Some of the Best* Things my Students** have Done or Said so Far During this Year: The First Installment in an Ongoing Compendium

*And by "Best" I mean "Most Amusing"

**All names changed to protect privacy, natch.

--I introduced  the concept of "compound words"  (remember? butter+fly=butterfly, rain+bow=rainbow, etc) to some of my extremely precocious third-graders, via a game of "Compound Word Dominoes," during which I explained that "compound" is not just a "describer word" (the word we use for adjectives") and a "P.P.T. word (people, places, and thing word, i.e. noun), but also an "action word" (the term we use for verbs) that means "adds to/adds together" or "makes stronger." We then went around in a circle and made up sentences using "compound" in one of those three ways. A week after this lesson, during a recess break, one of my third-graders marched up to me, extremely affronted, towing hs offending friend behind him by the hand, and announced by way of introduction, "Tomer (the friend)  says he doesn't think "Dover Anglit" (English-Speakers) class is hard, even though we read chapter books (emphasis his) and everything!" I gamely tried to mediate this conflict, agreeing that English Speakers class is, indeed, very challenging, but that "regular" English classes are also very demanding, and that placement in one or the other is not an indication of general superiority. Satisfied, my third-grader released the now chastened Tomer, but lingered momentarily to tell me, "Sometimes Tomer really, really compounds my being mad at him."

 ---As we waited for the rest of his classmates to arrive in the school library, one of my second-graders leaned across the table convivially to tell me: Becky, you know what I really like about you?"
Me: No, what?
3rd-grader: You don't shower. I really like that.
Me: (horrified pause) Roi, I shower every morning! (internally: Do I have some sort of body odor problem I'm not aware of? Oh god! I'm the weird stinky teacher! Noo!)
3rd-grader: No, no, I mean you don't shower at us! Like Ravital (one of his other teachers) does!
Me: (slightly less horrified pause) Roi, do you mean that I don't *shout* at you guys?
3rd-grader: Oh.  Maybe. Yes. I get those two confused sometimes.

---I have an independent tutorial with one of my third-graders, Gabbi, who is a native English speaker from South Africa. .This self-described "history fan" has a sunny demeanor, ever-present gap-toothed smile, preference for ostentatiously large hair bows, and deep affection for Hannah Montana, all of which belies her intense interest in the Shoah. Per her request, we spent the bulk of last year learning more about the Holocaust, diligently putting new vocabulary words to use in our discussions of genocide, and using (the very small sub-genre of) child-appropriate stories on the subject as practice texts for independent reading and the like. For example, we read about Ann Frank and her diary, and learned about the Jewish resistance movement. Heady stuff for a third-grader whose other hobbies include tap-dancing and sticker-collecting.

This year, Gabbi sat down with me for our first one-on-one lesson together, and produced a thick children's book, dense with illustrations and photos . Opening the book to a two-page color diagram of a colossal cruise liner, she announced that this year she, "wanted to do English projects about all of this!" The title of her book?The Titanic Disaster.

Really.

---We are doing a theatrical adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are in one of my classes, a project the kids are embracing with great industry and enthusiasm. After completing the script together (which entailed, for clarity's sake, giving individual names to all of the "Wild Things," who the kids dubbed "Goathead," "Snowy," Stinkyteeth, and (for some reason), "Barney.") the time came to divide the parts. In spite of the fact that I had carefully edited the script to make sure *every* part had the exact same number of lines, everyone (EVERYONE) wanted to be Max, and this casting conflict  almost dissolved the class into complete anarchy. After several entreaties for order, I finally bellowed, "IF EVERYONE DOESN'T QUIET DOWN RIGHT NOW, NOBODY WILL GET TO BE MAX!" This outburst had the desired effect, but in its silent aftermath, one of the boys in the class, Tal, meekly raised his hand and quietly pointed out with a worried look on his face, "Becky, the play isn't really going to make much sense if Max isn't in it."

---We are doing a Greek Mythology unit in several of my 6th grade classes, and one of the early projects called for each student to imagine themselves as a demi-god, choose a God parent, then describe their special abilities, their heroic quests(s), and their weakness. The day this assignment was due, we went around the table and shared our work. The first boy to reveal his demi-god alter ego excitedly explained his parentage (as a son of Zeus), then proudly explained that one of his half-blood talents was, "Super Farts." Before he could explain the martial power/destructive capabilities of these farts, no less than three of my other male students screwed up their faces in dissapointment and interrupted to say that power-farting was one of *their* demi-god abilities. A brief argument ensued in which each boy accused the others of copying their idea for godly super farts.Meanwhile, one of the girls in the class locked eyes with me and gave me a classic Jim-Halpert-from-"The Office" combination sigh n' shoulder shrug.

