Israeli Parents: I got nothing

So, as promised, I am going to deliver the shocking report on Israeli parenting…actually, I’m not. I had dinner with an Israeli family–mom, dad, and two-year-old boy–but they were all American-born, American-speaking, and they lived in an ultra-orthodox neighborhood that was almost entirely made up of Americans who come to Israel for a few years to study the Torah and then return home.

A lot can be said about that last notion, but more likely in another context. As for this particular family, they intend to stay, and actually just took Israeli citizenship, but in most ways they haven’t yet really integrated into the society here. For example, their son is in daycare now, learning in English, and won’t start studying Hebrew until next year. Nothing wrong with that, just gives a sense of their still having to adjust.

So what do I have? I have my near-bad manners. My hotel is a cheap but clean (describes me to a tee) little guesthouse in the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem’s Old City. There’s much to say about that, too, in other contexts, but for now, just know that I was in this part of Jerusalem and that I wanted to bring my hosts, whom I had never met, a small gift. I thought of buying some wine, but the kosher wine shop in the Jewish Quarter (five minute walk from the Muslim Quarter) was closed, and besides, I wasn’t sure if they drink, and I also thought that bringing gifts a child might like could help make meeting new people easier. I decided, then, to buy some of the amazing Middle Eastern pastries sold all over the city, but in particular at a busy Muslim sweet shop a few doors down from my hotel.

I had the proprietor put together a beautiful array of sweets (the only one I recognized by name was baklava), which he then wrapped quite nicely for me, and I was on my way. And then I stopped. The wrapping had the name of the store on it–in Arabic. For those of you who aren’t aware of it, ultra-orthodox Jews are, by and large, not fans of Muslims. I don’t mean to paint an entire category of religious people with one brush, but again, it’s generally true.

But the sweets were so expensive, and more, they were gorgeous–dripping with honey, covered in pistachios, fragrant of things that I probably would recognize from the Bible–and I wanted to try them myself. I discarded the wrapping and hopped in a taxi.

The neighborhood that the family lives in is a primary example of Jerusalem weirdness–Soviet-inspired block housing, made from imitation Jerusalem sandstone, all signs in Hebrew, with the numbers of each building spraypainted on in roman characters. Everyone walking around wore traditional haredi garb, which means plain black suits, black hat, and beards for the men, with the fringes of their religious undergarments–talit–draped over the hem of their pants. There were almost no women on the street at this time, but those that were, dressed “modestly” in long skirts, heads covered. Again, though, these were almost entirely Americans, chatting on cellphones and bitching about the Jets.

I noticed at that point that each of my sweets was in its own delicate paper wrapper. Lovely. For some reason, though, I decided to look underneath the container, which was when I saw that each wrapper had been stamped–again in Arabic–with the name of the store, and what I believe said, open since 2000.

This was a dilemma. Again, I am not so high-minded about other people’s sensitivities that it never occurred to me just brazen through and bring the sweets. They looked that good and I hadn’t eaten much that day (which I somehow managed to spend in the Knesset, the Israeli parliament, pretending I was Nathan). But I knew that whatever the sensibilities of these people, I would at best be starting the evening out with a minor insult, and at worst, a scandal.

With enormous regret I chucked the box of sweets in the garbage. I felt so sad, and I don’t really know why. I mean my cabdriver on the way, a garrulous Palestinian with a story at each street corner, had told me that I, America, and the entire West, actually, was like a man standing a fault line before an earthquake–“the world is going to swallow you whole.”

But I knew I had failed in some way, and worse, I think I felt like Charlie from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory standing on the street in the snow watching someone eat a chocolate bar he can’t afford (please don’t analyze my analogies closely–they tend to crumble). Somewhere in Jerusalem at that very moment a happy person would be enjoying such lush treats and thinking haughty thoughts about foolish Americans.

I wandered around the neighborhood until I found a bakery and I bought what looked liked a spiced and sugary cake with nuts. I presented it to the family–lovely, smart, people living a life that is hard for me to comprehend–and we ate it over tea after their little boy fell asleep.

Pecan and chocolate chip.

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About Theodore

Theodore Ross is an editor of Harper’s Magazine. His writing has appeared in Harper’s, Saveur, Tin House, the Mississippi Review, and (of course), the Vietnam News. He grew up in New York City by way of Gulfport, MS, and as a teen played the evil Nazi, Toht, in Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation. He lives with his son, J.P. in Brooklyn, and is currently working on a book about Crypto-Jews.

9 thoughts on “Israeli Parents: I got nothing

  1. You blew this in a few places, but lets cover the key part. Characin won’t have problems with food purchases that are Kosher. That’s the real issue. The other part is speculation on your part and not necessarily accurate.

    Go to Machane Yehuda and you’ll find lots of good options.

  2. My (limited and yet extensive) experience with Israelis has taught me that they most appreciate gifts that you can get in bulk, for cheap, at Costco. This includes but is not limited to C batteries and Kit Kats. You think I’m kidding, but my mother-in-law once flew home with an entire suitcase full of bulk vitamins for her friends.

    I was going to protest your “third world” label the other day, but the mood matches the concrete more often than not.

  3. Shit, I meant the above in an “Israel: more like the undeveloped world than one would think” way, not a “Jews! Cheap! Cheap Jews!” way.

    Cf. that episode of _Head of the Class_ where Dennis and Arvid plan to sell jeans in the USSR.

  4. Strangely enough, that is the only episode of “Head of the Class” that I remember.

    Except the one where the high-pressure straight-A Asian student kills herself. That was hilarious!

  5. #Jack–I’m gonna go ahead and disagree with you. It’s been my experience with the ultrat-orthodox, at least those from the states, that things of and related to Muslims are taboo. This goes beyond issues of kosher. As I pointed out in the post, not all haredi feel this way, but as an assumption–and yes, it was an assumption–I think it was pretty well founded. You’re certainly free to call bullshit, which you’ve done, but I guess that’s why they have that old joke: two Jews, three synagogues–one for each, and a third for both to shun. Cheers, Theodore.

    mahane yehdua is great.

  6. . It’s been my experience with the ultrat-orthodox, at least those from the states, that things of and related to Muslims are taboo.

    It is a mixed bag there. I am the administrator for Haveil Havalim, the Jewish/Israeli blogosphere blog carnival. We just came out with our 301st edition.

    I read a lot of Orthodox blogs and live smack in the middle of a very large Orthodox community. I am not Orthodox, but family and friends are so I have a lot of interaction there.

    I can give you a list of things that I think are crazy with them. And there are certainly issues with various communities, but part of the challenge there is identifying which part of the Orthodox community we are talking about.

    Are they Satmar? Are they Lubavitchers? Are they Breslovers, Modern Orthodox etc. Not to mention the SOBs in the Neutrei Karta that hang out with Ahmedinijad.

    The issue really wasn’t so much what they think of Muslims or anyone else. It was the idea that you wouldn’t look for a Kosher product first. Or maybe you did and I just didn’t catch that.

    Anyway, it sounds like you are on your first trip to Israel. If you want to connect with some people who can take you around and give you a different perspective let me know and I can hook you up, charedi or secular.

    Either way, I am jealous. I miss Jerusalem.

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  8. If one was buying food for a religious family, a thinking person would buy something Kosher. And if you were invited for dinner at some ones home I wouldn’t start out assuming that they were prejudiced creeps that would reject something because it had Arabic on it. I think before you try to write things about Israel you might want a bit of personal experience here.

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