Fun at the fairs

Jerusalem is abundant with fairs, free concerts, even free movies. My calendar is completely full next week and the week after with a choice of about 5 things to do in one day. Yesterday I had an invite for the opening of the Brazilian Film Festival at the Cinemateque. The complimentary tickets were for two and included the reception, which included a delicious Brazilian drink (I had two) called Caipirinha and a film called Ballroom. See? You can be a nobody in the industry here and get to go to film premieres and parties, etc. I love this place. Try getting an invite in NYC to something like that.

After the film, I walked across the pedestrian bridge to get to Emek Refaim to join my daughter who was drinking coffee with a friend. The view from the bridge was awesome - you could see the annual arts and crafts fair, called Hutzot Hayotzer, in Sultan's Pool and it was crowded. Emek Refaim was buzzing too. It felt like Tel Aviv. Every cafe/restaurant was full and the streets were filled with pedestrians. And it was 11:00 at night.

On Friday, there was the regular Farmers Market on Emek Refaim. I passed by a bored-looking group of tour bus drivers who laughed when I took their photo. They told me they were bad and had been punished - banished to the bottom of the bus.



I had gone to the fair to meet a friend from Toronto before her trip back home. She really wants to move here and asked how I convinced Hubby to move. Her Hubby is miserable over there, but is nervous to make the big move.

"Just talk about this place constantly. Talk about what you saw, experienced, the holiness, spirituality, the people, until he's so sick of hearing you go on and on and on until he'll have no choice but to move." Of course one has to leave out all the shitty stuff and just focus on the positive.

Every day is another experience - whether religious, fun, spiritual, exasperating, a test of patience, etc.

I had asked the same question myself to someone before I moved here. I remember her answer to me which I was able to quote word-for-word to my friend.

Trust

I wish I could trust all of the members of my family. But I can't. No one trusts each other. They trust me because I can be trusted - most of the time. But the girls lock their closet doors because they steal clothing and makeup from each other. They don't ask to borrow - they steal.

And my unemployed daughter has unfortunately taken a liking to my clothing - especially my tops. I found her wearing my green tank top while she was headed out the door. Of course I tried to get her to take it off, but she whined to me, "but Mom, it matches perfectly with what I'm wearing."

I had loaned her an expensive tent on Passover, which she never returned. It's probably in tent heaven somewhere and I'm holding her financially responsible for it. But she hasn't worked since April, so she's unable to pay me back. I can't get water out of a stone. Moses did, but I can't.

Then I thought one of my mother-in-law's rings that she gave me went missing and for two weeks I frantically looked everywhere at home thinking it's lost because it fell out of my bag or something. I cleaned the house spotless while searching for this ring. Then at the beginning of this week I see the same daughter wearing something glistening on her fingers.

"What are you wearing?" I asked.

She giggles.

"Let me see what's on your hand."

More giggles.

I take a look at MY ring and yank it off her.

"You can't wear that! It's expensive. What if you lose it like you lost the tent!"

Bad enough she likes my clothing, but now my jewellery? Shit. What am I to do? I often have several pieces of my clothing disappear for a week or two and then reappear mysteriously back in my closet. I know it's her.

Hubby is no better. He goes into my purse to "borrow" cigarette money. Of course he doesn't tell me, but I wonder what happened to my 50 shekels and when I call him, he's like "oh yeah, I needed money and I didn't want to wake you." What a load of crap.

But one has to always be grateful for what I have. So what am I grateful for? I'm grateful to God that he's not a cross-dresser.

Leonard

Who would have thunk that Leonard Cohen would out-do selling out his concert at Ramat Gan Stadium much quicker than Madonna or Paul McCartney. I, for one, had no idea this would happen. I thought I'd be able to try throughout the day and get through eventually, as I had for the two other concerts I got tickets for, which were quite a breeze.

I printed out the seating chart. I tried calling and by internet. At least three other friends tried with me - and also couldn't get through. But the time we all did, the tickets were sold out. How disappointing!! A friend got through at 3:00 am early Sunday morning, but they didn't send her a confirmation number, which means she doesn't have tickets. Especially disheartening are the comments I get on Facebook that no matter what I have to go - because it was the best concert they had ever gone to, and these are people who are professional concert-goers. No matter what price - I have to go. No matter if Iran is raining H or A bombs on us I have to go. So, people, you see I have to go.

I do hope Mr. Cohen will think about doing another concert so I can go, otherwise I'll have to resort to begging for tickets up until the day of the show. I'm not prepared to pay double the price - I want to pay the cost. Just cost. So if there's anyone out there who knows somebody, who knows somebody, who knows someone who can get me tickets - I'll love you forever.

The back of me

I was at the bank Friday morning. Try never going to a bank when it's closed the day before, which it was for the Tisha B'av fast day. The line stretched out of the bank and didn't move for at least 1/2 hour. The people in the line were getting irritated. Especially the man in back of me. I remembered his face. He flirted with me at the bus stop across the street a couple of months ago. He was from South America and then moved to an English speaking country and is divorced. He asked me if I was married and I always think that's nice of men to ask right away. Yes, yes, I'm married, I told him. He seemed funny, interesting and friendly while we were waiting at the bus stop. But at the bank he was a different person.

"I'm in back of you, ok?" he said to me in English after hearing me argue with Hubby for the 100th time that morning on my cellphone. He went somewhere inside the bank and I tried to tell him that there was a woman who had arrived before him who told me that SHE was in back of me - so he's really in back of her.

He comes back 10 minutes later and a young tall man is telling Mr. South American that HE actually was in back of me. So they're arguing. Mr. S.A. is telling me - "didn't I tell you I was in back of you?"

"Yes, but there was a woman before you who said the same thing." He looked furious and then told me in his Ricky Ricardo voice "Next tiiime, I'll tell sohmbody else I'm in back of them."

Yeah, whatever. I shrugged and turned to look in front of me.

About a half hour later I was two people away from the tellers. A little boy runs up to me:

"My mother is in back of you!"

The Spanish guy is livid. "I'M in back of you!!" he tells me.

"Don't you remember I told you there was a woman in back of me before you? Well that's her!" I pointed to the kid's mother, who was yelling at the man.

He puts his fingers in his ears, mutters curses in Spanish, English and Hebrew. It's my turn at the teller. I don't dare look back.

shit

Literally. I can't believe the lab called me this morning - on a fast day of all days - to tell me that I didn't give in the stool sample required. I was supposed to hand in both a white and a blue bottle. How patriotic and appropriate, considering the shitty bureaucracy here.

Me - "I put the two samples side by side and handed them in on Wednesday".

Lab - "Are you sure? Because they said the blue one was missing".

Me - "Look it's not easy running from work in the middle of the day to give you fresh stool samples. So of course I did both of them at the same time."

What on earth did these people do with my blue bottled shit? If I were famous I'd surmise they copped it for a sale on e-Bay, but who on earth wants my shit? I think the container dropped, splattered all over their floor and they just don't want to fess up to it.

So how does one know lab results are 100% - if they can't get my shit together?

They made me terribly angry earlier in the week when they closed at 11:30 am, and I walked in at 11:31 and the receptionist is telling me that numbers aren't being given out because the lab is now closed.

"Look, I just need to give in a sample"

"Can I see it?" said the receptionist.

I look around. Many other people are standing around watching. I'm totally embarrassed. Not that anyone knows me here, but it's not pleasant taking out a vial of shit in front of a dozen or so people.

"Can't I just get the stickers from you and put in on the sample myself in the bathroom?" I asked.

"No, I need to see it."

Fine, lady. Here. Take my shit.

Sure enough the friggin' sample falls from my hand onto her desk, but didn't break open.

She glared at me, when she saw what the sample was. I mean, what the fuck did she think my sample was? Hair?

Jewish Nakba

I hate fasting. And tonight is the start of our 2nd most important 25-hour fast day Tisha B'av. There are years when I do fast and there are those when I don't - but for most of the years I've been on this planet, I think I have fasted more than I haven't. I think.

This particular fast was declared by rabbis because of the many calamities that happened on this day, the most important being the destruction of the Temple (both the first and second) in Jerusalem and the subsequent exile of the Jews from their land as a result - around 2,000 years ago. In that vein, I do sympathize with Arabs who lost their homes in 1948 in this country - yes, I know "they" fought us in 1948, but many were not fighters and were told to leave by either their own or the Israeli army and hundreds of villages/homes were destroyed afterwards. If any of these people had Jewish ancestry, which I suspect they do have because I see the love and hold they have on this particular piece of property in this part of the world, and the anger they have to this day at losing it. I know I certainly don't mourn my father's "land" in Austria nor my mother's "land" in Poland, but Jews remember for millenia our exile from the Holy Land. and so I believe the soul hurt more when it's exiled from the Holy Land. If that's the case, then they had to face yet a third exile from this land in modern times. So we have our sad commonalities in that way.

