As I exited Hof HaCarmel train station in Haifa, it started to rain. I said a silent prayer in my head, "Please don't let it rain hard before I get home. Let it be just a little wet until I'm inside." And then I thought about my 15 minute walk and despaired that I'd make it home even slightly dry. I watched other former train passengers get into their cars as I walked across the parking lot toward the building where I live.

The rain did let up, and by the time I got five minutes away from the train station it was perfectly dry. I hardly noticed that, though, because my attention was taken up with watching the large bulldozer that was coming down the street toward me. It had bright headlights and was moving faster than bulldozers usually do when actually bulldozing things. As it got close to me, it turned toward the sidewalk where I was walking in such a way that I couldn't tell if the driver was planning to park next to the curb, but sharply, or if he was planning to come up on top of the curb.

My mind zipped through different scenarios to decide what I should do to stay safe. Maybe the driver didn't see me. Or maybe he's about to pull a "Jerusalem Construction Worker". I moved quickly as far away from the edge of the sidewalk as I could get. If he was just pulling up to park, no big deal, but he was clearly coming towards me.

The bulldozer stopped just short of the sidewalk where I was standing, and the door opened up. The driver leaned out and said something I couldn't understand over the sound of the engine from where I was at the far side of the sidewalk away from the road. I stepped closer, "What?"

"How do I get to the shopping mall?" he asked.

I stood there baffled for a moment, and then described the route to him, "You go until you get to the roundabout. Then you turn right and go up and over the bridge right there," I pointed to the bridge a few hundred meters in front of us, "After the bridge you go right, and then you won't have any choice but to go left. Then you'll see the mall up ahead."

"OK Ummm... Is there a little grocery store any closer than that in this neighborhood?"

"Not that I know of!" I responded.

"OK, thanks!" and then he closed his door and drove onward following the directions I'd just given him.

I was still laughing to myself about the man who drives his bulldozer to get some milk when a small red car passed me going the same direction as I was walking and then stopped in the middle of the road about 10 meters ahead. He waited there for me to reach him. I expected him to ask me for directions. Instead, the man leaned out his window, corn-cob pipe between his lips and asked, "Do you want a ride to the next bus stop or are you having fun walking?"

I thought about it for a split second. A moment ago I'd wished that I could get a ride, but it was raining then. Now there was no rain at all, just a strong sea breeze and the sound of the waves. I decided to keep on walking, "I'm fine walking. But thank you very much!"

I really did appreciate the offer. I felt uniquely blessed. The rain let up for me AND I was offered a ride. How lucky is that? I said thanks in my head and savored the feeling of gratefulness in my heart. It felt really good.

Today I spent the day up in Haifa, mostly walking and busing around the different neighborhoods and looking at areas where I'd seen apartments in my price range on Websites. I settled on two neighborhoods that I'll be looking to live in. Both are good neighborhoods but still have places I can afford. Both are fast, easy trips to a train station. So, now my apartment hunt is really in full swing.

On the way back to Tel Aviv, I was on a very crowded train and I sat next to a little girl and her grandmother. A moment after I sat down I noticed that the two were playing a game kind of like hangman. the grandmother was writing words in Arabic, but writing x's in place of some of the letters. Then the little girl had to guess the word and write it correctly. They played that for a while, and then they played another game where the grandmother wrote numbers and letters on the paper backwards and forwards and the little girl had to pick out which ones were written correctly.

After a little while, I leaned over and said in Hebrew to the little girl, "I want to learn, too. Can you teach me?" I wasn't actually sure if the little girl spoke Hebrew, but I figured that if not, either the grandmother would be able to translate, or else we'd make due with writing and sounding things out. I'm good at making myself understood in those sorts of situations -- with kids at least.

The little girl looked at her grandmother and then at me and said, "I can't teach you!"

The grandmother smiled and said, "Sure you can! Just show her the letters and what they sound like, and then show her some words."

And so she did. I listened to the little girl, and repeated the names of the letters and the sounds after her. Her grandmother corrected her when she wrote something backwards. And then I copied the words and the little girl corrected my mistakes. It was fun. I think she and I were both doing a good job of reinforcing our meager Arabic writing skills.

