some (raunchy) shabbat table conversations

Many traditional Jews on Friday night, when they sit down for their festive Sabbath meal, have intelligent conversations, discussing the Torah portion of the week, talking about work, singing songs, etc. While we did have festive food in common, I suppose the topic of our conversation this week was very different from other families.

That morning my son called us while we were doing our shopping in Jerusalem to tell us happily that he had a girl over on Thursday night and "there's a condom on my window sill".

I was happy that he was practising safe sex or, for that matter, any sex at all. I was worried because he hadn't been dating for a while. No one. He had brought home some girl right before he was drafted into the army because, as he said, "I don't want to die a virgin." I hadn't seen her since. But I was upset that he wanted his condom to be on display on his window instead of putting it in the trash.

I complained to Hubby.

"The cat is gonna find it and drag it through the house."

"Oh God. She'll probably put it on the dining room table where I make haMotzie (blessing over the Shabbat Challah bread)!!"

Not that we were having guests over, just the recently married kids, and that would put them in fits of laughter.

As we sat down for dinner, my son proudly boasted of his "date" last night to his sister and brother-in-law. The condom was still sitting on the window sill and the cat was smart enough or repulsed enough not to go near it. And then the conversation progressed to more graphic tones. My daughter, whose English leaves a lot to be desired, and whose husband's English is limited to "Hey daddy, how are you" and "Big Ass", told us that when she was a teenager, she knew of girls from religious families who had sex in other ways because they didn't want to lose their "vajournal".

The son and son-in-law continued their conversation in Hebrew - how to do what where and other assorted tidbits, while we laughed and munched through the coleslaw and quinoa salad with kale. And I'm thinking - so what if we don't have the conversations that normal people have around their Shabbat table. As long as there's laughter and good spirit, I think that's all that matters.

Mannerisms

My young friend looked at me aghast as I dipped into her stuffed grape leaves and told her to take some of my chicken salad off my plate.

She had told me that she wasn't used to being spoken to on public transportation. Swedish people are extremely reserved and quiet, yet, she prefered boisterous Israelis. And I had become one of them, calling loudly to our waitress, budding into conversations and sharing food. I wasn't the only one, as 2 other restaurant patrons looked at our food and talked about it with one another.

"In Sweden", she explained, "it's unheard of that people interrupt conversations to add their own 2 cents, they don't talk about other people's food in restaurants, and they certainly don't share food on their plates" she laughed, and her rasta-hair laughed along.

I remember horrifying another Dutch friend as well when she came for a visit in 1998. We were waiting to be served in a bakery, and the line wasn't moving. I wasn't being attended to, so I helped myself to 2 challah breads, while my friend put her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter, and explained that THAT was never done in the Netherlands.

"Well, it's done here. As long as I pay for it, it's fine to walk around the counter and get it yourself."

I seem to be unintentionally shocking nice Europeans these days.

We went over to the Abraham Hostel after our meal. This was the funkiest, coolest hostel around and I had never ventured inside before tonight. The place was vibrant, colorful and full of assorted tourists of all ages and types. We went there because she was planning to write a children's book about Hebron and wanted to tell both the Jewish and Palestinian narratives of this holy and tense city. I know that dual-narrative tours leave every Wednesday from the Abraham Hostel and she might want to book herself a tour. Meanwhile, sitting on the couch in the lobby, I saw Eliyahu, who runs the Jewish leg of the Hebron tour. I introduced the 2 of them and she put out her hand for a friendly handshake, but since he's quite an Orthodox Jewish man, who doesn't touch other women other than his own wife, he simply put his hands together in a Buddhist-type greeting to welcome her. He gave her contacts on the Jewish side of Hebron, since she already had Palestinian contacts in place and told us a story of one tourist he guided, who went to inside Abraham's tomb in Hebron. On the Palestinian side of the tomb, the Moslem worshippers were complaining to the tourist bitterly that the Jews were being loud on purpose while they were trying to pray. When the tourist went over to the Jewish side, he saw that there was a circumcision ceremony going on and thus the reason for the loud whoops of joy accompanied by singing and dancing. Nothing was done to spite the Moslem worshippers. So there you have 2 narratives of people who need to understand one another by just going over to the other side (not possible at the tomb these days) to see what is really going on.

