Liars Liars

I've had a bit of a rough week - putting my ex-Criminal into her lock up and crying about it all week. What am I crying for? She's safe, she's being fed, I know I won't be getting calls from the police to pick up my daughter at the station for painting graffiti in the malls, or some other infraction. It's probably the loss of control, not that I had any in the first place over her. But maybe then, thinking out loud, it's the fact that I hope the place won't lie to her, by telling her she gets out in 4 weeks for a weekend with us and then find a reason why she won't be able to get out. I know they probably won't lie and only if she misbehaves consistently, would they not let her out. Maybe that's why I'm upset. I want her to abide by the rules for the first time in her life. It's also because I can't have daily contact with her - only weekly.

Being the mood-swinging mama that I am, I ran around yesterday in drunken-like happiness, grateful to God for being able to buy small items I wasn't able to afford in months but because Hubby landed a job for the next few months, we have a bit more than usual. I felt like those mad shoppers in one of the tv shows I used to watch in the 60s - where they were given a certain amount of money and had to shop in the supermarkets and load up their carts in 60 seconds - something like that. Hubby had to check his car at the repair shop. Jerusalem seemed festive with the happy holiday of Purim in swing. I was thrilled to have a long weekend - on Easter Sunday for the rest of the world and Purim for the Jews. I ran from store to store to see what I could buy with the extra cash - bath oil, incense, a beautiful pair of $25 earrings (since the only pair I owned was snatched by one of my daughters), and I was just about to enter one of Jerusalem's most unique and beautiful furnishings store, when Hubby rang.

"Where are you?"

I didn't want to tell him where I was, because he may get frightened that I'll go haywire in that store.

"Just downtown"

"I'll meet you in 1/2 hour"

"Great, honey - see you."

At least I had 1/2 hour to peruse in this paradise. I stood in line to pay for hand cream in the L'Occitane department. The cashier had problems opening up her cash register. It took about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I get another call from Hubby -

"Where are you?"

"I'm still looking around"

"Because Good Daughter's boyfriend's parents are here and they have Mishloach Manot to give us (Purim packages of cakes/candies/wine that people distribute to their friends - it's customary to give at least 2), and I thought you'd pick up a ready-made package and we'll give it them now."

I prayed to God that He should fix the cash register immediately and within 5 minutes, the damn thing opened up. I got my change and ran up the hill to the shuk, bought the ready-made package and gave it to them.

Safely ensconced at home that afternoon, I felt like being creative for the Sabbath meal and made a green salad with strawberries, chicken cacciatore with roasted vegetables poured on top, etc. When we sat down to eat the Nasty Daughter looks at the food with her silent boyfriend and says to me

"You make disgusting food, how can you expect him (nodding towards the boyfriend) to eat it. Why can't you make regular food????"

"Look, honey, this isn't your greasy shwarma shop. Got it? I made Gourmet Food here. See? If you don't like it, you can leave."

If I must say so myself, my non-regular food tasted delicious. What a liar she was.

This morning I wake up and see Hubby on the computer.

"I'm just checking the mail" he tells me. I walk over quickly, too quickly for him to shut down the Porno sites showing on the screen.

Some mail.

Hubby and the Racists

I was so terribly busy at work today trying to get everything finished before our long holiday weekend. The Jewish holiday of Purim comes out on Friday and Jerusalem celebrates it on Sunday - with everyone getting dressed up, kind of like Halloween, only instead of asking for candy, people give candy and special pastries called Hamantashen.

I called Hubby to ask him some short really important questions. He was like - I'm eating lunch now. I'm putting you on the phone with C.'s wife, just in from Canada yesterday.

I really didn't want to talk to C.'s wife, even though we had hosted C., the Pentecostal guy on Friday evening. I was busy busy and BUSY. What part of busy did he not understand.

I was extremely polite and telling her she should spend Easter Sunday in Jerusalem, because she didn't want to go there because of the crowds. I don't know what she's thinking. Jerusalem never gets that crowded. Crowded was in Barcelona or in New York City subways, but I guess any city with a population of over 2,500 is crowded for her. I even promised to find them a Pentecostal church service in Jerusalem for Sunday.

I get back on the phone with Hubby - who puts Abed on the phone with me.

"Kif halek....." and on he goes having a 10 minute conversation with me in Arabic that I barely understand. He thinks I'm making all this language progress, but I'm only learning the Arabic alphabet now. I finally get off the phone with Abed and am handed back to Hubby. I try to ask that very important quick question and he tells me he'll get back to me in a half hour, because he wants to finish his lunch.

Thinking silently - what a dick, I rush home before the festival starts. Hubby calls and tells me to put the hot water switch on for the shower. This means he's got a headache. He doesn't tell me this but I know. But a wave of compassion comes over me and I struggle to get the house tidied up in 20 minutes so he doesn't have a worse headache when he sees the mess. He's on the couch, having no clue that the place looked like a salvation army depot 20 minutes before. I feel he's thankful.

He tells me that today where he worked, some young Jewish guys were playing music loud. He likes a wide range of music but this was racist music - in English - by a well known guy in extremist right wing circles singing anti-Arab songs. The young guys were laughing and singing along with the music. Hubby goes across the street to them and tells them in no uncertain terms that if they don't shut that crap off, he'll tear the stereo wires out of the wall. Then he calmed down and explained the following to them.

"I'm a contractor working across the street, and I hire Palestinian workers. It's embarrassing for me to have them listen to this shit. It's offensive to me even more so. I used to be like you once, until I learned better, until I got to know the others. You must have respect for the others, because the world is changing and it has to change for the better."

To say the least, they were stunned. Heck, I was stunned just listening to this. They didn't expect anyone to complain about their taste in music and didn't think it was offensive and apologized to him for being offensive. I guess no one had ever challenged them beforehand.

I told Hubby - why is it when you come home, all I hear are belches and farts? And then you walk around the house scratching your balls and eating out of the cooking pots.

I never get to see him at his best. Nevertheless, I was damn proud of Hubby because it does take great big balls to confront racism.

A mum's agony

It was the night before ex-Criminal daughter had to go do her 3 month stint at the "lock-in" reformatory where I took her this morning. She came into our room looking for Hubby's cellphone to call her boyfriend. Hubby didn't know who was in the room and woke up startled and began screaming -

"DON'T TAKE MY PHONE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY POCKETS!!!?? I'VE GOT MONEY IN THERE!!"

I woke up thinking is this man totally fucked? You know you have kids that love to take loose change or even a bill or two and throw it into their own pockets. Why tell them EXACTLY where you are hiding your dough?

The next morning - money intact - with her bags already packed, I had the social worker pick us up. It seemed like the drive took longer than it did. It was a bit over an hour but seemed like 3 hours. It was a bit difficult to get to, with 3 or 4 turn offs from the main highway and it was near the coastal city of Ashdod. The place had high gates, but no barbed wire and I could imagine my daughter trying to scale the gate trying to break loose and hitch a ride from the main road not too far from the place, but I figured she'd have second thoughts as an armed guard and more high gates surrounded the "enclosed" complex. For the 3 months she has to be there, 5 weeks are in the "enclosed" area and the remainder in the more open premises. The girls - well - looked like her - with attitude, but they eyed her curiously. Some were sympathetic. "Tell her not to cry, it's not so bad." "We all cry at first."

I remember our last outing we had on Friday. She was at the lingerie store thumbing through the racks with a lit cigarette which I tried to pry away from her lest she burn down the undies or the store. Maybe we could start a new style of underwear with cigarette burns on them, but I think not right now. She yelled at me that I'm crazy for trying to take away her ciggie and I thought Man does she need this place.

But when we got there, she seemed so helpless and small and fragile - not the ring leader for troublemakers. She cried when she spoke about her boyfriend and when they told her she wouldn't be able to call or see him for 5 weeks. We walked around the joint which looked like a cross between a Kibbutz and a jail with flowers and nice graffiti to liven up the place. I likened it to a dog kennel where you send your beloved pet for 3 months and know he'll be safe and be fed, but don't know exactly how the staff will treat your loved one and don't know how he'll get along with the others.

I noticed how the girls rooms were neat, simple and immaculate. I pictured her being the only one with her stuff strewn all over the joint. But there'll be none of that there. I imagine it's hard work for anyone to deal with these distressed teens and to get them to do anything. I was starting to become impressed with this place. I don't know what they can do with her in three months. But I do hope it's all for the best.

Our Pentecostal Guest

Hubby had been working for these past two weeks for an old Toronto friend of his - a doctor - who had taken along his construction guy to work together with Hubby on building his home. The Canadian construction guy is here for another week. Hubby got chummy with him and invited him to our house for a Shabbat meal. The doctor warned Hubby - when the Canadian starts talking about religion, he don't shut up.

Since I'm already into Compassionate Listening, it didn't matter if someone talks for hours. We had him over and he was a very pleasant guest. He lives waaaay up in Northern Ontario where the summers are over by August. He's a born-again Pentecostal church guy and I just love listening to these fire-and-brimstone people. He was telling me how the Sabbath is made for man and man is not made for the Sabbath. And how people in his community may be good Christians on Sunday, going to church and all that - but live like the Devil the rest of the week. He made Hubby seem like a silent Buddhist monk. We laughed because he doesn't use profanity at all and he reminded me about Milton Berle on the Ed Sullivan show years back telling the audience he had gone to Arizona to visit the Hoover Darn and went riding in a heck-icopter. While Hubby was just about falling asleep on the couch, I thought our guest would never leave until I was "saved", which meant that he may be staying at my place for quite a while.