The grandmother said that the little girl was 6 years old and goes to a multilingual school in Yafo where she learns Hebrew, Arabic and English. The girl showed off her knowledge of the ABC's in English. I made appropriately appreciative noises. Then we both wrote our names in all three languages. I didn't know how to write my name in Arabic and she didn't know how to write her name in English, so we again had a chance to teach each other something.

The grandmother asked if I'm a teacher. "No," I said, but I took that as a compliment.

Right before I got off the train I showed them pictures of my grandson and his dad. "See? I'm a grandmother, too." I was glad that the "other" grandmother didn't proceed to tell me that I'm far too young. I'm kinda getting sick of that.

We waved goodbye and the little girl blew me a kiss as I headed to the door at my stop.

It's one of the things that most annoys me about this country. The right and the left are the same -- maybe not "self hating", but "haters" just the same. Oh, some say, "No, we don't hate anyone," but their actions betray them. And me, am I a hater, too? I guess so. I hate listening to people talk about how such and such a thing isn't "how we do it here" as an excuse not to improve themselves or how there "is no point" in political activism because politics is controlled by the greedy few and there's nothing you can do about it.

So much of my experience of this country is about helplessness and hopelessness and anger. It bleeds into the way people push onto the bus or drive their cars on the highway.

And then someone does something so sweet, so good. And that becomes my picture of "real Israelis". The juice of this country, the honey of it, is like the little boy I told on Friday night about my son. "He doesn't want to play with the other kids because he doesn't speak Hebrew well and he's afraid that you guys won't like him because of it," I explained. The little boy said, "Playing with kids who don't speak Hebrew is great! We can use our imaginations even more!" and then he went off to gather all the other kids at the party and bring them over to my son, introduce everyone and start a game that didn't require great linguistic skills. That's the sweetness of this land, and sometimes it feels rare, but it is here.

I'm brought to mind of a advertising campaign a little while back. I don't even remember the product -- maybe it was cell phone service, but I'm not sure. What I remember was that it was about IDF soldiers and Palestinians on opposite sides of the security wall. A soccer ball comes over the wall from the Palestinian side. A soldier kicks it back. A friendly game ensues, of the ball passing back and forth. The Israeli left had a cow over that. "OMG!!! How cynical can this company be?! Don't they know how evil Israel is? How evil the IDF is? How evil the wall is???!!!!" Some people posted videos of what really happens when a ball goes over the fence by accident. It's not pretty or idyllic, let's just put it that way. I didn't say anything at the time, but all I could think is, "What the hell is YOUR problem? Don't you understand that this is wishful thinking?"

Look, obviously, it wouldn't be safe to have a game like that. Are you kidding? The ball could be a bomb, for heavens sake! That's not hatred of Palestinians speaking, it's fear of the sick and twisted things that people do in conflict. But, there are stories of people reaching beyond their wars and their battles, moments of peace in the midst of terror, and those stories give hope. There's that story about the two sides in a battle in WW2 (or was it WW1) who got out of their trenches on Christmas and celebrated together for just one night. The next day they were back in their trenches and shooting each other again. Such hope. Such tragedy. It reminds us of the stupidity of our violence, and the possibilities for another path.

But this post isn't about just that one commercial. It's about the attitude that seems to be pervasive here towards hope: You shouldn't have too much of it, or else you are a stupid fool. Optimism is cause for ridicule. Wishful thinking is not a way of envisioning a better option but just a waste of time. If you don't build walls around your heart, grow spikes on your skin then you aren't a REAL Israeli, and you are nothing but a freier.

A freier is worse than a sucker. A freier volunteers for things. A freier gives too much money to charity. A freier lets other people walk all over them and use them. A freier is a loser, short and simple.

But that image is totally messed up. Even my most cynical friends volunteer to help out someone or something. Even my most hardened acquaintances give money to help someone in need or give money to support some cause that they believe in. Even the most Israeli of Israelis have their soft moments when they let down their guard and are soft. That's not being a freier. Not at all. That's being human.

In case you are wondering what prompted this rant, I'd like to send you off to someone else's essay on Israeli hardness and what it is to be a hero here. I think that they hit it right on the head. A true hero IS a freier and that's a damned good thing to be.

So stuff all that pretension to strength and prickliness and just breathe a bit. Be the goodness you want to see in the world, and don't worry about the repercussions. Dream a little about what you wish the world were like, and don't be afraid of the fact that we aren't there now. It's OK. This life is a journey, not a destination, so be soft and walk toward that world you want to live in one sweet and foolish action at a time.

