jerusalem wanderings

Friends in a Vegan World

2012-01-27T15:54:00.001+02:00

I was cleaning my bag out yesterday, at a Jerusalem vegetarian/vegan club, careful that no one should see the recipes I had printed out for chicken lo mein with ginger and a variety of other prohibited dishes. My friend whispered to me, while looking at someone wearing a t-shirt with a picture of an angry cow that read 'I'll eat YOU fucker!' - "watch it, they're fascist vegetarians". None of us really knew what the word "fascist" meant, even though she's got a Masters and we laughed about it. We just know it's mostly used to describe people/regimes that hate/are intolerant. One day I'll look the word up in a dictionary.

But the Jerusalem Veggie Society is situated somehow in a luxurious neighborhood, across from the prime minister's house, and I wondered how on earth did this Society afford such digs? While we waited for what my friend called our zen (vegan) pizzas "one with everything", I cried bitterly on her shoulder and laughed hysterically at her "zen pizza" request.

I cried because Hubby lost his job 3 weeks ago and I'm nervous as hell as to how to pay our bills and eat, plus my son is avoiding the army, even though it'll give him the discipline he so desperately needs. I bemoaned the fact that I had bought him a Galaxy II phone and am paying for it dearly, but it was on condition that he serve in the army, which I thought he would do in August. Plus I think he's becoming a gambling addict and this really, really worries me. What little money he makes from waitering he runs to the local shop and buys soccer Toto tickets.

My friend and I find a big airy quiet room where I can cry to her, laugh, and we speak in lines from various Beatle movies, as we have done since we were both 14 years old. It's so comforting to act the same way you did when you were 14 and didn't have such adult worries on your head.

Someone comes into our room and sits down by the big piano and plays Dylan and Leonard Cohen. The chai tea, the surprisingly good vegan food and the quiet guests milling around and sitting on bean bags soothe me. It almost made me want to trash those darn meat recipes hidden deep in my bag.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Peace in the Middle East - in 15 minutes

2011-11-21T09:23:00.000+02:00

Traveling to Jerusalem from Ma'ale Adumim can be a test of patience as a 15 minute trip can turn into 45 minutes with traffic. However we do have an express lane for busses and for cars with 3 or more passengers. This morning, someone who wanted to travel the express lane, offered me a lift. I've taken rides with him before.

As we drove along the highway, we watched as several young Arab teenagers crossed the highway and made their way through the fence up to an Arab village.

My driver muttered - "future terrorists".

I looked at him. "They're young Bedouins. How can you say that? What if they're not."

"They're all future terrorists."

"Why do you think that?"

I thought let me try to listen to him, rather than me lecture him for being small-minded. And that's when the conversation took a turn for the unexpected.

"Because of how we treat them."

"Go on."

"If you were in their shoes, and every day you had to go through checkpoints and have 19 year old soldiers humiliate you and tell you to put your hands up against the wall, you'd want to strap explosives to your body as well."

"I haven't seen that in quite some time. Not since the Intifada."

"Go to checkpoint 300. Have you seen these checkpoints? This goes on every day."

"What would be your solution?"

Now this is not me talking, remember. I'm just asking the questions.

"I'd get rid of the checkpoints and fences and walls. All of them. Everyone should have Blue ID cards (Israeli IDs) and get rid of the inequality. Why give everyone a hard time with permits and checkpoints. It's common sense that people who want to work aren't going to commit terror acts. They should just let them go without hassling them.

Then if anyone, and I mean anyone, commits a terrorist act because of race, religion - whether that person is a Muslim, Jew, Christian or jackass - we should forcibly move the terrorist's relatives, all their relatives - to a special place in the Negev and let them all rot. Then you will see how there won't be one single terrorist attack. No one would be giving out sweets, that's for sure."

Empty Nest

2011-11-18T18:06:00.000+02:00

"Anyone have a basketball?" asked Hubby by the bus stop where this really tall woman stood in front of him. He never ceases to embarrass me in public. I was praying she didn't understand English. I'll have to do an awful lot of praying because it seems to be just the two of us around the house lately.

With the older two married, the third working 6 days a week and around the clock, the 4th daughter working in Salt Lake City, Utah and my son in army jail, it sure is pretty quiet around here. We have nothing to argue about. We're like these quiet old couples who just watch the sunset and walk up and down the block.

My serenity was spoiled this afternoon when I put on some Beatles music and the remaining daughter at home yelled at me to "turn the music down." Huh? Since when are we switching roles?

I celebrated our first Sabbath in a quiet home with just the three of us by ordering take away Chinese - advertised as a Shabbat special for about $35 - happy that I didn't have to cook this weekend. I had so much time on my hands, no one bugging me to get them this and that and borrowing money from me and the general torture kids put their parents through. Nothing.

I worried a bit about my daughter who is deep in Mormon country who had never travelled before in her life. She landed in New York a few days ago en route to Salt Lake City and was enthralled with the Big Apple - even though it was just JFK airport.

"Who is JFK?" she asked me. They don't learn American History here and I gave her a crash course in 1960s American history right then and there on the way to the airport this past Monday.

She loved the friendly and helpful people she met during her 5 hour stopover at JFK which seemed to reflect the general excitement of the city. She messaged me on Facebook in perfectly spelled English. I knew she had managed to cajole someone into writing the message for her. Her English spelling is absolutely atrocious and goes something like - "Hai mami, hoo ar yoo?"

This daughter is the partying type, which is another reason why I'm antsy about the fact that she's in Salt Lake. Mormons don't even drink coffee, so how is she going to feed her restless soul? I googled Festivals in Utah and got the following info which frightened me even more.

"In the fall, get lost and find your way out of a giant corn maze, cheer on pig races, and then shoot corn cannons and pumpkin blasters at the Cornbelly's Corn Maze and Pumpkin Fest at Thanksgiving Point."

I'm wondering how will she survive?

Jailhouse Rock

2011-11-17T20:39:00.001+02:00

"We're going to jail" said Hubby to the kid sitting next to him on the bus, who smiled as one would when you're sitting next to someone you think is crazy. We were actually going on what I've been calling "an adventure" to visit my son in military jail. He turned himself in last week, good boy that he is, and he was utterly despondent at withdrawal from Facebook, Cola, sugar, Samsung Galaxy phones, and his computer. Plus he called me on Friday night, nearly in tears because his Sabbath food was absolute shit. What does he expect? He's in prison.

In order for us to visit him, there's this procedure where you have to pick up this permit slip, with your ID #, allowing you access to visit the jail. I applied two days before the visit to ensure that we will be able to get a permit. The young woman assured me it will be faxed to my office before 10 am the day of the visit so that I'll have ample time to get there.

"Can't you email it to me?"

"We don't have email"

How primitive.

Then the day before the visit, my son calls to tell me he's moving to a jail further north. Way north,near Haifa. Fantastic. Now I have to do this bureaucratic crap all over again and make a new request for a permit. Somehow at that moment, I felt very Palestinian, waiting for details on my permit to be able to enter some place in Israel and not knowing if it will come at all. Looking at the bus schedule, I calculate it will take us 5 hours and 3 buses to get there. We'd never make it by 1:00, our designated visiting time. I had to think fast and knew that the only way to do this was to rent a car. This was gonna be an expensive day out. I get to my work and there's no fax. No permit. I'm livid. It's a 2 1/2 hour drive and I have only 1/2 hour before I need to get on the road. The military office in Jerusalem is not answering the phones.

"They're probably just sitting there drinking coffee while the phone's ringing" said one of my co-workers.

I get to the office and storm upstairs to get my permit.

"You were supposed to have this permit faxed before 10 am to my office. I'm supposed to visit my son today!!!"

"There's no visiting hours today." said the girl.

"What??"

"Only Mondays and Wednesdays"

It was Wednesday and this idiot hadn't a clue what day it was. After convincing her that it is indeed Wednesday she ran to get the thing stamped and off we went, while another person in another office called me on my cell to ask me where to fax the permit. "Sweetie, you're late with faxing and we're on our way."

"But you can't get in without the fax!"

"Exactly. Which is why I didn't wait for you. I went straight to the head office."

By this time, all this bureaucracy was making me dizzy and nauseous.

We drive in the pouring rain and when I say pouring it's like a monsoon, without the strong wind, for a good half an hour and the highway is flooded in a few places. We drive real slow. I'm thrilled that Hubby is a good driver and can get through this. We see a lightning bolt hit a power line and we both jump.

We get to the jail 1/2 hour before 1:00 but it's 1:20 before they let us in and only because some giant gorilla of a man, one inmate's dad, banged hard on the metal door and yelled "HEY!!!! THERE ARE PEOPLE WAITING HERE TO GET IN. WHAT'S GOING ON???" and you'd think with him banging and screaming like that, they'd purposely make us wait more. But I guess force works and in a minute the door opened for us. There was a Druze woman who was visiting her son who didn't want to serve in the IDF at all. She said her other sons did but he, the youngest, didn't want to. After 7 years of being AWOL, they finally picked him up and carted him off to jail. Seven years!!!

We hug our son, who is growing a beard because they took away his electric shaver. We hug him some more and feel sorry for him, but he seems happy. He likes his new jail.

"I know so many people here, my good friend is here and the food is much better than the other jail. I had 4 plates of pasta for lunch! My tent is heated too."

They wake him up at 4:30 in the morning for roll call and he goes to bed by 8:00 pm. Far cry from the all nighters on his computer.

We gave him two chocolate bars, the fancy ones he wanted with the rice and M&M's. That's all he asked us for. Other people came with bagfuls of junk food and home-cooked meals, and it's like a family picnic during a holiday when the parks are full. After 45 minutes an officer tells him visiting time is up. They are strict with time.

Everything we spoke about, he was like "no problem". "No problem this" and "no problem" that. We kind of like this new obedient child of ours.

The Good and Bad of Praying

2011-10-20T09:24:00.007+02:00

Well I can see that God doesn't want me to pray that much to him. I got ill on Rosh Hashana and wanted to pray for Gilad Shalit's release in synagogue. I even had a special prayer printed out on a large piece of paper and the person leading the service asked me to read the prayer. But I couldn't go after all that preparation and the piece of paper just hung out in my kitchen along with the other "to do" things, in a pile. And thankfully, despite my not having prayed for his release, he was released anyways.

Now there's Sukkot. I had gone to see Israeli heavy metal band Orphaned Land in Tel Aviv and we were one of the very few over 50s there. We waited in line with all these teens wearing black Metallica and Marilyn Manson t-shirts and they looked at us as if we were parental spies. Then we just talked to them and I think they were actually thrilled that someone of our age would listen to them at all, never mind sharing a love of the same music. Some of these kids flew in from Switzerland and Germany, where this band has a huge following and plays metal festivals in front of 100,000 fans. I especially love the band's ethos, which is to get Arabs (from many different countries) and Israelis/Jews together through their music with the way they combine religious texts/music into their songs. Who said heavy metal is all about war, blood and destruction? And to top it all off, their lead singer looks like a tattooed Jesus. In fact, one teenage fan from Europe said if Kobi was Jesus, he'd go to church.

I was surprised that standing in the front, people were friendly, that I wasn't crushed, that people wouldn't kill me (as I feared from going to a metal concert)and I even sensed a spiritual energy from the audience to the band and vice versa. Their music is metal, but has a Middle Eastern element in it, and as they explained in a video shown right before their show, they used to sit in synagogues filled with Iraqi and Libyan old men and listen to their liturgy which would the get incorporated into their music. I laughed as I pictured these long-haired tattooed men, sitting in shul with these elderly men, who probably didn't know what hit them. That's why I'm so intrigued. One fan said he had come from Germany and would never have stepped foot in Israel if it weren't for them, and was astounded at how warm, friendly and open Israelis are. "They even invited me to stay over their homes and they are total strangers!" But our age showed as after the show, I didn't stick around for the "meet and greet" the band had with their fans and as it was, we got home at 4:00 am, even after our own children trudged in with their partying.

The next morning my daughter and I were having our coffee together and she told me how much she loved her boyfriend.

She said, "He told me that he hadn't had dated seriously in years and that for a year and a half, all he did was pray that he'd find the right one."

And I looked at my daughter, the one who usually complains about everything, and laughed until I was hoarse and I thought, - oh dear. This poor guy prays to God for a year and a half and this is what he gets? Oy vey. But he does seem to believe that God has answered his prayers and that's all that matters.

More Highs on the Holidays

2011-10-15T09:13:00.001+02:00

Yom Kippur went better than expected. My kids were asking me all sorts of questions - like my still AWOL son asking me -

"Mom, what will happen if I break the fast?"

"Nothing really. You just won't feel quite part of the community at large if you do, but you'll feel really good if you don't break your fast. Like you'll have this amazing 'yay! I did it' moment."

My growling Hubby was continously reminding me of one sin in particular that I do (going to Arab homes/restaurants to eat their "halal" meat), so I left him at home to seethe with my sins in mind, while I went to synagogue for Kol Nidre services. I hadn't gone seriously to synagogue for Yom Kippur in years because I can't follow the Kurdish, Yemenite, Moroccan, Iraqi, Syrian services that are all over the place in my neighborhood, plus the familiar Ashkenazi one is too dry with all those perfect "real housewives of Maaleh Adumim". I don't fit in. Period. But a Conservative congregation just sprung up over the past year and they were really trying to make a go of it in this mostly Orthodox-ruled enclave. Afraid that it was going to be just a ho-hum service, I was happily surprised. For one, they began with three people, each doing a different version of Kol Nidre. The energy was good, inclusive and happy. They mixed in a bit of Sephardic (middle-eastern) melodic liturgy which I was thrilled to sing along to and was able to easily follow. It felt like family. After all, isn't this exactly what my family has become with my daughters all marrying/dating into Sephardic families from Tunisia, Turkey, Spain and Morocco? So I really felt a kinship with the service and with the congregants who were also a mixture of Jews from all over the place, albeit without any Ethiopians. The next day I attended the "Neila" closing service, which was led beautifully by an Orthodox woman who was open-minded enough to do the service in front of a mixed-seated crowd (Conservative congregations have mixed gender seating, as opposed to Orthodox, which separate men and women during services). People brought cakes, fruit and soft drinks to break their fast and it was lovely to mingle afterwards with this very friendly new-found community. I brought in the Muslim Ramadan custom of breaking the fast with a date and water and explained this custom to a few people.

Sukkot is probably my favorite holiday because I get off from work, and there are no restrictions on what you can eat, like there is on Passover. Having all meals in the sukkah with my kids and their friends smoking nargilahs in the sukkah make it very enjoyable.

On the first day, I trotted off to Tel Aviv rather early in mid-afternoon. I wanted to see the sunset over the port, which is always breathtaking and I knew that people would be in the holiday spirit (i.e.it would be crowded everywhere). We caught the last bit of sunset over the boardwalk

and wandered over to the indoor food market

where there were a few unique restaurants and sat ourselves down to the tapas bar and had a couple of dishes.

Grilled okra with zucchini and eggplant on the bottom

Even though I don't eat seafood, the grilled calamari that the man sitting next to me ordered looked so incredibly delicious, I felt like grabbing it off his plate, when he wasn't looking...just to taste...but I did control myself. I did.

Walking around the port several times, we revelled in the hustle and bustle of the happy holiday spirit that was all over the place before heading over to Reading 3 for a concert (to be continued...).

Pre Yom Kippur Reflections

2011-10-07T11:27:00.000+02:00

Tonight is Yom Kippur. I should be reflecting on past wrongs, apologizing to people, my family, strangers I accidentally knock over on buses, etc. I'm astounded at people at work these past few days, with whom I only have a minor working relationship, who tell me at the end of their conversations "I'm sorry if I did anything wrong to you". Honey, all I call you for is to ask you about various meetings. It's nothing personal. But these people are apologizing to me left and right.

I was in a foul mood yesterday, thinking I don't even want to fast, I don't want to pray, nothing. Of course, I'll still fast and I might even pray a little bit, but I'm still a little ticked off at God who I blamed for my stomach flu on the second day of Rosh Hashana. I had made arrangements to go into Jerusalem to go to services at my Jewish renewal congregation and had been looking forward to it for weeks. But obviously He didn't want to hear any of my prayers, so there. I'm also working 12 hour days to pay off government tax debt that our wonderful Israeli government heaped on Hubby for the time he was in business and I blamed God for putting this bureaucracy in place where they run after the regular guy with no mercy whatsoever and tax middle income earners to the high heavens. Perhaps that's where those bureaucrats should actually go?

Hubby has been acting like a troll of late as well and it hasn't been easy. Today, as I filled out the form for the special kapparot ceremony of sending this money to charity instead of us all dying for our sins, I thought about leaving out my husband's name on the form, but I would have felt so guilty if he would have indeed croaked this year. We used to do this ceremony as it is originally done with live chickens swinging over our heads, while praying that they will go to their deaths and not us - but I didn't think it was too humane to do this anymore to these animals. They are always so frightened during this ceremony, squawking like mad, as if they understand the Hebrew prayer sentencing them to death instead of the humans.

And I didn't feel so alone in my foul mood at the local mall, where the lines were huge at the newspaper/bookstore. People were buying books as if they'll be locked indoors for months and the line was excruciatingly long. Everyone was complaining - especially after someone was asked for her ID after buying hundreds of shekels of books and she was insulted - "the people who worked here previously never asked for my ID!". "But we don't know who you are..." said the saleswomen, prompting everyone on line to yell at these people - both customer and saleswoman - to get to know each other some other time in the week, not today, when the fast begins at 4:38.

Another gripe of mine. The religious authorities made Daylight Savings one hour earlier last week so the fast should begin early and end early. But I don't want to fucking start a fast at 4:38. By 9:00 at night I'll be starving!!!! Why couldn't they just let things be? I wouldn't have to eat the pre-fast dinner at 3:30 in the afternoon, but at a more normal time of 4:30 in the afternoon if the fast would have begun at 5:30 pm. What is so wrong with that!!??

But I'll be happy when it's all over and we're all munching on bagels and cream cheese to break our fast. If I feel energetic enough, I'll even make cauliflower soup. But maybe I'm too hard on God. Maybe I ought to do some apologizing. After all, He's got a lot of fixing to do in this world.....

AWOL and other stuff going on in my house

2011-09-10T10:37:00.002+03:00

My son is AWOL. He is supposed to be in the army, but wanted to be in a certain unit, which they didn't give him and he just walked out. Just like that. He will eventually go to jail for this, of course not the regular criminal jail, but rather an army jail, which also is a rite of passage for many a belligerent young person. It began on the day when he was recruited and they gave him dark black boots instead of the orange boots of the fighting units.

"What am I, a job-nik?" he yelled at the young guy distributing the uniforms. He wants a macho job. He doesn't want to fix tank tires or work with dangerous chemicals.

So three days later they tell him to go to the Army Police Unit - the unit that mans the checkpoints. But he doesn't want to stand 8 hours a day at a checkpoint for the next three years. They said to him one late afternoon "go there now or else". It took him three hours to get there by bus and continuous phone calls to me and my daughter and son-in-law every half hour, as to how to do this alone by train and bus. He's not a traveler and adventurer like his mother. Stubborn like his dad, yes. When he got there at 9:00 in the evening, there was only a guard at the gate who said it was too late, there was no one in the office and he should come back the next morning. By that time, he was like "fuck it" and then went back the next day to the main base to tell them what assholes they were, but no one would listen to him. They told him his name is no longer in their computer. Nevertheless, he still showed up at the main base a couple of times after that, asking for a chance to speak with an officer. If they were smart, they could have thrown him in jail right then and there. It's like a tease - neh, neh, I'm heeere! - but they ignored him completely.

So now he's home waiting to be picked up and dragged off to jail. They won't jail him for too long. It'll be anywhere from 2 days to a month. And then people have told him that after all that, he'll get what he wants. It's like an endurance thing. No one can figure it out, but that's what it seems to be.

The my eldest daughter is planning on leaving Israel this year, taking my grandkids with her to go to the Golden Country of the US of A, to live in New York State, where good deodorants cost a dollar. We all tell her while that may be true of deodorants, if she wants to send her kids to Jewish schools, "that" will cost her tens of thousands of dollars a year, plus she won't have her mother around the corner babysitting every week.

Hubby was nonchalant about the whole thing - "Just let her go. Don't make her feel bad about going. Let her try it out and see for herself. You won't have to babysit all the time and besides, we'll have more time to fuck."

Selfish old coot. Like we need more time for that??!

But I have to hand it to him. Last night we had 13 people over for Shabbat dinner, and he not only showed up at the table, but set it and dusted the entire apartment. I had 3 non-Jewish guests for dinner who got my name off some mysterious PDF file as "Shabbat hospitality in the Holy Land". The first time I got wind of this was when I got an email that 11 priests were coming to Israel and were interested in staying at my place and how much would this cost. I don't have proper accommodations for sleepovers and can only fit in 4 extra people besides the family for Friday night meals, but my friend at work told me to "just put them in the room with your husband".

So now my kids think that every non-Jewish guest that comes round is a priest of some sort. But these guests were just regular evangelist Christian tourists and actually thought that the service I invited them to at Nava Tehilla was a kind of Pentecostal Jewish Service because of the emotion they saw while praying. I took that as a big compliment. I kind of feel amused that I would be on any list because my family is so dysfunctional, but that maybe spending a Friday night with my family could be quite amusing for tourists. But my good family acted completely normal yesterday. I was so proud of them.

soldier boy

2011-08-13T20:39:00.000+03:00

It's Saturday afternoon and I've had a much needed afternoon nap. I've been off work for 3 days now on our two weeks forced August vacation and am happy that I have so much vacation time, but there is nowhere to go but go local in this heat and in this economy. Vacationing in Israel is expensive and crowded during August and flying anywhere during the world's vacation month will be crowded, expensive and annoying. I'm an off-season person anyway. My first day off work I went semi-wild buying various boutique undergarments and the next evening went to Jaffa's flea market for their Thursday evening fair with stalls open, and artists and music in the streets. Hubby was too tired to join me and I was grateful a friend took me up on the offer. We ate a meal at Regina's at the Tachana - the old Ottoman train station buildings now revamped into restaurants and expensive boutiques - for a delicious meal beforehand.

And this past week saw a major rite of passage for my boy. At 19 he was finally inducted into the army. He didn't want the particular unit the army wanted him in and he held his ground and stayed in this horrific-sounding place called "the vacuum" - where recruits gather and from there go into their various units. He's on the phone constantly with my friends who know the system and my husband's workers who have just gotten out of the army and who also know the system. They are telling him not to get into uniform because if he disobeys orders - like going to the unit where they want him to go and where he doesn't want to go - he'll go to army jail. So he stayed in the "vacuum" not in uniform so they couldn't arrest him. I was surprised at his stubbornness to get what he wants, but then I'm like that too, aren't I? I just wish the world was such that we didn't need to have an army and had beforehand given him the speech that he is only in the army to defend our country against those elements trying to destroy it - like terrorists, Hezbollah, Al Qaida or any other retarded group. He knows that regular Palestinians are human beings who just want to go on with their lives and earn a living and are not our enemy and I hope he will continue to believe this. I still dream that we will be a confederation with Palestinians and that they will join the army too to become the PIDF (Palestinian/Israeli Defense Forces).

The entire family jokes around the night before his induction. He reads an hysterical blog from a soldier about the first few days in the army - especially the public showers with no privacy whatsoever. The blog says "don't be ashamed to show your small package to everyone - there'll be all sorts there, big ones, little ones, red hair, pimply, ones with beauty marks and don't stare at anyone or they'll think you're gay.."

"Don't drop the soap" his sisters warned. I then showed him the proper way to bend down to pick up his soap by bending the knees only and covering your ass with your hand - which left everyone in hysterics.

He watches videos of the different units and chooses the ones he wants to be in.

"It looks just like in the movies, doesn't it?" he tells me.

Yeah, but unfortunately, this is real life and real war is not fun to watch and to participate in. I hope there are no future wars with our neighbors, and he can just have the special camaraderie with his unit buddies - something everyone knows goes along with this army service - and it is something he craves badly.

He finally puts on his uniform to go back to his home for the weekend and I admire how handsome and how much older he looks.

Paul Simon in Israel

2011-07-26T19:18:00.000+03:00

I had to get away from all this horrid male energy. It was like every male in my family thought they were right ranging from my 4 year old grandson who was screaming in the elevator and we're like "Why are you screaming?". He tells us, "I'm not screening!!!" surprised at our accusation, to hubby who was sitting comfortably in his chair on Friday night, while we were all sweating profusely. The air conditioner was on at its lowest setting and blowing warm air out. We're all telling him it's not working and he's sitting there looking like the man from the Mr. Clean bottle, with his hands across his chest, telling us that it's fine, it's working and there's nothing wrong with it. It's just that we're on the top floor and that's why it's spewing warm air. I didn't buy that ruse and told him I'll get a professional to look at it myself. He is totally insulted at the audacity of thinking that he might be wrong and leaves the table.

No better place to flee to, than a concert from an American superstar in Tel Aviv. I'm about to go to see Paul Simon concert in Tel Aviv's Yarkon Park. The hot sauna weather in Tel Aviv doesn't bother me anymore. My friend from New York tells me she met him once in the 70s and he was rude. I listened to his latest album and I felt that he was more spiritual these days. I tell my friend that many were obnoxious when they were younger, especially in the 70s, but that he must have mellowed out with age. Surely he can't be like the men in my family.

I get on the bus to Tel Aviv from Jerusalem and get to the train station in Tel Aviv - the quickest way to the stadium. I'm wiping gum off my ass that someone left on the bus seat and I hadn't noticed when I first sat down, as I'm running to catch a train the ticket woman says is leaving in two minutes. I sought refuge in the beautiful Ayalon Mall right next to the stadium. I never knew this mall existed and I discovered it was an air-conditioned haven for most of the concert goers who did not want to sit out in the heat an hour before the concert started.

My friend, with whom I bought the tickets, had just landed from a trip to the US, 2 1/2 hours before the concert began and had one of her kids drive her to the stadium straight from the airport. Half hour before the show, we ventured bravely out into the Tel Aviv humidity and went to our spots. We found that though we bought the cheapest seats, we weren't too far from the stage because the stage was situated in the middle of the stadium rather than the far end. We splurged for expensive beers. Though the heat is unbearable no one is allowed into the stadium with water. Strange and horrible rule, but the cold beer did the trick.

"Do you want to hear the setlist?" I asked my friend.

"You have the setlist? No, I don't want to hear it. It's like knowing what you're gonna have before you give birth."

Once Paul came on with his band - I think he won the audience over immediately. The band was terrific and he was in tip top shape. I was surprised that he doesn't sound any older than he did 40 years ago, the way other singers do. Even Paul McCartney can't reach those high notes any longer. Paul Simon launched into Slip Sliding Away in the middle of the set.

