This week in Review.

I had been so busy at work this past week, that it was impossible for me to post, and as impossible was wrestling the computer away from my son who is 14 years old today. He wanted us to let him take off school tomorrow morning to have breakfast with us. He refuses to invite friends over for a small pizza/ice cream party and a video of his choice tonight. What a geek. But he's been suspended twice from school this week, so the luxury of skipping yet a third day of class is definitely out. The most I will do is brunch when he gets out of school on Friday.

"What is brunch?" he asked.

Fine. He doesn't know all the words in the English language so I told him - "It's breakfast and lunch together."

But what is the excuse for my nearly 22-year-old daughter who asked me this morning "What is a Dalai Lama".

These kids do not read anything except subtitles in videos.

I explained in less than 5 minutes who he was. He is in Israel now for a few days, and I tried to get tickets to his lecture tomorrow a few weeks ago, but it was already sold out. I could camp out like I would have at a Stones concert for any extra tickets from people who can't make it, but Friday is a difficult day for me to travel to Tel Aviv. If I would have a like-minded spiritual partner in Hubby, he would have gladly taken me to Tel Aviv and back after the buses stop running on the Sabbath. But given his stresses these days, I'm not even going to ask.

Hubby and I went out last night - as a 50th birthday gift from my boss - to the luxurious Canela restaurant in Jerusalem. It is fine dining at its best. My boss talked to me about this for weeks now and raved about the place with orders for me.

"You have to ask about their specials before you order"

"You have to have some wine. Which wine do you like?"

This is akin to asking me about cars. I know zippo about either. Hubby always asks me "What car does she drive? What car does he drive?"

"I dunno. It's red/black/white with 4 wheels."

I can tell if it's a 4 seater or a 7 seater, a two-door or a four-door - but that's my limit. The same with wine. I am not a connoisseur. I know there is red wine, white wine and that Merlot is quite popular amongst the red wines for a fancy dinner out. That's the extent of my wine knowledge. Oh yeah, and there are the semi-drys too.

"And you have to try the desserts" was my Boss's last order. He had arranged to pay for the entire meal including the tip.

Far be it from me to stray from his requests. One doesn't want to get fired. He may even call to check to see if I got there in time, and ask what I ordered. No kidding there.

Hubby was a grumpy as whatever grumpy character you can think of (because I can't think of any at the moment, except Scrooge does come to mind), when he came to pick me up from work.

"Can't you be thankful for the gifts you get?" I asked. Even though it was MY gift, he did have an equal share in it.

Fortunately, when we got there, his attitude shifted, as we were pampered by attentive restaurant staff.

We ordered -

Fois Gras
Salmon sashimi with citrus sauce
Entrecote steak
Duck breast in rasperry sauce and chestnut puree
I had Merlot and Hubby had a shot of Chivas Regal.
We shared a sinful chocolate dessert with caramelized bananas.

Hubby also was ignorant in some stuff too.

"What's foie gras"

"That's what you're having for an appetizer." Of course I wanted it too, and he does like liver - after all, eating liver is a very Jewish thing.

"This is the Rolls Royce of livers" I told him, showing off that I knew something about cars - especially luxury cars.

We got to talk over dinner, which most people married over 20 years usually do not do. One of my daughters is dating someone quite seriously. I told Hubby her boyfriend is Tunisian.

"What's a Tunisian"

I rolled my eyes. Why must I always explain these things to all the dimwits in my family? It is perfectly ok to be ignorant in wine and cars, but nothing else.

"He's North African. There are Morrocans, Algerians and Tunisians. He's one of them."

Plus his mother is good to my daughter.

And it felt strange and even more wonderful to walk out of that restaurant without having to pay for that meal. The other patrons, who may have noticed us not getting a bill and not paying and not leaving a tip must have thought we were restaurant reviewers (or criminals??).

Birthday kid

We have a slew of birthdays this month. Man, do I hate February. On Saturday it was the Complainer's birthday. She turned 18. Old enough to vote. Old enough to move out of my house, since she likes nothing about living here with us old folks. I wanted to take her out to the movies yesterday - just a mother/daughter outing. I thought either Brokeback Mountain or Mrs. Henderson Presents, at my favorite theater in Jerusalem - where one could chug a beer, sip a hot cider, eat an entire meal right inside the theater.

She woke up at noon.

I approached her cautiously.

"Wanna see a movie with me later today?"

"NO. LEEMEE ALONE!!! SHUT UP!!"

Fuck you, kid. That's no way to get a birthday gift.

Two hours later, I took my traditional Sabbath afternoon nap.

The door opens.

"Mom?"

It's the 18 year old Beast.

I retaliate.

"Get out of here!!! Don't wake me up. OK!???"

Later that evening when I roll out of bed, I confronted the Complainer, who was complaining about no one doing anything, or getting her anything for her birthday. Even her boyfriend avoided her today.

I explained - "You wanted me to buy you a ring. I can't buy you a ring, because I don't know what fits you. For that you have to come with me. And you had your chance to go out with me today but you were totally rude."

"I DID want to go out but not right when I woke up! I went into your room to tell you I wanted to go out."

"Great! You wanted to tell me that WHILE I was asleep."

I'm thinking this girl has as much sense as Paris Hilton.

Today at work, one of the secretaries interrupts my meeting.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but your daughter is on the phone crying. She doesn't feel well."

I called her to find her sounding worse than a 500 year old frog. With her whining she sounded even worse than that. Her throat is sore and burning and can I make an appointment with the doctor? Sure, what else can a mother do?

I told her if she feels better, she can stop by my work and we could go and pick out a ring in one of the boutique shops in German Colony. And suddenly, as if the throat genie came visiting, her voice changed back to her Princessy self.

"See you at 4!"

Yeah.

Day at the Spa

My Eldest Daugher treated Hubby and I for our birthdays with a choice of either a weekend at the Dead Sea for last weekend or a day at the Regency Hotel Spa in Jerusalem. Of course, being the kind of mother who wants to train her daughter in "honoring your mother and father", I chose the more expensive choice - the weekend away, but by the time Hubby made his choice, it was already too late for the weekend away. We were satisfied with the day at the spa including having either reflexology or Swedish massage. Hubby was stressed that week, and I thought a spa would be good for him to relax and get his mind away from things irking him.

Daughter called me - "Dad doesn't want to take the treatments offered him. I told him 'you're an idiot!' it comes with the price of the package." I told her to just book him in for reflexology. He doesn't like massages but does like his feet rubbed.

"With a woman or a man" asked Daughter.

"With a woman. He likes women."

"What about for you - would you like a massage with a woman or man"

"I'll take a woman because if the guy is cute, I don't need to be breathing heavy in the room alone with him."

"MOM!!!"

Sorry kid. Even over-50 year old women feel this way too. Even if they're your mothers. Next time she'll know not to ask me those kinds of questions.

The day began with breakfast after spa check-in. The breakfast was ok - but there was no freshly squeezed orange juice, which gave it a minus over restaurant breakfasts/brunches. I enjoyed the selection of dried fruits, ful (fava beans) and chick peas over humous with scallions, aside the usual breakfast fare.

Then we walked around the hotel's balconies admiring the view of Jerusalem. We had our respective treatments at the spa, where we lounged in our fluffy white robes. Hubby felt totally rejuvenated at the "professional" attending to his feet.

We're not used to being pampered and having a day of leisure on a Friday with nothing to do. Friday is a usually action-packed day full of shopping and errands, which we put aside today.

The Turkish Hamam was lovely but not as hot as it should have been. Hubby opted for swimming while I took advantage of the gym and Core Conditioning class where they worked on stomach muscles. Then there were the separate women's and men's wet and dry saunas. I had never tried the steam room sauna before and found it frightening at first. When the steam came out of the shower head above, I freaked out and had an awful Holocaust-type thought - perhaps because I do believe in one of my last lives I was a Holocaust victim. I wonder how the elderly holocaust-survivor women take to that sauna? It was creepy, but after talking to the one woman sitting there who noticed my panic, she calmed me down by telling me it takes a few minutes to get used to. I breathed slowly and said - this is the Regency hotel spa not Auschwitz, I felt better and let the steam do its magic on me, opening up my pores and letting the toxins out and man, do I have toxins.

Hubby was feeling amorous after our 6 hours there and walking up the steps to our home, he was like - How would you like to have some 'humdillala' tonight - poking fun at the Arabic expression of "Thank God". (Hope this doesn't cause any riots because Hubby makes fun of all religions equally). Looking up I see my Eldest Daughter's boyfriend there, hoping he didn't catch any of Hubby's endearments or at least hoping he didn't understand any of it.

They were preparing to go to his mother's home for the weekend. This is the first time she is going to be staying there.

"Please help the mother tonight with the dishes and serving." I called out from the kitchen window at my daughter who was racing down the steps. Her boyfriend was already in the car. She shot me a glance again.

"MOM!"

"I don't want them to think you're lazy." I was panicking in case she didn't lift a finger in their house and it would be known to them, what is known to us.

"Please don't forget to help out. Lie if you have to!!" I thought I gave good advice. And I slammed the kitchen window shut.

A Friend's Bar Mitzvah

I went to a friend's son's bar mitzvah yesterday morning. I had asked Mr. Boss for time off last week and he was upset because I only gave him a week's notice to take 4 hours off. So guiltily off I went.

A friend of hers came in especially from England. I was actually nervous about meeting her because she had given me her beautiful long-haired, calico cat to keep when she went back to England 3 years ago and a year later it got run over by a car. How was I to tell her this. Friends told me to lie to her and say "Wow the cat's great, etc." But I'm a terrible liar. Fortunately, either someone told her about the mishap or she forgot, because she never asked me about her cat.

Getting on to tradition - when the bar mitzvah boy is called up to read from the Torah, it is customary to throw candies at the kid. This is everyone's favorite part. You usually try to hit the kid in the face because of all the torment he gives his folks. No, that's not really why you throw candies, but it's the reason "I" throw candies. The real reason is that the Torah is sweet and you pelt him with sweetness. And then all the little kids scurry to pick them up from the ground. But yesterday, the little girls were dishing out to everyone Hershey's Kisses and Reeses Peanut Butter Cups to throw to the kid. I turned around to my friend and said -

"I'm not throwing these. They're too good to throw and have all the bratty little kids scoop them up."

