusalem Post. I'd been working on a feature for a few weeks which I'd filed a few days earlier, so my last day was spent feeding chocolates and cake to the editorial team and writing a small news story. The day's highlight was easily receiving a white Jerusalem Post t-shirt, which I shall wear with pride forevermore. It was definitely a challenging five months at the Post, but worth every minute (especially the minutes filled with my bad Hebrew grammar and laughable wannabe accent...)

After finishing work, I took a few days to do touristy things I hadn't managed to fit in. Ticked off my to-do list were: The temple mount in the old city of Jerusalem, the arty "Museum on the Seam", the old city of Caesaria (where I met (the projections of) King Herod and Rabbi Akiva), the Marc Chagall windows at Ein Kerem in western Jerusalem.

The next challenge was to move to Tel Aviv... very stressful but happily the tension was kept at bay because Jennah's boyfriend, Guy, drove us and our mountains of crap in his car. I have no idea how he managed it and I'm pretty sure the amount of sheer stuff compromised our air supply, but we all arrived in tact. Once becoming a fully-fledged Tel Aviv-ian, the next week or so was filled with sombre goodbye "parties" as a lot of the group were preparing to return to their homelands. The last parties concluded last week, and it dawned on us that we'd been saying "goodbye" for ten days and that the same frickin' people had attended every single party.

For the past week I have been attending Hebrew classes or "ulpan" (which literally means "studio"), and it's hard work. Tough because I haven't been in a classroom environment for two years and five hours is a long time to concentrate when you're prone to getting distracted by shiny things. Our first teacher, Leah, was very laid back and amusing, but she left after a week (apparently this was planned) and our new teacher, Sara, is very scary. She gets particularly frightening while making the class perform oral verb structuring. I won't get into the nitty gritty as you'll start to feel that life has very little to offer, but you get the idea. She also peppers her lessons (all in Hebrew only) with Jewish religious content, (perhaps because she is an orthodox Jew), and a healthy dose of guilt-trips about people not arriving on time. I'm signed up for another three weeks, and I just hope that by then I haven't figured out a way to craft a noose out of my multi-coloured biro collection.

That's a bit of a bleak way to end a blog entry, isn't it? So here's a happier final thought - if you times the number of students in my ulpan class (40) by the number of times we went over the verb structure "nifal" today (a lot), the number you'll be left with is still lower than the number of kilos worth of stuff I have to transport back to Blighty. Happier final thought for you that is. Now where HAVE those biros gone?

Endings and beginnings

This month has probably been the craziest so far - trips up north, south, around the middle and to Jordan, finishing at the newspaper, finishing my programme, moving out of Jerusalem and into Tel Aviv... wowee.

So, to start with, Jordan. I'd been planning on going for months. A few groups of friends had been and gone and I had to miss out because I had writing/transcribing/researching to get done over the weekends. I hadn't really thought about what to expect - my housemate Jennah and I booked it pretty last-minute, without really looking into culture, history, language etc. The five of us got a midnight bus from Tel Aviv to Eilat (taking around five hours) - a great experience everyone should try. One of my friends booked his ticket separately and found himself on a 'party bus' full of hormone-fuelled teens in tight jeans. Me and the others found ourselves on the 'other' category bus - children, loud Americans and the elderly. Once we reached Eilat, we realised no one had done enough research to know how to get to border or what time it opened. Luckily we found a helpful taxi driver to fill us in and soon we were on our way... at 5am.

I have an Israeli and British passport, so I made sure to get both stamped at the border, as instructed by friends. Although Israel has had relative calm with Jordan for the past 15 years, I was advised to keep my Israeli passport out of sight and to speak only English - the full foreigner act for a whole weekend. Bliss. Once we'd crossed the border into Aquaba, people were very keen to help and identify where we hailed from. Once Mandy and I told people we were from London, we had several "double-take" moments upon hearing "lovely jubbly" in response... Had Del Boy really visited Jordan? Of course he had, I thought, he'd probably dragged Rodney along to make some cheap deals on Jordanian shisha, camels and other 'cultural' nick naks...

After an unpleasant experience on the bus - my friend getting her back fondled as she slept by what looked like a pre-pubescent - we arrived at our hostel in Petra. "Cleopetra". After clocking the name, we knew we were in for the time of our lives. Petra, the ancient Nabotean city, was beautiful and we spent two days wandering its paths, peeking into caverns, riding donkeys, gawping at the great vastness that seemed to have no end. Mandy was in her element speaking to the locals in Arabic (with a distinct North London twist) and even managing to blag a few freebies (including a horse ride). After having torn ourselves away from the awesome view, we chatted with some Bedouins and had full Bedouin makeovers (complete with thick eye liner, applied by some very burly Bedouin men, and head scarves).

