Scam talent agents

There has been an ad running in the English papers each week for movie extras for a "great Israeli movie." I had been an extra in the Jean Claude Van Damme movie, "The Order" around 7 years ago. To become an extra, I answered an ad in the newspaper and it was a legitimate outfit. I had my photo taken and then was called to show up at a site at 6 in the morning for a catered breakfast; at 8:00 we were bused to our filming site, and then filming progressed. It was fun. Didn't pay much, but hey, I got breakfast and lunch out of this and got to sit with the "bad guy" during lunch.

So I took the day off work today, and told my 18 year old daughter we had a meeting in Tel Aviv with these agents. I would love one of us to be rich and famous, and any break is welcome. I wasn't sure Tel Aviv would be so welcoming during the summer, because of the heavy humidity. We're so spoiled here in Jerusalem with hot but dry weather. Luckily when we got off the bus, the weather wasn't too terrible, and we made it to the agency on time.

I already had warned my daughter before the trip, "If they ask one cent from us, we're leaving."

I looked at the entrance to the office. The sign on the wall looked like cardboard covered in cheap silver paper and there was a computer-made sign on the door.

"Did you just move in?" I asked the girl who was going to interview us - the only person in the office.

"Oh we're just always moving. We may have to leave one of these days." she said.

Warning bells rang in my head.

"You both are so beautiful. Your photos are so beautiful. You won't have any trouble getting work."

She went on to explain the kind of work we would do and the different levels as extras, something in-between being an extra and an actor, and more serious auditions for speaking roles.

"Then when you sign with us, we need you to be exclusive with us for one year. And the fee is 280 shekels each upon signing."

"Huh?" I said.

I continued, "sorry, but I will not pay any fee for an agency. Real agencies don't charge fees."

I guess I startled her. She called "the boss" on the phone and asked him if he could waive the fee for us. I almost believed they were legit at that point. But he nixed the idea.

He said to her,"Let them sign a contract, we'll give them a discount, and if they don't get any work, we will get them back the money."

Still didn't like the scheme.

The woman continued to rave about me. "I don't want to lose you. Send me an email with your photos again, and I'll try to convince him. If people are looking for a beautiful 50 year old, I now have you I can send to them. They are so many young beautiful girls." she said looking at my daughter. "But YOU. There aren't too many older beautiful women."

My daughter was perplexed as we walked out of the office, both of us looking sadly at the next victim sitting in the waiting room.

"She wanted you more than she wanted me!" she said to me.

"Oh honey, it's simply because I'm your mother and she thought, rightly so, that I have more money than you do. So that once I pay them the contract fee, they'll say I need money for a professional photographer and it will cost me even more money, and it will never end. And that's the only reason. Besides, it was worth the busfare to Tel Aviv for me to hear how beautiful I am. You know I don't hear that too often."

We both hugged each other and laughed.

I was hoping that Ms. Agent didn't laugh at me behind my back, telling her boss, "yeah she looked good, but boy did she have a big ass."

Suffering

There's always a slew of people with the Jerusalem Syndrome. People, usually foreigners, who believe they are some biblical character. I've seen serious Moses, Jesus, King David impersonators, although these people do not believe they are impersonating. They believe they are for real.

Hubby does not claim to be Job or Jesus but he is certainly on the way to becoming the Eternal Sufferer. He really suffers. From everything. From the way the kids talk to him, from a house that he imagines to be dirty, from the way I relate to him, the way the people are in this country, from the way the cabinets open in the kitchen, the way the chicken tastes, dishes in the sink, the negative way his mother speaks to him, that everyone is after him, me inviting Arabs into our house for monthly meetings (what will the neighbors think of us), no car, no money, and not enough head. These are his gripes and it's tough. So much so that I told him if he's not gonna take any happy pills, then he may as well blog about it because that's therapy in itself.

"What shall we call it then?" he piped up. I couldn't believe something I said interested the guy.

"Why don't we just call it - 'Boy Do I Suffer'"

And he laughed for about 10 minutes straight, which was the last bit of happiness I heard from him in since....

Coming of Age

It can be scary, this coming of age thing. In my case, it's a coming of old age. I'll give you an example. I woke up this morning at 6:10 a.m. I sat on the toilet and realized just in time that I still had my underwear on. Horrifying. Then if that wasn't all, I took a shower, forgetting that the window to the bathroom was WIDE OPEN. There I was in all my naked glory, showering in front of everyone in the new neighborhood of my town. Just what will my neighbors think? Everyone is new here and getting to know one another and now they get to see their relatively new/old neighborh showering naked - had they looked out their window early this morning.

So now that I got this off my chest, let's go to another coming of age happening in my family.

I sat a couple of weeks ago with my friend from Texas who shared with me her trials and tribulations of living with a 16 year old male teen.

She remarked to me, "I know he jacks off all the time, 'cos he's always taking showers. Even a few times a day!" She seemed so happy that she has a normal son.

On the way home that day, I started to worry. My 16 year old son hardly showers. Maybe once or twice a week, but he's not a daily showerer. I began to wonder where his teenage sexual tension is going, or if he has any at all. He doesn't have a girlfriend, so what the fuck is going on?

Over the weekend I hear Hubby berating my son.

"Every day you change your bed sheets!!! Is this normal?? I can't stand doing these sheets every day in the laundry!!!!"

I walked over to Hubby...

"Shhh. If he 'needs' to change his sheets every day, then let him be. Please!" I pleaded with him. I continued, "It must be his age."

And Hubby stopped his rant, and I was able to sigh - a sigh of relief.

When Life Imitates Art

I always found it amusing when I would end up watching some Chinese movie and it would be a coincidence when I found myself sitting on the couch eating Chinese food with chopsticks. Totally unplanned in tying the Chinese dinner and Chinese movie together.

A coupla weeks ago, I watched the Israeli version of American Idol. They went to India to find the next Israeli singing sensation. Any why not, when half the fucking nation ends up there after army service. As I sat down to watch the program with my kids, I noticed the bowl on my lap held curried pumpkin soup. A mere coincidence?

Then about a week and a half ago, I saw this Irish movie, The Wind That Shakes the Barley on television, and watched horrified as British soldiers tore the nails off a young IRA militant. I went to sleep and the throbbing of my middle "fuck you" finger woke me up while it was still dark outside, which meant it was around 4:00 am. That morning, the pain was still there, and I went to see a doctor who had to drain this mysterious infection which seeped its way into my finger. And WHY? Because I watched some guy who had his nails forcibly removed? For Chrissakes, isn't this just Hollywood (or whatever you call it if it's an Irish movie)?

Do I have to watch what I watch on television? Should I limit myself to Monty Python flicks? If I watch Woody Allen movies, will I become a neurotic Jewish mother and grandmother. No wait. I am already one of those. Shit. So what's left?

Yesterday I babysat my grandson while they went out to see Adam Sandler's movie, Don't Mess with the Zohan. After I raided my daughter's fridge, I turned on the TV while the baby went to sleep on one of my boobs. I flicked through the stations and wanted to watch a movie about gay people, but they were dying of AIDS, and I thought I'd better not watch it. It's not safe for me to watch movies like that. Even if I never have sex again. So I kept on flipping the stations. And I finally found the program for me - How To Look Good Naked - hosted by this Jagger-esque gay guy who makes overweight, frumpy lumpy women look and feel beautiful again.

Daydreamin'

Saturday mornings can be a perfect escape from reality. I spent a good few hours in the morning daydreaming....

In the first daydream, I have a good size part in You Don't Mess With the Zohan, Part II. In the movie, I'm of course Adam's older Israeli sister, who gets mistaken for a Puerto Rican, an older prostitute (Israeli women can dress trashy). The shopkeeper nods his head and says to no one as she walks out the door, "these hookers don't know when to stop working...". Zohan's sister, of course, hates his girlfriend, lets her Palestinian neighbors think she's Puerto Rican, etc.. And I, of course, make a good coupla million dollars for my role, get out of debt and furnish my house and even buy a new car!

In my second daydream, I'm protecting Palestinian farmers from rampaging settlers in the fields of the Hebron Hills.

I say to the angry young settlers, "If you really believe this is Holy Land, why desecrate it with hate and anger and violence. Do you think this is what God wants? To see the Children of Abraham fighting amongst themselves?"

I try to get a dialogue going about the commonalities of Islam and Judaism, but am not succeeding too well. Both sides are just glaring at the other.

I try to shake the young men's hands at the end of our dialogue and they walk away from me muttering "I'm not shaking hands with an Arab lover."

I yell back at them..."I bless you to one day not only shake hands with Arab lovers, but to hug and dance with your Arab brothers.."

And I say to the soldiers who had just arrived on the scene, "I bless you that you will not need any more bullets, and that only flowers and balloons will come out of your guns."

Being in Love

I met my friend from Tulkarem yesterday at the beautiful new Legacy boutique hotel in East Jerusalem, next to the American consulate. We hadn't seen each other since October, when we met at the Peacemaker's Camp in San Francisco. She brought three of her children with her, whom I met for the first time. We spent hours catching up on each other's lives, and as we chatted, I realized why I like her so much. She is probably the only Moslem woman (she's an American woman who married a Palestinian and eventually converted to Islam) who does not cover her hair, despite all the peer pressure to do so. She was telling me how ridiculous it seems that many of the local girls put on all this makeup, wear tight jeans and then put on the hijab. "What would you think if you saw a nun wearing a habit, and tons of makeup, wearing tight clothing underneath?" was her question to me. Her girls also do not cover their hair. She wants them to make the choice, and not to feel pressured by others.

"I hope you're not embarrassed that your mother is different from all the mothers in Tulkarem." I told the well-behaved kids, who just shrugged their shoulders at the question. As if to perhaps tell me "why should they be embarrassed" or, they dare not tell me otherwise.... I felt a strong bond towards my friend at being "different" from other mothers.

