Has Everyone Gone Mad?

It seemed this over past weekend that I was the only half-normal person in a sea of crazy people.

Thursday night Hubby took me up on an offer to have dinner at a relatively new fish restaurant and in a matter of 1/2 hour made 50 new friends on the bus to Jerusalem where he was to meet me, handing out his business card to anyone who wanted one, gave MY number to the woman sitting next to him because he believed she and I have so much in common, and struck a conversation with an American tourist couple, who thought he was the greatest thing since Belgian Chocolate.

On the bus back from the restaurant I tell a woman to please move her shopping cart so I can sit down.  She glared at me.

"What do YOU want?"

"I want you to put your cart on the side of the seat so I'll have a place for my feet." 

She ranted to anyone who'd listen about how difficult her life is and how I'm making it more difficult for her.

Then while traveling on the main Jerusalem road dividing east and west Jerusalem, we hear a big bang.   We looked and saw 2 little kids running away from the bus uphill.  They seemed no older than 7 years old.  Tiny Arab troublemakers.  Luckily the bus's windows are plexiglass and the rock didn't make a single dent/scratch in the window.  And this caused the crazy woman with the shopping cart to focus away from me and launch into an anti-Arab tirade.

"Our stupid leftist government!  Why do we give the Arabs Azariya?  Why do I have to live next to an Arab village?  I'm gonna tell the Arab president of the United States to come to Jerusalem so he could see how many Arabs live here.  I hate them!!!"

I piped in "Look lady, if there aren't any Arabs living here, there'll be no knafe!! " which caused other bus passengers to laugh.

Again she glared at me and began an anti-Russian tirade, about how much she hates Russians, believing that I'm Russian, although Hubby and I were conversing in English.  It was so absurd, we couldn't hold ourselves back from laughing.

Friday morning, I went quietly into my son's room to shut off his internet because my router works only when I log onto the internet first.  He unfortunately woke up and began to spew out all manners of curses like only a teenager can.  I said to him - "You know, you sound like you have Tourette's Syndrome", and closed the door to let him continue his beauty sleep, hopefully for the rest of the morning and afternoon.

"Where the fuck does that come from?" asked Hubby "His face cream?" Of course that made no sense, but often times, Hubby comes up with nonsensical theories.

As my daughter was peeling potatoes for the Sabbath dinner, she was telling me how it wasn't right that I was working so hard and for such long hours.

"A husband should be the one bringing home the money.  A woman should just raise a family and cook and clean.  That's the kind of husband I'm going to have - one who doesn't want his wife to work."

I cringed - how did I get a daughter so 1950s?

I told her - "Honey, you sure can cook, but you're not so strong in the 'cleaning' department.  The guy's only going to get half the deal.  Please don't promise him that you'll clean the house."

She's the messiest kid I have.  Tons of jewellery, money, IDs and what nots go missing in her room, only to be found underneath piles of dirty and clean clothing, plastic bags, makeup, shoes - lots of shoes, purses and ticket stubs.  Nothing gets put away and I thanked God for the Passover holiday because only then does the Fear of God strike her and she will actually clean her room for the first and only time in a year.

Then Hubby got the madness in him as the Sabbath was about to start.   My daughter comes out of her room and finishes up her potato salad.

"Dad said your food's not so good this weekend."

"I don't care what he thinks." I said, looking at my masterpiece in the oven - which was meatball tangine and couscous.

Hubby hears this and thunders - "I said NO SUCH THING!!!  You know I never complain about your food.  SHE'S A LIAR!!! "  He turns to her - "WHY DO YOU SAY SUCH THINGS??"

She says quietly - "because it's true"

"IT'S NOT TRUE.  That's it!!! I'm not coming to the table tonight."

 I told him I agreed with him, that I knew she was lying (she probably wasn't).

But no amount of pleading worked.

And the Drama King retreated to his room for the rest of the evening.

Intrafaith

On Thursday, I was supposed to  have an interfaith meeting. Somehow or other the Muslim coordinator again bonked out on me.  If I hadn't called an hour before the meeting, he would have sms'd me 5 minutes before the meeting was to begin to tell me he wasn't coming and neither was anyone else from his area.  He said he wasn't feeling well; he had a cold.  I think I ought to find a female Muslim coordinator who would be able to multi-task and who would go on with her life, even through a cold.  My experience with men on this planet, is that having a cold is akin to the end of the world or, at the very least, feeling as if they're dying.

I called a participant bemoaning the fact that there will be all these new people attending, waiting to meet Muslims for the first time in their lives in this type of social setting.  She called me back saying they still want to come and we could just discuss our meetings in general - it could be like a prepatory meeting.
A young teenage boy was the first to arrive. He had just moved to Israel from the US and wanted to meet Muslims because he felt that everyone living here should be respected for their beliefs.  Another knock on the door.  Two beautiful teenage girls arrived.  They studied at the local high school in Maaleh Adumim and were part of Seeds of Peace.  Normally our group is comprised of mostly (married) Jewish women and Muslim men. Two more men who had never showed up before arrived for the meeting and then some of the regulars.  This was a good mixed crowd.  We all were curious about Seeds of Peace in Maaleh Adumim,which seemed to be a novelty.  How did they join up?

One of the girls said that her sister went to their summer camp in Maine and came back a changed person. She obviously liked the change in her sister - who was probably a lot nicer, more tolerant - even towards her own sibling - never mind others in this country.

Actually  what happened is that one of their high school teachers walked into their classroom and asked the class  - who would like to go to camp in the United States?  All 40 hands shot up.  "The catch is", continued the teacher, "that the camp will be with Palestinians, Egyptians, Jordanians, Americans and Israelis."  Most of the hands went down, together with some groaning from the class.  Five hands remained up.  Their classmates were shocked that there would be even one person wanting to talk to the "other side" and warned them to "be careful." 

So those five 10th graders went to Maine last summer to meet with people they ordinarily wouldn't have ever come in contact with.  It wasn't easy at first, especially when some West Bank participants found out they were from Maaleh Adumim, and each one blaming the other for a lot of the conflict - even some screaming and yelling ensued.  But by the end of the camp, the "fighting" partners began to enjoy each other's company and looked forward to continued dialogue.