If you don't read Cyrillic letters, then you won't notice that the ad below announces a price of "1 shekel". If you don't know much about Israel, you might be surprised to know that advertisers on the Web specifically target Russian-language ads at Israeli audiences. If you live here, though, it's no surprise at all.

I'm currently on a summer vacation in the United States, visiting family. I have some old video and photos that I have not yet posted to the site, but in general, I will not be updating this site much until I return to Israel in September.

In the meantime, enjoy your summer (or winter, if you happen to be in the southern hemisphere). I leave you with words from US Senator Bob Menendez (D, NJ) about the history of Israel and the relationship between Israel and the United States.

About this time in the US, stores and malls are full of Easter decorations and goodies. Here in Israel, the focus is Passover.

This is the Jewish holiday that celebrates the liberation of the Jews from Egypt in the time of Moses. On the first night of the holiday here in Israel, and the first and second nights outside of Israel, there is a special meal called the seder. The seder is a ritual meal during which the story of how the Israelites became slaves in Egypt and how they became free is told. There is a text which is read, called the Hagada (lit. the telling) in which the main story is interspersed with prayers and additional commentaries about the meaning of the holiday and how it applies to our identity, life and religious commitments as Jews today. There is also an order in which certain food are eaten and specific portions of the tale are told. It's that order that gives the meal it's name. Seder (סדר) means "order" in Hebrew.

In this video you can see signs in a store for a super sale on housewares, and examples of seder plates both in the store and at an independent booth in the walkway of the mall.

Last week I took a trip up to Metulla to meet with Carol Hasday, general secretary at the Israeli Ice Skating Federation, and find out information about local competitions, getting my students into clubs, and what is required so that I will be allowed to coach my students on the big ice up there from time to time and serve as their official coach at tests and competitions. Of course, while I was up there, I also enjoyed skating on the large ice surface and went swimming with my son in the deliciously heated pool at the Canada Center.

When you think of Israel, you probably don't imagine mountains and
evergreen trees. Most people think the country is all desert, with no
modern highways or shopping malls, not a fast car or credit card in sight. By now you know better, though. For the people of the North, Israel is a lush and green place full of forests and in the winter the tops of the mountains even get snow! I'm afraid that this video doesn't nearly do justice to the place. I need some sort of steady cam for my cell phone, I think. There are some still shots, too.

Of course, the reason I was there was for the ice, not the green. So, here's a video of the inside of the ice rink:

After I posted the last video with the ads from the national elections here in Israel, I got a mail from Joel Alan Katz of Religion and State in Israel saying that he and his wife had made a video of their voting experience this year. At the beginning of the video you see them each with their national ID cards and their voter registration cards. Then they go to the front desk where their names are checked off of the voter rolls. Each one takes their turn to go back behind the blind and then they come back out with their ballots in the little blue envelopes and put them in the ballot box.

Democracy in action, ladies and gentlemen.

For those of you tittering at how old fashioned this system is, I'd just like to point out that we have no questions as to whether or not the touch screens picked up the correct vote.

Thank you for sharing your video with us, Joel!

You can follow Joel on twitter @religion_state.
And be sure to read his weekly review of media coverage of all things Religion and State in Israel at http://religionandstateinisrael.blogspot.com/

This video is a bit old, since I took it on 11 Feb 2009, right after the national elections here. Still, I thought it might be interesting to some to see this busy intersection and highway entrance with its edge to edge political ads.

The white squares that look like pieces of paper with one, two or three letters on them are examples of what that party's ballot looks like. When you vote here, you walk behind a blinder (like a cardboard school diorama stand) where there is a box with square holes. Each hole holds a set of these white pieces of paper with one, two or three letters, representing a particular party. You pick the paper for your party and put it into the envelope that you were given at the sign in desk. You seal the envelope, and then put the envelope in the box back at the sign in desk.

My friend and colleague in the social media consulting and journalism scene here in Israel, Ezra Butler, made this really cute video on Purim. In it he explains why we dress up in costume on the holiday, and he shows his own transformation.

You can see more of Ezra at StartupLucky.com where he covers Israeli startups with great personal interviews and lots of humor.