Traveling Blues

Exactly five months ago, I was petrified at the thought of flying alone.  I wasn’t just scared of the plane itself; I was also anxious because I would need to interact with strangers.  I was worried about how I would navigate through strange places solo.  Now, as I fly home, this doesn’t worry me at all.  Sure, I’m apprehensive about the flight, but not about my stopover in Toronto, or clearing customs there.  Even if I miss my plane, I now have the confidence that I will manage.  Somehow.

—Written waiting for my flight to Toronto. 

So, I didn’t miss my flight, but it is delayed 3.5 hours.  I ran through customs and raced up stairs only to arrive to a deserted gate.  I thought I was in the wrong place, but nooo, other unhappy passengers soon started showing up too.  Now we’re all waiting.  And sitting.  And complaining.  Most of us are on our computers.  I wonder if security would be unhappy if I pulled out my fiddle and started playing the blues?

—Written during my 3.5 hour delay in Toronto.   

Homeward Bound

Going through Israeli airport security was an intense experience at 3 am.  The departures hall was filled with a line that snaked back and forth across the floor.  This line did not lead to a particular check in counter, instead it lead to security.  At Ben Gurion International Airport, everyone goes through security before checking-in.  Here, waiting in line, every single person was interviewed.  I was asked how long I was in Israel, who I was staying with, why I was there, if I could speak Hebrew, and whether I attended synagogue.  When I told my interviewer that I had been in Israel for two months, he stared in disbelief at the size of my backpack.  Ha! And I thought I had too much stuff!  After that, each piece of luggage went through a scanner and was then opened up and searched.  Only after this arduous process did I get to wait in line to check-in.  The “normal” airport security that we all know and love was easy: officials were relaxed and lines were minimal. 

From the air, I thought the Black Sea looked green.  The waves appeared sculpted from clay and in stasis.  Beneath their surface the ocean looked alive.  Green streaks seemed to race below the waves.  It was like a giant school of fish or eels were hurrying to some unknown destination on the other side of the plane.  Patches looked gray, mingling in an impressionist manner with the aforementioned eels. 

If I had drunk several glasses of wine, then I would say I was drunk.  Instead, I had woken up at 2:30 to catch a six o’clock flight to Istanbul.  Then I waited in lines for two and a half hours.  I wasn’t drugged, just sleep deprived. 

Istanbul was covered in snow.  I had pictured it to be a desert city filled with a glory that would be obvious from 2567m in the air.  I had thought that its resplendent past as the gateway between the East and Europe would be evident through my little airplane porthole.  But the city was blanketed in white and the history didn’t show from the air. 

Turkish Airlines is my new favourite airlines.  I was boarding my flight to JFK and walking through the first class section feeling sorry for what I expected would be my cramped economy seats.  As I passed the large, comfy first-class seats, I wished that I could spend the next ten hours in one.  Then I looked up to see what row I was at and where I needed to go to get to my seat.  I was standing at row 20, still in the comfy section, and my seat marked on the boarding pass was in 18a.  I walked backwards to my seat, convinced I had made some mistake.  I couldn’t understand why I got to sit in this nice section.  I was squirming around in my spacious seat, opening and closing the personal video screen, reading the food menu, and giggling.  I think the guy I was sitting beside was amused at my enthusiasm and happy bewilderment.  He told me that Turkish Airlines has this special seating section called Economy Plus, rows 10-20, where the customers receive all the amenities of first class, but for a normal price.  Since I was assigned this seat randomly, I was pretty pleased. 

By the time I got to JFK, I had been awake for 24 hours.  I was sweaty, cranky, and so tired I couldn’t walk in a straight line.  Everything was confusing, like why people kept asking for my passport.  I alternated between staring vacantly into space, talking to myself (which I normally only do in private) and giggling at nothing.  Crazy!  One of the things that amused my sleep-fogged brain was how I could understand everyone’s conversations.  It was the first time in 5 months that English was the most commonly spoken language around me. 

Instead of flying right to Vancouver, I am now in Florida.  I am visiting my great aunt and uncle here, like I did at the start of the trip.  I really like this symmetry.  I haven’t finished writing about Israel though; there should be several more posts coming about “The Holy Land”. 

