My World

Conforming to Stereotypes

2011-04-25T07:37:00.000-07:00

What should I write about? Bottled water? East Asians and their unfaltering commitment to University libraries? How about the quite mysterious differences between satsumas, tangerines and clementines? Does anybody know the truth?

As I'm Jewish, I'm going to conform to stereotypes, and talk about something Jewish. Passover was celebrated by many Jews around the world earlier this week. For those who might not know, I can tell you what it's all about briefly. The important rules are these
1. To eat nothing 'leavened' for 8 days
2. Try your best not to break rule 1.

Every year, at the same time on the Jewish calendar often falling around Easter time on the Roman calendar, Jewish families sit round a table and partake in the 'Seder Service'. If you live outside of Israel, the (same) service is read two nights in a row. That means 44 times I have listened to this story. I'll be honest, it does get quite repetitive. The ending isn't all that great, and the plot is fairly predictable.

SPOILER ALERT

During Passover, we learn of how Moses convinced Pharaoh, with some help from the Almighty who runs Heaven (I say SOME help, it was quite a bit more. Apparently, so I'm led to believe, he hit Egypt with 10/50/200/250 plagues depending on who you listen to), all with the intention of letting the Jews out of Egypt because, and I quote, 'heavy bondage' had been imposed on them (that part always makes me chuckle...bondage...ha).

These quite elaborate events are mixed in with commentaries from a variety of rabbis who, over the years, have interpreted certain bits and bobs about the 'exodus', or flight from Egypt, as it is called. We also drink some wine, have a bit of parsley, drink some more wine, munch on a cracker here, pour the wine, nibble a cracker there, drink wine, tuck into a bit of egg in salt water (which is actually rather tasty) and eventually we eat! Not long after the meal there is a bit more singing, praying, and of course wine drinking, and everybody goes home full up and merry on kosher wine. The End.

The only problem is that I don't believe in any of it. I don't believe in God, I don't believe in a higher power, and I certainly don't believe that if there, for whatever reason, IS a god, then he isn't going to be too bothered if the toothpaste I use is specifically Kosher for Passover. At least I hope not.

I'm an adult. Why do I still rock up? Family. It has to be. There is nothing more important in life to me than my family. How often do we get to sit round a dinner table all together and enjoy each others company? Not enough.

There may be times throughout the year when a few of us are together. A cousin here, an aunty there, but all of us? Only during the Jewish festivals do we ALL try our best get together. If we didn't celebrate any religious festivals together, what would we celebrate? When would I catch up with my cousins? If I choose to live a secular life, what would inspire me to bring all the family round? A royal wedding? How many of those do we get, worthy of celebration that is?

Funnily enough, I think that religion is a great excuse for us to celebrate together, as a family. It would be nice to think that we would naturally make more effort, but I don't think we would. Blooming' technology is making that hard enough. With children not knowing that at their age Mozart composed his first symphony rather than getting three stars of all the Angry Bird levels and city bankers thinking that art is something they have to purchase rather than explore and create themselves? Don't even get me started on Blackberries...

Maybe I should just peal this satsuma sitting in front of me.

At least I think it's a satsuma...

Music.1

2010-11-19T08:22:00.000-08:00

I'm not a connoisseur of hip-hop or any genre of music for that matter but when something sounds good, it sounds good. Lupe Fiasco's new single "Never Forget You (Ft. John Legend)" was a track for the first time in a while I hesitated from skipping. It's lyrical, melodic, and up-lifting. As the title suggests, its a song filled with nostalgia pouring out from the lyrics, "these are shades of my youth. Trials of a child, everything truth. Moments of the past, comin’ back to find us. Not to relive them, just to remind us". Now although John Legend usually annoys me for reasons I can't quite explain, he doesn't overpower the song here and the melody isn't boring or monotonous...Check it out and I hope you enjoy it - http://www.worldofundergroundhiphop.com/2010/11/lupe-fiasco-ft-john-legend-never-forget.html

Introduction..

2010-10-27T09:07:00.001-07:00

So here it (actually) begins. I have had so much swimming through my mind that it's about time it got written down, or typed down depending on how you look at it. Well your probably reading it off of a computer screen suggesting its been typed as opposed to written, and seeing as this is being typed from fingers to keyboard as opposed to writing a draft copy first - let us go with typed.

