No Milk Today and Not Much Else

I’m so naive. After the splendidly long holiday weekend I genuinely expected to be able to shop as usual on Sunday afternoon. Wrong. I stepped into the kibbutz store only to be greeted by mostly empty shelves. I thought I had been transported back in time to the Soviet Union. There were no tomatoes, no bananas and no bread. Two people were arguing over the last bunch of grapes. And of course, there was almost no milk. There’s almost none in the whole country.

It seems that Israel’s cows have gone on strike in support of the airport workers. Or maybe it’s the other way around. In any case, you can’t fly into or out of the country and you can’t drink a glass of milk while you’re here. What the airport workers grievances are I cannot say, although I suppose they revolve around money, but the cows are said to be aggrieved by the heat.

I don’t know about you, but I’m nonplussed. Summer here is always hot. If you look up the definition of “hot” in Webster’s Dictionary you’ll see it’s defined as “summer in Israel.” This can’t come as a surprise to the cows. As far as I know, they haven’t just emigrated from Finland. But somehow August was so hot that they stopped giving milk in September. This must be bovine logic.

The thing is, it stopped being really hot and humid three weeks ago. So why is there a milk shortage now? How big a lead-time could there be? I would have expected the stuff on the shelves to be slightly fresher than that. Like I said, I’m naïve. It couldn’t possibly be that the milk monopolies are holding back the supply to raise the prices for the holidays. That would be inconceivable.

Season Shock

Nothing is harder than getting out of bed on a cold, rainy day. When the sun is shining in a clear, blue sky and birds are tweeting it’s easy to be optimistic about the day’s prospects. But this oppressive gloom does not inspire confidence.

Israel’s seasons turn on a knife’s edge. You flip from hot, sunny, sandal-wearing summer to miserable winter in the space of 24 hours. It’s a bit extreme and is, I think, the result of celestial bad planning. Seasons should transition gradually, almost imperceptibly, charmingly. Not this press-of-the-button, sink-or-swim method. It’s just not right.

Yes, all the people of Israel are rejoicing at the huge quantity of rain that has fallen in the last two days. All the people, except for me. My question is this: if everyone likes rain so much, why do they run for cover when it starts? I suspect this precipitation infatuation is just so much intellectualization.

It’s human nature to love sun and warmth and blue sky. We find it cheerful. We may know we need water and that is has to rain from the sky, but we’d really prefer it didn’t. It’s how we’re wired. Rain and gloom belong in England and upstate New York. This is the Mediterranean, for heaven’s sake.

Summer with a Vengence

I like summer, as I’ve noted before in these pages. I like the heat and the long, bright days. Most of all, I like not having to struggle to stay warm. But even for me there can be too much of a good thing.

This past week has been so hot and humid that I find myself developing a certain, shall we say, glow. This is not like me. I’m cucumber-cool. I do not perspire. Yes, I could turn on the air conditioner. I do have one that I use for heating the house in the winter. But air conditioning quickly becomes too cold for me and then when you turn it off you get hit by that blast wave of hot, humid air which seems extra-oppressive. So I prefer to do without and open up the house to the breeze.

Fortunately I have stumbled on quite an effective heat-buster: frozen grapes. You just wash them and stick them in the freezer and they’re amazing, like Popsicles that you don’t have to feel guilty about because even the Fitness Police approve of fruit. In fact, it’s so comforting that I find myself wondering what else can be eaten frozen. Carrot and cucumber slices? How about pizza? I think I’m on to something.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen

I guess this qualifies as old-home week. My ulpan roommate has been visiting from England. Last night as we sat in the lounge after Shabbat dinner, who breezes over but Bernard, an unforgettable Scot who had also been in the ulpan with us a hundred years ago and had not been seen since. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I mean, what are the odds?

Merle has, I think, often regretted that she didn’t stay in Israel and so she arranged this little trip to investigate the possibility of rectifying the mistake. It’s impossible not to like her. She’s mad, outgoing and says exactly what’s on her mind. The precise opposite of me. So I did what I could to help her with her mission. I got her into the kibbutz guest room – I think there’s only one or two of them, so this took a bit of luck – and tried to be encouraging about the prospects of finding work and a place to live. But the whole project quickly tanked: Merle cannot take the heat.

I suppose if you live in a perpetually chilly place like Liverpool you can forget the sultry challenges of an Israeli summer. Still, in true British fashion she spends her time walking all over central Israel in the heat of the day. There is something splendid about the British can-do attitude and refusal to surrender to tropical torpor. All of which brings me to Noel Coward.