---During a read-aloud session with our current book, Matilda, I asked my students to make "illustrations" (new vocab word) of their favorite moments from the book thus far. Almost everyone in the class chose to draw one of the episodes in the book involving Matilda's frightening giant of a school headmistress, Miss Trunchbull. But only one of my kids, Ido, decorated his Trunchbull portrait with speech bubbles coming from her mouth that said, "I hate all children,""I am ugly and fat,"  "I eat childrens' ears," (a detail not mentioned in the book, but certainly within the realm of possibility) and the funniest/saddest, as it seemed to typify human evil for my student "I am from Iran!"

One of Ido's buddies, meanwhile, had drawn Trunchbull with enormous, pendulous breasts, each topped with a graphite-colored nipple *and* a long. . .. um. . . phallus. . . that he had carefully colored with a yellow highlighter. To prevent any ambiguity, he drew an arrow toward her crotch and wrote, "Trunchbull has the thing of a man!" This was, obviously, a big hit with his classmates.

Another student in the same class, who is a huge sci-fi fan, drew a neon-saturated picture of an alien, and when I asked which part of the (completely space alien free) book he chose to illustrate, explained that he had drawn Miss Trunchbull, based on his hunch that someone so awful and mean could not truly be human, and so was almost definitely a visiting alien. He denied  that the development of this literary theory had anything to do with his love for drawing aliens.

--Upon listening to me ask the non-English-speaking school janitor to unlock one of the classrooms, in what, I flattered myself, was pretty darn fluent Hebrew, my 4th-grader Talia laid her hand on my arm in a very kind, affectionate, and only slightly condescending fashion and told me, "Becky, maybe you should ask one of *us* to ask him for you."

--A request from one of my fourth-grade girls, who is a (very rare--in our school) only child: "Becky, will you be my big sister?" I answer in the affirmative, telling her I'd be delighted. Her response: "Good! But this doesn't mean you can come live in my house, we don't have room."

--During a pre-class discussion of the various maritual statuses of everyone's parents, and a partial inventory of everyone's half and step-siblings, one of my students turned to me and asked, Becky, are you divorced?"
Me: No.
Another student: She's not even married yet!
First student:  (after carefully considering this information) Well, are your mom and dad divorced?
Other student again: (butting in before I can answer and in the process revealing a somewhat limited understanding of  history and possibly demonstrating an erroneous belief in some type of statute of limitations on parental divorces?) Maor, when Becky was our age, divorces didn't even EXIST. 


--One of my 2nd-graders, upon learning that I am a vegetarian: Well, I don't eat meat from
animals I *like.*
 Me: What animals are those?
Second-grader: (Without pause): Horses, cats, puppies, parrots, monkeys, lemurs, and hamsters, and bunnies, and kangaroos, and turtles, and "yaelim" (Israeli mountain goats) and baby animals. Except for baby snakes. (Small pause to think) Oh, and also lions, and zebras. And giraffes.
Me: (Hastily, knowing this list could go on for a very long time)So I guess you don't like chickens, or cows, then, huh?
Second-grader: (With the greatest amount of condescension a second-grader can muster) Of. COURSE. Not.
{End of Discussion}

One Year In: Weathering Cultural Differences

I've lived in Tel Aviv for a little bit over a year now, and with this much time under my belt, I feel like I'm starting to glimpse some of the key cultural differences between the United States and Israel. In the name of international relations, I've compiled a partial list of these below:

1. Honey comes in glass jars. When you ask the grocer in halting Hebrew if he has, "The honey that is in a bear of plastic," he will say no, and then treat you with the bright, slightly condescending kindness he reserves for the mentally handicapped.
2. Sidewalks are for pedestrians. . .and bicycles, and electric bicycles, and electric scooters, and s egways, and vespas, and motorcycles. Also, for parked cars.
3. Movies theatres have assigned seats and intermissions. But they do not have Milk Duds.
4. There are two kinds of state-sanctioned gambling: the national lotto, and the national postal service. (Your odds are better with the lotto)
5. Pizza can be delivered to your door via motor scooter.  So can dog food, kitty litter, potted plants, air conditioners, and kegs of beer.
 6. Lines are for suckers.
7. You can always count on honest opinions of your hair style, clothing choices,  makeup job, and weight. Whether you ask for them or not.
8.If you sleep with your windows open at night, you might be awoken by three a.m. caterwauling cats or three a.m. caterwauling Mizrahi music . (The Mizrahi music is worse)
9. In Israel, as in Europe, the date is written as day/month/year: you will need to remember this when you check the expiration date on the carton of milk in your fridge.
10. Don't be disappointed when a boy you like introduces you to his male partner. "Partner" is the literal translation of the Hebrew term for "roommate."

