pocketful of miracles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Petra - last bit

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




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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

Men

My son called me frantically yesterday morning from school.

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

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

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

"What's wrong"

"I don't know"

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

They don't know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Food (and drink) for Thoughts

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

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

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

"Any one. They're all beautiful."

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

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

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

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

"The youngest one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What????"

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

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

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

Arabs and Jews Dancing to Shlomo Carlebach music

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

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

Trip to Petra - Part 2

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

Back from Petra - Part I

I don't know how many posts this trip to Jordan will turn out - but I guess the best place to start is from the beginning.

There were 11 of us in a minivan (which started out in Maghar up in the Galilee) going to the Jordanian border at Aqaba - 4 Moslems, 2 Christians, 1 Druze, 4 Jews. Of course, before the trip, everyone I know had been telling me "watch out" "be careful" because going into an Arab country is always scary for Jews who are, well, frightened of Arabs. I smile at these poor souls and say "thank you" for their warnings. But for me, the Jewish wanderer, it's just another exciting and wonderful adventure into the unknown.



Four hours after leaving Jerusalem we ended up by the Israeli/Jordanian border. Passing over to Jordan from the Israeli side was uneventful. But when we got to the Jordanian side, they held our group for nearly three hours because one of the East Jerusalem women held Jordanian citizenship and Jordanians are not allowed through the Aqaba border (only the Allenby border near Jericho). It took alot of cajoling and persuading the border people that we needed to be at this conference tonight. We weren't about to leave this poor woman behind as the rest of us were allowed entry.

I would have not have minded the long wait so much if this border had an exciting duty-free shop or a restaurant for God's sake. One of the Moslem men told me that at the other border crossing at Beit Shean, there is a really big duty-free shop like the kind you find in Baghdad. Sorry, wouldn't know 'bout that. Not yet, anyways. We wandered over to a place where a sign said "cafeteria" but when we walked in they seemed to stock only 4 different kinds of chocolate bars and some soft drinks.

"Any food here?" we asked.

The guy behind the counter smiled weakly and said "Food?" as if he hadn't seen food since Turkish rule ended decades ago.

But the bathrooms were nostalgic for me because they were the no-toilet type - the "you squat and wash the poop down with water from a bucket" type that we all know and love from India.

I went to the bank to change money. There, lying on the couch, was the cashier/teller.

"Ahlan Wahsahlan" I smiled at him for guiltily disturbing his siesta. I gave him a whole bunch of shekels which he gave back to me in 58 Jordanian Dinars.

"You could have gotten a much better rate in East Jerusalem" said my friend. I'll know for next time.

After I had done all my errands (after all, there was nothing much else to do there except perhaps buy more chocolate bars), I joined our group who had since settled in the border manager's air-conditioned office, seated comfortably in ornate couches and plush seats - old and worn - they once saw a better day - but still ornate in the Arabic fashion. We joked around with him, teaching him a bit of Hebrew. He was very kind and pleasant and patient. This was probably the busiest day he had in months. Perhaps he was happy he had been kept busy because in the middle of his room, in front of his desk, was a 21" t.v.. I especially enjoyed watching the Jordanian Action movie channel he had on. Plus, I added another word in Arabic to my stash of Arabic words that I know which was - Jowiz safar (passport).

Finally, after 2 1/2 hours of calls to the ministry of the interior and other assorted officials, Ms. East Jerusalem was let through and we were only too happy to be on our way to Petra in an old van - with as many flies as passengers.



It took two hours to get to Petra and we watched and photographed the sunset from the van windows. The desert changed to a more green mountainous terrain and when the sun set we got to the Petra Panorama hotel. All of us went to check in and when the reception people took a look at me and then their eyes went over their list of people they had to place in pairs in our respective rooms - they kind of mumbled between themselves and checked in others before me. What was going on??? Seems the event organizers didn't recognize my Hebrew name and had me rooming with a guy.

"Is he young and cute?" I asked. In the end, they put me together with a Palestinian woman, which thrilled me somewhat because I felt it would be more meaningful to room with a Palestinian woman rather than with someone us Israelis have no conflicts with.

Haunted House

"I hate this house. I HATE THIS HOUSE" screamed the Good Daughter, soon-to-be 21 years old, while we were having quality time together over Passover, watching stupid shows like Ripleys Believe It Or Not and Girls of the Playboy Mansion.

We had just heard sounds outside our window, people talking. I peeked my head outside her window and saw - nothing. The lights sometimes flicker on and off.

I mean there ARE some good things about the house - like the fridge that belongs to the landlord, for example. It keeps our food cold, actually. And we finally had ice-cream that stayed frozen rather than watery ice cream than we had for years with our 10 year old now-very-moldy fridge. Having normal ice cream for Passover was like giving the family gold nuggets. They were so happy..

She was generally miserable anyways, I thought. She had made 2 guys miserable by breaking up with them and now someone had just given her the boot which saw ntear-filled tissues all over her bed and floor. I told her no guy is worth crying over more than 48 hours, so she should get all the crying out of the way now.

"All these terrible things are happening to us because OF THIS HOUSE!!"

Sure. They have. I've had soup ladels gone missing, my blue bra, now we can't find our bread knife. Hubby has had next to nothing work since we moved and everyone is horrible to each other.

I'm off to Petra today for an interfaith conference. I've asked the Good Daughter who usually fills in for me in the cooking department if she will make food for the family this weekend.

She was definitely spooked "DON'T RELY ON ME. I'M TOO TIRED TO MAKE FOOD. I'M TIRED OF DOING EVERYTHING FOR THIS FAMILY!"

But Hubby was gentler - "don't worry, we'll figure it all out". He actually is going to get the chef son-in-law to come in for an hour tomorrow to help with the Sabbath cooking.

And meanwhile, I'll be away from this haunted house, leaving my family to bicker and fight over the weekend, while I'll be basking in the sun at Petra, Jordan.

Last Day of Passover

This sure was a different Passover holiday for me. Last year I had wandered around the Jewish quarter of the old city, took my son on a jeep tour of all the ancient Jewish sites around the old city and this year, it was like I hung out with Jesus's disciples. First the messianic Jewish seder and then yesterday, right before the last day of Passover, it was Easter Sunday. Saturday night I watched on television the goings on at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and it kind of frightened me with the holy fire and letting the wax drip down the pilgrims' faces. Besides it's so dark in there. I decided to join my messianic Jewish friends in a much more subdued Easter Sunday service at the Garden Tomb - where Protestants believe Jesus was buried. They said it was an evangelical service in Arabic, which I thought was gonna be kind of funky.

Hubby was getting irritated at my rushing out to do these strange things and it manifested in his answering my kids in the following way...

Kids: "MOM! Where are you going" - see - they don't really care where I am going, they're just friggin' worried that I'm not going to cook a festive Passover meal for them.