We ended our evening by walking over to the shuk, to show her the new restaurants that had sprouted up since she had last been here a year ago. She ordered us 2 beers, but because of my Jewish genes, I guess, I couldn't down the entire giant glass of brew.

"Sorry, I just can't finish this." I told her, leaving 3/4s of my beer intact.

"That's ok. I'll just take whatever's left," and she took my glass, pouring the entire thing into her glass and for that moment, she stopped being Swedish and became one of us...

Liverpool Legends

I looked at myself in the mirror in the ladies bathroom at the Steinberg Music Center and just stared. My hair was a mess, but it looked good, I had a wonderful flush to my face and my eye makeup was totally smudged.

"We look like we just had sex," my friend remarked. Ahh. So that was the "look" that stared back at me in the mirror.

We had just gone through two hours of Beatle ecstasy with a Beatles cover band from the US called Liverpool Legends, that had flown in especially for Israel's yearly Beatlefest. Nothing else over that weekend seemed appealing but this band, who was managed by George Harrison's 81 year old sister, Louise.



But it was in Holon of all places, and we were wandering around the music center 2 hours before the show began trying to find a restaurant that looked like it wouldn't give you food poisoning. I had ordered a capuccino from a decent looking bakery, only to find that the coffee tasted like water with a bit of coffee flavoring. Feh. I figured I wouldn't have much luck in the food department, as we walked around the working class neighborhood where elderly men were sitting around tables on the sidewalk, playing backgammon.

"I feel like we're in Bulgaria". It did seem like a different country from Jerusalem and altogether different from Tel Aviv, just a few miles north of Holon.

I hardly have time to travel these days, but I needed a bit of adrenaline and Beatle cover bands, especially if they're good, do just the trick.

I looked at the audience in the 600 seater place, and saw that it spanned the generations - little children came with their young parents and people older than myself were there looking ridiculous in their Beatles t-shirts. It's rare to see such a mix of ages at concerts. People were selling all sorts of Beatles-related kitschy stuff. I could do nothing but sigh. I had real Beatles memorabilia years ago, but sold much of it due to money shortages throughout the years.

The show started with the band coming on dressed as early Beatles, in their Beatle suits, c. 1964 and Beatle boots, then the Shea Stadium outfits, then with colorful Sgt. Pepper era duds and ending with the 1968/9 look - George, looking especially George-ish in his 1968 striped red pants. I had seen dozens of photos of that same outfit. They managed to pull off the sound and look magnificently.

We danced in the aisles, ran up to the front and danced and screamed and pretended it was really them and we re-lived each era that we missed because we were simply too young to go to any Beatles concerts in the 60s. I was only 10 in 1966 - the last year the Beatles were on tour.

After it was all over, we came out of the theater and people who were lined up to get into the later show must have seen our "just had sex" look. "How was it"? "Was it worth it?" After taking a look at myself in the mirror, all I could answer them was, "Can't you bloody tell?"

Food War

My friend and I are planning to go to Beatlefest in Holon this Wednesday evening because George Harrison's sister Louise will be there, as well as a Grammy-winning (so I hear) cover band called LiverpoolLegends.

Last night she called me up sounding very agitated,

"I checked and there are NO KOSHER RESTAURANTS IN HOLON." A true lament. But if there are kosher restaurants in Druse villages in the North of Israel, surely there must be a kosher falafel joint in the hood.

I checked under a different App and sure enough, found 34 kosher places, most of which probably sell crappy pizza and burgers with humous and all that. But I actually did find a kosher sushi place with good reviews in the local mall, and I know she'll be relieved when I tell her.

At least I have someone culturally similar to me to dine with. Lately, with my 2 youngest daughters getting married or about to be married, and as a result, all the additions to our family from North Africa and other parts of the Middle East, it has been quite a challenge.

My 3rd daughter married into a Moroccan/Iraqi/Kurdish-Persian family. The father is like Don Corleone. No one argues with him, or complains to him. Or else....

The Sabbath after the wedding we headed over to their house for a celebration - first in the synagogue, and then their home for a big lunch. Hubby and I thought, Hey! We rented a car. We haven't been to Tel Aviv in over a year. Let's finish off the celebration by just the 2 of us heading over to see the sunset over the Mediterranean. We began eating at 11:00. We figured the final course ended by 1:00, we could head off. Mr. Don Corleone sees us and says - "You're not going anywhere! We have Hamin! You have to stay for Hamin!" Do we argue? Of course not. At 2:00 pm, he serves me a plate with a large bone on it. "This you must eat. It's a foot." Shit. Now what do I do? I looked at hubby who just told me to be thankful we weren't being served bulls' testicles.

