Welcome to My Pity Party

It's a new year. I know I'm supposed to be grateful and all that shit. But it's hard. Tonight is the first night of Sukkot. No Sukkah. Well, no money, no sukkah. We tried to sell our old one - the one that doesn't fit - a bit too late. Like yesterday. Of course, there were no takers. Well, there was one potential one, but he couldn't get a car in to take the thing, so now the money we thought we'd get from the sale is gone.

I try to see the good in my life, and there are lots of gifts I am privileged to see. I did get to see Paul McCartney in concert because Hubby was working that month and tickets were affordable then. And I knew I would have regretted not going if I had a chance and didn't take it. But that now seems like so long ago.

One such gift came on Saturday when my daughter and future son-in-law decided to take me for an impromptu ride to Tel Aviv and Jaffa and I swished my feet in the warm water up to my knees, marveling at the still peaceful mixed Arab/Jewish city of Jaffa. Later that evening friends of mine from England, a couple, one Jewish, one not, took Hubby and I out for dinner. Two treats in a row. I laughed as we passed by the edge of Meah Shearim and the non-Jewish guy took triple takes at the striped coats and fur hats of the Hassidim. My husband shouted at them.

"He likes what you're wearing."

I was like - "Are you crazy??? Want them to throw rocks at you??"

I thought being taken out twice that day was a sign of good things to come. I really did. Earlier that morning a white dove landed on our porch. It didn't want to fly away. I thought it was injured. I fed it and gave it water. I was told they bring good luck. It did fly away a few hours later. I thought it was more than a coincidence when the calls came in for restless me to go to Tel Aviv and meet up with good friends later that evening. Just when I needed it.

But Hubby is in renovations and Jews don't renovate or paint during the month-long holiday season. Just when you need cash the most. Every three days or so there's another festive meal, and I'm weary of writing post-dated checks to the supermarket, not knowing if my bank will honor them. It's totally frightening.

I wonder how on earth do people "make it" here?? How is it that people have what they need? And some don't. Is it soup kitchen time for us, I thought as I looked at my 1,000 NIS ($300) electric bill that just came in?

My co-workers were joking with me telling me I must be thrilled that I have no savings or investments because I didn't lose any money in the financial crisis that seems to be happening all over the place. My boss told me it's the poor's turn to laugh at the rich. But I'd love to have had $10 million and if I'd lost half, I'd still have $5 million or so. It's not worth hanging yourself over that, is it?

Sunday I got a call from the dentist. Hubby had work done over a year ago and the 2,000 NIS bill is still outstanding. This wasn't the first call made to us either. And the calls from that office began to increase to every other day since the beginning of the new year. I put a stop to it by going into their office and writing 4 more post-dated checks.

"Can't I write 12 checks?" I asked.

"No more than 4, please. It's been outstanding for over a year" she reminded me, though she didn't have to.

"How will I cover them?" I asked her. She was a young ultra-orthdox receptionist.

"With God's help" she smiled at me.

Yup. With God's help. I mused that mantra over and over again as I rode home on the bus with an acquaintance, telling her a bit of how stressed I am, but not telling her the entire story. I told her how I saw in the newspaper that studio apartments in Manhattan are renting for $3,500 a month. I once had a one-bedroom apartment in a brownstone in Manhattan's upper west side, just off Central Park West.

"Had I just had some foresight, I would have just sublet the place forever." I thought of the $6,000 monthly easy money I could have gotten, easing our financial burden. But I had given up the place in 1983 when I decided, foolishly, to move to Toronto because Toronto seemed a less scary place to raise children. Had I looked into my crystal ball, I would have seen Giuliani making a safe place in New York to raise children, plus making people who already owned apartments there, quite happy.

My friend pointed out the window of the bus "But look. Now you're HERE and look what you got instead!" I looked out the window at Bar Ilan Street. It was pre-holiday madness, with crowds of Ultra-Orthodox Jews all wearing the same thing and boxes and paper littering the streets.

"Yeah, blue plaid skirts" I commented, looking at the "uniform" the women seemed to all be wearing.

The friend laughed.

I went shopping again for the holiday and wrote another post-dated check. My heart is in my stomach by now. I'll cover it with God's help. Right? I'll need to go again on Friday. Never mind all the stuff going on during the holiday. It depresses me to read the paper and see all the sukkot events. I can't do any of it. I can get into town twice. I have a bus card with a few more "clicks" left. But that's about it. Maybe I'll go to the Jerusalem parade with my son so the Christian Zionists can ply us with the candies they bring to give to the Jewish children that line the parade route. Maybe I'll go to the interfaith Sukkah party on Tuesday night. Maybe I'll go with my messianic friends to their picnic next week - they said they'll drive us. These things are all free.



And then I saw that dove again today. I shook my head at it sadly and told it "You're supposed to bring good luck. Where is it?" and I closed the porch door because I didn't want to see the bird of false promises and hopes.

a funny

someone just sent me this joke about the weather---



In deference to The Archbishop of Canterbury and The Royal Commission for Political Correctness, it was announced today that the local climate in the UK should no longer be referred to as ''English Weather.' Rather than offend a sizeable portion of the population, it will now be referred to as 'Muslim Weather.' In other words - partly Sunni, but mostly Shi'ite.

Jews to Blame

fucking hilarious

Look who's moving into the neighborhood

On the eve of Rosh Hashana I walked around the neighborhood, doing last minute things like hand-picking flowers from the florist for my daughter's fiancee's family. On the way I met someone who was sympathetic to all the negative emails I had received about my interfaith encounters.

"I got some real nasty emails" she told me. This was because she told the list that the person who started the whole tirade against my meetings was inciteful. I told her that it's not like I'm inviting car thieves to the meeting.

She then told me her personal story:

"I used to live in Silwan (City of David) years ago. I rented a place from an Arab landlord and everyone was real friendly and warm towards me. I just gave birth prematurely and I walked into my apartment to see bloody handprints all over my door. Of course I freaked out totally thinking 'they're GOING TO KILL ME!'. My landlord explained that it's tradition that when a baby might be in danger, they slaughter a sheep and put the blood of the sheep around the doorpost of the house to save/heal the baby. But I didn't know at first until they spoke to me about it."

I agreed with her that I would have freaked out too at the sight of bloody handprints all over my door. WTF? But I tried to look it up on the internet and the closest thing I can find about this custom was
this:

Meanwhile, hubby wanted to irritate our community a bit more.

"Let's announce that we're having a nudist party" he told me this morning joyfully. Now THIS is a person that should be going to shul today, no? But I'm stuck with him in the house. This is my atonement. I found it quite funny actually and added

"OK - next time I announce an interfaith meeting, I'll tell them it'll be a nudist interfaith encounter, and then we can have fun with all the responses."

But I was thinking, there are scarier things than me inviting 5 Palestinians to my home to talk about religion.

For example, on Sunday I walked around Givat Shaul after I had my yearly boob smooshing examination at Machon Halla. There are a lot of wonderful stores in that neighborhood that borders on the ultra-orthodox Har Nof neighborhood. The customers are mostly ultra-orthodox, meaning lots of toy stores, electronics, clothing, food with reasonable prices. I wandered into one toy store to see this:



Shocking. Especially since I saw that the store owners weren't especially religious. They had kowtowed to the ultra-orthodox customers and had colored over the photo of the immodest mother and even her young female child in every swimming pool box. Except for one.