But getting to a lighter side of things, which I always do - I'm like the dude on the cross singing "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life" - there is this strange concoction I bought at the health food store, which is labeled as Chinese medicine, and is called Tzom Kal (Easy Fast) to help one get through the fast easier. I've already been off coffee since Monday - had my withdrawal headache on that day, and have since felt a bit better. This morning I had to take this concoction, which tastes like maple syrup and I'll have to take it again 10 minutes before the fast begins. I wonder if this type of thing gets sold to Moslems for their month-long Ramadan fasting season. If it works for me, I'll let them in on this little secret.

a, ah, ahh, Aroma

New breakfast dish at Aroma

Aroma cafe is a chain of coffee shops across Israel - they've been very successful. Even Starbucks couldn't make it here, but this chain seems to be thriving. They even have one branch in New York City.

I was pleased to see that they've added to their menu quite a few dishes. Instead of the usual Israeli breakfast fare of eggs and a huge salad with tons of cream cheese I won't eat plus sliced cheese and a few olives, they now have pancakes with fresh fruits and mascarpone cheese on the side. The sauce over the pancakes isn't maple syrup. It's Silan - which is the Israeli/Middle Eastern version of maple syrup. The taste is quite similar.

Thankfully this is Israel, where you don't have to be as polite as I had to be in Canada and you can ask people what is that on their plate. I did that twice this morning because of salads I'd never seen before there. One was a bowl of chickpeas, hard boiled eggs, veggies with techina - their new Jerusalem salad and the other was called the Garden Salad - a roasted veggies salad - both of which looked great.

Summer halfway over!

Hard to believe, eh? I'm like - when did it start? Even if I had the money, I don't know whether I'd spend it on local hotels which seem to double in price, especially during August. But God found ways for me to be entertained that I find myself amazed that the summer is already halfway gone.

It's fabulous that I live in the center of the universe. People will always want to come here at some point in their lives. So if I lived in Bangladesh, that wouldn't be much of a pitstop on people's world tours.

A few of my friends' daughters came to Jerusalem from overseas. One was from Los Angeles. I hadn't seen her mother since 1977 when I traveled to LA, but we had been friends since our pre-teen years. We then went to the same high school and had a coming-of-age experience together when we decided to cut school one day in November 1970 to see Paul McCartney who was in New York recording his RAM album. We had an off-again on-again vigil at the studio, and never got caught by the school. They were probably relieved that we didn't show up. This much the daughter who visited with me already knew. Her mother and I would often get hysterical over nothing and among fits of laughter, people on the street or subways would think we were laughing at them and berated us. "You shouldn't laugh because YOU look like a frog, and YOU look like an elephant" I remember one saying to us, making us laugh even harder. Then what the daughter didn't know was that her mom and I used to sneak into mom's brother's room to look at his stash of filthy magazines when we were about 14.

The other daughter came from New York and was my eldest daughter's best friend since they were under two years old. They hadn't seen each other in 10 years.

My other friend from Toronto came in and filled me up on juicy Toronto gossip, the kind that even makes Hubby come out of his cave. It puts him in a good mood to hear how he's not the only one in the world suffering and loves it when others do or when others fall from grace.

On the bus the other day I bumped into a high school friend of mine who now lives in Jerusalem in an Ultra Orthodox neighborhood. We both went our separate ways but we were Best Friends during high school. I had a terrible crush on her brother, and I never told her. To this day. Because I valued her friendship more than I valued her brother, who went out with all these Farrah Fawcett (RIP) look-alike bimbos in the very early 70s and broke my heart because I didn't look Farrah-ish enough. I didn't want her to think for even one second that I was friends with her because of him and lose our friendship. I'm a true loyal blue Aquarius.

Another time on the bus I bumped into an old friend from Toronto, with whom I'm not in touch any longer, who always used to entertain me. Still does. I asked her where she worked and she told me where - iin a place for Alzheimer's patients "because whenever I make mistakes, they always forget that I did."

Retreating

Nothing like a retreat. For someone that can not fly to a European spa or can not yet afford local ones, the word "retreat" conjures up an image of something akin to a trip to an Indian Ashram. Except that our interfaith retreats aren't about silent meditations. We go deep into conversations about commonalities in our respective religions. And I feel like I'm entering some kind of magic kingdom each time I go to the Austrian Hospice on Via Dolorosa. From the outside, the building looks forlorn and is situated at the corner of a very busy street on the main drag from Damascus Gate. But once inside, the hubub from the outside is gone, and so is the dust and dirt. The steps leading up to the building are adorned on each side with terraces and tables and chairs where quiet European guests are having a drink or conversation. The cafeteria serves amazing Apple Strudel and Viennese Coffee and even the nuns inside smile.

This time we met with Moslems from the Hebron area, plus there were a lot of Christian visitors from the U.S.

We tried to keep politics to a minimum, but with a subject like "Abraham" it can go either way. Like..."Abraham is buried in Hebron it's such a holy city for Jews because of it." "Yes, but the settlers and the occupation....." and the conversation then goes in that direction, until it's time for a coffee break or lunch or dinner.

This time I bonded with a young Serbian-American woman. Turns out we had the same parents growing up, or so it seemed. My family was Jewish Orthodox, while hers was Eastern Orthodox. While my dad was bent over reciting Psalms when he found out I had violated the Sabbath when I was 19 years old to go to Queens to visit a friend, her mother was lighting candles over saints for her wayward daughter's soul albeit quite a number of years later...

We compared notes and parental restrictions over dress codes, boyfriends (me: they had to be kippa-wearing and white; her: they had to be white (but they usually were black - which obviously didn't go down too well in her home); the fright at being caught; me with trousers on (instead of just being a good just-skirt-wearing orthodox Jewish girl), her coming in 3:00 am after a night at the pub with friends). We laughed hysterically and I told her my dad and mum were the Jewish version of All in the Family, though I doubt she saw those episodes. She is young enough to be my daughter. But it was nice to discover more commonalities during that retreat.

Internet evils

There were these posters put up on the border of an Ultra-Orthodox neighborhood in Jerusalem - telling everyone that according to numerology the "internet" has the same numerical value as "cancer" - therefore, if you use the internet, you will get cancer.

Don't you love the Middle Ages?

Maybe they're preaching to their own who secretly peruse the porn websites?

But I know that the internet is also used for religious purposes too - you can study religion through the internet. Is that bad for one's health?

Jerusalem Film Festival

I don't know how many years I've been doing this, but it's been years. The same friend and I start off by seeing the open-air opening flick on Thursday night at Sultan's Pool and then spend the weekend together - all Friday/Saturday together, then we see separate movies during the week, and compare notes.

Thursday's opening movie was called "A Matter of Size", an Israeli movie about overweight men who are frustrated with their weight loss groups and find themselves happily reinvented as Sumo Wrestlers, getting the respect they want, instead of the scorn and ridicule they experienced before. It was a comedy-drama, which we both enjoyed.

We could have done without the speeches before the film was screened. It seems that the speeches are getting longer each year. I think we suffered through 1 1/2 hours of speeches, but never mind. Also, every year there were fireworks, and this year there wasn't. Looks like the Cinemateque in toning down on expenses this year.

Friday I saw a Yiddish film called Bar Mitzvah, with Boris Thomashefsky. I vaguely remember my folks talking about his films. It was nostalgic - a world no longer, and I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the Yiddish. I even learned a few new words, like "he's talking gibberish" - "gibberish" was "katchke loshon" (duck talk). I thought the wicked second wife resembled Madonna and Boris resembled a bearded Robert DeNiro.

Kanchivaram was the other film I saw about Indian silk weavers in the 1940s. Interesting to learn about the culture between the feudal system - the wealthy "lord" and his poor workers, and touching story about how a man stole silk threads over years in order to make his daughter a silk wedding dress, as he promised at her birth.

Saturday I saw Paraiso Travel, a Colombian movie about two illegal immigrants in New York City. Also very good. The director, Simon Brand was there and spoke a bit at the beginning (and end?), and I thought he looks young enough to be my son. How depressing.

After we saw a Thai movie called Nymph - very slow moving, and it reminded me a bit of the Blair Witch project. Same feel.

The last movie I saw that day was Young at Heart - one of my favorites at the festival - about seniors in their 70s-90s singing punk rock, hard rock, pop and doing it so well. I laughed at the scenes of the videos they did - Staying Alive, I Wanna Be Sedated, Road to Nowhere. Moving film. I wish the chorus would come to Israel. I'd definitely go see them.

Sunday I saw Dancing with Tears in Our Eyes about the history of the nighclub scene in Israel. When you're tired and there are no English subtitles and it's a late movie...it was a bit of a strain, as I kept falling asleep in my chair. Not that the chair was so comfortable, but I had hoped for more footage instead of all the interviews.

Tuesday, I saw Abu Ali about a Sufi director of the Acre Theater company who attempts to direct a play about the Third Temple.