Mea Sha'arim

During our day in Jerusalem we ventured into Mea Sha’arim, the oldest ultra-orthodox Jewish neighbourhood outside the walls of the old city.  In “secular” Jerusalem there is a mix of ultra-religious and secular Israelis.  Mea Sha’arim is filled 100% by the ultra-religious, or the “blacks” as they are sometimes derogatively called here.  Long black coats, hats that appear ready to topple down, and wild beards characterize the orthodox men.  The women and girls wear long black skirts and “modest” necklines that don’t show any skin.  Married women must cover their hair in public so they wear headscarves, hats, or wigs. 

Message Board in the Jewish Quarter in the Old City

There are two major branches of ultra-religious Judaism:  Haredi and Hasidic Jews.  Up until around the middle of the 18^th century there was only one type of religious Jew, those whom we would now call Haredi.  At this time, many Jews were poor and facing religious oppression and persecution, and many didn’t have the time for the intense focus on scholarly studies that were central to Haredi traditions.  The poorer masses wanted to revolutionize and revitalize the way they prayed and were led in this by charismatic spiritual leaders like the Baal Shem Tov.  They wanted to democratize Judaism and make the spiritual aspects more important than knowledge per se.  The Hasidic movement focused on integrating Jewish mysticism into everyday religion and the joy of praying.  The Haredim are the descendants of the people who disagreed with this movement. 

In Hasidic Judaism, different sects mostly identify themselves by which town their leader originated from in Eastern Europe.  Each town had different traditions and dress codes, which are preserved in the modern Hasidic dress.  They wear long period coats, different styles of knickers or pants, and characteristic hats.  Hasidic leadership is dynastic, stemming from the chief rabbi from whichever town their sect originates.  

The Haredim, on the other hand, don’t typically trace their roots back to specific towns.  Consequently, they have less specific dress codes that don’t relate to particular places of origins. Traditionally, Haredi chose as their leaders the wisest individuals who had studied in the yeshiva (torah schools). 

Haredim Outside a Synagogue in Rehovot *1

Today, usually the term Haredi generically refers to the ultra-religious, with Hassidism classified as a subset of Haredi Judaism.  However, since I think the differences between the Haredi and Hassidic Jews are significant, I don’t think of Hassidism as a subset of the Haredim.  I try to be very clear as to whether I’m talking about Hassidic Jews, Haredim, or the ultra-orthodox more generally (which includes both Hassidism and Haredim). 

When Ben Gurion was creating Israeli governmental policy in 1948, he created “The Status Quo Act” stating that the ultra-orthodox were not required to work or serve in the army.  The idea was that this policy would protect the yeshiva tradition that had been nearly lost during the Holocaust.  However, when this policy was created, there were only 400 orthodox Jews in Israel.  As of 2006, there were 700,000. 

A Man Praying

Now, this policy is untenable.  Secular Israelis pay taxes to support ultra-religious families with ten or 12 children.  The father often doesn’t work; he doesn’t need to, and instead studies torah in the yeshivas.  Many of these families are on the Israeli equivalent of welfare.  When this support system was established, it was set up to support a population that was 0.57% of the current population of ultra-Orthodox.  Many secular Israelis resent that they pay taxes to support the ultra-orthodox lifestyle and also that they need to defend that lifestyle by serving in the army, which few ultra-orthodox do.  

These issues have recently gained international media attention.  I am sure you have read about the orthodox eight year-old girl in Bet Shemesh (a small town outside of Jerusalem) who was called a prostitute because she wasn’t dressed modestly enough.  In Mea Sha’arim, a small group of ultra-religious adults dressed young children in the striped garments mimicking concentration camps clothing.  They were making the comparison that the Israeli government is like the Nazis, taking away religious freedom.  Later, other leaders and members of the orthodox community more broadly expressed horror and strongly condemned this protest. 

Haredi Youth in Jerusalem *2

I learned recently from some Rabbi and Cantor friends why there are an increasing number of significant conflicts between the secular and ultra-religious worlds here.  In the past, religious leaders were chosen by intelligence or parentage.  Now, the dynasties among Hassidism are being disputed as leaders die without leaving heirs.  Among the Haredi, community leaders used to be the most brilliant students who would attend yeshivas to become even more intelligent.  Now though, everyone is a devoted student who studies Torah his whole life—as made possible by Ben Gurion’s Status Quo Act.  So now, the best and brightest individuals are less likely to rise to prominence and leadership among the Haredi. 

This leadership vacuum contributes to the current conflicts.  There is no longer an ultimate authority among the ultra-religious to interpret Halakha (religious Jewish Law).  There is no one to control the fanatics spinning out of control or to say, “enough”! 