Today, we picked him up at his hotel and perused all the Christian sites. We went to Gethsemene Gardens, then to the place on Mt. Zion where the Last Supper took place and off to the Haas Promenade before going to Ein Karem to see where John the Baptist was born. It's been awhile since we had hooked up with any authentic great white northerners. When he agreed with what we said, he'd say " oh, right on!" and regaled us with stories about bears coming up to his kitchen window, and packs of wolves in his driveway and moose drinking in his lake. Even though coming face to face with that kind of wildlife is common where he is, it now sounded as exotic to me as him seeing a camel on the road in East Jerusalem. He told us about the different partridges he used to hunt and all about the Spring Bear hunt when their fur was fresh and shiny, not tired looking as they do in the Fall. I felt I had come face to face with a real live Little House on the Prairie character. He was charming, pronouncing "picture" - "pitcher", and he just felt so priviledged to be in the Holy Land, as he looked in awe at just about everything here. It just reinforced my feelings for the whole country, even though life here is difficult. While taking others on a tour of the land for the very first time, it's like you're also seeing it for the first time.

So what if I'm a Junkie

I was sitting with the rest of the loser parents with their loser kids who couldn't get into the local junior high school. The wait to speak to the guidance counselor was about 1 1/2 hours. I felt I was waiting for the Wizard of Oz. Meanwhile, the "elite" school's hallway was teeming with teens, skipping classes to socialize or whatever. I wasn't too impressed after all. The end result was that they'll let him know in June if he's in or not. If he were not to go into this place, the alternative is another junior high with a very right-wing slant. I'm not sure I want him to go there. How would he feel besides having a mother who speaks English and embarrasses him to the nines - how would he feel going to a very right-wing school and having a mother who's a junkie? At least that's what my friend Eliyahu called me today. I told him I was blogging all the peace stuff around Jerusalem each week and he said - "you know what? You're a peace junkie".

Beforehand I knew I was a chocolate junkie, a food junkie, a second-hand clothes shop junkie, a Richard Gere junkie, a Rolling Stones junkie, and during my son's bar mitzvah we were all collectively called Janglo Junkies. Janglo is a many-times-daily e-mail list for all the Jerusalem Anglos. It lists everything from moving sales, to concert listings, to people looking for jobs, nanny's, pet sitters, schools, medical information, food information, and even someone looking for Gothic people and people into the Renaissance area for get togethers, even Shakespeare recitals. I got some of my furniture/appliances from Janglo advertisements and Hubby even got some work from people looking to renovate, etc. But I think I like being a Peace Junkie the best.

A Mad Day in Hell

You know those days when NOTHING, and I mean nothing you do seems to go right. It started off okay, but then I had to pick up a food package during work hours. It's not THAT easy to tell my boss I need to skip work for 1/2 hour during the day - he gets nervous about it. He was in meetings all day - away from the office. I snuck out at 9:15 am, thinking I'll only be 1/2 hour and will get back before they take their break at 10:00 and he may want to call me for whatever reason. I get to the food bank and the people inside cannot open up their door. It's lock. It's stuck. They don't think about letting the 4 people waiting in line through the other door. So we wait and wait. And I'm getting more and more stressed. I ask everyone in line if they wouldn't mind me going before them for the pick up because my work needs me and no one understood me. They all spoke and understood Russian. At least that was what they told me. Russki, Russki. After a 20 minute wait, with my heavy bags, I try to hail a taxi, but there's hardly a taxi in sight, even though it's a busy intersection. Someone sneaks up a half a block ahead and hails MY taxi. But she must have felt my vibes because she let me into the cab.

The taxi ride was slow and painful. There was so much traffic because streets are closed due to the 40 dignitaries from around the world who have come to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial re-opening ceremony. I called work -

"I'm on the way. If he calls, tell him I'm in the bathroom and I'm sorely constipated."

This in front of the cab driver and the other passenger. I was beyond embarrassment by this time.

Fortunately, I didn't miss any calls, except for the one I didn't want to get - like the one from my son's school telling me they got a fax from the junior high saying it is final that he did not get it. Like fuck it's final. I cried during lunch because of the school's pompousness in not trying to help me with my kid. They were working against me and I felt it. In narrow-minded places, of where there is not a shortage here in this country, they look at the entire family and if something isn't right, then the whole lot isn't good. So my ex-Criminal Daughter had ruined her own reputation at that elementary school, and even though my son is much different, they don't see it that way. They figure he'll turn out just like her. So, he's probably branded as a "would be" criminal.

Then I get another call from the social worker telling me that my ex-Criminal daughter will have to go to her "lock-up" school - a reformatory of sorts - for three months, beginning on Monday. I can't get in touch with her to tell her. I feel pangs of parental guilt that it went this far with her.

Then after my haranguing phone calls I tried to sort things out in my head by blogging. Trying to post yesterday's post took me ages because I kept on gettng error messages each time I sent it for publishing. The one time I didn't copy what I had written on a word document, it didn't take and my writing was not anywhere to be found in cyperspace. I had to write it all over again. But when I checked my blog an hour later all THREE versions showed up. Go figure.

I get home and look for the stove lighter to make dinner. It's 8:00 and I'm starving and so is my son. He told me the Nasty Daughter took the lighter into her room to light up her cigarettes. I ran upstairs to look for the lighter and her door's locked. I ran downstairs and yelled - That's IT - there's be NO DINNER TONIGHT 'COS I CAN'T LIGHT THE BLOODY STOVE!

Good son comes to the rescue. He is calm, cool and collected.

"I can buy matches for you at the Russian store."

I slip him a 5 and don't care if he brings me back any change.

Jezebel

I know now what kind of mother-in-law I will be for my future daughter-in-law. They should only watch out for the mother-in-law from hell.

My thirteen year old son applied to the local junior high school and was rejected. He's not a bad kid, I've had worse. In fact, his grades are average, not below average, plus he's not a troublemaker. God knows, I've seen much worse. But, unfortunately, he's the kind of kid that if someone starts up with him and he hits back, he's the one they catch and he's the one that gets suspended. They wrote him up for pushing someone - even accidentally.

In this country nothing is without a fight. So I'm fighting to get him into the school not because I love this school. They certainly didn't endear me to them when they sent a rejection letter to him personally. It's because all his friends are going there and that's where he wants to go. And why shouldn't he be able to? I contacted everyone I thought could perhaps help - his teacher, his guidance counselor - who all said they would help but did absolute dick. I called a Rabbi with connections to the school. I called the school that rejected him and no one called me back. Finally I spoke to the guidance counselor of that school today.

"Why did you reject him" - I inquired.
"Does he have behavior problems?" she asked.
"No, he doesn't."
"Well I see he has a few marks in the school's "violence" files"
"They marked him down for very minor stuff"

She settled for an interview with me and the Kid on Thursday. Meanwhile, I will be calling all his teachers, and getting their opinions of the Kid and writing them down in order to give to the counselor on Thursday. One cannot fight in this country empty handed.

I told my dear son that he has to be on his absolute BEST behavior now before the interview. But yesterday in school on the way to the bathroom, he was accosted by someone of the female persuasion. She wanted to "talk". So he did talk to her and was 20 minutes late for class. This was immediately written down in his file. I asked him why he did that. Why couldn't he tell this brazen hussy who was also not in her class (the school has separate classes for boys and girls), that he had to go to class or he'd be late.

"I didn't want her to think I was a nerd."

"So you may have screwed up your chance to get into this junior high after all. Was it worth it? Because of a girl???"

I already am hating his future girlfriends.

Happy Anniversary to Me

We celebrated 22 years together in a nice Jerusalem restaurant called 1868 - named after the date of the building. So while the civil war was raging in the US (or is it few years after?), builders in Jerusalem were constructing a lovely building outside the old city walls for a residence which eventually turned into a restaurant with arched ceilings and thick walls.

The fare here was upscale middle-eastern, however, I saw nothing middle-eastern about the place. What I thought was the middle-eastern herb zaa'tar (hyssop)wasn't. I was informed by the polite French waiter that this was some kind of coarse pepper. There was black olive paste and eggplant dip for the bread and that was as middle-eastern as it got. The waiters were doting and served us new setting after each course, with the setting being brought to us on not just a plate, but on top of soft white towels.

We tried to be adventurous for the first course and took veal sweetbreads. We had not idea what they were and I was sorry I asked because the guy said they were "shkeidim" or tonsils - something awful like that. They were presented beautifully in a toasted potato nest on top of mushrooms and baby lettuce leaves. I told Hubby - pretend you're a contestant on Fear Factor and just eat the fucking things. But he wasn't about to get $50,000 for it. Too bad, because I would have won. There were 4 of them and I had 3 while he just managed to down one.

Next we ordered the main course - which I thought would have come with some side dish or potatoes or salad or RICE. I mean if you're going to call yourself middle-eastern - serve RICE!!! These cookie cutter circular portions of beef arrived for Hubby with 4 thin slices of potatoes and my goose breast was also cut with the same circular cutter. The chef must have lots of fun with those cutters. I guiltily ate the fois gras on top of the goose because I've seen those widely distributed photos of how they torture those poor geese in order to get their fois gras.

Hubby's eyes were closing and I thought he's going to definitely fall asleep at the table and if he does - should I leave him there overnight and take a bus home, or wake him up? But he was actually sitting ever so blissfully in the padded leather-like comfortable chair wishing he had one of those in our dining room. Yes, I'd like that too, because then he'd fall asleep on one of those and then I'd have the whole bed for myself.

Rose of Jericho

Every once in a while, just when you thought things are going smooth, a new scare comes along. Remember when everyone saw the movie, Jaws, in the late 1970s and no one would swim in the ocean any longer - myself included?

My daughter said that she read in the local paper a news article that 38 people from our city have the Rose of Jericho disease from sandfly bites. This is an awful disease that takes 2 - 12 months to cure and people are left with ugly scars. They are looking to a Bedouin doctor for traditional treatment for this or for prevention - I'm not sure which. Meanwhile, the people affected are living in the older section of the city, not where we live. Plus Bouganvilleas are supposed to kill off these pests. And my neighbor's bouganvillea is draped over our front entrance so hopefully his gorgeous plant will do the trick.

