IT'S SEVEN ON A SUNDAY MORNING IN BEAUTIFUL downtown Agoura Hills. My brand-new PowerBook 3400c boots up, Netscape Communicator kicks in, the morning RealAudio broadcast of Israel Radio's "Hayom Hazeh" begins piping out of my Yamaha office stereo system, WebDevil goes to work downloading the day's Hebrew press, and I settle back into my armchair with a steaming double latte.
The phone rings. It's my brother-in-law, Mishee, in Holon. Now that long-distance calls from Israel go for 20 cents a minute, he's a big shot. Well, I won't have it. He tells me he's taking his wife, Miri, into Tel Aviv for a movie. "Have fun," I say. "But I think you should avoid the Ayalon freeway. There was a three-car pile-up at the Kakal exit, and traffic is backed up all the way to Holon."
Silence. Hah!
Confession. Living in Israel 11 years ago, I never knew what was happening on the freeways or anywhere else in the country. Holding down a day job at the Weizmann Institute in Rehovot, the graveyard shift in Jerusalem as a copy editor, and my weekends at home in Holon writing features; pestered by intermittent reserve duty; forced to wage daily trench warfare with a crazed tax auditor, I was, to use my daughter's favorite word, clueless.
That is, until I got to L.A., where, I discovered, one can live a full Israeli life without being ground down by the daily exigencies of, well, a full Israeli life. No, I'm not talking about our local Israeli population, which supports a Hebrew paper, several book and CD emporiums, assorted social and political clubs, as well as an annual Israeli film festival, a Lag Ba'omer sing-along-around-the-fire and no end of felafel joints. Availing myself of such amenities would mean venturing on the (shudder) freeway, which would leave me with no time, and less inclination, to be the proper Israeli I feel I am.
Nestled in my tax-deductible home office, I run Israel Radio's Reshet Bet in real-time, courtesy of a 56 kbps modem. My 10 a.m. coffee break rolls around, and my handy software bot tunes in the Mabat TV news broadcast on the RealPlayer Internet viewer. Lunch, and it's time to peruse Ha'aretz while lazing in the backyard hammock. Later, on a work break, I sift through the daily Hebrew media digest prepared by the Foreign Ministry and distributed through the Hebrew University Gopher. Finished helping my daughter with her assignment on the life cycle of the common louse, I pour the evening martini into my Goldstar beer mug, pile up the tortilla chips, humus and Beit Hashitah pickles, and settle back with my PowerBook for the latest lowdown on Monicagate from those charming screaming heads on "Popolitika."
Get a life? As a virtual Israeli, thank you, I'd rather have a T1 line.
/ Los Angeles