Hubby (always being politically incorrect and horribly offensive): "She's going to go get crucified."

Kids: "What is that?"

Me: "Tell you later. Bye" (slamming the door shut)

We parked in East Jerusalem and walked to the garden tomb, which is not far from the American Consulate. I could tell this was a Protestant-type service. Everyone was tall (just kidding), quiet (not kidding) and the Arab "believers" were traditionally late. I sat with the foreigners to get the translation of the Arabic-led service and thought the music was great - mixing traditional hymns sung in Arabic with Darbuka drumming. I didn't sing along because it's difficult for me to sing of Jesus the Lord and Savior in Arabic and even in English when you are just there as an observer, not as a believer. But I enjoyed basking in everyone's spirit and happiness.



I had taken photos and even videos of the ceremony and hymn singing, but we were asked not to publish the photos. I asked my friends later why I couldn't put these videos/photos on my blog. Safety reasons, I was told. What if there were former Moslems who had converted to Christianity and were on their families' shit list? It would be dangerous for them to be ID'd. So for their sake, I dare not publish photos that have people in them or that are clear. You'll just get the tomb photos, folks.

Passover - continued

I have been feeling terribly lethargic for the rest of the holiday. I haven't been energetic enough to do anything besides struggle with dishes and laundry and washing the floor once and yelling at Hubby and Son for peeing on the lower bathroom walls.

We didn't have the bucks to do anything or to go anywhere this year, because the new house drained us every which way and I'm buying food on overdraft. Like thousands of Israelis, I guess. But it's just so not Debtor's Anonymous. How am I gonna face these people next week

I was going to go on a trip to the Golan advertised as just a trip that cost only 40 NIS (less than $10) - all inclusive with a meat lunch, bus, guides, entrance fees - which was incredibly cheap. The email I received said there would be a "central event" in Katzrin with a performer. Then I read in the papers the day before the trip that this "central event" is actually a demonstration and hundreds of people are expected to be bussed in for the event. Hmmm. Well, I don't really like feeling duped, and it's not like I expected a political party not to dupe me - I certainly do - but because of that I cancelled my trip and spent all my time playing minesweeper on my computer which is next to my son's computer. My son's tushy is pasted onto his computer chair and he makes these weird noises and farts and belches constantly to the point where I was wishing I'd be back at work. Is that not sad to be spending your Passover holiday this way?

But anyways, yesterday, while Hubby and son were sitting on the couch belching people's names (Vladimir, Arkady Gaydamak, Boris, Ahmadinejad, etc.) for no apparent reason, I felt I was doing a mitzvah by sending good Israeli music to MidEast Youth's director to put on their radio site. They had good Arabic stuff going on there, but absolutely no Israeli music. And music is one of those things (besides food and laughter yoga) that makes for peace among peoples. So among the stuff I sent, they chose Moosh Ben Ari's "Ya" and Shotei Hanevua's "Ein Ani". Have a listen here

Passover

"Where are you gonna be for the Seder"? asked my brother, who has never invited me or my family to his seder in the 11 years we've been here (and he won't come to my place outside Jerusalem because he likes to invite his 1,875,082 friends over to his).

"By friends"

"Which friends?"

Now he's sounding like my nosy sister. It's none of his business "which friends" because he has no idea who my friends are. He probably thought I'm going to hang out at a Moslem seder. Even though Moslems don't make a seder, he is totally sure that if there was ever gonna be one Moslem family making one, I was sure to find it.

But I couldn't tell him "which friends" because I wasn't sure he'd understand. He'd already made peace with the fact that his nutty baby sister has Moslem and Christian friends. But he still hasn't got a clue that I have a bunch of Messianic Jewish friends as well. That fact is a bit harder for me to "let out of the closet" than anything else. It's akin to bringing home to your Ku Klux Klan papa in the 1960s deep south - a black boyfriend. It's just not done. And I think I'm gonna have alot of 'splaining to do when I have my housewarming party in a few weeks and invite everyone over.

So rather than have a seder with my family alone - which can be fun and depressing all at the same time - I opted to go to our messianic Jewish friends' seder because well

1. I enjoy their company
2. Hubby likes them (an even bigger and rarer feat)
3. The food will be delicious
4. I won't have to do all the cooking and shopping
5. A new experience for me to write about

I didn't have a problem telling all my friends at work where I'm going, though it did cause a lot of raised eyebrows. Messianic Jews are a puzzlement to other "normal" Jews. "Are they Christians?" the co-workers ask. "No, they believe in Jesus as the Messiah, but they are traditional and very spiritual people" I explained. The spiritual aspect is what attracted me to them. Most Jews steer clear of them, fearing their missionary-type agendas - but I look at these people as displaced Jews, not fitting in anywhere in the spectrum, and knowing that the main difference between them and most Jews is only on the identity of who the messiah is. But our commonality is that we both would really like a messiah to come and redeem us. Who wouldn't. Hubby thinks the messianic age is full of fun - like sex and drugs and rock-n-roll. I'm thinking "wow, there'll be no impurity in the world, and I'll be able to have my bacon and eggs again together with spaghetti and clam sauce and fried shrimps." (this based on the chassidic belief that when the messiah comes and there'll be no impurity in the world, animals which were once considered impure will become pure and we can enjoy eating them).

Although I tend to now to find it difficult to believe that any one person can be the messiah and save the world from itself and from its politicians, because how will people accept as a messiah someone who is different from them? Let's say Jesus comes back tomorrow and wanders around Jerusalem, he'd be put straight into Herzog Hospital in the Jerusalem Syndrome department. Think about it. So I have come to the conclusion that I'll have to just wait and see. I've also been thinking that although I would love a messiah to come and save us from our politicians and global warming and nuclear wars, and high taxes, I don't think one person can do it. It would take a real miracle. I tend to think we have to bring that kind of messianic age ourselves, by putting down our weapons, being good and righteous to each other and all the rest of that shit. Then we can usher in a wonderful messianic age all by ourselves and wouldn't have to kill each other over who is the real messiah...

Packing up for the seder, I brought my share of food, wine, grapejuice, hand-made matzot that looked like the kind of matzot the Israelites baked when they ran out of Egypt 4700 years ago, which brought alot of "ooohs and ahhhs" from my hosts because they never saw anything like it before and I grated real white root horseradish for the bitter herbs instead of having the one in the jars. They did go according to the Haggadah for the most part and only added in a few messianic things a couple of times - like instead of "by sanctifying us with your commandments" it was "by sanctifying us with your messiah". I looked through my own haggadah "The Holistic Haggadah" and circled the commonalities about the messiah that I could contribute -like the afikoman representing the redemption, etc. The leader of the seder was joyful that I brought it up and explained that the 3 matzot and the hiding and subsequent finding of the broken middle piece (the afikoman) - where the finder, usually a child - gets a prize - was a sign of the messiah's coming. The seder and explanations were all done in Hebrew, and there was acoustic guitar accompaniment for the Hallel part of the seder. During the mention of the 10 plagues, their teen kids threw plastic plagues on all of us - frogs, bugs,spiders, etc. and for the hail part, (real) pink and white marshmallows. It was a lively and fun seder and lasted for 6 hours. It was already 1:30 a.m. and I smirked at Hubby who said beforehand that he was only gonna stay until 10:00 p.m. We shared all the leftovers and I ended up with three times as much to take home than what I brought.

