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.

Hugging Jerusalem

Monday afternoon thousands of people were expected to gather in a love hug of Jerusalem. It was a touchy-feely thingy and those who like angry, political demonstrations stayed away. Unfortunately, I don't think it was several thousand people who showed up - it seemed like several hundred - but we still evoked stares and curiosity from passers-by.

I walked from work towards Jaffa Gate, the closest part of the old city to my work. On the way I saw two smiling hippies and I asked them where people were for the big hug. The big blonde handsome lug, took my hand and walked with me to Jaffa Gate to look for "other hippies". I stood in front of some ruins - to the right of Jaffa Gate - it looked like a much older part of the city wall in front of the more modern Ottoman-built wall and waited. In time, a big group of people came by to hug the walls of the old city and it seems that they were part of James Twyman's group from the States. It was funny bumping into James Twyman here of all places. He gave me his latest CD of his - God Has No Religion - which sounds like a good conversation piece.



Pretty soon he had his group breathing in and breathing out chanting the one of the names of God (I Am That) over and over again while we all held hands. He prayed with us for the peace of Jerusalem and for a while it seemed as if the prayers were reaching the place they were supposed to reach.

After we all went over to hug the wall. Now it seems that people who hug walls belong in a funny farm - but you know what? It actually felt good. I put my head against the wall and the ancient stones felt warm and wonderful against my face. And then I realized that if you hug the walls of Jerusalem, the walls will hug you back.

pocketful of miracles

I don't know what happened. I didn't win the lottery or anything but it certainly was a very mysterious and wonderful day on Friday. But when the going gets tough in Israel, miracles happen. Miracles happen to everyone if one keeps their eyes open, but in this country, they seem to come faster and are more noticeable. Otherwise, if these miracles didn't happen, it would be too damn hard to survive.

We ran a garage sale on Friday just to get some money into our hands for food shopping but also to clear up the stuff we don't want to move into our new apartment. Hubby had a bad slump work-wise for a few months, we were all tapped out, and the garage sale came in handy for grocery shopping we sorely needed to do that day. It's unpleasant when there's no food in the house. Some people came by at the beginning of the day and bought stuff but not a whole lot. My daughter and her husband came by and saw we were strapped for cash and just waiting around for customers. I usually have a fridge full of food by Friday morning, but they noticed we just offered them water. (Miracle #1) They returned a couple of hours later with food we needed for Shabbat and refused to accept the money we earned from the sales. Then one of our friends called.

"You want some food? I'm coming by with a pizza."

"Huh? How did he know?" asked Hubby.

"I don't know, really. I think Jesus told him we needed some food. How else on earth would he have sussed it?"

(Miracle #2) He came by with not one but two pizzas and I got off my macrobiotic diet for this gift of lunch.

A couple of hours later my landlord comes in with a huge electric bill we have to pay. Shit. What to do? Thankfully they'll wait until the middle of the week when we may be able to pay them. But yet another miracle happened.

We asked them if we could stay two more weeks so as not to have to stay over too long at my daughter's house until our apartment is ready - probably by June 1st. And could we do this rent-free? This is a really absurd question to ask an Israeli landlord. Of course, the answer would be no - but I had to ask.

Turns out the answer was - yes! (Miracle #3) But I'd have to advertise their house for sale on various internet forums and act as an agent for the two weeks, showing their home, etc. Poor things have been trying to sell the house for 3 years but got no buyers. I told them - it's time to check your mezuzot (the prayer we stick on doorposts) to see if anything is rubbed out. If so, it's a sign that something is incomplete. They gladly entrusted me to the task.

And if they do sell the house, maybe they'll be grateful enough to let us have keep their fridge, which is old but in great condition.

Petra - last bit

Our last day in Petra we actually went out of our hotel (after 2 days just inside) to tour Petra which is up for the updated Seven Wonders of the World - which it should be. We were so knackered at the end of our trip that we took a horse and carriage back - after haggling with the driver of course. My Palestinian roommate haggled better in Arabic but one driver got so mad at her, he said "only the English speakers could get into the carriage" - eventually we got one that let us both on. I managed to even video tape this ride - shaky but you get the picture (pun intended).




On the way back to the hotel after our Petra tour we spoke with some of the young guys.

"You should have been at our room last night. We were smoking nargilas!"

"Thought you people weren't allowed to smoke nargilas in your hotel room - wasn't that one of the rules that A. spoke about at the beginning of the conference?"

