Caretakers, singers and others

My married-to-a-Morroccan daughter was instructing me on how to roast chicken:

"Ashkenazim roast at 165 c but Sephardim roast chicken for 2 hours at 200 c."

I thought I had heard it all and knew all the differences between our communities, but this is definitely a new one for the books.

And then it gotme to thinking about other communities, the non-Jews working here as caregivers.

You see, my next door neighbor has Alzheimers, and I had no idea of this until about 2 years ago when she buzzed my door and said she didn't know how to get into her apartment. Hubby and I instructed her step by step to look into her purse for her keys and then we took the keys from her to open her door. She thanked us profusely as if we were rocket scientists and did the impossible for her. We got ahold of her son who told us tearfully that she had Alzheimers and it wasn't long before she had a young caretaker from the Philippines living with her.

I didn't really have much contact with the new caregiver. Just a few smiles and thank you's when we borrowed stuff from each other. When the typhoon hit the Philippines earlier this past year, I was worried about her family, but they lived far away from the disaster. I was relieved.

This past week, I heard my doorbell ring 10 times, like someone was agitated. I thought it was the ultra-Orthodox beggars coming to ask for money again. But when I looked through the peephole, I saw it was Donna, my neighbor's caregiver.

"Can you please fix my television? I really want to see the X-Factor and it doesn't work by me."

Of course, she needed to see the Israeli version of that show. From the Philippines, Rose Fontanes was the finalist in the Israeli X-Factor, who had a deeply beautiful voice. She hadn't been living in the best of circumstances. With Jewish immigrants to Israel, it's difficult enough, so imagine the difficulty 10-fold for non-Jews. She was living in a cramped apartment in Tel Aviv with 7 other people. But she instilled a sense of pride in other caregivers like her and everyone from the Philippines was rooting for her.


So there I was in her living room, the remote control was in Hebrew so I changed it to English, but the channel itself was not working, much to her dismay. I definitely understood her angst. I remember as a teenager, my dad not letting me watch the Beatles or any one of them on a show if it was on the Sabbath, which made me sneak out to a neighbor during on a Friday night to watch, because I had to. I just had to.

So with her charge sleeping blissfully, I invited her across the hall to my apartment where we could watch it together. She was so delighted and I felt like I was saving her life. "Are you sure? Don't you need to go to sleep? Are you sure?"

Sure I'm sure.

We munched on chips and drinks and heard Rose sing a couple of songs but Donna wouldn't stay for the results, and said she would find it on the internet later on. So I hung on to watch it for her and celebrated Rose's victory in Donna's absence.

The Wise Woman of Jerusalem

There I am just sitting in a crowd. It could be anywhere, for a happy occasion, a sad occasion - doesn't matter. All I have to do is just sit there and people who know what I've experienced in the 18 years that I've been in Israel come over to me for advice. I'm actually quite flattered by the attention. Even social workers and psychologists have been consulting with me, for free I might add, about kids, in particular.

Woman #1: My son just got engaged to a girl whose parents are Moroccan. Any advice you can give us?

Me: Yes. Of course. Good luck. First of all, if they invite you over for dinner, you better not leave right afterwards. Plan to stay at least 2-3 hours minimum afterwards, or they'll think you're rude Americans.

Her husband mentioned they were going to meet them for the first time and were bringing wine for dinner.

Me: Oy vey. If you bring only wine, they'll take you for cheap Americans.You must go to a nice gift shop snd get them something nice for the house, even if it will end up in their daughter's home after she marries your son.

I based this on the times when my daughters' in-laws would show up at our house for dinner with microwaves, expensive flowers and chocolate baskets, good quality housewares, etc. Just wine and flowers won't do.

I also told her that they may try to lasso you in for an expensive glitzy wedding. They'll have 700 guests and you'll have 50-100. So tell them what you can/can't afford up front. They'll surely bitch about it but they'll get over it eventually.

Woman #2: How did you cope with the demands your teenage daughters have? Could you afford everything they asked for? How were you able to with 4 daughters?

She proudly introduced me to her daughter who was wearing a sweater she had gotten for her. I could see her daughter thinking - yeah, so you bought me one friggin' sweater.

Me: I couldn't and wouldn't. Between tampons, makeup, hair stuff for 4, it was impossible to clothe them in the stylish trendy manner they wanted, so I sent them to work when they were 15. Yes, I know about child labor. Instead of helping them with their homework, I steered them in the direction of working after school, so they could buy all the shoes and clothing their teenage hearts desired. All the ugly designer sports training pants and jackets with numbers on them were finally theirs.

Woman #3: How did you cope with their insolence? I'm fighting terribly with one of my daughters.

Me: When you have 4 daughters, the fighting is between them usually. Then I would retreat to my room and ignore them totally. I'd give them free rein and pretty much let them go and do whatever they wanted to do, except hitchhike all over the country. I'd go work overtime whenever I could and I then put locks on each of my daughters' closets, so the fighting would be kept to a minimum - even though they still managed to steal clothing from each other when the clothes were hanging out to dry or if they forgot to lock up their nail polish or eyeshadow and left it on their dresser.

Woman #4: How did your kids all marry Sephardim?

Me: Must have been all that Moroccan music I was playing when they were little kids, and all those Shabbat afternoon teas with old Mrs. Bouganim before I moved to Israel. They seemed to have copped the attitude that American boys were nerdy and wanted to be more Israeli than the Israelis.


Meanwhile, some of my kids are expecting kids themselves and since I'd been there 5 times myself, I could answer their questions and worries, like telling them I won't let their mother-in-laws in the delivery room, even though they are begging them to see the birth. I, for one, would not want to see my daughter-in-law giving birth. Feh. It's one thing to be with your own daughters, another your son's wife. But my son has got a few years to go until he brings me home a daughter-in-law. And, yes, they can have sex throughout their pregnancy if they're having a normal pregnancy and even though they laugh and are horrified at me for telling them this, I'm equally as horrified at them telling me they're too scared to have sex while pregnant! How did my kids become so Third World? I worry that they'll take epidurals and won't nurse.

But while I helped another pregnant kid move from one apartment to another, she called me up afterwards to thank me and to tell me her hubby wanted to shower with her in their new flat after they finished unpacking at 1 in the morning. I hope you did, kid.