There are a couple of things which won't make sense right away, and perhaps I should store these thoughts in a separate location before posting - let it mature for a while like a fine Italian wine - actually, on second thoughts I will let it mature. I was very close to writing everything, but then after realising that writing everything will take quite a long time, and I already have plans today to tidy the room, go downstairs, come back up-stairs, etc, I won't want to make a half-arsed effort at something. This time its proper. Welcome to the daily Jason Roston Blog. Today, the topic is "Introductions". Currently sitting, sniveling and starving. There is food in the fridge, but its all at its basic nutritional level. Raw and ready to be cooked. But I can't be bothered to cook - I just want food in front of me. 4 hours of lectures a week, you'd think I'd be able to cook myself anything! Hunger has beaten me. Off to the freezer we go...its fish-finger time

Jedward. A comment on the duality of the public persona and our relationship with celebrity. Or two annoying human shaped tits. Discuss.

2010-09-06T15:31:00.001-07:00

So I have the option here to either discuss in detail how two completely talentless teenagers with absolutely shocking hair styles (see previous blog for my personal appreciation of metro-sexualness) represent how the public view and subsequently promote said talentlessness or I could talk about two annoying human shaped tits. Obviously I will chose the most appropriate as I like to think myself as Dugma (‘setting a good example’ - for all you non-hebrew speaking readers out there).

In my personal opinion, Jedward represent so much less than human shaped tits. I find ‘tits’, ‘breasts’ or ‘juggly-wugglies’ as my grandpa used to say quite attractive in all their shape, size and glory. If anything, Jedward represent the antithesis of everything juggly-wuggly related. Everything. What or who is putting these two talentless boys in the public line of sight? I have met nobody that enjoys watching them, nobody who would buy their music or watch it voluntarily, and lastly, find me one person who would call them a celebrity! But this is where the celebrity is headed. Jade Goody? Well we just enjoyed laughing at her stupidity - Paris Hilton? She made a whole series based on her being the most ridiculous human being, up until Jedward managed to get through to the finals of X-Factor last year. You can come round my house and I’ll show you the dent mark in the wall next to the TV where I threw the remote in anger and frustration. Surely we appreciate talent when we see it? Has the world run out of talented people?

*pause*

I was watching the tv though on that remote-throwing Saturday night, and I tuned into X-Factor the following week just to watch what sort of moronic antics Jedward would get up to. Maybe they are more like tits than I previously thought. After all, you like watching them, but as soon as you get what you asked for - you don’t know what to do with them. We, the people of Britain, voted and wanted these two tits to succeed - we shouldn’t be angry at them for our own mistakes. But just look at that ridiculous hair...

JD & Coke in a Plastic cup

2010-09-06T12:08:00.000-07:00

Lets just be quite frank about something here. I’m all for equality and women’s rights but there does exist in certain dark corners of society a heavy degree of difference between men and women, namely concerning alcoholic beverages.

Only a few days ago I was fortunate enough to play at a folk festival with some great musicians, however after the gig we had a cheeky drink or two. There it gleamed. The most well known square bottomed liquor I can currently think of - how more manly can you get! Square based! Brilliant. Much more secure than the regular circular base - not only will it be harder to knock over, BUT god forbid such an atrocity would occur - its not going to roll away from you very quickly. It wants to be near. It wants to be drunk. What more could you ask for from a drink.

Now you might be asking me, well Jason, what does that have to do with womens rights? If I’m being honest, not all that much. However have you considered the following.

Call me old fashioned, but when I see a nice looking lady (or not so nice for that matter) sipping rather gingerly from a pint of bitter, or a rough looking girl-chav gulping down a pint of larger I can’t help but cringe a little bit. There is something that doesn’t feel quite right about it. The same however can be said about numerous drinks working the other way. Your at a bar and hear a lonesome man ordering a Pina Colada or Tomato Juice. Rather than cringing, if your anything like me you just inconspicuously shake your head, pick up your pint, take a rather unnecessarily large gulp followed by an *ahhh* which can be heard from from the Moon (perhaps the other pub across the road).

JD on the other hand is like the modern man. Metro-sexual and highly adaptable to any social situation. You can drink it straight, you can drink it with a filler or like my 12-string guitar-hero bandmate, you can drink half straight out of the bottle then fill the rest up with coke and pour the contents of that cheeky mix into a plastic cup. But possibly the best quality JD has is that you don’t judge anybody drinking it. Like I said. Metro-sexual - battling the war against ‘in-a-bevi-olity’ (= the inequality of drinks between men and women). Good on you JD. Good on you.

