Our First High Holidays in Israel

Shalom, chaverim! The High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) are now over, and this week moves us into Sukkot, which starts on Monday. The streets are slowly accumulating evidence of people building their sukkahs, which are temporary hut-like structures that are erected for the duration of Sukkot. During this holiday, Jews hang out together in sukkahs, sharing meals, conversation and fellowship, and sometimes sleep in them as well. Traditionally, the sukkah is covered with palm fronds and decorated with natural flora and foliage. I have noticed an increasing number of old ladies doing some guerrilla hedge trimming in the early hours of the morning, then gathering up their booty and quietly slipping away.

Of course, although the sukkah is a kind of representation of the tabernacle, Israelis do modern twists on building their own. Over the past few days, Elul and I have observed our neighbor across the street constructing his sukkah with aluminum poles and "walls" that look suspiciously like very large tablecloths. He's building it in his space reserved for parking his car, which is in a carport-like area on the ground floor of his apartment building. Other people are building them on their balconies, and the few Nahariyans with actual houses are building them in their backyards. Hence, the streets are accumulating evidence of people clearing away their collective outdoor crap, in order to make room for building their sukkahs. It reminds me of the old maxim that the best way to get your house cleaned is to invite people over for a dinner party!

The center of Nahariya is now awash in "etrogim" (etrogs), which are citrus fruits that vaguely resemble a large lemon. A good etrog, besides being unblemished, must have an unbroken nub on the end called a "pittem." The pittem needs to be there in order for the etrog to be suitable for a particular Jewish benediction at Sukkot called "waving the lulav." A lulav, or "the fruit of goodly trees" (Leviticus 23:40 - 43), is a bundled collection of four things: an etrog, a palm frond, three twigs of myrtle, and two twigs of willow.

A boxed set of etrogim.

A vendor's table sells etrogim in fancy presentation boxes, and bundles for the lulav.

I thought I had seen a lot of Judaica before, but this was the first time I'd ever seen a giant silver lulav holder. Wow!

At first, I didn't recognize these etrogim when they were being sold on the street, as I'd only seen them already as part of the lulav itself, by rabbis. But in Israel, each one was nestled in its own little doughnut of protective plastic webbing, making it look like a toy or some strange kind of candy. After a double-take, though, I realized what they were, and gawked at the sight of so many etrogim in one place. The one precious one I saw back at our former Florida synagogue in Delray Beach, for example, was carefully displayed by our rabbi. His goal was that after Sukkot, he would harvest the seeds from the etrog and plant his own etrog tree. I wonder if that tree ever took root?

Suitably protected lulav in weird plastic webbing doughnut. Note the intact pittem.

Mobile lulav vendors take it on the road.

Getting down to business: after energetic and protracted negotiations, an etrog deal is struck.

I had been wondering what Yom Kippur is like in Israel. Well, it's not so much that it's "like" anything in particular, but more that it's special because it's entirely unlike any other day of the year. Like appreciating a painting for the artist's use of shadows, or a piece of music for its beautiful space between the notes, having a complete absence of all car traffic and work for an entire day brought a hush to the country that was both precious and remarkable. All Israeli-based radio and television channels, and many internet websites, ceased operation from the night before Yom Kippur until its end at 6:08 p.m. the next day.  People went out walking and cycling, and children enjoyed having the total freedom to run and play in the streets all day. However, there was also a complete absence of loud noises, cooking smells, or any other sensory evidence of work being done. Many Israelis were dressed in white, but not all.

After sundown, traffic started up again and people began to emerge, waiting for a few businesses to open once again. After a stroll through town, Elul and I broke the fast with a quiet but lovely dinner at the home of our "buddy family," the good people Nefesh B'Nefesh connected us to when we first arrived in Israel.  We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and we noticed once again how incredibly fortunate we've been since we got here. We've been able to make new friends, receive enormous amounts of support and excellent advice from all sorts of people, and have been able to pursue professional goals quickly and relatively easily. There is really a lot of help to be offered new olim in Israel, provided you aren't shy or proud about asking for help, and also aren't afraid to "pay it forward" by helping others whenever you get the opportunity to do so.