Another Jewish Orthodox woman who had been participating in our religious dialogue for two years stated that she first came to the meetings, wanting to change the Muslims, or the way they think.  In the end, she related how she herself had changed; that her soul was completely different.

I told them about our first gathering -  http://jerusalemgypsy.blogspot.com/2007/12/interfaith-chanukah-party.html and hope that in March we will have a "real" interfaith meeting.

The Happy Hitchhiker

Because we are generally car-less, if I need to get to Jerusalem on a Saturday when there is no public transportation, I hitchhike from Ma'aleh Adumim to town.  It takes anywhere from about 5 minutes to an hour to find someone kind enough to take me with them. 

Both Hubby and I had a Cinderella weekend. We went to the Ball (a friend's wedding in Jaffa); and what a joy it was being able to dress up and get into a car, instead of taking a bus from the central bus station in our evening attire.  On Friday, we bought our one-of-a-kind tiles in a city over an hour's drive from Jerusalem, and saw friends we hadn't seen in 3 years.  We crammed everything we could cram into that weekend, focusing on stuff we can't do by public transportation.  So grateful to God were we, that we wanted to give back.

Saturday morning on the way to Ramah's Kitchen, where we had our dream brunch at a place which is accessible only by car, we saw someone hitchhiking - a middle-aged man - at the French Hill junction that also borders on some Arab neighborhoods.  I told my old man to stop and take the hitchhiker.  After all, I know what it's like to need a ride on a Saturday.  We stopped a bit further down the road and the man couldn't see us.  We had to back up and honked until he turned around and saw us.  He made his way to our car.  I told Hubby -

"This guy's an Arab.  I hope he'll feel safe enough to drive with Jews". 

Knowing that we each have the same fears about the other, it was certainly a fact that the hitchhiker may not feel totally comfortable taking a ride with  Jews. 
But we were in a rental car and he must have thought we were tourists.  We spoke English to him.  He needed to get to Abu Ghosh where he works in one of the many restaurants.  He was so grateful to have gotten a ride, he immediately invited us for coffee at his place.

"We'll take you up on it another time." said my husband.

"No....now!  Today!" insisted the rider.

Maybe...we told him.  We're going to Nataf to have brunch.

He was curious about us.  Where were we from?  How long have we lived here?  Do I have friends in the West Bank?  Are we Israeli?

I told him that I'm a coordinator of an interfaith group that meets in my home.  He looked confused.  Such groups really exist?

"What do you think about the peace?" he asked. 

He agreed with me that most people living here want peace, and want to live together in harmony - but that the governments on both sides fuck it up. Hubby gave the guy his business card to keep in touch.

We dropped the happy hitchhiker off at his restaurant and continued on to ours.

"He's probably telling everyone in the restaurant about his ride." said Hubby.

"Yeah, you're right.  But what if he tells his wife when he gets home that he was picked up by two Israeli Jews from Maaleh Adumim.  How do you think she'll react?  'Sufyan....are you CRAZY?  Taking a ride with Jewish settlers???  They could have killed you!!!'

It would have certainly been the same reaction I'd have gotten from some of my family/friends, had I hitched a ride with him.

On the Evils and Joys of Capitalism

"What is he kissing?" I asked my daughter of her husband, as he was blowing kisses through the windshield of his car while driving me home from Friday night services last week.

"Just the Mercedes that passed us by" she told me, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

Feeling an overwhelming wave of generosity come over me because of 4 family birthdays in February, which is also in the joyous Hebrew month of Adar, I told him I'd buy him a Mercedes when I win the lottery.

He shot back immediately - "And when I win a lottery, I'll buy you a mosque."

How kind and considerate of him....:-)

This past weekend Hubby and I rented a car, which we hadn't done in over a year, just relying on public transportation, but we wanted to buy decorative Arabesque tiles  for our home which was over an hour's trip to Petach Tikva - http://info-il.livecity.com/info/i/ruhama-sharon.co.il.

Thursday night we picked up the car and drove to a friend's daughter's wedding at the Caliph in the old city of Jaffa.  Jaffa's main street Yefet is quite run down and in need of immediate refurbishing/renovation.  It looks abandoned and deserted.  But just in back of that street is an entire neighborhood of cafe's, restaurants and bars, in beautifully restored old buildings.  I had no idea such a paradise existed from the main street that I walked on one Saturday afternoon in the summer.

Friday we went to pick up our tiles and got lost finding the place.  Our rental car doesn't have GPS.  Knowing it was near a cemetery, we went there and asked the men in the kiosk just outside for directions.  One man came over, gave us directions and then asked us for a dollar.

"What the fuck for?  For giving us directions?"  This was incredulous.  Are people in Petach Tikvah crazy?  We drove off. All  I know is I never want to be buried in that cemetery.

We drove up to the Galilee to visit our friends on a kibbutz whom we hadn't seen in three years, because neither of us own a car.  Hubby and I just had to take advantage of our Cinderella moment.  It was a gloriously beautiful day, with unusually warm weather for February and we both felt so spiritually connected with God, with the Holy Land as we drove past the sea on one side and the rolling green hills on the other.  It was also unusual for us to be both in such good moods at the same time. 

There was a woman on the road who beeped us and yelled that our back tire was running out of air.  Hubby was skeptical because he felt no difference in driving.  We noticed the Tire Checker was looking at every car's tires and telling a few other people that their tires needed air.  We figured it was the heavy load of 150 kgs of tiles in the back that weighed down the tires, because when we checked them, they were fine.

