Vitamin Idiocra-C

Daylight didn’t disperse until almost 20:00 today. I don’t remember the days being so long and bright, even in S.E Asia.

On my way home from my Shiurim this evening, I came upon a group of French women taking pictures of their fellow homegirl in front of a jeep decorated with pink and metallic bows. It was obvious this was their last night of their friend being single as they oooh’d and ahhh’d with every picture. As I strolled by, one of the girls asked if I could take their group picture. I paused as they huddled together in contented happiness. As I walked off with my sentimental grin, I heard them oooh’ing and ahhh’ing at the group photo I just took. I clicked my tongue at the idiocracy of it: Oh Ginrod!! widowed girlfriend, looking into the digital lenses of someone else’s fortune.

Ever since the comments of the girl last week (see last blog), I’ve been turning the ladle of thought in my mind of the idiocracy of Susi in Israel. I’m a person that seeks constantly to define myself, to know what I stand for so I don’t fall for anything. To come to understand myself as a whole so I don’t surprise myself further down the line. I purge my thoughts into a bowl and stew it around until I make sense of it all. Could it be i’m a Zionist? Very well so. But if I just came to know Israel in the last couple years, do I deserve the right to assume I belong to Israel just like every other person that was born to belong here?

Every month when I was a child, the Philipino community in Tulsa would have a potluck gathering. It was quite the custom to teach the young girls traditional Philipino dances such as the E-tik e-tik and to participate in group dances …particularly Tinikling. The dance consists of two people hitting parallel bamboo poles on the ground, raising them, then hitting the poles against each other in the air with a rhythm. Meanwhile, at least one dancer hops over and around the clashing poles, imitating the tikling bird dodging bamboo rice traps set by farmers.

Like Philipino stick fighting in the backyard of our house, it was normal for Bry and I to have a concept of this dance at an early age, as young adults- we got hip hop with our moves, never catching our feet in the bamboo poles.

White people cannot do the Tinikling dance. They break their ankles.

During these dances at our Philipino potlucks, we would sit cross legged, watching the people sway in and out of the poles. After they completed their rounds, someone else would jump up to replace them. I remember one of my aunties telling me with a scandelous smirk: “Soooosi!! grab dat white mahn over der. Tell him to dance!!” . Inevitably the white man would attempt to dance in between the poles- relegating any graceful movement the Philipino women cast into the dance.

We’d watch the foreign man..tripping over the poles, breaking his white man sweat, squeaking like a trapped mouse. We would calmly sit there, big smiles across our face, encouraging him. “White man dance WHITe man DAnce ahahaha” our brains would scream. We calmly sat there. White people cannot do the Tinikling dance. They break their ankles.

Am I the white man attempting to do the Tinikling dance here in Israel?? I thought to myself today. Could the girl from last week be right?? Can I become something I wasn’t born into? Do I have the right to not limit my attachment to Israel in the death of an IDF soldier, but also in a spiritual and passionate way? Can I manage to raise my future family in a way that gives them a positive identity? Or will I always be the awkward white man nervously hopping through bamboo poles of Judaism, eventually getting some of the motions down but never having the grace of the ones that had the dance in their blood?

Then I remember: yes yes i’ve seen white girls shake their rump like soul was genetically programmed into it. I’ve seen white men play the blues. Eminem made his mark (did I just write that??). Perhaps I was never the white man nervously dancing, waiting to break his ankle. Maybe I am the white man who could play the blues all along. I suppose I should stop focusing on the idiocracy of it all, and keep the smug smirk on my face. We have no idea what red carpet is being laid out for us, and usually it’s only when we glance at the path of memories behind us that all the puzzle pieces seem to fit. It’s not an idiocracy at all, it’s simply the red carpet of the Ginrod life. Ain’t it now??

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Germapino with a Jewish Twist. Twist. Collective Thoughts of a Ginrod are the musings of a Texas born,half German, half Filipina girl who who went on a trip to Bangkok and found herself in the Holy Land , as a jew, married to an Englishman, with 3 kids and a pup named Henck.


  • alias pail

    that comment is still bothering you? the breath of a stranger can’t blow down your heart. she wasn’t in a position to understand your story in your short lecture, and you didn’t have the time to hash out every little detail of your life and purpose in israel to a complete stranger. that experience was just dust on the mantel, it’s easy swept off by a filipino. you got a filipino right?

  • celestial blue

    brilliant post, my friend…..
    and you KNOW I know how you feel.. at least as far as fitting into a culture I wasn’t born into.
    Stay strong… I know you can. And follow your heart. It hasn’t steered you wrong yet.