Learning Reiki in Beit Jala

It was bad enough that I was taking Reiki. It was even worse that it was in a Palestinian neighborhood, although legally allowable for Israelis to enter. I had wanted to take this course for quite some time. I sometimes "lay hands" on my kids and they either feel heat, or electric shocks or some other vibration, but it does zap my energy. My friend, a Reiki Master, told me that without Reiki training, I lose my energy, but the attunements will let me give treatments to whoever needs it without losing any of my own energy . That did sound tempting as my 8 month old granddaughter is chronically congested, and 2 pregnant and very uncomfortable daughters - and wouldn't it be amazing if I could treat them all with the energy of the universe!

My family, especially Hubby, wouldn't let up that entire week before though. My hubby was muttering to everyone the entire time at Friday night dinner that Beit Jala was where the second intifada started. My daughter, who was staying over for the weekend, said to me as I was leaving the next morning, "Why are you going there? You know they hate us." I sighed. I had been going to dialogue groups for 11 years now and nothing....absolutely nothing had rubbed off on any of my kids. I had even taken them when they were younger to some enjoyable events, like parties, weekends and joint Tu-B'shvat tree planting. They enjoyed it at the moment, but then whatever it is that takes over their minds, took over and I was just left sighing at her statement.

I decided to nix the plan of hitchhiking on Saturday morning to Jerusalem, as buses don't run on Saturday, and then take a bus that services Palestinians and that does run on Saturdays - to Beit Jala. But that apparently aggravated Hubby even more so I had to splurge on a taxi to take me directly there. No shortage of Arab drivers on the Sabbath. My driver happened to be a cousin of my friend Ibrahim who lived on the Mt. of Olives and was probably amused that I was traipsing off to Beit Jala. I told him he could turn up the lively Arabic music, which was barely audible when I got into the car. He told me it was Lebanese music he was getting from an Israeli station. I was happy to hear Israeli stations that play Lebanese music and wondered to myself whether Lebanese stations played Israeli artists at all - perhaps Zehava Ben or Sarit Hadad?

I got to the private home and quickly called Hubby so he should know I was safe. The Reiki instructor, much to Hubby's horror was taking away our cellphones for the duration of the 10 hour course, so he would be out of touch with me until the evening. The Facebook/Candy Crush addict in me pined a bit for my phone during the day, but it really was ok to be without it.

There were 6 students - 2 Jews - me and an English guy who now lives in Israel and 3 Palestinian women and 1 guy from Bethlehem, Hebron area and Ramallah. There was a nice immediate bond between us all and it was especially nice to meet someone from Ramallah since meeting is not so easy to come by.

The first stage of the course went by quite quickly. We brought food to share for lunch. I was amazed that I didn't freak out during my attunements and felt trippy as I saw - with eyes closed - energy in various colors, especially purple, during the attunements.

During the last bit, while practicing Reiki treatments on ourselves, and the two of us - a Palestinian young woman and myself - lying there on the beds chatting about life. And the water shortages. She told me she based renting this home on the fact that it had an underground water cistern. Because if it didn't there would be severe water shortages. Most villages do not get enough water - even big places with thousands of residents like this one. They could be 3 days without enough water to bathe and wash dishes. This was awful. I live 1/2 hour drive from her and never experienced anything like this. Once in a few years, when the building is fixing something, we go without water for 6 hours, but never for days on end. But she seemed resigned to this - it is a way of life and it's been a way of life for years.

So besides learning about Reiki, I had learned that something as simple as water, which I take for granted, is not taken for granted by my neighbors and wished that I could "heal" as well the inequal standard of living that not everyone knows about....

Candy Crush Anonymous

I don't know about the rest of the world, but certainly in Israel there needs to be a Candy Crush Anonymous 12-step group, and I have to join...one day at a time. But as I'm only on game 78, and lord knows how many games there are, those meetings will have to take a back seat.

I see people playing the friggin' game everywhere - on buses, at work, at ticket sales offices (where I wouldn't get served because she was doing "something" on her iPhone). But even I have a problem. My daughter took me out for dinner the other day and we sat outside, enjoying the beautiful weather and instead of deep conversation, we both took out our phones to play Candy Crush. Quality time, indeed. We were looking for pointers from each other but she is way ahead of me.

Talking to another friend one day, I pleaded with her never to touch Candy Crush. Never. I see her a week later and she's telling me she's at level 14 and can't stop, and do I buy extra game time. That's where they can't get me, thankfully. If there was real food involved, like buy 4 and they'll give me free breakfast at a local restaurant, I might go for it, but I won't buy crushers, boosters, hammers or the like. I know other people have less will power than I do, and the people who created this monster of a game are definitely raking it in.

My Syrian Babies

Now that most of my kids are out of the house, I had to fill a void. So I rescued a street kitten who met me at a Jerusalem bus stop and began licking my toes. We were definitely meant for each other. And now my heart and soul have adopted several Syrian young adults over the past couple of years - all fans of Israeli metal band Orphaned Land. I mean, like the kitten who kissed my feet, I couldn't help loving this young crowd. Despite our countries being officially "at war", these young people were intelligent enough to recognize their government's hate propaganda against Israel and the Israeli people and maybe even Jews themselves. Yes, they all said they wanted to get to know Israelis and were so happy to expand their circle of friends to include us, quite a few Israelis, including the band themselves.

I'm not a big fan of heavy metal music. That and improv jazz gives me headaches. But because of the band's oriental bent and publicity in the Israeli press that they have an unusually large following of fans from Arab countries, this piqued my interest.

But getting back to my Syrian babies, and the crisis in that country, I was worried sick over them on a daily basis and wished there was a way to whisk them from there to here. There were wounded Syrians being treated in Israel, so why can't a few healthy ones be let in? Besides, the Islamist extremists most probably hate them because of the music they like and the way they look. So isn't an enemy of an enemy a friend?

I felt great relief as one of them safely made his way to the US in the midst of heavy fighting and another one, more dramatically, made her way into Turkey. But are they happy? They miss their family terribly and I seem to think they feel quite isolated in their strange surroundings. Safe but lonely and empty. It's a tough choice, to flee to safety and feel horrible or to be chronically in fear of your life.

Updates from an empty nester

From the age of 50, I have felt a surge of happiness over newly-felt freedom. My kids were all still living with me at the time, but they were teens and not in need of me as much as they were when they were younger. I was able to hang out with friends more and finally do alot of things for myself.