Behind me, I heard all the women express the same thing. No one was going to throw all those rare treats and waste them on children.

They're hard to get in Israel and if you do get them, they're expensive. So most of us took about 4 or 5 of them and stashed them for ourselves. When it was time to "pelt" only a few were thrown here and there. You saw most of us already with these goodies in our mouths. I saw one little kid with two handfulls, after he had collected them from the floor, run to his mom with the loot and put it in her bag. Too bad I didn't have a little kid to do that for me.

Jews Rock

Just got these links from Popbitch.


David Lazar - Jewish heavy metal artist, but sings off key some times. His musicians are great though, even though I don't often listen to heavy metal.

Then there is Jew Da Maccabi . I vote for him. I enjoyed this listen.

Lastly, there is a black Hassidic Jewish rapper . I haven't listened to all of it. Not my type of music, but he's cool. Real cool.

I remember a time not too long ago, when it wasn't cool to "look Jewish" on-stage. These guys trash that.....

TV time

My day was a bit hectic. The first thing that happend was that my Boss and I both showed up at work at the same time - 7:20 am. I always feel weird when I walk in with him so early in the morning. What will people think? Here - thank God - they know me well enough, but it would have set tongues wagging in the US, that's for sure.

And then everyone made fun of my green plastic bracelet from Seeds of Peace with Arabic writing on it and Hindi, Hebrew and English.

"You're wearing Green for Hamas!" they shouted at me. But we all laughed. I was actually able to make out some of the Arabic inscriptions and it really did say "Peace" and not "Kill the Jews" as my co-workers assumed it said on my bracelet. Those Arabic courses did come in handy.

Hubby and I were watching Coretta King's funeral last night. When Bill Clinton stepped up to speak, we were astounded at the ovation Clinton got. I kind of had a feeling that George Bush, sitting behind him, was just a wee jealous at the love that everyone has for the former president.

"People love him because he cheated on his wife" piped in Hubby. He has a bit of a point there. Clinton was your regular guy, a former pot smoker, liked rock music, played saxephone, cheated on his wife, the kind of guy you'd see at the local pub, someone you'd feel comfortable talking to. Nothing pompous at all about him.

Of course, in office now, is a cowboy with a "we'll git 'em" attitude, reeking of religious right and Texas oil. It's not what most people in the US are about.

And we were laughing at Hilary nodding away at everything her husband said - she looked like one of those bobbing head dogs in the back of cars.

Tonight the Israeli talk show host,Yatzpan was poking fun of Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak, speaking in mock Arabic, saying "because of the cartoon, we'll burn down all of Europe!" The audience roared with laughter. Yikes. This isn't funny. I'm afraid I won't be able to invite some of my Palestinian friends over for some Danish butter cookies.

It's all in the karma

For days I've been reading about the Danish embassy being torched in Damascus, other embassies in Arab countries in danger, protests world-wide by Arabs and the European Union offices in Gaza being mobbed because of an offensive caricature of the Prophet Mohammad in a Danish newspaper where he was depcited wearing an explosives-laden turban. Yes, I'd say that is offensive. However, and this is a big "however" - the Arab newspapers have not been altogether innocent in their depiction of Jews. OK - it's sometimes fun to poke fun of political personalities. We all do that and laugh at them. That's what politicans are for. But they go beyond the funniness and have been printing vulgar, offensive, anti-semitic cartoons for years now. And none of us Jews have made much of a peep about it. Is this a bad case of what goes around comes around?

free to be you and me

I walked into the health food store where the owner is on a macrobiotic lifestyle. I dared show up at a meeting once and now I'm considered recruitment fodder.

"Do you have that wonderful sea salt from France." I asked?

I thought - wow - it's sea salt and therefore, it must be healthier than the other salts you buy in the supermarket.

"That's too yang for you. It's grey. We were told NOT to use it."

Huh? Too Yang? Fuck that, I'll buy it somewhere else where people don't care how friggin yang it is for me.

I opened up one of the gifts I got from my Messianic Jewish friend and it was a recording of - you guessed it - Messianic Jewish songs.

So now I have a macrobiotic person trying to convert me to their lifestyle as well as this Messianic Jew. It's not enough to love Jesus because he was a Jewish Israeli brother of mine. I have to also believe that he is God and Messiah. Jesus! What next?

I put the CD next to a book of Sikh meditations given to me by a sweet Sikh gentleman from Vancouver, when I was in india, who heard me saying how wonderful their religion is. "If you will use this, I'd like to give this to you," said the teacher from Vancouver. Over there, the gentle Buddhist monk tried hard to persuade me that there really is no God.

I know my Orthodox family would love for me to return to Orthodox Judaism, and my Moslem friends would ullulate to the high heavens if I converted to Islam.

I love when everyone shares their religious//spiritual stuff with me and I can share back, but I cannot be like any of you. I can only be my silly self.

New Boyfriend in Town

My Eldest Daughter has a new boyfriend. She and the Persian broke up a few months ago due to the fact that he wanted a maid for a wife plus his mother was awful to her, insulting my daughter the way she cut up a salad. I usually don't butt into their love lives too much but this time I warned her that if the mother was awful to her now, it'll only get worse once they get married.

This new one is of Tunisian extraction and quite alot older. She'll be 22 and he's already 35 - never been married. But it seems quite serious. Plus his mother is warm to her - which "oks" the relationship for me. They work together and the girls at work have their suspicions about the couple, but they have been trying to keep their relationship a secret. When they both take off work this week to meet his brother who lives out of town, maybe more tongues will wag.

My Good Daughter told Hubby this guy is a hamburger flipper at the restaurant where they work. We laughed and started to call the guy Flipper. My Eldest got insulted. She insisted he is a chef, not a hamburger flipper. The truth came out at my party where he made a three layer chocolate mousse cake for 50 people that was out of this world. And it would have cost me a fortune to buy. So the "Flipper" name is gone. The guy really can bake and has talent. But what we don't know is his last name.

My daughter says she doesn't know it yet. Isn't that weird?

"What do you talk about when you go out?"
"Nothing much"

Sheesh. They're already acting like an old married couple.

At our Friday night family dinner, we sat around the table and the sisters teased her mercilessly because she wouldn't tell us his last name.

"She's too embarrassed to tell us his last name. He probably has a name like Pines" piped in my Good Daughter. "Pines" is a common Israeli name, but unfortunately, it is pronounced "Penis" which is awfully hysterical when you're a native English speaker.

So just know that when most traditional Jews sit down to a Friday night dinner, they're usually singing spiritual songs specially for the Sabbath, or giving over holy words of Torah or having guests over. But in my house this Friday night at our Shabbat table, everyone was teasing my Eldest laughing and screaming and calling her "Soozie Penis" "Soozie Penis".

Well, we don't know that for sure yet. His last name could very well be "Shitreet."

Happy Birthday To Me

I managed to turn 50 on Wednesday evening. And the party I threw for myself wasn't too shabby either. I had 50 friends over, including my family and my daughters' boyfriends. Even the ex-criminal was allowed out of her hostel to attend. It was an awkward start looking at all the different kinds of people that were there. How were they to mingle with each other and get to know one another. Unfortunately, none of the Arab friends I invited attended except for Ibrahim. My co-workers gave him a warm reception - they had heard so much about him. My boss's secretary remarked at how Jewish he looked - "like one of the guys going shopping at the shuk or playing backgammon with the other men". He didn't wear his keffiyah that night.

But I said a few words, as did a friend of mine about 1 1/2 hours into the party and then I blasted the music so we could all dance. I had burned MP3s - hundreds of songs - so by the time the party ended we were up to the D's - Dave Clark Five, David Bowie, etc. I invited a musician I knew vaguely. He didn't know I was married and looked at Hubby whom he knew from somewhere.

"Wow! You invited the coolest people!!!" remarked the Hobo-looking musician, looking at Hubby.

"Huh?"

"He's such a happy guy!"

"That's my husband and he's hardly ever happy. Are you sure you know this guy?"

Turns out they do know each other. Even stranger, the messianic Jewish couple who live near me and a friend of mine who is a Reiki master met and turns out they are 1st cousins. They had no idea but had similar last names so they investigated each other's family and it turns out they are the same family. So if I got family re-united, it was worth throwing this party. Even though my kids sat on the sidelines watching their crazy mother dance away to "Bits and Pieces" and "Twist and Shout" and "Rebel Rebel" - it was fun to be able to legitimately embarrass them. Yes. I could embarrass them at my own party and let me tell you - it felt great. My son was like 'could you please change the music?" Hell no. It's my party not yours. You had your bar mitzvah last year with YOUR music. Now it's my turn.

The Syrian Cab Driver

My daughter could not get to work today at the police station in an Arab neighborhood. She usually gets rides, but because of the disengagement from Amona today, there were no transports available. Hubby gave me $ to take a cab to work and I decided to drop her off at her work.

The cab driver wore a kippah, meaning he is Orthodox and didn't seem to mind carusing in an Arab neighborhood. He had more trouble from the Ultra-Orthodox Jews protesting cremation or an autopsy or whatever it was they were protesting in Jerusalem yesterday.

"I was just driving on Bar Ilan Street, taking kids home from school. Along comes this mob and they are pulling on the doors trying to smash it, with these poor screaming kids in it. They were absolutely terrified. If my car were stuck in an Arab neighborhood in Jerusalem, they'd offer me advice, tell me to go here, there - this is insane!!"

So now I got the story of why he wasn't like other Israeli cab drivers, who are usually too nervous to venture into the Other's territory.

He told me he speaks fluent Arabic.

"How? Did you learn from your parents?"

"No, I came from Halab, Syria when I was 12 in 1973. They killed my father and my mother was in jail for helping people immigrate to Israel. But when she got out, on the eve of the Yom Kippur war, we left and escaped to Israel via Lebanon." From the bits he told me, he explained that they went to some large well-known synagogue in Lebanon and stayed there for a bit before heading to Israel.

He continued on "We were multi-millionaires in Syria. We owned 16 stores and had alot of homes."

And here he is driving a cab for a living.

His wishes were similar to mine - even though his family suffered from anti-semitism in Syria. I was his back seat egger-on. Wouldn't it be nice to have open borders with our neighboring countries - Lebanon and Syria. Yes, wouldn't it be nice to drive through Lebanon to Turkey. Go shopping in Damascus? Sit in a Lebanese cafe? We both think so...

