The American in Paris... kinda

King Arthur: Can we come up and have a look?
French Soldier: Of course not. You're English types.
King Arthur: What are you then?
French Soldier:I'm French. Why do you think I have this outrageous accent, you silly king?
Sir Galahad: What are you doing in England?
French Soldier: Mind your own business.

Merovingian: I love French wine, like I the French language. I have sampled every language, French is my favorite. Fantastic language. Especially to curse with. Nom de dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperie de connard d'enculé de ta mère. It's like wiping your arse with silk. I love it.

Alex Trebek: "A Petit Dיjeuner" - that category is about French phrases, so let's just skip it.
Burt Reynolds: Hey, uh, I speak a little French. You're an [jerk], pardon my French.
French Stewart: My name's French!
Burt Reynolds: Yeah, well, who gives a damn?

Bad things can happen when you deal with the French. As evidenced above, interaction with those from the state of France can, and probably will, result in swallows carrying coconuts, incredibly dangerous stuntwork, or Final Jeopardy.

Add to that incredibly dangerous list "conversation." This shabbat I was at the Saban residence in Rechovot. The Sabans, who made aliyah from France twenty or so years ago, are like other families who made aliyah in that they speak their native tongue quite frequently. This meant that we could only communicate in Hebrew, with no option, as in most other places I've stayed, to resort to English as a safety net.

During shabbat I mastered the art of the "nod and smile," or trying to look like I knew what we were talking about. The "nod and smile" usually is a very successful technique, provided that the other person is not asking a question. Which happened to me a few times.

Overall, shabbat was very nice. We went to a sefardic shul, which was an interesting religious experience. I may have seen more unibrows than a one would see at a Count Olaf convention. I was not too familiar with the order of the service, so that was a plus. Dinner was different, with lots of French cooking. In accordance with my new attempts to try new foods, I tasted a zucchini. Last shabbat, at the Avericks, I had some avocado. I don't think I will ever try a beet. That night we walked to the house of Oren's friend Doron, where we talked. I think. I was tired, so I mostly sat there.

On the way home, Oren, Aaron Gabba, Micah, and I talked about the upcoming holiday of Purim, and what it would be like if different yeshiva people were drunk. I don't think anything came out of that conversation, but there you go.

I think I slept twelve hours that night, and naturally missed shacharit. However, I did make up for it by doing this wooden puzzle thing where you have to undo a string from a wooden figure. Lunch was a very hearty goulash, and I tried to read the only English book I could find, "The Last Mandarin." The only good part about it is that it sent me straight to my shabbat nap. That afternoon, I walked with Oren's friends to another syangogue (thankfully not sefardic) for mincha-maariv, between which we walked around a brick-floor maze (don't ask).

That night we were going to see a movie, either "Brokeback Mountain" or "Mrs. Henderson Presents," but since Aaron had to babysit his siblings, we rented {PROOF} and watched at his house. We ordered pizza and cola, which partially made up for the fact that it was a pretty mediocre movie. I mean, Anthony Hopkins was good, but a cast starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Jake Gylenhaal is not likely to draw rave reviews.

After the film, we got some ice cream and sat on a bench and talked. Joining us was Aaron's friend Ariel, who wore a Matrix-like black leather coat. He currently is learning at Gush, where he told us of a Floridian who got a concussion and kept asking the same question over and over.He currently is learning at Gush, where he told us of a Floridian who got a concussion and kept asking the same question over and over.

This morning, I ran to catch a bus, and arrived at the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem with half an hour to spare. Unfortunately, we still did not arrive at the yeshiva in time. The van driver asked us if we would mind if we stopped a few hours out of our way in Tel Aviv so he could pick up a package. When we voted a decisive no, the driver, naturally an Israeli, decided to go anyway. What was supposed to be a half hour delay took close to an hour and a half. The driver had to stop at every street corner in Tel Aviv to ask directions, and Israeli directions being what they are, it took us awhile to find the place.

On the bright side, we did get to see the Gilboa irises. They should be in full bloom soon.