Looking at the other

Yom Kippur has come and gone. Thank God. I've heard everyone wishing me an easy fast. What's so easy about fasting, pray tell me? There is nothing easy about not eating and drinking for 25 hours. And anyways, I hate fasting. Hate it, hate it, hate it. But I do it anyway, because it will clean out my body as well as my soul from sins. I also don't sit in the synagogue all day and read from the prayerbook, because the synagogues in my areas have dry services for the most part, and reading from a prayerbook makes me nauseous and dizzy so I'd rather stay home, only venturing out in the evenings, when the weather is cooler.

My family has this perverse custom on Yom Kippur. They like to check out the neighbors. If someone's eating or drinking, they'll do it indoors and no one but God will see them. And most people, if they watch TV, will close their blinds, so that again, only God sees them. My 18 year old son is on the terrace after the fast started and yells for me to come look. He points to a building, two buildings away, where the blinds are not closed and the people are clearly watching television. The TV stations are closed for the day, so obviously it's a DVD they're watching. But this was the first time he had seen someone so blatantly violating the Day so he was really excited. Hubby and I used to take walks during the cool evenings around the neighborhood so see which lights are flickering, a tell-tale sign that the TV is on.

Last night,while sitting in the traffic circle with my daughter and her son, watching all the kiddie cyclists (no cars run on the holiday, except for ambulances,police and security), I looked up at a friend's home to see their lights flickering in their livingroom, and pointed out to my daughter that they're also watching videos. I guess watching other people sin more than us makes us feel more self-righteous.

This is the only day of the year when we leave lights on, don't use electricity, travel, eat, drink, etc. So what does one do, if one is not a synagogue go-er? I bought a 1500 piece puzzle and two Vanity Fair magazines (used, of course. since the price of a new magazine is around $15) for us to pass the time away.

My other daughter called me after the fast was over. They played Monopoly and when the mother-in-law went to the toilet, her and her brother-in-law took advantage of the break and helped themselves to money from the bank. Her Hubby saw this and was livid. "You're cheating during Yom Kippur?? How could you?!" "It's only a game" wasn't good enough for him. Yom Kippur is a day of no cheating. And that's final.

ageing

I celebrated a friend's 50th birthday on the rooftop of the new, posh Mamilla Hotel in Jerusalem. I walked into the lobby and everything was quiet, lights were muted, candles were lit and the air was perfumed. Not a convention center atmosphere at all. I felt like I stumbled onto or into a spa. I also felt that I don't belong - kinda like Ellie May Clampett of the Beverly Hillbillies. The place was so exquisitely beautiful, that the toilets had soft ecologic (?) paper towels and L'Occitane hand soap. MK Tzipi Livni was there too but not for my friend's celebration; she was out having dinner on the rooftop restaurant, which didn't appear to be overly expensive. The view of old and new Jerusalem is magnificent from the rooftop bar. While the sun was setting, around 15 of our friend's closest girlfriends toasted her over a nice (few) bottles of champagne. I was buzzed after just one glass.

But speaking of age, I'm growing out my hair and it's a grey blonde. In fact, I was highly insulted recently when a stupid, tactless, asshole Egged bus driver asked me if I wanted to buy the senior citizen's monthly bus pass. This is the first time anyone implied that I look like a senior citizen. Not that that's awful, but it's just not fair that when I'm blonde, people don't take me for being a grandmother and now bus drivers are trying to sell me passes for people who are at least 11 years older than I am.

Then when I got home I see that one can join the local Golden Age club in my town when you're just 55 years old. I'll be 55 in February. Maybe it won't be too shabby to be a golden ager after all. They advertised for their members quite a number of trips to spas and hotels for quite cheap. I asked a couple of my girlfriends who are over 55 if they'd join up, but they complained the club is full of Russians. "So what. If we join, we'll turn it into a half-Russian, half-English club." There is strength in numbers.

Macho Man

I have my computer back. I didn't have enough energy to wrestle our one family computer that Hubby bought for me but that was unfortunately placed in my son's room. Since then, he has claimed ownership, and I don't have the time to continuously plead with him for computer time.

But now? He's ousted from school, and decided to spend the year working as a waiter in a wedding hall so he can save money for driving lessons and a car. Weddings are thankfully held at night, which means the computer is free when I get home from work.

My young adult son loves to look at himself in the mirror and flex his muscles. "Look at my muscles" he'll tell me, while putting his biceps in my face. Nearly every day. He's so annoying. He does pushups in the living room while we're watching TV and lifts weights.

My daughters and I once gave him a lift to the local falafel shop (sort of like the local British fish 'n chip shop) and we laughed at him while he swaggered down the street - his arms arched by his sides.

"He looks like a gorilla" said my daughter.

"Why does he walk like that?" asked the other.

I have no words.

Then on Friday night, one of my daughters shrieked - "look at his feet!!!" We all looked and, yeah, he was wearing my daughter's blingy faux diamond studded, shiny, flip flops. All of us laughed until it hurt. Even macho man himself.

It's Complicated

People are just being horrible, cruel and disgusting to each other.  Husbands and wives, parents and kids, bus drivers and passengers...you name it, this week I heard it all.

It's nearly mid-summer and I feel like I haven't done much.  Summer is too expensive and too hot to travel, so I stay back in Jerusalem and make the most out of what the city has to offer.  Last week it was the Film Festival.  This week I tried to get Hubby out of the doldrums and told him about a concert for 25 NIS ($8), which is a bargain.  I had no idea who the band was.  The last band I saw at the Liberty Bell Amphitheater was Marsh Dondurma

and they were amazing and the place was packed.  The week before I saw Flamenco dancers and singers.

 

This time there was an avant garde dance troupe and a group called Terra Rosa.  I thought they were excellent musicians, but they were on the mellow side and Hubby was bored, calling it a waste of his time.  Fine.  I'll take friends next time.

Then my daughter, when we're on the bus togther, tells me her husband's sister is complaining about her baby girl.  She already had 2 boys and said girls were nudniks - she didn't even want a daughter because they're more difficult to raise. I'm furious with sister-in-law.  What an asshole.  I love my daughters.  They are such lovelies, even when they bitch.  My daughter laughed when I cursed the woman, telling her I hope her daughter steals all her makeup and clothing when she gets older.   My daughter added -

"Yeah, and I hope the girl stays out all night and takes money from her mother's purse" citing the things she did to me.

Then the bus driver ends up opening the back door and closes it immediately, while I'm trying to get out of the bus.  "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I'm yelling at him in English and he opens the door again and lets me out.  He doesn't want an irate Anglo on his bus and is glad to let me off.

Another bus driver on our way home on Thursday was also horrid to one passenger who came onto the bus with her stroller.  He kept on asking her repeatedly to fold the stroller.  She ignored him.  This bus wasn't picking up any more passengers as it was coming back from Jerusalem, so what did he care.  She wasn't blocking the aisles any more than the soldiers do when they come on buses with their huge duffelbags which I have to step on or over when I'm getting on or off the bus.  He finally ends up screaming at her - "Tembelit (idiot)!! When are you gonna fold up the stroller".  I looked at my friend.  I never heard a bus driver hurl abuse at anyone before.  What a dick.  I told him - "she just has to pay an extra fare when she doesn't fold up the stroller, so ask her for an extra fare."  I could see him glaring at me through the mirror.  Eventually, she tells him her husband works for Egged and he could go fuck himself.  He lost this fight.

On Saturday I watch the movie "It's Complicated" with Meryl Streep, and I'm hoping she doesn't get back with her ex, because her ex was an asshole who cheated on her and she shouldn't give him the time of day.  I get into this movie as if Meryl's character is my friend.  In the end, she does the right thing.  There are just too many assholes in this world....

