Ari Lives in Israel

Time is fleeting

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 3 Sep 2010 15:46:00 +0300

Time Out Israel - Sept 2010

Check out page 88 for my article on Jewish food in Tel Aviv. Here's the original copy:

Jews on plate

Eater Ari Miller hits up most of the Jewish food restaurants in Tel Aviv so you don't have to. That's not to say you shouldn't eat Jew food, just not so much, cause it's so very heavy.

The category alone is highly suspect. Jewish Food. Cuisine, from the street to haute, is not something for which the Jews are renowned. We're good at math, science and money and bad at drinking and avoiding national trauma. We gave the world matza and we have been punished accordingly.

Jewish food refers to what we nicked from the Eastern Europeans. And rightfully so. They owed us for all those pogroms and genocides and taxation without representation. This means chopped liver, gefilte fish, ikra, brisket, stuffed spleen, kneidle, kreplah, kishke and that all-glorious sabbath meal, chulent.

Often, upon mentioning my intent to eat my way through the Jew food restaurants of Tel Aviv, I was met with the query, “What about Arab-Jewish food”? To which I would reply, that doesn't exist. Food brought here by the Arab-Jews is always referred to by its geographical origins: Moroccan food, Tunisian food, Egyptian food and you get the idea.

First up on this culinary trail through the transplanted shtetle is Shmulik Cohen. Never, since my culinary awakening that began with food writing and continues with chef's training, have I had any regard for any kosher restaurant. Aside from catering, kosher is one of the worst words one can use to describe food. Yet, here we are. This glatt kosher institution was the best of the bunch. It makes sense, that if kosher's gonna be good, it should come from the grassroots; not from some perverted French menu.

Located on the Southern end of Rehov Herzle since it's beginnings as a workers kiosk in 1936, Shmulik Cohen engulfs you in a world of Jewish glory that makes you wonder if the Hasmoneans really had anything to offer beyond fried dough and bubbameises. The walls are plastered with brick-a-brack befitting a Semitic TGI Fridays. Were TGI Fridays any place that I'd ever want to be. There's a Kadishman on the wall, pictures of all the Tel Aviv branja of yesteryear - poets, writers, artists and musicians who'd mix with politicians, policemen and those ubiquitous security-types, who'd all gather at 6:30 in the morning, along with Shmulik, to start their day with some vodka. Their spirit still haunts the place and it makes you smile.

Food was served to us by Tomer, Shmulik's grandson, and prepared for us by Tomer's mom, Shmulik's daughter. This is a family business that has been preparing the same recipes since day one. And they're good recipes. There was shmaltz, that goose fat in lieux of butter, unseen at any other establishment. There was marinated herring and herring (NIS 28), both sporting the most delicate flesh and taste reminiscent of my Mommom's (my maternal grandmother) offering of my youth. The egg salad “seasoned” with grivalach (NIS 27) was so surprising for it's similarity to bacon and eggs. I realized that I'll never make egg salad again without some sort of fried meat product.

Let me say a word about gefilte fish. This is a disgusting food item and ordering it is on par with a diagnosis of psychopathy. The one served at Shmulik Cohen (NIS 24) was the tastiest of all sampled, but still, I just didn't “get it”. The reason, I'll supply, is that it is a dish made from carp, one of the least tastiest fish. If you've ever had superb gefilte, most likely it was made from cod, which changes everything.

My dining buddy and I also sampled the kreplach soup (NIS 32), the broth of which was so Jewish it's on par with ritual male circumcision. For our main dish we split the chulent and kishke (NIS 65), the most authentic I've had in town. We washed everything down with the homemade lemon vodka, also available by the bottle, complete with campy label, making the perfect gift for any kitsch-loving alcoholic.

Next up is Cafe Batia. Opened in 1941, this place felt most like walking into an American-Jewish Deli. Immediately I wished for my Mommom's presence. I got the feeling she'd really dig the spot. Starting with the ikra (NIS 21) it was nicely creamy but lacking in that wonderful fishy goodness that is the whole point of the stuff. The chopped liver (NIS 19) here was the best we sampled. Though it's usually more ground than chopped, at Batia it at least maintains some if its integrity. The gefilte (NIS 19) still had the marks of the hand it was formed in. Apropos my earlier statement, at least this dish conjured up some romantic notions of an actual human preparing it with love. On weekends, the place fills up to capacity with scenesters and oldsters clamoring for spots to dine on chulent. During the winters homemade corned beef and roast beef are available, for which I'll return.

Kiton is another establishment like the others. Opened in 1945, it's roots are also in a kiosk. Like Cafe Batia, it is not kosher, meaning open on weekends and milk products available but not necessarily mixed with the meat. We started with the kneidle soup (NIS 28), disappointing in how dry the kneidle was. The ikra (NIS 26) was the real treat, creamy and fishy and served with a fresh and fluffy mini-challah bread. Here was available stuffed spleen (NIS 29), a dish I love and happily ate. It was topped with some wonderfully deep-fried onions, also found on the chopped liver (NIS 26), not as good as the spleen.

The atmosphere at Kiton is what makes it most special. Upon entering I had the feeling of being back at my great aunt Edie and uncle Murray's apartment for Passover dinner, where I first fell in love with chopped liver lovingly prepared by the former. The art was also the same as that apartment of my early youth, consisting of Judaica kitsch that I'll never really get outside of nostalgia.

Our main course was chulent with kishke and meat (NIS 54), which lined our ribs nicely on a hot Saturday afternoon. The highlight was the apricot soda, mixed on premises and served in an old-timey, rubber-corked glass bottle.

Elimelec was the least exciting of all the places sampled. Though as far as atmosphere goes, this place rocks. A rather masculine environment, Elimelec is known as much for their slow-poured Goldstar as for its Jewish food. The theory behind this pour, which resembles that of a stout, is that the gas is dispensed in such a way that the imbiber can intake a few more beers than otherwise. Also, this was how it was done with the hand-pump taps of yesteryear. These days it's more of a gimmick, albeit a romantic one. The only point on food here is avoid the chopped liver and, if you order the chulent, get it without the meat, which was so dry it bordered on impressive. An interesting note, this place is kosher, but certified through an alternative organization that is not beholden to the state sanctioned rabbinate.

Honorable mention goes to the fish restaurant Hashaked. Opened in 1964 as a cross between a Greek taverna and Jewish food, it still gives nod to it roots with an awesome egg salad – brown and meaty, chocked full of friend onions, two amazing herrings – pickled or cured, an ikra worth eating if you're there, a mediocre chopped liver and a gefilte that you should order due to psychopathy.

Then there's La Maison, on page 96. If you haven't been there, get there. If you keep kosher, stop it! And get there. Original copy:

Delicatastic!

I am in love with two men and their meats. Specifically, I'm talking about Ben and Ilan over at La Maison, their new delicatessen where everything is made in house by their skilled hands. The two mastered their craft at the wonderful Yoezer Wine Bar, where they served as the previous head chefs. Opened three months ago, walking in is the perfect place to escape the heat – their a/c is always on full blast – or to escape the mundane local deli scene. From their copa to their bacon to the pickled herring to their sauerkraut, you will taste here what you can find no where else in Tel Aviv. La Maison is not just about buying your meats, be it the boudin noir or the suckling veal pate, and heading home. Rather, sit at the counter or an outdoor table and enjoy a plate of their charcuterie in advance of deciding what you take with. Or have a sandwich accompanied by a glass or bottle of Belgian beer or organic cider. Do yourself a favor and try the smoked pork neck in fennel seed. This is my favorite, having been whisked away in mind to the Italian market in South Philly. Totally awesome. Prices, of course, are not as cheap as the industrial equivalents, should there even be a local equivalent. But they're also not outrageous. NIS 35 for the best sandwich you can get in town is more than fair. Homemade sausages range from NIS 62-96/kilo. Cold cuts are NIS 12-28/100g. And, you'll have satisfaction in your stomach and soul, knowing you've supported one of the greatest food endeavors in Tel Aviv yet. Ari Miller

La Maison Rehov Tchernikofski 1, 03-620-6022 Open Sunday-Thursday noon till 20:00 and Friday from 10:00 till 16:00. Plans are to extend hours till later in the evening, coming soon.

Free T-Shirt Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 9 May 2009 17:22:00 +0300

A lot of folks think that the only thing to do with an old, white, t-shirt is to turn it into a rag. You know, to clean your car, your bike or the rotting vaginal canal of your deceased beloved with whom you continue to engage in coitus. If you read the previous sentence and thought to yourself, "Wow, that's me!" it's time to learn something from Ari Lives in Israel – especially since I'm smarter, less disgusting and not as good looking as Ed Geines.

Here is the first installment of "Free T-Shirt Friday," which has nothing to do with Friday. This is a page from an R. Crumb comic, though I don't know which one (feel free to enlighten).

Instructions: get some iron-on transfer paper and follow the instructions that come along with it.

This graphic is a gem. I've been wearing it for years now. My favorite related moment was in the airport in Austin, TX waiting for my luggage. This bitchy looking woman kept walking past me and staring at my t-shirt. Finally, she garnered the nerve to approach and ask, "Is that supposed to be some kind of comic or something?" I replied, "yes."

Don't forget to send in pictures of you wearing your free t-shirt friday t-shirt. That's right if you submit such pixels, it could appear on this blog. Then, you'll be famous – anonymously.

Statistics made stupid

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 16:33:00 +0300

Here's some pseudo-interesting facts about this highly pixelated news service (sic). My comments are in red. Some of the results have been ommited due to boringness. Others were left in for me to make fun of. I think you'll enjoy the mix.

Last month thousands of our newsletter subscribers took the time to take an online survey about ISRAEL21c and our weekly newsletter, more than 10% of our total subscribers. (10% is an F) The percentage of the response is itself amazing, but what really pleased us is how much the ISRAEL21c newsletter seems to mean to our readers and how useful they find it (I'm as shocked as they are!). Here are highlights of the survey responses.

Results we are proud of:

- 90% of our readers think ISRAEL21c is making a difference for Israel (First, that's 90% of 10% and that's still an F. Second, can something this vague have any meaning whatsoever?)
- Only 6% think ISRAEL2c is making little or no difference for Israel (So they're like the fifth dentist who just doesn't get Trident gum?)
- 96.1% of the respondents read our newsletter every week or several times per month
- 74.6% read the newsletter every week
* 78.8% of the respondents read more than just the newsletter headlines (Alright, these last three are boring figures. But funny because of the use of the decimal to give the impression that this survey is scientific and exact. That's some good PR, which is a good time to mention that's what ISRAEL21c is, a repackaged PR firm masquerading as a news outlet.)