Then a documentary on Sayed Kashua, which was also one of my favorites at the festival. He is also one of my favorite writers. Fortunately, one of my co-workers was able to introduce us because he lives in her building, and when I found that out, I asked for an intro. She introduced us before the film began and I was all like "isn't it worth being so aggravated for all the fame it's bringing you?" He smiled, shook my hand and then I told him after the show that - we're kindred spirits, we fit in nowhere, just like the Arabs believe he's a collaborator with Jews and Jews view him with suspicion, I often feel I'm in the same boat because I live in Maaleh Adumim and hold interfaith meetings. It's hard not fitting in, not being made of the same mold as the rest of your people. He told me that he feels sorry for me. My favorite writer feels sorry for me. I was so flattered getting sympathy from him.

I spoke to the director of his film at the after-party plus some of the actors/people involved with his show Arab Labor and the atmosphere was happy, easy-going, none of this kind of snobbishness one sometimes feels at these festivals.

Friday - the last two films I saw was a French Lebanese film - Melodrama Habibi, a pretty good film about a man who had one hit song many years back in Lebanon who came back from France to sing his song. The Khamsa - a very good French movie about a gypsy boy who is half gypsy, half Algerian and who wears his Khamsa necklace for good luck.

Until next year....

Were Palestinians once Jewish?

Someone sent me this video. I think it's kind of wild, especially since there were times when I've met certain Arabs I thought - "Oh my God, he looks so Jewish holding that prayer book" or "She looks just like my aunt" - and even at times felt as if we were closer than sisters or brothers. There was no explanation for this.

And then this video (mostly in Hebrew but with some English subtitles).



So at a retreat last week at the Austrian Hospice, I ask one of my Palestinian friends who lives in the Hebron area if he believes this theory that they come from Jewish stock. He tells me 'Oh yes, my grandfather told me we are descended from Bar Kochba .'

People were like - ok, now they have Right of Return, since they're all Jewish, together with, it's harder getting along with your own, never mind getting along with the Arab world. Maybe it's better that they stay where they are?

Then I think one could understand more - with this theory in mind - why their explusion/fleeing from their villages in 1948 was so painful that they commemorate it each year, as we have done for 2,000 years our exile. If they were originally Jews, then they've been exiled for the third time, and don't like it much one bit.

misfits in my neighborhoods

I've always considered myself, my husband, my children to be misfits of society. It was definitely more noticeable when we lived in Toronto amongst seemingly normal people. We have had a couple of "there you go" moments when we've heard the gossip from the Old Country - people divorcing, affair scandals, kids on drugs - all from what seemed like your run-of-the-mill normal families. And of course, I felt much better afterwards.

And here, of course, I continue on with the misfit trend, having befriended tons of Arabs - both Moslem and Christian, messianic Jews and whoever else I could find who would be unpopular with the rest of the local populace. And of course, I think I have a monopoly on my "misfit" label. Until last Saturday.

I had to get to the Cinemateque in Jerusalem for the yearly International Jerusalem Film Festival. My friend and I have a standing date at the Cinemateque every year for this. It's difficult getting into Jerusalem on the Sabbath without a car and without buses running. Us seculars have to rely on expensive taxis or be at the mercy of strangers who will happily give us non-car-owners a lift into town.

It's hot around 11:00 am, and I found a spot in the shade where I tried to flag down cars. One car stopped, and said he'd drive me to the entrance of Maaleh Adumim where I'd find more cars traveling to Jerusalem. Fine.

He stops off at the entrance, by the police station, and there's this guy standing in the shade.

"Are there taxis coming through here?"

I thought - that's a strange pick-up line. He knows damn well there are taxis riding through here.

"If you want to pay 120 shekels, go right ahead" I told him.

In typical Israeli-he-man fashion he tells me "I never pay more than 50 shekels."

"Even on weekends?"

"Even on weekends. And do you know that taxis in Azariyah (an Arab town near us) charge only 6 shekels for a ride?" He doesn't know me from Adam, but I'm sure he wanted to get a reaction, but my reaction was far from what he expected.

"Oh really? So why don't we go?"

Then he began to tell me his experiences when taking these taxis.

"I'd be traveling until the checkpoint, and the soldiers would stop the taxi and ask the passengers to show their ID. So I'd show them my ID and they'd scream at me, 'you're Jewish? Why are you taking this taxi?' and I'd say to them 'ma zeh meshaneh?' (what does it matter?). I hear them asking for ID's by yelling at the passengers. I'd tell the soldiers, 'why can't you just ask for their ID's nicely. Like - 'please, can I see your ID?' Why must you yell and scream? Just one person can change the way they think of you, as a Jew, as a soldier. Why all the hate? Why all the racism?"

I looked at this man and thought - Oh My God. My twin brother is living right here in the same city as me.

I was so excited, and told him about my interfaith groups and gave him my number thinking he'd be interested in attending. I knew nothing about him personally, other than he was quite good looking, about my age, renting an apartment and doesn't have a car, which led me to believe he was divorced and paying child support because he couldn't afford a house/car. But my hunch wasn't confirmed. I never bothered to ask.

He flagged down a taxi, paid the guy 50 shekels, said the ride was on him, and we spoke about our intercultural experiences together. He was on his way to the Old City just to walk around and invited me for knafe and coffee. But I had other plans. He got out of the cab, and I got out somewhere where it was walking distance to the Cinemateque.

Next day at work, I get a call from this guy. I tell him, "it's so rare for me to find a person who is so tolerant and open-minded, especially where we live. It was so nice to meet you yesterday."

"Same here. Look, the Dead Sea is hot during the day, but they have night swimming until 1 in the morning. Would you want to come swimming with me tonight?"

I almost blurted out - "Of course I want to go swimming with you at the Dead Sea tonight" - but didn't.

Instead, after a few moments of silence at the shock of being asked out on a date, I told him that I was married, and that I couldn't go with him. But if he was still interested in coming to my interfaith meeting next week, I'd love to see him there.

He muttered something like "Have a good life with your husband. If I'm interested, I'll call you." Then - click.

Best Hoax Award

This morning I got a frantic email from a Palestinian friend of mine - using her regular email address - her email said she is stuck in the UK, was robbed in her hotel, they took her computer, cellphone, money and she needs people to wire money to her immediately so she can get back home. The email was written pretty much the way she speaks in broken English. I "thought" it was legit. I forwarded this to a friend in London and asked the frantic friend of mine to contact a certain mosque, person, embassy, etc. I get a note back - "I'm so embarrassed. Please don't tell anyone about this. Please wire $1800 to (a certain) address in London, and I'll pay you back as soon as I get home."

Well, they almost had me. I called up this woman to see if in fact she really is in London. She answered. She knows about the email and someone apparently stole her email address and contacted everyone in her address book. She can't get into her email to alert her contacts. They also apparently studied her style of writing because the emails did sound quite like the way she speaks English. But when they said to "keep it quiet" after sending an SOS to everyone she knows....well.... I smelled some rotten fish 'n chips in Jolly Ol England. I do hope the police are onto them. I've alerted my London friend that this is a hoax and a pretty damn not-too-jolly good one at that. They get the most original hoax award but I certainly hope the fuzz get onto them before her distraught friends start wiring her money.

Egged

My oldest daughter and I are bonding through Egged bus lines. Every morning we meet on the bus on our way to work, taking the same bus. We catch up on the day before talk about our summer plans, complain about family, and talk about the passengers on the bus. They haven't yet caught on. Our conversations are low and in English, interspersed with an occasional burst of laughter at some of them - like the good looking Arab man who gets on at the last stop and wore the same pink shirt for three days in a row. She cackles...

"Maybe his wife left him and he doesn't know how to do the laundry?"

No one is safe on that bus with us. We look at older Ethiopian women who wear plaid tops with checkered skirts and totally mismatched head coverings, and note how Arab women know how to match their clothing right up to their head coverings - sometimes even better than we do.

There's the fat Russian man with his adorable young blond daughter and the deaf and mute man who has a crush on me. This man and I get off at the same stop and he sounds out something I don't understand and then kisses my hand. This happens nearly every day. I understand when he tells me it's hot outside or when he asked me if I'm married, by motioning with his hands a ring on the finger. I showed him my ring, but that still didn't stop his hand-kissing me. Then we part ways at the traffic light. My daughter sometimes says rude things about him to me, right in front of him, in English and I hope he can't lip read in English. I don't think he can. This morning he snatched my shopping cart from me before our stop, ran down the bus steps with it, and I just shrugged my shoulders at my daughter and said 'I guess I HAVE to get off here, don't I!" We blew kisses to each other and laughed.

She puts on her makeup as soon as we get on the bus and I put mine on when the bus is on the highway so I don't mascara my nose when the bus swerves and turns along its local Maaleh Adumim route.

She lets me know when there are changes in my babysitting schedule and I look at my schedule and tell her if I can or cannot babysit that evening. I told her how I really enjoyed babysitting this past Monday because her kid wasn't cranky at all. In fact, he imitated me when I called him a "nudnik". He pushed the plastic chair around the livingroom repeating "nud nik, nud nik", which is what he is, of course, albeit a very cute one.