These days, while only my son is living at home with us, the food bills have gone down slightly - as he eats vast amounts of whatever crap it is that he eats - cereal, tuna fish, chicken, rice, pasta with tomato sauce, deli, huge amounts of chocolate, and that's about it. He sticks up his nose at anything else I seem to be making that day. Fresh salmon? Spaghetti with garlic and assorted veggies? Chicken in wine sauce? Smoothies? It's all "disgusting" to him.

One of my married daughters just rented a lovely apartment in Beit Hakerem. She constantly invites us over for dinner and I am only too happy to have a Friday evening off cooking and entertaining or to have a place to crash during the week between the time I finish work and a party or a concert later on in the evening. This is what you call "nachas" - deriving pleasure from the kids.

And my daughters are floating back to me on occasion - some are pregnant and are in need of advice. They seem to know nothing. One did her ultrasound last week and had no idea what it was. When the technician asked if she wanted to see the baby in the monitor, my daughter freaked out. Seriously. And then calmed down once she saw the almond size fetus on the screen. "I don't know if I'm feeling the baby move" is another often-put question to me by another one. One kid wants to stay with us every other weekend for 4 nights. She's the noisy one and we always ask her to just please, PLEASE come for one evening only. We'd love to have dinner with you on Friday night, but to have you over for 4 days every 2 weeks is like having 10 extra people - with the energy and noise level and complaints. She even wants to come with her baby once he's born and wants us to buy a porta-crib and change table and what-have-you-not. She wants our cat declawed too. I don't understand my eldest daughter's mother-in-law who wants all her 7 kids around her with their family, every Friday night, in her cramped apartment. I am so not Middle Eastern.

We thought of downsizing and moving to Jerusalem, but I think Hubby is quite frightened he'd never see me at all - with all the lectures, funky things going on, restaurants, cinemateque, friends. He's probably right. We'd also have to move to a much smaller place like 60 meters instead of our current 140 meters. And we could only afford a 60 meter place that would be run down and one that Hubby would have to renovate. The good thing is that we wouldn't have space for any of our kids to sleep over, but we wouldn't have room for an office, nor would we have that magnificent view of the Judean desert and the distant Jordanian mountains. Tough choice.

Now getting back to having them all out of the house, at least the daughters, I can now safely display my good quality makeup and perfumes on my shelves without worrying that I'll never see them again.

Dance cliques

One Saturday afternoon in Central Park, when I was in my early 20s and living on the Upper West Side, I came across a group of dancers dancing to this incredible ethnic music. I stood there transfixed for hours and asked where I could learn these dances. The dancers told me of a couple of places where international folk dancing was taught, and I remember learning the dances in a large loft somewhere in Manhattan. I became part of the "in group" of dancers, even progressing to a point where I was going to join a Yugoslavian dance troupe that would dance in the 1984 Olympics - until marriage in 1983 and a move to Toronto put a stop to those plans.

But I loved dancing and even in Canada I danced Israeli dance three times a week. It was enjoyable, though not as diverse music-wise as the international dance scene. I remember, being Orthodox at the time, when one of the male dancers, during the couples' dances (the Orthodox women usually had other women as partners), pulled me over to dance with him, and I heard gasps from the other dancers..."but she's religious!" I felt like I was one of the characters in Fiddler on the Roof, when one of the secular son-in-laws of Tevye's daughters pulls the mother or the wife in to dance with him at a wedding amid gasps from the others.

When I moved to Israel, in my 40s, my neck wouldn't cooperate with me and the osteopath told me the impact of my dancing is probably what caused the pain.

So I was quite happy to be invited by a friend to Greek dancing in Jerusalem. The evenings are cool and I know from international dancing that there is not quite as much running and jumping in Greek dance. I told my friend who had been dancing for 5 years that I'll figure out the steps quite easily. There's much repetition and I know the rhythms of Greek/Balkan music. I pretty much followed along, not stepping on anyone's toes, and felt so happy to be dancing again, feeling that my legs were getting a good workout. It was someone's birthday and there was a huge spread of salads, pita, wine and ouzo, even eclairs, which were tempting but what is the point of a workout when you stuff yourself with those things!

One guy came over to me. "You need to come at 6:30 to learn the dances, this way you can be part of the circle and won't throw people off."

Huh?

"I wasn't throwing anyone off. Didn't you see that I knew the steps to the last dance?"

I had seen the same guy dancing next to another new woman who didn't know the steps at all, but he held onto her anyway. Did he tell her the same thing?

"This way, no one will be under pressure," he continued.

Greek dancing puts people under pressure?

"I wasn't under any pressure!" I told him. The guy was pissing me off.

There were about 5 dances that had more intricate steps and I followed in back of the circle, just to be polite, but people can get really antsy about newcomers. Even my friend remarked that she even thought she had been dancing 5 years already, no one ever bothered to celebrate her birthday there.

"They can get pretty cliquey here," she informed me.

Well, I can remedy that and invited another friend to join me next time, and maybe she'll invite one of her friends. And we'll make our own clique of newcomers.

When Worlds Collide

I'm so happy to be off work for two weeks. Not that I have anywhere to go. I usually take stay-cations. August is atrociously expensive everywhere and Hubby is busy with work. But I am happy to be away from the cookie jar across from my office which is filled with Pepperidge Farm cookies - both Brussels and Milanos. I begged the office manager to revert back to buying cheap nasty-tasting cookies so I wouldn't eat them, but these are irrestible and I've gained weight. Now I have 2 weeks to recuperate from my sugar addiction, have a healthy leisurely breakfast and a non-rushed dinner at home with some dinners/lunches out with friends. And I can't forget the grandkids. No - not the grandkids. See, I'm not the kind of granny that watches the kids for weeks while their parents fly off somewhere exotic, or the self-less grandma who just wants to be with the little ones, and then is exhausted and needs yet another holiday. Their other granny had my eldest grandkid of 6 over at her house for weeks on end during July but he wasn't bored because all his cousins were over visiting that granny as well. Besides, that granny never leaves the house. Ever. She's the type that stays home and cooks and cleans all day.

We were discussing the differences in culture over lunch one day - me, my daughters and my son-in-laws. I asked them why they were never interested in museums, in culture, in going out to festivals and why do they just eating schwarma on their evenings out. Why?