"This is sorta like Hatikva, isn't it?" my friend noted. I nodded. Sort of. An iconic song it was, but once he came back for his encore and began with a beautiful solo of Sounds of Silence, I said to my friend - "Now THAT's Hatikva!!" If the crowd was polite and laid back until now, they were really getting into his renditions of that and Here Comes the Sun, which he sang as if it were his own song. When he sang You Can Call Me Al, it seemed as if everyone in the stadium got up to sing and dance. The Boxer was the last song and he sang it as a prayer for peace in our region addressing us with a Shalom Aleichem and Salaam Aleikum. He seemed grateful for the show of appreciation from the audience and I must say, it was one of the most enjoyable concerts I've ever gone to.

In the Tent of Sarah and Hagar

2011-07-19T16:01:00.001+03:00

I know where I'm most comfortable and that is being a nowhere woman. I don't feel comfortable in anti-Arab right wing political groups and I don't feel comfortable in anti-occupation left wing groups. I don't feel comfortable in anything that smacks of "anti".  I'm anti anti. So whenever an opportunity arises for an event that brings people together without the anger and the politics, I'm usually there.

Yesterday I travelled with the Jerusalem Peacemakers to Fareidis, an Arab village across from the picturesque Jewish town of Zichron Yaakov. I saw on the Facebook event that only 5 people responded and thought - well, won't this be an intimate gathering. I left work 1/2 hour early and there were about 5 or 6 people on the bus. I'm like - okay, let's go then. But after 10 minutes the bus filled up with Orthodox and secular Jews, Arabs from Hebron and Beit Ummar - some who brought their families, and Christian sponsors with their families. People I didn't think knew about this event, knew about this event and I was so happy to see them. On the way, I spoke with Taleb, my "brother" from Idna, near Hebron.  He was so excited about the past weekend he spent with 25 Israeli and 25 Palestinian teachers, all wanting to take the "hate" and the non-recognition of the other, out of their curriculums. That put me in a good mood, despite stopping at the "express" coffee shop at the rest stop where they robbed me of my hard earned money by charging me a fortune for a small bottle of water and a tiny square of nash.

We went up the mountain to Ibtisam's home where the view was spectacular and the air heavy with light humidity, us mountain people living in Jerusalem and Hebron are not used to any humidity. There were dozens more people who met us there so our numbers swelled to about 80 people. The speeches made by Rabbis, Imams, Sheikhs and Pastors were uplifting and they blessed the newly coronated Tent of Sarah and Hagar, where I heard that since the Jewish temples were destroyed by baseless hatred, here we will have baseless love. We will love just for the sake of loving. And that the there is an illusion in our country that we are not one family, when in fact, the Children of Abraham - Arabs and Jews in particular - are indeed one family.  And laughing together, talking together, eating together, sweating together and making new friends - I definitely felt it that night.

Film Festival

2011-07-16T11:14:00.000+03:00

The summer heat is on and I am back at the annual Jerusalem Film Festival. It's not Cannes, but for Israel it's the closest thing. I'm sitting at the Cinemateque having a bulgarit cheese sandwich with pesto and basil at the kiosk inside and am watching cameramen and photographers chase people I don't recognize. I don't care that I don't recognize local celebs. I'm more interested in watching the elegantly dressed people. It's a fashion show here and a joy for a people-watcher like myself.

I didn't buy as many tickets as I did last year. I'm on a tighter budget this year. I took my son to the opening film Super 8, at the beautiful open-air Sultan's Pool, getting us free tickets by asking people at the gate if they had any extra tickets. Usually many complimentary tickets are given out to groups, like the police force, and not everyone goes. My son was highly embarrassed watching me grovel for tickets and moved several meters away from me as I did my thing. He gave me a dirty look from where he was sitting and called me on my cell.

"I'm leaving soon. You are embarrassing me!"

"Stick around son. I've been doing this for years. It takes me about 1/2 an hour, but I always get tickets."

He hung up on me and sure enough, a few minutes later, I got us two free tickets.

I phoned him back.

"Happy? The guy doesn't even know us, so what is there to be embarrassed about?" I told my boy, as he didn't want to go in at the same time as our benefactor.

I appeased him by buying him stir fried noodles at the food stands inside. There was free popcorn too. As last year, they cut down on the pre-screening entertainment - no bands, no singers, no fireworks, just speeches for an hour. I warned my son about this. I had to, or he wouldn't wait for the movie to begin.   I enjoyed the Spielberg-produced movie about youngsters filming a train crash and the action/suspense resulting from it and I think my son did so too, although he would have preferred to watch Scream 10 on the giant screen.

Saturday I hitched into Jerusalem for my traditional day at the film festival and saw Sing Your Song about the life of Harry Belafonte. The woman sitting next to me apologized to me in case she happens to sing along to his tunes off-key.

Now Harry B. has got to be the handsomest 84 year old man I have ever seen in my life! Not only that, but I never knew what a wonderful civil rights activist he was until now and what a guy. The early documentary footage was excellent. How scandalous it was with him holding hands with white women in the 50s and 60s.

I remember when living in Toronto that we had invited his niece who was a "Belfont" who was an Orthodox Jew (I guess his brother converted to Judaism) to our home for Shabbat lunch or dinner which ended when she and her friend called my husband an "asshole" and walked out of our home. So I was curious to know more about Harry. After the film an older woman remarked to a guy selling subscriptions to the financial paper, theMarker, what a wonderful movie it was. As if he gave a fuck. He just wants to sell his papers. I did find the film inspiring and I told her so.  She looks at me, a stranger talking to her, as if I'm the crazy one..

Then I saw a film - If Not Us, Who? - an interesting German film about the early life of the German terrorists from the Baader-Meinhoff gang, focusing on Baader in the latter part of the film.

The third film Archipelago, was a tiring, boring British film. One of my friends enjoyed it, the others, including me, thought it was torture to sit through.  "You don't understand the British" my friend who liked the film told me...."they're like this." Not my British friends. They're more the Monty Python or rocker types.

I saw Blagues a Part - a French filmmaker wanders throughout Palestine looking for Palestinian humor.  Also an enjoyable documentary.

The last film I saw was The Way Back. I thought it was excellent, beautifully filmed - about escaped prisoners from Siberia making their way through Siberia, to Mongolia, through the Gobi desert, to China, to Tibet towards India. A must-see for history/travel buffs.

crossing the lines

2011-06-04T12:04:00.000+03:00

"Ooh la la!!! What have you done?" said the young French guy behind the counter at the breakfast buffet. I looked at him, not knowing what horrors he saw on my plate. He explained.

"You put your croissant on the same plate as your salads and other food."

"But you only gave me one plate!"

He thought I'd come back for the croissant and muffins after my breakfast and was absolutely horrified that I mushed the desserts and food all together on my plate. I felt so .....American, so un-European, so uncultured at that moment, that I actually thought about buying Ines de la Frassange's book, "La Parisienne" so I won't do any more faux pas.

I had obviously crossed the line without knowing it. But this week was a week's worth of line-crossing.

The week began with a staff trip from my workplace to Jaffa's center for the blind and deaf called "Na Laga'at", which means - "Please Touch" (http://www.nalagaat.org.il/home.php). We were served breakfast at this beautiful loft-like place off the port of Jaffa. The waiters were all deaf and we managed to "sign" how we wanted our coffee as well as sign "thank you". The food was excellent. After breakfast, there was going to be a clay workshop led by blind staff in total darkness. Most of us were terrified (including myself) to be in total darkness. But as we were led into the darkness by one handsome young man who was totally blind (shame he couldn't see how handsome he was), he told us to put our hands on the person's shoulder in front of us and make a train towards our seats. I heard one person panic and ask to be let out of the room, but the fact that I was with friends, and that Lou Reed's music was playing in the background, was calming enough. There we made clay figures of the first thing we would like blind people to see if they could regain their sight. I sighed with relief at the fact that they didn't allow spouses on this trip. My husband would have surely made a large penis or large breasts out of clay. But anyway, I was happy to have overcome my fear of the dark (well, that kind of darkness) and eventually will want to eat at their restaurant called "Blackout" where you eat in total darkness - there is an option of not ordering from the menu and the waiters will bring you tastings so you'd have to guess what you are eating. Sounds like it would be a fun evening.

Two days later friends of mine came to visit Jerusalem from the States - she's Jewish, he's Italian-Catholic, or Roman Catholic or whatever it is. I thought of taking them to Bethlehem. On the last trip, he saw Catholic sites in Jerusalem, so why not show them some of Baby Jesus's sites. I had been to Bethlehem before legally, (http://jerusalemgypsy.blogspot.com/2010/10/oh-little-town-of-bethlehem.html), but this time, I just wanted to go without any of the hoopla, signing forms, etc. The Arab tour guide put us on a mini-bus - there were four of us - and off we went. The ride was short and getting through the checkpoint was not a problem - the driver had simply told the Israeli soldier that we were all tourists. My friends were surprised that I asked them to take passports, but yes, they are needed now. It's not like it was years ago, when there were no checkpoints. It's a border crossing. For a country that's dilly-dallying about a two-state solution, it certainly felt like two states that day. We met a local tour guide at the Church of Nativity, who also took us to the Milk Grotto and to do some "shopping" at one of the Christian-owned gift shops, which were totally bereft of tourists. I was glad that my friends plunked down a nice amount - so much so that the owners shoved turquoise stone bracelets at us for gifts ("just take them, take them!!!"). In the middle of the tour, our guide asked me what religion we were. I told him three Jews and a Catholic, which sounded like the beginning of a joke. He told us he was Muslim and asked me who my favorite Biblical character was. I immediately answered Abraham, "because he opened his tent on four sides to everyone".

"Do you think we should be thrown out of the land?" he asked me. "Of course not, and I'm not just saying this because I'm talking to you....but I do believe the Children of Abraham should all live together in the same land". He seemed thrilled with my answer and hugged us, telling us that he loved us. And I'm sure he was telling the truth, feeling an overwhelming sense of kinship with us Jews. He bemoaned the fact that no Israelis come and that the Israeli government tells tourists to stay away because "it's dangerous in Bethlehem." It isn't dangerous in Bethlehem, which is in dire need of more tourists. But it's not so simple for Israelis to come. On the way back, the Israeli checkpoint soldiers checked one of our passports for the entry stamp into Israel. I have no such stamp on my US passport of course, and luckily they only checked the guy in our group with the swarthy mustache for his entry stamp.

On Friday, on my day off work, I decided, for some unknown Godly reason, to wake up at 5:45 am to join the prayer services for the new Jewish month with the feminist group Women of the Wall (http://womenofthewall.org.il/)- at the Western Wall. It's been two or three years since I've been there, and thought this would be quite an experience. The Women of the Wall mostly irritate the intolerant that pray there. These women are a group, including straight and lesbian, religious and secular, who want to have a voice, and a loud one at that, at the Western Wall. They want to be able to sing, read from the Torah, as men do, but as women traditionally don't do, at the holy Wall. There have been incidents where they were spat on by other women there, called all sorts of names and arrests made - but this day was quiet. I noticed a guard hovering over the group for our protection. There was a special beauty in praying with this group of about 50 women, who defied tradition and sang their hearts out at 7:00 in the morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise over the Wall. Of course, there were those that tried to drown the female voices out - like the man playing his "one-man-band" and singing loudly into a microphone right in back of us on the Plaza. But it didn't matter really. We did what we had to do which was pray and sing to the Almighty with our hearts and souls.

Crossing lines can be wonderful, even if stressful at times.

A Visit to Lublin, Poland

2011-05-21T20:30:00.000+03:00

The flight attendant is speaking Polish to me. I haven’t a clue what she is asking/telling me, but I smile. I am on a flight to Warsaw, on route to an interfaith dialogue about Social Responsibility in our traditions. I've never flown on a Polish airline. It's small, 6 rows across. Looking at the bored-looking flight attendants I wonder whether they like Jews or not. I'm excited to see a new place, but nervous going to a place where my family on my mother's side came from but where she fled due to pogroms in the 1920s and later on the tragedy of WWII which wiped out my uncles and probably cousins.

I decided to go to Poland with an open mind and to experience the people and the place anew, and to try not to look back.

Flying unfamiliar airlines is stressful for me – but the stress was gone after 3 friends of mine joined me at the gate. They had gone through an ordeal at security (1 Jewish, 1 Muslim, 1 Armenian), with the Jewish friend being interrogated about how she knew these "other" women. When my friend said that they visit each other in their homes, the young security person insisted "it wasn't allowed", which horrified my friend. Since when is visiting Muslim and Armenians in East Jerusalem "not allowed". Why do they even let ignoramuses into these sensitive positions at the airport? Why aren't they educated in a bit of tact and common sense and ….well, knowledge?

We landed in Warsaw after a smooth 3 1/2 hour flight. I tried to get in touch with family on Facebook telling them I arrived, but there was no free internet at the airport and some instructions were only in Polish. Oh well. My family will have to feel a bit anxious until I get to the hotel in Lublin. At the airport, we met the Palestinian contingent who had to make their way to Poland via Amman, Jordan instead of from Ben Gurion airport. We took a mini-bus to Lublin, passing by pristine fields and homes; looking at the forests I wondered how many Polish partisans and Jews hid out there during WWII. I kept on looking on the side roads for what could have been a shtetl (a small Jewish village pre-WWII). I saw a couple of what could have been – but the mini-bus went by too fast for me to photograph. We got to our hotel, which looked like a grand hotel. Funny that it considers itself a 4 star hotel, because in Israel, this would be on par with landmark hotels like the American Colony or King David. It was that beautiful, with high ceilings, marble floors, ceiling engravings, chandeliers, all very tastefully decorated. The furniture in our room smelled of fresh polish. Everything shined. I felt like a queen for a weekend. Even the bathwater felt like special moisturized water, where my skin felt like silk afterwards.

We had a few hours to wander around town before our conference began and I suggested looking for something to eat in what looked like the older part of town. We see Palestinians eating at a kebab restaurant. "You come all the way to Poland to eat kebab?" I asked them. Some people don't like change. We opted for local fare - pierogies – finding a place which served vegetarian options. Meanwhile, there are gypsy children wandering around – making a beeline for us. We obviously don't look like natives. There was one young girl playing very good accordion while her adorable little brother begged for cash. Then right before me a young man strips quickly - gets totally naked – and runs down the street, leaving everyone on the street in fits of laughter. "I can't believe he streaked" I said to the waitress, who had absolutely no idea what I'm telling her.

The road to the old city and inside the old city is full of restaurants and pubs, but it seems like quiet night life. I was surprised not to see any souvenir shops. I guess they don't see that many tourists. Walking together with a few Jewish men in our group who wore kippas on their head, I had this strong urge to just yell out "WE'RE BACK!!!!!"

Friday night's kabbalat Shabbat was interesting for the non-Jewish participants - which included participants from the UK, Morocco, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Israel/Palestine, Spain, Denmark, Bulgaria, Italy, and of course, Poland. We warned everyone that some parts of the Jewish service will be musical with singing and some parts will be boring when we're just reading the text to ourselves (or, rather, to God). After the service, the Jordanian contingent wanted to know all at once a million things about Judaism – the challah, the Talmud, the source of the prayers, and I had to give them a quick Judaism 101 class in about 5 minutes. Upstairs at our dining room we began to sing Shalom Aleichem. I don't know whether the hotel staff was pissed off at our singing or pissed off at Jews singing, but when we were about to make Kiddush, we noticed the volume of the music in the lobby was much louder and we had to compete to make the Kiddush heard.

After dinner, we had a cultural evening at the Theater of No Name – the gateway that stood between the old Christian quarter and the destroyed Jewish quarter. We Israelis got together with the Palestinians to do three traditional dances together. Afterwards one of the Jesuit priests invited us to go with him to an old renovated tavern. We were around 25 people and most of us ordered the home-brewed beer. "Who's paying" I asked, "the Catholic church?" The priests laughed. Who would have ever thought I'd be drinking home-brew with Polish priests. These are things that would never have happened pre-WWII between Jews and Catholics. We didn't mingle much, if at all. Then a lovely Moroccan woman told me that Morocco misses its Jews. Really? I laughed to myself, thinking of the very boisterous, dysfunctional, large Moroccan family that has taken over the first floor of our building – do they really want them back? Not to mention my first neighbor who made my life hell when I first moved to Israel.

Saturday we took a walking tour to see the well preserved and renovated Yeshiva of Lublin. Built in the 1920s, it was a hub of Jewish yeshiva life until WWII. I felt a pit in my stomach as I saw the empty library, which at one time was filled with thousands of ancient books, and an empty renovated synagogue in use once a month when visited by the more visible Jews of Warsaw. There were photos of what was. I took photos of the photos, careful not to take photos of the Rebbes because I felt they wouldn't want me to take photos of them on the Sabbath. Where there was once a vibrant Jewish life, all that is left is photos and caretakers who collect 6 zlotys to enter. "Didn't we give them enough" asked a fellow Jew who didn't want to pay them the money. I understood her point. But in order to preserve the site, they do need the money and I gladly paid. I walked out of the yeshiva looking back at the ghost yeshiva, totally empty now, even of visitors and I felt a deep sadness.

But then people like Vitek Dombrovski who runs Theater of No Name in memory of the lost Jews of Lublin touched me deeply. Vitek isn't Jewish. But he entertained us last night singing Yiddish songs. I can't even sing in Yiddish. 20 years ago he felt it was his mission to restore whatever memories are left of the Jews of Lublin, 1/3 of the population of the city before WWII. I sat near him today, my eyes brimming with tears.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why do you do what you do so passionately. What are we to you? Jews no longer exist here. Isn't it a case of 'out of sight, out of mind'. Most people don't really care that there aren't any more Jews here. Why do you?"

He told me he was doing it out of a sense of responsibility. He felt the emptiness and he felt the lack of the city's once-vibrant Jewish community.

Saturday night, he gave us a tour of the museum, the museum looking very New York lofty, very artsy, on the walls there were boxed which contained various photographs of the destroyed Jewish quarter and testimonies from non-Jews who saved Jews, as well as information on every destroyed building in the Jewish quarter. On a more amusing note, a Muslim woman wondered whether the woman in the old pre-WWII photo was Muslim because of her head covering. No, that's how married Jews covered their hair back then with scarves tied in front.

At dinner, sitting with people that had something to do with this museum, I hear a lot of talk about Isaac Bashevis Singer. He seems to be the Mark Twain of Poland. His works have been translated into Polish and Vitek was going to be guiding a 10 day tour this summer based on the tales of Singer, visiting shtetls and the like. This is something I would want to do with Hubby or one of my kids.

Sunday we took a bus to Majdanek camp. Seeing this camp was very surreal. One of my cousins was murdered here. After going through the gates and about to enter the building which housed the gas chambers I burst out crying and saw my Armenian friend in front of me. I grabbed her arm for support. I figured, if anyone, she could understand my grief, being that her ancestors were exterminated by the Turks in the early 1900s. I walked past the horrors and wondered if I had seen or if there were ghosts in that building or in the surroundings. We walked towards the crematoria and I wondered how human beings could act that way towards others, and I vowed never to hate or blame an entire race of people, even if one or two really tick me off. We stood by the mound of human ash over which there was a memorial built. I was still numb from what I had seen. One of the Polish Buddhists printed out sheets of names of victims and gave us a few sheets each. We stood over the mound reading the names out loud, and imagining their souls with us. Then the rabbi recited the Jewish prayer for the dead, the Polish priest recited the Catholic prayer and a Muslim from the West Bank said the Muslim prayer for the dead. At the end I suddenly felt a big sense of relief and peace, as if our prayers had reached the heavens and that the dead appreciated our interfaith presence…..

Passover

2011-04-25T15:24:00.003+03:00

Passover was very laid back this year. I didn't have many people at the seder and no Catholic priests like I had last year. Hubby actually graced us with his presence this year unlike the year before! It took only one glass of wine for me to feel the effects and I began laughing hysterically at everything anyone said.

Wednesday, I took my grandson to the circus and thought that he enjoyed the gymboree trampolines, slides and ball pool better than the acrobats at the Medrano circus - the first politically correct circus I had ever been at - not a single animal performed. Just a bunch of heavily made up short Spanish acrobats. Even my grandson was disappointed at not seeing any elephants. But I spoiled him with expensive treats and chocolate milk and a toy gun that shoots out bubbles throughout the day. What are grannies for after all?

I had invited a mixed married couple - she was Jewish, her husband an Arab Muslim - for dinner Friday night. They were friends of one of my daughters. But they never showed up. Yesterday, during the final dinner of Passover, one of my other daughters said she knows why they didn't come. Because the daughter who is friends with them was afraid they wouldn't like my food.

My kids gasped at the thought.

"But you make great food"

You see, the daughter who first invited them is absolutely embarrased by my European ashkenazi food like gefilta fish, which I only make during major holidays. But I caught her eating quite a few of the sweet fish and I threatened to photograph her eating it and putting the photos on Facebook. She was terrified at the thought. Her reputation would be ruined. Kaput.

"They eat Moroccan food and they were afraid there wouldn't be any of that. Not all of them are open to eating different foods."

"But mom makes regular food."

I glared at the one who said that. Regular food? Not on your life. I comb through the internet and make rice flavored with saffron (not a favorite with the kids) and an assortment of sweet and spicy dishes. I made matza balls from scratch tonight from sweet potatoes. How dare she say "regular"!

The main dish was about to be served. A roast with dried apricots, red wine and yams, which everyone loved and a cauliflower leek kugel. I passed around the kugel and no one touched it.

I get it. I need to give it a more middle eastern identity. Something they would not be ashamed of eating.

"How about trying the cauliflower leek PASHTIDA (a Sephardic quiche)?" I asked. The forks went flying into the dish until it was completely gone.

pre passover

2011-04-25T15:02:00.000+03:00

My third daughter finally came home from the States on the Thursday before Passover. She had been selling these hologram wrist bands, made in China, for $30 apiece in the malls in Long Island and people were buying them like mad. Although the energy thing did work when she tried it on me. I couldn't figure it out.

That weekend I went with my grump husband to the Ein Gedi youth hostel for a weekend with my spiritual community - Nava Tehilla. It was wonderful being with spiritually like-minded people, praying with them, learning with them and eating all together. I was on a rare spiritual high. But unfortunately reality hit me before I knew it on the drive back home. A phone call from my son was enough to ruin it all.

"Could you order two pizzas because I'm STARVING and I could eat a whole one."

"I'm sorry but I can only order one. Why can't you share with your two sisters?"

"Okay so I'll pay for one and you'll pay for the other"

Fair enough. I did leave them for the weekend with a house full of food but there's never enough pizza around.

I come home and there is my son sitting at the table guarding his pizza pie with his two arms over the box like a homeless savage. My daughters are complaining.

"He won't even give us a piece."

"Didn't you order one for yourselves?"

Yes, and it's on its way but he's now pissed that I'm paying for theirs and not for his and he demands 20 shekels. I don't give it to him and he is now taking out all the stuff we store in his room and putting it out in the hallway. He says for just 20 shekels he'll put it all back, but we are spiritually strong from the weekend. We can withstand crap from our kids like this. I don't give him the 20 shekels and we take our files and store it in our storage room downstairs.

And I wondered whether King David, who hid out in Ein Gedi too a few thousand years ago, also reminisced about being out in the beautiful desert when things got rough back home.

old friends

2011-04-09T22:51:00.001+03:00

I've been going out lately to local events with women at least a decade older than me. I always take pride in the fact that I can hang out with people from anywhere in their mid-twenties to senior citizens. My thoughts are that if we're interested in the same cultural things (eating in fine restaurants counts as cultural to me), then we can enjoy each other's company.

I thought I'd have a fun time with a woman who travels with me on the bus to Jerusalem most mornings to the Jerusalem Old City Tastes Festival. We decided that since she is kosher, we'll go to the Jewish quarter to eat, but at least go to see any entertainment in the Christian, Moslem and Armenian quarters. The local rabbis had been furious about this event because non-kosher restaurants were featured but I was thrilled because we were putting all the residents of the Old City on equal footing - no sector will be left out. We first went to the Christian quarter and saw that it was unlit, with a juggler wearing a baker's hat and a few darbouka drummers. That's it? Other people wandered around also disappointed that there was no festive atmosphere and we saw only three people sitting outside at the local restaurants. It could be the cool weather that kept people away, but it could also be that because of rabbinical pressure, the municipality toned down the entertainment in the quarters which didn't feature kosher food. We walked to the Moslem quarter, passing my favorite bakery Jaffar, which was closing for the evening, and a few restaurants which had the festival's sign out in front (stating clearly that this was not a kosher establishment), but there was no sign of a festival anywhere (although I did read that outside the Damascus gate there was some entertainment). We walked to the Jewish quarter and by that time my friend's foot began to hurt. We slowed down. We finally got to the Jewish quarter passing by homes which belonged to Arabs who were watching the scene. I stopped in front of one man standing outside his home, which I mistook for a mini-mosque because of the photo outside his home adorned by multi-colored paint. "No, this is a home. We painted it like this because of the Haj (pilgrimage to Mecca)". "You went to the Haj?" I asked. He nodded. "Mabruk!!!" He was happy that I knew what the Haj was. I mentioned to my friend what a missed opportunity the old city of Jerusalem was for intercultural friendships. Everyone keeps to their own neighborhoods.  We ordered some food from the stands, watched Japanese tourists dancing to a Moroccan band dressed in caftans, and by that time, my friend could hardly walk any longer. We managed to get a taxi at a reasonable price to drive us home. A bus wouldn't do.

The next event I went to with a friend - also around 10 years or so older than me - was the Arabesque belly dance performance at the Jerusalem theater. She is always reliable so when the time came for us to meet and she wasn't there I worried. I called her and figured she's on her way and doesn't want to speak on the cellphone while she's driving. A half an hour later, the place was filling up and still no sign of her. I saved her a seat and by the time the performance began, people who were standing on the side took over her seat telling me they'll get up when she comes. She never came. I ended up with another older friend whom I recognized from the time when I used to go Israeli dancing and she pulled me up to belly dance with her on the side. I moved my hips and arms, trying to emulate the dancers in their beautiful outfits.

The next morning my friend called to apologize. She went to take a nap an hour before and ended up sleeping for four hours instead of one.

One has to be patient with senior citizen friends.  They may get everything at half price but they suffer more from pains and tend to oversleep. I figured I may need to lower the age of my friends for the next time I go out.

But that night I couldn't sleep because of severe shoulder pain.  I tell my friend who called that I'm on my way to the doctor because of this pain. She understands, of course, and invites me to see a movie with her as compensation for the missed evening.

"Sure" I said. "providing I feel better by Friday..."  -which it hadn't. I'm wondering whether my older friends wouldn't be better off going out with some younger people themselves. And perhaps I should be getting stuff at half-price too, since I am suffering like any other senior citizen with their aches and pains....

Has Everyone Gone Mad?

2011-03-05T22:51:00.001+02:00

It seemed this over past weekend that I was the only half-normal person in a sea of crazy people.

Thursday night Hubby took me up on an offer to have dinner at a relatively new fish restaurant and in a matter of 1/2 hour made 50 new friends on the bus to Jerusalem where he was to meet me, handing out his business card to anyone who wanted one, gave MY number to the woman sitting next to him because he believed she and I have so much in common, and struck a conversation with an American tourist couple, who thought he was the greatest thing since Belgian Chocolate.