We found ourselves often wondering where all the women were, and when we asked one of our hosts, he looked away, deliberately distracted, muttering "you welcome to Petra" - he had a habit of doing that when he either didn't understand us or didn't want to. We saw lots of women in the national park, most of them tourists, and also some Jordanian male-male hand-holding, which we hadn't expected.

After two days in Petra, we returned to the Israeli border and spent the weekend in Eilat, where we did a lot of nothing and I did a lot of moaning about how much I loathed Eilat and the distinctive nothingness it contained...

Our Southern Trek took us back to Tel Aviv for some partying before we headed back down south, just for a day, to Sderot - most famed (or INfamed) for its close proximity to Gaza. We visited the Sderot media center, where we heard about the "15 seconds" countdown that occurs every time bomb sirens (or "tzeva adom" alerts) are set off. We were also shown around shelves upon shelves of katusha rockets that had hit Sderot during Operation Cast Lead. Along the Gaza theme, though this time more specifically on disengagement, we were then introduced to and shown around Nitzan, an area that was designed to house those settlers who were removed from Gush Katif in Gaza. The first family was only now about to move in to permanent housing since the IDF withdrew four years ago. We also met a former settler whose right-wing opinions were not going down too well with my left-field group, though everyone was very patient with their time and sparing with their gasps and pained expressions of disbelief as the woman made generalisation after generalisation about how "Palestinians" want for nothing more than worldwide extermination of Jews and their apparent ubiquitous influence.

On a different note, though in many ways still a political one, for the first time I got to attend Gay Pride in Jerusalem. The Tel Aviv march had happened a few weeks before and reports universally marked it as pretty groundbreakingly-crazy. I was hoping for repetition in Jerusalem, but as usual, Jerusalem had to do it differently by "Jerusalem-afying" it... in this case making it much more education-heavy and fun-lite. Sure the star of David/Gay pride flag fusions were incredible as they billowed in the wind, but speech after speech made everyone a bit restless - though it did give me an opportunity to look around the national park in the capital, where it was held, and translate some of the signs being hoisted upwards. "There's nothing wrong with being fabulous" read one, "my son is gay, so what?" blared another, and "Lesbian Jews count too" was one other. The transexual marchers took centre stage on the whole, cavorting and screeching around the park in mini-skirts and blonde wigs. It was quite a spectacle and they got plenty of media attention. I was interviewed by a TV station, though I'm still not quote sure who by and during the line of questioning became more and more inquisitive on this point:
Presenter: "So what are your feelings about the hosting of gay pride in Israel's holy city?"
Yours truly: "I think it's great that the capital can celebrate freedom of expression in this way"
P: "But god is against homosexuality, isn't he? Do you know what it says about it in the bible?"
Yt: "Yes, it says it's an abomination and that people shouldn't therefore practise it."
P: "Yet there is a gay parade here in Jerusalem."
Yt: "Yeh but... well, I am pretty secular although I'm Jewish. I think it's important for a modern city like Jerusalem to afford its citizens the right to celebrate their identities."
P: "So they're not all sinners then?"
Yt: "Er... I don't think... er.... I don't believe in "sinning" really, as I'm secular, but I guess if we're all meant to be made in god's imag..."
P: "Surely they're all going to hell..."
Cue my look of alarm/disdain, followed by my exit...

Loads more to say, but this is too long already, so I'll get back to it this week...

Time flies

It's crazy to think my time in Israel is almost up. I've been here for four months, and have just one more month at the newspaper. The days vary so much, it's easy to lose track of what I've been doing and forget to appreciate how incredible it's been out here in general.

So much has been going on - a few weeks ago it was 'laila lavan' (or 'white nights'), when the country stays up all night, with shops, museums and cultural hot spots staying open till all hours. I arrived in Tel Aviv after my night shift in Jerusalem, at about 11pm, so I missed a lot of the festivities, but I still managed to make it down to the opera at midnight, as my friend Mandy who works in the costume department managed to bag us some free tickets. I've only ever seen one opera, Norma by Bellini, and I was totally transfixed for over three hours. The Israeli opera house didn't disappoint, but it was an hour-long showcase of its performers from across its shows. It felt a little bit like a school recital, where each artist is wheeled out in turn, in front of the piano. But you can't argue with free tickets. At least I didn't anyway.