What a way to start 2010

2010-01-06T09:42:00.001-08:00

Here is why I believe our urban focused, money making time wasting society is a fail. Granted I am currently a little biased towards the antiestablishment, for reasons you are about to find out.

I booked myself a nice 5 day break to visit some friends in New York to see them over the christmas holiday period. Now he had many friends staying at his over New Years, and it would have been much more convenient for me to stay with him at this time however it cost me double the price. Double the price! Why do they put the price up so much? Obviously it’s because they can, but what right do they have? They still make money don’t they? Why is it that we are determined to make as much profit as possible? So that we can buy expensive cars and big houses? What would happen if we taught the young that life was not about fancy schmancy stuff, owning the biggest or the best, and that happiness can’t be bought, but that it comes from the people who care about you, and experiences. Well if these experiences cost me £699, your damn right I’m not going to pay for it.

Anyway, that is the first of my many digressions of the blog.

So I continued looking, and found that 4 days later on the 5th of January miraculously the flights were half the price they were over the new year period. So after saving up enough money, I bought the tickets and started planning my trip to New York...well actually it was Rhode Island, but that becomes relevant a little later on.

Lets jump to the day before travel. Monday the 4th of January 2010. After learning the year before that the bank assumes if I don’t withdraw money from the same ATM machine that somebody else must be using my bank account. How convieninent it is for me when they call every other day wondering if it was somebody else that used my card in the USA. I bought the plane ticket using the card, I spend money at the airport on both sides using the card...IT WAS ME THAT WENT ON HOLIDAY!!!

That’s not even the worst part about the banks. They call me, and this is usually how the conversations goes,

BANK: Hello there, I am calling from HSBC is this Mr. Roston?
Mr. ROSTON: Yes this is him
BANK: Hi there Mr. Roston, I now just need to ask you some security questions to confirm it is you speaking on the telephone
Me: Well you called me, so why would you call me if it wasn’t me you wanted to speak to
B: Mr. Roston its for security purposes we need to confirm that it is you speaking on the phone
Me: I answered, you then asked me my name and I confirmed it was me speaking on the phone, as far as I’m concerned thats enough in terms of caller to caller clarification? Do you call up your Mother after work and go, “Mum?” “Oh Hi darling” “Oh Hi Mum, before we continue our chat I just need to ask you a few security questions to confirm it is actually you speaking on the phone” “But I’m your mother” “its for your own good Ma’a”
B: Yes I have to ask these questions whenever I use the telephone
Me: Okay then, fire away, but be warned, I’ll need to ask YOU some security questions after just to confirm that it is you, the bank calling me.
B: Mr. Roston that won’t be necessary, I can tell you know that I have all of your previous transactions over the last three months up on my screen, including the recent 3 month trial your purchased last Saturday night for Adult Playground XXX at the value price of £9.99, which includes 6 other free websites. I am guessing your date wasn’t so successful?
Me: Tha….That wasn’t me, it was my brother who recently lost his credit card...anyway you were meant to be asking me some security questions, so that you can confirm it is actually me your talking to, so that you can ask or tell me something which I probably don’t need, want or know anything about.
B: Mr. Roston I just need to know the name of your mothers maiden name
Me: Well I’m not entirely sure but I think its Bernstein
B: That’t not what I have got up here…
Me: Are you sure? Because she is my mum, and that was her maiden name.
B: It begins with B, and although I can’t spell it out to you, because that would be cheating, it certainly doesn’t sound like the word you just said
Me: I didn’t realise this had turned into a test, Lady on the phone from the bank
B: It’s no test Mr. Roston, just some simple security questions
Me: Is this phone call free?
B: Nothing is free Mr. Roston, this phone call is charged at £1 a minute from BT Landlines, other networks may vary. You should contact your network provider for more information
Me: Well how was I meant to contact my network provider to find out the cost of a call which I’m not even making, or didn’t even know about! Am I meant to hang up on you, call my network provider which will cost money, to find out how much the call is going to cost for when you call me, although I’ll have to then call you back for a conversation which I don’t particularly want, or even know about, to then ask for my details all again which we disagree on?
B: Okay Mr. Roston
Me: If you don’t think it is me you are speaking to, why do you keep referring to me as Mr. Roston? I DON’T UNDERSTAND!
B: There is no need to get angry Sir. I just called to let you know that we think somebody else has been using you card abroad. Have you been abroad recently.
Me: Yes. New York
B: Oh, well the card was being used in New York.
Me: Yes, that’s because it is my card, it belongs to me. I was in New York and I used MY card.
B: Very sorry to trouble you sir.

