Species of Summer

2. chetah

2. chetah

These past few days have been a whirlwind of settling down. After I met all of the kids, Ofri escorted me to Amir's room, where I would be staying. It was a cramped room, but they somehow managed to fit two beds in it. As I later learned, Israeli mattresses are more foamy than springy and they're super thin. But I'm a polite American, so I of course haven't brought up the issue. Amir has a pretty standard room, despite its lack of space. He's surprisingly fine with me staying with him, because he's barely there. His girlfriend, Inbar, is basically his top priority, along with his friend Gal, who I've met twice now.

Gal dresses just like Amir and sometimes I get a little confused between them because they're so alike (even though Amir's English is way better than Gal's). There's just this air that they both possess and I can't really seem to place what it is. Zohar called them "arsim," whatever that is. But they're chill enough, and they've continuously offered to share their cigarettes with me, even though I've made it as clear as I can that I don't smoke. They're big on smoking. Everyone is in this place. One night Gal and Amir also gave me this whole explanation about how since I'm an American, I won't have any trouble with girls here. That was reassuring, I guess.

Yesterday Amir left with Gal and some of their other friends to a place called the Golan to go camping or whatever. They invited me along, too, but Ofri said that since his friends suck at English, it wouldn't be that fun for me. Amir countered, expressing how beer and hookahs were universal. Jack wasn't too thrilled with that, so I'm stuck here for the next few days, on their "moshav", without Amir or Gal or anyone else of real interest.

Nana left on Saturday night and so did Shaked. Apparently, they go to the army during the week and come home on weekends. Which, in this country, happens to go from Friday afternoon to Saturday night. Sunday isn't a part of the weekend. It's a weekday. Which sucks for them, because as Amir told me, it means that school goes from Sunday to Friday. Six straight days. I'd die if I had to go to school for six days in a row. Five is already hard enough.

I didn't really see much of either of the older sisters this weekend. Nana was out with friends, doing whatever it was that hot Israeli girls in their twenties did. And Shaked hung with Amir, surprisingly. I'm pretty okay when it comes to reading people, and even though they fight and screw with each other constantly, Shaked and Amir are a package deal. They're closest in age to each other and their friends overlap and even though they've each told me individually that they hate the other, it's not true. They're the worst siblings ever, but they're the best of friends.

And as for the youngest daughter, Zohar, well, I haven't really seen much of her at all except for at meals (which are basically just a combination of chopped vegetables and dairy products) and when Ofri sends her to check up on me. She's so quiet in contrast to Amir and Shaked. But from what I can tell, her English level rivals Jack's and she's pretty smart. Always reading books, seeming intellectual. She hasn't really tried to engage with me—not like Shaked or Amir—but it's fine. This whole thing has actually been fine so far, which is a major surprise.

I thought that I was going to hate every second of being here, but the weather is great (sometimes even a little too great), and the people are nice, even if the language barrier is kind of a b*tch. It sure beats working at Harvey's Hardware Store for another summer. Shit, was the most boring job I've ever had. There were absolutely no girls around and it was just a bunch of Carhartt-loving contractors and handy dads. The monotony also kind of killed me. The same thing, day in and day out. This isn't even close to that.

When my mom first told me that she wanted me to "get in touch with my heritage," I thought she was nuts. I still do. She wanted me to go to Israel for the summer so I could tap into my Jewish identity or whatever, which is stupid, because we're just about the least observant Jews ever. We also live in a place where Jews are like four-leaved clovers. They're not lucky, but they sure are hard to find. But anyway, no one in my family is even from Israel, which was what confused me the most. If my mom wanted me to connect with my heritage or some shit, then she should've sent me to New York or one of those places that doesn't exist anymore because it's part of Russia or for the summer. Instead, I get sent to Israel. Ask me in three years how that makes sense and I still won't be able to tell you.