Jews in Krakow in 1931*3

For me, walking in Mea Sha’arim with my aunt and uncle was like traveling into the past.  I felt like I just entered a tiny shtetl in Poland.  The streets were crooked and grimy, the sun disappeared, and the normal city sounds of horns and laughter were muted.  Here, people strode past wearing the same styles of clothes that have been worn for 200 years.  Women avoided eye contact, men stepped stared straight ahead, and children looked like tiny adults with their long black coats and skirts. 

My aunt and I wore our long coats buttoned completely and arranged our scarves to cover our necks.  Not an inch of our skin was showing except on our faces.  Still, I felt exposed and I worried I was violating the “dress modestly in our neighbourhood” signs.  However, thankfully, we were completely ignored.  My uncle also wore his long black coat and hat.  Afterwards, he said many men glanced curiously at him trying to figure out if he was orthodox or not.  One man even said hi.  We laughed about this after because few people are farther from the Haredi lifestyle than my uncle. 

After we left Mea Sha’arim my aunt and I went in search of a bathroom.  While I was waiting in line (of course), I started talking to an orthodox woman holding her baby.  She asked where I was from and how long I was going to be in Israel—the same questions that “normal” people ask.  When it was her turn for the bathroom, I offered to watch her baby for her.  She let me hold her adorable daughter and I happily gazed into the toddler’s expressive eyes for several moments. 

Ultra-Orthodox at the Wailing Wall

This was a refreshing experience that happened right after walking through Mea Sha’arim.  I had felt alienated and wary of the ultra-orthodox, but then back in downtown Jerusalem I had a normal conversation with an orthodox Jew.  It reminded me that the religious community is not one entity that can be seen as a unified “other”.  “They” are comprised of families, friends, and many normal people with whom I can empathize and sometimes find common ground.  There are definitely extremists and fanatics among the ultra-orthodox Jews and there are also conflicts from where the secular and orthodox worlds mingle.  But there are also rational people who just want to live their lives closer to God in ways that represent their traditions.  My slice of experience among the Haredim reinforces my overall impression of Israeli culture and politics: life here is really complicated and simple generalizations are dismally inaccurate.  

For more information on the different types of Judaism, I would suggest perusing Wikipedia.  The articles there go into detail about the history of modern Judaism, different sects, and it also examines some of the modern issues I have discussed.  For this article, I have done extensive reading on Wikipedia and various other sites as well as talking to my family and friends in Israel.  This is a fantastic article I found that expresses some of my thoughts perfectly on the how we view ultra-religious society.  http://gamesetmattsch.wordpress.com/2010/10/11/sectsandthecity/. 

 

The images marked with an “ have been taken from the following websites:

1. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/29/Haredim_allant_a_la_synagogue.jpg/800px-Haredim_allant_a_la_synagogue.jpg

2. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/96/Haredi_Judaism.jpg

3. https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwk5mae6woccWsRqvTqmPvLmgCVy7A9FMaByyxN1nAXB8M_J9XKykCFyVGtZhgJ-S0i0sppe9TYFq-VpJU0dPNa5L8Ky5WPAaJJ40V4ejISBzqGgeTAHEjsSVCjZxMnh6WauiWoEhgNqU/s320/Ultra+Orthodox+Jews+Krakow+1931.gif

It’s a Small World

My Aunt and I at the Market in Tel Aviv

My travels seem to be bursting with amazing encounters.  This week’s amazing event was that my aunt and uncle from California came to Israel for a holiday.  Uncle John John (my father’s brother) and Susan planned their trip to Israel before I knew that I would be here too.  When we discovered that we would be in Israel at the same time, we arranged that we would travel together.  We don’t see each other so frequently in North America, so, naturally, we would be able to meet and spend a week together across the world from our homes. 

I met them at the airport and then I stuck to their side like glue for their entire week here.  We had a very full itinerary planned, actually they planned; I was content to sit in the backseat and doze.  Our travels took us from Tel Aviv, to Kibbutz Barkai for a family birthday party, to Jerusalem, and to the most southern point of Israel.  

Family Ties

My Great-Aunt Rachel on Her New Scooter

Blood ties are strange things.  The fact that we are “family” holds such power over us.  We are absurdly loyal to family even in the face of damning evidence.  “Family” means we always talk on the phone, even when we are exhausted.  Historically, familial ties were the way to knit kingdoms and to forge alliances. 