Meanwhile, it's my 22nd wedding anniversary today. I'm waiting for Hubby to take me out to dinner and I can indulge in fine food before I freak out again at the thought of disease-ridden-carrying sandflies in my city.

Making Changes

I'm trying to make some blog changes - like putting the box you see above this post on the side bar in a scroll down box, and if not a scroll down thing then just on the side bar - but it hasn't worked out - yet - so I'm depending on Blogger Support. Let's see if it helps.

I plan to have a running, weekly column on the side showing peace activities from here - not demonstrations, not political stuff, but the good stuff.

Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, I hope you can see this link about Palestinian and Israeli 4th graders getting together in Jerusalem.

all those annoying things

Having had to work over 12 hours this week plus these past two Fridays, left me little leisure time. Just Saturdays. So I get impatient with everything. And my boss, equally impatient snaps at the receptionist when he asked for a folder because she brought in a red folder. She should know better than that. No red waving in front of a bull. He hollered "Why do you have to bring me this color? Isn't there another color - like blue or white." He must have been feeling overly patriotic today.

I had called Rabbis for Human Rights after receiving an e-mail that they were setting up people for Friday night meals from The Fellowship of Reconciliation group. I quickly took on 3 guests even though time was limited.

"You've invited strangers?" asked one of my collegues at work.

Anyone in a group with a name like Peace, Reconciliation, Interfaith, Dialogue - is hardly a candidate for being a rapist or a mass murderer. I figured it was safe to invite this group of strangers.

We hadn't had strangers in our house since November and it was high time we did something about it.

I prepared a marathon cooking session - even bribing my kids to clean the house for $12. The volunteer was Nasty Daughter who muttered complaints throughout her cleaning session, but was happy to earn cigarette money from me. I got frustrated at squeezing the orange juice from oranges that didn't have seeds which meant I would have used them for eating oranges. But everytime I cut up an orange for eating, I get a mouthful of pits, so I didn't want to chance it this time and delegated all of them to be juice oranges.

I went back to Jerusalem at 4:30 to meet our guests who were at that "touchy-feely" Reform Synagogue, leaving instructions for kids and Hubby not to burn the house down and to wash the floors, clean the bathroom and shut off the stove so the chicken won't turn into ashes.

The place glowed when I got home with our guests. Apparently their group is one of the oldest interfaith groups in the US, which formed after WWI. Because of hassles at Ben Gurion airport - because they are a Peace group, they flew into Jordan and from there drove to Jerusalem. Apparently the delegation before theirs got turned back because the Israeli officials don't take too nicely to people who fraternize with Palestinians. Then foreigners might realize how nice Palestinian families are and then all that hard government work to make them all seem like terrorists, will be for naught.

This had been their first visit with a Jewish family since they had always been hosted by Palestinian families since they arrived.

At dinner time, Hubby hogged the conversation with lengthy stories about "his life" which seemed really really long - maybe because I've heard them for hours on end before. Maybe because I was very tired and impatient and wanted to hog the guests for myself because "I" invited them and he didn't even want them there in the first place because he was tired himself. But our guests really didn't seem to mind. He was peppering his "sermons" with "I am honored by your presence" about a hundred times, which got on my nerves, because that morning he asked me to cancel the guests. Like fuck you're honored. And he sounded so uncharacteristically mushy, I wondered if the Brandy his brother bought for him at Duty Free was having this effect on him. I was in the middle of putting together my Indonesian Rice Salaed and I hear him continue "and as you are amongst us...". "Amongst"??? Who talks like this in the 21st century? I didn't make any comments, but I shot him a glare.
I did manage to get a word in now and then. And then I think the highlight of the evening was when Hubby brought out his gas mask to show everyone what it looks like (scary) and the atrophine (sp?) injection in that box as well.

After 3 hours I gave our guests my business card before seeing them off. Hubby got back at me for all those glares and my cutting his conversations short.

"Oh you're giving them your FAKE business cards?"

At least my kids behaved like civilized human beings at the table and I can't be so totally annoyed at Hubby because he did show up and entertain my guests and didn't retreat into his cave early like he usually does. And for that - I was grateful.

The Cow from Minsk

The only cow in a small town in Poland stopped giving milk. The people
did some research and found that they could buy a cow from Moscow for
2,000 rubles, or one from Minsk for 1,000 rubles. Being frugal, they
bought the cow from Minsk. The cow was wonderful. It produced lots of
milk all the time, and the people were amazed and very happy. They
decided to acquire a bull to mate with the cow and produce more cows
like it. Then they would never have to worry about the milk supply
again. They bought a bull and put it in the pasture with their beloved
cow. However, whenever the bull came close to the cow, the cow would
move away. No matter what approach the bull tried, the cow would move
away from the bull and he could not succeed in his quest.

The people were very upset and decided to ask the rabbi, who was very
wise, what to do. They told the rabbi what was happening. "Whenever the
bull approaches our cow, she moves away. If he approaches from the
back, she moves forward. When he approaches her from the front, she
backs off. An approach from the side and she just walks away to the other side."

The rabbi thought about this for a minute and asked, "Did you buy this
cow from Minsk?"

The people were dumbfounded, since they had never mentioned where they
had gotten the cow.

"You are truly a wise rabbi," they said. "How did you know we got the
cow from Minsk?"

The rabbi answered sadly, "My wife is from Minsk."

Has Everyone Gone Mad???

It started yesterday morning at work. I don't know if it was some weird Karma or misalignment of planets or everybody's chakras off kilt.

My two bosses faced me this morning.

He: You can work with her and that takes priority over the meeting this afternoon.

Then he walks out the door and she takes over.

She: He really wants you to go to the meeting this afternoon so you can work with me now until you leave for the meeting.

I don't argue with her as in "But he just said..."

So I did this yo yo thing, and bounced around from boss to boss and meetings - never having time to complete or even start any thing they had asked me to do for them. I sat 3 hours straight in that awful chair taking minutes and my arm was numb by the end of the meeting. By the time my day ended at 7:00 pm - I looked like I had smoked an entire kilo of weed by myself. My colleague took notice and asked me if I wanted to go with her to smoke up. Huh? I'm just a party/holiday/4 times a year smoker, I don't follow that stuff around Jerusalem. Just because I looked the part yesterday...

Then that afternoon I sat on the Jerusalem #18 bus to the center of town - where two people were arguing about the open window. The pregnant woman was hot and kept on opening the window while the teenager in back of her kept on shutting it because he had fever. They were banging and opening the window alternately while yelling at each other. Meanwhile, everyone on the bus was looking at them and laughing out loud at the spectacle. But the two hot-heads were oblivious to the laughter and kept on going at each other. Bus Rage - Jerusalem style.

I see my journalist friend on the next bus I take, who tells me she loves my writing and she gave my blogsite to another journalist to put on a US site about Israel. I told her about perhaps writing to pro-Israel church newspapers and getting paid for it and some woman wearing a head-covering, standing near my seat, stops her conversation with her friend and glares at me while I said the word "church". I made sure to say "zionist" and "pro-Israel" really loud in my conversation, while she was listening in on it anyway, just to settle her down.

I get home and my Nasty Daughter yells at me.

"If you were a real mother, you'd buy milk in the morning!!"

In my excellent role as a "fake mother" I answered.

"Sweetie. Do you realize that I leave the house at 6:30 in the morning and only come home at 8 in the evening???"

"Then you'd leave me money"

"Leave YOU money?"

Never. She may end up buying cigarettes with the milk money.

I call up Hubby to find out when he's coming back. He hadn't worked in 2 1/2 months and has found something for a couple of weeks outside of Jerusalem. I wanted to find out when he'd be coming home this evening.

"How's my beautiful wife?" He asked me.

I looked at the telephone receiver like someone, some alien, had hijacked the phone lines. Was that really Caveman Hubby or had another soul entered his body? Heh heh, and so what if it was. I think I like this soul better.

Weekend conversations

I found it difficult to blog at home, especially with my Bully Children who are overly eager to ICQ while I just begin to sit down at the home computer. As a result, they won't see me until very late tonight as I'm doing after-hours thing at my office (no - I'm not having an affair - I'm too old for that shit - I'm just sitting at the computer, getting more knowledgeable by the minute, dears). And I'm blogging with no one hanging over my shoulder and it's ever so pleasurable.

I remember some of the conversations I had over the weekend - with Tamer who wanted to throw parties or raves for Jewish and Arab young people at places in the desert near Jerusalem, accessible to both Palestinians and Israelis. And the British Aid agency worker who agreed with everything I said by repeating it.

She: My government (British) is useless.

Me: Yes, Blair is Bush's puppet.

She: Yes, Blair is Bush's puppet.

Me: And Bush is a cowboy

She: Bush is a cowboy.

Tamer was pissed off royally at the last Tel Aviv suicide/homicide bomber who had fucked things up for all of us.

"Everyone in my village is so mad that this happened and my sister called me from Ireland to tell me how mad she was." he told me. There was no giving out sweets in his village, when the tragedy hit. I was really happy to hear that though.

Speaking of Bush, I couldn't stop smiling when Abdullah came to visit last night because of his resemblance to the White House Master. I thought - hey, honey, who's your daddy. Really. It was hilarious. And he was going on (not Bush but my guest) about one state for both peoples and stuff I agreed with him about.

"The governments don't want peace. Because they buy arms and bombs and planes and it's big business. If there's peace, their business will go bankrupt" he told me.

Sounds real to me.

"Just one hour - ONE HOUR!!! - without my government and your government. Just leave the people together and we'll have peace. JUST ONE HOUR"

Wow! I think we could all find one hour in the day for this. N'est pas?

