You can’t say that on television. A blog is not television.

I love my place of employment. A place where the employees are, more or less, split along two lines: Russian and not-Russian. For the most part, the Russians are right-wingers and the not-Russians are not, which is to say they are mostly left-wingers with a few not-Russians occupying middle ground, on the Israeli political spectrum. I am the lone American.

As such, it seems that I unwittingly serve as the testing grounds for everyone’s English and concepts of what is America and American culture. That means I might be minding my own business or headed towards a table with numerous plates, bowls, cups and carafes precariously perched on my arms with my hands grasping what they can, when a not-Russian bartender will yell at me, from out of no where, “What’s up my nigger?”

This leads me to my main point, Israelis have no concept as to what constitutes American racism. In fact, I would wager that they are so obsessed with America and its culture that they aggressively consume it in copious quantities, through the media and hearsay, that they are left with few, if any, realistic bearings as to the subtle nuances needed to exist within the dubious realm that is casual racism.

The other night I was faced with the proof testifying just how horrible the situation has become. A Russian dishwasher was asking me about America, its the different cities and how many “niggerim” are in each and how big a problem they constitute at each locale. I thought to point out to him that one does not say “niggerim,” which is the epithet nigger perverted to plural using Hebrew syntax. “It’s ‘niggah-rim,’” I thought to explain, quickly deciding against it on the assumption that the subtlety would be lost.

I simply pointed out that I could not really speak for those places where I am not from and, in any case, my experience within the black community was severely limited having grown up in a white, Jewish suburb where all the maids were Hispanic. It’s a shame that it wasn’t the “spicim” he was after because then I could have had something to contribute.

Shortly after, the Russian dishwasher caught me again. “It’s true that the ‘niggerim’ in America don’t want to work?” he asked. ‘Not in my experience,” I answered. With the truth of the matter being that I have only worked with one black person and she, asides from being a fine worker, called me “her niggah,” which, as she pointed out, “is a good thing when a black person calls a white person niggah.”

I asked the Russian dishwasher about the source of his information. Predictably, he answered from the TV and newspapers. It is safe to say that he is not a faithful viewer of Fox News since that channel does not broadcast in Russian (the Russian dishwasher does not speak English and the two of us converse in less-than-fluent Hebrew). Therefore, there is little chance that his TV and newspaper sources are either fair or balanced.

Again, I was cornered – this time as I mopped the floor. “The niggerim in America are angry and easily excitable,” the Russian dishwasher offered as a sort-of question. ‘Especially when you call them niggerim,” I replied, the sarcasm lost to my own dismay. “I don’t like niggerim,” was the Russian dishwashers response. “They don’t like Russians,” I uttered, that having been the first thing to come to mind. It didn’t seem to phase him.

He had already professed his intense dislike for them, so why should it matter anything at all if they don’t like him either?