Imagine

Check out this site: http://www.liel.net/Liel-ClintonVideo2.wmv


It is young Israeli singer - singing John Lennon's song Imagine together with Bill Clinton - and together with 40 Jewish children and 40 Arab children. So sweet.

Getting Older but Feeling Younger

How does that work. Well you have to have a job like mine so when you're pushing 50 you feel like you're in first grade. My boss was talking to his secretary while I was jotting down notes for my party on Wednesday like
"buy paper good, buy 2 cases of soda, 1 case water, plastic forks, plastic spoons..."

I was on a roll, really, until I heard Mr. Boss's voice booming over to my side. After all, I wasn't paying any attention to him.

"WHAT are you doing?"

"Oh nothing"

"What were you writing?"

"Just some thoughts"

I thought had I been caught with chewing gum, out it would go. It felt strangely wonderful because I hadn't been this terrified since grade 2.

Good thing he didn't check my "thoughts" because they really weren't in synch with his.

Austrian Hospitality

We had an interfaith coordinators retreat at the (Catholic) Austria Hospice in Jerusalem's Old City. This is one of Jerusalem's beautiful mysteries. I've passed by this place on the busy corner of Via Dolorosa countless numbers of times and never knew what was behind the doors. The palatial building was built in 1867 and was a Jordanian hospital from 1948, but in 1984 it reverted back to what it originally was intended for. I felt as if I were in an Austrian palace somewhere in the Middle East...

My parents are from Austria so everything was so culturally familiar to me. Not the crucifixes and paintings of Jesus but the Sachertorte with whipped cream, and Apfelstrudel with whipped cream and the Austrian accented staff speaking English to us were. The authentic Viennese cafe is absolutely divine. I laughed at dinner time when the waitress asked if I wanted "wedgetable soup" and looked around for a Cloris-Leachman type from Young Frankenstein, asking if I wanted "Ovaltine".

One of the participants was a Druze actor who is quite alot of local films - He was in the Syrian Bride. Was struck me as quaint was that he travelled to Jerusalem with a Druze woman from the same village. They are not married and asked a mutual friend to accompany them as a chaperone. They are in their forties and are not children. But I could imagine the trouble in their Galilean village had they just wandered off, without a chaperone, going overnight to Jerusalem. Of course people would think they were having one mean flingo. In this case, I agreed it made sense to have one - especially if he is an Israeli journalist.

I was oblivious to the tension in the city after the Hamas victory. Inside the Austrian Hospice, the mood was optimistic and the aura of peace was over us all as we brainstormed and planned activities for the near future - international, publicity, social welfare activities (my thing), and a retreat in the Druze Galilee village of Majar for the 300 members of our group nation-wide.

"It's not a problem putting up 350 people in our village."

"Do you have a hotel?"

"No, it will be in peoples' homes."

Wow. I'm totally impressed and envious. They spoke for the village and were so sure it will be ok for the local people to host us all. I certainly could not say this about an Israeli Jewish neighborhod opening its homes to 350 people of mixed faiths.

Getting older and older and older

I'm preparing for my big bash on Wednesday night. The one where I'm turning half- a century. But the age business is catching up to me, though.

Yesterday I had a bit of a stomach flu. This is all part of the ups and downs spiral plaguing my life at the moment. I had the ups with all the sugar and cakes given to me on Friday. Now are the down moments. My head was hurting because I usually get headaches with stomach flus, and I was starting to think like a hypochondriac. What if I pass out. What if it's more than a headache. What will the strangers on the bus do. What will my children do. Who will tell my friends? Who is that guy on the bus? Is he going to blow us up? What is in his bag? What is in her bag. I needed to chill. But instead of chilling I went food shopping and asked my daughter to accompany me for emotional support, although I didn't tell her it was for support. Bad move. She put in the cart all the stuff she likes - Famous Amos cookies (mmmm just like we had in Canada!), and ""Mom I NEED hand cream" and "What about deodorant for me" and freezer foods which I normally wouldn't buy. I didn't want to say "No, can't afford them." So I let her take full advantage of my fragile state.

Back home, I went to the freezer and took out some carrot cake. Yum. Never mind wanting to lose 4 more kilos. I sat down to watch a documentary about the History of Mowtown, felt much younger while I danced to Rescue Me in front of the telly. Stomach flu and headache - totally gone.

The week that was

I got a call the other day. It was a wrong number but a funny wrong number.

"Hello, this is Jihad of Nazareth."

"Did you say, Jesus of Nazareth?"

Nah. Because that would have been really funny and alarming at the same time. And yesterday everyone I spoke to was freaking me out. Hubby was going on to Abed about Iranian nukes, explaining how they work, what they look like (nukes - not Iranians), etc. I told them to shut up about these awful things because they're turning my stomach. Then I get a call from someone I planned to see on Friday.

"I don't know if I'm going" she told me. "The Palestinians are voting and they're expecting riots."

"Sheesh where did she hear that from?" asked Hubby. Maybe he just found himself a new best friend.

True, I had spent my break watching videos of Saturday Night Live - stuff I've missed for years. There was a character on the show that Hubby's brother said reminded him of Hubby - Debbie Downer. It wasn't funny to me. She saw negativity in everything. Too familiar.

I walked into work today and saw a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor from my corkboard....I picked it up. It was a meditation called "Good Things Coming." Hmmmm.

Viva Les Canadiennes

The Canadian film crew from Quebec came over bright and early this morning. Around 9:00. I had hoped to wash my hair but it was chilly out and decided just to spruce it up which I did with some sticky concoction that is supposed to fluff out the curls. A quick fix. We picked them up at the check point, and they had no problem coming in. I introduced them to my half-sleeping children who sauntered downstairs at around 9:30 am - quite early for them. They usually stay in bed until 11:00. They managed to nod at our guests, who just wanted some coffee before we headed out.

Hubby, who had this end-of-the-world look on his face was unusually quiet and somber. But he was the perfect chauffer and took us all around the place; at the end stopping off at the film location - my meditation spot where the desert mountain view goes on for miles and miles. It is breathtaking.

They conducted the interview trying to fix the tiny microphone inside my shirt. The camera man looked just like Richard Gere did in the early 1980s, and I tried not to stare at him constantly. Makes me want to visit Quebec again - fast. But, unfortunately, he was not the person fixing the microphone inside my shirt. I was worried about regular stuff - I asked them:

"What if my nose runs during the filming?"

I mean what happens. Do they yell "CUT", while I grab a tissue? Miraculously that didn't happen to me even though I felt a bit snivelly.

They asked me questions - the usual questions people have always asked me so it was easy to answer.

"How did you start to become a peace activist"
"Tell us about reactions from relatives and friends"
"Do you find that living outside the green line obstructs your peace work"
"Do you know that living outside the green line is illegal according to section 49 of the Geneva document?"
"What do you think about the Right of Return for Palestinians"
"What do you think about Jews becoming a minority in this country"

I just told them everything that had always been on my mind - not to fear the other, that I wasn't afraid of the Palestinian Right of Return because like Jews who have been forced out of our countries everywhere in the world, we don't return to those countries because many of the villages we came from don't exist anymore - same for the Palestinians. What would they return to?

Later I thought it would have been nice to mention God - even once - like "if Jews are sure that God gave them this land, they won't need to worry so much about eventually becoming a minority. Leave it to God. God will handle all of this difficult stuff." And this could very well happen with the high Israeli Arab birth rate.

At the end they were happy with the interview and hopefully it will get fully produced and distributed somewhere in this universe.

Sugar and spice

"God wanted you to take it easy. He really did. Especially on the Sabbath. You've been working too hard." I told a girlfriend after she had a kitchen knife fly at her accidentally while putting it away last weekend.

I seem to feel God's messages loud and clear. He was putting me through hell this past week too, with my kids, and to top it all off, the trunk of the car didn't stay open and slammed on my head Thursday night while I was taking groceries out. I sat with an ice pack on it for half the night, while it throbbed for the rest of the night.

Then on Friday, I woke up and the world looked kind of different. I walked into the bakery getting their freshly baked challah bread, some cake for the Sabbath, some cookies for the Sabbath, some frozen quiche for the week and the young man behind the counter says to me "Here, just take what you want as a gift" pointing to the shelf of home-made, different-types-of-cookies. I opted for the healthiest batch, granola cookies, even though I KNOW they are laden with sugar. But if God is helping me NOT to be macrobiotic, then so be it. With the week that was, perhaps a little soothing, sugar will do me some good.

Later that morning, I took Ex-Criminal out of her hostel for breakfast. She wanted me to meet her new boyfriend, who looked Arabic but who actually was of Moroccan-Jewish extraction. He seemed miles better than the other idiot she dated for over a year. This one worships her. That's the way I like it with my daughters. She seemed fine today and I finally had gotten the "story" of what happened from another social worker. She didn't have a breakdown but was being disruptive during a group session. And she wouldn't listen when everyone (even the other girls) told her to stop disturbing the session. At the Hostel she has to be ready to listen verbally. If she continues not to listen to the rules, they can't move her physically to her room because at the Hostel, the girls have "graduated" so that they are not physically removed to their rooms, when they have to be disciplined, they'll simply go when ordered to. So they moved her to the place she was at before "to think it out". Much better story.

The two didn't order anything beyond coffee, which was fine by me. You don't want to take advantage of your parents' generosity, I'm ok with that. We had a wonderfully healthy delicious breakfast of eggs, colorful salad, non-caffeine coffee, fresh carrot and grapefruit juice, tapas of Jerusalem artichoke and labane. At the end of our breakfast the waitress said she had a surprise for us. I love surprises. She came over with two decadent pastries - a chocolate mousse thing and a hot fudge cake with ice cream. Mmmmmmm. Just what my macriobiotic doctor ordered for me. Seems like God is trying to ply me with sugar today, isn't He? Gifts are gifts. I ate half the hot fudge thing, and packed the rest up. As if those freebies weren't enough, she also gave us a chocolate plum cake beautifully packaged. All free.