Weekend visitors

We were actually invited out for dinner Friday night. Having few friends in our neighborhood, I immediately took them up on the invite. I said if Hubby isn't in Caveman mode, he'll be there too. The food was plentiful and Hubby mentioned my interfaith work to this very right-wing host of ours, whose mouth was agape most of the time we were telling him about this. All he kept asking was how did I get into it. I think he'll make a good candidate for our next interfaith session - except that it's getting warm here and the flies are plentiful. He'd better learn to not leave his mouth open even if he's in perpetual surprise, otherwise the flies will end up nesting on his tonsils.

Saturday I had a visit from a British woman who rang me up. She heard about me from Tamer, whom I had met at Eliyahu's birthday and was curious about me. I thought Tamer wouldn't be able to get through the checkpoint but he managed to, which was fine. I thought of setting up my Gypsy friend Amoun with Tamer, but then I realized, if he's from the West Bank and marries my friend with an Israeli ID card, what usually happens is that the Israeli bureaucracy will see to it that she won't be able to renew her ID and she'll be made to get a West Bank ID. Sad isn't it? So I nixed that idea for the moment until things get just a bit more normal around here.

My son was introduced to our guests and then he pulled me aside looking terribly frightened. "He's Palestinian???? They're dangerous!!!" he whispered to me. I realized I only had Israeli Arabs in my house like Ibrahim, not the "others."

"He doesn't look so dangerous" I assured sonny boy and he seemed to trust me somewhat.

I fed everyone our traditional Sabbath lunch. Tamer had only seen those Jewish rituals done on television, but here he was at our Sabbath table. As we walked back to the entrance of town so they can catch a ride to wherever it was they were going, Tamer was asking why everyone was inside when it was such a gorgeous day.

Well we don't have any patio furniture. My kids will be watching tv or playing computers.

He told me he doesn't need any furniture, him and his buddies will seek out the nearest rock and hang out there for a while. He's definitely got the right idea.

Today some other guy phoned me and I had no idea who he was. Abdullah. He had been calling me for a couple of weeks now, always asking me if he could visit, and I've always pushed him off because I couldn't recall where I knew him from. Hubby rolled his eyes with a "here she goes again" look mixed with a "I hope he's not a terrorist" glare. But today I figured I'm on a roll for visitors. Yeah, why not, come on up. Turns out I knew him from the Valentine's day Arabic class. I hissed at my daughter who was all over her boyfriend in the livingroom. "We have GUESTS!!!!" Guests are such a rarity here that she doesn't know what it's like to show a little decorum.

Abdullah was looking for a place to pitch a permanent tent somewhere near here with a bedouin flavor and dish out some great food, have music and have Jews learn about their Bedouin brethren. I thought if he finally had a place going, I'd go to some of the people I knew here in schools to see if they'd get classes to go on cultural trips to that place. I'm setting him up with someone I know who can perhaps help him with this - perhaps next week over some coffee or a nargila.

Hit Me Baby One More Time

You know, we really had a lovely week. It was so beautiful with my brothers-in-law in town and everyone behaved themselves. My daughter only called me a bitch once that whole week and my son misbehaved one day and threw his puzzles all over the floor (which we then threw in the garbage) while my brothers-in-law were out. And the celebrations was so calm and happy. People called me up afterwards to tell me it was one of the nicest, happiest occasions they had been to, which really surprised me. My brother-in-law even fixed my son's computer and put more speed and memory on it so he has it for another 3 years or so. So there I was being so happy and grateful to God and to my friends and relatives when.....

He hits me. Again. and Again. and Again.

It wasn't enough that our car was in the repair and my daughter took out a loan for us. Oh No. That wasn't enough. So now we have radiator trouble and it costs an extra $400.

When Hubby took his car to be repaired 3 weeks ago, the guy told him a price and when he came to make a first payment and for the garage to begin work on it - the repair guy said he had made a mistake and they were only able to get a new part, therefore, the repair costs more!!! But Hubby said he would be making a grave mistake by not keeping his word as to the price. When Hubby came to pick up his wheels, he noticed that the garage was full of cars.

"You see?" he said to Mr. Repairman. "because you stuck to your word, God blessed you and now you have lots of business."

Hopefully God takes Hubby's words tongue-in-cheek otherwise people will be hopping mad, blaming him for their car failures. All because the repair shop was blessed.

So why stop there - God. When it rains it pours. So what does He do. He gives me a pounding toothache that I had to make my Professor boss miserable by leaving early to see the dentist. We're very very busy at work. I don't have time for fucking emergencies.

My dentist doesn't take my word on which tooth aches.

"It could be your sinuses, it could be your lower teeth, it could be this back tooth"

And he proceeds to torture me SIX times with this horrible, horrible, deep freeze, to see which tooth is sensitive to "freeze" - making me use loud profanity. He's lucky there were no children in the waiting room.

Plus my tooth is still throbbing. I think the dentist likes it when I talk dirty.

Did I do that?

I went to my first Women's Interfaith meeting in Jerusalem - a separate group from the one I am involved with. They had alot more people at the meetings - about 25 people showed up. I knew some of the people there. The Moslem and Christian speakers talked about conflicts they have with trying to be a modern woman and their respective religions. They were very open in speaking about their sexual conflicts, etc. It was pretty enlightening for me to hear this. I don't think these women would be as open in a mixed gender group.

There was a woman snapping photos of us from a US-based organization called Peace X peace - consisting of a group of international women making peace. They're showing a film next week of their work at the cinemateque.

During the break an ultra-Orthodox Jewish woman came to me and said she had read about me in the local papers about my interfaith work and decided to be a part of it too. She had been coming to meetings for the past two months. I was quite surprised and extremely happy that a little publicity had an effect on at least one person. She works for an organization that rehabilitates people with physical defects, people in wheelchairs, etc. I hope to try and hook her up with a Palestinian rehab place in Jerusalem. She was more than happy to hear about them and doing some activities with them as well.

So even though I nearly fell asleep during one of the presentations out of sheer exhaustion, and was wondering if I should have gone to this meeting altogether because of overload, I felt that it was worth the effort because I think that this new connection will be a good connection.

Romanian Kebabs

Hubby always referred to my Good Daughter's boyfriend as the Romanian Kebab, as he was born in Romania - so it was pretty funny when Hubby's brothers were here last week and told the girls that their maternal great grandparents were from Romania.

We're Kebabs!! We're Romanian Kebabs!! - they all shouted, laughing and falling all over themselves.

Well we also all laughed because her boyfriend knew and UNDERSTOOD the words to that Romanian pop song that got into the charts here around a year ago - Maya Hee. That's not the name of the song, but that's how the chorus begins. They played that song to death on the airwaves here and in all dance clubs.

Then I see this website in a New York Times article about a guy from Saddle Brook New Jersey whose home-made video of lip-synching to this song made the Internet rounds in a big way. And he's a pretty big guy too. Great stuff!! Funny as hell. It's really worth a view

Medicine we should all take

Soul Brothers

What was so weird about my brother-in-law (B-I-L) is that we were both Chassidic 20 years ago but when he couldn't consolidate living a Chassidic lifestyle with being gay he gave it up. And I needed to transform myself once I moved to Israel in order for me to be more tolerant of others living here and found my soul work in Interfaith and non-political peace groups.

So my B-I-L comes to Israel after not being here for 9 years, and is involved in a church in Toronto. But he's not a Christian believer. He believes exactly as I do and it was so weird. He's close with the Pastor and he found affinity in that predominantly black church of 1,000 families because they are so warm and so pro-Israel. He got rabbis to speak there and for them to get to know Judaism better.

I remember when he had befriended years back in Toronto a young neo-Nazi. We were all shocked that he would let that bastard in his home but he thought if he was kind to him, he'll change. Needless to say he is no longer involved with skinheads and shit like that. I credit my B-I-L for that - for showing that guy love instead of reciprocal hate.

He said to me just before he left - what a shame that our religious education taught us to stay away from others - from Christians and Moslems, etc. because they were afraid we'd lose our souls. But our souls seem more fulfilled with being involved with Others, with letting them enter our lives. I can't get over how parallel our lives have become even that we hadn't seen each other in years and hardly communicated.

He had us watch the pastor Joel Olsteen one morning on TV - the Texas preacher. We get alot of these preachers on Middle East TV. He had this enlightening message rather than religious rebuking and his speech was rather uplifting. He was steeped in the Old Testament and he was going on about people not fulfilling themselves because they were frightened and didn't trust God so they didn't take that first step to what could be a more fulfilling job, life, etc.. It could be a message for every one of us - not only for Christians. I told my B-I-L about how it sounded like the story I heard about the Israelites running from the Egyptians and going into the Red Sea until they were up to their necks and only then did the Red Sea part. No sooner had I said that - then Olsteen repeated my story on TV. Hell - let me preach.

It's empty in my house now. The kids are sleeping and there are no brother-in-laws to laugh and reminisce with. They're back in the Great White North.

Old City - A different view

My "different" brother-in-law and I took Friday to go to the Old City. He wanted to drop letters to God from his Christian friends at the Western Wall. He also thought he'd buy a couple of crucifixes for his buddies too. On the way, I looked for my friend Ismail at the entrance to Jaffa Gate. Fortunately he was there in his suit and tie, looking quite dapper. We sat over coffee and my B-I-L asked me while Ismail was talking to us "he's very handsome, are you shtupping him?" which nearly caused me to do that Dean Martin coffee spit across the room.

On the way to the wall, I asked my B-I-L if he wanted to look for crucifixes here because they're easier to find here. All the merchants heard the "C" word and fell on us like we were the first Christian pilgrims since the Crusaders - "Over here. You can find crucifixes in my shop. Over Here. No Over HERE! Please come in. I give you great price. Look in my shop." We were swarmed but made it over to the wall in one piece.

The way back was a little more exciting. We ventured into one shop when the shop owner told us that if we just entered his shop, we'd bring him good luck. Fine. We told him what we wanted. A menorah and a crucifix. Strange combo but ok - the man doesn't care. He said 150 canadian dollars for both. My B-I-L didn't like anything he showed us and wanted to leave. "I give it to you both for 100 dollars. Please don't leave. You have to bring me good luck by making this purchase."

