There's no such a thing as a free lunch - or dinner

Maybe God is trying to tell me in a nice way "honey, you've GOT to lose some weight" but, as most people, I don't always listen to Him. This revelation came to me as I've attempted to eat out in restaurants twice, thinking I've got a great deal here. So hey.

The first time I entered an auction at e-luna.com to get a much cheaper dinner for two at a nice fancy restaurant. I got around 130 NIS ($30) off a 300 NIS ($70) dinner for two at Eldad Vezehoo in one of Jerusalem's picturesque quaint alleyways. I really didn't want to go with Hubby. He was getting on my nerves so much these days, but none of my kids wanted to join me and one of my girlfriends was with her boyfriend and my other friend was on a special diet. So Hubby grumpily met me in Jerusalem and began complaining, so much so, that I lost my appetite. I sat through an elegant dinner just listening to him complain and complain and I didn't say a word to him during the entire meal - not even to tell him to shut the fuck up already. I don't know if it was the restaurant or the mood but I just didn't even like what I was eating - the sauce was too sweet and the veggies beneath my salmon dish were too salty. We ended up taking 70% of the food back home in bags so our kids could gulp it down.

Then this week I took my son to the orthodontist and afterwards he wanted to visit my daughter's husband who's a chef at one of Jerusalem's top touristy restaurants. The place is always packed. I didn't want to eat there because a) it's very expensive because it's geared to tourists, and, b) my son-in-law insists on paying which makes me very uncomfortable. We walked into the kitchen to say "hi". My son in-law comes right over.

Son-in-law (SIL) "D. looks like he wants to have a good hamburger. Don't you? Am I right?"

Me - "Sorry, we just came to say hello."

SIL - "Ma Pitom - what's this - you both must sit down, and she'll serve you" nodding to a friend of my daughter's who's a waitress there.

Me - "Really gotta go."

SIL - "I'll sit down with you. I'm gonna eat something too."

Me - "OK but only if you let me pay."

SIL - "I don't pay the full price for this. I get it very cheap. Let me pay."

By this time my son really seemed to want this hamburger and so I agreed to sit down.

We sat down and felt very uncomfortable letting my SIL pay. He works 13 hours a day so they can afford all the furniture loans they took out for a year. I don't think he gets the meals for that cheap. Certainly discounted, but not by that much.

We put our menus down and began to walk out. SIL sees us and stops us and places us right back at our table. So does the waitress. They're forcing us to eat there.

Not only does a nice big juicy hamburger with fries come to the table, but so does a chicken tortilla and fluffy thick pita with an assortment of small salads.

Just as the food hit the table my work is calling me to hook me up with a hotel in California to book rooms for one of our directors and Hubby is frantic because he's in Jerusalem and his headlights aren't working and he's like "OK - well, I'll just sleep here all night."

"Fine" I said, hung up, and took a bite of a french fry.

My SIL's wife (my daughter)calls me a second later.

"Where are you?" We tell her. A second later she walks into the restaurant with her baby and one of my other daughters and glowers at us. She doesn't come over to speak to us. She looks furious as she talks to my SIL, probably giving him shit for inviting us to eat. My other daughter walks over.

"It's not nice that you're eating here"

"I really tried not to - believe me." I said pulling over the waitress to verify my story.

The daughters leave, I can hardly eat my food - again - and wrap it all up to take home to my starving family.

Conversations with God

I had a lot of things to contemplate about this Yom Kippur morning. From silly thoughts that the word menopause is really "men oppose" to more serious thoughts as the day dragged on about how very few people in the Holy Land were eating today being that Ramadan and Yom Kippur fall on the same day today. It seemed really special to me that we were doing the same thing - suffering (and praying of course)- together with our Moslem cousins.

My close friend made aliyah recently and as I remember she was always the one who ran to synagogue every Sabbath from the moment services began at 7:30 am until 12:30 pm. I asked her about Rosh Hashana - the first New Year in the Holy Land for her. She told me she could hardly focus in synagogue this year. Another friend told me the same thing - she hardly went to synagogue this New Year.

Why?

These people believe in God, and are actually Orthodox Jews. What's goin' on here? I mean it's been a few years since I've had this feeling that many formal synagogues are awful - routine, boring, the congregants usually running through the service like speed praying/reading. And that's what led me on a search for alternative prayer sessions, which led me to both the Reform Kol Haneshama in Jerusalem and the monthly Jewish renewal services led by Rabbi Ruth Kagan. Both of these places uplift my soul and this wandering Jew has found her niche there. But I had no idea others were slowly feeling this way too.

I'm wondering whether landing in Israel makes your old spirit disappear and a new spirit of sorts comes to take hold of you.

I took the friend who just moved here to an interfaith evening at Eliyahu McLean's place to celebrate Ramadan and Yom Kippur Thursday evening. A sufi Sheikh from Nazareth spoke to us about Ramadan and we heard a mystical interpretation of Yom Kippur, plus there was Jewish meditation, and sufi flute music. There was the usual mix of Palestinians and Jews and his place was packed. More people came too because I made an email list of the people who always ask me "how do you know about these things?" and sent them an email about this event. She was never exposed to anything interfaith and stayed just short of the Ramadan explanation but said she'd like to continue going to these things.

Happy events like these make my spirit soar. I want to live in a country where there are gatherings like this all the time. And they keep getting bigger. People are thirsting for knowledge of each other and for different ways to talk to God.

My family didn't go to synagogue on Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur eve my husband, son and I wandered around the neighborhood because everyone is out on the roads. The kids are bicyling on the streets because no cars are driving. We walked passed the packed synagogues. I didn't feel like going in though. We walked passed another small makeshift synagogue held in a kindergarten building. It reminded me of the small synagogue in New Delhi. I told my husband and son that I feel like I want to stay, and listened to the service inside while remaining outside in the cool breeze in the garden. There was a bit of an overflow crowd in the garden and I felt that having the prayers surround me while I just took it into my soul was just as good as praying yourself.

We all fasted and didn't even turn on the tv or computer which meant we were mostly in bed biding our time until we could eat. I was going to go to the local (boring) synagogue at 5:00 pm for the last part of the Yom Kippur service which I find very enjoyable as it is only for one hour and people find themselves adrenalized during this last hour of the fast.