9th of Av

I must admit, I'm less and less inclined to listen to the rules made by rabbis and instead am listening more to my own soul.  For me it's soothing. 

I took off work the day of the 9th of Av in the Hebrew calendar, the anniversary of the destruction of the 1st and 2nd temples in Jerusalem, and didn't know what I would be doing - whether I would fast the entire day, none of the day, half the day or what.  I had the option of going to Nava Tehilla's reading of the Megillat (scroll) of Eicha at the Nature Museum.  It's usually a very reflective evening, much different than in regular synagogues, where you would be writing down thoughts, etc.  And all this by candlelight.  But traveling in from Maaleh Adumim seemed tedious and I decided to stick close to home.  My other option was the Conservative reading of the Megillah on a lookout over Jerusalem, locally, but still difficult to get to, as I'd either have to scrounge for a ride or take two buses.  Once I'm home in the evening, it's hard for me to want to leave.  I settled for the third option to just stay at home and watch the History channel on Jerusalem, narrated by Martin Gilbert.

My kids trounced in at various hours, surprised that I wasn't eating or drinking.  I was especially put to the test by one of my daughters who put sushi on the table.  "I'll save it for tomorrow" I told her.  "You're not gonna eat it now?" she asked me.  "No do you want it" I asked her, hoping she'll say no.  She said "no" and I hid it in back of the fruit, not that anyone else in the family eats sushi.

The next day I was supposed to watch my grandson, but my son-in-law, the alien husband who never complains about anything, decided he'll stay home and watch his son.  I spent the entire morning, just cooking.  Cooking?  I wasn't eating and cooking and baking for most of the day, made up for my not eating.

But I had already thought it over.  I'm not in exile any more.  I've liberated myself from the Diaspora and back in my homeland.  So I declared it a 1/2 fast day for me (due to the fact that the 1st half of the fast (for me) was in commemoration of the destruction of the temple and not the exile) and broke it sometime in the afternoon. 

My daughter took me shopping at the mega supermarket nearby and watched as my son went out of the car to buy falafel.

"Why is he walking like that?" two daughters asked me in unison.

He's been working out and he thinks he's Sylvester Stallone.  I tell them he thinks it makes him look tough that way.

"He looks like a robot".

We laughed and drove away....

I figured no one would be shopping during the fast day.  I was wrong.  Everyone was shopping and the place was packed.  Hungry people shop more and I was sure the store had people spending more money this day than they normally would.  What a coup for this store. My pregnant daughter laughed as she tried to swerve her shopping cart into the aisle I was in and she ended up turning around several times with the cart.  We both laughed and I think the Arab shopper near us, who was wearing a keffiyah, thought we were laughing at him.  I smiled at him as reassurance that we weren't and even thought of whipping out my interfaith business card to prove that we would never laugh at someone of a different race/religion. 

We just laugh at our own.

Be careful what you see

I was getting so tired of my son showing me the same scenes from his new favorite movie, Bruno.  So I was happy to run away from home to the Jerusalem International Film Festival. For the past 10 days I saw around 13 films. I usually go with a friend to the opening and to the Saturday films, but this friend decided to take a real summer vacation and go off to the U.S. of A.   I can't blame her.  Hubby joined me at the last moment for the opening flick Le Rafle about the French deportation of Jews during the Holocaust.  Very moving, very well done.  I'm not a movie critic so that's about all you'll get from me. I didn't know if he'd keep up with subtitles, but he actually did a good job.  He's not a foreign film person.  No one in my family is but me.

Friday I saw Melody for a Street Organ, a Ukranian film about two young children who search for their fathers because their mother died, and the coldness of the Ukranian winters and  the coldness of the people who shunted these children around, seemed equally harsh.  I get out of the theater and run to catch another film at a different theater a few blocks away. I'm already 15 minutes late for the film. A man with a child stops me.  He asks me for money for food for his children.  It's hard to say no. I had given him money  when I had seen him last.  I remember the kids in the film who were too proud to beg and no one helped them, and I was sad.  I was just as harsh as the people in the film, as I was late for my film and didn't want to scrounge through my purse for change.    Kanikosen was a Japanese film about crab fishermen in the 1920s and their cruel task master on the boat. It was a strong film about how they tried to take control of their lives and their fate.  I come home after that film.  One of Hubby's favorite reality shows is about crab fishing off the Alaska coast.  I don't know which he likes better.  Crab fishing or DayStar evangelical network on Saturday mornings.

I had to hitchhike into Jerusalem on Saturday morning and, fortunately, my driver was a nice young man, recently engaged to a non-Jewish Peruvian woman. He drove well and bemoaned the fact that it will be a royal pain in the ass for his fiancee to convert in this country. .



I began the day with a French Film, Barbe Blue (Bluebeard). Bluebeard was a beautiful film that took place both in the 1950s and 18th century, with scenes switching back and forth. In the end the young girl has Bluebeard's head on the plate. I love clever women.

I meet a friend in the lounge.  She is seeing twice as many films as I am - and also is seeing them alone.  She said that this festival is spiritual because things are happening to her that are the continuation of the movies we are seeing.  I relate to her what happened to me with the film I saw on Friday and the beggar who came to me right after the film ended.  Is this because the festival is in Jerusalem or do things like this happen in Cannes too?

The next film I saw was The Infidel - a British comedy about a Moslem family, the man of the house from Pakistani extraction whose son is engaged to a woman whose stepfather is an Al-Qaida type.  The father finds out he was born a Jew.  Hysterically funny film, and it was great to laugh with the entire audience.  I found that even sitting in theaters alone, I can still laugh out loud and not be embarrassed about this.  My kids ask me if it's not "fadichot" (embarrassing) to sit my myself, and I tell them no.  I think they're in awe about this.  On Sunday I went for my annual mammogran and sit next to a Moslem woman who is covered from head to toe.  I look for a pen and out pops the ticket to the movie The Infidel.  She looks at the ticket and I'm so amused thinking what a thing to pop out of my purse at this moment.  Maybe that's what I am?  Maybe that's what she thinks of me?  Infidel?

The next film, Tuesday After Christmas was a Romanian film and the only film I didn't enjoy.  Scenes dragged on much too long and I was bored.  The last film of that day was Please Give, a funny movie about a young  New York family and their old neighbor.  They bought her place, but can't renovate until she dies. The movie had some great scenes and I loved the daughter's character crying to her friend about her hippie mother who wanted to "fix the world and who brought home a homeless person to give him a shower in their house and he made a dump on the floor."  To my kids, I'm like the same kind of "mom who wants to fix the world but isn't it hopeless attitude" and by me bringing home Arabs - this  is nearly akin to bringing in a homeless person and the little upstarts should be grateful that at least "my" guests know how to use a toilet.

Un Ange de la Mer was a French film about a kid whose depressed father tells him that he will kill himself.  Up until then, the kid was a normal kid, but afterwards, he was obsessed with watching his father, then couldn't speak.properly..and became half mad like his dad

Friday I saw Korkoran, a great French film about Gypsies in 1943, and about how they just wanted their freedom above all, even though they were told they had to stay put for their own safety.  The French townsfolk consisted of some who wanted to rid France of "their vermin" and the mayor who tried to save the 15-member Gypsy family from the Nazis.

Saturday I saw Crazy Heart, a film with Jeff Bridges and Me Too, a Spanish film about a man with Down's Syndrome who falls in love with a "regular" woman.  I nearly cried when another Down's Syndrome couple fell in love and the 24 year old woman explains to her friends that "he's my soul.  He's my soul"  It made me think of a Down's Syndrome guy who always had a bunch of flowers in his hand.  When he saw me, he'd give me one of them and a hug.  I haven't seen him in months and wonder how he is.

