New Year's Eve

Some might say it's a little early for new years, but we Jews have been having our new year in the fall from some 6000-odd years, so I'd say there must be something to it. I went back to Bat Yam for "Erev Rosh Hashanah" -- the holiday which could be literally translated as New Year's Eve. Bat Yam is the house where my mother moved when she was a small girl and where her mother, my grandmother, still lives with most of the same furniture and decorations still intact. My cousins and I ate around the same small table which I imagine has seen this holiday celebrated for well on fifty years now. The food, chicken soup followed by boiled meat and mashed potatoes, I imagine has remained similarly intact.

I should note that the Chicken Soup, served this time with knedelech (Jewish Dumplings), remains the best rendition I have ever had. My mothers is a close second, though due to my father's distaste for the soup of our people ("hot water poured through a chicken," he calls it) I seldom get it. Second Avenue Deli in New York has a distant, but passable, third place.

Being back in that small apartment on that completely unassuming street in Tel Aviv's subsurbs brought back waves of memories, most from when I was quite young. I spent a few months when I was about eight years old living in Israel with my mother, in that apartment, and even attended some sort of Kindergarten or day camp. I remember walking the long distance (about 50 meters) to the end of the block where the bus would pick me up to take me every morning. I recall spending the afternoons with my grandfather in the center of the long "shderah", or boulevard, which ran near the house, riding a bike and being shown off to his friends. I recall watching the one channel of TV which was available, and hearing my grandfather complain about degredation in the quality of the signal since the towering high rise (8 stories) was built across the street. I also recall a severe bought of stomach illness I once had in that home, a memory which has been become all too vivid, with a return this week of the painful cramps and urgency I remember.

I'm a quarter of a lifetime from those memories, yet they feel to be a very integral part of me. I've always had some tenuous attachment to this country, in no small part because of my mother and her friends, but also because of those many trips here. My mother always says she brought me to Israel for those few months to see what it would have been like to have had a life in Israel instead of the one she chose in the United States. A side effect, probably not entirely unintentional, was to show me and my young sister what our own lives in Israel would have been like.

In the 80's, I would not have been old enough to had formed a firm opinion about life in Israel, but enough memories were formed to draw me back for a clearer picture. Coming to work in Israel, managed as part of Europe by my firm, was a clear draw in bringing to work in London, our European headquarters. I am pleased that my first project has sent me here, where I can be with my family and try to flesh out a bit more about what it means to live in this very unique country.

I've been here now for two weeks, and all I can say with any certainty is that the country is unique -- and that that uniqueness is tied more than anything with the nature of the Israelis themselves. Industrious, arguementative, diligent and probably the most impatient nation on the face of the planet. I am not an Israeli, and will probably never be, and such will never truly know what it's like to live in Israel, but I am enjoying learning nonetheless.

Holiday in the Holy Land

Although the lay westerner might be forgiven for not noticing, this month is Tishri, the seventh month of Jewish lundar calendar. The month is festooned with holidays, leaving only 5 working days for the observant worshipper. The state of Israel, blissfully sectarian as it is, recognizes the most important of these holidays, and even the most secular israelis acknowledge the importance of not working on these important days, even if they would never deign to actually worship. The schools are shut down, and the companies all but: my client will work exactly one day this week (Thursday).

The generally festive atmosphere in the State of Israel also gives ample cause for expatriate families to return home to see their loved ones at rest, or perhaps rest some themselves. Today I moved to a new hotel, my third since arriving, this one of having both of the advantages that each of my prior attempts had in isolation: proximity to my office and a location on the beach. It's called the Daniel, and it's a mid-sized hotel in a suburb to the north of Tel Aviv called Herzaliya. The property was probably built sometime in the 90's, probably during the building boom that followed the beginning of the peace process and all the optimisim it brought. That optimism proved rather hollow, and most of the products of that boom are similarly tinny. A fine location, a clean building, but the walls don't quite meet the floor, and the roof has some odd discolorations: as though I were staying in a movie set that had been left up for too long.

The many holiday-makers staying in this place don't seem to mind that much, and the inevitable horde of screaming kids don't seem to notice at all, content to flap in the pool and remind me of the vanity of my labor. The picture was taken from my bedroom (and posted directly to this blog via from my phone :) ).

How to build wealth, how to sustain it

I read an article about one of the places I visited when I was in Dubai on a business school trip almost exactly a year ago. A massive man-made hotel complex, designed to appear as though it were under water, despite being above water, on a man made island designed to appear as though it were a giant palm tree. It was called the Atlantis.

http://www.economist.com/blogs/gulliver/2008/09/even_in_the_holy_month.cfm

I'm just across the desert from Dubai and it's glittering hotels now -- in sunny Tel Aviv for my first project back with McKinsey. It's funny to think that despite being so close to the UAE this place has so little to do with it. Both places are small at the edge of vast deserts with little resources of their own, yet they could not be more different. Tel Aviv is prosperous and has had it's own building boom, yet clearly nothing on the scale of Dubai. Both places have benefited greatly from globalization but in very different ways -- Dubai from the riches of the regions energy assets and Israel from the arbitrage between its exports of increasingly valuable high-end goods and services and its imports of increasingly cheap low-end manufactured goods.

