Where are YOU from?

It’s pretty embarrassing, but everywhere we go, people can tell that Andy and I are American.  Maybe it’s the way we carry ourselves, or that we’re New York-rude instead of Israeli-rude, or maybe it’s my heinous Israeli accent and the fact that only one out of every five words I speak is actually pronounced correctly (don’t worry, I’ve already started ulpan).  But it seems that where ever we go, we always get asked “where are you from” and “Are you from America?”  Well, of course we answer yes.  Sometimes we simply say we’re from Philadelphia, or sometimes we say we live in New York.  Sometimes we give the tremendously complicated answer of explaining that we grew up in Philadelphia but “currently” live in New York.  It’s a good thing Andy and I are from the same places because I can’t even imagine what that conversation would look like. 

That’s when the stories start coming—“oh, you’re from New York?  I’ve been too New York once!”  Or, “Oh, my cousin’s daughter’s best friend’s husband has family who lives in Brooklyn.  Is that near you?”  Or even “Philadelphia, is that near Los Angeles?”  Andy once had an argument with a cab driver about what state Washington D.C. is located in.  The driver refused to take “no” for an answer (as in, there is NO state in which Washington D.C. is located).  He told us, “Jerusalem is a city in the state of Israel, Haifa is a city in the State of Israel, Philadelphia is a city in the state of Pennsylvania (actually, he had just learned that during the cab ride as well), so what state is Washington D.C. in?”  We tried to explain to him the touchy situation that would have occurred had one state been blessed with the Capitol over another… To no avail. 

The other day, I got into a cab and the driver asked “where are you from, Philadelphia?”   Lucky guess.  Well, it turns out that the cab driver lived in Philadelphia for a number of years and owned a falafel store on South Street.

Andy and I are realizing that everywhere we go, everyone has a story to tell.  Everyone wants to find some way to relate to you, to get you to stay in the store just a little bit longer.  Even if we don’t really care about your cousin’s daughter’s best friend’s husband who has family who lives in Brooklyn, for some reason we still say “cool!” every time.   Living in Israel, and especially in Jerusalem, is like one giant year-long family reunion.  We don’t know how we’re related to you, we don’t even remember your name, but we’re hoping if we talk to you a little bit longer, we might figure something out.  And then there are the relatives who just talk too much, and the conversation never ends…