*pause*

B: Is there anything else I can help you with today Mr. Ros...I mean Sir?
Me: Anything else you can help me with? I didn’t want your help in the first place!

So this year, in a pre-emptive move, I thought I should just call the bank and tell them I was going to be in New York over the next few days, so don’t worry if my card is used there, because its me using it.

Great.

So now we come to the big day. Travel Day. I set my alarm, and manage to get up, and return the library book which was a little over due. It was a day late. I had to pay a £5 fine for a book which I didn’t even use, and which hasn’t been taken out of the library in about 14 years. £5. That didn’t put me in a great mood but all was well, because I had booked a taxi to take me to the coach station. I had given the taxi company 30 minutes to take me 5 miles. Having a good knowledge of the route as I had done it the year before meant that the journey should take about 10 minutes, leaving roughly 20 minutes waiting time or emergency time incase there was heavy traffic or I slipped over when stepping out of the cab. That sort of stuff.
Minor crisis number 1. The cab was 10 minutes late. ETD of coach = 10:30. Amended ETA of taxi to bus depot from 10:10 to 10:20. This was leaving the margin of error quite tight. The margin of error was become slimmer and slimmer as since arriving back in my house from the library and opening the front door to get into the cab, it had been snowing extremely heavily, and I knew that there would be heavy traffic. But, nevertheless I was still feeling slightly cheery, as the cab driver was talking continuously and I had no idea what he was saying, which made me giggle a little. In fact I was having a merry little chuckle right up until he pulls into a petrol station and declares in possibly the most stereotypical Indian accent ever that when it snows, his car uses more petrol, so he needs to fill up.

Stupidly I didn’t say anything. I just nodded. This was the worst time to sit there and passenger nod, as if you understand and agree with everything that this man is saying. He could be talking about blowing up the houses of parliament and I would sit there and agree. I think its because he has jurisdiction of where I end up, and how long it’s going to take until I get there. Power like this should not be given to people who can’t speak English in a clear dialect.

He pulled into the petrol station. The clock now read 10:17. I knew it was going to take 7 minutes in normal conditions to get to the station, add an extra 5 for slow traffic and that makes and ETA to the bus depot 10:32. ETD of coach as previously mentioned was 10:30. I somehow needed to convince the entire coach company in the next 12 minutes, that they should delay the coach down to Heathrow airport because of the moronic non-literate late taxi man who currently is filling up his car with petrol just because its snowing. I was quite figuratively speaking...fucked. For several reasons which I already knew.

The coach wasn’t going to wait for me
The next coach down to Heathrow Terminal 4 left at 1 and arrived at 4.30. My flight leaves at 5.
There was nothing I could do about points 1 and 2.

Either way, I thought the best thing to do at this point was to call the coach company and find out if the delays from the snow had effected the ETD of the coach I needed to catch down to Heathrow. I spoke to a lovely lady on the phone. She was so lovely that I wished she was the lady that taught all other people who answer phones how to be when calling companies when there is a problem or if you need any help. She told advised me that the best thing to do was to change my ticket to the next available coach down to Heathrow, which left Birmingham at 11.30 and although it stops at the central bus station, I should have plenty of time to get from there to Terminal 4. That was realistically the only choice I had. So I changed my ticket.

While the lovely lady on the phone was telling me what to do, the moron driving the taxi had pulled up outside the coach depot. 10:36am. Late. I handed him a £10 note and waited for the £3 change he owed me (as I had asked for a quote when I first called up). He looked at me, looked and the note, looked at me again and then said something which for the first time all journey I understood straight away

“For the snow…”

For the snow, I thought. “For the snow?” I repeated back to him. Was he out of his mind?! For the snow?! I was extremely confused as to how he saw the situation. I’m going to number again the issues which were confusing me

He arrived 10 minutes late
He then stopped to fill up for petrol
He made me miss my coach, possibly resulting in me missing my plane
He drove like a moron through the snow
He didn’t speak english
He STOPPED FOR PETROL
I MISSED MY COACH!