"You have to be strong to survive here, with a sense of humor of course." My friend reminded me, but I didn't need reminding about that.

I took them to the stately American Colony Hotel, which they had never seen or even known of its existence. The heat was stifling, and the kids wanted to put their feet into the pool. I said that they could, but the mother insisted that they not do so because they weren't hotel guests. Her firm look to me told me not to push it further.

She wondered why I didn't move back to Canada when Hubby had been working there and found it easier financially.

I don't know whether she understood, but I told her there's nothing for me over there. My soul is here. And Friday the 13th turned out to be a long and wonderful day.

===

I woke up at 6:00 am to get to the Jerusalem cemetery, as it was the Yartzheit (anniversary)of my dad's death. I used to go in the heat of the day and the sun would burn down on my head, making me wonder how I just didn't burst from the heat. But this morning I beat the heat as I said the appropriate Psalms which spelled out his name in Hebrew letters. Before I left I imagined giving his soul a big bear hug. I really felt him hugging me back.

In the evening, new friends from the 'hood (not messianic Jews this time) drove me to the Jewish Renewal service in Jerusalem which meets every month. It used to be at Rabbi Kagan's home, but because there are now so many more people coming to the services, it was moved to the Reform congregation's premises nearby. I warned my friends, who seem to be straight-laced people in their sixties, that it would be like nothing they've ever experienced. I was right.

The musicians were in their place. Two people were playing acoustic guitar, one was alternating between a darbouka and an oud (I would love to know who plays the oud in a synagogue - even a Reform one!),another drummer, while a monk from the Emmaus Monastery in Latrun played violin, and a few nuns, dressed in white, sat in back of him. The newbies thought the rabbi was "interesting." She certainly was, bringing in Psalm chanting/singing and chassidic stories in-between the verses. Some people danced in the middle of the floor. Some people closed their eyes. Some people prayed with their palms up. However you wanted to let your soul fly, you were free to do so there! The music was beautiful and moving and really brought me to a spiritual high.

And as the day came to a close and I came back home to have the Sabbath meal with my family, I realized why I can never ever leave this country, even if it means having an easier life somewhere else.

This month in Jerusalem....

Has it been nearly a month since I last posted? I'm afraid so many thoughts have passed through my head, that it's nearly impossible for me to put them all down on one blog.

I'll try to fill y'all in with just some of the stuff.

School and Kids:
My son has been truant for over a week. Ever since I complained to the principal about the coordinator and his teacher, they have been on his case for everything. The last straw was when they tried to kick him out of school (something amiss here? Don't kids WANT to leave school?) and threatened to call the police if he didn't leave within 10 seconds. He was waiting for the class coordinator to hand him the cellphone which she took from him the day before. She wasn't going to. It was the War of the Bulls. Two headstrong people. The kid is stubborn and he didn't want to leave. She calls me up yelling and screaming, in typical Israeli fashion, and then in typically Jewish fashion, complaining that she had to chase my son all around the school (she's about 100 kilos overweight), and that she nearly fell and tripped and broke bones. Now, I wasn't going to let my son get into trouble with the Po-lice and have that woman tell "stories" to the police, if she did end up spraining an ankle. So both Hubby and I decided to have him take a "leave of absence". It's against the law. I know. But what's a mother to do?

Interfaith meetings:

I keep on chugging and wondering why on earth I am doing what I'm doing. It doesn't make any sense when you look at the whole picture. Will 5 Palestinians that come to my house, help change the entire Palestinian outlook on Israelis, Jews and Settlers? And will my town be berift of racism? It's a big fucking task for one person, let me tell you. But after these meetings end, I'm left feeling tired and euphorically giddy with happiness. It's such an intense feeling, that I think that's why I'm doing all this volunteer work, which is taking up a lot of my free time, wherever I can find it. We're planning a bus trip to Haifa - so stay tuned. It should be a fun ride. I keep on telling my kids that THIS will be the chance for us to throw each other into the sea, because we'll be picnicking on the beach. And, of course, this is what most Palestinians and Israelis think the other will do to them, if they only had the chance...

Friends:

Seems all our neighborhood friends happen to be messianic Jews. I don't know why, although our friends tell us "there's a reason." We went to visit some of these friends on Saturday, who were trying to tell me that Moslems don't worship the same God we do, and gave me a whole New and Old Testament song and dance of why they don't. Plus a whole New and Old Testament song and dance of why Jesus is the messiah, and were rather rattled by my sinful and rather scandalous proclamation that, at the moment, I don't believe in anyone being the Messiah. I told them we have to do the work ourselves for a messianic age to come about, which I'm all in favor for, of course. It ties in very nicely with my interfaith peace thing. They gave us a small book called the "New Covenant" which I put on my bookcase next to the Sikh literature I got as a gift in India. A few days later the New Covenant disappeared. I have a feeling my husband had something to do with its disappearance, although when I asked him about it, he insisted it was still there.

He's Back

He sat down in my kitchen, slumped in a chair.

"If mum would be here now, she'd be so disappointed." He shook his head sadly.

The crime?

My perfectionist Hubby just arrived from the airport, and I, at risk to my job being that it was a heavy work week where NO ONE is allowed hours off, met him there to take him home from his six month stint in Canada. And what I thought was clean, was simply a disaster for him.

"look at the light switches! This house is falling apart!" he said to me.

OH SHIT! In my haste to straighten out the apartment before he came home, I did forget to wipe up the switchplates and the hallway one was, well, dirty. I gave him my lame excuse of not having enough time between my full time job, part time studies and babysitting the grandkid.

I let him smoke on the terrace and sulk in the kitchen. After all he brought me chocolates and Burberry perfume.

I guess in squeaky clean Canada, everyone's light switches are always spic and span. After all, it's so damn cold up there, you can't enjoy the outdoors much so you might as well clean your light switches.

asian cucumber salad

The said recipe was just about 1 page long, which I joyfully printed out at work, because my home printer ran out of toner and I'm short of funds to replace it.

I forgot all about picking up the damn recipe from the printer.

Big mistake.

Our office had the audit committee come over and people were scurrying around putting folders together and making copies of things. I had a sinking feeling that my recipe was in one or two or all the folders.

Everyone said they did not take anything from the printer that wasn't theirs. I had this vision of all these serious accountants sitting around the conference room, flipping through their serious documents and then - BOOM - they see this recipe for asian cucumber salad mixed into the batch.

I was starting to sweat.

I ran to the folders and much to my horror saw the recipe at the back of each folder. I could have said this was a bonus for all the hard work they did, if I was approached by anyone. Fortunately, I had 1/2 hour to pull my recipe from all those folders.

Ten minutes before the meeting, a secretary of one of the senior people here comes down to me.

"Is this yours?" she asks.

I look at it. It's my recipe.

"How did it get to you?" I ask innocently.

"It was in B.'s materials for the meeting, which she took up to her office as soon as they made the folders. She just wants to make sure no one else will get this in their material."

"Don't worry. I'm SURE they don't have recipes in their folders."

And that recipe sho' better be worth it.

ohboyohboyohboy

Men. Or rather - Boys.

A couple of years ago my 16 year-old-son tried to gain friends by saving the pocket money I gave him to buy loads of chewing gum, which he distributed to everyone in his class. This was already step one in the teachers' bad books.

Yesterday was a whole different story about how he thinks he can win a popularity contest. I got a call from my soldier daughter that my son stole vodka from his married sister's house. He wanted it to get girls drunk or so he and his friends can drink and it's in a yellow bag and I should take it away and hide it.

This is what I did.

And that started a big horrid scene, with my son taking off the TV speakers making the tv screen blue and not letting me use the computer which is in his room.

Meanwhile, he had his own terms of nonendearment for me.

"I don't like you. You hear that??? I really don't like you."

Well, I thought, four kids out of five do like me, so I'm not doing too bad.

I just shrugged my shoulders, walked into my Good Daughter's room to watch Desperate Housewives and fell asleep soon afterwards.

Why could't he have just stuck with the gum?

Pass-over the bus

The holiday came and went. I don't know why God thinks it's so amusing to send us a friggin' heat wave during the only week I have off work, when I want to do fun things. I had to put on air conditioning and basically did not do the touristy things like go to Tel Aviv, or to the many local attractions that were probably crowded as anything with the entire country plus visitors on vacation.

Instead, I spent most of my time with my two oldest daughters and the grandchild. The eldest daughter just got her driver's license, though lord knows how. Twice she nearly ran over someone. The first time I screamed - STOP!!, but she kept on going as a car swept 1 inch past us. She's like friggin' Mr. Magoo. She gave some excuse like "but the lane was empty!" The second time, she nearly ran over someone innocently crossing the street at a crosswalk. I pinched her arm - hard. I figured screaming doesn't do it. Maybe pain will.

"Why didn't you stop?" I asked her as the man crossing the street looked at her and put a finger to his head in a circular motion, noting that she's a nutty driver.

"I couldn't. There was a car coming up on the left side of me."

But we made it to the Talpiot shopping district without hurting anyone, killing anyone or getting dented or scratching any car. God is good. He watched over us. My heart rate was beating abnormally fast though for the duration of the day. We sat down for an overpriced lunch at one of the few restaurants in the area open during Passover.

The next day we took a trip to another neighborhood, and she missed the turn and got lost. Fortunately, we made the way back to where we were supposed to go without too much trouble.

So this was my Passover holiday folks. But it could have been worse. Like this morning.

You know when you travel by bus, you don't always notice who the people are sitting in back of you. This morning, I had no idea who these people were, but I could hear them. The first was an old man from the sound of him, coughing and spitting. I prayed he didn't get his gob on my hair. Now may be a better time than ever for me to cover my hair - if just for that reason alone. The next passenger sitting in back of me sounded younger, but she sneezed and sneezed and sneezed. I hoped none of that stuff got stuck onto my hair either.

And then I kinda missed those hairy scary car rides with my daughter.