I called the owner over.

"You forgot to cover up this woman with black marker!" I showed him, pointing to the bare arms and worse of the photo of a woman in the swimming pool with her child.

He just looked at me.

And in the Maale Adumim local paper, the headline screamed how tens (or is it hundreds)of ultra-orthodox Jews are all registering locally at this one particular address so they can have a Maaleh Adumim address to be able to vote in an ultra-orthodox municipality or mayor or something in the forthcoming November 11th local elections. It's being looked into now because it's impossible for hundreds of people to be living in one apartment in the older section of the city. In fact, one of my friends said that "they" knocked on her door asking if she would like to sell her apartment. If they knock on mine, should I tell them apartments are half price in Abu Dis? Or should I just warn the local toy store that they'd better start coloring with black marker the immodest mothers that adorn the boxes of toys in their store?

Happy Holidays

Happy Rosh Hashana and Eid Mubarak. It's great to have the two holidays together. I'm so not a synagogue-goer. Reading from a prayer book just does not do it for me. I did my duty somewhat by hearing the call of the "shofar" from the synagogue across the street. Even on the 8th floor, the sound carried.

My more joyful moments, as usual, center around food.

We were invited to my daughter's fiancee's family on the first night of the holiday. I was happy to be invited out, avoiding the rush-to-get-things-done on the first night, the way most people are stressed out.

Their family insists that the mother of the groom is of Polish/ashkenazi descent. Looking at her and listening to her, there are no physical nor other traces of this ashkenazi lineage. It just can't be. My daughter and I were wondering if she was in fact a kidnapped Yemenite child from the late 1940s. Her personality is too warm and she served way too much food. Her sister looks like Israeli actress Gila Almagor. I ate a tablespoon of everything being served and still I was stuffed by the end of the meal.

Later that evening we laughed as we took a look at their older brother, a huge hulk of a handsome man, who resembled Christopher Reeve. My son said he was waiting for him to open up his shirt to reveal the big "S" sign.

And because of the amount of guests there, the groom's mother told me she hired her "Filipino" to wash the dishes during and after the meal. I expected to, in fact, see a person from the Philippines. Instead, some friendly short guy from Sri Lanka walked in.

"Is this your Filipino" I asked the groom's mother.

She nodded proudly. She loves her Filipino.

"But he's from Sri Lanka! Sri Lanka is nowhere close to the Philippines." I tried to explain to her.

I don't think she understood.

Trouble in the 'hood

I've been having interfaith meetings for months, quietly, at my home. It all started with a chanukah party and then grew into a full-fledged proper interfaith group.

The last time I announced on the local email group list that this week's meeting was going to be on Wednesday instead of Thursday (as seeing Paul McCartney took precedence), a very frightened woman emailed the 1,000 member group as follows:

"'Jerusalem Gypsy' is asking people to come to her house for an interfaith meeting with Arabs from Abu Dis. Meeting with Arabs will only encourage their
welcome to move to our city. We already have some Arabs living here, but
encouraging more to come by these welcome meetings, will change our city from being a safe neighborhood to a French Hill or Pizgat Ze'ev where the Arabs that moved there,(Piz'gat Ze'ev has 100 Arab familes and French Hill has a larger influx of Arab familes and growing daily. Jews won't buy there now.). This influx of Arabs
which started slowly and increased only brought terror. Terror with Arab gangs
fighting Jews in the streets, terror in car thefts etc. Do we need to encourage this
on the Chatline?"

I then received a whole slew of emails from frightened people asking me to stop my meetings and have them instead in Jerusalem or somewhere else.

I then wrote back to the entire group telling them that "many antagonizing and marginilizing attitudes are those that, in fact, encourage terror, while attitudes that build mutual respect (like ours) eliminate the roots of terror (you can not terrorize someone you do not hate and you think is human and you care for)." which only brought even more bizarre responses.

Some emails were totally retarded - people screaming at me in all caps that they had always felt safe in the city and now that I am inviting Arabs, all hell will break loose. Some were one sentences "Neville Chamberlain thought the same in 1939", one blamed me for causing strife among the Jewish people in our community, and some were totally against this but were willing to dialogue with me. One said I'll lose my friends, not knowing I have no friends to begin with - so it really doesn't matter :-)

My major point to them in individual emails was this: if our community allows in daily hundreds of arab workers for construction, gardening, garbage collection, municipal workers, house cleaners - every day from 6:00 - 3:00 pm, then WHY is a once-a-month meeting of 1 1/2hours with five educated professional men who happen to be Arab Moslems, who have the necessary permits to enter, causing such a ruckus?

paul mccartney in israel photos

paul mccartney in israel

I took my daughter's camera and therefore the sound on this video is shit. I may have put my hand over the microphone -who knows? But the concert was...great.

Paul's concert in Israel

got to the park around 9:30 am. There was no one at gate 6. September is still summer season in Israel (we have a rainy season from October - April - from May - October , it never rains). First my husband and I went inside the arena and took refuge in the shade where the food stands were being set up. Hot dogs (!), pretzels, popcorn, beer, ice coffee, ice cream and that's all the fast food I noticed. As opposed to European concerts where I've seen hundreds of cases of beer at the tailgate, Israelis are not a nation of beer guzzlers, as much as Europeans/Americans are - so I only saw a few people with a bottle or cup of beer. Also, beer dehydrates and it was extremely hot weather so even though I love a beer, I tried not to have drinks that would make me pee every hour I must have drunk 4 liters of water though. Most of us who waited from the early morning brought food and snacks which we shared with each other. There was instant camaraderie among us, which was lovely.

My two friends came in later on and I went to their gate to hang out with them. When I came back to my gate I saw Hubby sitting like a swami, engaged in a "lecture" about life,feng shui, marriage, clutter, etc. to about 10 young Israeli kids, sitting in a semi-circle, listening intently to him. They all looked like they just came out of an ashram in India. Hubby the Guru. Maharishi Mahesh Hubby.

The way we were positioned at the gate was completely unorganized and unfair, I thought. First we sat by the gate itself. Then security came and had us move 20 (?) meters back behind a plastic tarp leaving a large grassy area between us and the gate. There was hardly any shade and people made makeshift "tents" with sheets they brought. By the time 4:00 rolled around fans rushed to the gate (many getting ahead of me) and were told to move back to the tarp place. Finally around 4:30, we did end up in front of the gate somehow. Hubby gave the security guy who was going to check us one of his hats. He checked us before the rush so we were actually the first in our gate to get in. The woman next to me was like "in Israel, you give to somebody, you get back."

I just thought it should have been better organized at the gate with barriers set up so that first come first serve could be in place. They could have put barriers in several aisles and not have left the fans in an unruly "pile" meters from the gate. That and the heat were my only gripes.

This was NOT a day to be wearing Tom's Natural Deodorant, and by noon, I asked people for deodorant.

"I have men's deodorant" offered one girl who had come the same time we did.

At that point I didn't care if it were an elephant's deodorant. I needed something badly - FAST. And I was grateful for that.