The Double Hour was an Italian suspense film.  Really good.  I tried to convince my family they would like it but they "poo poo'd" foreign films, telling me they know they're boring.  Stupid people. The last film - a French flick called Un Poison Violent was a story about a family living in a small French village, whose life centered around their Parish church and the priest, while the daughter was beginning to have these lustful feelings for one of the boys in the village and didn't know whether she should take communion (or is it "have" communion?).  One scene I believe the priest is in love with one of his parisioners, but won't show it or won't allow it to happen.  He cries himself to sleep at night.

This afternoon I went to an interfaith meeting in Beit Jala.  Some of my favorite people were there including someone I have a bigger-than-slight crush on.  There are young women from Italy, France, US, and India.  I love the whole scene.  It's relaxed and the headache I had at the beginning disappeared.  The Man is telling everyone to wait until I finish eating.  I tell them don't bother, I'm never finished eating.  Everyone laughs and then we go on to discuss why Jerusalem is holy in our three religions.  Afterwards, the Man gives me a hug and tells the crowd he's so happy to see me. That I'm his soul friend.  He repeats the word "soul" again.  And I nearly cry.

Elton

"He's not just an asshole.  He's a FUCKING asshole".  I was deep in conversation with my daughter on lessons in life, describing to her exactly who is a good performer and who isn't, which depended on whether they cancelled their performances in Israel or not.  The asshole is question was Elvis Costello. 

Boycotting Israel won't do anything for the Palestinian cause. I'm thinking what did Elvis Costello or the Pixies doing to help the Palestinians. Did they help them by cancelling? I'm of the mindset that if you want Israel to suffer economic or cultural hardship, as a result of various boycotts, just remember that we and the Palestinians are intertwined.  Like it or not, we are bound together. If we suffer hardships, so do they. If our economy is good, theirs is better too. Things are far from perfect for them, but this is how it is generally.

We were on our way to the Elton John concert in Tel Aviv, travelling by train to avoid traffic and wanting to get there early, without hassle.  It seems that anything that was more "hassle-free" would be the direction I would be taking. 

In Jerusalem 10,000 police or so were gearing up for Ultra-Orthodox demonstrations.  They expected tens of thousands of demonstrators.  What was all this shit about?  Again?  How long will I have to smell burning trash each time my bus passes by their neighborhoods.  Fuck.

The State of Israel had wanted to desegregate Ashkenazi kids from Sephardic kids in a school up in a small  place in the West Bank called Emmanuel.  Seems the school had the kids in separate classrooms, and those that didn't want to desegregate their kids, kept their kids at home.  In turn, the parents were about to go to jail for two weeks for disobeying the order.  Assholes.  Is this what will bring the Messiah?  Yeah, yeah, we know about the different customs between the two strains of Jews but so what?  Can't they just have just a tiny bit of unity.  Just once?  I commented to a friend how my daughter had married into quite a religious Sephardic family, who didn't care that we weren't Orthodox.  That would never have happened had it been an Ashkenazi family, who would have looked at us like Pariahs - as they look at everyone who isn't like them.

So together with Elvis Costello, and the Pixies, the Ashkenazi Ultra-Orthodox Jews pissed me off this past week too. 

I needed a break, and Hubby was getting on my nerves with his complaining about the army of ants invading our kitchen, blaming it on my housekeeping or whatever semblance of housekeeping I do have, and also complaining to me about my youngest daughter who uses an entire tube of toothpaste when she brushes her teeth, leaving sloppy remnants of overflow toothpaste all over the bathroom sink.  I was going to go to Elton with Hubby, but since he was like "I'm never going to go with you to anything" I reined in my Complainer daughter (who complains a lot less lately), telling her to take a day off work.

I was feeling rather queasy that day.   My daughter met me at work and decided to treat me to lunch.  Fair deal, since I treated her to the concert.  The won ton soup and sushi seemed to do well for me.  In a matter of an hour I felt back to normal and was so grateful.  Sushi heals!  So does leaving work two hours early.

So we hopped on the bus, which we waited for quite a while, since the the demonstrations were underway at the time.  We made it to the train just in time.   Bnei Brak was the station closest to the stadium, and we were both a bit nervous since it was an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in Tel Aviv, and we weren't dressed for that 'hood with our sleeveless tops and all.

"If they try to start up with me, I'll fucking kill them.  I'll spray them with deodorant." my daughter exclaimed to me.  A police officer sat with us.

"There" I said.  "See?  We have police protection already." 

We got out at the station, which wasn't exactly inside the neighborhood and there were large signs pointing outdirections to the Stadium.  We got there 2 1/2 hours too early.  Once inside the stadium, we couldn't leave.  It was steamy hot in Tel Aviv.  We're not used to humidity, us Jerusalemites.  So even though the train seems to be the way to go, taking a later train would have meant getting there too late.  The best thing would have been to stick around the local mall for an hour and a half.  We quenched our thirst with expensive cups of water (yes, cups) which cost 10 NIS (around $3).  And we waited for Elton, while the sound guys did their checks, over and over with a loud "ONE......TWO" getting the sound just right.

And then the lights dimmed, the crowd cheered and  Elton began with Funeral for a friend/Love lies bleeding.  After a couple of songs, he said to the audience "Shalom, we are so happy to be back here! Ain't nothing gonna stop us from coming, baby,"  "Musicians spread love and peace, and bring people together. That's what we do. We don't cherry-pick our conscience."   At that moment, there was this sense of overwhelming love for this guy - he touched 50,000 souls.  I screamed out "I LOVE YOU ELTON" hoping my voice will reverberate down to the stage, while my amused daughter looked on.  And I clapped and cheered like a crazy.  He is definitely not on my Wuss list.

When he sang Yellow Brick Road the audience went wild.  Everyone stood up and began singing along with him and dancing.  Behind me, people stood and danced in the aisles, while the French woman next to me yelled at a couple of people behind her to shut up as they were talking (not singing) and it was disturbing her.  I found the sound to be good, in general, though the first two to three seconds of many of the songs, Elton's voice seemed to be down in the mix, but the sound people corrected it and we then heard him clearly.  As I don't remember set lists, my friend sent me her recollection of the list.  It was:


Funeral for a friend
Levon
Philadelphia Freedom
I guess that's why they call it the blues
sacrifice
Madman across the water
Daniel
Bitch
tiny Dancer
candle in the wind
sat nights all right for fighting
lover song (didn't know it)
I'm still standing
benny and the jets
Rocket man
Don't let the sun go down on me
Crocodile rock
sorry seems to be the hardest word
encore -Circle of Life
Your song
 
And, again, thank you Elton for not cowtowing to pressure to cancel your concert.

Light

I have to remember never to say that Hubby is a pain in my ass because perhaps God is punishing me and has smitten me with hemorroids so painful, I couldn't sleep a wink last night until I talked myself into sleep by saying "You feel no pain.  You feel no pain."  And I think I slept three hours. 

The past couple of weeks have been stressful no doubt, with the flotilla incident - and a day later I had to speak to a group of interfaith people from the US in East Jerusalem, who yelled at me after my talk for living on stolen land. Doesn't good action count for anything anymore?  I almost yelled at the Asian woman that she was living on stolen land too - Native American land.  But who needed more aggravation.

Two days later I hosted a group of 24 Compassionate Listeners for Shabbat.  I cooked up a meal for 30 because part of my family would be there too.  Hubby was hysterical as if he were the cook, yelling at me - "what the fuck did I get myself into cooking for such a crowd."  I told him plainly - we have to be a light unto the nations, don't we?  After all, we definitely need a whole lotta light,because not much is emanating from this place, unfortunately.