Photo on left is of the new Atlantis in Dubai, at right is Tel Aviv's beach, taken today directly outside my hotel. The purpose was to show that the Dubai beach was "nicer", although I must admit they both look pretty good.


The article above makes an interesting point about the security situation -- Dubai is indeed free from the security encumbrances of Israel and the rest of the region, so far. Despite this ostensible freedom, it still feels remarkably more constricted. In Dubai, the myriad fine restaurants and nightclubs are all aligned in an orderly fashion in the dozen massive glittering hotel-complexes that line the main road along the beach. Each complex was carefully planned -- they are well executed, but they are sterile.

As a model for development, authoritarian planning may be tough to beat. I've seen this and written about it from Bhutan, Central Asia, China, and elsewhere -- Dubai is no exception. The powerful Sheikh has made a great city appear literally out of nothing. but as a model for enjoying the fruits of that wealth, it is surely flawed.

Israel, a nation which has undergone a similar transformation as Dubai; from sandy villages to hotels with sandstone bathrooms has no well-executed hotel complexes. Last week I stayed in the Azrieli Center, one of Israel's finest developments. It was no Dubai. A chintzy at best affair, it had a mall haphazardly planned and a hotel crammed into an office building as a clear afterthought. Planning is not Israel's strong suit -- yet in Israel's chaos it's charms are found. It's a difficult case to make, but it's hard to imagine the art and technology that Israel has produced emerging from anything well-planned, no matter how fine the restaurants on offer.

Israel has many issues -- uneven infrastructure, precarious security, loud children, etc. Yet there is no question of where I would rather be working now -- and there is, in my mind, no question of where I think there will be greater wealth in the long run. There will come a day when oil and gas are made irrelevant by some new technology. And I am willing to wager that the technology will come from Israel, not Dubai.

Communications

26/09/2008
Originally uploaded by ben.maritz

I received an email today from my grandmother. Although when I was very young I spoke Hebrew with my mother and as such am quite confident discussing my need for food, sleep, or the restroom (topics of importance at the age when I was discussing them). More advanced topics, and advanced uses of the language such as reading and writing, are rather beyond me. My grandmother can read English fairly well, though sadly cannot write it (although this still places her abilities beyond mine -- I can do neither in her language).

So I must translate her replies to my emails. I have often asked my mother to intermediate, although she is busy and often retorts "You know what she says! It's just I love you, you are so wonderful, etc. You don't need me to translate!". So I have had to resort to the power of Google, which supplied me with the below.


Year-old grandson expensive Baruch extended to Israel
I ordered the Zvika and his family on Tuesday afternoon at about 6 Llarohat New Year holiday
I wanted to ask you if you can join Oulbue
It was very joyous us.
I read your blog I enjoyed very much.
I see you got it good here
This phone's Zvika :052-5773809
Or at 072-2300050.
I would like a reply (תטלפן Ezvika).
Love you very much
Grandmother


The photo in this post is of the Shakshuka I had for breakfast this morning in a pleasant suburb with some friends. It was delicious, though not as good as my mothers.

Food in israel, redux

23/09/2008
Originally uploaded by ben.maritz

I have been working long hours, and have not even had the time to call my several friends and family members here, let alone see them. But somehow, I'm walking on air -- mostly due to the food. Today, my day started with breakfast in my hotel, the Crowne Plaza City Center, whose buffet spread was featured in this month's Time Out Tel Aviv as the best in town. It's hard to describe what makes Israeli breakfast so good -- the ingredients are simple: vegetables, cheese and yogurt spreads, and fresh bread -- but the ingredients are so damn good that they transcend their humility. At this hotel, their also nicely prepared, which furthers the effect (see pic).

Lunch was in my client's cafeteria, which I must say may give that ne plus ultra of corporate caterers, Google, a run for its shekels. The cafeteria had a variety of stations, each serving a complete meal. There were various roasts, salad stations, sandwhich bars, etc -- I went straight for the hummus kiosk, where I was served a pita, topped with hummus, topped with cooked ground meat, topped with a different kind of bean dish, topped with a fresh israeli salad. I ate it all then slept thorugh my next meeting happily.

For dinner, I instructed our new Israeli team member to take us to his favorite Tel Aviv restaurant -- he chose a place called Toto ( http://www.telavivguide.net/Restaurants/Pricey_Restaurants_(Over_$50)/Toto_Tel_Aviv_20080905417/), in a modern-art decorated office building in down town. The restaurant, good in a city of great choices, was excellent -- I had a cote de boeuf that rivalled that which I love to order in New York's Craft.

And I haven't even had a decent shwarma yet.