Our friends have lived on this kibbutz for 15 years and since we last saw them, the kibbutz was going through the sad but necessary process of privatization.  Kibbutzim were going bankrupt all over the country one by one and the government would have to bail them out.  The country was not the mostly agricultural country it once was and the socialist ideal was quickly fading, with most young people leaving the kibbutz for greener and more profitable pastures in the city - for high tech and other capitalist endeavors.  This kibbutz had no choice but to privatize. When it did, more members were added - mostly young families who are very active in the Conservative movement. It sold off its agricultural lands for outside people to come in to build magnificent villas on its property.  Driving up to the kibbutz we saw what looked like a small village, with beautiful homes on what was once farmland.  It was a gated community and we waited until the guard opened up the electronic gate to let us in.  We drove up to the older kibbutz homes where our friends lived and noticed that the old, dinky, tiny kibbutz homes were now being renovated - some have added second floors, some were totally refurbished on the outside, painted terracotta with blue window shutters.

We hugged and kissed our old friends whom we hadn't seen in so long.  We mentioned that the entire place looked different and how did it feel with this new life breathed into the tired place, which had only around 5 families as members when we were last there.  It looked so lively with all the kids' toys lying around in the various yards.  I mentioned the blue house.

"Oh the Flintstones..." she rolled her eyes.  Apparently, she wasn't enjoying the kibbutz's transformation as I thought she would.

She missed the communal meals in the dining room. 

"I worked 15 hours a day, 6 days a week, and I didn't care.  I had everything I needed.  Now my husband and I work less hours and I even have a day off, but it's not the same.  I used to finish work and not have to cook or do laundry (since it was all done communally).  I had education for my kids taken care of as well as health and dental care.  If we wanted to go somewhere, we took the kibbutz cars. Now everything is money.  If I work on my day off, you have to pay me.  If I want to use the kibbutz car, it's two shekels a kilometer plus a fee for daily rental.  We used to fight among ourselves all the time but now we're like sisters.  We all miss the way it was."

I walked passed the dark dining room, where our family spent many holidays in communal dinners with the kibbutzniks and their families.  The family from India would lead the Rosh Hashana seder with the various blessings made over an assortment of vegetables and then there was the dairy dessert contest they had on the Shavuot holiday, in which I was made one of the judges.  Though the members used to fight over petty things, they were no more than family fights.  And the family was now gone.

Services in the kibbutz synagogue were lively and various activities and parties and get togethers for the week were announced. There was life in this place.  If we had younger kids, I may have wanted to make my home here.

My friend's Shabbat table was filling up with people.  Who were all these people.  It was beginning to feel like kibbutz again.  Her brother and family have moved onto kibbutz and her husband's mother was now living there too.  Their sons and girlfriends came as well with their very friendly pit bulls who came over to give me wet licks while I asked them "aren't you guys supposed to be dangerous dogs?"  Everything on kibbutz seemed to be safe.  We told our hosts, they may have lost some things, the simpler way of life and now they have to struggle to make money like everyone else, but their Shabbat table is full every week with the large and lively family they now have and so they did gain in other ways. 

We drove back home to Jerusalem past signs posted on the highway, protesting the new extension of the Express Highway 6 which will be   built over farm fields, but which got us back to our home in two hours instead of the 3 1/2 hours it would have, had this highway not been in existence. 

Progress is not always such a bad thing....

A bum rap

My daughter was looking at me enviously as I downed two laxatives and drank the decent-tasting, fizzy orange Peco-lax last night.

"You'll lose weight right?  Maybe I should try that?"

"Do not try this." I said, hiding my drugs, as I ran to the toilet in-between sentences, feeling grateful that my meds weren't over-the-counter so she couldn't have easy access.  I did wish I had a scale at the moment thought because  I'm sure I dropped a couple of kilo. 

Hubby was too nervous to sleep in our room, telling me he was scared I'd poop in bed.  The bathroom is two meters away and though I woke up every hour because of the laxatives, I managed to make it in time.

My colonoscopy was slated for 10:00 am Friday morning.  By Friday, the runs had died down and I just drank the water they told me to drink, wondering how anyone could down so much fluid at one time. 

Being I'm a rookie at this recta-test, I was feeling quite nervous.  How would I feel during the test?  Would it hurt?  Will I sleep through it?  Will I recover?  Will I hallucinate? Do people die from it?  What if the doctor finds something?  What would I do?

I took everything I saw and heard that morning as terrible signs.  Three black ravens faced me on the terrace.  Was that a terrible omen?  I turned on the TV and nothing was on except for the E channel where the show featured celebrity stalkers.  Eerie.  It was raining outside, a bleak day.

I dared not take public transportation - pooping on a bus would be disastrous. At least we knew the female cab driver, a friend of hubby's.  The taxi got us to the doctor's office right on time and the radio played the Stones' Wild Horses, which Jagger wrote while Marianne Faithful, his girlfriend at the time was in a coma.  This didn't look good.

Hubby wasn't impressed with the clinic, which was in one of Jerusalem's poshest neighborhoods.

"This office is quite old, isn't it?" he questioned the receptionist.

"Yes it is..." she looked at him, wondering what was his point.  Point was that even though this doctor is one of the tops in his field, he thought nothing of renovating his ancient clinic.  They called my name.  I went into the room where the procedure will be done.  The decor was very 1950s.  I expected the doc and his assistant to light up a cigarette right there and then, the way they did in Mad Men. 

The doctor's assistant, herself a doctor, was asking me my family history and I wasn't in the mood to have small talk.  I hadn't eaten since 3:00 pm the day before and I was in desperate need of a coffee and for this to be over. 

She covered me with a large paper towel - no nice cotton sheets here.  I asked them to turn up the heat.  I was feeling cold.  Then the doctor came in singing "Don't Worry, Be Happy" and I thought of the drugs he would be giving me.  I asked him if it was better that I was up for the procedure.  He said that each person reacts differently to it.  They put the IV in and whatever went in, made me feel quite relaxed. 

"Turn on your left"

I turned to my right.

"Facing me."

I turned the other way.  And other than mild cramping, I didn't feel that uncomfortable. The assistant held my hand, while the apparatus twisted its way and blew air into my colon.  They asked me to see the procedure on a monitor, and whatever it was, looked like some kind of reptile moving around. 

"Beautiful!" the doctor said loudly.  He seemed excited at my clean colon, while swinging the camera in every direction.

