Forbidden City

There was Oktoberfest today - not in Germany, not in Canada - but in the ancient Christian city of Taybeh in the West Bank. Finding out recently that the city was called Ofrah, yes, the biblical city of Ofrah, only made me want to go even more. Maybe I'll find an ancient mezuzah or kiddush cup over there.







A peace activist named Fred was organizing a bus from West Jerusalem, so how convenient was that? Hubby didn't want to join, which irked me that I have to go to events all alone. The bus was filled with tourists and Israelis - young Israelis looking for some good, cheap beer. Taking a detour on the way, we drove through the Arab neighborhood of Anata. Although within Jerusalem's municipality, the city is a gated neighborhood. Not like the gated chic neighborhoods of Bel Air, California, but walled and fenced in. Although most residents have blue Israeli ID cards, they still must go through check points to get out of their 'hood. As Fred said, there are 50,000 very pissed off Palestinians living there. He laments, "if our government really wants peace with our Arab neighbors, why don't they put some money into this place? There's not enough water for residents and permits for building are nonexistent, so that all building that takes place is illegal, which means every week houses get demolished by the Israeli government." We drive on the very picturesque road until we get to Taybeh - and laughed when we saw that the sign forbidding entrance to Israelis was covered up by a Taybeh Oktoberfest poster, leaving only the bottom line visible which read "...illegal under Israeli law".

The festival was just getting started, kids doing debkas on the stage and the local Taybeh beer on tap, which was cold and delicious on this very hot day. This beer was 10 NIS. I told hubby there was no way the Palestinians would charge us Israeli prices. They have more heart. We had paid 25 NIS for a small cup of beer on a Tel Aviv beach during the summer. A large cup of Taybeh costs 10 NIS.


Inside the municipality building, local crafts and food were being sold - locally made honey, olive oil, olive oil soap and colorful embroidered bags, clothing, etc. There were a lot of internationals from all over the world - it seemed like a mini UN convention.




I did see people I knew from Beit Jala and hung out with them for a while, but then I got restless and wanted to see the old city and the brewery. I walked through the quiet streets to the old city which was quite a tiny section of town, but picturesque, nevertheless. The view was phenomenal.






I thought my husband would have freaked at the thought of me wandering alone through an Arab village, where I knew absolutely no one. And I thought of what my dad would have said, getting lost in a place like this - in German (after all, this IS Oktoberfest) "Ich Sheiss mich ahn" which means something like "I shit myself". When I did lose my way, I simply asked for directions and the locals were very helpful. Most of them knew English and some even backtracked just to help me get on the right road.

The brewery was small, very clean and I was happy to hear the beer has no preservatives.







I hung out a bit with Fred, and he told a couple of people he was with that I'm a settler. I'm like "well, why don't you just announce it on a loudspeaker!" meanwhile eyeing the many Palestinian police around. I don't think they were on the lookout for settlers among the crowd, they simply need crowd control during a beer festival that's for sure. I saw two of them pulling out an inebriated young man from the municipality building, taking him to who knows where. In my conversations with Fred, telling him how much I'd love to have a mixed residential community of Arabs and Jews, I guess he must see me as quite the freak, coming from Maaleh Adumim. I told him I'd love a one state solution - where everyone is equal, a real democracy, which led Fred to tell me - "you need to start telling people you're not a zionist." Gulp. Has it come to this?

Later I see Maria Khoury who shakes my hand and welcomes me to Taybeh. She's either the wife of the beer maker or the wife of the mayor - I don't know which. She takes me and another woman to see the Byzantine church built by Queen Helena in the 4th century. Taybeh is the place where Jesus rested before heading back to Jerusalem before Easter (or Passover?). I asked her about Jewish roots. She tells me the town's name was changed from Ofrah to Taybeh after Suleiman conquered the area. Taybeh is the only Palestinian town which is solely Christian - with 2,000 residents. They only sell land/homes to other Christians. She has to rush back to take the stage. She's the busy MC for the day, but I appreciated her warmth and friendliness.








Later at dusk we walked towards the old city again trying to find a tour guide. A young local joined us. He asked us what we thought of "the situation" and was surprised to find sympathetic Israelis. In fact, I think he was in total shock. He had never spoken to Isr-aliens before (that's how he pronounced it) and bemoans the fact that he can't go into Jerusalem. A nice Christian boy can't get a permit to get to Jerusalem. He can't visit the ocean either. He feels stifled and frustrated. I feel sorry for him. He tells us - what right have we to be here? And then I feel sorry for him even more, because he doesn't know of Jewish historical longing for this land. Someone tells him Jewish refugees returned to their land after 2,000 years. I don't know if he's happy hearing that but someone else explains that politics and politicians and regimes change all the time. Who knows what will be. I hear a prayer coming from the Church over a loudspeaker. It sounds very much like a sephardic Jewish service. I look at the people, and if the bunch of them weren't wearing the huge crucifixes around their necks, they could very well pass for Jewish. After all, 3,000 years ago, that's what they were...

