Until Tuesday night, I thought Doobie meant teddy bear in Hebrew or, last I checked, was one of my younger sisters’ family nickname. I admit, I am not exactly up on the marijuana lingo. Weed, joint, mary jane and pot were the extent of my marijuana vocabulary.
Forget about the names, the truth is I was pretty clueless about it for a long time. When I lived in Jerusalem and was looking to rent an apartment in the neighborhood of Nachla’ot, I met up with a friend of mine to take a look at a potential place. We walked through the turquoise and glass door of the garden level flat. On bean bags were some university students just chilling. One was strumming a guitar, the others joyously relaxing.
When we entered the apartment these students welcomed us in to the party like we were old friends and invited us strangers to join them. After a couple of awkward minutes my friend and I mentioned something about us being there to take look at the apartment as potential tenants. These students immediately said, yeah, sure, look around, no problem, without budging. They didn’t care where we went or what we saw.
My friend and I looked around and then said we would get back to them, to which they again, without budging or shifting even slightly from their little pow wow, responded nonchalantly, sure . . . no problem, take your time . . .
As my friend and I left I commented about how nice it was to see such a non-pressured group of young students, without a care in the world, so at peace and high on life. She looked at me with a funny expression on her face and said, eh, darling, that’s because they probably are high. It’s called pot.