On the bus back from the restaurant I tell a woman to please move her shopping cart so I can sit down. She glared at me.

"What do YOU want?"

"I want you to put your cart on the side of the seat so I'll have a place for my feet."

She ranted to anyone who'd listen about how difficult her life is and how I'm making it more difficult for her.

Then while traveling on the main Jerusalem road dividing east and west Jerusalem, we hear a big bang.   We looked and saw 2 little kids running away from the bus uphill. They seemed no older than 7 years old. Tiny Arab troublemakers. Luckily the bus's windows are plexiglass and the rock didn't make a single dent/scratch in the window.  And this caused the crazy woman with the shopping cart to focus away from me and launch into an anti-Arab tirade.

"Our stupid leftist government! Why do we give the Arabs Azariya? Why do I have to live next to an Arab village? I'm gonna tell the Arab president of the United States to come to Jerusalem so he could see how many Arabs live here. I hate them!!!"

I piped in "Look lady, if there aren't any Arabs living here, there'll be no knafe!! " which caused other bus passengers to laugh.

Again she glared at me and began an anti-Russian tirade, about how much she hates Russians, believing that I'm Russian, although Hubby and I were conversing in English. It was so absurd, we couldn't hold ourselves back from laughing.

Friday morning, I went quietly into my son's room to shut off his internet because my router works only when I log onto the internet first. He unfortunately woke up and began to spew out all manners of curses like only a teenager can. I said to him - "You know, you sound like you have Tourette's Syndrome", and closed the door to let him continue his beauty sleep, hopefully for the rest of the morning and afternoon.

"Where the fuck does that come from?" asked Hubby "His face cream?" Of course that made no sense, but often times, Hubby comes up with nonsensical theories.

As my daughter was peeling potatoes for the Sabbath dinner, she was telling me how it wasn't right that I was working so hard and for such long hours.

"A husband should be the one bringing home the money.  A woman should just raise a family and cook and clean. That's the kind of husband I'm going to have - one who doesn't want his wife to work."

I cringed - how did I get a daughter so 1950s?

I told her - "Honey, you sure can cook, but you're not so strong in the 'cleaning' department. The guy's only going to get half the deal. Please don't promise him that you'll clean the house."

She's the messiest kid I have. Tons of jewellery, money, IDs and what nots go missing in her room, only to be found underneath piles of dirty and clean clothing, plastic bags, makeup, shoes - lots of shoes, purses and ticket stubs. Nothing gets put away and I thanked God for the Passover holiday because only then does the Fear of God strike her and she will actually clean her room for the first and only time in a year.

Then Hubby got the madness in him as the Sabbath was about to start.   My daughter comes out of her room and finishes up her potato salad.

"Dad said your food's not so good this weekend."

"I don't care what he thinks." I said, looking at my masterpiece in the oven - which was meatball tangine and couscous.

Hubby hears this and thunders - "I said NO SUCH THING!!!  You know I never complain about your food. SHE'S A LIAR!!! " He turns to her - "WHY DO YOU SAY SUCH THINGS??"

She says quietly - "because it's true"

"IT'S NOT TRUE. That's it!!! I'm not coming to the table tonight."

I told him I agreed with him, that I knew she was lying (she probably wasn't).

But no amount of pleading worked.

And the Drama King retreated to his room for the rest of the evening.

Intrafaith

2011-02-26T16:28:00.000+02:00

On Thursday, I was supposed to have an interfaith meeting. Somehow or other the Muslim coordinator again bonked out on me. If I hadn't called an hour before the meeting, he would have sms'd me 5 minutes before the meeting was to begin to tell me he wasn't coming and neither was anyone else from his area. He said he wasn't feeling well; he had a cold. I think I ought to find a female Muslim coordinator who would be able to multi-task and who would go on with her life, even through a cold. My experience with men on this planet, is that having a cold is akin to the end of the world or, at the very least, feeling as if they're dying.

I called a participant bemoaning the fact that there will be all these new people attending, waiting to meet Muslims for the first time in their lives in this type of social setting. She called me back saying they still want to come and we could just discuss our meetings in general - it could be like a prepatory meeting.
A young teenage boy was the first to arrive. He had just moved to Israel from the US and wanted to meet Muslims because he felt that everyone living here should be respected for their beliefs. Another knock on the door. Two beautiful teenage girls arrived. They studied at the local high school in Maaleh Adumim and were part of Seeds of Peace. Normally our group is comprised of mostly (married) Jewish women and Muslim men. Two more men who had never showed up before arrived for the meeting and then some of the regulars. This was a good mixed crowd. We all were curious about Seeds of Peace in Maaleh Adumim,which seemed to be a novelty. How did they join up?

One of the girls said that her sister went to their summer camp in Maine and came back a changed person. She obviously liked the change in her sister - who was probably a lot nicer, more tolerant - even towards her own sibling - never mind others in this country.

Actually what happened is that one of their high school teachers walked into their classroom and asked the class - who would like to go to camp in the United States? All 40 hands shot up. "The catch is", continued the teacher, "that the camp will be with Palestinians, Egyptians, Jordanians, Americans and Israelis." Most of the hands went down, together with some groaning from the class. Five hands remained up. Their classmates were shocked that there would be even one person wanting to talk to the "other side" and warned them to "be careful."

So those five 10th graders went to Maine last summer to meet with people they ordinarily wouldn't have ever come in contact with. It wasn't easy at first, especially when some West Bank participants found out they were from Maaleh Adumim, and each one blaming the other for a lot of the conflict - even some screaming and yelling ensued. But by the end of the camp, the "fighting" partners began to enjoy each other's company and looked forward to continued dialogue.

Another Jewish Orthodox woman who had been participating in our religious dialogue for two years stated that she first came to the meetings, wanting to change the Muslims, or the way they think. In the end, she related how she herself had changed; that her soul was completely different.

I told them about our first gathering - http://jerusalemgypsy.blogspot.com/2007/12/interfaith-chanukah-party.html and hope that in March we will have a "real" interfaith meeting.

The Happy Hitchhiker

2011-02-21T11:00:00.000+02:00

Because we are generally car-less, if I need to get to Jerusalem on a Saturday when there is no public transportation, I hitchhike from Ma'aleh Adumim to town. It takes anywhere from about 5 minutes to an hour to find someone kind enough to take me with them.

Both Hubby and I had a Cinderella weekend. We went to the Ball (a friend's wedding in Jaffa); and what a joy it was being able to dress up and get into a car, instead of taking a bus from the central bus station in our evening attire. On Friday, we bought our one-of-a-kind tiles in a city over an hour's drive from Jerusalem, and saw friends we hadn't seen in 3 years. We crammed everything we could cram into that weekend, focusing on stuff we can't do by public transportation. So grateful to God were we, that we wanted to give back.

Saturday morning on the way to Ramah's Kitchen, where we had our dream brunch at a place which is accessible only by car, we saw someone hitchhiking - a middle-aged man - at the French Hill junction that also borders on some Arab neighborhoods. I told my old man to stop and take the hitchhiker. After all, I know what it's like to need a ride on a Saturday. We stopped a bit further down the road and the man couldn't see us. We had to back up and honked until he turned around and saw us.  He made his way to our car. I told Hubby -

"This guy's an Arab. I hope he'll feel safe enough to drive with Jews".

Knowing that we each have the same fears about the other, it was certainly a fact that the hitchhiker may not feel totally comfortable taking a ride with Jews.
But we were in a rental car and he must have thought we were tourists. We spoke English to him. He needed to get to Abu Ghosh where he works in one of the many restaurants. He was so grateful to have gotten a ride, he immediately invited us for coffee at his place.

"We'll take you up on it another time." said my husband.

"No....now! Today!" insisted the rider.

Maybe...we told him. We're going to Nataf to have brunch.

He was curious about us. Where were we from? How long have we lived here? Do I have friends in the West Bank? Are we Israeli?

I told him that I'm a coordinator of an interfaith group that meets in my home.  He looked confused.  Such groups really exist?

"What do you think about the peace?" he asked.

He agreed with me that most people living here want peace, and want to live together in harmony - but that the governments on both sides fuck it up. Hubby gave the guy his business card to keep in touch.

We dropped the happy hitchhiker off at his restaurant and continued on to ours.

"He's probably telling everyone in the restaurant about his ride." said Hubby.

"Yeah, you're right.  But what if he tells his wife when he gets home that he was picked up by two Israeli Jews from Maaleh Adumim. How do you think she'll react? 'Sufyan....are you CRAZY? Taking a ride with Jewish settlers??? They could have killed you!!!'

It would have certainly been the same reaction I'd have gotten from some of my family/friends, had I hitched a ride with him.

On the Evils and Joys of Capitalism

2011-02-19T07:54:00.001+02:00

"What is he kissing?" I asked my daughter of her husband, as he was blowing kisses through the windshield of his car while driving me home from Friday night services last week.

"Just the Mercedes that passed us by" she told me, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Feeling an overwhelming wave of generosity come over me because of 4 family birthdays in February, which is also in the joyous Hebrew month of Adar, I told him I'd buy him a Mercedes when I win the lottery.

He shot back immediately - "And when I win a lottery, I'll buy you a mosque."

How kind and considerate of him....:-)

This past weekend Hubby and I rented a car, which we hadn't done in over a year, just relying on public transportation, but we wanted to buy decorative Arabesque tiles for our home which was over an hour's trip to Petach Tikva - http://info-il.livecity.com/info/i/ruhama-sharon.co.il.

Thursday night we picked up the car and drove to a friend's daughter's wedding at the Caliph in the old city of Jaffa. Jaffa's main street Yefet is quite run down and in need of immediate refurbishing/renovation. It looks abandoned and deserted. But just in back of that street is an entire neighborhood of cafe's, restaurants and bars, in beautifully restored old buildings. I had no idea such a paradise existed from the main street that I walked on one Saturday afternoon in the summer.

Friday we went to pick up our tiles and got lost finding the place. Our rental car doesn't have GPS. Knowing it was near a cemetery, we went there and asked the men in the kiosk just outside for directions. One man came over, gave us directions and then asked us for a dollar.

"What the fuck for? For giving us directions?" This was incredulous. Are people in Petach Tikvah crazy? We drove off. All I know is I never want to be buried in that cemetery.

We drove up to the Galilee to visit our friends on a kibbutz whom we hadn't seen in three years, because neither of us own a car. Hubby and I just had to take advantage of our Cinderella moment. It was a gloriously beautiful day, with unusually warm weather for February and we both felt so spiritually connected with God, with the Holy Land as we drove past the sea on one side and the rolling green hills on the other. It was also unusual for us to be both in such good moods at the same time.

There was a woman on the road who beeped us and yelled that our back tire was running out of air. Hubby was skeptical because he felt no difference in driving. We noticed the Tire Checker was looking at every car's tires and telling a few other people that their tires needed air. We figured it was the heavy load of 150 kgs of tiles in the back that weighed down the tires, because when we checked them, they were fine.

Our friends have lived on this kibbutz for 15 years and since we last saw them, the kibbutz was going through the sad but necessary process of privatization. Kibbutzim were going bankrupt all over the country one by one and the government would have to bail them out. The country was not the mostly agricultural country it once was and the socialist ideal was quickly fading, with most young people leaving the kibbutz for greener and more profitable pastures in the city - for high tech and other capitalist endeavors. This kibbutz had no choice but to privatize. When it did, more members were added - mostly young families who are very active in the Conservative movement. It sold off its agricultural lands for outside people to come in to build magnificent villas on its property. Driving up to the kibbutz we saw what looked like a small village, with beautiful homes on what was once farmland. It was a gated community and we waited until the guard opened up the electronic gate to let us in. We drove up to the older kibbutz homes where our friends lived and noticed that the old, dinky, tiny kibbutz homes were now being renovated - some have added second floors, some were totally refurbished on the outside, painted terracotta with blue window shutters.

We hugged and kissed our old friends whom we hadn't seen in so long. We mentioned that the entire place looked different and how did it feel with this new life breathed into the tired place, which had only around 5 families as members when we were last there. It looked so lively with all the kids' toys lying around in the various yards. I mentioned the blue house.

"Oh the Flintstones..." she rolled her eyes. Apparently, she wasn't enjoying the kibbutz's transformation as I thought she would.

She missed the communal meals in the dining room.

"I worked 15 hours a day, 6 days a week, and I didn't care. I had everything I needed. Now my husband and I work less hours and I even have a day off, but it's not the same. I used to finish work and not have to cook or do laundry (since it was all done communally). I had education for my kids taken care of as well as health and dental care. If we wanted to go somewhere, we took the kibbutz cars. Now everything is money. If I work on my day off, you have to pay me. If I want to use the kibbutz car, it's two shekels a kilometer plus a fee for daily rental. We used to fight among ourselves all the time but now we're like sisters. We all miss the way it was."

I walked passed the dark dining room, where our family spent many holidays in communal dinners with the kibbutzniks and their families. The family from India would lead the Rosh Hashana seder with the various blessings made over an assortment of vegetables and then there was the dairy dessert contest they had on the Shavuot holiday, in which I was made one of the judges. Though the members used to fight over petty things, they were no more than family fights. And the family was now gone.

Services in the kibbutz synagogue were lively and various activities and parties and get togethers for the week were announced. There was life in this place. If we had younger kids, I may have wanted to make my home here.

My friend's Shabbat table was filling up with people. Who were all these people. It was beginning to feel like kibbutz again. Her brother and family have moved onto kibbutz and her husband's mother was now living there too. Their sons and girlfriends came as well with their very friendly pit bulls who came over to give me wet licks while I asked them "aren't you guys supposed to be dangerous dogs?" Everything on kibbutz seemed to be safe. We told our hosts, they may have lost some things, the simpler way of life and now they have to struggle to make money like everyone else, but their Shabbat table is full every week with the large and lively family they now have and so they did gain in other ways.

We drove back home to Jerusalem past signs posted on the highway, protesting the new extension of the Express Highway 6 which will be built over farm fields, but which got us back to our home in two hours instead of the 3 1/2 hours it would have, had this highway not been in existence.

Progress is not always such a bad thing....

A bum rap

2011-02-05T00:46:00.000+02:00

My daughter was looking at me enviously as I downed two laxatives and drank the decent-tasting, fizzy orange Peco-lax last night.

"You'll lose weight right? Maybe I should try that?"

"Do not try this." I said, hiding my drugs, as I ran to the toilet in-between sentences, feeling grateful that my meds weren't over-the-counter so she couldn't have easy access. I did wish I had a scale at the moment thought because I'm sure I dropped a couple of kilo.

Hubby was too nervous to sleep in our room, telling me he was scared I'd poop in bed. The bathroom is two meters away and though I woke up every hour because of the laxatives, I managed to make it in time.

My colonoscopy was slated for 10:00 am Friday morning. By Friday, the runs had died down and I just drank the water they told me to drink, wondering how anyone could down so much fluid at one time.

Being I'm a rookie at this recta-test, I was feeling quite nervous. How would I feel during the test? Would it hurt? Will I sleep through it? Will I recover? Will I hallucinate? Do people die from it? What if the doctor finds something? What would I do?

I took everything I saw and heard that morning as terrible signs. Three black ravens faced me on the terrace. Was that a terrible omen? I turned on the TV and nothing was on except for the E channel where the show featured celebrity stalkers.  Eerie. It was raining outside, a bleak day.

I dared not take public transportation - pooping on a bus would be disastrous. At least we knew the female cab driver, a friend of hubby's. The taxi got us to the doctor's office right on time and the radio played the Stones' Wild Horses, which Jagger wrote while Marianne Faithful, his girlfriend at the time was in a coma.  This didn't look good.

Hubby wasn't impressed with the clinic, which was in one of Jerusalem's poshest neighborhoods.

"This office is quite old, isn't it?" he questioned the receptionist.

"Yes it is..." she looked at him, wondering what was his point. Point was that even though this doctor is one of the tops in his field, he thought nothing of renovating his ancient clinic. They called my name. I went into the room where the procedure will be done. The decor was very 1950s. I expected the doc and his assistant to light up a cigarette right there and then, the way they did in Mad Men.

The doctor's assistant, herself a doctor, was asking me my family history and I wasn't in the mood to have small talk. I hadn't eaten since 3:00 pm the day before and I was in desperate need of a coffee and for this to be over.

She covered me with a large paper towel - no nice cotton sheets here. I asked them to turn up the heat. I was feeling cold. Then the doctor came in singing "Don't Worry, Be Happy" and I thought of the drugs he would be giving me. I asked him if it was better that I was up for the procedure. He said that each person reacts differently to it. They put the IV in and whatever went in, made me feel quite relaxed.

"Turn on your left"

I turned to my right.

"Facing me."

I turned the other way. And other than mild cramping, I didn't feel that uncomfortable. The assistant held my hand, while the apparatus twisted its way and blew air into my colon.  They asked me to see the procedure on a monitor, and whatever it was, looked like some kind of reptile moving around.

"Beautiful!" the doctor said loudly.  He seemed excited at my clean colon, while swinging the camera in every direction.

"How many colons do I have?" I asked him because it just seemed so fragmented on the monitor.

"Only one big one."

Thanks.

After the procedure the assistant put me on another bed and told me to "let the air out". I guess she didn't mean out of my mouth.  I was left alone, and I unabashedly let loose, and so whatever air was pumped into me, was pumped right out.

"Everything is fine." the doc told me after I walked to the reception area.

"No polyps? nothing?" I asked,
"Nothing." He smiled. It's good to tell someone there's nothing wrong. "See you in five years"

"Sure."

You can't imagine how relieved I was at the good tidings and thanked God for the rest of the day.

When the shit hits the fan

2011-02-03T20:37:00.000+02:00

"They're going to throw us out of the staff lunches." laughed my friend at work. We were discussing my upcoming colonoscopy - the first for me - and the people around the table were trying to figure out why I won't be eating the following day. And why were we interrupting the serious conversation about the chaos in Egypt.

"Ahhh, it's Rosh Chodesh (new Jewish month)" said one wise man.

"Of course not. And it's not Ramadan either" I retorted. "More like Rama-bum"

My evil friend and I couldn't stop laughing.

I took off today because I didn't know what shape I'll be to cook the Shabbat meal. I did my shopping in the morning, borrowing my daughter's car and thinking - wow! This is what it must be like to be retired. You don't go in the evening when you're exhausted. You go to the supermarkets first thing in the morning, when no crowds are present. Even at the tender age of 55, I can now join the Golden Age club in my city and be the youngest of all the Alta Kakas there. You can go on trips and swim for next to nothing. Sounds good to me, although there are hardly any English speakers in the Club - mostly Russians and Spanish-speakers.

I made a three course dinner for my kids, cleaned the fridge and bathrooms. It was a productive day. And I'm tough. Really tough - probably tougher than the laxatives I had to take in the early evening. So far - nada. It's been 2 1/2 hours. Will "it" keep me up at night? Probably. I was nervous about the procedure but I hear it's less harrowing than going to the dentist. I'll keep that in mind tomorrow.

Return to Sender

2011-01-01T21:14:00.000+02:00

I don't know what it takes to get decent service over here. I had bought a wireless router from one of the better-known computer chains in Israel. It was their best - said their salesman. Turned out, not only could I not get the router hooked up to my laptop, but neither could any technician. Turned out it wasn't compatible with my modem. I tried to return the router back to the store and they were like "well, it can't be returned because it's not defective." Not de-fucking-fective? Do they want me to drop the thing to make it defective?   No amount of arguing could get them to budge. We didn't budge until they offered us a refund minutes 30%. No thank you. We'll sell it privately. It's brand new and unused. Someone will buy it from us at close to the price we paid.

I call up my internet provider to get a price on their wireless. The saleslady is very aggressive and wants a commitment from me immediately. It'll only cost me 20 NIS a month. I tell her I'll think about it. She calls me back and screams - "why didn't you call me back?" I tell her I'm not interested. I end up buying it from another service provider because a technician of their will hook it up and it was 1/2 the price of the one quoted previously. Two weeks later I get a router in the mail from the internet provider with the nasty saleswoman. I call them and it takes me countless number of phone calls before I get a manager to listen to me and I repeat myself about 10 times to different people about how I didn't order this router but it was sent to me anyways. After a week, they finally decided to refund me but I have to pay to return the router to them registered mail.

I bought a mascara last week from one of the drugstore chains in another part of town, which I don't frequent regularly. It was from an expensive brand. I thought I was getting a bargain as it was marked 50% off, and the gay salesman was cute and we chatted about the face products I use.  The next day, I open the mascara, brush it on my lashes and pieces of mascara are dropping from the brush. It's dry and old.  I have to return it.   Maybe they won't let me return it because I've opened it. Who knows. Another day, another fight, another waste of energy. I go to my local drugstore - the same chain and see the same guy there.
"I saw you in Pisgat Zeev on Sunday"
He smiled. He's famous. I recognize him.
"The mascara you sold me at 50% off is absolute crap. It's old and useless. I need to return it."
He's no longer smiling and is turning red in the face. I'm sorry for embarrassing him, but I want justice. The women behind the makeup counter look at my receipt and open the mascara and see that I'm right. He asks that I get an equal exchange on the mascara and that they replace it at no further cost to me, but the other salesladies say they can't give me 50% off on new mascara.  They give me back the cost of the mascara but I have to pay another 25 NIS more. Furthermore, they continue, the mascara I had previously bought was mispriced because it was never 199 NIS. It was 159 NIS and was sold to me at 99NIS. So someone is doing some kind of crime, of which I have no idea to whom to complain. Imagine in the holy land, jacking up the price of products and then claiming that it's 50% off, when it's no more than 25% off. Shit people.

I bought a baby gift for my daughter's friend, whom I visited last week. She tried the outfit on him, but it just about fit him. She looked at me and said, "I think I'm gonna go and exchange it for a bigger size."

Have fund with the exchange honey. I hope they don't see that pen mark on the hood....

Mixed Couples

2010-12-26T22:48:00.000+02:00

I have recurring dreams. I am usually hiding from Nazis, in a countryside barn, trying not to make a sound, so they don't hear me. I'm never found, but the dream is nevertheless terrifying. It's a blur whether it's a memory from a past life or an unfortunate comparison to a current one.

There have been rallies in Israel of late, coming from the far right wing - Posters and chants go something like this "Don't rent homes or sell to Arabs" "Jewish women for the Jewish nation" "Death to the Arabs" "Foreigners Out".

No wonder I'm terrified in my sleep. I'm terrified in my waking hours. My parents are Holocaust escapees from Austria and if you insert the following - it reads eerily like Germany, 1938.

"Don't rent homes or sell to Jews"
"German women for the German state" (German women who dated Jews were paraded in public and ridiculed)
"Death to the Jews" - "The Jews are our Misfortune" "Jews Out"

I rarely get depressed but was depressed about the rallies against Arabs in Jewish neighborhoods and stories about Jewish gangs beating up Arabs in Jerusalem. My dad also was cornered by a gang of Nazis, who were about to thump him, but he somehow broke away and ran real fast, hopping on to a moving trolley, losing the bastards.

Meanwhile, in the Jerusalem neighborhood of Pisgat Zeev, Jews are complaining about Arabs moving into this neighborhood. Many of the new residents are Christian Arabs, and some are Moslem. Gangs of Jews walk around the malls making sure Arabs don't hustle Jewish girls.

And my daughter has a young friend who is married to an Arab. They have an infant son and live in Pisgat Zeev. Somehow word got out to the husband about me and they invited me to their home for dinner. I guess that Jews who like Arabs are such a rarity, they wanted to meet one up close. I entered the home, and the husband greeted me warmly and introduced me to his two brothers. They spoke perfect Hebrew with no "Arab" accent.

"He's going to have a hard life" - the husband told me, pointing to his infant son.

I had to agree. But they already had the YMCA Arab/Jewish nursery and kindergarten and Hand-in-Hand Arab/Jewish elementary school picked out for their young son - it would make perfect sense for their child to go there.

We talked about my dialogue groups; they insisted I was a "leftist" even though I said I was politically in the middle. They lived in Pisgat Zeev for 15 years and it was difficult at first, they endured plenty of beatings and nasty neighbors. My daughter's friend had a hard time with (ex) friends who called her "the whore who went out with Arabs" after she began dating her husband four years ago.

"He treats you well?" I asked her.
"Everyone should have a husband like him" she replied. I had to ask. After all, so many people think Arabs beat their wives and if they're married to Jews, treat their Jewish wives like shit.

She had dated a physically abusive Jewish man before she met her husband.

Abusive men are all over the place - they span all religions and cultures.

"What religion will you raise him?" I asked.

The father said he'll be raised both Moslem and Jewish. According to Islam, the boy is Moslem, after the father's religion. According to Judaism, the boy is Jewish, according to the Jewish religion. I guess he would have to be both religions.

They had gone to Toronto for a visit, and it seemed like a wonderful multi-cultural place in which to bring up their son, but the husband didn't want to leave his large family, who have been very warm and accepting to his Jewish wife.

Later that evening, she drove me home. I suggested Haifa as a place that might be good for them - it seems like the most tolerant city and probably has many mixed couples. They hadn't had racist rallies there.

Haifa? Do you really think so? Perhaps it will be a good idea. She seemed to like my suggestion.

I sensed a bit of hope in her weary eyes.

Wisconsin in December

2010-12-06T20:02:00.000+02:00

My 3rd daughter, whom I often call "the complainer" has finally had it with us, with her boyfriendless life, with the courses she was taking, with her job, and her nasty boss and hightailed it to Madison, Wisconsin.

She decided she needed a change of scenery, and wanted to make some "easy" money selling Dead Sea products at one of the US malls, like many Israelis do, as a sort of rite-of-passage after army service, but unlike so many others, she is an American citizen and so these companies were competing for her to work for them.

When we first heard that she was contemplating this, Hubby was scared - "she doesn't know anything about life! She'll get lost in the US! They'll kidnap her...they'll ...." I would always shush him in his daily tirades. I tried to explain that I travelled around alone when I was 17, but that didn't faze him. He was like "But she can't even read English!". Not that well, it's true. And she pronounces "onions" - ognions. But, whatever. I had faith that she'll get by and that God will watch over her where we can't.

We thought together (my daughter and I) about possible places - options were: Dallas (great weather, cowboys, oil men), San Francisco (I have lots of friends there - but she was like 'I don't want to be with your friends' as if they were pariahs) and Madison, Wisconsin. She had an old friend working the carts in the malls in Madison and decided to go there. We looked at Google Earth together to see where she would be living. The street was in a new neighborhood and not far from the mall.

We applied for her to get an American passport, the folks there arranged for her flight (they paid), and I took her out for dinner one Thursday about three weeks ago at a nice restaurant in Jerusalem.

