A news-from-Israel blackout

December 16, 2009 - 2:33 PM by David

Being an Israeli who hears the news on the radio sometimes 10 or 15 times a day, reads two newspapers daily and usually watches one of the nightly news, vacationing in the US is like moving behind the Iron Curtain.

Sure, it’s possible to do all of those same things in America, but it’s sooo easy not to. I don’t even know where you can find news on the radio anymore aside from NPR – we’ve been much to busy fighting between the adult alternative music station (for me) and the modern music ie headbanging rock channels (for the kids), usually compromising on the classic rock station. it’s a far cry from the pop droolings of Galgalatz and the sophistication of 88 FM.

And the TV news isn’t on when we’re accustomed to it – at 8 pm or 9 pm at night, when things are settling down for the day. Heck, does anybody still watch the nightly news in the US anymore, or know when it’s on, what with CNN, FOX and the 24-hour news channels.

And the daily papers? Forget it, unless you want to know about the school board scandals and snow plow routes. If you’re an Israeli news junkie here, it’s best to go cold turkey. Of course, there’s the beloved Internet and the plethora of choices in English and Hebrew for up to the second updates. But, this being a vacation outside of the country, why retain my old habits?

I was happily detoxing after three days here, and enjoying a day in Boston with the boys and my brother’s family at the New England Aquarium. Slowly replacing the excellerated pace of like in Israel with the cold-induced gait of winter in the North, I was contemplating the life of seals, when I was blasted out of my head dream by a voice. It was the dulcet tones of a woman speaking in Hebrew, telling her two young children, “let’s go to the hotel and call your father in Tel Aviv.”

In Israel, I’m sensitive to hearing English spoken on the streets and usually look to see if I know the person. Here in the US, it’s exactly the opposite. I immediately turned to catch a glimpse of the family in the the hopes of recognizing the mahkolet man’s family, or my bank teller.

While I didn’t ID her, I felt the temptation to strike up a conversation, and ask “Nu, what do you hear from home?” I’ll be back soon enough.

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