As Promised

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DGcdM0SOys


So long Marianne



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQdab_4IgRE
and Halleluya

Confessions - A Yom Kippur Lament

It's 1/2 hour after Yom Kippur ended and already I have sinned four times. I'm supposed to have a clean slate now. But, naturally, I fucked it up. The first sin, I believe came after I came back from synagogue and found that the 24 hour candle, from which I was supposed to light the Havadalah (separation) candle used for the ceremony to end the holiday, went out. You need to light the candle with an existing light. Rather than running around to neighbors to find an already lit light, I just switched on the stove and lit it from there. The next sin was when I was warming up chicken soup leftover from yesterday and saw that the spoon I used was a spoon I use with dairy foods. I don't (usually) mix dairy dishes/setting with those I use for meat. Ooops. Then as I said the prayers that tell God that "I promise that I won't sin again," I'm thinking - yeah, right. I'm planning to go to Taybeh on Saturday, the day of rest, to drink Taybeh beer with Christian Palestinians (and naughty Moslems) next week for the Oktoberfest celebrations. And Hubby just rented a ridiculous looking green car. For sure I'm gonna want to escape on Saturdays to the north or to the beach. For sure. But if God is tolerant to non-Orthodox Jews, which I believe He is, then you know what? I'm quite ok.

Anyway, take a look at this green car. We all had strange, trippy dreams last night, and I'm wondering if it's because of the car.


And our television stations take a break on Yom Kippur and don't come back on for two hours after the fast. Even the town perverts have to take a break on Yom Kippur because the Blue Hustler and Playboy stations are off for the day.

The High Priest

I kept on telling everyone at work for the entire week that on Thursday I had a meeting with the Jewish High Priest - the Cohen Gadol, the Priest of Priests. I managed to snag an expensive ticket to Leonard Cohen's performance last night in Israel and I was sure the High Priest would bless his audience. I thought about it for quite a number of days - about what a great idea that would be for him to give the priestly blessing to an audience of 47,000.

I was awash in day dreams throughout the day, wishing I was his spiritual tour guide while he was in the country. I'd take him to my friend Ibrahim in the Mt. of Olives, to the Sufi Sheikh on the Via Dolorosa, midnight praying at the Western Wall, etc. etc.

So at 4:30 pm while I was shredding paper, as the last thing I do before I leave the office, people seemed aghast.

"What are you still doing here?"

"I need to clear up my life" I explained. The worst thing would be for me to come back to work on Tuesday, after the Yom Kippur vacation, to a mountain of shit on my desk. I told another person standing at the reception area that I needed to get to the bank to take out some money. I can't go to Tel Aviv penniless.

"Do you want money?" asked another person.

While shredding, I'm telling him "who doesn't want money! Of course I want money."

His generosity would have saved me 1/2 hour which would have gotten me to Tel Aviv a bit earlier. He was worried because he read in the papers that roads would be closed for the concert and was concerned that I wouldn't make it on time.

"Don't worry" I told him. "Leonard will wait for me."

I got the cash, grabbed a taxi to the central bus station and craved a hot dog with sauerkraut to go, but when I saw the huge line waiting for the Tel Aviv buses, I decided I'd rather starve than miss buses. Everyone on line was talking about Leonard - I think half the bus was on its way to Ramat Gan Stadium.

Two buses filled up before I was able to get on one, and 20 minutes later, I was sitting in the front next to a woman with a cane, who told me the best way to walk to the stadium from the bus station. She's a native Tel Avivian, and I listened the entire way to her life story. When we got to Tel Aviv, an American woman listening to our conversation, also going to the concert, decided to do the walk with me. While beginning our walk, I'm telling her that although I really like Leonard Cohen's music, I am not a total fanatic, I don't know the words to all of his songs. And while I said that a young man walking in front of us turned around and shot me a look as if to tell me 'then what the hell are you even seeing him for. You don't belong.... only the 'real' fans belong." But we scurried past him only to meet others from Jerusalem walking in the same direction. One young man, who seemed to know in which direction the stadium was, told us it's about an hour's walk. So we hopped on a bus.