That means that our command the continuing interest of our readers. (This is the sentence as it appears in their survey report. I don't know what it means.)

- In general, ISRAEL21c is delivering the information that people want to see. (This is not a survey result but their own opinion. How very newsworthy.)

- Our readers do more than read (go on, I'm curious), they forward stories to a variety of people:
ISRAEL21c content is shared readers to a remarkable extent... (This sentence is stupid for myriad reasons, all of them obvious.)

- 71% forward stories to friends
- 58% forward stories to family
- 23% forward stories to business associates (that's business associates one would not consider a friend.)
- 8% forward to rabbis (rabbis outrank teachers and doctors but still no word as how they relate to cops.)
- 7% forward to teachers
- 7% forward to doctors (take that doctors, you lowly scum!)

- Our newsletter performs well above the national averages:
- 31% of our subscribers open the email and look (or read? how do ISRAEL21c readers fare as regards the national average for literacy?) as opposed to a 24% national average for non-profit newsletters (that's a rough category. i'd read more non-profit newsletters if only i had the time. or cared.)

Results that surprised us:

- Some 40% of our newsletter readers don't know all of our stories are archived at a website where they can find any story, any time and much more information (so while they click on headlines, they don't really e"explore" the site?)
* Some 70% of our newsletter readers don't know about our award-winning blog, Israelity focusing on the reality of daily life in Israel (but they know about blogs right? i mean they're reading this, right?)
* Some 80% of our newsletter readers don't know about our YouTube Channel, which is the #1 most-viewed and #1 most subscribed non-profit, Israel-related channel on all of YouTube (you got me. i think this factoid is the reason why i was so moved to post this utter waste of time. are they fucking kidding me/us? this idiotic piece of information is giving me brain cancer the longer it floats around my head. get it out! get it out!)

We need to work on getting you, our readers, directed to more information and news about Israel from these other sources. After you read this email, click on one of the above and see what you've been missing! (how many people do they think read this survey all the way to this point? remember, i've cut the most boring tripe out.)

We're listening to your comments: because of you, here are some improvements you
can expect to see:

1. We are upgrading our website and our newsletter format to make both easier to
understand, easier to use and easier to navigate. Changes will be in place in by
April 30th. (as of today, April 30, their website is and remains at least as inaccessible and jumbled as The Jerusalem Post's. hold on a tic? easier to understand? oh, you mean dumbed down for the idiot masses? that's good pr!)
4. We will be expanding our effort to educate our readers about our three different
products: our "Innovation News Service," our "ISRAELITY Blog" and our "ISRAEL21cdotcom" YouTube Channel. (i'd rather they provide universal healthcare.)
5. We're increasing our effort to create, sustain and grow vibrant ISRAEL21c communities on Facebook, Linked-In and Twitter. (on both sides of the online-social-community green line.)

ISRAEL21c, now in its 8th year, is moving ahead with the times. We continue to create quality, original news content for our website and newsletter and now we're blogging, creating multi-media content and establishing a major presence in what some people call "new" media, but we call "now media." (again, is this an education firm, a pr firm or a news agency? you can't be all three and they're all rather different constructs. oh, i see, they're a "now" media outlet that has tapped into the high-energy world of blogging. holy shit they're hip.)

We very much appreciate our loyal readers taking the time to let us know what they're thinking (i'm an anomaly. i am not a loyal reader. i've written for ISRAEL21c and Israelilty in the past - their blog is not new. But I'm happy to let them know what i think.), we're making changes to satisfy many of the suggestions and we're working hard to keep ISRAEL21c at the cutting edge of "now media" even as we continue our efforts to place positive (this word is subjective and a news agency would know that, so i guess we can cross that option off the list.) stories about Israel in the traditional media.

We welcome your comments; Write to info@israel21c.org (or just blog your comments like me. that's as now media as you can be.)

Sometimes people don’t live in Tel Aviv.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 13:11:00 +0200

After almost three years in Tel Aviv, I briefly entertained the notion of leaving the white city. Not to “abroad” of course. That would be reasonable and enjoy the support of both family and friends there who, after nearly a decade of residence in Israel, still entertain the idea that I just may return to the US. They attribute this undying hope of theirs to a glimmer of sanity that they insist still sparkles in my eyes. Well, that’s what they tell me anyway. My friends here nary use the word sanity when describing me – bastards.

As for a potential move I had two major criteria in choosing a new address – a) in Israel and b) not in Tel Aviv. Well, to be certain, three criteria with c) being nothing in a settlement. That must be the sanity my friends abroad were talkin’ ‘bout.

Now, I have already lived in Beer Sheva and, without the cover of studentry, there is no way I would be returning. Also, I have already lived in Jerusalem. While it’s a lovely place to visit, pass the beer nuts.

Additionally, I have spent a decent amount of time on a few different kibbutzim. The first two were religious in nature and, being that I have grown-up since then, I have no real desire to subject myself to a similar theo-fascist agricultural regime. The third kibbutz I stayed on is one of the richest in Israel. Most likely due to their huge plastics factory that operates through the sabbath – all the sabbaths, our and theirs. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there but half a year of picking bananas with a machete hanging from my belt and pruning ten meter high palm trees with a chainsaw in hand no longer seems the viable career choice.

As for new places to explore in this god-forsaken country, I thought of a potential suburb. But the short list f potentials proved moot upon recalling my having grown up in a suburb thus knowing the anti-social horror of such an existence. The answer was an immediate “NO!” Then I thought, “what of the urban suburb option?” But, since you can’t spell urban suburb without the word suburb the answer again was clear, an unequivocal “NO!”

Ah yes, Tel Aviv. I couldn’t remember why I had been looking to leave it in the first place. Just because it’s in Israel? It turns out that I don’t need a theologically based nationalistic identity to live in this city. It’s just a fucking cool city with some fucking great pubs to take refuge in. And that’s enough for me.

A crappy, crappy Jew.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 11 Dec 2006 03:21:00 +0200

It is possible that I just might be the worst Jew ever. It would help if a Hasidic rabbi were to confirm this, though it would not mean all that much, I would still be a shitty Jew regardless.

Most people, especially friends, who might be reading this, will no doubt attribute my self-flagellation to the point that I do not observe Jewish law, including but not limited to kashrut, Shabbat, mezuzah, coveting and shotnez. Or it might be pointed out that I am not as bad a Jew as I might think being that I live in Israel, do not engage in bestiality and put on tefillin every morning. But my status as an ever so crappy Jew has nothing to do with my observance of actual Jewish law, which I care almost nothing about.

Rather, I am a horrible Jew because I am a fifth, possibly sixth, generation American.

My ancestors, all from the Ukraine to the best of my knowledge, came to America long enough ago to miss out on that quintessential European Jewish experience best known as the Holocaust.

I am a second rate Jew because I have no close relations who were murdered at the hands of the Nazis.

Fucking Nazis, right?

At no family gathering on either my maternal or paternal side were there old Jews with hooked noses nor numbers on their forearms who horded leftovers in their sport coats or purses in the hopes of being prepared for when the Nazis come a second time. A fact of which my non-existent forbearers would have been un waveringly assured.

I missed out on having a personal connection to the defining Jewish experience since god chose us as his people. A curse that has haunted every last Jew everywhere (me especially) but to which only a lucky few were able to witness in its most tragic of manifestations.

For all intense and purposes my family would have been that one group of Africans who, upon not finding the proper tree from whose wood to manufacture a drum were to have thus decided to move to America in search of a better life, resulting in having missed out on the whole middle passage. How very ludicrous!

And the reality of it is that there is no going back. There is nothing, no comparable Jewish experience that can allow me to make up for a the lost Holocaust.

I suppose I could tell people that I am of Mizrachi decent. But that would not be right. Anyway they had their own Holocaust type event that no Ashkenazi Jew even cares about. And, I do not want to try and make up for one Holocaust by pretending to have a connection to a much crappier incarnation of one.

No matter how many times I might watch Schindler’s List or walk the grounds of the camps – Auschwitz, Treblinka, Ramah or Terezin – I will remain with this permanent handicap. My complete lack of a direct familial connection to the Holocaust. And, I fear, that is the single, greatest source of my virulent anti-Semitism – making me an ever so crappy Jew.

Peace Now can suck my sweaty nutsack.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 16 Aug 2006 21:57:00 +0300

Israel’s second war in Lebanon seems to have wound down upon agreeing to the great white hope that is a UN brokered cease-fire. What can be said about recent events that have not already been uttered or put to print?

During the first Lebanon war Peace Now was founded by the Jewish-Israeli Zionist-Left movement - mainly comprised of combat soldiers who split their time fighting on the frontlines and organizing popular resistance on the homestead to the very war that they were concurrently fighting. As part of its activities, the group successfully organized the largest anti-war protest in Israeli history. Following the end of wartime combat, Israel maintained the wonderfully failed experiment of the Southern Lebanon security zone, most likely because the children of the combatants of ’82 also wanted a chance to see action in the North. To be men, just as their daddies had been forced to become. Upon pulling out - under the auspices of Ehud Barak, the Labor’s tit-for-tat answer to the Likud’s Bibi Netanyahu – Israel proved, once and for all, that the real answer should never have been the withdrawal method but just old-fashioned abstinence. Just ask any middle-America, low-income high school drop-out and he she’ll tell you, “If you’re gonna fuck, either wrap it up or you get yourself a job, get married and then have the kid.”

Israel just does not want to listen. After its attempt to abort the Southern Lebanese Army (SLA) - our unwanted, illegitimate child - well into the 38th trimester, it should have been perfectly clear, if Israel wants to fuck shit up and have a good time, we had better do so with a willing partner. Showing up to the family dinner that is the international community is never easy when you have the shame of being a baby killer inscribed across your forehead, and that’s after they already hate you for being a dirty, Christ killing, Palestinian raping Kike.

So we know who our enemies are - just about everybody (save the die-hard Christian Evangelicals – for now). Yet, every fucking year and without fail, we show up to Christmas dinner both expecting our equally ostracized Muslim neighbors to accept us and our Crusader descendent Christians to remember to greet us with Happy Holidays rather than a Merry Christmas. But, without fail, when neither group properly acknowledges us, we go running to our little Middle Eastern room and put our fists through the walls (and sometimes build them where they should not be). Our only outlet for the burning rage we feel for being the constant whipping child of just about everyone out there, sans the Micronesians.

But, just like the fat chick with acne and braces who you took to your prom just so that you can say that you went and have the picture to prove it - despite keeping the photo tucked away in your sock and underwear drawer, never to see the light of day due to the horribly embarrassing nature of it all - a puny Micronesian embassy in Jerusalem just doesn’t seem to be worth anything when the captain of the football team keeps his embassy in the heart of Tel Aviv, occupying choice, beachfront property.