She told me she'd have to change airports in New York - from Kennedy to LaGuardia. I told her we're keeping this info from dad, because he will get hysterical at the thought of her maneuvering around New York by herself. On the way back from dinner, she gets a call from overseas. She didn't read her ticket correctly. Her flight was for the night before and she missed it. A punishment for not reading English well enough. She seemed devastated. She had already packed and Hubby had given her a $ gift. The overseas contacts worked frantically to get her on the next flight that evening/morning and because she's only one person travelling, it was easy to find her a flight.

I was nervous the entire time she was on her 23-hour travels because she didn't have a way to get in touch. No phone, no computer. Her US contacts called me once she got to New York and then she woke me up at 4:30 am on Saturday morning to tell me she was finally in Madison.

She went out to a club on Saturday night, R&B music; the place was half African-American, half white. I smiled a smile she couldn't see. Glad to see she's going to mixed places. I urged her to be careful how she behaves - that she represents not only Jews but Israelis. I want people to have a good image of both. Don't ask for bargains, don't be rude, don't push and shove. She herself was in culture shock after her evening out at the club. Nobody yelled, pushed and shoved to get in. Everyone was courteous. In the end I was glad she chose this small mid-Western college town. I think it was just what she needed to unwind, though she's working 12 hour days. Plus she thinks American guys are "hot". This trip also afforded her an opportunity to get close to her grandmother, who lives in Canada, with whom she hadn't been much in touch, and who she was now calling a couple of times a week. She was now yearning for some family who lives relatively close by.

She called me and told me about that awfully non-kosher restaurant she went to that served rabbit and frog's legs. She just had a steak in that non-kosher place, and told the waitress to make sure the salad didn't have any cheese on it. That's her level of kosher.

It's Chanukah now and it's snowing there. A white Chanukah. She's thrilled with snow up to her ankles, and loves the Christmas lights now showing up all over the place. And the Carols in the mall haven't driven her up the wall yet.

Festival of Light and Fire

2010-12-04T10:33:00.000+02:00

Thursday seemed just like any other day, albeit more festive. I managed to get off work early to go to a distant relative's bar mitzvah and to prepare for my interfaith Chanukah party and my boss was sympathetic (a Chanukah miracle?). Probably because I looked like shit. I couldn't shake this cold I had for a few days, and combined with the fact that it was Chanukah and everyone was in a festive mood, she had no problem telling me I could leave early, as if it were even a question. We hadn't heard yet about the fire that had begun that morning in the Carmel area.

I left for the bar mitzvah, agitated at signs on the tables that said "bishul yehudi bilvad" (Jewish cooking only) - implying that no Arab person (or non-Jew) had tainted their food with their 'impure' hands, and then proceeded to drown my sorrow with a few vodka and grapefruit drinks.

I waited 1/2 hour for the Chanukah donuts at Marzipan bakery to arrive. They were the cheapest and best in Jerusalem and I was ordering 20 of them for tonight's meeting.

I get home late and people had already arrived from the Evangelical Lutheran Church.  Hubby had already put one of the young girls to work grating potatoes for latkes. I guess I wouldn't be able to put up those "Jewish cooking only" signs on my kitchen table.  I laughed at the thought and then realized that I like the energy when you share the cooking with other people.  Hubby's friend Abed ended up frying the latkes and this became a truly multi-cultural culinary thing going on in my home. Those latkes were the best tasting latkes ever.

My son was supposed to be working that night and came home in the middle of our meeting.

"Did you hear what happened at the Carmel?" - he seemed excited and I didn't want to hear any of his long stories. He said his boss had gone there to help out, which is why he came home early.

"Shhhh.  Not now. Tell me later." as presentations of Chanukah, Eid el Adha and Christmas were being shared.

Later that evening, after the guests left, we suddenly realized what had been going on. I had hiked in the Carmel region about 3 years ago - gorgeous countryside, which was now ablaze and there seemed to be no end in sight. We were totally unequipped for such a disaster. I read in Friday's paper that a flight instructor saw a small fire at 11:15 and he called it in, but that firefighting planes didn't show up until 1:45 pm. What the fuck were they doing until then? Having one of their super long coffee breaks?

After lighting candles on Friday, my daughter was telling me how angry God must be at us.

"Of course he's angry at us. Look at the way we treat people. Like that stupid chief rabbi in Safed telling Jews not to rent out their apartments to Arabs. Many who rent there are Druze who serve in the army. And then those young people there beat up Arabs who live there.   It's horrible. HORRIBLE."

I heard her "tsk" me. She obviously disagreed with my theory.

Watching the news that night my family was surprised and thrilled to hear that Turkey was one of the countries that had come to our aid.

"Yay! We can finally go back to visiting Turkey again" - noting that much Israeli tourism to Turkey had stopped since the Gaza flotilla incident.

We had planned a trip to Haifa next week and were thankful it hadn't been this week.

I get an email this morning that makes me smile. A group of Arabs and Jews are already planning to plant trees and shrubs in that area, so we can once again enjoy the beauty of the Carmel - together.

reality check

2010-11-06T15:44:00.001+02:00

"Why haven't reality show producers discovered you yet." asked my eldest daughter over a rushed breakfast on Friday. "The Kardashians are so boring compared to you."

Of course they are. We were in hysterics because Hubby was on the phone complaining to the Herald Tribune's subscription department.

"I don't think I should be paying so much for my paper delivery, because the delivery guy no longer delivers to our apartment. He puts the papers in the mailbox downstairs and I have to go down 8 flights of stairs, sometimes without any clothes on, to get the paper."

Fearing that she is dealing with a true maniac, the subscription woman gave him one month free plus deducted 10 shekels a month thereafter.

Plus my 23 year-old Complainer daughter has decided to leave the coop, citing her main reason for leaving because she can no longer live at home. If she wants to take a shower in our only working shower, which she likes to do twice a day (and torments me with digs of "dirty woman" because I sometimes shower every other day), she has to enter our bedroom. Hubby often sleeps in the nude, and no matter how much I tell him to put undies on because the kids come in at all hours to shower, he doesn't listen. Finally, she's so pissed off that one morning I hear her yell at him, "I'm sick and tired of seeing your stupid ugly penis." So she believes that things will be better working a slave job, in US malls, selling Dead Sea products. It's a thankless job, but the kids who work there seem to make good money and even in the slow months, will make twice as much as they do working a thankless job in Israel. Her choices were Appleton, Wisconsin; Milwaukee; Dallas, Texas and San Francisco. I begged her to take San Francisco. I think it's the more exciting city of the lot and the one day a week she gets off, she can take in some of the city's beauty. I'm no longer on her shit list because I filled out all the forms and got her all the documents she needed to get her first US passport. We warned her not to use the word "nigger" over there, because Israeli kids have no idea of the history and connotation of the N word, and often use it to address each other as they would use the word "dude" or "man".

My 2nd daughter and her husband are also thinking about leaving Israel. Not because my husband sleeps in the nude, but because they work 11 hour days and more, and can't afford their own place or can't afford their own place with a car. They feel the US has more opportunity and an easier life with cars costing a fraction of what they do here They're thinking of Florida. I didn't have the energy this time to talk them out of it. If I had to sign a declaration of loyalty to the State of Israel at this time, I'd have a hard time. Not only do I find the legal system and government policies racist - but even if you have your own business, the government tax bureaus pursue you relentlessly until you have given them everything but your own children. If you believe you have paid all penalties for late filing, another penalty shows up years later for something. And so I thought of this young couple, who have a lot of potential, but would be held back because of all this stupid bureaucracy, that I just said - go. Maybe they'll make enough money for me to go visit them....and also maybe they could buy some quality US-made 100% cotton undies for Hubby.

circumcise you

2010-10-28T22:35:00.001+02:00

My 3 year old grandson was jumping all over the hospital room where his new brother was born, and where his family was planning the brit mila (circumcision) ceremony for the next week.

"Gam ani rotza brit mila" he's screaming- which translates to "I also want a brit mila"

We're laughing at him.

"No you don't. You really don't want a second one."

Today we had the ceremony. My daughter shoos me out of the room while she gets dressed. I laugh at her.

"But I saw you give birth!! So what's the big deal seeing you in your granny undies."

On the way there, Jerusalem's streets were full of heavy traffic. I hail a cab and I get an Arab taxi driver, who tells me he likes blondes. Somehow my naturally graying hair looks blonde to him. I tell him about my grandson and he motions with his finger...

"They will cut him today?" pointing to the tip of his finger.

Most Moslems, he tells me, just do the circumcision in the hospital nowadays, though at one time they also used to have ritual circumcisers who weren't doctors.

He was confused by the "hafla" Jewish boys have at 13. He thought that was perhaps a circumcision ceremony. I was gonna tell him that's when they should all cut off their dicks, but I held back. I explained a Jewish boy becomes a man, according to our tradition and there is no circumcision done at 13.

Then he tells me in Egypt they still do female circumcision. I tell him it's horrible because it's not written anywhere in the Koran. It has nothing to do with Islam. He agrees and tells me women want to have love. And men just want to have sex. A cab driver who understands. Finally. I sigh to myself. I always get these cab drivers who have these semi-inappropriate conversations with me.

I get to the Hall and guests have already arrived. I'm 15 minutes late. I flit from table to table to be with two sets of friends, feeling like Mrs. Doubtfire changing her identity and rushing from table to table. The circumciser is here. The room is dimly lit. I voice my concern to people around me. "Doesn't he need more light to circumcise this baby? Even a dentist uses tons of light to see teeth, never mind a penis." But they laughed and said this guy could do a circumcision in the dark. He apparently does 10 a day and all for free. He does it for the "mitzvah" (good deed).

The food is abundant and extravagant and delicious. They had hoped to get 100 people and paid for 100 people, but they probably didn't have more than 80 show up. I joked with my son-in-law that if it weren't for his huge Tunisian family, the room would have been empty.

Meanwhile the Russian photographer was taking photos of the Complainer daughter and her male friend. She took the sleeping baby and I yelled at her to hold his head. She glared at me and growled..."shut up, you bitch!!" which made my friends look at me and laugh. They hoped the photographer had captured that moment.

The little one finally gets up. He must have pee'd and it burns. He shrieks. My daughter is worried. "You just need to change his diaper. Then he'll be fine."

I get to do the changing, because my daughter is too squeamish. Her husband pours oil over the bandage. These are the directions so the bandage won't stick to the diaper. The tiny thing then nurses and falls asleep as if he has not a care in the world....

I know somethin' about birthin' babies

2010-10-21T23:27:00.001+02:00

I think I found my second calling. My daughter was admitted to the hospital yesterday around noon after her water broke the night before. But it didn't break in a large gush, rather trickled down continuously so that she wasn't 100% sure if it was the water. After the hospital ran some tests, they said that it was the water but the baby's head was in the way of the water coming down all in one swoop.

We had a bit of a false alarm the week before where she ended up in the hospital, only to be sent home 6 hours later. I had rushed out from work only to return home "empty handed". Yesterday, I was like

"yeah,okay (yawn). Call me right before they induce you." as they told her they would.

This morning I decided I wouldn't go to work because on the bus I figured I should do everything in my power to help her go into labor naturally. I hear when you are induced, the labor pains are so much worse than natural labor, why should she have to go through that, especially since she was intent on not taking epidurals. I called work, told them I'm not coming in, gave instructions to people in the office so Boss would be placated that everything was still running smoothly, and made my way to the daughter.

Meanwhile, I was on the phone trying to find solutions to induce labor naturally. I suspected they would try to induce her later that evening if she wasn't making any progress on her own. A friend suggested I do reflexology and instructed me on where exactly are the points which could help, which were below the ankle. A second person said to get her to take 3-4 tablespoons of castor oil in thick juice. Her hubby went to get the vile oil. It was around 12:30 pm when she downed the stuff. We took a walk up and down the 7 flights of stairs meanwhile and by 2:30 she was back on her bed. 2:45 she complained of intense pain. Terribly intense pain. And it wasn't going away either. No sooner did it die down than another shot of intense pain started. Her labor had begun, but wasn't giving her any respite. I ran to get the nurse 3 minutes later, who looked at me like "oh God, what an idiot complaining about 3 contractions" and rolled her eyes and went into the room to look at my daughter,who was by that time, squatting on the floor,complaining she can't get up. Fortunately, there was a doctor on the floor who examined her and he immediately said to "take her to delivery - she's ready." As she's wheeled out of the room, people in the hallway smiled and wished us well. She was squeezing my hand in pain as we go to the elevators,which were all full.

"Can't we tell these people to get the hell out?" I asked one of the nurses wheeling my daughter's bed.

We managed to squeeze into one elevator and for the next 1/2 hour in the delivery room she bent over my arm as I rubbed her lower back vigorously with my other arm and we breathed together.

"You're doing great!!" I coaxed, as she complained about the pain. "LOVE that pain! You didn't have to have them induce you!! Soon you're gonna be holding your baby!" She glared at me. How can anyone in their right mind love their pain.

The whole thing from first painful contraction to her pushing the baby boy out took 40 minutes. I laughed and cried as I saw the midwife pull the baby out. He gave a short cry and they put him on her immediately with all the guck on. Of course, he's great once his dad holds him, and the minute I hold him, he begins whining. So much for quality granny time. Newborns have about 120 facial expressions within a minute. It's so amusing looking at them.

Meanwhile, back home, I hadn't cancelled an interfaith meeting at my home called for 6:30 pm, and instructed Hubby to handle it all.

"All you have to do is be nice and greet people." That in itself is a challenge for grumpa. But he did it and everyone said the meeting was great.

The theme of the meeting was about Honoring Parents - and I thought about this while rubbing my daughter's back.

"You owe me a big sushi meal for this."

I hope she'll do me the honor.

Praying for the Peace of Jerusalem

2010-10-19T16:39:00.002+02:00

On Eagles' Wings had their day of prayer for Jerusalem as they do each year on the first Sunday in October. A friend from work surprised me with an invite to this event, and I, in turn, invited Hubby to tag along since he is a big fan of DayStar TV. He says he watches it solely for the entertainment it provides of evangelists pushing people to the ground and seeing those trembling bodies on the floor. He also likes to hear about the end of days and the Rapture. So I thought he might want to see several hundred evangelical Christians praying right here in Jerusalem, without having to travel all the way to Kansas City, Missouri.

Robert Stearns

I was surprised to see an Orthodox neighbor of mine in the audience, but then since this was a Zionist Christian crowd, I wasn't that surprised in the end. Rabbi Riskin also spoke, his manner of speaking wildly with his hands, coupled with his Brooklyn accent seemed amusing to me. Nir Barkat spoke and as he left, he shook my hand. I guess it wasn't the right time for me to complain to him about the inferior municipal services the Arab residents of Jerusalem get, compared to Jewish residents. I sometimes feel like the queen of missed opportunities.

The speakers mostly railed against Islamic extremism, but their speeches included Arabs together with Jews, living in peace, in this messianic vision they had of a peaceful Israel.

I actually sang along with the folks when they sang verses from the Psalms. But I drew the line at lifting my hands up to the heavens with the rest of the crowd. I haven't even gotten that far with my own spiritual community of Nava Tehilla in Jerusalem.

The scenario for such an event was perfect. It was held at the Hass Promenade, overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem, as the sun set.

Oh little town of Bethlehem

2010-10-02T21:29:00.001+02:00

"Where are you going today?" asked my curious cab driver. I couldn't get anyone to give me a lift on a bus-free Saturday morning and I had to meet the bus that would take Israelis to Bethlehem as part of the Visit Palestine group.

"Bethlehem - with a bus full of Israelis"

The cab driver proceeded to tell me how he speaks fluent Arabic, which he learned when he was a young teenager and hung out with Arabs from the Bethlehem/Hebron area - and that when he was in the South of France, the Arabs he met there thought he was a Palestinian from the Hebron area.

"They won't mess with you if they know you're from Hebron. They have a reputation" and went on to tell me about the camaraderie they shared. He never told them he was Jewish.

Unlike him and many other Jews who visit Arab countries and neighborhoods undercover, we were encouraged to speak Hebrew on this trip. The natives have to know we're Israeli and we're touring Bethlehem.

Even though Bethlehem is about a 10 minute walk from the most southern part of Jerusalem or even less, it's verboten for Israelis to enter this area. Yes, Israelis do sneak in on foreign passports and all that,but officially, it's never been done. Until now. Preparations began a couple of weeks ago when I was asked to sign a few forms that I would not hold the Israeli government or army responsible if anything happened to me in Palestinian-controlled Area A. I signed and faxed and was approved to visit Bethelehem along with around 50 other Israelis from the Tel Aviv/Jerusalem area.

At the Rachel checkpoint, where we had permission to enter, the soldiers told us that they didn't receive any fax giving us the permission. We waited over 1/2 hour and they said if they get the forms faxed, which could be in another 1/2 hour, we could go through, if not....there are other ways to get into Bethlehem. But our organizers wanted to go in the legal way and we detoured in the meanwhile towards Beit Jalah to meet our Palestinian counterparts and for a mini-dialogue. After many phone calls to different authorities, we were informed that we were okay'd to go through the Rachel checkpoint.

This was an historical moment for us all. This was the first time that Israelis who were not journalists, who were not police officers or soldiers, who were not closeted Israelis, were allowed in through this checkpoint. We were all elated and clapped as we went through the wall to the other side. We're in Bethlehem, finally.

Our organizer was telling us his friends reactions. When he tells people he's going to New York, or to Europe or wherever else abroad, his friends are like "cool! Great". But when he told them he was going to nearby Bethlehem, they're like "You crazy, man?" We want to change all that.

We met our Palestinian friends again - who came from Jericho, Nablus and Bethlehem and toured the Church of Nativity. The smell of incense was strong and the Armenian mass was going on. We were escorted by Palestinian police, who seemed perplexed at seeing a mixed group of Israelis and Palestinians and gave us VIP treatment as they whizzed us through the chamber where Jesus was born, in front of a long very-pissed off line of tourists, who watched us breeze by them. Who knows how long a wait they had.

We walked through the marketplace and I don't think I have ever been there. We stopped off at Mary's Place, a Catholic-owned, new, tastefully built center to look at the panoramic view.

One of the young Arab kids came over to me. I seem to be a magnet for young Arab men who confide in me all their dilemmas about women.

He points to a pretty young woman in front of me.

"How do I show her that I like her? I don't want to tell her. I want to show her. How?"

My guess is he was asking me because this was his first encounter with Israeli women. He wasn't sure she'd go out with him.

"She might go out with you." I tried to assure him. "But then she may not because you're a different religion" - let's be realistic.

I told him to get her email address and correspond at first. He seemed satisfied and happy that he now has a goal and a new Jewish mother.

"Can I call you Mama?" he asked me.

"You can, or you can call me by my name."

Did the locals know we were Israelis? Apparently, people heard the shopkeepers and locals saying to each other "Yahud?" ("Jews?") and were pleased to hear that we were from various peace groups.

The Palestinians said they were pleased to see we were also given trouble at the checkpoints and say this kind of thing happens to them every day. So we were given a taste of what they go through.

One man from one of the local Bible schools, an Christian Arab refugee from the Jerusalem neighborhood of Musrara, spoke to us to tell us that there aren't any tensions or persecutions of Christians from the Moslem majority in Bethlehem, but what only annoyed him was the call of the muezzins disturbing his sleep or tv watching; which was especially awful during Ramadan - when people were always in the mosque. His comment annoyed the Bethlehem Moslems who told him that church bells were also very annoying to them. That should be the worst of their problems.

We said our good byes to the Palestinian contingent and hoped we could organize a Visit Israel day for them.

Looking at the other

2010-09-23T13:24:00.000+02:00

Yom Kippur has come and gone. Thank God. I've heard everyone wishing me an easy fast. What's so easy about fasting, pray tell me? There is nothing easy about not eating and drinking for 25 hours. And anyways, I hate fasting. Hate it, hate it, hate it. But I do it anyway, because it will clean out my body as well as my soul from sins. I also don't sit in the synagogue all day and read from the prayerbook, because the synagogues in my areas have dry services for the most part, and reading from a prayerbook makes me nauseous and dizzy so I'd rather stay home, only venturing out in the evenings, when the weather is cooler.

My family has this perverse custom on Yom Kippur. They like to check out the neighbors. If someone's eating or drinking, they'll do it indoors and no one but God will see them. And most people, if they watch TV, will close their blinds, so that again, only God sees them. My 18 year old son is on the terrace after the fast started and yells for me to come look. He points to a building, two buildings away, where the blinds are not closed and the people are clearly watching television. The TV stations are closed for the day, so obviously it's a DVD they're watching. But this was the first time he had seen someone so blatantly violating the Day so he was really excited. Hubby and I used to take walks during the cool evenings around the neighborhood so see which lights are flickering, a tell-tale sign that the TV is on.

Last night,while sitting in the traffic circle with my daughter and her son, watching all the kiddie cyclists (no cars run on the holiday, except for ambulances,police and security), I looked up at a friend's home to see their lights flickering in their livingroom, and pointed out to my daughter that they're also watching videos. I guess watching other people sin more than us makes us feel more self-righteous.

This is the only day of the year when we leave lights on, don't use electricity, travel, eat, drink, etc. So what does one do, if one is not a synagogue go-er? I bought a 1500 piece puzzle and two Vanity Fair magazines (used, of course. since the price of a new magazine is around $15) for us to pass the time away.

My other daughter called me after the fast was over. They played Monopoly and when the mother-in-law went to the toilet, her and her brother-in-law took advantage of the break and helped themselves to money from the bank. Her Hubby saw this and was livid. "You're cheating during Yom Kippur?? How could you?!" "It's only a game" wasn't good enough for him. Yom Kippur is a day of no cheating. And that's final.

ageing

2010-09-03T14:46:00.000+03:00

I celebrated a friend's 50th birthday on the rooftop of the new, posh Mamilla Hotel in Jerusalem. I walked into the lobby and everything was quiet, lights were muted, candles were lit and the air was perfumed. Not a convention center atmosphere at all. I felt like I stumbled onto or into a spa. I also felt that I don't belong - kinda like Ellie May Clampett of the Beverly Hillbillies. The place was so exquisitely beautiful, that the toilets had soft ecologic (?) paper towels and L'Occitane hand soap. MK Tzipi Livni was there too but not for my friend's celebration; she was out having dinner on the rooftop restaurant, which didn't appear to be overly expensive. The view of old and new Jerusalem is magnificent from the rooftop bar. While the sun was setting, around 15 of our friend's closest girlfriends toasted her over a nice (few) bottles of champagne. I was buzzed after just one glass.

But speaking of age, I'm growing out my hair and it's a grey blonde. In fact, I was highly insulted recently when a stupid, tactless, asshole Egged bus driver asked me if I wanted to buy the senior citizen's monthly bus pass. This is the first time anyone implied that I look like a senior citizen. Not that that's awful, but it's just not fair that when I'm blonde, people don't take me for being a grandmother and now bus drivers are trying to sell me passes for people who are at least 11 years older than I am.

Then when I got home I see that one can join the local Golden Age club in my town when you're just 55 years old. I'll be 55 in February. Maybe it won't be too shabby to be a golden ager after all. They advertised for their members quite a number of trips to spas and hotels for quite cheap. I asked a couple of my girlfriends who are over 55 if they'd join up, but they complained the club is full of Russians. "So what. If we join, we'll turn it into a half-Russian, half-English club." There is strength in numbers.

Macho Man

2010-08-31T22:58:00.000+03:00

I have my computer back. I didn't have enough energy to wrestle our one family computer that Hubby bought for me but that was unfortunately placed in my son's room. Since then, he has claimed ownership, and I don't have the time to continuously plead with him for computer time.

But now? He's ousted from school, and decided to spend the year working as a waiter in a wedding hall so he can save money for driving lessons and a car. Weddings are thankfully held at night, which means the computer is free when I get home from work.

My young adult son loves to look at himself in the mirror and flex his muscles. "Look at my muscles" he'll tell me, while putting his biceps in my face. Nearly every day. He's so annoying. He does pushups in the living room while we're watching TV and lifts weights.

My daughters and I once gave him a lift to the local falafel shop (sort of like the local British fish 'n chip shop) and we laughed at him while he swaggered down the street - his arms arched by his sides.

"He looks like a gorilla" said my daughter.

"Why does he walk like that?" asked the other.

I have no words.

Then on Friday night, one of my daughters shrieked - "look at his feet!!!" We all looked and, yeah, he was wearing my daughter's blingy faux diamond studded, shiny, flip flops. All of us laughed until it hurt. Even macho man himself.

It's Complicated

2010-07-24T17:29:00.001+03:00

People are just being horrible, cruel and disgusting to each other. Husbands and wives, parents and kids, bus drivers and passengers...you name it, this week I heard it all.

It's nearly mid-summer and I feel like I haven't done much. Summer is too expensive and too hot to travel, so I stay back in Jerusalem and make the most out of what the city has to offer. Last week it was the Film Festival. This week I tried to get Hubby out of the doldrums and told him about a concert for 25 NIS ($8), which is a bargain. I had no idea who the band was. The last band I saw at the Liberty Bell Amphitheater was Marsh Dondurma

and they were amazing and the place was packed. The week before I saw Flamenco dancers and singers.

This time there was an avant garde dance troupe and a group called Terra Rosa. I thought they were excellent musicians, but they were on the mellow side and Hubby was bored, calling it a waste of his time. Fine. I'll take friends next time.

Then my daughter, when we're on the bus togther, tells me her husband's sister is complaining about her baby girl. She already had 2 boys and said girls were nudniks - she didn't even want a daughter because they're more difficult to raise. I'm furious with sister-in-law. What an asshole. I love my daughters. They are such lovelies, even when they bitch. My daughter laughed when I cursed the woman, telling her I hope her daughter steals all her makeup and clothing when she gets older. My daughter added -

"Yeah, and I hope the girl stays out all night and takes money from her mother's purse" citing the things she did to me.

Then the bus driver ends up opening the back door and closes it immediately, while I'm trying to get out of the bus. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I'm yelling at him in English and he opens the door again and lets me out. He doesn't want an irate Anglo on his bus and is glad to let me off.

Another bus driver on our way home on Thursday was also horrid to one passenger who came onto the bus with her stroller. He kept on asking her repeatedly to fold the stroller. She ignored him. This bus wasn't picking up any more passengers as it was coming back from Jerusalem, so what did he care. She wasn't blocking the aisles any more than the soldiers do when they come on buses with their huge duffelbags which I have to step on or over when I'm getting on or off the bus. He finally ends up screaming at her - "Tembelit (idiot)!! When are you gonna fold up the stroller". I looked at my friend. I never heard a bus driver hurl abuse at anyone before. What a dick. I told him - "she just has to pay an extra fare when she doesn't fold up the stroller, so ask her for an extra fare." I could see him glaring at me through the mirror. Eventually, she tells him her husband works for Egged and he could go fuck himself. He lost this fight.

On Saturday I watch the movie "It's Complicated" with Meryl Streep, and I'm hoping she doesn't get back with her ex, because her ex was an asshole who cheated on her and she shouldn't give him the time of day. I get into this movie as if Meryl's character is my friend. In the end, she does the right thing. There are just too many assholes in this world....

