mazel tov!

Whenever I'm up before 6 AM, it's very difficult for me to function on a normal, cognitive level. The process of rolling out of bed causes an intense jolt of adrenaline to rush through me that I am too tired to really know how to handle properly, and in that process I tend to do certain things I would not usually do. Such as daven morning Shacharit.
The knock on the door comes at 6:04. It is Noam, our madrich, reminding us, loudly (as Israelis often do), that it is time to get up and get ready for the hike. You see, this is the 3rd day of our Sea to Sea hike from the Mediterranian to the Kinneret and we have a long ways to go. I roll out of bed, finish the sodas in the fridge, brush my teeth, then, due to my lack of abilitiy to think for myself due to the earliness of the day, I go on to daven with my fellow religious brethen the weekday morning service. I even wrap tefillin. Yeehaw!
After the prayer ritual I drudge down the stairs of the Pequin hostel in the Galil to breakfast. Breakfast at this hostel is typical Israeli guild: various cream cheeses (none as tasty as Philadelphia), tomatoes, cucumbers, hard-boiled eggs, laffa, chocolate pudding, and Elite instant coffee (of which I just cannot get enough of). Rarely do I eat a regular breakfast during the workweek, but considering I was on vacation and that this was all on the house I was excited by what lay ahead of me. So excited that, in my early-morning stupor, after taking my plate from the stack I began absent-mindedly flipping it with one hand. After the second flip, however, my slippery hands missed the catch and the plate crashed to the ground, shattering into smaller pieces. Coming from tefillot, the dining hall was already packed with breakfast eaters that morning and the shattered plate brought them all to attention. There was a sudden silence throughout the hall, followed quickly by a loud applause. Not quite knowing what to do, I did what any normal human being does when a large crowd applauds one's actions -- I took a bow. I even considered an encore performance (there were plenty more plates where that came from!) but instead helped the page clean up my mess.
So last night my Argentinian suitemate Sebastian, two of his Israeli friends and I took a road trip to Tel-Aviv to do something that is simply impossible to do in Jerusalem -- all you can eat meat. We went to thisBrazillian-themed restaurant called Papa Gaio, which, for around $25, the lively waitstaff continually brings different kinds of cow and chicken to your table until everyone becomes terribly sick. I realize $25 for a meal is a bit steep, but I figured I should a) reward myself for landing the Poland seminar job this summer, and b) enjoy my last real meal before the lovely harvest festival of passover, in which I will be forced to eat-in for the next week (oh boy!). Plus, Sebastian drove, so the transportation wasn't a factor money wise.
During this meal there was live-Brazillian music and entertainment in the form of salsa-dancers and kick-boxing demos. Afterall, what better way to stuff your face with steak and wings than do it while watching incredibly toned shirtless adolescents do back flips and roundhouse kicks to eachothers faces? (weird, I know. An "only-in-Isreal" example if ever I saw one.)
Anyway towards the end of the night one of the waitresses (the bald one) was returning a tray full of empty glasses and caraffes to the kitchen when one of the glasses fell and shattered all over the floor. This, as I expected from prior experience, was followed by a roaring cheer from the remaining crowd. The waitress stopped in her tracks, and while still holding the tray with one hand, curtsied for the gleeful audience. Constrast that with how an American (or British) room full of eaters would react to a waitress dropping a glass (at best try to ignore it; at worst, slowly shake head in disappointment), and you begin to see why I love this country so much. I asked my Israeli buddy to my right, Dan, in English, why Isrealis always cheer when someone breaks things. He answered as many Israeli's do, first with a shrug, then simply, "it a tradition." Ahh, tradition. I always felt embarrassed for the kid at the chadar ochel, back at camp, who would drop a tray and everyone would cheer for him. It always seemed childish and mean-hearted. But now I realize it's not childish and mean-hearted; it's Isreali (as indistiguishable from one another the two often may be). For all of my former campers who I yelled at in the past for cheering after a dropped tray -- I'm sorry. From now on, I will cheer along with the rest of the crowd. Just make sure you get up and help the poor kid as well.
Hope everyone has a regular Pesach. Hag Sameach!

