I had prewritten my first blog entry on the airplane out here, and was planning to muse on the proper tone to use for this blog: wry and catty, a-la David Sedaris, or urbane and witty, a-la New Yorker. The appropriate tone turns out to be desperate.
My housing was billed as "shared housing" which meant, I figured, two in a room, sharing a bathroom. You know, like a dorm. Turns out there are four bunk beds in my room--eight beds, count 'em, Izzy. Luckily there's only one other guy there now, but there's no guarantee. Plus, the quality of the rooms is essentially Youth Hostel. Which was good when I was a youth. But now I'm a cranky, cranky old man, and thin mats in a dormitory with a bathroom shared by many, many people is kind of a downer, even if it is in the old city.
Another worry I had; on taking these rooms I had to agree to be a ben Torah. Ok, Ben Torah, Ben Affleck--basically I'm thinking it means be a good guy, right? Well--the computer usage is theoretically "for business only" (not what I'm doing now). And just what level of observance is actually going to be required here? Very observant Jews have to take some special steps just to be able to brush their teeth on Shabbos. And I don't think they can shower on Shabbos. I like cleanliness. I like showers. I'm imagining taking showers in secret, brushing under the covers, until a paid stoolie rats me out to the religious police and I get kicked out. Viva la resistance.
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