Telemarketing Queen

"Please leave me alone, I'm having sex with my cake" I muttered to one of my co-workers who was on some ghastly diet and wanted to know how yummy the 3 tiered chocolate mousse cake was that I was eating during our festive birthday luncheon at work.

In fact, eating that cake was reminiscent of "that scene" in When Harry Met Sally, minus all the moaning and groaning. It was that damn good. I dared not eat a second piece because too much of a great thing is, well, just too much.

Meanwhile, the Jerusalem Post has hired some really annoying telemarketers, one of whom had been trying for the past week to sell me some "free" coupons to 20 restaurants that are probably miles away from Jerusalem that I have no use for if I would only give her names and phone numbers of 5 people that would want to have a subscription to the paper. A simple "no" didn't cut it for her. She wanted to know "why is it no"? And I don't have the heart to tell her no, because I probably need an assertiveness training course.

Hubby took the phone from me after I saw a "restricted" number calling me on my pelephone earlier this evening and said "I'm not dealing with this - you take over". Man, was he smooth.

Hubby - "You're doing a great job."

"Really?"

"Yes, your aggressiveness and nudgy-ness will get you far, if not within the Jerusalem Post, then in another organization, but we are too busy to deal with this right now."

She tried to tell him what he will be missing out on in life.

"Yes, I know, you're really doing your job well, but I don't have numbers for you, I don't have names for you, I don't even have animals for you. I have nothing. Life is hard here, it's terrible in fact at times, we're going through alot and we're just too busy to deal with this right now."

After 5 minutes with him, she did understand. I guess it was enough for her to hear how wonderful and hardworking and aggressive she was. He made her out to be the telemarketing Queen and she seemed happy with that.

And I hope we never hear from her or her ilk again.

Cinderella

I'm spoiled. Last week when the Head Honcho arrived from the States to his Israel branch, we were treated all week long to the leftovers from the meetings. And what glorious left-overs they were - smoked salmon, grilled salmon with garlic, filet of this and filet of that, lasagne from one of the best Italian restaurants in Jerusalem (OK, there's not a whole slew of Italian restaurants here, but nevermind). And even though we had to suffice ourselves with the leftovers, it was still like being an exalted factory worker/slave.

And now that he's gone, the kitchen is bare and there are only tin cans of tuna in the cupboard. I felt like Cinderella back in the cinders. I'm beginning to think I'm becoming so narrow-minded that the only things that make me happy these days are food and money. Food is usually easier to come by, but it wasn't today, as I looked at our empty office kitchen.

Back on the home front, my son was in 10th heaven as my daughter's incredibly hunky boyfriend took him to the soccer game at Teddy Stadium tonight. This incredible hunk also has an incredible two-seater BMW and my son was just too elated at not having to go to the game with his mother, who usually likes going to games, but it's definitely not as cool to go with your mother as it is to go with a very muscular, tall guy driving such a wonderful car. I'm sure my son would have wanted all his classmates to see him riding around in such a vehicle with such a chaperone. I do hope he bumps into some of his buddies at the game, for his happy sake.

And my soldier daughter was bitter as we didn't come to visit her at her army base this weekend to bring her food. She always complains but this time she had tears in her eyes.

"My boyfriend's family even came to the base to bring me chicken and you didn't even call" she said to me sadly.

Of course, I was ridden with typical Jewish motherly guilt when my older daughter, the girlfriend of the incredible Hunk, came to my rescue.

"Don't be upset at what she said. You know she always complains about your food, anyway, so why bother bringing it to her?"

Ah, yes, how right you are. I now remember the many complaints I got about "why don't you make it this way and why don't you learn from this one's mother and that one's mother" etc. etc. and I was happy I saved a useless trip to the army base to give my daughter chicken she may have thrown in the wastebasket after all the trouble I would have gone through to get it to her.

Homework and Chores

I've got homework to do. I never thought I'd have to see homework again and was so relieved that I didn't have to go through this shit when I saw the homework heaped on my kids throughout their school years. But I began editing class on Tuesday at Beit Berl, thoroughly enjoying learning this time around, probably because I'm learning by choice and not because my mother (or the Law) made me go. The teachers all took attendance, and one was especially amusing when she called out

"Ruth?"

"Here!" answered Ruth.

"Good. Because without you, we're ruth-less."

Much of that went on during the 4 hour session with this teacher and kept me awake even though I had not much sleep the entire week.

And getting back to the rest of the week.

The school strikes are still on and my son is learning absolutely nothing this year. His tutor wants to tutor him, but I'm like "on what?" He certainly doesn't need any help in homework at the moment. I think I'll just save my money, although the prestigious multi-cultural Anglican school offered to take my son in temporarily while the strike is in effect to the tune of $150 per week, which is unaffordable for me at the moment. It would have been nice for him to be in that environment and learning the subjects in English would have meant that I would be able to help him with homework. But maybe some relative will feel bad enough that he's not learning this year and send me the bucks for him to go to this private school.

And now that we're in an apartment building with 31 neighbors, hubby found some friends. One invited us to his son's brit on Friday where we met other neighbors who invited us for tea on Friday night. Mr. Unsociable actually turned sociable and agreed to go to see them for 1/2 hour, which turned out to be more like an hour.

We spent Saturday getting boxes of kitchen stuff that was in storage since June, up to our apartment and finding a new, finally-permanent home for our long-lost foodstuffs, glasses, coffee mugs, wine glasses and cookbooks. Opening up boxes of food, we found loads of mothlike insects that made their way into the grains and nuts, which totally grossed us out. Unfortunately, they also made their way into my expensive dried burdock and dried tofu packages, which I sadly tossed out.

And, um, I see I gotta go. I still have a few pages of homework to do.

IKEA - Israel style

Saturday night we made the grave mistake of going to IKEA which is roughly 1 1/2 hours from Jerusalem by car. We even had to use our son-in-law's car as our car is useless in the evening because it doesn't go into gear when you turn the headlights on. Go figure what the hell that problem is, we don't have the patience nor the money to find out. So with spending 200 NIS ($50) on gassing up son-in-law's tank we were happily on our way.

We found most of Israel's population parked in IKEA's parking lot when we got there and wandered around happily for an hour looking and jotting down items we wanted for our new apartment. One was a coffee table, another was a bathroom cupboard, a sliding garbage bin for our kitchen and a few other assorted small things.

It was 11:00 pm and the store was closing. I had no idea how things work there. I went to the sales office with my organized list of things to buy and she was like "you have to mark the number on the red sticker which was on the item". So we had to trudge back through the maze to look at the stickers. Unfortunately the coffee table was out of stock as well as the garbage bin's track. We were left with the bathroom cabinet and the mirror we wanted for the hallway. The women at the sales desk told us we'd have to go back to the department for the bathroom cabinet, make the order there, go back and pay them here and the wait for the item is just a mere two more hours.

"but that'll be after 1:00 am. Hubby just shrugged and was willing to wait it out, but knowing him, he'd get miserable after an hour of waiting and waiting (or in reality after 15 minutes of waiting and waiting - such is the character of many men) and I really didn't want to get home at 2:30 am having to get up for work at 6:00 for Sunday (yup, working on Sunday is still a drag - even after 12 years of doing it).

At least I had my mirror. Hubby was pissed off by this time and walked way ahead of me with "I'll meet you at the car" and adding "and don't even fucking buy anything in this fucking place." But I went towards the "get-it-yourself" warehouse to get my mirror as I had the location on hand. I saw it. I was thrilled. There was one left. I gently took it down and saw ......that the mirror - the last mirror in stock - was cracked down the middle.

So it seems the gods of Perpetual Spending somehow didn't want us to go shopping at IKEA for whatever reason....

