Species of Summer

3. rimon

3. rimon

What I learned this week: despite how nice and quiet Zohar is, that's all she is—nice and quiet. Up until Thursday, I was stuck tagging along with Zohar and her three friends (Eden is the most normal out of them—Reut is just kind of weird). We didn't really do anything except go into what they call "town" (a collection of the bare essentials, including two small markets, a bakery, a pizza place, a clothing store, a falafel stand, a sandwich shop, and a convenience store) just to chill and walk around. It was boring, but it was also in Israel, so I got to experience another culture and shit, which my mom would claim is why I'm here.

Then on Thursday Amir got back. That meant that I no longer had his room to myself, but it was feeling empty and creepy that I was camping in another dude's room while he was away, so I was glad to see him again. Upon his return, one can only describe his mental state as the aftermath of days of inebriation. He was hung-over with a capital H. But his parents weren't too broken up about it, because in Israel, the legal drinking age is eighteen. That's one thing they've got on us. Amir told me that no one really cards and that if there comes a point that I want alcohol, I'm an American with money, so I can get it. That information was reassuring to know, but it probably won't ever come in handy on this trip.

After Amir spent the majority of Thursday day sleeping off the alcohol level in his veins, he and Gal took Jack's car and drove me out to the epicenter of the desert. There was nobody around us and we were just kind of there, sitting in the sand and looking out over everything and nothing. Then Gal brought out a hookah and some hash, which was really why we were there, apparently. On the moshav, parents can tolerate cigarettes, but hash isn't really accepted. So as Amir explained, if they want to smoke (like, really smoke), then they come out to the desert. I didn't really care—I just liked how peaceful and silent everything was in the desert. I could hear my every thought, even after I was pressured into taking a puff. 

And then came Friday. Yom shishi. (Yom = day and shishi = sixth, because Friday is technically the sixth day of the week or whatever). The only reason that I remember that is because shishi is a fun word to say. My pronunciation of it sucks ass, as Amir so candidly told me, but I still like the word. Anyway, today is Friday and I basically spent the morning eating chopped up cucumbers, carrots, and tomatoes (aka, "salad" in this country) and a few pieces of bread. They're so freaking healthy here. Like, yeah, Jack told me that if I wanted to eat unhealthily, I totally could find a way, but it just isn't in their culture. I haven't seen a single obese kid since I've been here, and come to think of it, most kids are pretty skinny and healthy. Jack said it was because Israel is kind of an offshoot of Europe, just stationed in the Middle East and shiz.

So yeah, today I ate fake salad and a boureka (I can't for the life of me describe what it is) and then Amir was out and I kind of pulled the I'm-super-tired-and-I'm-an-entitled-American card and hid all day with my laptop, catching up on as much American TV and culture as I could. At five, Amir returned and was like, "Yalla"—which means, like, "let's go"—"we're going to a mesibat yaar when Shaked gets back."

As he then went on to explain, a "mesibat yaar" is quite literally a "forest party." But on a deeper level, it's basically just a rager with a bunch of older teens, heaps of booze, and a big campfire. Since we're in the desert, though, there aren't too many forests around, so this mesibat yaar would be conducted in the desert sans tree, plus a surplus of sand. Amir said that I would have fun.

Then Shaked got back.

She was in her olive uniform with these giant black combat boots. Her mouth was cast in a harsh line, but when she came across Amir and me (after blowing off Ofri and Jack—and Zohar), she lit up. "Ten li eser dakot," she told us. "Give me ten minutes." And sure enough, ten minutes later she had transformed from a militant commander into a hot girl with long hair and long legs and short shorts and a short shirt. Gone were her clunky boots, replaced by flip-flops. I was almost floored by how fast the transformation was, despite Amir's complaining of the opposite argument.