Israel: Afula to Tel Aviv

Dear All

A bomb in Israel doesn't make the same sound as a bomb would in another part of the world. Instead of a sharp bang, the sound of glass shattering and the cries of bleeding children, there is a just a blimp of excitement, a moment of silence and a roar of laughter. Terrorist and bomb threats are common place here so when a bomb actually does go off, like the one that blew up the Carmel Market two blocks from where I live, most people just hurry along their passive day reading the paper to yawn at another incident and then make their casual joke in their office, restaurant kitchen or computer lab to ease the tension of a stress-exhausted society with one extra burden that most Western countries don't have to deal with. This war isn't just threatening the lives of people physically but also economically as I have recently become all too aware of. This is a place where the average person works three jobs and scrounges just to survive. This is a place where no job is too demeaning to do. Homelessness is a new occurrence on the streets of Israel whereas ten years ago there was none. I walked into the streets of Tel Aviv with more optimism than I realized thinking that Tel Aviv will be the place to find a job. It's not.

Afula is a nice little town but I was feeling a little trapped in the cardboard box of a caravan that Smadar and Yifat were calling home. There is no work in Afula for those like me with a resume filled with random skills and so I felt it necessary to find my Independence. I spent a lot of time on the Internet doing my classic research thing but coming to a very important conclusion - if you can't read Hebrew, you can't read the classifieds and therefore can't get a job this way. The Internet is for the locals to find a job and not for me. Illegal kitchen work, dish washing or otherwise can't be found here so I said my goodbyes to the girls with a promise to return and headed towards the bus station to the Toronto of Israel.

Before heading to my new home, I decided that it was important to have one last trip before my adventure ends. It really wasn't an adventure but another place to see. I went to Haifa.

I knew nothing of this city before coming here and I have left with even less. There is little to see or do in Haifa and the city is so stupidly organized to climb up the mountain that the city engineers have placed a single line metro system to ensure that all the fat Russians that dominate the streets will keep the oversize pant business going. I felt this was a city without hope. This place was a desperate attempt to be Tel Aviv without all their problems but in fact it is the same but smaller and with a lot more work. I heaved up and down the small side street trying desperately to find the entrances to the Baha'i Gardens but eventually gave up out of sweat and exhaustion. The Baha'i Gardens are a series of 18 gardens heading down the mountain in a step-wise manner. The gardens are immaculately maintained and have a waterfall and fountain flowing through it at the bottom levels. There are only two other steps, one in the middle and the very top of the 18 steps, that can be entered unless you have made a reservation a day in advance and since I didn't, I took what I could get. The first level, guarded by two tall Cameroon men, was simple and fair. The next level was an atrocious walk up and upon reaching the second garden, I was told that the shrine that marks a centre piece on this vegetable platter was closed for the day. The Shrine holds the remains of the founder of the Baha'i faith. The last level was an impossibility to find and I gave up shortly. I walked down to rest.

The only other advantage to the city is the 5 NIS hamburger places that seem to pop up around a little roundabout. Reminds me of the 5 Rupee momos I had in Darjeeling. Now that was good momo. With little left to do but avoid the schizophrenics, homeless Russians and not meet up with a friend I had met in Dahab who promised to meet, I left home on the night bus. The next day I was heading for Tel Aviv.

My versions of Tel Aviv at night are not much different than that of the day. For a western city, it is very elegant with a large volume of trees, clean streets and a disturbing low amount of traffic. The air feels clean next to a city beach that, though mildly dirty with cigarette butts and plastic, has soft whitish sand and warmish waters. It is November now and the water is cooler than the summer days and the air as well. I was invited to stay with my friend, Giora, in downtown Tel Aviv. I met Giora in Prague when I was living there and it has been two years since I have seen him. Though we are both a little pudgier and the years are wearing us down, it felt like nothing had changed. There are people in your life that you leave and when you come back to them it feels like it has just been a 15 minute commercial break. Life goes on. I found my way to my friend Giora's place with ease.

Giora lives in the smack centre of town on a strip commonly mentioned in the Lonely planet called Allenby Street. This street has bars, cheap eats, brothels, discos, pubs, conveniently located strip bar and everything else. I made my little nest in his rehearsal studio and spent the last week cleaning it up consuming most of my time. He lives about 200m from the beach and less than a kilometre from the bombed market. It is a great location but the bombing has set me back a little. It went off the morning I left for Tel Aviv while I was still packing for the bus. I went to check it out and see the damage.

The bomb site looked impressively small for an explosion that killed four and injured many. The store that was destroyed was now just a open crater of mangled rock and metal with a fence and a single guard to protect it. Hours after the bomb went off I heard that the place was cleaned and that the neighbouring shops, mostly Russian owned, were open for business as if nothing had happened. If this was Canada, the whole block would have been sectioned off and there would be several hundred police walking the streets but here, a bombing is inevitable and a day off work is a day off pay. So people went about their business as usual.