Passover week

I can't figure out what to do this week. I just feel like doing a whole bunch o' nothin' really. My daughter laughed when she heard me say this. I'm always doing something. But when there's just too much something, I back off and end up doing nothing.

I wrote a list of a bunch of things I needed to do during the week off work. Organize the storage room, which looks as if a garbage dump arrived there with a year's worth of junkyard heap, organize the cabinet with all the photos strewn all over the place with no photo album they can call home, homework, self-inflicted pedicure, haircut, clean doors, and finish one of Sayed Kashua's books that I began in February but found no time to read.

Then there are the holiday options to do outside the home during Passover. Visit mini-Israel in Latrun which is having a special Red Sea parting thing happening there, Jerusalem Zoo, Segway ride on the Haas Promenade, archeaological dig, hiking in Bar Giora, hiking with the Pathway Circle through the West Bank Arab village of Battir, work on Abed's land just outside Jerusalem in Ein Haniyeh where they're going to build some structure or something for guests....Boombamelah festival on Nitzanim Beach, two Dead Sea music festivals and street festivals in Tel Aviv. How does one choose from all of this???

On Saturday morning I read that there was a tour from Beit Shmuel on that same Saturday to the Samaritan community living in Nablus, who were doing their ancient custom of sacrificing a lamb on Har Gerizim. Now THAT would have been something I would have really have liked to see, had I known this in time.

But today was a lazy day, taking my 9-month-old grandson to a local park with my daughter and 2nd oldest daughter. I put him on the baby slide.

"MOM! The slide is filthy. He'll get filthy!"

"Kids are meant to be filthy." said I.

"But he just had a bath!"

"So he'll have another one" said the unsympathetic grannie.

I put him on the baby swing. He began to bite on the bar in front of him.

My daughter shrieked "Oh my God, that has GERMS!"

How did I raise this kid??? I remember letting them loose in all different kinds of Canadian playgrounds where they were smudged with dirt from head to toe and happy to boot.

We ended up watching the rest of the mothers with their kids in the playground, which was just as amusing for the grandson.

One of the mothers bent down to get her baby on the slide.

My daughter clucked. "You think I want to see her crack?? You can see everything."

I hate those low-cut jeans too. Meanwhile, walking back to her house, my daughter related stories of her neighbors, which made the apartment building sound like Wisteria lane, from neighbors pretending to be religious to someone working for the government doing some unscrupulous things, to a neighbor she walked in on who was smooching with someone who she said looked like a tomatoe with eyes.

I guess I am happy with our 31-tenant apartment building. It's much more private and people are much less in each other's lives than with her building of 10 families.

Now let me get back to the Sayed Kashua book, "Let It Be Morning."

When to tell or not to tell

I was sitting for 1 1/2 hours locked out of my house this afternoon. I had gone without my keys to visit my daughter who, for once, because of Passover, decided to stay home with her husband and baby this weekend to be with us. When I left, one hour earlier, one of my daughters was sleeping; the other was in a PMS mood, glaring at just the sight of me, while she watched TV. So I thought during the hour, they'd stay where they were. I waited for my second eldest to come home from Jerusalem outside my apartment building. Little kids passed me by, thinking perhaps I was punished and kicked out of my house, as they kept looking back at me, wondering what this woman was doing sitting on the little concrete space in front of the building, and I think I must have wished all 30 tenants a Happy Passover as they walked in and out of the building.

Maybe it was a way for one of my children to get back at me for not lying to her boyfriend. He called me the other day asking if I had given her 50 shekels. I told him "no, I didn't." I knew this would get her into trouble. Did she take from him? His family? I don't know. Did she have money in her bank account. This, I also don't know. But what I do know is that I hate lying about money, and don't want my kids to lie about it either. It's nasty.

But there are other things I can lie about. My married daughter just got her driving license which means I have to go on driving excursions with her as she needs to have someone in the car with her for 3 months while she is a new driver. Parking is difficult for her. I coached her as she parked in front of the bakery.

"When do you know how far ahead to go?" she asked.

"You just get used to it. If you feel a bump, then you know to stop." was my sage advice.

We didn't feel any bump, and I looked out and saw she was close enough to the curb.

She looked back at the car and saw the front of the car nearly touching the curb.

"Don't tell my husband what I just did, OK?" she pleaded with me.

"Sure, I won't tell him."

And I'm mighty fine with that. There are just some things men shouldn't know about their wives, especially with brand new used cars.

Happy Passover to those that celebrate this.....

Are the Times a-changin'?

I could feel myself glowing when a person living in my "settlement" stopped me at the local mall and remarked, "You seem to be doing such interesting things!" And she was smiling, and I gathered she really didn't mind what I was doing.

So what am I doing?

I am trying to gather together a group of local people from my community, which is over the green line, and taboo for those that are politically correct (I'm not, obviously) together with Palestinians. We had a first meeting in February and I advertised the second meeting on our local e-mail list. I didn't get one hate mail.

Instead, I met another woman waiting at the bus stop who told me "I'm doing such wonderful things." She looks like the typical settler woman, wearing a long skirt and head-covering. I didn't expect such a wide smile from her either!

True, they haven't yet come to our interfaith meetings, but if I keep on pushing, maybe they will. It certainly is attracting a lot of interest on the outside.

A BBC reporter is doing a radio show about it. A researcher from one of Israel's top universities is also attending. I know she will discover in her research that attitude change after encounters such as these do occur. Perhaps educators will begin implementing "encounters" in elementary schools and so on, as part of curriculum. Who knows where this can lead to? I'm hopeful.

And somehow, even Saudi's King Abdullah got into the picture by saying he believes in interfaith dialogue, and that he includes Jews in it as well. Well, I'll be danged, if that little bit in the paper didn't surprise the ass off me. It sure did. And it made our meeting delightful, while our group of about 13 people said they would surely welcome the King as a guest at our next meeting.

The Loco Locals

I was sitting on the bus, minding my own business, which I do very well, thank you. My weekly local newspaper in Hebrew is on my lap, and I'm about to doze off. I hear a voice coming from the woman sitting next to me.

"your paper" she says.

I look at her, wide awake now.

"Your paper, please"

I wonder is this a stick-up? Is this woman gonna rob me of my newspaper. I give it to her hoping I will remember to ask for it back if I see her getting off the bus. She's glancing through and after 15 minutes hands it back to me. I'm grateful.

Yesterday, I went to our apartment committee meeting. I hadn't gone to any of the meetings and I thought I'd go see what it's all about. After figuring out who will volunteer to be the keeper of the keys to the tiny children's play room and what to do when teens come in and stay for hours, or can we let children play unsupervised by an adult, should we be responsible for other people's children when their parents fuck off somewhere....blah blah blah, the conversation turned interesting. It was about stuff thrown onto their balconies from higher apartments. It seems everyone but me has that problem. I'm on the top floor so I'm lucky. No one can throw stuff up eight flights. The woman next to me talks loudly.

"You wouldn't believe what I find on my balcony. Hair."

"What color" I ask her.

She looks at me funny. "Black" she tells me.

Phew. I'm relieved. It's not from any of my kids.

"I'm gonna collect it in a bag and throw it back to my neighbors. I know who it is. You know what I'll do? I'll play loud Arabic music on Saturday."

"Arabic music?" said someone else. "Everyone likes that music! It won't help you with your neighbors."

I started to talk Arabic music with the guy who brought it up.

I tell him "I listen to Fairouz"

"Fairouz? Don't listen to her. She hates Israel."

"Oh, who do you listen to."

"Om Kulthoum."

"She's from Egypt" I say, wondering if she hates Israel too but he just doesn't know it.

Other people complained about stuff thrown on their balcony from the higher apartments - cigarette butts, diapers, and a green plastic table leg.

The meeting continued. Other people started talking.

"Then there was a dog that peed in the elevator."

"I know who that was"

"No - they gave away their puppy."

"No - I saw that dog after I saw the pee in the elevator."

"Someone took a big shit in the stairwell."

Everyone laughs.

"It wasn't a dog. It was more like a gorilla."

Everyone is hysterical.

It's after 10:00 pm. The meeting is over.

teach your children well

We are in the middle of a heat wave today. While Hubby's Toronto is taking in their hundredth snow storm of the year, I nonchalantly told him that it was too hot for me to walk around in a long-sleeved shirt. The sleeveless outfits are still in storage, but I'll get them out after Passover. I'm sure this weather is just a tease. We're due for a few more chilly days.

I tried to practice saying "no" to requests for people wanting me on this committee and that committee and people begging me to eat healthier, where the cooking takes up alot of precious hours. I'm 52 and I have homework for Chrissakes!! People saddled with homework don't take on board memberships and committees and all sorts of other stuff that are really important but that will probably have to wait another 19 years until I retire or the mortgage is paid off or I win a lottery of a decent size and I won't have to work so hard. I keep on asking God for lottery winnings and He thinks - hey! you just won 11 NIS ($3) in a lottery. That's a winning. So I have to be very specific and have asked Him for at least 1 million and a half NIS in winnings - not this 11 shekel shit.

During February I even tried to organize an interfaith encounter of people from my hometown of Maaleh Adumim with Palestinians from Abu Dis. I managed to get 8 people, though people are still wary of meeting with Palestinians. This week's events where a terrorist killed young students in a Jewish House of Learning are not going to help me either in my quest. Do they really think this will get Palestinians their freedom from checkpoints, when it only will make things much worse for them?? I can't understand this at all.

My son keeps on pointing out that in Gaza they celebrated the killings with sweets and general happy hoopla in the streets. One thing I must say about Israelis or Jews is that we don't go around shouting YIPEE when the IDF goes in and sprays the Gazans with bombs, bullets or whatever it is they do. There are no celebrations here for murder. And for this I'm quite proud of our culture/society. And while I try to teach my children when I hear them say "fucking Arabs" at the latest news that "not every Arab is a terrorist - in fact most are not", I feel these idiot terrorists are teaching my children a whole other thing.

