When Anger Doesn’t Work: Part 2

by Jerry Waxman

To recap: There was a day like any other day that was meant to go well. 1)I was to go to a school and get a job. 2)I was to settle things with the rav who owns the kollel where I have been working – and that settlement would mean my getting paid in some way for work I’ve done, and an agreement on what I’d be doing in the future. 3) I was to get started on a project with my Bnei Menashe friends. Everything was supposed to go right.

While the early morning looked promising, the less early morning was a reminder of everything I needed to get away from. There was constant banging and buzzing from construction in neighbors’ rooms. There was a stench coming from an outdoor sewage problem. And my roommate – with his brand of hygiene – was ever-present.

In mid-morning I went to the school, and the security guard told me to come back at 3:30 pm. [End of Recap]

In the interest of realism, I think I’ll just list everything that happened, and save the commentary for the end.

After walking away from the school, I called the rav of the kollel and asked if I could meet with him then. The rav was too busy and told me to come to him at 2:00.

By coincidence, Pe-er, my Bnei Menashe friend called me. He wanted me to check some problem he was having with his computer. I wanted to talk with him about a project I had in mind. We agreed to meet at the shuk in about an hour.

I went to the shuk, and didn’t see Pe-er. Prices at the shuk seemed higher than last week, but I found a deal on some fruit. And took it home. While at the shuk, I talked with a man selling bread. I asked him if he had something that tasted bad for my friend. He laughed, and it was the second time that day that I noticed I was letting a roommate occupy my thinking – a sign of deep resentment and frustration.

Pe-er called while I was at home, and by coincidence he was right outside. So we walked to his place, about 2 km away.

I talked with Pe-er about the project I had in mind. He said it sounded good, but he didn’t seem to have any energy to put into it. I spent some time on his computer trying to figure out a problem with Yahoo. In the end I was not able to help him resolve the problem.

Results: All that walking, and all that time spent on the computer, and nothing accomplished.

Went to the rav at 2:00 pm. As usual, I started off with an idea I had for bringing money to the kollel while giving some Bnei Menashe folks a chance to work and learn and make money also. Now the rav had just spent some 20 minutes yelling at someone. So when he laughed when I proposed the Bnei Menashe project – well, I guess it took his mind off whatever he was yelling about a few moments before.

End results with the rav: He said he’d get a caravan for me to live in on the grounds of the kollel. Fast forward to the next day – he did nothing about getting a caravan. And his son did nothing about helping me move a refrigerator and other heavy things into the kollel. I decided to fire them both the same day. But of course I haven’t told them.

After seeing the rav, I went to the school. I told the secretary that I wanted to see the director. She took my resume and said I didn’t need to see the director. She gave my resume to someone else — who might call me. . . .

End results of the day: Frustration. ready to jump out of planes.

Well, there is one more saga to get to. This one gets exciting. Don’t miss it.

When Anger Doesn’t Work: Part 1

by Jerry Waxman

I have a right to be fed up. This is the third time I’ve had to go back to the beginning to re-write this post. And that’s just the frosting on the gigantic cake of things going the wrong way.

Then again maybe being fed up isn’t a right, but a privilege? I don’t know, but considering the way things have been going, if I found out we have no right to be angry, that would piss me off.

A bit of calm before the storm.

This afternoon, the white cat with the carefully placed random black patches stared up at me while I hung clothes on the line from the living room window. And stared and stared and stared. Maybe some other cats had told this one, “Watch that human when you get a chance. He’ll make you proud to be a cat.” Or maybe the cat was just wondering how I got up here.

Now I don’t know if the cat has anything to do with everything else that happened today. I suspect it did.

Happy things do not a great day predict.

I’m having a hard time keeping the angry tone that I started with when I think of what happened at the synagogue. After the morning services, as I was folding my tallit, the man who was sitting in front of me handed me a plastic holder for both tallit and tefillin. Just like that. Never saw him before, never talked with him before, and just like that he hands me something that will come in handy.

What a great way for a day to start! Makes a guy hopeful. Makes the morning cheerful – and I managed to hold that mood all the way home. And then I opened the door to my apartment.

Nothing was missing……. That’s the problem. My roommate was still there. I believe I’ve already mentioned in an earlier post that I never wanted a roommate. This one just got unloaded on me.

Announcing: Project “770″ for 5770

There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to startle me. It was just the fact of the roommate’s presence – along with his junk strewn all over the floor – that erased whatever smattering of elation I could feel – and sent me into a funk — a manifestation of days and weeks of pent-up frustration. I must’ve been subconsciously determined to let the anger out. It came out unpremeditatively a few times today. Unfortunately, releasing anger didn’t obtain any positive results.