Back in the Holy Land

"WELL DO YOU WANT ME TO HELP YOU OR NOT???" yelled the shuttle bus driver at me as he gruffly loaded my luggage onto his minibus from the airport in Tel Aviv. It was a rough landing home.

Yup, I'm certainly not in Kansas or, rather, San Francisco, anymore. Where the people politely line up to go up the escalator on the right side only in order to let everyone pass on the left and where I saw a kind Far-Eastern woman ask a homeless man if he needed anything to eat, and where I heard no public yelling and where people seemed generally happy, earthquakes and all.

The bus driver was rotten to everyone on the bus, complained about having to take everyone to where they needed to go ("too far in" "taking too long" "can't turn the bus around") and didn't want to take me home, because I live on the outskirts of Jerusalem. But he did flag down a cab where at least the Arab taxi driver was polite and I wished him an Eid Mubarak. He looked surprised that I even knew they had a holiday that day - such is life here.

Hubby treated me like Queen for a Day and then afterwards I reverted back to my role as the Spouse with the Louse.

Married daughter didn't leave me much time to get over jet lag before she asked me to babysit while they went to a wedding, but the grandkid now looks like a big baby buddha. And if he's fed (which is often), he's grateful and smiles and gurgles enough to make the heart melt. But it was my turn to be grateful as she made Friday night dinner and Saturday lunch for all of us instead of running over to her mother-in-law as is her weekend tradition.

I just thought of how funny my trip began when I noticed how Ben Gurion airport put three airlines on the floor just below the main floor. They were Lot Airways (Poland), Austrian Airlines and Lufthansa. Coincidence or not? Putting these airways in the basement - was this not Israel's official airport revenge for World War II atrocities? "Put those airlines in the basement, man, they're not gonna be with the rest of the world's airlines."

And then I thought it amusing (kind of) how I loaned my belly dance belts to a group of young Palestinian women, two of which returned by belts the next day and then one didn't return it. And that was my favorite belt - the velvet one my friend bought me from Turkey. And I was thinking she was probably thinking "you know, this bitch stole my land, and so I'm gonna steal her belly dance belt." OK, wise one. I think that's a fair trade, but I've got the better deal.

photos of San Francisco

Fisherman's Wharf


Inside a cell at Alcatraz


Sunbathers


The Pacific Coast


Arts & Crafts at camp


Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead's former pad


Psychedelic House - Haight Ashbury

Funniest thing when I was waiting at the walking tour meeting point for Haight Ashbury Walking Tour, people kept asking me if "I" was the tour guide. Made me feel old and wonderful at the same time. Oh yes! To be cool and old. Thought a bit about taking their $20 and going around telling them, "yeah, this was Jimmy's house, this was Janis' house and this is where the Dead played" 'cos they probably wouldn't have known the difference.



Cable Cars

Peacemaker's Camp

All I know is that I was so friggin' cold that first day of Camp Towanga, high in the Sierra's, that I wanted to go back to Jerusalem - immediately!! It was raining savagely and I guess God did it on purpose so that we'd all huddle together - about 90 Palestinians and Jews - over the fireplace in the dining area/lounge. As I tried to defrost over a pizza lunch, there were 20 minute instructions on how to deal with your cutlery, plates and meal time organization that I looked over at my friend Aliza and asked "Why do I feel like I'm in rehab?". There were more warnings and how to deal with snakes and black bears if we should see any. I zoned out after 10 minutes of instructions and looked around. Most of the campers were half my age and there were a few smatterings of "elderly" campers - over the age of 45. I wondered how the ones even more senior than that managed in this cold. I ventured out on the porch only once because of the darbuka playing outside. The musicians had already found each other and the musician lovers like myself were happy at the spontaneous jam and I was glad I bought that Monterey sweatshirt with a hood at the kitschy tourist shop in Monterey. Otherwise, I would have been in trouble clothes-wise.That evening, back at the bunk, any part of my body that was out of my sleeping bag was painfully cold - like my fingers and my nose. As a result, I woke up at dawn and was one of the 5 who decided to go on a morning walk on top of the mountain ridge. Fortunately, these people weren't the young 'uns, and I had a good conversation with our group, one an English teacher who lives in the Bay area, who, though she is in between cancer treatments, was able to walk way ahead of me without huffing and puffing and a lovely Palestinian American whose cousin owns the beautiful and quaint Jerusalem Hotel in East Jerusalem. I was quite pleased at myself for getting good at playing "Arab Geography." We hardly noticed the vistas as we were so engrossed in our conversations but I did notice the sun coming up finally warming my cold bones. The camp looked lovely today, and was set amidst large acorn trees which would drop acorns on our heads if we sat under one. There were workshops on Compassionate Listening, lots of organized group talk, hikes to the waterfalls, shorter hiking to the river, boating on the lake, analogous games were played, like trying to steal each other's treasure and in the end we found the treasure was the same, which brought out 2 1/2 hour discussions on borders and the conflict and the feelings each of us felt about it. I could hear heated discussions coming from other circles and it was good to be able to hear what everyone had to say. During our workshop on how to effect Change someone mentioned the book the "Tipping Point" that 20% of people are waiting to see if a product/something will work and then will join in if they see that it does. And then it grows from there. So we have to market our peace efforts so that we reach out to those not yet involved, which will happen naturally if they see successes in our grass roots endeavors. I'm not so much worried about that as I see it will kick off eventually. There were a few Palestinians whose stories I heard - one was from a refugee camp in Jericho. He thought he was going to a convention, not a camp. It would be difficult for him to say to friends that he "partied with Israelis" because others in his refugee camp are not into "normalization processes with Israelis" - at least not yet. I mentioned other Palestinians I knew who were at the All Nations Cafe meetings from the Dehaisha and Anata refugee camps, and thought he'd be ok there. Another was a woman who spoke about her husband and brother who had been killed by the IDF, after her brother-in-law was killed by a stray IDF missile on his way to his wedding to her sister. So in revenge she recruited her brother and husband for attacks against the IDF and she herself was in prison for 2 years leaving 3 very young children with her mother. She decided that fighting against Israelis isn't the answer but joining a grassroots peace movement is - so she is now part of Combatants for Peace. I heard the story of a young man from Gaza whose home was destroyed by the IDF and he wanted to strap on a belt of explosives in revenge, but thinking about it decided that he'd cause more damage than good to his people and is now part of the Arava Institute in the Negev. I spoke about my own transformation from being a member of Rabbi Kahane's Kach party in the 80's and partying with them in Jerusalem, but the hate was eventually so uncomfortable for me that I had no community for a while until I found myself so heavily involved in the interfaith dialogue movement in Jerusalem as The Answer to the conflict and became a peace addict. In the evening, the mood was lighter and on Saturday night and Sunday night there was dancing for three hours while the DJ's spun American, Israeli and Arabic dance music. My rather conservative American-Palestinian bunkmate from Tulkarem thought the Arab girls wouldn't dance but most of the Palestinian girls did get up to boogie and could put me to shame in the belly dance department. The last day, we walked down to the river to wash each other's hands as a cleansing ritual and we blessed each other as we did it. We were amused to hear a Palestinian quote Herzl saying "If you have the will it is not a dream" and explained that he quoted Herzl because he had such a good track record. That morning I had a lively conversation with a Palestinian from Jerusalem who made my day by talking about how Sephardic Jews should call themselves Arabs and then there would be no problem getting into the Arab League as the Arabs would then have a mindswitch, as Israel would be considered "mostly Arab." I laughed and told them the city I live in, Maaleh Adumim, is then 80% Arab - Jewish Arab. "See? No problems then." laughed my friend. And I teased him about being a Zionist. "King David (I think) coined the term Zion in his Psalms. Therefore, the land is called Zion from ancient times, it's not a modern term. So anyone who loves the Land of Zion, even if he's an Arab, is a Zionist!" And we laughed at each other hysterically because our suggestions are absurd and true at the same time. We exchanged email addresses with those we felt connected to, took more photos and planned for the future as we hugged and kissed each other goodbye. I do hope the Bay area residents take me up on my offer to visit Jerusalem and stay with me. A reunion for the Mideast participants is already being planned for the Spring in Jordan, a neutral meeting ground for Palestinians and Israeli.

san francisco

"Is everyone in San Franciso Jewish?" I asked the people driving me back to where I'm staying in Oakland.

laughter.