Yet we continue on. Always at the ready to demonstrate our eagerness to wage peace, while simultaneously eager to flex our American funded, M-16 shooting, soccer playing muscles against our own perpetual whipping children.

Now that there is a more worthy opponent we are more than happy to accommodate with a full scale battle in a futile attempt at clawing our way up one more notch on that Middle Eastern bedpost that is sustained conflict, where no one regional player ever succeeds in recognizing that it isn’t even a Middle Eastern country that occupies the top spot.

For more than two decades Israel’s Left has declared that it wants peace and that it wants it now - without ever providing an answer or solution. Though, to be fair, we did have a good run with Oslo. Though with neither side willing to take responsibility for its failure, it remains difficult to absolve the Israeli Left for this setback on its path, while offering it kudos for a job well done. So, to be certain, this leaves nothing more than happy thoughts, warm wishes, hoping against hope and some really fucking interesting academic debate on the topics of politics and philosophy; all of which are for little more than the trappings of a Hallmark store on a university campus.

In the end, the Israeli Left does little more that fight the battles of the Right, literally and figuratively. While screaming at the top of our lungs that we’re for real - having shed our own blood and tears and not under our own terms - we demand respect and to be taken seriously. But you can only play and fight by someone else’s rules for so long before you’re exposed for being a fraud. Thus, after many years of bringing salad to the Israeli political discourse that is little more than a BBQ meat-fest, the Israeli Left has finally learned that age old lesson, one does not make friends with salad. (Joe Leiberman, you stinking kike, take note and feel free to be in touch. I will not judge you.)

So, what’s left? Besides being a poignant question following the end of the Cold War, the answer is very little. The Right has triumphed and the time has come to abandon the rules, paradigm and dogma of its rhetoric and actions. We must take back the Zionism that the Right has raped and plundered to further its own cause of occupation and corporate capitalism. There is no reason to be ideologically committed in engaging the Right with a willingness to lay down the lives of our own and of our enemies in furthering a perverted ideology. Zionism needs to be reclaimed from those on the Left who have waved its flag as little more than a shield in an attempt to protect itself while it impotently rubber stamps the policies and battles of the Right.

No more should we cry Peace Now in between our stints at the front hoping to cleanse ourselves of the war crimes that we perpetrate with the aid of the US taxpayer. Rather, let’s unite with that classic American underdog, John Q. Public and shout together that we have had enough. No longer do we need to slave away, while remaining blind and ignorant to our world because there isn’t enough money for education. No longer will we Israelis take your hard-earned tax dollars to finance our weapons of mass and minute destruction. We are not interested in cheapening our own lives to dance that entertaining dance so loved by CNN, Fox News and all of their Israeli copycat constructions.

Fuck it all. It’s time to go bowling.

Meshuggenah Mile

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 15 Aug 2006 15:59:00 +0300

In July of 2005 the national Jewish student magazine, New Voices, published the following article that I wrote while serving as their Israel correspondent. In it I interviewed the American King David and Mike Levin.

David died in Shin Bet custody this past week. I was first informed by an acquaintance of his who emailed me after conducting on online search for her friend's name. You can read a brief report on his death here. In the email that I received I was told that this was not a hunger strike but his refusal to eat anything other than organic foods, which were not provided to him.

Levin was killed in battle in Southern Lebanon recently. Besides the vast local and international coverage of the American who died in the IDF you can read a little bit about him here.

Q:What makes a superhero Jewish? A:Female genital mutilation.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 8 Jul 2006 21:26:00 +0300

By Asi Gal and Ari Miller

Israel has a superhero, Sabra - it’s about frickin’ time. Actually, it turns out that she has been around for a while, yet not many have heard of her. Maybe this is because she hasn’t done much around here. Except for killing her son’s killers. Being that she’s in the Mossad it seems that this would be an everyday job.

To me, the most amazing thing is that she was not created by Israelis. It was someone in the States who thought that Israel must have a superhero. What country needs it more? Well, maybe Tibet. But I doubt people would get very excited about a superhero that sits around, cross-legged and Zens everyone into accepting him.

Israel’s superhero has real powers. Odd powers yes, but real. First of all, it’s a she. The strongest woman Israel has had since Golda, only much prettier. However, seeing how she does not look like a tormented goat, the beauty thing is not so big an accomplishment (Boy, that’s giving it to Golda. Fuck all the harm she has caused this country. The biggest insult I can sling at her is that she was ugly. Ba-zzing!). Sabra is able to enhance all the abilities of her body. She has an anti-gravity suit and can shoot paralyzing quills. In other words, Marvel is telling us that Israel has to enhance it’s powers in order to survive but, at the same time, must be ready to get the fuck out of here as well. Also, when we use force, we shouldn’t use anything all that harmful like lasers, retractable claws or American manufactured armaments. Rather, our weaponry should consist of something more peaceful, like tranquilizing darts. Actually, quills.

Maybe the criticism is that all of our peace agreements are signed just to numb the people while the government grows bigger and the army more agile. I am not sure. Are Marvel anti-Semites? Probably. I’m sure they did not vote for us in the Euro vision (if you’re American and have no idea what I’m talking about you should be glad).

In all fairness, Israel has tried to produce its own superhero before. And failed. Sabra man survived for about three issues. The most successful superhero was called Super Shloomper. Because, it seems, that a superhero can’t really save us. Everyday there is so much shit going on, where would he start? Crime, terrorists, Israeli fanatics, the price of bread? Super Shloomper, mainly stayed at home and made fun of other superheroes using his dry, Jewish wit. In one issue he dealt with a crazy taxi driver and, in another, an insane taxi driver.

The odd thing is that, with our army, Israel should have tons of heroes. Yet, no real heroes are produced. In fact, one such non-hero inspired me to write this piece. This past July 4th marked the 30th anniversary of Operation Entebbe, an incredibly daring operation where Israel rescued Jewish-Israeli hostages kidnapped following the hijacking of an Air France plane by a never popular combination of Palestinian and German militants who then took refuge in the ironic location of Uganda, ruled at the time, by the Israeli trained Idi Amin-Dada (which is such a super villain name).

During this operation only one Israeli soldier was killed, Yoni Netanyahu – the older brother of Israel’s own super villain Bibi Netanyahu (another superb super villain name). It turns out, however, that Yoni’s death was most likely avoidable, due to an itchy trigger finger of one of the Zionist raiders. For the most part, Yoni Netanyahu emerged as THE hero of Operation Thunderbolt, later renamed Operation Yonaton after the deceased, specifically because of his demise.

This is Israel’s problem. All our heroes are dead ones. When Ron Arad finally returns home, he will be greeted as a hero. Sure, the guy will have survived some serious fucking hardship but all the guy will actually have done is not die. Perhaps, after a while it will be discovered that he is to blame for his own capture or, most likely, as was the case with the hilariously named Azzam Azzam, there will be tremendous national interest and then, after a month or so, we’ll just change the channel.

Despite it seeming that Israel could really use a hero, under no circumstances can we allow ourselves to have one. Not only does our intense Jewish guilt keep us from allowing the emergence of such a figure, we also have too many lawyers. If Batman ever came here he would be forced to pay for all the damage he causes. And, a bankrupt Wayne Enterprises isn’t good for anyone. No wonder Sabra moved to France. There she can fail as much as she wants and she’ll always know who to blame – fucking anti-Semitic, frog eating, quick to surrender mother fuckers.

Arbeit Macht Frei in 6.5 weeks or less

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 18 Jun 2006 09:07:00 +0300

By Other

This summer I will be working on a six and a half week trip to Israel. The participants are Conservative Jewish High school students, and I will be guiding them around the land of Israel. We will discuss history, argue politics and study religion. If I do my job right, they will come out of the program with lots of knowledge and maybe their world-view will be just a little different. In addition to being a tour guide, I am an educator and I love my job. It often reminds me of what I am doing here in Israel as I watch young people make the same discoveries about this land that I made when I was their age.

At the end of the summer, however, I am always saddened to see a group leave, knowing that they are returning to the US, where they will once again be taught that it is ok to be fat, dumb and lazy. Where they will learn that they should not fight for good, rather sit on their couch and consume. That they should worry more about Paris Hilton and Dawson Leary than an unjustified war in Iraq, dependence on foreign oil and the alarming rate at which the world’s climate is changing. Where they are taught that they can be as ignorant as they want and still rise to the top leadership role in the land.

This summer, I have decided, things are going to be very different. Thanks to the forward-thinking policy of Birthright, I have been shown a way around this problem. If you haven’t heard, last week Birthright decided not to allow a woman to participate on its 10-day free trip to Israel because of her plan to visit the Palestinian Territories after the program. This summer, I will follow the example set by Birthright. I have decided that any participant on my six and a half week trip who plans to return to the United States afterwards will not be allowed to attend. Regrettably, this means that there will be approximately a 98% drop in the number of participants on my trip. However, I feel that it is extremely important that what I teach them this summer is not undone by the American reality.

Not unlike that of Birthright’s program, the one with which I work is meant to teach young people about their connection to Israel and Judaism. America - which is a Christian country and is not Israel - inherently undermines the connections I construct between the youth in my charge to Judaism and Israel. While in America these impressionable youth are indoctrinated with the nationalistic idea that they are Americans. While there might be some truth in this, I do not want them to hear this. I do not want them participating in any debates as to whether they are American-Jews or Jewish-Americans. As far as they are concerned, when they take their leave of me, they are Jews with an eye towards aliyah. When they complete my program they will be singing “ain le eretz acheret,” which means, “I have no other land [than Israel].”

As an educator, I expect my lessons to have a lasting impression upon my students. Thanks to Birthright, I have learnt that it is possible to achieve my own goals by making it impossible for my students to view their world via a perspective other than what I choose to give them. Sure, I hope that the lessons that I teach my students this summer will be a more complex than what their peers are given by Birthright, which is to say a simplified ethnocentric world view that does not stand up to scrutiny. However, why take the risk. If putting blinders on our kids and giving them an incomplete, narrow world-view is the only way to educate them for them to emerge as pre-programmed propagandists, then this is the direction that Jewish Education must take. Thank you Birthright for being the trailblazer that you have become in the world of Jewish education.

”Those who can’t teach, teach gym. Those who can’t teach gym, teach Jewish education” – Henrietta Szold, founder of Hadassah

Muhammad’s got nothing on Mickey Mouse.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 11 Jun 2006 12:27:00 +0300

If you remember, not too long ago there was some international going ons regarding a number of cartoons that depicted the Prophet Muhammad. Despite all the ruckus, they just weren’t very good – the cartoons or the choice manner in which the Muslim community reacted to the inked attack on their precious little prophet.

