No Phish were harmed...

Every time I walk passed the freezer section in my supermarket, or any mini market, in fact anywhere that bares the Ben & Jerry's logo, I search for the flavour to end all flavours... the King of all that is heavenly in ice-cream form... Phish Food!


For those of you out there who led a deprived childhood, or just did not experience life during their university years, you might be led to believe that Phish Food actually contains Fish… and if you did, you would be stupid, but tragically not alone… Yes I have met many people who have believed the same, and I put it to you, who other than a severely hormonal and pregnant woman would even consider feeding a craving for fish and ice-cream in such a vile combination? Certainly not Ben and Jerry… no no no! I mean just take a look at the two men below… you think they would ever invent an ice-cream with fish in it? Look carefully…

These sweet men are Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield… does that not smell distinctly Haimischi to you? So surely if there was fish in the ice-cream they would not have spelt it “Phish”, but would have called it Geffilta or maybe even Lox (Hmmmmm I think I have an idea for “Lox on the Rocks”). Plus take a good look at these men, and despite the knowledge that they are successful business men, Jewish business men, they also look like the kinda guys who in their day used to enjoy a puff or two… which I suspect is where they came up with the idea for the flavour “Phish Food”. Ben and Jerry were at a PHISH concert, getting high, and decided that they needed the mother of all munchies to satisfy their craving… off they went throwing together chocolate ice-cream, gooey marshmallow, caramel, and fudge (which they in their stoned state decided to make into the shape of a fish just for a laugh) and so created the greatest ice-cream ever made… Phish Food!

Yeah those of you who did not know Phish was a jam band and thought it was me just spelling Fish funny are feeling pretty stupid right about now...

Anyway, since the day of its creation, Students have huddled together late at night after long smoking sessions, or during a movie, or even in between class to eat this wonder placed on our earth… I still remember the first time I experienced the heavenly fusion of gooey marshmallow and smooth caramel sliding down my throat on a wave of chocolate… There is nothing in the world that tastes or feels as good! Not that I eat ice-cream very often, but when I do, I know what I want, Chunky Monkey, Dulce de Leche and the rest just do not cut it for me! I want my Phish Food!!

So yesterday I decided to quit it with the passive aggressive, staring longingly at the Ben & Jerry’s freezer section, and start taking action. I wrote a letter to Ben & Jerry’s in Israel:

From: Channah Graham [mailto:littlemissgraham@hotmail.com]
Sent: Monday, August 28, 2006 3:01pm
To: Inbal office@benjerry.co.il
Subject: BRING PHISH FOOD TO THE HOLY LAND!
Importance: High

Dear Ben and Jerry of Israel,
I have searched everywhere in Israel for the flavor Phish Food... I cannot understand why we don't already have the flavor available in Israel... most of the Phish band are Jewish afterall!
Please can you help fullfil a wish and bring Phish Food to the Holy Land...
thank you

Channah

Much to my suprise, I arrived in to work today to find Inbal HaRosh from Ben & Jerry's Israel had responded...

From:?? ????? office@benjerry.co.il
To: 'Channah Graham' littlemissgraham@hotmail.com
Subject: RE: BRING PHISH FOOD TO THE HOLY LAND!
Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2006 16:29:47 +0200

hi there,
fish food were in israel a few years back but on a stick
and then they stop making it
may be it will be here again in the future
have a nice day
inbal harosh

Well that explains it! I mean Phish Food was never meant to be on a stick! Plus there is a glimmer of hope, that maybe one day in the future they will bring it back again, only this time in tub form. All in all I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.
But not pleased enough to just sit back an rest on my laurels!

So I am writing this blog, in the hope that I may have turned your taste buds on enough that you will stand with me and appeal to the Ben and Jerry of Israel to bring our most favourite flavour to Israel! It doesn’t matter if you have never tried this flavour before… just read back through this blog, and imagine… It doesn’t matter if you do not live in Israel… we appreciate support wherever it may come from. Please cut and paste the following text to office@benjerry.co.il (Please CC me as well littlemissgraham@hotmail.com… I want to keep track of this) and join the Bring Phish Food to the Holy Land Campaign:

Dear Ben and Jerry of Israel,

We have one wish, one hope, and one dream and that is to bring Phish Food to the Holy Land.

Please join your fellow Israeli’s and help bring Phish Food back to the Jewish Homeland where it belongs. Not in a stick and not in fat free or yoghurt variety, but as pure and as wonderful as the day it was created in a big tub!

We are sending this petition to you in the hope that by NEXT YEAR WE WILL HAVE PHISH FOOD!

Thank you
THE BRING PHISH FOOD BACK TO THE HOLY LAND CAMPAIGNERS!!!

Shitface Shrop

The natural ups and downs of life are far more extreme here in Israel. Where my highs and lows were subtle gradients in my path in England, here in Israel I sometimes feel like I am riding the waves in Taiarapu, Tahiti. Just when I think that I have found my feet along comes a bomb of a wave to knock me off my feet and wipe out. Thank goodness I have always been a strong swimmer if not a natural surfer.

A friend just made Aliyah and asked me what had made my Aliyah so successful. If I am totally honest with myself I cannot say that my Aliyah has been 100% successful, it's a pretty ridiculous expectation, I think I might give it a 75% success rate. For everything that I gained, I also sacrificed. In truth there are very few of my friends who living in this country have it all, just as in the same way there are very few of my friends in the UK or in the States that have it all… but as long as you have your priorities straight and have the most important things to you, then life is never that bad. My priority when I made Aliyah was getting my spirit back… the spirit of Channah Boo which had been lost under the name of “Hannah” in a land where they could not pronounce the ‘CH” without hacking up.

I felt living in England with the 9am-5pm job, which was more 7.30am – 8pm, I never had the time or energy to spend time with those closest to me, my friends and my family. Here in Israel I am home by 5pm and have the entire evening at my disposal to hang with those that give me the most joy and release from the monotony of the day. I realise fully how lucky I am to have the friends I have, and feel even more privileged when my Olah Chaddashah friend turns to me on Thursday night and says, “You have the nicest friends.” What else can I say but, “I know!… they can be yours too if you like!”

Looking through my little black book of friends dotted around the communities of new Olim in the Anglo suburbs of Israel I can see those who have found their Aliyah experiences the easiest and those who have found it a struggle, and for the most part, it has been the ease with which they have fitted into or found their new social circles that has aided them. I turn back to my Olah Chaddashah friend and say, “Now is the time to let go of the friends you had back in England, they will always be there, and you’ll never replace them, but if you want to get on, you gotta get on with those around you… make the effort, and most importantly never be afraid to make yourself known to a group you want to get into… The beauty about Olim is that we rarely turn each other away.” And true to form, within minutes I see her chatting among the group as if she had been there forever.

In the bar, among a sea of strangers, I saw the good friends I have as the lights floating at the top of the water ensuring that in the darkness I don’t become too disorientated and drown. They are there; I trust in them, I know that if I need them they will be there in the same way that if they need me I will always be there. Yet they too give me the space to swim in my own direction, try and catch that killer wave, and laugh with me when I fall flat on my face with a mouthful of sand.

Not to give the impression that it has all been so easy for me… it has not been smooth sailing. I guess it has taken me some time to find a circle of friends who I totally trust and also want to get drunk with on a Thursday night. When faced with my own personal dramas they don’t force their opinions upon me, although they do offer words of wisdom and advice. And when I want to be left alone, they understand and give me space… I don’t feel I need to explain myself… they respect the choices I make, the person I am, and I am free to make my own mistakes. They understand that despite all the manuals that may say otherwise, life is about taking a risk, leaping off the boat and plunging in feet first. Ok so I might drown, so he might push me under, but we might have a lot of fun along the way… what is the point of travelling the road of life if you cannot enjoy the ride!

Me: I guess there is no wrong or right, just the decision I have made and trust in.
Friend 1: Just so that you know that either way we will be there.


And the best bit… the best bits are when you find a friend who; without a word will eat the ice-cream for you, because she just knows you never bought it for yourself; shows up at your apartment with a bottle of vodka and four cans of red bull just because you seemed a little quiet today; will never let you buy jeans that do nothing for that sexy ass of yours; buys you a little present on her way over, just because she thought it might make you smile; is more than happy to walk my friends home, because he is just that kinda guy; knows the right moment to cuddle, because there is nothing more to be said; has a fancy dress costume ready at any given moment so we can stop taking ourselves so seriously and just laugh; lets me call her dog “Shitface”, just because I like saying the word…


Oh and the other best bit is when you can drunk text someone and the next morning they think it is adorable!