Shabbat shalom, chaverim!

Namibian Joke

Shalom, chaverim! I hope everyone had a beautiful Rosh Hashanah and that the (Jewish) New Year of 5773 is filled with happiness, sweetness, good health, love and prosperity for everyone. Now, if only I could stop writing "5772" on my checks.*

After a very enjoyable potluck supper with nearly a dozen fellow olim chadashim (new immigrants) on Erev Rosh Hashanah (Rosh Hashanah Eve), the next day Elul and I went to Zikhron Ya'akov with a lovely couple, Angie and Shimon. One of the most delightful things about living in Israel is that you get to meet people from so many different parts of the world, all of whom have interesting stories to tell. In fact, this week I learned that some Israelis refer to Israel as "the kibbutz of the Diaspora." This ingathering of exiles has allowed Cupid's pagan bow to create the most unlikely of pairs.

For example, Angie is originally from Colombia. (Ironically, she also lived for twenty-six years in southern Florida, just miles away from our last apartment in Boca Raton.) She met Shimon, the man who is now her fiance, while they were living in an Absorption Center in Karmiel. Since they were part of only a handful of people who spoke English (the rest of the olim were from the former U.S.S.R. and Ethiopia), they were thrown together a great deal, and things then took their natural course.

Shimon is a fascinating man from Namibia. I'd never met a Namibian before, so I really had no preconceived notion of what to expect. So based on my extensive sociological sample of one, I can tell you that this particular Namibian is funny, hard-working, and a very kind man. He's also completely head-over-heels in love with Angie, so they are a happy pair.

Shimon told us an old Namibian joke. This was fascinating, as I believe humor imparts a great deal of information about a culture. We're still laughing at this joke, but Elul and I cannot agree on the true interpretation of the punch line. Nor can I conclude too much about Namibian culture from it, either, except something, perhaps, about Namibian female hirsutism. Perhaps you can help, gentle readers. The joke goes like this:

An old couple, who have been married for a long, long time, are living way out in the Namibian countryside. One day, the wife says to the husband, "There's something wrong with the outhouse. You need to go out and fix it." The husband responds, "What are you talking about, woman? There's nothing in an outhouse except walls, a roof, a door, and a seat with a hole in it. What could possibly need to be fixed...there's nothing that can break!" The wife responds, "Just go out there, and you'll see what needs to be fixed."

The man goes out to the outhouse, and goes inside. He can't see anything that's broken. He shouts to his wife, "Woman, what are you talking about? There's nothing broken in here!" She responds, "Just stick your head in the hole and you'll see what the problem is." The man shouts, "I'm not going to stick my head in there!" "Just stick your head in there!" she shouts back.

The man sticks his head down the hole, and immediately screams, "Ouch! My beard got stuck in a crack in the wood!"

The wife answers, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Interpretations of this joke are welcome in the comments section of this blog. Shabbat shalom and gud yontif, everyone!

*I wish I had been clever enough to think up this joke myself, but I got it from my Las Vegas "chaver" Adam Reisman. Adam, as it will soon be Yom Kippur, I ask your forgiveness for stealing your joke. Likewise, I beg everyone's forgiveness for my assaults on you with so many bad puns and off-color and scatalogical humor last year. This behavior is not likely to change, though, so you have been warned.

 

Why You Shouldn't Pass on the Gas...Masks

Shalom, chaverim! Well, I'd been wondering when I'd get around to this rather grim topic. As you are probably aware, there has been a lot of hysteria and terrible violence in some of our neighbors' countries, particularly in and around U.S. embassies and consulates in recent days. American residents in Israel have also been receiving numerous travel warnings from the U.S. Embassy in Tel Aviv, advising us to stay away from Amman, Jordan, and even, sadly, the Old City in Jerusalem. So it seemed a fitting time to talk about one basic element of life in Israel: the individual, free, and government-supplied gas mask.

