Aliyah is gonna rule.

But here's the catch:

Turns out I won't be eligible for all these services offered on the plane, with representatives from the Ministry of Interior and the Misrad Klita helping me with all my paperwork and shit. It turns out that I'll have to spend my first several weeks in Israel going from office to office, waiting in line every day for hours just to talk to someone who'll probably tell me "oh, I'm not the one who deals with that, you'll have to go to such and such office at the other end of the world, and then come back here, stand in line for several more hours, get a few veins in your legs and feet to swell up, and we'll go over this again."

That's right. I'll be shuffling my way through bureaucratic bullshit as a nice, heartfelt "welcome to Israel" present. God! Where's my father when I need him? Oh right, he'll be back here in Canada, waiting for his turn to go through this bureaucratic bullshit once he decides to make Aliyah, too.

I should get all the Israeli returning minors to gather up and protest. New olim, who haven't been to Israel for one lousy day in their lives, have more services and privileges than me. Why? It doesn't make any sense! Besides, I'm a returning MINOR, implying the fact that it wasn't my choice to leave Israel in the first place. So why should I be punished for it?

Screw all of you. I'm an Israeli and I have my blood and my birth certificate to prove it, so shove it!

Peace, love and NBN are a bunch of liars.

This past weekend, I was at a friend's wedding...

What can I say?

With all the respect I have for my friend, I would not wish this on anybody. However, everybody I saw kept wishing it for me: "To your wedding, soon!" they said.

Why, dude? Why would I wanna go through a ceremony that blatantly refers to me as a property being handed down from my father to my "husband"? Why would I wanna later be surrounded by old farts, fat housewives, whiny brats, slutty pre-teens, promiscuous young adults, stuffing their faces with undercooked meat, dried out bread, and cakes with more sugar than sugar canes? Why would I wanna suffer through a whole evening/night of them clumsily dancing around to shitty music that makes my ears bleed?

During the official ceremony (with the rings and all), the Rabbi read out the contract, most of which was what the husband owes his wife should they ever dissolve the marriage. I turned to my mom and whispered, "so basically, a wedding is one big preparatory ceremony for a divorce?"

In today's hypocritical society, it is no wonder why the divorce rate is on the rise. Yet people are still getting married. I say, let them fall in love. Let them get married. Let them fuck their lives up and the lives of their children by getting a divorce. Just don't wish it on me.

My former boss once told me, "You shouldn't be so bitter about marriage. Look at my daughter. She used to be just like you, and today, she's 40 and still not married." I say, good for her! Did he even bother to ask her if she's happy? I know I'm happy being single, and I will remain single as long as I fucking wish.

And besides, even if I were to get married, Lord know I would NEVER do it the traditional way. I would probably wear a suit instead of a dress. I would order pizza and no caters. Anybody who wants to eat can help themselves, for fuck's sake. I would get a rabbi who would not lecture me on how to serve my life partner and raise my family (for that I'll probably need a Reform rabbi... ughhhh). The music would go as follows: One song in Moroccan Arabic to make my parents happy, and the rest would be death metal and riot grrrl. I would probably also want to play a couple of songs live wearing my punk pants and a bra with the word "DYKE" written in big, black letters on my chest. And if anybody wants to congratulate me, they should say "I wish you two lots of raw, unapologetic, steaming hot sex." I say, if it's my special day, I'll make sure it's fucking mine, and I'll make sure it's fucking special.

Peace, love and in the words of the wise (fictional character) Brian Kinney "fuck weddings, fuck rituals and fuck this swing set."

My flight to Israel was officially confirmed last week. July 19, I'm outta here.

I can hardly believe it. I've lived here for 15 years and now it's all over. What's even harder for me to believe is that besides my dog and my parents, I don't think I'll miss anything or anybody else. Not that it was all bad, because I definitely have some awesome memories, but that's all it is. Memories. Now it's all empty and meaningless. After 15 years, I still feel like an outsider, like a complete stranger, like I never belonged here in the first place.

I can't compare any of it to Israel because I bet that this "outsider" feeling won't disappear the minute I land. But it's different still. People in Israel are real, blunt, in your face type people. Painfully honest. And I can definitely relate to that. I can also relate to the weather in Israel. FUCK THIS SHITTY CANADIAN WEATHER! I am so fucking happy I'll never have to suffer through another ice storm, snow storm, a month-long rainy, gray, shitty, coldass period. What's with the rain dammit? I swear on my ex-bf sweetass cock, what is the fucking matter with this cloudy bullshit? It's been two weeks and the skies are still crying bloody murder.

In Israel, the only way I'll get soaked is with my own sweat. No rain, no snow, no steaming pile of bullshit, and no potholes!

Speaking of pot... A few days ago my friend asked me if I wouldn't wanna get laid before I leave Canada (as if there is a shortage of ass in Israel). I said I would have preferred to get busy with a chick, but anyways... The one thing I do wanna do (and will) is get stoned. Pot in Israel is expensive as hell. Depending on the strain, a gram can cost from 100 to 120 shekels (equivalent to over 30 bucks). So the illegal drug of choice in Israel is Hash which tastes like it sounds (ass).

