The State of Israel was declared today, in Tel Aviv, because Jerusalem was under seige. I wasn’t there, because my stateless parents had just taken us to America, having been expelled from England. Their previous attempts to make it to Palestine had led to their return to Danzig on the eve of the German invasion, and they weren’t going to try again after world war 2, since the British had just thrown them out of England. Confused? So were they.
Two states were declared, by the way, but while the Jews rejoiced, the Arabs rejected the declaration.
Panic Ensemble performed last night to a packed hall in Levontin 7. If you weren’t there you missed a thrilling evening. Even songs I’ve heard many times before, and have even performed with the group, were even more exciting than I’ve ever known them. There is something about their sense of play, even on tragic poems, that works.So sometimes they interpret my work in a contrary way, and the opposition opens up the poem. Sometimes they make me go crazy, as in the poem about Lot’s Wife.
SODOM
Look, look at the light
See the sky grow dark with the fire
Burning up, last night we were one
I want you to stay in my eyes
Oh the wildest nights
Holding the men
And women of Sodom
I want to love them all
Taste, drunk with the night,
Taste my blood grown thick with desire
Burning up, binded by love
I want them to stay in my arms
Oh the wildest nights
Holding the men
And women of Sodom
I want to love them all
Before us now – banal days
One life one love one lord
Empty land, no pleasure of love
I choose to bleach you from my heart
Oh the wildest nights
Holding the men
And women of Sodom
I am becoming salt.
Of course the text had to be altered to the music and pronunciation of Yael and Dirk, but the tragic music and tone, and the sense of ifcha mistabra, or taking the opposite side of the argument to see where it will go, remains.
Ezi took Kutya to the SOS fair today and he was immediately snapped up by a new owner. He is such a wonderful, intelligent dog that I am sure he’ll adapt everywhere. And for us the goat is out of the house. Now I feel we can cope with the tiny and various operations, projects, grandchildren, home repairs, etc. that only two weeks ago i thought was beyond our capabilities. And to accept the things that are out of our hands, like the lives and deaths of those we love. (See yesterday’s entry)<p>Do I include politics in the category of what is out of our hands? No. I continue to believe that every effort must be made to influence local politicians as well as the world to keep alert
in memory
The last time I saw you I knew it was the last
You asked for help but help was beyond asking.
What you really wanted was a will, a testament,
Something we would carry on for you after you were gone.
You were afraid, you said, but it was the fear of a bride
The night before the ceremony, the fear of becoming
Something else. And then you kissed us all, and we,
Silly virgins, thought your kiss meant you’d remain with us,
The last time I saw you I knew it was the last.
You asked for help and we helped: Our faith and hope
Enabled you to say goodbye, and with all my heart
I hope your last thoughts were wrapped in love.
Eid Al-Adha, Thanksgiving, and a possible new home for Kutya. What rejoicing! This promises to be a good shabbat.
Just as I was feeling totally recovered from the flu, my ingrown toenail reached a crisis state. Thank goodness for the divine Dr. Lapidot in Herzlia, who just takes a look at Ezi and grabs the can of dry ice. Although sometimes dry ice is not enough. Anyway I had my toe lazared and I’ll be up and running by tomorrow.
But I think I’ve written about Dr. Lapidot before. It was in his office that I first discovered the importance of tattoo removal to Ethiopian women. It was in his office that I saw an amazing Philip Rantzer composition. It was in his office that I discovered that women my age look good because of restylane. He has saved Ezi’s skin time and again, and if you’re looking for a skin doctor, I highly recommend him.
For the second day in a row Exi exclaimed in wonder, “I can’t believe that there are people who don’t want to exchange prisoners for Gilad Shalit.” He had been listening to radio on the way home, I’m sure, and hearing people – experts and kooks alike – saying that released prisoners with blood on our hands will endanger our lives and we should not trust them. But I would be more scared if I sent soldiers into battle who didn’t know their country would back them if they got into trouble.
Although I never seem to have much luck in tracing down what happened to my relatives in the Holocaust and whether anyone survived, “Jewish Gen” has been am important site for me, helping me recreate the existence of those that disappeared all at once. Now they’re in trouble, and need donations. I’m giving. Here.
Speaking of tradition, I’m back to bellydancing again. The music: Hakim mostly. The style: Egyptian. I can’t think of anything more enjoyable. My mother would be proud of me.
<img src=”kutya.jpg”><p><p><img src=”kutyaclose.jpg”><p>
Iran may be shooting off rockets, Hamas may be declaring it won’t throw any more katyushas for the next week, Gilad Shalit may be coming home soon… But I am totally overwhelmed by a puppy who is full of energy and doesn’t leave us any peace. Our old Shusha is as exhausted as we are.<p>It’s amazing how we can be diverted from significant events by personal ones. Some people think the whole Shalit issue is a question of personal considerations. That he should be sacrificed for the sake of the country. “The 450 people they are trading Shalit for,” Shulamit tells me, “not only have blood on their hands, they’re in blood up to their ears. It endangers the entire country to free Shalit.” For me freeing one soul liberates me, even if it endangers me. But the issue I think is one of trust. How can I trust my son to the army unless I know they back him up?<p>Nevertheless, if any one has any idea of someone who wants a puppy, please let me know!!!!<p>
I think we know a little bit about trauma around here. But I didn’t know about this site:
http://www.traumaweb.org/content.asp?PageId=10&lang=En
My mother used to tell me about the Yeshiva boys the family would take for the Sabbath. Every week a different boy, every week different behavior. One week a boy sat there as the rest of the family ate their soup. “Why aren’t you eating?” my grandmother asked. “I can’t put it in my mouth,” he responded. My grandmother was shocked, sure that her cooking was inedible to him. The whole family stared. It took a minute before they realized he didn’t have a spoon.
Here’s my version.Yesterday morning we passed the grocer and there was a puppy tied up near the door. We passed later and he was still there – The grocer said the owner had to go to the hospital and didn’t know if and when she’d be back. When we came back, the grocery was closing down for the Sabbath, and the dog was still there. We took him home for the weekend.Our dog Shusha is old and has been a nervous wreck since she was an infant when we found her at the grocers almost 14 years ago. Way back then we took her home with the intention of giving her away to a good family, but she kept getting returned to us because she would immediately pee on the carpet. So the decision of bringing a guest for the weekend was fraught with implications. And it did not take long to realize that Shusha would not do well with a hyperactive untrained whippersnapper. Our entire Shabbat has been punctuated by murderous barks and snarls, Shusha threatening, Kutya (yes, we have named him) teasing, testing and begging for attention.Oh and incidentally – there have apparently been no previous attempts at
toilet training.