The "service" began.  For the multi-religion crowd, I played a cd from my community, of Psalms that Nava Tehilla, the Jewish Renewal community, sing on the Sabbath - really beautiful stuff and original music.  I transliterated the words into English letters so that even the non-Jews could sing along.  I strummed a guitar to Shalom Aleichem, the first time I've strummed a guitar in 37 years.  Pretty good for someone who's forgotten the B and F chords, but thanks to YouTube, regained that knowledge.  The food turned out excellent and the company was wonderful.  I brought in someone from Nablus who is part of our interfaith group so that they could get his perspective too.  And they left me small trinkets like organic soaps, which I love and a folding nylon bag that I can put into my purse effortlessly so that I won't need to mess with those plastic bags when I go shopping.

Little Nazis

I was so distraught at the bickering and fighting going on in my home last week, I just sat in a semi-vegetative state in front of my computer googling Jonathan Rhys Myers to find out if the Tudor King hunk is in fact Jewish.  And I stumbled across this site saying that his mother's maiden name is Myers and that if he plays the "Jewish card" in Hollywood, he'll be alright.  Well, I looked at the site I was on, and it was some neo-Nazi site called Stormtroopers.  Somehow I got into it because they were just going on about how the Jews control this and the Jews control that, and suddenly I didn't feel so depressed any more because, well, we're just so in control of everything.  Especially good to read, since I felt so out of control at home.  I perused photos of the members (don't remember how I got on to that) and see a bunchy of just regular folk, some, whose dislike for Jews stemmed from the fact that when they were among Jews, these White folk often felt ignored, transparent, left out.  Jews can be cliquey.  That's true.  Whatever.  I guess we better start inviting more neo-Nazis for a Shabbat meal at our homes to make them feel welcome :-).  

I read on and saw that their descriptions of how to detect a Jew were oh, so, 1930s/1940s.  I remember flying on Lufthansa with Israelis and the flight attendants must have mistaken me for one of "theirs' because they spoke to me in German (and I answered back in that language - my folks were Austrian).  My husband is also an Aryan Jew.  Big blue eyes and blond hair.  Hell, I bet if he posted his photo on that site, he would be their Aryan poster boy.  The site insists that Jews are a race. Hmmm.  A trip to Israel might confuse them with our multi-race Asian, African, Nordic, Semitic Jewish brothers and sisters. 

And it's Saturday morning, and I'm back on the site, grinning like mad. The site insists that Jews don't do blue collar work like paint and fix cars.  Hubby works at a construction site.  He's one of the crew.  He's a proud, blue collar, Aryan Jew.  So maybe we can't buy everything we want to buy.  We should.  We're Jews.  We should be stinking, filthy rich. But we don't even own a car.  These White Power guys do.  Even if it's a pick up truck.  What the hell happened??!  I should have made it in Hollywood.  Something! As a Jew, I should have some success in my life.  Shouldn't I??  At least that's what the members of this White Power web site believe.
 

Politics

I hate politics and am not too fond of politicians either.  They ruin my interfaith meetings.  On the day of our latest interfaith meeting, where we were going to get together to watch the film "Arranged" about a friendship between an Orthodox Jewish woman and a religions Moslem woman, I got a call from one of the Moslem participants.

"We won't be able to come to the meeting, because the issue of settlements is hot right now."

"Isn't it always a hot issue?"

"Yes, but the PA police in some areas are not even allowing Palestinians with work permits, who work in the settlements, to work in the settlements.  They are confiscating their permits."

"Huh?  But no one is working in a settlement at our meetings.  This has nothing to do with politics."

"It doesn't matter. It's too risky to meet with settlers right now." said the voice on the other end of the line.

"Your permits will be taken away if you visit us?"
"It could be."

"Thinking about it, don't you think it's good in a way that your people are cracking down on settlement building?  Isn't that what you really want? No settlement expansion?"

"The people have no other income.  Their income is being taken away.  It's terrible."

"Indeed.  What if the PA people who get all this funding from Europe and all these other places, use that money to specially compensate the workers who are no longer allowed to work in settlements by their own Palestinian police at your own checkpoints" asked I, surprised that there were also Palestinian checkpoints.

"That's a good idea. "

Yeah.  I'm a real whiz at good ideas.  Maybe I should even be in politics.  But I'll admit.  I'll be similar to our politicians.  I'll take bribes.  But they'll be selective bribes.

Say, some land dealer wants to build Arab-Jewish housing on the perimeter of Jerusalem, and wants to win the tender.  Sure!  I'll take some bucks and give him the tender.

But if they want to tear down a beautiful Arab historical home in West Jerusalem to build a 10 storey housing project and offer me millions, hmmmm.  I won't do that.  Not for any money. And I'll grant thousands of building permits for East Jerusalem residents who never were able to get permits before.

But I'm stuck in my mini-political world.  I called some other Moslem participants who come from a different part of the country the afternoon of the meeting.  They had a different story.

"X told us yesterday that there were permits for us.  But today, he said that he's not bringing anyone in because of the 'situation'.  But when he found out we might come anyway, he then told us there were no permits.  What's going on?"

I don't know.  I really don't know anymore.

Holy Cities in the Holy Land

We had our last interfaith meeting in Abu Dis.  Our coordinator tells us this may be our last meeting at his office because the main supporter of his NGO is upset with the fact that he is meeting "settlers" and withdrew all funding.  He tried to tell them that we don't talk politics and it's a meeting over our religions and around other "safe" cultural themes, but unfortunately, these people don't see beyond the trees, and are stuck on the rigid green line thing. They make their own fences and walls it seems. As it so happened, I was the only "settler" at the meeting.  The rest were from Nablus and Christians from Germany and Norway -and a Reuters reporter. 

We were told that Abu Dis may become area A in a matter of a couple of weeks.  The guy who told me seemed so happy.  It's a step for the Palestinians but to me it means I won't be able to visit the city legally.  I'll either have to sign a 10-page army document or come in illegally.  What a fucking drag.

We spoke about Holy Cities in the Holy Land.  It could have been a charged subject, but it wasn't.  I simply noted that Judaism considered four cities in the Holy Land.  And I didn't mention the more "charged" political entities of Palestine or Israel - thinking perhaps that we should rename the area to just plain The Holy Land with the coexistance symbols of the Sulha.  Oh, so getting back to the presentation, the cities are Jerusalem, holy to Jews for over three thousand years, corresponding to the element of fire - because of the ancient Temple sacrifices.  Then there is Hebron, where our forefathers are buried.  That city relates to the element of earth, because of the holy burial place.  Safed is the city of the Kabbalists - so that is corresponds to the element of air because of its spirituality.  Tiberias is the city where the Jerusalem Talmud was written as well as the home of many great rabbis in the 18th and 19th centuries - and corresponds to element of water because it's on the Sea of Galilee.

The Palestinians asked me about the the Hebron thing and that it caused quite an uproar because Bibi named it a top Jewish Heritage site.  I told them, that because Bibi did it, that caused the uproar.  If it was me telling Hebronites that the Cave of the Patriarchs is like the 2nd holiest site, no one would have said boo.  But you can't change these facts that it's a Jewish holy city, as the Koran can't be changed, I told them. 

Being that there was no Christian presenter, I read through a list of lesser known cities where Jesus walked and talked and performed miracles.  The Christians laughed because I made no mention of Jerusalem, Bethlehem and Nazareth.  Revisionist?  Not really.  I just, well, didn't mention them because I focused on the lesser known places and it totally slipped my whatever-is-left-of-my-mind.  Silly Jewish girl they must have thought.

