Israel is at war. Again. Except this time I am here.

You may be wondering if I am scared. I am not nearly as freaked out as I would be if this was happening in Red Deer or Barrie (i.e. a one and a half hour drive away). I am no expert on the middle east, and of course, I have been getting a pretty one sided story here in Jerusalem, but I thought that you guys would like an update from over here.

From my labmates I get a sense sadness, frustration but also resignation to the inevitable. Sadness because no one wants to lead a life of violence. Killing people and having your own people killed is an awful way to live. Frustration because the “other side” has never accepted a compromise. And also because there is a Catch 22 with the international community; when Israel attacks as a response to pop shots over the border (which the locals consider war crimes because they target civilians), they are condemned. If they use "soft" measures such as closing borders, withholding money and trade, the international community also condemns them. Regardless, since Hamas declared the end of the ceasefire on December nineteenth, the Israelis communities around the Gaza border have been under endless attack from pop shots over the border (thank God they don’t have planes…yet) and Israel feels it inevitably has to respond to protect its citizens.

According to David, no matter what, people will be fighting to get rid of Israel. The truth of it is, he explained, is no country around here really likes Israel. A Jewish state, hoofing out many Arabs and Arab rule and controlling the holy city, grates on them, despite the fact that several countries have reluctantly admitted to their presence because there is no defeating a country that is so well internationally backed. I can't imagine that having trade restrictions and closed borders makes the Palestinians too happy either (Read the National Geographic article about Bethlehem from last year to get the picture about how sucky it is to be a Palistian just outside of Israel). David is also afraid by what he hears some of the Arabs are teaching their children. He listed off a few examples and it was real “Jews have horns” and “There never was a temple” kinda stuff. True of the general Palestinian populous? I don’t know, and I doubt it. But if George Bush in America can say “God has our back, so we can invade Iraq”, anything is possible in the middle east.

You have to remember all of my labmates, except the couple of religious ones, have been in the military and quite a few are still in the reserves. Even the boss was a naval commander (No kidding. It brings new meaning to “Oh Captain, my captain”). Several of them have seen serious action. A rocket landed 200 feet away from David during the tussle with Lebanon in 2006. He had put research in the lab on hold when he had been called back from the reserves to serve in the war. How would having your life threatened like that change how you think?

If Israel goes on a serious ground offensive into Gaza, how many of my labmates will disappear back into the army and life-threatening danger? I asked Asaf today if he thinks he will get called back. He said, “Sure, I am going tomorrow,” and then nonchalantly pushed a couple buttons on the spectrometer. I freaked out and was about to berate him for not spending the day with his wife and daughter. “Just kidding,” he said. “It is just a week for training, and anyway I usually get deployed to the north [near Lebanon] not near Gaza.”

And as for me, I don’t feel that unsafe. I won’t be trotting around East Jerusalem (the Arab part) with an Israeli flag or anything stupid. We will be keeping a mad eye on the news. If the embassy calls or the boss says it is time to leave (which he told me he would do in my interview) then we will go. I highly doubt that will happen.

As for the Arab moderates and the Arabs who live in Israel, I am not really sure what they are thinking. The middle aged Arab ladies who take out the garbage in the morning still smile and say “boker tov” (good morning) and flirt and laugh with Itzik, Mr. Jerusalem himself. So in many ways nothing has changed.

Boxing Day

Man it is cold in here and we are too cheap to put heaters on. Part of our problem might be our inactivity. After yesterday, today is our well deserved day off.

The sum total of today’s achievements: one load of laundry, and the consumption of two turkey and cranberry sandwiches, stuffing, apple crisp, tiramisu and of course, some raw green beans.

Christmas: the Dinner Party that could have gone Oh So Wrong

To spread the Christmas cheer, and after semi-pleading with the hubby to do this, James and I invited a bunch of my labmates and their significant others over for a traditional Christmas dinner. Since we are kinda poor right now, putting on a big Christmas party was my present from James. It was stressful and crazy at times, but it turned out to be one of the best X-Mas presents I have ever had.

James and I picked up Butch the Turkey at the grocery in the morning (If you are curious about the name, it came from the some Vinyl Café Siu sent me. Thanks Siu- it was awesome!). I had never really done a whole Christmas dinner all by my self before, so I was a little frightened. Our first surprise was when we took Butch out of the bag; he still had his neck. Hmmmm. What to do about that. After I unsuccessfully tried hacking it off with a knife, I stared at him for a few seconds like he was Nearly Headless Nick. “Quick, James,” I said “get the pliers!” And in a minute, Butch was neck-less. I thank my lucky stars Butch did not still have a head and feet.