But to backtrack - at 3:00 pm I noticed my daughter sitting by the window reciting Psalms. She had no idea I was watching her but I was. She wasn't just mouthing the words in Hebrew. She was having this amazing conversation with God that astounded me. Her mouth moved as if she was speaking loudly to Him, even though there was no sound coming out of her mouth. I saw her getting emotional, and then finally crying to Him - really crying - and she put the book to her face and rocked back and forth and I felt such joy that my daughter had found her own way to converse with God.

We've made it - We've finally made it

Those were the words of our friends on kibbutz, the ones who made aliyah with us 12 years ago and were with us on the absorption center, where one gets absorbed into being Israeli.

We couldn't figure out why. We feel anything but having "made it." No one makes it in Israel. I imagine Billionaire Arkady Gaydamak's billions shrinking into the millions because everyone, like all the tax authorities, likes to dip their hands into everyone's bank accounts and take heaping quantities of "our own" hard-earned money. But if we think we have it bad, the kibbutz is going bankrupt. It's the only conservative movement-affiliated kibbutz in Israel. We used to visit our friends once a year for one holiday or another and we didn't have to pay anything because we were guests of the kibbutz. But since it went bankrupt, the guest house (if you want to call it that - it's more like a hostel) separated from the Kibbutz and we now had to pay for our suppers, so to speak. Only four of us went up for Rosh Hashana and we dished out what we would have spent anyway on take-out food since we don't have a kitchen in our apartment yet. The kids shrieked at the site of a scorpion in their room and we moved up to the 2nd floor.

Our friend was trying to reassure us that we made it and went on and on in his South African accent-

"You bought a house, man, you've got a married daughter and a grandkid. You've made it man, you've made it."

"Yeah", I said to Hubby, "We've made it alright." It seems like every week we get a letter saying we owe another enormous amount to the tax authorities. They'll wonder how we were able to buy a house and slap on another $25,000 tax on us. There's no method to their madness. Maybe this is how one makes it in this country.

But taking our mind of the troubles of our own and of the kibbutz we spent the 2nd day of the holiday, not talking to God in the synagogue, as alot of people do, but driving off to places we hadn't yet seen in the Galilee, like Rosh Pina,


and the Hula Valley Reserve




which has its swamp back but was berefit of birds as it wasn't "bird viewing" season where you can see thousands of cranes and pelicans lifting off each morning from the site. We saw catfish and turtles and sea otters and a grumpy Russian-Israeli tourist who was complaining about how "dead" the place was now. Just as our old, overused car was overheating we stopped off at Amirim, this magical place in the upper Galilee, where there is a lot of spirituality and music and organic food and sat down to an amazing long-wished-for-healthy meal of brown rice with assorted really tasty toppings. The place was like an Indian-type retreat with mattresses covered in fun-looking, colorful material, bean bags and buddhas and a tiny stream with goldfish running through the place.


Lovely, just lovely. And it took our mind away from having "made it" in Israel.

Happiness, Laughter and Sadness

The end of summer has been filled with all of the above - happiness, laughter and sadness.

Happiness -

1. my week off from work. I didn't have the money to take trips even inside Israel so I did things that make me happy anyways, like take my son to the big mall in Jerusalem to get him soccer memorabilia at Jerusalem's soccer team's store. I had a very long leisurely lunch with one of my closest friends.

2. A very close girlfriend from my childhood moved to Israel and best of all, to Jerusalem. I think I had seen her twice in 24 years. I hope to rekindle those long, heart-to-heart conversations we had when we were teens.

3. My work decided to send me to an editing course as I don't have any formal training and they need an editor. So I discovered this year-long course and I'll be starting in the fall.

4. God is great. He and my interfaith work will be sending me to San Francisco in October to an Israeli/Palestinian peace camp. I'm so grateful. I've been missing the US lately and this 10 day trip is just what I need.

5. My Rolling Stone fan e-friends in San Francisco learned I was coming; one is home-hosting me (we've never met) and we're all having a get-together the evening I arrive (if I don't fall on my face from the long trip). I am so grateful for this generosity. I love the universe.

6. Festival of Light in the Jerusalem Forest - We spent a Friday evening, Saturday day at this new-age festival. It was very small this year, and I knew about half the people there. This got me to wish that I lived on a commune with all these people who are peace-loving, spiritual, Jews, Arabs, wonderful. I made some new friends at that festival too and I hope we keep in touch.

Sadness:

1. Hubby is in the throes of depression. No one can get him out of it. I get sad around him and wonder what it's like to live with a happy person. I have no idea. Really.

2. My 17 year-old daughter was picked up by the "fuzz" a couple of weeks ago. They tell me they suspect she's using an assortment of drugs and brought her in for an investigation. She denies everything. But why would they have even bothered if there was no suspicion. Perhaps her friends us. I have no idea how to tell. My glass is always half full. So how would I know? Mood swings? We all have them.... I've never found any substances in the house (and I sometimes rummage through her stuff).

3. Devorah Brous is leaving for the US. She runs Bustan in the Negev, which is a place for empowering the Negev's bedouin communities. I'm not a close acquaintance of hers, but we see each other now and then at peace gatherings. I especially admired her at the Jerusalem festival of light (not only because she speaks fluent Arabic) when she was saying that we need to do more than just "collect good energy" to bring peace into the world. She said that the bedouins who have their houses demolished don't want to meet with Israelis until they feel like our equals. She wants more activism happening among our peace groups. She gave over the directorship to someone else and they had a good-bye party for her in the Negev that I missed because I couldn't take off work.

4. Still no kitchen in our home - which means we will not be able to celebrate the holidays in a normal way, which means me cooking up a storm. Instead, I've been buying all the unhealthy microwavable foods as well as ready-made food, which is nice, but terribly expensive. I miss my weekend scrambled eggs!!

Laughter:

1. Alex Sternik's videos. He's the laughter yoga guru and is wearing the braided wig in the video. I love the guy.

2. My grandson - who is 2 months old tomorrow. He's been a miserable, colicky baby and then on Thursday, every time I said "I love you" to him, he coo'd and smiled at me. We "coo'd" and smiled to each other for hours that evening.

2. The officer who called me up from the army telling me how wonderfully behaved my daughter is (the Complainer) and how smart she is and I should be proud that I have such a wonderful wonderful daughter. I didn't tell him about her "home behavior" like when I walked into her room to clean a spot off the floor today at 3:00 pm. She was napping. And I heard "What are you waking me up for, you fucking bitch!!! Get out of my room. You're always waking me up." Maybe this is considered "wonderful behavior" in the Israeli army. I don't know. Go figure.