"How many colons do I have?" I asked him because it just seemed so fragmented on the monitor.

"Only one big one."

Thanks. 

After the procedure the assistant put me on another bed and told me to "let the air out".  I guess she didn't mean out of my mouth.  I was left alone, and  I unabashedly let loose, and so whatever air was pumped into me, was pumped right out.

"Everything is fine." the doc told me after I walked to the reception area.

"No polyps? nothing?" I asked,
"Nothing." He smiled.  It's good to tell someone there's nothing wrong.  "See you in five years"

"Sure." 

You can't imagine how  relieved I was at the good tidings and thanked God for the rest of the day.

When the shit hits the fan

"They're going to throw us out of the staff lunches." laughed my friend at work.   We were discussing my upcoming colonoscopy - the first for me - and the people around the table were trying to figure out why I won't be eating the following day.  And why were we interrupting the serious conversation about the chaos in Egypt.

"Ahhh, it's Rosh Chodesh (new Jewish month)" said one wise man.

"Of course not.  And it's not Ramadan either" I retorted.  "More like Rama-bum"

My evil friend and I couldn't stop laughing.

I took off today because I didn't know what shape I'll be to cook the Shabbat meal.  I did my shopping in the morning, borrowing my daughter's car and thinking - wow!  This is what it must be like to be retired.  You don't go in the evening when you're exhausted.  You go to the supermarkets first thing in the morning, when no crowds are present.  Even at the tender age of 55, I can now join the Golden Age club in my city and be the youngest of all the Alta Kakas there.  You can go on trips and swim for next to nothing.  Sounds good to me, although there are hardly any English speakers in the Club - mostly Russians and Spanish-speakers.

I made a three course dinner for my kids, cleaned the fridge and bathrooms.  It was a productive day.  And I'm tough.  Really tough - probably tougher than the laxatives I had to take in the early evening.  So far - nada.  It's been 2 1/2 hours.  Will "it" keep me up at night?  Probably.  I was nervous about the procedure but I hear it's less harrowing than going to the dentist.  I'll keep that in mind tomorrow.

Return to Sender

I don't know what it takes to get decent service over here.  I had bought a wireless router from one of the better-known computer chains in Israel.  It was their best - said their salesman.  Turned out, not only could I not get the router hooked up to my laptop, but neither could any technician.  Turned out it wasn't compatible with my modem.  I tried to return the router back to the store and they were like "well, it can't be returned because it's not defective."  Not de-fucking-fective?  Do they want me to drop the thing to make it defective?   No amount of arguing could get them to budge.  We didn't budge until they offered us a refund minutes 30%.  No thank you.  We'll sell it privately.  It's brand new and unused.  Someone will buy it from us at close to the price we paid.

I call up my internet provider to get a price on their wireless.  The saleslady is very aggressive and wants a commitment from me immediately.  It'll only cost me 20 NIS a month.  I tell her I'll think about it.  She calls me back and screams - "why didn't you call me back?"  I tell her I'm not interested.  I end up buying it from another service provider because a technician of their will hook it up and it was 1/2 the price of the one quoted previously.  Two weeks later I get a router in the mail from the internet provider with the nasty saleswoman.  I call them and it takes me countless number of phone calls before I get a manager to listen to me and I repeat myself about 10 times to different people about how I didn't order this router but it was sent to me anyways.  After a week, they finally decided to refund me but I have to pay to return the router to them registered mail. 

I bought a mascara last week from one of the drugstore chains in another part of town, which I don't frequent regularly.  It was from an expensive brand.  I thought I was getting a bargain as it was marked 50% off, and the gay salesman was cute and we chatted about the face products I use.  The next day, I open the mascara, brush it on my lashes and pieces of mascara are dropping from the brush.  It's dry and old.  I have to return it.   Maybe they won't let me return it because I've opened it.  Who knows.  Another day, another fight, another waste of energy.  I go to my local drugstore - the same chain and see the same guy there. 
"I saw you in Pisgat Zeev on Sunday"
He smiled.  He's famous.  I recognize him.
"The mascara you sold me at 50% off is absolute crap.  It's old and useless.  I need to return it."
He's no longer smiling and is turning red in the face.  I'm sorry for embarrassing him, but I want justice.  The women behind the makeup counter look at my receipt and open the mascara and see that I'm right.  He asks that I get an equal exchange on the mascara and that they replace it at no further cost to me, but the other salesladies say they can't give me 50% off on new mascara.  They give me back the cost of the mascara but I have to pay another 25 NIS more.  Furthermore, they continue, the mascara I had previously bought was mispriced because it was never 199 NIS.  It was 159 NIS and was sold to me at 99NIS.  So someone is doing some kind of crime, of which I have no idea to whom to complain.  Imagine in the holy land, jacking up the price of products and then claiming that it's 50% off, when it's no more than 25% off.  Shit people.

I bought a baby gift for my daughter's friend, whom I visited last week.  She tried the outfit on him, but it just about fit him.  She looked at me and said, "I think I'm gonna go and exchange it for a bigger size."

Have fund with the exchange honey.  I hope they don't see that pen mark on the hood....

Mixed Couples

I have recurring dreams.  I am usually hiding from Nazis, in a countryside barn, trying not to make a sound, so they don't hear me.  I'm never found, but the dream is nevertheless terrifying.  It's a blur whether it's a memory from a past life or an unfortunate comparison to a current one.

There have been rallies in Israel of late, coming from the far right wing - Posters and chants go something like this "Don't rent homes or sell to Arabs" "Jewish women for the Jewish nation" "Death to the Arabs" "Foreigners Out". 

No wonder I'm terrified in my sleep.  I'm terrified in my waking hours.  My parents are Holocaust escapees from Austria and if you insert the following - it reads eerily like Germany, 1938.

"Don't rent homes or sell to Jews"
"German women for the German state" (German women who dated Jews were paraded in public and ridiculed)
"Death to the Jews" - "The Jews are our Misfortune" "Jews Out"

I rarely get depressed but was depressed about the rallies against Arabs in Jewish neighborhoods and stories about Jewish gangs beating up Arabs in Jerusalem.  My dad also was cornered by a gang of Nazis, who were about to thump him, but he somehow broke away and ran real fast, hopping on to a moving trolley, losing the bastards.