Those sugary gifts I got throughout the day were so strange indeed. I'm sure it was to sweeten up the week that had gone sour.

why do children self-destruct

I have been trying to go "macrobiotic". I'm not going to go insane about this difficult diet, but will try to eat primarily healthy. I'm going through terrible Kid Stresses. My son has been suspended from school twice this week - today I got a call that he threw a kid into a trash can. It sounded really funny, but I tried to stifle my laughter when I was talking to the teacher. He's been switched to another class so that he and another trouble-maker could be separate, but he managed to still be a barrelful of trouble for everyone today. And this, after Hubby cooked him up some scrambled eggs this morning for energy and stamina and that he should go to school on a full stomach. And after promises of my son joining a soccer league, and getting a cellphone for good behavior by Passover and decorating his room in Jerusalem Betar's colors (an ugly yellow and black). None of that seems like it's gonna happen now.

So, the only way for me to cope with all this without taking valium, marijuana or other substances to calm me down is to stay off sugar and eat healthy. Whole grains, legumes, organic veggies and some fruits and green tea. That is basically my diet.

I was at a dinner last night which was a macrobiotic potluck. We all brought something to share. And my main complaint about this diet is that it all looks like guck. Brown guck. Sometimes you have a bit of orange thrown in - if there's a butternut squash involved, but it still looks dull and uninviting. But I am sure it will do wonders for the 3 more kilos I have to lose.

The group welcomed me as warmly as if I had just accepted Jesus in a Christian Bible Study group. They surrounded me with advice and info and smiles. OMG, if I mess up and have a coffee out, dare I tell anyone in the group? Will I be excommunicated?

I had a call from my Ex-Criminal's Hostel in the middle of the potluck. The social worker babbled on in Hebrew, using these painfully extraordinarily long words that I couldn't understand but her tone seemed mournful. I needed English. Please talk to me in English. I don't care if you break your tongue on this. I need to hear you in my native language.

Apparently my daughter had some sort of emotional breakdown, talking to herself, lying on the floor, and making animal noises. I thought this is how she is when she wants to goof on people. They thought it was a breakdown and were frightened. They sent her back to the place she had been at before the Hostel. Then the social worker tells me she cried bitterly, but she had to be put into a safe environment, where she won't hurt herself.

"Of course she cried bitterly, she won't be able to go to her normal school, where she had this wonderful routine going every day and where they really liked her. What do you expect?"

"Yes, it could be that."

"Let her get in touch with me now. I want to speak with her."

This didn't happen of course. I was hopping mad that they didn't tell me this when it happened on Monday, but waited 2 days. I'm thinking they pushed her to act in this manner. Hubby called and was on his way home but was luckily not home yet.

"We need to see our daughter immediately." He turned around to meet me in town.

Meanwhile, the macro crowd was astounded at me telling them about my daughter - it's not easy to open up for most people about the family. Everyone wants everyone to think their family is perfect. But as I open up, I realize that everyone's family whom I thought was always perfect, is far from perfect, and go through some of the same trials and tribulations as I do. I felt comfort in that.

I called my son to tell him we're coming home later than expected. "And there's spaghetti and meat sauce in the fridge for you." Everyone in the room laughed. Saying "spaghetti and meat sauce" in a macrobiotics group is akin to saying "bacon and eggs" in front of an Orthodox rabbi's family. oops.

Hubby and I arrived unannounced and trounced in quite easily. My daughter seemed fine, but did not want to talk about her incident. Either she is in denial or it didn't happen the way I was told it happened. But she was surrounded by friends and staff and I felt she was in a safe place.

Whatever. I'm drained and could use a good hot cappucino at the moment.

What will this week be like

Sorry about the shitty headings. It's getting tough to title my posts all the time. Friday night was like a warzone in my house. We had no guests so my kids were themselves instead of being on their best behavior. There are people who have guests every week and now I know why.

The Complainer teased my Eldest about her new boyfriend. These are the arguments of girls nearly 18 and 22 years old.

"I know he slept over this week. I saw his shoes here."

"Liar! He's religious. He didn't sleep over."

"Did too"

"Well I heard you on the phone talking to your ex-boyfriend."

"I DID NOT" (looking absolutely horrified because her present boyfriend was sitting beside her)

"Well I heard voices"

This escalated into the Complainer throwing a salad dish at my Eldest and me grabbing the Complainer and her swooshing me away with her hand, knocking off my extremely expensive "Moolti focahls" and me screaming because I didn't want those glasses crushed. Fortunately nothing happened to them.

I decided to treat myself on Saturday to a double feature at the Smadar theater with a friend - a Swedish film "As it is in Heaven" and a French film "Anthony Zimmer". I enjoyed both flicks even though they were totally different. It was raining for days straight and I was happy to have left my dysfunctional home for a cozy, warm theater where I could escape with my coffee and salad inside the theater. I love this theater. The place was packed which led me to believe rain leads to rotten behavior in everyone's home and so lots of secular Jerusalemites were seeking refuge here.

Tonight I am being interviewed by an editor of Portuguese newspaper who is intrigued by peace workers in Israel. He got in touch with me through e-mailing. My lovely husband, of course, thinks he is Al-Qaida related, as he does all strangers who come in contact with me. Let's hope publicity about grassroots peace workers can only be for the good.

Yellow and Black

My Ex-criminial daughter is punished, and can't come home for the weekend. Stupid her. She ran away to her boyfriend on Tuesday and slept over there and cut school the next day. I told the Hostel where she was and she showed up 24 hours later, after I warned her the police had a warrant out for her because she is under the Hostel's care and she ran away from them. This dick of a boyfriend does nothing for her or to help her. She is constantly going out of her way to visit him, to be with him, even to the extent that she knows she'll be punished for her actions. Teenagers in Love. This whole thing could make me puke.

I shouldn't have bought a coat for my son because he can throw a mean fit in the stores if he doesn't get what he wants. And he's 14 not 4. He threw a fit at Hubby because he wanted a coat that cost over $100 (a small fortune for a coat here). It was one of those name brands like Adidas, Kappa. But he does need a coat because he outgrew the one he did have and it's cruel not to clothe your children, even if they're awful.

I tried taking him with me today, but the lines at the bank was really long and he grew impatient, telling me I'm letting everyone in front of me. What really ticked him off was telling him that I needed to first go to the health food store before looking for a more inexpensive coat outside of our town in the industrial section. He trounced away from me like I had major cooties.

I was glad I decided to shop alone and not bring Hubby who looked like he was in need of a 100-year sleep. I was out for a joyful 3 1/2 hours, going slowly, thinking about whether I really "need" that particular item, perusing the aisles slowly, not stressing out because I knew Hubby would be huffing and puffing away like an angry dragon because I took too long and he is wasting his life away while I'm spending all "his money".

I looked at discount coats for my son. There wasn't a big selection in his size. I finally found a coat. It was a reasonable $30. It even had a brand name - Diadora. It also came in yellow and black - my son's favorite colors. Those are the colors of Betar - Jerusalem's soccer team. My son's favorite team.

I like soccer. I really do. It's similar to hockey, which I was an avid fan of, when I lived in the States and Canada. You have to get the soccer ball in the net and you score!! Wow! It doesn't take a genius to figure out the goals of the game.

But I was self-conscious about buying him a yellow and black coat - the clothing of choice for Betar fans. Betar fans are known for being anti-Arab, for the most part. There was an awful game at the beginning of the week where Betar fans and Sakhnin fans (Sakhnin being an Arab-Israeli town in the Galilee) went at it ferociously, with 20 people ending up in the hospitals. The fans tore up the recently opened stadium in Sakhnin and were cursing each other even before the game started. From what I saw on tv:

Betar fans: Your village should burn down.

Sakhnin fans: Betar is a whore, Betar is a whore

The police foolishly let the fans hash it out after the game by opening up the gates to the field, and the damage was done. It was frightening to watch on tv - which they replayed every day on the news.

I was hoping that no one would think that by me carrying this yellow and black coat around the store, that I was one of "those" fans. I was hoping people wouldn't notice. And I know he'll be happy I bought him a coat in his favorite colors. I was wondering, after I paid for this coat, if I should have bought it after all. Because looking like an out-and-out Betar fan, at the moment, is not something this mother is happy about.

Blessings

The rain is pouring down over Jerusalem like the blessing it is supposed to be. I don't mind it one bit now that I'm working in a well-heated office. The homes can get cold and are a fortune to heat, so we are racking up the bill at home. Sometimes Hubby puts on the heat a bit too high - like 26 degrees C. And we have thermostat fights, while I sneak by and lower it down to 22 degrees.

Besides the rain, Sharon is said to be improving, which lightened up my mood a bit. Don't know why - I never really cared for him before.

His Kadima replacement, former Jerusalem Mayor Ehud Olmert is also making me happy by noting that Jewish people tearing up Arab-owned olive groves will be punished. There has been a wave of that in the West Bank areas. He also wished the Arab ministers and Arab political friends Israel has contacts with - a Happy Eid Al Adha. Sounds like he will probably get my vote the end of March.

Hubby has been quite good at overcoming his Pot addiction, going to meetings every week in Jerusalem and yesterday for the first time in 20 years, actually did homework with my son, who has been terribly behaved in school, which had me worried. He spent hours on preparing him for his English exam. I could see Hubby was slurring his speech, he was so tired, but he kept on at it, while I did laundry in the background. I even kissed his bald head, I was so touched by this patient father and son bit.

My daughters have been great too. They are having a competition - who can make Mom happier. Last week Hubby and I went out for dinner. My Eldest daughter called to say she is showing up at the restaurant and we shouldn't leave without her. She footed the bill. Of course, she told everyone about her Good Deed, which prompted my Second Oldest to foot the bill when we had a lunch special at 5:30 pm at a new Chinese restaurant downtown. Gee, I love my kids. Who cares that they don't pay rent, so long as they wine me and dine me - every week. I'm sure I won't see such generosity like this all the time, but it is nice when it crops up.

Meanwhile my Eldest Daughter is frantic that she will have to vacate her cubby hole, she calls her bedroom and share a room with Second Oldest daughter, when the Ex-criminal gets out of her hostel next year. So she is stuffing her room with all sorts of shit - furniture, a new tv, speakers, and shoes and boots and bagfulls of lord-knows-what. Then she'll tell me there's no room in that "Other Room" for her to move there. It looks crazy in there.

There was a Quebec film crew that met with me yesterday. They want to film me - sometime next week because I live in a settlement and because I'm a grassroots peace-worker. And they don't hear about those in Quebec. So wow. I'm gonna be a documentary film star.

laughing and crying

I think I know why Dr. Weil makes you do news fasts. Because reading the newspaper can make me so angry, listening to the news on television as background music makes my stomach muscles go tense.