To add to all and any stress, there has been a constant drone of construction happening all around. Banging, thumping, and an incessant drone of some machine. When I went outside, all dressed and ready to interview for jobs, I saw that a tractor was parked in the yard, and had a big shovel leveled at the window of a third story apartment.

Two men were sitting nearby, taking a break. I asked them in all sincerity if they were tearing down the building. “No,” they said. They were just destroying the top floor. I then told them that my friend was sleeping in the room, and would they mind destroying the first floor before he wakes up? They began laughing. Out of politeness, I laughed too and went to the nearby high school.

Something was very strange about the high school. There were no students to be seen. I asked Tzlava the security guard about this. He said the students were all inside in class. I’ve never seen a situation like this – ALL the students were in class? I still wonder what is wrong with them.

Tzlava told me the school director was also in class, and I should come back at 3:30. Considering I had gotten dressed up, with documents prepared, to come to the school in the early morning — I think I handled this pretty well. I walked away quietly, planning my next move.

End of Part One

Announcing: Project “770″ for 5770

Irritations, Roommates, and Bombs

by Jerry Waxman

I never wanted a roommate, not of the same gender at any rate. It’s a small apartment with one bedroom and one living room. I scored a desk a week or so ago, and I was just getting my homelife a little better organized when suddenly I got a roommate.

I first met Dave in December when he showed me where he was living. It was a room on the underside of somebody’s house, and it was danky. He said it had recently been flooded, and the smell of damp or rotting carpets was pervasive.

Recently he took me to his pad again. And the smell was overwhelming. At that time I told him that he needed to forego all projects – particularly the ones he wanted to involve me in – and get out of his house. Turns out he decided to move into mine.

If he took care of himself, and cleaned up after himself, it might not be such a nuisance. I guess that about sums it up. I moved the desk into the bedroom, so I can live here in the small room. His junk is in piles in the living room. I’ve taught him how to use earphones with his computer so he can listen to opera all day — and all night — while he works.

The biggest irritant in Sderot is the sewage. The town and all its underground facilities were initially built for only a few thousand people. Now there are close to 20,000 inhabitants. So the city pipes are overworked.

My block has been particularly bad recently. When the breeze goes the wrong way, the air in my apartment is about as foul as Dave’s old place. Not healthy.

The other night, the breeze was blowing the wrong way, while at the same time there was an overly traditional bride-dunking party going on at the mikve. This one had not only the warbling and Moroccan cheers, but also a half dozen cars with amplified car horns blasting away. Oblivious to all, the karaoke guy was singing away as off-tune as anyone had ever heard him.

On top of all the noise and pungence, Dave tried to tell me some stories of his exploits. Dave is an accomplished writer, unfortunately not in the short-story category. Each story must have a long drawn out introduction, including side stories completely unrelated to the main plot, and a long drawn out middle with unnecessary adjectives, adverbs, and adhominems to draw it out longer.

I could strain to hear long stories no longer – the horn party for the bride dunking plus the karaoke guy plus the wayward breeze spreading a sickening stench all got the better of me and I succumbed — only to awaken hours later with thoughts of improving myself as quickly as possible.

I had to deal with a government office – and fortunately that went quickly, though I’ll have no idea if their fowl-up was taken care of for another couple weeks. Then I gave job pursuit immediate and energetic attention.

Tie-clad and combed-haired, I went straight to a nearby school, straight up the steps, and straight to the main offices. The only person working there told me the director and main secretary were not there that day — and further gave me the impression that it was a rare day when they were there. Minor irritation.

I went to the employment office. Nothing was showing up, as usual, until suddenly an opening caught the counselor’s eye. She called a school located about an hour from Sderot, and they asked to see my resume – which the counselor faxed to them. They are to call me if they want me to come to an interview. They haven’t called – and I think it’s because nobody at the school knows me. Another minor irritation.

Back at home, I began to adjust to new living arrangements. Big irritation. While settled and resigned to the fact that I had not completely changed my life today, I and the rest of Sderot got a reminder of why we are here. “Tzeva Adom, Tzeva Adom” rang out all up and down the neighborhoods. A volley of rockets may be coming our way.

After so many weeks of quiet, why are they starting now? Do they think that we’re more vulnerable now because of the heat, and the stench from the sewage, and the lack of efficiency in our government offices, and the lack of responsibility in our schools, and the lack of jobs, and the noise from bride-dunking parties couples with the nasal refrains of the karaoke guy? Do they think we’re more prone to leave because of obnoxious roommates?

Maybe we are. But I haven’t seen anyone leave Sderot today.