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When we were at the Temple of Heaven we met some vendors selling wooden models of the temple on the way out. Guy wanted one, I didn’t. Guy, as usual, won. The negotiation started at RMB 80.00, and we ended up getting it for RMB 20.00. The bad thing about not having set prices, is that even when we get something at a really low price, we still don’t know if we’ve been ripped off or not. This time we did. We found out. Thirty feet away, a Chinese family of three was having the same ceremony: a child insisting that he had to have the wooden model of the temple, and two parents who didn’t particularly care for it, but caved in nonetheless. Like we did. They were negotiating in Chinese, the vendor was sulking, saying he’s losing money, they said they can get it elsewhere for less, the usual. They ended up buying it for RMB 35.00. So we learned a couple of things: foreigners are not discriminated against when it comes to prices. A relief actually. And local people get ripped off as well.
But this may also be a good time to share our collective haggling technique.
We simply don’t care for the initial offer made by the vendor. By the time he or she states the initial price, we already know how much it is worth for us. When I say worth for us it really means : how much a comparable product would cost in either Israel or the US minus the following: possibly but not necessarily low quality, no refunds, no returns, the distinct possibility that the product we’re buying will be used a small number of times, sometimes no times at all.
We don’t blink when the following speech comes out of the vendor’s mouth (in a surprisingly reasonable English): “For anybody else I would ask 2500 (they hit on the electronic calculator in front of my eyes 2500, then delete it) or even 2000 (hit then delete again). For you, because you are the first deal of the day / because you’re my friend / because you’re American or Israeli or a foreigner, only for you 1000”. To which I answer “Yi Bai Quai”. The vendor is in shock, following the resuscitation he or she continues: “OK, 700”. We repeat “Yi Bai Quai” (RMB 100). The vendor yells, sniffs, snarls, turns around, states what good quality this product is, and how it is impossible to find it elsewhere at all, etc. etc. To which we say RMB 100, and start to turn around and walk away. He still calls after us quoting a landslide of numbers: 500, 450, 300, 200, 175. We don’t turn around. Only when he or she says OK, we turn around, pay and leave. Half the times it’s still overpriced. But on occasion, we do find a good deal: reasonable quality at a ridiculously low price. The following, we’ve learned to be correct. The right price is when the vendor DOES NOT call after you any more. At which point if you still want it, you should turn around and buy it for the last audible price. It usually means that any lower price will eat the minimum RMB 10-20 profit they make on the item. One time at least, I actually ended up paying the vendor a little more than what we agreed on, because I sensed that he was not making anything at all.
And here’s a secret. One would think that negotiating a price is a Developing Country thing. Not at all. I already went to multiple stores in the US of America and after selecting a product I asked for a discount, and to my surprise, received it with almost no questions asked. Last time I bought a pair of sneakers and an undisclosed shopping mall, and received the “visiting from China” discount of 20% right there. Like my mother used to say: it doesn’t hurt to ask.
As for Guy, he sat for 8 hours straight until the wooden model of the Temple of Heaven was put together perfectly. No instructions included.

Indeed we don’t get together very often. Unfortunately. But when we do, we have so much fun…


Usually, when I go to the neighborhood video store I end up choosing the obvious: big stars, blockbusters. I kind of figure, if Brad Pit is in a film, it’s most likely a great one. Indeed, statistics suggests that it’s not a bad bet. However, using this choice exclusively, may bite you twice. For one you get to watch the first full twenty minutes of “Tree of Life”, until you search for it on the web and find the following sentence: “A particularly bad masterpiece” . You then turn around to the small audience in your living room and suggest that we watch something else. The cheers could have been heard in the next neighborhood. So before you attack me for being a simple, rough around the edges, brute who can’t for the life of him appreciate good cinema, I ask you politely to hold your horses. I can appreciate art as much as the next guy, but this one was just boring. And in order to understand the feeling of life, loss, war, growing older, all you need to do is have a family and live in Israel.
The other reason why choosing films based on ratings and star actors is that you get to miss films like “Dolphin Tale”. And what a miss it would have been. So don’t get me wrong. Ashley Judd is probably the most beautiful woman I’ve seen (Sela Ward shares the lead), Kris Kristofferson is indeed a big star or at least he was, and Morgan Freeman is one of my favorite actors of all times, even though he is two years younger than my dad.
Having said all that, I saw the cover and I figured, what can possibly go wrong with a Dolphin story. And boy, was I right. The film begins with showing crab fishermen collecting traps, eyeing a herd of dolphins swimming around their traps. Sure enough one of the dolphins gets tangled in a trap rope and washes to shore wounded and unable to swim. An eleven year old boy, not socially accepted, academically challenged, son of a single mother, whose cousin leaves for military training is introduced. The boy cuts the ropes from the dolphin while still ashore, and somehow bonds with the poor animal. Slowly, the film describes the rehabilitation efforts made by a local Marine Animal Hospital. The efforts are initially failing, the dolphin won’t eat, and won’t try to swim, until she sees this young boy, Sawyer. The hospital crew engages the young boy in the effort to save the dolphin’s life. I won’t tell the entire story, but I would like to make the following observations.
This is a typical American film: tragedy (in this case multiple tragedies) turned into victory with a happy ending. Actually, even the kids in our small audience could tell the script after 8 minutes of watching. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I hereby declare: I will not watch films with a bad ending. My reality is challenging enough, I see film as entertainment, and as such, I am completely uninterested in bad ends.
While watching, it was easy to identify with almost all the characters. The boy, his mother, the dolphin, the little girl. All except the teacher…
So we were watching the film, Dorit and I were sniffling on occasion, wiping away an occasional tear. The kids sat still clearly engaged with the film. But neither of us could have foreseen what followed. When the film concluded, they showed the real dolphin (Winter is her name) in the pool in Florida. And then it occurred to us, this was a real story, or at least inspired by a true story. My nine year old son Guy, ran to his computer and brought up http://www.seewinter.com/ and started watching the live webcam installed in Winter’s pool. He watched it for hours until it was time to go to bed. Just before he fell asleep he said: “Thanks dad for the film”, to which I said “you’re welcome” and reached for another Kleenex…
It’s the perfect family movie. Go see it.