Sushi in a Sukkha and Krembo Season

It's that time of year again here in Israel. The new year of the Jewish calender has just begun. The fasting  that accompanies Yom Kippur has been broken. Perhaps more significantly in secular Tel AViv, the scabs and bruises incurred by bike-riding, skateboarding, and skating kids who spent that holiest-of-holy days temporarily occupying the closed streets have all started to heal. We're halfway through the week long Sukhot holiday, and palm-topped Sukkhas can be sighted on small high-rise apartment building balconies and in the dusty courtyards of neighborhood shuls. The largest, most lavishly-decorated Sukkhas line the wide streets in the city center, where they shelter diners at almost all of the cafes and restaurants. They are, with barely an exception, lovely--their roofs supported by bamboo poles and their makeshift walls formed by blond palm fiber mats, their roofs a grid of green palm fronds, and the interiors decorated with ruby-red pomegranates and apples hanging on strings from the ceiling, sprays of golden date branches bound to the corner supports, and garlands of paper chains and crepe paper pinwheels, brightly-colored foil stars and strings of fairy lights. Of course, the rationale for the temporary transformation of these establishments' outdoor patios and streetside seating is based on worldly, not spiritual concerns. By providing a Sukkha, the restaurants and cafes ensure that Israelis observing the scriptural instruction to sleep and take all their meals in a sukkha for the duration of the holiday can patronize their businesses.

It's all old hat for native-born Israelis, who think nothing of brushing aside curtains of plastic beads, or ducking under rainbow-striped bunting to sit inside these little palm huts and calmly consume a cappucino (no doubt, their 8th or 9th of the day thus far) and biscotti. But I still have to giggle when I see steaming hot pizzas and lacquer bento boxes full of sushi being served inside the confines of the sukkhas. It goes to show that the Conservative and Reform Jewish sects have a point when they argue for the necessity of interpreting Jewish scripture in light of contemporary mores and concerns. I doubt Moses, in even his wildest dreams, could ever have imagined a contingency for the far-ahead in the future day when the descendants of his wandering people would survive to practice their religion (well. . . in a fashion) in their own nation-state, and furthermore would  faithfully mark the start of fall with a week spent in little forts designed to honor the improvised shelters that housed the 12 tribes of Israel he ledduring their 40 years of wandering, and furthermore would want to maintain that tradition even when satisfying a hankering for Japanese food.

Now, the advent of Sukkhot happens to roughly coincides with the annual arrival of the Krembo. No, Krembos are not a type of rare migrating bird, and they're not a band of Eastern-European avant-garde clowns. They are, in fact, a seasonal chocolate marshmallow cookie, but to describe them merely as such is the same as calling the Beatles "some British rock band." Krembos are nothing less than an Israeli icon--the confection has been popular in the country since before it achieved statehood. In pre-Israel Palestine, Jewish mammas would make homemade version of this treat--topping thin vanilla biscuits with sweet marshmallow fluff and enrobing the whole thing in a thin shell of chocolate. The treats began to be mass-produced in Israeli candy factories in the mid-sixties. Today, they comprise, along with savory n' salty Beesli snack mix, and air-puffed peanut-flavored Bamba, the holy triptych of Israeli snack foods.

Adding to their appeal is the limited production window. Scattered cardboard cases  begin to arrive in bodegas and grocery stores in mid-September, they can be seen in every kiosk, street stall, and candy shop by the beginning of October, and the supply is exhausted sometime in late January.  During "Krembo Season," they become a form of child currency. Temper tantrums and meltdowns are quelled with promises of a Krembo, they are served as classroom treats for student birthdays, and many enterprising student council candidates are known to increase their constituency through the schoolyard distribution of Krembos bearing home-computer printed campaign stickers.On college campuses, earnest petition-clutching student activists coax otherwise apathetic fellow students over to their informational booths with the promise of a free krembo, and the Magden David Adom paramedics who man on-campus mobile blood-donation trucks reward blood donors with krembos in order to restore their depleted blood sugar levels.

They are the ultimate impulse buy--speaking from personal experience, it's hard to resist adding one to a grocery purchase every so often when your sweet tooth calls out. The Ha'aretz newspaper claims that the average Israeli eats a dozen every year during the 4-month window of availability, and I regret to say that my Krembo consumption seems to be on par with that statistic. It could be worse, at 115 calories the delicate little foil-wrapped domes aren't as deleterious to one's diet as, say, a pistachio ice cream cone, a hunk of halva, a chocolate rugelach, or a Kif-Kif candy bar, all of  which are a few of the other constant favorites in the Israeli sweets rotation. And, despite their diminutive size, the little Krembos pack a sugary wallop. In fact, tne of my friends eats them with a wince, since the super-sticky marshmallow filling makes the unfilled cavities in his molars throb with pain. Interestingly, this does not appear to curtail his consumption.

There are only a few risks associated with the treat. Of course, anyone who hazards a Krembo binge will end up with a stomachache and the frantic rush of a sugar high, and the consumption of more than one or two Krembos in one sitting should be strictly avoided. Additionally, it's crucial to do a thorough inspection of any child who will be in close contact with you post-Krembo consumption. A quick scan of the child's mouth and hands is not enough. If you are lax, you will inevitably find yourself combing a knot cemented by a little bit of hardened marshmallow out of the back of your hair or blotting at a smear of chocolate on the side of your formerly clean shirt. But if you an steer clear of these two dangers, I recommend you seek out the elusive Krembo for yourself. They're a very popular export, and I'm told they can be found during the fall in many kosher delis and bakeries.

