The Way I Live Now

It is kind of a sobering thought that Israel puts new immigrants in better housing than UT puts college students. Not much better, granted--Beit Canada is about equivalent to the University Towers, with fewer Jews--but better. On the one hand, my room has a small kitchen (with a sink!), as well as its own bathroom; on the other, it doesn't have air conditioning. On yet another hand (this is the third hand, which I'm borrowing from another table), I'm not sure Blanton did either, and at least Jerusalem cools off at night.

Actually, though, BC reminds me of nothing more than a college dorm, minus a college, plus several families with children, and with stray cats running around. Like Blanton, there are lots of rules for interns--no alcohol in rooms, you can't leave for more than a few days, no non-BC people allowed past 10 without special permission, no loud noise past 10--which, if violated, will lead to your expulsion from the Center. Also like Blanton, these rules are uniformly ignored. Also--I'm not sure how this fits in, but it does--the Frenchies on the floor below me routinely throw trance parites at 4 am.


Oh, the Frenchies. Don't let the name fool you: they are a distinct group from 'the French.' That is, all Frenchies are French immigrants, but not vice versa. There are three main groups in Beit Canada: the Frenchies, mostly part of an aliya group and mostly from Paris; the Latin Americans, who come from all over; and everyone else, which mostly means English speakers but also includes Germans and any French people who are sufficiently cool to have avoided the label of 'Frenchy.' In a center of a few hundred, there are about five. Otherwise, the French are not well liked.

(The Parisian French, I have determined, are much like Latin Americans in that they will party vigorously and heartily at odd hours, and that, if asked to shut up because it's four in the morning, will not. However, unlike Latins, they will not then invite you into the party and offer you a beer, unless of course you, too, are Parisian French. Non-Parisian French, by contrast, seem to be lovely people.)

The center is pretty empty now, though--olim (new immigrants) can only stay for a year, so most are moving out to more permanent housing or going back home. Soon, though, all of the summer interns will show up and the place will be full of college kids from all over the world. For the moment, I have a two bedroom apartment to myself, which is very nice, but in a week I get a roommate and a week after that another. Both are American, which does not thrill me, but neither is Parisian, which does.

Unrelatedly--or semi-relatedly--I awoke yesterday morning to what sounded like automatic weapons fire coming from East Jerusalem. This did not immediately alarm me, because there had been fireworks the night before for the end of the Israel Festival. However, at this moment it was 7:30 am, so I assumed it was not fireworks. Which meant that either:

1. the Frenchies were at it again with a surprisingly powerful and staccato bass, or
2. the Syrians were invading.
   
   

However, I now reject the former as unlikely because the Frenchies don't have a very good system and the latter because, thirty-six hours later, I have yet to encounter any Syrians. And no one knew anything at the JPost. So I have no idea what happened. My solution at the time, however, was to look at my phone, mutter incoherently under my breath, and go back to sleep. Thus life goes on in the Holy City.