Vegan Cats

Someone I vaguely know was in desperate need of a babysitter for her two cats while she would be away for over 2 months. My son and I are great cat lovers and I emailed her to say I'd take them.

She came a few Saturdays ago to see my place, with her Palestinian friend/cab driver who didn't want to come up to my apartment at first but when I insisted, he did. I wanted to impress him and offered him Arabic coffee, but my coffee failed to impress, and in fact was weaker than I usually make it. A big no no here.

"You have to add sugar first." He told me. Man, you really have to teach these Israelis everything. He told me where to get "real" Arabic coffee and when I run out of this package, I will.

But getting back to the cats, their owners are Vegans. The two cats have been in my house since Thursday night, are petrified of their new surroundings and hardly venture out of their soft cage where they prefer to sleep. I don't know what's wrong with them. I don't my son, they're retarded cats. I actually put chicken fresh from my chicken soup onto a plate and put it up to their noses. They sniffed and didn't budge. I mean what normal cat doesn't lunge for delicious, fresh chicken???? I think they might be vegans too and are probably horrified that I eat chickens and beef. They haven't touched their cat food either and I think they're on a hunger strike.

But they sure know what ticks me off. Saturday morning around 4:00 am, I hear them howling away. It's my one day off, for Fuck's Sake and they're howling and howling. I walked out of my room to see what was wrong about 5 times between the hours of 4:00 and 6:00 am. I think one cat was looking for her friend who wasn't with her. Then when the two found each other, they both howled. They probably miss their owners, but HELL, I hope they get used to me soon. I won't enjoy this 4:00 am wake-up call each morning, if they don't.

Hot times in the City

At the beginning of the month there was a Sextival in Tel Aviv. I laughed at the headlines in some of the news articles: "Sex Festival Penetrates Tel Aviv" - "Make Love Not War"..... Of course I didn't go even though I was tempted to take a voyeuristic peek at the goings-on and who goes to such places. With my Hubby being in Canada, it was hard (no pun intended) to find a partner-in-crime. It would have been actually fun to go and then bump into all these people whom you know but that you wouldn't have expected them to be there.

Then my HOT Cables were not behaving internet-wise and twice the internet stopped working - even now as I'm staying late at work not to work but to blog because I have no internet at home. My son is fighting me for the TV as he's "bored" without his internet companion.

My soldier daughter had a fit at my son and slapped him across the face for not helping me out one Friday. Then there was a whole lot of yelling and screaming which prompted my only neighbor on our floor to quickly lock her door, in case the war spilled over to her apartment. Did she actually think we were gonna just run and chase each other in her apartment? Probably. So much for our wonderful reputation in our new apartment.

And last week it was so warm, the almond blossoms were beginning to bloom, and I had put away my heavy winter coat in the closet, only to put it on again today. They say it'll snow again in Jerusalem.

We could use a bit of cooling off here, I think.

designer racks

My birthday passed uneventfully yesterday. My daughter, the one who does absolutely nothing (I asked her ONCE to take out the newspapers to the garbage outside and she dutifully took them outside our apartment and dumped them in the stairwell!), took me out for breakfast and made fish. She actually cut up some veggies and made Nile Perch for Friday night dinner. Breakfast was lovely at the Mizrachi restaurant in the shuk, which was decorated with balloons for someone else's birthday and Rolling Stones' music played in the background. I didn't want to leave. But how much breakfast can one eat?

Then I got assorted FaceBook messages and overseas phone calls from my sister and Hubby wishing me a happy one.

Bored out of my mind with staying home with nowhere to go since Tuesday evening, two cute salesmen from the Yes Satellite company convinced me to switch loyalties from Hot Cable Television. I had been with Hot for 12 years, and never faced any major problems with them at all, but I needed some excitement in my life right now and, unfortunately for me, switching from cable to satellite might do it.

Then with 100 or so extra shekels in my pocket after shopping in the shuk, I bought what every Israeli has in their home because mine was shattered.

The shattered rack:


A clothes drying rack. No one here uses an electric dryer. We all have one, of course, but we don't use them. Not unless it rains for 3 weeks straight and there is no way the clothes will dry indoors on these racks. But with the luxury of central heating, clothes did manage to dry indoors on those racks.

I went into the Iranian store where I got my Breville, praying I won't get ripped off. I saw the cheap drying racks that I had bought before and chose one over double the price. He wanted 175 NIS at first for it telling me that "it's Italian".

"It's plastic!!" I protested. "I don't need Italian designer clothes drying racks. I really don't. I don't care where they make the damn thing, I just want something strong that won't break!!"

"OK, for you, I'll make it 135 NIS"

It was 10 NIS less than where I saw it at another place. I had the cash. OK I'll take it.

In the end, I bought my Italian "designer" clothes drying rack, and made my daughter carry it home for me.

The Italian designer rack:

Dred-ing it

I love Moosh Ben Ari. He's one of my favorite performers. I found this on YouTube.



Now, there are other dreaded guys around.

OK this guy is not a dreaded guy but he does have the potential. Plus he's a musician and the music is pretty good. He's a prince from Bahrain. Sheikh Hassan AlKhalifa. Yup. From the Royal Family.



I think Moosh and the Sheikh should get together and do some music together. What do you think?

And last but not least, there is my buddy (well, not yet) Omar bin Laden who people are calling Rasta Bin Laden. I'm waiting for a music video from him. He's definitely got the look. Won't that be a hoot if HE joins up with Moosh. What would his father say? Even worse that hanging with Moosh is the fact that he is into peace! I'm thrilled. He can join us here in Jerusalem for the many opportunities....

Evita

My son was suspended from school and I was told he wasn't to go back unless I accompany him. Well, we did have to wait a few days for this because my job comes before kids. Definitely. So I waited for a pleasant morning where my boss would be holed up in meetings and then went with him.

We sat in a room waiting for his class coordinator to speak with us. She began to talk to me in rapid, Spanish-accented Hebrew, but switched to English after I kept on asking her to repeat herself more slowly.

"Are you Argentinian?" I asked her.

She nodded.

I guess right on the first try. Not that she looked Argentinian or anything. How do Argentinians look? She could have been Mexican or Cuban or even from Ecuador. Perhaps she just reminded me of Evita Peron, which is why I guessed right.

She went on and on loudly, while glaring at my son.

"And he's so CHILDISH! And the way he speaks on the phone isn't normal. It just isn't normal! He doesn't listen to anyone." and turning to him, she continued. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE HURTING?? YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY TO ACT THAT WAY, TO THINK EVERYTHING IS FUNNY?"

I was just sitting there listening to her, imagining how this woman eats her husband up for dinner and spits him out. I wonder if he even had a penis left.

At the end of the meeting she demanded my son keep his phone in her office, which he reluctantly agreed to do. I just sat there speechless myself, until she related something that the sports teacher said about my son - that he has amazing strength and stamina in sport. He's never seen anything like it.

"So" I said, finally finding my tongue. "Why don't we build on that?? Can you find him a soccer league to go to?"

"Of course! I'll work on it today." and she continued to glare at him "BECAUSE YOU COME INTO SCHOOL LOOKING LIKE A COUCH POTATO WITH NO ENERGY WHATSOEVER!! YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING AFTER SCHOOL INSTEAD OF JUST BEING ON YOUR COMPUTER AND YOUR PHONE!"

She looked at me, "Call me Thursday, and I'll keep you up to date on him." She even winked at me.

It was 8:32. I mentioned that I didn't want my son to get penalized for coming late to class while we were (or rather she was) talking.

Then Evita told me not worry, that she'll take him to his class, as she put her arms around my son and walked with him that way through the school halls. Hope he wasn't embarrassed as shit.

Birthday blues

It's nearing my birthday and I'm feeling unusually lonely. Hubby is not here to celebrate, and in past birthday celebrations, we would go to a very nice, even posh, restaurant for dinner. I'm thinking a lunch special at a nice hotel would be nice, but my girlfriends are either on diets or don't want to spend the money. I know there are people around who love to eat out. Where are they all? Are they all coupled off?

Hubby got tickets to Bon Jovi and is getting tickets to Ozzy Osbourne in Toronto. It would have been fun to go with him, even though I'd probably need to wear earplugs. He called up old friends and some cousins and they're going with him. Money is easier to come by over there and people are comfortable spending $100 and upwards for a concert ticket.

I'm thinking there's a concert here with a local Jerusalem band who will be playing with Sudanese musicians at Daila on Thursday. That's funky enough for me. The cost is under $5. So I could gather a few of my friends and have a fun night out. That's if the snow doesn't get to Jerusalem to lock us in our homes - all one inch of it or so.

Thankfully my usually raucous and complaining soldier girl was making me laugh with her terrible English. She pronounces "onions" "ongions" and her grandmother tried to have a conversation with her about coming to Canada and joining the police force in Toronto. She got off the phone and told me about the conversation. I told her to check it out more thoroughly. They may have a height requirement there.

"Really" she seemed amazed, and continued.

"They don't have that here. That's 'cos everyone here are pidgets."

"You mean 'midgets' don't you darling."

She smiled her dimpled smile, and I hugged her for one whole minute.

What a day...

Right now it is quiet. There is no one at home, and I am sitting by the computer grateful to God for giving me a chance to catch my breathe from a crazy week. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday were particularly awful days. My son was suspended from school on Wednesday for not listening to his teachers, playing on his cellphone and not giving it to them when they asked for it, not wearing his uniform (sweatshirt with the school name on it) and generally acting as he does in my home. He can't come to school until I go with him one morning for the same ol' same ol' with his teacher. Trouble is, I have to be at work at 7:30 am most of the week this week and can't make it to his school except for Monday morning.

