Twice a week I am making deliveries of my products to local supermarkets. Tonight I delivered to two supermarkets and at the latter, there was a women standing near the counter, scribbling something on a piece of note. I stood next to her and started unloading hummus boxes on the counter.

She stopped her writing and asked me angrily why I am using the counter she was using for her writing. I apologized in German, I guess with some heavy accent.

“You are not German!!” she yelled at me. “What language are you speaking?”

I told her that we can speak in English, but mentioned that my Hebrew is better.

She paused for a second, and moved into quick German.

“You are not a Jew!”, she said angrily. “You are delivering food. You must be Turkish!!”. Then she started observing me, looking at my shoes, the clothes I was wearing.… weiter lesen

I wrote here once about my visit to the job center office. I remember it being so funny, I couldn’t even get in touch of the humiliation of some officer who dared, in straight face, telling me that he will never look for a job for me, but still, that I am not allowed to leave Berlin, If there will be ever a job opening for me.

A couple of weeks after I opened my place, I found a letter in my mailbox. It was from the job center, maybe from the same person, asking me to inform them in case I would like to employ and train people on their lists.

I palmed the paper and threw it into the trash bin. Then I picked it up, and made it straight again, and put it neatly in the drawer where I store memories.

I think… weiter lesen

Was taking a few hours off on Sunday to be with Maya. walked to the spielplatz, and headed to the usual route: trampoline, swing, and then the carousel. We were talking in Hebrew when two girls, maybe five-year-old, approached the carousel.

Maya likes being around older girls. She immediately joined them as they started to push the carousel round and round. One of them pushed Maya, and told her firmly that she is not allowed to play with them. “You are not Deutsch”, she told Maya, “you don’t even speak Deutsch”.

I can really lose it at these times. I ran to my wife and told her about the incident, and she came running and calmly explained to the other girls that there are kids who look different and speak different language, but all I could see is Maya at eight, or 12, or 18, and what I brought her… weiter lesen

Gilad Shalit is on the way home.

You can argue about the price, some will. Or the consequences. Or the preceding effect.

You can say what you want about PM Netanyau, but took the extra step in the holy promise given to every parent giving his kids to the army: that the state of Israel will do whatever it can to bring him or her back home safely. I can argue that Netanyau policy almost guarantee the opposite, but I have to give him credit where it is due.

You can argue and argue, but it breaks down to this: soon, Gilad Shalit will be back to where he belongs. Home, to his loving parents.

And then, after Israel will share a rare moment of unity, he will start to live with himself. free.

On friday, around four PM we started to close the bistro (I don’t like bistro, but this is what the Bau amt wants), in preparation for Yom Kippur. One of the diners, a woman in her 30′s saw me hanging the sign, saying that we will be closed for the next two days, started to inquire me about Yom Kippur.

I did my best job trying to explain the concept of atonement, first philosophically, and then on the practical aspect. It went like this:

Her: “So it just like the Ramadan”.

Me: “no, we don’t eat at night. We don’t eat for 26 hours”.

Her: “but you are allowed to drink”.

Me: “no, we are not allowed to do nothing for 26 hours, just pray, and atone to ourselves, and ask for forgiveness from those we hurt in the past year”.

Her: “what do you mean you are not allowed… weiter lesen

I promised myself not to write anymore until the summer. So this explains the long hiatus. It’s September, and it’s summer, and I can get back to writing.

Of course it would have been better if I was sharing the idea here.

I am in the middle of opening a new business. A lot to write about it. will try to write a series about opening a business in Germany. Probably will call it: “why is it better for an auslander to stay unemployed (rather of bothering to open a business)”. But I will need some time.

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Just want to say one sentence about the recent election in Berlin: I think the NPD is doing a great service for Berlin and Germany. I think that its recent campaign helps to define how much you can stretch a democracy.

However: It was a clear case for me of passion killing… weiter lesen

There is a funny story being told over and over at my wife’s family house. It is about the time when the little sister went for one year (or semester) to the US and interned there at a local hospital. The sister was amazed when she noticed that everyone is greeting her in the morning with “how are you”, and keep walking without waiting for an answer.

I am thinking about these culture gaps every time I am talking on the phone with a German. Actually, every time the call is reaching its ending. In Israel, we just say OK, and then the other side says OK, and we hung on the phone. Here, the ending is longer than the actual call. I mean it is a never ending series of exchanges. Sometimes I feel like if I won’t take an action, the goodbye will last forever. Lately, I have… weiter lesen

In May, I had written about the German driver. I would like to get back to the subject please.

I first drove in Germany in the times when I used to come to Berlin for a weekend of partying. It’s was a toxic combination: I was so fucking high, and coming from a system where everything on the road is controlled by signs, I was completely unaware to the fact that I must give the right for the car coming from the right. This experience alone should have made me religious.

Nowadays, I am driving almost everyday. I am still amazed by the entitlement that rules the roads here, I am still amazed by the impossible angles drivers must look at in order to cross a crossing, I am amazed by how narrow the streets are (sometimes, it’s like to fat people trying to pass… weiter lesen

About ten days ago I entered the S-Bahn somewhere in West Berlin. There was an old couple seating on a four-seat bench, one of those that faces the door. Casually, I sat there. there was a gap of one seat between us. The door barely closed when the couple stood up, and moved to the next bench, also a four-seater which they shared with a local girl.

I should have written about it right after it happened. The only reason I post it now is that I promised myself to write about these incidents. The worst humiliation is to think that these incidents are normal and that I should get use to them.

One of the first things you learn in the German language class is to be descriptive: small, large, short, long, narrow, wide. I remember that I was always fascinated by how the German language describe a beautiful, sunny day, where the clouds are more lenient with letting the light through. I can think of many words to describe this kind of day, but even when I am depressed, hell is not one of these words.

I thought about it the other day when I drove near Alexanderplatz and saw the beautiful poster that Nike spread on one of the buildings. It has a picture of Dirk Nowitzki from his back, his right hand, with the fingers closed, in a celebration motion over his shoulder, and with the slogan above: “all dreams sound crazy, until they become true.”

It is a very touching poster, but only when I arrived home and… weiter lesen