"The Israel Museum?" scoffed one son-in-law, who I thought had the potential to be more cultured than the rest. "It's full of leftists!" was his excuse why he doesn't step foot in there or the Bible Lands or any other museum.

I was furious - "What about the exhibit on Hasidim? huh? Were all the Hasidim leftists? How about the synagogue repicas? Why can't you come out of your narrow world."

I was getting really angry at their narrowmindedness, my daughters included.

And then I thought of a great idea which will make everyone happy. If my kids don't get it, maybe my grandkids will. I'm gonna take my grandkids, at least the oldest ones, to museums, fairs, etc. The science museum is great for kids, as is the upcoming Kite Festival at the Israel Museum and the Bible Lands Museum has a two-hour tour discovering the Mystery of the Pyramids.

This past Friday I took my 6 year old grandkid to the First Station - the refurbished Turkish-era train station that had been neglected for 10 years or more. It had been open since June, but my kids don't know it even exists. It's a remarkable place with activities for kids, films, concerts, shows, food courts, restaurants, carts where designers sell their fantastic selection of handmade clothing and jewelery. We listed and danced to songs welcoming the Sabbath, ate an enormous portion of ice cream at Vaniglia's until it dripped down both our faces, and we just pointed fingers at each other and laughed, I bought him a ridiculously expensive balloon, shaped like a beagle, that "walked" when you put it on the ground and if he comes to my house on my day off, I'll make him his favorite food - pancakes. It's a food he always asks for when he comes over, even on a Friday night.

So, yes, I may not cook 1,000 dishes over Shabbat and stay home all day and all night while everyone comes to visit, but I will be the granny who will make sure the kids love the rich culture that Jerusalem has to offer.

No more chaos

My daughter gave me instructions by phone.

"Please don't look at the video of the wedding and the CD of the photos on Shabbat. OK?"

I sighed and agreed. Shabbat is the day of rest from work, when I can enjoy viewing such stuff that I have no time to get to in the weekday rush.

My youngest daughter had just gotten married in May and disturbed all the secular guests at that wedding who were shocked to find that dancing was going to be separated by gender. Their rabbi had asked them to do so and they were going along with it. They even stopped the music a number of times when men and women started to dance together. Protests were stronger coming from the groom's side, as there were 600 of their guests and there were just a mere 50 guests on our side. Most of our 50 guests were North Americans, and were used to this type of wedding.

We weren't too pissed off at their rabbi who told them not to live with either of their parents, as many young couples do for a year or two so they can save money. It pushed them into being responsible adults for the first time in their lives.

Hubby and I went to her house for a Friday night meal. She had cooked an amazing dinner and seemed so at ease with her new role as wife. This daughter, who was the messiest girl in the Middle East, was now keeping a spotless home. She now has her hair and elbows covered, in accordance with the strictly Orthodox, and this change of lifestyle had me reminiscing on the way back home with Hubby.

"Remember all those times when taxis would honk at 4:00 am years back because she just ran out of the cab without paying?"

"Remember all those all night 'nature trance parties' that went on in secret locations all over Israel that she went to every weekend?"

I had bought new folders to sort out our new home office, made possible by all the girls leaving home and leaving us with a spare room.

As I rummaged through her files, I came across letters from the courts, lawyers' bills - from 2002 to 2007 -when her hobbies were shoplifting, stealing charity boxes, trying to get into Teddy Stadium with a knife, painting graffiti on public buildings and simply passing a joint to her friend which resulted in 120 hours of community service. We had our hands full with that girl. It had seemed like 24/7 chaos in our lives. It was frightening not knowing which way she was gonna go in life.

I remember my boss telling me not to worry, during those awful years. That she would give me the most "nachas" (pleasure/pride) one day. And he must have been a prophet to foresee that, because I couldn't. And for once, though I am not a fan of rabbis, I am grateful to the influence this particular rabbi has on her and her new husband. I don't give a shit if he wants her to wear a burka. Funnily enough, I'd be all for it.

some (raunchy) shabbat table conversations

Many traditional Jews on Friday night, when they sit down for their festive Sabbath meal, have intelligent conversations, discussing the Torah portion of the week, talking about work, singing songs, etc. While we did have festive food in common, I suppose the topic of our conversation this week was very different from other families.

That morning my son called us while we were doing our shopping in Jerusalem to tell us happily that he had a girl over on Thursday night and "there's a condom on my window sill".

I was happy that he was practising safe sex or, for that matter, any sex at all. I was worried because he hadn't been dating for a while. No one. He had brought home some girl right before he was drafted into the army because, as he said, "I don't want to die a virgin." I hadn't seen her since. But I was upset that he wanted his condom to be on display on his window instead of putting it in the trash.

I complained to Hubby.

"The cat is gonna find it and drag it through the house."

"Oh God. She'll probably put it on the dining room table where I make haMotzie (blessing over the Shabbat Challah bread)!!"

Not that we were having guests over, just the recently married kids, and that would put them in fits of laughter.

As we sat down for dinner, my son proudly boasted of his "date" last night to his sister and brother-in-law. The condom was still sitting on the window sill and the cat was smart enough or repulsed enough not to go near it. And then the conversation progressed to more graphic tones. My daughter, whose English leaves a lot to be desired, and whose husband's English is limited to "Hey daddy, how are you" and "Big Ass", told us that when she was a teenager, she knew of girls from religious families who had sex in other ways because they didn't want to lose their "vajournal".

The son and son-in-law continued their conversation in Hebrew - how to do what where and other assorted tidbits, while we laughed and munched through the coleslaw and quinoa salad with kale. And I'm thinking - so what if we don't have the conversations that normal people have around their Shabbat table. As long as there's laughter and good spirit, I think that's all that matters.

Mannerisms

My young friend looked at me aghast as I dipped into her stuffed grape leaves and told her to take some of my chicken salad off my plate.

She had told me that she wasn't used to being spoken to on public transportation. Swedish people are extremely reserved and quiet, yet, she prefered boisterous Israelis. And I had become one of them, calling loudly to our waitress, budding into conversations and sharing food. I wasn't the only one, as 2 other restaurant patrons looked at our food and talked about it with one another.

"In Sweden", she explained, "it's unheard of that people interrupt conversations to add their own 2 cents, they don't talk about other people's food in restaurants, and they certainly don't share food on their plates" she laughed, and her rasta-hair laughed along.