Before making Aliyah, we had heard about this. "Oh my gosh, you're moving to Israel? The government gives everyone gas masks there! And there are bomb shelters everywhere!" And while we got settled in to our new lives here, we still had that nagging feeling that we just needed to get our own gas masks. Not that we felt any particular feelings of imminent doom or impending disaster, but that it was just one more thing, like always having an extra supply of batteries, water, canned food, and candles, that would just feel better to have on hand, rather than not. We know where our bomb shelter is in our building's basement, and now we've become adept at spotting the community shelters whenever we happen to be away from home.

After being here a few months, I eventually started bugging Elul about getting our masks. He quickly tackled the project of figuring out how to procure our gas masks with his usual aplomb. It was fairly simple: he went on the Nefesh B'Nefesh Facebook page where I had seen other olim advise each other on how to go about getting theirs, and he followed their instructions. He called a mysterious four-digit number, gave the person some information, and was told that for 25 shekels or so (about USD $6.25), the post office would deliver them to our home between 8 a.m. and noon.

We then more or less forgot about it, until early one Sunday morning a few weeks later, there was a knock at the door at 7 a.m. At the door was a man who, after confirming our identities, gave us our gas masks and promptly left.

We put them on the kitchen table and stood gaping at them for awhile, as they sat snugly and tidily packed in their brown cardboard boxes. Written in Hebrew, Arabic, Russian, English and French were very clear instructions that we were not to open these boxes until we had "received instructions from the Rear Command." I was immediately reminded of the old spoof on an American civil defense poster, that used to be popular in the 1970's. On that poster was a long, long list of very official-looking instructions about emergency preparedness in the event of a nuclear attack. At the very end of the list, though, was the instruction that each person should bend over, grab one's own ankles, put one's head firmly between one's legs, and kiss one's own a** goodbye. So in that vein, from who else could it more apt to receive such gas mask usage instructions, than from the Israeli "Rear Command?"

"Where's MY mask?!" Pini silently, yet accusingly, asks.

On a happier note, it is now just before Rosh Hashanah, and I would like to wish each and every one of you "l'shanah tovah," or Happy (Jewish) New Year. May you all be inscribed in the Book of Life for the (Jewish) year of 5773, and may your hearts, homes, and families be happy, healthy and whole. Thank you so much for reading and for your wonderful, positive, informative, and encouraging comments to me on this blog, through emails, and on my Facebook page. I really have only the vaguest idea about who's reads this, but I'm so glad you do. I hope it is useful, or at least somewhat interesting and/or amusing. If it's all three, then I will have truly succeeded in reaching my goal.

Here's a link to my favorite Rosh Hashanah video, so be sure to turn your speakers up. And as usual, if you can't see the pictures or the video link, please go directly to my blog at www.movingtonahariya.blogspot.com

Shabbat shalom, chaverim!

Aliyah Petsitting

Shalom, chaverim! Elul has been away this past week on a business trip. When I meet other people and I tell them that he's out of town, I usually get some form of "hubba, hubba!" in response. But, far from doing the naughty things that usually come to mind when "hubba, hubba!" is uttered, I've been busy launching my own small business, Aliyah Petsitting.

As I will freely admit, I am a true Crazy Cat Lady Wannabe. For example, just watching Halle Berry and her amazing abs--which should have gotten their own credit--last night playing the title role in "Catwoman" got me back to the gym in a (all too brief, I'm afraid) flash of motivation.

Fortunately, Elul wisely will not allow this, so we are limited to just two cats, Pini and Dudu. They are doing fine, by the way...Pini got neutered last week and Dudu got spayed on the same day. Our excellent Nahariya vet, Dr. Tzafir, did a wonderful job at a very reasonable price. They also got more shots and a treatment for worms, so they're good for now. In fact, after recovering for a few days, they are taking advantage of Elul's absence by being even more rambunctious as usual. Note Dudu, below, snugly wrapped in a plastic bag that she stole from the counter top as I was putting groceries away.

"Well, I dunno, it MIGHT start raining in here...I'm just being careful!"