Meanwhile, in the Jerusalem neighborhood of Pisgat Zeev, Jews are complaining about Arabs moving into this neighborhood.  Many of the new residents are Christian Arabs, and some are Moslem.  Gangs of Jews walk around the malls making sure Arabs don't hustle Jewish girls. 

And my daughter has a young friend who is married to an Arab.  They have an infant son and live in Pisgat Zeev.  Somehow word got out to the husband about me and they invited me to their home for dinner.  I guess that Jews who like Arabs are such a rarity, they wanted to meet one up close.  I entered the home, and the husband greeted me warmly and introduced me to his two brothers.  They spoke perfect Hebrew with no "Arab" accent. 

"He's going to have a hard life" - the husband told me, pointing to his infant son.

I had to agree.  But they already  had the YMCA Arab/Jewish nursery and kindergarten and Hand-in-Hand Arab/Jewish elementary school picked out for their young son - it would make perfect sense for their child to go there.

We talked about my dialogue groups; they insisted I was a "leftist" even though I said I was politically in the middle.  They lived in Pisgat Zeev for 15 years and it was difficult at first, they endured plenty of beatings and nasty neighbors.  My daughter's friend had a hard time with (ex) friends who called her "the whore who went out with Arabs" after she began dating her husband four years ago.

"He treats you well?" I asked her. 
"Everyone should have a husband like him" she replied.  I had to ask.  After all, so many people think Arabs beat their wives and if they're married to Jews,  treat their Jewish wives like shit. 

She had dated a physically abusive Jewish man before she met her husband. 

Abusive men are all over the place - they span all religions and cultures.

"What religion will you raise him?" I asked.

The father said he'll be raised both Moslem and Jewish. According to Islam, the boy is Moslem, after the father's religion.  According to Judaism, the boy is Jewish, according to the Jewish religion.  I guess he would have to be both religions.

They had gone to Toronto for a visit, and it seemed like a wonderful multi-cultural place in which to bring up their son, but the husband didn't want to leave his large family, who have been very warm and accepting to his Jewish wife.

Later that evening, she drove me home.  I suggested Haifa as a place that might be good for them - it seems like the most tolerant city and probably has many mixed couples.  They hadn't had racist rallies there.

Haifa?  Do you really think so?   Perhaps it will be a good idea.  She seemed to like my suggestion.

I sensed a bit of hope in her weary eyes. 

Wisconsin in December

My 3rd daughter, whom I often call "the complainer" has finally had it with us, with her boyfriendless life, with the courses she was taking, with her job, and her nasty boss and hightailed it to Madison, Wisconsin.

She decided she needed a change of scenery, and wanted to make some "easy" money selling Dead Sea products at one of the US malls, like many Israelis do, as a sort of rite-of-passage after army service, but unlike so many others, she is an American citizen and so these companies were competing for her to work for them. 

When we first heard that she was contemplating this, Hubby was scared  - "she doesn't know anything about life!  She'll get lost in the US!  They'll kidnap her...they'll ...."  I would always shush him in his daily tirades.  I tried to explain that I travelled around alone when I was 17, but that didn't faze him.  He was like "But she can't even read English!".  Not that well, it's true.  And she pronounces "onions" - ognions.  But, whatever.  I had faith that she'll get by and that God will watch over her where we can't.

We thought together (my daughter and I) about possible places - options were: Dallas (great weather, cowboys, oil men), San Francisco (I have lots of friends there - but she was like 'I don't want to be with your friends' as if  they were pariahs) and Madison, Wisconsin.  She had an old friend working the carts in the malls in Madison and decided to go there.  We looked at Google Earth together to see where she would be living.  The street was in a new neighborhood and not far from the mall. 

We applied for her to get an American passport, the folks there arranged for her flight (they paid), and I took her out for dinner one Thursday about three weeks ago at a nice restaurant in Jerusalem.

She told me she'd have to change airports in New York - from Kennedy to LaGuardia.  I told her we're keeping this info from dad, because he will get hysterical at the thought of her maneuvering around New York by herself.  On the way back from dinner, she gets a call from overseas.  She didn't read her ticket correctly.  Her flight was for the night before and she missed it.  A punishment for not reading English well enough. She seemed devastated.  She had already packed and Hubby had given her a $ gift.  The overseas contacts worked frantically to get her on the next flight that evening/morning and because she's only one person travelling, it was easy to find her a flight.

I was nervous the entire time she was on her 23-hour travels because she didn't have a way to get in touch.  No phone, no computer.  Her US contacts called me once she got to New York and then she woke me up at 4:30 am on Saturday morning to tell me she was finally in Madison. 

She went out to a club on Saturday night, R&B music; the place was half African-American, half white.  I smiled a smile she couldn't see.  Glad to see she's going to mixed places.  I urged her to be careful how she behaves - that she represents not only Jews but Israelis.  I want people to have a good image of both.  Don't ask for bargains, don't be rude, don't push and shove.  She herself was in culture shock after her evening out at the club.  Nobody yelled, pushed and shoved to get in.  Everyone was courteous.  In the end I was glad she chose this small mid-Western college town.  I think it was just what she needed to unwind, though she's working 12 hour days.  Plus she thinks American guys are "hot".  This trip also afforded her an opportunity to get close to her grandmother, who lives in Canada, with whom she hadn't been much in touch, and who she was now calling a couple of times a week.  She was now yearning for some family who lives relatively close by.

She called me and told me about that awfully non-kosher restaurant she went to that served rabbit and frog's legs.  She just had a steak in that non-kosher place, and told the waitress to make sure the salad didn't have any cheese on it.  That's her level of kosher.

It's Chanukah now and it's snowing there.  A white Chanukah.  She's thrilled with snow up to her ankles, and loves the Christmas lights now showing up all over the place.  And the Carols in the mall haven't driven her up the wall yet.

