Mike High Does The Kibbutz: Page 3

The Country

After just a month here, I already know I do not want to live here.
There are four levels of disinformation to get through in Israel; no
matter who you ask a question you'll get the wrong answer four times
before you get the right one, and most likely the person you have to
talk to get something done is the person you first asked. Nothing runs
or starts on time here. If the Israelis find out that you are American
they will charge you double, and even if not they will still try to
screw you somehow.

The secular people hate the religious, the religious hate the secular, and the kibbutzniks hate everyone. Girls here start having sex at age ten, go in the army at 18, and have kids by twenty three. Men here are brazenly aggressive, whether violently or sexually. Not to say that there are not nice people here.

I have met several, but I get the feeling that so much time and energy are devoted to the security issues (war, terrorism, etc.) that all of the
more subtle points of life are forgotten; like manners, body odor,
dental hygiene, and compassion. In the town next to the kibbutz there
are four shops that just keep reappearing: the bad euro clothing store,
the shoe shop, the market where one can get coffee, cigarettes, a cell
phone card, and a falafel, and an absurdly set up bank.

My Job

After first working in the garden, digging pipe, tearing weeds,
carrying away dead trees, I was put in the storage section of the
plastic factory. To do my job one needs to be able to do three things:
read the orders, drive the forklift, and operate the saw. I cannot
read the orders because I cannot read enough Hebrew, I cannot drive the forklift because I don't have (and will never be taken to get) a
license, and even if I could do any of those things I cannot operate
the saw because I am not a company employee but an ulpanist.

To sum that all up, I spend a half hour waiting while the person I'm working with reads the order, talks to two or three people about god knows what, and then goes to get the order. Then I help him load it onto a saw, take it off, stack it, and then wait another half hour while he goes to get another order. It is the definition of hell.

Lucky most of the people I work with are cool with me hiding in a niche somewhere and reading, although i don't like the idea of constantly hiding from the head boss. The people I work with are mainly Israelis and Arabs, so everyday I hear Hebrew, Turkish, Arabic (which is the strangest language to watch people speak: so much of it comes from the throat that when I look at them talk it's like it's been dubbed over). We take a long coffee break after lunch and on Fridays an hour long
sandwich break (after a few weeks here I have no idea how this company makes money).

Hebrew

Hebrew is the language without vowels as my friend Lindsay likes to
say, so all the words are systematic to their roots.

The problem is, they don't teach Hebrew from the roots, and even if they did modern Hebrew has moved slightly away from the root structure. So instead we learn what we need for conversational Hebrew, but because Hebrew infinitives reverse vowels, add and drop consonants, because conjugated Hebrew elides syllables, and because Hebrew has several grammatical yet completely untranslatable (and superfluous) prepositions, it's a little difficult to memorize all the words and then to talk in Hebrew.

I've been told by a few people that I am picking up the language very well,
but who knows. All I know is the pack and a half of cigarettes I smoke
a day here help to build up all the phlegm I need to speak the
language.

next page---> Drugs, Alcohol & Racism
<--- Page 1:  The Ulpan, The Kibbutz
<--- Page 2: The People

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