"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."