jerusalem wanderings

To Hell or not to Hell

2009-11-25T16:11:00.002+02:00

I'm sure Hubby was a preacher in his last life. If it wasn't his last life, it sure is in this life. He and I were having a verbal go at each other as to which one of us is the bigger sinner and who will be going to hell. Him or me.

"You go around eating Halal meat with your Arabs. I would be a successful person if it weren't for you!"

"Oh yeah??? Well the way you go around cursing me and the kids is MUCH WORSE than me eating Halal meat. Much worse!!"

"Fuck you!"

Friday night at my home is me against the world. I get teased by my kids and son-in-law for having Arab friends and believing that most are good and then wish out loud that Beitar, the Jerusalem soccer club, gets a kick-ass Arab player soon. With an Arab who wins a game for the team, time after time, we'll see how things will shift instead of the racist hooligans the fans are now. But they think my peace-loving antics are also evil. I don't give a flying flake.

But you know who might be going to hell? Some bus drivers in Jerusalem. I was walking to my stop when I see a bus flying by with the back door open. This happens a lot here. Drivers just simply forget that you need to close the back door so that passengers don't fly out of the bus. Makes sense, non? Another day I go to the front of the bus and see the bus driver reading a fucking newspaper while he's driving. The paper was sitting beneath the steering wheel on the dashboard. Is he not going to hell? Is this not worse than eating halal meat?

Nostalgia

2009-11-19T14:59:00.000+02:00

I've been getting very nostalgic lately about my childhood and teen years. I don't know why, really. Perhaps it's because I'm getting older and I like to look back fondly on those formative, fun, carefree years of mine when I wasn't saddled with mortgages, bills, husband, working, etc. And I wonder why I did not ever take photos of those good times? I hardly have any photos of myself with friends who I grew up with.

There was a review of a book about the history of the Grand Concourse called Broken Dreams. From what I saw on Amazon, it looked like a well-written, interesting book, and for the first time in nearly 4 years I bought that book from Amazon, wondering if it will mention my street in the Bronx where I grew up and the neighborhood of Kingsbridge Heights.

The strength of one's thoughts just getting out to the universe is very powerful. Here I am waxing nostalgic since I bought the book, waiting for it to arrive and, strangely, during this time, someone from my childhood finds me on Facebook, as I also put my maiden name there, asking if I remember her. Of course I remember. She was one of my first best friends. She would come over to my house to play and I'd go over to hers, which was remarkable because my folks didn't allow me to have secular Jewish friends. Her parents were Holocaust survivors and they had this gorgeous dining room which no one was allowed to enter. It was only used for special occasions. She also had a beautiful teenage sister whom we envied who dressed in white go-go boots and whose hair was so fashionable. This was in the mid-1960s. Her sister had a yelling match with her mother, was absolutely horrible to us and used to always slam her door shut. We used to sneak into her room to listen to her records. This is what I remember. We used to giggle when sis had her tantrums and say - "That's teenage for you." We were bratty 10 year olds.

She also had a lovely country home in Lake Mohegan and I loved going there on Sundays, walking on those country roads, letting inchworms crawl on us and watching fireflies and having barbecues.

So we caught up on Facebook emailing our stories, checking each others photos, and trying to catch up on 45 years of life in just a few short paragraphs.

Then, I glanced at a couple of her friends on Facebook and one was a group from the same elementary school in the Bronx and there I saw someone whom I was friends with who lived in the same building as I did in the 60s. I contacted her and she remembers me too. I remember playing with her when I was as young as three. She had a brother and together (with his friends and without her) we used to poo in our apartment building's concrete back yard (I think we were about 4 or 5 years old)to piss off the superintendent, who'd think it was stray dogs dirtying up the premises. Disgusting, eh? But that's what little kids do behind their parents' back. I think at one point we were found out and his folks didn't allow me to play with their son any more. Fortunately, I eventually grew out of being a shit-disturbing troublemaker and became friendly with his sister. She was gorgeous and looked like a little Elizabeth Taylor. I felt ugly and stupid next to her. I remember when I stopped hanging out with her because I just felt so inadequate. We were about 12 and she was hanging out in the lobby with some boys trying to bum a cigarette off them and I heard her call them "cheap" because they wouldn't give her one. She was way out of my league. I wasn't cool, I didn't smoke anything until I was 19 and I was an Orthodox Jew which made me feel so old-fashioned and frumpy next to her. So it was great to catch up with her too, though I didn't remind her of the poo thing with her brother. I'm hoping she either never knew or forgot about it totally.