Other highlights include the annual siren practice, which took place at 11am a few weeks ago. It's a routine exercise which requires all citizens to drop what they're doing and make their way to the nearest bomb shelter. The newspaper's bomb shelter was a bit of a walk away, which concerned me ever-so-slightly, and not everyone joined in. Across Israel, other people abstained too, especially in busy shopping areas such as Sheinkin Street in the heart of Tel Aviv, where the haggling and bustle didn't stop. Check out this hugely interesting video of the newspaper staff walking to our bomb shelter, shot by my colleague Ben. Ten points for recognising the prodigious talent who's presenting the vid...

In other news, most of the Bezalels came and went at the beginning of the month, apart from my oldest brother Dan, my sister-in-law Debbie and the Bezalel bambinos. I toured around Jerusalem with my other brother Jon and his newish blushing bride Shelley, which was really lovely. I also toured around the country's shopping centres with my parents. While my dad's temple will always be holy city's wailing wall, my mother's is usually located in pricier, more air-conditioned territory, with spacious car parks to boot. The wailing wall, despite its impressive history, can't boast 3 for 2 offers, so who can blame her?

I've been on several seminars recently, too. One about aliyah - that is immigrating to Israel for good and what benefits are on the table from the government. I've decided to return to England in a few months, but aliyah has always been a possibility in my mind, so the seminar was very informative. One of the speakers mentioned a friend who moved to Israel and worked in the Israeli army's spokesperson unit. This appeals to me hugely. If I moved to Israel, I would certainly volunteer for the army, since my age means I'm now exempt from conscription. It would be a battle because of my age but the army is such a fundamental part of Israeli life, it's hard to imagine truly fitting in without that experience. Plus, because I have an Israeli passport (my dad grew up in Israel) missing the army is a sore point in my mind. While I was eligible for the army, I carried exemption papers because I was studying, but every time I visit an army memorial or cemetery, I can't help but feel guilt for abstaining. The more time I spend in Israel, the more pervasive my regrets become, until I remind myself that if I ever do move to Israel permanently, I will make volunteering in the army my number one priority. Though every year that passes I am seen as less useful to the army and the bigger the ensuing (proverbial) battle with them will become...

The other seminar was about the Golan Heights, the north-eastern territory of Israel which the country captured from Syria in the 1967 Six Day War. On the latter, we did two hikes, one of which lasted five hours and involved descending ladders (slightly terrifying)... We also spoke to man living on Kibbutz Misgav Am, on the border facing Hezbollah, totally unfazed by the view he's faced with upon waking up each day. The group also visited a Druze village and later on sampled the community's food (delish).

The Golan trip was especially significant for me because for two nights we stayed in a youth hostel in Shlomi - a development town very close to the Lebanese border - which is where I spent four months of my gap year when I was 18. In Shlomi I taught (or at least tried to teach) English to very cheeky Israeli children whose English vocab hadn't stretched much further than 'fack yo mum' and 'sonofabeach'... those were some interesting months and I was very pleased to have been reminded of them all these years later..! Kids say the darndest things, don't they?

Feeling like a foreigner

In the last month, I've felt more mixed emotion than ever before. Probably because I've well-passed the period of time that feels like 'holiday' territory (having been here for three and a half months) but I'm still too new to feel at home. In many ways it feels odd to me because of how long I've spent in Israel over the years. Because my dad is Israeli, I've basically spent every summer holiday here since I was born. I also spent a year here before starting university, and somehow I thought that, as a fully-grown adult, I'd find it easier to adjust.

Not at all, sadly. I still feel like a stupid foreigner at least once a day. Sometimes because of my Hebrew (which is improving despite not attending classes), other times because of cultural differences (don't even get me started on dating, buses and other key etiquette areas) and sometimes because I'm just having a tough day and I'm not thinking properly.

In the last few weeks, I've been lucky enough to receive several visitors from the unholy land of Britain, most notably and honourably, Tash, one of my best friends, and her mum and aunt. I love having visitors, partly because of the British flavour they bring to my days but also because I was feeling quite homesick and it was a real break from feeling so foreign... But when they went home, I think I took a few backwards steps because I got too comfortable in my British bubble and felt like I'd been left behind when they flew home.

There's no denying it, life in Israel is hard, and when you feel pangs of that mantra, you want to revel in your vulnerability and curl up into a ball for a while. No such luck in elbow-nudging/blowing Israel... Unfortunately, recently, when I've been feeling a moment of unsteadiness, another event will happen upon me and totally destroy any semblance of stability. E.g. Getting ripped off in a taxi and then almost losing my phone in a bar. Total annihilation and the tears come freefalling down...