"I thought if we just walked into your shop we'll bring you good luck"

He told the shop owner - "Look, we'll be back. GIve me your business card." then turns to me and says out loud - "IF he could lie, then I could lie."

What's your name - asked the shop owner.

Hey-sus - answered my B-I-L.

I nearly peed. The guy obviously didn't know that the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus is Heysus.

The shopowner continued - OK Heysus, I give you both for 60 Canadian dollars. Please, please. And he grabbed B-I-L's arm. And by that time, we were all out of the store.

We passed one young shopowner that I knew from peace activities. We spoke to him for a minute, then he left to show us what he had in stock. My B-I-L tells me
"He's gay, he's definitely gay. How about you going off somewhere for 1/2 hour so I could 'swish' with him."

Having no time to "swish", we went back to the Western side of Jerusalem to continue our shuk shopping for the Sabbath. Even the beggars there were not as colorful as what we saw back in East Jerusalem. Just the mood was dampered later that evening when we heard about the terrorist attack in Tel Aviv and were grateful that we were too tired to go club hopping in Tel Aviv that night.

Hassidic dancing

juggling fire

Old City of Jerusalem - a different view

My "different" brother-in-law and I took Friday to go to the Old City. He wanted to drop letters to God from his Christian friends at the Western Wall. He also thought he'd buy a couple of crucifixes for his buddies too. On the way, I looked for my friend Ismail at the entrance to Jaffa Gate. Fortunately he was there in his suit and tie, looking quite dapper. We sat over coffee and my B-I-L asked me while Ismail was talking to us "he's very handsome, are you shtupping him?" which nearly caused me to do that Dean Martin coffee spit across the room.

On the way to the wall, I asked my B-I-L if he wanted to look for crucifixes here because they're easier to find here. All the merchants heard the "C" word and fell on us like we were the first Christian pilgrims since the Crusaders - "Over here. You can find crucifixes in my shop. Over Here. No Over HERE! Please come in. I give you great price. Look in my shop." We were swarmed but made it over to the wall in one piece.

The way back was a little more exciting. We ventured into one shop when the shop owner told us that if we just entered his shop, we'd bring him good luck. Fine. We told him what we wanted. A menorah and a crucifix. Strange combo but ok - the man doesn't care. He said 150 canadian dollars for both. My B-I-L didn't like anything he showed us and wanted to leave. "I give it to you both for 100 dollars. Please don't leave. You have to bring me good luck by making this purchase."

"I thought if we just walked into your shop we'll bring you good luck"

He told the shop owner - "Look, we'll be back. GIve me your business card." then turns to me and says out loud - "IF he could lie, then I could lie."

What's your name - asked the shop owner.

Hey-sus - answered my B-I-L.

I nearly peed. The guy obviously didn't know that the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus is Heysus.

The shopowner continued - OK Heysus, I give you both for 60 Canadian dollars. Please, please. And he grabbed B-I-L's arm. And by that time, we were all out of the store.

We passed one young shopowner that I knew from peace activities. We spoke to him for a minute, then he left to show us what he had in stock. My B-I-L tells me
"He's gay, he's definitely gay. How about you going off somewhere for 1/2 hour so I could 'swish' with him."

Having no time to "swish", we went back to the Western side of Jerusalem to continue our shuk shopping for the Sabbath. Even the beggars there were not as colorful as what we saw back in East Jerusalem. Just the mood was dampered later that evening when we heard about the terrorist attack in Tel Aviv and were grateful that we were too tired to go club hopping in Tel Aviv that night.

Old City of Jerusalem - a different view

My "different" brother-in-law and I took Friday to go to the Old City. He wanted to drop letters to God from his Christian friends at the Western Wall. He also thought he'd buy a couple of crucifixes for his buddies too. On the way, I looked for my friend Ismail at the entrance to Jaffa Gate. Fortunately he was there in his suit and tie, looking quite dapper. We sat over coffee and my B-I-L asked me while Ismail was talking to us "he's very handsome, are you shtupping him?" which nearly caused me to do that Dean Martin coffee spit across the room.

On the way to the wall, I asked my B-I-L if he wanted to look for crucifixes here because they're easier to find here. All the merchants heard the "C" word and fell on us like we were the first Christian pilgrims since the Crusaders - "Over here. You can find crucifixes in my shop. Over Here. No Over HERE! Please come in. I give you great price. Look in my shop." We were swarmed but made it over to the wall in one piece.

The way back was a little more exciting. We ventured into one shop when the shop owner told us that if we just entered his shop, we'd bring him good luck. Fine. We told him what we wanted. A menorah and a crucifix. Strange combo but ok - the man doesn't care. He said 150 canadian dollars for both. My B-I-L didn't like anything he showed us and wanted to leave. "I give it to you both for 100 dollars. Please don't leave. You have to bring me good luck by making this purchase."

"I thought if we just walked into your shop we'll bring you good luck"

He told the shop owner - "Look, we'll be back. GIve me your business card." then turns to me and says out loud - "IF he could lie, then I could lie."

What's your name - asked the shop owner.

Hey-sus - answered my B-I-L.

I nearly peed. The guy obviously didn't know that the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus is Heysus.

The shopowner continued - OK Heysus, I give you both for 60 Canadian dollars. Please, please. And he grabbed B-I-L's arm. And by that time, we were all out of the store.

We passed one young shopowner that I knew from peace activities. We spoke to him for a minute, then he left to show us what he had in stock. My B-I-L tells me
"He's gay, he's definitely gay. How about you going off somewhere for 1/2 hour so I could 'swish' with him."

Having no time to "swish", we went back to the Western side of Jerusalem to continue our shuk shopping for the Sabbath. Even the beggars there were not as colorful as what we saw back in East Jerusalem. Just the mood was dampered later that evening when we heard about the terrorist attack in Tel Aviv and were grateful that we were too tired to go club hopping in Tel Aviv that night.

Old City of Jerusalem - a different view

My "different" brother-in-law and I took Friday to go to the Old City. He wanted to drop letters to God from his Christian friends at the Western Wall. He also thought he'd buy a couple of crucifixes for his buddies too. On the way, I looked for my friend Ismail at the entrance to Jaffa Gate. Fortunately he was there in his suit and tie, looking quite dapper. We sat over coffee and my B-I-L asked me while Ismail was talking to us "he's very handsome, are you shtupping him?" which nearly caused me to do that Dean Martin coffee spit across the room.

On the way to the wall, I asked my B-I-L if he wanted to look for crucifixes here because they're easier to find here. All the merchants heard the "C" word and fell on us like we were the first Christian pilgrims since the Crusaders - "Over here. You can find crucifixes in my shop. Over Here. No Over HERE! Please come in. I give you great price. Look in my shop." We were swarmed but made it over to the wall in one piece.

The way back was a little more exciting. We ventured into one shop when the shop owner told us that if we just entered his shop, we'd bring him good luck. Fine. We told him what we wanted. A menorah and a crucifix. Strange combo but ok - the man doesn't care. He said 150 canadian dollars for both. My B-I-L didn't like anything he showed us and wanted to leave. "I give it to you both for 100 dollars. Please don't leave. You have to bring me good luck by making this purchase."

"I thought if we just walked into your shop we'll bring you good luck"

He told the shop owner - "Look, we'll be back. GIve me your business card." then turns to me and says out loud - "IF he could lie, then I could lie."

What's your name - asked the shop owner.

Hey-sus - answered my B-I-L.

I nearly peed. The guy obviously didn't know that the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus is Heysus.

The shopowner continued - OK Heysus, I give you both for 60 Canadian dollars. Please, please. And he grabbed B-I-L's arm. And by that time, we were all out of the store.

We passed one young shopowner that I knew from peace activities. We spoke to him for a minute, then he left to show us what he had in stock. My B-I-L tells me
"He's gay, he's definitely gay. How about you going off somewhere for 1/2 hour so I could 'swish' with him."

Having no time to "swish", we went back to the Western side of Jerusalem to continue our shuk shopping for the Sabbath. Even the beggars there were not as colorful as what we saw back in East Jerusalem. Just the mood was dampered later that evening when we heard about the terrorist attack in Tel Aviv and were grateful that we were too tired to go club hopping in Tel Aviv that night.

Wanna Play Bar Mitzvah?

Remember that joke. You'd ask a friend if he/she wanted to play bar mitzvah then you'd walk over to them and pinch their cheeks real hard pretending you're the doting aunt - OH Beryl you're so cute, you've grown up into such ah handsome boy, blah blah blah.

This morning was my son's bar mitzvah. We had a modest but nice affair at the local synagogue, which we never attend with his entire 6th grade class, plus his teacher (so his classmates don't get out of hand) and my friends and brothers-in-law from Canada. Of course, the guests came late and the young man who taught my son how to read from the Torah hadn't shown up yet, so we couldn't start. My brother, punctual as a German general, kept on popping up looking annoyed, asking when we're gonna start. Can't start without his teacher, bud. Then his teacher called and told me he was at the other community center because he thought it was over there, so I had to have one of the boyfriends go and fetch him. I don't think anyone was particularly upset at starting late except for my brother and his wife.

The services began and I sat in the front row, taking photographs from the balcony as the synagogue was Orthodox and women sat up in the balcony with the men sitting on the bottom. Then my son's turn was up. He took out the velvet Torah scroll from the Ark and I prayed he wouldn't drop it - it's probably not very light. And he read from it beautifully. He kept on warning me beforehand that he'd laugh or fart or do something to totally embarrass us, but it never happened. We all took toffees and threw them at him after he was done. My Gypsy friend Amoun came and I don't think she was ever at a synagogue before. I wonder what she thought of the leather armbands the men wore during the morning service and the priestly blessings, etc.