We planned an evening at Cinema City in Herzliya with our hubbies - for an evening at the movies in the VIP section of the theater - "where you sit on lazy-boys, put your feet up and watch the movie, and go and get pop and popcorn for free. They serve you bourekas, pastries, and you can eat all the Ben and Jerry ice cream you want. All the Ben and Jerry's you want!!!" my daughter repeated this as if this will send her (together with me, of course) into a state of ecstasy.

Now that our travel route has bonded us, she invites me on Tuesday evenings to her home where her chef husband cooks up a splendid meal. Yesterday there was tri-colored pasta salad and Greek salad with real feta cheese. I find that this tradeoff of me babysitting on Monday nights and dinners at their house on Tuesdays is a nice exchange.

We have two bus drivers that take us to our destinations - one we call the "Turtle" because he drives like one, and the other is an Ethopian whom she calls "Samuel Jackson" because she thinks he resembles a younger version of Samuel. When she calls me in the morning to see what driver we have, the drivers must think I'm a CIA agent or something. I talk in code. "Good morning sweetie, it's the Turtle today." That's a sign that she either has to rush to her bus stop or walk at a slower pace. Samuel's her favorite driver. Once, when I wasn't on the bus, he asked her "Where's your 'friend' that always calls you each morning when she gets on the bus, and you sit together?" "Friend? That's my mother!" "Really? I would never have guessed, she looks so young." And now he's my favorite bus driver too.

Music

Well, if I can't travel anywhere, I thank God for YouTube where I can spend some time listening to some of my favorite bands/singers from this part of the world, and some of the stuff my kids are listening too. Many I find very uplifting.

Why don't you give a listen and tell me what you think?



Avishai Cohen



Avishai Cohen with Din Din Aviv


Uri Banai


Moosh Ben Ari


Ehud Banai


Ehud Banai


Ron Danker


Kobi Peretz


Alon de Loco


Dana International and Idan Yaniv


Amir Dadon

Here, there and everywhere

What is this? I simply cannot focus. I'm 53 years old and still don't know what I want to be or do when I grow up. It hasn't happened yet. But I want to be discovered.

On Saturday I was restless, as I usually am. I had this terrible yearning to be anywhere but in my apartment. I suddenly wanted to go to these obscure music festivals in Morocco, or wanting to see the midnight sun either in Sweden or Iceland and if that didn't pan out, then I would go to Finland in the wintertime and do some dog-sledding (but with whom?).

Besides that, there's the career I never had. I thought perhaps I should write an award-winning movie script, become a renowned photographer, invent something, steal something not patented but that I think is a wonderful idea, import things I want to see in Israel, build a touristy website of special interest. See? I can do a lot of these things, but I don't do them to the point where I excel in them. It's all mediocre. To be more than mediocre, I'd have to put my heart and soul into whatever it is I want to do - but there's no money or time for learning these crafts/skills. Plus I thought about getting a degree. Just a simple BA degree in anything because I can't decide in what I should get a degree. It could be anything from comparative religion, communication, journalism, history, education,anything interfaith, intercultural. I looked over a few options and found that unless I dole out a shitload of money, I can't study in English. It would have to be in Hebrew. That would be totally tough for me as my Hebrew reading is limited to advertisements, street signs and restaurant menus, and my Hebrew grammar is horrid. And I almost said to Hubby "yes, because then I would be able to study in English" when my husband had his weekly - Let's Go Back To Canada - moment.

Ahhhh

God always has a way of pacifying me in one way or another when I'm upset, grumpy, nervous... And yesterday was one of those days. So I managed to get myself a free introductory hot stone massage in Neve Daniel - a settlement south of Jerusalem.

My kids and friends laughed at me - knowing the lengths I'd go to get the finer things in life. Yes, I told them, I'd even go into an Arab village to get that free massage too.

I waited for the hourly bus at Malcha Mall and got on the bullet-stone proof bus that would take me to this place. While I sat down and made boogie-eyes at a cute blonde baby girl next to me, to make her laugh (she did), I got a text message from Rabbis from Human Rights about plowing in the Arab village of Jitt, a call from a friend who has a financial dilemma (which was easy for me to figure out - I have a clear head for others, but not myself), and before I knew it, I found myself through the entrance to Neve Daniel. The homes were big and beautiful in this new section and filled with Americans from what I hear. The sunset was magnificent, and I saw the neighboring hill of the Tent of Nations where I had spent one lovely evening, and wished the two communities could get to know one another.

But getting back to this hot stone massage. I was in absolute heaven for 1 1/4 hours. With hot stones and hot oil professionally applied to every place that hurt -and that was most places on me - I felt so relaxed. I didn't even think about what had bothered/worried me all week. I relaxed so much so that when I got home I went straight to sleep at 9:30 pm - early for someone who doesn't hit the sack until at least 11:00 pm.

The woman who gave the treatment was a recent arrival to Israel from California (are all healers from California?), and we laughed together when we compared our adult-children stories. I was pleased because I need to have good energy coming from the healer. A masseuse can be good, even excellent, but if there's no energy or just bland energy coming from that person, it doesn't add to the treatment. Here, I felt a kinship, a bond, so it was really lovely. And to top it off, she served melon and various kinds of nuts with a tall glass of water after the treatment which was a lovely surprise and quite a nice touch, I must say.

So, here's another thing I would like for my wish list. Weekly hot stone massages. God, are you listening?

Summer vacation blues

I've been feeling nervous and anxious and worried and all the synonyms that go with these words. Why? I don't know. A combination of things. Tomorrow is already July 1st and I'm looking at Facebook, seeing photos that people posted of wonderful places where they are traveling and my travel envelope is empty. So is my clothing envelope. Hubby is finishing his 6 month construction job with not a job in the very near future and that is also very disturbing, especially since I need nearly $2,000 from him each month to keep us going - and not even going, but to just be able to eat. So, I'd rather be travelilng to the North of Sweden and taking in the midnight sun, or taking a cruise along the Mediterranean or even Eastern Europe - just one city!! One city. That isn't asking for too much - is it?

I did buy a couple of tickets to the Jerusalem Film Festival, which is a lot cheaper than travel, and that will keep me happy for 10 days. And in August there's the Arts and Crafts festival with its many stalls, works of art, gypsy cafe, international performers, local performers, etc. There will be free/cheap entertainment this summer, but I worry. Will I be able to even have lunch out while my office is closed for two weeks? I was hoping to do "lunches" at various restaurants around Jerusalem because it's less expensive than dinner and I hardly go out for lunch - which is always taken indoors at the office. So this would be a treat. But what if I can't afford those lunches? I'm worried about summer deprivation and it's still only June 30th.

Every day I look at my two bathrooms where shower doors are supposed to be - and where I was hoping, after living in my apartment for two years, that they'd finally be installed. But it's a bad case of the "shoemaker's family's shoes" syndrome, and I'm living it. Feh.

You know how you have those bouts of "nothing is going my way" days. This week is one of those weeks.

It began by me going to a wedding of a distant relative of mine in Jerusalem. I didn't even ask Hubby to tag along because we hardly know anyone who would be there, and with separate seating for men and women at this ultra-Orthodox event, he would be totally alone. Which left more adventurous me to represent our family. I walked in with my lovely burgandy Naot sandals and a modest skirt with sequins scattered here and there and a black top which covered my elbows. I even wore a head covering. But everyone else there was dressed in designer duds and wigs and no one was wearing sandals (gasp!), while I was the only one there whose stocking-less toes were peeking out through their shoes. Fortunately, I found another outcast there(who was easily identifiable by her non-glamorous clothing and partially uncovered hair) among the guests, and so we sat together at our own table - no one bothering to sit with us, as if we had the plague or were in exile for daring to dress down/dowdy/different.

That was number one. Then every time I'd open Facebook this week, it opened up in Hebrew and I'd have to figure out how to get it to go back into English. You might think it's petty but I want my creature comforts and if I don't have money for travel, and English is it, then I should have it.

Rent in Jerusalem

Thank the good Lord I'm not doing that no more. I haven't rented in 2 years and don't intend to ever again. It was hell. Absolute hell. But that's not what I meant by this post's title. I want to tell you about the play RENT, that has been performing since June 11th, as part of Hadassah's Center Stage Theater in Jerusalem.

My calendar for things to do/see/go to has been filling up faster than a broken dam. That's a stupid analogy, I know - but you get the picture. I'm busy. Last Thursday, I was planning to go to a very serious interfaith event at the lovely Mishkenot Shaananim guest house. The event featured talks by various Jewish, Moslem and Christian leaders on the one God, which would eventually lead up to a discussion about the Temple Mount and how the Third Temple can exist side-by-side with the Al-Aqsa mosque - the hows and whys and how to overcome the difficulties that will certainly arise from even the thought of such a thing. They were giving out a simultaneous translation contraption, which I took, so my brain wouldn't have to work hard at translating Hebrew into English - let someone else bust their chops doing this. The audience was quiet, serious and a lovely mix of Druze, Christians, Moslem and Jews - quite a number of Orthodox Jews at that.