Jerusalem is the 3rd holiest city for Moslems, and what I never knew was that before the Kaaba was built in Mecca, Moslems faced Jerusalem.  Just like us Jews when we pray.

And speaking of similarities, I attended a lecture in Jerusalem of Tzvi Misinai who spoke about the Jewish origins of Palestinians.  The audience was mostly Orthodox Jews who were curious and never heard of such a thing.  "What about the Arab massacres of Jews in Hebron?" one asked, when discussed how we lived in harmony at one time.  The lecturer said that the rumor that Jews were murdering Arabs in Jerusalem spread to other parts of the country and outsiders came in and perpetuated that lie to instill fear - the deadly F word - in its Arab inhabitants. 

He mentioned the rituals of some of the local tribes, especially the lighting of candles on Thursday and Friday nights (the Thursday night was to throw the Turks off track to prove that it wasn't a Jewish Sabbath thing) and praying in caves and marrying within the clan.  He even mentioned one Palestinian family I know and said they know they're from Jewish origin.  Indeed, I had even asked that person once about his origin and they looked at me and said they didn't know.  But I remember the look on his dad's face.  His dad is in Palestinian politics.  They don't like to be found out.  It was a disturbed look as if I did indeed uncover a family secret. 

Tzvi is distributing pamphlets in Arabic, Hebrew and English about the origins of and testimonies from Palestinians.  He believes in one state for one people - but that one people would include the Palestinians who wouldn't  have to convert to become the People of Israel.  They would be first-class citizens - all with Israeli ID and Israel would be fully democratic.  Interesting thought.  But that would mean people would have to see them as brothers instead of enemies.  A complete change in the mainstream Israeli mindstream would have to happen.  I wonder if  the lecture changed the mind of some of the people in the audience who probably never had any deep heart-to-heart conversation with any Palestinian. 

In the 11th century, there was an edict in the Holy Land that if one does not convert to Islam, the remaining families would have to leave the land.  Rather than leave, they converted to Islam.  This also is probably the reason why there is such a fierce tug of war over the land.  Because if they would do anything, absolutely anything, to stay on their land, then nothing and no one could ever take it from them.  And we shouldn't have to.  We should live on it together. 

Independence and confusion

Last Friday at Nava Tehilla, the Jewish Renewal monthly service I attend, the Rabbi spoke about the upcoming Israeli Independence Day.

"There are many people here working in Israeli/Palestinian dialogue.  With Israelis celebrating Independence Day this coming Tuesday, we have to realize that one people's celebration is not always that for everyone.  It's a sad day for others living in this country... and this causes a lot of confusion."

I had come home from that service so happy that the Rabbi acknowledged this, and also because my dinner guest had mentioned that she would be interested in joining my interfaith group, because of what the Rabbi said.  We have to understand one another.

And talk about confusion.  At the home front, things are most confusing.

"Black is such a negative color" my husband remarked to me one morning.

Huh?  He's always complaining that I'm so fat.  Doesn't he know that black makes me look thinner? Fool. I kept the black outfit on.

Meanwhile this week, he's been having withdrawal symptoms from trying to quit smoking.  It's been 4 days now since he's taken a butt and he's miserable, and the scowl on his face seems to me to be a permanent facial disfigurement.  He had been calling me an average of 25 times a day, while I'm at work.  I'm ignoring most of those calls.  I tell him he's only allowed to call me once or twice at the most.  He doesn't listen and catches the office manager on the phone, to tell her of all my sins. 

"Did you know that she eats Halal meat?" referring to non-kosher meat but rather the Arab version of "kosher".

I sighed when he told me he told her.  He loves to point out my sins to others.  Like when we were Chabad chassidim, and I used to go Israeli dancing with both men and women, which is taboo in the Chassidic world.  But he made sure that everyone in our religious neighborhood knew about it, when we had a tiff or two or three.

Yesterday, my office closed early for Memorial Day for Israel's fallen.  I've always thought it should be a memorial day for both Israelis and Arabs who died in our what-seems-like-an-eternity-of conflict.  I thought I'd head over to the YMCA where a joint memorial day ceremony for both Israelis and Arabs was being held.  I couldn't stay the full three hours as I had promised by daughter that I'd attend the local Independence Day celebration in Maaleh Adumim where her boyfriend was going to perform.  At the joint memorial ceremony, I listened to an older man talk about his boyhood in Ramle, where up until 1948, it was an Arab town.  People were involved in agriculture.  He knew nothing as a child of any conflict, Arabs and Jews.  All they wanted to do was play.  Until the War of Independence where he lost his home and described weeks of going without food, being sheltered in a local church, and the fear and loss they experienced. His last words were something like "Israel does not have complete independence yet", and I agreed with him.   I had to leave after an hour, but I knew that they would also hear an Israeli speak about their loss during a terror attack.  I would miss the listening workshops and the candlelighting.  I had to rush home to celebrate.

"I told them all about you" said my daughter about her boyfriend's parents.  "I told them you love Arabs and that you are trying to make peace between Arabs and Israelis.  His father asked me 'What ! Does she want to give back Maaleh Adumim?' but I said I really didn't know what you do, and that he should speak to you."

What a fabulous first impression.  I'm about to meet them in about two hours for the first time.  I put on my contact lenses, and fresh makeup so I could look nice.  Let them not think Arab lovers are all dykey-looking, makeupless, grungy people who wear clothes that need serious ironing.

We took a cab over to their home.  I expected a bit of a confrontation, but there was none.  They treated me with kindness, smiles and two large glasses of Coca Cola.  They were going to sit in reserved seats in the VIP section, and they wanted us to sit with them.  We got into the VIP place, I walked passed the mayor while my daughter's boyfriend's parents shook his hand.  I nodded at him, wondering if he already knows I had been to a joint Palestinian/Israeli Nakba/Memorial Day ceremony.  And I sat down to watch the beautiful fireworks display and the various performers in the crowded park from my up front VIP seat. 

Jordan

On Thursday I was invited to be a part of the 1st conference of the Euro-Mediterranean Abrahamic Forum in Amman, Jordan.  Luckily, I was able to take time off work for this convention.  Because we are Israelis, we couldn't go to the much closer Allenby Bridge, but rather had to go over the Sheikh Hussein bridge near Beit Shean Valley, a 2 hour ride north of Jerusalem.  On the Israeli side of the border was a large photo of the late King Hussein lighting up the late Yitzchak Rabin's cigarette.  They're both smoking.  "Oh look, they're killing each other," I mentioned to one of my travel mates.  On the Jordanian side of the border, as Israelis we had to report to the Tourist Police before our passports were stamped.  I guess they want to take a talley of how many Israelis come into the country and to keep an eye out.  We're touchier tourists than others. 

Driving on the other side of the Jordan River, we passed by rows of small Bedouin villages and small shops.  I had seen the same vistas in photos of Pakistan, Iraq, etc.  They were remarkably similar. Photos of King Abdullah were everywhere, nearly at every intersection.  Our young driver told one of the women in our group who was fluent in Arabic that his parents were refugees from Jerusalem.  Ooops.  Sorry 'bout that, but please get us safely to Amman.  The climb up from the valley to the top of the ridge was slow, and the van had a rough time going up the steep road.  Eventually we did make it to Amman, to the hotel. 

But the hotel menu needed some fine tuning

We introduced ourselves and it was quite interesting to meet new faces - young Jordanians, Belgians of Turkish descent, Polish buddhists, Greeks, Lithuanians and Tunisians.  We branched out into 5 groups and one of the most interesting people at the conference was a Belgian man of Turkish descent, who was or will be running for mayor of his town, and who had written a book "who is afraid of Islam" - or something like it as the book is in Flemish, so I'm not sure I translated the title correctly.  He likes to push buttons so one of his chapters was titled "Belgian people are lazy" to counter the claim that Turkish people are lazy.  When the Turks arrived in Belgium, they were put to work in coal mines because the Belgians didn't want to do that kind of work - so, hence that chapter.

