But – as I near completion as my first year as an Oleh, why not look back on my Top Ten Milestones from the year? I flirted with ranking them, but decided to love all my children equally and list them chronologically instead. And fittingly, I’m typing this list out on December 25 – while listening to Xmas music – and just remembered: Holy Crap! Last Christmas was the day I arrived in Israel for the first time! Ooh, just got chills…

So without further introduction, I offer you my list of Top Ten Milestones during my first year as an Israeli:

1. Making the Decision – I was a middle-aged man when I first set foot in Israel one year ago today (it’s true; I just use a lot of skin products, so it’s hard to tell). One Gaza conflict, lots of hot men, Jewish DNA tingling in my bones, a crashed world economy, and an influential NY Times OP-ED later, I returned home to New York City with thoughts swirling in my head. Should I just do it – should I really move to Israel, like Now!?! Crashed out in my bed, my thoughts slowing their tumble through my mind as I faded, I said Yes. This moment of clarity insanity courage has to be first on my list.
2. Getting my Teudat Zehut – Nothing says you’re an Israeli more than a thousand trips back and forth to the Misrad Hapanim to get that damned Hebrew emblazoned & fonted, folding wallet piece of official identification that you must not leave home without!
3. Running in the Tel Aviv Marathon – Nevermind five years of retirement from distance running and a scant three weeks to train. One look at the giant billboard in Rabin Square and a whole lot of emotional displacement, and I knew I needed this goal to give my new life some structure, stat.
4. Starting Ulpan – Being fortunate to arrive in Israel already with a (US-based) job, I started working full-time, afternoons-through-evening, to sync up with the US workday. Should I wait a while before adding an intensive 5 hours/day, 5 days/week, 5 month course to the mix? Eff no! And, it was a great decision. Ulpan Gordon, in it’s West Beverly High courtyard setting, surrounded by Jews from all around the world – some old, some young, but everyone with a shared story of making Aliyah – introduced me to Hebrew, Israeli customs and culture, and some of my closest friends… בא נירה
5. Moving Into My Own Place – For my first three months, I lived in a friend’s guest room. Getting my own pad and decorating it let me take the concept of “home” a little more inward, personal and deeper. ‘Cause, sometimes, a girl just wants to shut out the Hebrew cacophony and watch Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List in her underwear while eating Ben & Jerry’s – נכון?
6. Getting a bicycle – It’d been twenty-five years since I’d ridden one. Once I learned to drive, that was it for me and bikes. But in Tel Aviv, um, there’s no subway. Bikes and scooters are the kings of mobility in my new city. So I got a junker, ugly enough to dissuade thieves, and regressed twenty years. Immensely practical, the unanticipated novelty of feeling I’m literally flying around the streets hasn’t worn off yet.
7. Getting a BlackBerry – Yeah, I know the country is going Lady GaGa for the iPhone, which just debuted here this month. But I needed to instant message, Tweet, and email my peeps back in the U.S. last summer. So, after months of old school texting without a querty keyboard on a donated prototype piece of crap cellphone from the nineteenth century (Thank you, Jeannie !!!), I finally brought an unlocked CrackBerry over from the U.S. and starting making that little screen my whole life again claiming my birthright as a wired, social media lovin’, instantly gratified Gen X’er.
8. Getting Internet at Home – Similar to #7, every 21st century Oleh should be wired (or wireless) at home. From watching US TV & Movies on TV Shack or TV Dome (or getting help from Hotspot Shield) and staying in touch with friends and family via Facebook and Skype, to reading fave blogs like PerezHilton and Mashable and going “meat shopping” on Atraf, I didn’t get HOT or YES cable this year, but I sure as hell got broadband from Bezek.
9. Freelancing – Writing these columns, for instance. And now I’m getting involved with GayMiddleEast.com, turning some of their articles into TV news scripts and being the face for these reports we plan to put up on YouTube. Neither gig pays the rent or has supplanted my current employment yet, but both stand to further my professional connections and development, leading me to feel a palpable sense of “bubbling under” right now and excitement for 2010.
10. Getting a Puppy – Visiting Tzar Bailecheem (SPCA) and adopting a puppy in September (who turns five months old today – Happy Birthday, Petey !!!) expanded my world ginormously. Not only by infusing my life with pure and unrelenting love from my pup, but also by making me more visible in my neighborhood and unlocking the door to many new relationships with other dog-loving Tel Avivans at places like Park Hayarkon’s dog park.

And because the thoughts and gratitude are flowing now, it’s hard to stick to only ten. Finishing kita alef in Ulpan last September freed me up to start going out to bars and clubs and start mixing it up with my other people – the gays. And now I’m partly through the beaucratic Byzantine typically Israeli multi-step process of getting my Israeli driver’s license. Even though I don’t plan on buying a car, this feels like an important step, deepening my roots here.

So, there you have it, kiddies! A (first) year in the life of an Oleh Chadash. If you’re next to experience this ride, ! בהצלחה

That was the stern edit hammered down upon me by iGoogledIsrael’s editor, Ashley. Actually, Ashley’s British, so this sounded more like Ahem, Scott, if you would be so kind, could you please focus the next column around Christmas in Israel, right? I mean, really, Chap, it’s not a must, but you know, if anything comes to mind then, yeah? Alright then, cheers! (LOL, sorry, Ash.)