Yesterday morning I read the papers and someone I had been friendly with in my early years in Israel, when I was more politically "right wing," was interviewed as being part of the group that issued a Pulsa Denura on Arik Sharon last July around the time the disengagement from Gaza happened. This is a kabbalistic death curse, and they claim that because of this curse, Sharon is in the situation he is right at this moment. A friend of that particular guy called my husband that morning. I yelled into the phone how disgusting it was to resort to those tactics. How can a Jew go against another Jew in that manner? Of course, they were pissed at the disengagement. Why resort to this shit? Why not vote him out of office like normal people? Hubby grabbed the phone from me - "the police will be coming for him. I can hear the sirens now."

Then there was the sad response by an 83 year old Holocaust survivor to last week's article about police brutality in Jerusalem - where police tied a Palestinians hands to his mule (his crime? He did not have a permit to be in "West" Jerusalem) and the mule dragged him for hours back to his village, where he died of his wounds. The survivor wrote how he once saw the Germans do this to a 16 year old girl when questioning her about the whereabouts of partisans. They tied her hands to a horse and then made it gallop. The man continued "The basis for a sane and nonviolent life is, among other things, education toward a humane attitude toward every person, because he is a human being, even if he is a member of a nation with whom we are at war"

I cried reading the touching New Year's short story from Sayed Kashua in Haaretz.

I cried when someone at a wedding called me a self-hating Jew because I love the Palestinians as much as the Jews.

But I also laughed when I was at the two weddings on Thursday night. It was Hilltop Youth meeting Palestinians. The parents of both weddings are involved in interfaith and peace work. They are Orthodox Jews. So quite a number of Palestinians that I knew were invited as well. The bands played traditional music. There were dividers on the dance floor so that the sexes could be segregated for dancing. The Arab women felt comfortable dancing that way. I grabbed Ibtisam's hand. She wore traditional Arab garb, being a devout Moslem. Together we walked towards the women's section, where Jewish women were already dancing wildly in a circle. They smiled at her. I swear I could read their thoughts about Ibtisam- "She probably isn't all that bad if she's invited to this wedding." Others joined us. We danced in a circle with the groom's mother. The band played a lively tune. The words were a common, well-known Jewish prayer - Yibane, Yibane, Yibane Beit Hamikdash. Tanslated - May the Temple be rebuilt. All the Palestinian women were dancing like mad in that circle. To that song. Everyone was smiling. Not only was I smiling, I was laughing hysterically. Did they know what they were dancing to?? Obviously not.

I relayed this back to Hubby who wasn't at the weddings.

"I could have very well been in the same situation when I danced with the Palestinians from Nablus during our Interfaith weekends. Who knew what they were singing. For all I know I could have been dancing to "In blood and fire will we redeem the land".

But like my Palestinian sisters - it didn't matter what it was we were dancing to - even if we don't agree to the content of the songs - perhaps even horrified at its content. What mattered was that we were just happy to be dancing together.

Poor Arik

I feel bad for him. I really do. He is, of course, oblivious to what's going on with him, as he's in a coma, but I kind of like the Old Big Guy, our Prime Minister. It kind of puts a damper on things. Not only is the country in turmoil, but my house seems upside down as well. My son cut school twice this week and I have no control as I have to leave for work before he leaves for school, Hubby's car window was smashed in last night by thieves who didn't want the old fucking jalopy but took my daughter's knapsack with her clothes in it. I'm kind of glad she had dirty socks and undies in it and I hope the slimebucket who took it smears his hands with infectious germs from the dirty stuff. Then my kids called and said there's no toilet paper, but I'm out tonight and can't buy them any.

I have two weddings to go to tonight and don't really feel like going. Isn't that a bummer? But I'll go and not even for the food - because every time I get into my "health" phase - there are always temptations like weddings, birthdays, holidays - to get you off the tofu. Isn't it funny though to have 2 weddings in one evening? It's not like I'm a part of a synagogue community and get invited to everything - people like my brother and sister who are, get invited out to "events" weekly. These things happen to me just once every 3 months or so. But 2 in one night is hilarious. And two in the same hotel is even more hilarious. It makes it easy to attend both events. I'll be running between ballrooms trying to capture each wedding's joy. Because while everything seems to be in turmoil right now in the country and my family joy is what I need in my life right now.

Cleaning your Colon

Yesterday afternoon I walked past this unshaven man sitting on a curb on the corner of Agrippas and the shuk. He was sitting with a suitcase and 2 large thermoses. He called for me in English - "Hey, do you think you can tell everyone you know that at 3:00 tomorrow I will be telling people where the real Hebron is. People think that the Cave of Machpela (where Abraham, Isaac and wives are buried) is not where people think it is, neither is Hebron?"

I nodded "OK" to him as I would with any of Jerusalem's crazies. But then I turned around and asked him - "So where do YOU think Hebron really is"

"You'll find out tomorrow"

"But I'm working at 3:00"

The man just shrugged.

I guess I'll never know unless he does assemble a crowd or it's written in the papers. That's just in 2 1/2 hours from now. Why he had his suitcase on hand is beyond me. Perhaps he thought he was some kind of travelling messiah?

Later that afternoon, trying to rid myself of chronic bloating and nausea, I impulsively tried out the only one of Jerusalem's Colon Cleansing clinics. The only thing I ever associated with Colon Cleansing was with Hollywood female celebrities, going for a regular colon cleanse - it's so IN. I decided to try it and see if I'd feel better after asking around about it and there weren't any cons to it and just people who enjoyed the experience.

I walked into the clinic, situated in an Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood. The place was immaculately clean and the woman running the place seemed quite knowledgeable and intuitive about my problems.

"Itchy behind? I know what you have. Fungus. That's caused by parasites and you probably have candida."

Lovely. She said that is probably why I am feeling bloated, etc.

I was nervous about the procedure as I am about trying out anything invasive and new. The most fun I had, and I'm serious, was when she walked in while I was "expelling" and "farting".

She coached me on like a labour coach as I let off a loud one.

"Beautiful! You're doing great!"

"Wow! That's quite a different reaction than the reaction I get at home when I fart"

"No, you need to get it all out."

Man, I felt empowered.

The other fun thing was watching my crap float down a large fluorescent-lit tube, like a tubular fish tank and commenting on it with the woman in charge. Now I do not believe that there is not a human on this planet who does not look back every time they take a crap to see what kind of crap it was. We all do. Let's face it. Even kings, queens and movie stars. So I had a wonderful 45 minutes of watching so many different species of my crap swim by in this "viewing for your pleasure" tube.

"Did you see that?" she asked.

"I thought I'd see parasites looking like mini-Loch Ness Monsters floating down there"

"You are very dry inside. You can tell by what's being expelled."

"Do you think you have a shitty job?" I asked her in jest.

She was serious - "No, I really enjoy what I do"

Have another ---- boureka

Someone came back to work today after a long maternity leave. While the bosses were at a meeting, we had "brunch" consisting of a ton of bourekas and cake and salad. I wanted to eat healthier this year and bourekas, made with tons of margarine are not on my "good list" of foods to eat. But starving as I was, I had 3 of them.

I even cut down on my caffeine intake, since I think it is a horrid drug and I'm terribly addicted to it. But getting back to the bourekas.

The bosses came back, clueless to the fact that we stuffed ourselves on bourekas, and brought back a box of - bourekas. He even threatened me that if we don't take one right now, our salaries will be cut in half. What's a woman dependent on a salary to do? Of course, I had to run out there and grab the first boureka I saw, even though I couldn't shove it down any more. I had no choice. Now I hate bourekas. I hate the thought of them, the sight of them, and the smell of them. And they're our staple Friday morning breakfast - fresh from the bakery. My kids demand them. What am I to do?

New Years

New Years in Jerusalem is very toned down. There are a few restaurants having New Year's dinners tonight. The hotels basically cannot have New Year's celebrations because the rabbis of the Kosher Certificates will be upon them and take away their Kosher Certificates. Threats have been made in the past, and this year I see none advertising.

I was going to celebrate the secular New Year - which is called Sylvester here. What a silly name, I thought, calling New Year's after a cat that lisps. My kids have imitated me called Sylvester "Thylvethter". But, curious as I am, I did read that Sylvester was a Pope in the Middle Ages - in fact, a very anti-semitic pope. So why do they insist on celebrating "his" day? Call it New Years, folks. That's what it is in the rest of the world, even if it isn't the Jewish, Moslem or Christian Orthodox New Years.

I booked a lovely restaurant for 10:30 this evening. The promised gourmet fare, violins, flowers and champagne at midnight. It sounded so romantic. It sounded like such a nice, quiet way to end 2005.

Then I thought of the realities. Not only would it set me back over $100 - a small fortune here - for many - half a week's salary. But we have work tomorrow. On January 1st. And that really sucks. Who wants to stuff oneself at 10:30 in the evening, come home in the wee hours of the morning, only to have the alarm ring at 6:00 am. Not me. So I cancelled. Maybe another time. Maybe when New Years falls on a Thursday since we have Friday off.

I thought of New Years resolutions. It's like a twice-yearly mental cleansing. I do them in September/October for the Jewish New Year, and then again December 31st. Here they are:

1. Try and give more charity - I've been well below the 10% mark, and feel terribly bad about that. God has been good to us this year, and we have to show some thanks.

2. Have guests over more frequently for Sabbath/Friday night dinners.

3. Once a month - go on a "trip" with Rabbis for Human Rights or some other organization to help Palestinians, who cannot help themselves.

4. Go to the gym three times weekly

5. Eat a healthier diet

And that's about all I can handle. For this year, anyways. Have a good one folks.

Multi-erroring

The furor has basically died down over the expense of my multi-focals. I had a odd few days wearing them. The first day I wore them, I noticed my shirt was inside-out while in the board room meeting with my boss. Then a couple of hours later a woman asked me to help her compose an e-mail to someone quite important and extremely wealthy.

She rang me quite worried.

"There's a typo in the e-mail you sent"

"No - can't be. I haven't had a typo in 20 years!"

But I looked at it and alas, there was a typo. I wrote the word "lo" instead of "no". I told her I was perhaps thinking in Hebrew as "lo" is actually "no" in Hebrew. But are my multi-focals causing me to multi-err?