I remember horrifying another Dutch friend as well when she came for a visit in 1998. We were waiting to be served in a bakery, and the line wasn't moving. I wasn't being attended to, so I helped myself to 2 challah breads, while my friend put her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter, and explained that THAT was never done in the Netherlands.

"Well, it's done here. As long as I pay for it, it's fine to walk around the counter and get it yourself."

I seem to be unintentionally shocking nice Europeans these days.

We went over to the Abraham Hostel after our meal. This was the funkiest, coolest hostel around and I had never ventured inside before tonight. The place was vibrant, colorful and full of assorted tourists of all ages and types. We went there because she was planning to write a children's book about Hebron and wanted to tell both the Jewish and Palestinian narratives of this holy and tense city. I know that dual-narrative tours leave every Wednesday from the Abraham Hostel and she might want to book herself a tour. Meanwhile, sitting on the couch in the lobby, I saw Eliyahu, who runs the Jewish leg of the Hebron tour. I introduced the 2 of them and she put out her hand for a friendly handshake, but since he's quite an Orthodox Jewish man, who doesn't touch other women other than his own wife, he simply put his hands together in a Buddhist-type greeting to welcome her. He gave her contacts on the Jewish side of Hebron, since she already had Palestinian contacts in place and told us a story of one tourist he guided, who went to inside Abraham's tomb in Hebron. On the Palestinian side of the tomb, the Moslem worshippers were complaining to the tourist bitterly that the Jews were being loud on purpose while they were trying to pray. When the tourist went over to the Jewish side, he saw that there was a circumcision ceremony going on and thus the reason for the loud whoops of joy accompanied by singing and dancing. Nothing was done to spite the Moslem worshippers. So there you have 2 narratives of people who need to understand one another by just going over to the other side (not possible at the tomb these days) to see what is really going on.

We ended our evening by walking over to the shuk, to show her the new restaurants that had sprouted up since she had last been here a year ago. She ordered us 2 beers, but because of my Jewish genes, I guess, I couldn't down the entire giant glass of brew.

"Sorry, I just can't finish this." I told her, leaving 3/4s of my beer intact.

"That's ok. I'll just take whatever's left," and she took my glass, pouring the entire thing into her glass and for that moment, she stopped being Swedish and became one of us...

Liverpool Legends

I looked at myself in the mirror in the ladies bathroom at the Steinberg Music Center and just stared. My hair was a mess, but it looked good, I had a wonderful flush to my face and my eye makeup was totally smudged.

"We look like we just had sex," my friend remarked. Ahh. So that was the "look" that stared back at me in the mirror.

We had just gone through two hours of Beatle ecstasy with a Beatles cover band from the US called Liverpool Legends, that had flown in especially for Israel's yearly Beatlefest. Nothing else over that weekend seemed appealing but this band, who was managed by George Harrison's 81 year old sister, Louise.



But it was in Holon of all places, and we were wandering around the music center 2 hours before the show began trying to find a restaurant that looked like it wouldn't give you food poisoning. I had ordered a capuccino from a decent looking bakery, only to find that the coffee tasted like water with a bit of coffee flavoring. Feh. I figured I wouldn't have much luck in the food department, as we walked around the working class neighborhood where elderly men were sitting around tables on the sidewalk, playing backgammon.

"I feel like we're in Bulgaria". It did seem like a different country from Jerusalem and altogether different from Tel Aviv, just a few miles north of Holon.

I hardly have time to travel these days, but I needed a bit of adrenaline and Beatle cover bands, especially if they're good, do just the trick.

I looked at the audience in the 600 seater place, and saw that it spanned the generations - little children came with their young parents and people older than myself were there looking ridiculous in their Beatles t-shirts. It's rare to see such a mix of ages at concerts. People were selling all sorts of Beatles-related kitschy stuff. I could do nothing but sigh. I had real Beatles memorabilia years ago, but sold much of it due to money shortages throughout the years.

The show started with the band coming on dressed as early Beatles, in their Beatle suits, c. 1964 and Beatle boots, then the Shea Stadium outfits, then with colorful Sgt. Pepper era duds and ending with the 1968/9 look - George, looking especially George-ish in his 1968 striped red pants. I had seen dozens of photos of that same outfit. They managed to pull off the sound and look magnificently.

We danced in the aisles, ran up to the front and danced and screamed and pretended it was really them and we re-lived each era that we missed because we were simply too young to go to any Beatles concerts in the 60s. I was only 10 in 1966 - the last year the Beatles were on tour.

After it was all over, we came out of the theater and people who were lined up to get into the later show must have seen our "just had sex" look. "How was it"? "Was it worth it?" After taking a look at myself in the mirror, all I could answer them was, "Can't you bloody tell?"

Food War

My friend and I are planning to go to Beatlefest in Holon this Wednesday evening because George Harrison's sister Louise will be there, as well as a Grammy-winning (so I hear) cover band called LiverpoolLegends.

Last night she called me up sounding very agitated,

"I checked and there are NO KOSHER RESTAURANTS IN HOLON." A true lament. But if there are kosher restaurants in Druse villages in the North of Israel, surely there must be a kosher falafel joint in the hood.

I checked under a different App and sure enough, found 34 kosher places, most of which probably sell crappy pizza and burgers with humous and all that. But I actually did find a kosher sushi place with good reviews in the local mall, and I know she'll be relieved when I tell her.

At least I have someone culturally similar to me to dine with. Lately, with my 2 youngest daughters getting married or about to be married, and as a result, all the additions to our family from North Africa and other parts of the Middle East, it has been quite a challenge.

My 3rd daughter married into a Moroccan/Iraqi/Kurdish-Persian family. The father is like Don Corleone. No one argues with him, or complains to him. Or else....

The Sabbath after the wedding we headed over to their house for a celebration - first in the synagogue, and then their home for a big lunch. Hubby and I thought, Hey! We rented a car. We haven't been to Tel Aviv in over a year. Let's finish off the celebration by just the 2 of us heading over to see the sunset over the Mediterranean. We began eating at 11:00. We figured the final course ended by 1:00, we could head off. Mr. Don Corleone sees us and says - "You're not going anywhere! We have Hamin! You have to stay for Hamin!" Do we argue? Of course not. At 2:00 pm, he serves me a plate with a large bone on it. "This you must eat. It's a foot." Shit. Now what do I do? I looked at hubby who just told me to be thankful we weren't being served bulls' testicles.