And shame on me for forgetting the now cardinal rule in the Gitlin household: "Keep the damn bathroom door shut at all times!" That's because Pini has developed a fetish for unrolling the toilet paper from the roll, then playing in it and ripping it up.

This was funny exactly one time. Oh, and that stuff on the toilet is just some old tape and adhesive residue.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes: "Crazy Cat Lady Wannabe Turns Frustrated Pet Acquisition Desire into Massively Successful Business Empire." A friend of ours, whose two cats I adore, was headed to America for a couple of weeks. She asked if I could take care of her cats, take in the mail, and water her plants while she was away. She also insisted on paying me, so she wouldn't have to feel awkward about asking me to do it again when she needed a petsitter. What a mensch! So we made some arrangements, and I began my new career as a professional pet sitter two weeks ago.

There was something about walking into that apartment, and seeing those two furry little faces impatiently waiting for food and cuddles, that just rang a bell inside me. I thought "I want to keep doing this, for everybody's pets!" So I started a business, Aliyah Petsitting. Of course, I have yet to finalize the details, but in Elul's absence I've gotten an English logo designed, then got it redesigned into Hebrew, had a stop-animation video produced, a flyer written out in Hebrew (my neighbors helped me write it), a business card designed, and I've even designed work uniforms with "Aliyah Petsitting" embroidered on the top. The uniforms are only for when I call on the human clients, not the furry ones. Now all I have to do is get all this stuff printed up, and then I'll be able to start distributing flyers in the neighborhood.

In the meantime, I've been just using word of mouth to get the business going, and I've already been in touch with five different potential new clients. I've contacted an American-Israeli CPA in Karmiel who can help me set up my business bookkeeping and tax file correctly, and have found an Israeli printer who can make me those cool magnetic business cards that are so popular here.

Getting the design work done was incredibly cheap, thanks to a fantastic website I discovered called Fiverr.com. Essentially, people sell "gigs"--little tasks or products--for $5 each. One guy designed my original logo in English. Another guy is doing my video--again, for five bucks. And an amazing Israeli woman translated my logo into Hebrew and wrote out my flyer text--two gigs at five dollars a piece. Total spent: $20. I'll spend another five dollars to have her do a graphic version of my flyer that includes the text and the logo. The property is all mine now, so I can use it to get the embroidery done, and the business cards and stationery printed up. I spent about $1.50 on a book of Israeli blank receipts. Total spent so far: $21.50. The accountant will be more, of course, but I will ask him to train me on how to do nearly everything myself, so I can save money that way.

Here are my fancy new logos, in English and Hebrew.

I like the proportions of this logo, including the bunny that's as big as a house. Shades of the Killer Rabbit in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

Here it is in Hebrew. I'm not sure how to pronounce the word after "Aliyah," since there are no vowel marks.

Here's another version, this time with "Aliyah Babysitting" spelled out phonetically.

As you can see, my translator/designer gave me two choices for the Hebrew version of my logo. Ironically, she didn't know which Hebrew to use: "petsitting" doesn't exist in the Hebrew language, nor does the concept. "Huh? We have friends or family members look after our pets when we are away!" is the usual response I get when I've talked to native Israelis about my business. Now I have to decide which Hebrew logo version to go with.

Finally, in the spirit of "re-inventing myself" as a petsitting business mogulista, and having been left in complete control of the cat feeding/poop-scooping duties in my own home, I made an executive decision to upgrade both the dustpan and the litter scoop. The dustpan has an attached hand broom, unlike the one Elul used, which had no hand broom. He used a floor broom to sweep the litter remnants into a dustpan, which for me is physically awkward and quite inefficient. And if there's one thing you want to be when cleaning out a cat litter box, it's to be efficient.

The litter scoop also needed to be upgraded. I found a better one, with smaller holes, that more effectively catches those little bits and pieces of shattered clumps of what Elul calls "pee balls and Klingons."

The old scoop is the blue one. Note the design genius of the smaller holes of the fancy new red one. The badass dustpan set matches the cats' matching Burberry-style Snuggies.

So, on the note of cleanliness being next to not only G-dliness but also next to world fashion domination, I wish you all a very peaceful Shabbat!