5:30 the gate opened and hubby and I ran and ran and ran. We were about 3rd or 4th row from the stage, but it was terribly pushy, hot and crowded that my husband said he was at his limit and moved all the way to the back (!) of the stadium. He said he won't enjoy the concert being crammed like that. I also felt uncomfortable. I could hardly see the stage. I thought Israeli men were on the short side, in general, but somehow these 6 foot 5 giants were all in front of me. I couldn't see the stage. I called friends who were at the concert and my girlfriend had a pink long scarf that she waved in the air like a "flare" to show me where she was. She was back a bit and when I went to where my 2 friends were sitting comfortably in their chairs I noticed I could see the stage perfectly (around 12 "people rows" back from the stage in the center right). Hubby joined us thanks to the pink "flare" we had.

It didn't get any cooler as night fell. But the excitement was incredible.

My friends and I began singing Paul/Beatles songs loud, getting the people around us to join in. There was a man in his 50s with young children (10, 12) who knew all the words to the songs. I told him "You gave your children a good education" as they knew all the words. The guy did the harmony.

When Paul took the stage, it felt like a dream. It didn't seem real. I was tickled at the way he spoke in Hebrew. I only expected a word or two in the language, not full short sentences. I took several photos (most came out awful - but some came out real nice) and short videos of a minute or two which I'll post on YouTube and pass on the link - tomorrow. The interaction was great between Paul and the audience. He really connected with his fans.

I've been to many Stones concerts. Jagger does not connect with the fans. He prances around the stage, which McCartney doesn't, but there's no "feeling." I could only say that it was very spiritual for us. I sang and danced my ass off - although it was difficult to "shake" in my crowded spot (but I managed). Today I've lost my voice.

Hubby, who was not a McCartney fan and who just went to keep me company and I think for curiosity's sake and who wanted to have an historical experience, said it was the best concert he'd ever been to. So Mac's added yet another fan.

In the taxi the 4 of us took back to Jerusalem, we kept on thanking God for the opportunity to see Paul, for bringing Paul to Israel (despite the threats) and that it was a blessing for us. My friend was saying it was like a messianic experience for her. I told her if it were indeed messianic, we'd be seeing "tehiat hamaytim" (revival of the dead) and he'd be on stage with John. For THAT I think I'd take out a bank loan.

Today my legs are sore, my voice is gone, but I'm happy and feel very blessed.

The Shabbes Nigger

Hubby isn't particularly politically correct. I was thinking about even allowing him to go to the Paul McCartney concert this Thursday. Knowing that Paul is quite a gung-ho vegetarian, I promised myself no knockwurst sandwiches while waiting at Gate 6 for 12 hours. I'll take egg sandwiches for the morning, goat cheese and sprouts sandwiches for lunch, and humous sandwiches and salad for dinner. I feel I need to respect Paul's wishes and his wishes are that everyone on the planet will become vegetarian. So far, munching on a chicken leg doesn't bring me to guilt pangs yet, but if I go to a McCartney concert, I feel biting into a juicy hamburger at the venue would be offensive. I mean, you don't want to be eating a ham sandwich while face to face with the Prophet Mohammad or Moses, so this is like the same thing, isn't it.

Hubby, on the other hand, has no qualms about eating whatever it is he wants when he wants. If there are rules against bringing meat into Park Hayarkon, Hubby might get agitated as he does when there are any rules to begin with and break them in spite. Then he'd get into a heated argument with local vegetarians, telling them "it's all bullshit." Everything is bullshit to him. And he just loves pushing peoples' buttons.

He has dared me for weeks that if we were alone in the home one weekend, that we should prance around the house naked. I usually give this suggestion my usual 'blank stare' response as I usually do to his ridiculous proposals. But today, while my son was out playing soccer, he looks at me with one eyebrow raised and a sly smile appeared on his face.

"Well? We're alone."

"OK" I said and pulled my top off at the dining table and continued to read the papers as if reading the morning papers topless is a regular thing.

Hubby then got nervous. I dared his dare. He didn't expect this.

"Please don't go over to the window to do the dishes or anything."

"Shit darling. It's my day of rest. Whose doing dishes?"

Fast forward...Saturday is HIS day to clean. Even though it's just the three of us in the house this weekend, he wonders why every 5 seconds there's another dish or cup to wash.

He looks at me, shrugs and says

"What am I - the Shabbes (Sabbath) Nigger?"

I look back at him. It's no use. I can never politically-correct him.

Getting Ready for Paul

I'm listening to Galaatz radio this afternoon - the music Hubby was listening to on the television (MTV) was getting on my nerves. Every hour the same new thing, the same new thing, the same new thing. I switched stations and they were playing McCartney stuff. Good thing I live on the 8th floor. I was singing loud and dancing all over the kitchen/dining/living room while cooking.

The radio blasted out Oh Darling, I Will, Sgt. Pepper, and I didn't have a care in the world, as I looked out at the fantastic view of the Judean and Jordanian mountains out my window.

Then my son sneered at me,

"That's McCartney?"

"Yes. Shhhh!!!" I hissed at him. I hate being interrupted while I'm singing along with Paul. I love knowing all the words too to his stuff.

He rudely continued, "For THAT you paid almost 1,000 shekels for two tickets?"

Baby You Can Drive My Car was playing in the background.

and this was my answer to him - Beep Beep um Beep Beep YEAH!~

filled with stupid people

That is what the world is filled with.

I don't know who was stupid. Me or the high school. They sent a notice about a parents' teachers evening with the date 17/9/08 on it. That was yesterday, which I had marked on my calendar. I was all set to go. I was happy, for a change, because my son is actually doing well this year. I hurry and do my shopping list, go to the getting-crowded supermarket, shop for the week, arrange for delivery, call a cab to first pick up Hubby who reluctantly decided to move from his couch/bed/tv to come with me and then the taxi rushes to the school and it's dark. The place is fucking dark.

"it doesn't look like there's any parents/teachers evening tonight." says the wise cab driver who is of course gonna charge me a fortune for a round-trip trip.

I plow through my bag full of stuff trying to find the paper that tells the date.

"Here it is" I show the cab driver and Hubby, who is getting totally irritated. "The date is the 17/9/08."

"But it says 'Sunday' says the wise old cab driver.

So should I have ignored the date, and read the entire thing in Hebrew? The numbers were easier for me because anyone can understand numbers. The school put the wrong date on and the right day. How was I to know?

But my son of course was like "How should I know?" when I came home furious that I wasted time, effort and cab fare for this. He kind-of-knew that there was something going on on Sunday but wasn't sure it was for his class.

Then he told me his teacher tried to call us all day.

"But darling, I had my phone with me the entire day. I would have known if she was calling. She didn't call."

"Yes. She tried all day on our house phone."

"WHAT HOUSE PHONE?" said Hubby and I in unison (for a change)

We hadn't had a house phone since June 2007.

"I gave her your cell phone. I told her we don't have a house phone."

Yup, the house phone she was trying to call us on, which is still listed in the phone book. I'm not gonna even bother trying to tell the phone company to unlist that ghost number.

This afternoon my daughter calls me.

"Someone called from Maariv L'noar (a teen magazine) and said they had been sending us a gift subscription for a year and would we be interested in renewing. I told them 'What gift subscription?' We never got any magazine. And then they told me where they sent it to. I told them 'we haven't lived there for 10 years already.'"

I vaguely recall filling out a form - with my correct address - a year ago when my son began his orthodontic treatment. But somehow, these fools managed to dig up my very old address. I once called them to tell them we weren't receiving it and then they said 'ok, ok' and I never heard from them again, and never had the patience to pursue a free gift.

putting out fiyah

I spent a good few moments in the morning on the McCartney website trying to convince the Israelis posting about next week's concert not to voice their fears about that Bakri guy up in Lebanon trying to scare the wits out of his fans.