Bad move. The traffic wasn't moving, and the bus was sitting in traffic for 20 minutes. We had only moved a couple of blocks. We all pleaded with the young bus driver to please let us off the bus, but he was adamant to make us wait until the next stop, about a kilometer away. Someone offered to pay his fine, should he be fined for letting us off illegally. I told him the concert is starting in 1/2 hour and we're getting frantic. No one wants to miss even one song.

"You want to party?" the driver asks, thinking that this is some bad-ass rock concert. "Here, let's party" and he turns up the volume on this awful dance club music. Doesn't the shmuck know who Leonard Cohen is?

We all got off the next stop and had about 25 minutes before the concert starts. Leonard is known for being punctual. When we finally got to the stadium, the lines in front of the gates were frightening. Hundreds of people had yet to get into their gate. No one seemed as frantic as I. I went over to gate 10. There was nobody at the gate. It must have been a gate of people who had all come early. The guy looked at my ticket to see if it was a forgery or if it was real. It was real. Thank God it was real because I didn't want to have to kill the guy who sold it to me, which was fine, because I ended up sitting right next to him and his girlfriend.

The concert began one minute after I got to my seat. There was a Bank Discount green bag on my seat, and I thought for a moment that someone had taken my spot. But I saw those green bags everywhere. That's the least that stupid bank can do. I tried for two years to get refinancing on a loan where they were charging me 12% interest. They wouldn't hear of it. So I changed banks. But I'll take the green insulated bag - thank you. Fuckers.

My first thoughts, as the concert began, was - am I going to feel that the concert was worth the 800 shekels I spent? For one, my seats were fabulous. I sat around 30 rows back and only 2 rows up from the floor. I saw the stage clearly, but if I wanted to see Leonard's expressions, I had to look at the screen. The same guy who did Leonard's poetry reading in Hebrew in Jerusalem, had his translations of the lyrics shown as subtitles on the screen. I hope he got to meet the Man for his efforts. The Jerusalem Post's review mirrored the same emotions/reactions/feelings I had about this concert. I knew about 80% of his songs, and I sang along to the ones I knew. I took some photos (to be posted tomorrow) and one video. And I wondered how this man could get everything so perfect - from the simple stage backdrop of flowing chiffon-like curtains, using only different colored lighting for the stage, which didn't annoy the crap out of me because the lighting changes were slow and elegant, just like the entire performance. Leonard's voice was perfect. The band was incredible. He was incredible. The audience was great. Noisy when it had to be, yet when he spoke, you could hear a pin drop. Everything was incredible. So, yes, it was worth the fortune I spent.

I loved the version of Who By Fire (or is the song called "who shall I say is calling?") - probably one of the evenings favorites of mine. The Spanish guitarist/lute player, or whatever that instrument is, was amazing. Cohen gave so many encores, I lost count. I felt tears running down my cheeks by the end.

We must have been on the same wavelength somehow, either that, or I am psychic as all hell, because at the very end, right before he left the stage, he stood at the microphone with his hands up the way Jewish priests bless the people, and Leonard Cohen, the High Priest, blessed the audience in Hebrew with the ancient priestly blessing - “May the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord let His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May the Lord look kindly upon you and give you peace.”

Babysitters

It's been difficult for my daughter who is studying once a week to get someone to pick up her toddler from day care at 4:30.

My son is not dependable, and likes to do Michael Jackson-style babysitting, like holiding him over the railing or near the railing of our balcony. So I tell my daughter not to count on him. My youngest daughter is the same. She likes to take him to her friends' homes, and I don't really like her friends. I don't want them giving the kid a bottle filled with Red Bull and Vodka or worse... So that leaves myself, the Smasher (3rd daughter), and Hubby.

So grand-dad picked him up last week. I walked into the house an hour later to see them playing nicely with PlayDo. I looked at the shapes Hubby was making.

"Look familiar?" he asks and laughs that wicked laugh of his as he hands me a rather large, circumcised PlayDo mold.

"Jesuz Christ!" I look at him and try to stifle a laugh. "What the hell did you tell him THAT was?"

Yesterday evening they were making breasts with different colored nipples and putting them in a neat row on the floor.

I give up. It's just so difficult to find good babysitters.