Food of the chosen

"Israelis like to eat," explained the office manager, as she ended the brief tour of our small office in its kitchen -- a glass-enclosed room in the center of the floor, in plain view of all the surrounding offices. The room was had three fridges, full of drinks, yogurts, cheeses, and yes, hummus. The countertops were laden with fruits and that dynamic Israeli duo: tomatos and cucumbers. Set near the coffee machine was a bowl of fresh mint leaves, ready to be combined with black tea and sugar. As we made small talk, a man walked in, introduced himself, and grabbed a cucumber to go.

I arrived in Tel Aviv this morning, although it feels like an eternity ago. With nary a wink of sleep, my four-and-a-half hour flight landed at Tel Aviv's shiny-yet-somehow-tinny Ben Gurion airport. I was met by Yossi, who is to be my driver for the next three months. Yossi is a middle-aged child of Egyptian-Jewish immigrants. Perhaps for the occasion of our first meeting, he wore a sleeveless t-shirt which showcased his magnificently hairy arms.

I must say, it is great to be here, fulfilling a long-held ambition to do a consulting project here in Israel. The sun, after a month in London, is dazzling, and the food -- that of my mother, is both delicious and nurturing. I also love being surrounded my Israelis at all hours, and being able to impose upon them my rendition of their language (already improving, even after only a day).

Those of you who know me will not at all be surprised to know that I insisted that my colleague and I have a shwarma for dinner tonight, even though it involved walking about for half an hour looking for one.



I had a long conversation with Yossi on the way back from the office, who described to me the locations of the best Shwarma in Israel, as well as the best hummus, for good measure. I intend to investigate.

Welcome to London

I'm writing this post as sitting in Heathrow's sparkling Terminal 5, leaving London via the same port where three weeks earlier I arrived here to (re)start my life as a management consultant. I started that job two weeks ago, returning to my firm after a two year absence for my MBA, and tonight I fly to Tel Aviv to start work in earnest, beginning my first full project, this time for an Israeli software company. I'm excited about the new gig, but feel that I should take a moment to reflect upon my first few weeks in the city which is to be my ostensible home for the next two years.

About a year ago, my firm contacted me and asked me where I wanted to go. Having the good graces of many of my higher-ups, I could have effectively picked any city in the world to go to. I chose London. At the time it didn't seem like that difficult a decision. I wanted to work internationally, and London seemed to be one of the most "international" of cities. Work here would give me access to a dazzling array of opportunities, and aquaint me with a truly global class of professionals. In that sense, London did not disappoint. It's interesting to note that among the associates starting at my firm this month NOT ONE is British. The single exception is my purely technical status as a Royal subject, conferred by the accident of my birth in the odd choice of Dundee.

In other manners, London has proven to be something of a difficult place to move to. Firstly, it is mind-blowingly expensive. Everything is literally twice the price as California. Secondly, it is very hard to get around. The city is amazingly spread out, in stark contrast to my previous city-home of New York.

This horizontal quality bestoes London with a dazzling number of neighborhoods, all with their own characters, transport difficulties, and poor housing stock. In New York, one must choose between a handful of neighborhoods. If I were returning to NYC, I would live in either the East Vilage, or the West Village. I might try Brooklyn Heights. In London, I spent a week looking for apartments, and seriously considered not fewer than a dozen areas. From Islington to Chiswick, from Fulham to Marlybone, I crossed and re-crossed the capital in the somewhat less than pleasant company of dozens of "estate agents", competing for the commission that would come from flogging me one of their exclusive stock of listed rental homes.

I saw no fewer than 50 "flats", and then still not quite satisfied the selection, just chose the best I had seen out of sheer exasperation. On the multiple dimensions I was considering (size, quality, furnishings, location, convenience, and price) I ended up giving up only location. My flat is in Earls Court, probably one of the last ungentrified neighborhoods in London's "Zone One" inner core. It appears to be the last refuge of denim-jacketed smokers and loquatious semi-homeless. It also houses most of what are left of London's backpacker hostels. It's not unpleasant, and doesn't feel unsafe, it's just not as charming as some of the other areas I saw. The upside is that the flat itself is beautiful, the top floor of a Victorian building, with extensive built-in bookshelves, a spacious outdoor garden, and beautiful modern furnishings. It's owned by a women being transfered by her employer to Australia for two years, who intends to leave everything intact. It's also extremely convenient both to the airports (trains to both Heathrow and Gatwick depart from my doorstep) and 50 yards from Underground lines serving both of my employer's offices.

Writing about the flat now, I feel much better about my choice, though I must confess that most of this week I was wracked with FOBO (that's fear of a better option, for those of you who didn't spend the last two years in an MBA program). There are so many areas in London that are sooo cute that I would love to live in. But the reality is that I could not afford a liveable place in those areas. It's strange, since my flat is by no means cheap. It makes me wonder who these people are who can afford one-bedroom apartments at rates three times what they might go for in Manhattan.