9th of Av

2010-07-20T22:30:00.000+03:00

I must admit, I'm less and less inclined to listen to the rules made by rabbis and instead am listening more to my own soul. For me it's soothing.

I took off work the day of the 9th of Av in the Hebrew calendar, the anniversary of the destruction of the 1st and 2nd temples in Jerusalem, and didn't know what I would be doing - whether I would fast the entire day, none of the day, half the day or what. I had the option of going to Nava Tehilla's reading of the Megillat (scroll) of Eicha at the Nature Museum. It's usually a very reflective evening, much different than in regular synagogues, where you would be writing down thoughts, etc. And all this by candlelight. But traveling in from Maaleh Adumim seemed tedious and I decided to stick close to home. My other option was the Conservative reading of the Megillah on a lookout over Jerusalem, locally, but still difficult to get to, as I'd either have to scrounge for a ride or take two buses. Once I'm home in the evening, it's hard for me to want to leave. I settled for the third option to just stay at home and watch the History channel on Jerusalem, narrated by Martin Gilbert.

My kids trounced in at various hours, surprised that I wasn't eating or drinking. I was especially put to the test by one of my daughters who put sushi on the table. "I'll save it for tomorrow" I told her. "You're not gonna eat it now?" she asked me. "No do you want it" I asked her, hoping she'll say no. She said "no" and I hid it in back of the fruit, not that anyone else in the family eats sushi.

The next day I was supposed to watch my grandson, but my son-in-law, the alien husband who never complains about anything, decided he'll stay home and watch his son. I spent the entire morning, just cooking. Cooking? I wasn't eating and cooking and baking for most of the day, made up for my not eating.

But I had already thought it over. I'm not in exile any more. I've liberated myself from the Diaspora and back in my homeland. So I declared it a 1/2 fast day for me (due to the fact that the 1st half of the fast (for me) was in commemoration of the destruction of the temple and not the exile) and broke it sometime in the afternoon.

My daughter took me shopping at the mega supermarket nearby and watched as my son went out of the car to buy falafel.

"Why is he walking like that?" two daughters asked me in unison.

He's been working out and he thinks he's Sylvester Stallone. I tell them he thinks it makes him look tough that way.

"He looks like a robot".

We laughed and drove away....

I figured no one would be shopping during the fast day. I was wrong. Everyone was shopping and the place was packed. Hungry people shop more and I was sure the store had people spending more money this day than they normally would. What a coup for this store. My pregnant daughter laughed as she tried to swerve her shopping cart into the aisle I was in and she ended up turning around several times with the cart. We both laughed and I think the Arab shopper near us, who was wearing a keffiyah, thought we were laughing at him. I smiled at him as reassurance that we weren't and even thought of whipping out my interfaith business card to prove that we would never laugh at someone of a different race/religion.

We just laugh at our own.

Be careful what you see

2010-07-18T22:19:00.000+03:00

I was getting so tired of my son showing me the same scenes from his new favorite movie, Bruno. So I was happy to run away from home to the Jerusalem International Film Festival. For the past 10 days I saw around 13 films. I usually go with a friend to the opening and to the Saturday films, but this friend decided to take a real summer vacation and go off to the U.S. of A.   I can't blame her. Hubby joined me at the last moment for the opening flick Le Rafle about the French deportation of Jews during the Holocaust. Very moving, very well done. I'm not a movie critic so that's about all you'll get from me. I didn't know if he'd keep up with subtitles, but he actually did a good job. He's not a foreign film person. No one in my family is but me.

Friday I saw Melody for a Street Organ, a Ukranian film about two young children who search for their fathers because their mother died, and the coldness of the Ukranian winters and the coldness of the people who shunted these children around, seemed equally harsh. I get out of the theater and run to catch another film at a different theater a few blocks away. I'm already 15 minutes late for the film. A man with a child stops me. He asks me for money for food for his children. It's hard to say no. I had given him money  when I had seen him last.  I remember the kids in the film who were too proud to beg and no one helped them, and I was sad. I was just as harsh as the people in the film, as I was late for my film and didn't want to scrounge through my purse for change.    Kanikosen was a Japanese film about crab fishermen in the 1920s and their cruel task master on the boat. It was a strong film about how they tried to take control of their lives and their fate. I come home after that film. One of Hubby's favorite reality shows is about crab fishing off the Alaska coast. I don't know which he likes better. Crab fishing or DayStar evangelical network on Saturday mornings.

I had to hitchhike into Jerusalem on Saturday morning and, fortunately, my driver was a nice young man, recently engaged to a non-Jewish Peruvian woman. He drove well and bemoaned the fact that it will be a royal pain in the ass for his fiancee to convert in this country. .

I began the day with a French Film, Barbe Blue (Bluebeard). Bluebeard was a beautiful film that took place both in the 1950s and 18th century, with scenes switching back and forth. In the end the young girl has Bluebeard's head on the plate. I love clever women.

I meet a friend in the lounge. She is seeing twice as many films as I am - and also is seeing them alone. She said that this festival is spiritual because things are happening to her that are the continuation of the movies we are seeing. I relate to her what happened to me with the film I saw on Friday and the beggar who came to me right after the film ended. Is this because the festival is in Jerusalem or do things like this happen in Cannes too?

The next film I saw was The Infidel - a British comedy about a Moslem family, the man of the house from Pakistani extraction whose son is engaged to a woman whose stepfather is an Al-Qaida type. The father finds out he was born a Jew. Hysterically funny film, and it was great to laugh with the entire audience. I found that even sitting in theaters alone, I can still laugh out loud and not be embarrassed about this. My kids ask me if it's not "fadichot" (embarrassing) to sit my myself, and I tell them no. I think they're in awe about this. On Sunday I went for my annual mammogran and sit next to a Moslem woman who is covered from head to toe. I look for a pen and out pops the ticket to the movie The Infidel. She looks at the ticket and I'm so amused thinking what a thing to pop out of my purse at this moment. Maybe that's what I am? Maybe that's what she thinks of me? Infidel?

The next film, Tuesday After Christmas was a Romanian film and the only film I didn't enjoy. Scenes dragged on much too long and I was bored. The last film of that day was Please Give, a funny movie about a young New York family and their old neighbor. They bought her place, but can't renovate until she dies. The movie had some great scenes and I loved the daughter's character crying to her friend about her hippie mother who wanted to "fix the world and who brought home a homeless person to give him a shower in their house and he made a dump on the floor." To my kids, I'm like the same kind of "mom who wants to fix the world but isn't it hopeless attitude" and by me bringing home Arabs - this is nearly akin to bringing in a homeless person and the little upstarts should be grateful that at least "my" guests know how to use a toilet.

Un Ange de la Mer was a French film about a kid whose depressed father tells him that he will kill himself. Up until then, the kid was a normal kid, but afterwards, he was obsessed with watching his father, then couldn't speak.properly..and became half mad like his dad

Friday I saw Korkoran, a great French film about Gypsies in 1943, and about how they just wanted their freedom above all, even though they were told they had to stay put for their own safety.  The French townsfolk consisted of some who wanted to rid France of "their vermin" and the mayor who tried to save the 15-member Gypsy family from the Nazis.

Saturday I saw Crazy Heart, a film with Jeff Bridges and Me Too, a Spanish film about a man with Down's Syndrome who falls in love with a "regular" woman. I nearly cried when another Down's Syndrome couple fell in love and the 24 year old woman explains to her friends that "he's my soul. He's my soul" It made me think of a Down's Syndrome guy who always had a bunch of flowers in his hand. When he saw me, he'd give me one of them and a hug. I haven't seen him in months and wonder how he is.

The Double Hour was an Italian suspense film. Really good. I tried to convince my family they would like it but they "poo poo'd" foreign films, telling me they know they're boring. Stupid people. The last film - a French flick called Un Poison Violent was a story about a family living in a small French village, whose life centered around their Parish church and the priest, while the daughter was beginning to have these lustful feelings for one of the boys in the village and didn't know whether she should take communion (or is it "have" communion?). One scene I believe the priest is in love with one of his parisioners, but won't show it or won't allow it to happen. He cries himself to sleep at night.

This afternoon I went to an interfaith meeting in Beit Jala. Some of my favorite people were there including someone I have a bigger-than-slight crush on. There are young women from Italy, France, US, and India. I love the whole scene. It's relaxed and the headache I had at the beginning disappeared. The Man is telling everyone to wait until I finish eating. I tell them don't bother, I'm never finished eating. Everyone laughs and then we go on to discuss why Jerusalem is holy in our three religions. Afterwards, the Man gives me a hug and tells the crowd he's so happy to see me. That I'm his soul friend. He repeats the word "soul" again. And I nearly cry.

Elton

2010-06-19T14:36:00.001+03:00

"He's not just an asshole. He's a FUCKING asshole". I was deep in conversation with my daughter on lessons in life, describing to her exactly who is a good performer and who isn't, which depended on whether they cancelled their performances in Israel or not. The asshole is question was Elvis Costello.

Boycotting Israel won't do anything for the Palestinian cause. I'm thinking what did Elvis Costello or the Pixies doing to help the Palestinians. Did they help them by cancelling? I'm of the mindset that if you want Israel to suffer economic or cultural hardship, as a result of various boycotts, just remember that we and the Palestinians are intertwined. Like it or not, we are bound together. If we suffer hardships, so do they. If our economy is good, theirs is better too. Things are far from perfect for them, but this is how it is generally.

We were on our way to the Elton John concert in Tel Aviv, travelling by train to avoid traffic and wanting to get there early, without hassle. It seems that anything that was more "hassle-free" would be the direction I would be taking.

In Jerusalem 10,000 police or so were gearing up for Ultra-Orthodox demonstrations. They expected tens of thousands of demonstrators. What was all this shit about? Again? How long will I have to smell burning trash each time my bus passes by their neighborhoods. Fuck.

The State of Israel had wanted to desegregate Ashkenazi kids from Sephardic kids in a school up in a small place in the West Bank called Emmanuel. Seems the school had the kids in separate classrooms, and those that didn't want to desegregate their kids, kept their kids at home. In turn, the parents were about to go to jail for two weeks for disobeying the order. Assholes. Is this what will bring the Messiah? Yeah, yeah, we know about the different customs between the two strains of Jews but so what? Can't they just have just a tiny bit of unity. Just once?  I commented to a friend how my daughter had married into quite a religious Sephardic family, who didn't care that we weren't Orthodox. That would never have happened had it been an Ashkenazi family, who would have looked at us like Pariahs - as they look at everyone who isn't like them.

So together with Elvis Costello, and the Pixies, the Ashkenazi Ultra-Orthodox Jews pissed me off this past week too.

I needed a break, and Hubby was getting on my nerves with his complaining about the army of ants invading our kitchen, blaming it on my housekeeping or whatever semblance of housekeeping I do have, and also complaining to me about my youngest daughter who uses an entire tube of toothpaste when she brushes her teeth, leaving sloppy remnants of overflow toothpaste all over the bathroom sink. I was going to go to Elton with Hubby, but since he was like "I'm never going to go with you to anything" I reined in my Complainer daughter (who complains a lot less lately), telling her to take a day off work.

I was feeling rather queasy that day.   My daughter met me at work and decided to treat me to lunch. Fair deal, since I treated her to the concert. The won ton soup and sushi seemed to do well for me. In a matter of an hour I felt back to normal and was so grateful. Sushi heals! So does leaving work two hours early.

So we hopped on the bus, which we waited for quite a while, since the the demonstrations were underway at the time. We made it to the train just in time.   Bnei Brak was the station closest to the stadium, and we were both a bit nervous since it was an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in Tel Aviv, and we weren't dressed for that 'hood with our sleeveless tops and all.

"If they try to start up with me, I'll fucking kill them. I'll spray them with deodorant." my daughter exclaimed to me. A police officer sat with us.

"There" I said. "See? We have police protection already."

We got out at the station, which wasn't exactly inside the neighborhood and there were large signs pointing outdirections to the Stadium. We got there 2 1/2 hours too early. Once inside the stadium, we couldn't leave. It was steamy hot in Tel Aviv. We're not used to humidity, us Jerusalemites. So even though the train seems to be the way to go, taking a later train would have meant getting there too late. The best thing would have been to stick around the local mall for an hour and a half. We quenched our thirst with expensive cups of water (yes, cups) which cost 10 NIS (around $3). And we waited for Elton, while the sound guys did their checks, over and over with a loud "ONE......TWO" getting the sound just right.

And then the lights dimmed, the crowd cheered and Elton began with Funeral for a friend/Love lies bleeding.  After a couple of songs, he said to the audience "Shalom, we are so happy to be back here! Ain't nothing gonna stop us from coming, baby," "Musicians spread love and peace, and bring people together. That's what we do. We don't cherry-pick our conscience."   At that moment, there was this sense of overwhelming love for this guy - he touched 50,000 souls. I screamed out "I LOVE YOU ELTON" hoping my voice will reverberate down to the stage, while my amused daughter looked on. And I clapped and cheered like a crazy.  He is definitely not on my Wuss list.

When he sang Yellow Brick Road the audience went wild. Everyone stood up and began singing along with him and dancing. Behind me, people stood and danced in the aisles, while the French woman next to me yelled at a couple of people behind her to shut up as they were talking (not singing) and it was disturbing her.  I found the sound to be good, in general, though the first two to three seconds of many of the songs, Elton's voice seemed to be down in the mix, but the sound people corrected it and we then heard him clearly.  As I don't remember set lists, my friend sent me her recollection of the list. It was:

Funeral for a friend
Levon
Philadelphia Freedom
I guess that's why they call it the blues
sacrifice
Madman across the water
Daniel
Bitch
tiny Dancer
candle in the wind
sat nights all right for fighting
lover song (didn't know it)
I'm still standing
benny and the jets
Rocket man
Don't let the sun go down on me
Crocodile rock
sorry seems to be the hardest word
encore -Circle of Life
Your song

And, again, thank you Elton for not cowtowing to pressure to cancel your concert.

Light

2010-06-13T19:44:00.000+03:00

I have to remember never to say that Hubby is a pain in my ass because perhaps God is punishing me and has smitten me with hemorroids so painful, I couldn't sleep a wink last night until I talked myself into sleep by saying "You feel no pain. You feel no pain." And I think I slept three hours.

The past couple of weeks have been stressful no doubt, with the flotilla incident - and a day later I had to speak to a group of interfaith people from the US in East Jerusalem, who yelled at me after my talk for living on stolen land. Doesn't good action count for anything anymore? I almost yelled at the Asian woman that she was living on stolen land too - Native American land. But who needed more aggravation.

Two days later I hosted a group of 24 Compassionate Listeners for Shabbat. I cooked up a meal for 30 because part of my family would be there too. Hubby was hysterical as if he were the cook, yelling at me - "what the fuck did I get myself into cooking for such a crowd." I told him plainly - we have to be a light unto the nations, don't we? After all, we definitely need a whole lotta light,because not much is emanating from this place, unfortunately.

The "service" began. For the multi-religion crowd, I played a cd from my community, of Psalms that Nava Tehilla, the Jewish Renewal community, sing on the Sabbath - really beautiful stuff and original music. I transliterated the words into English letters so that even the non-Jews could sing along. I strummed a guitar to Shalom Aleichem, the first time I've strummed a guitar in 37 years. Pretty good for someone who's forgotten the B and F chords, but thanks to YouTube, regained that knowledge. The food turned out excellent and the company was wonderful. I brought in someone from Nablus who is part of our interfaith group so that they could get his perspective too. And they left me small trinkets like organic soaps, which I love and a folding nylon bag that I can put into my purse effortlessly so that I won't need to mess with those plastic bags when I go shopping.

Little Nazis

2010-05-29T12:11:00.000+03:00

I was so distraught at the bickering and fighting going on in my home last week, I just sat in a semi-vegetative state in front of my computer googling Jonathan Rhys Myers to find out if the Tudor King hunk is in fact Jewish. And I stumbled across this site saying that his mother's maiden name is Myers and that if he plays the "Jewish card" in Hollywood, he'll be alright. Well, I looked at the site I was on, and it was some neo-Nazi site called Stormtroopers. Somehow I got into it because they were just going on about how the Jews control this and the Jews control that, and suddenly I didn't feel so depressed any more because, well, we're just so in control of everything. Especially good to read, since I felt so out of control at home. I perused photos of the members (don't remember how I got on to that) and see a bunchy of just regular folk, some, whose dislike for Jews stemmed from the fact that when they were among Jews, these White folk often felt ignored, transparent, left out. Jews can be cliquey. That's true. Whatever. I guess we better start inviting more neo-Nazis for a Shabbat meal at our homes to make them feel welcome :-).

I read on and saw that their descriptions of how to detect a Jew were oh, so, 1930s/1940s. I remember flying on Lufthansa with Israelis and the flight attendants must have mistaken me for one of "theirs' because they spoke to me in German (and I answered back in that language - my folks were Austrian). My husband is also an Aryan Jew. Big blue eyes and blond hair. Hell, I bet if he posted his photo on that site, he would be their Aryan poster boy. The site insists that Jews are a race. Hmmm. A trip to Israel might confuse them with our multi-race Asian, African, Nordic, Semitic Jewish brothers and sisters.

And it's Saturday morning, and I'm back on the site, grinning like mad. The site insists that Jews don't do blue collar work like paint and fix cars. Hubby works at a construction site. He's one of the crew. He's a proud, blue collar, Aryan Jew. So maybe we can't buy everything we want to buy. We should. We're Jews. We should be stinking, filthy rich. But we don't even own a car. These White Power guys do. Even if it's a pick up truck. What the hell happened??! I should have made it in Hollywood. Something! As a Jew, I should have some success in my life. Shouldn't I?? At least that's what the members of this White Power web site believe.

Politics

2010-05-15T12:14:00.000+03:00

I hate politics and am not too fond of politicians either. They ruin my interfaith meetings. On the day of our latest interfaith meeting, where we were going to get together to watch the film "Arranged" about a friendship between an Orthodox Jewish woman and a religions Moslem woman, I got a call from one of the Moslem participants.

"We won't be able to come to the meeting, because the issue of settlements is hot right now."

"Isn't it always a hot issue?"

"Yes, but the PA police in some areas are not even allowing Palestinians with work permits, who work in the settlements, to work in the settlements. They are confiscating their permits."

"Huh? But no one is working in a settlement at our meetings. This has nothing to do with politics."

"It doesn't matter. It's too risky to meet with settlers right now." said the voice on the other end of the line.

"Your permits will be taken away if you visit us?"
"It could be."

"Thinking about it, don't you think it's good in a way that your people are cracking down on settlement building? Isn't that what you really want? No settlement expansion?"

"The people have no other income. Their income is being taken away. It's terrible."

"Indeed. What if the PA people who get all this funding from Europe and all these other places, use that money to specially compensate the workers who are no longer allowed to work in settlements by their own Palestinian police at your own checkpoints" asked I, surprised that there were also Palestinian checkpoints.

"That's a good idea. "

Yeah. I'm a real whiz at good ideas. Maybe I should even be in politics. But I'll admit. I'll be similar to our politicians. I'll take bribes. But they'll be selective bribes.

Say, some land dealer wants to build Arab-Jewish housing on the perimeter of Jerusalem, and wants to win the tender. Sure! I'll take some bucks and give him the tender.

But if they want to tear down a beautiful Arab historical home in West Jerusalem to build a 10 storey housing project and offer me millions, hmmmm. I won't do that. Not for any money. And I'll grant thousands of building permits for East Jerusalem residents who never were able to get permits before.

But I'm stuck in my mini-political world. I called some other Moslem participants who come from a different part of the country the afternoon of the meeting. They had a different story.

"X told us yesterday that there were permits for us. But today, he said that he's not bringing anyone in because of the 'situation'. But when he found out we might come anyway, he then told us there were no permits. What's going on?"

I don't know. I really don't know anymore.

Holy Cities in the Holy Land

2010-05-08T12:00:00.000+03:00

We had our last interfaith meeting in Abu Dis. Our coordinator tells us this may be our last meeting at his office because the main supporter of his NGO is upset with the fact that he is meeting "settlers" and withdrew all funding. He tried to tell them that we don't talk politics and it's a meeting over our religions and around other "safe" cultural themes, but unfortunately, these people don't see beyond the trees, and are stuck on the rigid green line thing. They make their own fences and walls it seems. As it so happened, I was the only "settler" at the meeting. The rest were from Nablus and Christians from Germany and Norway -and a Reuters reporter.

We were told that Abu Dis may become area A in a matter of a couple of weeks. The guy who told me seemed so happy. It's a step for the Palestinians but to me it means I won't be able to visit the city legally. I'll either have to sign a 10-page army document or come in illegally. What a fucking drag.

We spoke about Holy Cities in the Holy Land. It could have been a charged subject, but it wasn't. I simply noted that Judaism considered four cities in the Holy Land. And I didn't mention the more "charged" political entities of Palestine or Israel - thinking perhaps that we should rename the area to just plain The Holy Land with the coexistance symbols of the Sulha. Oh, so getting back to the presentation, the cities are Jerusalem, holy to Jews for over three thousand years, corresponding to the element of fire - because of the ancient Temple sacrifices. Then there is Hebron, where our forefathers are buried. That city relates to the element of earth, because of the holy burial place. Safed is the city of the Kabbalists - so that is corresponds to the element of air because of its spirituality. Tiberias is the city where the Jerusalem Talmud was written as well as the home of many great rabbis in the 18th and 19th centuries - and corresponds to element of water because it's on the Sea of Galilee.

The Palestinians asked me about the the Hebron thing and that it caused quite an uproar because Bibi named it a top Jewish Heritage site. I told them, that because Bibi did it, that caused the uproar. If it was me telling Hebronites that the Cave of the Patriarchs is like the 2nd holiest site, no one would have said boo. But you can't change these facts that it's a Jewish holy city, as the Koran can't be changed, I told them.

Being that there was no Christian presenter, I read through a list of lesser known cities where Jesus walked and talked and performed miracles. The Christians laughed because I made no mention of Jerusalem, Bethlehem and Nazareth. Revisionist? Not really. I just, well, didn't mention them because I focused on the lesser known places and it totally slipped my whatever-is-left-of-my-mind. Silly Jewish girl they must have thought.

Jerusalem is the 3rd holiest city for Moslems, and what I never knew was that before the Kaaba was built in Mecca, Moslems faced Jerusalem. Just like us Jews when we pray.

And speaking of similarities, I attended a lecture in Jerusalem of Tzvi Misinai who spoke about the Jewish origins of Palestinians. The audience was mostly Orthodox Jews who were curious and never heard of such a thing. "What about the Arab massacres of Jews in Hebron?" one asked, when discussed how we lived in harmony at one time. The lecturer said that the rumor that Jews were murdering Arabs in Jerusalem spread to other parts of the country and outsiders came in and perpetuated that lie to instill fear - the deadly F word - in its Arab inhabitants.

He mentioned the rituals of some of the local tribes, especially the lighting of candles on Thursday and Friday nights (the Thursday night was to throw the Turks off track to prove that it wasn't a Jewish Sabbath thing) and praying in caves and marrying within the clan. He even mentioned one Palestinian family I know and said they know they're from Jewish origin. Indeed, I had even asked that person once about his origin and they looked at me and said they didn't know. But I remember the look on his dad's face. His dad is in Palestinian politics. They don't like to be found out. It was a disturbed look as if I did indeed uncover a family secret.

Tzvi is distributing pamphlets in Arabic, Hebrew and English about the origins of and testimonies from Palestinians. He believes in one state for one people - but that one people would include the Palestinians who wouldn't have to convert to become the People of Israel. They would be first-class citizens - all with Israeli ID and Israel would be fully democratic. Interesting thought. But that would mean people would have to see them as brothers instead of enemies. A complete change in the mainstream Israeli mindstream would have to happen. I wonder if the lecture changed the mind of some of the people in the audience who probably never had any deep heart-to-heart conversation with any Palestinian.

In the 11th century, there was an edict in the Holy Land that if one does not convert to Islam, the remaining families would have to leave the land. Rather than leave, they converted to Islam. This also is probably the reason why there is such a fierce tug of war over the land. Because if they would do anything, absolutely anything, to stay on their land, then nothing and no one could ever take it from them. And we shouldn't have to. We should live on it together.

Independence and confusion

2010-04-20T13:12:00.000+03:00

Last Friday at Nava Tehilla, the Jewish Renewal monthly service I attend, the Rabbi spoke about the upcoming Israeli Independence Day.

"There are many people here working in Israeli/Palestinian dialogue. With Israelis celebrating Independence Day this coming Tuesday, we have to realize that one people's celebration is not always that for everyone. It's a sad day for others living in this country... and this causes a lot of confusion."

I had come home from that service so happy that the Rabbi acknowledged this, and also because my dinner guest had mentioned that she would be interested in joining my interfaith group, because of what the Rabbi said. We have to understand one another.

And talk about confusion. At the home front, things are most confusing.

"Black is such a negative color" my husband remarked to me one morning.

Huh? He's always complaining that I'm so fat. Doesn't he know that black makes me look thinner? Fool. I kept the black outfit on.

Meanwhile this week, he's been having withdrawal symptoms from trying to quit smoking. It's been 4 days now since he's taken a butt and he's miserable, and the scowl on his face seems to me to be a permanent facial disfigurement. He had been calling me an average of 25 times a day, while I'm at work. I'm ignoring most of those calls. I tell him he's only allowed to call me once or twice at the most. He doesn't listen and catches the office manager on the phone, to tell her of all my sins.

"Did you know that she eats Halal meat?" referring to non-kosher meat but rather the Arab version of "kosher".

I sighed when he told me he told her. He loves to point out my sins to others. Like when we were Chabad chassidim, and I used to go Israeli dancing with both men and women, which is taboo in the Chassidic world. But he made sure that everyone in our religious neighborhood knew about it, when we had a tiff or two or three.

Yesterday, my office closed early for Memorial Day for Israel's fallen. I've always thought it should be a memorial day for both Israelis and Arabs who died in our what-seems-like-an-eternity-of conflict. I thought I'd head over to the YMCA where a joint memorial day ceremony for both Israelis and Arabs was being held. I couldn't stay the full three hours as I had promised by daughter that I'd attend the local Independence Day celebration in Maaleh Adumim where her boyfriend was going to perform. At the joint memorial ceremony, I listened to an older man talk about his boyhood in Ramle, where up until 1948, it was an Arab town. People were involved in agriculture. He knew nothing as a child of any conflict, Arabs and Jews. All they wanted to do was play. Until the War of Independence where he lost his home and described weeks of going without food, being sheltered in a local church, and the fear and loss they experienced. His last words were something like "Israel does not have complete independence yet", and I agreed with him. I had to leave after an hour, but I knew that they would also hear an Israeli speak about their loss during a terror attack. I would miss the listening workshops and the candlelighting. I had to rush home to celebrate.

"I told them all about you" said my daughter about her boyfriend's parents. "I told them you love Arabs and that you are trying to make peace between Arabs and Israelis. His father asked me 'What ! Does she want to give back Maaleh Adumim?' but I said I really didn't know what you do, and that he should speak to you."