New Year, New Men

I had the most wonderful spiritual experience at the Jewish Renewal service in Jerusalem on Sunday. I find that the people who attend the service has assorted spiritual seekers, misfits who can't fit into the normal ways of praying in regular synagogues (like myself), etc. The services were held in the courtyard of the beautiful Nature Museum underneath a tent, which was open on all four sides, reminiscent of biblical Abraham's tent. Of course, none of my family wanted to experience this type of tefillah (prayer) with me. They'd rather sit at home and watch tv. I wanted to talk to God with a group. We were asked to meditate for 7 minutes each on the past year, the present and the future, with each part separated by the call of the shofar. Dr. Kagan had this down to a perfect science. I had never heard a shofar being blown the way he did it - for zichronot (remembrances) section of the prayers, he did the sounds much like a siren. For the Priestly blessing, all those that wanted to bless others were outside the circle, and those that wanted to be blessed (that's me), were inside the circle, beneath a tallit. Yes, I too would have sat home to watch tv had Nava Tehilla not had services for Rosh Hashana. And I prayed that everyone in their family would go towards the correct path, which is correct for them, for healing, happiness with what we have and of course, money. I always pray for money.

The rain poured down that morning, which was earlier than usual. Rains don't begin for another 2-3 weeks or so. So we all felt that the blessings will come earlier than usual - before their expected time.

A few days before the holiday my Wild Daughter, the youngest, showed me various expensive makeup she got from an admirer. The admirer was a dermatologist who has two clinics - one in Jerusalem and one up North. "You said I should find a doctor" she told me. Yes, I told her to find either a doctor, lawyer, professor-in-training, healer, accountant, dentist, even a student. Just someone with a future. But this guy wasn't Jewish. I don't know whether he was Moslem or Christian but he was definitely an Arab from the North of Israel. He came to fetch her on Thursday night. He was dressed very nicely, was very polite and quiet, and looked a bit like an Arab Clark Kent. Definitely not her type, but she obviously likes free makeup. And seeing him sitting there waiting for her to get ready, I felt sorry for him. She's definitely not like the girls in his part of the world. She'll torment him. I know. I had previous boyfriends call me up in agony, telling me in broken English "She not behave nice to me."

On Friday morning, I warned her - if you don't like him other than his giving you makeup, then I suggest you don't lead him on and don't see him again. Plesae don't break hearts before Rosh Hashana. The fact that he was from a different religion crossed my mind of course, but wasn't the main focus of my conversation with her.

She told me "He'd do anything for me. He'd even convert to Judaism for me." And I wondered what his family would think of that. But I let it go and asked God to give her direction. The right direction - whatever that may be.

My other loud complaining daughter (the third one) who runs around the house and smashes doors and cabinets - is now being nicknamed The Smasher. Well, I got a lift home with her on Sunday after her security guard shift was over. She warned me not to come to her work and talk "that language." What language, I asked her. "You know" she told me. I assumed either it was English peppered with "f" words, or Arabic. So I really didn't know. She tells me of this potential boyfriend, who is older than her usual choice of boyfriends. He's 27, Jewish and drives a Mercedes taxi. She tells me he likes our kind of music and not the Middle Eastern Israeli music all my kids listen to. He loves rock music.

She tells me, "he loves the group with the tongue. You know the tongue?"

I asked her "You mean Kiss?"

"No, the ones you like".

"Oh! The Rolling Stones!"

"Yes, that's it. He loves them."

I look at her. Sounds like a normal young man. Finally.

Happy New Year

On the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, there is a ceremony called Tashlich. Jews traditionally go to the ocean or a stream or river to pray and throw bread crumbs into the water. Symbolically, the fish devour their sins.

Occasionally, people ask what kind of bread crumbs should be thrown. Here are suggestions for breads which may be most appropriate for specific sins and misbehaviors:

For ordinary sins -White Bread
For erotic sins -French Bread
For particularly dark sins - Pumpernickel
For complex sins - Multi-Grain
For twisted sins - Pretzels
For tasteless sins - Rice Cakes
For sins of indecision - Waffles
For sins committed in haste - Matzoh
For sins of chutzpah - Fresh Bread
For substance abuse - Stoned Wheat
For use of heavy drugs - Poppy Seed
For petty larceny - Stollen
For committing auto theft - Caraway
For timidity/cowardice - Milk Toast
For ill-temperedness - Sourdough
For silliness, eccentricity - Nut Bread
For not giving full value - Shortbread
For jingoism, chauvinism - Yankee Doodles
For excessive irony - Rye Bread
For unnecessary chances - Hero Bread
For telling bad jokes/puns - Corn Bread
For war-mongering - Kaiser Rolls
For dressing immodestly - Tarts
For causing injury to others - Tortes
For lechery and promiscuity - Hot Buns
For promiscuity with gentiles - Hot Cross Buns
For racist attitudes - Crackers
For sophisticated racism - Ritz Crackers
For being holier than thou - Bagels
For abrasiveness - Grits
For dropping in without notice - Popovers
For over-eating - Stuffing
For impetuosity - Quick Bread
For indecent photography - Cheesecake
For raising your voice too often - Challah
For pride and egotism - Puff Pastry
For sycophancy, ass-kissing - Brownies
For being overly smothering - Angel Food Cake
For laziness - Any long loaf
For trashing the environment - Dumplings

Happy New Year!

