And The Twelve Points Go To…

So, one of my secret/not-so-secret obsessions (secret in the fact that no one in America knows what it is or cares about it, but not so secret in the fact that if you ask me about I can go on and on until the cows come home) is the Eurovision Song Contest, or simply, Eurovision. It’s cross between reality competition and musical train wreck, treasured by few and despised by most, unless their country is in the final.

Today, for the first time ever, I watched it live on YouTube from Lisbon, in the hopes that Israel would pull off its first win in twenty years. I turned it on about midway through the performances, but it was the voting that made me literally shake. The jury voting came in, and Israel, despite being labeled as a contender this year with a genuinely catchy and unique song, was in a distant third behind Austria and Sweden. I was feeling pretty meh, but then the popular vote came in, and unlike the American election, it actually mattered in crowning the winner. I held my breath as one by one, the front-running countries got their votes. Once Austria, Sweden, and Germany were knocked out, I was feeling hopeful for Israel. It wasn’t until the final 4 countries’ popular votes were coming in that I realized that statistically, it was highly unlikely that Israel would come anything but first. And then, it happened…the winner of the fan vote was announced to be Israelpropelling its representative, Netta Barzilai and her song “Toy” to the top, and subsequently, the winner of the whole shebang. She tried not to try as she went up to the stage to accept her trophy, make a short speech, and perform a reprise. Oh, and this also means that Israel (most likely Jerusalem) will host the contest next spring.

What does this mean? Well, not a whole lot, but it does mean that music won out over politics this year, and of course, that my prediction (and hope) came first. The second placer, Cyprus, kind of grew on me, and I wouldn’t have minded if Eleni Foureira bagged Cyprus their first win.

Now that the competition is over, here are the rest of my top five favorites: Czech Republic had a sick sax beat with a hook and a fun music video, and coming in sixth was very respectable. I was also partial to Spain, which is perfect for a Viennese waltz, and, unpopular opinion: Moldova. The Latin-esque rhythm really got me going. Songs that I tolerated but wouldn’t write home about (if one wrote home about a song competition across the Atlantic) included DenmarkFinlandFranceNorway, and Sweden. These would probably actually round out my top ten.

Of course, with 40+ countries, not all songs make it, and about half of them fall by the wayside. Last year, Macedonia (The Former Yugoslav Republic of) submitted “Dance Alone,” and as soon as I heard it, I replayed it about a hundred times and then downloaded it onto my iTunes. I was sure it would at least make it out of the semi-finals. I was shell-shocked that “Dance Alone” ended at the semi-finals. This year, my “Dance Alone” Award went to…Belarus. Their song, “Forever,” would have probably been in my top five had it made the final.

In any event, congratulations Netta, and Israel. Next year in Jerusalem!


Magical Money Box

According to the Buzzfeed machine, the newest Twitter hashtag going around is #ConfessToSomethingStupid.

Even though I don’t have Twitter, despise hashtags, and only use them ironically, I thought to myself a) this would be the perfect topic for a blog post and b) I probably have so much material from my life. In fact, I had a post quite a while ago with stupid things I used to believe, right here, and I reread it to make sure I wouldn’t repeat a story.

So here’s a story about something stupid I used to believe.

Up until the first grade, I went to a Conservative Jewish preschool in the same building where my mom taught. As a Conservative Jewish school, one of the values they taught was tzedakah, or charity. One of the ways they would teach us was by having tzedakah box time. Our parents were instructed to give us some coins or a one-dollar bill every Friday so that we could participate. So, every Friday of my preschool and kindergarten years, the teachers sat us down in a circle and put one of those little blue and white cardboard Jewish National Fund fold-it-yourself tzedakah boxes in the center, and we’d sing a song. I can’t remember the name of it, but it went something like this: “Do you have a penny, a penny, a penny? Do you have a penny, a penny today?” All the kids who had pennies that day would crawl to the middle of the circle and stuff their pennies into the box. Then, we’d repeat the song, only with “nickel” instead, and then “dime,” “quarter,” and “dollar.” About once a month, the box would get too full, and one lucky kid got to take it to the front office.