But seriously, as a Jew who made Aliyah for partly Zionistic reasons, what am I supposed to do exactly with this assignment? Maybe an essay on how much I miss working out aggression on Black Friday? Well, I do have a small Xmas pedigree, I suppose. I only have one Jewish parent – relax, Ministry of Immigrant Absorption, it’s the right one!!! My father is Catholic, and I actually did celebrate Christmas until the age of ten when my mom had had enough of it already. I never believed in Santa Claus, though – I mean, I knew my parents were buying me the Hanukkah presents, so it was a no-brainer they were doing Santa duty on Xmas, too. But I did get to decorate a tree and experience the hyperactivity of Christmas morning, trying to convince your parents that 5:00 a.m. is a perfectly good time to go downstairs and start opening presents.

And…scene. Seriously, that’s kinda all I have to say about Xmas. I mean, I love the (secular) carols, A Charlie Brown Christmas, office Secret Santas, and I do look fetching in a red & white fuzzy Santa cap. Who doesn’t get into the whole Christmas spirit thing….at least at home back in America? In Israel (wait for it)…not so much. It’s actually that whole world-on-its-head-Bizarro-flip thing where instead of Xmas trees, Santas, red & green and Rudolphs popping up in all the stores and public spaces, it’s giant menorahs chanukiot in all the public spaces and powdered jelly donuts everywhere else.

The other Hanukkah issue going through my mind is, of course, presents. Online shopping has made buying gifts for family in America a cinch. Goods are shipped entirely within North America, so those costs are small; nonexistent, if I go the electronic gift card route. The reverse is where it gets complicated. For example, the cousins in my family do a Hanukkah “Polyanna” for each other, where we pick names from a hat and buy a gift for just one person within the group. Well, with international shipping rates so high, it would suck to be the person who got me this year, wouldn’t it? We flirted with the idea of having all of us pay into a “Scott tax” to offset this extra cost. But in the end – as much as I liked the idea of having a tax named after me – I let everybody off the hook and opted out.

Electronic gift cards don’t make such a great gift for me here either, considering most of the North American stores my family would buy them from don’t have locations in Israel. There are some exceptions, but what if I don’t want anything from IKEA or Nike? Of course that’s not an issue if the merchandise is virtual, too – but you can only receive so many iTunes gift cards, you know?

Taking advantage of “Hitching a ride” with supportive friends traveling home to Israel from the U.S. and asking them to smuggle transport presents from my family is a godsend, but good luck getting a new flat-screen TV that way. This works for small items only.

The real Christmas action in Israel is bound to be in all the places Jesus used to chillax – Nazareth, Bethlehem, etc. I know guides in Jerusalem’s Old City recreate Jesus’ walk to his crucifixion along the Via Dolorosa, and the site where Jesus allegedly rose from the dead inside the Church of the Sepulcher must be especially holy for Christians around this time. As if they would care Most Israelis would have difficulty seeing many of the places Jesus lived and again, allegedly performed miracles, since many of them are located in the West Bank, and their Israeli passports make these trips difficult or unsafe. With our magic American passports, though, this isn’t a problem for my American Olim friends and me, and we are talking about making this trip.

From my perspective, the most significant thing about Christmas in Israel, or at least in Tel Aviv, is its absence. But I don’t think that’s a phenomenon unique to Christmas. From Halloween to Mother’s Day to Easter – one of the strangest things to get used to as an American expat cum Oleh Chadash is when major American holidays – Christian or secular – fly completely under my radar here. If I miss it in the Facebook chatter or on websites I read, I can sometimes miss them entirely. The upside is it provides a handy excuse when you’ve forgotten to make a phone call to someone important back home. Or, so I’ve heard.

All this is a prelude to the really big question: do they have After-Hanukkah sales in Israel, and if so, where are the really good ones?

First of all, remember that in Gay Years, I’m a fossil. In January I turn 40 – old enough to begin studying Kabbalah…and to become invisible to much of the community. As someone whose twenties ended with the last millennium, I’m no longer obsessed with finding The place to be seen every night of the week. Secondly, I have a penis. I’ve met some cool lesbians in this city, but you won’t find me hanging out at their meeting spots. I’m fundamentally not interested in what they’re selling. And while I love to dance, I don’t drink or “party” anymore. So, if you’re looking for notes on Tel Aviv’s meth scene, try Google. But I know what I know, if you know what I mean.

For one thing, it’s more about the roving party here than it is the venue. There are resident gay bars in Tel Aviv (ground zero being EVITA), but many straight places also have independently promoted “gay nights”. So, the scene seems to bop around from place to place, depending on the night of the week. So far, I like Lima-Lima on Monday nights and Ashmoret on Fridays. (Note: those are the names of the venues, not the parties held there on those respective nights.) I’ve also checked out the Big Boys party, which happens every other Saturday in The Theatre Club. Sorry to report that I thought the music sucked. It wasn’t the fact that it was pop music and not tribal, house or any of the other styles typically played in clubs. It was more the fact that it just sucked. But I hear that three DJs rotate spinning duties, so the jury’s still out on that one.

Then there’s the bathhouses, or as they’re known here, saunas. My best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this kid who knows this guy who knows this girl who’s going with a guy who’s been to one before. He said while it’s cool they have bars inside so you can sip cocktails (no pun intended) in nothing but your towel, the “rooms” don’t have locking doors (just a curtain hung over a rope), so – like it or not – you can have an audience very easily if your soundtrack’s any good. Also, they’re missing the fancy touch of, ahem – clean sheets. Just cold, reused, wrestling-type mattresses. How romantic. H1N1, anyone?

The last generation had Independence Park, a cruising place so stellar it was listed in the Spartacus International Gay Guide, but the bushy hiding places were uprooted last year and replaced with klieg lights. Doesn’t really matter, since every gay in Israel opens up a profile on the “dating” site Atraf as soon as he gets his first computer anyway.