For me, “family” is people who share my history and my ancestors.  We are still “family” even when we live across the world and have never met.  The knowledge of shared genetics links us and creates opportunities to meet and love people who are entirely different—people who have a different language, culture, and lifestyle.  Yet, we have the same nose; we are family. 

The Whole Family

My family in Israel are the children and grandchildren of my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister.  They are my second cousins and second cousins once removed (I had to figure that out just to say it here).  But how we are related doesn’t matter—my Israeli family has completely welcomed me into their lives.  I have always heard stories and legends, but now I have connected the tales to faces.  Because of the stories and my visit, I am starting to feel like I have known them forever. 

My Great-Uncle and One of my Fantastic Cousins

I have also become convinced that family-hopping is the best way to travel.  Hanging out with my family here has given me unique insights on Israeli life and culture.  I can ask questions about touchy situations and politics and about aspects of life here that completely confuse me.  Like why the bus and train ticket system is not integrated.  As a tourist, my opinions arise from my experiences living in Canada, and the particular biases that it brings.  Luckily, my family can also tell me what to think based on their experiences living here, which give me a very enlightening, and usually surprising, perspective.  My family is also made up of fantastic, warm people with whom I have fun hanging out.  I also always have a place to stay.  No matter how busy they are, my cousins always offer me a place in their homes and their lives. 

Photographs

It has come to my attention that there may be some confusion as to where I am getting the photos for my blog.  Unless otherwise stated, they are all my photographs.  When I have taken images off the web, like for the post about the Vatican, then I include a “sources” list at the bottom of the post.  I even try to give acknowledgment if I have taken the photos from my father or brother! 

I have also started to turn off the automatic setting on my camera so that I will learn how to take better photos.  I am trying to play with the exposure, the ISO, and everything else that I can manipulate.  This creates some dilemmas, like which setting should I be changing and when?  Normally I would ask my father, but he is in Vancouver and I am in Israel… so it is difficult to ask for specific advice as I am taking each photo.  As well, I have been focusing on the composition of each photograph, trying to make each one balanced and interesting.  Sometimes these endeavours work and sometimes they don’t, as you can probably tell. 

Call to Prayer

This is a movie I filmed on my little camera to give you an idea of what the Muslim call to prayer sounds like.  On one side of the wall is the new city of Jerusalem, the other side is the Old City.  It is not the best movie, but I hope it gives you an idea of how magical the experience was for me.

The People I Meet

Christian Pilgrims Carry These Crosses

I always want to know the facts about a place.  Other people may be interested in wandering lazily without any idea of the history and significance of a neighborhood, but I like to know all the details.  Not only do I like learning the facts, but I usually remember them.  This is why I decided to take a formal walking tour of the Old City in Jerusalem.  I had meant to do this with my mum, but we didn’t have enough time. 

The tour was fantastic—I got detailed explanations about churches, the four different quarters (Arab, Armenian, Christian, and Jewish), and general Israeli history.  The tour also gave me an opportunity to interact with other people, most of whom I would have been too shy to otherwise approach.  While I love hearing people’s stories, actually introducing myself poses a problem.  Meeting people on a tour, where many people from diverse backgrounds are haphazardly thrown together, is perfect for me.  I get to talk to people, but I don’t have to make the initial contact—the tour has already done that.  This post is a summary of the people with whom I talked, interspersed with descriptions of my most recent Old City adventures. 

The View of the New City from the Ramparts

Tour Assistant: He is a native from Jerusalem.  Although he has probably accompanied this tour hundreds of times, he still says he enjoys it and learns new things.  Each time he walks in the Old City he finds a new alley or side street and learns something new.  There are countless things to discover. 

British Uncle, Son and Cousin:  I asked what brought them to Israel and this tour and I learned that she, the cousin, had been praying to come here for years.  Now, God told her the time was right to visit, so she got cheap flights and is visiting the Holy City with her uncle and his son.  She called me “sweetie” and invited me to spend the afternoon with them.

A Street Outside the Ramparts

Montreal Couple:  I spoke to this couple as we were waiting for the tour guide at the Western Wall.  This couple just arrived two weeks ago and are going to be here for another three months!  They are volunteering at a church in exchange for room and board.  In their free time, they get to be tourists. 