And I wonder if anyone is doing a documentary on how Facebook reunites people after decades of not being in touch...

It's all relative

2009-11-17T15:36:00.005+02:00

First of all, thanks to the anonymous person who tipped me off about the bug on my blog. It was unreadable and it seems the problem stemmed from Photobucket. So I erased all my photobucket images and have a new, but plain blog without the bells and whistles or beads and camels. For now anyways.

Getting back to what I wanted to say --- my sister and neice and nephew came in from Canada this past week and we got together at my brother's house. They are all uber ultra-orthodox and so I donned my only dress - but no headcovering - and headed over to my big brother. My niece was having the freakies. Seems she is nervous about taking buses still, even though there haven't been any bus attacks for years now (thank you good God). But much to her horror:

"I took this taxi and then I looked at the seat next to the driver and saw an Arabic newspaper. I was so scared!!!"

I looked at her and laughed. Cab drivers? They're just scraping by to make a living. They may not all love Jews, because not all Jews love them either - but they're quite safe. I can assure you.

My sister in law put her mind at ease with:

"Oh, don't worry about that. If you have any problems with Arabs, just call her" she said tossing her head towards me. "She's friends with ALL of them."

"What??"

I explained to them (for the 100th time) my interfaith work and my sister was like:

"You know you can't trust them. They're all terrorists." She used the dreaded "all" word. I was calm. I was cool. I was collected. I looked at her and asked -

"Did you EVER in your life sit down and speak with any Arab? Ever?"

Sis lowers her head down slightly.

"no"

"So you can't tell me they're "all" like that."

Certainly we don't want to hear that ALL Jews are Madoffs or shysters or rich as shit. Why do I have to hear the "all" word?

Next day I was at the family wedding. This time I had to act the Ultra Orthodox part. If I didn't come dressed appropriately - meaning head covering too - it would have been an embarrassment for my sister and niece. And it's a grave sin to embarrass people in public. I actually felt more mature donning the elegant headscarf to cover my hair, and noted that when I nearly slipped in my shoes, it wasn't becoming of me to shout out "FUCK" when I looked the way I did.

The relatives were pleased to see my hair tucked in wearing a long-sleeved dress. They even introduced me to their friends. But I sat at their table and found I had nothing much to say to them. The conversation was strained if there even was a conversation. But when it was time to leave, I hugged them and told them I loved them and I felt they loved me back, even though we don't speak much to each other.

I come home to the person I'm related to by marriage - Hubby. He's in a foul mood today and tells me:

"All I want is for people to go on buses and cough and sneeze on each other. And get sick. That's all I want. That's the person you married."

Whatever.

Then this morning I see a bill he got from income tax for 43,000 shekels. After all, why shouldn't they run after our money? Aren't we all brothers?

Rare Flowers and Brits

2009-11-12T16:45:00.001+02:00

I'm still aching. Terribly. It's been two days since I hiked up in the Galilee with ESRA (English Speaking Residents Association), which mostly consist of Brits and the average age, I would guess is 65. You'd think, looking at these grey-haired folks, that the hike would be a piece of cake. It's almost like hiking with the Young At Heart crowd. Well it was easy because we didn't climb down ladders or hang off cliffs, but it was a very long and winding road.