Despite working in a mainly English-speaking workplace, I often feel like a foreigner too. Although I do use Hebrew for work, if I receive a dense document in Hebrew, I have to sheepishly ask a member of the affable internet team to give me a hand. I've also been severely scolded for leaving an English answerphone message on someone's phone. "What do you think you're doing leaving me a message in English", boomed the uncompromising voice. "Not everyone speaks English in Israel. You are a journalist, you must know Hebrew!" My resolution here was to call her back semi-apologetically (if she got English sarcasm, she'd have been offended) and pass on the call to a colleague who spoke better Hebrew than me...

Opening a bank account here made me feel rather alien-esque too, not least because when I entered the bank, I encountered a digital queuing system... unheard of in England and even more surprising in chaotic, disorganised Israel. Truly a shocking moment. Of course I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I missed my number flashing on the screen by nano-seconds and the bank teller refused to see me. Except I didn't understand this as she mumbled something abruptly in Hebrew. So I stood in front of her, while a sweaty man in his 40s stole my slot. Luckily for me, her colleague took pity on me and explained that I'd been shunned for missing my turn... happily she saw me instead and opened an account for me. I'd heard horror stories about banking, the same ones you hear about anything mildly bureaucratic in Israel - that you should expect to wait for hours, brace yourself for abuse and general non-sensical behaviour. Yet banking for me was easy and they didn't even need my address.Yes that sounds slightly dodgy, or "sketchy" as my American housemates say, but I wanted an account and fast. Plus, the woman helping me said I had beautiful eyes, so I decided this was a bank I could trust.

Everything was going fine until she handed the paperwork over and it was all in Hebrew. I can speak, read and write in Hebrew but I'd never learnt banking terms. I think I owe the bank 23 shekels for opening an account. Or have they given me 23 shekels? Or am I paying a 23 shekel standing order every month to subscribe to the Bank HaPoalim magazine 'Bank or Skank'? Either way, 23 shekels holds some kind of significance on my bank statement and I will probably find out more.

It's not all been doom and gloom though, apart from lovely visits from friends and family, I was a grateful recipient of something very special and Israeli last week. After watching a film with a friend, I realised it was very late and could potentially miss the last bus home... and be in for a rather pricey taxi ride home. So I sprinted (for 'sprinted', see 'jog semi-energetically') for an incoming bus. Happily for my pathetically poor athletic frame, the bus waited and I just about hauled myself on. I was exhausted but just then was given a spritely boost - the passengers of the number 18 clapped for my efforts. And in a moment of both madness and magnanimous gratitude, I curtseyed for my adoring audience. A good way to end an evening.

In other news, I have enrolled for Hebrew classes, beginning in July, and had my Hebrew skills tested by Israel's answer to Sinead O'Connor. Amazing.

"Only in Israel"

I've titled this entry "only in Israel", because a few things have happened to me lately that left me repeating this phrase to myself. Usually when anything mildly odd happens around here - like the winner of the general election not being made PM, or when elderly women with two walking sticks and a guide dog get pushed over on the bus by two rogue religious boys - people say the phrase tiringly to themselves.

Last week, on my way to work, I ran for a bus that was slowly making a getaway from my stop. Somehow I just about made it but the bus driver wouldn't let me on. I knocked on the door, but was ignored... so I flouted all British rules of etiquette and thudded rather hard on his windscreen. I could see he was shouting something angrily at me, but the sturdy pain of glass between us obscured his message. Realising I had no idea what he was saying, he shook his fist at me before pointing in front of us. Somehow it had escaped my notice that three police vans had pulled up and were blocking the road. I looked around to discover that the whole street was set to 'pause'. Everyone was stationary, staring at the vans. Ten minutes later, a robot exited one of the vehicles - the machines used to investigate suspect objects by the police and army.

Everyone was searching for the 'object' in question, but it was too far away to make out. The robot made it's way down the road to check it out. For half an hour, the road was silent. Some local residents had exited their flats, concerned about a possible threat. After 45 minutes, the bus driver finally let me on the bus, but not without some severe eyebrow furrowing. The police wouldn't tell anyone anything, and after an hour, the bus started moving. My eyes were glued to the window, searching for the suspect object as we were edging closer to it. I finally clocked it. A discard microwave, deposited on the road side. I couldn't believe it. One person gets a new microwave, and the rest of the street has to know about it. Forget the fact that people are usually on high alert about possible bomb threats. Only in Israel.