Sulha

The yearly Sulha was underway last week and here are some photos from it. It's an amazing feeling to be there. I would sit in my chair for hours telling hubby who accompanied me, that THIS is how I want to live. This is how I want to see my country. Full of people of different faiths getting along so beautifully. It was like a messianic vision. I attended one workshop when I just wasn't taking in the atmoshere. It was the relationship between Sufis and Kabbalah, although it tended to be more on the relationship between Sufis and Rabbis through the centuries.



Simply fascinating to hear that Maimonides studied with Sufis and his son was considered a Sufi Jew. Other stories - the Chief Rabbi of Ramat Gan in Tel Aviv related that his grandfather was the chief rabbi of Libya, when Libya had Jews living there. So well-versed in the Koran was he, that he was called the Sheikh Rabbi.



Another story related was that in Chechnya, someone called Alex Fagin researched the Chabad Lubavitch Chassidim. He found the source of one of their very popular songs called the "Rebbe's Nigun" or "Shmil's Nugun". Who is Shmil? Most people think of Shmil as a Russian peasant. But that isn't so. Apparently, the Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of Lubavitch in the late 18th century, was jailed as his Chassidic teachings were considered going against the Czar. In jail, he met up with a Sufi Sheikh who ended up being executed, while the Alter Rebbe's life was spared. The sufi sang his melody to the Rabbi, saying his one wish was to preserve this melody. The Rebbe came out of jail and with it the melody, known to so many Lubavitch Chassidim today. I would love to have this story confirmed by another person....as I couldn't find this when I "googled".



Safed in Israel was once a center of both Sufism and Kabbalah.



And it just seemed that for a while, it was okay for Jews to study Islam (and vice-versa) and many rabbis living in Arab countries did study the Koran. Now there seems to be a revival where some rabbis are looking for that special spiritual relationship with their Moslem brothers - the children of Abraham....

Art Festival in Jerusalem

I asked various friends and relatives if they wanted to come with me to the annual arts and crafts fair in Jerusalem this past week. Eveyone had their excuses - courses, children, not interested, too crowded and Hubby wouldn't go because he'd miss several enchanting hours of Fox News that evening if he did.

I went alone and was comfortable with this decision because I didn't have to depend on someone else's schedule. If I wanted to browse for 1/2 hour at the guy who did exquisite stainless steel jewelery, no one would get impatient with me or had I brought my son, he would have had the patience of a gnat and we both would have been miserable. I scooted over to my favorite "gypsy cafe" and sat there for a long while.







There were glass blowers from Hebron, where most Israelis don't dare venture..who brought their crafts to the festival. I was pleased to see Palestinian vendors from the Old City in Jerusalem come over on our side to show us their wares. And once inside the elaborate tent, I felt I was actually in the old city.

"Please - I'll sell this to you at a very good 'brice'. You are my first customer..."



Then afterwards I went off to the arena where one of Israel's rock band's were performing. I didn't have the patience to listen for the entire concert so I sat in for about 20 minutes of the band's set. Besides....I don't know the words to any of their songs, so I couldn't sing along with the audience.

All Nations Cafe - hike to Walaja

On Tuesday, I joined up with the All Nations Café (run by Dhyan and Daphna) who were having a hike from the beautiful Ein Lavan spring near the biblical zoo to the Palestinian village of Walaja. .

We were a small group of about 10 people at first, some of whom had accidentally discovered Haj Ibrahim's guest house and were staying there. The spring was packed with people, mostly young, orthodox Jewish people who glanced curiously at our mixed Jewish/Palestinian group. Daphna taught us a simple song with a circle dance to it - like a chant – which we sang over and over again, switching partners as we went around the circle – singing it in Arabic, English, Hebrew and Esperanto. "One people, one planet, one spirit, one people, one planet, one spirit, one people, one planet, one spirit – all we need is love!!" We sang this loud and often and some young Jewish teens asked us what our group was about.



We asked them to join but they didn't, preferring instead to watch us. One of the girls was wearing a Camp Kobi Mandel t-shirt. Kobi Mandel was a young Jewish boy of 13 who was murdered by terrorists while he was playing with a friend in a cave near to his home. His mother has since set up a camp for Jewish relatives of terror victims. I thought about the connection of our group and the camp – thinking if we had a much bigger circle of people singing this together, thousands instead of just two-digit numbers, there would have been no need to set up this camp and this poor mother's young son might have been alive today.



We began our hike down the mountain, by the side of the railway tracks, to a dried up riverbed. I spoke with a young girl from the Shuafat refugee camp. I don't often meet people from Palestinian refugee camps and I was happy that she was a regular member of this group. I, and other Israelis, often think of those living in refugee camps, as the most militant of Palestinians. Who would have thought that some would join a group such as this? Later in the evening there would be others from the Dehaishe refugee camp in Bethlehem who joined up with us.



Halfway through our hike, we ended up in Ein Haniyeh spring, off the old road to Gush Etzion. One of the Palestinian men took away my water bottle to fill it up at the spring. What do I know. To me, you fill up your water bottles from tap water or from the spring water you buy at the store. I would never have thought to have filled it up here - such a city chick I am. We made our way up the mountainside to Abu-Abdullah's home which was a ramshackle of a home which he stays in by himself, leaving his family up the hill at the village of Walaja.



On the way there, the Palestinians took a few pinches of something off a tree – which was the sumac spice. I tasted it – it was extremely pungent – like eating Mike and Ike's Zour candies – only presumably much healthier.

The reason for Abed Abu-Abdullah living in this place are the 200 fruit trees he has on the lands surrounding the old home – olive, grape vines, and who knows what else.




The army had tried to remove him and his groves but he steadfastly refused, showing them ownership papers he had from his grandfather. He was supposed to have taken us to see a holy 4,000 year old olive tree somewhere nearby, which people say, has miraculous healed anyone who eats olives from this tree. But he was in a bad mood, someone explained, and he has to be focused in order to take us there. Bad mood and all, which I didn't feel by the way, he allowed us to pick the ripe grapes off his vines.



He made us all coffee and some of us had brought snacks to share. My new friend from the Shuafat refugee camp remarked sadly how there are no trees at all in her refugee camp, as we munched on the same bunch of grapes together.



The groves on the hill made the entire place seem so enchanting. There was something very magical about it that no wonder there's a healing ancient olive tree nearby.



At dusk we went down the hill for the main gathering near an abandoned house by the roadside, which also belongs to Abu-Abdullah's family. There more Palestinians awaited us – many of whom were from the Bethlehem area. A bonfire was lit and we were now a group of nearly 30 people.