What a fabulous first impression. I'm about to meet them in about two hours for the first time. I put on my contact lenses, and fresh makeup so I could look nice. Let them not think Arab lovers are all dykey-looking, makeupless, grungy people who wear clothes that need serious ironing.

We took a cab over to their home. I expected a bit of a confrontation, but there was none. They treated me with kindness, smiles and two large glasses of Coca Cola. They were going to sit in reserved seats in the VIP section, and they wanted us to sit with them. We got into the VIP place, I walked passed the mayor while my daughter's boyfriend's parents shook his hand. I nodded at him, wondering if he already knows I had been to a joint Palestinian/Israeli Nakba/Memorial Day ceremony. And I sat down to watch the beautiful fireworks display and the various performers in the crowded park from my up front VIP seat.

Jordan

2010-04-13T17:41:00.000+03:00

On Thursday I was invited to be a part of the 1st conference of the Euro-Mediterranean Abrahamic Forum in Amman, Jordan. Luckily, I was able to take time off work for this convention. Because we are Israelis, we couldn't go to the much closer Allenby Bridge, but rather had to go over the Sheikh Hussein bridge near Beit Shean Valley, a 2 hour ride north of Jerusalem. On the Israeli side of the border was a large photo of the late King Hussein lighting up the late Yitzchak Rabin's cigarette. They're both smoking. "Oh look, they're killing each other," I mentioned to one of my travel mates. On the Jordanian side of the border, as Israelis we had to report to the Tourist Police before our passports were stamped. I guess they want to take a talley of how many Israelis come into the country and to keep an eye out. We're touchier tourists than others.

Driving on the other side of the Jordan River, we passed by rows of small Bedouin villages and small shops. I had seen the same vistas in photos of Pakistan, Iraq, etc. They were remarkably similar. Photos of King Abdullah were everywhere, nearly at every intersection. Our young driver told one of the women in our group who was fluent in Arabic that his parents were refugees from Jerusalem. Ooops. Sorry 'bout that, but please get us safely to Amman. The climb up from the valley to the top of the ridge was slow, and the van had a rough time going up the steep road. Eventually we did make it to Amman, to the hotel.

But the hotel menu needed some fine tuning

We introduced ourselves and it was quite interesting to meet new faces - young Jordanians, Belgians of Turkish descent, Polish buddhists, Greeks, Lithuanians and Tunisians. We branched out into 5 groups and one of the most interesting people at the conference was a Belgian man of Turkish descent, who was or will be running for mayor of his town, and who had written a book "who is afraid of Islam" - or something like it as the book is in Flemish, so I'm not sure I translated the title correctly. He likes to push buttons so one of his chapters was titled "Belgian people are lazy" to counter the claim that Turkish people are lazy. When the Turks arrived in Belgium, they were put to work in coal mines because the Belgians didn't want to do that kind of work - so, hence that chapter.

That evening the young Jordanians took us out to Books@cafe in Western Amman - with a pub, dj, funky colors, etc. something you'd expect to see in any Western country. We passed Rainbow Street, a street of cafes and interesting shops - this was modern Amman. They served liquor at the pub, and I was surprised to find so many liquor shops all over Amman - even in the more conservative downtown Amman area.

On Friday I invited a friend of my friend Ibrahim from the Mt. of Olives, whom I met on Facebook, to come join us for some of the sessions. Mohammed, a man in his 50s, came over to the hotel to meet me. He laughed when I wrote down my contact information.

"You write just like Obama" - and he curled his hand over the paper to show me that the president and I do indeed have that odd way of writing.

My Israeli Jewish roomate had gone with the Moslem women to the local mosque. Of course, the women put on the special cover up over her head and body before she entered the mosque. She apparently knew the prayers being fluent in Arabic. And we prayed the Jewish prayers in the mezzanine of the hotel above the lobby, being that the hotel management didn't want to give us the private room upstairs so we had held our sessions in the dining room. Well, Jewish prayers aren't quiet and there was a lot of singing so we pretty much freaked out the hotel staff, who were nervous about the other guests hearing us (many of course from other Arab countries) and wondering what the hell was going on. I guess the staff thought - enough is enough - and allowed us the use of the private room from then on. Which goes to show you - when all else fails....pray.

Doing the Debka

Taking the chairs out from beneath you

when the girls did it - they got it right!

That night one of the local young women took us out to a traditional "coffee shop" which isn't like Starbucks or Cafe Aroma in Israel, but rather like a traditional nightclub. We walked to one close by and as soon as we walked it, my Brazilian friend and I looked at each other.

"Did anyone slip us some drugs?"

That's what it felt like. It was one of the trippiest places I had ever been too (and photos don't capture it), and unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take photos (other than the ones we snuck in), but I'll try to describe. We walked into a place where families sat together, most of the women were traditionally dressed with Hijabs and a few were dressed modern. I looked behind me to see a couple of women seated together, tons of makeup, with head coverings, but with ample cleavage showing. Huh? But never mind. To each his/her own. We arrived just as the Bingo game (yes, bingo) was winding down, with the prizes being household items instead of money. Then an Iraqi singer took the stage and sang for like three hours. Our waiter wore a black suit and his bangs were like pasted onto his forehead.

This place was not 21st century I'm telling you. Another young man had a foot-high pompadour haircut. The menu was all in Arabic which I was happy about. I didn't want to go to a tourist spot, and obviously I hit the right place. We ordered desserts which were these giant strange conconctions of fruit and ice cream, which lit up in the middle.

And we danced and danced. And my Jordanian friend told the singer I was from Canada. I wasn't sure if this was a place where you can be openly Israeli, and at 2 am, I wasn't sure I wanted strange reactions so I left it at that.

The next day we strolled to downtown Amman to eat knafe at this famous little shop. Downtown wasn't modern, people dressed more conservatively, though I did see small groups of tourists.We passed by the oldest mosque in Amman.

the oldest mosque in Amman

perfume sellers - I bought Turkish Rose

The tortoise and the hare - fighting for a red pepper - for sale on Amman streets

By the end of our stay, many of us had bonded closely with one another. On Sunday we headed out to Madaba and Mt. Nebo, and said our goodbyes before our bus took us back to Israel. Lots of hugs and kisses and teary eyes.

Mosaics workshop at Madaba

carpet weaver

Old Greek Orthodox church at Madaba

This is the famous oldest mosaic map (7th century) of Jerusalem (see the Cardo in the center)

Ramle

2010-04-03T12:22:00.001+03:00

It's mid-Passover. I have been hearing ludicrous things from all sides. Everything from "Obama is building concentration camps for Jews" to someone on an "health food" email list who thought a person should die for not wanting to buy organic eggs from a violent anti-Arab settler, to Hubby complaining that I'm the sole cause of our family's dysfunction. I had to get out of the house. I just HAD to get out. Anywhere.

That anywhere was Ramle. I saw a walking tour of what most people perceive to be one of Israel's pissholes and thought 'hey, this could be interesting' and signed up. We would explore the Christian, Moslem and Karaite Jewish communities of the city. Wow.

I took the bus into Ramle from Jerusalem, and taking holiday traffic into consideration, I left much earlier. I managed to find the train station that was our meeting point.

What a breath of fresh air. Even if it was Ramle. Ramle was founded by Moslems in the 7th century, taken over by the crusaders in the 11th century and then re-taken by the Moslem Mamelukes in the 12th century. Our first stop were Helena's Pools, a refurbished Crusader era water pool, which served as the city's water reserve. Now you can still see the arches and there are boats that glide through the waters for whatever tourist may happen to come by.

Water is beneath these troughs

We went over to the ancient minaret from Mameluke times. This area used to be a giant mosque, and there were still ruins from the 7th century structure, although some of the structures could have been from later years. A Moslem cemetery straddles the mosque on both sides. The tour guide said that one of Mohammed's "priests" was buried there, although I'm not sure Moslems have priests.

I climbed up 110 stairs to the top. My feet are still aching from the steep climb.

view of Moslem cemetery

View from the top of minaret

Afterwards the guide took us to a place in the shade and proceeded to talk about Islam by telling us "Mohammad NEVER went to Jerusalem. Ever! And so what is this that Jerusalem is holy for them?" I knew from enough interfaith meetings that the Moslem prophet did indeed go to Jerusalem, and so I interrupted our guide. Me, a Jewish woman living over the green line, defending Islam. What a Passover holiday I'm having.

"Er, excuse me? But it is said in their tradition that Mohammed went to heaven from Jerusalem, from the Temple Mount."

"Ha! If you believe that, as much as you want to believe that Elijah went up to heaven in a fiery chariot, then fine. It said he went to Al Aksa, which means "the farthest place". It could be in Beijing for all we know."

OK. I wasn't going to spend the entire tour arguing with the "expert". So I let her guide, telling us at one of the last stops that if you say Allah Hu Akbar you automatically become a Moslem so "don't say it!!!!" she shouted at one of the people in our group. I smiled at the thought of Rabbi Froman who often stands up on stage with a great big Allah Hu Akbar - and know that he hadn't turned into a Moslem from saying God is Great in Arabic. I tried to tune out her political diatribes. This wasn't what I came here for. I could always read the papers for that or listen to my son-in-law. Is there no refuge for me during Passover?

Arab part of town

I went back to Jerusalem by train, thinking it will be a faster trip, because there is no holiday traffic on the rails. I was right - although the most scenic part of the trip, the hills around Jerusalem was already shrouded in darkness by the time we got there. And I met my two married kids in downtown Jerusalem and drowned my sorrows in a large cup of kosher-for-passover ice cream.

A Priestly Seder

2010-03-30T14:32:00.000+03:00

"Is daddy coming to the table?" I asked one of my kids.

Hubby was in the throes of depression and refused to come to the table. Like a banished bad boy. My daughter's friend from Tiberias at the last minute copped out of the seder too, as did two Anglican clergymen. But two Catholic priests from France wanted to join up with a Jewish family for the seder and after seeing the email request, I answered promptly.

My son-in-law, a follower of Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, was none too thrilled about my having invited non-Jewish guests over, but this is MY house, and I can invite whom I want. He said he had never heard that this was a mitzvah (good deed), after I insisted that it was.

I called up the Arab taxi driver I had hired for the priests.

"I dropped them off at your house 20 minutes ago!" he said. It doesn't take 20 minutes to walk up 8 flights of stairs, and they would anyways use the elevator. I searched for them outside, but only saw people coming back from synagogue prayers. I had no idea what they looked like. I was looking for two men with white collars and crucifix necklaces, perhaps.

While I was looking for them on the street, they had made their way to my apartment, not wanting to arrive too early. I walked in to find two smiling young men with yarmulkas on their heads. That wasn't what I expected, nor did my family. My son-in-law seemed happy that they didn't look like Catholic priests.

There was chaos for the first 5 minutes, trying to seat people, and me trying to figure out who is gonna run the seder with hubby AWOL, plus everyone was hungry and impatient and getting short with each other. My guests were still smiling, especially when I told them the meaning of the word "seder" means order, and it's anything but orderly in my home right now.

We began the seder. We filled our cups with the first of four cups of wine. The French guests preferred wine over the alternative grape juice that was offered to those who don't like wine. But of course. I had made sure that there was enough wine. We went around the table reading each paragraph. I had found a French Haggadah which I gave to one of the priests. The other one brought his very own French translation of the Haggadah. When it came turn for my guests to read, I told them they can read in French, if they prefer, since the language of the seder should be in the language one understands. The other priest read in Hebrew, pretty well too, much to everyone's surprise.

My boss and friends had teased me prior to the seder -when they found out about my non-Jewish guests.

"What will you do about the paragraph "Pour out your wrath to the Nations...", with the word "goyim" so prominent in this angry section of the Haggadah?"

"Time to take them out on the terrace for a bit of a smoke break"? asked a friend laughingly.

We got through it, because my Haggadah, the Holistic Haggadah, had an additional paragraph afterwards which read "Pour out your love to the nations" and I proudly showed them this new addition to our service.

We talked about the custom of us using eggs in the seder plate and as a first course with salt water and the connection to Easter eggs. We didn't know what the connection was - but perhaps there is one.

We explained that we open the door for the Prophet Elijah. He'll drink from the special cup we prepare for him, filled with fine wine. And he's the one who will herald the coming of the Messiah.

I figured enough mention of the Messiah might make our guests happy.

"Can priests smoke?" asked my daughter to me.

"Why don't you just ask them?"

Yes priests can smoke. They just can't have sex, but my daughters had teased me before the seder about them coming on to my son. Even after four cups of wine, though, they were true gentlemen, a bit more talkative but very polite and very wonderful guests. They thanked me for inviting them to their first seder or Jesus' last supper. I thanked them for coming and making our seder all the more interesting.

Surprises

2010-03-27T11:26:00.000+03:00

I love order. I do my day according to an approximately 41 item "to do" list - a practice I learned from a deceased boss. Sometimes things that are not on my "list" creep into my life. Like on Sunday when I got an email telling me that friends from my Rolling Stone fan circle, who live in NYC, "just landed an hour ago and would love to get together." A surprise visit, and a last minute decision from them. I crossed out on my list what I had planned to do that late afternoon/evening after work and typed them in instead.

They were in for a relative's wedding and were staying at the David Citadel Hotel. I walked over after work to meet them. I see the security men not check tourists as they went through the revolving door, but as soon as I tried it, I was stopped by a tall, very serious man in his security uniform.

"Your bag."

I smiled. I no longer look like a tourist.

"Sure."

I let his hand dive into my purse, as he stopped and wondered what the velvet sac holding my cache of makeup was.

After about 20 seconds, I was let in.

My friends and I hugged and hugged. I hadn't seen them since 2002. It didn't seem like 8 years had gone by. Jerusalem had changed since then. The streets were all ripped up, paving the way for our light rail, which they had thought was a fast train to Tel Aviv at first.  And the Waldorf Astoria is the midst of construction.

They had already seen the sparkling Mamilla Mall which my friend likened to Jeruslam's Rodeo Drive.

"You even have Versace here", she exclaimed with much surprise.

Yeah, I know who Versace is, but had no idea what H&M was until all the hoopla surrounding the new store, imported from Europe, opened up here in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

We walked down the Ben Sira pedestrian street, full of nice restaurants and pubs waiting for their evening customers. It was 5:00 - too early for the crowds.

My friend's husband craved local food like shwarma and invited me out to dinner with them. I asked if they were interested in Arabic food. Of course they were. We walked towards Damascus Gate and headed towards the Jerusalem Hotel, a beautiful boutique hotel in East Jerusalem with good inexpensive food.  We looked at the carved furniture imported from Syria in the small lobby. The guests were all European and the restaurant was filling up quickly with locals and guests.

They ordered lamb shishlik and a chicken dish and I ordered an Arabic dish whose name escapes me at the moment - chicken on top of pita with a ton of caramlized onions covered with sumac, a middle east spice.

My friend's husband had come to Jerusalem a couple of years back, taking alternative tours to Hebron and Jerusalem. He wanted to know both sides.

I wanted to know whether US Jews are becoming less pro-Israel, or less supportive of Israel, as I am constantly reading in the papers.

He claimed loudly in the restaurant filled with Arabs and Europeans that he was still pro-Israel.

I told him I am both pro- Israel and pro-Palestinian, however nuts that sounds, but didn't say it as loudly as he.

He said he believes he is too, in fact.

We walked out of the restaurant along the old city walls. To them, the walls were magical. They wondered if I still felt that way after 15 years of living here. I do. They still make my heart skip a beat. I don't take the view for granted.

Before they left the US - the media was filled with "fighting in East Jerusalem".

"Look at this!" my friend's husband exclaimed in wonderment. "Does this look like there's fighting going on here?" The streets were bustling, full of mostly Arab shoppers, but there was no fighting where we were. "You'd think we would be in the middle of a war zone.   My sister called to ask where we are now and I told her East Jerusalem. She's like 'Isn't there all this fighting there now?'. I said, as I'm speaking to you, I'm walking through the marketplaces and there's nothing going on...."

I nod.

And I'm happy. I love surprises.

Mt.of Olives Cemetery

2010-03-15T16:31:00.000+02:00

I don't remember the last time I had visited a grave on the Mt. of Olives. Yes, I'd been to Ibrahim's home, but he lives in the neighborhood of the living. I guess I don't know that many holy people. The Mt. of Olives is the world's oldest and holiest Jewish cemetery dating from biblical times. Many holy rabbis over the centuries have been buried there. Even Madonna visited one of the Kabbalah rabbis, when she was here with the Kabbalah center.

This past Friday, however, was the anniversary of my friend's son's death 5 years ago. He had a rare genetic thing, which left him, since birth, severely handicapped. He never walked or spoke. When he died at the age of 14, he was buried in the Mt. of Olives in a special plot for holy children - those who never spoke bad about anyone. It is a special merit to be buried there because space is limited and is usually reserved for renowned rabbis these days. Legend has it that when the resurrection happens, people buried there will be resurrected first.

It was tough on my friend to visit his grave. She lost a son. It is always tough for the living. She knows he is fine, not trapped in a very handicapped body. When she dreams about him, he even speaks to her - something he never did when he was alive. I looked around at the gravestones. Some were so tiny - the babies must have been a few days, weeks or months when they died. Someone pointed out that right behind my friend's son's grave were the graves of the two Holzberg children - the children of the Chassidic couple that was killed during the Mumbai massacre a couple of years ago by Islamic extremists. They had died of illness before the tragedy with their parents occurred. Now they have no parents visiting their graves - only a 4 year old brother and grandparents.

After we read the psalms and the quorum of 10 men left, the mother and a few of her friends stayed on to sit and keep this young soul of her son some company. We listened to the mother grieve for her son, for her loneliness and some shared what they felt too.

grieving for a loved one

I felt serene and there was an atmosphere of contentment sitting around the little souls.

tiny grave

There were red poppies growing wild by unmarked graves.

I looked at the Holzberg graves and told my friend that her son and this boy were now friends and learning chassidut together.

cellphone wars

2010-03-14T13:48:00.000+02:00

Cellphones are expensive, but so necessary. I wonder how we managed years ago when we had to depend on pay phones to tell someone we'll be late, or make impulsive, last minute arrangements with friends and relatives. How inconvenient it all was, trying to find that quarter or whatever the cost was then. But my cellphone bill has been expensive of late and so I called up the competitor of my current cell provider.

There are three major cellphone companies in Israel, Cellcom, Pelephone and Orange. I got a much better offer from the competitor, after complaining about my current cellphone provider so after a week or so, I got on the phone with my current provider and told them about the offer. Can they match it? Closely. They connected me with a special department called Customer Retention or something like that. I would get a new phone at 50% of the cost. I complained that their competitor offered me a free one. OK - then they'll give me a free one too. Wow. It sounded so easy!

I went to their service store and waited nearly an hour to be seated with one of their reps. They wrote my number down on a piece of paper. I was number 218. Number 211 flashed on the screen but there was no customer. They probably got impatient and left. I could have been crafty and written the number 211 on the other side of the paper to be promptly seated - but I'm too American. Or Canadian. I'll wait my turn, the way civilized people are apt to do. I finally got my turn.

The sales rep gets my phone number and asks me questions.

"How much did they offer you?"

I asked - "Isn't it on the computer?"

"Yes, but you're a special case from the retention department. What exactly did they promise you?"

I told him.

"Yes, you're right" he says - obviously regaining his eyesight, as what they promised was probably on the computer screen all along. I couldn't figure out why they were playing this game.

About 5 minutes into this, a woman comes over to me with a typed up survey in her hand - asking me how the service is and how is the sales rep I'm talking to?

"Isn't it odd that you're asking me how is he when I'm right in front of him?|

"Give me a 10" said the sales rep to me.

"Ok, I'll give you a 10, but if I find that you're saying 'ok' to whatever was agreed on the phone and I get a totally different, more expensive, bill, I'm coming back to rate you a 1."

"Don't worry. The new rate will show up on your bill."

The new rate didn't show up on what I signed, and after I questioned him, he said it was standard. I'll get the new rate on my next bill because I was a "special" case.

"So in case you're lying to me, how long am I contracted to you?

"18 months"

Fine. That's better than the more common 3 year contract. If they're a bunch of liars, I'll use my phone minimally and pay the minimum charge and after 18 months switch to another provider.

and now you're cool

2010-03-06T12:17:00.000+02:00

For years, ever since we made aliyah, I was considered by my kids to be so uncool. After all, I am an immigrant, speak Hebrew with an embarrassing accent, plus my grammar is often wrong. I like Western music, Arabs, Arabic music, health food, go to a trippy synagogue in Jerusalem, invite non-Jews for Shabbat dinner, eat in different restaurants all the time, see foreign films and often go alone. My oldest daughter even bought me a birthday gift - a 10-movie package - at Jerusalem's landmark Smadar theater. I love the Smadar. They didn't destroy the Ottomon-era terracotta stone floors and opened up a restaurant attached to the theater. Unlike the cinemateque, you can bring in your beer and cappucino or hot cider - even wine - into the theater. There are others like me who sit alone in the theater. Lately, I saw the movies Push and A Serious Man there. Next week I'm seeing a Korean film with a friend (!).

But now, all of a sudden, I'm cool. My complainer daughter hardly complains anymore. She hugs and kisses me daily. The reason? She has a new boyfriend. This guy comes from a Moroccan family BUT, and here's a big BUT, he enjoys Ashkenazi (European/Western) culture more than his own. He doesn't listen to Middle Eastern music and is astounded that my daughter acts more "Moroccan" than he. It's something he has to get used to, he says. His brother is actually a famous Israeli singer, who still churns out Israeli hits. This new boyfriend loves the Beatles, Doors, Stones and Fats Domino. My daughter doesn't know the songs to any of these. But now she's coming to me to learn this new Western culture her boyfriend is into. She's now proud of her once-uncool mother. I know I'm going to have to bring that photo of Ronnie Wood of the Rolling Stones and me together at an art gallery out of basement storage to impress him.

"You're gonna love my mother" she coos to her boyfriend. "you might even want to marry her", she jokes, perhaps knowing a little of my Cougar fantasies.

My family's worth in gold

2010-02-21T20:26:00.000+02:00

"See? This is how it starts. First you eat like that, and then you start inviting Arabs into the house." griped my son-in-law, as I gave my daughter, his wife, some healing foods for her ulcerative colitis. Brown rice with broccoli and carrots, drizzled with flax seed oil. I was amused by his theory, wondering if it were indeed true.

He shook his head. He truly believes that granola eating hippies, like his mother-in-law, weren't always loving and tolerant human beings, but turned that way when they eschewed mostly junk food for a healthier lifestyle. His wife was eating crap, like diet soda and fast food nearly every day, and the result is ulcerative colitis, which I'm trying to help her heal through food. And if that will heal her body as well as her soul , then why not? Because she'll turn into me? Is that what he's afraid of?

I laughed at the prospect of her turning into a peace-nik and inviting all the Arabs who live in Jabel Mukaber into their tiny West Jerusalem home, and him, another middle-east Archie Bunker, tearing his hair out.

My son's school has been calling me all month trying to get me to come to another one of their "emergency" meetings about my son who shows up in school, but hardly in class.

"There are teachers who don't even know who he is!" exclaimed his principal.

I tell the principal's secretary that I can't make it on the Sunday she wants me to come because my boss has a slew of meetings that day, and I have to prepare her on that day.

"Isn't your son important to you? Don't you even care? Is your job so much more important than your own son? We made this meeting with a lot of people involved and that's when they could come!!" The principal's secretary is actually screaming at me. I look at the phone. I'm totally pissed. She continues,
"they want to throw him out of school. Don't you think that's important?"

I glare into the phone. Unfortunately, she can't see me gritting my teeth.

"You never asked ME when "I" can make it. Keeping my job is showing my kids how responsible I am. If I don't have my job, then we'll be living in the streets. I'm not ready to sacrifice my job for a meeting in school. Sorry."

I think she was shocked by my response. There was silence on the other end of the line.

I continued.

"If you want to throw him out of school, it will just have to wait another week." I shouted back at the secretary. I made the appointment for the week after, when my boss will be out of town.

That afternoon I went into the local mall where one of the shops was selling pillows. My kids were all sleeping on pillows that had seen better days. But that day, I was only buying for one of them. I ask her to show me a selection for my 20 year old daughter. The shopkeeper shows me a latex pillow that is the most expensive one in the store.

"It's quite a lot of money." I complained to her. "I'd like to buy her a mid-range one. Not the cheapest and not the most expensive."

She looked at me funny.

"But it's your daughter!!! Isn't she worth the best?"

I looked at the shopkeeper funny.

"Absolutely not."

And then I walked out of the store, seeing the shopkeeper's mouth still open....

While you are all snowed under....

2010-02-15T15:59:00.001+02:00

here in the Holy Land, we are basking in the sun. I usually don't like to make you people living with cold weather jealous, but today I'll make an exception.

We ate at Bariba overlooking the Yarkon River and Reading plant

Mullet fish over risotto in saffron sauce

The best mushroom gnocchi I've ever tasted covered with Parmesean foam (!)

All sorts of people passed by

That dog wants ice cream

some people went boating

some kids went swimming

The Farmers Market was in full swing

one of Hubby's favorite stores on Dizengoff Street with the latest fashion in undies (if you can call them that)

Road signs wishing travellers a Shabbat Shalom

Elton

2010-02-10T15:51:00.000+02:00

I prepared so well, I thought, for the upcoming ticket sales in Israel for the Elton John concert in June. I read the reports of groups trying to get him to boycott Israel. Yawn. This is getting boring already. They do this to every celebrity who books concerts here. Most ignore the boycott pleas and threats. I hope Elton has the balls to pay no heed to these party poopers. Cancelling a concert will not make things better for Palestinians in this country. It'll just piss me off and probably a few other peacemakers too.

But getting back to the tickets...Advance ticket sales were available to Bank Discount members beginning from 7:00 pm last night. I'm a member (or rather my husband is) - even though that bank pisses me off - except when they give their members perks such as this. I called up the bank last week to make sure that my credit card was open and ok to accept purchases. After all, it has been over a year since I used it. The bank clerk told me that there is no problem with the card. Yesterday I called another bank clerk to get more credit in case I want to buy more than 4 tickets. He said everything is fine. Wonderful. I'm ready.

I did some errands then came back to the office at 6:45 pm and got the website ready on my computer. Of course by the time 7:00 pm rolled around, it took me 20 minutes to get onto the site. I finally got in. Yay! I filled out all the information they needed, picked out some fabulous seats in the front row on the side of the stage - very close to the stage, in fact - and then took my credit card out. I plugged in the numbers, my ID number, etc. and then I saw the expiry date. I look at the card - remember, I had been planning this for a week already - and the expiry date says 09/09. SHIT! I tried putting in a random expiry date, but the computer is smart. It doesn't take my card. I use the other Visa I have, but the computer insists I use the Bank Discount credit card. I leave the webpage open, just in case I never get in again because of all the people trying to buy tickets at the same time.

I have to think fast. I call up the credit card company. I'm frantic. I'm wondering if there are more frantic people calling them about Elton John.