When it Rains it Pours

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I am currently dealing with the issue of to blog or not to blog… the eternal question of to write down an honest and open appraisal of my life leaving no holes barred, or to sugar coat the truth, conceal names to protect the innocent and myself… I still cannot decide. The fact is that when I started this blog it was more of an easy way for friends to see how I was getting on, for me to be able to let out my creative juices in a healthy way, and for me to keep physical evidence of my loopy psyche for posterity. However, I did not at the time consider who might in the future be reading what I wrote, I did not bare in mind how my family would react to my honest writings, and I certainly did not expect to find it so hard to be open… perhaps this is a little revealing about how I approach the truth in the normal world and not just the blog world.

In recent weeks I have realised that Little Miss Graham is split in two… that is not to say that I have multiple personalities, although I do think that would be a fun experience for a day. There is the Channah who is open and honest, to the point of being blunt. She knows what she wants and goes for it with no fear, no inhibitions, just total confidence in who she is and an arrogance in the fact that all who meet her will love her! Then there is the Channah who is shy and retiring, who longs for an easy life, who likes to follow instruction rather than innovate her own path, who will not make the first move, who will wait and react rather than take action. In the same way, there is the Channah who wants to say to hell with it and write every intimate detail of my personal life, and then the voice of the second Channah pipes up;

“No need to put all your cards on the table… hold back a little of yourself, your personal life is just that… leave the good stuff for only privileged individuals… What if the wrong person reads it? What if the right person reads it the wrong way? What would your family think about that?”

And so I am torn between my Channahs…

Therefore, at the risk of upsetting one Channah I fall short in being as open as I would like to be with you, and you must excuse me of this, but know that reading between the lines can be a help and a hindrance depending on how you read.

This weekend, I was once again in Jerusalem. Some may say this is becoming a habit, something I will never admit to, as I refuse to believe that Jerusalem has finally got her claws into me, but for now I am enjoying the cool breeze that will not reach as far as my apartment in Tel Aviv, and the view of the hills that I seem never to tire of. Away from the girls I found myself in the company of strangers and felt relaxed and at home, once again being in a new and different situation is bringing the best out me, and I am enjoying seeing people’s reaction to the real me. The Channah who knows what she wants and gets it is in her element and is not afraid to show how she feels, at the risk of hurting or shocking anyone else… and yet he is lying there telling me that he doesn’t want to hurt me, that he cares, that there is a connection, that I am special… but ultimately that there is a risk that he will hurt me. Which Channah should take over now? Do I continue down the road of openness at the risk of being hurt, or do I close myself off at the risk that he will never see the real me. There is a grey cloud in our perfect blue sky… I was a fool to think that the blue skies would rule forever… I guess it was an unrealistic expectation. Nevertheless what am I supposed to do? Do I wait or do I take action… risk something great for the sake of my pride, or just accept that in the end everyone gets hurt… and wait…

And as usual all the other weasels pick now to come out of the woodwork… when it rains it pours, and yet I am not really sure where we are, would I hurt him if I was with someone else? Would I be hurt if he was with someone else? It is too early to tell, too early to really differentiate between the feeling of wanting to be with someone, and lust. So when another guy calls me and asks me out, what do I say? What do I want to say? In truth I just want to hide myself in the nook of his arm and fall asleep… I want to close my eyes and take it all one step, one day at a time and enjoy every minute of the good, the bad and the indifferent. Am I getting freaked out? Yes, but isn’t that what life is all about? People jump on the rollercoaster everyday in the hope of being freaked out, and although I have always avoided this scare… I am giving it a go, because ultimately you never know… this rollercoaster might also be fun… and not just make me puke.

Blog Block

Today I woke up struggling. My body was in a full on battle with my will as to whether to get up and face the day or to retreat to bed and call in sick. It would have actually been a really good idea had I not taken so many days off work last week to let my ankle recover. So in the end my will took control of my body, got it out of bed, dressed and into my car to work, and here I am wondering why I didn’t just smother my will with a pillow and go back to sleep!

Ultimately I know I have to just suck it up. I did this to myself. No-one made me drink 3 glasses of wine on an empty stomach. Nooman didn’t force me to stay up till come stupid hour talking and catching up as we haven’t seen each other in ages. I did this to myself and I am not about to wrap myself in cotton wool! I’m old enough to know better… suck it up Channah and get to work!

Only problem is that I cannot concentrate. So much is happening at the moment and I am feeling like all my magic beans came at once while others around me are starving… how can a girl feast on that? My wishing bridge wishes seem to be dispersing themselves very nicely among the group, which makes me smile while at the same time kinda disappointed for them… bridge is that the best you can do? Or maybe I spread the wish too thin. Sorry girls I tried!

This weekend was the most fun I have had in Jerusalem in a long time. The girls all came together for what might be one of the last weekends in Israel’s capital, as one by one they begin the move to Israel’s metropolis… Tel Aviv. Ironic, just as I began to form an attachment with the city of gold. We drank wine on the balcony, read glossy magazines and talked about all that girls talk about while applying nail varnish. We keep giving ourselves these little pleasures as we settle into the nine to five life, it is our friendships which are the vehicles by which we release the stresses of never saving a penny, of rent prices rising, while our pay checks seem to stand still.

Shabbat afternoon I left the girls to their afternoon sleeps and learning and I lay back in his arms and let it all drift away… nothing matters, all the good will come in time, I never believed it before, but I now see that it is the things you cannot control that fulfil us the most. I refuse to be melancholy; I refuse to think too much about what is going on, in my personal life and the situation in Israel. While my ankle is still giving me grief I am gonna laugh my ass off instead of dance… I do not care if people think I should change my lifestyle because I come into work looking like I have been kicked around by a kangaroo in my sleep… I am happy with where I am and where I am heading and I guess nothing else really matters. I am just going to have to get over the fact that people read this blog and if I want to say something then I should just say it and not worry that someone might read it and freak out… all in good time I guess.

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

No I have not been in hiding, living in a bomb-shelter, or run back to England… although the idea of shopping in England appeals right about now! The reason for my silence is due to an incident that happened on Friday morning… and before I begin there was no alcohol involved!

So the story begins the night before, when I spent much of the evening baking a big yummy chocolate cake for a certain Ginrod’s birthday brunch the next day. After letting the thick chocolate icing set in the refrigerator, I spent the moments before sleep piping on white lettering wishing her a Happy Birthday! Ok so it was not perfect, but as I am no professional, I think I did a damn good job anyway. And in any event, in the case of chocolate cakes it is definitely what’s inside that counts!

On Friday morning I awoke unusually early for me on a weekend, as I had promised to get to her apartment early to help set up, I showered, tried to get my hair under control, got dressed, and set out with the cake under wraps. As Ginrod’s place is only a 10 minute stroll from my place I decided that I would walk, even though I was nervous about dropping the cake… I admit I have my clumsy moments!

So I am reaching the half way point and notice the manager of the charity housing on my street was washing down the pavement, paying little attention to myself and my cake, and spraying my trousers in the process. So to save the rest of my clothing I decided to hop onto the road. As I came up to the pedestrian crossing I saw that the water was flowing in the direction I was walking and was now no longer on the pavement, but had created a river down the street I had to cross over to get to the other side…

The traffic lights turn red, the green man flashes up, and I step out onto the road… one step… two steps… my left croc slides over the water… I try to regain balance by putting my left knee forward and the result is my left knee crashing to the ground… my right foot twisting underneath my body… The cake slides down my left arm, and I reach out to grab the plate it is on with my left and right hands. Success!!! The cake did not fall to the ground! But as I have no hands to balance myself, I am using the big toe on my left foot to avoid falling flat on my face, or face in cake…

It felt like an eternity of playing status in the middle of Frishman Street, people walking past me as if I wasn’t there. Eventually I got up, and hobbled to the other side of the road… my knee throbbing, but the good news was the CAKE SURVIVED!! (Woo Hoo!! Rockstar Applause!!!)

The bad news was that my right foot didn’t, and after arriving at the party and covering up my pain with lots of alcohol, I was carried home only to find that getting to the loo required a lot of upper body muscles and a great deal of sliding around the floor on my bottom. So in short, for the last few days I have been following doctors orders and keeping my leg elevated so that I can walk like a normal human being in time for Thursday night… Doctor has also said no drunkenly disorderly behaviour that might lead to dancing and damaging my ankle further… A quote pops into my mind…

“Dancing and sports are just a vertical expression of a horizontal desire…”

Anyway, I got back to work today, to be approached by a work colleague who I barely know; who I actually discovered is related to me by marriage, who apparently had a dream about me over the weekend! She said that she had a Cinderella meets Joseph type dream about me, at a party, in a magical, multicoloured (Joseph), very thinning (I think that was the magical part of it) dress that my mother had made. She said that as I walked into the party she told me how beautiful I looked, and I graciously thanked her and told her it was because of my magical dress my mother made for me.

She then told me that as I walked into the party, everyone turned to stare in awe (that is the Cinderella part)… I have no idea what the dream means, but I kinda like it! My work colleague is now my best friend, and finding out from her mother, who is gifted in dream deciphering, what it could mean… any suggestions?