As I mentioned before, finding a job in Israel isn't easy. Israel is a silicon valley. So those with computer skills will be able to get a job without a problem but for those us with useless science undergraduate degrees and a mishmash of jobs over the last few years will find it much harder. I was offered one job to cut vegetables in a kitchen but I passed on it being a once or twice a week thing and usually on the weekends. This was before I realized the system of what you must do. Here, people do many little jobs unlike in Canada where a 9 to 5 is the norm and anyone doing more than two jobs is considered a superhero. People here work 24 hours a day and in several fields. Do what you can to survive even if it is cleaning houses by day and playing the banjo on the street at night. This leaves me in a predicament. I neither have worked in a kitchen nor know how to play banjo. For those coming to Tel Aviv, the best option for casual work is at the hostels which have a list you can sign up for and get a few hours labour here and there to supplement your income while you find something more stable. There is no work at the hostels themselves but they get calls from the surrounding restaurants to do menial labour here and there. For me, my rent at my friends place is much better than that at the hostels and I get my own room so I would have to work extra just to be like I would be at Giora's so it isn't the best choice for me. This mix match of various incomes seems to be the lifeline of many Israelis in Tel Aviv. I was told to do whatever I could to get money - life is tough here and things are expensive. So, if things are so hard why am I here? If I stay, what is the next plan of attack?

There is something called an Aliyah. This is the return of Jews to Israel. The federal sector responsible for this is called Immigration and Absorption Department. This word "absorption" frightens me a little. It sounds like I am going to consumed by the Borg, physically altered and returned monotoned and mindless. Maybe this is important to avoid the stress of living in a city where tomorrow you could be blown to dog food but I see it as violent integration. The web site indicates that you get a small stipend from the government, about 1400 NIS from what I ascertain, and five months free Hebrew lessons. So where's the catch? What is stopping the average Joe Jew like myself from taking the money, lessons and leaving the country a few months later. More research is needed.

There is an in between ground that would make me legal. I can get an ID card without a problem seeing as both of my parents are Israelis. This will help a lot. With the levels of unemployment at an all time low, the number of illegal immigrants has dropped. Most have been deported to their respective countries so that the entry level black labour can be done by locals. Does this mean I need to be legal or doesn't it? I don't have many skills so I may just be doing a black job anyways. Seems like most people work black regardless.

The last option is the Kibbutz - a communal agricultural experience where you get free food and accommodation plus a little spending money in return for hard manual labour. I haven't really looking into this option. It is a last resort option for me in case I can't earn money any other way.

The Israeli personality fits into a very stringent framework but mixed with every ethnicity on the planet from Iraqi to Yemenite to European. Even though there is a congregation of history here, there is some uniformity that cannot be avoided. Everyone here gets absorbed into the mesh, "absorbed" if you will, into the standard melting pot which the US is so proudly classified as instead of the independent but together system which is the Canadian salad bowl. Israelis are rude. There is no question. Along the way through all the countries that are Israelis colonies, I experienced a sharing community that found a way to find a place for me - the soon-to-be-another-immigrant. Here, there is no doubt that it is a push and shove, get in the line before you, stop honking that horn culture. I thought these people would be just white Arabs with Arab hospitality but in fact, the hospitality only begins when you become friends. When you break the security perimeter of acquaintance into close friend territory, what I knew from my travels through India comes true and you get welcomed warmly without condition like with Yifat, Smadar and Orit. In the UK and in other western worlds that I have been, a homeless man could be lying bleeding on the floor and no one would help. Here, someone in need is rushed into the closest shop, given food and water and helped along home. Friends in the rest of the west still don't seem to share this kind of closeness I see here. People stopping their car in front of their friends shop just to say hello. Of course, when I gave an old lady my seat on the bus today she neither thanked me nor even acknowledged my presence. They are Western Arabs.

For those who have watched Seinfeld , you'll probably know the family of George Costanza. Though they aren't written into the script as being Jewish or Israeli, they act very much like they should be. They fight and bicker over trivial things that would be just as easily resolved through calmer conversation but the instinct to yell seems unavoidable. Israelis also seem to have a tendency to scream. It isn't a screaming in hate or angry just as a means of getting your voice across as everybody else is also screaming. For example, lets say you brought some take away (called "take out" in US/Canada) falafel or shakshuka sandwiches home to the family. You brought them home in baguettes but one of the family wanted it in a pita but you forgot. What would be the dialogue?

In Canada,

You: Hey everyone. I've got the shakshuka sandwiches.
Family member: Oh, you got mine in a baguette. I asked for it in a pita.
You: Whoops. Sorry. I forgot.
Family member: Oh well. Never mind. It's just bread.

In Israel,

You: Hey everyone. I've got the shakshuka sandwiches.
Family member: Oh, you got mine in a baguette. I asked for it in a pita. HOW CAN I EAT THIS?
You: WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME! I DID BRING IT TO YOU, DIDN'T I! DON'T BE UNGRATEFUL!
Family member: WHAT I NEVER GET IT IN A BAGUETTE! I WANTED IT IN A BAGUETTE! (hands shaking). HOW COULD YOU BRING IT TO ME IN A BAGUETTE? NOW MY SANDWICH IS RUINED!
You: FINE, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT YOU GET NOTHING!!!!

And so on for an hour or so and after which all is still good.. You just need to know that they scream out of love. Though I wanted to settle from travelling and take a break for a while, I feel the urge to get on the move again. I miss those things that kept me from sitting still. The grass is always greener isn't it?

So, if you come to Tel Aviv beach, you'll find me around 4:30pm sitting by the sand's edge, staring at the girls as they play beach tennis in front of a Goan style sunset and the occasional low flying plane. I have made Tel Aviv my home for now but the future is uncertain. Still, I need to see Jerusalem.

Be Well



Oren Jalon
Immigrant Job Seeker