Just remember that there are two schools of thought on the proper consumption of the Krembo: one that advocates eating the biscuit first, and one that recommends sucking up the marshmallow fluff and leaving the cookie base for last . Like the conflict over which direction to hang the toilet paper roll and whether to place forks in the dishwasher tines up or tines down, this argument has divided many a household and created untoward tension in romantic relationships. Some Israelis, almost universally boys between the ages of 8 and 10 years, diplomatically avoid the entire question by embracing the practice of shoving the entire Krembo directly into their mouth, sort of like the hippos I saw at Hamat Gader who consumed entire melons in one saliva-stringed chomp. I do no recommend this practice in polite company.

Tel Aviv Celebrity Sighting!

Within this tiny country, Tel Aviv is the home of most Israeli television and movie studios, and the city of choice for many Israeli musicians, actors, politicians, and other noteables. Friends are always pointing out the celebrities and other well-known personages who we see in the CellCom store, walking up Dizengoff, and stopping for falafel at the Schwarma Agenda. It's hard to get too excited about catching a glimpse of the Israeli Eurovision contestant, or someone recently kicked-off the Israeli version of "Big Brother," or the winner of last year's season of Israeli "Survivor." Not all the sightings have been of reality TV contestants, of course. My colleagues love to tell me about the famous parents who send their kids to our well-off primary school, and it seems like every time I'm at the Cinematheque or one of the big theatres ,my friend and I share a row with some soap star or comedian or musician . And though the Israeli attitude towards celebrity is to politely ignore the famous person and let them eat their meal/walk their dog/purchase their mattress/pay their cell phone bill in peace, my Israeli friends are always disappointed when I can't share in their (discreet) excitement. Whispered explanations of the famous peoples' accomplishments do nothing to spark my enthusiasm. Often, the frustrated friend feels the need to later send me several YouTube clips showing the star we spotted at work, as if to prove my apathy was misplaced. Well, after almost a year of failing my friends, you can imagine the happiness I felt when I had my first bona fide celebrity encounter today!


GUESS WHO I MET TODAY IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD? I was walking the dog home from the beach, and I saw two (Israeli-looking) guys walking toward us, one of whom was wearing a "New Yorker Festival 2008" t-shirt. So, just like a sports nut who encounters a like-minded fan far from home, as I walked past I gave him a big smile and said, "וואו! IThe ניו יורקר ". זה המגזין האהוב עלי! (Wow! The New Yorker! It's my favorite magazine!") Only when I heard the short, t-shirt wearer hesitantly respond, "Thank you?" in English did I add his American accent to his poufy hair and slight build and realize: OMG! It's MALCOLM. FREAKIN'. GLADWELL!*

Slight fan girl freak out ensued, during which I told him how much I covet the packages of New Yorker back issues that get sent here from home, complimented him on his cancer therapy article from a few few weeks back), told him I loved "What the Dog Saw," and informed him that his books are in the English sections of all the Israeli bookstore chains.

Perhaps slightly overwhelmed by my effusion, Mr. Gladwell was nonetheless extremely kind, gracious, and modest. He also complimented Michael, who,in a miraculous display of good behavior,permitted himself to be pet by the poufy-haired stranger and even condescended to lick the man's proffered fingers.

All in all, it was a thrilling encounter. The only thing that could have made it any better would have been to see Malcolm Gladwell while in the company of an Israeli friend, so as to have the satisfaction of rolling my eyes and giving them a hushed, abbreviated bio of the famous writer when met with my friends' bemused indifference.



*In retrospect, I have to add that Malcolm Gladwell wearing a New Yorker festival t-shirt in public is sort of like seeing Thom Yorke in a Coachella t-shirt. . .Do famous people really do this?

Ulpan-a-Go-Go

My language-learning frustrations reached new heights over the course of second semester as final exams, research papers, elementary school parent-teacher conferences, report-card writing and translating, and the frantic search for summer jobs eclipsed my routine for Hebrew study.

Suddenly, (both) school years were over, summer intercession arrived, and I came to the disquieting conclusion that my ten months of residency in Ha'aretz had not coincided with the exponential growth of Hebrew fluency I had expected for myself.

Much valuable study time had been spent at the beach or in the fine establishments lining the length of Nachalat Binyamin or within the ganeem of Sonya's and Bar Giora. Much of the energy required for flash cards, conjugation drills, and writing practice had, instead, been devoted to cultivating (an admittedly lovely) bronze glow, testing all of the nieghborhood frozen yogurt stands, and acquainting myself with the pleasure of strolls down Rothschild and bike rides across the Tayelet.