He laughed at me. "But it was A.'s nargila we were smoking in his room."

"What?"

"You must understand the Arab way - you can make the rules and then break the rules."

I see. I guess that's why the Palestinian man and woman, who at the beginning of the conference said they could not have any relationships with "settlers" meaning anyone who lives over the green line, which I do, maintained a warm relationship with me throughout the weekend. Perhaps because they were nonsensical rules anyways, made by politicians who don't know their ass from their elbows.

That evening, after the main conference ended we had a wonderful women's-only conference, where there was a lot of emotion, hugging, tears, laughter and promises. I had promised my Palestinian roommate that we would keep in touch and build up interfaith trust.

I had silently thanked God throughout the weekend that she didn't faint, get sick or die in my room because having an Israeli roommate like myself might have looked mighty suspicious to outsiders, given the bad rap we have with Palestinians.

Men

My son called me frantically yesterday morning from school.

"MOM! I'm sick!!! Please hurry and pick me up from school NOW!"

Of course, just then, some real estate people rang the doorbell and wanted me to show them the house we are renting. Fortunately, these people had seen the house on their own already and were haggling with the agent about it. I excused myself meanwhile and then a second call came in.

"MOMMMM! Are you coming? PLEASE HURRY, I'M SICK."

"What's wrong"

"I don't know"

This is such a guy thing, lemme tell you. I'd have these exact conversations with Hubby. He'd tell me over the phone he's sick and not know what's wrong. I mean what the fuck? Is it your throat? Your head? Fever? Legs? Arms? Brains? Teeth?

They don't know.

I got to the school gate and my son was clearly very uncomfortable. He seemed to have something stuck in his throat which he was trying to cough out. I took him to the emergency clinic. The doctor thought it was some kind of allergic reaction after taking a chest x-ray and seeing nothing. He was on sn inhaler for 10 minutes. I took him home afterwards and then went to the pharmacy to get him inhalers. He calls me after I've already bought them.

"Don't buy me medicine. I'm ok now - hear?"

"Yeah, alright. Are you sure?" And I go back to the pharmacist who gives me a credit on my purchase.

Later on my daughter found a bee sitting on the kitchen floor.

"There's a bee here, Mom! Can you get rid of it?"

"No honey, that's what men are for. HONEY!!!" I screamed at Hubby who was glued to the couch. "Please get up and do that Manly thing of yours and get rid of this bug - please!"

He gave me a look that Al Bundy of Married with Children gives his wife when she asks for sex - and forced himself off the couch. To do that manly thing.

Food (and drink) for Thoughts

I had done my mitzvah of doing a presentation on Jewish marriage to the mostly Moslem crowd at our conference in Petra - complete with a video of the chuppah at my daughter's June wedding. This resulted in several young, cute, Jordanian suitors begging me for my daughters' hand.

"I'm coming to Jerusalem to marry your daughters"

"Which one?" I asked the cutest first guy from Amman.

"Any one. They're all beautiful."

"And you, sir?" I asked the second one.

"Me? I'm going to convert to Judaism and kill all the Arabs from Egypt to Syria for her." He stood up and gestured wildly with his hands while talking.

Hmmmm. Didn't think I wanted HIM as my son-in-law.

I asked the third guy which one of my 3 daughters did he want to marry.

"The youngest one."

"You're such an Arab" remarked a young Egyptian woman, who was dressed in religious Moslem garb. "Such a Gulf Arab at that. See how he wants the young one?"

And we all laughed. I also laughed at the fact that I was up in the youngsters' room and they had an assortment of liquor bottles that the 2nd potential suitor of my daughter was happily imbibing. They were all neatly placed by their visiting American friends on the floor near the bed as if it were illicit drugs to be shoved under the bed, should any Islamic police show up at the door. The Moslem women didn't have any at all.

They offered me some of this stuff which I refused. Funnily, even though I am allowed to partake of alcoholic beverages, I felt odd at the thought of drinking in a Moslem country, so I just asked for a soft drink - please.

Meanwhile at dinner time I had been raving over the wonderful desserts served there like Malabeh and some Egyptian sweet bread pudding (can't remember the name of this).

We had learned earlier that Druze men are not allowed to eat a green called Gargeer in Arabic (it was rocket leaves, as I found out later) because it's an aphrodisiac. Well, we all were hysterical when at lunch on the last day of the conference, one of the Palestinian men piled his plate about 2 feet high with that stuff.

"Should I warn his wife" I asked the woman sitting next to me, as I saw him take a seat. This caused a wave of laughter all along our big long table.