We’ve got a kickass gay ghetto beach, where the “gay soup” (straight translation: gay men floating and kibbitzing in the simmering Mediterranean) is rivaled only by the parve eye candy on the shore.

In so many ways though, the scene mirrors what I knew from New York. Britney, Beyoncé and Madonna still rule the dance floor. Muscles are in and body fat’s a sin. Bottoms worldwide, get siked: all that clichéd Israeli macho aggression means there’s a helluva lotta tops here, boys. Counterpoint: more back hair. Not a lot of guesswork as to whether someone’s cut or not. C’mon it’s Israel; we’ve got that covenant with God thing. And nobody seems to call the next day.

Gays will be gays, I guess.

I was asked to participate in something called Tweetsgiving this week, which is a 48-hour event (coinciding with the American holiday of Thanksgiving) orchestrated by a U.S. nonprofit organization called Epic Change. People are encouraged to blog, tweet and share thoughts of gratitude; and through grants and donations, a technology lab will be built at a primary school in Tanzania, Africa. Not too shabby. OK, for starters I’m grateful that I wasn’t educated in Tanzania, Africa.

Sorry, that was inappropriate.

What do I know about gratitude? A few things, I think. I’ve heard it said that it’s impossible to feel both gratitude and fear at the same time. So, if you are afraid about something, focus on something you’re grateful for. As long as you keep your thoughts directed towards that thing or person, you will not feel afraid at that moment. Try it.

I’ve also heard about an exercise called a Gratitude List. If you are feeling depressed, lonely, or angry about something or someone, and you would like to turn that around into a positive feeling – try writing out a list of the things you are grateful for at that moment. Even though I’ve heard many times from people that this exercise really works for them, it’s not part of my regular spiritual practice. I think it’s because I have all these preconceived, been-there-done-that notions about it.  Like, Oh, geez – I know what I’m gonna write: I’m grateful for being alive, for my family, for being sober, for this, for that; it’s the same things I’m always grateful for – what’s the point? Like, because I wrote a list in the past, the gratitude has already been felt, and making a new list would just be redundant. Or, maybe it’s that I feel constricted; that there are certain things and people that have to go on my list, and I don’t have the freedom to put whatever the hell I want on there if I’m feeling grateful for it right now.

That attitude misses the point entirely. The list can be made up of whatever I want it to be! Feeling grateful today that I lost two pounds since yesterday and came in below 180 lbs? Put that down! Thankful for the news that Britney announced she’s putting out a new album in 2010, only a year after her previous effort? Include that! Ain’t nothing too trivial or superficial. Someone told me once that there is no such thing as a wrong feeling. Ever. Period. So if you’re doing this exercise, don’t feel you have to write I’m grateful for my son or I’m grateful for my job – especially if you’re not grateful for either of those things at this moment (even if you think they’re what you’re “supposed” to be grateful for).

Here, I’ll bang a few out for ya:

• I’m grateful I’ve written over 550 words of this column so far, and I don’t think they completely suck.
• I’m grateful to be writing, period. Because it makes me feel good.
• I’m grateful my dog Petey is sleeping in his crate now and not bothering me.
• I’m grateful my annual review with my boss yesterday was a lot more enjoyable than I expected it to be.
• I’m grateful for my discipline to follow a new exercise and nutrition regimen for almost a week, developed for me – for free – by a trainer at my gym. I’m grateful, too, that the service is free and included in my membership, and that the trainer speaks excellent English.
• I’m grateful I was able to transfer over 99% of the data from my old external hard drive to the new one I just bought before the old one completely crapped out and corrupted everything.

There. Notice there was not “world peace” on there. Or, even “that I live in such a nice apartment, and it is nice and well decorated and clean and orderly (OCD much, Scott?).”  I have definitely felt gratitude for my apartment before; many times even. And if I really look around and think about it, I can manifest some of those feelings now. But at this moment, I would have to make an effort to feel them. They’re not rolling off my soul at this particular moment. For me, it’s not true gratitude if I have to force the feelings. So even though I know I am lucky to live in this beautiful apartment, right now I’m not particularly feeling so much gratitude about that. Instead, it’s more accessible to me to feel grateful that the hard drive transfer worked. And to quote one of my heroes, Stuart Smalley, That’s OK. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.

Anyway, that’s my contribution to the idea of gratitude and the therapeutic potential of making a Gratitude List. I hope at least one thing I wrote helps at least one person reading it. I’m actually really, really grateful that there is even one stranger out there voluntarily choosing to read what I’ve written, thereby giving me an audience. I don’t really get to be a “writer” unless that happens; otherwise I’m just journaling. So, thank You.

Annie Hall fans will recognize the famous quote Woody Allen says to Diane Keaton after her awful parking job in 1977’s Best Picture. If that film were remade in Tel Aviv today, the dialogue could make sense rewritten as –

ANNIE HALL: “Wow, a parking spot!”

ALVY SINGER: “Yeah, it’s called the sidewalk.”

If you only had five seconds to try and explain how life in the Middle East differs from life in North America, you could say People park on the sidewalk here. For me, it was definitely one of the differences that shocked me the most. Sometimes riding my bike in my neighborhood feels like I’m in an apocalypse fantasy film, where everyone’s abandoned their cars on the highway during a mass evacuation. The unspoken glances amongst a bike rider, a young couple with baby in a stroller and someone walking their dog, as we intersect at the same narrow pathway of space between one two three (!!!) zigzagged parked cars on an otherwise quiet and picturesque side street are laughable to say the least.