Festival of Light and Fire

Thursday seemed just like any other day, albeit more festive. I managed to get off work early to go to a distant relative's bar mitzvah and to prepare for my interfaith Chanukah party and my boss was sympathetic (a Chanukah miracle?).  Probably because I looked like shit. I couldn't shake this cold I had for a few days, and combined with the fact that it was Chanukah and everyone was in a festive mood, she had no problem telling me I could leave early, as if it were even a question.  We hadn't heard yet about the fire that had begun that morning in the Carmel area. 

I left for the bar mitzvah, agitated at signs on the tables that said "bishul yehudi bilvad" (Jewish cooking only) - implying that no Arab person (or non-Jew) had tainted their food with their 'impure' hands, and then proceeded to drown my sorrow with a few vodka and grapefruit drinks.

I waited 1/2 hour for the Chanukah donuts at Marzipan bakery to arrive.  They were the cheapest and best in Jerusalem and I was ordering 20 of them for tonight's meeting.

I get home late and people had already arrived from the Evangelical Lutheran Church.  Hubby had already put one of the young girls to work grating potatoes for latkes.  I guess I wouldn't be able to put up those "Jewish cooking only" signs on my kitchen table.  I laughed at the thought and then realized that I like the energy when you share the cooking with other people.  Hubby's friend Abed ended up frying the latkes and this became a truly multi-cultural culinary thing going on in my home.  Those latkes were the best tasting latkes ever.

My son was supposed to be working that night and came home in the middle of our meeting. 

"Did you hear what happened at the Carmel?" - he seemed excited and I didn't want to hear any of his long stories.  He said his boss had gone there to help out, which is why he came home early.

"Shhhh.  Not now.  Tell me later." as presentations of Chanukah, Eid el Adha and Christmas were being shared.

Later that evening, after the guests left, we suddenly realized what had been going on.  I had hiked in the Carmel region about 3 years ago - gorgeous countryside, which was now ablaze and there seemed to be no end in sight.  We were totally unequipped for such a disaster.  I read in Friday's paper that a flight instructor saw a small fire at 11:15 and he called it in, but that firefighting planes didn't show up until 1:45 pm.  What the fuck were they doing until then?  Having one of their super long coffee breaks?

After lighting candles on Friday, my daughter was telling me how angry God must be at us. 

"Of course he's angry at us.  Look at the way we treat people.  Like that stupid chief rabbi in Safed telling Jews not to rent out their apartments to Arabs.  Many who rent there are Druze who serve in the army. And then those young people there beat up Arabs who live there.   It's horrible.  HORRIBLE."

I heard her "tsk" me.  She obviously disagreed with my theory.

Watching the news that night my family was surprised and thrilled to hear that Turkey was one of the countries that had come to our aid. 

"Yay!  We can finally go back to visiting Turkey again" - noting that much Israeli tourism to Turkey had stopped since the Gaza flotilla incident.

We had planned a trip to Haifa next week and were thankful it hadn't been this week.

I get an email this morning that makes me smile. A group of Arabs and Jews are already planning to plant trees and shrubs in that area, so we can once again enjoy the beauty of the Carmel - together.

reality check

"Why haven't  reality show producers discovered you yet." asked my eldest daughter over a rushed breakfast on Friday. "The Kardashians are so boring compared to you."

Of course they are.  We were in hysterics because Hubby was on the phone complaining to the Herald Tribune's subscription department.

"I don't think I should be paying so much for my paper delivery, because the delivery guy no longer delivers to our apartment.  He puts the papers in the mailbox downstairs and I have to go down 8 flights of stairs, sometimes without any clothes on, to get the paper."

Fearing that she is dealing with a true maniac, the subscription woman gave him one month free plus deducted 10 shekels a month thereafter.

Plus my 23 year-old Complainer daughter has decided to leave the coop, citing her main reason for leaving because she can no longer live at home.  If she wants to take a shower in our only working shower, which she likes to do twice a day (and torments me with digs of "dirty woman" because I sometimes shower every other day), she has to enter our bedroom.  Hubby often sleeps in the nude, and no matter how much I tell him to put undies on because the kids come in at all hours to shower, he doesn't listen.  Finally, she's so pissed off that one morning I hear her yell at him, "I'm sick and tired of seeing your stupid ugly penis."  So she believes that things will be better working a slave job, in US malls, selling Dead Sea products.  It's a thankless job, but the kids who work there seem to make good money and even in the slow months, will make twice as much as they do working a thankless job in Israel.  Her choices were Appleton, Wisconsin; Milwaukee; Dallas, Texas and San Francisco.  I begged her to take San Francisco.  I think it's the more exciting city of the lot and the one day a week she gets off, she can take in some of the city's beauty. I'm no longer on her shit list because I filled out all the forms and got her all the documents she needed to get her first US passport.  We warned her not to use the word "nigger" over there, because Israeli kids have no idea of the history and connotation of the N word, and often use it to address each other as they would use the word "dude" or "man".

My 2nd daughter and her husband are also thinking about leaving Israel.  Not because my husband sleeps in the nude, but because they work 11 hour days and more, and can't afford their own place or can't afford their own place with a car.  They feel the US has more opportunity and an easier life with cars costing a fraction of what they do here  They're thinking of Florida. I didn't have the energy this time to talk them out of it.  If I had to sign a declaration of loyalty to the State of Israel at this time, I'd have a hard time. Not only do I find the legal system and government policies racist - but even if you have your own business, the government tax bureaus pursue you relentlessly until you have given them everything but your own children.  If you believe you have paid all penalties for late filing, another penalty shows up years later for something.  And so I thought of this young couple, who have a lot of potential, but would be held back because of all this stupid bureaucracy, that I just said - go.  Maybe they'll make enough money for me to go visit them....and also maybe they could buy some quality US-made 100% cotton undies for Hubby.

circumcise you

My 3 year old grandson was jumping all over the hospital room where his new brother was born, and where his family was planning the brit mila (circumcision) ceremony for the next week.

"Gam ani rotza brit mila" he's screaming- which translates to "I also want a brit mila"

We're laughing at him.