That evening the young Jordanians took us out to Books@cafe in Western Amman - with a pub, dj, funky colors, etc.  something you'd expect to see in any Western country. We passed Rainbow Street, a street of cafes and interesting shops - this was modern Amman.  They served liquor at the pub, and I was surprised to find so many liquor shops all over Amman - even in the more conservative downtown Amman area.

On Friday I invited a friend of my friend Ibrahim from the Mt. of Olives, whom I met on Facebook, to come join us for some of the sessions.  Mohammed, a man in his 50s, came over to the hotel to meet me.  He laughed when I wrote down my contact information.

"You write just like Obama" - and he curled his hand over the paper to show me that the president and I do indeed have that odd way of writing.

My Israeli Jewish roomate had gone with the Moslem women to the local mosque.  Of course, the women put on the special cover up over her head and body before she entered the mosque.  She apparently knew the prayers being fluent in Arabic. And we prayed the Jewish prayers in the mezzanine of the hotel above the lobby, being that the hotel management didn't want to give us the private room upstairs so we had held our sessions in the dining room.  Well, Jewish prayers aren't quiet and there was a lot of singing so we pretty much freaked out the hotel staff, who were nervous about the other guests hearing us (many of course from other Arab countries) and wondering what the hell was going on.  I guess the staff thought - enough is enough - and allowed us the use of the private room from then on.  Which goes to show you - when all else fails....pray.

Doing the Debka

Taking the chairs out from beneath you

when the girls did it - they got it right!

That night one of the local young women took us out to a traditional "coffee shop" which isn't like Starbucks or Cafe Aroma in Israel, but rather like a traditional nightclub.  We walked to one close by and as soon as we walked it, my Brazilian friend and I looked at each other.

"Did anyone slip us some drugs?"

That's what it felt like.  It was one of the trippiest places I had ever been too (and photos don't capture it), and unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take photos (other than the ones we snuck in), but I'll try to describe.  We walked into a place where families sat together, most of the women were traditionally dressed with Hijabs and a few were dressed modern. I looked behind me to see a couple of women seated together, tons of makeup, with head coverings, but with ample cleavage showing.  Huh?  But never mind.  To each his/her own.  We arrived just as the Bingo game (yes, bingo) was winding down, with the prizes being household items instead of money.  Then an Iraqi singer took the stage and sang for like three hours.  Our waiter wore a black suit and his bangs were like pasted onto his forehead. 

This place was not 21st century I'm telling you.  Another young man had a foot-high pompadour haircut.  The menu was all in Arabic which I was happy about.  I didn't want to go to a tourist spot, and obviously I hit the right place.  We ordered desserts which were these giant strange conconctions of fruit and ice cream, which lit up in the middle.

And we danced and danced.  And my Jordanian friend told the singer I was from Canada.  I wasn't sure if this was a place where you can be openly Israeli, and at 2 am, I wasn't sure I wanted strange reactions so I left it at that.

The next day we strolled to downtown Amman to eat knafe at this famous little shop.  Downtown wasn't modern, people dressed more conservatively, though I did see small groups of tourists.We passed by the oldest mosque in Amman.

the oldest mosque in Amman

perfume sellers - I bought Turkish Rose

The tortoise and the hare - fighting for a red pepper - for sale on Amman streets

By the end of our stay, many of us had bonded closely with one another.  On Sunday we headed out to Madaba and Mt. Nebo, and said our goodbyes before our bus took us back to Israel.  Lots of hugs and kisses and teary eyes.

Mosaics workshop at Madaba

carpet weaver

Old Greek Orthodox church at Madaba

This is the famous oldest mosaic map (7th century) of Jerusalem (see the Cardo in the center)

Ramle

It's mid-Passover.  I have been hearing ludicrous things from all sides.  Everything from "Obama is building concentration camps for Jews" to someone on an "health food" email list who thought a person should die for not wanting to buy organic eggs from a violent anti-Arab settler, to Hubby complaining that I'm the sole cause of our family's dysfunction.  I had to get out of the house.  I just HAD to get out.  Anywhere. 

That anywhere was Ramle.  I saw a walking tour of what most people perceive to be one of Israel's pissholes and thought 'hey, this could be interesting' and signed up.  We would explore the Christian, Moslem and Karaite Jewish communities of the city.  Wow.

I took the bus into Ramle from Jerusalem, and taking holiday traffic into consideration, I left much earlier.  I managed to find the train station that was our meeting point. 

What a breath of fresh air.  Even if it was Ramle.  Ramle was founded by Moslems in the 7th century, taken over by the crusaders in the 11th century and then re-taken by the Moslem Mamelukes in the 12th century.  Our first stop were Helena's Pools, a refurbished Crusader era water pool, which served as the city's water reserve.  Now you can still see the arches and there are boats that glide through the waters for whatever tourist may happen to come by.

                                                                       Water is beneath these troughs

We went over to the ancient minaret from Mameluke times.  This area used to be a giant mosque, and there were still ruins from the 7th century structure, although some of the structures could have been from later years.  A Moslem cemetery straddles the mosque on both sides.  The tour guide said that one of Mohammed's "priests" was buried there, although I'm not sure Moslems have priests.

I climbed up 110 stairs to the top.  My feet are still aching from the steep climb.

view of Moslem cemetery

                                                               View from the top of minaret

Afterwards the guide took us to a place in the shade and proceeded to talk about Islam by telling us "Mohammad NEVER went to Jerusalem.  Ever!  And so what is this that Jerusalem is holy for them?"  I knew from enough interfaith meetings that the Moslem prophet did indeed go to Jerusalem, and so I interrupted our guide.  Me, a Jewish woman living over the green line, defending Islam.  What a Passover holiday I'm having. 

"Er, excuse me?  But it is said in their tradition that Mohammed went to heaven from Jerusalem, from the Temple Mount."

"Ha!  If you believe that, as much as you want to believe that Elijah went up to heaven in a fiery chariot, then fine.  It said he went to Al Aksa, which means "the farthest place".  It could be in Beijing for all we know."

OK.  I wasn't going to spend the entire tour arguing with the "expert".  So I let her guide, telling us at one of the last stops that if you say Allah Hu Akbar you automatically become a Moslem so "don't say it!!!!" she shouted at one of the people in our group.  I smiled at the thought of Rabbi Froman who often stands up on stage with a great big Allah Hu Akbar - and know that he hadn't turned into a Moslem from saying God is Great in Arabic.  I tried to tune out her political diatribes.  This wasn't what I came here for.  I could always read the papers for that or listen to my son-in-law.  Is there no refuge for me during Passover? 

Arab part of town

I went back to Jerusalem by train, thinking it will be a faster trip, because there is no holiday traffic on the rails.  I was right - although the most scenic part of the trip, the hills around Jerusalem was already shrouded in darkness by the time we got there.  And I met my two married kids in downtown Jerusalem and drowned my sorrows in a large cup of kosher-for-passover ice cream. 

          

A Priestly Seder

"Is daddy coming to the table?" I asked one of my kids.

Hubby was in the throes of depression and refused to come to the table.  Like a banished bad boy.   My daughter's friend from Tiberias at the last minute copped out of the seder too, as did two Anglican clergymen.  But two Catholic priests from France wanted to join up with a Jewish family for the seder and after seeing the email request, I answered promptly.