In short, I have been a lazy bum.

But all that is going to change! I've just signed up for Hebrew Boot Camp!

Okay, most people would call it an ulpan intensive, but it's all semantics. Basically it consists of two solid weeks of all day, every day Hebrew instruction and studying. The idea is to take advantage of the brain's hunger for repetition and linguistic immersion, and capitalize on the gains to be had from intense, one-on-one lessons with a native Hebrew speaker.

If I manage to survive it all without blowing the fuses in my neurological circuit board (is that even an accurate metaphor? do circuit boards, in fact, have fuses?) I'm hoping that I will emerge out the other side with a vastly enlarged vocabulary and an overall improvement in "linguistic competency," (which is the applied linguistics terms for the ability to express basic needs and questions, but the inability to speak with true., practiced and sophisticated fluency).

The only Ulpanim to offer these sorts of cram sessions are the private ones. I've chosen Ulpan Or (Ulpan of Light, in English), whose slogan is "Hebrew at the Speed of Light" (hardeeh har har) and who equipped me with a cotton tote bag advertising this promise, two stacks of textbooks, and an mp3 player already loaded with the language dialogues, vocabulary lists, and other orally-transmitted flotsam and jetsam designed to help me learn.

I will report back soon from this adventure in language acquisition, so sit on your hands 'til then and wait breathlessly to hear about the results.

Washing your Israeli Floors: A Primer

I'm a firm believer in cleaning the house every 9 months, whether it needs it or not.

Okay, don't cringe in horror just yet. Even though I'm a little lackadaisical about my housecleaning routine, I do regularly sweep the floors to get rid of Tel Aviv's omnipresent dust and sand.And though I'm more sporadic about bathroom upkeep, I keep the floor clean of my long brown hairs, I scrub the toilet, I even wipe the mirror down when the smudges become unbearable. But there's one cleaning chore I loathe.

I don't do floors.

Pre-Israel, I was lucky enough to live with a boyfriend whose chore of choice was mopping and scrubbing. I'd tackle the laundry, the dusting, and the vacuuming abnd in exchange? He gladly tackled the hardwood floors in the living room and kitchen, and all the tile in the kitchen.He would even scrub down the balcony! Here, I'm not so lucky. And between the sand being tracked in throughout the year, the detritus shed during my various prep activities for school ( glitter, tiny nuggets of oil pastels ground into the spaces between the living room tiles, plaster of paris splatters and tempura paint blotches), and the dog's shed auburn hairs, the floor is pretty . . . well. . . It's disgusting, okay?

But washing the floor in Israel bears little resemblance to the ol' mop and bucket routine I knew and loathed back in the states. First of all, a mop head can not be procured within the confines of Tel Aviv for love or money. It has no utility within the time-honored floor-cleaning methods of the Sabras. Instead all cleaning is accomplished with:

1. a giant squeegee (not to be confused with one of my favorite photographers, Weegee) on a long broom stick

2. Buckets of soapy water

3. The all essential floor drain and or an open front door.

The Process: Move all your furniture to the edges of any hard-surfaced area in your home, or relocate them to your bedroom, if it's carpeted. Now, sweep. Fill up a large bucket with warm water, a little soap (Dr. Bronner's is good, and imports its unique brand of crazy-labeled castille goodness to Israel's fair shores), and maybe a little vinegar (white, not balsamic. don't be an idiot).

Now, in spite of your misgivings, dump that bucket of water all over the floor. Then repeat this process 3 or 4 times. You will now be standing in an inch or so of standing water that has spread through your bathroom, tiled living room, and hardwood-floored kitchen.

Don't Panic.

Attempt to spear a rag (a smartut) to your freakishly large squeegee and start. . . squeegeeing. Throw your smartut into the corner of the room in disgust after it falls off multiple times. Now you'll be forced to scrub at any stubborn patches of dirt with the corner of the foam blade, but mostly you'll be busy pushing the soapy water across the floor, until, with a slapshot, you sweep it out the open front door or into the waiting open drain in your bathroom.

Check outside first to keep from splashing your grumpy neighbor with dirty water as he walks by holding his mail.This is a key step.

Also, remember to temporarily maroon your dog on a high piece of furniture or confine him to the DMZ of your bedroom. Otherwise, he will augment your work with a series of small, dirty paw prints and repeatedly try to lap up the soapy water.

Once all the soapy water--now tinted a light brown by the filth formerly on your floor--has been sluiced away, repeat the process.

But this time omit the soap.

Really.

Finally. After two rounds of playing solo shuffleboard in your home, you will (ideally) have clean floors. You will also have given your triceps a nice workout, and will immediately require a shower and change of clothes.