But a conversation with a friend of mine earlier in the afternoon coaxed me into seeing a rooftop performance of the Jerusalem production of Rent. Her daughter was in the show, and I figured it would be nice of me to go. I'm not into plays, theater - not even musicals. I didn't even care for Hair or Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. But I thought it would be a nice respite from the stresses of life and my hectic job, where I hardly have time to take lunch breaks.

I also like rooftop anythings in Jerusalem. The air is cool at night and there are rooftop barbecues, concerts, etc. happening all throughout the summer. If it's rooftop, I'm there.

One drawback for me was that it's not always so pleasant to go places on one's own. A movie, play, dinner out is so much better with a friend or two or three. I made a spontaneous decision to go, and tried calling one friend, who doesn't mind impulsivity, who I thought might want to go, but she couldn't be reached. So I got the one ticket, even though I didn't see too many other lone theater-goers.

To tell you the truth, I had expected a much more amateurish production. I used to go to Broadway shows all the time when I lived in New York and dated an entertainment writer. I didn't expect anything close to that kind of professionalism here in Jerusalem. But I was pleasantly surprised. The acting was great, the singing just as great and I thought the music was pre-recorded, until I looked over a few heads in front of me and saw a small band in the corner. I loved the play's characters, and my friend's daughter was amazing. She sounded like she could easily sell a whole shitload of records. And that kind of brought back all that nostalgia for American culture.

When I got home I tried to get my family excited about perhaps going with me again next week for the play's last week of performances, but none of my enthusiasm rubbed off on them. My kids just tsk'd at me - they're not into American anything. They are far too snobbishly Israeli to go to anything as embarrasingly American as this.

"I know you'll like the music, and the actors are all young, and pretty and handsome" I added.

They just shrugged their shoulders at me. Mom's crazy and goes to all these hippie, Arab-Jewish things, so why should they believe me now that they'll like something I like.

But I did get a positive response from Hubby. Yes, he, too, would like to lay back into a Jerusalem rooftop experience after a hard day's work and go see this play. And maybe he'll fall in love with the drag queen as much as I did.

Sin City

I love Tel Aviv. I feel so free and easy when I'm there, and life seems so uncomplicated. I'm learning the city little by little. I decided to go with Hubby this past Friday, to renew our Canadian passport, pick up Madonna tickets, have breakfast at the Port and see the Pride Parade.

Being that we're car-less, we took a bus from Jerusalem, and the bus just glided its way into the Big City that never sleeps in the Middle East. We seemed to get there in no time at all, being that there's not much traffic on a Friday.

The Canadian embassy/consulate wait was two hours and I just KNEW that if I waited with a very ADHD hubby, things would not bode well for me, so I left that for another time when I'll go alone. But I wondered why the wait was so long. The U.S. Consulate is quick and efficient, and the Canadians either don't have the staff, or don't work fast or take long lunches. Who knows. We navigated towards the nearest bus stop and found out from one of the locals that it was an easy 20 minute walk from the Central Bus Station to the Embassy. Next time I'll do that instead of paying a taxi 30 NIS. I'm such a fucking tourist.

Picking up Madonna tickets was next on my list and we decided to take in Tel Aviv by walking the entire length of Ibn Gavirol Street in whatever shade we could find. Everyone was having breakfast on that street. Organic this and organic that - even a shop with organic falafel. I was impressed. We wondered what it would be like if we lived in Tel Aviv instead of our sleepy suburb of Maaleh Adumim, and I warned Hubby that he'd have to earn three times as much because a) I would need to get through all the restaurants - at least for Friday brunch and b) the designer stores for clothing/furniture/house stuff were much more interesting than what you see in Jerusalem - and more expensive. We got to the ticket place only to find out that the tickets for Madonna's concert weren't printed out yet, and won't be until the 21st of June. Hubby wanted to argue with the ticket people, but I told him it was pointless when signs were posted all over the place about the new date for pick up. A bit disheartened at two failed errands, we walked the rest of Ibn Gavirol Street until the street turned lush and shady, less trendy, with more middle-class families eating at greasy spoons on the street. We were right at the edge of Yarkon Park where we walked on the bicycle path towards the Port. There were people out canoeing in the kryptonite-green Yarkon river, which stunk at one picturesque point - which was an absolute shame. Aren't they supposed to be cleaning up the beautiful river?

We asked English-speaking bicycle riders for directions to the Port, and they pointed us in the direction. I told them we were "hicks from Jerusalem". Ah, yes, so were they, they laughed. "Good thing I didn't say we were white trash from Jerusalem, eh?" I ribbed Hubby.

We dropped our weary selves onto Comme Il Faut cafe right by the sea. I didn't care if breakfast was $1,000 at this point. We ordered a breakfast for two, gouda cheese, salmon, sparkling wine (!), salad, eggs with ricotta and hyssop, olives, labane cheese, cream cheese, good nutty bread, home-made jam, and carrot juice. I didn't want to leave! The sound of the waves was soothing and then an old, fat guy who we recognized from the Elvis Inn, who thinks he looks like Elvis, was walking up and down smiling at his "fans" sitting at the cafes, while he carried his beat-up guitar. Well that sight was more amusing than soothing.

We made our way to Ben Yehuda Street to wait for the Pride Parade to pass this way. I decided that seeing the Gay Parade in Jerusalem was too stressful, with all the Hareidi demonstrators who sometimes turn violent against the marchers. It's not fun for me at all. But there were no hecklers out today, at least none that I saw. Hubby found a sex shop on the street, and walked in. I couldn't do anything but follow him inside, and thanked God that I don't know a soul in Tel Aviv, and that no one knows me either. We spent the first few minutes chuckling at all the contraptions, looking like Virgin Sex Store Shoppers, which we are. We ended up asking the pretty saleswoman all sorts of questions - like how do you use this and how do you use that. One contraption was so amusing that she said all the "girls" buy for themselves. It looked like the kind of beaded necklace I used to string together when I was a kid, but they went from small to large beads. I will not explain further, so do not ask me. This is a relatively clean blog, except for my bad language.

We made a hasty exit, not buying a damn thing (it wasn't on our spending plan), because we heard the marchers coming our way. As I knew, the parade was fun, lots of drag queens, lots of young kids - mostly young kids marching, and many of the guys with lovely bodies (for me) to look at. Some wore very interesting outfits, and if I can ever get the photos of the parade out of my husband's phone, I'll post them, but if not, I'm sure I can find them somewhere on line. Yes, I just did and they're here . We decided to hit the beach with the rest of the party and got us some chairs with an umbrella a few feet from the water. The chairs were well worth the money but the expensive beer and mojitos weren't. We people-watched for a couple of hours until the sun nearly set.

The privately-run mini-vans do run on the Sabbath and we were able to easily get back to our city. So if you're secular, need to "get away" and find Jerusalem stifling when you're not feeling particularly spiritual one weekend, it's easy to just hop into one of those mini-vans and head out to Tel Aviv.

Lost and Found

I've lost it. I've finally lost it. I used to have the best celeb-radar around. When I was 14 and hung around NYC waiting for the Beatles (separately) to show up - at their hotels, recording studios, business offices - I always knew where they would go, when the concert tickets would go on sale and who to contact for freebies or gifts or whatnot. But that is true no longer.

I drove home with my newly-married daughter and my son-in-law. He asks me:

"It's crazy trying to get Madonna tickets. Nobody can get through to the ticket offices. Are you going?"

"Going? Going where? To Europe to see Madonna?"

"She's playing here in September. You didn't know that?"

I would have throttled him as only a mother-in-law can do, but as he was the driver, I held myself back.

No I didn't know that. Since when did she creep up on us like that? And since when have I lost my touch for knowing everything there is to know about concert tickets in Israel?

Son-in-law blames me for not reading the Hebrew papers.

"You read the Jerusalem Post - that Settler paper. Of course you wouldn't see it there."

"I perused the Hebrew papers over the weekend. I read the headlines and the ads. And there was NOTHING about Madonna. There was an ad for Blue Man Group, but I haven't a clue who they are. So, sorrrreee." I glared at him, but he couldn't see this because he was looking out the front window.

"Are YOU going?"

Of course he would take her. He bought her diamond earrings for her birthday and sent her to a luxury spa. Ahhhh there are good husbands in the world, I just didn't fucking land one.

But my ego didn't get too busted up because just before I got into their car, I went over to check out a new restaurant in town called Simneh, a Yemenite bakery/coffee shop of sorts, beautifully decorated with Middle Eastern floor tiles, and Arabesque wall tiles. The place was spotless. The owner kept giving me samples to taste and I didn't have to buy a thing. Every half loaf of exotic Yemenite bread he gave me as a "treat" including a half piece of Knafe, which was more light-tasting than its Arab counterpart in the Old City's Jafaar Bakery. I was thinking perhaps I'll take my DA sponsor to meet with me here tomorrow and asked if it was kosher. Sure, they said, showing me the certificates. "I just need to know for my friend, because I'm not religious, but she is."

"What do you mean you're not religious??" the owner smiled at me. "There's no such thing." He was blond, tall, a proud Uber-Zionist Jew.

"HUH?"

"You ARE religious. Because you're living in the Land of Israel. You're doing the mitzvah (good deed) of living in the Land of Israel. THAT'S being religious."