Shabbat shalom, chaverim!

Preparation

Shalom, chaverim! I awoke yesterday to see a mysterious, water-like substance dripping onto the ground from grey, puffy blobs in the sky. All of the cars had little speckles of this water on them, and when I walked outside, the sidewalks were slippery and the ground was soggy. I am still trying to figure out what this mysterious phenomena was--I hear the locals call it "rain."

Other than strange skyborne globules exuding droplets of water, it's been a fairly normal week here in beautiful downtown Nahariya. Elul has been very busy with his new job, which gets more interesting and correspondingly more demanding each and every day. From its point of origin as being a work-at-home, part-time sales job, it's turned into a full-blown REAL job, complete with a giant business trip to England, Canada, and the good old U.S.A.

Elul leaves this Sunday, and has been running around like a headless kosher chicken (not on Shabbat, of course--that's when the chicken hits the pot) to prepare for it. Yesterday he scoured the town for a cordless computer mouse and his own personal supply of dental floss and toothpaste. It's been so long since we've been apart for more than a day or so that we got used to having only one set of toiletries between us. As for me, I've been busy compiling my extensive and bossy "you have to get this at Wal-Mart for me, or don't bother getting back on the plane to come home" list. I just haven't lived in Israel long enough to be "okay" with spending $10 for a box of hair color, when I know darn well I can buy it at Wally World for $3.24. Plus, there are other items that I need, that are just too embarrassing to try to ask for in my stumbling Hebrew, with everyone standing around, listening and trying to help. If I tried, for example, to find an Israeli equivalent of Preparation H, it would probably go like this:

Pharmacist: "Ken, bevakesha." (Yes, may I help you?)

Me: "I need something...cream...(now pointing to my own rear end)...ouch! Very hot!"

Pharmacist: "OK, you speak Russit (Russian)? Anglit (English)?"

Me: "English, beseder (fine)."

Pharmacist: "What you are need?"

Me: "Erm...in America, it's called "Preparation H."

Pharmacist: "Ah! Preparation H! Your ah-NOOS, it is uncomfortable?"

Me: "Yes! Exactly!" (Big smile of victory: communication successful!)

Pharmacist: "OK, beseder... here is cream. You put it on...the ah-NOOS, whenever you like it."

Me: "Todah rabah (thanks very much)!"

Nothing says "I love you" more than a special trip to Rite-Aid on a business trip. Thanks to the charming and informative HemorrhoidsInsider.com website for this image.

Yeah. Never mind the orthodox guy standing behind me in his black hat, trying to cover his snort of laughter with a cough, or the old Russian ladies crowding in next to me, wondering what we're talking about that involves "hot" and my backside. There are just some words that will never be listed in my trusty "New Immigrant Hebrew Learner Dictionary."

Shabbat shalom, everyone!

 

Well, I Guess You Could Call it a Simulacrum...

Shalom, chaverim! We've been sweating away here in beautiful Nahariya, and our poor old apartment's electrical system is beginning to give up the ghost. Last night two of the breakers blew, which left us without lighting in the kitchen or air conditioning in the living room. Elul tried to flip the breaker back into the "on" position, only to be greeted with a huge blue spark that illuminated the hallway. The smell of burnt electrical wiring arose, which is not a good thing. Even though it still worked, we were reluctant to use the electric stove. If that breaker had also blown, we would have been without a working stove, microwave, or refrigerator, which means spoiled food and having to go out to eat. Boiled hotdogs for dinner it was, then--cooked on a gas stove illuminated by my super-chic Petzl (!) headlamp!

Fortunately, we found an electrician willing to come see us this morning. He did a temporary fix, but he will be returning next week to do a complete rewire of the electrical system. Our landlords have been very good about it and are not arguing about getting it repaired immediately, thank goodness. Hooray, I'll finally be able to use the washer AND the dryer AND the air conditioning AND the computers, all at the same time!