Maybe you’ve noticed the ubiquitous road and sidewalk construction projects everywhere you turn.  Um, maybe that’s because the sidewalks here are made of loose bricks held together with dirt in between them, and everyone’s parking Hummers on them!?! Just sayin’. Seriously, city planners and engineers: maybe we could divert some of the concrete we build our (uninsulated, freezing) homes with and use it to make sidewalks that won’t crumble the next time my neighbors feel like having a tailgate party on them?

And, Rita, are you listening? Where the hell are you meter maids anyway – hoarding 2-for-1 ginormous bundles of 60-pack toilet paper rolls at SuperSol? Bet busy writing more tickets! There’s a disconnect I don’t get: I’ve been a passenger in cars driven by my Israeli friends, and they’ll fret whether to take a questionable parking space and agonize over not wanting to get a ticket. But then, who are all these other people who think my sidewalks are their parking lots? I seriously can’t figure this out. (Desperate  Plea for Comments ALERT:) If you have some insights, please leave your comments after the article.

How could we not mention the scooters, nachon? I’ve got less beef with parking them on the sidewalk. They’re closer in scope to bicycles, which rightfully get parked there. Plus, they’re lighter and smaller than cars. But have YOU ever been almost mowed down by one going 30mph 48kph, as you wheeled your baby or walked your doggie down the tranquility belegan of the effin sidewalk!?!!! What’s the deal, people – you’re wearing a helmet to protect you from accidents on the Ayalon at speeds in excess of 75mph 120kph, yet you see nothing wrong with riding where unprotected and unsuspecting pedestrians are daring to walk? Hello, mandatory sentencing???

I just had a thought. Maybe if the construction crews used all the land mines dog crap abandoned on the sidewalk as mortar instead of just dirt for the bricks we make our sidewalks out of, they would hold together longer than a few months before needing the next repair job. Kill two turds with one stone, ya know? I’m crafty like that.

That’s all I got for my rant this week. Still a little traumatized from the cell phone talkin’, 50kpm drivin scooter rider, who Evil Kneiveled over a chain of three parked Citroens on a Sokolov sidewalk and almost killed me and my pup Petey while we were bent over picking up somebody else’s dog’s steaming load.

I’ve been living in my neighborhood (next to Park HaYarkon) for five months. Everyday I’m at the grocery store or getting my fix from Tony Vespa’s pizza. And I’m not a shy person. It may not be very “Israeli” of me, but I’m always smiling at strangers I pass on the street and getting to know the clerks in the stores I interact with everyday. I’m no shrinking violet.

But before Petey came into my life, I guess I was invisible on the street. Because – it’s true what they say – now we are like a magnet pulling every other person over to us. Not just children and young women either – macho gevers, grumpy old people, packs of wild skater-rat teenage boys; I don’t think anyone is immune to Petey’s cuteness powers.

For sure, he is going to think his name is Ehzay Chamood. It’s amazing – we’ll be in the park, and a group of three power-walking, sexy, young women in their cute velour tracksuits will be whipping by us, all of them carrying on separate conversations (loudly, c’mon this is Israel) a mile-a-minute on their cell phones, when all at once (in unison) they spot him and erupt:

EHZAY CHAMOOD !!!!!

…and bend down to greet him with rubbing and kisses. Now if only I could meet a superHunky Israeli man with heart of gold this way… I’m holding out hope that this is how I’m going to meet my future husband.

These exchanges are good for my Hebrew practicing. I’ve got some stock answers down pat – how to say Petey’s a boy, tell how old he is, explain the type of dog he is, answer what his name is. But I usually run into a wall at some point and have to switch over to English. I always feel a little embarrassed about this, so maybe it will give me the extra motivation to step up my Hebrew studies again. Don’t count on it.

Petey is a very friendly pup – to other dogs and people, alike. We’re both making lots of new friends this way. And even though my friend and (shameless plug alert!) the owner of the Happy Dogs dog walking/training/boarding service in Tel Aviv (050-257-7710), the Canadian and brilliant Jeremy Ladner, tells me it’s never safe to take your dog off-leash…when Petey’s playing with a new dog friend and the owner says to me Eh, you want to release them? I go for it. He’s a fearless little pup, even with dogs ten times his size, and he loves to run and wrestle with them. And the proud parents I get to have a little chat with the owner and meet people this way, too. It’s a wonderful and unexpected gift Pete has given me.

You’d never see so many unleashed dogs in Manhattan’s Central Park. But here in Tel Aviv, it’s the norm – a kind of Spring Break, Dogs Gone Wild! haven for them. And they really love it!  Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but this Laissez-faire approach seems to me a kind of reverence, or dignity and respect for them above what I’m used to seeing at home. Make no mistake – though cats roam the streets and yards everywhere, Tel Aviv loves dogs.

It’s fortunate that the number of veterinarians in my neighborhood is similar to the ratio of Starbucks in Manhattan (that would be about three per every few blocks), and he’s already “got a file” at the closest one to our house. No appointment needed, English-speakers welcome, fast and friendly service. Petey and I both approve. Ditto, pet stores. We’re regulars at Roi’s store at the beginning of Yirmeyahu Street. He couldn’t be nicer, and always has great suggestions.

You see, having a pup has not only caused a strong, two-way flow of love to come into my life; it’s also opened the door to a friendly and loving side of Israelis and made it easier for them to flow into my life, too. Thanks, pup!