Wow. I wasn't even trying. So here, I may have lost my celeb-radar but I have found that others believe there is some good in me.

When the Apples Fall Far From the Tree

Holidays can be difficult when there's no car/means of transportion - especially for the old and the restless like myself. I read in the papers about water hikes in the Golan, fairs in Caesaria and a meditation/yoga festival called Sagol on the grounds of a southern kibbutz - and I want to go to all of them, or even one of them. But I cannot.

I had the pre-holiday blues while my son was partying wildly with all the anti-Arab racist fans of Jerusalem's Betar soccer team, singing their racist songs. The Israeli tv stations filmed the fans and I prayed my son wasn't being filmed because that would embarrass me to no end. It's bad enough he thinks it's fun and even thought it ok to miss school the next day with most of his class as they trudged into their homes the next morning when the buses began to roll again.

We were invited out for Thursday night at my newly-married daughter's family. Some members of my family were worried that they were gonna get poisoned by the mother-in-law's food.

"She tried to kill us last time, remember?" insisted my youngest daughter who decided to eat locally at my oldest daughter's home - where the husband is a real chef and who doesn't hate her enough to poison her.

"Last time" was New Year's where the catering gave some of the family stomach queasiness. But this time my married daughter is making the pastas, lasagnas and salads and I'm bringing the blintzes. So no one should be afraid!!

After an unhealthy but happy feast of pastas and cheese of various sorts, we were driven back home to our house - us, the unfortunate souls with no car, who have to be driven back and forth. They must feel so sorry for us. They even told me not to bring them anything. But I did bring flowers and blintzes. We watched a bit of television on their 50" plasma tv and I tried not to get jealous of their "things".

"One day we'll get a large LCD" I told the mother-in-law ..."AFTER we get shower doors installed." And I glared at Hubby who I believe to be the cause of our lack-of-shower-doors and lack of second working shower in the main bathroom. It irritates me to know that out of the five 8-floor apartment buildings in our complex, we are the only ones who do not have shower doors or a second working shower. I sometimes enjoy being different, but this is taking it too far!

I had expected my newly-engaged daughter to come home some time before the holiday. But the holiday was starting in an hour and no daughter was to be found. I called her and was surprised to find out that she had seriously fought with her fiancee. She was chucking both him and religion out the window, as she told me she decided to work on the eve of the holiday.

Her sisters gasped at her new-found heretic-ness and then laughed their heads off. When she got back home, she opened up the sheet set she was saving for after her wedding and put them on her bed. The sheets were floral and appropriately colored red. She was mad as hell and was not gonna take it anymore. And she blurted out her venom.

"Do I look fat?"

"Not at all."

My daughter is quite petit and very skinny. But she said her fiancee was making fun of her and told her she was fat. How DARE he! She continued with her rant - "He's always making fun of me in front of his family and friends, and thinks it's funny." So none of us are mourning the fate of this relationship. I'm just wondering whether she'll be keeping the zirconium ring he bought her. Hubby was thrilled at her not marrying a Moroccan because they all "need to be the boss" and said he'd rather she married an Arab.

Last night we were all together - including both marrieds with the grandkid. I complained about the tasteless chicken I made from ground up tortilla corn chips. Hubby tried to console me in his usual tactless way.

"If you were living in Chicago, all the niggers would be lining up outside your door for this chicken."

I guess I should take this as a compliment.

Crossing Over

Our interfaith group had been meeting for over a year already and had only met at my home in Maaleh Adumim. It has been a royal hassle for the Moslems to get over to our side with getting permits and some times not being able to get them on time. Last month we felt secure enough to make the next meeting at our Moslem coordinator's home in Abu Dis. Many local hecklers had teased me with emails like "why don't you meet at their home in Abu Dis?" - and at the beginning it seemed impossible. After all, aren't Jews too frightened to venture into Arab neighborhoods? Well, last month we made that decision to finally have our next meeting there.

Four Jews set out from the entrance to Maaleh Adumim on Thursday night. Our Moslem coordinator picked us up outside the checkpoint in his car. He immediately apologized for the state of his car.

"This is my father's car. It's a very old car, but because he works for the Palestinian government, this is what they gave him."

Huh? I told him too bad his dad doesn't work for the Israeli government because he'd be driving a shiny new Volvo right now. And we drove through the dusty bumpy roads of Azariah through the valley of Abu Dis dotted by ancient terraces.

"I like driving this car better than a Mercedes?" he told us.

I looked at him in disbelief. What kind of Arab was he anyway? Didn't they all love luxury cars - BMWs, Audis, Mercedes?

"I feel like I'm really driving when I drive this car!!" he told us, as he struggled with his stick shift.

"Yeah, when you go in a Mercedes - it drives YOU, doesn't it!" I said sympathetically.

He must be the black sheep of the family, I thought.

As we drove into Abu Dis, everyone seemed to know him. They waved and smiled, probably not having any idea he's driving a bunch of Jews into his home.

He gave us a tour of his place; out in the garden there was an ancient fig tree, its roots against what looked like a centuries-old wall. There was a row of old domed homes owned by his family in another part of the family compound.

"This is where I met my wife, when she was a student at the university and rented an apartment there. I would see her from this terrace."

"Oh like David spying on Bathsheba, huh?" I asked - while everyone laughed at the thought of him checking her out in her apartment, unknowing to her.

The house was immaculate, and I could use that word freely since the Pope was still in town on Thursday. Abed poured us coffee from a lovely copper urn he picked up in Jordan.

We talked about mosques and synagogues at this meeting and the Moslems seemed surprised to find out that one of the oldest synagogues in the Holy Land was deep in Jericho. I had taken photos of it when I was there like 10 years ago. And the Jews learned that the three holist mosques are in Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem. There were 7 parts to a mosque; one of which is called a Minbar. So when I looked at a photo in his home of the Minbar inside Al Aksa, at first I thought it read "minibar at Al Aksa" and everyone laughed at the thought of a secret minibar inside the holy mosque.

The discussion expanded somewhat as some of us secular Jews talked about feeling closer to God even though they were secular than when they were religious. Because sometimes formal prayer doesn't always get you there. I tell the group that I also feel close to God during interfaith meetings and prayer groups because I feel like this is what God wants. He enjoys seeing the Children of Abraham getting on in His land and not bickering over every fucking thing.

The meeting lasted for three hours instead of the usual 1 1/2 hours. The Jews didn't have expiry dates on our permits - heck we didn't even need permits to get there, although one person noticed a sign going into the Arab neighborhood forbidding Israelis to enter this neighborhood, even though it's Area B and legally allowed.

As we were let out at the entrance back to Maaleh Adumim, the guards asked us if everything is ok, as we walked through the checkpoint.

"Yes, everything is ok." we answered and smiled. If they only knew where we just were...

Walking to where people parked their cars, we wondered why donors weren't pouring money into interfaith groups/non-political dialogue groups. I think everyone felt so high from this meeting.

And that feeling unfortunately soon ended as I entered my home and faced the grumpy, eternally-complaining members of my family....

Health is Wealth

Last night I got two free tickets to the Alternateva fair - a fair for alternative health products, healthier lifestyles, strange new age fads and your multi-level marketing salespeople with their shtick. I had just been complaining that I never get wined and dined any longer - not since my old boss died - that my Higher Power listens to me kvetching and - abracadabra - this newer boss handed me her two tickets because she couldn't go. I went together with another co-worker.

We walked through the aisles of stands - which took us three hours in all - not to mention all the lectures and music we missed. We passed by Tarot card readers, astrologers,palm readers - there were a few machines that read your auras, but that was scary. What if my aura is a wrong color or something? I wouldn't want to know. I tried to walk quietly minding my own business, but everyone there seemed to know everything about me. There was no hiding nothin'. What if they all read minds? Then I'm in deep shit.

"You have seborrhea" says this woman who's selling her brand of natural creams. She's looking at my nose and continues.

"It's not a physical thing you know. It's spiritual. It's from stress."

Really.

I looked at these egg shaped dry skin removers which hold in your dead skin instead of it flaking on the floor and thought those were the coolest things. Two stands were selling them, and one was 20 shekels cheaper than the other. It was the only thing I bought. There were other "As Seen On TV" items that looked like fun - like the tool for folding shirts perfectly. Maybe next year. I didn't take those 15 minute reflexology or reiki treatments because by the evening's end the massage therapists looked like they were in need of their own treatments - after so many hours of work. I fell in love with these foam mattresses and pillows, called memory foam, because the foam contours to your body/head. It must be heaven to sleep on those. We tried sitting on the chair pads and decided if we buy those for the office, we'd probably get fired for not wanting to get off our chairs at work.

We walked past people with acupuncture-like needles all over their hands and books on Kabbalah and expensive equipment for raw foodies.

We sampled a bit of free food here and there, and tried out all the testers from the abundance of natural creams and salves and oils. We nodded our heads in agreement when the salesperson told us that people are used to shampoos with a lot of suds because they think it works better when there's more suds, when in fact the natural shampoos have little suds, if any.