As a preschooler, I had no idea what happened to the money once we dropped it off and then traded it in for a new box. I don’t know where I got it from, but I had this image in my head that there was a secret pipe somewhere behind the secretary’s desk – possibly like the tubes at the drive-thru bank – and at the end of the day, the secretaries would open the lid and pour the money into the pipe, where it would magically travel to Israel. Once it was there, it would fall from the sky into a giant pile of all the rest of our coins and dollars, and people would just kind of take money as they needed it. I then imagined that all schools had pipes like this that magically spit money into Israel and hopefully not hit anyone in the head. Then, when you went to Israel, you could go and find your school’s money pile., kind of like if you pay to have JNF plant a tree for you in Israel, you get a little certificate and you can go see where that tree was planted.

It wasn’t until the hashtag came up that this memory resurfaced. Completely irrational and weird, but what can I say, I was about 4 years old. Secret tubes and giant piles of money.

And that’s how I thought charity worked.


Amazing Show, Kinda Crappy Title

Last night, I went to see the tour of Israel Story Live! That’s What She SaidIt was basically a live version of a podcast called Israel Story Live, that told five woman-based stories:

  • the story of Shavit, who became obsessed with documenting the lives of Israel’s female Parliament members
  • the story of Lizzy, who searched for her mother’s past and her biological father, and finding the answers in a childhood photo
  • the story of Mariam, a Bedouin woman who rebelled and went abroad only to come back to her home village and become an entrepreneur
  • the story of Yisca, whose journey to a new identity crossed genders, religions, and oceans
  • and the story of Ruth and Ramonda, wives of political bigwigs from opposing Israeli/Palestinian factions.

There was live music, video, dancers, storytellers, and more than a few technical difficulties, but on the whole, it was AMAZING. I’m running out of words to describe it.

I loved it so much that I bought a CD of the music group who played at the show and halfway home realized that I don’t have any type of CD player. Yep, that good.


Going to Pizza Hut in Israel

It’s been a while since I wrote an Israel post, and with the recent back-and-forth between me and Vanessa, here’s another story from Israel which I am surprised I had not yet posted.

Fast food restaurants in Israel are quite the experience. There’s basically two categories: the locals and the imports. Locals are places like Burger Ranch and Cafe Hillel; places that basically don’t exist outside the country. They’re sort of a mix of fast food and restaurant, and usually the fare is cheaper, more exciting, and better-tasting than the food from the second category, which would be the American imports, like McDonaldsBurger King, and Pizza Hut. It’s not a hard and fast rule – for example, I think Cafe Hillel’s coffee kinda sucks – but generally, employees at the latter restaurants are at the mercy of the internationally-focused franchisers rather than the local, so they have different standards for their employees. And, as we know here in America, the latter restaurants tend to pop up in the not-so-greatest parts of town, further weakening their reputations.

But anyway, the story.

One night I went to visit Ele in Rehovot. I got off the train and he and Janet were there to fetch me, with the task of going to the store to bring back dinner for all their housemates. After buying soda at a makolet, we stopped by the local Pizza Hut in crummy downtown Rehovot to get cheap and quick eats for the gang. We place our order, and I hand over my credit card to pay. She runs it and it doesn’t work. After trying it a few times, she says it’s not good. I say that it is, and she asks if she can see my teudat zehut (Israeli ID card) to punch in my ID number, and maybe that will push the transaction through. I tell her that I’m not an Israeli citizen, and neither are Ele and Janet, so we don’t have teudat zehut.

Then, the most redoinkulous and awkward situation commences (as if it could get weirder):

PIZZA HUT LADY: Do you have your American teudat zehut?

ME: Um, we don’t have those in America.

PIZZA HUT LADY: You don’t?

ME: Nope. It’s just an Israeli thing.

PIZZA HUT LADY: So what do you have?