Hot Head

I have been described as many things in my life, “hot-tempered”, “hot-blooded”, “hot under the collar”, “one hot mamma!”… I find that despite the fact that as a Yorkshire lass I come from one of the coldest parts of England, I had the heat inside me to keep me warm… perhaps this is why you will find the centre of Leeds filled with near naked women. The difference with me though is while everyone else seems to get their bits warmed by their inner heat, the only bit of me that seems to benefit from my own central heating is my head! Yes, yes I am also VERY hot headed!

Now living in England and being hot-headed was a good thing… the cold air would act as a counterbalance for the heat I was exuding from my temples, and ensure that my hair stayed as straight as could be. Ok, so no I may not get a manicure and a pedicure every week, I may not wear make-up every time I step out of the house, and my clothes may not be ironed perfectly, but my hair… well my father once said after I cut my hair into a crew-cut that “your hair is your crown and glory… treat it well.” Now I may have mentioned this before, but my father has a full head of pitch black hair (never been dyed) and is 60 years old, so when he gives me hair advice I listen! So it there is one thing I try to make an effort with it is my crown and glory, however, what with the heat from the sun beating down and the heat from inside me searing out, my crown and glory does not stand a chance.

Seriously, this heat is really getting to my hair! Unlike people with thick Israeli hair who can flatten down their frizz with a heavy dose of serum, my hair suffers the opposite problem, and I find that no sooner have I washed and blow dried my hair straight than my hair looks greasy again! Or if I make it straight it decides to curl itself without my consent. So at some point you may see Channahboo walking down the street, appearing as if she is shouting at herself, or at an imaginary gay man, when in reality she is shouting at her damn hair! “Damn it! Stay straight you bastard!!!”

At some point in every evening I give up, be it that Eli tells me that my natural curl suits me better than having it straight anyway, or be it that I just cannot stand thinking about it anymore… if I want to I am very good at blocking things out… I think it comes from my mothers amazing selective hearing. Which when I come to think about it is where I got my ‘natural curls’ from too! Just to paint a little picture for you… my natural curls basically look like bed head… that is if I had spent the night sleeping in a barn with a pig for company! Or as one Irish man once said to me “Jewish Curls”…

So I am getting all hot and bothered, firstly because it is July and damn hot, secondly because a call from a guy kinda caught me off guard, and thirdly because my hair is just not staying straight and the more stressed I am getting about it, the more hot I become and the more distressed my tresses look!

DV: Hun if you stopped trying so hard to make it perfect you might actually realize that it is NICE!
Me: I know you are right I should just go with the flow…
DV: What you on about! I was talking about your hair!
Me: Oh… and here was I thinking that you had made a really profound statement about how I approach men… ok… erm…Shit my hair won’t stay straight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But she did have a point… a point that I am going to try and take with me in ever aspect of my life… the point that I learnt years ago from a wise friend (or could that be a stoned friend) at university, that there are things you just cannot control in your life (my hair being one of them), and perhaps if you stopped and actually enjoyed them for what they are you might see that although they are not perfect, not what you had been wishing for, they are in fact really nice…

Never have I ever…

I am a firm believer that every Thursday night, when you are as footloose and fancy free as I am, you should party like it’s your birthday! However, when you invite everyone over for pre-drinks at your apartment; and after being stuck in traffic (because the Tel Aviv city counsel in their infinite wisdom decided to cut the main route from the highway to my place off for maintenance on a THURSDAY NIGHT!!!) everyone turns up late and drinks go on until you finally manage to leave the apartment at midnight, it is pretty tough to actually get in to decent bars in the city. The first bar was pretty decent, but way too full of people and there was little chance of getting a drink, so we walked out. The second bar had a very nice entrance way, but as the lady on the door said, “You crazy people trying to get into a place after midnight and not being best friends with the owner!”… Can I befriend him now? No? So on to the third place, which did the evilest thing a bar can do to a group of revellers… let everyone in apart from three!

As everyone had come out under my instruction, I felt bad that three of the posse were still stuck outside, so even though someone had just bought me a drink, I walked out, glass in hand (I might do this more often to replace the glasses I have smashed in my apartment) and dragged what revellers I could find back to my place to continue with the drinking and partying we had started all those hours earlier… some more early than others.

Take one group of drunkards, a lot of alcohol, and a few dozen shot glasses and you end up with everyone playing drinking games… the favourite being “I have never” or otherwise known as “Never have I ever”. For those of you who have never played the game involves everyone taking turns to say one thing they have never done, and those people in the circle who have done that thing have to drink… you get the picture.

Word got back to those who decided to stay at the bar, that there was a kinky drinking game going on at my place, and so my apartment was soon full of people (mainly women) giggling and sharing their most intimate stories. Somewhere in the process, I found a stick on tattoo and thought it would be a good idea to stick it to my left breast. “Hun, you have to wet it to make it stick”, so I dutifully licked it… totally oblivious to the guys all watching, tongues hanging out of their mouths. So the evening ended with everyone knowing a lot more about everyone elses’ sexual experiences, and the boys speedily driving home to Jerusalem to relive themselves…

“Never have I ever fooled around with two roommates…”

n.b. I made it into the press!!! I am famous!! Check out my quote (she only put in my jokey comments) Check out Ha'aretz

Baby Boom Boom… oh yeah baby!

I am really interested in the current situation and the effects that it is having on people’s hormone levels. As mentioned in a previous blog, everyone I know is horny at the moment, and this has nothing to do with whether they have or haven’t been getting any recently. Everyone I come into contact with at the moment is talking about, praying for, or having lots of sex! It cannot go ignored that all of this is occurring around a time of war. The traditional outcome of all wars, win or lose, is a baby boom. It makes sense that after being at war soldiers will come home with an urge to settle down, bye a station wagon and make babies with the woman they had left behind. Equally on the other hand, the women will be more than eager to oblige as their men have finally returned! You see it is a win win situation.

“After the war, what happens? Soldiers return home, settle down, start families and buy station wagons? Sociologists would say that this is why Baby-booms occur…” (Unknown Author)

The there is the theory that our human instinct dictates that we should reproduce, and that therefore after a war, where there are many causalities, we have a natural instinct or urge to make up numbers. Seriously! It is not something we are consciously aware of, well except for sociologists who seem to be consciously aware of everything, but we do appear to like to keep the natural balance on the ‘natural’ demographics.

There is another theory posed by certain mystical groups that suggest that during the wars the souls of those killed come back home with the wounded and honoured soldiers to be reborn.

“The War/Baby-Boom relationship is just a single example of the cyclic balance between life, death and rebirth, between creative forces and destructive forces, between this world and the afterworld.”

So according to this theory the baby boom occurs because the souls of the dead want to be our children… I can just imagine our dead pouring back into Israel fighting over who they want to be their mothers and fathers! It is a little crazy for me, but I certainly don’t like to knock any theory… no matter how far fetched.

Anyway, in all my research (I have spent hours today checking this out!) I have not seen one word with regard to the effects of the “pre-war” hype on baby booms. I mean in as much as we are entering into a war with, well I shudder to think how far this may go, but let’s just say in comparison with other wars, we are still only at the beginning of this thing called war, surely the origin of the war too affects the outcome of baby boom. I have heard over and over again of women receiving calls and text messages out of the blue from men they have not spoken to in ages, calling for a booty call… why? Well they could just be horny, or it could be due to the fact that any moment these men could be called up to the army and fight for their country. It is somewhat in the same spirit of the “Let’s do it for our country” scene in Grease 2… these guys want to get their end in before they end up in Lebanon!

And it is not just the men! I know not one woman at the moment who would not be eager to partake of some easy lovin’ with the right kind of guy. Now sitting with some of the women of my office we have come up with many theories as to how this could be:

1. Government Conspiracy – to repopulate the country either through:
i. Chemicals planted in large cities with a large young demographic ie Tel Aviv
ii. Something in the water – aphrodisiacs in the water
iii. Playing mushy love songs on the radio to encourage some snuggling up
iv. It is damn hot! heat = removing clothes = sex.

2. Natural Phenomenon :
i. Well as we as humans naturally need to repopulate we are naturally giving off pheromones and endorphins which encourage sexual activity (yo I am no doctor… ok I am ;))

3. We are just so scared that we might die that we wanna have one last great…

4. They finally discovered the drug to make any woman easy and are testing it in Israel!

In truth there is probably no connection between the war and the recent hormonal burst I have noticed around the city… but it is certainly something to think about… well… other than other things… did everyone notice the appearance of Smyth Jared on my blog yesterday? ;)

Now that I am off the antibiotics...

Just thought you might wanna know what I'll be drinking on Thursday night...

So you can buy me a glass of vodka! ABSOLUTLY!!!!