So that same friend that offered me some ass, is now giving me a phallic bong instead. And considering the fact that toking makes me come, it's not by a long shot that I can safely say I got laid before going to Israel.

 

On a related note, here is how weed can save the world:

If Ahmadinejad got stoned, he wouldn't be so angry all the time. He would say: "Who needs nuclear weapons? Building one is so complicated anyways. And why make such a big deal about the Zionist state? It's a little piece of land no bigger than Vancouver island. The Palestinians should really kick back and smoke some ganja."

Lord knows if weed was part of the mainstream economy, it could work wonders. And considering it makes people more open and social, maybe Darfur wouldn't be in such deep shit. The only thing that people would fight about is who will be the first to save these people. And Harper would not be so anally conservative, and neither would Bush. They would say "Gay people wanna get married? Approved! Let's get in drag and party on with them!"

 

But because governments are so anal and so fucking sober, the marriage institution is considered sacred, as opposed to the reality of it. Marriage is a joke, it's an out and out lie. Spouses cheat all the motherfucking time, they get divorced more often than not, and the only kind of purity that the white dress is representing is pure bullshit. There is absolutely nothing sacred about it.

And because Ahmadinejad has never heard of Gillette Fusion or of how he's just as full of shit as the government he is condemning (the U.S.), he decided to try and pass a dress code that says that all Jews living in Iran must wear a yellow swatch and all Christians must wear a red one.

It amazed me how nobody's heard of that and how the only newspaper that covered it so far was the National Post.

Can you smell that? You know what that is? It's the smell of six million dead Jews coming back to haunt your sorry asses. Can you hear that? It's the voices of six million Jewish victims of the Holocaust screaming bloody murder.

And this is another one of the million and one reasons of why I'm moving to Israel. As hazardous as that place can be, at least I know that I can wear a bigass Star of David not as a symbol of shame but of pride. And all Jews know that diplomacy doesn't work. Everyone is out to get us, and everyone hates out guts whether they say it to our face or behind our backs. Israel is the only place in the world where I don't need to pull my hair forward to cover my Magen David earrings. It's the only place where I can speak Hebrew with anyone as loud as I want without getting nasty looks.

Pride is the worse of the seven deadly sins. And I am so fucking proud! Bring on the spiky wheel!

Peace, love and here's a joint to chill out, and here's gift certificate for a spa treatment to clean your nasty ass and an enema to suck all the shit out of you, Iranian president.

My old man is going to Israel tomorrow. He's staying there for a couple of weeks or so.

Then, he and my mom will probably go on a cruise for their anniversary.

I'm staying here all this time doing either of the following:

1) Getting my parents' anniversary gift ready (which I will not describe in case my parents read this)

2) Getting stoned (whoops...)

3) Shitall

You know how most people don't like their parents or outright hate them? I wonder if anyone thinks about that before having a kid. Mostly it's the parents' fault because they really are lousy parents. But I can't imagine not liking my parents, much less hating them.

I don't know if it's society or whatever but it's becoming rather trendy to bitch about your folks. "My parents are the worse, they won't let me go out and get drunk and drive home with a couple of other drunk dudes and fuck my silly little ass off with no rubbers."

Or my all-time favorite: "I hate my mom, she always tells me what to wear." (Guilty, I have said that once or twice, minus the "H" word. Considering my sense of fashion, or lack thereof, I don't blame her).

So whenever I imply the fact that I like my parents, and in fact have a great respect for them, and practically owe them my life, others seem to have a lot of trouble understanding that. Probably just like I'm having trouble understanding their resentment for their folks.

In any case, here I am, a little over two months before my Aliyah, wondering if I'll have any hair left after my first few weeks of independence (helplessness) or if I'll tear it all out. The fact that I'm 23 has nothing to do with it. I'm an only child and am spoiled rotten.

Best case scenario, I get too busy trying to get a job and an apartment and getting adjusted to Israeli society to even be thinking about how helpless I am without having my mom cooking for me and my dad taking care of all the bureaucratic and financial shit I don't understand anyways. Taking my grandmother's cooking into account, I'll probably forget about my mom's cooking faster than you can say "couscous."

But that's obviously besides the fact that I will miss them terribly nonetheless. So my lack of a sense of fashion, coupled with my inability to handle kitchen appliances may result in disaster.

Gotta love being spoiled!

Peace, love, and falling back on concrete.

- Hey, c'est l'fun so. Y engage des chinois pi'ils apprennent meme po a parler l'francais. C'est so qui arrive quant on vit dans des villes cosmopolitaines...

- On dit "cosmopolite"!

- Bon l'cerveau!

***

- Salut Jean-Charles!

- Oh, ta yeule...

***

- Les chares loues Charles Louis.

- Ouais, louer un char, lo, c'est combien?

- Vehicule de promenade?

- "Vehicule de promenade." Eh, non, non, c'est jus'pour le parker pi le r'garder.

- Quoi?

- Pi vender tu aussi des chaise pliantes, lo, qu'on peut s'assoir pi r'garder?