I wrote furiously to one -

"What if Paul's management reads these posts telling him to cancel the concert next week? If he gives in to these terrorists, it's a sign of weakness. It's great that so far, he's sticking to his word and isn't showing any fear about these threats. And, the security here is the best in the world, blah, blah, blah"

Thankfully,they listened and pulled those wimpy posts off the site.

And as for Bakri trying to fuck up my fun next week, all I have to say to him is

"Cus Ukhtak"

Like a Chicken Without a Head

It's been nuts around here, so much so, that I woke up this morning already really physically dizzy and nauseous. I need another vacation but this time a real vacation from my To Do lists and family and work.

My blue book is filled with things to do and places to go to and people to see from now until mid-October. My home computer zonked out on me last week, and I just had it fixed and brought to my work. I can't lug the heavy thing, so my daughter said she would pick me up from work and take the computer in her car, as long as Hubby can pick up the grandkid at 4:30. Turns out my boss wanted me to work overtime for 1/2 hour, which had this whole chain reaction. My daughter, before coming to get me, bashed into another car's tail end and she nearly destroyed the front of their new used car. She came to my work a bit shaken with her hand sprained and I had to tell her we need to leave in 1/2 hour. Meanwhile, Hubby was 10 minutes late picking up the kid, my daughter's hand was hurting, my neck was aching, my son is calling to tell me his teacher wants to make a house visit next week, my other daughter is telling me about looking for wedding halls, my daughter who is in the army is telling me about the deodorant she needs me to buy for her immediately - today, and Hubby calls me urgently and I thought 'hope everything is alright with the kid.' He tells me...

"I want you to stop at a gas station on your way home. Remember. Stop at any gas station. You must do this. And buy me a pack of cigarettes."

As we were driving home, I was worried about his cigarettes. There was no gas station on the way. But my daughter's hand was hurting and she decided to wait for her husband, who had just finished work, to meet us on a side street and take over the driving. God loves me. Because of this delay, I finally found 10 minutes until daughter's hubby arrives, to run to the nearest gas station 2 blocks away and buy the Old Man his ciggies. Because if I don't, he'll never forgive me. Last time I forgot, it was as if his entire world had caved in. I really think he measures how much I love him on whether I remember to buy him cigarettes or not. And when I do remember, he is over the moon.

Family Photo

Not my family. Certainly not. Hilarious.

Gift giving

My daughter's boyfriend's parents went to Morocco during the summer and brought back what she said were "tons of leather bags" and necklaces, from which they asked her to pick. She picked a brown beaded and silver necklace and orange bag with a lovely Moroccan-style stitching design. For me. I promptly felt I "had" to wear the necklace the next day at work. It was lovely, even if I have 100 brown stone necklaces. The bag is beautiful, and large enough for me to fit in all my junk. The only problem is that it stinks like camel urine or something similar - some leather smells great, and some stinks horribly. This has a stench. Enough to put me off leather goods for a while. But I put all my stuff in it and took it to work. I met my daughter yesterday and she remarked, "Oh you're wearing it?" which I'm sure made her feel grateful that I don't shun her gifts.

I don't shun any gifts. Gifts are gifts.

Hubby, on the other hand, doesn't think like I do. If he doesn't like a gift, even from a loved one, he will discard it like a two-bit whore.

Same daughter brought us a house plant for inside our home. The wooden strangely-shaped thing it was in, wasn't my style or color, but it was a gift, and I proudly displayed it in the living room. On Friday my daughter's future in-laws were meeting us for the first time. Hubby put the plant in the bathroom, well out of view of guests.

This produced an argument.

"Why is this in the bathroom?" I asked

"Because it's a piece of shit."

That makes sense. Pieces of shit certainly belong in the bathroom, but this "piece" was from my daughter. It didn't.

After some loud words were exchanged, I won (YAY!) and the plant remained in the livingroom but on the other side, on the side of the couch, where it wouldn't show so prominently.


He did the same thing with this hideous brown metal clock my son-in-law got for us before he became our son-in-law. After a few months Hubby took it out of our living room and placed it in the storage room. I argued with him about it, but not as vehemently as I would had he been my own son.

When my daughter's future in-laws arrived at our home Friday night, we felt like royalty as each one beared some sort of gift in their hands - the father held a bottle of champagne, the mother - a dozen long-stemmed roses, the husband-to-be - a giant caramel cake and the brother - a giant basket filled to the brim with assorted high-quality chocolates and wine.

I snickered to Hubby - "Bet you're not taking THAT into the storage room.."

Tali-Jews

It's been driving me up a wall - the news with "our" crazy rabbinate putting "kosher labels" now on music which I read about here to the modesty patrols beating up women in their own apartments!

Bach and Beethoven are "ok" but the "goyishe" African beats aren't? Smacks of simple racism to me. Handel's Messiah is tolerated but not Reggae? Do they not listen to the lyrics in Matisyahu's songs and hear his love of God and of Judaism there?

It is scary in the religious sector, folks. Is this really where religion is supposed to be? Is this the religion that God gave to the Jews in Sinai? What is frightening is these people totally believe they are right! Fuck! These people are far from the Source.

These are Taliban Jews and they have no place in the Holy Land! Ship 'em to Afghanistan I say.

But - I had a good laugh the other day on the bus. An Orthodox man asked an older Morroccan woman sitting to the side of me but across the aisle to get up and move (!). She looked at him disbelievingly and then moved to sit next to me. She shook her head at me, her long earrings dangling, and then proceeded to pinch me near my rear end - twice.

I jumped.

"Excuse me?"

She laughed and told me,

"THIS is what I would have done to him, if I sat next to him."

Did we both have a good and loud laugh.

Reasons to Blog

I basically don't know where my mind went. It's scaring me. Yesterday, while writing to some long-lost Beatle-fan-friends of mine, I hadn't written to in years, they replied back to me with the following:

1. "remember when we went to Beatlemania on the day Elvis died and you told me 'hey, Elvis died', and I laughed hysterically?".

No. I vaguely remember going to Beatlemania. I don't remember anything on the day Elvis died, no hysterical laughing, nothing. I mean, I didn't sit shiva for him or anything - this I do remember - but not this.

2. "I recall going with you to see John Lennon on the Mike Douglas Show in the seventies"

I don't remember a thing. I do remember who John Lennon was, and I do remember watching the Mike Douglas show, but not particularly going to see John Lennon there. I very well might have, as in 1972 (I googled when it was) I was in the midst of my New York former-Beatle days and camped out during the summers with my friends following the various ex-Beatles around New York City from 1970-1972. I was 14-16 and my friends were, like, 18-20, so I had to act all grown-up around them and not ask for autographs, take photos, etc. This I do remember.

3. Today my boss asks me if I worked with so-and-so this morning on a document. I stopped to think for a moment. I don't recall but began to worry that perhaps I did. I asked my co-workers who assured me I wasn't asked to work on that particular document, which set my mind, or whatever is left of it, at ease.

So this confirms why I am blogging. This is a diary for me. Not you. For me. Because when I'm 64 and I haven't got a clue what I had done for the past 14 years, this will tell me what I did do, wanted to do, never got to do, etc. If someone will ask me in the old age home when I'm 98 whether I had seen Paul McCartney in Israel way back in 2008, and I don't remember, I can look it up on my blog. There. No better reason than that. And that's would be only if I would be able to remember my website address.

