Don't Worry, We'll Find You A Husband

My grandma is in Israel for the summer. It's great because she bakes tunisian pastries and cakes and makes delicious couscous on shabbat, and incidentally helps me look for a husband...

During her first days in Tel Aviv, she would ask me every single day "so, tell me again, you went to ulpan for 5 months? And in 5 months you didn't find a boyfriend there? How is that possible?" Every single day.

Every time I bump into some male friend, aquaintance, neighbour, or just mention a guy in a story, she asks me "so what about him, why aren't you with him?" If I answer that he's too young, or that he's boring, or that he's not educated, or that I'm just not attracted to him, it's not a good enough reason for her. Then she goes "don't worry, don't worry, we'll find you someone soon", but the thing is, I'M NOT WORRIED! I'm not worried at all, I'm totally ok, and whatever will be will be, but after hearing every day that I should worry, I'm really gonna start worrying soon... Funny how your loving relatives can put negative thoughts into your mind... But now I've learned how to laugh about it... and it is really hilarious, honestly!

French Season

I am reposting last summer's post about ze French in Tel Aviv, just coz it's that time of the year again...

It's official, the French season has started. The French can be seen around the Frishman area... Every August, it's the same story: they come in herds, and invade Tel Aviv hotels, cafes, beaches, falafel stands, and mega-bars... the only language you can hear around here is French. I am actually surprised whenever I hear some hebrew...

You can spot them from 1 km away. I don't really like to be associated with them, just because I like to be different. The other day, the waitress from the beach cafe came to me and asked me, in french, if I wanted to order anything. A little bit offended, I answered in hebrew... and later asked my Israeli friend "Do I look *that* French?" to which she replied: "Honey, you're *screaming* French!" Hmmm... Ok, I didn't realize that. I thought I was one of those original, educated, sensitive, discreet, reserved, polite French, but apparently it doesn't matter. If you're French, you're French. There's nothing you can do about it. Don't get me wrong, I'm really proud to be French! How classy is it to have been born in Paris? I'm so proud to come from the country of croissant and wine, of Edith Piaf and Serge Gainsbourg, of Dior and Chanel, of Emile Zola and Victor Hugo, of romanticism and french kisses, of Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge... The country of good living and good taste. But when you see the typical summer French in Tel Aviv, you tend to forget where they come from.

Never Stop Hoping

Never ever. That's the lesson I've learned today. Just as I was feeling very down, feeling that people were letting me down, feeling talentless, feeling like I was trying and trying and that nothing was ever coming out of it, I discovered several unread messages that were sent to me a while ago and that I never saw, and that really really made my day, and gave me hope. They were emails from people who really enjoyed reading my blog and who just wanted to let me know, and one special email from someone whom I thought would never ever write... Sometimes, just a little sign that someone cares can make you feel better. Thanks guys, you've made my day!