"In fact, the cheap ones are like putting kerosene in your hair. Do you know that? Do you want to put that stuff in your hair?" We nodded in agreement with her.

Then a Sunrider salesperson stopped us to give us a taste of hot water and cinnamon.

"This cleanses out your body. You can eat anything you want - chicken with hormones and antibiotics and chocolates, but you can drink our products and your intestines will be cleansed."

For like $20 for 10 bags.

"I'll need to spend $60 for a month's supply, right?" I asked. Could people be so stupid? I'll make my own fucking hot water with cinnamon to clean my intestines out and it'll cost me $1 a month.

Jerusalem Welcomes the Pope

It's Pope Fest this week in Jerusalem. Roads are closed, busses are re-routed during the day and the city has a kind of festive atmosphere where everyone's walking in the streets downtown during the closures. Notre Dame hung many yellow and white flags all over the place and a sign at a busy downtown intersection said that Jerusalem's Light Rail Transit system welcomes Pope Benedict XVI. He probably wondered about the horrible mess the light rail system is making of Jerusalem and the least they can do is officially welcome him.

Many of my interfaith friends got to meet the Pope at a special interfaith gathering until a sheikh hijacked the meeting for his own political agenda. Doesn't he know one doesn't talk politics at an interfaith gathering? Asshole.

My daughter wondered why so many tourists had come from overseas to see the Pope. There were dozens of tour buses all over the city.

"They're Pope Groupies" I told her.

"Really? They go all over the world just to see the Pope?"

I'm sure some actually do, although I don't know of anyone personally who does.
*****
And this past week I've also been concentrating on my raw foods, preparing one vegetable juice drink a day. Hubby took a peek at what I was making one morning...

"THAT looks like cat diarrhea." Well, it does actually. Which means I can have this juice all to myself, unlike other snacks and goodies which I have to hide - and hiding places are becoming more scarce in my home, as the family becomes more knowledgable of my hiding places.

I even took dried bananas to work today. Looking at these bananas I packed in a plastic bag, it did look like a dried piece of crap. But you can eat it and it's sweet and it's healthier than chocolate. So there. I won't have to hide any dried bananas either from my family.

My recently-married daughter called me and wants to know whether I can go with her to sushi night one evening. She's become totally addicted to sushi and "needing" it twice a week. We made a date for next week. At home I wondered about this new addiction of hers and told my husband...

"She was never adventurous before. All of a sudden, NOW - she's so into sushi? I don't get it."

I love sushi and when I was her age, I also ate it often. What's happening? Is she becoming more and more like me as time goes on? Where she once detested my "adventurous" gourmet food, now she's liking brown rice with edemame and other healthy options? Well, does that mean she'll be inviting Arabs into her house soon enough?...

Green

I am trying to incorporate some "raw foods" recipes into my life. I took a class during the week to try out some of the funny-looking green drinks because they seem so healthy and quick to make. Quick to Make is the key here. In my busy life, it always seemed nearly impossible to cook healthy meals, so a quick - throw-everything-you-have-in-the-fridge - seemed like a good solution. Which is what I did and - lettuce, peppers, ginger, garlic, apples, pears, beets - even parsley went into the machine. I gave some to Hubby and he grimaced with a loud "Yuck". He anyways believes I'm trying to poison him in one way or another - so I wasn't surprised at his reaction.

One morning I had just finished one of my various Green Drinks, locked the door, and headed for the elevator on my way to work. As I was about to go into the elevator, two young hunky guys were looking around for something on my floor. I asked them what they wanted. They said they were looking for my daughter. THAT daughter - the one that's always getting into trouble with the police. They were investigators and wanted to investigate her about something, but they wouldn't tell me what that something is, because she's over 18 and they just wanted to talk to her. The good citizen that I am, I ran into her room, but she wasn't there. She probably slept over at a friend's house, which is something she does for about half the week. I didn't seem concerned about her whereabouts and told the guys that I'll have her get in touch with them today.

If I do sound pretty blase about this 'challenge' of a daughter - that's because I am. I'm still paying for her friggin' lawyer for her pot bust over two years ago and I'm not getting her any more lawyers. That's it. Finito. It's legal aid for her or I'm placing her with a Moslem family where they lock up their daughters until marriage and then the husband can do with her what he pleases. I've HAD IT!!!! There. I've vented. That felt good. My stress is now gone.

"And by the way" I added, "you made me miss my bus, so could you please drive me to the mall where I could pick it up after it makes its route all over the neighborhood?"

The least they could do is to get me to work on time.

I got on the bus at the Mall, and my married daughter who travels on that same bus each morning with me, was like,

"Oh my God! Your lips!"

"What's wrong with my lips?" I asked.

"You look like you were swimming in Shrek's bath. You're lips are totally green."

"Green"?

I was nervous that the investigators might now think that I ate all my daughter's marijuana - when the culprit was in fact the parsley, celery, carrot, apple drink.

The next day the daughter under investigation goes to the police headquarters and they grill her over whether she's smoking weed or not. She insists she isn't and tells them they could test her if they want to. They don't. Or at least she said they didn't. Time will tell of course if she's lying or not. I'll know within the year if she gets a letter from the court summoning her to yet another trial. But meanwhile, I'll just be drinking my drinks. It take the stress away. And that green is totally legal.

The Salad Wars

My daughter hardly looked at me this evening when I came home at 9:00 pm. She was sulking on the tv chair with her fiancee, complaining as usual.

"No one is helping me for when his family comes next week. My sister doesn't even want to make salads. I can't wait to move to Tiberias away from this shitty family.

Yeah, I feel the same way sometimes. I really do.

And she continued, "Plus his family is starting to put away money for us and you're not doing anything!!! And they're asking me what you're doing for us..."

I started to get heated up.

"Did you tell them that I haven't yet recuperated from the wedding we had THREE WEEKS AGO? And do you know how much money I'm gonna be spending on that whole tribe coming down from Tiberias next week. Hundreds of shekels!!"

Man, does she burn my ass.

And she's the one doing most of the shit-disturbing.

Yesterday, I was talking about the good documentaries and movies on the Holocaust. One day a year,even Israeli cable tv pays homage to the Holocaust and nothing much is shown except Holocaust-related films and documentaries and ceremonies. So she rolls her eyes and tells me she's going to be watching a DVD.

"Once a year you just can't have respect and watch a documentary or film on the Holocaust? You have to just wash it away, like you want nothing to do with it. Like it's only a friggin' Ashkenazi thing and because you think you're Morrocan, it doesn't affect you?"

I was livid.

Like the whole thing with the salads. She's giving me a hard time because of salads when his family comes next week.

"They're not gonna eat your big American salads. They eat little salads. All different kinds of little salads."

"Excuse me!! They're not gonna partake of my big American salads? What kind of shit is that? If I were to go to their house, would they serve gefilte fish for me because that's what I eat? Of course not!"

Then she tells me about her fiancee's mother's reaction to what my daughter told HER about my salads and my customs.

"She told me that she's not gonna change her eating habits. We shouldn't expect her to eat like we do."

"I don't expect her to. Did you not tell her I'm open minded about other people's customs, and could you please elaborate on what you just told me?"

"You know how you put your salad on your plate from the big plate?"

"Yes?"

"Well, they don't do that. They don't put their salads on their plates. They'll all just put their spoons in and eat the salads straight from the serving salad plate."

"Oh don't worry, Arabs do that too" I told her, knowing how much she doesn't want her fiancee's family to be compared to Arabs.

How much more civilized are we than that family? I dunno. There's an awful lot of belching and farting around in our house, even though we put our salads on our plates.

So, yeah, I can live with that communal eating custom in my house. But only for a day.

Hebron

This is a place of such holiness and such tension - it's hard for me to go there these days. But tears came to my eyes when I watched this group visiting Hebron.

Feast of the Messiah

I can't believe I went on the last day of Passover to the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in the Old City to observe the traditional Jewish Seudat Moshiach (Feast of the Messiah). My oldest daughter wanted me to come to her house at 5:00 pm to have tea on her new patio set and I was really fatigued from the holiday itself. But I can always have tea with her, when she decides to stay home one weekend instead of always going to her mother-in-laws. This is a "once in a messianic" opportunity for me to celebrate the last day of Passover with Moslem, Christians and Jews. Just what the messiah ordered.

I hitched a ride with my son-in-law and daughter back to Jerusalem and the weather got nasty. The heat wave was over and I wasn't expecting it to be so over in a matter of hours. I was freezing, even though I wore a black shawl which I nearly forgot in my rush to get out of the house.

