Be careful, you bastard! | Israel today

As I have already mentioned here,

we in the Levy family are celebrating one hundred years since our grandparents immigrated to Israel.

Over the years, the story of their immigration became legendary, distant and somewhat vague, while the family expanded and branched out nicely, without the evil eye.

Grandmother Esther (Solica) and Grandfather Rabbi Jacob immigrated from Morocco, but their sons and daughters had already married in Shashon along and across the sectarian spectrum, and soon the family learned to recognize and embrace also established names such as Adler and Schmidt, and Hungarians such as Daskel.

In subsequent generations, the trend even got stronger, and no one of my generation is fluent in the Jewish-Moroccan language of their grandparents.

But there are things that still managed to cross the century barrier.

These are Shabbat and holiday table music, and cute customs.

Little stories that had legends, and certain foods whose exact recipe can be argued to the skies, but there is no doubt that without them it would not be the same.

And although none of us speak the language, there are a few words that have also managed to survive.

I will never forget the day when my schoolmates, Moroccan Aslims, were shocked to find out that there were words I say like "kibbutznik" (a title that in their eyes was more serious than just "Ashkenazi").

Winter is approaching.

It was necessary to equip the boarding school rooms for the cold nights, and I told Tomi that on the next occasion I would bring a duvet from home.

The friends reacted in complete shock.

"antimony"?

Where did I get them the "pooh"?

They were true Moroccans, from homes where the soft and thick blanket was called "Drydon" and only Drydon.

And suddenly fluff.

In no shame (shame, and hey, I knew that word).

And more of me, someone they thought until that moment was one of their own.

A thick blanket of embarrassment enveloped me.

What do I care Fuchs or Drydon, go explain that with me everything happened one generation earlier.

As mentioned, there are words that passed

the century barrier like nothing.

So here and so in most houses in Israel.

Even when no one around us speaks the language anymore, most of us would rather say "Maafen" than "Klokal".

We'll admit that "man" does a better job than "man".

And we will agree that there is no substitute for the good old "Postma".

And these are all very familiar examples from Arabic, Yiddish and Ladino.

Words that have managed to survive are a fascinating case, because their extreme longevity must indicate an unusual degree of vitality.

What a special need.

Eternal relevance.

Or great quality of sound and crunches.

And all this long introduction came only to bow to the wonderful word "fajaan", and its Israeli incarnation - "fajaanot". 

"Fajan" is an eternal word that came to Israel with grandparents, and gives the impression that it is here to stay.

That is, as long as the thing she describes is still an official coup.

Who is the scumbag?

And what is the difference between him and just a gluttonous pig?

The fool wants to eat more than he deserves, and more than he is capable of.

If he had it in his hands, he would try to eat everything.

There are criminals of food, and there are criminals of money, of ego, of sex and of control.

I am not trying to claim that the Hebrew alternative is weak.

Definately not.

"Gluttony" is a strong word and it's great.

And yet, when I come across this bad and so well-known phenomenon, the word "perjury" rolls off the tongue.

Why really?

It took me a while to figure it out, but now I think I've figured something out after all.

There is something strange here.

In the homes that contributed the word "fajan" to Hebrew, there was nothing more glorious and glorious than eating everything with joy and "saha" (yani, for health).

Just clean the plate and ask for more and more, and everyone will look at you with love.

A healthy appetite, like humor and joie de vivre, has always been considered a desirable trait.

Presumably, Fajan could have been an affectionate nickname.

In fact, there are very few titles as repulsive and intolerable as Pajan.

Just like you can't say "propeller" without wringing your hands, so you can't say "fajan" without making a face.

Apparently, there is a contradiction here, and as always in apparent contradictions here too, you can learn something small.

Like the simple fact that feignedness is not a happy, joyous or life-giving quality.

I will never forget the day when I read in some encyclopedia ("from a collection", obviously) that the mongoose is capable of killing an entire coop of chickens - and eating only one of them.

The pug is so repulsive, because he's more of a mongoose than a pig. 

There is some talk lately as if the cost of living is not a topic of conversation, because it is simply not interesting.

I don't buy it.

Almost everywhere we stood in line for one of the summer experiences, good Israelis stood (and stood in line nicely, it must be said) and complained about the same humiliating and outrageous experiences.

Everyone has had a moment when someone tried to sting them.

bite his pocket

Hence, by the way, the word "bite".

They didn't talk economics.

They talked education.

What bothered them was not only the high prices (be honest, you're there at the campsites: what's up with a rental fee of NIS 50 per day for the use of a mini office refrigerator?).

They, and I here and now, are trying to talk about culture and the way of the land.

About the repeated meeting with the wild attitude that says - after all, you and I will never meet again.

The transaction between us was one-time.

Economic Stutz.

So why don't we sting you, dear idiots?

And this is exactly the worldview of the fagjan, this is the doctrine of the mongoose.

A society in which too many parties refer to their business, and life itself, in terms of "knock it out", is an unhealthy society.

The feeling that we are surrounded by a little too much evil - of money, of sex, of ego - raises the suspicion that society itself does not believe that it is here to stay.

After all, in a reformed, so-called "civilized" world, the premise is that there is a future, after all we will all meet again, so it is worth investing and being patient.

The pug doesn't see a future, and he treats the world like termites treat a museum.

I would be very happy if one day it is no longer needed, but until then I don't think there is a substitute for this wonderful word.

As these lines are being written, I, like everyone else, hope that the school year will start on time.

We all also hope that the community of teachers will bring home a high salary that they deserve.

But at the same time, I hope that the system will return to engaging not only in imparting skills and achievements, but also in education.

A little more country road.

A little less offensive.

I was once a member of a kibbutz,

and the word "capitalism" will never be pleasant to my ears.

On the other hand, I am very much in favor of a free market, as long as it is truly free and truly fair.

Rabbi Yonatan Zaks claimed that Judaism strives to establish a free economic game, whose participants are "sky-fearing" players.

That is, those who respect the rules.

We recently received some evidence that the free market does not do "no no no no" and is not self-righteous, but it knows how to punish intolerable conduct.

Look at the Beitar Jerusalem club. Look at the disintegration of Static and Ben-El. Sometimes the clearest condemnation is expressed in simple words like: your behavior is bad for business.

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