People who know me from the Internet often ask where in Israel I come from.
It's difficult to answer. The whole country isn't very big. It's smaller than New Jersey, and they keep giving away parts of it. When somebody from a reasonable-sized country (that means one that's less dinky) asks where somebody from New Jersey is from, they usually don't need more details. The fact that they are from tiny New Jersey has narrowed it down enough.
My fat finger squishes parts of our big neighboring countries as well as my own home when I point to my location on a map. Somehow, I don't think that's an acceptable way to handle our political crises.
Even the global positioning system - the GPS - doesn't narrow us done more than Israel. And those who have met me know that I'm not one to be narrowed down!
Where am I from? Well, how well can you squint?
When I made Aliyah, I was asked to take a package to somebody on The Kibbutz.
Now, there happen to be quite a few Kibbutzim here – each one run by Kibbitzers. I asked for more specific instructions, but was waved off with frustration: "You know, The Kibbutz."
Most people can't identify more than one kibbutz, but they want me to identify my home.
OK, follow these directions:
Delight from the plane and go left forty paces, turn right at the two camels, left at the crowds singing and dancing the Hora at midnight, and go up the hill past The Kibbutz.
I live in the Sukkah straight ahead. You'll know it's mine, because there's a guy playing a feenjan. He's wearing a hat that looks like a Mexican sombrero.
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