Locating my Chakra

Last night in an effort to mix my workout and friends in one big melting pot of alcohol-free sociability, I went with a couple of friends to my first yoga class. As is unfortunately usual for me, I was running somewhat late, so after speed walking down Dizengoff to Bazel Street, I arrived already sweating and feeling a little out of my depth when the yoga instructor came to meet me and give me a little intro into my first class. I was relieved when he opened his mouth to find that not only was he really lovely and welcoming, but he was also 100% English spoken, well it was going to be hard enough to keep up with all the “lotus flower” talk in English, never mind in Hebrew!

I was concerned that I would not be able to get into, as in focus on the class, that I would be so concerned about falling flat on my face that I would end up… well flat on my face, and feeling like a fool. But this was just not the case. Firstly the years of going to gymnastic classes, had finally paid off! I was actually a lot more flexible than I had ever given myself credit for, and found that a lot of the poses were totally achievable, although when it came to the putting the knees behind the ears I decided to pass… well there is always room for improvement. Plus I have always had a thing about sweating. Being someone who sweats easily (I know I am sorry), I was perturbed to find that the room was not freezing cold to accommodate the sweaters in the room (the teacher included). However as the class went on I began to enjoy the feeling of sweat dripping down my body, through the crease in my neck, down through my cleavage as I stood arms stretched above my head, and then flowing back down my neck and along my chin to my mouth as I bent down to the ground. Yeah I know it sounds pretty gross, but in the moment there was something so pure and sensual about the whole experience.

My preconceptions of yoga had always been based on the kind of people who were really into yoga, this includes my good friend Elana… they always seemed a little spaced out… not ‘normal’… most probably on some drug or other. Now however, I see that yoga itself is pretty much a drug. Apologies in advance for sounding like a total hippie! I found that the more I became in tune with my breathing, and how my body was feeling, the more everything else just disappeared, even the people around me, even the room… I was on a hilltop in India while children in white danced around me plinking little finger cymbals together, while an elephant stood nearby with incense coming from incense holders attached to the brightly coloured rigging on his body. Don’t get me wrong, when everyone was breathing deeply in to “OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM” out, I did have to control the urge to burst into laughter, but once my mind was firmly in the ‘Zen’, there was no turning back. The class came to an end with the entire room lying on their mats in darkness breathing in and out. The assistant at this point came around and one by one but her hands on our shoulders pressing them into the ground, and then putting her hands behind our necks. I have never enjoyed being touched so much in my life! Ok, maybe a slight exaggeration, but whereas I kept my mouth firmly shut and concentrated on my breathing, the people either side of me had no such manner to hold back the sounds of utter pleasure after this! I was jealous!

After an hour and a half my body was feeling so relaxed, so relieved, so rejuvenated that I pretty much bounced back to my apartment. When I walked in Nooman looked at me somewhat bemused and said with a big grin on his face;

Nooman: Where have you been? And who have you been with!
Me: I was at yoga with the girls…
Nooman: Ha ha so that’s why you are glowing!!

So for all those people who I spoke to last week who were complaining about being sexually frustrated, ok that was pretty much everyone, my advice to you is go out and find your local yoga class… It may not be a permanent solution, but it is certainly a good short term fix!

FYI: Today is my last day of antibiotics!!!! I can already smell the red red wine!!!!!!!!!

Who has the Power?

The power went down in my office this morning, and as we all made our way onto the balcony to wait it out, it became apparent that we were not alone. I phone call from a friend deeper into Herzlia Pituach revealed that the power had gone out all over the city, so no point in going to the mall to shop the power cut out. I am supposed to be meeting my father for lunch today… we are having a Father and daughter lunch for no other reason than my mother has chucked him out of the house so that she and her book club could reorganise their library in peace… I guess without dad making suggestions on how best to organise the books (“Girly Crap”, “Depressing Girly Crap” and “Only Oprah Would Read This Crap”) So I called my dad to check if the power cut had spread as far as Ra’anana. I was surprised to hear laughter being his only reaction…

Me: What’s so funny?
Mr. Graham: Well the house has fine electricity, but I just came back from the bank. I was taking money out for lunch only to find that when I put my card in the machine the power went off… eating my credit card.

At this point I get into a little panic… someone other than me ate Daddy’s credit card!!!

Me: You have other credit cards right!!

My Dad continues, ignoring my little panic attack.

Mr. Graham: Well I went into the bank and said to the lady there “You need to pay your leccy bill luv” ha ha ha

I love how my dad laughs at his own jokes!

Me: So you got your credit card back?
Mr. Graham: Well not exactly. She said that my branch would have to send a letter stating that they should release my card. Only problem is that the electricity was still off so we could not send the fax.

Me: But you have other credit cards right!!
Mr: Graham: Of course darling!!!... I have yours!! HA HA HA

Back in the office, the girls are sitting on the floor giving each other manicures, while I am starting to go further into ADD mode, and wishing that someone owned a guitar, or that I had chosen to learn to play the guitar instead of the clarinet, and could actually amuse myself. I call Nooman to check the situation in Tel Aviv, and it would appear that the Azrieli centre is still standing although the traffic lights have gone down. I look out of my window that looks onto the main Herzlia junction and see that all the traffic lights are out, creating a standstill leading all the way back up to Ra’anana. No wonder my Kfar Saba workmates are running late… there is only one direct route to get from Kfar Saba to Herzlia, and the only way is through that traffic!

Half an hour later, the electricity is back up and working. My dad calls me to confirm that all is fine; he has got his card back (PHEW!), we are back on for lunch, although he cannot get any cash out so I am going to have to pay the tip… a small price to pay I guess.

My work colleague just walked in… he finally made it from Kfar Saba, and while the rest of us are asking him if it was due to the power cut, he gives us all a look of amazement.

Workmate: There are terrorist warnings in Kfar Saba and Ra’anana… The sirens are going off all over the city… I cannot believe you haven’t heard about it!

The smile is wiped from my face. My parents are in Ra’anana. My dad is running around trying to get money out, and never at any point mentioned the terror alert. My gut reaction is to call him and tell him to go home, to cancel our lunch, but for some reason I don’t. Of course I am concerned! I am also concerned that at any moment a Katyusha rocket could land on my building! But at the same time I am not going to let my life be affected by it! It may seem ridiculous to those of you who live in your ‘peaceful’ towns and cities who cannot imagine what it must be like to live in a country surrounded by nations that hate us and only want to see us obliterated. It must be weird to imagine living in the knowledge that you could die while on your way to safety. And even while we fight a war on two fronts, the third front of terrorists with bombs strapped to their body still continue to try to kill our people. I would like the G8 to explain to me what they mean by disproportionate response! I feel for the people of Lebanon… the modern and open minded citizens who live in peace and want to live in peace… but I cannot understand how people refer to Hezbollah and Hamas in the same way they refer to the Conservatives and Labour parties. They are terrorists… they are NOT freedom fighters or militants, they are Terrorists! They are part of the same group who were behind 9/11 and 7/7! It makes me laugh that when they attack anywhere other than Israel then they are terrorists… when they attack Israel, they are “freedom fighters”! I am coming to terms with the fact that we are on our own. We have to and we have already defended ourselves… so in terms of asking for your approval?? No thanks… we are alone, we will give ourselves approval… but thanks for the offer!

Meanwhile my dad is still trying to make his way to Herzlia for our father and daughter lunch...

JUST DO IT!

I have really itchy feet today… not physically, but I just have an urge to go out, do something, dance, go crazy, do anything other than sit in the office and stare at the screen. I considered leaving work and going to the gym and coming back after lunch, but the problem is that my gym is next door to my apartment, so by the time I drove home and got into my gym clothes it would be time to make the drive back to Herzlia and work. I dream of a day when I have a gym in my office so that whenever I get the urge I can go to the gym, or even better I could just work from home and when the urge takes me to go to the gym, or sleep, or open a bottle of wine, or watch TV, or go for a walk (you get the point) I could just do it!

Just do it! It’s a great advert, the problem is that in the real world where people have to work nine to six (whatever happened to nine to five?) it is a little difficult to just get up and run when the mood takes you… not that the mood ever takes me in that direction, but you get where I am coming from. I am on edge, I need release, I need to punch something, I need to dance my ass off as opposed to sitting on my ass for nine hours doing something totally unfulfilling. But even when I turn my hand to something more fulfilling, like writing my blog, writing my book or reading my favourite blogs, I am still totally unsatisfied, because I don’t want to be sitting at all! Sorry I am not complaining… I am just stating a fact so you can understand my state of body… my mind isn’t really connected at the moment.