Tolerance

Yesterday, I attended an annual interfaith tolerance symposium at Mishkenot Sha'ananim - not the whole thing but parts. This was a serious event, serious talk, organized by Interfaith Encounter Association together with the Jerusalem Foundation.



There was the unveiling of the new Tolerance Monument at the Sherover Promenade, just behind the UN building and right before the entance to Jabel Mukaber.


kids from different faiths offering their prayers

Court

My daughter's court date was pushed off to September, instead of it being in July. She was upset about prolonging the agony, but like they say in the old country, "you can't fight City Hall". If you remember, she was charged for something she did when she was 17, which was passing a dooby to a friend at a party. She was being charged as an adult for the crime of "distributing dangerous drugs to a minor". These are the times when I wish I were living in the Netherlands and my daughter would be record-free.

I met her on Sunday morning at the court house. She was sitting alone, angry at the lawyer for showing up late, not really giving a damn that he was stuck in traffic, but I was more worried because she looked like Amy Winehouse and this is not someone you want to look like when you're up against a drug charge. She wore no makeup and her black hair was matted and wild. I shoved her into the ladies room and offered my entire makeup collection to her, which is something I usually don't do. After the makeover, she looked better, less disheveled and we waited for the lawyer to show up.

And doesn't a mother's heart sink when you see that your daughter knows just about everyone in the fucking court? A couple of young guys with their lawyers said hello to her. I thought - this is just another neighborhood for her. Why does she have to know all these young criminals? We saw a couple of Arabs walking in handcuffs and chains. Then we saw kippa wearing Jewish kids also in handcuffs and chains. The father of one of the Jewish kids who was in handcuffs was agitated at not being allowed to speak to his son. I felt sorry for him - it's tough to see your kid in handcuffs and chains. Then another young dude in handcuffs and chains passes us and recognizes my daughter. They exchange greetings. I let out a big 'Oy' after he passed.

"Why do you have to know every criminal in this city? Why can't you hook up with students. At least they're working towards their future in a decent way!"

"Students? They're not my type. They're ch'nunim (Hebrew for nerds)."

"So what. They'll be rich nerds or nerds with a profession at least. Can't you learn to like them?"

She tsk'd at me.

The trial came, the judge meted out the punishment, which was 140 hours of community service and no drivers license (she doesn't drive!) for a year. And another punishment was that she will have to take a Law and Judgment course at the Hebrew University.

I tried not to laugh out loud inside the courtroom as they read the verdict. Going to Hebrew University is a punishment? Perhaps for my daughter it will be. She'll be introduced to another side of life she's never experienced. And maybe, if I'm really lucky, she'll fall in love with one of those student nerds.

Leonard

After not succeeding in getting tickets for the quickly sold out Leonard Cohen show, and pretty much giving up on ever getting any, someone writes me an email to say he's got one ticket. Do I want it? He was selling it at double the price he paid.

I impulsively responded - yes, I'll take it. I only know one person who is going - the rest of my friends were shut out, even after trying all weekend when tickets first went on sale.

I really like Leonard Cohen - enough to pay a lot for this ticket. My favorite song of his is So Long Marianne. I even fantasized since my early teens about being his back up singer. But I don't know all of his stuff and don't even have any of his CDs. I heard from many of my friends all over the world that if I get a chance to see him, I should, because it is a spiritual experience. Even though I have spiritual experiences all the time, being that I live in Israel, what's one more?

I also feel a kinship with him since we're both a product of Jewish religious schools and look what it had done to us. Or, rather, what we did to them. Because of my sister who lives in Montreal, I've spent many a summer and holiday over there and in the nearby Laurentian mountains and know the small Jewish community of many kinds.

There was even a Leonard Cohen poetry reading at Tmol Shilshom bookstore/cafe this past week. I don't know if the Hebrew can capture his entire essence, but enjoyed the English readings.

So I'm emailing this guy, and he's emailing me back, signing off with a Buddhist saying. I finally call him to hear the voice who is selling me this hard-to-get ticket.

