Today, I was at my favorite coffee shop, Cafe Hillel, as I am most afternoons. I ran into a man I've seen there about a hundred times, and we talked for a few minutes before he left to go to a wedding at the Kineret. Then I sat, as I usually do, reading the newspaper and sipping a latte, enjoying the heat of the day. I deliberately say 'enjoying', because everyone else seems to be 'suffering in'. There are certain stereotypes that got to be that way because they are absolutely true. One is that few people in Israel are ever content with the weather. In the winter, it is too cold, and everyone talks about wishing summer would get here already. In the summer, it is too hot, and everyone wants winter to arrive in a hurry. As I sat and talked to this new friend, Benny, about the stereotype, I said that is is, clearly, because I am only a half-breed (Dad is Irish-Catholic), that I can unequivocally say that I love the summer, bring on the heat, gimme the humidity, let the sweat come a-pourin' down. The truth is, my Mom doesn't fit the stereotype. She absolutely, unequivocally, hates the heat and likes the cold. Winter is fun for her. But she is not Israeli.
Before I get on to the topic of this post, I have to get one thing off my chest: Two words that you never want to hear when you are talking about a Hot Bikram Yoga class--White Speedo. 'Nuff said.
So I was at Cafe Hillel, sitting outside and enjoying my latte, reading about an Israel/Hizbollah prisoner exchange scheduled for this coming week, when I saw an attractive man walk in. He had that whole "I'm the shit" air about him, but most men here do, so I looked past it and just admired his looks for a few seconds before he walked inside. I went back to my reading for a while.
Before I left, I went inside to get another latte to keep me fueled to write this blog, as I have had certain friends nagging me that I don't make new posts often enough. It's not for lack of material, but, rather, because it is hotter in the room I use as an office than anywhere else in the house. I don't mind it being hot outside, but if I'm inside, I prefer to keep cool. The cats stick to any other room in the house. While this would be the first choice of rooms were there an Air Raid, it is the last choice in the summer. Unless there's an Air Raid in the summer. Maybe, just for me, Iran can wait until November before they start doctoring photos to make it look like they can reach Israel with bombs.
But I digress.
So I go inside to get a cafe hafukh gadol khazak (Hebrew for a big, strong latte), and I see a very narrow, pretty, young blonde woman at the counter, struggling to communicate with the guys who work there. She has less Hebrew than I do. I can walk in now, and the guys no longer get that terrified look that says "Oh shit, not the American again", because I can actually have a short conversation and order in Hebrew. One of the guys working there (and yes, Mom, when I say 'guys', I mean 'they were ALL male') was holding up a calculator to show her the amount of money she had to give them. She looked very confused and I considered helping her because she didn't understand that 'tishim ve'akhat' is 91 shekels. It must have been a large order to equal that much, and I imagine she was standing there for a while, struggling to order, before I walked in. I felt her pain. The calculator solved the money issue, and she went to sit down. As I was leaving, I noticed that she was sitting with the aforementioned attractive man. He was speaking to her in English in a thick Israeli accent.
This requires that a reasonable human being ask: "Why didn't the man do the ordering and paying for their meal, since he is a native Hebrew speaker?".
Welcome to Israel, where men often expect women to do their bidding. In my post about American bars vs. Israeli bars, I cited an exchange between me and my friend Alon, who expected me to go get us drinks when we were out at a crowded bar with female bartenders. Needless to say, he ended up at the bar, ordering for both of us. Not because I'm a bitch, and not because I don't like to do things for my friends, but because it didn't make sense for me to order when the bartender was more likely to pay attention to--and understand--Alon.
The problem is that most women seem willing to put themselves through agony and embarrassment for their men. If Alon had a broken leg, or was mute or something, I would have gotten the drinks that night. Since he was neither, and since he recognized my facial expression, he did the only practical thing. But I can understand why he is the way he is now. It is a cultural difference. Women here fetch. And this little foreign blonde girl was willing to fall right into the stereotype rather than asking the man she was with to take care of ordering lunch.
I admit that it could be very easy for a woman to fall into this trap. Most men here carry themselves with a raging machismo. It is sexy as hell. It is part of what I love about Israeli men. They aren't wimps. They have all served in the military and have been forced to become men in a way that most Americans can't understand. Military service in Israel is never easy. The hardest part isn't at the training camps. It is after the training camps, when they are actively fighting enemies on 3 fronts. The swagger that Israeli men have drives me wild. But, at the same time, it needs to be tempered. Swagger away, be macho and all that, but don't expect that I am signing on for modern servitude just because I am dating you.
And for the love of God, women, stop supporting this behavior.
I am not trying to go all FemiNazi ( a term I don't use here) on Israeli men. I only want to be treated with the appropriate amount of respect. Of COURSE I will get the drinks some of the time, when my Hebrew is better, and there is a male bartender, and I am showing enough cleavage. And of COURSE I will get up and get things for people who are guests in my home. And I positively love to nurture men when they are sick. Another friend of mine, Alon2, told me I am like a Jewish mother when he is sick. I respectfully asked him not to compare me to his mother, as it is creepy since he and I date sometimes. Nonetheless, when he was sick, I was fully prepared to be there to bring him juice and soup and aspirin until he felt better. Because that's what you do for someone you care about, right?
My dear, sweet Alon (from hereon "Alon1"--and don't you forget it, he says) is learning that I am not like the other women in his life. I am not his mother, who brings him things and caters to him in a way far beyond what I would ever ever ever expect of my own mother, unless I was post-surgical or something. Even then, it isn't that I expect it, but simply that my Mom takes good care of me when I need caring for. I am not his roommate, who does the same as his Mom. And I am also not his girlfriend, who, evidently, brings it to a whole new level, from what I've heard (I have successfully avoided meeting her). He is learning a valuable lesson about women--We Are Not All Doormats. When he comes to my apartment, I will get up to get the coffee, or the soda, or the snacks. I will even cook. And if he is sick and none of his regular servants are available, I will gladly go to his apartment and take care of him because I care about him. When I met him, we dated briefly, and I am fairly certain that part of the attraction was that I am a completely different kind of animal to him. Being with me was like watching the Discovery Channel. It was the same for me. I had never met anyone with his confidence and swagger, and it made me want to, well, see him naked.
I believe that there is a happy medium, even in Israel. I have met wimpy Israeli men, so there must be something in-between. I will find it, and, when I do, I think I will look forward to our verbal sparring as much as I will our adoring pillow-talk.
Let it be known to my American friends: Yes, the men here are smokin' hot, but that often comes hand-in-hand with the machismo. It is just as difficult to find a good man in the Holy Land as it is in the Old Country.
Shit.
p.s. I will photograph and post pictures of some smokin' hot men soon. In the meantime, look back at the pictures of Alon1. Always works for me.
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