Next morning my son and I woke up around 10:00 a.m - the rest of the clan were still fast asleep.

"They did it differently than others didn't they?" asked my son.

I braced myself for alot of explaining to do.

"Why do YOU think it was so different?"

"Because they didn't say all of the parts of the haggadah"

"Oh. And I breathed a sigh of relief as I bit into a slice of the ancient-looking hand-made matzah smothered in butter.

Hiking by Kibbutz Be'eri

I seem to be hiking monthly these days. Spring is here, which means there's a few weeks of erratic, schizo weather before it turns scorchingly hot and I won't want to hike anywhere.

Jerusalem Mosaic hiking club were doing this rather easy hike, along gentle hills near Kibbutz Be'eri (a kibbutz founded in 1946), which is 3 miles from Gaza. The British built roads here pre-State-of-Israel and stored their ammunition here, as well as having a sulphur factory. The scenery was quite different from one moment to the next.

So let's get to the photos:



There were several German Shepherd dogs guarding the premises at the Kibbutz. Why? I asked the guide. His explanation was that the Kibbutz was just 3 miles from Gaza and this was to prevent infiltrators. BUT - then I hear Israel's biggest printing press is behind the barbed wire. And this is where the bills from the electric company, the phone company and other major sources of annoyances come from. No wonder they need security dogs.




Wild horses couldn't drag me away....lovely to see this in the middle of nowhere, eh?




Hiking along the sand dunes...


The old British sulphur factor


I'm happy to report that we hiked much faster than this snail on the grass.






- seems to be a ruin of an Arab village or home here


- the homes of Gaza in the distance. This rural area of Gaza seems quite pastoral, unlike the inner cities where chaos seems to reign.

Landlord Blues

I've been renting in Israel for over 11 years. There have been recent articles in Haaretz on the pros and cons of renting vs. buying. But let me tell you, renting in Israel is the absolute, absolute pit of the pits. There's nothing more horrible and unsettling and nerveracking than this. Most apartments are owned privately and these private owners occasionally rent out their property to tenants for leases - 1 year at a time. We have had landlords from hell - our first landlord - where we rented an old dump with an overgrown, unattended-to, giant garden. We deposited security money with him and nearing the end of our one-year lease, he complained of "damages to the garden". This is a ploy to try and keep your security deposit. We learned fast. Fortunately, hubby is handy at lawnmowing from those lush lawns in Toronto and we proved him wrong by planting grass seeds and watering the new grass and were fortunate to have before and after photos which showed his words to be foolish talk.

The 2nd apartment we rented was from a family from the foreign ministry who were overseas for two years. We were like "WOW! What stability. We can actually stay in one place for more than one year...YIPPEEEE!" They had 2 children and we had 5. We thought we did a decent job of cleaning their home after we moved out, but they muttered that they had to "really clean" up after we moved out and why did we shut off the electricity? I had no idea you just transfer it back to the owners, I just thought you cancel your account and close it up. So they had to contend with the messiness of opening up the electricity once more.

The 3rd apartment we rented was miraculously also for 2 years - but the layout was horrible that we had our livingroom on the 2nd floor. But his brother wanted our place so we had to move out.

The 4th apartment we rented was from a builder whose office said they'd Never Ever sell it. That was 5 years ago. We were in renter's heaven. We were free, we were stable, our family could get their shit together and we didn't have to be saddled with high mortgages, etc. But in August they called and said they wanted to sell. We were mortified and pleaded with them. We even offered them higher rent but to no avail. We had to re-rent.

Alas, there are hardly any 4 bedroom apartments in our neighborhood to rent. I shared this ordeal with you, I am sure, on some previous nightmarish post. So we decided to go for the plunge and buy. Which we did and we cannot wait to move into a place of our own - where we can be as messy, or as clean, or as noisy, as we'd like, and where we can stay until the messiah comes. It sounds too good to be true.

But meanwhile, we had to rent apartment #5 until our own place is ready. This was a lease for 4 months. This has to be the craziest of all places I've ever rented. She's not quick to fix anything and every time we turn the hot water switch on, the fuse blows. She asked for all her rent up front too and charged us a fortune because we needed a place for a few months and not a full year. She wanted all her bills paid even before the due date. She's a pain in the ass landlady.

This landlady wants to rent her apartment after we move out and she wants to sell it too. So she or an agent or a potential renter/buyer is calling me up nearly every day wanting to see the place. Sometimes they show up and sometimes they don't - and this is when my kids feel - "why did I have to clean this place up for nothing". But at least I get to have a clean house. Last night an agent called me and brought us 5 South American people traipsing through the house at dinnertime. Everything was "mucho bueno." Hubby was sitting in front of the telly saying "Shouldn't we put a limit on these people coming to our house at all hours?" He's having many a "house invasion" moment.

But I'm feeling so lethargic about the whole thing and don't mind the daily showings of the house - it's not that disruptive for me. Because I'll be moving out soon, to a permanent place - and will be pitying the renter that has to rent one year at a time.

teen interfaith

Thanks to Esra'a from Middle East Youth for sending me this link .

Anyone interested in joining or having their kids join? Unfortunately, my kids aren't interested right now in repairing the world type of thing. They want to get up late, earn money, buy clothing, go to parties, go to clubs - but to sit and actually discuss worthwhile things? Nah.... Maybe when they're older. Much older.

From Bethlehem to Jerusalem

There was an interfaith gathering this past Thursday evening at the charming Austrian Hospice on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. We had planned to meet with the people of the Hope Flowers School in El Khader/Bethlehem to discuss the very pleasant (to me anyways) and expansive subject of food in our traditions. This was supposed to be an overnight thing with the retreat ending on Friday noon. But I had already booked myself for a hike in the Negev the following day so Thursday night was the only night I could join.

Sure enough, 10 minutes before I was due to leave work, my boss calls me from the US chattering away, but lucky for me, and by the good Grace of God, the phone connection went dead about 2 minutes into the phone call. I tried calling her back on her cellphone, the good soldier that I am, which was disconnected. For those that don't believe, let me tell you, there really is a God. I was thus able to leave at 4:00 to get me to Jaffa Gate by 4:30, where I met a fellow Jewish interfaith participant. We walked through the busy market on David Street, then through the Christian quarter admiring things we hadn't noticed before even though we've been there millions of times, which led the shopkeepers to believe we were tourists.

