Wait, what?
How dare you say that about Israel, the homeland of the Jewish people and our ancestors in which we’ve fought and fought and struggled to upkeep; the anchor of the Middle East where Western society collides with East; and the land of Zionism, science, technology, education, military, religion, social divide, medicine, political triumph and struggle, economics, agriculture, immigration, and milk & honey.
So where do YOU get off, Scott Frankel, that YOU of all people can speak illy of the biggest “bang for your buck” country of southwest Asia?!
That’s the point. The purpose of bROke eNgLisH isn’t to directly discuss Israel’s politics, it’s depiction in media or it’s place in a modern, globalized world. This blog is dedicated to the cat poop of the country, so to speak. The small components of this small land. Everything from the way air conditioners drip on you while walking down King George St. to the reason chick peas will one day out-value the Shekel. This gives the country an important and comprehensible personality – one that’s immensely different from what most see on television or in the papers. And today’s first topic of discussion: cat poop, urine-soaked homeless people, and the smells of Israel’s major urban center.
There was once a rat problem in Israel. The British solved that by introducing cats. Now there’s a fucking cat problem. And I’m reminded of this every time I leave my apartment, often just narrowly avoiding a hekshered “Welcome to Tel Aviv” turd basket left by Felix, Garfield, Sylvester and the other neighborhood cats on my front steps. Often times I wake up to the pitter-patter of soft footsteps above me. There’s a hole in the plaster above my bed, allowing the sounds from the tin can they call a roof to be emphasized. So when the cats climb and purr around above me, I often find myself lying still in the dead of night legitimately believing that a panther or other large cat has made its way from the Congo to kill me for being a dog lover. It's only a matter of time before the stench accumulates from above, literally haunting my sleep.
But in terms of smells, cat poop isn’t nearly as bad as the homeless men and women who line the city. The cats and homeless are friends here. They understand each other’s language. They dig through the trash together, sleep under the benches together, and even shop for the same colognes together. I know there are homeless people everywhere, but I didn’t quite imagine such a large number in Tel Aviv. Or maybe it just seems that way because Tel Aviv is small and there’s a proportionate amount. Anyway, there’s this huge contrast between the homeless and the fashionable, yuppie, fast-paced city goers who are transforming Tel Aviv into—as writer David Kaufman puts it— the “Mediterranean’s New Capital of Cool.” (Link it.) To one extent, the homeless are lazy. Actually, to many extents. Some sit outside all day with their hands out and heads down in hopes of exploiting religion for a Shekel or two. Others are talentless street musicians who have been known to fall asleep at their guitars. But all of whom smell of cheap vodka, urine, and rotten Schnitzel, tainting the smell and image of a thriving city.
On King George St., a cat nears me in the foreground as a homeless men begs for money in the back.But the smells of cats and homeless men act primarily as metaphors.
Before arriving here I had a different image of what Tel Aviv really was. When you’re proud to be among a group of people (whether it have religious affiliations or not) you hold everything it has to offer in a higher light. Especially its home base. Coming to Israel six years ago on a youth tour, I was blinded by all the realities of what it actually meant to live here. We were sheltered, young tourists excited to meet other Americans, swim in the Dead Sea and eat falafel. So when I returned to the States after a six-week tour, I really didn’t pay attention to Israel’s living conditions. It was a false utopia of Jewish ideals and customs.
Such is what I’m loving about being in Tel Aviv today: I’m able to experience this different side of Israel. One that’s vulnerable. One that brushes religion aside whilst being submerged in it. And one that’s real. This is the best way to understand a people and a belief, and the best way to better define myself as a developing Jew and human being. Religion isn’t all about G-d and the nitty-gritty customs and rituals the Holy scripture may or may not tell one to practice. It’s about what’s real and tangible. And sometimes that means sniffing a homeless man or stepping in cat feces.
Through the upcoming months I look forward to sharing with you what being Israeli is really about.
No comments:
Post a Comment