Ticket To Ride and response to PACBI

They're here. In my hand. I put them on the table so I could photograph them in case I'm 95 years old and I want to remember what concerts I went to in my lifetime. I just pray that I don't forget to take them out of the pile of papers I put on my desk for the shredder. That would be quite the tragedy.



And not only does my boss stress me out with her not granting me the concert day off immediately (although it does look hopefull, as she glanced at me yesterday and said she doesn't see a problem with it, but I should check with her next week), but today the PACBI (Palestine Campaign for the Academic & Cultural Boycott of Israel) aggravated me to no end when I read in the paper today that they had asked Paul to cancel his September concert.

PACBI people - I work for peace. I put my soul into peace. To quote the wonderful Sari Nusseibeh, President of Al Quds University - "Our position is based upon the belief that it is through cooperation based on mutual respect, rather than through boycotts or discrimination, then our common goals can be achieved". Yay for him.

Let's think of things Paul can do for the sake of peace:

1. He could take 10-20% of the concert profits and hand them over to Palestinian/Israeli dialogue groups. There are tons of them, which goes to show that this is what the people really want. There's the Interfaith Encounter Association, Rabbis for Human Rights, International Committee for House Demolitions, Bereaved Parents, Combatants for Peace, Jerusalem Peacemakers, Arava Institute for Environmental Studies, All Nations Cafe, Emun-Trust...and I can't think of more offhand, but this post would be too long if I list them all.

And this doesn't count all the political peace groups there are. So to "punish" the good people of this country by wishing Paul would cancel, pisses me off. No need to do that. It gets my goat. I get hearburn and palpatations.

2. He could play a smaller "unplugged"-like gig in Ramallah, where the audience will be smaller and the stage doesn't have to be so elaborate, but he'll be going to the Palestinian people. If not Ramallah, then Abu-Dis with its Al-Quds University campus might be an idea. But Ramallah is the Palestinian Tel Aviv so why not there.

3. Invite Palestinians from the West Bank to the concert. Two weeks before the concert special permits can be offered to Palestinians - for those who can afford to buy these tickets (if they're difficult to pay for on the Israeli side, it is doubley difficult on the Palestinian side).

On Paul's site there was a plea from an Israeli, on this subject, who let me quote here:

Please don't judge us from outside, it's a very easy thing to do.
No one can have an idea regarding who's right/wrong based on google ! and CNN.

Only the one who lives here (both Israelis and Arabs) know what it's like, and know all the historical events that led to this current situation.

It's a very complicated situation, and which both sides are right and at the same time wrong, and all the people suffer.

The Israel side sure has its reason for behaving like it does; we're constantly under attack, ever since 1948! Most of the wars since were arab countries attacking Israel (since the first war).

We did the best we could in order to offer peace to the Arabs, but it didn't work. When Arafat in 1999 had the chance to change history, he became afraid that he'd be murdered and backed off.

The huge difference here, from apartheid is that we merely try to protect ourselves. We don't get any pleasure from arab suffering, it's painful for us as well.
.......
So, we should also be punished and not having the biggest rock star in the world come and visit us? why? what did the people do wrong? Every time there was a chance for peace, the Israeli people voted for it, They voted to give up our lands, now we're willing to give up the "ramat hagolan", we're always pro peace, why don't we deserve this concert? I think that we all deserve it, the Arabs deserve it as well and I wouldn't say anything if Paul has chosen to perform in gaza.

So, Paul doesn't have to boycott the concert. There are other, better options that will make everyone happier, especially me.

Once in a lifetime

Only 24 days to go until the Paul McCartney concert in Israel finally happens. I'm nervous. My boss tends not to answer emails about my vacation days promptly causing me endless aggravation until she finally does answer. She was supposed to be away during the concert, which would have entitled me to a "yes" answer. But she's changed her mind about her own plans, as I overheard her talking to the receptionist and office manager about it. She usually doesn't like it when I take off when she's around. What's a crazy like me to do? I kvetched to my co-workers.

"Wouldn't she understand that I have to be at Park Hayarkon really early in the morning, like 7:00 am - maybe even sleeping over the night before?"

Co-worker shrugs.

"I mean, doesn't she like music?"

Another shrug.

"I mean, how would she like it if Mozart were alive or came back from the dead for one concert only - a once-in-a-lifetime-chance. Would she miss it because of an important meeting or an email??? She'd do anything to see that, WOULDN'T SHE???" I said, raising my voice.

A laugh from the co-worker.

"Well, this is the exact same thing."

Jerusalem of Concerts and Beer

Late summer ended in Jerusalem with plenty of happenings all over town,including one of my favorite local groups, Habanot Nechama who were playing at Mishkenot Shaananim.


Habanot Nehama

One of the most enjoyable concerts I've been to in years, actually. The sound and voices and three-part harmonies were clear and crisp - and the music quite original and funky.

You can hear some samples of their stuff here:







Later on that week there was the annual Beer Festival.



Nothing like Oktoberfest, but here are some photos which tell the story.


No - no one was prancing around nude at the fest, surpisingly enough. This is one of the interesting aprons this vendor was selling. Hubby was telling the vendor, "don't you think this is on the 'small' side?"



It was a bit too much for even myself. Too many young people getting shit-faced out of their minds, a few nearly fell on me.


looking to get laid at the beer fest.

Glad I didn't see any vomit anywhere, even though I stayed until it was nearly over. One of the highlights was that I finally got to sample some of Israel's newest beers on the market The Dancing Camel - love the name.


(picture taken from their website)

Those @$%&# Israelis

Many immigrants to Israel have said or thought the very same thing. The culture shock.

We were invited to a party Thursday evening by a old school chum of mine. The party was called for 8:00 pm, but we wanted to get there when everything was already in full swing.

I went shopping when I got home from work. The groceries were delivered to me at 8:00, and the delivery guy looked at me sadly.

"We left your refrigerated stuff by mistake; we'll come back in 1/2 hour to bring it to you."

I thought how nice of them to let me know instead of me discovering this myself, after they've already gone. I had bought quite a lot of meat and dairy.

Well, according to simple math, 1/2 hour after 8:00 = 8:30 pm. Am I correct? I gave them "Israeli time" leeway, which is another 1/2 hour. If an Israeli tell you 5 minutes, they mean 10 minutes; if they tell you a job will take 3 weeks to complete, know that it'll be 6 weeks; if they say they'll delivery that fridge to you in 10 days, think 20.

But I'm not happy when people go over their Israeli time limit. So by 9:15 I was antsy. I call up the store.

"Where is my food that YOU left in the store?"

Store manager - "The driver is on his way to you."

"Right, I know that, but when?"

"As soon as possible."

Fine. I hung up. Hubby was getting highly agitated. It is now 9:25 pm.
We were supposed to be at the party an hour late, not 2 hours late. He calls the store:

"Where's our fucking food?"

Manager hangs up on him.

I call back. "Look, if the guy can't come in 5 minutes, we have to leave. Why don't you take it back, and put it back in the fridge and bring it to us in the morning."

"OK, I'll call the driver."


In the elevator, my very frustrated Hubby is swearing left, right and center about "those fucking Israelis," as a woman from the 4th floor gets onto the elevator just as he's saying "fucking Israelis." He smiles at her, and I turn my face to the back of the elevator, highly embarrassed. Wonder what she thinks of him.