Next daughter's future in-laws invited us for the last days of Passover. They must have put 35 dishes on the table all at once. Nothing too spicy for us, but I couln't believe the amount of food. The hostess looked at me and said,

"I hear you buy organic vegetables. Hmph. It's too expensive. I go to the market and come back with half the market in my kitchen."

I can certainly see that. We must look pathetic to them with our one dish appetizer, one main course and 2 side dishes. But I was horrified to learn that they abhor left-overs. I saw her about to throw 1/2 a cake in the garbage and I shrieked! She looked at me like I was a homeless beggar lusting after her food.

"You want this?"

"Of course! I don't throw anything out, unless it's over 5 days old"

She shrugged. "If it's not eaten after 1 day, it goes in the garbage."

Hubby and I were horrified.

But there is a good side to all this. My daughter had wanted to live with us for a year after they got married. But just a couple of weeks ago, she said they decided to rent, even though it will be hard for him. And I know exactly why. Her future husband saw me cooking quinoa, tofu dishes and other healthy grains and beans, mostly vegetarian, and I think that scared the living daylights out of him.

The End of the World

I'm worried about so many things lately from two upcoming daughters' weddings, from Hubby being in between jobs and currently on unemployment, to seeing my overdraft rising and rising to worrying about if my son will continue his army service or will he continue stint #4 in military jail.

Friends and relatives are consoling me..."what do you need to worry for, if the world is ending on Friday?"

True. Then I may as well take a suite at the Dan Intercontinental and take my charge card to the limit.

Even meeting my Evangelical Christian speaking-in-tongues friend on the bus yesterday, put me to shame. He has total faith, while I ask him "what will you do when you come back to Israel after being away for 2 months and having given away all your furniture?" - he looks up towards the ceiling of the bus and says "He always provides."

So while I'm checking my lottery ticket waiting for Him to provide, Hubby is trying to console me this morning. Our daughter whom I had nicknamed the Complainer for the longest time, is finally getting married in February. She sulks because we don't have anything to give her towards her wedding and like the good Jewish mother that I am, I feel guilty I never saved anything towards the big day - or any of their big days, for that matter. Would I have given up on twice monthly breakfasts, the annual Film Festival, never buying a danish out so much like many Israeli martyr mothers my daughters always tell me about, who just live for their children and nothing else? I don't think so.

We laughed at the fact that her future father-in-law chose everything for them - and we didn't have much say in anything. He chose the venue, the food, the invites and the music.

"No money, no honey" exclaimed Hubby matter-of-factly.


"All I bought for her wedding is a girdle so I can fit into my borrowed dress!!" I kvetched to Hubby who was ready to listen, for a change.

"And all I am going to buy is a tie!!! What are you worried for, especially if the world is going to end Friday. And if it won't, let's just get her married and out of the house already!!!"

True. The world may not end, but we'll have one less mouth to feed and we'll have more room for us to guest people, couch surf or whatever. So long as they don't complain....

Sirens in Jerusalem

Good thing I read in the papers just the day before that the best shelter from missiles, if you are living on the top two floors of a building is the building's stairwell. I was hoping to have a peaceful Sabbath, enjoying the fact that Hubby was at my married daughter's house for the afternoon, and I was joyfully alone, cooking the Friday night meal for my family who were due to come later. Nobody bugging me. Except for Hamas. While the dusk was setting in, the loud siren went off, and I was wondering if it was a drill or the real thing. Well, most warnings are anywhere between 15 seconds and 1 1/2 minutes, so I didn't have much time to figure out whether it was real or not and settled for the "real". I ran to get my phone, shut off the rice and headed for the staircase. I ran down the stairs to the 5th floor wondering how it would be if a missile headed through my building on the very same floor where I sought refuge. I called up my religious daughter, knowing she doesn't usually answer the phone on the Sabbath, but this was obviously an emergency. No answer. I called my husband. My daughter answered his phone.

"Dad is sticking his head out the window trying to see the missile. He's the only one looking out the window."

Of course he is.

No one was in the stairwell but me, though I could hear people talking nervously just inside their apartments. They seemed to be standing right by their doors. After about 5 minutes I went back into my apartment, relieved I hadn't heard any booms anywhere.

Everyone came in shortly afterwards for dinner, and it was like nothing had happened, except the grandkids were rowdier than usual, perhaps their way of acting out.

After dinner and after the family leaves, I'm reading Facebook posts, knowing more about what's going on from my Palestinian friends than from anyone else and feeling touched by the concern of my Syrian friends. I'm reading posts between people who are against any violence and people who feel Israeli strikes are justified. My eyes are closing, and I'm lying on the couch. I eat M&M's for comfort and wake up Hubby, who is sleeping in my son's room, to come to our bed. I usually never do that.

We're On The Road to Nowhere in the land of 1,000 cups of tea

The place was miles away from any known town or village on the map. The Rashaida live in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Judean desert. I had visited them for a one day trip 3 years before, but this was my first overnight with them (). My friend was having a birthday gathering/party and decided to have a campout with friends at the Bedouin tribe's encampment. Passing Maale Amos, the last remote settlement on the road, groups of kids stood on the road watching our convoy of about 7 cars pass by and waved and smiled. Some got out to photograph groups of camels and one young man excitedly ran over to our car - "Have you ever been to India? THIS is so much like India, the way the kids behave and the view!" His wonderful memories of a faraway exotic land were all coming back to him. I tried to GPS where we were and the only thing I got was a blue pulsing dot in the middle of a grey grid. That blue dot in the middle of nowhere caused so much laughter, the birthday girl passed aruond my iPhone showing the blue dot to everyone in the large tent.

We brought in the Sabbath and found a corner table inside the tent to light the Sabbath candles. Then when it got dark, over the kiddush and challot, we had our Bedouin dinner served to us. The younger Bedouin kids hung around us the entire time - they all looked under 7 years old and were so well-behaved we wonder why people think Bedouin are primitive. Their mothers were probably thrilled to have their kids off their hands. I asked one little girl - she must have been no older than 5 - if she wanted to eat. She waved "no" with her little finger. After we all took food, I saw the little girls take food for themselves. So different from our "civilized" brood who whine when they're hungry and tired. The Bedouin kids were adorable, filthy, but so well-behaved. We marveled at how they lived - and walked around on the stones barefoot as if it were just a regular carpeted area - not having changed clothing the next day. How many days did they wear the same outfit? Their hair was long and crackly dry. The adult men's teeth were all rotted and we thought it must be from the 1,000 cups of extremely sugary tea that they drink all day.