We stuffed him and trussed him and popped him in our super dodgy oven, which is circa 1975, smaller than normal, has had the original range on top removed, and kept flipping the breaker until we plugged it into another plug. Did I stuff him right? Is the temperature in the oven OK? Is he too close to the element? Will he burn? This was all very stressful with 9 to eat that night.

As the afternoon wore on and James and I cleaned, moved furniture around and decorated, Butch started smelling better and better. So we just left him to do his thing in the oven. We got the potatoes peeled and cut, the apple crisp ready to go in the oven and nibbed a huge pile of green beans to be steamed in the last few minutes before dinner.

The guests started showing up at 6:30 and I put the potatoes on. Took Butch out of the oven and he smelled and looked amazing.

That is when things started to go wrong. Almost as soon as he walked through the door, one of the guests sprung some mild but unexpected Kosher requirements on me, so plans for creamed potatoes went out the window. But OK. No problem. I had used margarine in everything, not butter.

When I was making the gravy things started really to go wrong. The flour I bought turned out to be cream of wheat. (GRRRR. I need to learn Hebrew!) So, along with David, a Hebrew speaker at the party, I met the neighbors who had some flour, al beit, whole wheat flour. Beggars cannot be choosers. OK. Got flour. Make gravy.

As I was browning the gravy, the gas ran out on the stove. No problem. There is supposed to be an extra full tank on the balcony. I sent a couple of guys out to change the tanks.
But the extra tank of gas was empty too. ARGH! Son of a HOO HAW!

In the fifteen minutes of confusion, the potatoes finished cooking in their own hot water, but the giant pile of beans, they are still raw and now in my fridge. James and will have to be rabbits this week.

Despite all this, there was lots of food, nothing was burnt and only the beans went uncooked. The gravy was even tasty and Butch acquiesced to being carved with a large bread knife. Like a good host, I don’t remember tasting the food, but I hear it was good. David organized a quiz, which was a big hit and gave Assi and Amit something to argue about on their carpool back to Tel Aviv. Stockings were passed with David, square cushion under his sweater, acting as Santa. Israelis are not nearly as excited by the Jaffa orange in the toe as my Dad is.

Definitely the quote of the evening comes from Assi, who had been to New Jersey once during Christmas time and was complaining about the repetitive Christmas music in the malls. “I must have heard it 10 times,” he said. “This song about Gandalf the Deer”.

After the guests left, James and I cleaned up a bit and then rested our weary heads. This morning we called the landlord about the gas. The bad news is, we will not get gas until Sunday evening. The good news is, we have a behemoth pile leftovers in our fridge.
See, Christmas never happens exactly as you planned, but it always seems to work out in the end.

Christmas Eve

We trudged our way to St. Andrews Memorial on a very bleak and rainy night at to attend the midnight service. Poor James was falling asleep before the service, despite my many pokes to the rib cage, but he perked right up as soon as the Rev. opened his mouth. The Reverend’s whole body enunciated his words that boomed out to us in his thick Scottish accent. James, a connoisseur of accents, was enthralled.

The like most Christmas services, the crowd wasn’t too sure what to do when. But there was an added level of confusion because beside the C&E Christians, there were a few Jews scattered about, curious to see what all the fuss of Christmas was about.

On the way out the door, we landed a little treat: a Hanukkah doughnut which is much like a jelly filled doughnut at Timmies. These confections only show up during Hanukkah, and seem to be passed out everywhere: at work, at Hanukkah parties, on the street by dudes in big black hats, at church…. Needless to say, we have eaten a few doughnuts this week.

A Very Merry Christmas and A Happy Hanukah to all!

I am taking tomorrow off work. I figure there should be perks in being one of the few remaining practicing Christians. What this means is I won’t be on the internet again till Sunday, so merry Christmas everyone.

To ward off the Christmas lonelies, James and I invited my labmates over for dinner. I wasn’t expecting a big response from a group of Jews, but I underestimated the power of the promise of yummy food. Our dinner will be somewhere between 12 and 16 people. Yikes.

Finding a Turkey was a bit of a challenge. My internet searches for “Jerusalem Turkey” ended up with a lot of references to politics. Costi searched for me in Hebrew: “Yearooshalime Hodo” got a bunch of exotic pet websites. Who would have a turkey for a pet?!!! We eventually found a turkey source not too far from our place and when I talked to the butcher on Monday “Hodo, sheva Kilos. Bu-Hamishi be-boker” (Turkey, seven kilos, on Thursday in the morning” He replied with a shrug and “Why not?” This worries me. I’m sure it will be fine.