The meeting was supposed to begin at 4:00 pm and it was already 4:45 pm. We were uncomfortably late and went up to the salon at the 2nd floor to join our meeting, as it's usually held there and walked in on about 100 teens. Ooops. Wrong meeting. They were obviously European/Austrian because you could hear a pin drop in there - not so a case when you put even 10 Israeli teens together.

Finally a small contingent from Bethlehem came in after 5:00 pm. They had trouble at the checkpoints - the usual story. However 7 more people were supposed to arrive and although the office of our interfaith group got permits for them to come to Jerusalem through the Bet El army (North of Jerusalem) which is the main place to obtain permits for Palestinians to come through, these guys had to come through the Gush Etzion checkpoint which is South of Jerusalem which gets the orders from the Bet El office. The group had waited from 10:00 am - 2:00 pm patiently and no permit had come through for them from Bet El. Even though phone calls were made back and forth, they were turned away after waiting four hours for a permit that had been gotten for them. We all felt terrible about this. Here are people coming through for a dialogue with Israelis and they get turned away. We were told by the Palestinians it all depends on who is at the checkpoint that day. They may not have even checked if permits were given at all and just played around with them and made them wait for 4 hours. Turns out the ones who did make it through were one big family who all had long-term permits already and didn't have to get new ones. Their contingent was a husband/wife/mother-in-law/3 children who were the lucky ones to be allowed in. But even though they had permits, they were valid for 12 hours during the day and past 7:00 pm at night they could not wander around Jerusalem. They were put up at the hostel for free.

After going around the table introducing ourselves and listening to the checkpoint ordeal, it was time to eat at the Hospice cafeteria. The woman from Bethlehem had 3 small kids, was pregnant and her 1 year old was screaming. The kid was putting his fist in his mouth. A universal sign of teething. His mother thought he had an ear infection and I knew he was teething. In any case, the stern-faced Austrians and guests at the cafeteria were not pleased with the kid screaming and looked terribly uncomfortable. What a difference between us and them and I don't mean Jews and Arabs. When a child screams in agony, you'll have us Middle-Easterners meddling in trying to see what's wrong and what can be done to help. But the Europeans didn't really seem to want to mix in and were noticeably annoyed at screaming ruining their meal. We (the Israeli Jews and Palestinian Arabs) shrugged our shoulders, offered to hold her kid and then let him scream until he fell asleep. I had seen and felt another commonality with my Palestinian sister and a much deeper difference with the European ones.

My friend on the other hand, was flipped out and uncomfortable over a statue of Jesus facing her and asked me to switch places with her.

"Oh stop that" I teased her. "He's Jewish!!"

We grouped together afterwards and heard about stuff we already knew - Moslems and Jews don't eat pork, we can eat giraffes and deer (but who would), they can eat strange game meat too as long as it's not a predator animal like a lion or tiger. We can't eat shellfish, they can. We can't eat milk and meat together. They can. But it didn't matter if I already knew this stuff. It was good to be together and strengthen our bonds.

Beware The Broom Burglar of Nachlaot

There have been a rash of home burglaries over the past couple of months in central Jerusalem - so much so that the police have set up a special task force to investigate what has been happening and hoping to catch a thief or two or a few, if they're lucky.

Jerusalem email listings have nearly daily reports of homes that have been burglarized and shrewd enterpreneurs are popping up in the same email lists - listing their security alarm services.

I'm comfortably ensconced in a suburb of Jerusalem where maybe a burglary happens maybe once a month - not several a day. But when I visited a friend in Jerusalem this afternoon she related to me her experience the night before.

"So I was woken up by this noise at 3:00 in the morning and saw a broom hovering over my bed trying to unplug something. I totally freaked out."

"Oh my God. What did you do?"

"I slammed the window shut and yelled 'what the HELL do you think you're doing?!!' but he had already gotten the broom out."

I tried to think of witty things she could have yelled at him like "I'm not hiring for Passover cleaning until tomorrow morning, jerk!"

I told her - "Jeez, you have absolutely nothing in this place. What could he have wanted?"

I looked in her room and saw a few books and clothing. There was underwear on the top shelf.

"Maybe he was a pervert and wanted to steal your undies."

"I think he just wanted to 'clean' me out with his broom"

We laughed at the spectacle of this broom sneaking in through her window. Like those cartoons I used to see of electrical razors chasing people. Her dog was at a friend's and I thought he would have protected my friend with his barks.

"Nah, he's afraid of brooms. He would have just hidden under my bed"

Choices

At work my boss held a viewing of "The Devil Wears Prada" during a staff lunch. Hubby was certain it was gonna be my final day at work since I did make a comparison a while back to the difficult Miranda character and perhaps she was onto me. Either she read my blog or saw the movie and saw the similarities herself - who knows. But anyhow, after the film we chatted about my previous glamor job at Sire Records in New York City and the feeling one had about being caught up in the whirlwind of glamorous parties, free tickets to everything cool and being on every New York City guest list. It was a glorious few years for me too in the late 1970s, early 1980s, when NYC was at its decadent party best. Ms. boss told me she also felt she had a glamor job at the beginning - but I can't see how you can compare being glamourous in academia with the entertainment industry. No way can they be in the same league.

But in the movie, Miranda talks about "choices". You make the choices which get you to where you want to go. Fair enough. I've done that often.

Yesterday morning I was reading the papers about Sean Lennon (son of John for those not in the know) coming to Israel for a Saturday night gig at Hangar 11 in Tel Aviv. In fact, Friday morning, as I was reading the papers at 9:00 am, he was already here and set to do a book signing at the Third Ear record store in Tel Aviv at 1:00 pm. Ahh choices. Should I go? Should I not go? If someone would have been my partner-in-crime and carted me off with them, there would have been no question, but to have to get dressed and maneuver my way through Tel Aviv - not an easy feat for a Jerusalemite - is energy burning.

And you might ask - why would I care so much about seeing a young man, whose music I never heard, who is the son of a legend?

Well, there's history behind all this. Before my glamor job, I spent the summer of 1970 doing my Beatles thing. I was 14 years old and told my folks I wanted to stay home that summer and not go to sleepaway camp. I'm sure they were miserable with my choice being that they had carted me away to summer sleepaway camps since I was 8 years old. And now I was back home and that left them with, well, a teenager to deal with. So much for THEIR summer vacation.