My girlfriends told me even though my son was the eldest in his class, all the boys in his class seemed to already have grown these beginner moustaches, except for him. They wondered why.

"Oh that's because their mothers have them!" was my brother-in-law's theory. We were hysterical.

After services we all went into the small community center for brunch. They really did up the room nicely with burgandy and cream tableclothes, flower arrangements, exotic fruit platters and someone serving omelettes and pancakes. I was busy running around, finding people, arranging when the juggler would entertain and getting calls from the Hasidic street dancers we found in Jerusalem to liven things up. I'm usually the first to eat but I could only manage to down a few bites of a bagel and a cup of orange juice. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, but I was the photographer and if I didn't capture these moments, they'd be lost and vaguely remembered in our imagination.

By noon, it was over and I was exhausted. As if I had baked all the muffins and made all the salads. And only when it was over did we realize we wrote and typed up speeches which we never made. Everything happened too fast. My kids grilled me on what I paid to which entertainer, caterer. "You paid 500 shekels to the Hasidic dancers. Now they're gonna go out and buy ecstasy with that money." The girls believe you can only dance like a dervish if you're on a particular substance. I don't really care what they buy with the money they earned because they gave us wonderful blessings.

So my son is now a man. A teenager. Yikes!

Beautiful gravesites

Wildlife in Action - Jordan Valley

Travels with Three Brothers

Yesterday I took off work to just hang with Hubby's brothers. We drove up the Jordan Valley road to Tiberias. The road was pretty desolate and our asses were starting to hurt a couple of hours into the drive until we passed two camels humping. None of us had ever come across that scene before and we quickly decided to turn around and photograph the happy couple. The male seemed young and inexperienced. He was pretty slow in getting it on and his female companion had alot of patience. After 5 minutes of getting our National Geographic-type shots, we headed back on.

Hubby's oldest brother met his wife 30 years ago on Kibbutz Mesilot and we drove into the kibbutz which looked alot more run-down than he remembered. But it was touching to hear him reminisce about where "they" walked, partied and ate.

We took a break in Tiberias for a coffee and felafel. The Canuck brothers didn't want to sit down for eggs and salads - they wanted more Middle Eastern fare. So greasy falafels is what they got. We saw Mt. Hermon in the distance, beautiful, large and snow capped.

Our next stop was the Galilee town of Karmiel where we stopped off at the local cemetery to see the brother's wife's parents' graves. It wasn't too difficult to find - it's the only cemetery in town. We walked in and the caretaker offered to say the prayers for us. I sensed if he started praying, he would ask for some kind of payment. I'd do it for free, which I did. The deceased couple didn't have any visitors for over 4 years and I felt pretty joyful in this place, knowing they were enjoying our visit from the "other world". The cemetery was predominantly Russian. It looked alot different from other cemeteries in that nearly every grave was decorated with flowers - some fresh and most with silk arrangements. Some had gardens around the grave. It was the most colorful cemetery I'd ever seen. The caretaker told me it wasn't a Jewish custom to decorate a grave with flowers, but the Russians seemed to not mind this non-Jewish custom.

After our graveyard shift, we moved on to the Druze village of Daliat Al Karmel. I had a friend there from my Interfaith group and she gladly invited us into her home after I called her for directions and she directed me from the village entrance. As my brother-in-laws said - they feed you to death - which she did. Something called Kishq filled with goat cheese and pomegrants showed up on the table, as did pickled radishes, homemade humous, pitas, olives, hot coffee and other stuff. When we didn't finish it all - she put it all in a plastic bag and made me take it home to my kids. I didn't need too much convincing. If someone wants to kill me by feeding me to death, it's a good thing. It really is. But it was a good experience for the Great White Northerners who had never met any Druze before. Her teenage daughter helped with the hosting. "I couldn't get up because I got a boner looking at her and she would've seen it." said my gay brother-in-law and we looked at him strange.

"traitor!" I told him. "You'll upset your partner with this news."

"Oh, you just want me to stay gay so that you could say to your friends that you've got a gay relative. It's a novelty for you."

Yes, yes and more yes. I didn't need to tell anyone about him, since he did all the telling - especially to all 3 of my daughters' boyfriends. When we got back home, the house was lively and crowded and I didn't want to go to sleep and face a day of errands before my son's bar mitzvah on Thursday. I think I'm going to kidnap my brother-in-laws and have them stay a bit longer....

He's Here and He's Queer

We bused it to the new Terminal 3 at Ben Gurion airport to pick up Hubby's brothers. The lady next to me at the airport was impatient for her people to come through the doors. She asked everyone who came through which flight they were on - like a broken record. I joined her in her quest and we both decided to guess which flights people were on. The well-dressed people, with the not-so-fancy suitcases were either from Madrid or Paris. We laughed when a very handsome young man with tousled hair told us he was from Paris. He definitely looked Parisian. Too hunky for Toronto, we both figured together. All the shlobs with the fancy suitcases we guessed arrived from Toronto. Then came Hubby's two brothers finally - looking like 2 freakin' Canucks from the Great White North - striped shirts, bright blue eyes, blond hair and pot bellies. One of them is gay and hadn't been out 10 years ago when we last saw him but is definitely out now. The 3 brothers sat in the back seat of the taxi while I listened to their running commentary.

"It's tough being a female locked in a male body"
"It's going to be a rough few days in your house full of women."

After the hugs and kisses at home, the girls ordered pizzas for everyone. The pizza delivery boy came looking like a man on the moon with his padded head-to-toe outfit and helmet. Hubby's gay brother looks at us and says about the pizza delivery guy -"Is he staying? He could stay if he takes his clothes off." which set my girls into hysterics. He questioned my Good Daughter.

"And what about your soldier boyfriend? Does he have a gun? Is it loaded? Can I hold it?"

His partner called from Canada. My Nasty Daughter answered but didn't know how to refer to his partner. "It's, it's your something!" she called out to M. "It's my WIFE!" he shot back.

I was hoping my kids would behave. At least for a few days while their uncles are present. My dog certainly wasn't behaving. An hour after Hubby took him for a walk, while we were at the airport, Doggie went upstairs and peed on the guests' bed. Furious with the pooch, Hubby banished him for the evening and left him outside for the night. My Eldest Daughter had laryngitis, which was a gift from God - for me, anyways. She tried to yell at me for not having "normal" tea in the house. She called me a Bitch, in her squeaky voice, for throwing the excess "normal" tea in Saturday's kitchen cleanup. Thank the Good Lord Hubby's brothers didn't hear it or notice it, only me.

A Million Dollar Question for God

A poor man walking in the forest feels close enough to God to ask,

"God, what is a million years to you?"

God replies, "My son, a million years to you is like a second to me."

The man asks, "God, what is a million dollars to you?"

God replies, "My son, a million dollars to you is less than a penny to me. It means almost nothing to me."

The man asks, "So God, can I have a million dollars?"

And God replies, "In a second."

What's the Good News

When I got home Friday afternoon, Hubby asks me -

"So what's the good news?"

He couldn't have asked more prophetically.

You wanna hear good news?

"I'll tell you the good news is that the Messiah is coming."

That morning I went to a Christian Zionist charitable organization to get some help for my family - thanks to a friend who directed me to them, since Hubby hadn't worked in 2 months and money is scarce for basics. They didn't thrust New Testaments at me nor did they make me swear my allegience to Jesus. No, none of that. They were lovers of Jews and lovers of Israel and chose this type of service to help new Jewish immigrants and people like ourselves struck by difficult times. They were going to help me out with bus fare for myself and the children and weekly food packages. It was all a bit dreamlike because it feels good knowing no one's going to starve in my family and that if I moved to Newark, NJ I would have made the wrong choice, because these Christians believe that I belong right here in this country, for better or for worse, through hell and high water. So in order that we don't pack our bags and leave for colder pastures back to Canada, they've provided temporary social assistance so that we stay put.

I needed to provide a family photograph for them so they can send it to our sponsors. Getting a family photograph is more difficult than obtaining a breakfast of bacon and eggs in Jerusalem. My family is never together and if they are, then they're in such a state of disarray that no one wants their photograph taken. Luckily we're all getting together for my son's 13th birthday soiree - a bar mitzvah in our Jewish tradition and, hopefully, they'll all be in the mood to pose nicely for the camera. We'll be dressed nice and won't look so downtrodden. The photograph I did provide was nearly 2 years old, and Hubby and I both wore sunglasses, which was a no-no. The sponsors want to see our eyes! Heavens.

I took my son with us to the interview and he was okay up until 1 1/2 hours later. He kept on poking me in the arm, and pointing to his invisible watch. The interview went well. I think the UK interviewee was surprised to hear I am involved in the holy messianic work of dialogue between Christians, Jews and Moslems to bring peace to this country. I told her a bit about it. I don't think she had come across any interfaith workers beforehand. And at the end of the interview she thrust a box of treats at my son, which he promptly hid in his bedroom so his siblings wouldn't get ahold of it before the Sabbath.

The woman asked me what my dreams were. My son told her his dream was that he wanted to be rich. I thought I'd say something nice like - peace in this region, etc. What I did tell her, though I had more modest wishes than my son, was that a dream of mine would be an 2 bedroom apartment of my own smack in the middle of Jerusalem so I can walk everywhere. She wrote that down. Maybe they'll pray for me that that happens. Who knows. But if it works, I'll certainly tell you.

snowlady

We import snow

My Criminal daughter called me last week from school and whispered these endearing words into the phone.

"I saw cocaine in daddy's room on his shelf."

Is unemployed Hubby onto expensive drugs?

A pothead maybe, but riding that train high on cocaine was never for him. Even when he made money. I tried explaining to her that I had just bought him baking soda for brushing his teeth, which he stored in his room, so maybe it was that. But she insisted that it was Peruvian marching powder.