9:50 pm the driver calls me.

"We just came to your house. No one is in."

Obviously the manager didn't call the driver.

"Duh! You guys were supposed to take it back and deliver it tomorrow morning."

"We're very sorry, but we're already out of the building. We've left it in front of your door."

"The food will go bad," I tell him. He apologizes.

We are in the middle of a terrible heatwave. I'm furious.

Thankfully, the party was a respite from all the chaos; the hostess had a music party, 3 musicians were playing Beatles tunes and the entire Rubber Soul album front to back - while me, the hostess and another guest sang until it hurt. We three all have tickets to see Sir Paul McCartney the end of the month.

Hostess tells me, "We gotta do this again in September, before the concert. We have to 'practice!'"

"what practice? We need to save our voices for the concert because we'll be singing our lungs out."

The party was still going on at midnight, and I called my daughter, whose car we borrowed to tell her I'd like to stay at the party longer, and could I return the car to her early in the morning. Talk about role reversal.

So my fucking Israeli daughter growls into the telephone...."You get that fucking car to me in 1/2 hour. We're waiting up for you."

Next morning I hear same daughter swearing about these other "fucking Israelis." Seems she is paying $10 a month for something that was advertised on her Visa bill that promises a free gift every month- just pay for delivery and it's yours! What a deal, right? But during the past two months she got a delivery of an Mp3 gift without the Mp3 in the box, and the vegetable cutter was missing several parts. She continues to swear and tells me "I'm starting to sound like dad, aren't I?"

The grocery store accepted our returned refrigerated foodstuffs graciously, I filled up my cart with whatever I returned, while the manager had me bypass the cashier and trusted that I took exactly what I had bought the night before. He even threw in a free newspaper and a package of chocolates. And with that gift of chocolate, he redeemed himself completely.

Paul McCartney Mania hits Israel

It's total lunacy. The Beatle fan in me had been lying dormant for the past 35 years or so until I heard on Sunday that Paul McCartney's concert was really happening. Right here in the Holy Land.

Now all hell's broken loose. I came into work telling everyone that Thursday, September 25th is a vacation day for me, and I don't care how much work there is for me to do. I don't care. I had emailed lots of my U.S./European friends who regularly go to rock concerts, and they unanimously said it is worth whatever price tickets will be. Also, out of the 33 songs Paul does, 25 are Beatle tunes. That is good enough for me. Last time I saw him in concert was in 1976, but at that time he only had one Beatles song in his repertoire (Blackbird) preferring instead to focus on his solo stuff.

McCartney's tickets are 490 NIS (which is $145) - for field seats. The VIP seats are about $300 and "more" VIP will set one back $3,000. I'm sticking with field because a) I'll be with the real fans and, b) if I wait in line all day long, I'll surely make the first few rows in front of the stage (unless those are reserved for the $3,000 ticket holders).

My husband, who brushed Paul off earlier in the week - mentioning with a grimace Paul's "puppy eyes," changed his tune, after I told him that tickets were going on sale today.

"Count me in."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll do this with you."

"It's not so simple. You'll be standing on line from 7:00 am until 4:00 pm and then the show doesn't begin until 8:00."

"It'll be a day for me to shoot the shit with people" he tells me.

Shoot the shit? A day to shoot the shit???

For me - this day will be up there with my daughters' weddings, birth of a grandkid, etc. This isn't a day of shooting the shit. This is history.

But I'm not worried. If he decides not to go last minute, there'll be lots of takers.

When I got to work today I realized I didn't have enough money in my charge card and needed more credit. Man, do they love me there. More credit? Sure!!! They're only too happy to do that. The guy said he would extend enough credit until 8:00 pm tonight.

I called up Bimot to order two tickets. I don't think I ever charged anything this expensive in my life, except for kitchen appliances. It set me back $300, which in shekels is 980. I think of 980 shekels as 980 Israeli Dollars, and it seems so much more expensive than a mere $300 for two tickets.

I called Bimot later and asked when my charge card would be charged for the tickets. After all, I only have until 8:00 pm tonight. He said up to 48 hours. OOPS. So what's a crazy person to do?

I promptly called the credit card place back, who now told me they have computer problems - perhaps 70,000 people were probably doing what I was doing - extending their credit to buy tickets. Was that what was causing the all-day crash?

Meanwhile, I was on edge for most of the day. I hadn't heard back from the credit company. They finally called me at 5:00 pm, extended my credit for 48 hours. They're happy and I'm happy.

I still can't believe I'm going to be hearing Paul live in person. It'll only hit me when the tickets are in my hand on Sunday.

Empty Nest Syndrome

I spent a wonderful weekend with my second oldest daughter who just got engaged a week ago. She hadn't been home in weeks, only popping in for Friday night dinner with her destined one. Wanting him to do well on his exams without any distraction, she decided to spend the weekend with her long-lost family.

Friday morning her fiancee treated me and my son to an amazing breakfast at Jerusalem's Foccacia restaurant on Rabbi Akiva Street.

"You can't come to this restaurant without ordering focaccia," my daughter warned me, and I thought the focaccia would be another thick piece of bread with a little bit of seasoning here and there, as it is in most restaurants here. I was happily surprised when I saw what the waitress brought to us - the softest, thinnest, biggest foccacia I had ever seen and tasted, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with fresh garlic cloves and sage leaves. Well worth the extra 9 NIS ($2.50) on the bill.


Foccacia at Foccacia Restaurant

Saturday was peaceful and I happily helped my daughter go through the maze at the US consulate's website so she can apply for a US passport. I thought I'd get AdSense put on this blog and it took me hours to figure out how - and I went around in cyber circles with this thing.

That evening, my daughter went back to her guy and I suddenly felt so sad, so miserable. I'm so happy for her getting a real nice guy who treats her like a queen. But I miss those fun girlie evenings we have over the past few years. I fondly remembered before my oldest daughter got married how we'd watch scary movies on Friday night after dinner. We'd squeeze all together on the couch with popcorn and blankets during the winter months,and laugh and scream simultaneously at the scary and gory parts. And now my house is getting empty.

I wiped away a couple of tears and headed for my special treat that I bought for myself this weekend - blueberries (which I only buy once a year because they are extremely expensive for the tiny box).


Expensive Israeli blueberries

I consoled myself with a nash from my own childhood - blueberries and sour cream - only this time I added ricotta cheese to the treat.

The next morning at my office I just burst into tears as I told my co-workers that I was having an Empty Nest Syndrome Attack.

My friend tells me, "Of course you feel terrible. Because you know that after they're gone, you're just left with HIM," which made me cry even more.

Then the sex-or-no-sex-with-our-husbands conversation began and I told them I had spent the entire afternoon trying to put Google ads on my blog.

"So you'd rather Google than Schmoogle," said one of my friends.

Yeah.

Tourist from Brooklyn

Taking buses in Jerusalem nowadays demands a lot of patience with the construction that is tearing up Jerusalem's downtown streets. So with great zen-like patience, thinking to myself, "this minute I am ok, this minute I am ok" I board the buses after a 20 minute - 1/2 hour wait and breathe deeply. Very deeply.

While breathing and after speaking to my husband who was worried I wouldn't get home in time to make dinner before he crashes, a woman sitting next to me started a conversation.

"You mentioned 'Maaleh Adumim'. Is that a nice place to live?"