I had been Beatle mad since 1968 and collected everything about them. In the summer of 1970 (or was it 1971?) before John and Yoko moved into the Dakota apartment building, the couple stayed at the Plaza Hotel for a few months. I found out about this through older friends of mine. The girls were about 18 - 21 years old and I had "proven" myself to them when I happened to find out where Paul McCartney was recording the album Ram at CBS recording studios. I had cut school and sauntered over there in the freezing weather to see him walk in and out of the studio and watch him be gruff with his few fans that were there (between 2-6 of them). None of us wanted to bother him with photo-taking and autographs. We felt that if we didn't act like nuisances, he might, well, talk to us, invite us into the studio, have pity on us because we were freezing, etc. None of that did happen, but since I acted like the rest of the girls hanging outside, not taking photographs, not getting autographs, not yelling "OMG IT'S HIM!!!!", I was allowed entry into their exclusive clique. And that meant more to me than getting a useless autograph.

Throughout that year and the next and the next - I would get calls that one of the Beatles (even though they had already broken up by that time) had arrived in New York, with their whereabouts and I would choose whether I'd want to hang around there or not. I remember the fans being too shy to approach any of these guys, but I wasn't. One of the girls handed me a Beatles t-shirt circa 1964 and told me to give it to John. He walked out of his hotel - and I handed him the t-shirt. I told him "I know the Beatles are dead and all that - but you can have the myth". He laughed and gave me a warm 'thank you'. Another friend of mine gave him a Dr. Seuss book which we saw him reading in his limo. We had read his books "In His Own Write" and "A Spaniard in the Works" and thought his writing was so cleverly written, and similar to Dr. Seuss books in a way, but of course more clever and wittier than Dr. Seuss. Once Yoko had her driver buy us all milkshakes and I, of course, was eternally grateful. She had been in my good books ever since.

In 1975, when Sean was born, one of my closest friends was a nurse at the ICU unit where he was and gave me hourly updates on what was happening and who she saw and how cute the baby was, etc.

So these are some of my memories of my teenage summers in NYC and there are lots more. I had some photos that people had taken through those years (not me - I didn't take the photos - remember - I was trying to act 'cool') and thought of digging them out and giving them to Sean. I didn't think anyone else in Tel Aviv would have given him such a meaningful gift as I would have. My mind started drifting. He's a handsome 31 year old and I thought of bringing with me some of my hot daughters so that he would fall in love with them and stay in Israel. But I chose to take it easy that Friday and just stay put where I was. Had I been younger and had more energy, I might have taken the other choice. But maybe Hubby will chauffer me to Tel Aviv tonight, let me hear what this young whippersnapper of a man sounds like and maybe I'll hand him that envelope of photos of his dad. Maybe. Or maybe not.

Girls

Yup. "What the hell is THAT?" I asked myself as I did the laundry and saw this thing that measured 6 inches long and 8 inches wide. It looks like a skirt. I placed it up to my waist and it didn't even cover the crotch area. My daughter sees this and tells me "You don't wear it up so high. You wear it around your hips." It still wouldn't make much of a difference, would it? I mean look at it. It's a micro micro mini and that's what these kids wear to parties? HELP!!!!

"I'm siiiick" croaked mini-skirt's owner into the phone today. "Call the docta fa me." Her voice was so croaky that the receptionist who answered her call was puzzled.

"That was a GIRL???"

Yup and my girls - all of them - have been giving me a run for the money lately. One of them, not happy with her non-sagging "A" cup, wants a boob job and is saving up towards it.

"How do you know the plastic surgeon is any good"

"Because I saw two girls who had theirs done by him and I like what I saw"

"They showed you their boobs?"

"Yes. After you get your boobs done, you show them to everybody."

Great. That's just what a mother wants. A daughter who shows her boobs to everybody.

a very special school

Thanks to my friend Esra'a, the head honcho at MidEast Youth who sent me this link about a really wonderful school in London, England with mixed Arab/Jewish pupils. It's really worth the read.

a different kind of birthday celebration

Eliyahu celebrates his birthday every year in Jerusalem. This year, this Jerusalem Peacemaker invited not only his Orthodox Jewish friends from the Jerusalem area, some coming from the settlement of Bat Ayin, but also his Palestinian friends from Ramallah were there, having received a special permit to come into Jerusalem to celebrate with him. As well, Palestinian musicians from Sawahare, outside of Jerusalem were also granted permits for this evening. There was a Jordanian couple there, who were studying at the Hebrew University - he is researching the Jewish community of the Jewish quarter in the Old City and claims he is the first Jordanian doing any research on Jews in Israel.

The special guest that evening was a Moslem visitor from Iraq, who was here because his young child needed urgent medical treatment and he received a special visa for this. He is very grateful that his kid was healed here and hopefully he will bring that thankfulness over to his country and tell his people we in Israel aren't all ogres (we are sure they hear that over there). People were curious, and asked him all sorts of questions like "did he meet any Iraqi Jews while he was here?" "Did his view of Israel change now" "What did he think of Israel beforehand".

The organization that brought his child here is called "Shevet Achim" translated as "tribe of brothers". Once the child is found to be operable, the organization obtains visas for the child and one parent.
Representatives of the organization were recently in Jordan meeting about 30 families whose children desperately needed medical attention of the kind that could only be found in Israel, with their advanced medical techniques and, well, Jewish doctors. You can't find Jewish doctors in Saudi Arabia so one's gotta go where one's gotta go!

There was woman from Bustan Leshalom an environmental justice group, based in the Negev, working mostly with Bedouin communities. The group seeks to restore an environmental balance together as well as fight injustices such as home demolitions which are rampant in the Negev as many Bedouin live in unrecognized villages and are forced to move into townships. Often their homes get razed if they don't move.

Palestinian representatives of Combatants for Peace were there. Eliyahu remarked how it is easier for Suleiman to be a head of a Palestinian peace movement as he was in an Israeli jail for 10 years and therefore, he wouldn't be considered a collaborator, as some are considered by their own if they join up with Israelis for some activity or another...



And of course there was food. You can't have Jews and Arabs together without food. Pasta salads, fruit, popcorn, cakes, baklava, pizza - it was a potluck and a potpourri of all sorts of things you can shove in your mouth. The music was great - Jewish musician Rebbe Soul provided the Jewish side of tunes and Mohammad and Mochi performed wonderful oud music.

I wondered out loud if there was a way we could not only gather together for Eliyahu's birthday - but wouldn't it be nice if we all lived in the same apartment building together. Where's Arkady Gaydamak when you need him to buy up apartment buildings and put Jews and Arabs in them together to make beautiful music together. We saw tonight it can be done.

Uncovering yourself

“That’s it. I’ve had it. I’m letting it all hang out.”

I overheard this conversation from where I was sitting in my office coming from the receptionist. Curiosity overcoming me, I came out to see what she was letting hang out. Quite newly married and an orthodox Jew, she had begun her married life covering her hair, which is a very difficult thing to do for most women, unless they are born into an orthodox lifestyle and look forward to shopping for wigs or hats and scarves, depending on how one wishes to cover one’s hair. But she had had enough and missed having her hair drape around her neck.