I felt a lot of empathy these past two days because being in their "hood" I experienced the discomfort of going through a checkpoint from Dr. Dejani's home with a miserable soldier, who shouted at us to move our car back. We wondered why the anger and someone suggested that perhaps to smile and show niceness wasn't allowed. It can be mistaken for a sign of weakness, something the Israeli army wouldn't dare want to show to outsiders. And now, as it became dark, and we were merely shadows from the road, an army jeep stopped in front of us, only the top of the jeep was visible through the trees.

"COME OVER HERE - NOW!!!!"

Let me tell you. To be shouted at like that by Israeli soldiers is quite frightening. Even for an Israeli like myself. And it happens to Palestinians all the time. It just happens to me when I'm hanging out with them. We answered them back in Hebrew, but they weren't satisfied. Daphne, one of the organizers of the group, and a native Israeli, went down the hill to speak to them. After about 5 very long minutes she returned.

"They change soldiers here like they change underpants. The soldiers at the checkpoints know we meet here every week, but when they change the soldiers at the checkpoints, we have to explain about our group over and over again to them. Everything is ok now."

Back at the bonfire, going around the circle, we shared a little about ourselves and we drank more coffee (and I couldn't fall asleep that evening until 2:00 a.m.) and a debka teacher taught us some debka steps, which we practiced over and over again to the music of darbukas and then from Arabic music from someone's cellphone.

The glow of the fire shone on the face of everyone there. I hate to sound so hokey, but it did put warmth in everyone's hearts. There's nothing like sitting around a fire. It's soothing. People bond around a bonfire, don't they? Well, it seemed that even though there was a language barrier as many of the 17 Palestinians there didn't speak either English or Hebrew, they said they were touched by the fact that we (Jews) were there. It gives them hope in a world that seems hopeless.

Israelis flood into Palestinian neighborhood of Beit Hanina

OK - now that I got your attention - we're not flooding in, but it would be great if we do visit there in droves.

A group of us met on Monday and carpooled our way to Dr. Mohammad Dajani's home in Beit Hanina. We were a quite large group of Jews who met some neighborhood Palestinians at his home, some of whom were active in Dajani's political party called Wasatia . For many Jews, this was the first time they ventured into an Arab neighborhood, and some voiced that they were quite nervous at first – but laughed it off seeing how silly it was to have felt this way, as we were sitting in Dajani's large closed off porch.

Funny that even well-to-do Arabs do not have these clonish homes as Israelis do, built by Israeli construction companies. They have their own individual look and feel. We were on the third floor and I saw a living room, a game room and a dining area – no kitchen visible - and a closed off porch and an open porch with a taboon oven. Upstairs was a rooftop patio where you could throw a big party. Downstairs was probably where his family resided and the first floor was his office, which we knew by the way the books poured out into the hallway. His walls were covered with vintage posters and magazine covers – cool stuff like Elvis and James Dean and classics like Gone with the Wind and sentimental Love Story. Moving towards the top of the house were family photos and embroidered Palestinian clothing hanging over the railings.

We were given an explanation of the area from the rooftop, viewing the Nusseibeh housing project, a project that housed all the refugees from the Old City in 1967 after their homes were raised to make room for the Western Wall Plaza. The Wall was a block away from his home,– it made life for those who held Israeli residency cards who lived beyond that wall, difficult, as they are now unable to pass easily through the checkpoints. The businesses on the main street suffered as a result of the checkpoint as it is no longer the main road to Ramallah and many have gone out of business or are no longer the expensive shops catering to the well-to-do as they once were.

After stuffing myself on fruit and cakes (I still do not have a kitchen, so any stray food around is considered 'dinner'), we went to hear Dr. Dajani speak briefly about his new party. Even though I had heard him speak beforehand, this was his turf now and there's always a different slant to it.

Basically what he said is that in order to create a moderate Palestinian culture, rather than have the masses be attracted to extremist parties like Hamas, speaking about democracy will not do it. Democracy is a Western concept and the religious Moslem man/woman on the street will not want to hear about it. Instead, he bases his party on the language of the Koran. The Koran states to walk the middle road ("We have made you a moderate nation"). He explains "It's God who wants this."

Elana Rozenman of Trust spoke a bit about her group. "What is lacking among our people is trust. We want normal interaction between our people." She gave us an exercise to do in which we took a partner and, while the other listened (without interrupting), one of us spoke about a person in our life whom we trusted and why we trusted that person, how we felt about having someone we are able to trust in, etc. Then we switched roles.

During the sharing one of the women visiting from Toronto said one has to feel empathy. "Put yourselves in the other's place and stop defending yourselves." A Palestinian young man said that others may look at moderates as infidels. But he's looking forward to "the opportunity for infidels to move ahead."

At the end of the meeting some of the Jewish participants, including myself, took a few Wasatia pamphlets, all in Arabic, to give out to people we knew who may not know about this movement, hoping they'll see this as the way towards peace.

summer that's half gone and summer to be

It's midsummer already and time is moving ever so quickly. We've lived in our home for over a month already – still no doors to any rooms, no kitchen, gashes in the walls where the new electric cords or points or whatever you call them are supposed to be. I've read about how a very large construction company is about to go bankrupt (if they didn't already do so) and feel lucky and grateful that we moved in to our place with no such contractor problems. Money isn't easy to come by and to see your deposit to a bankrupt contractor slip away must be nightmarish for those people. And many of them broke into their homes illegally, put on mezuzot and are squatting. Hubby had a rare conversation with me this morning.

"Remember when our house had just sand on the floors?"

"Yup"

"Well, we would've moved in, even with the sand, wouldn't we, if that had been us."

"Oh, for sure."

Being recent first-time home-owners had made us feel a lot more sympathy for those who had put money into that bankrupt or nearly bankrupt company and whose future is uncertain.

And my secretive second-oldest daughter finally brought her secret boyfriend home. We had wondered who the guy in the two-seater BMW convertible was. We only saw the car from our window and not the man. My daughter would snap at me, at any question of who her new man is. "If it's serious, I'll let you know." I don't know if it's serious or not, but his biceps certainly are. But he's not a body-builder. He's a lawyer, I found out.

"Sheesh. Hate to be the judge in front of THAT lawyer. His big and he, well, does actually look like a wrestler from the World Wide Wrestling Association or whatever it's called (too lazy to 'google' today – my day of rest). I'd also hate to be the lawyer against him. Anyway, we do need a lawyer in the family."