The whole trouble began because my son wanted me to order this expensive cable tv station which showed live games from his favorite soccer team - Betar of Jerusalem. Being that this month was a tough crunch financially, my cable tv payment bounced and I tried to explain this logically to this nearly-16-year-old. But he doesn't do logic. I should have known. Besides, everyone knows that Betar fans are a bunch of football hooligans. And he is certainly one of them right now. He warned me he was gonna create havoc in his school and that he did. In turn, he ain't gonna see any Betar on TV, not live anyways, until the end of the school season, IF he turns it around for himself.

So since things go in spirals and angry thoughts beget angry thoughts and angry thoughts turn your life upside down, this is how it was for me for the end of the week.

Hubby in Toronto is telling me everything is groovy in the Great White North, but his brother is writing me heartbreaking tales and I sense quite a bit of jealousy and feeling threatened over their mom's attention and love. Like Jacob and Esau. I tried to calm "Esau" down (even though in this story, he is the youngest, but he always was the mom's "pride and joy"), telling them all to go to family therapy. I chuckled to myself thinking what would have happened to all those Bible stories had Esau and Jacob and Sarah, Hagar and Abraham, and countless other biblical characters gone to family therapy.

Back in Israel, I took a different bus back home Wednesday evening. Going a different route, the bus went through the ultra-orthodox neighborhoods where billboards are plastered with all sorts of notices - to avoid this transgression, to avoid that transgression, a rabbi's talk, a 'kosher' advertisement, and death notices. And I see the name of my sister's husband's mother on one of the death notices. No one in my family calls me about it, of course. At nearly 52 years old, I'm the baby in the family and perhaps no one wanted to upset the baby. But I called my sister the next day, told her how I found out and blamed her "over-65-year-old" status for her forgetfulness. And I forgave her and went to pay a shiva (condolence) call at the family's Jerusalem home on Thursday.

Afterwards I thought I'd get some shopping done. I pile my cart high with food for the week, go through checkout, try to write a post-dated check, as Hubby is late in sending me some $$ and the check doesn't go through. My credit cards are not equipped with enough credit to handle $125 worth of groceries and I leave the Russian cashier to deal with cancelling my order and unravelling the groceries. She is not happy.

I'm waiting at the bus stop and some idiot is trying to small-talk me (they appear out of nowhere when you're in the rottenest of moods, don't they?). My daughter calls to tell me her hubby is in the mall. I tell her what happened, and she comes to the rescue with their charge card. I, in turn, go back to the supermarket and rescue my groceries which are still sitting prettily in the cart. No one touched them.

A bit ashamed at having my daughter having to pay for my goods, I go home and continue to ignore my son, who is walking around me in circles, venting about how none of this would have happened had I gotten him the cable tv station he wanted. I pretend that there is this giant, hairy orangutan in my house and I'm just gonna pretend he's not there.

Friday, my unemployed daughter loans me 100 NIS ($25) for more food for Shabbat. Everyone and their boyfriends/husband will be by me for Friday night dinner - which is alot of people - and I'm pressed for time.

I really wanted to go on the "silent walk" in Jerusalem on Friday, put on by the Middle Way who were hosting Jack Kornfield, a famous American Buddhist, and for which I tried to get permits for a few of my Palestinian friends to be able to go on this walk. But I got out of bed at 9:00 am and my head was heavy. I didn't leave the house until the "heaviness" subsided around 11:00 am. I did my shopping, and should have known it was gonna continue to be a bad day when the local bookstore ran out of the Herald Tribute at 11:15 am.

I go into the health food store with my packages, check out the organic foodstuffs which I'm not buying this week and noticed that my bags are gone. But some other woman who went to the same stores as I did left her stuff in the store. I peeked into her bags and decided my stuff is far more interesting. But I worried, because this stuff was bought on borrowed money and credit card payments (which went through because of the smaller amount of money this time). Not only did I worry, but I burst into loud tears in the store and the young girl at the cashier set about calling the store owners trying to find out the identity of the woman who walked out with my bags. The neighboring store owner came in to get a bill changed, and saw me sobbing. He looked at me. "Why are you crying?" I told him, but he still was totally uncomfortable with seeing me in this state. I just had thoughts of the woman throwing her stuff (really my stuff) into her car and driving three hours to the North of the country and I'd be stuck without my things... Finally, thank God for credit cards sometimes, the cashier called the number on the slip and got the hubby who told her that his wife had gone to Jerusalem but would deliver the food to my home.

I walked out of the health food store and called my daughter.

"I can't talk now I'm in Terem" which is the emergency medical clinic where we live, about a 5 minute walk (at fast pace) from the health food store. I hurry there and my grandson is on an inhaler, and my daughter is crying.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Nothing" she said. But she calmed down enough to tell me that the baby had a very bad cough and the doctor here said if he's not on an inhaler, he could come down with pneumonia. And that scared the shit out of her.

The baby was squirming and crying with that thing on his face and stopped for a moment to smile at grandma.

I looked at her and told her to get him off the dairy formula and put him on soy formula.

"That will relieve his congestion." I felt like a wise owl grandma giving sound advice.

Yes folks. I'm back in control.

I get home, open the door for the upset lady who took my bags, and began cooking. The house is upside down, but I don't care - at least not until 5:30 pm, when I enlisted some of my kids to help me before dinner. And it all came together.

Hubby skyped me at 10:15 pm. I had fallen asleep on the couch but woke up to hear him talking to my son. I walk into the room and tell him of my awful week. By the time I got to the tale of the woman who took my bags, he's like..

"Why the fuck are you telling me all this??"

And I say to him - "You know what? If you're not going to be sympathetic, I'm gonna say goodbye now." And with that, I walked out of the room, knowing he can't follow me around the house because he's in Canada.

And maybe, just maybe, my son will become a fan of some calmer sport - like baseball.

Reading is a luxury I would like to be able to afford

It has been so cold in Jerusalem this past week that it could have snowed. And I could have stayed home from work, but the gods wanted it to be sunny and cold. Not a freakin' cloud in the sky. Someone at my editing course told me I reminded him of one of the characters in one of Solzhenitsyn's books where the workers in the Gulag Archipelago were always watching the thermometer in case it went under -19 degrees so they wouldn't have to go out to work.

And why do I want a day off work so bad? Because I have absolutely no time to read. I have books lying around the house that I've never read. People loan me these "great books" that I just "have to read" but when is there time?? Even the Holy Sabbath has been desecrated by Homework that I have to do for class. It's not easy working full time and going to school part-time. I'd rather just watch a silly movie on DVD after cleaning up the house and making dinner. But the books keep on beckoning. The Jordanian part of the United Religions Initiative just sent out an email that they've starting a book club and sent around A Tale of Two Cities in ebook form. It's over 400 pages!!! Who could tackle this in a month?

And, of course, there's darling Hubby, who hopes to make a lot more cash in Canada than he did in Israel. And if God sees to it that he does, maybe I'll be able to cut my work week in half, and get to read a good book (or two) a month.

Bush in the 'hood

"They didn't do all this for President Clinton when he came here, did they?" asked my daughter over dinner on Friday night.

"No. I guess because Clinton had less enemies than President Bush."

The security was ridiculous and I felt as if I were in a military zone while the US President was here, tying up traffic for hours and irritating most Jerusalem residents.

I complained to a fellow co-walker, a stranger, while we tried to walk along Jabotinsky Street, which was cordoned off from pedestrians as well as car traffic while the President was going to visit the Israeli President. The policemen barked nervously at us, as we asked to please let us cross to the other side of the street.

"You can't help it. He's the King of the World." said she.

Huh?

And that is exactly what the cab driver who took me home said to me as well. Everyone is calling him "The King of the World."

On Thursday I didn't bother coming in to work and decided to work instead at home, rather than have to walk with a gruesome cold that I had, for 1/2 hour because our office is too close to where the President was staying and for sure there wouldn't be any buses running in that direction for a certain number of hours. It was cold outside, better not take the chance with the way I'm feeling.

My daughter called me at 9:30 am. She was stuck outside a tunnel for 1 1/2 hours because Bush was going to Ramallah that morning and the roads were closed. I chose right to work at home.

My friends told me that the city (or country?) shelled out 9 million shekels (about over $2 M) to clean up some of Jerusalem's streets where the President would pass by.

9 million shekels????

Heck, I would have taken my mop and broom and taken my kids and cleaned it up for President George W. Bush for a mere 1 million shekels. OK, maybe 1 1/2 million shekels. It still would have been a bargain.

IPCRI (Palestinian/Israeli) retreat in Jerusalem

IPCRI (Israel/Palestine Center for Research and Information) had a retreat this past weekend at the beautiful Tantur Center in Gilo near the Bethlehem border. Now sometimes these retreats can be quite stressful for me and other times they are most enjoyable.

There were about 200 Israelis and Palestinians who participated in the many workshops over Friday and Saturday. It always astounds me that even after 6 years of being involved in peace activities, I'm still meeting new people and making new connections. When you think you just about know everyone in the field, you realize there's still a lot more out there. Which makes me happy of course, believing that these grassroots movements are growing like weeds.

I checked into a lovely room with a terrace that morning and after lunch went back to my room to put away some of the brochures I collected. I noticed another backpack on the other bed and wondered who my roommate was. But what I did notice was that this person didn't have any toiletries or perhaps didn't get around to unpacking them. That's unusual for a woman, isn't it? The jacket on the bed was black with a satin stripe and I wondered whether I did indeed have a female roommate.

I ran down to the front desk.

"Who is my roommate?"

"We don't have any names, you'll have to check with the organizers"

It wasn't until dinner time that one of the organizers came over to me and said she had made a mistake and had put a man in my room. Great! Just what my husband would want while he is in Canada. And I wondered who the lucky guy was! But I didn't stick around to find out, and hurriedly got my things and checked into another room. I thought how funny it would have been had I not questioned anything and went to sleep and then I'd see this guy come into the room.

The next day people were like "well, how did you sleep."