I ask that question because I am simply astounded at the amount of food and restaurants all over the place. Food I've never seen before - cookies from Australia, polenta for breakfast, egg burritos with spinach, blackbeans and salsa. Today I had a serrano stuffed with Mexican cheese. I asked the Spanish woman if it was spicy.

"No, you don't have to worry. It eeesant spicee."

Never trust the Spanish when they say "it eeesant spicee." It was very spicy.

Even in pitstops on the road they sold organic coffee and organic salad.

Needless to say, I'm quite impressed with their food selections.

San Francisco is lovely and I didn't suffer jetlag at all. On Tuesday evening my friends from the Rolling Stones email list took me out for Mexican food, where I had a cheese enchilada and a mochito drink. By the evening's end my speech was slurring and it was tough for me to keep my eyes open - I hadn't slept properly in 30 hours.

By the next morning my hosts directed me on the local transportation. It was easy for me to maneuver. And why shouldn't it be? Everything's in English. I told everyone I came in contact with that I'm from Jerusalem. I like to see their reactions.

I went to Alcatraz which was fascinating for me, especially because they have this audio tour which isn't like any other with boring narratives. Basically, the criminals and guards at Alcatraz come to life in this fabulous audio tour, complete with sound effects of cell gates slamming shut and tough guy talk coming from the prisoners. Even the prison riots seemed so real, as they directed you throughout the prison.

I wandered around afterwards in Fisherman's Wharf just taking it all in, eating a red snapper taco - which was heavenly - at a seaside place called Dantes. Not expensive either. I took in the Del Monte Cannery where the had lovely American Indian crafts.

I forgot to mention that the day I arrived I sauntered over to Long's Pharmacy which was many aisles long. I bought a shitload of crazy things to take back home, - gifts for my girls and a lambswool duster and organic cough lozenges!

But getting back to the present - there were the expected street crazies who made me laugh. And the old trolleys came alive and took us back to the Federal building. I walked all the way up market street, but I think I enjoy the quaint places better than the modern San Francisco stores. You won't get me in Macy's.

Today I took a rather pricey bus tour to Monterrey and Carmel - 2 1/2 hours south of San Francisco. We had a bus driver who said he was Italian, but spoke with a Spanish accent whose name was Efram. Or in Hebrew it would be Ephraim, one of the 12 tribes. We actually spoke about it, - he doesn't have any idea why his dad named him Efram, but perhaps he's one of the "lost Jews" who were forced to convert during the Spanish Inquisition. But these days I'm thinking everyone with a Spanish accent might be a lost Jew.

I got to get ready for camp tomorrow. We are going to be in the Sierra Mountains. And it's cold there. And there are bears there too. ugh. Unless he's Smokey the Bear, I'm not thrilled about meeting any of these animals. So - I gotta go back. Will report after camp, I'm sure I'll be computerless until then.

MY Succot

My succot is probably alot different from other people's succot celebrations because well, we're different obviously. And therefore have different experiences.

For the first time in 24 years Hubby didn't put up a sukkah and we were a bit depressed about it but our messianic Jewish friends did and invited us to a meal on Friday night. They have these extravagant meals during the holidays and everyone pitches in to make a few dishes. Being that I don't have a working kitchen yet, I was relegated to buying a few veggies for the "dip". I took along one of my daughters who had never been to them before and told them beforehand of their beliefs so she wouldn't be overly surprised. She wasn't surprised at all being that she already knows her crazy mother has all these crazy friends.

The food was great, as usual, and in their sukkah, I gave over my presentation of Succot that I gave over at my workplace a few days earlier, bringing in stuff from the Zohar/Kabbalah, Chabad and Talmud. Around the table we all spoke about how Christian for the most part Jesus has become. One of the guests made quipped about how "they put back the foreskin on Yeshua" which made me laugh all evening. Hubby asked if Jesus is a Spanish name actually, which made the others laugh.

Then on Saturday I went over to the Old City to shop for the family who will be hosting me when I go to San Francisco this week. It was crowded in the market but the shopowners were still complaining that no one is buying. We bought. We bought a ceramic Armenian style bowl and some small jewellry/trinket boxes for their daughters and couldn't find anything suitable for their young son that wouldn't drive the mother up a wall - if I bought him a darbukah or a flute, the mother probaby wouldn't speak to me with all that racket her son would make. We laughed at a shop that sold a belly dance outfit next to a piece of a religious garment.



When I got home, I saw my e-ticket to San Francisco. Actually it comes from Nablus, so I'm sure I'll have alot of 'splaining to do to the airport officials about why my airplane ticket is coming from a travel agency in Nablus which is in the West Bank/or as they say on their ticket "occupied territory". Better get to the airport especially early for possible interrogation. They're not too friendly over there to people in the peace camp.

I spent the morning making copies of Israeli music for friends in San Francisco from my Rolling Stones email list who will be meeting me on Tuesday. I want to enlighten them with our wonderful music that is really different from the crap they listen to over there. If anything, I could tell those airport officials - I'm the Israeli Ambassador of Music.

Things are not what they seem

For the first time in 24 years, we do not have a succah. Hubby just didn't/couldn't build one and if I had the extra $$$ I would have had someone buy the material and build it ourselves. Eating a supposed-to-be-festive dinner last night in our unfinished kitchen I think depressed everyone and we all ended up getting grumpy on Grumpa (hubby's new nickname), who again, couldn't stop complaining about everything in that horrible world of his.

But he wasn't the only male who was angry at the world. I was shopping for meat for a barbecue for the holiday (chicken wings and hot dogs - steaks are too expensive) and a few stores down, there's a Judaica store owned by an "religious" American guy. Never had any run ins with him before. I kinda even warmed up to him when he took in a little calico kitten and let her/him run around his shop. But yesterday he was having a bad day. Worse than Hubby ever had. He was yelling and screaming at someone. Everyone around heard him shouting on top of his lungs (in English) but most continued to mind their own business and just walked past.

"GET OUT. GET OOOOOUUTTTTT!!!! GET THE FUCK OUT MY STORE. GET OOOOUUUUTTTT!!!!"

I heard things smash and I went to look at what's going on. This isn't New York, so you don't have to be scared to get involved, or so I thought.

I step one centimeter into his Judaica store full of religious artifacts and furniture and a plastic juice container comes flying at me. There's a woman standing in the store - I don't know whether it's his wife or just another poor soul.

I come face to face with him and tell him -

"You're scaring everybody with your shouting."

He glared at me. Obviously didn't remember our conversations about the kitten in his store.

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. YOU DON'T LIKE IT, GET OUTTA MY STORE."

"I'm not even in your store."

His anger turned to me - he got red in the face.

"WELL THEN GO FUCK YOURSELF!!! OK? GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!"

I figured he probably wasn't selling as many holy books and yarmulkes as he would have liked. He's having a rough day, I know, but he certainly wasn't acting much like a religious book store owner. And that got me mad. I yelled back -

"WELL,I'D RATHER GO FUCK MYSELF THAN FUCK YOU." There. I walked away from his store, while he hoisted his anger onto me and yelled but I wasn't listening to what he was yelling back to me as I walked away from that store. Never buying a holy book from that guy again - ever.