That night the local musicians came over and played oud, rabab and another strange instrument that looked similar but with more strings than a rabab. We took turns singing an assortment of Israeli classical folk songs and what seemed like Bedouin love songs. The friend who drove us there spoke Arabic and went over to the women's tent where the women of that family lived. Muhammad has 2 wives who actually say they get along. They seem to think it not strange at all for a man to have more than one wife. They're also cousins which makes it more familiar for them. They seemed to pity our single friend who lived alone. "They probably think your family rejected you and tossed you out into the big, wide, cruel world," I told her. After all, this doesn't happen in their communities. We were happy to hear that their oldest, a 12th grader, loves school and intends to go to university. In fact, all their kids seem to love school. That struck me more strange than anything. My kids and their friends, couldn't wait to finish their schooling. They certainly didn't love it. They coped with it.

Next day we woke up with the sunrise. We saw the little Bedouin children with their mothers sitting quietly outside their tin shack. Again - quietly. So surprising for me. The goats went out of their pen and Muhammad made some goat-like noises to get them back to where they belong. After a breakfast of fresh piping hot Bedouin pita, tea, coffee and cucumbers and tomatoes (no labane until the Spring, because the goats were pregnant, we were told), we headed out in the direction of the Dead Sea. It was a 4 hour hike, through several mountain ridges, with a different magnificent view every time you made a turn. I was happy to go with Muhammad as a guide because he knows every inch of this place. The view to the Dead Sea was beautiful, and on the way, people stopped off at wells and caves for some singing sessions. Luckily, their 2 jeeps came our way and took us back - a 40 minute roller coaster ride over the mountains.

A beautiful weekend spent in an enchanting place in the land of 1,000 cups of tea, in the middle of nowhere.

Traitor or Refusenik

I'm stepping over all these soldiers' duffle bags this morning, dumped in the aisle, trying to get off the bus. They're all going back to their base from home. My son is now in military jail and I get different responses from people, depending on their politics. I hear my left wing and Palestinian friends tell each other excitedly "Do you know her son is a Refusenik!!" and suddenly I'm a hero, even though I live over the green line. My right wing friends and family are disgusted with him because he's wasting his life because he's not serving his country. He's a traitor in some of their eyes. Some say you can't even find work if you don't have army service on your CV. I think that's mostly my concern more than any others...

Truth is - he's neither a traitor nor a Refusenik. He just wants money. He's nearly 21 years old and doesn't want to earn a soldier's measly salary of $100 a month. If he's a combat soldier, it jumps to a giant $200/month. He's not combatting anyone and so it's $100 only. While AWOL he found people willing to hire him for sporadic waiter jobs in ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods. They coudln't care less about AWOL soldiers.

Life is fun in military jail - they do nothing during the day and at night, he and his 3 roomies watch either soccer or whatever film is on the national station. The food is edible with chocolate spreads and pudding for breakfast, which he doesn't even get at home. But he's itching to go out and work because "girls will only go out with me if I have a car." Even here in the Middle East,the chicks are spoiled.

Lately, I've heard that there's an army program which lets you work for 9 days and then do army for 5 days. The program is called 9/5 or something like that. Looks like there'll be some compromise and he'll be neither a "refusenik" or a "traitor" to his country.

a very different tour of Jerusalem

I thought I had seen it all. I have toured Jerusalem countless times. Even though I live here, I still sometimes feel like a tourist, rather than a resident. It's the wonder and beauty of Jerusalem that does it to me every time.

I saw a post on Facebook that there will be a dual-narrative tour from Mejdi , and I thought that this would be a unique tour and would give me different perspectives, and maybe I'd even learn a thing or two.

Lucky it is still summer and work at the office is slow, so I was able to take the day off. Through Facebook, 3 other friends of mine found out about the tour and joined too, as well as connecting with a few other people whom I hadn't seen in a while - from the wide circle of peace people.

Standing on a scenic hill by Mt. Scopus, the guides, one Palestinian and one Jewish, began their narratives. They went something like this...

"Remember when the tunnels by the Western Wall were dug? They sparked riots from the Palestinians who were nervous that the Israelis would destroy the buildings above the tunnels or try to get to the Temple Mount from the underground passage."

"Riots?? They weren't riots. They were protests." remarked the Palestinian guide, and explained that language is a big part of the dual-narrative, that it's used in different contexts for both Jews and Arabs. He called cities over the green line "settlements" and she called them "communities". And so it went on like this for the day.

At Ammunition Hill, standing by a tank, one Jewish member of Mejdi told us of the dilemma he faced as a young soldier during a covert operation. On the hill was a young Arab boy reading a book. The soldier didn't know what to do with him, and called his commander who told him to tie the kid's hands and feet together. Of course, the child was terribly frightened. The soldier pondered whether to untie the child or not, looking back and seeing how terrifying this was for the poor kid who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The soldier returned, untied the kid, who promptly ran as fast as he could to his village, obviously alerting the people to soldiers in the area. Needless to say, the operation failed, but this guy had cleared his conscience.

We stopped by a t-shirt shop in the Muslim quarter and the guide explained about the cartoon character Handala on one of the t-shirts. I knew nothing about this. The t-shirt merchant swung both ways,as many do in the old city, catering to all, with Free Palestine t-shirts next to Uzi Does It and Don't Worry America, Israel is behind you. When we remarked about the pro-Israel t-shirts, the merchant looked flustered..."They make me sell them!! They make me sell them!" Who makes him sell them, we never found out, but who knows what he thought of us. The unknown could be quite scary.

The funniest part of the tour was when our Palestinian tour guide ended up at the Western Wall and put on a kippah. The chabad rabbi came up to him.

"What is your name"

"Aziz"

"Azi. Come with me..."

and he proceeded to put on tefillin on the startled guide. He then walked him over to the Wall and said "Pray for whatever your heart desires."

I hadn't gone with them to the Wall, preferring to remain in the shade of the entrance, but heard about it from him, who was like "You'll never believe what I just went through."

I asked him - "So, nu? What did you ask for when you went up the wall?" I smiled because I knew what he asked for. And I was right.