"Very well, thank you, since I didn't have a GUY in my room."

Other than that faux pas, the retreat was very well organized with a choice of 3 different workshops at any given time. I gave a workshop at the very beginning with my friend Rahel from Reiki for Peace on "How to Move from Extremism to Tolerance" citing my days as a follower of Rabbi Meir Kahane and how these Israeli/Palestinian encounters" made such a difference and changed my life entirely.

There were quite a large number of young Palestinians in our workshop, from the Hebron area and some from Bethlehem and Nablus. I guess they have their hardships with neighborhing Jewish extremists and were interested to hear my story.

There were some very powerful young people at the retreat that I had a strong feeling of a new world order about to emerge from this. I know that's a very powerful statement, but it really felt "as if".

The fact that I live in Maaleh Adumim raised some eyebrows but the participants here weren't as aggravated about this fact as they are at other times, and listened to my views. A Fatah guy from Bethlehem was terribly excited when he heard where I come from and shouted "That's IT! We have to start talking to settlers!." Even though I don't feel like a settler at all, I guess I'll always be one to the Palestinians. I often wonder if they consider those who live in post-1967 Jerusalem neighborhoods like French Hill, Talpiot Mizrach, Gilo and Ramot as settlers too. Mr. "Fatah" and I exchanged numbers and I hope it won't be too hard for him to get a permit to come into Jerusalem for more interfaith gatherings. But one of the Palestinians told me he knows of two Palestinian families who live in Maaleh Adumim, which I was thrilled to hear about - one is a journalist and the other, I have no idea. And I wondered if their neighbors know and if these families are having an easy time of it or not.

We were entertained Friday evening by Musicians for Peace who were better than I've ever heard them in their four years together, and they sang Shlomo Carlebach's classic "Because of My Brothers and Friends" in Hebrew, English and Arabic while we linked arms and swayed back and forth together as one family.

One of the more popular workshops there was how to influence policy makers. There wasn't enough time for everyone's questions and there was just so much to talk about that we could have gone on for hours about this.

And while I was going to workshop after workshop, it seemed that my own goals became clearer, and I was quite happy and confident in knowing that I have a very big goal in mind - which is combating racism in my neighborhood. Not an easy task and certainly this is not a task for one person. But I thought of adding monthly encounters at my home when things are a little less hectic in my life and getting others involved. I'm sure we could have quite a nice group going in my part of town and took down numbers of people who asked to do worskhops in my area - interfaith yoga workshops, compassionate listening, reiki, etc. etc.

But whether I can get a local group going from my home or not, or whether these grass roots movements will grow into tens of thousands of people or not didn't matter in the end. What did matter was the fact that whenever I do attend these gatherings, my heart is filled with so much hope and joy, that it just spills over to everyone I come into contact with, and I wonder if they notice how happy I am. My son certainly felt it and spent the day cleaning up so I came home to a spotless home. Now that is certainly worth something, isn't it?

New Years in Jerusalem

It's such a non-event, this secular New Year here in J-town. First of all, I had to wake up today at 5:30 am to get to my class in Kfar Saba. We all have work and school today. That is everyone who doesn't work for the US Embassy or Consulate or some other foreign entity. Last night the local tv station counted down to midnight in the TV studio. When it turned 12:00, confetti fell from the ceiling in the tv studio and the 50 or so people in the audience clapped and cheered. No fireworks display, no big street festivals - nothing really. Some restaurants in Jerusalem offered special "end of year" meals with champagne at midnight. They can't say they're serving up a "New Years" dinner because then the local Rabbi squad will get mad and take away their kosher licenses. I had the choice of going to a friend for a get-together with other friends and a midnight champagne toast, but I was feeling fatigued by 9:30 pm and did homework instead. How pathetic is that?

I met my friend on the bus yesterday who was discussing his former life in Sweden and his Christmas celebrations there. He seemed happy to be away from all that stuff now being that Christmas has nothing much to do with Jesus and is more of a commercial, capitalist holiday. He even told me that Santa was Turkish, which was a total surprise for me. I had always thought Santa was just this big fat German, when in fact Saint Nicholas was a 4th century Turk. A Jolly Fat Turk at that.

And my co-workers were telling me yesterday that President Bush will be coming soon to visit Israel. He'll be in Jerusalem. Whoop de doo. With his visit comes traffic tie-ups in the city, up to an hour or so. Something to look forward to in the New Year.

Life without Hubby

I really had intended to write more often - but for the past week, I couldn't because someone had reported my blog as spa*m. Isn't that just awful?

Life without hubby is mostly peaceful and not too aggravating, save for two of my kids who behave awfully to me. Hubs will be coming home in March until Passover holidays. I think I have the best of both worlds this way, I thought, as I lunched with a girlfriend whose partner is away every other month for a month. Less time to argue and more time for myself.

My daughters are each confiding in me, and I feel like the Holder of a Billion Secrets. One found a job and doesn't want me to tell the other one about it. The Other One is going for a week on holiday to Turkey and doesn't want THAT sister to know about it and so on and so forth.

Dinner is usually my son and I, even on Friday nights, as the others come and go at various times of the week and sleep at home only 2-3 times a week. This prompted a rather intimate, coming-of-age conversation between my son and I. He was worried that he didn't yet have a girlfriend. He'll be 16 next month. I told him he didn't have to worry, he could even have one at 18. And that his classmates who boast about girlfriends or whatever, are probably lying half the time.

He thought maybe about meeting this girl who lives in Tel Aviv who he knows through his internet wanderings.

"Maybe she'll give." he told me.

"Give what?" I asked

"You know."

Yeah, I know, and where is his father to give him that father and son talk at this time right now, for fuck's sake (pun intended).

And so I gave him the spiel about condoms and how dangerous it is for his health and otherwise if he has sex without them.

But hopefully, when he's ready, he'll be comfortable enough ask me for money to buy a damn pack.

Interfaith Chanukah Party

My friend at work was making fun of my "To Do" lists which have like 30 items for me to do in one day.

"You ought to see a psychiatrist. You're mad!!"

My kids though, think I'm crazy for entirely different reasons. My Complainer Daughter was bothered a little that I was having an interfaith chanukah party with Arabs and Jews. Why can't I be like other mothers and just have Jews at the party? Why must we be an embarrassment to the neighborhood?

"Don't talk about Arabs to Natty (her boyfriend). He doesn't like Arabs."

Well, that was the perfect opportunity to go over to him and talk some sense into the young man of Moroccan ancestry.

"I hear you don't like Arabs. We're having a party tonight and you are invited. I used to think just like you. You know why you don't like them, don't you? It's because it is what you were taught. You've never had Arab friends and all your friends say they hate Arabs so you hate them too, aren't I right?"

He nodded.

I also dared to invite some locals from my neighborhood. These were old friends who I know never had contact with Palestinians. There was a Palestinian from Abu Dis whom I never met who is on my email list and got the invite. Surprisingly he said he'd like to come and bring a friend or two. Great. At least we'll have some diversity.

By the time the party was supposed to begin,the apartment shone and I lit candles all over the place to make that warm and fuzzy mood. The Abu Dis guys called. I thought they'd have problems at the entrance check point but didn't. They were lost so I had to guide them through. In fact, everyone got lost. No one's been to my new pad before plus it's a new neighborhood so it was quite a challenge for me to explain directions to people, since I'm no good at them myself. Turns out the Abu Dis guy brought in a friend from Jenin who told me he had never been invited to a Jewish home before and he seemed so delighted to be in my house. Even in Maaleh Adumim. Settlement, shmettlement. There. He was intrigued by the uncovered mezuzot I had on my door frames and I explained the Moses and Egypt story to him, so he could understand the origin of this. "the prayer inside is the same prayer as you have...Lah Il'ha Il Allah - there is no God but Allah" - "Shma Israel - the Lord is One." He smiled.

One of the Jewish guys came over to me and said "I'd been to Jenin."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, in a jeep. With a gun." he whispered to me.

Yikes. Better not say that too loud. And I was pleased that he was here because next time, he may not want to go into Jenin in an army uniform with a gun, if he gets to know some of the locals.

My daughter and her boyfriend were going out on the town and walked towards the door. I intercepted and introduced them to the guests. The happy Jenin guy looked at Natty, thinking perhaps he was an Arab because well, many Moroccans just do.

"Kif Halak!!" He grabbed Natty's hand shaking it hard and smiling widely.

I see Natty's face getting all red. He can't get out of this one.

The Jenin guy continued to talk to him in Arabic. I thought I would pee in my pants - I found it hilarious.

I explained that Natty doesn't know Arabic, his name is Hebrew - short for Netanel.

"Have a great evening kids!" I said as I closed the door behind them.

It was time to light the Chanukah menorah and we said the blessings and sang Maoz Tzur while my friend played guitar. I was frying sweet potato latkes (pancakes) and the Jenin guy pointed and said "levivot!" the Hebrew word for what they are. He googled Chanukah, wanting to come prepared. I thought that was really sweet.

Meanwhile, I introduced everyone to each other. Haj Ibrahim came in traditional Arab dress. Some of my right-wing Jewish Orthodox friends were there and shook hands with my Palestinian buddies and they were wrapped up in conversation on my couch and standing in the kitchen. It was good. I told my Jewish friends that we don't talk politics so we don't get angry, we will just celebrate together. And I think we were all relieved we didn't have to point fingers and yell and scream at each other. But then again, my house isn't the Israeli Knesset.

I then asked the guy from Jenin if he would like to speak about the upcoming Moslem holiday Eid Al Adha so my Jewish friends could learn something about it.

I actually made Makhlouba to celebrate and people actually liked it. Of course, the Jewish folks had no idea what it was but everyone seemed to enjoy it, except for the vegetarians.

I thought the party would end at a reasonably early hour, but guests left at 11:30 pm instead. People were making connections and exchanging numbers and emails. And I wasn't tired. It's funny how happiness could give you that wonderful burst of energy.