As you can imagine, finding a Christmas tree was a bit of a problem so I spent last Friday afternoon as the craft-a-ma-saurus an turned some corrugated green cardboard, a handle from a squeegee, a giant beer bottle and a whole lot of masking tape into a Christmas tree. The decorations are little Styrofoam balls coloured with Crayola markers and hung with parts of paperclips. The funny part was the guy was in tuning our piano while I was making this, so I am sure he was very confused by all the snip-snipping coming from the living room.

Speaking of the piano, we got it tuned by our neighbour who turns out to be a violinist for the Jerusalem symphony. He must be an amazing violinist but it is sad that even someone who has a full time symphony gig still has to supplement their income with piano tuning. The piano was so out of tune that it took Rafi two sessions and now the piano makes even me sound good. Sadly the neighbours’ Dashund still barks at my playing. But then again, the wiener dog from hell barks at everything.

Mystery Fruit No 4: Space Fruit

I have bravely gone where no poultry has gone before. It took us several days after buying this strange hot-pink and green fruit to decide what exactly it looked like. After considering other candidates such as tropical fish or some sort of Precambrian life form, We finally agreed on alien space ship (hence my little photo-shopping art). Our suspicions were confirmed of UFOness when we cut the sucker open: the flesh and juice was bright purple. To take a bite of the dodgy-looking space fruit took the most courage of all the mystery fruits to date. This time we were pleasantly surprised. It tasted like a kiwi on vacation (and without the pesky fuzzy skin!). Space fruit gets two thumbs up.
One last thought considering the bright purple flesh and for full disclosure in the name of science: I did not notice any …um… “digestive effect” similar to that of beets. (My sister will like this comment, the rest of you can be horrified.)

A wee movie

For my Mom's 60th birthday, James and I put together this little movie of photos we took. I have posted it here for your viewing pleasure. Mom's version had James and I singing as a soundtrack but we have decided to not go public as a singing duo just yet. Especially since three weeks of being sick has really taken a toll on my voice. I checked yesterday and I am officially an alto, if not a tenor. My voice is at least a fifth (probably more like an eighth) lower than normal and I sound like I have been chain smoking for fifty years. Assi says I should start singing the blues instead of Christmas Carols. Anyway. Hope you enjoy our pics.

Hanukah and Kaffee

Yesterday was the group Hanukah party at the boss’ house. The place was packed with our giant group and their significant others. The first candle of the Menorah was lit, which in the boss’ kid-friendly house was made out of brightly colored Construx (like an Erector set, for all you old fogies) and spun around when you flipped a switch. Everyone sung a couple of Hanukah songs and Edo, as the resident seven year-old, ran around with his hands pointed above his head like a candle and lit all the other candles (all of the folks in the room). There was lots of yummy food, and the boss was running around topping up everyone's wine glass. Other than the candles and the different songs, it wasn’t much different than a group Christmas party.

A giant Christmas package arrived in the mail from my Mom today that smells suspiciously like coffee. (Is it Tim’s? Muskoka Roastery? Either way, Mom is our new hero) We are very excited about this because coffee grounds here are horrible imported Kroger Grocery Store Brand from Ohio (no kidding) and at least three times the normal price. Everyone drinks Nescafé and even I have broken down and been sipping this wretched gut-rot instant stuff. In Hebrew, the word “ness” mean “miracle” so the serendipitous translation of Nescafé is “miracle coffee”. I say it is a miracle that anyone thinks it is coffee. I refuse to call it coffee. In my world it Kaffee.

Happy Birthday Mummy!

My Mom, Doris Irene Macdonald, turns 60 today! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! If you know my mom, than you know she is Fabulous (with a capital F). I like her more and more every year, so I know that 60 will be an even better year than 59.

She is a religious reader of this blog, so I am sure she might appreaciate some birthday wishes in the comments section (Hint Hint!).

La Vache Qui Baa

Sometimes I am glad I don’t know Hebrew. Like when the ugly fat lady is beaking off in the grocery store about line budders. I can ignore her. Or chatty labmates become white noise rather than a distraction.
However, most of the time, I wish I knew a little more of the ‘Brew. Like when we accidentally bought non-alcoholic beer last week. It looked so promising with the wheat on the front and a name that I phonetically translate as “malty”.