The other day, also, while purchasing a rather fetching dress in an Israeli shop I'm told is reserved for 'frechot' (in the Hebrew vocab) or 'becks' (in the Jewish vocab) or 'teenage-wannabe-sluts', I noticed the belt loops had come unstitched. After asking if I could have a discount on the spoilt dress, the shop assistant shook her head, grabbed the dress and scurried to the counter. She then proceeded to pull out a sewing kit from underneath the till and sew up the dress, live. I was then obligated to buy the dress. At no extra charge, despite her generous handiwork. Well and truly, only in Israel.

In the last week, 'only in Israel' has gained new meaning for me - Holocaust Memorial Day (or Yom HaShoah), Remembrance Day for soldiers who have died fighting in Israel's wars (Yom HaZikaron) and Independence Day (Yom Ha'atzmaut) has made me re-evaluate what it means to live in Israel.

In a country known for its haste, abruptness and impatience, I could not have imagined the stillness so apparent on these sombre days - especially Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron. As the sirens went off in the morning of these days, the entire country paused for thought. Drivers got out of their cars mid-journey, workplaces fell silent across the land and everybody reflected.

What astounds me most about this difficult time in Israel is the transition from Yom HaZikaron to Yom Ha'atzamut. Last Monday night I went to a ceremony to mark this year's Yom HaZikaron. It was the first time I'd been to a service catered for Israelis. It was entirely in Hebrew, relatives of the fallen spoke and there was a real community atmosphere of people who "knew what it was like" and really felt deeply. It was the first year I've felt like a real outsider, but I'm pleased I didn't go to an English service run for Americans and Brits, even though I didn't understand everything going on. Just to observe a community in mourning for its nations' children was an unforgettable experience and one that will stay with me, I'm sure of it.

As Monday night turned in Tuesday day, people around the country attended ceremonies or visited cemeteries full of the country's soldiers. I went to Har Herzl, where many Jewish and Israeli historical figures are buried, such as Zionist forefather Theodor Herzl, alongside soldiers who perished as recently as Operation Cast Lead - just a few short months ago.

Har Herzl presents a bizarre dichotomy of life and death. It's a cemetery, which is obvious, but it's a huge land mass full of lush trees and blooming flowers. As you walk through the rows of the dead, visitors surround the grave and your eyes can't help surveying the crowd. Who is merely visiting the graves out of respect and who is more intimately connected with Israel's blood-stained history? As an outsider, you can't stop feeling like a voyeur, but you console yourself, pointlessly, by remembering that each impertinent gaze gives you insight into the Israeli life and mentality.

After a reflective afternoon, staring at the dead and the life they left behind, I made my way to Tel Aviv for Independence Day celebrations that would commence that night. As surely as Yom HaZikaron came in at 8pm on Monday night, Independence Day commenced at 8pm on Tuesday night, papering over the nation's sadness. Fireworks and parties continued throughout the night. It was time to celebrate the birth of a state from the ashes of the nation's past.

As strange as this concept seems, it makes sense. Israel's independence wasn't established spontaneously or without woe. The state was created after The War of Independence, and the juxtaposition of remembrance and celebration every year in Israel is a stark reminder of this.

Work and fun trips

Again, a large gap since I last wrote - mainly because of the utter craziness of my internship. Good craziness though, the same kind that causes Israelis and Jews to force feed people - intense but strangely pleasing. I've had pieces published most days, some of which fall in the 'bizarre' category - which I love... hence my other blog about weird and wonderful (and obscure) news stories (mbezzle.blogspot.com).

Amid the madness, I have still done a fair amount of things in the last month. On one of my first evenings in Jerusalem, I went along to the food festival taking place in the main market in the city. It was utterly packed and I even considered making my entrance a la Peter Parker by swinging from the ceiling to avoid the agitated (and ill-fragranced) crowd. However, I was with friends from my programme and didn't want to blow my cover as a mere mortal geeky journalist. The market was great but we were fairly let down by the tiny portion of meatballs (ie. one) that our 15 shekels ticket bought us.

The newspaper has taken me on a few 'field assignments' - the Galil (north) with the United Jewish Israel Appeal (UJIA), Pat in Jerusalem to report on some co-existence teenage basketball games, random guest house that was hosting a dinner for people taking part in the Jerusalem half-marathon and 10k run, and Tel Aviv for various stories.

A nice break from work came earlier this month when the whole group visited Haifa for the day. We had a look at a church, the world-renowned Bahai gardens (of which I took hundreds of pics that all look the same) and the general city. I thoroughly recommend the city's pizza.