Later that evening, the first thing I did when I got back home was to inspect our shelves. Sure enough it was baking soda that he had taken out of the box and it was stored in a wax paper bag. I wondered if she had snorted some and what effect it had on her. Definitely cheaper to snort baking soda anyways.

I remember the time in the late 1970s when I was in New York City sitting windowside at a trendy jock bar where hockey players used to hang out. I was in deep conversation with a New York radio DJ and absentmindedly poured sugar on the table and toyed around with the pile on the table with my fork. Immediately the owner of the joint comes over, hysterical and whispers to us loudly - "You CAN'T do blow here. Put it away immmediately."

My - aren't WE paranoid!

"It's only sugar - sugar" I told him. He was totally embarrassed.

Speaking of snow - real snow - yesterday the Jerusalem suburb of Ma'aleh Adumim imported snow from the Hermon so that our snow-deprived children could frolic in real snow for several hours. They dumped a couple of truckloads by City Hall. My son joined in the snowball throwing fracas and came home with his shoes all soaked. We don't own a pair of gloves either. But being that "they" had predicted snow for Jerusalem last week and the snow was a no-show, they had this happening for the kids who couldn't stay home from school on Sunday being that it ended up being spring-like weather instead of the forecasted snow alert over the weekend. At least my tax money is going for some enjoyment.

What the hell is out there

"Well how was it?"

That was the first question I asked my friend from work the day after she went on one of her blind dates.

"He's a Natalie Portman stalker."

Hollywood actress, Natalie Portman is studying at Hebrew University in Jerusalem this year - so I hear.

"WHAT!?? You went out with a celebrity stalker??"

"He's really funny and nice. He's just obsessed with her. He talked about her all the time and she even dated him."

"Why would she date her stalker?"

"Because he was such a nudnik, so just to shut him up she dated him."

Yikes. That's the worst kind of shit a woman can do. It probably even feeds these sickos even more so. Thank God my friend isn't seeing him again. Who knows if that guy even wants to see her. She's real pretty but looks nothing like Portman, so that is a definite minus.

I remember when I was 17 and my sister decided I should get married by 18 as she did many years earlier. So she and her friends would set me up with this idiot and that idiot - all not my type. She would tell me how "hep" they were and I would cringe. What the fuck does "hep" mean anyways? It's probably the square person's definition of "hip", but they just can't bring themselves to say "hip" - they'll sound too cool, so they say "hep." Well to me it sounded like an abbreviation of "hepatitis" and anyone who she labelled "hep" wasn't too appealing to me from the onset. So I'd try to get rid of these hep fellows by talking non-stop about the Beatles and each individual one starting with their birthdates, relating their entire biography. This took up most of the evening. Needless to say, they never called me again. I was too "over-hep".

Valentines Day in Jerusalem

It didn't start out too good for many of us here. My friend's husband called her a "bat sharmutah" (daughter of a whore) and mine was less verbal but more Caveman-ish - as in "I'm not leaving my bed today - so fuck off". So much for this holiday.

Israelis celebrate two Valentines days. One is the traditional, ancient Jewish one -Tu B'av - which usually falls out in August - and the other is the more recently acknowledged Christian one, which secular Israelis now celebrate. The only thing good about this holiday, for me anyway, are the sales on makeup and perfume so we can get stuff cheaper for ourselves.

I went to the All Nations Cafe celebration of Valentines Day last night. They had an informal Arabic language and culture lesson in downtown Jerusalem. The place it was held at was pretty funky, kind of a Bordello in a loft. We learned Arabic words of love and had to write a poem with the words we learned. All I could think of was I Love Chocolate and Knafe while others were writing about the moon and their children and sweet honey. We took a break from our 3 hour session for hearty vegetable soup, Arabic pita from Damascus Gate, which looked alot healthier than the packaged stuff I get from the grocers and homemade techina.

Then we learned and sang - rather poorly - a song by Nawal Al Zoughbi - a Lebanese singer - called El Layila (The Nights). The lyrics were beautiful as was the music. I found them online here

Girls Talk

I was feeling too ill to go to a friend's Friday night Interfaith service with their assortment of strange people, myself included, which also included drumming and acoustical guitar accompaniment and a pot luck dinner. I was terribly flu-ish, even though I didn't look flu-ish. Plus - the weather people predicted snow in Jerusalem. It never happened. But what did happen....

One of my close friends took me out for breakfast on Friday morning. It is impossible to spend 5 minutes with her and not meet and greet someone she knows. She knows everyone in Jerusalem. She's like a human Jerusalem landmark. I am so intrigued by her - like when we were walking around Jerusalem one Saturday afternoon - she had copped some roasted weed which we both shared and ate, giggling throughout the afternoon, not knowing where we were walking. And we walked for hours. We walked along the deserted railroad tracks admiring the Spring flowers and saw a sign that said "DANGER TO LIFE - DO NOT ENTER". Ooops. Too late now. We both hugged each other and screamed "We're ALIVE"!!! and laughed even harder.

And when we both stood outside a synagogue one Saturday and she talked loudly about some guys and their "hard ons". Wouldn't you know it - at that moment, one of the more sophisticated looking male congregants strolls out of the synagogue, hears the words "hard ons" and shoots ME a disgusted glance. Right - guilty by association. Better we have this conversation outside the conversation rather than during the Rabbi's speech, wouldn't you think?

She told me that she asked one of her male friends to bring her back lingerie. I was hysterical.

"You trust this guy to bring you back bras from the United States? What if you get something kitschy like a red bra with black lace or something horrible like that."

My husband won't even buy feminine pads for the daughters in our house, never mind buying me a brassiere. I do my own lingerie buying, thank you.

The conversation turned to an acquaintance who got a "boob job" done.

"You can always tell if they're not real" I told her.

"I touched them, and they feel real."

She touched them? Even though I'm curious about saline-silicone-implants, I've never had the gall to ask someone if I could touch them.

She heard that at menopause boobs get bigger and seemed terribly worried about it for herself. Well it certainly gives ME something to look forward to, plus they'll feel AND look natural.

What every office needs

Party Time in Jerusalem

Eliyahu had a birthday celebration today. I don't know how he fit over 150 people into his small flat but he did. I thought it quite miraculous, people squished together on the floor in his living room, with the crowd spilling out into the hallway. When the crowd got too much for me I found refuge in the kitchen. Strange -a house full of Jews and the kitchen empty? But there weren't only Jews at his place, there was a good mix of Palestinians too, plus old friends like Ibrahim. The Jewish crowd ranged from secular, artsy types to Jewish rastafarians and neo-Hassidim -whatever that is but that's what I branded them. A woman called Aliza Hava from New Paltz New York with a glorious voice sang songs of peace. I wondered why she hadn't landed a recording contract - she was that professional sounding. "They say I'm too deep" she told me. True. She's no Ditzy Britney Spears. But isn't there a market for "deep" music?

The Rasta man made a kick-ass pea soup and I had a couple of bowlfuls, while talking to a Palestinian from nearby Sawahare. We were talking about music. He loves classical music and also told me he likes the Betchab Boys. I never heard of them. That is until someone translated what he really meant - the Pet Shop Boys. We both had a good laugh. "Honey, when someone is a total asshole - do you call them a 'brick'?"

Eliyahu's Sufi friend came in - Sheikh Bukhari - who led us in a Zikr. He said Jerusalem is the Heart of the world. If the heart is healthy then the rest of the body is healthy. If the Heart is sick, the body is sick. So we have to make sure the heart is healthy. And thus - the reason for the Zikr. We made several circles and chanted in both Arabic and Hebrew - There is no other God but one God - or something like that. And this went on for 1/2 hour or so. It was pretty wild and I really loved it - we were standing in one spot holding hands and shaking our heads to the left, right and center as we chanted - the tempo of the chant speeding up. It got me into quite a trance until someone nasty in the crowd let off a real horrible smelly toot, which immediately got me out of my elevated spiritual trance-like state.

I met Alex who runs the Jerusalem Laughter Club. This sounds hilarious. They meet every Friday morning next to the Israeli Parliament. What is better than laughing at all those idiot politicians nearby!!! I copped a bit off their website:

"If we can bring peace inside us through Laughter Clubs, by doing Yogic laughter and practising ways and means of sensible living in a group and these small groups multiply all over the world, there will be everlasting peace in the entire world. Laughter is a powerful positive emotion. It creates a postive aura around individuals. When a group of individuals laughs together, it creates a collective community aura. Electromagnetic waves from a group who are laughing every day, form a protective envelope around that area to protect it from evil forces. If these laughter groups multiply all over the country it will change the consciousness of the entire nation. Similarly, having laughter clubs all over the world can build up a global consciousness of brotherhood and friendship."

So get out there and laugh!

What Women Want

My kids phoned me up last night, while I was still at work.

"We're at the SuperPharm. We want to buy you a present for your birthday. What do you want?"

"What do I want?? Let's see.." and much to their dismay, instead of being like my mother who just said - don't buy me anything - their Needy Mother rattled off a list like this

"You could get me:
perfume,
concealer,
lipstick,
moisturizer,
serum,
and not from those shitty local brands"

"You mean like from Clarins?" one of my daughters asked. I could already picture the sweat dripping off her.

"Look - just get me whatever it is YOU want. Just not from the crap brands. OK?"

My boss had me working again late. He's very generous and offered to get me a taxi.

"Where can you get a taxi to?"

"Oh, the center of town where I catch a bus to my town."

"Any place else besides the center of town."

"Why SURE! I'd love to be brought straight home."

He promptly had the receptionist arrange for an expensive taxi ride all the way home. I was absolutely delighted.

People that ask me - what do I want - just to be polite. Don't ask me that. Ever. Because I will tell them. Like the time when I was just breaking my bosses in as to who exactly they are working with - when I was fairly new there. Everyone seemed in awe or just plain petrified of them. They were going off to the US and asked everyone -

"Want us to bring you back anything?"

