I'd Like to Believe that I Look Israeli

I forgot to mention that some of my proudest Israel moments this past Sukkot were when people asked me for directions. I will now relay them.

Episode One
I was standing at the corner, waiting for the light to change so that I could cross when I heard the woman to my right say "Sah-lee-cha-ah!"
I turned to look at her.
"DO...YOU...SPEAK...ENGLISH?"
"Yeah," I said.
"How do I get to Yah-fo Street?"
I told her that I wasn't from the area and then added the way I thought would take her there.
"And where are you from?"
"New York."
"We're from Florida," she said and waved an arm to indicate her son pulling the roller-suitcase behind her. "A lot of people from New York move to Florida."
I "em-hm"ed and ran ahead.

Episode Two
Later that same day, I was standing in Kikkar Tzion, debating which direction to go on my hunt for new skirts.
"Slicha, blah blah blah blah blah?"
"I'm sorry," I said, "I don't understand."
The Israeli girl looked at me. "Ah...do you know where the, ah, record store is?"
"No, sorry."
"The one off blah blah blah street?"
"Uh-uh. Sorry I can't help."
I felt bad that I couldn't help her...but even more excited that a bona-fide Israeli thought I was Israeli!

Episode Three
My brother Josh and I were walking along King George and chatting about the trip. I noticed a very good-looking guy come out of the park and cross our path. The guy then turned around and asked me, "blah blah blah blah blah?"
I realized, at that moment, that if my teachers were all as good-looking as the average Israeli, I would have learned Hebrew grades ago.
"I'm sorry..." I had to say, "I don't understand."
"Do you know how I can get to Yaffo?"
I tried to impress him with my extensive knowledge (I gave him directions for both ways) and then continued walking with my brother. Only this time, I felt really, really, cool.

So there you have it--people can stop mistaking me for an Italian and recognize that my true faux nationality (for now) is Israel.