The Old City from the Walls

Israeli schoolgirls:  Two Israeli schoolgirls also came on the tour.  They wanted to here about their city from an alternative perspective for a school project.  I think they were also conducting covert interviews with us tourists to discover what makes us “tick”. 

After the tour, I decided to do “The Ramparts Walk”.  This was also something I had intended to do with my mum… Oh well.  “The Ramparts Walk” is a circumnavigation of the Old City by walking on top of the city walls.  I imagined that I was following the path of centuries of patrols.  I could just picture myself putting my bow in the arrow slits and aiming at some invaders throat.  Or maybe not, I probably would have been cowering behind a chair in our house.  I walked the ramparts in complete solitude; this is probably why my imagination went into hyper-drive. 

Arrow Slit

I think my favorite moment of the walk was when the muezzin called the Muslim to prayer.  I was in a completely deserted area somewhere above the Arab Quarter and suddenly I heard one summons start.  Then another muezzin started his prayer to my right, then my left.  Soon, half-a-dozen calls were happening.  The prayers overlapped and created the most amazing aural textures.  These are some of the people I met that afternoon. 

San Franciscan:  As I was descending from the ramparts, I was presented with a dilemma.  The exit led into a section of the Arab Quarter where I could not see any other tourists.  I was uncomfortable walking back to the tourist area by myself, yet I didn’t want to walk for an hour and a half back along the ramparts.  I was wavering between turning around or bravely continuing to the Arab Quarter when I happened to see another tourist wandering through the streets.  I immediately exited the ramparts

Looking at the Arab Quarter from Above

and ran up to the tourist.  I walked with him until we were back into the area that I recognized, aka the tourist sections.  During our walk, I learned that he was visiting his family in Israel and was taking a day off to be a tourist in Jerusalem. 

Gaggle of Girls:  As I was heading to the bus, a group of Israeli’s asked me to take their photo.  They kept saying smile—did they want me to smile, or was I supposed to wait to take the photo until they were smiling? 

The Bus Passengers:  Getting off the bus in Mevasseret in the afternoon, I asked one person if she knew where I should get off.  She asked the couple across from us.  The people behind them overheard and offered their opinions too.  Then someone asked the bus driver.  Soon, the whole bus was discussing the best places for me to disembark.  Not only does it take a community to raise a child, but it also takes a community to help a tourist!

The Sun Shines on Israel

See the Plenitude?

Most of Israeli is hot and sunny—the typical Mediterranean and desert climates.  The city of Tel Aviv receives more than 300 sunny days per year!  In this climate, it makes complete sense to rely heavily on solar energy.  However, photovoltaics are not yet a trend here. 

A Solar Water Heater

What Israel lacks in solar panels, it makes up for in solar hot water heaters.  When I visited Haifa, I was shocked at the plenitude of bizarre protuberances on the roofs.  All the buildings appeared to be having a bad hair day.  Although the visual effect was messy, I was delighted when I realized that each building was covered in solar hot water heaters.  Once I had recognized the structures, they  became an exciting and pleasant sight—no longer an eye sore.  It is funny how my opinions can change so fluidly depending on the circumstances with which I formed them. 

A View of the Old City in Jerusalem

Since that day in Haifa, I have begun noticing solar hot water heaters everywhere.  In the Arab villages, silhouettes of water heaters mingle with the views of minarets.  The white water canisters sprout like fungi from roofs in Jerusalem.  The sight is so ubiquitous that no one mentions their presence anymore; they have been common in Israel for at least 25 years.  In fact, there are a staggering 0.56 m² of solar water heaters per person.  By comparison, the US only has 0.01 m² per person. 

Surprisingly though, North America is farther advanced than Israel in terms of plastic awareness.  While plastic bags are being phased out from large megastores in Canada, plastic bags are still proffered everywhere in Israel.  Each type of fruit needs its own plastic bag.  Then, after everything is weighed and bought, it is all stuck in another plastic bag.  Don’t worry though; this bag is a different colour so it will make the garbage pile look cheerful. 

Cats Are Ubiquitous and Feed on Human Garbage

At Adamama, we meticulously sorted all our garbage into different categories: recycling, compost etc.  We produced very little garbage destined for the landfill.  But this, I’ve realized since re-entering mainstream culture, is highly unusual for Israel.  This observation came as an almost physical shock to me.  I keep looking for the recycling bins.  Outside of the hippie permaculture movement, everything appears to be tossed carelessly in the garbage: organic waste, metal, plastic, and glass.  I know the recycling systems do exist here, but there seems to be limited cultural awareness or drive to utilize them.  Reuse, Reduce, Recycle—there seems to be no catchy translation. 