My son-in-law, a follower of Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, was none too thrilled about my having invited non-Jewish guests over, but this is MY house, and I can invite whom I want.  He said he had never heard that this was a mitzvah (good deed), after I insisted that it was.

I called up the Arab taxi driver I had hired for the priests.

"I dropped them off at your house 20 minutes ago!" he said.  It doesn't take 20 minutes to walk up 8 flights of stairs, and they would anyways use the elevator.   I searched for them outside, but only saw people coming back from synagogue prayers.  I had no idea what they looked like.  I was looking for two men with white collars and crucifix necklaces, perhaps. 

While I was looking for them on the street, they had made their way to my apartment, not wanting to arrive too early.  I walked in to find two smiling young men with yarmulkas on their heads.  That wasn't what I expected, nor did my family.  My son-in-law seemed happy that they didn't look like Catholic priests.

There was chaos for the first 5 minutes, trying to seat people, and me trying to figure out who is gonna run the seder with hubby AWOL, plus everyone was hungry and impatient and getting short with each other.  My guests were still smiling, especially when I told them the meaning of the word "seder" means order, and it's anything but orderly in my home right now.

We began the seder.  We filled our cups with the first of four cups of wine.  The French guests preferred wine over the alternative grape juice that was offered to those who don't like wine.  But of course.  I had made sure that there was enough wine.  We went around the table reading each paragraph.  I had found a French Haggadah which I gave to one of the priests.  The other one brought his very own French translation of the Haggadah. When it came turn for my guests to read, I told them they can read in French, if they prefer, since the language of the seder should be in the language one understands.  The other priest read in Hebrew, pretty well too, much to everyone's surprise.

My boss and friends had teased me prior to the seder -when they found out about my non-Jewish guests.

"What will you do about the paragraph "Pour out your wrath to the Nations...", with the word "goyim" so prominent in this angry section of the Haggadah?"

"Time to take them out on the terrace for a bit of a smoke break"? asked a friend laughingly.

We got through it, because my Haggadah, the Holistic Haggadah, had an additional paragraph afterwards which read "Pour out your love to the nations" and I proudly showed them this new addition to our service.

We talked about the custom of us using eggs in the seder plate and as a first course with salt water and the connection to Easter eggs.  We didn't know what the connection was - but perhaps there is one. 

We explained that we open the door for the Prophet Elijah.  He'll drink from the special cup we prepare for him, filled with fine wine.  And he's the one who will herald the coming of the Messiah.

I figured enough mention of the Messiah might make our guests happy.

"Can priests smoke?" asked my daughter to me.

"Why don't you just ask them?"

Yes priests can smoke.  They just can't have sex, but my daughters had teased me before the seder about them coming on to my son.  Even after four cups of wine, though, they were true gentlemen, a bit more talkative but very polite and very wonderful guests.  They thanked me for inviting them to their first seder or Jesus' last supper.  I thanked them for coming and making our seder all the more interesting.

Surprises

I love order.  I do my day according to an approximately 41 item "to do" list - a practice I learned from a deceased boss.  Sometimes things that are not on my "list" creep into my life.  Like on Sunday when I got an email telling me that friends from my Rolling Stone fan circle, who live in NYC, "just landed an hour ago and would love to get together."  A surprise visit, and a last minute decision from them.  I crossed out on my list what I had planned to do that late afternoon/evening after work and typed them in instead.

They were in for a relative's wedding and were staying at the David Citadel Hotel.  I walked over after work to meet them.  I see the security men not check tourists as they went through the revolving door, but as soon as I tried it, I was stopped by a tall, very serious man in his security uniform.

"Your bag."

I smiled.  I no longer look like a tourist. 

"Sure."

I let his hand dive into my purse, as he stopped and wondered what the velvet sac holding my cache of makeup was.

After about 20 seconds, I was let in.

My friends and I hugged and hugged.  I hadn't seen them since 2002.  It didn't seem like 8 years had gone by.  Jerusalem had changed since then.  The streets were all ripped up, paving the way for our light rail, which they had thought was a fast train to Tel Aviv at first.  And the Waldorf Astoria is the midst of construction.

They had already seen the sparkling Mamilla Mall which my friend likened to Jeruslam's Rodeo Drive.

"You even have Versace here", she exclaimed with much surprise. 

Yeah, I know who Versace is, but had no idea what H&M was until all the hoopla surrounding the new store, imported from Europe, opened up here in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

We walked down the Ben Sira pedestrian street, full of nice restaurants and pubs waiting for their evening customers.  It was 5:00 - too early for the crowds.

My friend's husband craved local food like shwarma and invited me out to dinner with them.  I asked if they were interested in Arabic food.  Of course they were.  We walked towards Damascus Gate and headed towards the Jerusalem Hotel, a beautiful boutique hotel in East Jerusalem with good inexpensive food.  We looked at the carved furniture imported from Syria in the small lobby.  The guests were all European and the restaurant was filling up quickly with locals and guests. 

They ordered lamb shishlik and a chicken dish and I ordered an Arabic dish whose name escapes me at the moment - chicken on top of pita with a ton of caramlized onions covered with sumac, a middle east spice.

My friend's husband had come to Jerusalem a couple of years back, taking alternative tours to Hebron and Jerusalem.  He wanted to know both sides.

I wanted to know whether US Jews are becoming less pro-Israel, or less supportive of Israel, as I am constantly reading in the papers. 

He claimed loudly in the restaurant filled with Arabs and Europeans that he was still pro-Israel.

I told him I am both pro- Israel and pro-Palestinian, however nuts that sounds, but didn't say it as loudly as he.

He said he believes he is too, in fact.

We walked out of the restaurant along the old city walls.  To them, the walls were magical.  They wondered if I still felt that way after 15 years of living here.  I do.  They still make my heart skip a beat.  I don't take the view for granted.

Before they left the US - the media was filled with "fighting in East Jerusalem". 

"Look at this!" my friend's husband exclaimed in wonderment.  "Does this look like there's fighting going on here?"  The streets were bustling, full of mostly Arab shoppers, but there was no fighting where we were.  "You'd think we would be in the middle of a war zone.   My sister called to ask where we are now and I told her East Jerusalem.  She's like 'Isn't there all this fighting there now?'.  I said, as I'm speaking to you, I'm walking through the marketplaces and there's nothing going on...."

I nod. 

And I'm happy.  I love surprises.

Mt.of Olives Cemetery

I don't remember the last time I had visited a grave on the Mt. of Olives. Yes, I'd been to Ibrahim's home, but he lives in the neighborhood of the living.  I guess I don't know that many holy people.  The Mt. of Olives is the world's oldest and holiest Jewish cemetery dating from biblical times.  Many holy rabbis over the centuries have been buried there.  Even Madonna visited one of the Kabbalah rabbis, when she was here with the Kabbalah center. 

This past Friday, however, was the anniversary of my friend's son's death 5 years ago.  He had a rare genetic thing, which left him, since birth, severely handicapped.  He never walked or spoke.  When he died at the age of 14, he was buried in the Mt. of Olives in a special plot for holy children - those who never spoke bad about anyone.  It is a special merit to be buried there because space is limited and is usually reserved for renowned rabbis these days.  Legend has it that when the resurrection happens, people buried there will be resurrected first.

It was tough on my friend to visit his grave.  She lost a son.  It is always tough for the living.  She knows he is fine, not trapped in a very handicapped body.  When she dreams about him, he even speaks to her - something he never did when he was alive.  I looked around at the gravestones.  Some were so tiny - the babies must have been a few days, weeks or months when they died.  Someone pointed out that right behind my friend's son's grave were the graves of the two Holzberg children - the children of the Chassidic couple that was killed during the Mumbai massacre a couple of years ago by Islamic extremists.  They had died of illness before the tragedy with their parents occurred.  Now they have no parents visiting their graves - only a 4 year old brother and grandparents. 