He tells me that he is glad to be selling to a real Leonard Cohen fan and not to someone who doesn't know the Man well enough but only wants to go to his concert just to say he's been there. We talk about his songs and he asks me about some songs I haven't yet heard. While we're talking, I log onto YouTube and take a look at some of the songs he mentions - panicking lest the seller thinks I'm not a real fan and he'll give the ticket to someone else who knows all of his stuff.

I even let him read me a poem from his Leonard Cohen book. I know the gossip well enough to mention the relationship Cohen had with Janis Joplin which led to his writing the song Chelsea Hotel. Now, I know I'm in. I know Leonard well enough to earn that ticket. He's convinced of that.

I tell my friend I'm buying a ticket at double the price. She asks me if Buddhists are allowed to do that. I don't know, really.

I met him at Ramle yesterday, as a half-way meeting point, to get the ticket. Hubby panics, thinking Ramle is a total dump, ridden with crime and unsavory characters. I tell him - don't you think that about our own house? I get to Ramle and enter a lovely small well-kept modern mall. The seller meets me and we exchange money for ticket. I look at the ticket. It's second row!! The gate is close to the stage. I'm really thrilled. He brought his Leonard Cohen book of poetry. I take the book from him and read three poems.

Souls

I'm sitting at the Sabbath table on Friday night. We're having our usual chaotic discussions which end up with people being very loud and yelling at each other, then erupting in terrible laughter (usually the kids) and me just wanting to walk away or wishing I was in New York or somewhere else far away.

This time I was commenting on the Jerusalem Post's article that 90% of Palestinians are believed by some to have been originally Jews, the ancient Jews of Israel, who were forced to convert to either Christiantity or Islam in later years. They're the ones who never left. So instead of having an intelligent conversation around the table like I imagine other families have, my 19 year-old daughter tells me:

"Arabs don't have souls"

I'm doing the dishes and I stop. I turn around. I usually don't and continue conversations while doing other things at once. I look at her.

"Where did you hear THAT?"

"From the rabbanit" (the "learned" woman she used to go to for religious lessons).

"That's bullshit. That is Total Bullshit", this time it's me yelling and not the kids. I'm staring into her eyes like someone who is trying to deprogram a cult member.

She explained - "when they die, they don't go to heaven or hell, they just don't go anywhere."

I was livid.

"You mean you believe that only Jewish people have souls?? Is that woman out of her fucking mind? I'm so happy you're not taking lessons from her any longer. I won't allow it. I'm thrilled you're not going there." There must be a religious teacher out there who doesn't talk trash like that about other peoples.

I can't imagine that people like my friend Ibrahim who invites every Tom, Dick and crazy nut into his home to stay however long they want, and if they can, to either donate what they wish, or if they can't, then he never asks them for money. Sometimes they stay for months on end. I can't believe he doesn't have a soul.

And my friend from Jenin who is struggling with Lymphoma and is fasting during Ramadan even though he doesn't have to, according to Islam, because like in Judaism, if you're sick, you should not fast. I can't believe he doesn't have a soul.

And my hosts who, this past week, laid out an Iftar feast for us after their daily fast and served us first, even though we told them we had eaten all day, so please start first - I can't believe they don't have souls. And when the mother smiled at us as she walked out to pray the 5th prayer of the day at the mosque, she could have passed for a Sephardic women on her way to synagogue, had she just tied her headscarf to the back instead of the front. I can't believe she has no soul.

I'm hoping that my daughter will one day want to connect with a more compassionate Jewish religious community, and take her lessons with them, and will realize that we all have souls that want to connect with God in our own way through our own religions.

Crap

I have been feeling bloated for days. It's been awhile since I've been so constipated. It's easier to write that I'm constipated than actually tell people. That's more embarrassing. After work I went to pick up some natural fiber at the local drug store together with hand sanitizer so I can sanitize my hands after going on the public buses. These hand sanitizers are going like hot cakes these days.

I didn't go home after the drug store. I went to the bank to close 13 standing orders (debit charges) from various services like cable tv, internet, insurance, mortgages, etc. The teller asked me why I'm closing them. I looked at the young girl behind the plastic window and complained for the first time - but gently so that she wouldn't think I'm holding her responsible.

"I asked the bank four times to please extend my loan so that I can have easier monthly payments. Why should I feel so choked each month? They didn't want to hear from it. Each time they refused me. So another bank gave me much better terms, and I'm paying 500 shekels less each month. I transferred my salary over to them, so I have to transfer the standing orders too."