The problem is that I think that the painkillers, antibiotics, and all the vitamins I am on at the moment, have created a chemical reaction in my body which is literally making it move of its own accord. It is worse in the mornings. I am jumping out of bed, even though my eyes are still closed, I am grooving in the office when no-one else is even listening to the music. Yes I do look pretty funny shaking my ass while still sat on my chair, and yes people in the office think that I am loco, but to be fair they have thought that for a long time. My work colleagues do find me entertaining, “Channah’s gone ADD again!” The girls in the IL department stick their heads over our wall to watch the Channah Comedy Show, which gives me a nice break and a good giggle. This is when I would like to be going to the gym! But no sooner after I come back from lunch, the chemical imbalance shifts again and I find myself sluggish and tired… no energy to lift my finger to type, nevermind do a full workout. My eyes are closing, and my brain has turned to mush, and all I want to do is find a little corner somewhere where I can sleep in peace… I just don’t want to have to go too far to get there… under my desk maybe? “No no… the entertainment club is shut… no I don’t want to laugh about how your boss stares at my boobs! He can stare all he likes for all I care… Yes I know he was an ass man before I joined the office… Please just let me sleep!”

I go home. I potter around the apartment for a few, and then BAM! Suddenly I have all the energy and more that I had in the morning. It is a mystery how the chemicals swirl around my body and then rush to the surface in waves… how I wish I could channel that energy somehow to ensure that I reach my peak just as I put on my gym clothes, but obviously it does not work that way, and instead I find myself in the local shop staring longingly at the bottles of red wine that I cannot drink at the moment because of these damn antibiotics!! Oh well, only five more days to go… I swear I will return to sanity soon… I hope…. Help?

Operation Bomb Shelter

Yesterday morning my office received a phone call from the IDF ensuring that our bomb shelters and sealed rooms were prepared to be used. At the time of the phone call our two sealed rooms, located next to the elevators, were filled with some nine thousand files as is the norm for a sizeable Law firm. Since yesterday the file room boys have been working tirelessly to empty the rooms and ensure that they are secure in case of emergency. The only issue I have is that unless I am very much mistaken, Hezbollah is not launching a chemical warfare... is it? Therefore, I am thinking, a sealed room is not going to protect me from a Katyusha rocket ripping through our building, and my little sealed room on the fourth floor plummeting to the ground.

It doesn’t matter how safe the HR manager claims it is. In truth, I want to ask her if she has ever thrown a rocket on to the building to check how safe it in fact is, but I try to refrain from being rude to her… I mean she’s in charge of my pay cheque! Anyway, in the privacy of my five people office, I disclose my plan for when the sirens go off. While everyone else is rushing to squash themselves inside one of two tiny sealed rooms, fully furnished with a bucket in each (I won’t let my thoughts go any further than that! Ok I have, but I am not grossing you out any more than I already am!) I plan to head down the emergency stairwell and on to the lower level car park, where I will get into my car and drown out the noise of the explosions and falling debris with the vocal talents of Sheryl Crow. And if that is how my life reaches its end, well “If it makes you happy… it can’t be that bad”!

CB: Yeah that’s all good and well unless it’s playing “My Favourite Mistake”
Me: “The First Cut is The Deepest” or “There Goes The Neighbourhood” would do too…

Speaking of the neighbourhood, it looks like if in the case of a rocket landing in Tel Aviv I will have to find one of the communal shelters in the surrounding areas, which has its pros and cons, I mean the time it takes to get from my apartment to one of these shelters does not fill me with joy, especially as the authorities have stated that the sirens will go off approximately 1 minute before a mortar hits the city. So in the event of the siren going off I have around one minute to firstly hear the siren and then get myself to the local shelter, which is a 2 minute walk away… at least! What if I am in bed when it goes off… realistically it takes me at least a minute to put some clothes on, never mind getting out of the house!

But then on the other hand my friends and I have decided that in the spirit of what to take to the bomb shelter, this is a good opportunity to share our goods… alcohol and drugs are pretty much the list… but what else do you need when the world is crashing down around you? Hmmmm… a guitar maybe? Oooh!!! Any guitar players who live in the Dizengoff centre area, make sure you head to the local bomb shelter… drugs and alcohol will be provided!

Actually this might all be a bit of a problem, as I am currently the walking chemist. No I have not undergone a career change to drug dealer. After my swift recovery from my root canal, I am now experiencing a new tooth problem (my dentist thinks I should save myself some cash and just move into his surgery). I have now got a wisdom tooth causing me no end of grief. What does this mean? Well it means that I am back on antibiotics! Which means that I am back off alcohol and back onto pain killers! No pity please people! Seriously don’t pity the fool! Just sit back and enjoy my ramblings going even more off the edge as I become more and more delusional thanks to the painkillers, antibiotics, ibuprofen, and green tea tablets I am currently taking!

FYI: there is a reason that they do not show clips from Israeli news on CNN! We Israelis in the face of danger prefer to laugh our asses off!
“Hassan Nasrallah is that the best you can do! Loser!... Has the barakas place re-opened yet?” (Typical Israeli Ars from Tiberius smoking a pack of Nobblus cigarettes)

I tell you, Jackie Mason could not have done it better, and this was on Israel’s main news channel! While the Arab world knows that the best PR is woman and children crying and tearing at their clothes, the Israelis prefer to be caught in shot laughing, picking up debris while sucking an ice-lolly… well it’s damn hot here!

Breaking News - Israel in the Press

What did you do this weekend?

After the weekend, everyone asks the same question… and generally my bleary eyed look on a Sunday morning will pretty much speak for itself. This week however, we all have the same response, “We watched the news”.

Not being someone who usually likes to pay too much attention to what is going on in the news, as an Israeli citizen it is difficult to turn a blind eye to recent events. This weekend was spent in front of the TV, watching the endless reports and breaking news on the current situation in Israel and Lebanon. Never did I think on Wednesday, that the kidnapping of two Israeli soldiers on Israeli soil, would escalate to the level that it has, but here we are in a state of war, and I tell myself that I am just naïve for believing that it was ever going to end any other way.

I guess you want to know how it makes me feel. I guess you want to know how an English Jew who made Aliyah two years ago sees her future in Israel pursuant to recent events. I suspect that you have also seen the endless news and wondered how someone who has citizenship elsewhere would still continue to live in what I presume you see as a war torn country.

I want to be honest, I want to tell you the truth about how this all makes me feel, but in the Arab-Israeli conflict, the truth has always been an illusive commodity that very seldom shows its face. While watching CNN, BBC, and Sky News, I see what the rest of the world sees, I feel the concern that my friends and family in England must feel watching those reports, and it saddens me that this is what Israel has come to… a side headline on the “Lebanon Crisis” banner stating “Israel bombards Lebanon”. In the rush to report, the ‘who started what’ becomes confusing, and the facts disappear into the latest headline… the current situation… it does not matter how it arose, or who made the first attack… Israel is stronger than Hezbollah, therefore it is Israel who must show restraint. This will always be the truth as seen by the world, as truth be known that the press love to support who they see as the ‘under-dog’. Israel in its short history has never allowed herself to be the under-dog, the victim… she has stood on her hind legs and defended herself when the rest of the world turned its back. So when criticised for defending her own borders, what else do you expect her to do?

BREAKING NEWS: A Katusha rocket just hit the central train station in Haifa killing 8 people so far…

What is the solution?

On Friday I watched the UN Security Council meet for an open debate on "The Situation in the Middle East". During this debate I for the first time watched Israel openly defend its actions in an articulate verbal manner. Dan Gillerman, Israel’s UN Ambassador, spoke in response to the typical speech made by the Lebanese Ambassador (reported by the BBC as ‘The Palestinian representative’… idiots!). I want to quote some of what he said, as it was the first time that I have watched a representative of Israel speak and not wondered why on earth we chose that shmuck to speak on behalf of our nation... Dan you did us proud! You kicked ass!

“Mr. President,

There are words that speak far louder and clearer than anything I can voice today…
the words of an unnamed Lebanese minister, who said, “The Hezbollah has not only kidnapped two Israeli soldiers, it has taken the whole of Lebanon hostage.”

Mr. President,

With your permission, I would like to make a personal appeal to my esteemed Lebanese colleague.

Your Excellency,

You know, deep down, that if you could, you would add your voice to those of your brave countrymen. You know, deep down in your heart, that you should really be sitting here, next to me, voicing the same opinion. You know that what we are doing is right, and, if we succeed, your country will be the real beneficiary. I am sure many of our colleagues around this table and in this chamber, including many or our neighbours, share this sentiment.

Mr. President,

This Council and the international community have a duty today to help the Lebanese people achieve the goal of a free, prosperous and democratic Lebanon. The sad and tormented life of this war-torn land has today entered another sad chapter in its history. It is up to every one of us to help write this chapter, to ensure that this opportunity is seized, not only for the benefit of the Lebanese and Israeli people, but for the sake of generations to come.”

For the full speech, please take a look at this link.