"Yes, it's really beautiful. A beautiful suburb!"

I didn't want to ruin her day by telling her that the buses now take twice as long to get to and back to Jerusalem and it will be this way for two more years (at least).

"Are you new here?" I asked.

"I'm a tourist. I live in Brooklyn, and I really want to live here, but my husband doesn't," she said to me sadly and continued looking at the people coming onto the bus.

"Everyone here is so gorgeous. So beautiful. Like models. Everyone can be models here. Look at this one," she pointed to a beautiful Ethiopian soldier standing in front of us, "it's like God chiseled her features. So perfect!"

She just was in total awe of the human beauty surrounding us. Sure enough, I noticed too that everyone on the bus was attractive - beautiful.

"Back home, the people are so different. It's not the same. They're so materialistic there. It's all about how much you make, the money. Here, everything seems so relaxed, so much more spiritual. Jerusalem is also the intellectual capital of the world. I would never say anything bad about this country. Like the spies did (during the time of Moses). If it's terribly hot, I just go with it. I tell myself, it's ok. I won't ever say anything bad." She got more and more animated into the conversation, gushing over the people, the spirituality of the place, the beauty...

"It's like the whole world seems compacted into this country. You've got a little bit of everything here."

I looked at her incredulously. She was a mirror image of myself 14 years ago.

I told her, "In 1989,when I came for a visit, I said everything you just said to me now. I cried and begged every beggar I gave money to in Jerusalem to please pray for me so that one day I might have the privilege of living here. And you know something, it worked. My husband, who didn't want to go at first, finally relented."

I advised her to consistently badger her husband about it, until he gives in. Talk about nothing else. Tell him how this food reminds you of Israel, how that person reminds you of an Israeli, how the diesel fumes reminds you of the buses in Israel, how the Catskill mountains reminds you of the hills outside Jerusalem..."

She blessed me as she got off the bus. I looked at her, knowing the pain she will suffer going back to her home in Brooklyn. Probably, like me, she will cry all the way back on the flight back to the Diaspora, her soul wanting to be here so badly.

And the slow and tedious bus ride became more bearable as her words to me rang so true...

Conversations with Invisible People

There are people who think they're invisible, and don't quite care what they're talking about, thinking no one else will hear them. Such was the case when I got on a Jerusalem bus the other day and sat in the back, which I usually don't do.

Two American teenage grunge-kids were "lounging" on the back seats, taking over two seats each, talking loudly. I sat right in front of them. The conversation went something like this:

"No one likes me."

"Your right. Oh no, your mother does"

"I'm gonna try to get you angry at me, ok?"

"Yeah."

"I got an old lady angry at me the other day 'cos I put my feet on the chair"

A few minutes later another thread to the conversation:

"You know when you smoke crack it takes, like, 20 minutes, and then you just really don't wanna do anything."

"yeah?"

"What would happen if there were no girls on this planet? I think we'd be humping our sheets."

"No, we'd be gay."

"Nah, we wouldn't. Would we still like be horney? And then we wouldn't be able to, like, reproduce."

"That a pretty big word."

"Yeah"

I figured they didn't see me or anything. I was pretty invisible to them, and I was trying hard not to laugh out loud or anything.

Yesterday I had a phone conversation with a local Bank Mizrachi telephone customer service agent. They're pretty invisible. You don't see these agents, right? So I needed to find out which branch was open in Jerusalem on Wednesday. He rattles off the branches that are open and then says,

"The Geulah one is open today too..."

"OH! NO! I can't go there?"

He giggles over the phone. And I giggle.

"I'm not dressed properly, if you know what I mean. It's a Hareidi (ultra-orthodox) neighborhood. So I don't think I can go."

He giggles some more, and I giggle too. Nothing like telling an invisible man you're immodestly dressed.

When we finish the conversation, I thank him. He tells me: "kol tuv" (all the best)

I hang up.

I then grasped the fact that term "kol tuv" is a term mostly used by the ultra-orthodox, and I suddently realized that he was probably "one of them" (Bank Mizrachi hires many Ultra-Orthodox Jews), and here I was telling him how I was dressed, or rather undressed. Now I completely understand the giggles from this invisible man.

Summer Holiday - photos

Arts and Crafts Festival - Jerusalem



Azrielli Center view



kids playing at the Tel Aviv Port



luxury women's spa - Tel Aviv port



view from the restaurant - Benny Hadayag - Tel Aviv Port



catching my meal?



Arts & Crafts Fair

Summer Vacation

What bliss to be on vacation from work. I didn't go anywhere exotic. I just stayed mostly in Jerusalem, unlike other people I knew who travelled to exotic places like Ireland, Croatia, Prince Edward Island and the Hamptons in NY.

On Monday, a friend, who is happily retired, and I, took the train from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv in the early afternoon. We were beginning to worry about our nice little trip to the happy Israeli city on the sea when hordes of very noisy little kids came on board. Unless they're our relatives, we do not tolerate other little brats, and even then they're hard to tolerate. So we got out of our seats in search of a more quieter car. Fortunately, the last car on the train was quieter, with just an announcement that afternoon prayers would be taking place in back of the car, as men recruited other Orthodox Jewish men for prayer time. My friend rolled her eyes as they went past our seat. "At least they're not in the 2-10 year old range.." I told her. I don't find praying men the least bit annoying. We got off at the Azrielli Center - Tel Aviv's triple towers of 49 floors. Same old chain stores - nothing special. But their food court was better than the fast food places in Jerusalem's malls. And they had sushi, non-kosher sushi with shrimp, but sushi nevertheless and so we treated ourselves to snack on "permissible" sushi - salmon and tuna. I went to the observatory at the top, and with my earphones discovered that I didn't know everything there is to know about Tel Aviv. When I came down, we went off to the Tel Aviv Port to see the chic boutiques and have dinner at one of the seaside restaurants. We ate at Benny Hadayag (Benny the Fisherman) and shared a plate of baked, unbelievablly delicious, yellowtail. We had to rush back to catch the last train into Jerusalem - 8:00 pm. Much too short a time to be in Tel Aviv. I'm beginning to love the place.

Tuesday - I roamed around the Old City of Jerusalem, grabbing bits of Arabic sticky cheesy wonderful pastry for the folks back home. I got to my husband's work place and his Arab partner was like "She's not afraid to wander around the old city like YOU!" he said, laughing at Hubby. I offered them the sweets and they were gone in 5 minutes.

Wednesday - errand day. I renewed my Israeli passport which took 5 minutes! A far cry from the three weeks it used to take to get one. I lunched at Rehavia's Sushi Bar and took the extensive combination plate, wondering if I'll ever be full from sushi. Fortunately, it did the trick. And Hubby and I celebrated in the evening by going out to the Inbal hotel's dairy restaurant. After Tel Aviv's seaside eatery, this was tasteless, although I had heard good things about it. The presentation was fancy but the fish quite tasteless.

Thursday - The arts and crafts festival called Hutzot Hayotzer at the Sultan's Pool in Jerusalem is on for a week. I went with my youngest daughter because we liked that evening's entertainment - Moosh Ben Ari. I had the evening downpat. We walked around the art stalls, eyeing the jewellery and the mezuzah cases I needed to buy. OK, I didn't "need" to buy the jewellery but this is the once-a-year time when I do buy. If I am not for myself, then who will be? Hubby gets me no jewellery. So a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do. Right? Then we walked around the international pavillions as I impressed my daughter by my knowing where all the countries were (Peru is in South America, Zimbabwe in Africa.....etc.). She's like "how do you know all this???" And I, once again, feel wonderfully brilliant. My advice? Always take your stupid kids with you to these things. The concert was fun and we spent the entire 1 1/2 hour dancing like silly little girls.