So DO get on with it, I thought to myself.

My married daughter bitches when I come over to cook meals at her home because of our lack of kitchen.

"You make my pots dirty and you make my floors dirty."

I don't. But the hot weather is making her have illusions of dirt on her floor every second. When the baby sleeps, she's cleaning her floors. I'm thinking of getting her to seriously think about going on some medication – but then again – all her neighbors are pretty much clean freaks and that is what "keeping up with the Joneses" is like in her neighborhood.



Oh- and here is the photo from the brit ceremony, I promised to post. The little boy's name is Itai Aharon.

But who cares what my kids are doing to me when the rest of the summer is so happening in Jerusalem. I really don't care to fly anywhere out of the country, or, for that matter, out of Jerusalem because there's too much to look forward to. Like the arts and craft fair with its terrific vendors and much cheaper than in the store jewelry, the entertainment, the hippie/gypsy café with its belly dancers, acrobats, wine and cheese menu and coffee. I found myself sitting there for hours, transfixed by the various performances and great ethnic and vintage music. There's the international crafts show – with crafts from many different countries. Last year was the first time Jordan joined us. There's the Palestinian crafts fair, which the festival organizers call the "Eastern Market". Of course calling it the "Palestinian market" would put some people off. It's like they ship the stuff from the old city market to here. Plus they're featuring glass blowers from Ramallah and Hebron. Included too is the international food fair.

There's free entertainment in the new Mamilla outdoor mall. Various museums have free admission. If you have the bucks, you can go for an all-you-can-eat rooftop barbecue at a couple of Jerusalem's posh hotels.

There's free folk dancing at the Liberty Bell Garden on Sunday evenings.

And one of my closest childhood friends is moving to Jerusalem in August.

So I have what to look forward to (besides getting doors for my apartment and a kitchen, etc. etc.)

There are some interesting peace activities going on as well in people's homes and in various neighborhoods.

I don't have many people this summer to share these events with. Many have left town. Some have gone to India and most to the States. Why? I can never understand it. Even if I had the money to travel outta here, I don't think I'd go longer than a week or 10 days. I'd never leave for a whole summer. It's just too magical over here on this side of the pond….

the Godfather and other newborn tales

I didn't realize this before when I was a young mother living in Toronto - but there's so much superstition revolving around newborn babies here in Israel - particularly when your family and neighbors are from Sephardic background, as is the case with my daughter.

From the moment they took their son out of the hospital, they put a little hamsa with blue stones over his stroller. A gold hamsa is pinned onto the mosquito net in his crib. Their neighbors advised them not to leave baby clothing out at night or to take the baby out at night for 30 days "because of spirits". When I heard that, I was aghast.

I told my daughter "do you really think I stayed in at night for 30 days with you?" I distinctly remember taking her to the movies one evening when she was 3 weeks old. She was sleeping most of the time and I had my portable boobie for her to nurse on if she dared make a peep during the flick.

I laughed when the neighbors came in to "oohh and aaah" over the baby saying repeatedly "Ben Porat Yosef, Ben Porat Yosef" which is the sephardic equivalent of warding off the evil eye (the first time it is translated as 'fruitful son,' and the second time, 'a fruitful vine' ).

Tomorrow their week old baby gets his brit (circumcision) according to Jewish tradition. I don't know whether this is superstition or tradition, but "they say" that it is an honor for a person to be a sandek (godfather) at the brit. This is the person that holds the baby while he is being circumcized. "They also say" that you should pick your sandek wisely, because the baby will have the sandek's personality traits.

I know my hubby wanted to be given the honor of sandek - but the parents had much higher aspirations for their baby than to have someone who smokes alot of pot, farts all the time, curses like a truck driver and is generally very grumpy be the kid's godfather. The sandek will be no other than the colorful former chief sephardic rabbi, Harav Ovadia Yosef which is the ultimate thrill for my son-in-law's family.

Some of my friends were stunned. "This isn't you" they remarked. Of course it isn't. Who would I have chosen as godfather if it were my kid? Probably Rabbi Arik Ascherman from Rabbis for Human Rights. I would have loved for my sons to have his brave and compassionate traits, if transmitting traits from godfather to godson is actually true. But he is my grandson, not my son, and the ceremony will be in an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in an ultra-orthodox synagogue, which prompted me to buy a top with sleeves covering my elbow and a head covering. The name of the boy will then be revealed after the brit to everyone. Usually the boy is named after a deceased close relative like a grandfather (however sephardim name their children after living relatives too).

to be continued in a day or two...

grandma

"Is this normal?" - this is the question put to me every 5 seconds by the new parents whether it was the baby's lower lip quivering while it cried, or as his face turned beet red when it cried, or whether it was the black poo on his diaper. Among other questions I had to field from them are...

"Why is he crying?"
"Why isn't he crying?"

And my years and years of parenting experience comes in really handy at this time and I finally feel really appreciated by my daughter. For once I have done something right in her eyes.

Sunday morning I got a call from my son-in-law. It was a call I had been preparing for - for a couple of weeks now.

"We're on the way to the hospital."

"Wow! Great! So pick me up on your way there." I'm a five minute walk from their house.

"We're nearly at the hospital." son-in-law explained.

I hung up the phone. "Damn" I complained to Hubby. "Why didn't they stop by to pick me up?"

I figured they must have been rushing badly and this wasn't a false alarm. Turns out the happy couple's car had a flat tire on the way (that's for NOT picking up the mother :-) ) and had to ambulance it to the hospital. I got there an hour later and acted as her labor coach, who also wasn't around at that early hour. Labor coaching wasn't bad. In fact, I think I was a kick-ass labor coach. We figured out good positions for my daughter during her labor and helped her throughout her ordeal so she didn't need an epidural, and she told me to "shut up" only twice. A couple of hours later, this adorable little baby boy was born into this world.

Relatives from overseas called up to give congratulations and my daughter hadn't a clue who they all were.

Her hubby's relatives all showed up that evening. I took all their flowers and put them in plastic canisters I saw on the countertop. The room began to stink of pee after a while, until we realized that those plastic canisters were not really for flowers after all. Oops.

My brother showed up the next day with his wife, sharing with us their birth and labor stories.

"This kid has it easy now. Too bad he's gonna have to grow up in THIS country." brother chuckled.