“Was it difficult for you?” I asked. “What about your friends where you live? Can they accept the change?”

“I only do it when I’m out of the neighborhood. I’m not comfortable uncovering my hair where I live.” But when she moves out of that neighborhood, it’s all coming off.

I completely understood where she was coming from.

Back in Toronto, I was a Hassidic woman, covering my hair with a wig, or actually quite a few wigs, because I never stopped being funky. I had a short one, a long platinum blonde one, a reddish one - medium length and an assortment of head scarves called Snoods. But after I cut out of the Hassidic lifestyle, I began to let go. The first step was uncovering my bangs. It horrified the hell out of some of our neighborhood rabbis and some even stopped speaking to me. I was on my way to hell and they didn’t want to be associated with me, I was sure.

After our move to Israel, the rest of the head covering came off after Rabin was murdered by an orthodox Jewish guy and I didn’t want to be associated with the group of people who wanted Rabin dead. It was easier if people couldn’t figure out how to label you.

But going back to Canada to visit my sister, I had to don my snoods again because her husband is the principal of an ultra-orthodox day school and if anyone in their neighborhood got wind of the fact that a sister-in-law of the rabbi was not ultra-orthodox and wasn’t a “head coverer” - oy vey - they would have problems marrying off their kids/grandchildren because it would cause a blot on the family’s “perfect” status. So I didn’t mind playing along for the sake of my family.

I know how terrifying it could be for this newly-married woman who uncovers her hair now to bump into a relative, where she least suspects it and then the secret is out. This happened to me at the beginning too. It felt funny and sometimes I’d avoid that person by running into a store, turning my head the other way or who knows what, but I really didn’t want some relatives to know that I’ve gone off the path.

But we’ve come to some compromise now. When the ultra orthodox relatives visit me in Israel, I don’t cover my hair, but I don’t wear trousers when I see them because I think that is even more mortifying for them than head coverings and I put on a dress/skirt so they are more at ease.

But I often wonder what about Moslem women who decide to uncover their hair and stop wearing the hejab. Do they also put it on in front of their more devout relatives? Do they freak out when they’re uncovered and bump into friends/relatives they don’t want to bump into? Do they run into stores to avoid them like I did?

I Quit

Well I Hubby would have said this about his smoking two years ago. Now that we're in the market for mortgage insurance, because he's a smoker it is DOUBLE the cost of mine. How's that for an incentive to quit?

We thought about it at work today.

"Well I do have life insurance on him. Should I just let him croak?"

"When they get ill from lung disease, it's a slow and painful death." said a co-worker

"Oh shit. Which mean's of course that I'LL be the one taking care of the bugger if that should happen."

Not good. Not good at all. There's some place around town that advertises a 90% success rate for stopping smoking. That's a good enough percentage for me. And they offer a money back guarantee if it doesn't work. It's expensive - about 4 months worth of ciggies. But then, after that, we'll see the money he spent on ciggies going for something more worthwhile - like clothing or restaurants or - furniture for our new place, instead of having to bring into the apartment dog-eaten chairs, and chewed up couches and a ratty-looking dining room table. Now there's an idea.

Plus in two years, his insurance mortgage can be cut in half.

Why didn't I think of this before?

gramma

I don't know if I'll call myself gramma, savta, bubby but I will be calling myself one of those come this July when my eldest daughter gives me a grandchild.

I knew about this for a while, but was sworn to secrecy, even from my children, until the 16th week hit.

When she took her pregnancy test in October, she told me she thought she was pregnant, her period was like 8 hours late or something ridiculous like that. Our family doctor had been on sabbatical for a year, and had no idea she had gotten married in the interim. When he walked in with the results, his face looked gloomy.

"I don't know if this is good news or not"

"What is going on?" asked my daughter.

"Well, you're pregnant" he said sadly.

"I'm SO HAPPY!!!"!! she shouted at him.

It was his turn to go "Huh?" and then she told him it's ok - she had gotten married in June and his mood definitely lightened up.

Then it was absolute torture for me not to tell a soul. Not even Hubby, though I managed to persuade my daughter to let me tell him 3 weeks later. I told a best friend at work, whom I know kept her mouth shut. On Thursday, I brought in to work a lumpy photograph of the fetus taken at the latest 16-week ultrasound. Its head, arms and chest were clearly visible.

"Would you like to see a photo of my grandchild?" I asked everyone and they all raised their eyebrows like "WTF?" I explained it's 16 weeks in the making and that's how everyone at work found out...

I thought of hiring labor coaches and my daughter asked me what was doing about that.

"Honey, I really think labor coaches are for women who don't have their mothers around. I'll be happy to massage your lower back, to breathe with you through your contractions and give you ice to suck on."

She thought and remembered the time I took her to the hospital nearly 15 years ago when she was 8 years old to watch me give birth to her brother. She remembered giving me ice too. Now the tables turn...

But she still worries and asked "How will you know what to do?"

"Because I've been through this five times, THAT's why." I still remember the pain, but it was wonderful pain. She doesn't understand how excrutiating pain could be so beautiful and wonderful. But she will.

A girlfriend for my son

For the past couple of months my son has been telling me he has a girlfriend. He is turning 15 next month and girls had never really been on his mind. Just computers and icq and soccer. But his teen mind is expanding and although I never met the girl formally (he never brought her home), he shows me messages they write each other, which I think is sweet.

But then he tells me she isn't that good-looking and there are prettier girls than this one.

"So why are you going out with her?"

"She ran after me. She's the one who wants to go out with me."

Oh, I see.

"What do you talk about when you go out?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

I guess talking isn't what he's into. They probably just walk alongside each other with nothing to say. I can see it. Two computer geeks have found each other.

He pointed her out to me in the supermarket last Friday.

"Right, she's not pretty?" he asked me.

I thought she was really pretty. Long dark hair, nice features but they didn't speak to each other, just a shy "hi" when they passed each other. Perhaps it was she was with her Argentinian father. Perhaps she's not ready to meet the folks of his yet either.

Later that evening, we teased him for being shy with her in the supermarket and the fact that they don't have these verbal conversations.

But I see him "chatting" away until the wee hours of the morning on ICQ. With her. She types and he types. And if they ever get married, they'll send each other typed messages and SMS's when they want to tell each other something - like pick up the kids this afternoon or buy some milk and bread when you come back from work.

But it looks like they won't be speaking much to each other soon.

Not those two computer geeks.

Palestinian-Israeli Comedy Night

I got an email two weeks ago about this small tour taking place and what enjoyable news it was for me. I had been toying with going plowing and planting with Palestinians, but sometimes that can be scary and stressful (not because of the Palestinians either), and because of the stress in my everyday life, I need something not-so-stressful. So when this item came up I immediately forwarded it to everyone I knew who was into peace activities.