I’ve been humming his song all week. “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.” Associating Merle with this immortal send-up of British colonial behavior is not quite fair to her (Sorry, sweetie!) because the poor woman is melting and will soon make her escape to cool, green England. But I couldn’t resist. Anyone who has two and a half minutes to spare can catch the great man himself singing his song on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdEnxNog56E

Once Upon a Time the Sun Gave Off Warmth

Spring officially arrived yesterday at 13:44 local time. Nothing could be more welcomed. The gladiolas are in gorgeous full bloom – note to self: plant more of these next fall – and the wisteria is budding, meaning more gorgeousness is on the way. We are blessed with brilliant, sunny days. The only thing missing is warmth.

I happen to think that global warming would be excellent news if it were true. I mean, here I am in this Mediterranean paradise in late March and it’s still too cold to open a window. This would have been magnificent weather in January, but now we deserve better. With the forecast promising no real improvement for the foreseeable future I can’t escape the feeling that something is not right.

We seem to be experiencing seasonal drift. Summer hung around until November. Winter arrived in February. And now with Pesach fast approaching it should be spring. Yes, it looks like it. It even smells like it, that glorious, sweet fragrance of citrus blossom. But it’s too, too cold. So, waiter, I’d like to order up an extra-large, super-size portion of global warming, and don’t hold the ozone.

January Blahs

I am struggling with a fit of January gloom and doom. I blame the weather: I woke this morning to find the air heavy with – what is that? – it looks like fog but I think it’s dust. The promised rain has not arrived and there’s nothing to clear the air of this stuff.

January is the hardest month. Long, bleak days. Sunless, doomy skies. Nothing to do but wait for spring. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be. But this year is different. Not so cold, plenty of sunshine which sometimes also gives off heat. As Januarys go, this one is not the worst.

Complaining about the weather is my winter ritual. I can gripe about the Siberian temperatures and the rainwater in my shoes and always find a willing ear among my fellow sufferers. Then at the appointed hour spring appears, sort of. The odd thing about spring and fall in Israel is that they consist mainly of alternations between winter and summer. A few days of each back and forth until one day somebody pushes a button and it stays summer. Or winter.

But this year’s mild temperatures and virtual rainlessness – worrisome in itself – have not saved me from the January blahs. Just one week to go until February arrives with its promise of better days ahead. There, I think I’ve almost cheered myself up.

Hamsin Hair

The weather has been glorious for the past week, although I don't think most of my compatriots would agree. Israel's prevailing winds are usually from the west and the sea, meaning mild temperatures and considerable humidity. But every once in a while the winds shift bringing hot, dry air from the desert in the east. This sharav, hamsin in Arabic, inspires fear and loathing in most inhabitants of the region. I, however, think it's fabulous.

I like it hot, as I've mentioned before, and the warm, bone dry air is pleasant enough, but it also carries one big advantage as far as I'm concerned. My hair is naturally curly. I've never liked it. I always wanted it smooth and straight with maybe a hint of flip at the very end, not the frizz-fest I've been cursed with. Every morning I straighten it out with the dryer, but it's an exercise in futility. After a few minutes at normal humidity, the curls are back. During a sharav what I straighten stays straight. How could I not love this weather anomaly?

It's December, all the windows are open and it's no struggle to stay warm. Rain is on the way, that much is certain. But for the time being all this gorgeousness must be savored. At the same time I confess I'm kicking myself in the head. Why, oh why didn't I settle in Eilat?

Summer's End

It rained yesterday for the first time since April. Summer is gone and no amount of wishing can bring it back. Those hot, steamy, sunny days – all gone. Sensible people here pray for rain. We depend on it since our benighted government can't seem to manage sufficient desalination. So the water has to come from the heavens.

I don't like rain. It's wet, nasty stuff. It gets under your collar and runs down your neck. It's cold. And just when you think it's over, a great big drop hits you smack in the eye. But, and I realize this might seem like a contradiction, I love water. I love the look of it and relish every glimpse of the sea. When I have enough money for a water feature in the garden, I plan to spend every free minute just sitting and looking at it.

What I don't like is being attacked by those cold little drops from the sky that leave sludgy spots on the windows. This could be because I come from a place where it rained all the time, except when it snowed. We saw the sun once a decade if we were lucky. So Israel's glorious heat and relentless sunshine is a miracle to me.

It rained yesterday and again this morning. As I look out into the garden, the plants look wonderful. They've all been washed of their summer grunge and seem to be grateful for the extra water. I'll try to find comfort in this.