It’s tax time. OK, maybe not quite, but I want to be prepared. So, I started the ball rolling and met with an Israeli accountant. My situation is a little unique. I’m a full-time consultant with an American firm, and I’m paid in dollars back in the U.S. I know I need to file a return with Uncle Sam (and pay nothing except for social security taxes) – but should I also file a return in Israel?

Above are actual quotes from people about whether or not I should file here. (Relax, Uncle Schmuel – I am filing.) As you can see, there was hardly a consensus about what to do. And no trusted Yoda figure for me to consult with. Asking a million different people gave me a million different answers – you know the saying about Jews and opinions, right?

Call it naivete, or a Goody-Goody complex, but my personal moral compass led me to the Nefesh b’ Nefesh website, where I researched a list of accountants familiar with both Israeli and American tax systems. I made my first appointment just before the holidays. I explained my situation, everything was painless enough, and I wasn’t charged for the first meeting. B’seder.

The other shoe dropped during our second meeting, which took place after the holidays. My accountant expected to be paid a sizable monthly retainer. Now I don’t work for Goldman Sachs or Google; I work in the nonprofit sector. His retainer was about what I pay each month for my Internet, cell phone/BlackBerry service, and gym – combined. *Sad face.* On the plus side, it was an all inclusive service. I’d give him my deductible expenses each month, he’d register me with the system, do my bookkeeping, pay my Bituach Leumi (national health insurance-slash-Social Security…I think), and file my end-of-year return for me. I crapped my pants silently, said OK, and slinked out of his office.

“No, that’s high.”  “Dump him.” “My guy charges half that. I’ll get you an appointment. He doesn’t speak English though.” I made a million more phone calls and got a million more answers. What was I gonna do? I wanted to make an appointment with a second accountant, but didn’t feel like explaining my whole situation again. Plus, what if the second guy charged for that appointment? Maybe I should bluff and tell the first accountant I’d already taken the meeting with the second guy and that he quoted me a much lower rate, and I was saying sayonara. But what if the first guy didn’t blink?

The first guy doesn’t work on Fridays, and then Shabbat was here, so I had a few days to sweat sit with it. Then, I talked with a friend who’s lived here for years and never filed. Things seemed to come full circle after talking with her, and I thought: maybe I’ll just “go rogue” – Palin style – and not file.

D-Day came, and I called up my accountant on Yom Rishon when he was back in the office. It was hard for me, but I told him everyone I spoke to said his rate was very high, and I was recommended several other accountants who would charge me half his rate, and I’d have to go with one of them. I offered to pay him for the work he’d done so far, and then walk.

That’s the end of the column this week. You have to come back next week to hear the rest.

Sike. My prayers were answered. He said he could be flexible with me and lower my rate for 2010.  Um, how about lowering it now?, I countered with. He caved. Yay! Besides relief, I felt proud that I had taken a risk, especially because it had been uncomfortable for me. Of course, I’m happy it turned out favorable for me, and I believe I was rewarded for taking a hard line with him.  Color me Israeli, bitch.

Fortunately, I’m not in Ulpan anymore. Suddenly I have mornings!!! This is going to help a lot, I think.  Already, I’ve gone out to clubs a few times, and gotten home at 4am. Two words for you – sleeping in.

My first six months here, I was scheduled to within an inch of my life. I’ve always been someone who needs a full plate, but studying Hebrew in an intensive Ulpan course (8am-1pm) and working full-time (2-9pm), plus 1-2 hours Hebrew homework a night, plus blogging, plus writing these columns, plus hitting the gym left almost no time for a social life. I was OK with this. I made a conscious choice to invest first in learning Hebrew. The social life can come later I said. But it’s a crucial element to making it in a new country. You can only backburner it for so long. And so I’m exploring this. Friends are setting me up, and I’m also meeting men online and in clubs; I’m suddenly doing a lot of dating. Call me Carrie Bradshaw. (Hmm, future column ideas?)

In my first six months here, I was fortunate to have made a few friends. It’s kinda nice now to have some time to, I dunno, see them? I mean, besides on Facebook. So, my dance card is filling up with breakfast, coffee and lunch dates. Table for two, please.

I’m also disciplining myself to sit in front of the computer and write 1-2 hours every morning at least three times a week. Write what? Well, these columns don’t write themselves, and I’ve also got my blog to feed. But the big news is I’ve decided both of those are training ground for the book I’m now writing – about how I made Aliyah in a span of five minutes. It means a lot of work for me, but I’ve got the time, I’ve got the drive, I’ve got the ego, so sign me up.

Time to hang out my shingle as a freelance writer, too. Maybe you’ll soon see columns from me in other publications. Maybe your business has a website, and you need better copy for it. Maybe there’s a Hebrew software manual just waiting for the Scotty Touch.

I’ve also decided it’s time to start a family. Of sorts. I’m going to rescue a dog from a shelter. I grew up with dogs my whole life, but never had my own to care for. But I work from home, plus I live right next to Park Hayarkon, so – why not? It’ll be good for at least one future column.

Israel has been wonderful to me so far. When I saw friends and family in the U.S. last month, I had a lot of joy and enthusiasm to share. But I’m not the type to be satisfied with more of the same. This has to be Chapter Two. I want to add a relationship, or career progress to the mix. C’mon, with my Hebrew already atrophying (no more Ulpan), I might as well have something to show for it.

I readjusted to life in America pretty quickly – but there were some immediate shocks to get through first. As I waited for a train to take me into Manhattan, I noticed a large American flag blowing in the wind. My first thought was – That’s odd. It was familiar and didn’t feel 100% bizarro, but I think I would have preferred seeing a large Israeli flag. I’m still not sure if this is because I’d gotten used to seeing scads of Israeli flags on display the last seven months, or because my heart speaks Israeli.