Last night was a new low. We had bought cubes of beef the other day and put half of them in spaghetti sauce that fed us for two days. Last night, we cooked up the rest of the beef with some sweet peppers but it did not taste right. In fact, I actually exclaimed “what the heck are they feeding the cows around here?” I though that perhaps I had been pampered by grade Alberta beef for two long and I needed to get over myself.
But there was something familiar about the strange taste. Very familiar. It made me think of Jenny and Wayne’s house. Then it dawned on me. For the last three suppers we weren’t eating beef, but eating lamb.
Embarrassing.

Mystery Fruit No 3.

After the awful quince experience (i.e., Mystery Fruit No. Two) we were both a little leery of another fearless fruit feasting, but felt that we should potentially sacrifice our flavour-buds so you folks at home could live vicariously though us.

This green spiky fruit cost us about four shek and started firm but got softer as he sat in our fruit bowl for a few days awaiting his fate. When we did cut him open, there was soft white flesh that tasted sweet and a bit like a mango. Unfortunately there were 64 (we counted them) kidney bean sized black seeds to work around. I thought the fruit was kinda tasty and promptly ate most of it. James didn’t like it as much and said he considers it a B-list fruit. Good thing the fruit was already dead and in my belly before he heard that insult!

Magpies 1, Humans 0

Today I saw a magpie on the way to work pick up a nut, fly into the air and drop it on the cement to crack it open. Smart bird. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for some of the maintenance workers here at the university. Sadly this wasn’t even the same guy who asked me if I knew how to use a wrench. Dude came in this morning and asked me for my typex (as in white-out fluid). I complied and a few minutes later, I headed out into the lab to realize he was painting a board with it. No kidding.

Hamshushalaim

There is a winter festival in Jerusalem in which all of the museums are open Thursdays evenings from nine pm to midnight and patrons can see the exhibits for free and hear special concerts. The Chicken and I took advantage of this last night and went to the Shrine of the Book, where the Dead Sea Scrolls are displayed inside an amazing piece of architecture. We traveled though a tunnel so you felt like you were in the caves in which the scrolls were found. The tunnel ended in a vaulted room that was designed to be like the inside of the clay pots the scrolls were carefully placed in by Jewish purists living in an isolated colony nearly two thousand years ago.
Inside, there was a centre area that was raised. Around the narrow lower outside ring, there was about a hundred people sitting where ever they could, which was mostly on the floor. A choir sung from the raised dais, with harmonies that echoed hauntingly though the room. The crowd was silent and captivated.

To me, it was a presentation of some of the greatest aspects of humanity, for not only were we surrounded ancient teachings and angelic music, but folks of all ages were there to witness it and many were examples of peaceful and beautiful aspects human interaction. Next to us an older couple sat on the floor. Their eyes were closed and the wife’s head was gently leaning against her husband’s shoulder. Nearby, there was another couple, in an effort to be comfortable on the hard floor, had an entwined seated posture that should have been sculpted. Behind me, a teenage daughter was flanked by her mother and grandmother. I guess James and I also were part of the display as we had nowhere to lean against as we sat on the floor, so we had turned our backs and leaned against one another.

James was near motionless and I wasn’t sure what he was thinking of being stuck in an acapella choral concert. He told me later he loved it and he must have been captivated into motionlessness. I have been to and performed in many choir concerts over the years, and even though I was sitting on the floor, this was one of my favorites.

It's gonna be a good day.

You know it is going to be a good morning when you get asked if you know how to use a wrench.

Listen, honey. I'm from Dorset. I can check the oil on the truck too.
On a good day, I even know how to use pliers.

Ministry of the Interior Mild Adventure

Sunday was my first experience with Israeli bureaucracy. I had to get my student Visa. About a month ago, I made about 40 telephone calls (literally) tying to get though to the Ministry of the Interior for an appointment. Today was the big day. I caught a cab down to the ministry, whose tiny, nearly unmarked door was crammed between a clothing shop and a mom-and-pop convenience closet (I would hardly call many of the businesses here stores. Overflowing closet with a guy with a cash register inside is more correct). I will admit the Ministry of the Interior was a little haphazard looking and missing the crisp government-style functional décor we Canadians know and love, but I got my visa there all the same. And it only took me an hour or so. I was expecting to be there all day.
The best part was filling out the application form. I had to write everything in Hebrew and English. I got my own name figured out a while ago, but how exactly would you spell Doris, Craig, Dwight, Edmonton, etc. in the Hebrew alphabet?
These were by best guesses:
דוריס Doris
קרג Craig
Dwight דוואיט
אדמונטון Edmonton

Others were applying for all sorts of visas and residencies. I overheard one American kid talk about his “proof of Judaism.” I imagine he was applying for Aliyah. Frankly, his keepah and the prayer shawl poking out from under his plaid shirt was proof enough for me. Now I am officially here on an A2 with multiple entries, and my wallet is 300 shekels lighter. Ouch. James tells me he only paid 30 bucks for his in T.O. but then again, he had to go four times to the consulate before they issued it to him.

