1998-1999 Rothberg Yearbook

M a tc/ im a k e r, M a tcA m ia k e r
by Karen Foxman
One of the many expectations placed on 20 year old college students spending a semester in
Israel is that they will find a significant other while residing in the Jewish homeland. O.K.... Let’s be
realistic. Forget the concept of significant others.
Cousin Rachel met her husband Joshua while she was studying at Flebrew University. Aunt
Ruthie’s neighbor’s nephew met his wife when he was in the laundromat on French Hill. That guy that
my mom works with (I think his name is Shloime), he was feeling bored and lonely one day so he
decided to go to the Holy Land and come home with an ex-chayelet, soon to be Mrs. Shloime Levine.
Needless to say, my Grandmother calling me and asking if I’ve met that “nice boy” from Long
Island whose mother goes to synagogue with my cousin Florence does not help me to forget that people
think that Israel is the place where matches are made. If this is indeed the case, then let us examine the
endless possibilities. Of course, in order to do so we must extend our horizons beyond Rothberg
International High School and the extremely well-balanced female: male ratio (what is it, 4:1?)
From my experience, whether it is walking to class fully clothed in the morning or jogging with
a friend wearing shorts and a tee-shirt around Ramat Eshkol in the afternoon, I find the mating rituals
of Israel men quite alluring. Please keep in mind that I do not intend to downplay the mating rituals of
American men, it’s just that the Israeli method blows them away.
The incessant honking is one method. I can just see Udi and Ozzi sitting in their terrorist van
and Ozzi saying to Udi, “Ehhhhhh...Look, Udi! There are girls wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts.
Let’s honk at them and see if they like us!”
Or perhaps they think that pulling up on the side of the road and mumbling incoherently in
some language will tempt us to jump in the vehicle and drive off with them to Eilat. Or maybe I’d
rather go to Eilat with a large beer bellied man who, while working in a gas station, decides to take a
little “hafsakah” and stalk my friend and I for a few blocks before realizing that we do not go out
jogging for the purpose of making “special friends.”
When I am not jogging or walking seductively through the streets of Jerusalem, I am collecting
telephone numbers from cab drivers. “Oh! You from America... Speak Hebrew to me...Sounds Bea-u-
ti-ful... Yofi! Like a baby, when a baby makes his first words... Are you married? Here is my
pelephone number...Call any time! All day! All night!”
Ari, Avi, and Ababa are still waiting for a phone call.
The big winner in the Great Boyfriend and/or Israeli Man of the Year contest is a certain
Hebrew University Guard who shall remain nameless. It is very reassuring to know that I can feel safe
while wandering around the Rothberg High complex in the dark (because the University has decided
that they will save electricity costs by turning off the outside lights at midnight, because no one is
outside between midnight and dawn and anyway, the stars provide adequate lighting). When I was out
past my curfew one night, I asked a security guard why the lights turn off at 12 AM and why it is dark
for the remaining six nighttime hours. My hero’s response was, “Ehhhhhh.....Don’t worry. You
don’t need lights...I am here... I will protect you...Ehhhhh...What is your name?”
Then again, maybe I don’t need him. Maybe Hal will protect me. I see him all the time. On
the plane ride here.