My daughter's roommate was a Palestinian mother which we figured out as soon as we heard them speak Arabic. My kids laughed at me knowing I was going to make a special effort to introduce the two new mothers to each other. I think in many cases like this, the "roommates" pretend the other doesn't exist and no effort is made to speak to one another. Sad. But of course, you know me. I offered her roomie chocolates, food, etc. and it turns out she is a nurse in another hospital. I pondered over the fact that these two little boys will be growing up so differently. And wished that perhaps one day, their lives will be more or less the same - for the better of course.

Jerusalem International Film Festival

"I think you're some kind of Genie" my friend said to me after we had taken our seats at Sultan's Pool outside the old city walls of Jerusalem, which had been turned into a makeshift giant outdoor movie theater for the Jerusalem International Film Festival opening. This was not a drive-in, mind you, but a sit-in for several thousand of us.

It seemed whatever I wanted or asked for that day, voicing it to her, got given to us. Like getting free tickets to the sold-out film festival opening, which featured the animated film "Ratatouille". I had stood at one of the entrances to the place and simply asked passers-bye if they had any extra tickets. I do it every year. This year, some off-duty cops gave us their extras, which were complementary. I called my friend that afternoon, telling her that last year, it got terribly cold and sweaters weren't enough. Could she please bring a blanket. She didn't have anything light to bring and I hoped for the best. But when we got in, the cellphone company, Orange, were giving out free blankets.

"OK - if that's how it's gonna be for us tonight, then the gates of heaven are open. What do you want?"

"A normal man for me to marry with a good job" was her wish. I wish her wish was my command. We'll see in 6 months if I have genie power.

Too bad I had that Carlsberg because even though the movie was fun, liquor and I don't mix well and I felt myself dozing off a few minutes at a time during the middle of the movie.

No big name US/European screen stars or directors were there. Last year Jeff Goldblum and Debra Winger showed up. This year? Nada.

My friend and I continued our tradition of spending a bit of Friday and all day Saturday pasted to the Cinemateque seats.

I saw: Citizen Nawi - a movie about a gay Israeli man, Ezra Nawi, who had a Palestinian partner, who lives in West Jerusalem. He is a tireless activitist for Palestinian human rights, working mostly in the South Hebron hills, who speaks fluent Arabic and is there for their every need - whether it's to get an ambulance over to their village, whether it's to try and stop house demolitions, whether it's to help build a medical clinic in the poor town of Twane, or to escort children to their school, because of settler harrassment. He also faces constant police harrassment in his neighborhood.

I don't know Ezra personally but I have gone olive picking a number of times and he was there. I remember one frightening moment, near the settlement of Avigail in South Hebron hills, where the settlers pointed guns at us. We were only going to help Palestinians plow the land, not invade their settlement. A soldier followed behind Nawi as he walked away from the now-swelling crowd and followed him for a good 7 minute walk across the hills, where Ezra simply took a whiz against a wall. We all saw this and had a great laugh. His sense of humor showed throughout the film.

Saturday I saw Yoga, Inc. - a documentary about how commercial Yoga has become. The funniest moment was the interview of the head Fuck Yoga, Inc, who started his company when his wife was just going to Yoga, morning, noon and night. And he just said - Fuck this. Fuck Yoga.

"They walk around with their yoga mats, like it's a fucking goddam Torah"

His Fuck Yoga t-shirts and bottled water and slippers and god-knows-what-else are selling like hotcakes.


The movie - The Good German - was showed afterwards. A good black&white Hollywood mystery, set in post-world war II Berlin.

DEUX JOURS A PARIS was the next film starring Julie Delpy and Adam Goldberg. I don't think there was a minute in that film where I wasn't laughing my ass off. An American in Paris could be really frickin' funny.

For a more serious movie - RED WITHOUT BLUE - a documentary about male identical twins growing up in Montana and the difficulties they faced. Talk about challenges. Outwardly they looked like your typical white, Christian, American apple pie family. But as they years went on - one turned out to be gay, and the other changed his gender.

The last one we saw that day was "Killer of Sheep", a film made in 1977 by Charles Burnett but only released now because of music rights difficulties. It was a slow-moving film, but it was an interesting insight to an African-American slum and the people who live inside it - specifically the Watts section of Los Angeles. The music was great and I would have loved to have bought the soundtrack - but I don't think there'll be a soundtrack.

My kids and Hubby would have rathered I'd have been home all day with them, listening to them complain all day, instead of enjoying myself. Tough decision.

Preggers

My daughter is due any day now. She's miserable, anxious, nervous, happy, worried, and feels like a blimp even though she has a cute bubble belly. She keeps on calling me up with an update on her contractions which are the Braxton Hicks ones. I tell her not to go to the hospital unless she has pain that she can't walk, stand, sit, etc. It's nervewracking when you've never been through it before.

Her labor coach and my friends and me are all telling her to have sex to bring on the real contractions, but she doesn't want to hear about it. It's always "MOM!" when I bring the subject up, that I was glad when her British midwife brought it up.

Yesterday, she carried home 7 bottles of sodas which is HER idea of bringing on real labor. Like mother, like daughter. She'd rather lug heavy items for miles in hot weather than have sex.

I've bought tickets for the Jerusalem Film Festival later on this week - I look forward to this event all year. And who knows if she'll ruin all my plans by bringing my grandkid into the world during the festival. But nevertheless, however the wind blows will be totally welcome.

Home Sweet Home

After 12 years of living in rental hell, with landlords who made us nervous, who threatened us with letters, who made us move when we were comfortable in their place, who wanted to sell, who wanted to renovate - we are finally in our own place. It's far from finished, but because Hubby wanted to do it "his way", much of the place is not done. We do not have any doors, nor kitchen, nor a window in the bathrooms - but the floor is tiled and we have 2 working toilets and 1 sink. It feels as though we're camping out. Once we got the keys to the apartment,we scooted in like we won a million bucks. Others didn't want to move in. Israelis like their homes spotless first, with everything in working order. Most kitchens don't have ovens and cooktops yet, so most tenants are waiting it out. But we were tired of waiting and went in to this untamed apartment very happily.

I'm cooking meals at my daughter's place, and she doesn't mind, because she was only too happy to get rid of our boxes, plastic bags and other shit we had lying around her house, cluttering up her life.

And the neighbors across in the next building can watch us pee if they really look hard enough, but if you're nimble, you can quickly stand up and pull those pants up real fast before they can catch a quick glance. I've got it down to a tee.

Here's some pics of how the place looks - without doors, and a finished toilet - but we're in love, nonetheless....