And he wanted a £3 tip? Wow. He has, without a shadow of a doubt been automatically promoted from genuine moron, to the top spot of the premier league of taxi twats. Top spot. Numero Uno.

I wish it ended there. I wish I could tell you that I managed to get on the 10:30 coach which had decided to some miraculous reason to delay itself at the depot for 10 minutes. But that was not the case. I did however wait until 11:30 and at 11:30 there was a coach to Heathrow. At 11:30 the coach left for Heathrow.

11:38am. The front right hand windscreen wiper breaks and the driver can’t continue driving without it. We have to wait for a mechanic to asses whether or not we need to catch another coach. 12:07pm and the mechanic arrives. 12:08pm, the mechanic decides that it will take 3 hours for him to fix the wiper, so best get another coach.

Great. I was now running 2 hours behind schedule. My flight leaves at 17.05. If I had caught the first coach, and everything had gone to plan, I was arriving at Heathrow at 13:00, with 4 hours until the flight departs. If the second coach I caught had run to schedule, I would have arrived at Heathrow at 14:00 with 3 hours for check-in until departure. The third coach arrived to pick us up from where the second coach had stopped at 13:15 I am writing this blog while on the 3rd coach and its arrival time at Heathrow central bus station is 15.45. I somehow need to get from the central bus station, so the check-in desk in 15 minutes before they close and 16:00.

This is why I have no faith left in our society. If the taxi-man had not done the sneaky job before me to earn a little extra cash, he wouldn’t have been late. If the coach company wasn’t so concerned about earning as much profit as possible and that departing and arriving on time is essential because business people need to get to meetings to make deals to earn money to buy things they don’t really need or want, if everybody just CHILLED THE FUCK OUT, then I wouldn’t be late for my plane to go and see my friends to share love and laughter which are not only the best things in life, but they are both free...

I’m not going to lie, but I feel a little anxious, and I’m not entirely convinced I’ll make it.

Wish me luck!

Home is...

2008-06-12T05:49:00.000-07:00

I'm unhappy.

So I came back to London, back home. Home's where the heart is, right? Home is where we can relax and let the world pass us by, where we can truly be ourselves, where we can be in our own skin naked for all the world to see. So then why do I not feel at home?

Coming back from my gap year has really widened my eyes to what life here in London has become and is becoming. There is this tension in the air, a stiffness choking everyone everywhere. And it seems that everyone feels it, yet nothing is being done about it. I have seen more police out on the streets in the past 3 days doing actual police work than I saw from the Israeli police during the 9 months I spent there. I'm not just talking about seeing more street patrols or vehicles. Arresting people, closing streets off, and zooming past me at a million miles and hour with sirens wailing have all occurred withing the last 72 hours. What is going on!

Its a dream. All that are left are stories about how as a kids, my parents would walk freely about with front doors left open, or how they used to go out at night because back then nobody needed a bullet proof vest or a rape alarm. Back then, we new our neighbours too. If their alarm went off they would go and investigate. Now, if a neighbours house alarm went off, I would do one of a number of things:
- Lock all the doors, making sure each door was double/triple locked
- Peek outside the window to see what might happen, secretly hoping that I would spot the robber, then call the police and save the day
- Pretend that nothing is going on and life my life as normal.

Now that alarm could be going off for 15 minutes and I would still do nothing except huff and puff at how obnoxious the neighbours were being, "Who would install such a ridiculously stupid sounding alarm, Pah!".

But its not just about crazy police and obnoxious alarms, it goes a lot deeper than that.

I am an British citizen. Now living in this democratic state allows many different people from many different backgrounds to live in peace and harmony. Blacks can sit with Whites. Jews can sit with Muslims, and women have equal rights to men. So then why is it that in many areas not just in London but around the UK, it is dangerous to go out once the sun goes down? Why do all my friends tell me that I should never drive through certain areas in town unless I want to get shot? Why have many of my friends been mugged, both girls and boys? Is there an answer to all of this?

What a stupid question, of course there is. Political Correctness. Our society has forgotten what it is like to be sincere, to be polite and kind, to do things for one another without asking questions. We have forgotten about respect, about respect for our elders, for each other and for ourselves. You might be shaking your head going "No, no, no..., its not a lack of respect. Instead, its the education system...or the influx of immigrants...or this...or that", I agree. There is a whole host of reasons as to why our society is as it is, but what is being done about it? Nothing.
Do we want to keep living like this? Are we going to sit back and wait for something horrific to happen until we start to fight for what we want? Well excuse me, but I am going to start now.