Sacrifice of Isaac/Ishmael

My interfaith group had a retreat in the Old City on Thursday evening about the sacrifice of Isaac/Ishmael in our traditions. We were a small group of perhaps 15 people - half were Palestinians from the Hebron area and the other were Jews from Jerusalem area/Tel Aviv/Rannana/Galilee/US.

I had made my kids spaghetti and meat sauce on Wednesday evening so they wouldn't starve to death on Thursday, being that I was going to stay overnight at the beautiful Austrian Hospice on Via Dolorosa.

What made me happy was that there were quite a few people who were experiencing an interfaith gathering for the first time. During the introductory circle, some even expressed their discomfort at meeting the other. There was a woman from Baltimore who said her friends were telling her she was crazy for meeting Arabs, a wife whose settler husband was totally against her meeting Arabs, but to compromise he let her go, as long as she doesn't do this more than once a month. I think the subject of our retreat was a curiosity for the Jews moreso than for the Arabs.

One Jewish person asked the Arabs in the group - "this biblical story is actually SO awful, why on earth did you have to adopt it for Ishmael?" which made everyone in the room laugh.

We began with the Jewish perspective (since we started the whole story...); it was interesting to see how many explanations you can have with the text that said something like "Take your son, your only son, whom you love..." - but Isaac, of course, wasn't Abraham's only son. What about Ishmael? Did the text insinuate that Abraham only loved Isaac and not Ishmael. We know that wasn't true either....

Some of us then shared stories of someone who sacrificed something for us.

We had dinner at the hospice and the Austrians serving our meals were unusually friendly - probably because no one brought their shrieking kids. Last time we had a retreat, the Bethlehem crowd brought their cranky kids, which totally flustered the staff. This is a very quiet place. They should actually have a sign "no kids under 12 allowed".

The next morning we had the Christian perspective which showed the parallels of this story with the actual sacrifice of Jesus for his people. Actually, I learned that at the time, it was a sacrifice for his disciples only - later on in Christian history, the story evolved that Jesus sacrificed his life for all mankind. The Christian presenter also asked how it was possible that Abraham, already an old man, was able to bind Isaac up (who commentaries say was already an adult - 37 years old).

The Moslem perspective came afterwards - basically that Ishmael was the son that was the one that Abraham was to sacrifice and not Isaac. But someone questioned the Koran and said that it doesn't actually say in the Koran that it was Ishmael; it wasn't until the 13th century that Moslem commentary stated it was Ishmael. But no one there could actually confirm this.

One of the Jewish women there, the first-timer whose husband was a settler, posed a question to the Moslem presenter about slaughtering lambs during modern times during their holidays and does this perhaps contribute to their "violent culture"? Her question distressed me and I said "I want to defend Islam (me? I'm always astounding myself) by saying that if the slaughtering of animals is done for a Moslem holiday and is within the framework of the Koran, it's totally acceptable and doesn't contribute to a violent culture. Because it's contained to animals and holidays, nothing else. Much like when Jews adhere to the Torah when drinking wine on Shabbat, which doesn't contribute to alcoholism. We're sanctifying the wine. They're sanctifying their holiday meals by preparing the lamb just as specified in the Koran." An approving nod from the Moslem members of our group.

But I was also glad she felt safe enough to voice her opinion in the group, however uncomfortable it may have made people feel, because it was her first time in an interfaith group and we need the skeptics to come. And she was so curious about the Moslem faith, she wanted to go with whomever was going to pray at Al Aksa for Friday morning prayers. She'd buy a body/head covering so she would look appropriate. Some of those going said they'd take her. I don't know if she got into the mosque or what her reaction was afterwards, because we parted ways before lunch....but I am very curious to find out....

New Blog

Since I love eating (out) I just thought I'd share with y'all some of my takes on restaurants in Jerusalem and surrounding areas....

Check it out here:

http://fressing.blogspot.com/

Shake, Rattle and Roll

We had our second earthquake of the week last night, which woke me up around 12:15 am. My bed was shaking and there was no one but me in it - so it couldn't have been anything but an earthquake Then I heard the windows rattling.

My daughter and her boyfriend were in the next room, each blaming the other for shaking the bed - that was funny. So when I told them my bed was shaking too, then they realized what it was. And my son was sound asleep. Fortunately, it was a small one, around 4.1 on the Richter scale.

But when I slept in today, waking up at 8:00 am instead of 5:45 am, it was so warm and sunny that my long-sleeved top felt too hot. I just spent 45 luxurious minutes lounging on the porch. What a day to be strolling outside, though, like perhaps Ein Karem, the Old City or Abu Ghosh eating lunch outdoors. But I'll just relish the beautiful view and the warm weather right here from the 8th floor in my apartment.

Shabbat in Beit Jala

The Center for Emerging Futures/Global Village sent me an email about an enticing weekend in Beit Jala. 35 Palestinians and 35 Israelis. How could I resist that? I've never heard of this organization before but now was a good time to check it out. With Hubby in Canada, it was a tad more difficult organizing the kids to band together without me but they did it - eventually.

How does one get to Beit Jala, a Palestinian village, without a car? It is just outside of Bethlehem, about a 5 minute drive south of Jerusalem but there are no buses there, at least none that I know of. So I took the bus to Malcha Mall, tried to look for an Arab taxi driver (funny - most Jews look for Jewish drivers) and asked him to take me there. After we haggled over the price, he drove me to the Everest Hotel. He wondered what was a nice Jewish woman running off in the sunset to Beit Jala? I told him about the weekend and he was happy to hear that there were such things as weekends with Israelis/Palestinians together.

The Everest Hotel is a family-run hotel, run by Christian Arabs, on the highest hill in Beit Jala, overlooking Jerusalem, Herodian and Bethlehem. It looked like a run-down hotel from the outside - it certainly wouldn't get many visitors if it were on the Israeli side - the tables in the diningroom were simple and chipped; the rooms inside small but pleasant with well-worn but clean bedding. I was just glad we had hot water and flushing toilets. I was put in a room with an Israeli woman from Haifa.

Some familiar faces were already there - people I met through interfaith or in Camp Tawonga in the US - from Jenin,Hebron, Bethlehem and Ramallah. I thought it amusing that I knew more Arabs than Jews. There was only one Israeli that I recognized - Laughing Alex from Laughter Yoga.

The weekend was very structured and highly organized. We shared in groups of three, of two, in the big group of 70, around tables in the dining room, switching tables and groups so often that you pretty much got to know and speak to all of the people there, which was great. I enjoy that better than being stuck with just one group for the entire weekend.

I remember hearing from one pretty woman from Bethlehem who told me that her son, who is nine years old, had never been to the sea before. She got them a permit to go into Israel and for the first time, she and her son went to Tel Aviv and he was just amazed at the beauty of it. She was frustrated that she lived so close to the sea but couldn't get to it. I also live close to the sea and don't get to it more than once or twice a year but it is my choice, isn't it? Another share I heard was that in pre-1948 this man's family were rich landowners. When the Israelis took over, his family was removed from their Jezreel valley area land to a refugee camp in Jenin. They became poor and, subsequently, when this man fell in love with his cousin, her father didn't allow her to marry him because he was now poor. So he blames the Israelis for his lost love.

It was getting close to Shabbat and I wanted to light Shabbat candles. I figured I'd be the only one doing this and asked the organizers if I can do this in front of the crowd. They looked at me like I was a bit crazy for asking but made the announcement that there was going to be candle lighting for the Jewish Sabbath when everyone was seated. I explained that Jewish women light Sabbath candles in order to bring light into the world and said the blessing and translated it into English.

One of the Bethlehem women came over to me to tell me that this touched her heart and I was so pleased to hear that.

But there were others whose heart it didn't touch.

That evening some of the Palestinians were angry with me for living over the Green Line.

"HOW CAN SHE BE FOR PEACE WHEN SHE LIVES IN A SETTLEMENT?!" exclaimed one of the men to the others, as someoneone translated his outbursts for me. I guess not too many people from my neighborhood don't rush out to meet Arabs in droves, but there are quite a few of us who do.

It was difficult to explain my point of view to a people who believe that the only thing blocking their way to a better, less-strangling life and a Palestinian state is any land over the 1967 borders - which also includes neighborhoods in Jerusalem annexed to Israel like Ramot and French Hill and Gilo in the south of the city. I tried to explain that the 1967 borders were politician-made, not people-made. Weren't they also living beyond 1967 borders pre-1948?

"At least I'm not living in Ramat Aviv Gimmel in Tel Aviv where the Israelis destroyed an Arab village in order to build the posh Tel Aviv neighborhood and I am not living in West Jerusalem in an abandoned Arab home, as they do in Baka or Talbieh! I feel ok where I am because pre-1967-pre-1948; there was nothing there!!"

He shrugged his head, waved his hands up in the air and walked away.

A man from the West Bank town of Marda near the Jewish settlement of Ariel came over to talk to me.

"As long as you live over the green line, people here will not get close to you. They will not trust you completely. I respect you, I really do, but when you can move over the green line, we can then talk better. People are angry with you - like that man over there. Look at the other Israelis making better connections with the people here, because where they live is no problem for us. Where you live, it's a problem."

"But Peace Now even said that 95% of this city where I live (Maaleh Adumim) was not Palestinian owned before 1967 so it was totally barren. And I live in the section furthest away from Azariah where there was bound to be some Palestinian-owned land in Maaleh Adumim."

He didn't buy it. "Everything in Palestine was owned by Palestinian families. Everything.!"

He went on to explain that the settlement of Ariel took 40 dunams of land away from his family when they built their city and he was quite angry about it.

"they didn't buy it from your family?"

"No they didn't. They just took. And if my wife finds out I'm sitting here tonight talking to a settler, she'll kick my ass!"