There's no such a thing as a free lunch - or dinner

Maybe God is trying to tell me in a nice way "honey, you've GOT to lose some weight" but, as most people, I don't always listen to Him. This revelation came to me as I've attempted to eat out in restaurants twice, thinking I've got a great deal here. So hey.

The first time I entered an auction at e-luna.com to get a much cheaper dinner for two at a nice fancy restaurant. I got around 130 NIS ($30) off a 300 NIS ($70) dinner for two at Eldad Vezehoo in one of Jerusalem's picturesque quaint alleyways. I really didn't want to go with Hubby. He was getting on my nerves so much these days, but none of my kids wanted to join me and one of my girlfriends was with her boyfriend and my other friend was on a special diet. So Hubby grumpily met me in Jerusalem and began complaining, so much so, that I lost my appetite. I sat through an elegant dinner just listening to him complain and complain and I didn't say a word to him during the entire meal - not even to tell him to shut the fuck up already. I don't know if it was the restaurant or the mood but I just didn't even like what I was eating - the sauce was too sweet and the veggies beneath my salmon dish were too salty. We ended up taking 70% of the food back home in bags so our kids could gulp it down.

Then this week I took my son to the orthodontist and afterwards he wanted to visit my daughter's husband who's a chef at one of Jerusalem's top touristy restaurants. The place is always packed. I didn't want to eat there because a) it's very expensive because it's geared to tourists, and, b) my son-in-law insists on paying which makes me very uncomfortable. We walked into the kitchen to say "hi". My son in-law comes right over.

Son-in-law (SIL) "D. looks like he wants to have a good hamburger. Don't you? Am I right?"

Me - "Sorry, we just came to say hello."

SIL - "Ma Pitom - what's this - you both must sit down, and she'll serve you" nodding to a friend of my daughter's who's a waitress there.

Me - "Really gotta go."

SIL - "I'll sit down with you. I'm gonna eat something too."

Me - "OK but only if you let me pay."

SIL - "I don't pay the full price for this. I get it very cheap. Let me pay."

By this time my son really seemed to want this hamburger and so I agreed to sit down.

We sat down and felt very uncomfortable letting my SIL pay. He works 13 hours a day so they can afford all the furniture loans they took out for a year. I don't think he gets the meals for that cheap. Certainly discounted, but not by that much.

We put our menus down and began to walk out. SIL sees us and stops us and places us right back at our table. So does the waitress. They're forcing us to eat there.

Not only does a nice big juicy hamburger with fries come to the table, but so does a chicken tortilla and fluffy thick pita with an assortment of small salads.

Just as the food hit the table my work is calling me to hook me up with a hotel in California to book rooms for one of our directors and Hubby is frantic because he's in Jerusalem and his headlights aren't working and he's like "OK - well, I'll just sleep here all night."

"Fine" I said, hung up, and took a bite of a french fry.

My SIL's wife (my daughter)calls me a second later.

"Where are you?" We tell her. A second later she walks into the restaurant with her baby and one of my other daughters and glowers at us. She doesn't come over to speak to us. She looks furious as she talks to my SIL, probably giving him shit for inviting us to eat. My other daughter walks over.

"It's not nice that you're eating here"

"I really tried not to - believe me." I said pulling over the waitress to verify my story.

The daughters leave, I can hardly eat my food - again - and wrap it all up to take home to my starving family.

Conversations with God

I had a lot of things to contemplate about this Yom Kippur morning. From silly thoughts that the word menopause is really "men oppose" to more serious thoughts as the day dragged on about how very few people in the Holy Land were eating today being that Ramadan and Yom Kippur fall on the same day today. It seemed really special to me that we were doing the same thing - suffering (and praying of course)- together with our Moslem cousins.

My close friend made aliyah recently and as I remember she was always the one who ran to synagogue every Sabbath from the moment services began at 7:30 am until 12:30 pm. I asked her about Rosh Hashana - the first New Year in the Holy Land for her. She told me she could hardly focus in synagogue this year. Another friend told me the same thing - she hardly went to synagogue this New Year.

Why?

These people believe in God, and are actually Orthodox Jews. What's goin' on here? I mean it's been a few years since I've had this feeling that many formal synagogues are awful - routine, boring, the congregants usually running through the service like speed praying/reading. And that's what led me on a search for alternative prayer sessions, which led me to both the Reform Kol Haneshama in Jerusalem and the monthly Jewish renewal services led by Rabbi Ruth Kagan. Both of these places uplift my soul and this wandering Jew has found her niche there. But I had no idea others were slowly feeling this way too.

I'm wondering whether landing in Israel makes your old spirit disappear and a new spirit of sorts comes to take hold of you.

I took the friend who just moved here to an interfaith evening at Eliyahu McLean's place to celebrate Ramadan and Yom Kippur Thursday evening. A sufi Sheikh from Nazareth spoke to us about Ramadan and we heard a mystical interpretation of Yom Kippur, plus there was Jewish meditation, and sufi flute music. There was the usual mix of Palestinians and Jews and his place was packed. More people came too because I made an email list of the people who always ask me "how do you know about these things?" and sent them an email about this event. She was never exposed to anything interfaith and stayed just short of the Ramadan explanation but said she'd like to continue going to these things.

Happy events like these make my spirit soar. I want to live in a country where there are gatherings like this all the time. And they keep getting bigger. People are thirsting for knowledge of each other and for different ways to talk to God.

My family didn't go to synagogue on Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur eve my husband, son and I wandered around the neighborhood because everyone is out on the roads. The kids are bicyling on the streets because no cars are driving. We walked passed the packed synagogues. I didn't feel like going in though. We walked passed another small makeshift synagogue held in a kindergarten building. It reminded me of the small synagogue in New Delhi. I told my husband and son that I feel like I want to stay, and listened to the service inside while remaining outside in the cool breeze in the garden. There was a bit of an overflow crowd in the garden and I felt that having the prayers surround me while I just took it into my soul was just as good as praying yourself.

We all fasted and didn't even turn on the tv or computer which meant we were mostly in bed biding our time until we could eat. I was going to go to the local (boring) synagogue at 5:00 pm for the last part of the Yom Kippur service which I find very enjoyable as it is only for one hour and people find themselves adrenalized during this last hour of the fast.

But to backtrack - at 3:00 pm I noticed my daughter sitting by the window reciting Psalms. She had no idea I was watching her but I was. She wasn't just mouthing the words in Hebrew. She was having this amazing conversation with God that astounded me. Her mouth moved as if she was speaking loudly to Him, even though there was no sound coming out of her mouth. I saw her getting emotional, and then finally crying to Him - really crying - and she put the book to her face and rocked back and forth and I felt such joy that my daughter had found her own way to converse with God.

We've made it - We've finally made it

Those were the words of our friends on kibbutz, the ones who made aliyah with us 12 years ago and were with us on the absorption center, where one gets absorbed into being Israeli.

We couldn't figure out why. We feel anything but having "made it." No one makes it in Israel. I imagine Billionaire Arkady Gaydamak's billions shrinking into the millions because everyone, like all the tax authorities, likes to dip their hands into everyone's bank accounts and take heaping quantities of "our own" hard-earned money. But if we think we have it bad, the kibbutz is going bankrupt. It's the only conservative movement-affiliated kibbutz in Israel. We used to visit our friends once a year for one holiday or another and we didn't have to pay anything because we were guests of the kibbutz. But since it went bankrupt, the guest house (if you want to call it that - it's more like a hostel) separated from the Kibbutz and we now had to pay for our suppers, so to speak. Only four of us went up for Rosh Hashana and we dished out what we would have spent anyway on take-out food since we don't have a kitchen in our apartment yet. The kids shrieked at the site of a scorpion in their room and we moved up to the 2nd floor.