For this reason I did my best to avoid bringing my crappy, crappy blog into the hullabaloo. Overall, Ari Lives in Israel is still too young a publication to take on the rapture of the millions of Muslims that live in such close proximity to our point of production. Also, I feared there might be a copyright issue with the Danish publication that originally published these offensive gems. And pissing off the Muslims is one thing but you do not – I repeat DO NOT – want to fuck with the Danes.

Oh wait, I was thinking of the Muslims – you DO NOT want to fuck with the Muslims.

Asi and Zev on the other hand are just about two of the most insensitive faggots you will ever meet. Almost every day since the world erupted in Muhammad madness, I would get a phone call from each of them, pleading, “Come on man, don’t be such a pussy! Let’s fuck with the Muslims.” They’re always trying to get me to fuck with the Muslims because they fucking hate Muslims. It’s sick how fucking racist and prejudiced they are when it comes down to it. I love the Muslims. I’m fucking crazy about them and can’t seem to get enough of them.

It’s them fucking French that piss me the fuck off. Fuck you if you’re French. I’m not scared of you. Even the fucking Poles fought with swords on horseback against Nazi tanks and planes, you fucking cheese eating surrender monkeys. But, back to the cartoons.

Asi and Zev, after they finished fucking each others asses and preying upon the young fleshy buttocks of the small boys in their respective neighborhoods, would always be trying to get me to put up the Muslim cartoons. Now, I’m a huge Simpsons fan and I fucking loved Ren & Stimpy and when it comes down to it I even get a little turned on by Sponge Bob Square Pants and Dr. Katz. But, Asi and Zev would look at these Muhammad cartoons and just start laughing their fucking asses off like it was the funniest fucking shit that they have ever seen in their fucking lives. Idiots. But, maybe I just don’t get them. Or, maybe I’m part Muslim, which would be alright with me seeing as how I just fucking love Muslims.

Finally, I caved in, like the fucking French. Though to my kike-assed credit I did hold out for months longer than those baguette eating fucks ever did. But, I acquiesced with a compromise – rather than post the cartoons themselves I would describe them, in the attempt to avoid offending my sensitive-Semitic brethrens request that their prophet not be depicted graphically. The following is a choice of three of the cartoons that set the world on fire and inspired a string of educational, informative and, most importantly, not-at-all ignorant anti-Muslim chain emails.

Starting with my favorite cartoon, it’s a black and white rendering of a cartoonist drawing a picture of Muhammad. The cartoonist, who is bearded as is his subject, is sitting on a high-backed office chair, leaning forward and hunched over his drawing desk. A light hangs on the wall just above his head, illuminating only the most significant portion of the cartoon – the cartoonists head and the almost completely drawn face of Muhammad, whose face seems to be drawn bearing no discernible signs of disrespect. It is a typical drawing of a middle-aged middle-eastern man. A white kafiyah adorns his head, complete with the cord that secures it in place just above his brow and he has a long Semitic nose that ends in a point. His eyes are wide and show great expression, that of a serious man whose mission in life is at least as great as any other leader charged with the task of caring for a tribe of myriad nomads attempting to survive in a hostile, desert environment. While the drawing within the drawing does take on a somewhat generic nature, there is a not to clear label just above his head that reads, “Muhammad.”

The cartoonist in the cartoon, by contrast, does not look nearly as confident – drops of sweat fly off his brow, a clear sign of anxious stress. With a pencil in his right hand, his left arm stretches up the left side of his drawing with his left hand curving around the upper left-hand corner in a blatant attempt to obscure the contents of his paper from any potential onlookers. He wears glasses and has a cigarette hanging from his lips – potentially an anti-Islam statement being that tobacco is forbidden in the religion. However, as any one who has spent time around Muslim men will tell you, they sure do enjoy a good smoke.

The second cartoon is mildly offensive. In this instance Mohammad is depicted as a warrior flanked by two women. Both are completely covered save their eyes, all four of which are revealed through the eye slots in the traditional burqas they wear. Mohammad is centered between the two with the trio being set against an inked green backdrop. Clothed in the robes of a warrior, in his right hand, which crosses over his chest, he firmly grasps a curved sword pointed towards the ground. His black and white beard is wild, the point of his long nose splits his mustache in two. There is a slightly discernible smile hidden behind his facial hair. His eyes, however, are blocked out by a black stripe, apropos the missing piece of cloth from the women’s dress. From atop this blinding strip, which is reminiscent of the black stripe that covers the naughty bits of women on pornographic internet sites promos, his eyebrows emerge, jumping upwards towards his turban covered cranium. Muhammad’s left arm is extended downwards as if protecting his women from whatever danger is before him, having justified his drawn sword. The oddly interesting aspect to this cartoon is that the black stripe’s pornographic allusion is carried over to the women. Their one identifying characteristic is their huge eyes, opened wide, perfectly round and with long eyelashes framing them. These are the eyes of porn stars and they are decidedly exciting, offering the viewer a glimpse of suppressed sexuality and a desire to expose their repressed sexual and creative humanity. It is also possible that they are in complete shock and/or awe of whatever it is that Muhammad has drawn his sword against. This notion is complimented by Muhammad’s slight, sly smile, one that may be accompanying thoughts of an imminent sexual encounter.

Finally, there is a cartoon that, while not very creative or intuitive, is probably the most blatant of all the offerings. The setting is heaven and, as is the case when heaven is evoked in regard to Islam, a line of still smoking suicide martyrs await their entry. Alas, the pearly gates are not pictured, but an imam stands to great them with outstretched arms. “Stop stop we ran out of virgins,” he proclaims against a backdrop of fluffy clouds.

Bummer. You would think that heaven would have an endless supply of such a resource, but then again, it really is hard to know such things. I guess sometimes blind faith is just that, blind.

It’s not a “mezu-zah” it’s a “mezu-zon’t”

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 4 Jun 2006 01:24:00 +0300

In both my previous and current apartments I removed the mezuzahs from my doorposts. For better or for worse, but really for worse, mostly every building in Israel has a mezuzah on just about every doorpost, as dictated by Jewish law. This does not apply to the bathroom because you know what you do in there. And for reasons unexplained, it does not apply to one’s bedroom, or any other room for that matter, where (dependent upon your level of sexual perversity) one partner masturbates while the other partner shits and/or pees on the other’s face – all under the divine protection of the torahnic versus contained within.

As a non-practicing, uninterested Jew the idea of having a mezuzah on any of my doorposts seems contradictory to my desire to minimize, as much as possible, religious manifestations in my personal life. It is very important that this includes the piece of parchment encased in a crappy piece of plastic (or expensive and ornate piece of judaica if you live in cap loving America) despite the fact that it comes free with the dwelling. Which leads me to my next point, the religious coercion that is a “free mezuzah.” All Jews are genetically programmed to desire free goods, but should it also be forbidden, such as ham, or undesirable, as is a mezuzah, then there is a natural quandary as which path to pursue, free or forbidden. The important point here is that in along these terms a mezuzah is equal to ham, though not as delicious, unless deep fried but then again what isn’t delicious if it’s deep fried, like chicken fried steak, okra, snickers, oreo cookies and, of course, a mezuzah with a ham parchment inscribed with the holy words of the shma prayer rolled up inside it.

Unfortunately, I am forced to report that the overwhelming majority of Israeli Jews, secular as they may be, have given in en masse to their genetic programming. The mezuzah remains possibly the single most widespread occurrence that is religious in origin. However, it seems, that the hanging, or to be more specific, the keeping up of the mezuzah has little to do with religious identification after all. Most, it seems view the ubiquitous mezuzah as little more than a good luck charm.

Now, for be it from me to scorn the disrespect of religion. If someone wants to make fun of, point out the many falsities or just plain piss on the face of Jesus, Yahweh and whoever the guy is that the Muslims worship then more power to them, or not, I really don’t care. But the point is, it seems that transforming a religious article that contains what millions of partially retarded religiously observant people consider to be the word of god into nothing more than a Semitic horse shoe, then that is the real offense to god. But hey, if god can’t take a good joke, then fuck him or her or it.

All power to the voo doo man.

Music is a force.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 29 May 2006 13:37:00 +0300

By Asi Gal

How many times have you listened to a good song and thought to yourself: “man, that thing I always wanted/needed to do? Now is the time. Why haven’t I done this before?” Well, now is one of those times for me.

You see, the blog is dying. No comments, hardly any writing and so far no big riots have started due to one of our entries. Rumors have it that Ariel Sharon’s stroke was the consequence of Ari’s posting about Taybeh beer but there are disputes on the reliability of the source of that rumor (the source being Ari, of course. And me. And the rumor had failed to spread beyond the circle of the two of us. And Zev. The two of us and Zev. Wasn’t that a band in the sixties, “The Two of Us and Zev” ? Yeah, I think they had an album titled “Shut Your Yap You Sexy Monkey.” But, I digress.)

So it’s time to take action. We posted an old FreshJewce article (www.freshjewce.com, look for it on a future website near you) just so you can see that we have plans for our satire. And that we make an effort. But where are you guys? Where’s the flag burning? Where’s the love making instead of the war making, which is much less pleasant? Or at least where’re your crazy blogs? Or if you have no writing skills, send us money so we can enlarge our circle of hate. And we need to buy some cookies.

So I’m thinking music. If only we could put huge speakers pumping out the Bee Gees or the Rocky theme (or the good vibe, homosexual stylings of The Two of Us and Zev) in the streets, then things would get going. It will be like a heroin rush – with cookies.

Just imagine it: you’re walking down the street thinking about the money you need to make ends meet when suddenly you hear Walter Murphy’s “Flight 76.” You automatically think, “Hey, why do I have to work hard and not get paid enough? It’s time I stepped up to those fat cats up in the Knesset (or Congress if you still live in cap loving America) and change some things around.” Then the tune would changes to “Eye of the Tiger,” then there would be a group of people behind you, cheering you on. You all start walking, quickly and then get into cars. Then, there’s a line of cars from wherever up to Jerusalem (or any other capital in the country you’re in). You get there, you rally and Mike Jackson is in the background shouting “Annie are you OK?!” and you shout back, ”no, we are not OK!” The fat cats come out, the ball gets rolling and world peace is eventually achieved. And you can finally afford that expensive grain bread.

The same can work with just asking a girl out.

So there, if you’re not into Michael then ensemble your own tunes. Do it any way you want. But do send us money!