"Look, I'm trying to buy Elton John tickets, and my visa date expired. Can you give me a new updated date? Please?"

It seems hopeful at first while the clerk puts me on hold probably to speak to his manager. He comes back on.

"Sorry. You have to speak to your bank about this. We don't give new expiry dates."

"But my bank doesn't open until 8:30 in the morning" I wailed. "Can't you give me a temporary one?"

"No. I'm so sorry." He really sounded sympathetic. But there was no point in arguing with him. I had to think quickly while the ticket sales website was still on the payment page.

AH! I remembered that a good friend of mine has a Discount Visa. We tried doing this together, but she had a difficult time with the Hebrew instructions. I guided her through but the transaction failed. She doesn't have enough credit on her card.

Never give up. My Complainer daughter has to do something good for her mother, doesn't she, instead of chronically complaining all the time. I call her several times. She doesn't answer her phone.

It's 8:00 pm, and no tickets. I go out for dinner with friends. My daughter calls and apologizes (!). She was working and couldn't answer her phone, but if I'm in town, we can go home together.

Yes, and I could take your Visa, I thought. She didn't complain when I asked her for it. Not a flinch. When I arrived home after midnight I went into my son's room where the computer is. I let him rant and rave about me making noise. I tried to bribe him with concert tickets but he's not interested. I finally get into the site. Most of the great seats are gone - except for the very expensive lawn seats. I get a gate close to the stage, but 23 rows up. Not bad. Not as great as I could have gotten had I had an updated credit card, but they were good nevertheless.

So Elton, hang on....it'll be a rocky road with every asshole trying to get you to cancel the concert. Don't listen to anyone. Just do what you have to do so we can all have a great time together....

Cookie crumbles

2010-02-09T15:32:00.002+02:00

Be careful who you start conversations with standing at bus stops. It's not like people are dangerous here. They aren't. And it's easy to jump into a stranger's conversation. The stranger who is talking usually looks around and talks to whoever is standing around. Some are receptive and sometimes one can engage in fun conversation about all sorts of things while waiting for the bus.

So yesterday I jumped into a bus stop conversation about People. Persian people and then Russian people.

"Not all of them are bad" said a woman to a man.

"You always get one bad apple in the tree" the man answered.

I interjected in Hebrew, "Well, what do you think about Canadians?"

Bad move on my part. The man continued his tirade all throughout the 40 minute bus ride with me about his Canadian neighbor whose dog barked outside every day at 4:00 am.

"I told her I was going to kill the dog." He leered at me. He clearly isn't too fond of Canadians. Then he went on about putting talcum powder on the floor and I couldn't understand half of what he was saying. I really just wanted to relax on the bus ride home and not talk to anyone.

I got home and tried to make dinner. The two men in the family began bickering.

"Who ate my cookies?" demanded Hubby. Someone at work made chocolate chip cookies for me for my birthday I brought them home and told Hubby that they were for him for HIS birthday this week. He was so happy. Before the cookies were eaten, that is.

My son admitted to the crime.

"There were only 10 left!"

"10!!! YOU ATE ALL 10???? YOU PIG!!!" and a war of the words started, with name calling back and forth, which ended up with my son throwing Hubby's files out of our son's room, where they are kept, and then Hubby taking the computer monitor out of our son's room and putting it into our locked storage room.

And then I thought it is much easier dealing with strangers on the bus, who can talk the ass out of a turkey, than this.

Fire!

2010-02-08T16:44:00.001+02:00

It was bad enough when the water stopped running right before the Sabbath. I was about to put on the slow cooker a dish called Hamin, which takes overnight to cook, and consists of everything basically - meat, chicken, beans, potatoes, stuffing, barley, and seasoned either sweet or salty or middle eastern. The water shut off just as I was about to wash a bunch of scallions. I was horrified. I ended up washing the scallions in a pot full of water that had cooked the artichokes. I felt good. I was recycling. The neighbors kept on going onto the roof to see if they could fix the water thing (whatever it's called), while the rain was pouring down at the same time. For a few minutes they were successful and then --- no water from the taps. Again. We thought of a weekend with toilets full of shit and family members in sore need of a shower.

"I have my PERIOD!!" shouted one of my daughters during the meal.

"What's a period?" asked my bright 18 year old son. He had no idea what that word meant in English.

"YOU tell him" I ordered my son-in-law.

But before our meal, while this water shortage thing was going on, I had smelled smoke coming from the air vents. I panicked because Hubby was over at my married daughter's house in Jerusalem and called the fire department. Two men came into the house, looking like professional ...ghostbusters or whatever. Oxygen tanks on their backs, contraptions which measure or find the source of the smoke. The odor was quite strong. They were with me in the apartment for a good 20 minutes. Then I lift up one of my pots that was on the stove and see a little rattan coaster sticking to the bottom of the pot. It was burnt to a crisp. I found the culprit and I felt so stupid.

The firemen looked at me and smiled. They must go through this often, I thought (perhaps others would be as mindless as myself).

Meanwhile, Hubby returned as the men were leaving. He didn't care if the house was burning - he was just thrilled to be able to eat on paper plates, as his dishwashing duties was temporarily suspended.

An evening with the ADL

2010-02-06T12:54:00.001+02:00

I went to an ADL-sponsored dinner the other evening. About 40 visitors from Connecticut were here from that organization - the majority of them clergy people. This dinner was held at the Begin Center in a restaurant called Teresa. I think the abundance of food shocked the Americans. There must have been an assortment of at least 10 salads, and then ravioli was passed around. We had thought that was it for the main course, until we saw two large plates of Drumfish (unfamiliar to the Americans) and salmon come around, as well as wonderful cakes and coffee at the end.

We sat at four tables of about 10 people and two people from our respective interfaith groups sat at each table to get to know the guests. I sat with an Armenian woman from the Old City in Jerusalem. I had met her once before, but we only knew each other vaguely. She was talking about how the Christians are leaving the country, since there are no opportunities for them, and they are finding work overseas. Also, they have been feeling tormented by the Ultra-Orthodox Jews passing by in the neighborhood, on their way to the Jewish quarter, who don't find fault with spitting on their priests, especially with those carrying large crosses. The spitting is getting worse - done by the old and young - and the young Ultra-Orthodox Jewish kids, my new friend says, never sleep. They study in yeshivot during the day and are up all night walking around, shouting through the gates of the Armenians' homes. The Armenian residents can't sleep.

"It used to be good with the Jews years ago" she confided. We used to help each other and we used to turn on their heat and lights on the Sabbath for them. These Jews are a different kind now. It's getting worse. When the tourists come in the summer, they walk into our shop - I once saw a boy who was very thirsty. He went to take a bottle of water in the fridge and his mother said 'not from here! We're not far from the Jewish quarter. And the son was complaining to the mother that he was so very thirsty, but she wouldn't let him buy from us. Why? What did we do to them?" She looked at me, her eyes filled with hurt and pain.

I thought that perhaps one day our interfaith organization should have a vigil by their homes/churches so that if we see spitting and curses flying, we can confront the perpetrators. But because it seems like a tough thing to organize for the moment, the woman resigned herself to inviting me over for coffee in her home - which I hope to do in a couple of weeks.

Meanwhile, we laughed over the fact that what I had thought was authentic Armenian pottery was just local pottery from Hebron.

"They say their name is Mike, but it's probably Mohammed." she said of many of the store owners on the Christian Quarter road - and laughed.

"So you'll take me to the Armenian places? And we could go out for coffee and knafe?" I asked.

Certainly. Her family came to live in Jerusalem after the Turkish massacre of Armenians in the early 20th century. She knows the neighborhood really well.

There was a Pakistani-American woman there. She had been living in the US now for 20 years and considered it her home. But the events of 911 and suspicions over her heritage and extra precautions taken with her at airports and other places because of her Moslem name, have saddened her. She turned to the ADL. I talked to her later, telling her about my knowledge of the "lost 10 tribes of Israel" and that it is assumed that the Pathan tribes are descendants of these lost tribes.

"I'm an Afridi." she told me. "My name is Afridi!"

It was like I found a long-lost sister.

"WOW!! You're from the tribe of Ephraim?!! " I hugged her. It's not everyday that you find a long lost tribal sister.

She told me "But the Rabbani tribe are the most extreme of the Taliban." They're considered to be descendants of the tribe of Reuben.

"Jeez. Why? What were they thinking?" I said to her.

My attention switched to the people conversing on the other side of my table. Seems a young and charismatic modern-Orthodox Jewish rabbi was learning the language of the African American woman sitting across from him. I had no clue what they were saying.

"You just presented" she told him. "I'm gonna tell everybody that you presented in Jerusalem"

There was so much laughter. I had no idea what was so funny about the word "presented". They continued on.

"You've just been served. You've been housed. You have to give it right back."

I have to admit. I'm totally lost. When I go back to the US for a visit, I do hope there is a school for learning this new, unfamiliar language.

Be careful of what you wish for

2010-01-28T15:21:00.000+02:00

I used to often think wistfully of the times when I lived in New York City - where there was never a lack of famous bands/singers performing. New York would always be on their routes. Although this is still not at the New York level, it seems as though Israel is going to have a glut of well-known performers coming over too - many for the first time and some for the first time in years.

Check out this website for a current list - however - rumours are flying about Bob Dylan, though I hadn't seen anything in the English papers about him.

So from all - who do you think is worth seeing?

Hubby just gave a great, long sigh when he heard of all the upcoming concerts. Things were so much more financially simple when no one came. We just spent our fun money on restaurants. And now...looks like things will be very different.

Shower

2010-01-27T15:48:00.000+02:00

"I'm a Sex Man, mutha fucka....I'm a Sex Man....yo mutha fucka..." or so went the CD we were listening to in the car. My office's errand guy had to take me back to my office from seeing my boss and he was driving one of the VP's cars. The VP is British, looks quite straight-laced, is an academic, and so we were thrown for a loop when we turned on the CD player and found said song/CD playing. In fact, we were laughing hysterically all the way back to the office, because all the songs on the CD were like that. I have no idea who these rappers are, but apparently, Mr. Academic certainly knows more about this stuff than I do. Good for the Brits.

And yesterday I went to my friend's daughter's bridal shower. I thought, eh. It'll be nice, but I won't know anyone other than the bride's mother. I thought it would be somewhat organized, especially when I had to print out the recipe for the dish I brought, because a cook book will be made for the future bride, but I had no idea how much so. I walked in an hour late, figuring everyone would be just milling around. But when I walked in the door, everyone was quiet and reading children's books. What's up with that??? Turns out we all had to read a children's story and then pick a word or a phrase from that book and give a blessing to the bride. I read a story about two cats and picked out the paragraph where they purred to each other and said "don't be afraid, we can fly anywhere!" So I gave the bride the blessing of being able to afford to fly anywhere, as well as purring to each other. Afterwards the hostess said we were going to design bridal dresses out of toilet paper. Now that's a challenge, isn't it? I bet the famous designer Stella McCartney never thought of that. So we grouped into 6 and I draped toilet paper over my friend so that it trailed in the back and put toilet paper rolls by her shoulders to make princess sleeves. OK, she didn't look like Rapunzel or Snow White, but the younger kids did much better. There were flowers on the side of their dresses (how did they manage that?) and tiered veils.

So never judge a person by how straight he seems or never judge a bridal shower invite thinking it's just another ho-hum thing.....

Bacon Challah

2010-01-24T21:00:00.001+02:00

I went to renew my Canadian passport in Tel Aviv this past Friday. Hubby was in the mood to travel with me. I let him tag along, provided he could keep up with me. I wasn't just going to the embassy and then go home. This was Friday. The only day off work when I could travel. And I was adamant about getting to know Tel Aviv as well as I do Jerusalem. It's just a much bigger city to maneuver. I warned Hubby that I was planning to walk on every main street in the city as a way to figure it out. My big plan was to go one Friday each month.

Lifting up the groceries - in apartments with no elevator

Yoga Master (just kidding, it's only a Tel Aviv beggar)

this enclave of small homes used to be an Arab neighborhood pre-1948 in the middle of now-bustling Ibn Gvirol Street. The people living there now are holding out for the Big Bucks

This Friday was warm and sunny, and we walked and walked and walked pretty much for hours. From the embassy to Allenby and back to the train station on Alozoroff Street. I stopped off at an English book shop with a happy-go-lucky Irish fellow who told me stories about his partying and drinking with his friend Van (Morrison) and Rory (Gallagher).

Book Store owner - hung out with Rory Gallagher and Van Morrison years ago...

Occasionally, we'd ask someone to steer us in the right direction. I had asked an older frumpy woman how to get to Allenby Street. She had no idea, but was telling me about buses I could catch instead. Hubby was upset with me.

"You don't ask those kind of people for directions."

"Why not?"

"You have to ask some BALD guy for directions, like the one in back of me. Or someone with an earring. Those are the people that know Tel Aviv."

The bald guy walking in back of us apparently didn't hear Hubby's tactless comment. And he did actually point us in the right direction.

We walked from the embassy to Allenby Street, which was about a 45 minute walk. I had noticed on a previous trip a restaurant on Rothschild and Allenby called Benedicts which is open 24 hours a day/7 days a week. Definitely no rabbinic supervision there. But what was there was a long line of patrons waiting to be seated. The wait was 1/2 hour. Was it worth it? I looked at the menu to see what was the draw of this restaurant for so many people. Well, there is a huge assortment of different kinds of breakfasts. The usual Israeli breakfasts with more unusual combinations of omelettes. But I guess the big draw were the eggs benedict breakfasts - with bacon, with ham and the English breakfast with sausages and bacon.

"What would you say if I ordered bacon with my eggs" I dared Hubby.

"I'd call your sister"

Yep. Go ahead and tell my ultra-orthodox family what a grave sinner your wife is...

We ordered the meatless Israeli breakfasts - with the Spanish and Bulgarian omelettes, and ordered a challah for Shabbat. It wasn't until we tasted it that evening that I thought - hey! What if they made it with butter (a no-no when you're eating it with meat) or even worse, with bacon oil. My kids looked at me. It certainly was one of the best challahs we've ever eaten. We called it our bacon challah.

Signs

2010-01-23T11:47:00.000+02:00

My daughter was semi-complaining to her friends about Facebook. It seems she is getting a lot of requests from people with Arabic names who want to befriend her. Clicking on their names, she sees One Mutual Friend. Mom.    But she ignores their requests. The family laughs.   My other daughter is going out with a guy in the police who is attending the demonstration in Sheikh Jarrah in East Jerusalem to make sure things are not getting out of hand.

"He better not arrest anyone there." I warned her.   I explained to her what is going on there, because I'm not sure she knows. A while back, Jewish families moved into the predominantly Arab neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah. I would generally not have a problem with mixed neighborhoods, myself believing all or most neighborhoods should be mixed. But trouble is, they evicted the Arab families who had been living there since the 1950s because the homes were Jewish-owned before 1948 and a court ordered that Jews would be allowed in. That would have been ok, had the original Jewish families moved back in and the Arab families would be allowed to move back into what were their homes pre-1948, which are now in West Jerusalem in a very expensive neighborhood called Talbieh. Fair is Fair, no? But this is not the case and the neighborhood is now where weekly demonstrations take place.

And to backtrack just a bit...

On Thursday we had our interfaith meeting in Abu Dis. A group of 6 Jews trudged past the large red sign near the entrance to Azariya that says entry to Israelis is forbidden , though I can't figure out the logic of the sign. Is it a legality that Israelis are forbidden entry to this town? Because it's not Area A, like the cities of Jericho, Hebron, Ramallah, Nablus, Jenin - which are under complete Palestinian control, unlike Area B, where the Israelis have military control and Areas C, in which Israelis have pretty much all control.  We thought this to be Area B, which means it isn't illegal for Israelis to enter, but it is pretty much discouraged.  The area past this red sign brings one into the third world. There is garbage on the roads, which are terribly paved, and there is garbage piled high on the sides of the roads. On one side, we see Arabs burning a fire to keep warm.  Cars and taxis are slowing down to see this strange group of people walking on the side of the road. We see Abed's car across from the florist and try to cross the street.

"This is just like Cairo" remarks one of us, when it takes ages to run across the road, due to the unruly traffic.  We pile into a van and a car and make our way to Abed's office in Abu Dis. A new group of young men from Nablus join us for the first time. This is the first time they're in a religious dialogue with Jews and especially with those Jews whom they consider settlers, since we live over the green line. They seem excited to be with us. I hope we don't disappoint. They are accountants, stockbrockers, ministry of education officials, etc. We talk about Tolerance and respect for others in our religions. We all are happy to share each other's religious views with the other.

Afterwards, one of the Nablus guys tell us that he once drove his car with a Palestinian licence plate into Maaleh Adumim. He didn't get very far. The soldiers began to freak out (understandably - since this is not the norm) and yell at him - What exactly does he think he's doing??? The Nablus guy says there was no sign saying that his car wasn't allowed into Maaleh Adumim. It's true. There's no sign warning Palestinians that they can't drive their cars into our city. It's supposed to be a known fact, like not driving your car on Yom Kippur. He's joking around with the soldier, giving him a difficult time. He's obviously a shit disturber. The soldier checks his ID and claims the Nablus guy's car is a stolen vehicle. The paper he gives the Nablus guy says the stolen vehicle is a 1997 Subaru, when in fact the guy is driving a 2009 Kia. They confiscate the car until the soldier's superior comes by or was it the police? I'm not completely sure, but the superior rechecks and the car the Nablus guy is driving seems to be fine. The car is given back and Mr. Shit Disturber who wanted to drive into my town but couldn't, is sent back home.

On the way back from Abu Dis, our host is telling us that Israeli finally gave the OK - after many years of waiting - to pave the main road in Azariya. I am so happy. This is surely a good sign.

Tel Aviv - New Years Day

2010-01-20T17:03:00.001+02:00

Some images of Tel Aviv on January 1, 2010

One sign reminding us of the new year

Florentine district

I love photographing balconies - this one's Proud

a man who's probably lived in this building all his life

cute little cafe - Florentine district

Hungry cat

Bike on a balcony

2010 so far

2010-01-20T16:32:00.000+02:00

I haven't written all year. I know. There have been more reunions thanks to Facebook - with friends I hadn't seen in years.

On the not-so-bright side, there have been trips to the school to get my son on the right track or back on track. I really think they ought to teach children how to read and write up until 6th grade. child labor them until they're in their twenties or thirties or whenever they feel like learning and want to go back to 7th grade and seriously learn. Then they could probably do grades 7-12 in half the time it now takes. I remarked to my son-in-law about how I used to spend 2,500 shekels a year (roughly $600) on school books when all 5 were in school. He glanced at me and smiled.

"Money well spent I see."

A smirk from me.

I told my son, if he doesn't shape up, he'll be going into the army a year early when he turns 18 and then they'll whip him into shape, literally, and we'll all jump for joy because our computer will finally be free from all those stupid online poker games he plays all day and night.

And there's a slew of musicians - from very famous to somewhat famous - who will be visiting us this year.

Twane

2009-12-27T15:28:00.003+02:00

I took two friends of mine to Jerusalem to the south Hebron Palestinian village of Twane. It is not even shown on the road map we had. I met people from there a few months ago on the Center for Emerging Futures weekend. They were more amused than angry at the fact that I live in a settlement and that I showed up at an Israeli/Palestinian event.

Hubby was nervous at my galavanting around the West Bank, after all, it was just a day or so ago when a settler was shot and killed while driving through the northern part of the West Bank. I told my husband "I'm doing a mitzvah (good deed). When you go to do a mitzvah, then you don't have to worry."

I don't know how much of a mitzvah it was, because all I was doing was giving the villagers a few sweaters of mine that I hadn't worn in two years and nothing else. But I felt that they needed to know that Israelis cared about them and so going there would make a difference and give them some sense of hope.

We drove on Route 60, past the Jewish settlements of Carmel and Maon and a bit after that was the small shanty of a place called Twane where our host met with us, as well as a few Italians from an organization called "Dove". We sat in a small room and our host told us his or their story. In the 80s the Israeli government drove them off the land and some few years later they were told that they could return. However, since their land is in Area C, this means that they can't build anything - no homes, no schools, no medical clinics, nothing. In fact, there is a small electric generator which gives them electricity for only three hours a day, which they use during evening hours. As for water, they draw them from wells. There is very little running water. They managed to get their roads paved, but we hear there is a demolition order for the road, the first floor (!) of the clinic and the school, which were all built without permits - because they would never get permits to build.

Medical clinic - there's a demolition order for the first floor only!

On top of all this, they are below the Jewish settlement of Havat Maon, whose residents terrorize them often, which is the reason for international presence in their village.

A handsome young man coming out of the tiny mosque saw me taking a photo of a local woman drawing water from her well.

Local Mosque

Drawing water

He tells me in Arabic about how they don't have water because of "the Jews". I look at him. Do I or don't I tell him who I am. I tell him. "I'm Jewish. And I'm sorry." He looks at me.
"Not all Jews of course, only the Zionists." I sigh.

The kids of the village are walking around barefoot and the one little girl I see is wearing shoes a few sizes too big.

Local kid and a friend

another kid - same friend

Our host is telling us that he is looking forward to a gathering of Israelis and Palestinians later on - perhaps to plan a summer camp for Israeli and Palestinian children. I told him I'd love to join the planning group. He seems happy.

One woman invites me in to see some embroidered stuff she is selling. I buy a woven straw plate for pita. It was made in the village. She is charging me 70 shekels for it and I know I'm being overcharged, but I wouldn't dare bargain about the price. I pay it and tell my friends, she needs this money. They understand and are glad that I bought something because they hadn't.

On the way back, they ask me "How do you still have hope?"

I tell them - "Look at the way these people live. Their daily life is so difficult. But yet, they still want to work and meet with Israelis in the hope that one day, the government will come to its senses and give them the bare minimum necessary - like water and electricity. That's all they ask for. Instead of getting violent, they prefer to meet with Israelis and let them know of their hardships. That's so commendable, since they get harrassed so frequently. If I were in their place, I don't think I'd be as patient."

Afterwards at my friends' home, we were so contemplative. I wondered to myself if the Israeli government would see that the villagers are a quiet lot, and if there is no trouble coming from that village, couldn't they just let them have electricity and water? And then after a few more years of quiet, could they not let them build? Wouldn't that be more constructive than constantly issuing demolition orders?

Ancient stone residences

I wondered if I had made a mistake taking my friends there, as it was a heavy trip - very emotional to see and hear these things. My friends avoid newspapers and hearing the news, because they prefer to just focus on positive things in life. And this was like hearing the news. But they assured me that they needed to hear and see what was going on and thanked me for taking them to places they would not see otherwise.

Christmas in Jerusalem

2009-12-25T02:07:00.001+02:00

YMCA lobby

I had been planning to celebrate Christmas one way or another, the way a lot of Israeli Jews do in Jerusalem - by going to church. I began my evening at the YMCA. They had an evening of scripture readings and Christmas carols in the auditorium, which was filled to capacity with Jewish Israelis. I asked the woman next to me "you think there are any Christians here?" I think I saw two, besides the pastor and the Arab director of the YMCA.

Caroling

It was sweet and nostalgic for me to listen to the familiar carols and it brought me back to a funny place - as a teenager I went to a religious Jewish high school. Some of the girls in our class started to sing Christmas carols during recess in our classroom, which immediately brought the principal to our class to tell us to immediately stop. He went out only to find us resuming our singing.

YMCA

If you didn't know what date it was, you'd never tell it was Christmas. There are no Santa Clauses on every street corner, there are no Christmas lights in the streets, or decorating homes and public buildings. No Christmas carols in the malls that get on your nerves by the time Christmas arrives. Nothing. So this is why Israelis flock to celebrate that one day we can get to hear beautiful spiritual music. With no kitsch.

After the YMCA I headed over to the old city because I wanted to make my way over the Church of the Redeemer which is a German Lutheran church. They were having mass at 10:30. A friend called. She was my classmate in the ultra-orthodox Jewish school we went to in the Bronx, Beth Jacob. And she wanted to join me.

"YOU?"

"Sure! Why not! I was at the Y last year and I loved the carols"

"Great. It'll be nice to have company" and I laughed out loud in the street thinking of us two wayward former ultra-orthodox school kids.

I met her at Mamilla. She had trouble finding parking.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's thinking of going to church tonight."

Indeed.

We walked quickly to the church finding a crowd already there. Again - full of Israeli Jews. There was a guy with a santa cap on.

"I want to know. Where are my gifts."

He laughed and his friend said - "here" and dished out chocolate to my friend and I.

"Wow! This was easy. We should have wished for a million dollars!" said my friend.

Someone said that once you're in the church, you can't leave until the service ends.

"You Vill Stay und you vill like it" I said to whoever was listening. Nothing like German punctuality imposed on others.

The church opened its doors and it was difficult to find seating. We finally found two seats in the back and the service began pretty much on time. We were told not to take photos during the service.

Church of the Redeemer

The service began ---

"In the beginning God created the heavens in the earth..."

Genesis. And the German pastor was saying this in the original Hebrew. I looked at my friend.

"I think Hitler's turning over in his grave, isn't he?"

He continued by welcoming us Jews into their church.

Yup, the old bastard's really turning over in his grave - several times.

If I hadn't been looking at who was speaking, it could have been an old chassidic Jew quoting Genesis in Hebrew. It was surreal listening to the Old Testament in church.

My friend felt bad for the pastor.

"Could you imagine. We're invading this place on their holiest day. Could you just imagine synagogues opening up their doors to non-Jews during Yom Kippur with their cell phones and cameras?"

The church's "police" came over to admonish anyone they caught taking photos. Luckily I took a few before and after the service.

Candles were lit by every aisle. The place was just glowing. It was beautiful. The singing began - in English and Hebrew. We sang along to the familiar songs in English, while they were being sung in German.\

The whole mass took a little over an hour, but it was a very spiritual moment for the two of us. I felt good being able to flow and feel comfortable enough with another religion - enough to join in during their holiest day. And the bells that rang from the church after the service made the evening more magical than it already had been for us.

Cafe

2009-12-22T14:34:00.000+02:00

Being that my boss is overseas, I, too, want US hours and days, which means Sundays off. Of course, I will have to take them as vacation days, unlike the rest of the world, but that's the best I can have for now.

So what does one do on a limited budget in Jerusalem?

I went shopping for a bunch of winter stuff at the second-hand store, Ke'Chadash in French Hill. On the bus I sat next to a woman who works at the local bank. I mentioned the word "second-hand" and she repeated the word it as if I had introduced the plague.

"No Israelis shop at second-hand stores. They like everything new."

"Great! Less competition for me then." And off I went buying designer-type sweaters and skirts for $7 each. Let those silly Israeli women spend $50 and more on stuff that's less quality. And that includes my kids who also turn up their Canadian-born noses at second hand things.