Our friend was trying to reassure us that we made it and went on and on in his South African accent-

"You bought a house, man, you've got a married daughter and a grandkid. You've made it man, you've made it."

"Yeah", I said to Hubby, "We've made it alright." It seems like every week we get a letter saying we owe another enormous amount to the tax authorities. They'll wonder how we were able to buy a house and slap on another $25,000 tax on us. There's no method to their madness. Maybe this is how one makes it in this country.

But taking our mind of the troubles of our own and of the kibbutz we spent the 2nd day of the holiday, not talking to God in the synagogue, as alot of people do, but driving off to places we hadn't yet seen in the Galilee, like Rosh Pina,


and the Hula Valley Reserve




which has its swamp back but was berefit of birds as it wasn't "bird viewing" season where you can see thousands of cranes and pelicans lifting off each morning from the site. We saw catfish and turtles and sea otters and a grumpy Russian-Israeli tourist who was complaining about how "dead" the place was now. Just as our old, overused car was overheating we stopped off at Amirim, this magical place in the upper Galilee, where there is a lot of spirituality and music and organic food and sat down to an amazing long-wished-for-healthy meal of brown rice with assorted really tasty toppings. The place was like an Indian-type retreat with mattresses covered in fun-looking, colorful material, bean bags and buddhas and a tiny stream with goldfish running through the place.


Lovely, just lovely. And it took our mind away from having "made it" in Israel.

Happiness, Laughter and Sadness

The end of summer has been filled with all of the above - happiness, laughter and sadness.

Happiness -

1. my week off from work. I didn't have the money to take trips even inside Israel so I did things that make me happy anyways, like take my son to the big mall in Jerusalem to get him soccer memorabilia at Jerusalem's soccer team's store. I had a very long leisurely lunch with one of my closest friends.

2. A very close girlfriend from my childhood moved to Israel and best of all, to Jerusalem. I think I had seen her twice in 24 years. I hope to rekindle those long, heart-to-heart conversations we had when we were teens.

3. My work decided to send me to an editing course as I don't have any formal training and they need an editor. So I discovered this year-long course and I'll be starting in the fall.

4. God is great. He and my interfaith work will be sending me to San Francisco in October to an Israeli/Palestinian peace camp. I'm so grateful. I've been missing the US lately and this 10 day trip is just what I need.

5. My Rolling Stone fan e-friends in San Francisco learned I was coming; one is home-hosting me (we've never met) and we're all having a get-together the evening I arrive (if I don't fall on my face from the long trip). I am so grateful for this generosity. I love the universe.

6. Festival of Light in the Jerusalem Forest - We spent a Friday evening, Saturday day at this new-age festival. It was very small this year, and I knew about half the people there. This got me to wish that I lived on a commune with all these people who are peace-loving, spiritual, Jews, Arabs, wonderful. I made some new friends at that festival too and I hope we keep in touch.

Sadness:

1. Hubby is in the throes of depression. No one can get him out of it. I get sad around him and wonder what it's like to live with a happy person. I have no idea. Really.

2. My 17 year-old daughter was picked up by the "fuzz" a couple of weeks ago. They tell me they suspect she's using an assortment of drugs and brought her in for an investigation. She denies everything. But why would they have even bothered if there was no suspicion. Perhaps her friends us. I have no idea how to tell. My glass is always half full. So how would I know? Mood swings? We all have them.... I've never found any substances in the house (and I sometimes rummage through her stuff).

3. Devorah Brous is leaving for the US. She runs Bustan in the Negev, which is a place for empowering the Negev's bedouin communities. I'm not a close acquaintance of hers, but we see each other now and then at peace gatherings. I especially admired her at the Jerusalem festival of light (not only because she speaks fluent Arabic) when she was saying that we need to do more than just "collect good energy" to bring peace into the world. She said that the bedouins who have their houses demolished don't want to meet with Israelis until they feel like our equals. She wants more activism happening among our peace groups. She gave over the directorship to someone else and they had a good-bye party for her in the Negev that I missed because I couldn't take off work.

4. Still no kitchen in our home - which means we will not be able to celebrate the holidays in a normal way, which means me cooking up a storm. Instead, I've been buying all the unhealthy microwavable foods as well as ready-made food, which is nice, but terribly expensive. I miss my weekend scrambled eggs!!

Laughter:

1. Alex Sternik's videos. He's the laughter yoga guru and is wearing the braided wig in the video. I love the guy.

2. My grandson - who is 2 months old tomorrow. He's been a miserable, colicky baby and then on Thursday, every time I said "I love you" to him, he coo'd and smiled at me. We "coo'd" and smiled to each other for hours that evening.

2. The officer who called me up from the army telling me how wonderfully behaved my daughter is (the Complainer) and how smart she is and I should be proud that I have such a wonderful wonderful daughter. I didn't tell him about her "home behavior" like when I walked into her room to clean a spot off the floor today at 3:00 pm. She was napping. And I heard "What are you waking me up for, you fucking bitch!!! Get out of my room. You're always waking me up." Maybe this is considered "wonderful behavior" in the Israeli army. I don't know. Go figure.

Sulha

The yearly Sulha was underway last week and here are some photos from it. It's an amazing feeling to be there. I would sit in my chair for hours telling hubby who accompanied me, that THIS is how I want to live. This is how I want to see my country. Full of people of different faiths getting along so beautifully. It was like a messianic vision. I attended one workshop when I just wasn't taking in the atmoshere. It was the relationship between Sufis and Kabbalah, although it tended to be more on the relationship between Sufis and Rabbis through the centuries.



Simply fascinating to hear that Maimonides studied with Sufis and his son was considered a Sufi Jew. Other stories - the Chief Rabbi of Ramat Gan in Tel Aviv related that his grandfather was the chief rabbi of Libya, when Libya had Jews living there. So well-versed in the Koran was he, that he was called the Sheikh Rabbi.



Another story related was that in Chechnya, someone called Alex Fagin researched the Chabad Lubavitch Chassidim. He found the source of one of their very popular songs called the "Rebbe's Nigun" or "Shmil's Nugun". Who is Shmil? Most people think of Shmil as a Russian peasant. But that isn't so. Apparently, the Alter Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of Lubavitch in the late 18th century, was jailed as his Chassidic teachings were considered going against the Czar. In jail, he met up with a Sufi Sheikh who ended up being executed, while the Alter Rebbe's life was spared. The sufi sang his melody to the Rabbi, saying his one wish was to preserve this melody. The Rebbe came out of jail and with it the melody, known to so many Lubavitch Chassidim today. I would love to have this story confirmed by another person....as I couldn't find this when I "googled".



Safed in Israel was once a center of both Sufism and Kabbalah.



And it just seemed that for a while, it was okay for Jews to study Islam (and vice-versa) and many rabbis living in Arab countries did study the Koran. Now there seems to be a revival where some rabbis are looking for that special spiritual relationship with their Moslem brothers - the children of Abraham....

Art Festival in Jerusalem

I asked various friends and relatives if they wanted to come with me to the annual arts and crafts fair in Jerusalem this past week. Eveyone had their excuses - courses, children, not interested, too crowded and Hubby wouldn't go because he'd miss several enchanting hours of Fox News that evening if he did.

I went alone and was comfortable with this decision because I didn't have to depend on someone else's schedule. If I wanted to browse for 1/2 hour at the guy who did exquisite stainless steel jewelery, no one would get impatient with me or had I brought my son, he would have had the patience of a gnat and we both would have been miserable. I scooted over to my favorite "gypsy cafe" and sat there for a long while.







There were glass blowers from Hebron, where most Israelis don't dare venture..who brought their crafts to the festival. I was pleased to see Palestinian vendors from the Old City in Jerusalem come over on our side to show us their wares. And once inside the elaborate tent, I felt I was actually in the old city.