The show I went to was last Thursday night at the beautiful American Colony hotel in East Jerusalem. The place was packed with many journalists there, curious as everyone else there, how this tour came about and who were these joksters anyways.

I went with my girlfriend because Hubby has been a troll of late and they don't like to laugh much. There was free wine and chips/pretzels at the entrance, and I thought if I had a couple of drinks (and probably the comedians thought so too), I'd loosen up and laugh a lot more.

Turns out I didn't need those drinks. The guys were so funny, my stomach hurt and my voice was hoarse from laughing for 2 hours straight.

There were 4 comedians - 3 Jewish, 1 Arab. Pretty much summed up the way the audience turned out as well. A smattering of Arabs and a whole bunch of Jews.

First up was Aaron Freeman, an African-American convert to Judaism, who had us in stitches about reactions to his converting - "Why? What they really want to say is "what's wrong wit' you!! You didn't have enough trouble? You want to be an extra credit target for the Ku Klux Klan?" He explained that Ethiopian Jews in Israel have no idea who Martin Luther King was, and after he explained everything to them - a bit of US history, slavery, the 1960s riots, the deep South, segregation, they were like 'Oh we see you Jews suffered too!" or something like that. Whatever. It's much funnier when you hear it live.

Then Charley Warady was explaining how it was for him to make aliyah - and when he passed a checkpoint, he thought it was a toll booth and threw a couple of coins in and drove through only to get shot at..."Gee they get so mad here when you don't have exact change.."

Ray Hanania, the sole Arab comedian, was up next. "I see you (the audience) as potential hostages!" and told us about his harrowing airport experiences because of his Arab heritage. "Are you on my flight?" is a question nervously asked of him by other passengers. And when he went to the bathroom on his flight into Israel, Alan Dershowitz met him on the way back to his seat to explain why there was someone else now sitting in his seat...

Yisrael Campbell, a ultra-orthodox-looking Jew, also a convert to Judaism, was explaining that he was the nephew of Jesus since his mother had been in a convent and it gets up great parking spaces in Jerusalem, like when he goes to the Church of Scotland he tells people - "I'm His nephew." "Oh sure, go right in". On his reasons for converting? "I was a vaguely Catholic but Catholic enough to know that I was going to hell, so I switched religions." He said that Jerusalem's clergy - Rabbis, Priests and Imams all got together to fight to Gay Pride Parade because they pleased "don't affect the peace of our city!" Huh? Where do they live? They don't get together when there are house demolitions in East Jerusalem or bus bombings in West Jerusalem - what brings them together?" He whispers - the Pride Parade.



I know, I should have written all that funny stuff up. But if YouTube works, I'll get it posted there.

After the show I introduced myself to Ray and told him I work in interfaith. He was very interested in interfaith work himself and years ago he said most groups were afraid it could get offensive, sensitive, or whatever, so he never pursued it.

Someone from CNN interviewed me afterwards, asking if I found any of this stuff offensive. I told her absolutely not - I had seen Borat and if I found THAT funny, this surely wouldn't be more offensive, and yes, I did understand Ray's jokes, I understand Moslem customs about multiple wives and burkas, etc. and that we should have more of this sort of intercultural stuff taking place here, but it breaks down barriers.

My friend and I went to the fireplace lounge to have a drink afterwards. The music was soft Arabic music and the waiters were elegant and genteel and made me feel like a princess. I was feeling so high. And I was sad on the other hand that there was so little of these types of evenings where we can just laugh all together at our government and religious customs. I went home by bus and heard two young men in the front of the bus speaking Arabic. It's quite unusual for Arabs to take "that" bus back from Jerusalem over the green line - they probably live in neighboring Azariya, which they did as they got off the bus just before the entrance of our suburban town. And no one hassled them on the bus, or gave a second glance, and I thought it should be like this all the time, shouldn't it. Just a cacaphony of Hebrew and Arabic all the time, everywhere.

Weekend update

Our housing crisis is nearly over. We finally bought an apartment, and it wasn't easy. We had driven the real estate agents bonkers, perused local real estate internet sites daily, called people up to see their homes, nearly made deals on a few of them and ended up buying from a builder. Hubby likes new. Though there were some good things about many of these apartments we saw, there were also not-so-good things. For instance:

"the toilets had been shit in by others before us"
"the house is build into the mountain"
"the bedroom has no windows"
"there's no cellphone connection here"
"it looks like we're living in the basement"
"it's too much of a walk-up"
"don't want to pay agent's fee"

etc. etc.

So we were called in to sign a contract last week. I took off work for about an hour to sign, fully knowing my "Miranda" boss from my office, would get highly upset at me leaving 1 hour beforehand (even though she was at meetings), but at this point having a place to live is more important than appeasing someone who can never be appeased.

Even the signing wasn't easy. Our lawyer trudged in and asked for a receipt when they deposit our checks.

Their sales agent was like "No way. We don't do that."

Our lawyer - "It's standard procedure."

Then they started hurling insults at each other and after 5 minutes of observing this, our lawyer got up and told us "We're not signing today."

Huh? After I put my job in jeopardy by leaving one hour earlier? But after haggling back and forth with their lawyers, we were called back to sign 2 hours later.

I signed about a thousand pages with trembling hands. This whole homeowner thing is so new and so traumatic at 50 when you've never had a home beforehand, and are used to living in other people's places. But I was so elated. No one can tell me to leave because they're selling their place, or blame me for damages to their place when there weren't any. And the kids might even be goaded into being proud of living in their own real home and begin to clean up - but that's a far shot, I know.

We took a look at our home this morning and walked up the 8 flights. The tiles I chose seemed too dark compared to what others had chosen. What to do now? The floors were still covered in sand - and the tiles hadn't been shipped yet to the site. Maybe there's still time to change. I'll be preoccupied with these types of decisions daily until we move in. My daughter walked into her room and said it smelled like shit. I suspect, but I didn't want to inspect up close, that the little dark, sand-covered 'stuff' was indeed shit, perhaps left by one construction worker who didn't want to go down 8 flights to use a port-a-potty. And it will be covered up by tile one day. Some people walk on air. We'll be walking on shit.

We went over to the other building where people already moved in and went up to the 8th floor and asked the owners if we could see how "our" apartment would look like fully furnished. This ain't New Yawk and the people welcomed us into their home and we saw it looked absolutely lovely, once the construction workers' shit is covered and tiles put on and bathrooms finished off. It really looks like a home.

And after 11 years in this country - I think we really could use a home right now. Next step - applying for a mortgage.