- Euh...

- Pi vender tu aussi du popcorn?

***

- Music en tue-tete... Euh, Music en t'es-tu?

- Sont combien tes guitares, lo?

- Une guitare pour vous accompagner?

- Non, 'coute-ben, lo, c'est po pour aller prendre une marche avec. C'est pour jouer. Jouer de la guitare. Zingaling, zingaling-aling. OK? Bon.

- On a une guitar en ce moment pour 79 dollars...

- Ouais, mais, a 80 piaces, lo, les accords, sont-tu toute dessus?

- Oui, mais monsieur, les accords, c'est vous qui les faites.

- Eh, che ben! Eh, t'es po serieus, toe lo! Moi j'voulais une guitare qui joue tout seule pi retourne dan sa boite apres.

***

- C'est combien une guitare?

- Guitare acoustique or guitare classique?

- C'est quoi so?

- Une guitare acoustique c'est une guitare d'accompagnement, ca se joue avec un pic.

- Pi l'autre elle se joue avec une pelle, j'suppose?

- Pardon?

- Laisse faire... *click* C'est po m'creuser une cave que j'veus, c'est jouer d'la guitare.

***

- Si vous achetez la guitare avec un etuis, on va vous donner une methode.

- Bon, ca prend une methode pour mettre une guitare dans l'etuis?

- Non, j'veux dire une methode pour jouer a la guitare. On a une serie ici qui est ben ben l'fun. Il y a le livre "Je commence a la guitare."

- Oh, c'est cute, so!

- Puis si vous etes debutant, lo, tres tres debutant, il y a le livre qui precede "Je commence a commencer la guitare."

- He, ca tombe bien, j'ai deux ans et d'mi.

- Puis il ya le livre qui est un peu plus avancer "Je commence a maitriser la guitare."

- Ouais, c'est bon, so. J'vais y prendre toute, j'pense. Pi avez vous aussi le livre quand on joue pu "Je commence a etre ecoeure d'la guitar"? He, j'ai achete un livre la s'maine passee, ca s'appelle "Je commence a raccrocher l'telephone." Chu rendu po mal bon, ecoute ben so. *click* He, s'rait bon a une garderie, lui. Heeeeeeee.

***

Conseil du jour: souris a chaque personne que tu rencontre sur la rue. Et tu vas voir, a un moment donne, il va avoir quelqu'un qui va te tapper la yeule. 

 

Credits: Francois Perusse

Today is Yom Hazikaron - the day for the commemoration of Israel's fallen soldiers and civilians. Tomorrow (that is, starting this evening right before sunset) is Yom Ha'atzmaut - Israel's Independence Day. Of course, the dates go according to the Jewish calendar, and I don't know the dates by heart, and I should be ashamed. But moving on...

Last night, I went to a Yom Hazikaron ceremony with my parents. My mom and her sister had the honor of placing one of the bouquets (or whatever you call it) on the stage in memory of Israel's fallen soldiers, one of which was my uncle (my mom's brother).

My uncle, Victor Arzouan, whom I called dod Victor, was serving in the IDF's Modi'in (Some secret intelligence department) and he wasn't allowed to talk about it, not even with his family. My grandfather, however, had a feeling that his son was hiding something, and told him that whatever it is he's doing, to be very careful.

Some time later in 1987, my uncle was supposed to come home for the holidays of Rosh Hashana and Sukkot, but he never made it.

I was five at the time. I remember waking up at 2 a.m. because of a loud and terrifying pounding at the door. My parents opened the door and there stood two soldiers. They asked my mother if she was Victor's sister, she said yes, and they delivered the news. My uncle was shot in the Gaza strip by a Palestinian. It turns out my uncle wasn't on any mission. Somehow, he found out one of his colleagues was in trouble. When he went after him, he sealed his fate. He was 27 (ironically).

Again, I was only five, so none of it made too much sense. My family members explained to me that my uncle was hit by a bullet. But the word "bullet" in Hebrew (kadur) also means "ball." So basically, in my five-year-old mind, it was the time of the Jewish holidays, and on top of that it was also my birthday, but instead of celebrating, my family is crying because someone shot a soccer ball into my uncle's chest.

While explaining the story to my then two-year-old cousin, this is basically what I told him. When you play with a ball, you may have fun, but you may also die. When my mom overheard our conversation, she asked one of her brothers to explain to us what a bullet was. So he took us to my grandparents room and showed us different size bullets.

Today I don't remember much about my uncle. Most of what I know, I learned from my parents. But from what I know, it appears my uncle and I have very much in common. I was told that he was very artistic, he loved animals, and he was very quiet and introverted. We would have gotten along quite nicely.

My cousins and uncles living in Israel are now serving in the army, some sporadically, some permanently. I don't suppose any of them are working for Modi'in, but then again, I wouldn't know. What I do know is that my uncle's shadow is cast over all of them, and any of them, at any given moment, can potentially meet the same untimely fate.

Peace, love, and R.I.P dod Victor.

P.S. - My family and I have a space dedicated to my uncle. The link is in my "Blogs" list.