In other domestic news, I've been able to pull off a hat-trick of multi-purposing, dumpster diving, and frugal living. After my Israeli public debut as a torch singer last month, I thought it would be a good time to dust off my trusty baby Casio "keyboard" to pick out some more tunes. I put "keyboard" in quotes because it's a tacky little three-octave, battery-powered, orange specimen of a keyboard, not a magnificent 88-key Korg, or a Bechstein baby grand. But my old, flimsy keyboard stand had broken years ago, and I'd never bothered to replace it. So I went to Nahariya's local and most excellent music store, and got a super-duper, really sturdy keyboard stand.

I'd had delusions of keyboard grandeur, though, because when I took it home and put it up, my tiny keyboard was too short to rest on the stand. I also needed a writing surface in that room, since I intend to make it my music studio. Elul loudly and consistently objects to two of my favorite activities on a routine basis: collecting clutter and spending money to purchase clutter, so I knew that campaigning for a separate desk was going to be a non-starter. Hmm, what to do?

Coming home that evening from meeting friends at Cafe Aroma, I nearly tripped over the answer. Next to a dumpster, partially blocking the sidewalk, was a stack of beautiful wardrobe doors and shelves. I sweet-talked Elul into carrying one of the doors home, and after he removed the hardware and some nails, I now have a perfectly functional desk/keyboard stand. The cats love jumping on it, too, so I suppose it serves a third purpose as a kitty gymnasium piece. Our friends suggested covering it in leatherette to make it look really cool, but I know that any kind of covering other than paint will immediately turn it into just another scratching post for the cats. So now my next artistic/DIY task is to find primer that will work on laminate, and when the board is primed I'm going to go crazy with my stash of acrylic paints and decorate it like mad. Stay tuned!

Astute readers will recognize my other dumpster treasure: the found chair which I have "decorated" with an old remnant that I was too lazy to ever hem.

Finally, I've been debating with myself whether to post the following picture or not. I thought it was hilarious, but for my gentle readers who are sensitive to somewhat graphic images, you may wish to stop reading NOW. I'll give you some blank space in which to leave this blog until next week.










OK, they're gone! Now for my "earthier" readers who have stayed with me, here it is. A few weeks ago, I woke up and noticed that a peculiar image had appeared, overnight, on our white, sheer bedroom drapes. I honestly had no idea how it had gotten there, but it had a sepia-tone quality that reminded me of the Shroud of Turin. The image was far baser and less holy than the Shroud of Turin, though; nor was it like the face of the Virgin Mary showing up on a piece of toast. But it is a simulacrum of sorts. Here it is.

Did the pagan god "Ur" come to visit us at night? Is he trying to tell us something?

After the shock and awe had worn off, my analytical brain began to function again. I figured out that the air conditioner condensation had leaked into the boxed valence mechanism, and rusty water had dripped down onto the drape in that extraordinary pattern. Aha! The question is, what would a feng shui expert say about this giant floating phallus hanging in our bedroom window? What do you think, readers? Should I try to clean the drapes, or leave it for it's "positive male energy" contribution and to get cheap laughs from guests? I'm tending towards the latter, of course!

Shabbat shalom, everyone!
 

We Could Have Danced All Night

Shalom, chaverim! It's been a busy week here in Nahariya, with one trip to Tel Aviv and another one to Haifa. I've been pressing on with my job hunt, looking for assistance from job-seeker programs and (finally) performing the tedious task of getting my academic degrees recognized. The purpose of my Tuesday trip to Tel Aviv was to meet with the good people at Gvahim, an organization that exists to assist new olim in continuing their professional careers in Israel. I'd applied to be part of their upcoming Career Development Program, which provides six days of intensive work on interviewing (in Hebrew) skills, networking, education about the Israeli market and workplace, and so on. Sadly, it turns out that Gvahim does not assist English teachers in any way, but is more geared towards other professions, so I was out of luck there. However, they do have a good program, and if you are either thinking of making Aliyah or are already here and having trouble finding work, they may be able to help you. You can read about Gvahim here.