"Free Palestine"

And I, of course, burst out laughing.

The heat is on

Summer has been unbearably hot this year. I usually enjoy the heat, but this year seems to be more stifling, and I'm so much more uncomfortable.

The heat also manifests itself in other ways. Take my son, for example. He's been AWOL on and off from the Israeli army for a year. This past week I was off work on a much needed "staycation", and while he was gallavanting around town with friends in the wee hours of the morning, the military police came twice looking for him. They scared the living daylights out of one of my daughters - by banging loudly on the door and shouting - who opted, as a result, to stay the remainder of the week at her boyfriend's house. Maybe I should be thankful for the military police visit? That's one way to get rid of your kids. I felt like I was in some kind of action film, but not getting paid for it. The first visit was at 12:30 a.m. and the next visit two days later was at 2:00 a.m. I'm sure the intruders felt as if they were in an action film as well.

"His bed is hot! His bed is hot!" one burly guy shouted in triumph. They seemed to think they were hot on my son's trail.

"Why is the bed warm? Who slept in it?" he asked me. I insisted that my son left 2 1/2 hours earlier and maybe the hot weather kept the bed warm. Either that or our new kitten had slept there.

My son had left home at 11:30 that evening, and he stays out all night. I asked them, if they wanted to catch him so badly, why they don't come during the day when he is sleeping? They don't do day catches, one of the soldiers informed me.
Too bad. It's your loss, isn't it? They searched inside our kitchen cabinets and other ridiculous places. Meanwhile, their very powerful flashlights shone on the rooftop of our building, on our neighbor's porch - as they thought he jumped from our terrace onto theirs.

My daughter was embarrassed by the fact that they were on our terrace screaming out his name and neighbors in the building next to ours came out in their undies to check out the scene. She began to cry "Look, all our neighbors are watching this!!!"
I tried to reassure her. "Don't worry. Do you really think that if it happened to them, that dad wouldn't be out on the terrace in HIS underwear watching everything?"

Then the group of 5 military police ran downstairs looking for him in the bushes, where all they found were terrified street cats.

My kids called me up the next day when they heard what had happened and asked if we weren't terrified by the night raid. No. Not really. Next time they come, Hubby promises we'll answer the door in our birthday suits and say it's the heat that's bothering us - not them....but they can search as they please...

Haifa Trip with Arab and Israeli women

Summer has started in Jerusalem. It's hot, it's sizzing during the day, only to cool off quite drastically in the evenings. The weather catches people off guard, tourists especially, and they now know they have to bring sweaters after the sun goes down.

But speaking of non-tourists, I went to Haifa with a group of Palestinian and Israeli women who like to eat. Couldn't find a better group for me. Muslim and Jewish foodies. Fuck the politicians. Women and food will bring peace to the region, I'm convinced of that. The group is called Kitchen of Languages. When I signed up to go on what was advertised as a "trip for Palestinian and Jewish women to Haifa", I had no idea who these people were. I get on the bus with 2 friends - the bus had already picked up the group from the Hebron area, Tarkumia more exactly, and they were already blasting Arabic music and dancing in the aisles. I was nervous beforehand because I just didn't want the group to be "political" because politics stress me out. It was Friday, my day off, I wasn't cooking and I refused to get stressed, especially that I was away from my family. I also found out that these woman could hardly speak any English or Hebrew and they knew as much of those languages as I did Arabic. So no heavy discussions there. I got up and danced, and one of the organizers suggested a dance contest.

"No way" I told her. "I'm not gonna compete with Arab women who've been belly dancing since the age of two."

So I was happy to find out during our trip that this group gets together to cook in each other's homes.

We make a pit stop to pick up some women from Tulkarem and I see some of the women picking a certain kind of weed with short leaves out of the grass.

"What are you doing?" I asked one of them. She understood me enough to answer in halting English.

"We cook with this".

Someone else chimed in - "But you can eat it not cooked"

That's all the English you need to know sweetheart. I just love learning from the natives!! I hoped no dog pee'd on it, I thought, as I put the leaves in my mouth.

We get to Haifa and we put our pot luck lunches on the benches. The Jewish women brought pasta salads, cake, fruit and I brought a rather tasty quinoa salad. I thought let me stick with western food because last time we had a women's Arab/Israeli pot luck, I bought mejeddra and it's certainly nowhere near as tasty as theirs and so half of it was left uneaten. I had more success with "my" food as the whole thing went quickly. The Arab women had homemade bread stuffed with lamb meat. That seemed to be their staple food for the day.

On to the Bahai Gardens where we were met by bilingual guides who spoke mainly in Arabic because there were more of them than Israelis. The gardens are beautiful, but not my style. They're too pristine. I enjoy looking at jungle-like gardens, not perfectly manicured ones. The day was hot and everyone was "schvitzing", especially the covered up Arab women. Once inside the theater where we gathered to watch a short film on the Bahai religion, one beautiful but sweaty woman threw off her head covering yelling "Fish Islam" - which kind of meant "to heck with Islam". I understood and laughed. Of course back on the street her head covering was back on and she was in Islamic mode again.


We landed afterwards on the Hof Hacarmel beach - our entire busload. We plopped ourselves down on a shaded area of the beach and noticed many Israeli Arab families there, staring at our group like we landed from a different planet. The women in these Israeli/Arab families were secular, in bathing suits and I could feel a bit of tension coming from the elderly covered up Arab women from the West Bank towards the Israeli Arabs. They weren't interested in conversing with one another, even though they could speak the same language, and I was frankly surprised. Could that even have been a glare from some of the women towards the Israeli Arab families? I thought I did notice that. I wondered why. What were they thinking? That they're sinners because they're secular? That they're traitors because they're Israeli? That they're jealous because they're Arab Israelis and free to go to the beach whenever they want or to travel all around the country whenever they want not needing permits? It could have been all three.

I watched the surfers - the waves were perfect for surfing and with another woman who couldn't speak my language, nor hers, we walked together, picking up unusual shells and rocks to take back home. I wonder if her family will be jealous that she went to the beach and saw the sea. Most haven't been to the sea since the 2nd intifada - 10 years ago or so.

Back on the bus -less dancing,less animated talking. We were all tired and it's a few hours to get back home - for all of us. But we promised to meet after Ramadan and cook food for each other to our heart's delight!