To show you just how crazy I am, I woke up at 5:00 am. Who in their right mind takes off a day of work to wake up at that ungodly hour? Me. I got the 5:30 bus and my ride fetched me in Jerusalem one hour later. We waited for the main bus carrying all the hikers for about an hour, but the wait was wonderful and gave me a chance to discover a coffee called Pannone and a raspberry ganache which yelled "butter" all the way. The weather was delightful. I got onto the bus and sat in one of the few empty seats next to a messianic Jew. Maybe he was Jewish, maybe not, but he was from Montreal and had a distinct Quebec accent, pronouncing words like "dere" instead of "there". As soon as he mentioned the "New Testament" I knew that God wanted me to meet yet another one of these people. Again and again. Never fails, eh? We had a lovely discussion but he started in on the Moslems, calling them demonic and then I switched him off. I tried explaining that not everyone interprets the Koran the way Al Qaida and other extremists do and that the Moslems I met were one of the most hospitable people around. That seemed to royally piss him off because for the duration of the hike, while we sat down for lunch, he was going on about them like "every where in the world the Moslems are causing trouble" and when we passed a burnt out part of the forest, it was "them" doing it again.

"How do you know it's Arabs" I asked him. Perhaps it was Israeli teens. Perhaps it was a careless hiker, lighting up a butt then forgetting about it, until the winds whipped up a forest fire.

We began our hike in the Biria forest and saw the ruins of an ancient first century synagogue.

People in general on that hike were so friendly, it almost felt like family. A family of Brits and a couple of stray Yanks and Canadians and maybe an Aussie, a South African or two. Hiking uphill for a while, two guys teased me with "breathing heavy, aren't we?" "Yeah but what good is it if I'm breathing heavy alone." We hiked 18 kilometers to Rosh Pina down the mountain.

There was a rare flower which is in bloom only a couple of weeks a year and only in a few places. This was one of them.

Luckily, even though I don't hike more than once a year, I felt seasoned enough to bring my crocs which I sunk my aching feet into after the hike. And

The Country of Everest - Beit Jala

2009-11-07T11:30:00.001+02:00

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to spend a weekend at the Everest Hotel, which had been given good publicity a couple of weeks ago in the Jerusalem Post. The conference was sponsored by the Center for Emerging Futures advertised as:

Building Grassroots Partnerships

Beyond opinions, beyond fears,
beyond simplistic solutions and beyond politics:

A meeting of Palestinians – Israelis – Internationals
A human gathering of listening and co-creation

Sounded just like what I needed. I remembered the tough time I experienced last time I was there two years ago and I hoped things would be a bit different this time.

I didn't feel like spending money on a cab to get to Beit Jala. I took the bus from Maaleh Adumim to Talpiot when I decided I would take the Arab 21 bus straight to Beit Jala. I saw an Arab woman standing by the stop and started a conversation with her in my very broken Arabic but enough that she understood that I wanted to get to the Everest Hotel. She was so pleased that I asked for her assistance, after all, it's not every day that an Israeli woman would come over to ask an Arab woman for directions. She quickly offered me some of the seeds she was eating and invited me for coffee at her house. I would have loved to go, but I was going to be an hour late already. I sat in the back of the bus, some people staring, probably wondering if I was Jewish, a journalist or just a plain ol' foreigner or all three. The bus pretty much emptied out at a stop where taxis were waiting to take people to Hebron. It took about 15 minutes to get to Beit Jala and the bus left me off quite close to the hotel.

The introduction circle had already begun. I was listening to people's share of why they came - some had never met the other before, some wanted an end to the occupation, some wanted this for their children and I said I needed this kind of gathering for my mental health, which elicited some laughter. Of course, I mentioned that I came from Maaleh Adumim, which caused some murmuring among the crowed, but I happily saw that there was another young man from my city too.

We sat in a listening circle with Raed from an area near Ariel. He was harsh. No settlements! he cried, No occupation!!! YOU move to Tel Aviv and I move to Maaleh Adumim. He glared at me.

I told him that's impossible. Although I love to visit Tel Aviv, I'm not moving from Maaleh Adumim and if he wants to move and live with me in my community, that would be fine with me. I'm obviously not thinking or caring what my other 37,000 neighbors think of my ideas. He quieted down because he actually liked the idea of "living with me" and kept on repeating "living with you?" about 20 times. But he still believed that the settlements were the only problem and if they were removed, peace would miraculously appear in the region. I said the conflict was much older and deeper than 1967. He walked away from our table only to return with some crackers shaped like fish and handed each one of us a cracker - like a peace offering of sorts. This we thought was a lovely gesture from a man so angry, and we spoke about it in the larger circle.

