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Brian Blum is a Jerusalem-based writer and content management specialist. He publishes an online column at - weekly reflections on what passes for "normalcy" in Israel these days.
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By Brian Blum
November 25, 2004
Reprinted with permission from This Normal Life.
One of the hardest things about living in Israel for Western immigrants is not having access to the vast consumer marketplace we grew up with in North America.
I know, that sounds pretty trivial and maybe even a little petty. After all, we are living in another country. We freely chose to put 5,000 miles between us and the nearest Disney Store. But sometimes it can be downright hazardous to your health.
For example, last week my phone headset broke. I use this simple device all the time to keep my hands free to take notes when I'm interviewing people for the various newspapers I write for.
No problem, you say. Order it online. Or head on over to the nearest Fry's or Best Buy and pick up a new headset.
Except that the superstores that make life so convenient in North America just don't exist in Israel.
Ah...Fry's. I like to call it conspicuous consumption on steroids, but that barely begins to describe the place.
The Fry's I used to shop at in the "old country" is something like three football fields long and maybe as many wide. Fry's started off years ago selling electronic gear for geeks. Now they hawk everything from music CDs to refrigerators, 42-inch plasma screen TVs to candy bars.
And, yes, telephone headsets. Racks and racks of them.
Well, while we don't have Fry's in Israel, we do have Office Depot. I headed on over to our local store. I still had a good 90 minutes before my 4:00 PM interview that afternoon. I figured it would take a couple of minutes to sort through several models.
I figured wrong.
"Ein lanu," the perfunctory Office Depot clerk said. Meaning, "We don't carry that."
How could that be? I was sure I'd seen them at the Office Depot before...no, wait a minute; that was in Los Angeles.
"Maybe try the Home Depot," the clerk offered. It wasn't far. So off I went, from depot to depot.
"Ein lanu." No headsets there either. "Have you tried the Sakal store?"
No, I had not tried the Sakal store. But I would now.
The Sakal store was closed for repairs. Mamash ein lanu.
By now I was getting a little panicky. I now had a little more than an hour until my call.
What about the electronics store down the street? I headed towards my car. It had been raining off and on all day, and now it was coming down pretty hard.
The closest spot I could find was a couple of blocks away. I stepped out and -- splash -- I had made contact with one of Jerusalem's infamous puddles.
I don't know if it's the fact that the streets aren't paved evenly or bad drainage, but trying to stay dry while crossing a street in this city when it's raining is like playing hopscotch on your heels. Eventually, someone falls.
I felt the water seep in through my tennis shoes. It was cold and slimy (note to self: buy those waterproof boots already).
As I sloshed unto the Lior Electric store and held up my old broken headset, I heard a familiar refrain -- now, don't everybody shout it all at once -- ein lanu.
"Any idea where I could find one?" I asked, desperation starting to mix with the mud in my sneakers. I was down to 50 minutes.
I was pointed in the direction of a small phone store. I knew the place...they'd procured a hard-to-find battery for another piece of equipment...surely they could help.
Judging from the traffic, and taking into account my already soaked shoes, I determined that I wouldn't be any worse off for walking the two blocks.
By now, the street had become a concrete swamp. The water came up to my ankles. There was nothing I could do. I just waded in. The wind blew my umbrella inside out.
By the time I got to the phone store, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I even started wondering if it was all worth it, living in Israel I mean. Where you have to put up with stores that all say ein lanu and puddles the size of the Ramon Crater.
Forget Zionist ideology...would it be so much to ask for a Fry's and a little valet parking?
The proprietor at the store didn't even grace me with an ein lanu. He just shook his head.
I could go on with the story for awhile...it took another three stops and what must have been seventeen more puddles before I finally found a cell phone store that sold headsets. It wasn't even what I wanted. But it would have to do. I had only 30 minutes left.
I ran back to the car and gunned it towards home. Only to find myself stuck in a long line of traffic waiting for a light that seemed to never change.
That's another thing about the rain here. Israelis, who are so bold and chutzpadik about everything else, seem terrified of driving in it. It's probably the only time people around here do anything slow.
Just then, a song came on the radio. "Im telech," by the Idan Reichal Project. It's a haunting love song with a chorus: "If you leave, who will hug me this way?"
For the first time in nearly an hour and a half, I smiled. It was just for a moment, but still it reminded me that the metaphorical bear hug of Israel is not something you throw away for a football field of DVD players.
For a moment, I let the muse carry me and I thought: is it possible that a song can soothe and wash away all of my frustration and discomfort of the last 45 minutes?
Views expressed by the author do not
necessarily reflect those of israelinsider.
 
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