Friday - shopping with my son. Ugh. He earned enough money this summer working for Hubby in construction to buy himself a long-awaited Playstation 2. He tells me the computer will now be mine, and he'll hardly need it now. I am thrilled. I front him the 300 shekels that he is short and only bought him one pair of shoes for playing soccer instead of soccer shoes AND running shoes for school. The road construction in Jerusalem is ruining my life, or at least my leisure time, and I am full of "f" words as I wait and wait and wait for buses to come, and when they do come, there's heavy traffic, though it isn't rush hour. But as I spew out the "f" words, I sense that everyone around me agrees heartily with me about the situation.

Saturday - a friend is over for brunch and as we were about to finish my daughter walks in smiling from ear to ear. She is brandishing a shiny new engagement ring! I start to yell "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!! IS THIS FOR REAL?"
Hubby is in the next room in a semi-sleep, wondering if my friend had passed out and was lying on the kitchen floor lifeless. He did not want to come out! I knocked on the door.

"Your daughter's engaged. Get dressed and get out!" I commanded.

It was Israeli Valentine's Day Friday night and the boyfriend proposed to her as they sat down to eat at a restaurant.

It was quite odd that she had dreamt the week before of a much younger-looking Lubavitcher rebbe who had smiled at her and shook her hands, as did the 2 men who were with him. I told this dream to one of my Chabad friends who told me she thinks he's giving her a blessing to get married. Eerie, isn't it? But wonderful.

Daughter thought I wouldn't be as elated with her engagement as I was with the first daughter's engagement. But that wasn't true. I was and am in heaven about it.

Later that afternoon, sitting on our terrace, enjoying the lovely mountain view, Hubby imagined what empty nest syndrome would be like with just the two of us.

"We could walk around the house all day naked, couldn't we?" he surmised.

"Yes, and when the doorbell rings you'll forget you have no clothes on and you'll answer in your birthday suit, won't you my darling? Well, that will surely keep away the charity collectors" I giggled.

Sunday - My last day of vacation before I turn back into Cinderella and have to start work again. My son has an evening job as a waiter at a wedding/bar mitzvah/brit hall. He needs to dress all in black. We go to the local Castro's. He tries on a black polo shirt. He looks good and he knows it, as he flexes his muscles. "I look good, don't I?" he asks. I nod. I hate shopping with him. There's a deal if you buy two shirts so we pick another color. He tries on a light pink.

"I look like a homo. I don't wanna look like a homo." So I tell him to try on other colors that won't make him "look like a homo." I wish Carson Kressley was with me so he could bitch slap him. He tries on pair after pair of jeans. My stomach is starting to grumble. We settle on one snug fitting pair. They're expensive - around $100. Yuck. But at least I don't need to buy him 100 pairs of shoes, bras, tampons and makeup like his sisters needed... (as long as he doesn't go drag on me..)

Vacation Time

Yay! I'm off work this entire week, and man do I deserve a week off. But it's not really a week off but rather a week on. I filled up a few pages of To Do items for each day.

There's the 25 hour Fast of Tisha B'av which begins tonight. I'm babysitting the grandkid the whole day tomorrow and it will be a challenge to fast. Maybe I'll make it through the whole thing, maybe I won't.

Monday is getting my youngest son, who is 16 years old, registered into school. He failed 9th grade pretty miserably, and had a hard time getting into any school. So there's a school right here in the neighborhood that gives these "failures" a chance, using the Branco Weiss method. I do hope it works for him. That afternoon I plan a train trip to Tel Aviv to see the Azrielli Center, which I haven't been to yet, plus the Tel Aviv port, which I also had never seen. Included are lunch and dinner - even if I go traveling alone.

Tuesday is my interfaith day. We have a coordinators' retreat at the Austrian Hospice in the Old City. I start my day with a bone scan to see whether or not I have osteoporosis - just a general check up the doctors recommend I do every 2 years after age 50.

Wednesday - I want to have lunch at River restaurant, a new place that opened up recently, and go to get a massage somewhere in the city. That evening is the Hutzot Hayotzer (Arts and Crafts fair) so well described here . This is the only time I buy myself jewellery. If I am not for myself then who is, or however the saying goes...

Thursday - I plan to lunch at Jerusalem's excellent Arcadia restaurant with its well-known chef. This is a restaurant I cannot afford for dinner, but that has affordable lunch specials. There's a party with Arab and Jewish women in Jerusalem early that evening, and later on Moosh Ben Ari is playing Hutzot Hayotzer. My son wants to go to that, so I'll go with him. There's outdoor Greek music at City Hall, but I'll have to pass on that. Too many things to choose from.

Friday - I want to brunch at the Italian restaurant Luciano's and go to the farmer's market on Emek Refaim.

Saturday - fight with my husband and children. :-) My day of rest.

Sunday - Go to Haruzim, a bead store in the German Colony, to fix my broken costume jewellery and perhaps make another necklace, then off to Japanika for lunch or the sushi place on Azza Street. I've never seen Mini Israel so in the afternoon hope to go with friends who also haven't been there. Evening - either the Tapas Bar in the shuk for live music or ethnic music on one of Jerusalem's alleyways.

So who needs to go outside the country? Flights are expensive and even hotels in Israel are double the price in the summer. So I'll just do local things, except for my day in Tel Aviv. Sitting on the beach, burning to a crisp is not my idea of fun, though I love to go in the late afternoon, take off my shoes and dig my feet into the sand and wade ankle deep in the water. So maybe I'll need another week off, just for rest and relaxation because this coming week certainly won't be that kind of week.

The Vulgar and the Spiritual

As I was cutting up watermelon last night, I had an overwhelming sense of spiritual awareness sweep over me. The watermelon was so red, so juicy, so wonderfully tasty, that I couldn't help but marvel at the greatness of this summer fruit and thanked God for creating such a wonderful food.

But the spiritual feeling of my watermelon moment didn't stay with me for long. My son wanted some quality time with me. Quality time for a 16 year old boy is quite different from when he was 6 and wanted me to read him a story, usually one of his "Franklin" books. Nowadays it's "come watch the game with me" "come watch Survivor with me" and on Monday it was "come watch the movie Jackass with me." Which I did. It was so friggin' vulgar. Even more vulgar than me or anyone else in my family. But it was also so hilarious and I actually enjoyed watching those people putting leeches on their testicles, shitting in a doll house (the camera panning in first to shit coming down from the ceiling, after which you see it isn't a giant who took a shit in someone's house, but a doll house), the funniest part I thought was fake balls put sticking out of the "old man's" shorts and the reactions to that from people to the dog who decided it was his next snack. I was howling loud enough, waking up the sleeping people in my home. The next morning I tried to explain to the educated and cultured folk at my work about the movie, and they nodded while I regaled them with specific scenes.

Tonight - less crass quality time with my son, as we sit down to watch the soccer game between Poland and Betar Jerusalem. Last time we watched Poland play Betar, I was rooting for Betar, screaming at the Poles, cursing at them for even daring to score one goal and blaming them for the way they treated the Jews during World War II. Tonight won't be much different.