"Please - I'll sell this to you at a very good 'brice'. You are my first customer..."



Then afterwards I went off to the arena where one of Israel's rock band's were performing. I didn't have the patience to listen for the entire concert so I sat in for about 20 minutes of the band's set. Besides....I don't know the words to any of their songs, so I couldn't sing along with the audience.

All Nations Cafe - hike to Walaja

On Tuesday, I joined up with the All Nations Café (run by Dhyan and Daphna) who were having a hike from the beautiful Ein Lavan spring near the biblical zoo to the Palestinian village of Walaja. .

We were a small group of about 10 people at first, some of whom had accidentally discovered Haj Ibrahim's guest house and were staying there. The spring was packed with people, mostly young, orthodox Jewish people who glanced curiously at our mixed Jewish/Palestinian group. Daphna taught us a simple song with a circle dance to it - like a chant – which we sang over and over again, switching partners as we went around the circle – singing it in Arabic, English, Hebrew and Esperanto. "One people, one planet, one spirit, one people, one planet, one spirit, one people, one planet, one spirit – all we need is love!!" We sang this loud and often and some young Jewish teens asked us what our group was about.



We asked them to join but they didn't, preferring instead to watch us. One of the girls was wearing a Camp Kobi Mandel t-shirt. Kobi Mandel was a young Jewish boy of 13 who was murdered by terrorists while he was playing with a friend in a cave near to his home. His mother has since set up a camp for Jewish relatives of terror victims. I thought about the connection of our group and the camp – thinking if we had a much bigger circle of people singing this together, thousands instead of just two-digit numbers, there would have been no need to set up this camp and this poor mother's young son might have been alive today.



We began our hike down the mountain, by the side of the railway tracks, to a dried up riverbed. I spoke with a young girl from the Shuafat refugee camp. I don't often meet people from Palestinian refugee camps and I was happy that she was a regular member of this group. I, and other Israelis, often think of those living in refugee camps, as the most militant of Palestinians. Who would have thought that some would join a group such as this? Later in the evening there would be others from the Dehaishe refugee camp in Bethlehem who joined up with us.



Halfway through our hike, we ended up in Ein Haniyeh spring, off the old road to Gush Etzion. One of the Palestinian men took away my water bottle to fill it up at the spring. What do I know. To me, you fill up your water bottles from tap water or from the spring water you buy at the store. I would never have thought to have filled it up here - such a city chick I am. We made our way up the mountainside to Abu-Abdullah's home which was a ramshackle of a home which he stays in by himself, leaving his family up the hill at the village of Walaja.



On the way there, the Palestinians took a few pinches of something off a tree – which was the sumac spice. I tasted it – it was extremely pungent – like eating Mike and Ike's Zour candies – only presumably much healthier.

The reason for Abed Abu-Abdullah living in this place are the 200 fruit trees he has on the lands surrounding the old home – olive, grape vines, and who knows what else.




The army had tried to remove him and his groves but he steadfastly refused, showing them ownership papers he had from his grandfather. He was supposed to have taken us to see a holy 4,000 year old olive tree somewhere nearby, which people say, has miraculous healed anyone who eats olives from this tree. But he was in a bad mood, someone explained, and he has to be focused in order to take us there. Bad mood and all, which I didn't feel by the way, he allowed us to pick the ripe grapes off his vines.



He made us all coffee and some of us had brought snacks to share. My new friend from the Shuafat refugee camp remarked sadly how there are no trees at all in her refugee camp, as we munched on the same bunch of grapes together.



The groves on the hill made the entire place seem so enchanting. There was something very magical about it that no wonder there's a healing ancient olive tree nearby.



At dusk we went down the hill for the main gathering near an abandoned house by the roadside, which also belongs to Abu-Abdullah's family. There more Palestinians awaited us – many of whom were from the Bethlehem area. A bonfire was lit and we were now a group of nearly 30 people.

I felt a lot of empathy these past two days because being in their "hood" I experienced the discomfort of going through a checkpoint from Dr. Dejani's home with a miserable soldier, who shouted at us to move our car back. We wondered why the anger and someone suggested that perhaps to smile and show niceness wasn't allowed. It can be mistaken for a sign of weakness, something the Israeli army wouldn't dare want to show to outsiders. And now, as it became dark, and we were merely shadows from the road, an army jeep stopped in front of us, only the top of the jeep was visible through the trees.

"COME OVER HERE - NOW!!!!"

Let me tell you. To be shouted at like that by Israeli soldiers is quite frightening. Even for an Israeli like myself. And it happens to Palestinians all the time. It just happens to me when I'm hanging out with them. We answered them back in Hebrew, but they weren't satisfied. Daphne, one of the organizers of the group, and a native Israeli, went down the hill to speak to them. After about 5 very long minutes she returned.

"They change soldiers here like they change underpants. The soldiers at the checkpoints know we meet here every week, but when they change the soldiers at the checkpoints, we have to explain about our group over and over again to them. Everything is ok now."

Back at the bonfire, going around the circle, we shared a little about ourselves and we drank more coffee (and I couldn't fall asleep that evening until 2:00 a.m.) and a debka teacher taught us some debka steps, which we practiced over and over again to the music of darbukas and then from Arabic music from someone's cellphone.

The glow of the fire shone on the face of everyone there. I hate to sound so hokey, but it did put warmth in everyone's hearts. There's nothing like sitting around a fire. It's soothing. People bond around a bonfire, don't they? Well, it seemed that even though there was a language barrier as many of the 17 Palestinians there didn't speak either English or Hebrew, they said they were touched by the fact that we (Jews) were there. It gives them hope in a world that seems hopeless.

Israelis flood into Palestinian neighborhood of Beit Hanina

OK - now that I got your attention - we're not flooding in, but it would be great if we do visit there in droves.

A group of us met on Monday and carpooled our way to Dr. Mohammad Dajani's home in Beit Hanina. We were a quite large group of Jews who met some neighborhood Palestinians at his home, some of whom were active in Dajani's political party called Wasatia . For many Jews, this was the first time they ventured into an Arab neighborhood, and some voiced that they were quite nervous at first – but laughed it off seeing how silly it was to have felt this way, as we were sitting in Dajani's large closed off porch.

Funny that even well-to-do Arabs do not have these clonish homes as Israelis do, built by Israeli construction companies. They have their own individual look and feel. We were on the third floor and I saw a living room, a game room and a dining area – no kitchen visible - and a closed off porch and an open porch with a taboon oven. Upstairs was a rooftop patio where you could throw a big party. Downstairs was probably where his family resided and the first floor was his office, which we knew by the way the books poured out into the hallway. His walls were covered with vintage posters and magazine covers – cool stuff like Elvis and James Dean and classics like Gone with the Wind and sentimental Love Story. Moving towards the top of the house were family photos and embroidered Palestinian clothing hanging over the railings.

We were given an explanation of the area from the rooftop, viewing the Nusseibeh housing project, a project that housed all the refugees from the Old City in 1967 after their homes were raised to make room for the Western Wall Plaza. The Wall was a block away from his home,– it made life for those who held Israeli residency cards who lived beyond that wall, difficult, as they are now unable to pass easily through the checkpoints. The businesses on the main street suffered as a result of the checkpoint as it is no longer the main road to Ramallah and many have gone out of business or are no longer the expensive shops catering to the well-to-do as they once were.

After stuffing myself on fruit and cakes (I still do not have a kitchen, so any stray food around is considered 'dinner'), we went to hear Dr. Dajani speak briefly about his new party. Even though I had heard him speak beforehand, this was his turf now and there's always a different slant to it.