The Capital of the Negev

“Be’er Sheva is at first sight highly disappointing for any visitor” says its Wikitravel article.  Perhaps this is true, if you arrive on a day when the wind has whipped the dust into a malignant haze.  And since Be’er Sheva sits in the middle of the Negev desert, there are a lot of potential particles available to clog the air. 

Bedouin Market

I happened to arrive on just this type of windy, dusty day.  However, I liked the way the dust obscured the skyline.  To me, a girl from the rainforest, the dry desert wind made the city feel exotic and foreign.  I couldn’t wait to explore the streets hidden from my view. 

I was lucky to be hosted in Be’er Sheva by the mother of our Israeli neighbour in Vancouver.  Dalia has lived in Be’er Sheva for 50 years and has countless stories about the city and surrounding area.  As Dalia picked me up from Adamama, she even showed me the tree under which she used to sit and wait for the bus 57 years ago.  I loved talking to her and learning about her life in the Negev. 

My day to explore Be'er Sheva with Dalia was the polar opposite of the day prior.  There were no clouds in the sky and the dust had settled back to the ground.  The city looked shiny and new coming out from behind its layer of airborne particles. 

Dalia and Me

Be'er Sheva has quite an interesting history.  It was built by the Ottoman Empire in order to control the rebellious Bedouin communities and to be able to place taxes on those communities.  The old city is the only one that is planned on a grid, which is great for us directionally-challenged individuals.  Most of the British/Ottoman battles took place around here with the two armies vying for control of this city and its water sources.  Now, Be'er Sheva is known as the “Capital of the Negev” and has a “lively student community” and “vibrant culture and history”.  I didn’t experience the student life, but Be'er Sheva certainly has the best falafel I have ever eaten.  It was light and delicately flavoured—difficult to accomplish in deep
-
fried fast food.  

At the Be’er Sheva bus station I said a mournful good bye to Dalia and lugged my stuff onto the bus.  I learned that it is impossible to travel light and carry around a violin too.  For this reason, it is better to travel with a family member; they can take the extra bag if the two backpacks, purse, and fiddle become too unwieldy. 

I am staying with friends right now—Barry and Isella—in Mevasseret.  Barry grew up on the same street as my mum and they were childhood friends.  When she was still here in Israel we had visited them, but I decided I wanted to see them again.  They are such wonderful hosts—perhaps I will move in permanently (don’t tell my mum!). 

Mevasseret is kind of like a suburb of Jerusalem, except that it has its own cohesive community and center.  From Mevasseret it is an easy bus ride into Jerusalem, so I shall be able to continue my touristic behaviour from here.  I think that I have actually taken the public transportation system more in Israel than I ever have in Vancouver.  I shall try to remedy that when I return to Canada. 

Tahini Fervour

I am not Israeli—I don’t put mountains of tahini on everything I eat.  Here at Adamama, tahini is the condiment of choice for salads, soups, pasta, sandwiches, and spoons.  A large bowl of Tahini is mixed with water and spices and eaten at every opportunity.  Instead of buying normal tahini jars, of say 2 Liters, the tahini container is half a meter tall!  There is even a special tahini ladle placed beside the bulk storage to solicit removal. 

This is a Full Sized Bucket

I am truly trying to incorporate tahini into my meals like I would with salt, but I keep on forgetting.  I am sorry, but it doesn’t occur to me to eat Tahini with a spoon for breakfast. 

Of course one can tell I am not Israeli for other reasons too.  When I am talking on the phone, and am told that I should call back later to talk to the volunteer coordinator, I say “thank you” and hang up.  An Israeli wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.  My cousin told me that the first “no” does not really mean “no”.  I concluded that it means that I should ask again and again until I get what I want.  My nice, polite Canadian sensibilities aren’t so compatible with this. 

I also apologize excessively.  Oh, you’re feeling sick today—I am so sorry!  For what I am not so sure as I didn’t have anything do with your virus.  Sorry?  I didn’t quite catch what you just said.  Or “sorry!” because I once washed dishes in the wrong sink.  I also receive odd looks when I apologize for walking into people on the street.  I don’t push my way into line and I am not pushy when I am buying tickets.  I am definitely not Israeli.