Second First Impressions

Now that I’ve unpacked my suitcases (even the one with my dissertation materials), got organized and acclimated to local time and weather, I’ve begun paying attention to native ways beyond food, drink, and smoke options, although most of my observations are so far from Tel Aviv, so things elsewhere in the country might be quite different. But a few things here have caught my attention as they are different from either New York or my prior expectations.

First, very very few women wear dresses or skirts, despite or maybe because of declarations of some local religious authorities that “women should not wear pants even when alone” as it is immodest and sacrilegious. Pants, shorts, capris, and of course jeans seem to be the bottoms of choice for local women regardless of age. I do wonder whether it is a way – not necessarily completely conscious – to manifest their secular-ness. Or is it because most women serve in the army where skirts are not an option? Whatever the real reason, a non-pants wearing woman is likely to be either religious or a foreigner. I feel both very foreign and very “Jewish” in my summer skirts and dresses, although of course the truly religious immediately recognize my above-the-knee and sleeveless outfits as decidedly different from theirs and just as immodest as pants.

If less “traditional” in dress, it seems to me – although my evidence is based entirely on naked-eye observations – that local women marry and have children earlier than their counterparts in New York. CAG and I have been to a few public events in the past few days and there were a *ton* of people younger than us with children, often more than one per family and who seem to be older than children of our friends in New York. In fact, strollers were a *huge* nuisance! I am only assuming these couples are married: I don’t quite understand yet the local customs regarding wedding rings. There does not seem to be a pattern: some wear them on their right hand, others – on the left; sometimes only one person in a couple has the ring; and the rings themselves seem to look different from what I’m used to seeing in NY, but again there’s no discernible pattern. As a result, my own wedding ring (not ostentatious but it won’t be missed or misinterpreted on the other side of the Ocean) is probably just another piece of jewelry in the eyes of the natives. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have been asked on a date while watching the Independence Day Air Show (although it mostly likely would have been just a hookup, had I agreed).

And speaking of hookups: the local Russian-language newspaper that I picked up a few days ago has a sizable “personals” section where I saw several ads by men – at least one of whom was married – looking for “discreet” relationships and/or willing to offer “[financial] support.” I don’t really read personals back home, but I don’t think solicitations are that open there.

And my Russian compatriots are indeed ubiquitous here, a rare trip outside goes without hearing my native tongue. I of course knew that over a million Russian Jews came here in the 1980s-1990s, but I was under the impression that Tel Aviv was expensive for them, as it is for many other newcomers. But I must have been mistaken, as I bump into them wherever I go: supermarket, mall, promenade, and especially the beach; basically every sixth or seventh person on the street is a Russian-speaker. Many local websites (the bus company or cable providers) have Russian language websites, there are Russian food products in the store (Baltika no. 9 – the strong and very tasty beer – and three kinds of pel’meni – Russian meat dumplings – are among our favorites), and many businesses, like the one in the picture below (which reads: "Always fresh, tasty, cheap"), have signs in Russian. Not to mention at least half a dozen of television channels – produced both locally and in Moscow – that the local cable company carries.



As a result, I’ve been having a minor case of identity crisis. Because of all the exposure to the mother language, which I haven’t had to the same degree in almost eleven years, I am again dreaming in Russian. A couple of times I woke up as if from a nightmare, but then realized that my distress came from dreaming in a different language than I’m used to. English is my language of choice when I need to communicate with the locals, which I try to avoid as much as I can for I do feel embarrassed and inferior because I do not speak Hebrew. But since I don’t have a choice (speaking Russian isn’t really an option for me for a variety of reasons), I’ve come to accept that for the next three months I will be playing the role of a “stupid American girl” who sometimes buys a Russian newspaper. I do wonder whether I might encounter pressure to at least try to learn some basic vocabulary. Not so much because “in Rome do like Romans,” but because as every self-respecting Jew I need – and ought to want to – make an aliyah, learn the language of my people, and become an Israeli. Even though some academics claim that Zionism is no more (I personally think this is an acute case of the Ivory Tower syndrome or severe projection on the part of some Israeli intellectuals), I have already met a few people who upon discovering that CAG and I were Jews asked us whether (but probably meaning "when") we were going to make aliyah or those who complained that some new olim (immigrants), particularly from the former Soviet Union, did not want to learn the language and to assimilate. But this pressure also might come from within: I now understand the strong emotional connection to Israel some diaspora Jews have, and I have experienced it myself. Sometimes I do want to rid myself of my paleness, bad posture, and fear of pogroms after sporting events (like big football games in that Midwestern town I frequent) and be one of them – fit, tan, and speaking this beautiful though incomprehensible language.

The one thing that definitely bothers me about Tel Avivians is their rudeness and pushiness, especially noticeable on the sidewalks (New Yorkers do not stand a chance against them). I am relived to report that this is not only my personal perception: in a recent local opinion poll, over 60 percent of respondents named impudence and impatience the most distinctive features of the Israeli national character. In my opinion, it is a remnant of the 2,000-year exile experience, not chalutz fortitude. But as much as I might not want to, this is an easy thing to emulate, and maybe a necessary one not to be bulldozed over by the incoming pedestrian traffic. I might not have the mental agility to learn the local language quickly, but I sure do have the physical one to blend in on the streets. Hey, lady with a stroller, watch out -- here I come!