So I guess one should finally admit that the cat is out of the bag. The jig is up. It’s not “one or two” extremists, “a small but vocal minority”, “the weeds”. It’s not the few hundred Yeshiva guys exempted from the military in the 1950s. It’s an all-out cultural war on the future face of Israel. Israelis have been dodging this issue for a very long time now. We were always taught to be “tolerant”, to “accept the different”, to “respect the difference”, to “agree to disagree”. The Israeli people were trained that the chairman of the Finance Committee in the Knesset (the Israeli Parliament) is always a representative of the ultra-orthodox party. Not because Jews are good with money, as some non-Jews are mistaken to think, but because it is very close to where funds are being distributed, where the pies are cut, where the dough is split and shared. For many years, the government of the State of Israel paid the cost of forming and maintaining a coalition by simply sneaking billions of dollars outside the budget to keep the orthodox political parties happy within the coalition (agreed, they are not the only ones, other sectoral parties “enjoy” this arrangement). It’s called (free translation): “The Law of Arrangements”…
Now one must admit, this is a brilliant (and working) strategy. This is how it works. Ultra-orthodox families are encouraged to live in poverty. Low income, many children, implies poverty most of the time (granted, some very religious families are extremely rich, but most are well below the poverty line, at least according to official records). These children are encouraged to grow up uneducated in terms of getting an income-generating profession. In turn, they grow up to have many more children of their own who will grow up the same way. (There’s a tragic side to it. The ones who are really trying to get out, to leave the ghetto, to escape, are incapable of making a living, of conducting a productive life outside the communities where they came from. They are disowned by their families, and on occasion are reduced to crime, homelessness and prostitution). In the meantime, as they rightfully have the right to vote, they practice their right (possibly the highest voting rates compared to any other sector) and help their representatives into the Parliament, so they can help get the necessary budgets to support such a large unproductive community. Unproductive means: no military service, no profession, low income, no or low taxes. To avoid the fire usually sent by righteous people, I make sure no generalizations are made. Some are very productive, some believe as our sages taught that Torah goes hand in hand with work and contribution.
The working middle class is just way to busy struggling with its own challenges to pay attention to the problem. In addition, there’s absolutely nothing they can do about it. And even if there was something they could do about it, it would be considered anti-Semitic. You see, a Jew calling another Jew “unproductive” is a possible act of antisemitism. A Jew calling another Jew “Goy” (gentile), “Beast” (as only beasts don’t worship God), is considered to be, well, I guess it’s acceptable. Funny, people sometimes tell me that living outside Israel exposes me to acts of antisemitism. I hereby clearly declare that the only acts of antisemitism I ever experienced were by Jews. Ultra-orthodox Jews. I’m not going to start to spell it out, but suffice it to say that I experienced it in multiple occasions.
As I mentioned before, it’s easy to accept a separatist community when it’s small. You figure, you guys don’t want to contribute? Good for you. Don’t want to work? That’s OK. Want to live in poverty? Fine by me. Want your kids to go hungry? Well, I have a problem with that, but it’s basically your business. Don’t want to send your kids to risk their lives and fight for the country’s future? Who does? No taxes? Plenty of services? Special housing? No worries, on the house. Works for a dozen. Works for a thousand. Stops working when there are several hundreds of thousand, and they are spitting on little girls, disrespecting women, (and men for that matter), contribute little or nothing to the economy, and use derogatory terms for people of my kind, while using and abusing the taxes other people pay. Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t working anymore.
And the question is why? Why are they doing it? And the answer is simple: because they can. Israel provides an environment never provided to Ultra-Orthodox Jews ever before. A free country, where the ruling the rulers and the voters are mainly Jewish. Where it is not acceptable to disrespect Jews (it’s apparently OK to disrespect all others, including non-religious Jews). Israel is the only country in the world, where Jews can get women to sit in the back of the bus. In fact, if I am not mistaken, Israel has become the only country in the world where anybody can get anyone to sit in the back of the bus. But it gets better. There are streets for women. There are signs restricting women from walking or as the sign suggests: “Women, Keep Walking”. Women are expected to work, to bear and raise children, to cook, serve, and wash the dishes, to clean, iron, and God knows what else, but they can’t walk the streets side by side with “men”.
I have another question though. How do the women accept this behavior? I told someone the other day that if my father was ever involved in anything disrespectful of women, my mother would smack him hard and send him to work… And by the way, I must also add this: please stop putting these self righteous women who are sweet talking the media into believing that “covering a woman’s body is respectful of women, revealing is disrespectful”, or “I love the fact that I can sit quietly with other women in the back of the bus, it’s more relaxing, and there’s less body odor all around”. First, those women may actually exist, but they are a small minority. The vast majority is quiet, because they must be, because being excommunicated is not something any woman wants to experience.
Now let me say the following. I am a proud Jew. Yes, not a “Self Loathing Jew” and certainly not a “Beast” (forget my weight for a second). I, by definition cannot be antisemitic, as my mother was born in a concentration camp, and my father’s family was kicked out of Spain in 1992. I believe that what we’re seeing now will lead to nothing else but total destruction and annihilation of the State of Israel. The equation is simple: the more Ultra-Orthodox there are, the less productive the country becomes, the more non-religious people leave, the more burden on the ones left behind, the weaker the military becomes. No need for Iran to get nuclear. The Ultra-Orthodox already are.