ME: Well, I have my driver’s license on me ::innocently takes it out of my wallet::

PIZZA HUT LADY: Can I see it?

ME: Um, okay. ::hands it over:

PIZZA HUT LADY punches numbers into the machine. Nothing. She keeps trying.

ME: Um, ma’am…what are you doing?

PIZZA HUT LADY: I’m trying this number.

Yep, that’s right. The lady at the Pizza Hut kiosk on the main street in downtown Rehovot thought that my Soundex number would magically pay for a pizza. I guess worse assumptions have been made, but despite my insisting that it was just a license, and not connected to any sort of bank account (and it barely has a magnetic strip) she kept on trying, in vain, and even called over a manager to help her out, while we all looked on in wonderment.

Eventually, while looking around and noticing something across the street, I said “you know what, just wait a sec.” I gave Ele my license and wallet, took out my credit card, ran to the ATM across the way hoping it was functional (it was), withdrew money, and paid in cash.

And that’s what it’s like to get Pizza Hut in Israel.


Flip the Script Friday: Nola Chilton, Naim

I’ve decided to set a goal for myself to reserve Friday to write about theatre. No real reason, other than that it sounds cool, I guess, and it’s something toward which to work. I was on the lazy side today (come on, it’s New Year’s Day) but I managed to skim over a play. It’s one of the ones I scanned in on Sunday at the library, and a relatively short one, so let’s see how this goes for Naim by Nola Chilton.

I couldn't find a suitable image, so I made this one all by myself with Canva! Copyright me! Maybe I should create my own art tiles for all the plays I review?

I couldn’t find a suitable image, so I made this one all by myself with Canva! Copyright me! Maybe I should create my own art tiles for all the plays I review?

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Naim was written by Nola Chilton in 1978, adapted from The Lovera novel by A. B. Yehoshua.


  • Adam, the husband (Jewish)
  • Asya, the wife (Jewish)
  • Dafna/”Dafy”, the daughter (Jewish)
  • Naim, young Arab boy (Arab)
  • Verducha, old woman (Jewish)


It’s not too clear, but probably in the 1970s, in Israel. Much like A. B. Yehoshua’s other work, there are tons of plot twists, but to sum it up in a sentence or two: Adam and Asya find Naim, and hire him as an errand boy, mostly because he looks like Igal, their son who was deaf and died. Elements of culture clash occur between Naim/Adam, Naim/Verducha (in a subplot, Naim is assigned to help find Gabriel, who was once Asya’s lover but is now missing) and Naim/Dafy (in another subplot, Dafy loses her virginity to Naim). In the end, Adam takes Naim back to the village from whence he came.

My Thoughts

On first glance, it was confusing. On second glance (and after having read some notes), it has many layers to it, with the Arab/Jewish conflict almost eclipsed by surrogacy (Naim becoming a substitute son for Adam/Asya), “incest” (Naim, as the “son” of the family, having relations with his “sister” Dafy, even though the two are nowhere near related), loss (Adam/Asya mourning the loss of Igal and Gabriel), open relationships (with the references to Asya’s lover, and Adam’s quest to find him), and education (Verducha and Naim bond over Naim’s education in Jewish history and culture, and how odd it seems for Naim to have been taught this instead of about his own true heritage). I wasn’t the biggest fan of this play, but the writing style of the author is what’s really fascinating.

Writing From Another Point of View

According to articles I read online by Linda Ben-Zvi and Dan Urian, Nola Chilton (who is still alive and kicking at age 91; I imagine her as a fun old lady with colored hair and funky glasses) is known for her experimental writing and staging, and for speaking her mind through her plays. She switches between first- and third-person, but ultimately, the story focuses on the feelings of the characters in the moment without delving too deeply into backstory, politics, or useless dialogue. She could have very easily made it more specific in these ways, but chose not to. I like this approach to writing; I kind of use it myself. When I write characters, especially those who are not like me (which I love doing), I try my best to imagine that I’m not me when I’m writing, but I’m the character, writing in his/her own voice. If I read the lines out loud and they sound like something that I, Jacob, would say in real life, then it’s no good. You can’t expect actors, readers, or audience members to get into your characters if you keep them inextricably linked to yourself; in most cases, other actors will be playing the characters you write, and if it sounds like you, the audience will be disinterested. In this play, Chilton definitely commits to her characters, switching focus adeptly and fluidly. The strongest characters to me were actually the two least like Chilton, the male characters of Adam and Naim. Which brings me to…