She didn't say a further word to me. It was as if I had just admitted to being an adultress. Yes, I cheated on my bank and went over to another bank behind the first bank's back. Oy. She shoved the 13 papers at me for my signature, unsmiling. Well, if the bank wanted to keep me as their customer, they should have been nicer to me. I would have remained loyal. But they were stubborn. They didn't want to pay me any attention. And when a woman feels neglected and rejected, she goes somewhere else.

"I'm sorry" I told her, and walked out the door.

I was then off to an Iftar dinner to break the Ramadan fast in Abu Dis. Once there I asked Abed - our host - my usual question of late - does he know if he is a descendant from Jews? He looked at me strangely. I told him of the Jerusalem Post's magazine article this past weekend. It was a spread of a few pages.

"This is a right wing paper - correct?" he asked me.

"Yes, so this is great that they're writing articles about this. If people see that you are all or mostly descended from Jews, perhaps we'll all be nicer to you and you will feel less oppressed, less choked." There's a lot of "choked" feelings these days.

We moved into his parents' dining room with a beautiful domed roof - the old part of the house. There is a movement to renovate/restore all the old homes that are 100 to a few hundred years old in Abu Dis. We saw a photo of his grandfather who lived until he was 107 years old. He looked like Moses, with his cane, robe and beard. Not that I know what Moses looked like, though when my kids were little they believed I did.

The food his mother prepared was delicious. I never tasted falafel balls stuffed with onions,sumac and other tart spices. There were about 15 courses. And this happens each night during Ramadan - a feast after the fast. I even managed to converse a bit in Arabic to his folks. Even with my grammatical mistakes, I felt proud that a few sentences just came to me. I learned that rice is called "reese" in Arabic. Another new word.

After the meal, the Moslems taught us about Ramadan and I spoke about Elul which seemed to be parallel in that these are the seasons/months where God is more accessible to us and we can ask God for what we want. If we're good to mankind then God will be good to us. This is in both of our religions.

Then Abed told me that he sometimes gets questioned by the Palestinian Police who know about our group. I told him to invite the guy to our meetings so he can see what we do is nothing harmful, but just the opposite.

"They know everything about us. They found out from the internet that I'm having meetings with settlers and they want to know what goes on."

That left me nonplussed. But what I left in Abed cousin's car accidentally was the natural laxative I had bought plus my hand sanitizer. That pissed me off. Now the Palestinian intelligence will find out that this one settler suffers from constipation. And that's more than I can bear.

Vacation Over

I had a great two weeks off work. I could hardly get to my computer at home because my son hogs it and puts up a fight when I need it for an hour. It's hardly worth the headache. But now I'm at my office, after work hours, and the computer is MINE! All mine.

Here is a video I took at the Klezmer Festival in Tzefat. Great music, great breakdancer or whatever you call him. Too bad I don't have a decent video cam - but you get the picture.



We spoke to the guy afterwards who told us he runs a breakdance school for boys in Jerusalem and he performs on Ben Yehuda Street every Thursday evening. It's worth a watch and even a few shekels!

Ezra

I love Ezra Nawi. There aren't too many people from Maaleh Adumim that love Ezra Nawi. But I do. There aren't too many Sephardic gay men who help Palestinians in the Southern Hebron region, when no one else can or will. But he does.

On the way to nowhere in particular yesterday morning, I stopped by the courthouse in Jerusalem where this guy was about to be charged for who knows what, something like interfering with the army, police or what have you. Emails were sent out to various lists asking for people to come out in support of this man, whose trial and sentencing was at 8:30 a.m.

I didn't know any one there, as I'm not a leftist activist, and I guess most of the people there were. I went over to a couple of people and asked how long the court thing will take. They glanced at me, unsmiling, and said they didn't know. It almost felt as if they just all "knew" I lived over the forbidden green line.

The Orthodox Jewish couple holding up a sign in support of Ezra were much more welcoming when I attempted to hold a conversation. I felt comfortable with the sign holders and hung out with them for a bit.



He came out at around 11:00 am, while everyone cheered and clapped. The sentencing held over until September. So he's safely out of jail - for now.


You see, I always felt that if there were more Ezra Nawi's, there would be peace between Palestinians and Israelis, despite the government, despite politics. If there were more Ezra Nawi's, we would be seen more as a light unto the nations, not as oppressors of a people by others. If there were more Ezra Nawi's, there wouldn't be talk of boycotts of Israeli academics or products. Not everyone may believe this. But I do.

Hope

I should have known not to come home tonight. The droopy sunflowers which I bought at the shuk for 10 shekels was enough of a sign. They were perfectly alive when I bought them, but as soon as I walked into the house, the stems wouldn't stay straight.