The purpose of my trip to Haifa on Wednesday was to visit the regional office of the Ministry of Education; specifically, the "Office of Foreign Degree Recognition." I was expecting to visit a typically dark and dingy government building, but was pleasantly surprised to discover that the office was located in Haifa's "Sail Tower," a giant white structure that looks like a huge sail. After passing through stringent security, I was whisked up to the seventh floor, where I waited about forty minutes for my turn. Next to me was a Serbian man who got immediately turned away because his documents didn't have the appropriate apostille of authenticity stamped on them. Woe betide those who don't observe bureaucratic regulations!

It personally took over a month to get all my crapola together for this meeting, including writing to both universities for not only transcripts, but also for "letters of attendance." These letters had to unequivocally and categorically state that way back in 1984 to 1989, and in 1995 to 1996, I'd attended both institutions as a full time student. For some reason, the Israeli Ministry of Education is obsessed with enrollment status. I'm sure there's a reason for this, but I can't, for the life of me, figure out why it would matter. Anyway, the turnaround time for foreign degree recognition is about a month. The letters will come in the mail, so at least I don't have to make a second trip.

Thursday meant a trip to our local Absoprtion Office counsellor. This time, it was to meet with an actual psychologist (I think), who administered the beginnings of a computerized test designed to discern...what? I'm not sure what it figured out about my psych/work profile, because it was very strange. The program would show a group of faces of men and women, designed to look like they'd been photographed in the late 1800's, in sepia tones and in "old timey" clothes. A typical round of questions (written in English, for our benefit) would be posed like this: "Click on the most sympathetic face. Now click on the second most sympathetic face. Now click on the most appalling face. Now click on the second most appalling face." Then a new assortment of faces would appear, and you'd go through the drill again. And again, and again, and again. And then it was over. Hmm!

Despite my interest in doing a mid-life career transition to becoming a welder, or a florist, or a massage therapist, or a professional ballroom dancer, the meeting pretty much determined that it would be best if I stayed in my current teaching profession. However, now it's a matter of getting onto a "conversion course," which trains olim to become English teachers. My own qualifications most likely won't be recognized here, and of course I've already been loudly informed that my Hebrew is NOT sufficient for working in the public schools now, even if I were otherwise prepared. I'm looking into doing this course in Haifa, at Gordon Teacher's College, that may be appropriate. The course doesn't start until October, and, this being August, everyone's on vacation and isn't answering the phone, so I don't know much more than that. However, that may be the next step.

Over the past months, I thought I had been pursuing a promising opportunity with an Indian company that teaches English online. Following a couple of interviews on Skype, I was verbally offered the job nearly two months ago, and was told I'd start work at the beginning of August. However, the first week in August slipped by without a word from them. When I contacted them to ask what was going on, I was told I'd be contacted within forty-eight hours with a firm start date. I wasn't contacted within forty-eight hours; in fact, two weeks slipped by with yet again no word. Finally, early this week I received an email offering me the job, saying I'd be contacted "shortly" about my training schedule. Now it's the end of the week and I still haven't heard anything. I can't tell if these extended bouts of "radio silence" is an Indian thing, a specific corporate culture thing, or just a plain old disorganization/disrespect thing. I'm giving the company the benefit of the doubt, but at the same time, I'm not counting my chickens before they're hatched, so I'm still applying for work whenever and wherever I can.

Finally, I've realized that I've been focusing this blog on work matters for the last few weeks, because of course that's what Elul and I have been concentrating on. However, we took some time out last Saturday night and finally saw a Nahariya tradition in action: Israeli folk dancing on the beach. During the summers, Nahariya offers free public folk dancing sessions, just after Shabbat ends on Saturday nights. (In the winter, it's held at some other time, but we never felt like going out anymore than we had to during that last freezing winter!) Anyway, Elul was kind enough to shoot some footage and put together a lovely short video about it. My favorite part is at the end, when we got one little girl to say "Shalom, chaverim!" to the camera. Cheesy, but I loved it! Here's the link to the video, and if you can't see it in your email version of this blog, just go directly to my blog's site at www.movingtonahariya.blogspot.com

Shabbat shalom, everybody!