I was too exhausted to do anything but stare around the train car once I got inside. I started reading a liquor advertisement. Pour. Drink. Enjoy. Jameson’s. Next, I began reading the train’s evacuation instructions. That’s when it hit me: EVERYTHING’s in English! While it’s not uncommon to see English used in advertisements in Israel, to see so much of it was fairly mind-blowing.

Then there was the money. Even though shekel bills have translucent stars, and day-glow orange and metallic gold colors on them, it was suddenly good old fashioned American dollars that looked like Monopoly money to me.

The American experience comes back pretty quick, though. After my first two steps on a Manhattan sidewalk, I was like – oh yeah, this. It surprised me to see so many new buildings finished since I’d left, and spiffy, new bike lanes on major avenues. I felt a little “left out” or “not a part of” upon being hit with so many changes in New York had gone through without me.

I embarked on my own personal whirlwind tour of the city. Meetings with my friends were scheduled two hours apart all day long. Meet Mimi’s new baby for the first time at 9am, coffee with Matthew at 11, pick up Amy’s kids from school with her at 1:30pm, lunch with Stephen and Scott at 3, a movie with Burt at 5, drop into a rehearsal of my old chorus group at 7, dinner with Alan at 9, stop by Scooter’s studio at 11pm. Six days of this! It was a blast, but it was not relaxing. I’d hit the pillow every night and just crash.

As the week drew to a close, it only got more intense. There were so many people to see and only so many slots. Over-scheduling and arriving late or needing to skedaddle prematurely just wasn’t fun.  There was the added complication of having to use my BlackBerry for emailing, looking up contacts in my address book, and inputting appointments into my calendar, but switching to an American disposable cell phone to make and receive calls. Cumbersome, old-school texting is just so 90s! And none of my friends were in that phone’s address book, so I had a lot of “unknown callers,” which I didn’t like.

Interspersed with these appointments was a lot of shopping. Ricky’s (hair products), Kiehl’s & Aveda (skin products), CVS (toiletries), Bed Bath & Beyond, Universal Gear (underwear sale), Macy’s (six pairs of shorts for $100!), Body Shop, Vitamin Shoppe (why are vitamins so much more expensive in Israel?), and so on. So, while I was running around to meet all my friends, the (environmentally friendly canvas) shopping bag I lugged around kept getting heavier.

I had a few roadtrips to New Jersey to see my friends Larry, Adam, The Edge and Bono. Yeah, my family might think the timing of my visit was driven by Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, but the trip’s anchor was always back-to-back U2 shows in Giants Stadium. The boys did not disappoint!

I spent the rest of my time with my family in Philadelphia. This part of the trip was more relaxing.  There was a lot of sleeping involved. And playing with dogs. I got to see the whole mishpacha for both major holidays, and nothing could ever compare with this. We are a close family, and the energy when we’re together is on a special frequency I can’t get anywhere else. I came bearing gifts for everyone from the wonderful artist-vendors at Nachalat Binyamin, and it’s always fun for me to give presents.

I was able to enjoy a lot of one-on-one time with my mom, and when I joined my brother’s family for a roadtrip to see Dad (in the middle of the state), I got to spend four whole hours next to my darling, 19-month-old niece. I broke out the puppets I’ve been entertaining her with over Skype, and hopefully she made the connection that “I’m the guy inside the TV” who talks to her once a week.

Before I knew it, it was time to go. Time to leave home…and return to Israel. Would she still feel like my home when I got there? After all the time together with so many people I care about, in the airport by myself I felt so alone. But I had a hunch once my life in Israel got hold of me and started to move the story forward again, I would feel fine.  Sure enough, when I landed and already had friends’ SMS, voicemails and Facebook messages to answer, this was a great comfort.

If Israel was the reason I had some initial issues adjusting to life in the States again, shouldn’t I have just dropped back into life here, no problem? Not so simple, it turns out. After two weeks of the “polishedness” that is America (giant shopping malls, wide roads, pristine neighborhood developments, wood floors in homes, 5,000 Starbucks locations, etc.) I did crash-land in the Homeland upon my return (mirroring the start of my trip in America). But just as quickly as before, I recovered.

Those were the biggest things I learned about myself from this first trip back. That I can have two homes, and that’s OK. And that transitioning between them isn’t seamless, but at least it’s quick and painless.

I remember being so nervous before class started, knowing how radically my life was going to change. I remembered most of the Hebrew print alphabet, but knew nothing else – not the cursive alphabet, squat vocabulary, zip grammar.

Our teacher couldn’t have been any nicer. BUT WHAT THE EFF WAS SHE SAYING?

I swear, it was like the wah-WAH-wah-WAH-wah-wa-wa-Wahhh that Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang heard when their teacher talked to them. And some of my classmates had to be ringers! Especially the Russians; mouths like machine guns – spraying indiscriminate Hebrew all over the classroom. They really gave me some good tools to hate on myself.

If I wasn’t the student with the most natural ability, I might have been the hardest working. I missed just five days the entire course. And even though my teacher heaped sadistic amounts of homework upon us, I did most of it pretty much every night. I was kinda fearless, too. Whenever Teach asked us who wanted to read, my hand went straight up. The way I figured it, the clock was always ticking on this amazing, free tutoring Israel was giving me. I wanted to make the most of it, and if that meant siphoning as much teacher attention away from you as I could, so be it.