Next daughter's future in-laws invited us for the last days of Passover. They must have put 35 dishes on the table all at once. Nothing too spicy for us, but I couln't believe the amount of food. The hostess looked at me and said,

"I hear you buy organic vegetables. Hmph. It's too expensive. I go to the market and come back with half the market in my kitchen."

I can certainly see that. We must look pathetic to them with our one dish appetizer, one main course and 2 side dishes. But I was horrified to learn that they abhor left-overs. I saw her about to throw 1/2 a cake in the garbage and I shrieked! She looked at me like I was a homeless beggar lusting after her food.

"You want this?"

"Of course! I don't throw anything out, unless it's over 5 days old"

She shrugged. "If it's not eaten after 1 day, it goes in the garbage."

Hubby and I were horrified.

But there is a good side to all this. My daughter had wanted to live with us for a year after they got married. But just a couple of weeks ago, she said they decided to rent, even though it will be hard for him. And I know exactly why. Her future husband saw me cooking quinoa, tofu dishes and other healthy grains and beans, mostly vegetarian, and I think that scared the living daylights out of him.

The End of the World

I'm worried about so many things lately from two upcoming daughters' weddings, from Hubby being in between jobs and currently on unemployment, to seeing my overdraft rising and rising to worrying about if my son will continue his army service or will he continue stint #4 in military jail.

Friends and relatives are consoling me..."what do you need to worry for, if the world is ending on Friday?"

True. Then I may as well take a suite at the Dan Intercontinental and take my charge card to the limit.

Even meeting my Evangelical Christian speaking-in-tongues friend on the bus yesterday, put me to shame. He has total faith, while I ask him "what will you do when you come back to Israel after being away for 2 months and having given away all your furniture?" - he looks up towards the ceiling of the bus and says "He always provides."

So while I'm checking my lottery ticket waiting for Him to provide, Hubby is trying to console me this morning. Our daughter whom I had nicknamed the Complainer for the longest time, is finally getting married in February. She sulks because we don't have anything to give her towards her wedding and like the good Jewish mother that I am, I feel guilty I never saved anything towards the big day - or any of their big days, for that matter. Would I have given up on twice monthly breakfasts, the annual Film Festival, never buying a danish out so much like many Israeli martyr mothers my daughters always tell me about, who just live for their children and nothing else? I don't think so.

We laughed at the fact that her future father-in-law chose everything for them - and we didn't have much say in anything. He chose the venue, the food, the invites and the music.

"No money, no honey" exclaimed Hubby matter-of-factly.


"All I bought for her wedding is a girdle so I can fit into my borrowed dress!!" I kvetched to Hubby who was ready to listen, for a change.

"And all I am going to buy is a tie!!! What are you worried for, especially if the world is going to end Friday. And if it won't, let's just get her married and out of the house already!!!"

True. The world may not end, but we'll have one less mouth to feed and we'll have more room for us to guest people, couch surf or whatever. So long as they don't complain....

Sirens in Jerusalem

Good thing I read in the papers just the day before that the best shelter from missiles, if you are living on the top two floors of a building is the building's stairwell. I was hoping to have a peaceful Sabbath, enjoying the fact that Hubby was at my married daughter's house for the afternoon, and I was joyfully alone, cooking the Friday night meal for my family who were due to come later. Nobody bugging me. Except for Hamas. While the dusk was setting in, the loud siren went off, and I was wondering if it was a drill or the real thing. Well, most warnings are anywhere between 15 seconds and 1 1/2 minutes, so I didn't have much time to figure out whether it was real or not and settled for the "real". I ran to get my phone, shut off the rice and headed for the staircase. I ran down the stairs to the 5th floor wondering how it would be if a missile headed through my building on the very same floor where I sought refuge. I called up my religious daughter, knowing she doesn't usually answer the phone on the Sabbath, but this was obviously an emergency. No answer. I called my husband. My daughter answered his phone.

"Dad is sticking his head out the window trying to see the missile. He's the only one looking out the window."

Of course he is.