They probably were sorry they asked. Of course everyone in the office said 'no'. But no sir, not me. As they were walking out the door I yelled out -

"I'D LOVE SOME DEVIL DOGS" - a childhood delicacy that cannot be found here in Jerusalem.

I heard later on that they went into a large supermarket somewhere in the vast United States and couldn't find the damn dogs for me and Mr. Professor finally went to the store manager who helped locate these things. They brought me back two cases of 16 Devil Dogs in each case. They were gone within 3 days.

On the border of Jerusalem - An Interfaith weekend

And yet another interfaith weekend happened but this one was a bit different. First of all it was only for 24 hours and ended Friday evening. So to those with no transportation (like myself) over the weekend until the Sabbath ends or those that are Sabbath observant - there was an extra day offered. Thankfully having some freebies in my life such as this weekend was a gift from God. Unfortunately, Hubby was too down to join me so I took my 17 year old Nasty daughter. His great loss. Of course, on Friday, he called me frantic..

"There's nothing to eat in this house. We'll die of starvation!" and this while my daughter and I were stuffing our faces at the luncheon buffet.

I knew that the other two daughters would take care of Mr. Biafra. Things always sound worse over the phone. Like when he called me a few months ago while I was partying at Ibrahim's house..

"Our dog got hit by a car. I don't know if he'll make it. You'd better come home now."

Somehow instinct and experience told me to continue enjoying myself before being drawn into Hubby's Abyss. And when I got home, the dog wasn't bloodied and walked with only a slight limp. A miracle!!

So after I hung up the phone with Hubby, continuing to eat my food with relish, I sat down with a couple of my newly made friends. There was Suzie from Oklahoma, who was volunteering with the Peace Corps in Thailand who had met an Israeli and is visiting him here. She was this peppery 24 year old who got along great with my daughter. The kind that gets all the secrets out of you.

"Oh, you're seventeen??? I lost my virginity at 17."

Pause.

"No, we just sleep together, we don't do anything. Most people wait until they're 18 here."

"HA! That's exactly what I told MY mother!"

Stuff like that.

Then I was trying out my Arabic on Suhair.

"It's really Bareed (cold) out there!" pronouncing it baREED.

"What are you telling me about a post office."

"Post office??? I'm trying to tell you it's cold!"

"Ohhhhh - that's BAHrid" -

Jeez. I better quit while I'm ahead.

Mahmood, a tall, handsome guy from the movie industry, was there and promised my daughter a part as an "extra" if she goes back to school. He said they're beginning to film US movies again in Israel. There were quite a few being filmed here before the Intifada broke out and then nothing.

My 17 year old went out with the younger crowd Thursday and Friday evenings. I wished I could have joined them but at my age and being "the mother", even though I'm a cool mother, I still get passed up these days. I was happy my daughter enjoyed herself and hope the weekend will change her and she won't think "they all hate us" as she told me when we were hanging up clothing in our hotel room on Thursday. And hopefully she'll want to join the Junior Sulha event that Mahmood is arranging for young kids later on this year.

It's so true - peace begins with kids. All the young mothers from Bethlehem and the Jewish mothers from Jerusalem brought their babies and toddlers and I was watching them all crawl on the floor together, tumbling over each other and touching each other's faces and playing with each other's toys. If only they could continue on like this....

What I'd give for a horse and buggy

On the way to work this morning the car's gears weren't working. Couldn't get up the damn hill. We stood at the side of the road. Fortunately there was someone in my neighborhood who works at the same place and she was able to come to the rescue, but the tow truck didn't come to Hubby's rescue for about 1 1/2 hours. Cost of the repair $1,250. I told Hubby the good news is "we're saving on gas".

I had enough time this morning and was in enough anguish to consult with my Debtor's Anonymous friend who lives up in that "extremist" settlement. She thought it was Divine Providence that they dialed our number by accident, when her husband sat on their cellphone by accident and dialed our number. She gave me an assignment to do on Step 1.

She continued on...

"I'd really like to help sponsor you and I think my husband will speak to yours but he really doesn't want to hear about your work with the Arabs." She whispered the word "arabs" so low - that I made her repeat it again for me. She whispered it again, like saying the "A" word was a grave sin. I thought - what a wonderful opportunity for us to get together. Maybe it was Divine Providence and maybe this will be an opportunity for me to teach her to learn to say the "A" word just a bit louder and without shame and pain.

Can one overdose on chocolate?

My birthday yesterday happened to be on a day when I felt as miserable as one could get before they realize - hey!! Maybe it's time for some anti-depressants. But I was able to get out of my black mood that day. Everyone tried to wish me well at work and I just looked absolutely grimful. But by mid-morning my eldest daughters surprised me by trotting into my office bearing a huge chocolate cake (my favorite food) and flowers, that looked like poppies - the flowers you make opium with - and they just smelled wonderful! 2 minutes later there was another delivery of chocolate cake from the office staff. I don't remember the last time I so quickly switched from sorrow to joy in such a short time. I indulged happily in cake all day. I had to work late with some faculty at another office until 7:30 that evening. They must have heard about my chocolate addiction because they walked into the meeting with yet another fabulous chocolate layer cake. By the end of the evening, I was palpatating from all the chocolate and all the caffeine and all the sugar. I also couldn't sleep well. Nevertheless all that cake made me feel very appreciated at my place of work -which makes working for 12 hours a day very much worth it.

And a co-worker send me this lovely piece of whatever it is you get in those e-mails that get passed around the world.

========================
A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience,
raised a glass of water and asked, "how heavy is this glass of water? "

Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.

The lecturer replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long you try to hold it. If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance. In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes. "

He continued, "And that's the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won't be able to carry on. As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden. "

"So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can. Relax; pick them up later after you've rested. Life is short. Enjoy it!"

And then he shared some ways of dealing with the burdens of life:

* Accept that some days you're the pigeon, and some days you're the statue.

* Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.

* Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.

* Drive carefully. It's not only cars that can be recalled by their maker.

* If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.

* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

* It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.

* Never buy a car you can't push.

* Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you won't have a leg to stand on.

* Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.

* Since it's the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.

* The second mouse gets the cheese.

* When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

* Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.

* You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be theworld to one person.

* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.

* We could learn a lot from crayons. Some are sharp, some are pretty and some are dull. Some have weird names, and all are different colors, but they all have to live in the same box.

* A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.

Have an awesome day and a great week... and know that someone has thought about you today. . . . I did!

Whoa! Lotsa Karma Happening Around Here

This was so strange. I feel like I'm wandering around in a very trippy twilight zone. And I'm not even taking any drugs - not legal or illegal - to enhance the unreality.

My daughter complained that she miscalculated someone's bill and gave them alot more money back than she should have. So instead of making 160 shekels in tips she took home only 60. She complained about those "old frechas" - Israeli tart-like women in their '40s-'50s who probably knew she made a mistake but said nothing about it. I felt so guilty. I've done that myself this year, at the bakery, walking out and smirking once - after paying $1 when it should have costed something like $10 because he miscalculated. It was like - Hey! Now I have more money to blow on shit. But it only blows back in your face and this time it was my daughter's face. It took it personally.

I feel what I do in this world not only affects my family directly, but also the world in one form or another. Like yesterday, we were discussing food in our interfaith session. When reading up on Judaism's take on it, I discovered that that particular food is spiritually elevated when you make a blessing over it, and so is the source of that food - the earth, tree, etc. That was pretty wild. The body is the Holy Temple. Wow.

I tried to get to the meeting on time but it was impossible. My boss dictated two e-mails at 4:30 just as I was getting my papers ready for my presentation and wondered why I sounded "in a rush". He can't figure out there is life after Work. I bumped into Souliman and his co-worker, who had a special permit to be in West Jerusalem, and was looking for a parking space. They asked me to help them find parking. I jumped into their car and looked for a parking space for them. When I found them metered parking, I had to explain meters to them. I don't think there are parking meters in Palestinian Authority areas. I tried to get them to avoid the $25 fine and insisted they put money in the meter. I only had carfare on me to get back home but used half of that, because they didn't have enough for the meter. But later on, after the meeting ended, my friend Ibrahim, who learned of my 'generosity' for that evening, threw in $5 into my pocketbook. "We're family" he explained, after I complained that I don't need anything from him, I'll get it from my daughters who work nearby.

So I found this wallet in the street very late that night and finally had a chance to do some penance. You always get a chance in this life. Of course, being penniless these days, my first thought was to toss the wallet and keep the $12 found in there but then I thought of how miserable that young girl would be at that loss with her photo ID and that kind of overrode my temporary sense of greed. I remember Karmela the Nun losing her wallet before a meeting once, and she was so miserable calling up the cab company in case it was still in the taxi.

I found the number of the owner of the purse in the phone book and called them the next morning. Her parents were French. They were elated (even the French are happy sometimes) that I found it and the daughter rushed over to pick it up from us. I thought - YES! God will reward me today. Instead I had the worst day imaginable.

Hubby had an appointment at debtor's court where they check you every once in a while to see if you can pay the creditors more than you are paying them already. The new judge didn't give too much of a fuck that he wasn't working and thought it luxurious that we have cable TV and internet and a pet. Even worse was the fact that I ONCE had a haircut. Yes, these are luxuries in the third world, but we're not supposed to be a third world country - right? So she slapped him with an enormous monthly fine - if he doesn't pay it he goes straight to jail. Don't you just love Israeli monopoly?? I got home to a miserable household after work and prayed that God would send an earthquake that night and have the earth swallow only that building which houses the debtor's court with all its records and all its furniture that it takes from people who cannot pay their bills - and thought how wonderful it was during biblical times when debts were forgiven after 50 years - the Jubilee Year.

This morning I turned 49 years old. I'm one year away from Jubilation. My younger Ex-Criminal daughter asked me this morning - pissed as all hell that I woke her up for school

"How old are you now? 89?"

What a super-bitch. I asked her

"Don't I look damn good for 89?"