And rally.
If music got me to writing this, it can no doubt change whatever country you’re in.

Birthright Israel Alumni answer the call, “Ah-lo!”

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 20 May 2006 21:52:00 +0300

FJP

Birthright Israel, the program that sends Jews aged 18-26 on an all expense paid, ten-day booze-cruise to Israel, has its share of critics. Many say that the organization’s aim, as stated on its website, that alumni “diminish the growing division between Israel and Jewish communities around the world," is an unjustified and unproven assumption. According to the website www.assume.com “an assumption is when a person makes an ass out of u and me.”

“There is little chance that a long-term relationship will develop and be sustained between the program’s alumni, Israel and the Jewish communities in the Diaspora,” says Samuel Freedman, a Columbia University journalism professor and author of Jew vs. Jew: The Struggle for the Soul of American Jewry. Freedman added that his personal feeling is that the millions of dollars used to fund Birthright would be better invested in providing education, healthcare, housing or other social services to the poverty stricken members of the Jewish community – as opposed to free hook-up tours to the youth of its more wealthy members.

Responding to the program’s critics, Charles Bronfman offers that it is already possible to see the positive results of Birthright Israel. “While it is true that not all of our alumni return to fulfill their potential as the voices of truth and warriors of Zionist myth, it is unrealistic to expect a total success rate,” says the Jewish philanthropist who co-founded Birthright Israel, along with fellow Elder of Zion Michael Steindhart.

Bronfman notes that the program has not existed long enough for a serious study of long term trends. The first planeload of potential Jewish propagandists was sent to the ancient Jewish homeland a decade ago. “However, in the short-term, we are seeing some very encouraging developments,” Bronfman excitedly claimed. “Of particular note, an overwhelming 73% of our alumni answer their cellular phones by saying ‘ah-lo.’ This use of Israeli slang is highly encouraging," he added, noting that he also answers his own phone with this perverted version of the word ‘hello.’

Elaborating upon the trend’s meaning Bronfman offered, “You have to remember that we’re talking about a relatively well-off sector of the Jewish population. As university students, just about each and every one of our alumni has a cell phone and will answer that phone about 10 to 15 times a day. Each time that happens, our alumni is making a reference to Israel. That's very powerful."

Freedman remains unconvinced and somewhat infuriated, “Answering your phone with ‘ah-lo’ is hardly a valid reference to Israel or Judaism, and actually it's just plain annoying. In fact, what we’re dealing with isn’t even a passive phenomenon because actual harm is being done. In most instances, the use of this pseudo-word pisses off anyone within earshot. I have even heard of some instances where various items including shoes and pennies were thrown at the person uttering this very stupid word.” Freedman elaborates that, “what we’re dealing with here is nascent anti-Semitism and that’s fucked up.”

On Being Yozi

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 30 Apr 2006 16:20:00 +0300

By Asi Gal

It took me a while to respond to Ari’s crying concerning his name. I was preoccupied what with writing the nerd piece while Ari was working hard proving that he is a nerd without writing a piece specifically about that topic.

So your name has a problematic pronunciation. Thanks for clearing that up in five different paragraphs. It sure is rough. Tons of Bosnian kids are shedding tears of pain over that, and dysentery. That is the troublesome pronunciation of your name and their severe, life-endangering, bloody and mucusy diarrhea. But since I am not too worried about the troubles of such Bosnian kids (hell, we just elected a prime minister who’s only goal so far has been not having a stroke) I will share why I have little to no sympathy for you.

My name, as many Jewish names, consists of two names, Asi and Yozi.

As you cry about the not-exactly-correct meaning of your name You are not Arie - a lion, you are Ari, which means bold. You ignorant, whiny, sexy idiot. Try having a name that has no meaning.

To many Americans named Bill or Biff or, at best, Chuck, not having any meaning to your name seems perfectly reasonable. Yet the Jews, not unlike the Africans, have meaning to their names. For example, Ehud means loveable. The irony is killing me.

You lived in a country full of Stanleys while you had a meaningful name. I, on the other hand, live in a country full of “my name means the strongest tree in the forest” while my own name is meaningless.

For the most part, people think Asi a nickname derived from Assaf, which means “collected.” Assaf is a beautiful name - the name of high-ranking people. Asi, on the other hand, is the name of soccer players and one drunk film maker. I am neither. Though being drunk gets me closer to the latter.

One time, in my 7th grade art class, the teacher told us to draw a representation of our names. After twenty minutes, the first of which consisted of me writing my name inside a big circle and another 19 minutes spent wondering if Arnie Becker can outwit Michael Kuzak in court, the teacher came over and immediately questioned my non-drawing. I informed her that I couldn’t draw anything since my name has no meaning. To which she offered the suggestion that I could depict roads collecting into my name, as Assaf would imply. A beautiful idea, I thought to myself. If only my name was Assaf.

The next year, another one of my teachers politely complimented me that Assaf is a beautiful name. Then impolitely queried as to why I must ruin it. My immediate response was, “Well, being a woman is a beautiful thing, why do you ruin it?” But, I kept quiet because although I am Asi and not Assaf, I am still not some ars soccer player.
In other languages my name means “lucky” (Australian) or “new bride” (Korean) or “bum” (German). I like to think that I’m a bit of all three.

As I mentioned before, my middle name is Yozi - a Romanian name. Normally, this would not constitute a problem. Many people have a middle name that had previously belonged to their grandfather or something along those lines. Usually, when you find out that someone has such a name you mock him “Hey Vladim, you dirty, Russian boy” and what not. Everyone has a good laugh, the boy cries and just maybe, to young Vladim’s probably horror, it even becomes the source of a nickname – like “Vlad” or “dirty Russian boy.”

For me, I was hit hard by the Romanian surprise on one of the first day of high school when the teacher, taking attendance, called out for a “Yozi Gal.” This is how I learned that my first name is Yozi. Asi, it turned out, was the middle name. In fact, I am Yozi Gal. No nickname, just a plain old Romanian kid called Yozi.

Immediately the loud calls of “Yozzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiii!” followed me, emitted from the mouth of every nerd in school (though, I did take great comfort in realizing that they were much nerdier than me. Like Ahab discovering a whale nut more obsessed than himself). And, in the army, where I served with the local soccer arsim, there was no escaping the name.

After many years I finally learned to accept it. Yozi is my grandfather’s name and I loved him very much. Some people even say it’s a cool name. There was this one cute girl in particular who would playfully call me Yujin, which I loved, just as one loves any meaningless American-Jewish name. Like Eugene from Brighton Beach.

And that’s me, a non-ars, somewhat nerdish boy and a Romanian name to prove it.

On the plus side, however, when I’ll be a D.J. I’ll get to call myself Yo-Z. How cool is that?

Not very. Not very.

It truly was a magical holiday for everyone but me.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 23 Apr 2006 23:43:00 +0300

Passover 5766 is now behind us and, do to the special circumstance of this year’s festival, it deserves a retrospective. A retrospective that is, from Israel.

For those who do not know it, this holiday, which centers around the complimenting foci of the elimination of leavened bread and the harboring of only unleavened bread, is one day shorter in Israel. That is to say in Israel there are seven days of Passover while in the Diaspora it’s a week plus one. Due to this fact, in Israel there is only one seder meal, while in the Diaspora there are two. The seder, of course, is the first or first and second nights of the holiday when Jewish families gather together to retell their ancestors liberation from bondage in Egypt, partake in the eating of said unleavened bread and then drive home in their Mercedes and/or reasonably priced Japanese cars. Every year it is the same exact story that is told and it never changes. A point made all the more ridiculous when you perform this ritual two nights in a row – stupid, stupid Diaspora.

The thing is that, while in the Diaspora observing the rights of this holiday are optional while the non-Jewish, or Goys as they are called in the Hebrew original, world continues to function as if God’s chosen people were not already inconvenienced enough with such a highly restrictive diet, in Israel everyone observes the traditions and God’s laws as if one might burn in hell were he not to act in direct accordance to His will.

Unlike within the Goyisha Diaspora, the true magic of Passover shines through in Israel which, as a result, allows for the real magic of Israel to shine through. Passover, referred to in the Hebrew original as Pesach, is the closest thing we have to a holiday season in this country. In preparation for our week of matzah, as the unleavened flatbread is called in the Hebrew original, everyone in the country performs a thorough cleaning. More than the average “spring cleaning” this includes home, automobile, business, street and nature – anywhere that even the tiniest morsel of leaven may be found. As you should now be imagining, the country sparkles and shines when that first day of Passover rolls around. As should be expected, when you’re goal is the national annihilation of leavened bread, or hametz as it is called in Hebrew original, it’s a task that must be undertook on a national level. And, when an entire nation pitches in you can get your country really fucking clean.

Cleanliness is, as we Jews know, next to godliness. But, we also know that it is not enough. Work may equal freedom but suffering equals salvation and, in the end, we Jews know that’s what it’s all about. So, for seven straight days, Israel exists as a completely leaven free zone, commonly referred to as the LFZ in the Hebrew original. Aside from Passover 1968, during which there was a major confusion and the LFZ was mistaken for a zone in which all leaven could take refuge, not even the non-Jewish residents and temporary citizens partake in leaven as a sign of respect of the superiority of the Jewish God over all other gods, with the one possible exception being Jesus who is often called the new and improved God in the Hebrew original.

All of this translates to every last restaurant either being closed for the holiday vacation or being opened with a Passover friendly menu. For all intents and purposes it would be preferable were all restaurants to close rather than taunt the leaven deprived citizenry with dishes that, while still being called by their regular names, do not resemble nor taste like their 51-week incarnations.

However, during this week, freedom and liberation are gloriously celebrated by every last person in Israel with the exception being the indentured servants who come from various Asian countries and care for our Jewish-Israeli elderly and build our Jewish-Israeli homes, including old age homes (ah, the circle of life). And, this creates a unique holiday atmosphere unparalleled within any other culture or society with the exception of Israel where most everyone is leaven starved, stark raving mad and overtaken with the mass consumer culture that now pervades our society as it tries to decide whether it should be more like New York City or Los Angeles.

Next year in Tel Aviv!

You don’t win friends with salad – and that’s the truth, dickfor.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 21 Apr 2006 00:57:00 +0300

By Asi Gal

People are always asking me, “Hey Asi, what’s it like being a nerd?” To which I answer, “Your momma’s a nerd! Say that again and I’ll kill you with my spork!” Then I realize that using a Simpson’s reference as part of a threat is nerdish – and so is saying ‘nerdish’. And thus, I come to accept my lot in this life.