No one was in the stairwell but me, though I could hear people talking nervously just inside their apartments. They seemed to be standing right by their doors. After about 5 minutes I went back into my apartment, relieved I hadn't heard any booms anywhere.

Everyone came in shortly afterwards for dinner, and it was like nothing had happened, except the grandkids were rowdier than usual, perhaps their way of acting out.

After dinner and after the family leaves, I'm reading Facebook posts, knowing more about what's going on from my Palestinian friends than from anyone else and feeling touched by the concern of my Syrian friends. I'm reading posts between people who are against any violence and people who feel Israeli strikes are justified. My eyes are closing, and I'm lying on the couch. I eat M&M's for comfort and wake up Hubby, who is sleeping in my son's room, to come to our bed. I usually never do that.

We're On The Road to Nowhere in the land of 1,000 cups of tea

The place was miles away from any known town or village on the map. The Rashaida live in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Judean desert. I had visited them for a one day trip 3 years before, but this was my first overnight with them (). My friend was having a birthday gathering/party and decided to have a campout with friends at the Bedouin tribe's encampment. Passing Maale Amos, the last remote settlement on the road, groups of kids stood on the road watching our convoy of about 7 cars pass by and waved and smiled. Some got out to photograph groups of camels and one young man excitedly ran over to our car - "Have you ever been to India? THIS is so much like India, the way the kids behave and the view!" His wonderful memories of a faraway exotic land were all coming back to him. I tried to GPS where we were and the only thing I got was a blue pulsing dot in the middle of a grey grid. That blue dot in the middle of nowhere caused so much laughter, the birthday girl passed aruond my iPhone showing the blue dot to everyone in the large tent.

We brought in the Sabbath and found a corner table inside the tent to light the Sabbath candles. Then when it got dark, over the kiddush and challot, we had our Bedouin dinner served to us. The younger Bedouin kids hung around us the entire time - they all looked under 7 years old and were so well-behaved we wonder why people think Bedouin are primitive. Their mothers were probably thrilled to have their kids off their hands. I asked one little girl - she must have been no older than 5 - if she wanted to eat. She waved "no" with her little finger. After we all took food, I saw the little girls take food for themselves. So different from our "civilized" brood who whine when they're hungry and tired. The Bedouin kids were adorable, filthy, but so well-behaved. We marveled at how they lived - and walked around on the stones barefoot as if it were just a regular carpeted area - not having changed clothing the next day. How many days did they wear the same outfit? Their hair was long and crackly dry. The adult men's teeth were all rotted and we thought it must be from the 1,000 cups of extremely sugary tea that they drink all day.

That night the local musicians came over and played oud, rabab and another strange instrument that looked similar but with more strings than a rabab. We took turns singing an assortment of Israeli classical folk songs and what seemed like Bedouin love songs. The friend who drove us there spoke Arabic and went over to the women's tent where the women of that family lived. Muhammad has 2 wives who actually say they get along. They seem to think it not strange at all for a man to have more than one wife. They're also cousins which makes it more familiar for them. They seemed to pity our single friend who lived alone. "They probably think your family rejected you and tossed you out into the big, wide, cruel world," I told her. After all, this doesn't happen in their communities. We were happy to hear that their oldest, a 12th grader, loves school and intends to go to university. In fact, all their kids seem to love school. That struck me more strange than anything. My kids and their friends, couldn't wait to finish their schooling. They certainly didn't love it. They coped with it.

Next day we woke up with the sunrise. We saw the little Bedouin children with their mothers sitting quietly outside their tin shack. Again - quietly. So surprising for me. The goats went out of their pen and Muhammad made some goat-like noises to get them back to where they belong. After a breakfast of fresh piping hot Bedouin pita, tea, coffee and cucumbers and tomatoes (no labane until the Spring, because the goats were pregnant, we were told), we headed out in the direction of the Dead Sea. It was a 4 hour hike, through several mountain ridges, with a different magnificent view every time you made a turn. I was happy to go with Muhammad as a guide because he knows every inch of this place. The view to the Dead Sea was beautiful, and on the way, people stopped off at wells and caves for some singing sessions. Luckily, their 2 jeeps came our way and took us back - a 40 minute roller coaster ride over the mountains.

A beautiful weekend spent in an enchanting place in the land of 1,000 cups of tea, in the middle of nowhere.