I want to live in a country that accepts me for who I am. I want to walk down the street and feel proud to be living here at any time of the day. I want a society that accepts everyone for who they are and what they want to be, and those that don't agree can either learn to or leave. I want to wake up in the morning and not worry that I might be beaten or even blown up on my way to work. But most important, I want to be happy and I want to be home. I can only hope that you do to.

Sderot or not?

2008-04-17T23:58:00.000-07:00

Today has been a hell of a day, quite literally...hell

As part of my program which I am on at the moment (FZY/Young Judea Year Course), we are taken to different places around Israel to see what life is like for the locals and to really gain an insight into the culture here. Today Manhuigut (the third section on Year Course) went to visit the town of Sderot, which is located right next to the north of Gaza. And today, we came back from Sderot emotionally scared for the rest of our lives.

For those that are not aware, Israel occupied the area of Gaza until October 2005 when the government declared that Gaza was to be an independent state ruled by the Palestinian Authorities and so proceeded to disengage from the region. Since then, Hamas (an internationally recognised terrorist organisation which openly preaches about the destruction of not only the state of Israel, but the Jewish people as a nation), took over from Fatah (the leading Palestinian political party) with brute force and since that time, some 4000 rockets have been fired over Gaza's boarders into the land of Israel with the deliberate aim of killing as many innocent civilians as possible.

And we were going to visit the town next door.

I wasn't worried. I wasn't scared. I was just trying to prepare myself mentally and physically for what could happen. In my comfortable lodgings back in England, it obviously never entered my mind that Watford (my closest large town), would start firing "home-made" rockets from the roofs of its nurseries. I never bothered to imagine what it would be like to hear a siren wailing in Bushey (where I live), and I most certainly did not know how to deal with the fact that this siren meant I only had 15 seconds to run as fast as I could to the nearest bomb shelter.
...
Bomb shelter? The last time I ever heard the word bomb shelter was in year 9 history with Mr. Brown learning about the "Anderson Bomb Shelter" from the Second World War, and here I was now, plonk in the middle of an active war zone.

We arrived in Sderot and we were briefed quickly on what to do IF we heard the siren going off, but its okay, because there won't be rockets guys so its more of a "we HAVE to say it...JUST in case" but hey, loads of groups come down here and its fine.

Off the bus we jumped, and Noam our guide and apparent under cover SAS agent for the day introduced himself, and started with how at 5 in the morning today, Gaza sent 10 rockets over its boarders

GREAT!

We went to the police station, not because anyone was being arrested, but because at the back of the station the police collect all the kassam rockets which fall into sderot. What a sight. Two columns with three rows each piled full with Kassam rockets that have fallen since January...JANUARY! Thats only 3 months ago and there were nearly 500 rockets! It was a disturbing sight. It was easy to spot that the rockets are being made on a production line, and also that the rockets themselves are made from materials which are supposed to assist in promoting the infrastructure of Gaza (lampposts and waterpipes for example). You could see how the metal became bent and deformed on impact, and it was also obvious to see that they were stuffed with metal shrapnel just to kill that extra person standing no further than 100meters on impact.

After seeing all the rockets, I think we all realised that this was going to be a day quite like any other. As we left the police station, I noticed that instead of looking at where we were and trying to take everything in, I found myself obsessing myself with what I would do if I heard the "red alert" siren. Where would I run to within 15 seconds that could save my life, would everyone else be ok? What happens if there was nowhere to run to, do I just hide behind a wall and hope the rocket doesn't fall close to me? I could think about nothing else, and then I realised that I was only a visitor here. If I made it through the day in one piece, I had a home and safer place to go back to, the residents here didn't.

We headed towards a house that had been directly hit by a kassam rocket a month ago. As we walked through the gate into the front yard, we quite literally saw the entire contents of the house. Sofas, board games, beds, kitchen wear, everything. We then walked into the house. If my father would have been with me, he would have freaked, there was mess everywhere. The ceiling had collapsed in where the rocket had penitrated and exploded, the floor was covered with roof tiles, the ventilation system was hanging over our heads, and in the middle of the room sitting by a small wooden table stood an old lady. We were told that she was sitting exactly where she was (obviously she has moved since) when the rocket fell and hit the house. She was lucky to still be alive. Now she lives in 1 bedroom flat nearby. Every year this grandma has her whole family round for pessach. Her 7 kids and 22 grandchildren. This year, there is no possibly way she can accommodate them and she is devastated because of it. She cannot afford to move out of Sderot, but even if she could who would (in their right mind) want to buy her house.