To begin with, I offered to babysit a blind cute medium-sized scrawny dog. But one of my kids (the former IDF soldier!) was hysterical about it.

"You're bringing GERMS into the house!! I don't want dirty dogs in the house! You love dogs more than you care about me."

She screamed at me, and shoved a chair. The dog faced the direction of her voice and growled at her loudly. Frightened, she ran into her room and slammed the door shut and refused to come out of the room unless she was accompanied by someone.

Imagine being frightened of a blind dog! What a yutz.

Then Hubby got mad at her for slamming the door and equally mad at me for bringing the dog home and threatened us with no new furniture - ever and other assorted threats. And the caulking I want done around the kitchen, faggedaboutit. I'll have to hire someone to do the handyman work.

See why I run to these interfaith peace activities? Arabs, Jews, Christians sit around for two days, talking formally in circles and informally in smaller circles and laugh together and ask curious questions and compare cultures into the late hours of the night. Why can't my home life be as wonderful?

I had just come back from an overnight retreat in Beit Jala. This was a retreat with the Interfaith Encounter Association together with the Hope Flowers School in Bethlehem. My favorite people were all there - the handsome flirty Palestinian geologist, who now tells everyone (since it came up last time I saw him) that he is descended from one of Bar Kochba's sons, an English guy from Liverpool who impressed me with the fact that he had been at the Cavern Club when the Beatles played there, my other British friend David, whom I hadn't seen in ages, people involved with Rabbis for Human Rights' activities, a woman from Saudi Arabia visiting relatives here, friends from the women's group, etc. All of us were wishing for a kind of happy world, like the kind of place we created here in our encounter.

We spoke about Moses in the formal circles - and it was funny how one person had the Torah on his cell phone and one person had the Koran on his cellphone and the two of them compared notes from their respective phones, checking to find similar stories in our sources. It seems as if the Koran has the same Moses stories as the Torah does except for a section on the Jews' wandering in the desert - the Koran talks about the Jews catching fish whereas the Torah doesn't mention fish at all. You'd figure they'd camp out some of the time by either the Mediterranean or the Red Sea during their 40 year sojourn.

One of the Jewish men in our group spoke about the fact that when Moses lifted his hands during the wars the Israelites fought, the Israelites were victorious, but not when his hands were down. So Aaron and Joshua had to help keep Moses' hands up.

One of the Palestinians mentioned that at an Israeli checkpoint, the soldiers demanded that he keep his hands up and stand on one leg. I told him, now you can tell him about the Moses story, and he won't want to have you raise your hands like that.

I felt that we could all live together in a commune, a kibbutz or something of that kind, and many others thought that as well. A lot voiced a wish for a common Middle Eastern community, with open borders. I've always wanted this type of European Community thing and it is always encouraging when I hear a new voice wish for the same thing. I feel if so many of us want this, it's bound to happen sooner than later.

We took a walk outside of our hotel to the grocery store nearby. I was astounded that the prices of humous, labane and cabbage salads were 1/2 the price of what I pay in West Jerusalem. I wondered whether this was another reason for Israelis not being allowed or being discouraged from entering into Arab neighborhoods. It would certainly make the Israeli side drop their prices if we all went into Arab grocery stores to buy our food and house supplies.

But then the retreat was over, and I had to prepare for Shabbat. My newly-married daughter's wedding album was ready and she was eager to show it to us. I saw my bus coming, and asked the driver if there would be another one after this one. He nodded yes. I still hadn't gotten cigarettes for Hubby and a newspaper for myself. I waited for about an hour. No bus. I called up my son who never leaves his computer and asked him to look up the bus schedule. The last one from the shuk was at 3:15. It was nearly 4:30, and here I was standing at the stop like an idiot. I took another bus to a place where I could get a different bus back home. This ended up being a 2 1/4 hour trip home - all because of cigarettes for a miserable Hubby and a paper and a lying bus driver.

And then I entered the chaos that is my home.

Concert

OK - it wasn't Leonard Cohen, but it was a spiritual concert nonetheless. I got an invite to go to a concert of love songs from King David and Rumi, celebrating the Jewish festival of love - Tu B'Av. The singer I know from my interfaith retreats and the Jewish Renewal Friday night services. Miriam Ahuvatel Iron was accompanied by two young musicians, one playing sitar and one playing an assortment of Indian/other percussion instruments. We sat in someone's beautiful backyard in the German Colony; the ground was covered in clover and there was the sound of water trickling behind the lush plants. If it weren't for the mosquitos, I could have sat there for hours on end.

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.