Here, even the weather's aggressive!

I believe credit is due to my cousin Dana for coining the maxim, "In Israel everything's aggressive, including the weather!" The belligerent weather of the past 48 hours is a case in point -- flooding that would make even Noah shake in his sandals! First thing this morning I jaunted off to a tennis lesson with Sharon (for the Americans reading, Sharon is also a masculine name in Hebrew), only to have the skies open up about three minutes in. I was rather disappointed, especially because I haven't held a racket in over two years ("Since your last lesson with me, you mean?" asked Sharon, to which I sheepishly nodded in agreement).

Needless to say, today's activities were exclusively indoor. The highlight was a stop at the "Grand Canyon" shopping center...actually, the correct pronunciation is "grend kenyon," which is a clever play on the Hebrew word for mall, "kenyon" (from the verb liknot, meaning to buy). My mom and I were on a mission for the following necessities to furnish my new pad: bed sheets and a solid frying pan. We did a little comparison shopping before settling on some kitchenware from "The Cook Store."

Not one but two saleswomen became intimately involved in the purchase, which somehow evolved into a lesson on how to prepare "ktsitsot" (which are much more than "meatballs"; here in Israel they're a food group of their own). When I express some uncertainty about the large size of the pot, saleswoman #1 exclaims:

"It's the best! I use it! The nonstick surface is great for browning the meatballs, then, since the pot is wide enough, I can easily add the tomatoes--I use only fresh tomatoes, by the way--then a little parsley" (elaborate gestures accompany her instructions)

--"And soda!" interjects saleswoman #2.

--"Soda?" Asks my mother, completely confounded...

--"Yes, yes, you can't use regular water."

--"Just like you can't use regular breadcrumbs," saleswoman #1 chimes in again. "I learned it from my mother. Only matzoh meal."

So there you have it! I emerged from the store with a fry pan and matching pot (50% off the second item! My mom has passed on to me her appreciation of a "vilde metsiye") and the secret to preparing the perfect meatball. What could be better?

Somehow every activity in Israel seems to involve "audience participation." Setting up a new cell phone number is another classic example. Again, I'm speaking from recent experience. Nevermind the fact that I was already being helped by a perfectly capable agent, a soft-spoken Arab man who patiently took me through the entire process. When we reached the stage where I select a phone number, another agent suddenly bounds over, puts his arm around his colleague and, leaning right into the computer screen, says gleefully, "This is my favorite part! Wait, wait! Go back, I saw a good one. No...no...yes! There it is! Take that one. That's the best number." So I did. Did I even have a choice in the matter?