Glasses

These. These are what caused Hubby to go into a bit of a funk this morning. They're my new Happy Glasses. Happy Glasses because when my kids first saw them on me, they burst out laughing. When the girls at work saw me in them - they called me a "meshugana" (crazy one). They match my hair, and look good when I wear purple lipstick. And no one in Jerusalem has these. No one. Not in this color anyways. And I wonder why? Because orange has been a politically "right" color this year. But I don't look politically "right" in them. I really don't. But I do feel funky.

They're multi-focals. Bi-focals - a thing of the past. The optometrist corrected me each time I nearly choked when I heard the price of these "bifocals".

"They're multi-focals" he told me again and again, pronuncing them "mooltee focahls".

Hubby was telling me this morning how I'm always spending money on myself. Of course, I am darling. Because if I'm going to need bi-focals -- I mean multi-focals - - because I'm getting old, they better damn not look like old lady glasses. And they certainly don't.

Arabic Christmas

I got a last-minute invite to a women's interfaith celebration of Christmas in Beit Hanina, just north of Jewish Jerusalem. You just pass by the French Hill neighborhood of Jerusalem and voila, you feel like you are in another country. Also Beit Hanina is one of the more wealthiest of Jerusalem's Arab neighborhoods. We drove in a convoy of 4 cars - stopping at the French Hill intersection. A young Arab kid - perhaps around 9 or 10 - was selling silk flowers, and other assorted things one doesn't need. He pressed his face against our window looking really mournful.

"He must look at himself in the mirror each morning and practice to get that tragic look" - said our driver.

We gave the "tragic-looking" kid some change and drove off.

Mistakenly, we knocked on the downstairs apartment, but the young couple who answered greeted all of us as if we were expected. 25 unexpected guests.

Although I am not very active in the women's interfaith group - however, whenever I do meet up with them, it's really like getting together with a bunch of sisters. Alot of sisters - about 25 of them. We sat around the table eating all the goodies - it was a feast ending with my favorite dessert - kanafe - among other baklava-like treats. The Jewish women there were stuck though when Christmas carols were sung in Arabic. We can do the English versions but not the Arabic ones.

Before I went to this party, I had a chat with our new receptionist. She asked me -
"Doesn't it freak you out to hear Christmas Carols in Arabic?"

"It is kind of strange, but it also is kind of nice being able to celebrate our holidays together in our native languages." I told her of getting lost last year in Beit Hanina.

"Weren't you terrified?" she asked me.

I have long since given up the useless emotion of being terrified when in a neighborhood of "others" or being confronted by the Other.

I told her a story about when I was about 15 years old of being terribly frightened of African-Americans. I thought anyone black who came over to talk to me was either going to rob me or beat me. This is what is was like for me in the New York City of the early 1970s. I had some Jewish holy books on my lap. I was on the subway going to school. A young woman, a bit older than me, perhaps 18, sat next to me and began a conversation.

"Did you know that Moses was black??" On her lap was a book called "Black Moses". I was terrified of her, and felt my face redden. I thought she was going to beat me up for thinking that Moses was white, or at least somewhat white, being of Middle-East extraction. I just nodded at everything she said. When I think about it now, I think what a loss it was for me. If I hadn't been so terrified, and have been somewhat of the person I am today, I would have engaged her in a wonderful dialogue. How sad that fear got in the way....

When the Shit Hits the Fan

This morning I had to take a routine blood test. My doc said I hadn't had a routine check up in 4 years, and it's high time to do so. I had to fast overnight which isn't so terrible. I had been perusing colon cleansing stuff on the internet - one treatment of which included juice fasting. Doc also wanted me to take 3 days of stool samples (photos not included, folks).

I looked through my wardrobe trying to find some shirt/top/sweater whose sleeves can be rolled up easily for blood-letting. I couldn't bear the thought of stripping my top off in this weather, even indoors, because I wore a tight fitting sleeve.

On the way, Hubby is talking about his demise.

"When I'm gone, try to only go out with guys who have money. Real bucks. Don't go for all the shit around here."

"Why are you talking like that?"

He continued - "And don't be like all the single women around here who can't find a guy. You can find anyone. He can be from anywhere in the world."

"I don't mind someone with a decent salary - about double what I make. He doesn't have to have truckloads of money. Really. But what if I speak to your brother and let him find me a stinking rich gay man, who needs to be closeted for public image's sake. This way I won't have to have sex with him and I'll live a luxurious life, if I can be good friends with the guy. Know what I mean?"

He let me off at the medical lab downtown.

"You need to give me stool samples" - said the lady at reception.

Urine tests I can do on the spot, but I asked the lady - if I "go" in the afternoon,can I bring the samples in the following morning?

"We won't accept samples from the day before. Sorry. You'll have to go to the bathroom and bring the sample immediately to us."

How will I tell my bowels to empty between the hours of 6:30 - 11:30 am?

"Look, I normally go around lunchtime. That's after closing time. Can you make any special provisions for people like me who can't go in the mornings?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to speak to your doctor."

I went to work and around 9:45 a.m. felt the urge to "go". Splendid. God is on my side. He really wants me to get those tests in. Only one hurdle. My boss. How do I explain that I have to leave for an hour to give in stool specimens. His secretary was equally as worried as I told her what the score was.

"I'm gonna have to tell him somehow that for the next 3 days, I'll have to split immediately, if I get lucky enough to go in the mornings. I know he likes to have advance notice about me taking any kind of leave, but how the hell am I gonna give him advance notice?"

I met him at the reception area and told him I had to take a "culture" over to the lab now.

"OK, but don't let anyone see that!" he pointed towards my office.

I was horrified. Did I leave my specimens on my desk? For everyone in the office to see?

"See what????" I asked grimly.

"The report! No one should see the report."

Sighing a sigh of relief, I bounded out the door, quickly - before he changes his mind.

Christmas in Our part of the world

What's it like? I dunno. I'm at work. So is 99% of everyone else here, unless they're affiliated with some Christian organization. We thought we'd check out the churches as alot of Israeli Jews do on Christmas eve, but it was raining down on us hard. I can deal with snowfall, it's alot more gentler, but not a pounding, cold rain. So I stayed in and watched a video, where I fell asleep for the 2nd time in a row watching this flick.

I had spent the better part of my waking hours on Friday evening trying to convince a cute Israeli male friend of my Eldest daughter, who had been in the US for the past 3 years, why staying there would be a mistake.

"You have everything over there. Everything!"

He was extolling the virtues of Cedarhurst, Long Island.

I was curious - "Everything? What is everything? Free medical care?"

He ignored that one.

"Whatever you want, you can get. My cousins have 50 inch televisions and they're all driving cars."

"Hmmm. This 29 incher isn't good enough for you, son? You know if I really wanted a 34" flat-screen tv, it would probably cost a bit more here, but eventually, if I really wanted it, I can have it."

The sin of wanting. Of wanting too much.

But I read several articles in the papers of how the US is returning to its Christian roots (note the 'wars' on Christmas in public places), and how much more the Jews need our very own State as a result.

And I'm hoping this cute young guy takes my advice and remains here. It would sadden me to see him settle down in the US, have kids, buy a house, then a bigger house, then an even bigger house in that never-ending whirlwind of US materialism.

Week in Review - Part II

Saturday morning - and my son is still sleeping at 9:52. I can still use the computer without any tantrums coming from him, should I pry the machine away from him. Hubby knows I'm writing.

"Am I in the blog?" he asks.

"No, sweeties, you haven't aggravated me enough this week to warrant any more exposure."

Life is good today.

Tuesday I met up with someone I had been friends with since I was 14. To those of you who think I'm 24, Thank you. It doesn't seem like ages ago. But for those who know I'm half-a-century next month it really is a big deal. Especially so because she is thinking of moving here from New York, and no one is a bigger advocate for making aliyah than me, Ms. Optimist.

We got together for dinner where I bombarded her with -

"You live on miracles here"
"You will not feel like a total weirdo here like you do back in the States, everyone here is nuts"
"Your children will thrive here"
"God has His hand in everything here and you feel His presence here much more than you would over there"
"This country is geared towards Jewish life here - notice the dish sponge packages - one to be used for dairy and one for meat"
"We came here with only $2,000"

Hopefully one of these will sink in and she'll brave her fears (everyone is nervous about moving to a new place and the unknown. She also has a daughter and granddaughter here which makes it all the more enticing.

I called her daughter frequently asking for her mom. This was, of course, my revenge on daughters for when they are living at home and mom answers. And it's always for the kids, unless it's a telemarketer. So now it's her turn to hand the phone over to her mother - at least 10 times a day.

I even told the kid - "Wow, you sound so much like your mother"

Silence.

Uh oh. Repair work needed fast. "I meant, at first hearing, you sound a bit like your mother. Of course, you don't sound exactly like your mom." Really. I do not want to make enemies in Jerusalem.

I walked into their home, gave my friend a big bear hug, and peppered our conversations with quotes from Beatles songs and movies. This "code talk" solidified our friendship. We had first met in 1970, while I was on the way to cutting high school classes and seeing Paul McCartney who was in New York City, recording his album Ram. I told her where he was recording - at CBS recording studios and we became fast friends from then on. She was into George Harrison, who had found religion at the same time she was searching and finding her own sprituality in Judaism instead of Hinduism. Being together again, I didn't feel close to 50 any longer - even though her adorable grandchild was hovering nearby.

It will be good to have you move here, friend. This way, I'll feel 14 years old all over again.

Week in Review

It's bright and sunny today in J-town but really cold - perhaps close to freezing. My internet flickers on and off - probably because cables aren't used to the cold weather here. I'm looking at my lemon tree with its flowering buds hoping it could take the cold. They say it will snow tonight. Most Israelis were like "yeah, right" upon hearing the news yesterday. But I was optimistic thinking I'm not going to work on Sunday and it will be a God-forced Chanukah/Christmas day-off.

This week saw so many activities, it was a good thing my family knew how to open up the fridge door to get some food for their dinners.