Is this method superior to the Red-White-and-Blue mop and bucket technique? I can't really say-for one thing, most American homes aren't equipped with floor drains in the kitchen and/or bathroom so it's not like it's an option in the US. My Israeli friends ALL emphatically poo-poo mops as inferior, saying they just push the dirty water around your floor. However, there is certainly an element of insanity to any cleaning practice that temporarily floods your home, swells the wooden legs of all your living room furniture, and requires sturdy rubber footwear.

The one thing I can say with certainty is that--like so many other head-scratching, profoundly baffling customs and practices--it is eminently, authentically Israeli.


For more pointers check out:

http://igoogledisrael.com/2009/10/life-in-israel-go-mop-that-floor-with-a-squeegee

www.amotherinisrael.com/this-is-the-way-we-wash-the-floor

(hyperlinks aren't working today, so give these the cut-and-paste treatment, okay?

Michael lifeguards

Photographic proof michael had fun at the beach

Sandy nose at the beach

On Bialik street

On Bialik street

S'mores monsters!

Inventing new use for mhakot paddles

S'mores Anarchy!

S'mores 101

Seriously. We do

Concensus reached by class, re: s'mores

An Open Invitation to Governor Jan Brewer and the Arizona State Legislature

Dear Governor Brewer and Arizona State Legislators:

Now that you've passed SB1070, and are awaiting the governor's signature on HB2281 (fingers crossed for you!) I guess you're going to need a crash course in the fine arts of racial profiling and zenophobia.

Well, who better to teach you than the Jews? After all, we've lived trough 2,000 years of persecution, erroneous accusations, expulsion from our homeland, exile, slavery, societal upheaval, and genocide. So we have more experience than anyone else!

You are all invited to come to Israel, where you will be able to observe, and who knows, perhaps even pitch in to help with the country's ongoing, systematic profiling of minority residents and citizens.

Discussing the full scope of the sanctioned discriminatory measures against both Arab Israelis and visiting foreign travelers of Arab descent is perhaps too daunting and complex a task for this forum. However, let me just whet your appetite for bigotry by telling you that it definitely happens. A LOT. So you have that to look forward to, which is nice.

But let's talk about a cause I already know is near and dear to your heart--legalized profiling of foreign workers, new immigrants, and minorities! Here in Israel, we live alongside many foreign workers from Thailand, the Philippines, China, and Egypt. We also host a significant population of political refugees from Sudan and Somalia, and are home to many Israeli citizens of Ethiopian descent.

So, we understand the pain of having your communities filled with foreigners who want to build your luxury high-rise condominiums, pick your fruits and vegetables, lovingly nanny your children, clean your homes and offices, pick up the trash in your streets, send their kids to school alongside yours, have the gall to practice your religion (I'm talking to you, Ethiopians!), and, worst of all, compassionately tend to the needs of your frail elderly family members so that you don't have to visit those needy oldsters as often.

And guess what, guys! We're one step ahead of you! In the summer of 2009, the OZ police units were formed here in Israel, They're a special task force dedicated to rooting out and prosecuting foreign workers who have overstayed their temporary work visas. They can demand to see anyone's work papers or Israeli I.D. if they have the slightest suspicion that the individual might be illegal.

Here, the big tip-off seems to be hooded eyes or dark skin, but I guess in Arizona you'll have to start with the people who have suspicious tans.

When the OZ officers visit construction sites or walk around immigrant-heavy neighborhood, like area around the old central bus station here in Tel Aviv, everyone in the vicinity flees! People hide under beds in their own homes, flee into stranger's apartments, lock themselves into bathrooms, and disappear into restaurant kitchens and kiosk storerooms.

Please keep these potential hiding spots in mind when you start trolling for suspected foreigners in your state.

I think you'll be happy to know that Israel doesn't just use its police forces to ferret out foreigners. We are also working in our own (Federal!) legislature to limit the number of foreign work permits being issued and to expel foreign worker families who gave birth to children in the country (children whose first language is Hebrew, and who are citizens of Israel).

But these positive steps aren't just being taken at the national level. Individual cities and towns are also taking steps to expel minorities and foreigners. Several of the religious schools in Petach Tikva spent the first few months of the 2009-2010 school years battling ardently to keep Ethiopian students from enrolling in their educational institutions! Perhaps, this could inspire your next big project?

We know that you are expecting a lot of visiting activists and protesters to arrive in your state today, for May Day protests and rallies. Well, why not take a page from our book and send police to arrest any illegal immigrants or foreign visitors present at these gatherings? Try it, it works!


I hope some of this advice helps you in your anti-immigrant and anti-minority efforts! And remember, you are welcome to come visit us here in Israel anytime to learn more. That is, as long as you aren't Black, Asian, Arab, seeking political refuge, planning to protest, or hoping to procreate within our boundaries.