After everything that we had seen so far, it was certainly time for lunch. And oh what a lunch time THIS was going to be. We were each given 20sheckels to grab a shwarma/falafel from the same restaurant and so after about 20 minutes, everybody was sitting down tucking into their food. Now I happened to be particularly hungry, so I though I would just pop across the road and grab some nosh for the ride home. As it turned out, the shop that I had seen from across the restaurant had also been hit by a missile, so when I walked into the shop the only thing I could find was water in the fridge. I headed back to the restaurant and ordered another shwarma (as I said, I was very hungry). Half way through my second shwarma the restaurant atmosphere changed within a split second. Now I hadn't heard (as I was too busy worrying about the best part of the pitta to eat next), but Sheldon had literally jumped up all the steps to the restaurant screamed "TZEDAH ADOM...TZEDAH ADOM" (RED ALERT...RED ALERT), and within a second everyone was up (12 seconds left...), then out the restaurant (9 seconds left), meanwhile I had only just sat up to see everyone running out the restaurant. At that particular moment, my mind had decided on its own accord to have a conversation with itself consiting of three things:
1) Do we stay here in the restaurant and try and hide. No because everyone else has gone
2) I guess that means that we should run and try to catch up and hope that we have enough time (8.57 seconds left)
And possibly worst of all, what is going to happen to the rest of my second shwarma!
I ran (8.50 seconds). My g-d I ran as fast as I could out the restaurant (8 seconds) down the steps (7.5 seconds) and across the road (5 seconds until impact). The problem was, not everyone could fit into the shelter. Now I didn't mind not getting in, but there was an old lady and a small child still running to the shelter. As they reached the entrance with 2 seconds to go, I literally stepped behind them with my back to the road and shoved them in as hard as I could to give them the best chance of surviving, if of course the rocket hit the road right in front of the entrance...a small probability, but still, there was a chance.
1.5 seconds
1 .4 seconds
This was taking forever
1
...
And then nothing.
...
Still nothing.
Was it safe? Where had the missile hit? What had it destroyed? After another minute or so, the residents of Sderot started to leave the shelter. ARE THEY CRAZY!
No, of course they aren't crazy, this happens to them a couple of times every day. Probably the most significant conversation that happened within the shelter was between two women around 60 years old:
1 - "Excuse me, I need to leave"
2 - "Just give it another minute or so"
1 - "No no, move, I need to catch my bus"
2 - "Stay! It is better to miss your bus than miss you life"

So there we have it, to them, this is an every day occurrence.

5 minutes passed, and I had no idea what had been going on inside the shelter as I was on the outside. As the group began to come out, I saw that many of my friends had been overwhelmed with panic, adrenaline and fear. Many of them were crying, faces white with uncertainty but what struck me most, was how we were no longer a group of year coursers. We were so much more. After experiencing what had just happened, all emotional barriers had been taken down, and everyone was there for one another. We all held each other up and comforted one another without question, and without thought.

Now to someone who hasn't experienced what we all did, this might sound truly pathetic and weak. Here we are, a group of 18/19 year olds crying our eyes out and shaking over something that the people living there experience on a daily basis.

Have you ever had to run for your life? Try doing that in 15 seconds?

After a short while, we continued our tour. Now this may seem somewhat dangerous, but Noam somehow was in touch with national security every few minutes and assured us that there was very little to worry about. We headed to the Sderot yeshiva and had a tour around for an hour or so. It was interesting to see how even though rockets fall everyday, they still build and build defiant to the danger that they face. The yeshiva is building quite a complex, and each of the walls to the place are 15inches thick! This is so that when the missiles fall, they don't have to worry about running away disturbing the study of torah.

Apres the yeshiva tour, we were going to have a summary video at the offices where Noam worked about life here in Sderot. We walked to the media center and as a we waited for everyone to settle down (as we were still recovering from the first missile attack), once again we hear the now familiar screams of "Tzedah Adom". This time however, we knew what to do. As the first of us started running out the room to find a shelter (13 seconds left), we heard cries of "COME BACK...DON'T LEAVE...STAY IN THE ROOM!" I screamed to Chubby and Daniella who had already left the building to run back. They came back in the room and we waited (10 seconds)...Then Noam sprinted through the front door, "Guys...quick...QUICK, we need to run to the bomb shelter...NOW...COME ON!"
"NO, NO! THEY STAY HERE" Shouted a lady who was working in the building we were in.
And so the argument went on (5 seconds left). "We stay" said Sheldon. How are we meant to get 30 of us into the nearest shelter in 5 seconds, was the question. We can't was the answer.