Israeli Play, Arab Character

Dan Urian has written extensively about this topic, as have others, but suffice it to say that there has been some controversy over lack of Arab representation on the Israeli stage. Not saying that every story needs an Arab character in it, but that they are underrepresented, especially in mid/late-twentieth-century plays. On pages 78-79 of his article, Urian points out Chilton’s characterization of Naim, and the character’s Israeli education – a choice probably not seen by most. I admittedly don’t know more about this issue (and I probably should take this as a cue to learn more), but the lack of politics other than interpersonal relationships is refreshing.

Flip It?

Hmm, not sure on this one. Nola Chilton seems to be a badass one-woman trailblazer on her own, from what I’ve read about her, and she provides the technical elements in notes, so I would probably want to see it like she wrote it first.

Works Cited

Ben-Zvi, Linda. “Staging the Other Israel: The Documentary Theatre of Nola Chilton”. TDR 50.3 (2006): 42–55. JSTOR. Web.

Chilton, Nola. Naim. Trans. John Auerbach. In Modern Israeli Drama, 242-265.

Urian, Dan. “‘Hawajah Bialik’: The Double Culture Of The Israeli Arab In Hebrew Drama And The Israeli Theatre.” Contemporary Theatre Review 3.2 (1995): 75-86. International Bibliography of Theatre & Dance with Full Text. Web.


So Who Has A Lady Problem They’d Like to Share?

Yesterday was July 4th (well, duh, of course, since today’s July 5th), but it was more than the 239th anniversary of America’s independence; it was also the 39th anniversary of one of the most flawless hostage rescue operations of all time, the Raid on Entebbe aka Operation Thunderbolt. The raid brought attention to the terror that was Idi Amin, brought posthumous fame to Yoni Netanyahu, the young and educated commander of the operation (and brother of future Prime Minister of Israel Bibi Netanyahu), and laid the foundation for many future hostage rescues.

But one of the real heroes went relatively unsung: Patricia Martell.

Entebbe raid

A short history lesson:

In mid-June 1976, a regularly scheduled Air France flight took from Tel Aviv to Paris via Athens. When the plane landed in Athens, about 50 people got off, and 30 more got on. Once in the air, four of those who boarded in Athens – two Palestinian men, a German man, and a German woman – hijacked the plane and diverted it to Entebbe, Uganda. They decided to hold the passengers hostage in exchange for 53 Palestinian prisoners to be released from jails in Israel and Europe.

Eventually, they landed in Entebbe, and through crazy good planning and very good luck, the Israeli intelligence drew up a rescue plan in 5 days and rescued (almost) all the hostages in Uganda on July 4, 1976. It took all of 90 minutes.

Pretty smooth operation.


Once the plane was hijacked and headed to Africa, the pilots told the hijackers that they were low on fuel and they wouldn’t make it, so they made a refueling stop in Benghazi, Libya. They had only stopped briefly and did not allow anyone off the plane. However, one passenger, a British-Israeli woman named Patricia Martell, had a plan.

Ms. Martell went up to the hijackers, asked to get off the plane because she was pregnant and had miscarried. Her pants were stained with blood and she was still bleeding everywhere.

The hijackers (including the one lady hijacker, who might have had some sympathy for the bleeding woman), were probably like:

So, Patricia Martell got off the plane.

But…she didn’t have a miscarriage.

She wasn’t even pregnant.