The sad thing was that due to the UN’s inefficiency, this speech was a waste of Dan’s breath. It clearly fell on deaf ears, as was shown when it was followed by the Russian representative harking on about ‘even handidness’. I ask the Russian to be even handed with his ‘friendly’ neighbours when ambushed and bombed. Would he sit back and be ‘even-handed’ or would he rightly defend his country? I think the later… but lets all be honest here… the UN is as much use to the world as the Eurovision Song Contest. The same countries vote for the same countries every year, and we can always rely on the fact that while the US backs Israel (every time!) Russia and France will always back the ‘other side’, or whoever the US does not support. Sometimes I wonder if having the World’s superpower as our friend really does us any favours.

Solution? We are at war… that is the only solution. And if it takes a year, two years, or even if we find ourselves in a fifty year war (g-d forbid) this is the only solution that we currently face. How can you try to negotiate with those who will not put the guns down, and who shield their guns with human lives? It is easy to criticise Israel based on body count alone. Of course we are going to kill more of their people, than they ours! Firstly we have one of the strongest armies in the world, where their arsenal may be fierce, but no way near as accurate. Secondly Israel prefers to build bomb shelters in their homes to protect their people, rather than the Hezbollah who build bombs in their homes, among their wives and children, to protect their PR later down the line when their wives and children are “mercilessly slaughtered by the evil Israeli army”. I have heard it all and I am wondering when the world will finally realise that we have all heard enough!

What are you going to do now?

On Shabbat, I walked around Tel Aviv, and you could not help but notice the traditional background noise of traffic, and cell-phones, had been replaced with the dull thudding of the helicopters and fighter planes flying overhead… due North.

As I sat eating my lunch the news broke that a rocket had landed in Tiberius. There is no doubt that they have the capabilities of hitting central Israel. Reports come in that out of the 12,000 or more rockets that Hezbollah have, at least 30 have the capabilities of hitting Ber Sheva, never mind my little Tel Aviv. Nooman and I sat while waiting for the news to be updated and posed question upon question to each other…

So what do we do when the bombs land in Tel Aviv?

Do we still go to work?

Where is the nearest bomb shelter?

Should we be getting gas masks?

What happen if it never stops?

What would you take with you to the bomb shelter?

If your parents made you, would you go back to England?

Are we crazy?

When I moved to Israel I knew the situation was a volatile one to say the least, and whatever quiet existed at the time of my aliyah was only a temporary peace in the storm that surrounds Israel. I try and imagine the worst possible situation where I would have to leave Israel, and the only way I see myself leaving is if I was physically put on a plane out of here… and to be honest, I think they would rather push us into the sea than see us fly out of here on EL AL jets.

Am I crazy? Maybe I am, but the things that worry me most about the current situation are not the bombs falling on Haifa, Naharia, Tiberius and who knows where… perhaps I am a little numb to it. My main concern is the friends I have made who are likely to be called up to the army. I worry for them, even though most of them respond to my “have you been called up yet?” with a strong “Channah I am an Israeli… it is what we do.” I have such admiration for these young men, while at the same time I have an urge to grab them by their shirt collars and drag them to England, to ‘safety’. But this is truly ridiculous, because my biggest fear in this whole situation is the very same thing being done to me!

I heard that Jews in England were gathering in Synagogues and saying prayers for the State of Israel. I appreciate these prayers, and thank all those who have prayed and do pray for our welfare, but with respect, given the choice between sitting in a shul in England, and a bomb shelter in Tel Aviv, I would rather be sat with my brothers and sisters in a bomb shelter in Israel… I just need to decide what I am going to take with me…

27 Years… of what?

No! No! No! It’s my birthday! I am not going to be morbid!! On the contrary I am very grateful, because the way I see it 27 is just a number. I am 27 years older. I am 27 years wiser. I am 27 years more confused, while at the same time being 27 years more confident of myself. I have spent 27 years with some of the greatest people on this planet, and spent 27 years trying to avoid the biggest losers on this planet… and although I have come into contact with both, I am now 27 times more likely to be able to tell the difference between the two on sight!


Plus in my positive mood, I know that it could be a hell of a lot worse! I mean if I were a dog I would be 189 years old, if I were a cat I would be 173 years old, and if I were a cow I would be 135 years old. This would ultimately make me either an old bitch, an aging pussy or a just a washed out old cow, or more likely… dead!

Elana: So lets talk about the fact you are 27
Me: Why?
Elana: Well you ain’t no spring chicken
Me: Thanks!

(I could not find the age of a chicken… I don’t think they live that long!)

So no downers on turning 27 and being another step closer to 30… it is just another number, and it is all good with me!

Workmate: How old are you now?
Me: 27
Workmate: Really???
Me: Ha ha ha.. what you trying to say?
Workmate: You are a baby!!!

Thank you to all of you who sent me birthday wishes this morning… you’re beautiful… and mostly older than me ;)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!

nb: Cow age provided by the "Bovine Detective" - thank you!

A cup full of guilt - drinking talk

After promising to give my body and my liver a well deserved rest from late nights and alcohol, I was lured into having drinks with my loveable and totally crazy Canadian friend Elana.

“My boyfriend will kill me if I get home drunk…. Channah have another vodka red-bull...”

So as Elana ensured that my glass was always on the half full side, we talked openly about our lives. Are we really happy? Has Aliyah provided the satisfaction we thought would come from this move? What are our passions and are we achieving them? As strong women are we achieving our potential or are we being wasted in a country that has not quite learnt to appreciate its young, strong women trying to clamor their way up the ranks? In a society dominated by the men who served together side by side in the army, how does the young female Olah Chadasha get her foot in the door? That is without lowering her morals to sleep her way up the ranks to get to her goal?

I see many of my friends letting the "have I made the biggest mistake of my life moving to Israel" thoughts go round and round in their heads. Part of this is due to not feeling satisfied in the work they managed to find here, but also due to a lack of the family stability and support they were used to in their home countries. I remember the same thoughts going round in my head every time things got tough for me back in England with my parents living in Israel. For almost eight years I lived away from my family, away from the stability only a family, that might make you go out of this world crazy, can provide. The big difference I guess was I was living in England and it was my family who were living in Israel… it was me who went into a panic every time I read about a bombing in the news. Part of the issue for many friends I know is that they feel the guilt of leaving their parents in their homes watching the news, wondering if their sons/ daughters are safe in this beautiful country that the rest of the world views as a “war zone”. Guilt is the Jewish condition we must live with… or maybe it is a Polish thing.

Elana: I’m Polish!
Me: You’re Canadian… but we wuv yooooooooooooou anyway!
Elana: Naaaaaaaaaaa my woots! I mean roots! Hiccup!

Maybe we should root canal it… once they take out the root the pain is gone… maybe it will take the guilt too!


After a bottle of red label Smirnoff and four cans of red bull, we still had not reached our conclusion. Nooman came home from a hard day at work, where as usual he got fooked into staying late, to find his roommate and friend babbling incoherent sentences about men, Israel, work, and “…that alcohol really does solve all your problems. Whoever said drinking doesn't help lied…" (Jewel)

Elana: Do you think that I will stay in Israel?
Me: Well you have the Chutzpa of an Israeli
Elana: Really?
Me: Hunny do you think in Canada you would be able to shout out at the top of your lungs on a crowded bus “I LOVE ENGLISH! ISN’T ENGLISH GREAT!”
Elana: Ha ha true! Ha ha ha – hichup!

“Whoever said drinking doesn't help lied. You live and you learn."

Thoughts of a very drunk, very bad, ex-BA girl!

Ok ok ok! I know I haven’t written in a week, but I have been a very busy girl! I swear! I am not neglecting you, or my writing, which seems to have deteriorated in the last week… damn writer’s block! The truth is that what with root canal part 2, the many family dinners and stay-overs in honour of our birthdays and wedding anniversaries, and the entire Anglo Jewry descending upon this small dot of a holy land, this little miss graham has barely had the time to watch the new series of the Amazing Race! Although I did manage to skive off yesterday afternoon so I could watch it before going to see more English visitors and see the football.

Seriously people I am exhausted!

Even more shocking to those who know me... I also managed to stay in Jerusalem for 3 and a half days… Wednesday night until Saturday night! Ok so I did drive to Ra’anana on Friday morning to have lunch with the parentals and my little sisters, but in essence I spent a long weekend in Jerusalem and survived! I’m not sure if there is any connection to the fact that from Wednesday night to Saturday afternoon I was under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol, but nevertheless I see it as an achievement… even though my liver has other thoughts at the moment.

It was actually a most pleasurable stay in Jtown…

Nine years ago, I had the misfortune of going on my year out in Israel with Bnei Akiva, however I at the same time had the very great fortune of spending that year with 14 wonderful women (they were just 18 year old girls back then)… ok and one or two of the boys were ok too :).