Main bathroom


Dining area - bare kitchen

movin' on

We finally moved out of our rental apartment. The only thing sad about leaving was leaving the stray kitties behind, as I was one of their main food providers. But I was glad to leave behind a landlord who complained about our having "burnt" the grass in her front yard and the fact that I don't pay my bills the day she gives them to me and the fact that she hoards our mail and doesn't give it to us for 2 weeks.

I wanted to do the right thing and cleaned up her apartment before she had a final look at it. Hubby hired a young Palestinian man - about 21 years old, a really good-looking guy, who immediately began "talking" sex to me as soon as Hubs ran out the door for an errand. I had began our work together by telling him about my interfaith activities and how much I learn from the Koran. I wanted to talk Prophet Mohammed and Suras with him, but he had something else on his mind.

"How long is your husband gone for?"

"1/2 hour" I said. I should have said "5 minutes" because no sooner had I finished my sentence he was like "last time I cleaned an apartment building, this married woman with a child asked me to have sex with her."

I looked at him incredulously. Is he kinda coming on to me in a 'round about way? I'm over twice his age!! Is he that desperate?

He continued..."And you wouldn't believe what happened to me last week. This MAN invited me to have a look in his apartment. I thought, 'I must be mad going into a stranger's home.' The guy said he'd pay me whatever I want if I had sex with him."

"Really? You should have asked for several thousand shekels." I answered, without looking at him.

"Do you know any girls, or women - who are divorced - that would go out with me, who need to have sex?"

"Well, looks like you're not getting any on your side, am I right?"

Of course I am right. He told me he'd never marry anyone who would have sex with him before marriage. And it was totally wrong for a Moslem girl to "do it" but Israeli girls "do it" at age 15. So he's looking for me to find him a sex partner. An Israeli one - of course. Maybe even one of my daughters who doesn't have a boyfriend. He gave me his cellphone number and after I told Hubby about our time alone (I hadn't been this happy to see Hubby return home in years), his phone number went into the trash bin.

The next day we all moved into my married and heavily pregnant daughter's home and she was terribly miserable having us all there. She was looking at her precious floors and the food in the fridge, knowing in a matter of hours, her family, like locusts, would empty out her food supplies. She'd see imaginary footprints on her floor and huff about "having to wash her floor - yet again". She didn't make anyone feel welcome and I do hope that we will be able to move into our place this week -

so we could enjoy the fact that there would be no more movers, no more cleaners, no more landlords - or miserable daughters - for ever after.....

videos of Tantur Peace Festival, Jerusalem

I know I'm no Spielberg or anything, and this wasn't even taken by a video camera - just my old and worn Canon A75. But you can get the drift of Israelis and Palestinians grooving together and hanging out, listening to each other's music.



Palestinian Hip Hop




It Takes a Revolution – Palestinian Hip Hop



Jewish prayers to Indian music



Debka dancing

Peace Festival at Tantur

This Palestinian Hip Hop band was cute. Don't remember the name of the band. But it was great to hear their music....

Peace Festival in Jerusalem

Palestinian/American comedian Ray Hanania opened up his set on Friday night by telling us “either you must be hard core peace activists or you’re homeless”. It was friggin’ freezing that evening and we were moved from the outside venue to the more intimate auditorium inside Tantur, where IPCRI and it’s leaders Gershon Baskin/Hanna Siniora had organized a full afternoon/evening of Palestinian/Israeli music, workshops and films on Friday and Saturday.



And like the scent of jasmine which entices me or, to better describe this, it’s like a heavy addiction that these wonderful peace activities give me. And so when I found out about this event a few weeks ago, I cooked a quickie Sabbath meal for my family on Friday and ran out the door to catch the last bus into Jerusalem.
It was a chance for Israelis to get to know Palestinian music and for Palestinians to hear Israeli music. We had one famous Israeli name performing on Friday, David Broza.


(David Broza performance)

The atmosphere was festive with food stands set up as well as Palestinian crafts for sale and peace organizations publicizing their stuff. Unfortunately, the crowd numbered a few hundred rather than a few thousand, which I had hoped for, but perhaps that was due to preaching to the preached and not having famous companies like Coca Cola sponsor this kind of event. Ahhh to be a ‘marketing for peace’ person. That is my dream.

(notice the Wall dividing Bethlehem and Jerusalem in the background)

The groups who were in attendance and lucky to obtain permits to enter Jerusalem, were the Peace Club in Hebron, Combatants for Peace, Windows, debka dancers from Anata and a bunch from Bethlehem. Jewish groups came from interfaith dialogue groups, Peace Now, Machsom (checkpoint) Watch and many others. Thankfully there was a lot of media there to report on the events and to capture the moment and to photograph the spontaenous circles of Jews and Palestianians who were planning future events together. I was glad to have made my business cards minutes before I left home because there were many people I gave them to. It feels great expanding this amazing circle of peace-minded friends.

Many of the people I invited to this event asked me “how do we find out about these kinds of things?” which prompted me to begin an email list of my own to promote interfaith/peace activities.


As dusk turned into night, the music was wonderful with the likes of Aliza Hava, an American new immigrant to Israel with an amazing voice who sang original songs, like ”One People, One Land” and Musicians for Peace who had a really wonderful repetoire. But we were all shivering and beginning to feel uncomfortable, so the organizers arranged for the rest of the evening to be held inside the auditorium, where Ray gave us a wonderful preview of his Israeli/Palestinian Comedy Tour, although he is the only Palestinian in the tour. I thought he was hilarious. I laughed my ass off and he was like “was that a sympathy laugh?” No, dahling. It was great seeing a fellow MidEastYouth writer, especially one who gets 3 trillion comments on every post of his. So that was actually a ”jealousy laugh” m’dear.
After Ray’s act, Israeli musicians took the stage. They were a most unusual band. The woman played a tampura (a sitar-like instrument) and sang Jewish prayers in Indian style tunes. It was hauntingly beautiful.

After them, came a Palestinian band who seemed to play klezmer music. I thought - well this is the first Palestinian klezmer band I’ve ever heard - and wanted to invite them to the Safed klezmer festival later on this summer.
I walked a brisk 45-minute walk to my friend’s home with Eliyahu, blabbing the whole way about integrated housing, how wonderful everyone is, wouldn’t it be great if this happened, or that happened and how could we get hundreds of thousands of people into this scene?