She was, however, a nurse in an Israeli hospital who happened to a) have a sharp object in her purse, like a knitting needle or scissors or something (this was pre-9/11, so you could take just about anything on a plane), b) know exactly where to stab herself on the inner thigh to cause a lot of bleeding but not sever an artery, and c) the guts to do it to herself and then lie about it.

Once Patty got into the Benghazi Airport, she headed straight for the Libyan Airlines counter (hopefully having changed her pants) and booked tickets on the next flight to London. She arrived later that day, where she immediately went to Scotland Yard and the Israeli embassy to give testimony which proved to be decisive. In the days before Twitter or Facebook, Ms. Martell gave the all-too-important details and descriptions of the hijackers, the passengers, the plane, and where they could be.

She is still alive and living in Israel. In a 2006 interview, regretted her decision, saying that it was “pretty stupid,” but considering what resulted, I’d disagree.

And that’s how a problem with someone’s lady parts played a part in stopping a hijacking, saving hostages, and stopping an international incident.

Well done, Patricia Martell. You do you.

Works Cited:

“Entebbe Thirty Years On: Mancunian on Board.” Jewish Telegraph. <http://www.jewishtelegraph.com/enteb_2.html>. Web.

Kerr, Gordon and Phil Clarke. Hostages: Dramatic Accounts of Real Life Events. London: Canary Press eBooks, 2013. Web.


Flip the Script: Hanoch Levin, The Rubber Barons (A Tale of 30000 Condoms)

A hugely successful day: we moved the show out to Taliesin, put up the set, did a run-through, and found out that tomorrow’s rehearsal is cancelled, giving me a whole day free! Yay!

I had to return my copy of The Labor of Life and Other Selected Plays by Hanoch Levin to the library today, so I thought I’d flip through them and see what caught my eye. The first play that caught my eye was The Rubber Barons, mostly because of its subtitle. I also enjoyed The Child Dreams, but I think it would be way too depressing for a blog post, as much as I’d love to see how people would react to the mother flashing the ship captain and the closing scene with the chorus of dead children in the graveyard. So The Rubber Barons it is.


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The Rubber Barons (Socharei HaGoumi) was written by Hanoch Levin (1943-1999). The play was originally written in 1977 ib Hebrew. Its first production was in 1978 at the Cameri Theatre in Tel Aviv. Levin also directed.


  • Bella Barlow – 40s, a pharmacist.
  • Yohanan Tsingerboy – 40s, a clerk.
  • Shmuel Sprawl –  40s, a condom vendor.


We open on Bella’s drugstore where Yohanan is attempting to buy condoms. He actually sings this adorable little song called “The Hint Song” about them, a la that episode of The Golden Girls where they are shopping for the cruise. Side note, Yohanan also has two things: sixty thousand dollars in the bank and a thing for Bella. Shmuel, on the other hand, just inherited 10,000 Australian condoms from his deceased father and is trying to sell them to Bella at top dollar.

A weird sort of love triangle ensues. Yohanan wants Bella, but she’s not interested, even though they get naked in her apartment and it’s implied that they have sex, or at least a condom is utilized, as Bella says, “please, not on the carpet.” Once Bella learns about Yohanan’s money, she becomes attracted to him, but only for that, so she can rebuild her store. Shmuel and Yohanan do not have a sexual relationship, but they have a few weird scenes where they have long fantasy sequences about having sex with young, pretty girls from Texas. Shmuel shows up at Bella’s doorstep trying to sell her his condoms, and she kinda falls for him, but then falls out just as quickly. Yohanan comes back, and Bella resumes begging for his money, and he begs her to be with him. Finally, he hands over the money, but instantly regrets it. She becomes attracted to him, but the moment has passed for him. Everything kinda sucks at the end, and they still have a ton of condoms left.

My Thoughts


Works Cited:

Levin, Hanoch, The Rubber Barons (A Tale of 30,000 Condoms) in The Labor of Life and Other Selected Plays, trans. Barbara Harshav. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 2003.