Kol Ha'olam Kulo

Cheerio to all yall lovely people out there that look at these postings. I haven't written in a while for several reasons. One, I have been relatively busy. Purim happened last weekend and Jeff Seidel, the crazy Jewish ideologue threw a massive open-bar party Saturday night at Mike's Place, the legendary Anglo-bar in the Russian compound, and everybody got a little crazy. Ok, ALOT crazy. But alas, that's what happens on Purim. I'd like to thank Uncle Steve for providing me with his Japanese kimono, thus marking me the best dressed bloke of the night. Shavua tov.
Two, nothing that very interesting has happened. Sure, I go out every night, sure I bump into people I haven't seen in years (most recently LIPS...camp folks should remember this kid, he's a tall Indian kid from Jeremy Sable's Edah...a very random run-in indeed),and sure I went to Tel-Aviv last Wednesday night to watch the captivating Israel vs. France football match, but besides just little things.
Before I get into these little things I must first debrief the soccer match. OSA, or occassionally sufficient activities, as it is often referred to, provided transportation for any international student to Tel-Aviv for the night. Of course, as soon as we get to tel-aviv the bus driver misses a turn and we get side-tracked half an hour. He blamed it on our tour leader, Inbal, claiming that she gave him faulty directions. Chaos ensued, culminating in the bus driver pulling over to the side of the road, refusing to move until Inbal apologized. Inbal, in a state of panick, grudgingly apologized, although I did notice her fingers crossed behind her back. The bus finally arrives at the statium, or to be more specific, a 20-minute walk through the tel-aviv swamp to the statium. Hungry after such an exhausting drive, I become delighted to see hotdog vendors outside of the statium. Ten schekels is a bit expensive, but when you're hungry it doesn't make too much of a difference.
The differences between Israel sport culture and American sport culture are striking. For one, in Israel, no alcohol is allowed on stadium premises. Second, the slick, multi-billion dollar stadiums of corporate America are nowhere to be found in Israel. To exit in Israel, all one need to do was hop over the wall and roll down the hill. For the more civilised, you'd go to the port-o-potties to pee, but for everyone else you'd just find a wall or a bush. Concessions consisted of sunflower seeds and bottled coke that the concession tenders would pour for you in a cup.
What was most remarkable was how much the game reminded me of a pro-Israel rally. Everyone had giant Israeli flags, wore white and blue t-shirts (they actually gave out free shirts but because of our late bus there were none left by the time we got there), and loudly sang Israel fight songs, the best of which "Kol ha'olam kulo, sone ltzarfatit," a witty alteration of the traditional shabbat zimra loosely translated to "All of the world hates the French." Ok, I guess that's not really a pro-Israel song, but it's close enough and I enjoyed it. Incase everyone missed it, Israel tied France, 1-1, keeping haaretz right in the middle of the race to make the world cup. Woo-hoo!
The Friday after that I went rock-climbing and repelling with my buddy Yitzchak in the g'hinom valley by the cinemateque. It took up the entire day and was incredibly fun, especially during the hanging and struggling to try and climb this one remarkably verticle mountain that took me an hour. The best part was after struggling down a 13 year old kid strapped in and went up after me, scaling the entire thing in under 4 minutes. Punk.
Other than those two things I really haven't been up to anything. No, that's not true, I've actually been up to quite alot but the purim party, soccer game and the rappelling were some of the more exciting highlights. I mean I could fill you in with all of the minute details of every waking moment, such as keeping an eating log (today I had chinese chicken at Frank's for lunch, grilled cheese for dinner, and a falafel with lavaneh for a late-night snack) but then I'd be keeping you for too long, and my fellow readers are too busy to read about that kind of junk. Oh, I also saw Natan Sharansky speak tonight at Rothberg, but that was hardly exciting.
Well tomorrow I have work at the minstry and then I have to do some Jewish learning with a black-hatter named Shneir, but after that I hope to finally see Shotei hanevua, the legendary mizrachi group that came out with the Ramah Poconos classic "Ein Ani." Shalom yall.