Next day I set out for Tantur from the Baka neighborhood of Jerusalem. It was much hotter than the day before. I saw a Palestinian bus from East Jerusalem - those small blue and white mini-buses with hardly any seats. I knocked on the door at a red light. The driver opened up for me and charged me a bit less than an Israeli bus and off we went. Now this was a milestone for me. One of my firsts. I had never taken Palestinian public transportation before because, well, it’s just not done. These buses usually go towards the West Bank where the passengers then pick up Palestinian yellow taxis with west bank license plates. Everyone, of course, was cordial and two men even got up from their seats to give me theirs. But I’m sure their day was rougher than mine - checkpoints and all. I decided to stand for the 10 minute ride.

Getting back to the festival, we started out by watching the film “Encounter Point.” The couple I invited walked out of the film. I ran out to see why.
“It’s just so negative. Everything here is negative.” he moaned. He obviously didn’t come the night before for the non-negative Palestinian-Woodstock-like atmosphere.

“Why don’t you just stick around and wait? The music will soon start and the whole mood will change.”

“Nah”

“How will people learn not to be negative. I know this festival is about 40 years of occupation. But I think of it as a celebration of ’40 years of being reunited with my long-lost cousins’. ”

I thought I saw him smile. Maybe he’ll stay. But he didn’t. A shame. Because even Encounter Point was very moving towards the end as Palestinians and Israelis encountered one another for the very first time. It reminded me of my own story nearly 4 years ago.



We formed chat circles and I spent the late afternoon introducing all these people to one another so that they can form new connections. It just seemed as if I were putting pieces of a puzzle together.



On the big stage were Palestinian hip-hop bands, dancers, Israeli bands, and by the last act, with an Israeli singer of Moroccan background who sang “hafla” songs, we were all dancing wildly in front of the stage, singing “Now is the time for peace”. By the time the party ended, I could really have danced all night. I was so much in a state of bliss that I exclaimed to some stunned listeners that “Peace is even better than sex.”

And now that I’m back into my work week and the tough reality of life, I really think there may even be some truth in what I said...

She's in the army now

My daughter was drafted yesterday into the army. I thought there would be more fanfare - ceremonies, large crowds, music, speeches. There were just a few families there with their about-to-be-soldier daughters at the place where we were at in Jerusalem.

We (her father, boyfriend, sister and I) looked at the small crowd and joked that this is perhaps the “special needs unit” - low profiles, too overweight, too underweight, dysfunctional, dropouts, etc. She missed the “normal” profile by being underweight one kilo. Forget that she’s a soldier, don’t you just hate her for that?
But seriously, I never had so many phone calls from her that first day in the army as I had in 6 months. She called me up at 2:30 pm.

“They’re starting to be mean.”

“Of course they are. But you can handle ‘mean’. Where did you think you were going? To a spa?”

She’s a tough little one. I’m sure she’ll be fine.

The army is a rite of passage for most Israelis. It’s not something I’m thrilled about her doing but I let my children make their choices as long as they use them well. My two eldest daughters bypassed the army by telling the draft people they were religious and can’t serve. Actually they weren’t religious and my eldest daughter had piercings up the wazoo and bright red streaks in her hair when she was called up. She went to the rabbinical office to get them to give her a waiver, piercings and all. The Rabbi didn’t give two shits about it thankfully. He just didn’t want to see girls in the army so he hardly glanced at her and stamped the waiver. She and my 2nd daughter did national service instead.

But my third daughter’s friends have all been drafted and she felt she should go with the flow. Peer pressure. She won’t be a fighter and for that I’m thankful. She has Palestinian friends and knows about how to treat human beings that aren’t Jewish. And maybe if she lands up working a checkpoint or two, she’ll be more thoughtful, respectful and helpful than most of the soldiers you find at checkpoints. And that is a more comforting thought.

The view on Saturdays

It was a pleasant day, this past Saturday - weather-wise. I couldn't see Jordan anymore from my window like I can during wintertime but the view is lovely nevertheless. I’m doing what I usually do on a Saturday morning, which is read the Haaretz magazine cover-to-cover, laughing at Sayed Kashua’s life experiences and wishing he was my friend, but his article is not there this weekend. But I’m starting a whole lot later than usual. I had a sleepless night last night. My cellphone rang at 2 am and it was probably for one of my kids who make phone calls from my cell when I’m not looking. And when I’m sleeping, I’m not usually looking. Not being able to fall back asleep, I watched one of the movies I downloaded, “A Night At the Museum” and mid-movie (even though I enjoyed this comedy), I felt my eyes closing… Fortunately, I had the luxury of sleeping in until 10:45 am. A true blessing for my tired and weary soul.
I wasn’t supposed to be tossing and turning and watching movies or reading Haaretz this weekend. I was supposed to be in Nazareth for a compassionate listening workshop with Arabs and Jews - these things feed my soul - but my pregnant daughter had early contractions and was under observation at Hadassah Ein Karem hospital. I would be a horrible mother if I just buzzed off up North to feed my soul and not care about hers. I sat in her hospital room eating her mother-in-law’s delicious food that her hubby brought for her. While I was licking my plate clean of stuffed grape leaves, kubbeh and fried cauliflower (the family is Tunisian), her mum-in-law walks in and gives me a momentarily dirty look. I automatically read read her mind which said “What the fuck are you doing eating the food I gave my son and daughter-in-law for the weekend so that they don’t have to eat that horrible hospital food”. The look lasted a split second, but I caught it and read it.
But getting back to this morning. My second oldest daughter was making us all a breakfast of shakshouka. And my 17 year old bounces in this morning with a friend, ready to go to the Dead Sea. It’s only 30 minutes from where we live.
“Whose driving you?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t planning to hitchhike and hoping she’ll be eating some breakfast before going. She doesn’t.
“My friend from work. He’s an Arab.” I don’t know why she has to announce his heritage. If the driver was Jewish, she wouldn’t be telling me “My friend from work. He’s an Israeli Jew”. Maybe she wants to see/hear my reaction? She knows it won’t be negative.
I say to her -”Why doesn’t he come in? It’s not nice to leave him in the car while you get ready.” Getting ready for teenage girls may take “a while.” He is driving a Mazda 6. Not too shabby.
My daughter turns to her girlfriend and tells her “See, my mother doesn’t mind.” Perhaps the girlfriend’s mother would mind her daughter being driven around by an Arab friend. Maybe that’s why this guy was reluctant to come into our home. So I went up to meet him and tell him he’s welcome in our home. He looked like a nice guy, with manners. And when they left, I even felt a bit sorry for him, knowing that my daughter may take HIM for a ride, perhpas having him pay for her cigarettes and food and entrance fee, if there is any.