Other forms of "giving" were done that weekend. One young Palestinian from Hebron said he was touched when, on Friday night, he complained of a horrible stomach ache. A Jewish woman made him some mint tea.

Another said he had a terrible headache and a Jewish tai chi instructor gave him some treatment and within minutes his headache was gone.

Jewish Oud player Yair Dalal entertained us on Friday evening with young musicians from Beit Jala.

This weekend I connected more deeply with some people, especially some of the women that came with their husbands from Twane and Umm al-Kheir. My Arabic was slightly better than it was a couple of years ago and their husbands spoke good English. They were such sweet people. One came over to me after I had lit the Sabbath candles and wished me a warm "shabbat shalom". They feel tormented by the Jews who live in nearby Carmel and Maon farms. Although the settlements receive 100% water supply and electricity, they don't have electricity and running water more than 3 hours a day. I guess we can't exchange email addresses. By the end of the weekend, my partnership goal/promise was to assist the families as best as I can by them making goat cheese and milk and yogurt products, as well as olive oil products and assisting these families in selling their products to tour groups and individuals who visit the South Hebron area. They can't really produce organic or any veggies or fruits, for that matter, on a large scale basis because of the water/electrical shortages. They are just able to grow whatever they can for their own use. But I figure this might help them out just a bit.

At breakfast Saturday morning, I sat with two young women, one raven-haired Jewish beauty from Belgium, whom everyone mistook for an Arab woman, and one who recently moved from Seattle who was 23 years old, but had the compassion and maturity of a much older woman. I told her my kids, who were her age, just thought about parties, shopping, friends, etc. She told me she was born an old woman and I laughed. We then sat around and spoke about visiting one another in Tel Aviv and Ashdod and perhaps having brunch on the Tel Aviv Port one day and then the conversation abruptly stopped.

"You know 'they' can't do all these things we're just taking for granted" - we almost said in unison - looking at our Arab table mates. We were almost embarrassed by this.

Leaving my nirvana on Saturday afternoon was difficult this time. We really connected and just this week I had a call from Twane asking when I plan to come down to visit. I told them for sure later on this month. Promises made have to be kept.

Walaja

2009-10-17T14:47:00.005+02:00

I was a good mother and wife this week. I actually went to work and then went straight home afterwards. No parties, no friends, no restaurants, no concerts. Nothing. I made dinner. I did laundry. But on Friday I became restless again. I missed my social activities.

The All Nations Cafe advertised a clean up day at Ein Haniyeh on Friday near the Arab village of Walaja overlooking the Malcha neighborhood in West Jerusalem. It's just a bit over the checkpoint. I recruited Hubby to drive me there since we still have our rented car. There was also supposed to be a Peace March organized by the Humanist movement. As we drove past the train station in Malcha, I recognized a fellow peace worker and we gave her a lift. Apparently, the peace march and speeches and performances were all cancelled due to political infighting in Walaja. OK. But the clean up is still on.

When we arrived, Dhyon of All Nations was there with two young Arab boys, one of whom hugged me like a long lost sister. A large group of Humanists came to clean up - mostly from Argentina, but some from Spain.

We took some bags and began cleaning up in the heat. Interesting to see the garbage that I collected. A child's headband, pajamas, a shirt, a lot of paper plates and plastic cups, beer bottles - lots of beer bottles - and cards advertising sex services and salad containers. It was hot and I had enough after 1/2 hour. I think everyone took a break after 1/2 hour.

I looked at the byzanine ruins by the spring. It was shamefully covered in Hebrew graffiti. A young Russian man was filling up about 25 jerry cans of spring water. This is the only water he drinks.

"It's better than Mei Eden".

"When do you finish all that water?" I asked him.

He said it takes him two weeks, and then he comes back to refill. The Ein Haniyeh pool was empty. There are rocks and garbage blocking the flow of water and it was Dyhon's aim to unblock the flow and get the pool filled up again.