I saw Jesus yesterday

I saw Jesus yesterday in the old city. He was drinking an energy drink, because the Messiah needs a bit of a pick me up after returning to save mankind. Seeing as I had accidentally picked up someone else’s grocery bag on Friday and had been enjoying ill-gotten pastries, I really didn’t want to talk to Jesus. So I shot this pic from the hip.

Jerusalem syndrome is the real deal, and if the Israelis catch you strutting around proclaiming to be King David or the Second Coming, you end up in the nut house on a good dose of antipsychotics and get a free a plane ticket home. Apparently most of the people who get this are protestant Christians and have come from very conservative, literal-interpretation-of-the-bible upbringings. I will admit that my upbringing was a little more apple pie than most, but thank goodness my parents are evolutionists.

What I want to know is, who sold that guy his outfit? REALLY? Come on!

On another note, Thursday was Einat’s going away party. She has finished her masters and is going to Cambridge for a PhD. We were discussing the posh English accent she is going to get to supplement her Hebrew one. James suggested to the group that talking with an English accent requires not moving your upper lip, i.e., having a stiff upper lip, and proceeded to demonstrate. Amit, in a vain attempt to gain a posh British accent, was holding down his upper lip with his finger and asking everyone “Do I sound Eengleesh?” in his thick Hebrew accent. Assi, our local cynic, replied acerbically “You sound like a sixty year-old woman.” I got a horrible fit of the giggles. Despite the tears of laughter rolling down my face, I couldn’t help but watch Amit’s attempts at a stiff upper lip. It was like watching a train wreck. I have been giggling about this all weekend.

Elvis, the Washing Machine from Hell

The chicken and I did our fist load of laundry in the washing machine that was recently, and reluctantly brought back to life by the guy we are subletting from. We now know why there is a cord wrapped around the machine tied to a tap. It is a life line, for during the spin cycle the machine shakes like Elvis on Uppers. And like Elvis, people just won’t let it die.

The electrical cord is slung from the machine's perch in the bathroom on two cinder blocks to the nearest outlet: across the hallway into the kitchen. This makes the limbo necessary on cookie runs to the kitchen. Also, as we discovered the hard way, you have to make sure the bathroom door is propped open because the violent shaking causes the cinderblocks to move in front of the closed door. And since the door is propped open, you get the full blast of the ungodly washing machine Rock and Roll. I found the soap bar that had been resting atop the washing machine from hell ejected halfway across the room. Altogether, the bathroom is a dangerous place to be in during the spin cycle.

Da Da DA Dah! The Academic Integrity Avenger!

I got a bit of a “Meh” response from the boss on the two papers I found that were fishy. So I sent an anonymous email to the Editors today. Perhaps nothing will happen, but at the very least they will likely check this guy’s papers a little more closely before they publish them. I feel like a bit of a superhero: Academic Integrity Avenger! I should design a costume. I am open to suggestions.

Editors Hojo and Rogers,

Recently, I came across two papers by Srivastava's group in your journals that I noticed had several identical figures. Upon closer examination, much of the text is identical as well. The later paper seems to be a slightly different interpretation of the same results.

Roy, P.; Srivastava, S.K. Materials Letters. 2007, 61, 1693-1697.
Roy, P.; Mondal, K.; Srivastava, S.K. Crystal Growth and Design. 2008, 8(5), 1530-1534.

I felt I should bring this to your attention. I have attached PDFs of the papers.

Sincerely,
A Reader of Materials Letters and Crystal Growth and Design

Mystery Fruit #2

The Chicken’s first foray to the shuk was a little overwhelming for him, but we got our veggies for the week and bought a mystery fruit of which we do not know the name. (Bryan, all-knowing strange-vegetable god, can you help us out on this one?) It was yellow like a pear, but had a bumpy bottom like a red delicious apple. After the pomela experience I was expecting great things. I cut up a couple of slices of the white flesh for taste testing.
This is what the judges had to say:
Judge 1:
“Uck, ech, blech, pthb, pthub, pthub”
Judge 2:
“I don’t know what the heck that was, but it was nasty.”

It was so bitter it sucked every last bit of moisture out of our mouths. Overall two thumbs down for mystery fruit number 2.