Yaqub was the first to arrive on his bike, and seeing my shivering, he gallantly loaned me his warm coat while we waited for the others just inside Jaffa Gate of the Old City. The others who showed up were a real mixed crowd. Some even freaked me out, like the Chassidic-looking guy in a shtreimel (fur hat) and black satin overcoat. Was he going to be joining us in the Church? On Passover? Others were some familiar faces and unfamiliar faces - a mix of religious, secular,hippies, straighties, musicians and a group of Christians from EAPPI,from the World Council of Churches. We all trudged off together to the Church of the Redeemer, which I had never been to before. We were 20 minutes early and no one was letting us in. I reminded people that this was a German church, not an Israeli one, and Time is taken very seriously in Germany - if you say you are going to be there at 6:00 then don't bother showing up 20 minutes early. The Chassidic-looking guy sat down at a table at a cafe across the way with one of the secular women, of course not ordering anything because it was still Passover and one can't buy anything or eat things not kosher for Passover. The Arab cafe owner kept on coming out to look at him, probably not believing what he was seeing. No one who looks like THAT ever sits in his cafe, I can assure you.

We were finally let in and a hoard of other people joined us. I thought perhaps some German tourists who were at the church may have joined us accidentally and then decided to stay for the 3 hours we were there. I'm not sure. Then there was a group who did join us from the Walk about Love - a two month walk all around the Holy Land, whose participants were young hippies from all over the world.

Eliyahu from Jerusalem Peacemakers hosted this event and brought just enough matza and food for like 50 people. But there seemed to be around 150 people crammed into the chapel and he asked that people take small amounts when it came time to partake of the Feast. Somehow, miraculously, there was enough for everyone - quinoa salad, fruits, matzas, drinks, salads - with some food leftover. I don't remember what everyone spoke about - but the Pastor spoke, Ibrahaim spoke, Sheikh Abdul Aziz Bukhara spoke, and someone called Gershon gave over the Jewish perspective. And why not? It was our holiday after all. Miriam Irons and Aliza Hava sang - getting us to sing the halleluyas with them. But in general, the evening reflected the unity that we should feel at a time like this, and we all seemed to have a feeling that the energy of this united-ness actually expanded outward to the rest of Jerusalem and then to the rest of the country. We all hope for a messianic age where we can share our lives together with all peoples. But many of us are living in that era right now.

On the Last Day of Passover my true love gave to me...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Jewish men are supposed to buy their wives gifts for this major holiday, preferably jewellery. But my soul-mate hasn't a fucking clue about shopping for his wife - not even after 26 years. His contribution is plain, ol' simple income so that I don't get stressed out because of the cost of inviting dozens of guests for each meal. And this year, Thank the Good Lord, I did not get stressed. I spent 3,000 NIS for the entire holiday, which is about $750, if I did the math right. And he had the money this year, which is as good a gift as I can expect from him. May the $$ continue to come in.

Now my future son-in-law has set up camp inside my home with my daughter for about a month or so until he's out of the army. I asked whether any of his relatives speak English, because if not, Hubby will not be able to communicate when they meet us in two weeks. He said his mother's native language is French and it is very similar to English. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard that. I tried to tell him gently that only the alphabet is the same, but even a four letter word like "shit" bears no resemblance to the French equivalent, "merde". It won't work. There will be a communications barrier between his folks and Hubs.

My married daughter offered to host his brood when they come in two weeks.
Not a chance. You see, this girl's got not one, but TWO LCD's in her salon and bedroom, and her place is fully furnished. They'll think we're comfortable financially. I explained to my daughter that at least if they come to us, they'll see that we don't even have shower doors and we watch a stinking old 21" television, and see that there's a shabby, barely working computer in my son's room. "It'll be better that way." I told her. "This way, maybe they'll feel sorry for us, and won't make demands on us like we have to buy the couple an apartment or furnish it, or something horrible like that."

And tonight is the last night of the holiday, and man am I glad. I'm cooking slowly because my neck is stiff and I'm probably dehydrated, even though I have a bottle of water handy which I drink from during short breaks in the cooking. My newly married daughter and engaged one were very relieved to be invited to my oldest daughter's home for dinner tonight. You see, I invited two very nice couples, our age or a bit older, who live in the neighborhood, for dinner tonight. Together, we're a bunch of nostalgic ex-New Yorkers and the conversation hits everything from the Tappan Zee bridge, to Yankee Stadium, to Shea, to restaurants on the Lower East Side. They're normal people. They really are. But my kids shy away from an evening with my friends as if I've invited the plague into my home.

The Moroccans are Coming

HELP!!!! My newly engaged couple arrived last night, just as I'm recuperating from my other daughter's wedding and had some requests/questions.

1. When can his relatives come and meet us?

2. My daughter will need to have a "henna" ceremony - done by Jewish women whose families originate from Arab/Middle Eastern countries (I understand Arab women also have this done the night before the wedding).

I insisted that my very blonde, blue eyed daughter is not of North African extraction but because she's marrying into a family of Moroccans, this should be done. My daughter wanted something relatively extravagant so that she could get money out of this too. I told the very young couple that my friends will not dish out moolah for two events so close to each other. If they want a henna ceremony, it'll have to be at my house, with her friends, and she's lucky if she gets sexy lingerie out of the deal - and if the future mother-in-law wants to come, she'll have to come with her pastries because I sure as hell can't bake/cook those goodies that drip with honey and look like all sorts of twirly tube things.

What about the in-laws meeting us? I had intended to celebrate Israel Independence Day with both Jews and Palestinians in an intimate setting where Jews would celebrate their Independence and Palestinians would mourn their loss of land/homes, etc. in their Nakba. We would celebrate and mourn each other's wins and losses.

But this is the only day I'd be able to meet my daughter's fiancee's family, so the gathering of Jews/Palestinians will have to wait another year. I told my daughter's fiancee, to invite his family for an Independence Day barbecue at our home in two weeks. I said that I'm off work that day and I'll be only too happy to host them.

He called his folks to invite them. After that phone conversation he told me "everybody's coming". All his siblings. I had no idea what that meant. Two brothers, sister? Two sisters, 1 brother? Not a chance. They're seven kids altogether + parents + the families of the two married sibs. They will all drive down from Tiberias to meet us.

So - what's an overworked granny like me to do?? Retract the invite? I really wanted to. I sure did. I panicked but tried not to let it show.

Today, after doing my last-of-the-Passover-holiday shopping I sulked in the kitchen and complained to Hubby. I'm thinking of all the barbecue meat I'll have to buy for our "meet the soon-to-be-relatives" of ours and the cost of it all.

"Looks like we'll NEVER get this apartment furnished! We still don't have shower doors and I'm tired of watching movies on our ancient 2nd-hand 21" tv. When will we ever get anything?"

Hubby looked at me incredulously. He seemed more the voice of reason today.

"What's more important? Marrying off kids or buying furniture?"

I glared at him.

"Buying furniture - dammit!"

From Bondage to Freedom

Well, there were some interesting seders I missed this year - The Forward had an article about a New York Kinky Jews' seder with emphasis on the "bondage" rather than freedom - this would have been fun for me and hubby to attend as strictly voyeurs. We'll have to put this down on our "interesting seder wish list".

This year we decided to invite the newest members of our clan. The "distinguished" family of my new son-in-law. With our lovely heirloom Noritake from 1938 and my mother-in-law's silver plated setting, our table looked pretty distinguished, if I might say so myself. Being the secular family that they are, they pretty much ran through the story until the food part,which ended their part of the seder. After they left my daughter and hubby finished the rest of the seder.

Our guests came with two cases of soda, a big basket full of chocolates, a big basket full of soaps and lotions from Sheinkin. My daughter came with a bag full sample lotions and creams and stuff she didn't want after she cleaned up their room for Passover. And my daughter's mother-in-law had noticed that we didn't have a microwave, which we only use for popcorn and food warming. I told her it wasn't necessary. I had planned to buy one next month - an expensive one with a grill, since I was planning to use the grill more than the microwave. But they walked in with one anyways....

The next day Hubby opens it up and it's non-digital and white. Not black or aluminum. It had a slanted window, which made it look like a retro mini washing machine rather than a microwave. He put it back in the box.

"I'm not keeping anything that makes me angry. This makes me angry." I laughed instead of getting angry at him for being ungrateful for our gifts. We're stashing the thing in our storage room - maybe one day, one of our kids with no taste will want it.

In the evening, my son had Pesach-itis. He was doubled up with stomach pain. Trying to loosen his blockage, I did some reflexology on his feet and soon after he was running to the bathroom. While I feel asleep, he missed on the way to the toilet and hurled in the hallway. Hubby was screaming for someone to clean it up - that someone being me, of course, as there was no one else in the house. This is my vacation, I thought to myself, as I had to clean up the mess, getting out of bed in the midst of a lovely slumber. Please God, don't let anyone get deathly ill in the middle of the night at our home, because Hubby and I are the Kings and Queens of Bitches when we are woken up and we'll just let that person rot until morning.

But my THIRD eldest daughter, the one I call the Complainer, called me from Tiberias last night. She told me in an unusually tiny voice rather than her regular raspy one, that she and her boyfriend got engaged. She has a ring. It's official. And if we thought that we had just gotten over one wedding, we now have to plan another. It's happiness and this is truly a season of Freedom for us. But the silly little girl really believes that she is on a journey from Bondage to Freedom. She has no idea, at the tender age of 21, that a married woman's journey is just the opposite.