After we read the psalms and the quorum of 10 men left, the mother and a few of her friends stayed on to sit and keep this young soul of her son some company.  We listened to the mother grieve for her son, for her loneliness and some shared what they felt too.

grieving for a loved one

 I felt serene and there was an atmosphere of contentment sitting around the little souls.

tiny grave

 There were red poppies growing wild by unmarked graves. 

I looked at the Holzberg graves and told my friend that her son and this boy were now friends and learning chassidut together.  

cellphone wars

Cellphones are expensive, but so necessary.  I wonder how we managed years ago when we had to depend on pay phones to tell someone we'll be late, or make impulsive, last minute arrangements with friends and relatives.  How inconvenient it all was, trying to find that quarter or whatever the cost was then.  But my cellphone bill has been expensive of late and so I called up the competitor of my current cell provider. 

There are three major cellphone companies in Israel, Cellcom, Pelephone and Orange.  I got a much better offer from the competitor, after complaining about my current cellphone provider so after a week or so, I got on the phone with my current provider and told them about the offer. Can they match it?  Closely.  They connected me with a special department called Customer Retention or something like that.  I would get a new phone at 50% of the cost.  I complained that their competitor offered me a free one.  OK - then they'll give me a free one too.  Wow.  It sounded so easy!

I went to their service store and waited nearly an hour to be seated with one of their reps.  They wrote my number down on a piece of paper. I was number 218.  Number 211 flashed on the screen but there was no customer.  They probably got impatient and left.  I could have been crafty and written the number 211 on the other side of the paper to be promptly seated - but I'm too American.  Or Canadian.  I'll wait my turn, the way civilized people are apt to do.  I finally got my turn. 

The sales rep gets my phone number and asks me questions.

"How much did they offer you?"

I asked - "Isn't it on the computer?"

"Yes, but you're a special case from the retention department.  What exactly did they promise you?" 

I told him.

"Yes, you're right" he says - obviously regaining his eyesight, as what they promised was probably on the computer screen all along.  I couldn't figure out why they were playing this game.

About 5 minutes into this, a woman comes over to me with a typed up survey in her hand - asking me how the service is and how is the sales rep I'm talking to?

"Isn't it odd that you're asking me how is he when I'm right in front of him?|

"Give me a 10" said the sales rep to me.

"Ok, I'll give you a 10, but if I find that you're saying 'ok' to whatever was agreed on the phone and I get a totally different, more expensive, bill, I'm coming back to rate you a 1."

"Don't worry.  The new rate will show up on your bill."

The new rate didn't show up on what I signed, and after I questioned him, he said it was standard.  I'll get the new rate on my next bill because I was a "special" case.

"So in case you're lying to me, how long am I contracted to you?

"18 months"

Fine. That's better than the more common 3 year contract.  If they're a bunch of liars, I'll use my phone minimally and pay the minimum charge and after 18 months switch to another provider. 

and now you're cool

For years, ever since we made aliyah, I was considered by my kids to be so uncool.  After all, I am an immigrant, speak Hebrew with an embarrassing accent, plus my grammar is often wrong.  I like Western music, Arabs, Arabic music, health food, go to a trippy synagogue in Jerusalem, invite non-Jews for Shabbat dinner, eat in different restaurants all the time, see foreign films and often go alone.  My oldest daughter even bought me a birthday gift - a 10-movie package - at  Jerusalem's landmark  Smadar theater.  I love the Smadar.  They didn't destroy the Ottomon-era terracotta stone floors and opened up a restaurant attached to the theater.  Unlike the cinemateque, you can bring in your beer and cappucino or hot cider - even wine - into the theater.  There are others like me who sit alone in the theater.  Lately, I saw the movies Push and A Serious Man there.  Next week I'm seeing a Korean film with a friend (!). 

But now, all of a sudden, I'm cool.  My complainer daughter hardly complains anymore.  She hugs and kisses me daily.  The reason?  She has a new boyfriend.  This guy comes from a Moroccan family BUT, and here's a big BUT, he enjoys Ashkenazi (European/Western) culture more than his own. He doesn't listen to Middle Eastern music and is astounded that my daughter acts more "Moroccan" than he.  It's something he has to get used to, he says.  His brother is actually a famous Israeli singer, who still churns out Israeli hits.  This new boyfriend loves the Beatles, Doors, Stones and Fats Domino.  My daughter doesn't know the songs to any of these.  But now she's coming to me to learn this new Western culture her boyfriend is into.  She's now proud of her once-uncool mother.  I know I'm going to have to bring that photo of Ronnie Wood of the Rolling Stones and me together at an art gallery out of  basement storage to impress him.

"You're gonna love my mother" she coos to her boyfriend. "you might even want to marry her", she jokes, perhaps knowing a little of my Cougar fantasies.

My family's worth in gold

"See?  This is how it starts.  First you eat like that, and then you start inviting Arabs into the house." griped my son-in-law, as I gave my daughter, his wife, some healing foods for her ulcerative colitis.  Brown rice with broccoli and carrots, drizzled with flax seed oil.  I was amused by his theory, wondering if it were indeed true.

He shook his head.  He truly believes that granola eating hippies, like his mother-in-law, weren't always loving and tolerant human beings, but turned that way when they eschewed mostly junk food for a healthier lifestyle.  His wife was eating crap, like diet soda and fast food nearly every day, and the result is ulcerative colitis, which I'm trying to help her heal through food.  And if that will heal her body as well as her soul , then why not?  Because she'll turn into me?  Is that what he's afraid of? 

I laughed at the prospect of her turning into a peace-nik and inviting all the Arabs who live in Jabel Mukaber into their tiny West Jerusalem home, and him, another middle-east Archie Bunker, tearing his hair out.

My son's school has been calling me all month trying to get me to come to another one of their "emergency" meetings about my son who shows up in school, but hardly in class.

"There are teachers who don't even know who he is!" exclaimed his principal.

I tell the principal's secretary that I can't make it on the Sunday she wants me to come because my boss has a slew of meetings that day, and I have to prepare her on that day.

"Isn't your son important to you?  Don't you even care?  Is your job so much more  important than your own son?  We made this meeting with a lot of people involved and that's when they could come!!"  The principal's secretary is actually screaming at me.  I look at the phone.  I'm totally pissed.  She continues,
"they want to throw him out of school.  Don't you think that's important?"

I glare into the phone.  Unfortunately, she can't see me gritting my teeth.

"You never asked ME when "I" can make it.  Keeping my job is showing my kids how responsible I am.  If I don't have my job, then we'll be living in the streets. I'm not ready to sacrifice my job for a meeting in school.  Sorry."

I think she was shocked by my response.  There was silence on the other end of the line.

I continued. 

"If you want to throw him out of school, it will just have to wait another week." I shouted back at the secretary.  I made the appointment for the week after, when my boss will be out of town.

That afternoon I went into the local mall where one of the shops was selling pillows.  My kids were all sleeping on pillows that had seen better days.  But that day, I was only buying for one of them.   I ask her to show me a selection for my 20 year old daughter.  The shopkeeper shows me a latex pillow that is the most expensive one in the store.

"It's quite a lot of money." I complained to her.  "I'd like to buy her a mid-range one.  Not the cheapest and not the most expensive."

She looked at me funny.

"But it's your daughter!!!   Isn't she worth the best?"

I looked at the shopkeeper funny.

"Absolutely not."

And then I walked out of the store, seeing the shopkeeper's mouth still open....