We introduced ourselves to each other and sat down for a coffee break, while exchanging busines cards. Nothing like freshly brewed over-the-fire Arabic coffee with cardamom.

We then heard that the official March for Peace and speeches and entertainment was cancelled because the Walaja officials didn't want to have "normalization" with Israelis. Because Israelis were joining, they didn't want the event to go on.

"How stupid." I told whoever was listening. "This 'normalization' thing is political bullshit. Our governments are always feeding us bullshit so that we can't be together."

People nodded in agreement.

"Events like these are always more effective when both Israelis and Arabs are involved. It sends a stronger message to the world or to our country that even Israelis are upset at the way the Walaja community is being treated by the Israeli government (by planning a Jewish neighborhood on their village land, while they themselves are not allowed to legally expand). But, ok, let them cancel. Stupid idiots."

There was an Arab man from Abu Tor who was leaving back to Jerusalem sooner rather than later. I wanted to get a lift from him. No problem. I knew we had to pass the checkpoint.

"Do the soldiers give you any trouble?"

"Nah"

We were made to stop at the checkpoint. The soldier looks at the driver. He asks what he was doing and where he went. It didn't matter that he was driving a car with Israeli license plates. All Arabs are suspicious looking at checkpoints.

"You saw me come in 1/2 hour ago" said the driver to the soldier.

Again - what was he doing there and where does he live?

"I went to clean up the spring"

"There's no water in the pool" the soldier insisted, thinking the guy is lying.

I butted in.

"Exactly. That's why we're cleaning it up." I obviously didn't look or act like a kidnapped Israeli woman and the soldier seemed satisfied that the driver is an ok human being, even if he is an Arab.

He waved us through.

Gaming

2009-10-14T12:24:00.002+02:00

My son is a computer addict. He's addicted to free Poker games on the internet. It's just horrible. I woke him up yesterday by telephone while I was on the way to work, and he didn't even answer me with a "fuck you" so I thought he was in a pretty good mood, despite the fact that I woke him. But I got a call from his teacher that evening telling me that he never showed up in school that day.

Huh?

The fact that he didn't curse me out, as he usually does nearly every morning when I wake him, should have been a warning sign. He was probably sitting at the computer, playing Poker and forgot about school. Just simply forgot.

The teacher was mad and said I'd have to come into work late to speak to the principal.

"Sorry, I can't this week and next week. We have a lot of pressure this week at work. I can't see anyone or be 5 minutes late until October 25th."

The teacher growled at me, saying things that I should really put my kid first.

I'm like - sorry, but I don't feel like jeopardizing the only steady income my family has for this kid. Get it?

"I'll talk to the principal" she huffed at me.

My son is telling me - "why should I got to school? I HATE THAT SCHOOL."

Well, because no other school will take you, sonny boy.

I only found sympathy with co-workers the next morning.

"He should be going to work."

"Let him do his exams later on in life."

"Let him start army service earlier."

"He doesn't learn anything anyway, why should he just sit in class??"

And they all joined me in vilifying the school faculty who made me feel like an incompetent mother.

This morning before work, though, I took away his keyboard and mouse and hid it under lock and key.

I called him to wake him up for school. He probably saw the keyboard and mouse missing and there were no curses for me this morning. He simply hung the phone up on me.

Sukkot

2009-10-13T16:33:00.004+02:00

It was sad when the holiday ended. I didn't really go anywhere for the holidays. Unlike tens of thousands of Israelis who fly overseas, I prefer to spend the main holidays in Israel - because that's where you feel the holiday. Overseas...it's just another plain day. And I also didn't go anywhere because for the first time, Hubby was able to buy and build a large sukkah, long enough to fit around 20 people uncomfortably and 14 people comfortably. We had been going without a sukkah for two years and it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like Sukkot.

On Friday, I had my daughter's in-laws all over. The shy single Elvis fan brother-in-law didn't want his photo taken and I was trying to get a good shot of him for his JDate profile. He'd love to find a nice all-American girl - she must love Elvis of course. I finally did manage to get a nice shot of him - but only to be shown on JDate. This time my daughter's mother-in-law gave me a beautiful poinsetta plant and a deep frying pan. Finally, something useful, instead of the ugly microwave we got on Passover that looked like a washing machine, which we traded in for another, more sleek looking, model.