Basically what he said is that in order to create a moderate Palestinian culture, rather than have the masses be attracted to extremist parties like Hamas, speaking about democracy will not do it. Democracy is a Western concept and the religious Moslem man/woman on the street will not want to hear about it. Instead, he bases his party on the language of the Koran. The Koran states to walk the middle road ("We have made you a moderate nation"). He explains "It's God who wants this."

Elana Rozenman of Trust spoke a bit about her group. "What is lacking among our people is trust. We want normal interaction between our people." She gave us an exercise to do in which we took a partner and, while the other listened (without interrupting), one of us spoke about a person in our life whom we trusted and why we trusted that person, how we felt about having someone we are able to trust in, etc. Then we switched roles.

During the sharing one of the women visiting from Toronto said one has to feel empathy. "Put yourselves in the other's place and stop defending yourselves." A Palestinian young man said that others may look at moderates as infidels. But he's looking forward to "the opportunity for infidels to move ahead."

At the end of the meeting some of the Jewish participants, including myself, took a few Wasatia pamphlets, all in Arabic, to give out to people we knew who may not know about this movement, hoping they'll see this as the way towards peace.

summer that's half gone and summer to be

It's midsummer already and time is moving ever so quickly. We've lived in our home for over a month already – still no doors to any rooms, no kitchen, gashes in the walls where the new electric cords or points or whatever you call them are supposed to be. I've read about how a very large construction company is about to go bankrupt (if they didn't already do so) and feel lucky and grateful that we moved in to our place with no such contractor problems. Money isn't easy to come by and to see your deposit to a bankrupt contractor slip away must be nightmarish for those people. And many of them broke into their homes illegally, put on mezuzot and are squatting. Hubby had a rare conversation with me this morning.

"Remember when our house had just sand on the floors?"

"Yup"

"Well, we would've moved in, even with the sand, wouldn't we, if that had been us."

"Oh, for sure."

Being recent first-time home-owners had made us feel a lot more sympathy for those who had put money into that bankrupt or nearly bankrupt company and whose future is uncertain.

And my secretive second-oldest daughter finally brought her secret boyfriend home. We had wondered who the guy in the two-seater BMW convertible was. We only saw the car from our window and not the man. My daughter would snap at me, at any question of who her new man is. "If it's serious, I'll let you know." I don't know if it's serious or not, but his biceps certainly are. But he's not a body-builder. He's a lawyer, I found out.

"Sheesh. Hate to be the judge in front of THAT lawyer. His big and he, well, does actually look like a wrestler from the World Wide Wrestling Association or whatever it's called (too lazy to 'google' today – my day of rest). I'd also hate to be the lawyer against him. Anyway, we do need a lawyer in the family."

So DO get on with it, I thought to myself.

My married daughter bitches when I come over to cook meals at her home because of our lack of kitchen.

"You make my pots dirty and you make my floors dirty."

I don't. But the hot weather is making her have illusions of dirt on her floor every second. When the baby sleeps, she's cleaning her floors. I'm thinking of getting her to seriously think about going on some medication – but then again – all her neighbors are pretty much clean freaks and that is what "keeping up with the Joneses" is like in her neighborhood.



Oh- and here is the photo from the brit ceremony, I promised to post. The little boy's name is Itai Aharon.

But who cares what my kids are doing to me when the rest of the summer is so happening in Jerusalem. I really don't care to fly anywhere out of the country, or, for that matter, out of Jerusalem because there's too much to look forward to. Like the arts and craft fair with its terrific vendors and much cheaper than in the store jewelry, the entertainment, the hippie/gypsy café with its belly dancers, acrobats, wine and cheese menu and coffee. I found myself sitting there for hours, transfixed by the various performances and great ethnic and vintage music. There's the international crafts show – with crafts from many different countries. Last year was the first time Jordan joined us. There's the Palestinian crafts fair, which the festival organizers call the "Eastern Market". Of course calling it the "Palestinian market" would put some people off. It's like they ship the stuff from the old city market to here. Plus they're featuring glass blowers from Ramallah and Hebron. Included too is the international food fair.

There's free entertainment in the new Mamilla outdoor mall. Various museums have free admission. If you have the bucks, you can go for an all-you-can-eat rooftop barbecue at a couple of Jerusalem's posh hotels.

There's free folk dancing at the Liberty Bell Garden on Sunday evenings.

And one of my closest childhood friends is moving to Jerusalem in August.

So I have what to look forward to (besides getting doors for my apartment and a kitchen, etc. etc.)

There are some interesting peace activities going on as well in people's homes and in various neighborhoods.

I don't have many people this summer to share these events with. Many have left town. Some have gone to India and most to the States. Why? I can never understand it. Even if I had the money to travel outta here, I don't think I'd go longer than a week or 10 days. I'd never leave for a whole summer. It's just too magical over here on this side of the pond….

the Godfather and other newborn tales

I didn't realize this before when I was a young mother living in Toronto - but there's so much superstition revolving around newborn babies here in Israel - particularly when your family and neighbors are from Sephardic background, as is the case with my daughter.

From the moment they took their son out of the hospital, they put a little hamsa with blue stones over his stroller. A gold hamsa is pinned onto the mosquito net in his crib. Their neighbors advised them not to leave baby clothing out at night or to take the baby out at night for 30 days "because of spirits". When I heard that, I was aghast.

I told my daughter "do you really think I stayed in at night for 30 days with you?" I distinctly remember taking her to the movies one evening when she was 3 weeks old. She was sleeping most of the time and I had my portable boobie for her to nurse on if she dared make a peep during the flick.

I laughed when the neighbors came in to "oohh and aaah" over the baby saying repeatedly "Ben Porat Yosef, Ben Porat Yosef" which is the sephardic equivalent of warding off the evil eye (the first time it is translated as 'fruitful son,' and the second time, 'a fruitful vine' ).

Tomorrow their week old baby gets his brit (circumcision) according to Jewish tradition. I don't know whether this is superstition or tradition, but "they say" that it is an honor for a person to be a sandek (godfather) at the brit. This is the person that holds the baby while he is being circumcized. "They also say" that you should pick your sandek wisely, because the baby will have the sandek's personality traits.

I know my hubby wanted to be given the honor of sandek - but the parents had much higher aspirations for their baby than to have someone who smokes alot of pot, farts all the time, curses like a truck driver and is generally very grumpy be the kid's godfather. The sandek will be no other than the colorful former chief sephardic rabbi, Harav Ovadia Yosef which is the ultimate thrill for my son-in-law's family.

Some of my friends were stunned. "This isn't you" they remarked. Of course it isn't. Who would I have chosen as godfather if it were my kid? Probably Rabbi Arik Ascherman from Rabbis for Human Rights. I would have loved for my sons to have his brave and compassionate traits, if transmitting traits from godfather to godson is actually true. But he is my grandson, not my son, and the ceremony will be in an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in an ultra-orthodox synagogue, which prompted me to buy a top with sleeves covering my elbow and a head covering. The name of the boy will then be revealed after the brit to everyone. Usually the boy is named after a deceased close relative like a grandfather (however sephardim name their children after living relatives too).

to be continued in a day or two...

grandma

"Is this normal?" - this is the question put to me every 5 seconds by the new parents whether it was the baby's lower lip quivering while it cried, or as his face turned beet red when it cried, or whether it was the black poo on his diaper. Among other questions I had to field from them are...

"Why is he crying?"
"Why isn't he crying?"

And my years and years of parenting experience comes in really handy at this time and I finally feel really appreciated by my daughter. For once I have done something right in her eyes.

Sunday morning I got a call from my son-in-law. It was a call I had been preparing for - for a couple of weeks now.

"We're on the way to the hospital."

"Wow! Great! So pick me up on your way there." I'm a five minute walk from their house.