Fast-forward to now, and I can really speak Hebrew. Suckily, maybe – but I can use the language to get stuff I need, and sometimes I can express myself, too. More importantly, I formed some my best Israeli friendships in ulpan. The ‘Boot Camp’ comparison is a good one, and the peeps you go through that with, well you get kinda tight. Sometimes I felt as though I was in some ritzy United Nations school – I made friends with people from France, England, South Africa, Czech Republic and Hungary. Ain’t I fancy! (Scott, there’s nothing fancy about us Brits! -Ashley)

It was kind of funny, how the classroom was a bit of a revolving door. Even into the last month of the course, there’d be a new student or two each week, while others would drop out, or go into the army, or (sniff) leave Israel. Actually I should say while others got knocked up or hitched! We’ve had four students from our class get pregnant or give birth, and three others get married or engaged. What they hell are they putting in those 10 shekel sandwiches for sale at hafsaka anyway?

If you have a black soul like I do, an intensive ulpan class is majorly fertile ground for ripping on people. If I wasn’t going to hell already, with the help of my BFF whom I sat next to everyday, I earned a first class ticket. In sub-zero decibel levels, she and I privately found fault with everybody – from the Muppets and Low Talkers to the Snobs and Brown Nosers. Ah, the simple pleasures of being time-warped to fifth grade again.

And now it’s almost over. Suddenly I’ll have my mornings and afternoons back. I’ll still be working full-time and continuing my writing projects, but maybe now I’ll actually find time to date or get my ass to the beach. The déjà vu’s a little haunting, though, this feeling of how my life is going to radically change again. I’m continuing with Kita Bet, but the non-intensive class doesn’t start until February. And you only ever have one First Kita. Bye, Alef – we had a moment, didn’t we?

You dropped 1,500 sheks on a show you’d already seen four times???

Why yes, I did, and then I also went again (cheap seats) the next night. Look, Madonna is my favorite artist and performer of all time. I consider seeing her perform live an excellent way to spend my time; it’s electric, playful, theatrical – why wouldn’t I want to repeat that experience as often as possible??? Hmm, let me think…put this into some Jewish equivalent…OK, I got it: Let’s say you were invited  for Shabbat Dinner at some friends’ place, and they were amazing cooks. In fact, they served maybe the best meal you’d ever tasted. Plus, their company was delightful – he was hilarious, she was fascinating, they were both gorgeous, and their apartment was something out of a magazine. If you were lucky enough to score an invitation to their place again, would you decline just because you had that experience once already? Probably not. You’d probably make a big Homer Simpson Woo-Hoo! noise and put on your Fat Pants. Am I making sense now?

I’ve seen Madonna perform twelve times among all her tours before, but I’d never sprung for the Golden Circle (again, pause for Angelic music) ticket before. I usually pay for the second best level of seats, but can’t seem to bring myself to drop the maximum amount for the Best Seats, since it’s usually double the dough. But Madonna herself sings in “Express Yourself” – Don’t go for second best, baby. Put your love to the test. This time, I took advantage of my Legacy Membership in her ICON fan club (pause, until you stop laughing), and paid Top Dollar.

First let me say, this was the easiest commute I ever had to a concert. There was no backed up expressway traffic vying for the same exit or long lines for parking. Since Madonna was performing in Hayarkon Park, I could ride my bicycle there. Even better, I didn’t have to ride my bicycle through city streets with traffic or crowded sidewalks dodging people or have to stop at any traffic lights. I got to ride the same trail I jog regularly, part of the same route I ran in the Tel Aviv Marathon – something totally familiar and private and personal to me, something mine. I rode my bicycle with no hands in solitude. It was a magical, meditative start to the night.

I was wearing a muscle shirt I got from 2004’s Re-Invention Tour. It has Madonna’s name in Hebrew on it. Most Israelis wouldn’t have this shirt unless they are jet-setters or lived in the U.S. at that time, b/c Madge hasn’t performed here since 1993. I went through the Golden Circle entrance and claimed my spot right in front of the the end of the catwalk. Even though the little people regular ticket holders were fenced off from we Golden Circle Chosen Ones, our tickets were still general admission within the circle. Meaning – even though Madonna never takes the stage before 9:30 p.m. and it was only 6:30 p.m. when I arrived, if I didn’t stake my spot now (and defend it, as needed), I’d never be as close to her come Showtime as I wanted to be. It was still hot out, but I didn’t bring anything to drink with me, because I didn’t want to have to pee; if you left for the bathroom, you could kiss your prime spot goodbye, and nobody likes a full bladder. I had only chewing gum to keep my mouth moist.

I wound up next to a nice trio of delightful young Israelis. We got along well, and I gave them only as many concert spoilers as they asked for. Before and throughout the concert, the crowd was surprisingly well behaved. I say surprisingly because of the stereotype of the “pushy Israeli,” the ones you hear stalk the supermarket and bus stop. But not Madonna’s Israeli fans – we were largely well-mannered. Except for the obnoxious woman who sneaked past us and wound up splitting our little group into two halves, constantly yelling to her girlfriend on the other side of us. (Hey, I was distracted taking a picture when she made her move!)  Plus, she was wearing a backpack, which was pushing against me. It was interesting to see what happened next. There was complaining amongst ourselves, then something was said to her. She argued back and stood her (stolen) ground, but we did succeed in having her remove her backpack. All in all, not enough to damper my sky-high spirits.