Hard for me to comprehend that if everyone just packs up and leaves to beyond the borders of 1967 there will be peace. I think it is just an illusion. I tried to explain that I don't believe in borders - period. There shouldn't be 1948, 1967, 1973 borders anywhere. We all should be free to live wherever we want. I told him I envied the Europeans who had fought so bitterly with one another throughout the centuries but have very porous borders and can just freely travel through this area of the world. Many Israelis would love to travel to Damascus and Beirut and I'm sure many in the Arab world would love to travel to Tel Aviv or Haifa (but most mention Tel Aviv in their dreams).

Later on that evening, the mood got lighter. There was a hafla. I brought my belly dance belts but not for me - I put them on the men and they danced with them. There were too many men and I didn't want to dance like a "harlot" so I waited until some of the Palestinian women got up to dance and I danced with them, moving mostly my hands instead of my body, even though I wanted to "shake it" because the music was just so good, so I didn't.

But that didn't stop some of the older Palestinian men, who pulled me over to tell me something.

"Without love there is no peace (pronuncing the word 'peace' as 'beace')" he beamed at me. "Your husband is very lucky. We love your shape, especially your back." which was a polite way of saying "I had a nice ass." But they didn't come off sounding skeevy, rather I felt admired - and for a woman like myself, being over 50 years old, I didn't mind the compliment at all.

During the closing circle, I told everyone that I'm a peace addict. And the effects of the drug of peace is so strong that it last longer than any pharmaceutical drug. And I can't get enough of it. And it's a healthy drug - one that everyone should take....

marital bliss

I found the secret to marital bliss. I've always loved my guy, seriously, even when he would request dinner at 11:30 pm, if the previous one was finished by 5:00 pm and other assorted atrocities he would heap on me and the kids, like needing a spotless house at all hours of the day!

But he's in Canada now, with the Canadian Mounties and where people say "aboot" instead of "about" and pepper the end of their sentences with "eh?" He's now one of the commuting dads/husbands who commute overseas for work because there's not too much of it here in the Holy Land. I mean, if he wanted to study Holy books all day long in the Holy Land, hey! no problem. But if he wants his family to eat real food and not just dream about it, he has to bring in the dineros any which way he can.

It's been a week already. I do miss the man. The broom and the dustpan also miss him and the windows miss being stroked shiny clean. They won't see that much of me, those apparati.

Ah, my porn-again hubby. I go on to the internet and don't see any of his rather "interesting" surfing history. The titles of those websites made me laugh every Saturday morning, even though they're not fit for print.

My chauffer extraordinaire is gone. The car is not fit for the road and only he can maneuver the dying vehicle. So I bus it into work everyday and, when desperate, take a taxi from the local mall.

But I do the dishes and wash the floor whenever I want to. Supper is there whenever I feel up to it and we save a shitload of money on not buying Colas for dinner. We don't argue about a messy house anymore nor about money. It's quite wonderful, actually, not to argue or get angry at one another. Is this what marital bliss is? If only it wouldn't feel so lonely at times....

Shamanic Rabbi

I didn't know who I was really listening to at first, my sides were hurting from laughing so much. Was this George Carlin's brother, separated at birth? Who knows? But the humor was a pleasant surprise for me.

I had initially decided to see Rabbi Gershon Winkler because, like me, he was once an ultra-orthodox Jew who found that way of conformative lifestyle rather stifling and so he upped and left his familiar surroundings in search of something that spoke to him. And what seemed to have done the trick was learning from native Americans . He seemed to find a Jewish parallel with them much as I did with the Sikh community. Ah, yes, we are all One.

And our hostess, Maya, made me feel welcome when all this healthy looking great food was put on the table for the taking. She told me "don't wait - just eat. Here you don't need manners." Great. I can joyfully pig out.

The rather large crowd that had come to hear him at Maya's house on beautiful Caspi Street (her balcony has a panoramic view of Jerusalem's Old City and beyond) was eclectic as well, ranging from hippies, to ultra-orthodox, new-age orthodox, a good mix in ages, you name it, they were there.

Winkler began by singing/chanting a Hebrew prayer, all the while banging on an native-American drum and we sang/chanted along with him. He began from the beginning - the story of Judaism. I'll try to remember as best I can his dialogue and reproduce it here.

"Abraham was the first Jew. And people (whose religion was based on a goddess) were curious about this new religion because Abraham was like - 'well we have ONE law, and it's especially for men!

People: "Oh really? Because all we have are like goddesses."

Abraham: "Quick Ishamael, get me the knife!"

So people liked the Jewish religion but from afar. That's why there aren't so many Jews around.

God told Abraham that he will give him land just for him and his descendents.

Abraham: "Really?"

And Abraham flipped through photos of Montana with its beautiful rivers, and the Rocky Mountains and the Swiss Alps and exotic places and got very excited as he and his family trekked through the middle east. And then he saw a sign "Abraham's Land."

A land - full of - rocks.

"Oh God, well, thanks. I just LOVE rocks (giving his wife a look). I love rocks so much I will give you a new name - The Rock, and by the way, me and my wife are just gonna head down to Egypt for something to eat, OK?"

which brought tons of laughter from the audience...

"And during the days of King Solomon there wasn't any war. Know why? Because he had 1,000 wives!!!

King Solomon: "Honey, I'm going off to war now."
Wife 835: "Oh no you're not" pulling him back in. "You were with Her yesterday, today's MY turn."

"and Moses was the greatest prophet because when he saw the burning bush, he knew he didn't know! He was a Buddhist!" (more laughter)

"When someone dies and he finally goes up to heaven and knows the truth, he's kvetching 'oh I shouldn't have done this, I should have done that, why did this happen, now I know, oh no, why didn't I do this," etc. etc. and God doesn't want all these people kvetching so he sends them back down to earth again to be reincarnated. Why? God wants peace and quiet up there!"

"So heaven is actually hell! And earth is hell, isn't it? Why do people get sick? Because PEOPLE make you sick. But life on earth could be heaven too. If you're sitting in a garden you could smell the fragrant flowers and think this is heaven or you could be swatting flies and think this place is terrible."

I enjoyed nearly two hours of his non-stop talk and left with a smile still glued to my face from laughing so much. And I didn't care if the bus driver thought I was nuts for smiling to myself.

Meeting the Deputy Head of PLO mission to the US

There was an interesting and rare occasion this past week to meet with Dr. Nabil Abu Znaid, Deputy Head of the PLO Mission to the U.S who was speaking at Elana Rozenman's home (Elana is head of the EMUN-TRUST organization). On the way there, on the same street at Elana's, I saw Taayush activist Ezra Nawi, trying to park his elongated van. He saw me smile warmly at him as I approached and smiled back, with a bit of uncertainty, as he gets harrassed frequently for his untiring assistance to Palestinians with the group Taayush, but when I asked him where he was going, it turned out he and I were going to different places.

Getting back to the meeting, Dr. Nabil had invited Elana to his home in Washington in April and stated that this was the first time he had Israelis in his home, and seemed to want to continue that contact. Elana was impressed by his revelation and his supra-efforts to cook them a festive meal (his brothers flew in from Florida to help him with the feast) Now it was Elana's turn to host him as he flew back home for family-related reasons and invited a bunch of us, as an activity of her organization - EMUN-TRUST - to hear him speak.

We went around the room introducing ourselves and I was surprised to learn that quite a few women had never met any Palestinian before, albeit a real live Palestinian official, and some were even residents of settlements. Elana stressed that this was not to be a political meeting, just a "getting to know you" sort of thing, but there were gentle arguments back and forth of "why are the people in Gaza shelling Sederot?" (Dr. Nabil is totally against this - it does nothing for the Palestinian cause)and the occupation, and avoided the "dividing Jerusalem" issue hanging over everyone's heads.

Dr. Nabil told us how we have to listen to the Palestinian's hardship because Israelis generally don't hear them. He gave us a most recent example of his being stopped at a checkpoint that day. The Israeli soldiers saw his credentials and that he had a permit to travel to West Jerusalem, but wanted to make sure his permit wasn't fake. So they locked him in a small room while they checked his permit. He was banging on the door as he was frightened. What are these soldiers going to do to him now? He went on to say how humiliating it was for him to be locked up. What did he do to deserve this treatment? If they thought the permit was fake and wanted to check, they could have told him "Wait a minute, sir, while we check it" and have him stand off to the side but they didn't have to lock him up. He was obviously very shaken up about this ordeal.

I shared that many older Palestinians fondly recall pre-1948 close friendships with Jews. And they often recall those stories to their children and grandchildren. And this gives the younger generations hope that this actually can still happen. While I was sharing this, I saw the Palestinians at the meeting shake their heads up and down because their fathers/grandfathers had told them the very same thing of course.

And I thought Dr. Nabil's plea to be treated like a regular human being and not a terrorist was well taken - and was glad that the first-timers who had never spoken with Palestinians before had heard his story. Because it shows we are not always right.

Elana shared about her current Noam/Peace X Peace project in which Palestinian and Israeli women learn and practice martial arts together - not so much for what strength it can bring to you physically, but also for the strength it can bring to you emotionally - "so that when you hear people around the table talking racist talk about Arabs, you will have the strength to confront them and say 'hey, wait a minute, I know differently'"

There were other Palestinians there; one was an actress with a bubbly personality. I just wanted to jump into a cab with her and go dancing. She told me of all the people she knew including Shimon Peres because she's active in the Peres Center for Peace and told me about the time she was talking to him. I forgot the content of that particular story as I was probably having one too many senior moments, but she told him "and I don't mean to drop a bomb on you..." So I laughed, telling her, "don't ever tell Israelis, especially an important one, about dropping bombs on them." We both laughed loudly at this, and I'm sure by the end of our conversation together she also wanted to jump into a cab with me to go dancing, but her time was up, her permit about to expire, and like a Palestinian Cinderella, had to get back to her home before the permit does expire and who knows what could happen.