Sunday I saw my Sikh friends again at Eliyahu's home. They covered the entrance to his apartment with tea candles and the place lit up like a temple. It was so warm and welcoming. His apartment floor was entirely covered in mattresses and colorful blankets, contrasting with the white clothing of the Sikhs. The newspapers called it a "Punjabi banquet", which it was. The Sikh leader extolled the virtues of modern internet and said you can reach God everywhere - www.love.com or www.peace.com. They described their week in the holy land - meeting with mystical rabbis in Safed in the Galilee, Druze sheikhs in Issafiya, visting Nazareth and Bethlehem. Eliyahu described what seemed to be his highlight - visiting the Dome of the Rock, where non-Moslems are not allowed into Al Aksa. "They are all Moslems" insisted the Sheikh who brought them there. They were allowed in. But then one of the young people inside the mosque noticed Eliyahu's tzitzit (4 cornered fringed garment worn by Orthodox Jews underneath their clothings - showing only the fringes).

"There's a JEW here!!! There's a JEW here!!" shouted the guy. But no one paid any heed to him. No one cared. He was the only one upset. So you actually had 3 religions inside the mosque that day. Was this the beginning of "And it shall be a house of prayer for all people" - quoting from Isaiah? I am such a bad biblical quoter and only the Christians really excel at this. But I love this quote so much, I say it all the time, and think it all the time.

There was our Interfaith meeting on Monday. We had a potluck dinner in celebration of Chanukah, Christmas and Eid Al Adha (which is on January 10th). OK, it's a bit early for the Moslem holiday celebration but why leave them out? We even had someone from a settlement come join us - prompting e-mails from one of our members to me the next day .."Was that an 'orange' at our meeting?" Yes, it certainly was and the young woman seemed earnest in wanting to meet the "others" from our country, even going so far as to driving her children over 1 hour each way for them to take Arabic lessons. I have connections for her to take her kids 5 minutes away from her home at the Hope Flowers School near Bethlehem. I'm sure they'll be happy to help. This is what peace networking is about. Also, the kids will not think it a "chore" to learn Arabic if they don't have to travel so extensively.

Lunch Hour

My boss never makes me make him lunch. He gets the "girls" to do it for him, usually. But he knew they were exceptionally busy and asked me to make him tuna with a little mayonnaise on 2 pieces of brown bread with a tomato on top. I went down to the kitchen to find some whole-wheat bread which was frozen. He didn't ask for toast - if I make him toast, I'll be toast. So I toasted it just a bit to defrost it, praying it won't toast. I hoped the mayo was just the right amount. Who knows what exactly is "a little mayonnaise?" I even cleaned his plate before I put the food on it.

He began to eat it and talked to me while eating, nearly choking on the food. I was totally startled. Was the toast too dry? Was the tuna dry? Was he thinking I did this on purpose?

During our staff lunch meeting today I mentioned I had British non-Jewish relatives who recently found out about our side of the family.

"Doesn't that bother your brother?" asked someone?

"No, not at all. Think of the poor British guy who just discovered not only that part of his family is Jewish, but that they're Israeli to boot. How awful is that?"

But it wouldn't have been awful in America where it's cool to be a Yid. Look at Matisyahu. Look at wanna-be-Jew Madonna (even though she lives in the UK -she's still a Yank).

The discussion turned to soccer. One guy said he doesn't want to go to soccer games because the Jerusalem fans are so racist. But he does enjoy the game.

I asked - "Then why should they have all the fun? Let us Arab-loving Jews go to all the games and take over the stadium, dammit."

Heh heh - sounds like another project to take on this year...

Shmuck of the year

Hehe heh - what an idiot. (double- click on the photo. It looks better in black and white)

Buying a House

It's 10 to 8 on Saturday morning. It's the only time I have to post, e-mail people, etc. After 10 am, the kids wake up and it's a big struggle trying to pry the computer away from all of them. In order to have a peaceful Sabbath, early mornings are my computer time.

This past week, we were seriously thinking of buying an apartment. Most people in Israel own their own homes and people who don't are considered "pathetic" or are told how much money is being wasted on rent. I called up a builder's agent in the beginning of the week. She had a lovely brand new place to show us for $170,000 with a 100 meter garden, 4 bedrooms and it's 11 meters larger inside than our present rental. The view was my dream view of the mountainous desert and nothing else.

Could we afford such a thing?

Not so much with no money down. We are not a family with "old money" - and new money? Heh. Once the government gets wind that you have as much as $5 in your bank account and are not overdrawn in the bank, along come letters from every government tax agency claiming monies for 1998 and other various claims for penalties for late filing, underpayments, etc.. It's no wonder many people work overseas for a few months at a time and keep the moolah there.

But maybe it's time now to buy a home. After all, we've been here over 10 years and who wants to fix up a rental, even if it's a long-term rental? I tried talking to our builder who owns our place and he wanted $190,000 for the dump.

I pleaded with his assistant - "But it's OLD and run down, the tiles are worn, the kitchen is horrible and the bathrooms are ridiculous. Can't he move the price down to $150,000."

"No, he really doesn't want to see the place."

"Obviously"

I'd even gone so far as to write a letter to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, even though he is no longer alive - to ask for advice. A friend from Debtor's Anonymous told me to try it. This is how it's done. You write a letter and have someone stick it in one of the 29 volumes or so of letters that people had written to him together with his answers, called "Holy Letters" or in Hebrew - "Igeret Hakodesh". Then you open up the volume where you stuck your letter and get your answer. Some people swear by it. My friend who meditated before she stuck my letter in the volumes, was astounded by the results. No matter how many times she tried, she always came up with the same kind of answer which went something like this -

"It's good to hear from you after such a long break...."

I hadn't written the Rebbe since 1989 - when he was still alive. But there was no clear message about purchasing a home in any of the answers. The answer was pretty wild nonetheless.

Further investigation with banks showed that we would only be able to afford something much cheaper, since we'd have to finance the entire thing - which meant fewer rooms, which means my kids won't fit. Which means we probably are staying put for now, unless some miracle happens, like government agencies leaving us alone, meaning we would be able to save for a downpayment.

I walked into my bank on Friday for routine bill paying stuff. There was a huge LCD screen in front of the tellers' area. There was only one teller on staff. Someone behind me grumbled -

"They should have used the money to pay for one more teller rather than this Plasma television."

At least we all know now where the interest the bank pulls from its customers goes.

Will you have THAT with your tea

We were invited to a swank party in honor of my boss at some lovely restaurant in Jerusalem last night. Hubby was invited, and I was praying like a mantis that he would behave and not look like he has Tourette's Syndrome. He whined about coming along with me because there's no television there and he'd miss his Fox News Alerts for the evening. And the restaurant was dairy. Another no-no for my meat'n potatoes man. But unlike events that I'm usually invited to and don't care if he comes or doesn't, I told him that this thing he MUST attend - as painful as it might be.

"What is so awful about having a shitload of gourmet things to eat and not having to pay for it?"

He rebelled by downing a couple of sandwiches at home, as if to say - "I'm not there for the food"

"Please go easy on my tuna patties." I begged him. "I saved them for the kids, who aren't going to this thing and need something to eat for dinner.

Then there was the clothing thing. I managed to put together something for the formal event. Hubby did find something not streaked with paint and plaster and a shirt freshly pressed from the cleaners. But no jacket. Never mind, I told him, I'm sure "formal" to some Israelis means just coming with a shirt buttoned to the top.

We got there and thankfully Hubby wasn't the only one jacketless - there were about 5 others. Many guests were also from the US.

I went around saying my hellos and introducing Hubby who was rather quiet. The h'ors doeuvres were passed around.

"What is THAT?" asked one woman pointing to a fried food thing, as she took a biteful into her mouth.

"Locus"

The poor lady looked green. She whispered to me "Did she say LOCUSTS?"

I answered - "If she did, don't worry. Locusts are kosher. The Yemenites eat them with gusto."

In the end I told her it was fish. I didn't want to see anyone faint.

Hubby sits down at the table with my co-workers and flirts with my friends. I drank 2 glasses of wine and was totally tipsy, laughing hysterically when anyone spoke to me - even if it wasn't funny. And Hubby wanted to find religion. He told a co-worker.

"I do the things on holidays. I build a sukkah..."

I continued for him - "yeah and he shakes his Lulav" and howled with laughter.

I guess this is how I behave during formal events - but I was far enough away from the "people in charge" for them to notice, or so I think.

I simmered down somewhat for the rest of the meal, until dessert came and Hubby looks at the chocolate dessert drizzled with vanilla cream on the plate.

"Now what does THAT look like?" he asked of me.

I said nothing. Just howled with laughter.

Sikhs in Jerusalem

I had gotten an itinerary of their Israel trip from one of my Sikh friends whom I met in India last month. They arrived on Monday morning. My friend Eliyahu was organizing their entire trip. I asked Hubby if he wanted to meet them. But we just had a grueling meeting with the insurance guy and even my energy was sapped. I didn't push it. I'd rather go alone than go with a cranky husband who, when tired, is totally embarrassing to be around. I was afraid he'd regale them with the story of when he was 14 years old and cruelly got ahold of an unsuspecting Sikh and untwirled his turban in Toronto in the early '70s for kicks. Better not go, darling Caveman.

I met them on the way back from a trip to the settlement of Tekoa, where they must have really tripped out some of the residents, especially the young Orthodox yeshiva students. They chanted with their musical instruments on a cliff on the edge of the Judean desert bringing many curious onlookers to watch the spectacle. Rabbi Froman joined them with his own chanting in Hebrew.

On the bus were four of my dear friends whom I met in India. They were held up at the airport for two hours - Israeli security not knowing who these turbaned types are. But one of them was happy to give over their knowledge of Sikism for the airport security personnel.

The group all looked majestic, dressed in white caftans, pants and white turbans. They, of course, turned alot of heads when they got off the bus at Ibrahim's place on the Mt. of Olives. Once inside, I got a phone call from Hubby.

"Did you get there ok?"

"Yup"

"Who is there"

I told him.

"Tell that fucking hippie to keep his hands off you. Are you busy hugging and kissing everyone?" He was practically shouting into the phone while Baba Ji was giving a talk. I was sure the entire room could hear him, especially the "hippie" sitting next to me. Meanwhile the "hippie" who was feeling rather ill that evening, walked towards the Sikh leader singing "ba ba ba - bababaji" to the tune of the Beach Boys' Barbara Ann. He had never met Sikhs before and was astounded about the similarities in our religions - like washing of the hands after the meal with the cup and basin passed from person to person, and the short prayers before and after eating.

Eliyahu told him that Ibrahim is the reincarnation of the biblical Abraham - since they also believe in reincarnation.