Warmly Yours,

Israel


P.S. Here is a small selection of the news coverage of our activities, in case you want to read these inspiring articles and/or print them out to paste into your scrapbooks:

http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1107230.html

http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1146699.html

http://mondoweiss.net/2009/08/oz-retreats-the-outcry-against-expulsion-of-african-refugees-in-israel

http://indymedia.org.il/article/2010/1/oz-unit-israeli-imigration-police-arrests-international-activist-ramallah

http://palsolidarity.org/2010/01/10362

And there goes the last little firestarter

Godspeed, little ones! Don't forget that the essential ingredient in any successful Lag B'Omer bonfire is butane. Lots and lots of butane.*


*Stahm! (transl.''Only kidding!''.

Pyros-in-the-making

Here they are, passing merrily by my bus stop. This is in a very tony area of north Tel Aviv--Ramat Aviv Gimel. It's full of huge luxury condo buildings, and more are being built all the time (hence the profusion of lumber scraps around the 'hood). I am not just here to creepily take pictures of children without their knowledge, I tutor a little boy who lives in one of the fancy-pants buildings.

Children+Fire=Jewish Holiday

The classic sign that Lag B'Omer is nigh upon us: Roving gangs of children scavenging for lumber remnants at construction sites to shlep home in stolen shopping carts.

A picture for laura

This impressive-looking pachyderm is part of the indoor playground at ''kanyohn dizengoff''(dizengoff mall) right near my house. Those are red metal stairs underneath the tusks that lead to a slide. . .So, yes, essentially the kids slide out of the elephant's butt. It's pretty great.

Speaking of ''the parlance of our times''

Photobomb

I like this shot because it looks like two of the little ghouls are doing a photobomb, giving major stinkeye from the bottom right corner!

Oh, hello creepy-cool street art

I found this wheat-pasted on to one of my building's walls recently. Cool, right? This artist ''gets up'' (to use the parlance of our times) a lot all around TLV but I have no idea who (s)he is. . .

More Yom Hazikaron

More Yom Hazikaron

More of the Yom Hazikaron display at my school

Memorial Day

Part of my school's soldiers day memorial display

Israeli Soldiers Day and Independence Day

Lots of cars fly flags from their windows and special car flag poles.

More flags for Yom Hazikaron

Flags flying in my neighborhood

The flags are flown to mark the Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Israeli Independence Day

Yom HaShoah: Holocaust Memorial Day in Israel

I wrote this last week on April 11th, Israeli Holocaust Remembrance Day

Today is Yom HaShoah.

Israel's first Prime Minister, David Ben-Gurion, inagurated this national holiday in 1951 as an annual country-wide remembrance of the Holocaust.Its formal name is Yom HaZikaron laShoah ve-laGvura, which means "Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and its Heroes." But, almost everyone in Israel and abroad simply refer to it as Yom HaShoah, or Holocaust Day. Shoah is a Hebrew words that means, roughly, "enormous catastrophe/destruction," and in Israel it it used much more than the English term "Holocaust" to refer to the extermination of Jews during World War II. Starting at sundown on the evening before the 27th of Nisan (a date on the Jewish calender chosen because it falls in between the anniversary beginning of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and Israeli Independence Day), the whole nation remembers the victims and heroes of the Holocaust.

--In the Knesset (the Israeli legislative body), the prime minister, president, and all the MKs gather together with survivors and descendants of survivors, the curators of Yad Vashem (the Israeli Holocaust Museum), the Chief Rabbinate (Counsel of Head Rabbis), representatives from the military, a group of primary, secondary, and university students, and delegates from other countries across the world. After laying memorial wreaths, six Israeli citizens (three survivors of the Holocaust and family members from the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd generation of survivors) light six candles to represent the six million Jews who perished. The Chief Rabbis read from the Book of Psalms and say the Kaddish (mourning prayer).

Most movingly of all, while everyone assembled stands in respectful silence, the Rabbis recite the names of all of the known victims of the Holocaust. This tradition began in 1989 and was inspired by the poem "Unto Every Person There is a Name" by the Jewish poet, Zelda.

UNTO EVERY PERSON THERE IS A NAME

Unto every person there is a name
Bestowed upon him by God
And given him by his father and mother

Unto every person there is a name
Accorded him by his stature
And the manner of his smile
And given him by his style of dress

Unto every person there is a name
Conferred on him by the mountains
And given him by his neighbors

Unto every person there is a name
Assigned him by his sins
And given him by his yearnings

Unto every person there is a name
Given him by his enemies
And given him by his love

Unto every person there is a name
Derived from his festivals
And given him by his labor

Unto every person there is a name
Presented him by the seasons
And given him by his blindness

Unto every person there is a name
Bestowed on him by the sea
And given him by his death.


In the Schools, students and teachers mark the hag ("holiday)with assemblies, class lessons, and discussions. Even Kitah Aleph (first-grade) students are not considered too little to understand and appreciate the holiday. There is a school-wide tekahs (a ceremony/assembly) every year. Today, some of the girls from the after-school dance program danced, the choir sang, and the drum choir performed a haunting composition meant to mimic the sounds of trains arriving at one of the camps. Students read excerpts from survivor testimonies and recited poems. Six lit candles stood on a table at the side of the stage, representing the six million Jews who perished. It was a very beautiful and moving ceremony. I loved seeing some of my loudest, giggliest, and hyper students take part in the tekes with tremendous maturity and grace.