Later on, I showed Mr. Aphrodisiac photos from the seder I went to.

"That's makhlube" I said proudly. We had it as a main dish for our seder.

"It's not enough you steal our land!!! Now you're stealing our food." He said half-joking, half-serious.

"What????"

"It won't be long before you'll call this Israeli food. You already did this with falafel and humous. Everyone thinks it's Israeli food now. It's ARABIC food. ARABIC."

"OK OK - please calm down Mister." thinking the aphrodisiac was going awry.

I promised him that from now on, I'd always label any makhlube I or my friends make as Arabic, not Israeli food, and he seemed quite satisfied with that.

Arabs and Jews Dancing to Shlomo Carlebach music

This was one of the highlights of my trip. Jews and Arabs, Palestinians and Israelis, all dancing to the music of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach.

Later on that evening, the Jordanians did some wonderful debka dancing and a group of Saudi school kids who were at our hotel joined in.

Trip to Petra - Part 2

Friday we settled in to our interfaith "talks" - with each person or team describing their circle of interfaith/intercultural activities. The head of our organization in Israel became too ill to attend this conference and asked me to take care of the Jewish presentation while I was ALREADY ON THE WAY. Thank God for good intuition - as right before I left, I grabbed ahold of Jewish Soul music Rabbi, Shlomo Carlebach CD, my daughter's wedding cd, some leftover matzah from Passover and a havdalah candle, and threw them all in my suitcase. So I was prepared for any emergency such as this surprise!

The Moslem presentation was on food - what is Halal and what is Haram. I knew most of the Islamic laws on food and the similarities to kashrut for Jews and I would guess that the 90% of Moslems there could have been bored at hearing the same stuff over and over except for a lively exchange between the Bedouin Sheikh and the person doing the presentation who were arguing about the prohibition of eating animals that weren't slaughtered in the Halal way. The Sheikh claimed it wasn't an actual "prohibition" but rather, one should "avoid" this meat. I laughed at how similar Jews argue about such seemingly trivial (at least to outsiders) laws, and there are so many of them to argue about - I guess that's why we're always arguing. But it was amusing for me to know that Moslems argue in the same fashion.

After their presentation - it was my turn. I turned over my daughter's wedding CD to the part of the wedding ceremony, which was a shortened version of the 1/2 hour ceremony. Many people were interrupting me for interpretations of the strange goings-on under the Chuppah (marriage canopy) - "were they drinking wine?" "why did they break the glass" (that was the most popular question); "what was that long scroll?" "why did the bride put her ring on her middle finger to show everyone?" "What does the marriage contract say?" - I answered their questions as best I could and went into dating rituals (ultra-orthodox have the most interesting ones) and family purity where the couple cannot have sex when the wife is menstruating and a week after that - after which she dunks herself in a mikvah (ritual bath).

After, I and another Jewish woman made a short presentation on the recent Passover holiday and I gave out matzah for everyone to taste, explaining the seder rituals, the final prayer of "Next Year in Jerusalem", etc. except that I joked that many Israelis now rush back into Egypt during the Passover holidays to vacation in Sinai. But the other presenter explained that this holiday was kept to some extent even by the hidden Jews of Spain, the Marranos/Anusim, who were forced to convert to Christianity and kept some semblance of tradition, such as not eating bread during a certain time during the Spring season and others.



Later that afternoon, right before the Sabbath, we played a CD by Jewish soul music Rabbi, Shlomo Carlebach, the one who went to Berkley and San Francisco in the late 1960s and founded the synagogue which was called the House of Love and Prayer to bring the Jewish hippies from acid tripping to tripping on Judaism. He has worked tirelessly for the rest of his life and has since passed on, but his teachings are still thriving and his unique soul-soaring music still touches everyone's soul. So much so that after we did our Sabbath presentation - lighting candles with a blessing to bring in the Sabbath, a song for the Sabbath (lecha dodi, greeting the Sabbath Queen) and blessings over grape juice and challah, which we distributed - an Iranian woman came over to me and asked where she could get such a CD.

"Well to tell you the truth, I don't think the CD stores in Tehran stock this item.
Tell you what, I'll just give this to you."

Which I did and she happily accepted the gift. So now "A Taste of Shabbes" by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach has been imported into Iran. I laughed at the thought of Rabbi Carlebach doing this on purpose - somewhere in the heavens - plotting to get his music over to the Iranians and touch their souls too.