The Queen did not disappoint. The show was revamped slightly since 2008, and I especially enjoyed the new numbers she added. My heart touched the sky the two times she looked in my direction. I got up on my tippy-toes and ran my hand across her Hebrew name on my shirt, conveying my adoration. The second of those times she noticed and smiled directly at me. *Stun*

Then at the show’s most intimate moment, when she sang a Spanish-tinged acoustic version of “You Must Love Me,” I did a Bit I’ve been doing since the New York shows. After she sang the line You must love me… I answered her by yelling I do! I do! I do love you, Madonna! I love you so much! I do, I do, I do! I do! Well on this special night, when I yelled that for the first time, she looked over and sang directly to me You must love me… I got farklempt and gasped and brought my hands to my chest like a little girl; she responded by smiling wider and serenading me again You must love me…

Wait, it gets even better. There was a rumor floating around that Madonna’s daughter Lourdes was going to perform for the very first time with Mummy during the tour’s last show. I wasn’t expecting it the first night, but one of my new friends spotted Lola during the last number “Give it 2 Me,” and said That’s her daughter! That’s her daughter! Of course, I thought she was saying That’s her water! That’s her water!, so I didn’t pay attention, and I missed the moment. Fortunately, I snapped a few pics of the moment anyway, because Madonna had taken a fan’s Israeli flag and draped it over herself, and I wanted a shot of this. Score! History in the making.

My bicycle did not touch the ground the whole ride home. The Hayarkon trail was lit but isolated. I basked in the quiet and rode no-hands all the way home, singing to myself – high on my night.

I returned for a different experience the next night. The Cheap Seats. Given a choice, of course I would prefer to be 45 cm from Madonna instead of 100 yards 91 meters away. But Madonna designs her shows to be spectacles enjoyed by the person in the furthest, cheapest seat, and I had the chance to appreciate these visual elements of her work. And I had the space to dance my ass off!! At that distance, amidst the sea of people who’d come to watch the Greatest Entertainer of Our Time, the atmosphere reached a rapturous climax during “Ray of Light” and “Like a Prayer,” and I enjoyed it to the max.

Both nights Madonna proclaimed Israel the “energy capital of the world,” and spoke messages of praise and peace. During the first show’s monologue, she said she always feels recharged after absorbing Israel’s energy. Thank you, Madonna, for returning the favor to Israel.

In America, it’s a cliché: the fat, unattractive plumber type – kneeling down to fix a leak and oblivious that his unappealing butt crack is on display for everyone to see. Dan Akroyd did it on SNL, remember?

In Israel it’s a different story, though. It’s not just fat plumbers, it’s everybody! Seriously, you’d think butt cleavage full-on ass crack was on the cover of fashion magazines as a trend for Fall or something. Scratch that, it’s more like everyone here subscribes to Ass Crack Monthly.

I’ve been wanting to blog about this forever – not just a single post, but do an entire series on it. Only trouble is – it’s really tough to be that quick with a camera. You’ve got to be carrying it at all times to not miss the shot, and if you miss it, you can’t exactly ask someone to pose again for you.  I’m sorry sir, I’m making fun of the way your entire butt is hanging out. I’m going to post it on the web for the entire world to see, but you moved and I missed it. Mind posing again? Don’t think so.

Fat plumbers get a free pass – they invented the cliché, remember. Little toddlers playing in a sandbox? We can excuse them, too – they are freedom embodied and should not be judged for fashion errors (they don’t even dress themselves). You see, the conventional wisdom is that it’s only The Clueless who show you their ass crack. Fashion criminals and those exempt for being under two years of age – The Oblivious.

Then we move into the gray area types. Britney Wannabes on a Friday night? Fine, they’re probably doing it on purpose. U.S. skanks would be showing thong not crack, but this is the Middle East, so I’ll accept it. Skate Rat Punky Teens? OK, after all it was their Hip Hop equivalents in the U.S. who invented the whole “show your back junk” trend a decade ago anyway, even though you’re supposed to show plouffed-out boxers, not full-on crack.

But Dads pushing babies in strollers? Really, Dads??? You’re sensitive and considerate and co-parenting enough to be taking your young one for a stroll around the neighborhood, but you don’t know that your (almost) entire backside is completely on display for the whole world to see? Is this, I dunno…like, marketing or something you’re doing for work maybe? Definitely getting into some bizarro territory when you see a Yuppie Dad’s full-on butt in broad daylight. What, he couldn’t put a kippa on down there?

Construction workers you would expect, right? But I simply could not believe my eyes last week when one of the crew inside my gym replacing drywall had his shorts hanging so low, his entire tush was visible to everyone on the gym floor. Why weren’t his co-workers making fun of him? Or, how come they didn’t give him a warning so he could pull up? They weren’t feeling uncomfortable in a homophobic way, even? I’m telling you, I don’t know what was suspending this guy’s shorts and preventing them from dropping right off his body. A butt’s normal outward protuberance naturally acts as a “brake” to total shorts droppage, right? But this guy’s shorts were pulled below his butt “peak”; they should have been in freefall. I was dumbfounded by the whole situation – by him, his buddies, the people on the gym floor, and the physics of it all. I was like, ‘crackstruck.’  Was this guy oblivious or intentional about it? And, really – why was no one saying anything about it? It was, like, SO the white elephant in the room; at least for me. Was it just not weird for anyone else? I also wondered when the last time he showered was. And I cursed the fact that he wasn’t cuter.

I guess it really is a cultural thing. Maybe it’s saying: See how tough I am, World? I’m no Fryer (sucker), here’s my butt crack! Maybe everybody’s just really confident. Hell, maybe it’s pheromones, I dunno. All I know is this: investing in companies that make Israeli underwear and belts is a complete waste of money.