"We're nearly at the hospital." son-in-law explained.

I hung up the phone. "Damn" I complained to Hubby. "Why didn't they stop by to pick me up?"

I figured they must have been rushing badly and this wasn't a false alarm. Turns out the happy couple's car had a flat tire on the way (that's for NOT picking up the mother :-) ) and had to ambulance it to the hospital. I got there an hour later and acted as her labor coach, who also wasn't around at that early hour. Labor coaching wasn't bad. In fact, I think I was a kick-ass labor coach. We figured out good positions for my daughter during her labor and helped her throughout her ordeal so she didn't need an epidural, and she told me to "shut up" only twice. A couple of hours later, this adorable little baby boy was born into this world.

Relatives from overseas called up to give congratulations and my daughter hadn't a clue who they all were.

Her hubby's relatives all showed up that evening. I took all their flowers and put them in plastic canisters I saw on the countertop. The room began to stink of pee after a while, until we realized that those plastic canisters were not really for flowers after all. Oops.

My brother showed up the next day with his wife, sharing with us their birth and labor stories.

"This kid has it easy now. Too bad he's gonna have to grow up in THIS country." brother chuckled.

My daughter's roommate was a Palestinian mother which we figured out as soon as we heard them speak Arabic. My kids laughed at me knowing I was going to make a special effort to introduce the two new mothers to each other. I think in many cases like this, the "roommates" pretend the other doesn't exist and no effort is made to speak to one another. Sad. But of course, you know me. I offered her roomie chocolates, food, etc. and it turns out she is a nurse in another hospital. I pondered over the fact that these two little boys will be growing up so differently. And wished that perhaps one day, their lives will be more or less the same - for the better of course.

Jerusalem International Film Festival

"I think you're some kind of Genie" my friend said to me after we had taken our seats at Sultan's Pool outside the old city walls of Jerusalem, which had been turned into a makeshift giant outdoor movie theater for the Jerusalem International Film Festival opening. This was not a drive-in, mind you, but a sit-in for several thousand of us.

It seemed whatever I wanted or asked for that day, voicing it to her, got given to us. Like getting free tickets to the sold-out film festival opening, which featured the animated film "Ratatouille". I had stood at one of the entrances to the place and simply asked passers-bye if they had any extra tickets. I do it every year. This year, some off-duty cops gave us their extras, which were complementary. I called my friend that afternoon, telling her that last year, it got terribly cold and sweaters weren't enough. Could she please bring a blanket. She didn't have anything light to bring and I hoped for the best. But when we got in, the cellphone company, Orange, were giving out free blankets.

"OK - if that's how it's gonna be for us tonight, then the gates of heaven are open. What do you want?"

"A normal man for me to marry with a good job" was her wish. I wish her wish was my command. We'll see in 6 months if I have genie power.

Too bad I had that Carlsberg because even though the movie was fun, liquor and I don't mix well and I felt myself dozing off a few minutes at a time during the middle of the movie.

No big name US/European screen stars or directors were there. Last year Jeff Goldblum and Debra Winger showed up. This year? Nada.

My friend and I continued our tradition of spending a bit of Friday and all day Saturday pasted to the Cinemateque seats.

I saw: Citizen Nawi - a movie about a gay Israeli man, Ezra Nawi, who had a Palestinian partner, who lives in West Jerusalem. He is a tireless activitist for Palestinian human rights, working mostly in the South Hebron hills, who speaks fluent Arabic and is there for their every need - whether it's to get an ambulance over to their village, whether it's to try and stop house demolitions, whether it's to help build a medical clinic in the poor town of Twane, or to escort children to their school, because of settler harrassment. He also faces constant police harrassment in his neighborhood.

I don't know Ezra personally but I have gone olive picking a number of times and he was there. I remember one frightening moment, near the settlement of Avigail in South Hebron hills, where the settlers pointed guns at us. We were only going to help Palestinians plow the land, not invade their settlement. A soldier followed behind Nawi as he walked away from the now-swelling crowd and followed him for a good 7 minute walk across the hills, where Ezra simply took a whiz against a wall. We all saw this and had a great laugh. His sense of humor showed throughout the film.

Saturday I saw Yoga, Inc. - a documentary about how commercial Yoga has become. The funniest moment was the interview of the head Fuck Yoga, Inc, who started his company when his wife was just going to Yoga, morning, noon and night. And he just said - Fuck this. Fuck Yoga.

"They walk around with their yoga mats, like it's a fucking goddam Torah"

His Fuck Yoga t-shirts and bottled water and slippers and god-knows-what-else are selling like hotcakes.


The movie - The Good German - was showed afterwards. A good black&white Hollywood mystery, set in post-world war II Berlin.

DEUX JOURS A PARIS was the next film starring Julie Delpy and Adam Goldberg. I don't think there was a minute in that film where I wasn't laughing my ass off. An American in Paris could be really frickin' funny.

For a more serious movie - RED WITHOUT BLUE - a documentary about male identical twins growing up in Montana and the difficulties they faced. Talk about challenges. Outwardly they looked like your typical white, Christian, American apple pie family. But as they years went on - one turned out to be gay, and the other changed his gender.

The last one we saw that day was "Killer of Sheep", a film made in 1977 by Charles Burnett but only released now because of music rights difficulties. It was a slow-moving film, but it was an interesting insight to an African-American slum and the people who live inside it - specifically the Watts section of Los Angeles. The music was great and I would have loved to have bought the soundtrack - but I don't think there'll be a soundtrack.

My kids and Hubby would have rathered I'd have been home all day with them, listening to them complain all day, instead of enjoying myself. Tough decision.

Preggers

My daughter is due any day now. She's miserable, anxious, nervous, happy, worried, and feels like a blimp even though she has a cute bubble belly. She keeps on calling me up with an update on her contractions which are the Braxton Hicks ones. I tell her not to go to the hospital unless she has pain that she can't walk, stand, sit, etc. It's nervewracking when you've never been through it before.

Her labor coach and my friends and me are all telling her to have sex to bring on the real contractions, but she doesn't want to hear about it. It's always "MOM!" when I bring the subject up, that I was glad when her British midwife brought it up.

Yesterday, she carried home 7 bottles of sodas which is HER idea of bringing on real labor. Like mother, like daughter. She'd rather lug heavy items for miles in hot weather than have sex.

I've bought tickets for the Jerusalem Film Festival later on this week - I look forward to this event all year. And who knows if she'll ruin all my plans by bringing my grandkid into the world during the festival. But nevertheless, however the wind blows will be totally welcome.

Home Sweet Home

After 12 years of living in rental hell, with landlords who made us nervous, who threatened us with letters, who made us move when we were comfortable in their place, who wanted to sell, who wanted to renovate - we are finally in our own place. It's far from finished, but because Hubby wanted to do it "his way", much of the place is not done. We do not have any doors, nor kitchen, nor a window in the bathrooms - but the floor is tiled and we have 2 working toilets and 1 sink. It feels as though we're camping out. Once we got the keys to the apartment,we scooted in like we won a million bucks. Others didn't want to move in. Israelis like their homes spotless first, with everything in working order. Most kitchens don't have ovens and cooktops yet, so most tenants are waiting it out. But we were tired of waiting and went in to this untamed apartment very happily.

I'm cooking meals at my daughter's place, and she doesn't mind, because she was only too happy to get rid of our boxes, plastic bags and other shit we had lying around her house, cluttering up her life.

And the neighbors across in the next building can watch us pee if they really look hard enough, but if you're nimble, you can quickly stand up and pull those pants up real fast before they can catch a quick glance. I've got it down to a tee.

Here's some pics of how the place looks - without doors, and a finished toilet - but we're in love, nonetheless....





Main bathroom


Dining area - bare kitchen