I was also fortunate enough to welcome some London guests. Just hearing more of the London accent made me feel eternally overjoyed and grateful... Ann and Maurice from my school, Paula from the Israel tour I led 2005, Tamara from the Birthright tour I led in 2007, Lucy from university and Vanessa from my gap year and university. Ah. It was a big London love-in.

As well as reminiscing with old friends, I also forged friendships with some new people! I met a Canadian theatre writer, producer and actor on a bus who invited me to visit Ramallah with him, where he was due to conduct some research interviews for a forthcoming play. For a few days I was definitely going, until I realised my Israeli passport might cause some trouble. I could easily use my British passport to get into the West Bank, but when it came to getting back into Israel, it was likely the border police would demand to see my passport stamps - verifying my entrance into Israel from the airport. However, I never get stamps due to my dual-citizenship, which would cause a problem. It's illegal for Israelis to enter most of the West Bank and being caught could result in a criminal record. After some consideration, I decided against it but will try and ensure I get to go somehow, maybe on a press trip later on down the line.

Other events include celebrations for Tel Aviv's 100th birthday - for which we spent most of the time in my friend Mandy's room, waiting for her to finalise her outfit... We managed to make it to the main party in town, though, and caught the end of the musical performances. The random post-concert dancing in the street made it worth it, too.

Last week was the Jewish festival of Pesach or Passover and meant I had a week off from work (though I ended up working from home for most of it). I went to a seder (Pesach meal) with my friend Alexandra, which was great. We ate eight kinds of charoset and had to match the country of origin to each charoset pot. I lost interest after I tasted the Moroccan charoset, which was exquisitely sweet and yummy. Wow and wow. Did I mention the Moroccan charoset? Proof alone that a greater being exists in the world. And he's a great cook, let me tell you.

I ended my Pesach break with a day trip down south to the Dead Sea with Diane - a Scottish friend from the programme - and her brother and his friends. Thanks to this relaxing day I finally caught some serious tannage and now look almost Israeli... which is a lot of pressure with regards to my Hebrew accent as people ask me for directions etc more freqently. I speak some Hebrew, but there are few sentences in Hebrew more confusing than: "I don't speak Hebrew."

End of Hebrew classes and internship

It's been a while since I last wrote and a lot has happened... I've gotten through approximately six giant tubs of humous (nothing compared with my housemate Jennah's eleven - give or take 23), and I finally finished my Hebrew classes. I'd been looking forward to intensive Hebrew classes for months - the classes were five hours long, five days a week - but my expectations were dashed when I was put in the top class, and was consequently the least able (remedial) in the class. It turns out I dislike things I am bad at, which is a terrible virtue I know. But the bright side is that I totally excel in being bitter (especially about my Hebrew skills) - so every cloud has a silver lining. Hebrew highlights included our substitute teacher letting us watch Israeli TV ads, and singing along to really bad (good) cheesy songs. Check out this awesome Dana International song (Israeli transsexual - previously Yaron Cohen - who won Eurovision for Israel in 1998), which was my favourite sing-a-long fodder.

Aside from putting up with ulpan (Hebrew classes), our massive group all did Purim together - a Jewish festival that requires some serious dressing up and drinking. My outfit was the bearded lady (from the circus, duh), which was a nice change from all the sexy cats, nurses and angels that littered the streets of Tel Aviv that night. Though, if you ask me, what could be sexier than a bit of rough on a girl? After getting seriously inebriated at our flats (notable drinking head-cases included Mandy and Jess's melon vodka over-indulgence) we staggered out to Florentine - the funky, artsy-fartsy capital of Tel Aviv. It was basically a very over-sized street party and when we got down there, we were immediately split up amongst the crowd. It was so packed, I couldn't even move my elbows... until I found a stationary motorbike to sit on for an hour or so. After a while a few of us bravely pushed our way further down, where we found some cool-ish bars to hang out in. Despite wearing a sign saying 'bearded lady' in Hebrew and English, together with the special offer of one bearded kiss for 10 shekels - this bearded lady saw no action.

Strangely, Purim in Israel lasts for several days - as opposed to the one-night-only status it has in England. Therefore, for days we witnessed lots of 'she-hes' - the most interesting case being a guy called Howard who lived in our building. Howard was a very dedicated transvestite and constantly asked my opinion on whether his boobs were straight or 'even'. On one particular evening, a random girl in a pizza place we were sat in, mouthed instructions to Howard on how to adjust his assets. My friend and I were so bewildered by this that we stopped hanging around Howard for a while, concerned that the general public would assume we were both 'dressed up' as women for Purim as well. Also, Howard kept insisting that all semi-'interested' stares from random men were inspired by his presence. "Whatevs".