December 27 is a special date for me. Right there after Christmas, and a couple of days before a new year begins. At the time when one year concludes, and another one is at the door. At the point of self-reflection – what did the last year look like, and what’s the next year going to bring to me. On December 27, Dorit, my wife and I started to date. 1996 was not an easy year for me. My mother was diagnosed and treated for breast cancer, my marriage ended, I left a home, a job, a country and returned to my home town, to my parents’ house, to my old room.
Dorit and I met on a blind date. On Friday, December 6, 1996, the first day of Hanukkah, with the lighting of the first candle of Hanukkah, a tiny light shined a small beam of light into some of the darker corners of my heart. Dorit lived in Givatayyim, a town just outside Tel Aviv, in a street which was difficult to find, so I picked her up at a bus stop on the main street. It was early evening, and we decided to go to a coffee shop in Tel Aviv. I remember that date as if it was yesterday. Unlike other first dates I’ve been on, I found in front of me a beautiful woman, who was as articulate as she was a good listener. We introduced ourselves over coffee and , and it was obvious to me that for the first time after a long stream of really strange first dates which lead to nothing, the end of the tunnel is showing and there’s a light at the end of it. It appeared then, and I can clearly see it now that Hanukkah of 1996 was my own personal Festival of Light.
A rather silly poem suggests: “If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was”. I’m not buying it. I usually maintain that “If you love something hold on to it as if it was a lifesaver, and never let it go”. Nonetheless, our first date was short as I had to celebrate the Holiday with family. I left with mixed feelings. On one hand I met a woman who I could talk to, who could understand me and appreciate me. I met a woman who was (and still is) good looking, clever, funny, easygoing, and reasonably happy (opposites attract, right?) who seemed to have enjoyed my company. For the exact same reason I felt threatened. After a failed marriage, was I ready for a commitment? It took me three weeks to answer that question. On December 27, exactly fifteen years ago I called Dorit again. Lucky, very lucky for me, she was still interested. We went to the movies that night. “The Long Kiss Goodnight” (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0116908/) was a great film which we watched over and over again in the coming years, and it was one very appropriate title for the next fifteen years.
We basically never separated since. We married less than a year after that, and had Shiri Deborah (our first, and sister to Keren and Tamary) in 1999 during our assignment in Tucson Arizona. Guy was introduced to the world in 2003. We have traveled to many places together, we love the same food, the same activities. Indeed, we are married, but first and foremost, Dorit and I are best friends and partners. Make no mistake, we have our hurdles like every other couple. But at the end of the day, it’s always a long kiss goodnight.
Dorit, life is challenging at times. I know I am challenging at times. But let me be very clear. Even though I am much heavier than you are, in the balancing act you provide, and always did, the precise weight to keep me from falling. You’ve always been there for me. And all I can hope is that for as long as I breathe, you will be there so we can breathe together.
A long time ago I gave you a small bible. On the first page I wrote a short inscription: “ויעבוד יעקוב ברחל, שבע שנים; ויהיו בעיניו כימים אחדים, באהבתו אותה” remember? It’s been but a few days since we met…
Happy anniversary. Let me say it loud and clear: I love you. I adore you. I cherish our time together. As you said the other night: friends?

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