It must be wonderful to be in the Holy Land for Christmas

Thanks to Facebook many of my old friends know that I live in Israel. Most of them are not Jewish and have never been to Israel -- yet they have an idealized vision of Israel at Christmas.

It's actually very funny because most people who have never been to Israel (predominantly non-Jews) seem to think that you are going to get shot by a sniper the minute you exit the plane at Ben Gurion airport.... unless, of course, it is Christmas!!!! And then for a few days, I guess they just figure that we are all walking around (safely) singing Christmas carols, hugging our fellow man and waiting for the three wise men to show up, hot on the tail of a really big star. Does anyone out there see the flaw in this logic?

Bad news for you non-Jews out there who have never been to Israel: you are sadly deluded. This past Sunday, December 25th, while you were all home waiting for Santa and turkey, we in Israel were experiencing a regular old Sunday.

Sorry about that. There's just no nice way to deliver bad news.

This past Sunday I got up, walked the dog, did a few errands, visited with a friend from Canada, cleaned my house a bit, did a load of laundry, and so went the day.

Now it strikes me that somewhere in the Holy Land someone must have been celebrating Christmas. It all started here and I am sure there are some stragglers who want to recreate that time and all the special feelings that supposedly went with it. I mean, it is possible. I have seen the odd Christmas tree in Haifa in previous years and I am sure if you hiked to the top of Mount Tavor, the Greek Orthodox church up there must have been preparing for something, but the truth is that Bethlehem and Nazareth are Arab cities and rest assured they don't buy the whole Jesus thing. Well actually, in terms of tourist dollars, I am sure they can fake it, but when have you known Islam to be tolerant of people with different beliefs? Exactly.

According to the website www.ajc.com there were almost 100,000 visitors to Bethlehem this Christmas Eve. As for Nazareth, my Google check didn't up much although there are more Christians living in Nazareth then you will ever find in Bet Lechem (Bethlehem to you).

Here's what Wikipedia (my favourite source for miscellany) says: "Christians are the smallest religious group of the Abrahamic religions in Israel. Most Christians living permanently in Israel are Arabs or have come from other countries to live and work mainly in churches or monasteries, which have long histories in the land...

"According to historical and traditional sources, Jesus lived in the Land of Israel, and died and was buried on the site of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, making the land a Holy Land for Christianity. However, few Christians now live in the area, compared to Muslims and Jews. This is because Islam displaced Christianity in almost all of the Middle East, and the rise of modern Zionism and the establishment of the State of Israel has seen millions of Jews migrate to Israel..."

So, there you have it. Jesus was Jew so of course he lived here. All the Jews lived here way back when ... Jesus was knee high to a grasshopper!

I hate to disappoint my old friends. Particularly the one who wrote to me on Facebook last Sunday after I sent him a merry Christmas message: "It must be wonderful to be in the Holy Land for Christmas."

Actually, it's wonderful to be here everyday.

November in December

For the first eight years we lived here, the weather ran like clockwork. Okay, some years had more rain, some had hotter summers, so had surprise flooding, but overall, I was prepared to bet my last dollar that, come the first week of November, the weather would become fall-like. I was so confident that the weather wouod reliably change in November that one day I said to David Mexicali, "you watch, come November, the weather will change." And lo and behold it did.

I think we were both impressed with my weather forecasting skills. And that should have reminded me, that he/she who gloats first .... ultimately gets a reminder from the heavens above that we have no control over our weather destiny.

This October 31st I started to mentally prepare for the change of season that was en route the coming week. Good bye flip flops in the morning. Get out the lightweight sweaters for late afternoons. Fall in Israel was about to begin. And I was excited because I love fall here. Cool mornings, but midday warmth, followed by cool evenings. Except this year it didn't happen that way.

Instead of November gradually preparing us for what I now consider the bloody cold of an Israeli winter (14 C/X F), God choose to skip my beloved transition phase and go straight into the rain and cold of December -- IN NOVEMBER!!!

I had to avoid David for a month on the off chance that he remembered my over-confident forecast from the previous year. And worse than that, I had to find my rain boots and my heavy sweaters a month earlier than anticipated. Oh the pain of it all. Yael's new rain boots weren't scheduled to arrive until the end of the month, with my sister. I'm telling you, life was upside down.

I had guests arriving from Canada at the end of the month and they were all expecting the great weather I had been bragging about for years.

And then something strange happened. As the last week of November arrived, so did the November weather. The sun shone, the days were warm. And it continued through most of December, which made me realize, November did come, but it was lost in December.

Browsing only in the corner store

I never really meant to take a four month hiatus. I had nothing in particular to say one week, and then I had something I really wanted to say the following week, but I had no time to do so. Next thing you know it's November and the Mexicali's are having lunch at my house when Mr. Mexicali says: "I check for new posts on your blog every now and then, but there hasn't been one for a while." All true. I just explained why so I am not going over that again.

And it's not like nothing happened during those months that was worth commenting on because heaven knows, while I can't explain it, I am totally convinced that if you simply get out of bed every day and leave the house, eventually something strange will happen.

Last week I was in our neighbourhood corner store -- yes, the same one that I boycotted for six months a few years back until I was suitably convinced that the owner got my point and missed me. Well, he may have missed me and I did return, but the people who work there are not less ridiculous than they were then.

I found a new product in the refridgerated cheese section -- actually, it was the low fat version of an existing cheese product that I really like but regularly refuse to buy because I wouldn't allow myself or my family to eat anything with 28% fat content.

I quickly scanned the label and put two packages in my cart. I continued with my shopping and made my way to the cashier. I placed all my acquisitions on the moving belt. The cashier finished with the man in front of me and started on my groceries. When she noticed the unfamiliar cheese product, she picked it up to have a better look. I thought she was quietly acknowledging the fabulous new product as I had done just a few minutes prior.