To mark the end of Hebrew classes and the beginning of our internships, the whole group went on a trip to the south for the weekend - Sde Boker - the final resting place of David Ben Gurion, visionary and first prime minister of Israel. We went on a few hikes, visited an unrecognised Bedouin village, played some inane games, ate a hell of a lot of humous, petted a fare amount of stray dogs and cats and generally froze our asses off in the unforgiving dessert breeze (for 'breeze', read mild tsunami). It was a great weekend and it was a little sad trekking back to Tel Aviv for my last few days before Jerusalem. In our group of 100, only 20 off us were hauling our hacky sacks to J-town, but I was still looking forward to it.

On Tuesday afternoon, the 20 off us packed up our stuff, shoved it on the bus and made our way to the holy city. We'd only have a few hours to put everything away before bed times as our internships started first thing on Wednesday. Everyone is doing very different things - one person is working for a member of 'parliament' or Knesset, in the Knesset, other people are working in the financial sector, Israeli-Palestinian dialogue groups, schools, PR firms and I'm working at the Jerusalem Post on the news desk.

It's been great so far and I've already learnt a lot. Unfortunately for the people having to decipher me, I'm having to use some Hebrew on the phone... My accent is embarrassingly bad but so far I have learnt a pretty important phrase 'efshar ledaber lemisrad haduver?' - 'Is it possible to speak to the spokesperson's office?' Which is a useful phrase after attempting to say this in a rather roundabout way:
'Hi, I'm a journalist and I'm writing a story. Is there someone I could talk to about this?'
To which the reply would be 'Talk to about what?'
'I can't explain in Hebrew, do you speak English?'
'No.'
'Ah.'
'Ah.'
'Isn't there an office I can speak to?'
'About what?'

You get the picture... I'll keep you posted on more newspaper-related tales in due course.

This is our first weekend in Jerusalem and we're slightly isolated due to where we live - up a mountain with no public transport because no buses or trains run on the sabbath... We've improvised pretty well so far by scouring the university campus we're living on (Hebrew University), forcing people to be our friends. So far, so good. As I type this, my housemate is entertaining a bunch of 18-year-olds demanding some wine from our fridge. Friendship comes at a price, apparently.

Jerusalem intro, Hebrew classes and a very odd election result

After a week's holiday in Tel Aviv - sleeping until noon, with the most strenuous activity involving many a shopping bag - our first week in Jerusalem was rather overwhelming. And with around 100 participant names to learn, my brain felt like it had been shoved into a washing machine - 'extra spin' cycle.

As well as playing name games (an example of which being 'say your name and your favourite smell' - you get the picture) the group toured around David's City, the Western Wall tunnels, the Supreme Court and had some lectures about the religious and cultural tensions apparent in Israel. A fairly heated Q&A session in one particular session revealed people's political sympathies, which was rather eye-opening...

I've been asked to pay more specific attention to my food intake, so here are some highlights - and I'm only skimping on detail because I'm concerned I may develop arthritis trying to type out everything I've eaten. So there is the obvious: humous and falafel, humous and falafel and humous and falafel. Meat is basically my raison d'etre, so I've consumed a rather alarming amount of lamb shawarma (and even some 'meat' shawarma... a logic not dissimilar to the 'don't ask, don't tell' US army policy... I didn't ask and they didn't tell), several amazing aubergine, green tahina and egg sandwiches, Israeli popping chocolate, some exceptional crisps called 'triangles' ('meshulashim' in Hebrew), Mandy's aunt's Iraqi cooking (burnt rice included) and more Sharron fruit than you could fill a big box of Sharron fruit with.

We all moved into our dorm/flats last Sunday - King George street which is central, downtown Tel Aviv, and have been doing hardcore Hebrew classes since. Five hours every day, which is intense. I'm in the top class, but am probably one of the 'least capable' (*remedial) students... so I am pretty quiet throughout and avoid eye contact with the teacher in case she picks on me for an exercise. All good so far, and all I've had to do is play noughts and crosses on a white board. Tough but someone has to do it. Did you know that 'x' is pronounced 'icks' in Hebrew? Fascinating stuff.