Many Israeli high school students take part in an international Holocaust education program called the "March of the Living." The program culminates with visits to concentration camp sites in Poland. Shortly before Yom HaShoah student and teacher participants from across the world gather with other members of the Jewish Diaspora as well as non-Jewish peace activists and supporters from many other countries including Poland, Japan, and the United States. Together, the group silently departs from the gates of Auschwitz and walks en masse to the remains of Birkenau. This eponymous march, in between the sites of the two largest Nazi concentration camps, is made every year to remember the death marches from Poland to Germany made by thousands of camp inmates during the final months of the war.

On the Streets all across Israel from the busiest sections of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, to the tiniest Moshav (village), all places of business close at sundown on the eve of Yom HaShoah. This is done as a sign of respect. Remaining open during the holiday is actually against the law. My friend, Jordana called me erev Yom HaShoah this year to report that as she went home right after sundown, she saw two police officers walking down King George with flashlights, peering into the windows of the cafes and kiosks that line the street.

On Television and On the Radio, no commercials are broadcast, and all of the programming is Holocaust-related. Last night, I tuned in to some FM radio station airing recorded testimonies from survivors (including some in English). When I turned on my television, Channel 3 (the national TV news channel) was showing a documentary film on Kristallnacht (the 1938 "Night of Broken Glass," one of the most infamous pograms in Germany, when hundreds of Jewish businesses,synagogues, schools, and homes were destroyed, 90 Jewish Germans were killed, and over twenty-thousand Jewish Germans were sent to concentration camps). The documentary showed indelible images of members of Hitler Youth spitting on Torah scrolls ripped from the arks of Shuls, and Gestapo officers forcing elderly Jews to get on their hands and knees in the street to scrub the cobblestones A flip through other channels showed even more disturbing images, including footage of Nazi medical experiments, and photographs of the corpses and skeletal survivors found by liberating Allied forces at the end of the war.

The Sirens: If you choose, you can avoid a lot of the ceremonies and rituals that mark Yom HaShoah in Israel.Ditch school, stay away from Jerusalem, keep the TV black, turn off your radio, hang out in the religious neighborhoods (because Israeli Haredim ignore the secular remembrance holiday, choosing instead to commemorate the Shoah victims during days of morning proscribed in the Tanakh (like Tish B'Av), avert your eyes from the Israeli flags and blue-and-white banners hanging from many homes' balconies, windows, and front doors. Stay away from all the shuttered cafes and banks and boutiques.

But even if you go to all that effort, you won't be able to avoid 10:00. At ten in the morning on the hag, sirens ring everywhere in Israel for two minutes. At the first blare, people everywhere stop everything they are doing to stand in silence for the two-minute duration of the noise. Observing this moment of silence in a country divided by politics, religiosity, and ethnicity is one of the only things that almost all Israelis do together. People walking in the streets stop in their tracks. Cars and taxis and buses and scooters halt on all the roads and highways, and the drivers and their passengers disembark. Many men, secular and religious, unfold kippot from their pockets and don them for the duration. At my beit sefer, just like hundreds of others across the country, lessons stop without a word, and students rise from their desks along with their teachers.

And then, after exactly two minutes, the sirens go silent. Everyone comes to life--pedestrians walk, car engines turn over, and passengers pile back on their buses. Classes and late breakfasts and cell phone conversations all resume. Ipods headphones are reinserted. But for two minutes, almost the entire country stands together, and remembers.

A faint rainbow above Allenby St.

A Venn diagram documenting a heated discussion about the similarities and differencer between "Avatar" and "Beauty and the Beast"

A note from one of my kiteh dalet classes.

Yeah, yeah, yeah kids. Tell me something I don't know!

Schlomit, the principal, begins the passover tekes (assembly)

A view of the 1st and 2nd grade Passover Seder from the very back of the gymnasium

The 4th graders presented an all-singing, all-dancing Hagadah Extravaganza for the younger grades. Regretfully, I have no pictures of their show.

Tree of boas at the mall on sale for purim

Lily pad pond at Gan Meir in bloom

Another close up

Pink+yellow daisy is very Takashi Murakami, don't you think?

Purim masks close up

More amazing Purim masks made by my students

Amazing paper mache Purim masks made by my students

Mexican food night!

Michael is dismayed by recent turn of events

An introspective moment at the beach

Michael at the beach

Panting because sand is even more of a workout to walk in when you have short legs

Interspecies cuteness

Big Lebowski screening at Tel Aviv University

''2,000 years of glorious tradition, from Moses to Sandy Kofax''. . .

A tree grows in bar giora

Cat playing dead: a victim of cuteness overload

Interspecies detente