Driving my Miss Daisies (around Jerusalem)

This is the first day of my stay-at-home vacation. Things are so expensive in Israel during the summer months - like hotels, etc. that it's best for me to just stay at home (somewhat) and enjoy day trips to wherever the wind blows. Today I had a shopping spree scheduled with Ex-Criminal daughter. My Good Daughter decided to join us. Hubby, as usual, was the designated driver.

Two Palestinian day workers were crossing the street. Hubby wasn't slowing down enough to my liking.

"HEY! YOU DO ~NOT~ WANT TO RUN THEM OVER", I told Hubby and looking at their faces crossing the street quickly, I assumed they had thought perhaps that was Hubby's intention.

He reassured me. "Do you think I want to start an Intifada? Why don't you blog that? 'Hubby Starts the 3rd Intifada', and he cackled away.

We too the Begin Expressway to get to the Daughter's place and the entire route was lined with Orange ribbons (anti-disengagement from Gaza) hanging on every tree along the way. It actually looked quite pretty, even though I haven't succumbed to the Color Wars (with blue being the color of pro-disengagement supporters).

Finally getting to the place, she is let out for 5 glorious hours of shopping with Mom in the burning hot Jerusalem sun. On the way to the center of town she is telling us about her friend's mother who is (in Hebrew) a "balashit" - (a female detective). Hubby laughed and called her a "ball of shit". The Good Daughter, in national service, working in a medical lab, is telling me of her boss from hell, who has befriended one of the co-workers who blow-dries the boss's hair during work hours about 3 times a week. My daughter decided she wasn't too busy herself one day and polished her nails.

"Why do I smell nail polish? Who is polishing their nails during work hours?" bellowed her boss from hell.

She found out the culprit was my daughter. The favored-by-the-boss co-worker has been giving my daughter a very difficult time. It all began when her Hubby came to work and asked her "who is that hot girl?" meaning my daughter. This was too much for miss middle age to take and she has been on an anti-my-daughter rampage since then and never had her husband over to work since that incident.

"I hope she doesn't give me the evil eye." she sounded worried. I tried to help her out by telling her to protect herself by imagining white light all around her like a wall, bouncing back any "evil eyes" that may be hanging around. I read about it once and it made sense. But the way I told it to my daughter, it sounded like I was insane. I didn't care. It's my job to protect her, even if it is the New Age Way.

We had breakfast at this funky place which irritated my Ex-Criminal Daughter. She wanted to sit in the newer and nicer coffee chains for breakfast. Afterwards, we "spree'd" on stuff for her and she was feeling a bit guilty that I wasn't buying anything for myself. It's about time the damn kids feel guilty. I felt good that she felt that way, although I assured her it's natural for kids to be first and moms to get their stuff last (if there is any money left over). We took a cab back as Hubby and Good Daughter went back to their jobs. The cab driver was chatting me up - not in a bad way. He said I looked young to have a 15 1/2 year old daughter. And he called me "honey" and gave me his cell number to call him when I needed to return back to the center of Jerusalem. We got out of the cab.

"If you call him, I'm never speaking to you again" my daughter said to me.

"Huh? What did he say?"

"Didn't you hear how he was taking to you? Calling you 'honey' telling you how young you looked. If you get into that car, he'll rape you."

I thought she was taking this a bit out of proportion. The worst that could have happened here was the guy asking me out for coffee, which I would have refused. But she had all her alarms on.

I had a short discussion ahead with the Daughter's social worker. I sat there, explaining for the thousandth time what our family was like, what her sisters and brothers are like, etc. The social worker explained that this place had the toughest kids in Israel. She didn't quite understand what my daughter was doing here and why the judge ordered her to come here. Neither did I.

"Did she hang around with Arabs" the social worker asked.

I was quite taken aback and a bit insulted by the question. I knew what she was getting at but I wanted her equally as taken aback.

"I hang out with Arabs a lot more" I told her. Her eyebrows were raised p-r-e-t-t-y high. I explained that I work in Interfaith for peace, etc. She seemed more relaxed afterwards. I was more annoyed that a couple of years previously when she was 14, she had been hanging around Jewish Israeli guys in their twenties. That made me more nervous than her hanging with Arab kids her own age who happened to be in her class - when she was in school, whom I even invited to our home. She continued on to wonder what my daughter was doing in a place where some of the girls were abandoned by their parents, forced into prostitution, used hard drugs and were basically self-destructive.

"I don't know. She had a couple of "files" for stealing and graffiti writing in public places and other assorted minor stuff. But it wasn't a disaster. She frightened me more when she was 13 and hitchhiking all over Israel. Why don't you ask the judge why he ok'd the recommendation that she come here? Why don't you ask the system? I don't know how anything works around here? Why don't you read her files and make a normal recommendation?" I asked her.

Sitting in that room with the social worker, in that school of hard knocks, made my family life seem really very normal indeed and I was grateful that my daughter didn't have to go through any of the things these other poor girls had.