On Sunday I invited eight Evangelical Lutherans to my home for dinner. I thought they were German girls so I bought TWO cases of beer. I didn't want to seem like the cheap Jew. But they were all young American girls and only half a case went. We still have a case and a half sitting in the fridge. Oh well. Better to miscalculate on the generous side. Hubby was even around to give them a demonstration of shaking the lulav and etrog and I read the blessing in English and explained to them the story behind succot, which I can't even remember myself any more.. I'm sure they must have thought that shaking the lulav and etrog was quite the strange ritual so I mentioned that Jesus definitely did the very same thing.

On Monday and Tuesday I babysat the grandkid who is so much more different in the daytime than he is when I normally watch him in the cranky evenings. I got so used to the little bugger and enjoyed my 7 hours a day with him, until his mom came to pick him up.

On Wednesday, Jerusalem's macrobiotic community "invaded" my house - some 30 people. My neighbors must have thought I was nuts. This event lasted nearly 12 hours. I was like the maintenance person - replacing wet towels, toilet paper, tableclothes, aprons and whatever else was needed. These people are really eco-conscious and brought their own real plates and cups so I didn't need to cook or wash up the entire day - which was quite a joy. I did shiatsu and tai chi and listened as much as I could to the different lectures until I lost my energy sometime after dinner... My kids stayed in their rooms all day and Hubby stayed away until everyone left. They'll have none of that healthy food/lifestyle, thank you.

Saturday, Hubby and I decided to take advantage of our rented car and went countryside to have brunch out in Hans Sternbach's winery in Moshav Ganei Yeshayahu -out in the sticks somewhere near Beit Shemesh. On the way, he tried to take a short cut and sees a young pretty thing walking on the side of the road. He asks for directions. She tells him he has to go back...there is no shortcut around here. He tells her "have a nice....ass", but luckily I don't think she heard him.

We finally found the restaurant and were so happy. We really needed some respite from all the guests during the week and wanted some quiet moments. We looked at the shaded patio, the tables set beneath grape vines and sat down. The waitress comes over and tells us the cook hasn't arrived yet because the roads are blocked due to a bicycle race. We sit and wait. While we wait, we hear screaming coming from the house. The restaurant also happens to be the owner's residence. His kid is yelling at him. We hear doors slam. We laugh because it looks like we're not gonna get any quiet today either. We also laugh because we're glad other kids do the same to their parents as our kids. The waitress is embarrassed and comes over to apologize. By this time, we're just laughing and tell her it's ok. "At least they're not telling their father to fuck off, like my kids do." The waitress laughs with us.

The cook finally comes, and so does the food which was worth the wait - 8 different kinds of salads - lentils with caraway, eggplant, beets, humous, matbucha, cheese platter with caraway cream cheese, ricotta, labanae, olives, a fish platter of smoked mackerel, salmon and herring and omelettes. We get a tour of the winery and a taste of 4 custom wines. We sit next to diplomats from Denmark who arrived in a Jaguar and we feel rich.

Forbidden City

2009-10-03T21:15:00.009+02:00

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

2009-10-02T00:25:00.004+02:00

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

2009-09-28T20:21:00.004+02:00

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

2009-09-25T21:39:00.008+03:00

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

2009-09-22T15:36:00.003+03:00

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

2009-09-21T15:10:00.005+03:00

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

2009-09-17T11:29:00.002+03:00

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

2009-09-16T15:50:00.005+03:00

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

2009-09-15T15:00:00.003+03:00

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

2009-09-12T12:34:00.003+03:00

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

2009-08-29T12:56:00.000+03:00

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

2009-08-27T22:40:00.002+03:00

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

2009-08-24T16:48:00.000+03:00

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

2009-08-17T21:21:00.009+03:00

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

2009-08-15T00:17:00.002+03:00

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

2009-08-06T17:32:00.003+03:00

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

2009-08-05T16:49:00.003+03:00

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.