Don't Mess With the Zohan

Remember that Adam Sandler flick...Don't Mess With the Zohan? You know, the one about the ex-IDF (Israeli military) officer who wants to become a hair dresser? I always thought the Zohan was one of those crazy, random Adam Sandler characters, but it turns out he may have found his inspiration in Israel.

Every salon or beauty shop I have passed on the streets here has an all-male staff.

I'm sure that Israel has female hair stylists. They have to, right? However, I have yet to lay eyes on one. I was even warned by other expats that the IDF-trained male stylists might come off as overly "flirtatious."

But, what do you do when your hair looks like this?

After months of sun, wind, sizzling heat and humidity, my hair was looking....well....rough.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

One day I had had enough. I dropped the kids off at school, walked to the nearest hair salon and in Henglish asked for the next available appointment. I was told to come back that evening at 5 pm.

So, I returned promptly at 5 pm. I said I had an appointment for a haircut (or at least I thought I did), and then the gentleman behind the counter started showing me samples of hair extensions. At this point I realize one of two things has happened. Either I have miscommunicated (highly possible), or I really look so bad and desperate that he is going to try to push the latest product on me. I was hoping it was option A, so I switched to all English.

Me: "Ifshar ledeber be Anglit bevakashah?" (May we speak in English please?)

Zohan: OK

Me: I think I have an appointment for a haircut. Just a haircut.

Zohan: Aaaaah. Ok, it's with me. "Boi."(come with me)

And that is how my first Zohan experience started. I learned that this gentleman studied at the Paul Mitchell Salon in New York years ago, his English was good enough, and he was fantastic at cutting and styling hair. My hair was washed, cut and styled within 20 minutes, and it was one of the best haircuts I have ever received. AND....it wasn't more expensive than an American haircut. Score!

If you're wondering about the flirtatious part, there was no hanky panky or improper innuendos whatsoever. He was a true gentleman. This may have had something to do with my overall appearance upon entering the salon, you never know. You could say that I don't exactly blend in with the Tel Aviv locals in the fashion department. In fact, I more or less stick out like an Amish woman in SoHo. Regardless, he was kind and professional...

....even if he did jam out to GNR's Paradise City while cutting my hair.

Shalom Y'all,

E