I then had a light lunch at one of those boutique coffee shops that have been popping up all over the place. The restaurant is called Cafe Tomer on Rechov HaLamed Heh Street in one of Jerusalem's residential neighborhoods. I often envy those people who have the time to just sit in a cafe and enjoy the peaceful ambience of leisure. It was just delightful to finally be able to have an inexpensive but delicious cup of onion soup with Pecorino cheese on the side with a roll, plus a great cup of coffee with a chocolate brioche which was a treat made in heaven. These things I do not take for granted.

Hanukah donuts

2009-12-17T14:01:00.000+02:00

I woke up this morning with a start.

"The Hebrew Letters!"

"What?" Hubby was confused. I never wake up this way.

"The Hebrew Letters! I forgot to send the Hebrew letters."

Why was that on my mind first thing this morning? I forgot to send Hebrew letters by Fedex yesterday to my boss for her laptop in the States, and that seemed to be bugging me. I thought that amusing considering what other stuff went on this week.

Saturday night I went to the opening of the Jewish Film Festival. Molly Picon's film, East and West, a silent flick from 1923 was the featured film. Before the film, the hanukah menorah was lit inside the theater and we sang Maoz Tzur, which is what differentiates this film festival from probably all others anywhere else in the world. The live band accompanied the film led us through some strange musical interludes during the course of the film - I had expected Klezmer music all the way - but the final song was Pump It by the Black Eyed Peas which, strangely enough, fit the finale. Go figure. At the party afterwards, an acquaintance came over to me and said she had to wake up tomorrow early to go on the Jesus Trail. Sounds interesting, but this is a do-it-yourself thing with a guidebook on the trails. I told her I, too, have to wake up early. She pressed me about what.

"My daughter is getting a boob job"

One of my daughters, not telling who, got breast implants this past Sunday at a private medical clinic in Tel Aviv. She's a small girl and the doctor had enough sense not to give her those horrid looking balloon-type implants. I remember Arsenio Hall saying "Men don't care if they fake" and I guess they don't care how stupid they can look too. But if doc didn't let daughter overdo it, we might just be looking fine. This whole thing, paid for by my daughter, cost 15,000 shekels - roughly $3800. Don't know how that compares with boob jobs in the States.

While she was in surgery, I staked out the mall and plopped myself down in one of the nicer restaurants in the trendy Ramat Aviv mall for breakfast, where tights were selling for $60 a pair and a bottle of water in the supermarket sold for twice the price as it did in Jerusalem. My daughter's best friend also had the same surgery done that day, right afterwards, so when I came back to the room, her mother was busy reciting Psalms instead of gouging herself on food and putting expensive shit on her wishlist like I did.

Both kids came out of this fine, although mine was in excrutiating pain, while the daughter of the Psalm-reciting mother felt just a bit of pain. Maybe there is a conicidence with prayer as a healing tool. I should have tried that method, but didn't.

Meanwhile, she's walking around the house these past few days holding up her new boobs with her hands. I'm wondering if she's doing that because she can finally hold something, or if she's just more comfortable with her walking around that way. The sisters all wanted to have a look at the newbies and came over to check her out. And like most who do it - she's happy that she did.

The Rashaida Bedouins

2009-12-15T23:47:00.001+02:00

No one I know knows anything about them or where they're located. I met Juma at Metzokei Dragot who gave my number to Mohammad who runs the Bedouin guest tent. Mohammad has called me since every 3 days or so to find out when I'd be coming to visit with them. They've just begun hosting Israelis and internationals at their place so they seem to be over-exuberant in trying to get guests to come.

Hubby was nervous at me going to the middle of nowhere so I gave him Mohammad's number "just in case". What is there to be nervous about if you don't believe the "other" is your enemy?

I went with a couple of my adventurous friends who have travelled extensively. They love new experiences. We travelled to the Jewish settlement of Efrat, then on winding roads east towards Tekoa. In front of us was a sign forbidding entrance to Israelis. To the left was a handwritten sign that said "Maaleh Amos" in Hebrew. That's the Jewish settlement that's closest to the Rashaida Bedouin village. We travelled past hilly olive groves in the valley between desert and mountain ridges. The roads were winding and beautiful. We obviously missed our destination and Mohammed directed us to where we had to go.

"The sign to Maaleh Amos is on a rock" he explained.

Oh, sorry. I was looking for a normal sign, not a Flintstone-type sign. Go figure. We retracked until we got to the sign, up past Bedouin ruins and got to Maaleh Amos. One of the Bedouins waiting there asked if we were going to Mohammed's place. Yes, we are. He jumped into our car as if it's just normal to jump into peoples' cars and directed us past his Bedouin village of Rashaida where the girls' school's windows and frames are colored pink and where camels roamed wild. We veered off the asphalt onto a non-paved road up hills and over who knows what for about 15 minutes until we got to a large tent up on top of a hill with views that were unbelievably stunning.

The Rashaida tribe lived in nearby Ein Gedi until 1948 when they moved uphill and since 1984 lived in the place where they are now living. Our host Mohammad has two wives and 11 children. The younger man who rode in the car with us, spoke perfect Hebrew and told us that the Arabic the Bedouin speak is closest to classical Arabic, which means he can understand all dialects. The families don't work out of their village and all work is done around the home, raising flocks of sheep, goats and camels and some vegetables. I wondered out loud what on earth do they ever get upset about? No mortgages, no taxes, no bills, no rushing to the office, no boss, no standing in line for hours at the supermarket, no traffic jams. Nothing. I asked Mohammad if his wives get along. He says they do. They're mostly secular, although there is a mosque in their village, no one feels pressured to go to prayers, although most fast during Ramadan. Inside the tent, the mattresses are made of sheeps' wool and the covering made out of goat hair, so that when it rains, the hair expands and covers any holes, making the tent waterproof. Amazing self-sufficiency.

Meanwhile, we wondered how in this empty place did people suddenly show up at the tent to check us out? Kids, older men, men in turbans, teens, etc. They seem to have come out of nowhere. A musician began to play on the stringed instrument called "sumsimeyeh" or something like that.

The camels appeared and I was asked to milk it. Huh? Are you putting me to work already? I'm not even there an hour! I squeezed and milk poured out. That milk collected in a tin was our beverage soon after, and I never tasted anything as wonderful and sweet. And of course, so fresh. Not from a shelf in a supermarket.

We took a walk to where Mohammad's dad lives, in the valley below and met with everyone there.

Then climbed into one of their vehicles to ride to an old Jordanian military outpost that was in use pre-1967. I felt like a kid again riding in the open back on the bumpy roads. The young man riding with us told me I should listen to Arabic music. I told him that I do and we sang some familiar tunes. He tells me to listen to Fairuz in the morning.

"I always listen to Fairuz in the morning with my coffee."

"Why? What happens if you listen to Fairuz in the evening?"

"No. She's much better in the morning. I listen to Om Kolthum in the evening. There's nothing like Om Kolthum in the evening."

Hmmmm. Have to give it a try.

It was almost time for us to leave. We didn't want to travel the unmarked, unpaved roads in the dark. But it was hard to leave this serene place. These people, this tribe, is looking to get tourists to visit with them. We joked how we left the car unlocked and it was still there, as was my cell phone. You and your valuables are safe as a guest of the Bedouin. They welcome people to sleep over in their comfortable tents and share breakfast, lunch and dinner with them, with a bonfire at night and camel riding and hiking during the day. It sounds ideal and we promised that we'd get more people to visit and would visit over the weekend ourselves sometime in the near future.

Talk the Israeli talk

2009-12-07T14:13:00.000+02:00

Saturday night is one night where I no longer want to run into town and party. After all, I'm in my 50s and Sunday is a work day, so going anywhere on a Saturday night is no longer fun.

My eldest daughter wanted to go for pizza with me, my Complainer and her boyfriend. We looked quite the motley crew as we sauntered in there with our pajama fleece pants, and slippers with pink socks. The pizza place was busy. It does a brisk business on Saturday evening, when most people, like myself, prefer staying home. The pizza shop is our local version of a pub. Maaleh Adumim doesn't have a pub, so it's a great place for people wanting to dry out. Too bad we don't have rehabs here for alcoholics, because I'm thinking maybe the Brits should forget about their fancy shmancy Priory clinic and open one up here.

The male members of one family were at the Pizza shop taking up most of the floor space, watching the football game on the television on the wall. In fact, they were watching a few football games, cheering for Chelsea (against Manchester City), reiterating for me that they were not against Manchester United, God forbid, before switching the station to watch Jerusalem's Betar team with alternate cheers and loud OY's while holding their heads in misery at times.

The pizza was great, smothered in onions and mushrooms, flavored with sumac and other spices. The pizza makers asked us how it was. The Complainer shrugged "nothing special...." I glared at her. It was delicious! Why did she insult them?

"Oh be Israeli mom. This is how we talk."

"Yes, so I've heard" I muttered.

But the big Israeli bully of a daughter that I have, turned helpless this morning.

"Mom, Visa took 1,000 shekels from my bank on the 2nd, and I TOLD the bank that I wanted it out on the 10th. Now I have no money..." she was miserable.

"Looks like it's time to Talk Like An Israeli now and give it to that bank person, isn't it?"

It's a good thing she has a good many years of practice....

Home Sweet Home

2009-12-03T15:32:00.000+02:00

My family were putting pressure on me this week to stay home more and make them normal meals, meaning non-vegan, non-healthy, laden with meat or cheese (separately, of course) and vegetables only as a side dish. I thought I'd do that yesterday, so last night was spaghetti and meat sauce for dinner.

This morning I was rewarded accordingly. My unemployed daughter calls me up to rat on her brother at 9:30 am.

"Why didn't he go to school?" she demanded. Not that she cares about his education, mind you, but because she wants to take over the computer that's in his room. The family computer.

I call him and he's like --- "Ok, Ok, I'm on my way right now!"

"Why are you late by an hour?"

"Because my English teacher isn't in today, so what am I going to do - huh?" he asks me.

"How do you know your English teacher won't be coming in today??" Did he get a chain call from one of his classmates telling him of the good news? Of course not.

11:30 am I get a frantic call from my daughter, while I'm busy at work, and needing to get stuff done in a hurry.

"That stupid boy locked the computer. Call him NOW and get the code from him, otherwise I'll wreck this whole place. I'll wreck everything he has."

I tried to get her to have patience, tolerance, whatever....until he got home from school, but she and I both know that once that happens, he takes over the computer and hardly lets her on.

I called him in school, figuring he's not in class anyways. I was right.

"Nu, what?" he asked me impatiently, as if he's pretending that he's interested in joining class.

"Give me the code now. PLEASE!! I don't want your room in pieces."

"Why did she tell you I wasn't in school??? Because of that I locked the computer. She can go fuck herself."

Great. But I think he was worried about his stuff, so he gave me the code and I passed it on to my daughter.

One hour later, she calls me back.

"Why is he here?? He rushed back from school so I can't be on the computer? I swear I don't care if he calls the police, if I don't go on the computer at 1:00 I'll KILL HIM!!"

So now you know why I try to force feed healthy food to my kids, and also, why I'm out all the time, as much I can be.

Two hours passed. No phone calls. I'm wondering if I'll be coming home to kids with broken bones and shit thrown and broken into pieces all over our brand new house. How far will they go? And all this over a computer!!

At 3:00 my son calls. He's calm. So I assume he hasn't thrown her out of the 8th floor window. He's concerned because he's being called up for army service and doesn't want to take the urine test there. He wants to do it at our local medical clinic, so where did I put the forms. I give out a great big loud OY and my boss hears, and is taking it personally.

"I know" she says. "I drive you crazy, don't I."

Not at all. Not at all.

Nothing Comes Easy

2009-12-01T16:24:00.006+02:00

"Is there anything that comes easy in this country? Anything?" asked Hubby on the phone to me today. This was one of the few conversations where I agreed with him entirely.

"Yes, weight gain" I answered, because that was the only thing I could think of that comes easily in this country besides aggravation, frustration, and everything similar.

Hubby's business owes back taxes. Like a good citizen, he's ready to pay it all. The money is sitting in the bank ready for income tax. But since April, they haven't taken it. They don't want it because they want to clear up some prehistoric thing that a former accountant never gave in to them.

"You don't have to worry, you won't have to pay a thing on the 1997 return" the accountant assured us.

But meanwhile, they put a lien on our bank account and threatened to take our stuff because we haven't paid them yet. Even though it's there for the taking. Look, if they don't want our money, I'm certainly fine with that. I could use it for a much-needed holiday, or an LCD or a stereo system.

And then last week, at a friend's wedding, my friend Abdullah came over to tell me that he thought he saw my security guard daughter on the bus the other day and when he asked her "Are you JG's daughter?" She told him "No." I called her immediately when Abdullah left to eat some grape leaves on the far side of the wedding hall.

"Did you see my friend Abdullah on the bus the other day and did you tell him that you weren't my daughter???"

"Yes"

"WHY??"

"Because I don't like your friends." meaning, she was embarrassed by the way he looked (bandana, wild curly hair, same green jacket he's wearing for years, etc.) and by the way he talked - with a heavy Arabic accent. She didn't have to explain. I knew.

If she's going to be rude and racist, I warned her if she's going to disown me as her mother to my friends, then when I'm filthy fucking rich, I'll remember that, and she will be sorry. So very sorry.

This morning I see a letter from the municipality telling me I don't get a water discount because I only have three people in the household? Huh? Since when did my two daughters up and leave me? Hell, if that's the case, I'm taking over their bedrooms as an office and guest room/exercise/hippie lounge respectively. But when I checked this morning, all their things were still there. I called up the municipality to tell them how stupid they are, so they now want me to send them my daughters' ID cards so they can prove they live with me.

I checked with my kids and both have our old address on their ID. So the municipality believes I moved to a new place with Hubby and son and left my two daughters behind in the old house. That thought had crossed my mind once or twice, but I never acted on it. Really.

crowds

2009-11-29T20:06:00.004+02:00

The weekend began on Thursday evening. Eliyahu, my peacemaker friend, was getting married that night and it was sure to be an interesting evening with his crowd. The bus left Jerusalem early and my boss didn't give me a hard time about it at all, which left me to wonder why I don't leave early more often to go wherever it is I need to always go. Ibrahim, Tamer, Mohammad, Abdullah were on the bus, as were a bunch of religious Jewish hippies dressed in colorful outfits and I already felt out of place in my shiny black and silver fancy dress. I don't have any hippie clothes for weddings. There were regular non-hippie Orthodox Jews on the bus too. It was such an interesting mix that when we passed the checkpoint to get to the wedding hall, we all smiled when the soldiers kept on coming on the bus a few times perhaps because they thought their eyes were deceiving them. What's this bus full of Jews and Arabs together? I'm sure they talked among themselves about it. I announced we should just do a bus tour together after the wedding and travel to towns around the country to draw attention to ourselves. Another one of my friends wanted to tell the soldiers that "we're just a bunch of peace terrorists.....we blow up stereotypes" - which I thought was so so clever.

Normally, 7 blessings are said under the marriage canopy, but Eliyahu had 8, which included all the Moslem, Druze and Christian sheikhs, imams, priests, etc. giving him a blessing in Arabic, English and Hebrew. I even noticed that the bride's Israeli mother of Iraqi descent seemed as if she was actually enjoying herself watching the Arabic blessings bestowed on the bride and groom.

At the dinner, I was glad Hubby hadn't joined me at the wedding. No booze, no Coca Cola, no dairy, no meat, not even a chicken wing. 100% vegan. My macrobiotic friends thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and I too enjoyed the healthy pickings, but Hubby would have complained throughout the meal. I know him too well. "What kind of fucking wedding meal is this?" he would have said over and over again to anyone who would care to listen, and would have had the bus driver stop for a steak somewhere roadside.

The following day I went to Metzagei Dragot, a vacation "village", by the Dead Sea. My friend's son had a bar mitzvah and this time I told Hubby to come with me because I was tired of going everywhere alone. I promised him the crowd and food will be non-vegan and delicious. We got a ride from one of our friends, who freaked hubby out with her driving by taking her hands off the wheels at times to talk with them and looking out the window at the view instead of ahead. We saw friends we hadn't seen in ages and checked into our rooms which were like cabins. Fancy camping. If you want a romantic holiday, I wouldn't recommend this place. On the cabin floors were old worn tiles, the beds had skimpy old blankets on them and sank when I sat on them. We checked the room to make sure it was scorpion-free and then relaxed. Thankfully the food was indeed delicious and I networked my ass off as peace missionaries do, with some people afterwards wanting to join the interfaith dialogue bandwagon, whether for shiatsu demonstrations, a synagogue family weekend in Beit Jala and a Bedouin worker at the place invited me to see his camp, where he'd like to have a similar tourist village like this. All this added to my ever-growing To Do list and I prayed this weekend that one day I'll be able to afford to work on my Arab/Israeli dialogue work full-time. Now these things will take months to come to fruition because I only have time to work on them a couple of hours a week. But it would be great to get a small crowd over to the Bedouin encampment to see what they would like to offer tourists.

The bar mizvah boy did his Torah reading perfectly, and on the way to the rustic bedouin tent with the thatched roof, where the services were held, overlooking the Dead Sea on the high cliffs, we saw a herd of Ibex. They came quite close to us and I thought perhaps they were attracted spiritually to the prayers. The whole scene was so biblical looking. But the people there said the Ibex were attracted more to the cake on the tables than the prayers. So much for animal spirituality.

Hubby was bubbly during lunch, having drunk about 6 shots of Scotch. He was telling my friend her red hair looked like something he could eat. In the afternoon a small group of us took a walk to see different desert views, which were breathtaking and walked back as the sun set. At the end of the day, I told our driver wouldn't it be nice if we all lived together in some sort of place like that, rural, but with more upscale accommodations of course. Maybe we'll build a retirement village somewhere out there. Just for our crowd.

To Hell or not to Hell

2009-11-25T16:11:00.002+02:00

I'm sure Hubby was a preacher in his last life. If it wasn't his last life, it sure is in this life. He and I were having a verbal go at each other as to which one of us is the bigger sinner and who will be going to hell. Him or me.

"You go around eating Halal meat with your Arabs. I would be a successful person if it weren't for you!"

"Oh yeah??? Well the way you go around cursing me and the kids is MUCH WORSE than me eating Halal meat. Much worse!!"

"Fuck you!"

Friday night at my home is me against the world. I get teased by my kids and son-in-law for having Arab friends and believing that most are good and then wish out loud that Beitar, the Jerusalem soccer club, gets a kick-ass Arab player soon. With an Arab who wins a game for the team, time after time, we'll see how things will shift instead of the racist hooligans the fans are now. But they think my peace-loving antics are also evil. I don't give a flying flake.

But you know who might be going to hell? Some bus drivers in Jerusalem. I was walking to my stop when I see a bus flying by with the back door open. This happens a lot here. Drivers just simply forget that you need to close the back door so that passengers don't fly out of the bus. Makes sense, non? Another day I go to the front of the bus and see the bus driver reading a fucking newspaper while he's driving. The paper was sitting beneath the steering wheel on the dashboard. Is he not going to hell? Is this not worse than eating halal meat?

Nostalgia

2009-11-19T14:59:00.000+02:00

I've been getting very nostalgic lately about my childhood and teen years. I don't know why, really. Perhaps it's because I'm getting older and I like to look back fondly on those formative, fun, carefree years of mine when I wasn't saddled with mortgages, bills, husband, working, etc. And I wonder why I did not ever take photos of those good times? I hardly have any photos of myself with friends who I grew up with.

There was a review of a book about the history of the Grand Concourse called Broken Dreams. From what I saw on Amazon, it looked like a well-written, interesting book, and for the first time in nearly 4 years I bought that book from Amazon, wondering if it will mention my street in the Bronx where I grew up and the neighborhood of Kingsbridge Heights.

The strength of one's thoughts just getting out to the universe is very powerful. Here I am waxing nostalgic since I bought the book, waiting for it to arrive and, strangely, during this time, someone from my childhood finds me on Facebook, as I also put my maiden name there, asking if I remember her. Of course I remember. She was one of my first best friends. She would come over to my house to play and I'd go over to hers, which was remarkable because my folks didn't allow me to have secular Jewish friends. Her parents were Holocaust survivors and they had this gorgeous dining room which no one was allowed to enter. It was only used for special occasions. She also had a beautiful teenage sister whom we envied who dressed in white go-go boots and whose hair was so fashionable. This was in the mid-1960s. Her sister had a yelling match with her mother, was absolutely horrible to us and used to always slam her door shut. We used to sneak into her room to listen to her records. This is what I remember. We used to giggle when sis had her tantrums and say - "That's teenage for you." We were bratty 10 year olds.

She also had a lovely country home in Lake Mohegan and I loved going there on Sundays, walking on those country roads, letting inchworms crawl on us and watching fireflies and having barbecues.

So we caught up on Facebook emailing our stories, checking each others photos, and trying to catch up on 45 years of life in just a few short paragraphs.

Then, I glanced at a couple of her friends on Facebook and one was a group from the same elementary school in the Bronx and there I saw someone whom I was friends with who lived in the same building as I did in the 60s. I contacted her and she remembers me too. I remember playing with her when I was as young as three. She had a brother and together (with his friends and without her) we used to poo in our apartment building's concrete back yard (I think we were about 4 or 5 years old)to piss off the superintendent, who'd think it was stray dogs dirtying up the premises. Disgusting, eh? But that's what little kids do behind their parents' back. I think at one point we were found out and his folks didn't allow me to play with their son any more. Fortunately, I eventually grew out of being a shit-disturbing troublemaker and became friendly with his sister. She was gorgeous and looked like a little Elizabeth Taylor. I felt ugly and stupid next to her. I remember when I stopped hanging out with her because I just felt so inadequate. We were about 12 and she was hanging out in the lobby with some boys trying to bum a cigarette off them and I heard her call them "cheap" because they wouldn't give her one. She was way out of my league. I wasn't cool, I didn't smoke anything until I was 19 and I was an Orthodox Jew which made me feel so old-fashioned and frumpy next to her. So it was great to catch up with her too, though I didn't remind her of the poo thing with her brother. I'm hoping she either never knew or forgot about it totally.

And I wonder if anyone is doing a documentary on how Facebook reunites people after decades of not being in touch...

It's all relative

2009-11-17T15:36:00.005+02:00

First of all, thanks to the anonymous person who tipped me off about the bug on my blog. It was unreadable and it seems the problem stemmed from Photobucket. So I erased all my photobucket images and have a new, but plain blog without the bells and whistles or beads and camels. For now anyways.

Getting back to what I wanted to say --- my sister and neice and nephew came in from Canada this past week and we got together at my brother's house. They are all uber ultra-orthodox and so I donned my only dress - but no headcovering - and headed over to my big brother. My niece was having the freakies. Seems she is nervous about taking buses still, even though there haven't been any bus attacks for years now (thank you good God). But much to her horror:

"I took this taxi and then I looked at the seat next to the driver and saw an Arabic newspaper. I was so scared!!!"

I looked at her and laughed. Cab drivers? They're just scraping by to make a living. They may not all love Jews, because not all Jews love them either - but they're quite safe. I can assure you.

My sister in law put her mind at ease with:

"Oh, don't worry about that. If you have any problems with Arabs, just call her" she said tossing her head towards me. "She's friends with ALL of them."

"What??"

I explained to them (for the 100th time) my interfaith work and my sister was like:

"You know you can't trust them. They're all terrorists." She used the dreaded "all" word. I was calm. I was cool. I was collected. I looked at her and asked -

"Did you EVER in your life sit down and speak with any Arab? Ever?"

Sis lowers her head down slightly.

"no"

"So you can't tell me they're "all" like that."

Certainly we don't want to hear that ALL Jews are Madoffs or shysters or rich as shit. Why do I have to hear the "all" word?

Next day I was at the family wedding. This time I had to act the Ultra Orthodox part. If I didn't come dressed appropriately - meaning head covering too - it would have been an embarrassment for my sister and niece. And it's a grave sin to embarrass people in public. I actually felt more mature donning the elegant headscarf to cover my hair, and noted that when I nearly slipped in my shoes, it wasn't becoming of me to shout out "FUCK" when I looked the way I did.

The relatives were pleased to see my hair tucked in wearing a long-sleeved dress. They even introduced me to their friends. But I sat at their table and found I had nothing much to say to them. The conversation was strained if there even was a conversation. But when it was time to leave, I hugged them and told them I loved them and I felt they loved me back, even though we don't speak much to each other.

I come home to the person I'm related to by marriage - Hubby. He's in a foul mood today and tells me:

"All I want is for people to go on buses and cough and sneeze on each other. And get sick. That's all I want. That's the person you married."

Whatever.

Then this morning I see a bill he got from income tax for 43,000 shekels. After all, why shouldn't they run after our money? Aren't we all brothers?

Rare Flowers and Brits

2009-11-12T16:45:00.001+02:00

I'm still aching. Terribly. It's been two days since I hiked up in the Galilee with ESRA (English Speaking Residents Association), which mostly consist of Brits and the average age, I would guess is 65. You'd think, looking at these grey-haired folks, that the hike would be a piece of cake. It's almost like hiking with the Young At Heart crowd. Well it was easy because we didn't climb down ladders or hang off cliffs, but it was a very long and winding road.

To show you just how crazy I am, I woke up at 5:00 am. Who in their right mind takes off a day of work to wake up at that ungodly hour? Me. I got the 5:30 bus and my ride fetched me in Jerusalem one hour later. We waited for the main bus carrying all the hikers for about an hour, but the wait was wonderful and gave me a chance to discover a coffee called Pannone and a raspberry ganache which yelled "butter" all the way. The weather was delightful. I got onto the bus and sat in one of the few empty seats next to a messianic Jew. Maybe he was Jewish, maybe not, but he was from Montreal and had a distinct Quebec accent, pronouncing words like "dere" instead of "there". As soon as he mentioned the "New Testament" I knew that God wanted me to meet yet another one of these people. Again and again. Never fails, eh? We had a lovely discussion but he started in on the Moslems, calling them demonic and then I switched him off. I tried explaining that not everyone interprets the Koran the way Al Qaida and other extremists do and that the Moslems I met were one of the most hospitable people around. That seemed to royally piss him off because for the duration of the hike, while we sat down for lunch, he was going on about them like "every where in the world the Moslems are causing trouble" and when we passed a burnt out part of the forest, it was "them" doing it again.

"How do you know it's Arabs" I asked him. Perhaps it was Israeli teens. Perhaps it was a careless hiker, lighting up a butt then forgetting about it, until the winds whipped up a forest fire.

We began our hike in the Biria forest and saw the ruins of an ancient first century synagogue.

People in general on that hike were so friendly, it almost felt like family. A family of Brits and a couple of stray Yanks and Canadians and maybe an Aussie, a South African or two. Hiking uphill for a while, two guys teased me with "breathing heavy, aren't we?" "Yeah but what good is it if I'm breathing heavy alone." We hiked 18 kilometers to Rosh Pina down the mountain.

There was a rare flower which is in bloom only a couple of weeks a year and only in a few places. This was one of them.

Luckily, even though I don't hike more than once a year, I felt seasoned enough to bring my crocs which I sunk my aching feet into after the hike. And