During this year we bonded as only 14 girls; thrown into a hovel in the Old City of Jerusalem with only Aish boys for amusement, sent to do hard labour on a kibbutz because the 6 boys we were sent with were too weedy to do it(Ok Bogen was the king of the fish!), and then chucked off the programme for having “an orgy” in our apartment in Jerusalem, will do! In terms of the lifelong friends we made that year, we had the best year of our lives.

This weekend one of the girls got married at the David Citadel Hotel, looking out onto our old home of the Old City, and out of the 14 original girls in our group, 10 came to the wedding in Israel. It was amazing to see so many of us together again, and over the weekend it was wonderful to reminisce with them over the good and bad times we had all shared together. We walked to the Kotel and I couldn’t help but feel the déjà vu of walking with the same people to pray in the same place so many times before. To be honest the whole weekend was a little overwhelming for this little emotional wreck, and from time to time I had to take myself outside for a little reality check. This was especially so at the wedding where the hall was filled with people from all over the UK. During the meal I took a breath outside and turned to my friend Hugh to say that I had to pinch myself to remember that I had not gone back to England, but that we were still in Israel! But thankfully the next night in a different hotel, at another party for the same wedding, I found myself pouring out Hebrew to the barman… it just came naturally… I was still home! I was still in Israel!

As we all stood on chairs and sang our lungs sore, I looked at the girls who had now grown into successful women, wives, mothers, and I was overcome with the urge to shout, “Come join us here!”, but it is not for everyone, and for sure, their London lives are very attractive in some ways. But it is a life I left behind two years ago, and although I am sure that I will go back to England from time to time, perhaps even to work there for a period, it will never be my home in the same way that Israel is. I guess I never directly correlated my increase in age with the increase in age of England… I have no idea, nor do I care how old England is. But Israel, well she is only 32 (31 on Wednesday) years older than me, and with every year the age gap narrows and I see my growth in her, and I see how I am changing because of her. June 27th 2004, I made Aliyah, and now two years on as I am about to turn 27, I can safely say that I would not want to be anywhere else!

Sunday Mornings Suck!

Football Sucks

Everyone around me is talking about the events of yesterday. Once again England went into the World Cup talking a fantastic victory, but ultimately playing a weak game of defence and let’s just try lobbing the ball to Rooney and see if that gets us a goal. I admit that I know very little about football… I know the offside rule (something that impresses the mailroom boys) but I don’t really understand it, and to be honest I don’t really want to. I love to watch the odd football match, but I like to retain a little distance from the world’s most loved sport… yeah swallow it USA, the world’s most loved sport is FOOTBALL and NOT American Football (we don’t call it Soccer around here!). Maybe I do it because I realize that when I do get into a game I stop being a lady and I become a regular English football thug, hurling obscenities at the players and the ref.

In previous years I have reserved these obscenities for the players of the opposing team, but in this World Cup my shouts of dismay and “come on run you f*@king lazy mother @$*%ers” were only for the my home team… the losers we love to refer to as England. In the preliminary rounds I quietly hoped that playing like losers was one of Sven’s legendary tactics to put the other ‘better’ teams off their guard and that by the Semi’s we would be pulling out the guns and kicking some serious ass… preferably the French. But time and time again I was disappointed. England played like a bunch of old, tired, losers, and it pains my heart to say it out-loud, but sadly it is true. I totally felt the pain of the overly excited 18 year olds who were on their year out in Israel, and had found their way into our bar to watch their home team win… and ended up walking away silently to a losers march.

GB: You guys didn’t deserve to go forward. You stunk the whole way
Me: Gee thanks… and here was I thinking you were going to make me feel better…

After our loss the girls decided to go get some food to soak up the alcohol and go back to the normality of talking about our jobs, our love lives, and our bowel movements. On the way, while singing along to the JSAP’s collection of car tunes including the Pussy Cat Dolls… “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me…” we drove passed an American work friend and I made the JSAP stop the car… “England sucked ass!!!”… ok driver, drive on.


Men Suck

My Thursday nights have become the highlight of my week. Being a girl that always preferred to hang out with the boys, I have developed over the last few months a real appreciation for hanging out with the girls and behaving scandalously as only girls know how. A few of the girls had made a pact that they were going to either add a new kiss to their snog list, or were just going to scout for men. I apparently had to choose my option before we reached the bar. I politely declined.

I guess the urge to meet someone has passed me by. Maybe it is all the frogs and losers that I have already kissed over the last year or two, but I think that the bar hop and snog routine always ends in disaster, disappointment, and a disgraceful hangover. Then there are the dates, which I find to be as much fun as attending an interview with a vampire. You have to sit through all the questions and coffee and then you are never sure if he is going to try and suck your face off or not. I have talked about the dating thing before… so you should be of full understanding of my lack of joy over dating. I generally prefer to do the friend thing and see how it develops from there. But, every now and then I will make an exception, and let a guy take me out for a coffee. Problem is when you think you just are not sure if it is two friends having coffee or a date. And worse when after the second time you hang out you realise that you actually wish it had been a date and ended appropriately, as opposed to you walking home and doing the “what was that?” and “what are we?” , thing.

My father sometimes tells me that I am a boy in the body of a woman. My brother used to tell me I was so cool because hanging out with me was like hanging out with one of the guys. My brother’s friends said that they liked me because if they lost my brother they had a spare… I am mini bro. My guy friends and their friends on first impression all stated that I was “a really cool girl… chilled and easy to hang out with.” During university my girlfriends would laugh with somewhat admiration at how I managed to become best friends with the most sought after and eligible guys. So I guess if the label fits I should wear it.

JSAP: Dude he clearly likes you as a person.
Me: I don’t need or want another guy friend… I am forever ‘a guy’s best friend’
JSAP: Ha ha ha Man’s best friend
Me: Does that make me a dog?

Plus I am not sure that I am happy having Atheist Singles website advertising on my blog…

The Simple Treasures in Life

Simple Pleasures

It is the simple things in life that give me the greatest joy; waking up in the morning to see that it is going to be yet another beautiful day, managing to drive out of my street without being stuck behind the garbage truck, arriving in to work before everyone else, having an hour of blissful silence to be able to catch up on the News and read my favourite blogs, getting home in time to go to the gym and have a social life, and getting a Caesar salad at the 25 NIS (now 30 NIS) restaurant with my friends… oh and a big glass of red wine.

I have noticed that a lot of female bloggers are writing about friends/ lack of friends/ wishing they had more friends at the moment. I blame the summer. It is the time of year when everyone seems to be with someone. Everyone seems to be in love, walking hand in hand down the beach with the love of their lives, and when you are a single woman in your late twenties and thirties, the loves of your life become your simple pleasures and your friends.

I treasure my simple pleasures and even more so my beautiful and wonderful friends who at times I may take for granted (as do we all) but at the moment I am in a lovey dovey place so swallow it – I love you people!! But it has not been easy. I would like to remind you that 2 years ago I arrived in a new country, and although I was lucky enough to have 3 of my best friends either here already or following me on the plane, and I also had my family here waiting for me, it has still taken almost to this day for me to gather a quality group of people around me who I trust and adore… and at the same time can rely on at least one of them to get me drunk any given night of the week. It does take time, partly because you are so busy trying to define who you are in this new country you are calling home, it is not the easiest thing to do to develop a whole new social scene.

Plus the good friends we left behind will always be in the back of our minds… If so and so was here they would be able to cheer me up/ give me the right advise etc. But the sad fact is that after a while these friends too go their own way, move to another country, get married and have babies which rightly take priority over joining you to drink down your sorrowful love-life in the local pub. I would like to site my parents and the key example here. At age 52 (but he didn’t look any older than 40… ok 35) my father brought his wife and two youngest daughters to live in Israel. My parents prior to this had lived all their lives in Leeds and were still best of friends with people they had met at youth clubs in their teens. But they decided that Israel was worth the sacrifice of leaving behind the comfortable and reliable social circle they had so loved in good old Leeds, and decided to come to settle in Ra’anana, not really having a friend in the town. Now nine years on I see my parents in close friendships similar to those that they had developed over many many years. So have no fear… If two oldies can make new friends so can us younguns ;)


Life’s Treasures

Another thing I have been blog reading recently is the phrase “quality and not quantity”. It is something that makes me laugh out loud. People (myself included) will regularly use this phrase in a way to make themselves feel better for the lack of something they have… in this case friends. Who is to say that you can only have quality OR quantity? I believe… no I know that I have both (my friends are all now reading this with serious inflated ego issues).

Why am I so special? I am not. As I said, it has taken some time for me to get to the stage where I can say I have a secure group of friends around me. But I think the key in any relationship is trust. I trust my friends, and in return they trust me; I rely on my friends, and in return they rely on me; I turn to my friends, and in return they turn to me… or maybe it is the other way around… which came first Little Miss Graham or her friends?

What I am trying to say is that on the one hand it does take time to build a quality amount of good friends around you. However, if you find that you have been living in Israel for a considerable amount of time… lets say 10 years or so, and you are still wondering where the quality friends are, maybe you should be looking to yourself instead of judging those around you for being less than willing to help you in your time of need.

