It's The Little Differences...

Have you ever thought of buying a bag of milk?

Not being able to buy bread in stores for a week because of a religious holiday?

Having only 3 cell phone companies to choose from, each one less responsive and customer-service-oriented than the last?

Seeing men at yoga really wearing speedos, regardless of weight and/or amount of body hair?

Having strangers offer to help you find the post office, call the cable company, read text messages sent in Hebrew, or carry heavy stuff, without expecting some amount of nakedness in return--in fact, expecting nothing in return?

Seeing, three times in one day, and on different men, t-shirts that read : "One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR" (without going to Old Orchard or Revere Beaches)?

Being greeted like an old friend at the place where you bought your microwave oven?

Explaining what it means to play grab-ass?

Hearing from everyone that a bicycle is the best way to get around the city?

Knowing that EVERY PLACE, right down to the pet-supply store and grocery stores, deliver?

Getting an Israeli flag as a free gift with the morning newspaper?

Finding out that the word 'tattoo' has a gender, and that it is male, and every adjective used to describe one must then also be masculine as well (and feeling mildly offended)?

It is the little, tiny details about living here that cause me to stop. It isn't seeing billboards in Hebrew or herds of Hasidic families wearing all black, head to toe, in 90-degree heat (32C), with their payot (side curls) and tzitzit (fringes dangling from their waists) moving ever so gently in the hot breeze. As a side note, the Hebrew word for "tits" is nearly indistinguishable from the word for these ultra-Orthodox clothing fringes, a lesson I learned the hard way while saying something about a 'tse-tse fly'.

When I moved into my apartment, I couldn't walk across the floor without the bottoms of my feet turning black from the amount of dirt that built up since it was last cleaned. I clearly needed to buy a mop. People mop differently in Israel. I have not seen even one Swiffer Wet-Jet (I will gladly supply my address to anyone who wants to send me one). What you get instead of a Swiffer or a sponge mop is something that looks like a very long-handled squeegee which you use to push around a large square of thick fabric that has been soaked in whatever your cleaning fluid of choice is. It was in a particular moment of clarity that I thought to buy plastic gloves for the squeezing-out process.

When I crave a really fantastic fresh peach or slice of watermelon, I can walk half a block and get incredible produce fresh off the kibbutz, no hothouse or thousands-of-mile travel involved, from a guy who has a hole-in-the-wall space--on the first floor of my building--which he closes at night by pulling down a heavy garage door. When I want fresh falafel, I have to walk a full block further. They are open late, except when Maccabi Tel Aviv Basketball is on.

Men here are NEVER flattered to find out that they share a name with my wonderful kitten, Avi. Suddenly, they are "Aviv" or "Avram". I'd be flattered if someone named a kitten after me. Of course, about 27 different people have asked me if I am familiar with the Israeli recording artist named "Rita". It is evidently okay to have a cat named after a person if the person is neither male nor you.

And, seriously, you can buy milk in bags. It is a much more authentic cow-like experience, I'm sure (I'm sure I would have to 'moo' every time I poured), but I prefer to go the extra few steps and get a carton of milk. I wouldn't know where to buy the special pitcher that the bag of milk goes in, anyway.

Oh yeah, and The Late Show with David Letterman is on at 9:30am.