I take comfort in knowing that many great people are also nerds - Robin Williams, Al Gore and Abe “but I love the theater” Lincoln. Of course there’s also Adolph “I always do what I’m told” Eichmann, but I have a hard time viewing him as a role model what with the glasses and all. But, the fact remains that these people have all left their mark. Well, except for Gore, who will probably be forgotten by the next US elections or possibly by the time you’re finished reading this. It’s a shame, cause I really loved his little bear dance – at least I think that was Gore.

Anyway, what many people have a hard time understanding is whether or not they themselves are nerds. For deciphering personal status I have compiled a small list that tells you whether you were a nerdy kid and thus will always be a little nerd (Or, in Karim Abdul Jabbar’s case, a giant nerd. Yes, that was a nerd’s joke).

To be certain, number one on the list is not: if you compile a list to ascertain whether you are or are not a nerd. Trust me, the fact that you’re reading this blog to begin with is already much more nerdish. That being said, here’s the list:

a) Your first and only cigarette prior to but possibly including high school was your mom’s. You smoked it alone behind your house and you felt dangerous. Then you tried again because it’s addictive.

b) You were sure that if you used the “look at the girl, then when she looks at you, you quickly look away” technique at the cute girl in the third row of your arithmetic class then eventually she will come over and talk to you. And, despite that she never did you were certain it was the girl and not the technique and still, most likely, use the same technique to this day, certain that it is a matter of time until the right girl comes along.

c) You only told fart jokes when everyone else did but yours were always a bit too much. Like when everyone else farted you farted as well but a little poo found its way into your pants. Or, the few times when you tired of your trust technique (see ‘b’ above) you would try attracting that generically cute and popular girl with a well timed fart in her face.

d) You repeatedly discovered that there are some things that only popular kids are allowed to say. Not you. You are not popular. You’re a nerd.

e) You wiped mucus on your sleeve despite the fact that your mother included a small pack of tissues in your packed lunch and/or backpack.

f) You collected trading cards but didn’t play games with them, know anything about the player/game the card represented n did you understand the point of them (with the possible exception of Garbage Pail Kids). You only traded them.

g) Sometimes, on a lazy afternoon you would go to play basketball with three other kids in the third grade. You were in the sixth. Of course, besides you, your best friend would be there. He is also an OCD Bissli Grill dismantler.

h) At class parties you would arrive with great looking shoes because, really, that was all you had going for you.

i) You would go shopping with your mom for new clothes at least until but very likely including high school. And even with, though perhaps despite, your bourgeoning masculinity, she would swing open the dressing room curtain while you were in the middle of trying on pants to both ask how they fit in the crotch and show you the matching top she found “to complete the outfit.”

j) You bought Levi’s and GAP and Benetton clothing just because all the cool kids had them. It didn’t help.

And so, if you are a complete nerd, in which case your mom still buys your clothes for you and sex, if you have it, always seems neat, you might read this list and feel that it has somewhat exposed you. You might be thinking to yourself, “I dance ok. I have good sex. Hey, I even have hair gel!”

How did I know you were a nerdy kid?

Because you still are. And, trust me, everyone knows it.

You’re still a nerd.

But the good kind.

Like Al... ummmm… I wanna say Dore?

George "The Animal" Steel

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 7 Apr 2006 22:12:00 +0300

By Ari Miller and Asi Gal

Walking down Allenby Street late on a weekend night is always an
interesting, if not annoying experience. This past Friday I was accosted by
two seemingly harmless Dutch travelers. A couple who appeared to be in their late 50's at least. They stopped me in English, my immediate thoughts were that they were lost and hoping for directions or, like most of the other
occupants of Tel Aviv's seedy underbelly, had confused me for a male
prostitute and were hoping to receive sexual favors in exchange for their recently exchanged shekels.

Sadly, seeing how the closest I have ever gotten to having sex with anything Dutch was the time I sexually molested a Dutch Hound, it was not a perverse financial transaction that they had in mind. All they wanted was directions to the beach, which I gave them, along with the additional recommendation regarding the best pizza place around that area.

After they left I contemplated our meeting (I like to contemplate. Some might say I'm a contemplateur). I wondered why, all of a sudden, I felt so nice. Eventually, I began thinking of this blog, and then I realized what it was. My blog is a window I offer people into my life. Specifically, about my life in Israel, which most often means showing the crap side of Israel (with the exception of Israeli radio attributing the Big Poppa song to the Pope on an earlier posting - look for it!). These directions that I just gave was completely different. I showed some tourists the way to something nice in Israel. And it was good to be reminded that there are nice things. Heck! I live here and, although sometimes I'm not sure why, I am aware that there are nice things.

With a new found hop to m step I headed down the road with a broad smile on my face and whistlin’ a tune to show me the way. I decided that my evening should not end with just one good deed. I would perform another, maybe three or four even. And then, as if placed before my god or god’s only son just for me, was a group of young women. They were young, most likely in high school. From afar I could tell that they were fat but it was only upon coming in closer that I could tell they also had horrible skin. There were three of them, drinking vodka – two of them from those cheap plastic cups you get when you buy a whole bottle at an all-night convenience store and the third, swigging from the bottle itself – all of them had cigarettes in hand. It was immediately obvious that I was put there at that place and at that time, perhaps giving reason to my having come to Israel in the first place, to help – dare I say it, to save – these three female youths.

As luck, or fate, would have it, I had recently been armed with a copy of god’s new testament that the Dutch couple had given me along with the promise that it would be a much more interesting read than the old testament, which I had never much cared for.

I approached them as I flipped through the book. I wanted to start with something that will grab them. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people that can naturally pinpoint a good quote without knowing much about the book in hand. I was pretty sure the main character is a preacher named Jesus or Chris. Overlooking the fact that if God wanted me to preach he would point me to a great line, I just chose one at random. My finger stopped on John 3:11, which I then repeated to them as I reached the trio.

The next thing I remember is waking up on the street corner. I stunk of the fat chick’s perfume and my mouth tasted like rotted lemons, which turned out to be the flavor of the crappy, crappy Vodka – a point easily deciphered since the empty bottle was stuck down my pants giving the impression that I have a huge penis.

Thinking of what I had been doing, who I had been with John 3:11 came back to me between the poundings in my head. It was my luck that the fatties had not stolen my copy of the New Testament, I pulled it out of the back of my pants - which answered the minor question of the uncomfortable tightness in my rear – and opened it up, quickly thumbing through for that quote. Hoping all the answers that I did seek lay within, I was in such a hurry that I just ripped out pages rather than turn them. And, with a river of individual pages of the word of god flowing around me I found it: “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, We speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness.”

“Fuck,” I thought to myself, “that's deep.” Much better than the "sorry seems to be the hardest word," that I originally meant to use - that John guy is much better than the Elton guy who I usually refer to. But, since I had yet to decipher what the former meant, I still had no idea why it led to what seemed to be an orgy of all the senses with three girls who, at best, resembled the three tenors.

And what was even less certain was, did I enjoy it?

Suck Ari.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 12 Mar 2006 00:26:00 +0200

My name is Ari. I have come to like it; but, it has been a winding road.

For the first of my life my name was pronounced with a hard ‘A,’ as in Aah-ree. It was as if my doctor was forever lurching behind an ever present nearby bush with a tongue depressor in hand just waiting for someone to hit that first syllable. Or, should that annoying duck from the Aflac commercial forget its one line, my named seems the potential blooper-in-waiting that might emerge from its dreadful bill.

To add insult to injury, there were a few folk who, for whatever reason, would pervert the already grating pronunciation to the fingernails on chalkboard variation of Ei-reeh – that is the hard ‘A’ stretched out a bit too long with the ‘ree’ overextended and shoved out through the nose.

So, with the advent of my Zionism and desire to adapt my name to how I always assumed it would be pronounced in the land that I assumed would always eventually be the place I call home, I opted for the soft ‘A,’ which would be Ah-ree. Now, saying my name could be easily instigated with a refreshing sip of a cold and delicious Fresca on hot and muggy day – Ah…ree!

Then I came to Israel and found that, the aesthetic value of the change in pronunciation aside, the whole issue was moot. Ari is not actually an Israeli name.* As I had been told the name is Hebrew and it does mean ‘lion,’ well technically speaking. The more accurate and used word/name would be Aryeh. Ari, to be certain, translates as Aryan.

Due to all this mess, when I introduce myself to an native-Israeli, Arab or Jew, my name is inevitably repeated back to me as Aryeh or Arik or Harry (an improper assumed moniker made that much less desirable due to its invariably immediate connection with this Harry Potter character who seems to be popular at the moment.)

Usually I am rather insistent regarding the proper pronunciation of my name which, more often that not, involves the uber-annoying detail of having to spell it out. Aleph-Reish-Yud. And, of course, this is as ironic as being a Jew named after the master race. I simply can not properly say or pronounce the letter ‘Reish.’ It’s the hardest letter of them all. Unlike the American ‘R,’ the sound of which originates in the back of the mouth, the sound of the Israeli pronounced ‘Reish’ originates from the top of palate with the rear of the tongue holding the sound. Sound complicated? You’re damn straight it is! I can offer up a reasonable reproduction but there is just no mistaking the fact that I’m just not the real McCoy.

Consequently, I’m left with a name that is just a Jewish-American idea of what a Jewish-Israeli name might be.

And to add further insult to the already injured, in Arabic Ari means ‘my dick.’

Fuckin’ A.

*This is not completely true as I have met two Israeli Ari’s during my half decade in Israel.

“The Jew is mightier than the sword.” Or, “I eat my pepperoni pizza on paper plates.”

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 19 Feb 2006 19:19:00 +0200

I recently received the following:

I just signed this. Please join me in getting "Paradise Now" off the
Oscars.

The Revoke the "Paradise Now" Oscar Nomination Petition is red hot,
averaging well over a thousand signatures a day, and increasing speed. The
revulsion being felt around the
world over Hollywood's nomination of "Paradise Now", a movie glorifying PLO
suicide bombers, is palpable. It is galvanizing opposition and spurring
decent people of all backgrounds to action to right this tremendous wrong.

This petition is a UNIFIER. If you have not already signed, please do so.

http://www.petitiononline.com/060201/petition.html

And please pass this on.

Thanks.
E XXXXXX
Associate Producer
Martha
MSLO Productions, Inc.
226 West 26th Street, 3rd Floor
New York, NY 10001

I quickly responded asking whether she had seen the movie? As of yet I have received no response.

This short, yet telling email forward just about sums up everything that is wrong with the American Jewish community today.