Seriously, some people are bad friends and in turn attract only bad friends, and then wonder to themselves why oh why they are less than willing to help you in your time of need, or listen to your problems. I mean seriously if you are at the age of 30 still using your friends to ease your insecurities in life, but are less than sensitive when it comes to theirs then what do you expect? What were the friendship developing years of university for? You clearly learnt nothing! At some point in our twenties we all come to realise that after our family has let us fly the nest the only person you can rely on is yourself. Your friends may be the most wonderful people in the world, but ultimately they can only be there so much, and at the end of the day have their own lives to deal with. But on the other hand if you take that selfish attitude too far, of “MY needs, MY insecurities” where is the room in that for your friends’ needs and insecurities.

My advice is this; go out, get a life, get a job, stop whinging over not having found the man of your dreams and most importantly stop being a bitch to the friends who are actually willing to stick around you! They are your life’s treasures, so love them, give them a hug to show you care, listen to their problems without throwing them back in their face. And you never know, one day you may find the doors opening, the arms outstretched, more than willing to help you in your time of need, and to pick you up when you are down.

Roots Shmootz

Laylah Lavan - (Sleepless Night)

You want to know where I have been? You really want to know? Ok… So I think a brief recap is required. Thursday night was a fun filled evening out with the ladies to a couple of bars in Tel Aviv, before we split off into those who wanted to eat and those who wanted to swim. I was one of the ones who jumped into the warm Med and had a little paddle before realising that everyone else was there to relieve themselves whereas I just wanted to enjoy the warm water… which became less pleasurable once I began to realise how piss warm the sea was… ok enough dipping my head under the water now. So after we all got dressed or finished our post alcohol feast, we walked back to my apartment where I quickly showered off the sand and wee, and then collapsed into my bed… time 4am.


4.30am – I woke up with an aching in my jaw. Look over to see Eli fast asleep on the mattress on the floor next to me. Looked at the clock to see I had only been asleep for half an hour. Tried to go back to sleep

4.40am – Sleeping is not an option with the pain getting worse I get up out of bed, pour myself a drink and get the Advil in hand and walk into the lounge to watch TV for a bit. I hope that Nooman doesn’t walk in as I could not find my clothes in the dark.

5am – Try going back to sleep as watching the TV seemed to help the pain ease off.

5.10am – Ok now I am starting to feel crazy…the pain is back once I put my head on the pillow. I get back up another drink and start crying because I have no more drugs in the apartment to take.

5.20am – My eyes are aching and I just want to sleep. Maybe rinsing my mouth with Cordisil will help

5.30am – Back in bed I try to put my mind above the pain and somewhere else so that I can get a little shut eye

5.50am – Why the fuck is Eli still asleep!! Wake up and give me some sympathy! I now cannot stop crying and am seriously thinking that I am going crazy… maybe Ginrod and I had one of our drunken play fights and she punched me in the jaw… no I would remember that, I mean I did not have that much to drink. Ok I am going crazy!

By 6am I had officially given in to the pain. Sat on the sofa watching Sky News, crying over the pain that was only getting worse and worse, and wondering who I could call and what exactly they would be able to do to help!

Eventually it turned 7am, and I decided to give up, take advantage of them being so close, and called my parents for some mummy and daddy sympathy. They tried their best to calm me down and suggested that I come home. Not the best thing to suggest to the stubborn Little Miss Graham, who has always seen ‘coming home’ as admitting defeat and returning to sucking my thumb, stomping my foot, and standing in the corner huffing and puffing over my misfortunes. But after initially politely declining my parents' kind offer, I decided that I could not wait for Eli or Nooman to wake up… I mean on a Friday morning the only people you can really rely on to be awake before noon are the mummy and daddy, so at 7.30 I got dressed grabbed my bag and car keys and headed to Ra’anana to find the cure to my pain.


There’s No Place like Home


I arrived at my parent’s place at 8am to my father walking towards me, arms outstretched, wrapped in his Teffilin, almost like the Cohanim blessing the children of Israel. My father gave me a big bear hug and a kiss and I knew I had made the right decision to come home. Mum came running down the stairs in her PJ’s cooing “My poor Channahboo, My poor Channahboo”, and we all sat on the sofa while I gave them a brief history of my pain and how I was beginning to think that I was crazy.

Despite the fact that on a normal day, in a normal situation, my parents are generally the first people to make me go crazy, when I am crying and thinking that I am totally insane, they are in fact the best people to make me realise that I am in fact totally sane… well not 100% sane, but enough that they don’t worry about leaving me alone with sharp objects. Anyway, after a lot of crying and talking and sobbing and moaning, and my dad laughing at me as I called myself Bubba Gump, my parents suggested that I call my dentist on the off chance that he was in the surgery, and see if I could get an emergency appointment.

Exactly 10 minutes later my father and I were in the surgery of Pearl and Dental. Even though he had had 4 emergency calls in, I was the first one there… well I was a true emergency, so I was placed straight on the chair, where I sobbed to my dentist about the pain I was in. I stressed the word pain, as I was hoping he would give me some barely legal painkillers to sooth my pain, and let me get some sleep.

Five minutes in the chair, and it was conclusive… I had to have root canal! I was naively relieved to hear the news. Well at least I was not insane! Little did I know that the pain that I had experienced was only the tip of the iceberg… hmmmmm I never did get those painkillers! Instead I got a dose of antibiotics, and two appointments to have the procedure, which I was a little freaked out about as everyone kept referring to as an operation. Operation?!? I planned my life around avoiding ever having an operation and only ever having to go into hospitals to visit other people or to give birth, and even then I am thinking the homebirth method would be better… well more calming for the mother to be anyway.

Despite the fact that I now knew that my pain was real, that there was a cure, and that my sanity was still in tact, there was the small issue of the fact that the pain was very much still there, none of the standard painkillers were helping, and the lack of sleep was making me go insane! Call in mama to the rescue! Mum immediately got on the phone and called her friends on the chance that any of them might have some spare sleeping tablets. Within two phone calls we had found the drugs and I was on my next mission to go and collect them, get home and into bed before the wave of severe pain started up again… sucking on an ice cube had lulled the pain a little.

Finally I was in bed swallowing half a sleeping tablet, switching off my mobile, and allowing the little pill to take me far away into blissful sleep that I had bee deprived off for so long… I totally understand how people can get addicted to this pill… it is pure heaven! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz


That’s What Friends Are For


I decided that despite the fact that my parents had been amazing, and that the bed the made up for me was more than comfortable, especially with a few sleeping pills in me, I really wanted to be in my own bed. Plus when I finally returned to the land of the living and switched my phone back on, I realised how many people were concerned about my welfare back in Tel Aviv, and lets face it, numbers do count, well two is better than one and 5 is better than 2, so I decided that I would go home and give my friends a chance to pamper me with their sympathy.

Do not underestimate the power of sympathy my friends. When someone is sympathising with your pain, giving you the ‘poor you’ look, and asking if there is anything they can get you or do for you, it does help. Ok so yes I was still in the most amount of pain that I have ever been in my life, but the fact that all my friends were concerned about me soothed me enough so that despite the pain I did not feel the need to cry anymore. Well at least while they were all around. Later when I was trying to sleep and the sleeping tablet was not working (shit I think I am already immune to them!) all I could do was cry. Nooman tired and ready for bed was at a loss, and offered to sleep in my room with me to calm me down. Calm me down it did not, but I did for the first time in 48 hours feel the urge to burst into laughter. “Thanks Nooman, but I don’t think your presence in my room will be the breaking point of my pain… nice try though ;)”. When I later told my dad what he said my father responded, “Cheeky devil! That is an old school attempt… I thought better of Nooman.” But in his defence, snuggling with someone would have made me feel a lot better, ok not ‘a lot’ but somewhat soothed… but I was not in the mood to play lets pretend with Nooman, but you have to love him for trying.

Even friends from England and the states called in to check up on the invalid. Seriously I am feeling very honoured and spoiled right now. My ego has re-inflated and despite the severe pain I am happy in the knowledge that if I died today there would be a nice amount of people crying over the grave. Although… please note that in my funeral requests (known by Eli) I have stated that there should be no boo hooing at my funeral… just lots of drunken laughter and talking about the funny things I once did before being shot dead by a jealous lover (this is my fantasy death ok!)

Anyway, I had the root canal done under a lot of anaesthetic and laughing gas, and now that the worst is over I am thinking that I am in need of some rehab. To all my friends and family who realise that root canal is more painful than mosquito bites, I love you all so much and promise that I will return to my non moaning self once I have weaned myself off the painkillers and sleeping pills.

And just a little final note to the end of this seriously long blog:

June 27th 2006 – My 2nd year Anniversary of Aliyah!!!!!