"No you don't.  You really don't want a second one." 

Today we had the ceremony.  My daughter shoos me out of the room while she gets dressed.  I laugh at her.

"But I saw you give birth!! So what's the big deal seeing you in your granny undies."

On the way there, Jerusalem's streets were full of heavy traffic.  I hail a cab and I get an Arab taxi driver, who tells me he likes blondes.  Somehow my naturally graying hair looks blonde to him.  I tell him about my grandson and he motions with his finger...

"They will cut him today?"  pointing to the tip of his finger.

Most Moslems, he tells me, just do the circumcision in the hospital nowadays, though at one time they also used to have ritual circumcisers who weren't doctors.

He was confused by the "hafla" Jewish boys have at 13.  He thought that was perhaps a circumcision ceremony.  I was gonna tell him that's when they should all cut off their dicks, but I held back.  I explained a Jewish boy becomes a man, according to our tradition and there is no circumcision done at 13.

Then he tells me in Egypt they still do female circumcision.  I tell him it's horrible because it's not written anywhere  in the Koran. It has nothing to do with Islam. He agrees and tells me women want to have love.  And men just want to have sex.  A cab driver who understands.  Finally.  I sigh to myself.  I always get these cab drivers who have these semi-inappropriate conversations with me. 

I get to the Hall and guests have already arrived.  I'm 15 minutes late.  I flit from table to table to be with two sets of friends, feeling like Mrs. Doubtfire changing her identity and rushing from table to table.  The circumciser is here.  The room is dimly lit.  I voice my concern to people around me.  "Doesn't he need more light to circumcise this baby?  Even a dentist uses tons of light to see teeth, never mind a penis."  But they laughed and said this guy could do a circumcision in the dark.  He apparently does 10 a day and all for free.  He does it for the "mitzvah" (good deed).

The food is abundant and extravagant and delicious.    They had hoped to get 100 people and paid for 100 people, but they probably didn't have more than 80 show up. I joked with my son-in-law that if it weren't for his huge Tunisian family, the room would have been empty.

Meanwhile the Russian photographer was taking photos of the Complainer daughter and her male friend.  She took the sleeping baby and I yelled at her to hold his head.  She glared at me and growled..."shut up, you bitch!!" which made my friends look at me and laugh.  They hoped the photographer had captured that moment.

The little one finally gets up. He must have pee'd and it burns.  He shrieks.  My daughter is worried.  "You just need to change his diaper.  Then he'll be fine."

I get to do the changing, because my daughter is too squeamish.  Her husband pours oil over the bandage.  These are the directions so the bandage won't stick to the diaper. The tiny thing then nurses and falls asleep as if he has not a care in the world.... 

I know somethin' about birthin' babies

I think I found my second calling.  My daughter was admitted to the hospital yesterday around noon after her water broke the night before. But it didn't break in a large gush, rather trickled down continuously so that she wasn't 100% sure if it was the water.  After the hospital ran some tests, they said that it was the water but the baby's head was in the way of the water coming down all in one swoop. 

We had a bit of a false alarm the week before where she ended up in the hospital, only to be sent home 6 hours later.  I had rushed out from work only to return home "empty handed".  Yesterday, I was like

"yeah,okay (yawn).  Call me right before they induce you." as they told her  they would.

This morning I decided I wouldn't go to work because on the bus I figured I should do everything in my power to help her go into labor naturally.  I hear when you are induced, the labor pains are so much worse than natural labor, why should she have to go through that, especially since she was intent on not taking epidurals.  I called work, told them I'm not coming in, gave instructions to people in the office so Boss would be placated that everything was still running smoothly, and made my way to the daughter.

Meanwhile, I was on the phone trying to find solutions to induce labor naturally. I suspected they would try to induce her later that evening if she wasn't making any progress on  her own.  A friend suggested I do reflexology and instructed me on where exactly are the points which could help, which were below the ankle.  A second person said to get her to take 3-4 tablespoons of castor oil in thick juice.  Her hubby went to get the vile oil.  It was around 12:30 pm when she downed the stuff.  We took a walk up and down the 7 flights of stairs meanwhile and by 2:30 she was back on her bed.  2:45 she complained of intense pain.  Terribly intense pain.  And it wasn't going away either.  No sooner did it die down than another shot of intense pain started.  Her labor had begun, but wasn't giving her any respite.  I ran to get the nurse 3 minutes later, who looked at me like "oh God, what an idiot complaining about 3 contractions" and rolled her eyes and went into the room to look at my daughter,who was by that time, squatting on the floor,complaining she can't get up.  Fortunately, there was a doctor on the floor who examined her and he immediately said to "take her to delivery - she's ready."  As she's wheeled out of the room, people in the hallway smiled and wished us well.  She was squeezing my hand in pain as we go to the elevators,which were all full. 

"Can't we tell these people to get the hell out?" I asked one of the nurses wheeling my daughter's bed.

We managed to squeeze into one elevator and for the next 1/2 hour in the delivery room she bent over my arm as I rubbed her lower back vigorously with my other arm and we breathed together.

"You're doing great!!" I coaxed, as she complained about the pain.  "LOVE that pain! You didn't have to have them induce you!!  Soon you're gonna be holding your baby!"    She glared at me.  How can anyone in their right mind love their pain.

The whole thing from first painful contraction to her pushing the baby boy out took 40 minutes.  I laughed and cried as I saw the midwife pull the baby out.  He gave a short cry and they put him on her immediately with all the guck on.  Of course, he's great once his dad holds him, and the minute I hold him, he begins whining.  So much for quality granny time.  Newborns have about 120 facial expressions within a minute.  It's so amusing looking at them.

Meanwhile, back home, I hadn't cancelled an interfaith meeting at my home called for 6:30 pm, and instructed Hubby to handle it all.

"All you have to do is be nice and greet people."  That in itself is a challenge for grumpa.  But he did it and everyone said the meeting was great.

The theme of the meeting was about Honoring Parents - and I thought about this while rubbing my daughter's back.

"You owe me a big sushi meal for this." 