Not unlike the bogus Fuji Film mass email that circulated a few years back, there is no honor or dignity in garnering a sense of satisfaction, particularly that of being a “good Jew,” because you hit forward on your email. Especially, when this feeling is false and adds to the improper sense of belonging because you are “against” something and have mouse clicked to prove it.

I have seen this movie and I do have personal feelings about it. I found it to be one of the most beautiful, moving, touching and empathetic works of film that I have seen in some time. It was much better than Cats. It presented a window into an existence that I can hardly begin to imagine. And, as is one of the main objectives of art, it appealed to my imagination and caused me to think by doing so. This, of course, as opposed to, a documentary, which would be an attempt at representing a narrative, perceived as a truth by those people telling it. And it is part of the viewers responsibility to know what s/he is watching.

Unfortunately, responsibility regarding serious thought that includes contemplation of competing narrative (read: competing truth) seems to be way too much to ask of the average American Jew. Perhaps this is a result of the vestigial Judaism left in wake of the breakdown of the Jewish nation. “You can’t tell me what to eat, pepperoni is just too fucking delicious, but please tell me what to think when it comes to Israel – OUR precious.” Often, it seems that Israel, specifically the Jewish aversion to Palestinians and all things Muslim is one of the last universal binding components that international Jewry can share.

But Jews are smart people, so maybe it is too immature or naïve to think that such an email is circulating because Jews don’t really have the time to think about Israel and its myriad nuanced problems. I suppose the other option is that this is a calculated attack against our adversarial enemies on the other side of the proverbial Green Line. Perhaps the email should read:

Palestinian (if that is your real name)-

You have managed to thrust your narrative into the American mainstream. We Jews will be damned if we let your competing voice sully the good name of Spielberg’s Hollywood, the same Hollywood built by the hands of the hated Jew back when America wasn’t so enlightened and liberal – two more changes you can thank us for.

You are proving a worthy adversary but you will rue the day that you crossed the machine that is the American Jewish lobby. Prepare for the real battle.

Feel free to forward this message to your other terrorist, murderer, suicidal and/or homicidal friends.

So what is the answer?

Well, I have started a new petition. All I ask of you is not to sign it. Rather, go out and see Paradise Now. Then read the petition statement that is circulating via mass email, one that perhaps you have already seen, maybe even signed. Then make a decision and only then, should you lend your name to this effort.

Please feel free to pass this blog posting along (there is a little envelope icon at the bottom of the post). Better yet, if you have a blog of your own (and who doesn't these days, so I'm talking to you!) please provide a link to this posting or reproduce it or, still better, write your own posting about this petition. Thanks.

And remember, Jews don’t control the media – mass emails, blog postings and online petitions do.

“Mommy, please don’t let the man with the knife near my happy member.”

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 13 Feb 2006 00:17:00 +0200

By Asi Gal & Ari Miller

I was at a brit today. Nothing makes you want to write a blog entry more than that holy union between God, Abraham, Israel and a baby screaming as if, well, as if his penis is being cut.

Frickin’ hell! Is there anything more horrific?

For all you goy readers, women and Jewish male readers too old to remember how the ritual of Jewish male genital mutilation goes, it’s something like this. There is this baby lying in his crib, he thinks to himself, ”I wonder if it’s time for me to open my eyes. Something sure does feel cold in my down area. I wonder what tha…whoooohaaaa!”

Why couldn’t God connect with Abraham through something simpler, like a Lance Armstrong bracelet. At eight days we would come, put a bracelet on a baby and then nosh on some bagels and pickles.

At this particular festive celebration of minor surgery that may be performed on your kitchen table, the Mohel’s name was David Chick-Chack – roughly translated this means Quicky David. He’s very famous on the religious Kibbutz circuit in the center of Israel. He’s the fastest Mohel in the west. You haven’t finished saying please God save us and he’s already in his Peugeot on his way to another still fully foreskined customer.

As a non-religious Jew it is difficult for me to understand, what’s the deal with the “oh, God please save us” prayer before the Brit? Are they hoping that just seconds before the cut, God’s hand would come down and say to David, “you can stop now. I’m here. You don’t need to cut him.” David would be bummed because than he wouldn’t be able to prove how fast he is (a man has to prove how good he is at his capabilities. Must I remind you of the popularity of the spittoon back in the days of the Old West. That’s all those guys did, spit in a bucket, but by God, they did it well and in public.) But, in poor David’s case, there is nothing he could do. He gave God the option to save and God indeed saved. Hooray for God.*

But the thing that seems to me as the number one bummer is that it is with a stroke of the knife with which the male enters the Jewish nation. Yes, all of us (well, most of us) are proud to be Jews. That eons long tradition of Moses, Masada, the Six Day War, David Brenner, it’s all good. But who would actually choose to be a Jew? With all the anti-us: the persecution, pogroms, murder, guilt, gefilte fish and penis cutting – you can’t forget the penis cutting. Who needs it?

Wouldn’t you rather be a Christian sitting in Oslo who’s entire hardship is limited to an Elk obstructing his view of a fiord?

With one stroke we send the kid off to years of feeling bad about the girls he likes and wants to date were it not for his disproportionately over concern for his mom. Years of obscure ceremonies (“Vayevarech Elohim et bnei Yisrael le’eeemor” - six months of preparation for fifteen minutes of humiliation on a random Saturday morning) and a nation that still yearns to be free but considers going to Eilat as getting away from it all? Jesus. No wonder I already know that the eight-day-old baby in front of my eyes is going to circumcise his own kid. Revenge.

I wish God would save. But who can outperform David Chick-Chack? He really is that fast and with a 97% success rate.

Perhaps the best solution would be to give the child the possibility to choose. At age thirteen, instead of reading a sermon about David and his morning surprise (I understand I was nothing more than your boy-toy but why did you take all the hair?) the kid makes the decision himself if he wants his nippy knicked. But I know that then the percentage of those that choose to be Jews would be around five. ”No, I still can’t come over to play Playstation. I need to ice my dick. Yeah, at least two more weeks.”

It is true that Muslims boys choose to do it but they are a people who also find it relatively easy to convince its members that suicide by explosion is the way to go.

Thus I return to my previous suggestion - a Lance Armstrong bracelet. That way not only will the kid choose Jewish but will undoubtedly be excited about wanting to become a Jew. What kid would choose to be different? The main problem will be when dealers start selling counterfeit Jew bracelets for half price. But kids have a sixth sense for such things and would be able to instinctively identify the real one. Sort of like the dorky kids who wore Livi’s jeans. Close but not cool. But everyone’s penis stays intact, and isn’t that really better than imposing the egalitarian solution of imposing female genital mutilation on Jewish girl babies?

P.S. Instead of long beards, black hats and foul body odor, a very committed Jew could be identified as the one who buys the original Jew bracelet – as opposed to the knock off - for half price. Nothing says Jewish better than jewing down a Jew for the quintessential Jewish symbol.

P.P.S. If you do decide on giving your kid a circumcision, no matter if it’s because you adhere to Jewish mythology over Greek mythology or because you believe in outdated superstition under the guise of it being “the word of god” or because your main source of medical knowledge is limited to “let the leeches suck it out” or “a cut penis is a clean penis”, let a doctor do it. And, hell, have them use some anesthesia. Hopefully, that will be at least one step in the direction away from therapy. Though obviously therapy will eventually come. He’s a Jew. But, at least he’ll only have to go back to day number nine.

*But really, Hooray for Boobies. After all, this whole circumcision thing was god’s crappy idea to begin with, and I’m supposed to get all excited because all of a sudden god has some type of revelation. God’s punk ass had better be reading this blog and, in addition to leaving a comment (and not an anonymous comment), realize that saving one little pecker just isn’t going to cut it when so many have already been cut in his name. Fucking pervert.

For further reading on the subject: Metzitzah b'peh

“A cap is worth a thousand words.” Or, “How to spot a North American resident of the United States of American.”

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 22 Jan 2006 17:57:00 +0200

By Asi Gal

Ok, I want to talk about America. One of my best friends, roommate of nearly two years and heterosexual, male soul mate is an American living in Israel. (I'm sure most of you know who he is). On occasion, he has the tendency to yearn for American items - including American women, who swallow, according to him. (On the other hand they also believe in Jesus as their savior, which just goes to show that you’ve got to take the good along with the bad). Being that he is an American makes it difficult for me to refer to him as a soul mate of any sort seeing how he's an idiot.

Americans are pretty dumb - that's the whole truth in a nutshell. They’re funny but they’re dumb. Of course, us Israelis are much smarter since we can all drive tanks and wear ribbons of different colors to express our range of political opinions: orange - you're a crazy fascist, blue - that you're ravishingly gay and red - that you are polite on the road. Yeah, no one wears the red one. Usually, people that try to hand out the red one also wear blue; and, we know what they are.

But I am not trying to look down on Americans. God knows I wish to be in the States and have as many Twinkies as I can eat during a spell of the munchies. The only reason I feel obliged to put Americans down is because of their numerous columns about Israel and Israelis. True that those columns are usually on websites which only dorks read, but seeing how all those dorks are Americans the vicious circle continues and it's about to devour all the Krembo (the Israeli Ding Dong or Trip Top or Munushy or what ever dumb name they’ve got there for a cookie topped with whipped cream then covered with chocolate. You see: krem=cream, bo=inside it. All together that equals Krembo. Hebrew food is logical. I doubt that the dogs of the devil are soft, fluffy and filled with cream).

First of all Americans, where do you come from? Your answer is probably, "from America. I'm an American". Yeah? Are you from Panama? Cause that's America too. And Canada? They're even bigger than you are! Sure they're as funny as the stick you have left after finishing your Popsicle. But, hey, at least they're not pretentious.

Second, in case anyone's wondering, here's how you can spot Americans. Ask them to call you later on. When they do, if they say, "Hi it's Ami Riller", you know it's an American. Why do I need your last name? Do we need to be formal when you just want to know how much I am selling my Subaru for? (Subaru: a sensible, Japanese car. Americans should know that there are other cars in the world besides cars that could fit a hearse inside them. Yes, being an Israeli, I still believe that all Americans drive Cadillacs (Escalades, from what I’ve seen on the television), money rolls on the ground and people won't even move you to the sidewalk if you die in the middle of the street. At most they'll poke you with a stick emblazoned with a Nike logo).

Another way to spot an American is that they wear baseball caps. I have absolutely no idea why. You're inside the house. It's not even sunny. Your hair…well, it does have the shape of a dying turtle, but that's only because of the stupid cap. My only guess is that it's meant to cover your brain from cooling off too much so that the next time someone asks you where you're from you won't answer, “I live above Mexico. I am an under-Canadian.”