Speaking of random exercises, the Israeli election results were finally concluded since I last wrote. Despite Kadima leader Tzipi Livni winning 28 seats - one more than Likud (around 30,000 extra votes) President Peres asked Likud leader Benjamin Netanyahu to form a government. Bibi successfully secured the support of the right-wing parties and could therefore form a larger, securer coalition. Coming from England, with a first-past-the-post system, this is a very odd scenario. Granted, because of the fairly low turn-out in the UK, election victors very rarely have a mandate from the majority of the population, but in this case the majority of voters elected someone else. This example puts proportional representation into stark perspective. British lobby groups have been fighting for PR for many years, yet the Israeli example is an instance of it being a weak and essentially undemocratic system. However, it's important to remember that The Party List system is just one example of PR at work.

Along the same political vein, I have been trying to exert as much power as possible in the markets around here. I have successfully haggled on no less than six occasions and one of these instances actually took place in a shop, witch real walls. Best buy so far has been a dress (tubed at the top) that falls to the floor. It cost me 20 shekels, which is just over £3. If I die tomorrow, it'll be happily.

This weekend I'm off for a free trip in Jerusalem - hosted by the organisation that sponsors my programme. We had the opportunity to pitch a community-based project to them and they picked a few people to attend some leadership weekends that will hopefully teach us how to see our projects through. Mine is a writing/photography project which would involve me knocking on some random doors around Israel, inviting myself in and finding some interesting stories from each household(illustrating them with photographs of the homes and their owners). These would then be translated into English and Hebrew and hypothetically made into a book that would raise money for charity. Dare to dream, my friends.

Arrival and election day

After some expensive drama at Heathrow airport (£90 for an extra item of luggage, despite the shameless pleading about spending an extended period of time in Israel) and then getting quizzed at Ben Gurion airport about my blue hair (I thought the security woman was going to ask me about my dad - whose birth name is 'messiah' - being born in Afghanistan, but oh no...) we arrived in Israel. We were greeted by an almighty downpour. Yes, lake Kinneret needs more water, but I wasn't planning on feeling so at home that quickly.

Luckily, my friend's cousin collected us (at 5am local time) and he took most of the bashing from the violent drenching. By the time we got back to his flat, he looked like a wet t-shirt finalist from that very tasteful 90s show 'Man Oh Man.' Perhaps you're thinking I should have more pity for him, after all he did get up at an unholy hour to receive us... but forget it. Today is election day, and in Israel that means a national bank holiday - ample time for the country to vote.

But do they? In the last election, the turnout was 63.2 per cent (the UK's stood at 61.3 per cent in 2005) but this year's numbers are expected to take a notable leap - partially due to events happening in Gaza and surrounding southern Israeli towns. Religious parties such as Shas and UTJ (United Torah Judaism) are fearful of a higher voter turnout as the surplus ballots are expected to come from secular citizens in Israel's centre (Tel Aviv, Herziliya and Givatayim all specifically mentioned by a member of Shas.)

Despite it being a 'day off' for Israelis (election day often hailed as a special shopping day due to the huge sales offered to the non-working masses) it's been more of a political 'snow day' due to the unrelenting rain. Instead of going outside to experience an Israeli general election, live, I've remained inside for most of the day, watching an Israeli political satire show called Eretz Nehederet (translated as Wonderful Country) and improving my Hebrew political vocab.

For the benefit of those who could actually leave the house today without fear of being swept into the Mediterranean, here are the highlights for your perusal:
Bechirut - election, to vote - lehatzbiya, kalfi - polling station, symbol - semel, da'ayot - opinions, shechitoot - corruption, mezeg ha'avir chara - crap weather.

Odd thought of the day - whenever a news anchor mentions Tzippi (Livni of the Kadima party) as a prospective Prime Minister, I can't help but envisage Zippy (of Rainbow fame - British reference) in a cabinet meeting, making decisions about security, technological progress and Bungle's bed time.

New country, new blog

As some of you may know, I write a blog about obscure news stories (mbezzle.blogspot.com), but I thought I'd pen another about my 5-6 months in Israel (commencing in three days)... 'owyousay' is a sensitive take on the Israeli accent. But before anyone calls in PC PC and the rest of his uniformed goons, I must explain that I am allowed to poke fun at Israelis because my dad is one and I am therefore half-Israeli (top half). Also, some of my best friends are black. I mean Israeli.

For the first month, I'll be living in Tel Aviv while I complete an intensive Hebrew course, go on trips with the other 80ish people on my internship programme and generally doss about in the manner of a student. Minus Countdown (it didn't quite reach the Med...). Yet another disappointment to befall the Vorderman.

Then after Tel Aviv, I'll be moving to Jerusalem where I start my journalism internship at the Jerusalem Post - a daily national newspaper (written in English). I'll also be doing some freelance commissions back in Blighty and working on my ever-so-slightly-deranged short stories.

Watch this space...