I hope she'll do me the honor.

Praying for the Peace of Jerusalem

On Eagles' Wings had their day of prayer for Jerusalem as they do each year on the first Sunday in October.  A friend from work surprised me with an invite to this event, and I, in turn, invited Hubby to tag along since he is a big fan of DayStar TV.  He says he watches it solely for the entertainment it provides of evangelists pushing people to the ground and seeing those trembling bodies on the floor.  He also likes to hear about the end of days and the Rapture.  So I thought he might want to see several hundred evangelical Christians praying right here in Jerusalem, without having to travel all the way to Kansas City, Missouri.

Robert Stearns

I was surprised to see an Orthodox neighbor of mine in the audience, but then since this was a Zionist Christian crowd, I wasn't that surprised in the end.  Rabbi Riskin also spoke, his manner of speaking wildly with his hands, coupled with his Brooklyn accent seemed amusing to me.  Nir Barkat spoke and as he left, he shook my hand.  I guess it wasn't the right time for me to complain to him about the inferior municipal services the Arab residents of Jerusalem get, compared to Jewish residents.  I sometimes feel like the queen of missed opportunities.

The speakers mostly railed against Islamic extremism, but their speeches included Arabs together with Jews, living in peace, in this messianic vision they had of a peaceful Israel.

I actually sang along with the folks when they sang verses from the Psalms.  But I drew the line at lifting my hands up to the heavens with the rest of the crowd.  I haven't even gotten that far with my own spiritual community of Nava Tehilla in Jerusalem.

The scenario for such an event was perfect.  It was held at the Hass Promenade, overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem, as the sun set.

Oh little town of Bethlehem

 "Where are you going today?" asked my curious cab driver. I couldn't get anyone to give me a lift on a bus-free Saturday morning and I had to meet the bus that would take Israelis to Bethlehem as part of the Visit Palestine group.

"Bethlehem - with a bus full of Israelis"

The cab driver proceeded to tell me how he speaks fluent Arabic, which he learned when he was a young teenager and hung out with Arabs from the Bethlehem/Hebron area - and that when he was in the South of France, the Arabs he met there thought he was a Palestinian from the Hebron area.

"They won't mess with you if they know you're from Hebron. They have a reputation" and went on to tell me about the camaraderie they shared. He never told them he was Jewish.

Unlike him and many other Jews who visit Arab countries and neighborhoods undercover, we were encouraged to speak Hebrew on this trip. The natives have to know we're Israeli and we're touring Bethlehem.

Even though Bethlehem is about a 10 minute walk from the most southern part of Jerusalem or even less, it's verboten for Israelis to enter this area. Yes, Israelis do sneak in on foreign passports and all that,but officially, it's never been done. Until now. Preparations began a couple of weeks ago when I was asked to sign a few forms that I would not hold the Israeli government or army responsible if anything happened to me in Palestinian-controlled Area A. I signed and faxed and was approved to visit Bethelehem along with around 50 other Israelis from the Tel Aviv/Jerusalem area.

At the Rachel checkpoint, where we had permission to enter, the soldiers told us that they didn't receive any fax giving us the permission. We waited over 1/2 hour and they said if they get the forms faxed, which could be in another 1/2 hour, we could go through, if not....there are other ways to get into Bethlehem. But our organizers wanted to go in the legal way and we detoured in the meanwhile towards Beit Jalah to meet our Palestinian counterparts and for a mini-dialogue. After many phone calls to different authorities, we were informed that we were okay'd to go through the Rachel checkpoint.

This was an historical moment for us all. This was the first time that Israelis who were not journalists, who were not police officers or soldiers, who were not closeted Israelis, were allowed in through this checkpoint. We were all elated and clapped as we went through the wall to the other side. We're in Bethlehem, finally.

Our organizer was telling us his friends reactions. When he tells people he's going to New York, or to Europe or wherever else abroad, his friends are like "cool! Great". But when he told them he was going to nearby Bethlehem, they're like "You crazy, man?" We want to change all that.

We met our Palestinian friends again - who came from Jericho, Nablus and Bethlehem and toured the Church of Nativity. The smell of incense was strong and the Armenian mass was going on. We were escorted by Palestinian police, who seemed perplexed at seeing a mixed group of Israelis and Palestinians and gave us VIP treatment as they whizzed us through the chamber where Jesus was born, in front of a long very-pissed off line of tourists, who watched us breeze by them. Who knows how long a wait they had.

We walked through the marketplace and I don't think I have ever been there. We stopped off at Mary's Place, a Catholic-owned, new, tastefully built center to look at the panoramic view.

One of the young Arab kids came over to me. I seem to be a magnet for young Arab men who confide in me all their dilemmas about women.

He points to a pretty young woman in front of me.

"How do I show her that I like her? I don't want to tell her. I want to show her. How?"

My guess is he was asking me because this was his first encounter with Israeli women. He wasn't sure she'd go out with him.

"She might go out with you." I tried to assure him. "But then she may not because you're a different religion" - let's be realistic.

I told him to get her email address and correspond at first. He seemed satisfied and happy that he now has a goal and a new Jewish mother.

"Can I call you Mama?" he asked me.

"You can, or you can call me by my name."

Did the locals know we were Israelis? Apparently, people heard the shopkeepers and locals saying to each other "Yahud?" ("Jews?") and were pleased to hear that we were from various peace groups.

The Palestinians said they were pleased to see we were also given trouble at the checkpoints and say this kind of thing happens to them every day. So we were given a taste of what they go through.

One man from one of the local Bible schools, an Christian Arab refugee from the Jerusalem neighborhood of Musrara, spoke to us to tell us that there aren't any tensions or persecutions of Christians from the Moslem majority in Bethlehem, but what only annoyed him was the call of the muezzins disturbing his sleep or tv watching; which was especially awful during Ramadan - when people were always in the mosque.  His comment annoyed the Bethlehem Moslems who told him that church bells were also very annoying to them.  That should be the worst of their problems.

We said our good byes to the Palestinian contingent and hoped we could organize a Visit Israel day for them.

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.