And finally, the food. My roommate who writes a blog and likes saying fuck a lot (Sometimes in the most erroneous of places, "Man I just saw your grandma. Man, is she a fuckin' grandma!" Although true, grossly inappropriate. Sometimes, he just uses fuck instead of words, "I am so hungry I could fuckin'!" but he does make a mean Matzo ball, so all is forgiven.) wrote about the chemicals of the beloved Israeli drink- Petel. A colory drink. We all get hooked on it around kindergarten. I once sucked a weewee for Petel - but that's irrelevant (best Petel I ever had).

As a response, I thought of writing about American food. But I just couldn't come up with anything which would be completely appropriate so here's something instead: Pop Tarts, Lucky Charms, Devil Dogs, Twinkies, Caramellos, E.L. Fudge, Doritos (Cool Ranch and all others), Kool Aid, Twizzlers and the list goes on. It's all crap. Delicious, delicious McCrap. It's like there was a war and chemicals had to find a place to rendezvous, so they took refuge in a 7-11 inside the food. The slogan for all American food should be, "You can taste the lack of quality" (but you'll gulp it down. You cap wearing morons).

I'm just happy the north won. At least eating Aunt Jemima’s pancakes isn't racist. And if the Negros say it is, learn from us. Run them over with a tank.

Asi is a nerd. He grew up, lives, works and studies in the greater Tel Aviv area. Most recently he has started his third BA, this one in social work. The first, which he did not complete was in biology; the second, which he did finish, was in history and English literature. When he grows up, Asi is very much looking forward to being an MA student. God speed little doodle.

You can’t say that on television. A blog is not television.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 15 Jan 2006 17:47:00 +0200

I love my place of employment. A place where the employees are, more or less, split along two lines: Russian and not-Russian. For the most part, the Russians are right-wingers and the not-Russians are not, which is to say they are mostly left-wingers with a few not-Russians occupying middle ground, on the Israeli political spectrum. I am the lone American.

As such, it seems that I unwittingly serve as the testing grounds for everyone’s English and concepts of what is America and American culture. That means I might be minding my own business or headed towards a table with numerous plates, bowls, cups and carafes precariously perched on my arms with my hands grasping what they can, when a not-Russian bartender will yell at me, from out of no where, “What’s up my nigger?”

This leads me to my main point, Israelis have no concept as to what constitutes American racism. In fact, I would wager that they are so obsessed with America and its culture that they aggressively consume it in copious quantities, through the media and hearsay, that they are left with few, if any, realistic bearings as to the subtle nuances needed to exist within the dubious realm that is casual racism.

The other night I was faced with the proof testifying just how horrible the situation has become. A Russian dishwasher was asking me about America, its the different cities and how many “niggerim” are in each and how big a problem they constitute at each locale. I thought to point out to him that one does not say “niggerim,” which is the epithet nigger perverted to plural using Hebrew syntax. “It’s ‘niggah-rim,’” I thought to explain, quickly deciding against it on the assumption that the subtlety would be lost.

I simply pointed out that I could not really speak for those places where I am not from and, in any case, my experience within the black community was severely limited having grown up in a white, Jewish suburb where all the maids were Hispanic. It’s a shame that it wasn’t the “spicim” he was after because then I could have had something to contribute.

Shortly after, the Russian dishwasher caught me again. “It’s true that the ‘niggerim’ in America don’t want to work?” he asked. ‘Not in my experience,” I answered. With the truth of the matter being that I have only worked with one black person and she, asides from being a fine worker, called me “her niggah,” which, as she pointed out, “is a good thing when a black person calls a white person niggah.”

I asked the Russian dishwasher about the source of his information. Predictably, he answered from the TV and newspapers. It is safe to say that he is not a faithful viewer of Fox News since that channel does not broadcast in Russian (the Russian dishwasher does not speak English and the two of us converse in less-than-fluent Hebrew). Therefore, there is little chance that his TV and newspaper sources are either fair or balanced.

Again, I was cornered – this time as I mopped the floor. “The niggerim in America are angry and easily excitable,” the Russian dishwasher offered as a sort-of question. ‘Especially when you call them niggerim,” I replied, the sarcasm lost to my own dismay. “I don’t like niggerim,” was the Russian dishwashers response. “They don’t like Russians,” I uttered, that having been the first thing to come to mind. It didn’t seem to phase him.

He had already professed his intense dislike for them, so why should it matter anything at all if they don’t like him either?

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 11 Jan 2006 02:30:00 +0200

Fucking hippy

WE DON’T NEED NO WATER, LET THE MOTHER FUCKER BURN. water would be nice, please send some quickly.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 7 Jan 2006 20:43:00 +0200

Sad times prevail in Israel these days. If it weren’t enough that we have been occupying another people for the past four decades, perpetuate an apartheid through this illegal colonization (so deemed by the Israeli courts), live with one of the world’s largest gaps between rich and poor and suffer from having no separation between church and state, now our Prime Minister is precariously close to death.

Perhaps the souls of all those civilians massacred at Sabra and Shatilla or the myriad Palestinian bystanders murdered as a result of Israel’s targeted assassination policy might not agree with me but it seems that Sharon should have taken more time off – especially after his first stroke. Look at W. for instance, all play and no work has left him as happy as a kid in a candy store. Of course by kid I mean the leader of the strongest and most influential nation in the world and by candy store I mean nuclear arsenal with hundreds of thousands of troops at his disposal and nearly three hundred million citizens who knowingly nod at their televisions while grunting, “Uh, Ok.”

It’s not that I’m saying that W. should fall gravely ill but I have no way to finish this sentence.

Once again Israelis are glued to their TV sets or their radios or their newspapers hoping to be the first within their group of friends to hear that the Prime Minister has passed or recovered or become a vegetable or whatever so that they can have that artificial feeling of empowerment one gets from being remembered as having told the others. At times like this the cell phone companies are very prosperous.

What I find most ironic is that while I have received numerous SMS/text messages informing me of Sharon’s little blood clot I have never received even one updating me as to how many Palestinian women and children were killed on any given day by the State of Israel in the name of all Jews everywhere – which includes me, I’m disgraced to say.*

It is true that the cell phone networks become overloaded when Jewish women and children are murdered by Palestinian terrorists but, as most Israelis will tell you, Jews are worth more than Palestinians. A point to which the cell phone companies can attest since Jews dying from Palestinian terrorism is much more profitable than Palestinians dying from Jewish terrorism.

So, finally Sharon’s holed up getting that much needed R&R that he needs and deserves; and, as such, I’m finally happy for him. Sharon has led an exhausting and evil life watching over and running an extensive, multi-tiered colonial enterprise, having run his very own war by lying to his Prime Minister and nation, overseeing various shady if not illegal land deals at home and abroad and, according to at least one British newspaper, biting the heads off Palestinian babies. So rest well and long my obese delicate flower because burning in hell for time eternal is bound to be your biggest challenge yet.

*But, hey, I make a difference through blogging.**

**Ha, ha, ha, ha.

A few nights ago I was invited to a Sium.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 24 Dec 2005 13:48:00 +0200

By Zev Forman

Last week I attended a sium, a party for finishing the studying of a section of Mishna. I was excited at the prospect of there being, not only Jewish learning, prayer and religious coercion, but that I would have to wear one of those silly little Jewish hats – you know, the kind that makes my head (and possibly yours) look pointy. However, being that I am quite fond of the short, little guy in whose honor we were celebrating (not Jesus), I put my worries away, took my yalmurkah out and headed out.

The “party,” a term I use loosely given the absence of strippers, was held at Norman’s, a meat restaurant well known within the Jerusalem Anglo community. As a vegetarian, my prospects of a filling and enjoyable meal were very decidedly low. But, I have attended many meals with meat eaters as the centerpieces and I am pretty tolerant of my carnivorous brothers and sisters. Thus, I didn’t think that the meat eating would affect me, yet for the past three days, it has been my all consuming thought.

First, I need to explain a few things about Norman’s. This is an establishment in the middle of Jerusalem (located on Emek Refaim St.) that no self-respecting Israeli has ever stepped foot into – with the possible exception being the few Arabs that work in the kitchen (shhh, don’t tell the right-wing crowd of diners who frequent the place!). The clientele at Norman’s is exclusively American and almost exclusively religious. As I mentioned, Norman’s is famous, and the delightful treat that made them so is something called the “Kilo Burger”. Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like.

For all of you American readers who are not sure what a Kilo is, let me explain in terms that you might understand. It is a fuck load of meat. The delectable burgers that we all love, in theory only, from McyD’s are called “quarter pounders”. There are 2.2 pounds in a kilo, which means that the Kilo burger is about 8.5 “quarter pounders”. If you are a vegetarian, let me explain in terms that you too might understand. There are 8 “eighths” in an ounce – ok, listen carefully hippy, there are 16 ounces in a pound. That means there are 260 “eighths” in one of these burgers. And, that is a lot of fucking dope.

Like I said earlier, it is not the eating of meat per say that offends me. It is the decadence of it all that I find totally disgusting. I don’t fully understand how stuffing more food into your mouth than your body can possibly handle translates to something manly or fun. Maybe if I opened a restaurant that had rulers on the tables so that all the male patrons could simply measure their manliness - without the accompanying stomach cramps and vomiting - it would be really successful.

The kilo burger, to me, is the manifestation of everything American that really pisses me off. It is the SUV of foods. This is Wal-Mart and Abu-Ghraib; nuclear proliferation and drilling for oil in Alaska. This is the mentality that nothing in the world matters but us. I’m just not sure how any human being can think that such waste is ok while others are starving. No, fuck that, even if people where not starving this excess would be offensive. I hate drawing clear cut distinctions like good and evil the way that our brilliant, American commander and chief does, but, when it comes down to it, the only way I see it is that the people who partake in this devilish delicacy are evil. I’d go so far as to put them on the same level as the Nazis, but even Hitler was a vegetarian.

Finally, the fact that the overwhelming majority of Norman’s patrons are religious Americans, drawn in by this gigantic burger of death, teaches me something about Judaism. After the meal, everyone at the sium recited the grace after the meal. Amongst other hilarious anomalies, the text includes, “Blessed are you, our God…who sustains the entire world through his goodness with grace, kindness, and compassion… He benefits all and provides food for all his creatures that he has created.” Don’t these seemingly pious people fucking get the hypocrisy they practice through the immoral act of eating 2.2 pounds of meat for diner when they pass their starving and homeless brothers and sisters (let’s not forget that the Jewish state has Jewish homeless) begging for food outside of Norman’s. It is because they are gluttonousness sinners.

I hope that everyone who has ever eaten a Kilo burger burns eternally in Hell.