Baba Ji told of a vision he had of a place with no doors and no windows and he felt it was here in Ibrahim's place, where the door is always open to everyone and where there were no windows in his living room.

After about 2 hours we all went back into West Jerusalem - the Sikhs staying at a hotel which has mostly ultra-Orthodox Jewish guests. Seeing the Sikhs turn into their hotel, I chuckled at the Jewish long-bearded men standing next to the turbaned long-bearded Sikhs in the lobby, wondering what they'll make of each other.

A WTF day

"Did you just fart?" I glared at Hubby who said nothing to warn me, as good people who know each other intimately should do. He was driving me to work as he does nearly every morning and I shouldn't be too harsh on him.

"I did a little back there" he answered.

"Just a little? The what the fuck is that not-so-little odor hovering around my face that I feel like I'm going to puke?"

I didn't continue. I focused on positive thoughts. Perhaps he was just getting rid of the rampantly evil and rotton night energy he reeks of nearly every evening. Last night he calls me from bed - not the usual calling a wife would want but this -

"How are those fucking people you saw tonight? Were they all a bunch of fucking hippies? If you are having a birthday party at whatshernames house, I'm not fucking coming. What will people think of that? Huh?"

I prayed to God for him to fall asleep so he doesn't continue his sermons because they can get lengthy. I need to have the last word.

"What will they think of that? They know you. They won't give a fuck. What do YOU think of that?"

$10million bat mitzvah

There was an article in the Jerusalem Post about this girl's bat mitzvah. Of course, this celebration didn't happen in Israel, I don't think it ever would - at least I hope not. She was from Long Island, NY. My son had his bar mitzvah nearly a year ago to the tune of $2,000 for everything. I didn't even get to eat the food, as I was too busy being the hostess/photographer. I was proud to have such a modest affair, even though the kids would have liked a swankier do. But one has to draw the line somewhere.

But $10 million for a kid's party? It drew criticism from alot of people. Imagine how many people $10 M could feed or how much necessary surgery or medicine could be given to people who can't afford it.

And what 12 year old is worth a $10 million bash? Geez. Certain none of mine. The party consisted of live performances by Aerosmith, Tom Petty, and rapper 50 cent. Wow. Is this really what a bat mitzvah is all about? Isn't it cheaper just to see those folk in concert?

My friend at work chided me.

"You mean you wouldn't have booked the Rolling Stones for your son's bar mitzvah if you could have afforded it?"

"Absolutely not!!!"

My friend didn't seem to believe me, but I was really happy with our DJ that cost $90 for 3 hours.

"On the other hand, my 50th birthday is coming up and if I could afford it, I'd certainly hire the Stones for THAT bash."

Because I'M worth it.

Weekends in J town

I would really like for Saturday to be my Day of Rest day. It's supposed to be. But Hubby was busy on Friday and couldn't visit my Ex-Criminal daughter who is now in a hostel so we -had- to visit her on Saturday. I stayed up late to see Matisyahu, the Jewish Chassidic reggae singer. Hubby didn't want to go and I asked my Good Daughter if she'd join me. There were loads of young American kids, whose parents would send for them immediately, if they had seen or heard how they were acting out of their religious schools for an evening out.

"Are you high? Are YOU HIGH?!!" shouted one young one on line with us to his female friends. He was wearing Orthodox Jewish garb and was annoyingly loud.

"If you're so friggin' high, do you mind getting lower?" asked my friend.

We took our places close to the stage - two American teens took seats besides us.

"When is that mother fucker coming on stage already? Huh? Damn fuckin' motha fucka"

My daughter sneered at me - "THIS is why I don't go out with Americans"

I protested - "I'm sure they're not all like that."

The music was groovy, the place was packed and the sound was better sitting in the back with the old folks my age. The show ended after midnight and I was feeling it. My days of clubbing seem to be over.

Saturday we took my daughter out for coffee. The only place open nearby was in the Arab neighborhood of Shuafat.

"I'm not eating there. I'm not eating at an Arab restaurant!" said my daughter. She looked very uncomfortable. I was a bit stunned that she would feel like that, and I wondered if I were a bit like Hubby - an Archie Bunker clone - would she then rebel and feel nicer towards the non-Jews in this town? But I won, as usual, and we sat down to drink Arabic coffee.

"What if they put something in it" she asked.

"Well we'll soon find out, won't we?" as I slugged back the invigorating brew. She needs to be back home with me where she'll get her weekly dose of love and peace to everyone from her mother.

Co-existing today

The women in my office were gathered together in the reception area yesterday afternoon.

"What's going on"? I wanted to know. I catch bits of their conversations in Hebrew but knew they were "oohing and aahing" over some guy.

"Who are you all looking at?"

"Him." She pointed to a news article. "He's the handsomest man in Jewish education"

We are now holding male beauty contests according to professions?

I turned to the papers and the situation was even more bleak, which is why Dr. Weil recommends news fasts. I should have fasted today.

The Jerusalem Post's front page read - "Palestinian soccer players who played side-by-side with Israelis in a highly publicized peace match last week may face punishment by their soccer association for playing with Israelis during occupation". The idiot who said that was Jamal Zaqout, a senior Palestinian Football Association official from Gaza. And then he had the gall to continue "We are against the normlization of ties (with Israel) and therefore we oppose playing any game with any Israeli team until there will be peace."

While we give "office awards" to handsome men in Jewish education, this guy wins the "shmuck" award in Palestinian education.

Well how do you suppose there will be peace if you don't let Palestinian players interact with Israeli players. Interaction - and I know this from experience - that breaks down barriers and then eventually the walls with it. Don't you all think?

My Sit-Down Job

I can't stand it when people who are not slaves like myself, think that because you have an office job, you do nothing. They know nothing about slavery. Especially Hubby.

He called me today at 2:30 pm.

"Hi honey, I'm just taking my first break of the day now!"

"Really? You just sit in front of a computer all day"

"What and play freecell and minesweeper???? I do have those moments, but you have no idea how exhausting it is to be shuffled from boss to boss 'here you take her' 'no I need her now' 'she gives me nothing but trouble, so you take her'. I'm a fucking human yoyo slave. And they all want whatever they ask for in 60 seconds - no matter what it is. And when I do produce whatever they ask for in 60 seconds flat, they smile at me, like they have a "super slave" even a super duper slave."

"Even Abed says you sit down all day."

"What the fuck does he know about office work - he, the idiot who won't let his wife work. I'm gonna kill him!"

Gee Whiz. I have found another commonality between these Jewish and Arab men. They're both idiots.

Then my taskmasters walked in.

"So-and-so says you have nothing to do, so meet me in the board room in 10 minutes and we'll work on this document."

That did it.

I went down to the kitchen and brought up a plateful of birthday cake from the fridge. Not one co-worker dared to say anything to me. Not the way I glared at everyone.

I was in a totally sour mood until I answered the phone at home - something I rarely do. It was a childhood friend. A friend I went to the Concert for Bangladesh with and had many a Beatle memory with. We used to cut school to see Paul McCartney when he was in New York recording. I am talking early 1970s. She's coming to Israel - to Jerusalem to see her grandchild. Yikes! A close friend of mine is a grandmother. It just can't be. But I'm grateful living in Jerusalem so that people whom I haven't seen in decades will eventually pass by here at least once in their lifetime. And that got me out of my doldrums.

Adventure Holiday

Just received this hilarious e-mail from my favorite Sinai resort. It's really a paradise, although you'd think not from reading this:

Adventure Holiday to Nakhil Inn,

Dear Nakhil Guest

In your next holiday to Sinai,you will be received at the boarder by group of kidnappers to guide you through the amazing mountains.

Reaching the hotel ,you will be parking next to other cars full of explosives to bomb the hotel any time you choose.

Relaxing at the beach,you will have the option of receiving katioosha missals from zodiacs all over the beautiful red sea.

swimming or snorkeling in the sea ,you will be bitten by wonderful Sharks.

Having lunch in the restaurant ,you will surely get a hepatits c from our delicious fish.

unexpectedly water falls will flood and isolate the whole area from the world.

There is also a chance of a sudden earthquake upon your request.

We know you love Sinai,so be sure you will hae the best ever adventure holiday.

For confirmation please send your D N A number

best regards

www.nakhil-inn.com

SO! who wants to go on a real adventure now?

Chocolate Fights

Yesterday was horrible - HORRIBLE. All the men in my life were bonkers. My son played hookey from school because he was up watching the soccer match in Barcelona which began at 11:00 pm and couldn't wake up even though I tried. We punished him by taking away his computer keyboard. Then he retaliated by hiding the keyboard and mouse from us. Hubby couldn't do his quotation he needed to do for his work - so at 4:30 am he realizes this and the two are having a dawn-breaking fight. It woke up the entire household, not to mention probably our neighbors and me, being the enabler that I am, went on a keyboard and mouse scavenger hunt which ended at 5:15 am when I found both items.

At my slave job - Boss was equally unreasonable.

"OK get out the document - you have it ready?"

"What document?" - we're only speaking about 100 documents and I have to mind read.

He casts me a look filled with venom. Later on that day I make out a list for him of all the assignments I believe he has to do. It comes out to two pages. He looks at it.

He shrieks at me - "THIS IS TERRIBLE. WHY DON'T YOU GET IT??? THIS IS NOT WHAT I WANT TO SEE????? "

What exactly DO you want to see? Huh? And thought about lifting off my shirt. Will THAT do?

I went over to the office manager's office. She was hoarding Cadbury's chocolate from a co-worker's trip overseas and I broke off a piece. She is not only the office manager, but my weight manager too. She tried to pull the Cadbury's package out of my hand. But I held on tight.

"You can't have this chocolate" she warned.

"You Don't understand. I NEED it. I'm having a terrible day. I MUST have this chocolate now."

She and I continued this chocolate tug-of-war until I won, with the package now in crumbled bits.

I triumphantly sat in my office with my row of Cadbury's. I was about to chug it when another co-worker comes in.

"What are you doing?"

Everyone in the office has turned into my weight patrol.

"It took you so long to lose that weight, now you're going to ruin everything?"

"Listen honey, I'm having a rough day with all the men in the world right now."

She grabbed ahold of my chocolate-holding hand.

I was livid. "Listen now - either I eat this chocolate or I turn into a full-fledged lesbian. I've absolutely had it with men. OK? It's your choice. What will it be?"

I was serious.

She let go of my hand. Her choice was made.