Moving – the curse of it all

We had to move homes on Wednesday to a temporary home for a few months, which put everyone in a horrible mood for most of the week up until Saturday – which weather-wise, was warm and beautifully sunny. The place we rented is a villa of sorts, in a neighborhood of private homes which was eerily quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of having lived on a main street for 5 years. There were lots wrong with our temporary housing but we had no choice.

1. No grocery store within easy walking distance
2. No central heating and we are freezing most nights – I had to borrow radiators which only warm up the immediate area
3. No gas for cooking – I had to call up the gas company and they said they'll come in 5 days
4. Ancient kitchen with broken knobs

I likened the place like Tara in Gone with the Wind – AFTER the civil war – when it wasn't the palace it was beforehand, but a worn-out home. Surely our place had also seen better days.

My 18-year-old Chronic Complainer, complained bitterly to the Arab movers on moving day.

"The only thing nice about this apartment is the front door." She cried.

"Great" I told her. "Because when I throw you out of the house, that's the part of the house you'll be seeing most of"

After the move, the movers complained bitterly of not getting enough "baksheesh" (tip) from me. I did give them something but not an enormous amount and don't know if their yelling and screaming was part of the culture or work ethic or what-have-you and Abdullah, my friend, who had hired them for me assured me that I had given enough. But I need to do this again in April/May so I really wanted to go more on the less-expensive side.

The next night Hubby and ex-Criminal daughter were fighting like cats and dogs, and my Son was frightened. I was busy shopping in the supermarket, getting stuff that can be baked or microwaved because I couldn't use the gas-top without gas.

"Mom, come home quickly. I think this house is cursed!!!"

"Honey, I've got a cart full of groceries. You think I want to come home quickly to a cursed house, full of anger and craziness? I'll sit with you when I get back home." I told him and shoved an extra chocolate treat for him in the cart.

On Friday morning I went to the nearest neighborhood grocery store to check it out. The stuff there cost a fortune, but the high concentration of Americans living in the area was evident by what the store stocked – Campbell's Soup, English Muffins, Cadbury's and Hershey's Hot Chocolate and Chow Mein noodles and more and more and more. I saw some familiar faces – all US ex-pats who welcomed me into the area – we like to stick together - and felt immediately more at ease in the new 'hood. One woman whom I hadn't seen in years gave me a very warm "Oh HI!!" and when she heard that we just moved and will probably have to move again in a few months, exclaimed "Moving is such a curse. It is such a curse."

Don't I know it.

And now for the weekend update

It was a harrowing weekend. We have to move on Wednesday into a temporary house for a few months and then God-knows-where-to, which has put everyone in our household in a funk. One nice thing was that we were invited to a dinner at our Messianic Jewish friends' home and I overlooked the fact that Mrs. Messianic Jew is a super-duper housekeeper. Daughter and I glanced at each other while she was cooking and something or other from the pot fell on the floor. It was immediately scooped up and thrown in the trash.

"If that happened in our house, we'd just leave it on the floor."

We giggled like female versions of Beavis and Butthead.

Her place was spotless even though she was cooking for 20 people with nary a dirty pot in sight, and the counters gleaming. I should hate her but I cannot hate anyone that feeds me and lets me take home tupperware-full of leftovers.

But the rest of the weekend should have gone in the trash together with the chicken bones.

Hubby went on and on how "this country fucks you up" and the kids were at war with one another the way teens do.

The 20 year old told on her 18 year old sister -
"MOM! She's using the dryer for only ONE SHIRT!!"

I was livid. It costs a fortune here to use the clothes drier and it is only used when it rains for 3 days straight and the indoor drying rack isn't fast enough.

18 year old took revenge by rushing down to the family computer and deleting everything in the 20-year old's file which included her resume and reference letters.

I was upstairs trying to watch Desperate Housewives and she was downstairs screaming and crying. They don't stop at 20 years of age. I yelled at the 18 year old to get out of the house immediately because an act of damage/destruction to another person's property is the most taboo you can get with me. Of course, she didn't listen and trudged up to her room only to come down later that evening in an outfit that made her look like a cheap hooker. And I really dislike my daughters looking cheap - at least look like an expensive one, dammit. But I knew she put on that outfit just to piss me off because she came down, smirked at me and admired herself in the mirror while I shook my head.

On builders, the messiah and Chinese food

"You really should be blogging this" - said a friend of mine after I updated her on our home purchase escpades.

I've been having blogger's block, I told her. I haven't blogged about anything. We've been negotiating back and forth between the lawyers of our builders and our lawyers and this has been going on for weeks with no result.

"It's like being in a bad relationship" explained my friend.

"Yep, but without the sex" I replied. But then I thought further.

"No wait a minute. There is sex! Why, the builder is fucking us!!" There. simple as that.

The only thing making me happy was the fact that our messianic Jewish friends invited us to their home for dinner. She is making "chinese" and I offered to bring along a big expensive bottle of sake. Not that sake is Chinese but in Israel it doesn't really matter and you can glump together Chinese, Japanese, Thai and Vietnamese food all together - in Jerusalem they think it's the same thing.

My kids were invited as well as they are bringing other guests with kids around the same ages as mine. It's a plot I tell you. But - never mind. I told my daughter, the Complainer, this morning about our friends.

"They think differently about certain things than you and I", I tried to approach this delicately.

"What" she murmured.

"They believe that Jesus is the messiah and son of God and all that."

"So" she answered, aware that they were trying to entice my daughters with very cute guys, "why should I go out with someone who believes in Jesus."

Great question kid - so now I see you are ready to face these people and inform them of your very own savior and messiah which is, of course, the god of parties, discos, dj's, pubs, etc. And then you youngsters can hash it out for yourselves.

Bedouin food - not

Abdullah was standing in front of my house, which surprised me while I walked up the stairs to my apartment. As usual, I expected no one there. And my boy was sleeping and didn't hear him ring. I haven't a clue how long Abdullah waited for me.

As is my style, I generally don't invite guests over during the week because of my hectic life, but as is the style of the Middle East, Abdullah doesn't wait for an invite. He's a single Bedouin man in his early thirties who joins up in various non-political peace activities and is thinking about setting up a Bedouin tent in the vicinity of Maaleh Adumim for camel rides, music, coffee, tea and dialogue.

I chatted with him while I made him Arabic coffee and prepared dinner for my family. I invited him to dine with us. We sat at the table and unfortunately for him this was not Bedouin fare. Not at all. I had served salad, hot dogs with home fries, noodles with veggies and tofu. No kebabs, mejedderah or lamb. He ate a couple of spoonfuls to be nice but the look on his face was miserable. I thought again of that hysterical scene in the Borat movie where Borat thinks the Jews are trying to poison him with their deli sandwich. I hope he wasn't thinking we were trying to poison him. Actually with serving hot dogs for dinner, perhaps we were only poisoning ourselves. But never mind.

If he only just calls a few hours before he shows up at my door, I might even make him the food he is accustomed to....