And then we heard a thud, as if someone had knocked their head on a wooden bench. All of a sudden, 60 ears pricked up and with them, the 30 heads that they belonged to.

Was that it? Was that the missile?

And then again...

TWO! There were two of them!

Quick quick...all of you, lets go! Sheldon was at the door telling us we needed to leave the building and make for the shelters. We ran again, like we had done before. The group split. About 10 of us ran with Sheldon to the shelter we were in exactly an hour previous, and the rest went with Ben to another shelter. Again emotions caught up and we realised what had just happened.

That was enough, it was time to go home. We couldn't go through with it anymore. We gave it another 5 minutes and ran to the bus, and headed off. I'm sure the viewpoint looking over Gaza could be looked up on google images, or some other internet program. For now, we just wanted to leave.

As if that wasn't enough, on the road out of Sderot, we passed something smoking. Sure enough, this was the first missile which had hit an hour earlier that we didn't hear. It was just amazing and truly a spectacle to see.

We didn't finish watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on the way back (the classic version of course), but I think that was fine with all of us. It was time to reflect on what had happened. It was time to realise that not only are we fortunate that we live in safety with security, that we were fortunate enough to be alive and it was now our turn to tell the story of Sderot.

The (fourth or fifth) First Blog

2008-03-25T02:44:00.000-07:00

Friends, Bloggers, Readers

So I'm back again.

Granted that could be rather confusing for anyone other than myself seeing as this is in actual fact the first article that I have ever published, but if I can be so bold as to ask you to trust me at such an early stage within our strange relationship, I have indeed written many many articles, I have just actually never finished one.

I guess (okay, so I know), that quitting half way through something tells quite a bit about a person, but then we HAVE to ask ourselves, is it actually half way? I mean if you stop before you finished, you have absolutely 100% (times a million) no idea where the end actually is. Unless you already know how you want to end it OR if there is no end, in which case quitting half way through could be the end therefore removing not only the half way through, but replacing the quitting with finished...I forget what point I was trying to make anyway...if there was a point in the first place (which would mean I haven’t forgotten anything anyway etc etc).

Today I need your help. I need you to come up with my career. What the hell am I going to do with my life? I want a family. Yes yes okay, so everybody wants a family, but some people don’t, so I thought I would just put that out there. I want to be able to have enough money to do the things that I enjoy. Who doesn’t? More importantly I want my family to not have to worry about money. It is very easy to say well money doesn’t matter! You can be happy without money! Whoopdeedoo, yes we can have a jolly old time without money, but I don’t plan on playing thumb-wars and rock-paper-scissors until I die. It is therefore quite acceptable (in my eyes) to say that the things I want to do and like doing cost money.

There IS a conflict though, and I believe it comes down to three things; money, happiness and time. As fate has had it, these three things all seem to be in a perplexual state of war against each other. It’s like having Muhammad Ali, the KKK and Hitler all going at it in a caged boxing ring, with no gloves and with the audience not wanting any of them to be knocked out. If these is too confusing I will try to simplify it.

-If money gets knocked out, we go broke and nobody likes that, not even brokers
-If happiness gets knocked out, we all get unhappy. Apart from my old deputy head-master, I have never met anyone else who gained pleasure from witnessing unhappiness (oh the irony)
-If time unfortunately is finished...well I would like to not discuss death right at this present moment (not for any particular reason, I just don’t want to).

So as you can see, we have ourselves quite the problem. Somehow we have to juggle money, time and happiness and if we do it right, I personally believe this is how we end up living the "perfect life". Now before you get all jumpy and defensive, I am not saying that there is only one way to do this, no, no, these three ingredients measure differently for each person.

So I think now (if its okay, which it is because I am the one writing) I would rather leave my career aspirations for another day. Perhaps instead I will think for myself how my boxing match will turn out, and how (if there is a way) I will be able to look back on my life with satisfaction and leave with a smile knowing thats thats exactly what I wanted...although, that stage is far...far...away