Nope.

She looked over the cheese a few times and finally looked up at me and said: "You can't buy this."

As you may remember, I have had more than one scrap with the corner store and I absolutely refuse to go quietly into the night. I am not going to be bullied, intimidated or manipulated by any cashier that they may throw at me.

"Why not?" I asked her.

"I don't know what it is and I don't know how much it costs, so you can't buy it." That was all she had to say. As far as she was concerned that was the end of that.

As far as I was concerned that was only the beginning and I shifted into rebuttal mode. "If you place a product on a display shelf," I said, "then it is for sale. And if you don't know how much it costs then charge me the same as the regular version."

I thought that I had made two sound arguments and so did the irate customers in line behind me. Everyone was nodding in agreement and I was sure that I had won the debate.

Nope.

"I can't sell it to you," she said. And with that, she took the cheese and placed it under her work area.

"Well, if it isn't for sale, then why is it on the cheese shelf?" I thought for sure that the conversation was over now and that she would relent.

Here's what she said: "we only put it there so that people would know we had a new product."

And with that, she told me how much I owed her for the other items had had just purchased.

I remember when Sunday was a day of rest

After 40 years living in a Christian country, one becomes accustomed to the idea of Sunday as a day of rest. No school. No work. No synagogue. Lots of pajama time. In fact, after 40 years, the idea of Sunday as a day of rest is completely entrenched in my view of the world. It has nothing to do with religion. It is a cultural phenomenon.

Then I moved to Israel.

I am willing to bet my last shekel that if you asked most North American immigrants what they have found most difficult about their move to Israel, the overwhelming majority would say: NO SUNDAYS.

Well obviously there ARE Sundays but what they mean is that Sunday in not a day of rest because Israel is not a Christian country. In case you are thinking: no big deal, let me stop you in your tracks. It is a bloody big deal. A life altering change. And while living as a Jew in a predominantly Jewish country is a wonderful thing, it is not without a few downsides. Sundays is one.

After nine years I finally have my head around the Sunday-as-work/school-day. But no sooner do I say that then the Israeli infrastructure ups the ante.

Last Thursday I went to the city offices to cancel my son's judo class. When I asked the receptionist where I had to go to do this, she said: "Oh, you have to come back on Sunday between 8:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m. when the woman who cancels after school programs is working." She looked embarassed to tell me this which means I was the not the first North American immigrant to look at her as if she had grown an extra head. Resigned, I left.

My next stop was an orthpedic surgeon who I hoped woulde take off my cast next week. I walked into his office and told him what I wanted. He said: "Where's the disk with the xrays of your hand?"

"I don't have a disk of xrays," I told him. (No one in hospital hell mentioned a disk of xrays.)

"Fine, then I can't help you until you go back to the hospital and get the disk. Come Sunday with the disk."

You may have noticed the beginnings of a trenddeveloping here. But wait, there's more.

My final stop was the Emergency Room that had previously helped me. (I use the term "help" in its loosest sense here.) I arrive in the Emergency Xray room only to be told that I cannot get the xrays until .... you guessed it .... Sunday.

WTF is happening Sunday? Is the Messiah arriving?

Apparently Sunday is the official day of reckoning in Israel on any given week. And more important, because Sunday is not a day of rest here, people start wrapping up their official week on Thursday in anticipation of a lazy Friday and a Sabbath Saturday.

So this Sunday, while North Americans will be happily ensconsced in their jammies, lazing around with the newspaper, the weekend newspaper crossword puzzles and a cup of coffee, I will be running around Israel doing errands on what still feels to me like it should be the weekly day of rest...Sunday.

At this rate I am never going to get an electric scooter

As most of you know, I am turning 50 in less than two months. In anticipation of this milestone I have thought long and hard about what would be a suitable gift from my family. Several months ago I came up with a great idea. A hybrid scooter -- so that I could "scoot" around and do my errands without the hassle of our van and with the speed of something superior to my feet.

I immediately fell in love with my plan.

But every time I mentioned this to my children, my husband would call out from wherever he was: "Forget it, you are not getting a scooter because you are too clumsy. You will kill yourself." And with that my kids would scatter, with me running behind them saying: "Oh don't listen to your father. I want a scooter."

Well, yesterday he won by default when I inadvertently committed scooter suicide. Yes, I was walking home from a lovely morning at my friend's house when I miscalculated a crack in the curb, lost my balance and fell into the street, arms first.

I checked my throbbing arm when I got up and, while it was definitely sore, it seemed suitably functional. So I went home and entertained 16 people for lunch. It wasn't until several hours later that I realized the pain was increasing rather than subsiding, and that I probably had to address the matter.

After several hours in the hospital late last night, let me just say this: you are not truly Israeli until you have been out there with the dregs of society. And if you have never met the DOS it is probably because you weren't looking in the right places. Tip: they are at local hospitals late at night. Millions of them. And before you go off thinking that I am referring to the creepy clientele, let me assure you that many of the DOS work in the hospital.

Let me relay one quick scenario before I wrap up:

The Scene: me and my husband standing at the admissions desk in emergency outpatients services. I have had an xray but I am still in excrutiating pain waiting to get the results and possibly get a cast. There are several medical professionals mulling around so I ask if it is possible to get any help or attention. Several of them look at me and then turn away.

Finally Nurse Ratched approaches the desk and I say in a mixture of pain and desperation: "I've been standing here in pain, is it possible to get help?"

See looks at me, quickly assesses the situation and says: "No."

Apparently she also doesn't think I should get a scooter.