A sparkling afternoon opposite the new Habima theater. We sat in “Nechama and a half” and watched the silver glints in the walls of the theater building. I would hate to live within eyesight of this renewed umbilis of Tel Aviv – it’s too glittery. But the carbon exhaust will soon tone it down, so it isn’t all that bad.
Archive for September, 2010
23
Sep
Sep
For our first Sukkah night, we went to moshav Hemed near the airport and sat in a sukkah with our friends. It’s a religious establishment so the gates of the moshav are closed on holidays and you have to walk 2 kilometers to their house, but it was worth it. A few poets, an artist, and the quiet interrupted only by occasional flights overheard. The artist is rocovering from surgery for a blocked artery and is becoming pure art himself. The poets are well-known, and have undergone great transformations in their lives. Both have great causes – one Buddhist, one deep ecology.
Last night we had the chance to see Brecht’s Causacasian Chalk Circle at the Cameri theatre. It was an amazing production – delightfully light and innovative and the hint of rebellion, of injustice, and of absurdity was everywhere. Of all the medias the theatre is the most connected to the local atmosphere, and the local theatre here seems to be the most telling of the political atmosphere (Perhaps that’s why the first cry of artistic rebellion came from the theatre – the Cameri people refusal to appear in the West Bank Ariel building.). Anyway it was an experience. Music by the young and famous Keren Peles was really integrated, sensitive, popular, and in turn sad and nonsensical. It seemed totally ego-cognizant to me – that feeling of all at once – that feeling that overwhelms people of Tel Aviv, the absolutely delight of Israel, the constant underlying fear.
As Israel ’s International Red Cross organisation, Magen David Adom has launched a series of initiatives worldwide in order to gain Red Cross access to Gilad Shalit. Magen David Adom UK has set up an online petition to highlight Shalit’s plight and demand the basic human right, as set out in the Geneva Convention, for Shalit to be visited immediately by the International Red Cross. To sign their petition just visit the website below and please forward it to as many people as possible.
Erev Yom Kippur, 1973. I was pretty new here. It was a Friday night. As I lay in bed at three in the morning I could feel the mattress shaking. It took twelve hours before war was announced but by then the men in the neighborhood were already called up, and we knew we had been completely caught by surprise, and no one’s life would be the same. As soon as we could we stocked up on whatever groceries were left in the local store. I was one of the few women in the neighborhood with a car and a driving license and that made me responsible not only for my own family, but also for others. There was no milk for a while in our neighborhood, then no eggs for months, and no batteries to be found. We needed batteries for our radios to find out what was going on, so I found myself driving to Tadiran in Holon – the end of the world then – to stock up for the neighborhood. We had no phones so our only mode of communication was the radio. What soldiers were killed? what division? I had students who’d been called up and I mailed them the assignments, or even brought them to the homes I hoped they’d be visiting soon.
And now we have a new commander-in-chief of the army who can’t even get someone to be second in command under him, daily threats of extinction, and fire on our borders. I’m too old to do another war.
I discovered a strange thing this evening. In surfing for information about something about our president I found there was no site for him. Is this possible? The president of this country doesn’t have a website?
At the beginning of the prayer there is a permission granted to pray among sinners. We don’t know who is given permission and who is the sinner. As it continues it turns out that all of us are – not sinners – but people who err. When you leave out some of the words listed in Aramaic you leave some of the many ways someone can be stuck in a mistake. Cursing someone, for example, or rejecting an other from our society. Also, these promises and sins are intertwined with alliteration and assonance so that one does not differ greatly from another. This inclusion of all the community in the same concept of error seems to be the basis for Yom Kippur. We sin in the plural. And we are responsible for the errors of others as we are responsible for ourselves.
“Heretics on Wheels,” Haaretz joked (In Hebrew only) about the record bicycle sales before Yom Kippur. Heretics, humbug. Some of us would love to spend some time in shul and some at the beach. I, for instance, want to be part of the beginning and the end – kol nidre and neila – whether I believe or not I want to be able to say I am responsible for everyone in my community and I need to beg forgiveness for them as well as me, that no one is a greater sinner, that the society helps to create sinners and I am part of that society. But for the very reason that I want to be among all ‘sinners’ I don’t want some one leading me who thinks he’s better than all of us. Especially in the government.
So the price for talking peace is phosphorus bombs? All right.
September 14, 2010
InvitationWe’re doing an exhibit of the Galapagos Island photos and poems in the library next month. Put it in your calendar. Get ready.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with doctors lately, even more than usual, and today was my turn to visit a new guy in Tel Aviv. I haven’t been to a health-clinic doctor in Tel Aviv in ages – they have tiny waiting rooms crowded with elderly people, and they are usually pretty morose and jaded. So for years I’ve been frequently the younger South Africans in the suburbs, the ones with secretaries and equipment and good lighting.
Times have changed. This morning I walked into a crowded waiting room, into a room of staring patients and almost walked out. Instead I asked the receptionist how long it would be, and she suggested I return in half an hour. This gave me time to poke around a bit in the old shops of Ibn Gvirol, to reaquaint myself with the way I used to shop twenty years ago. I bought some pajamas, a powder puff, stuff like that. Where I live everything would have been in the drugstore and would cost three times as much, so I enjoyed the interesting people and stores.
But I came back to the doctors expecting to read at least one article in a three year old magazine. Miraculously the door opened to the full waiting room and the doctor came out with the old lady with a walker. “Don’t forget Rivkele,” he said, “you have to take this medicine first and then this one.” “With water?” “Anything liquid.” “Hot water?” “If you have to.” “Juice?” “Don’t be a nudnik, Rivkele. Feel good and enjoy the beautiful day.” With a big smile, she took her daughter’s arm and walked out. Now the doctors here are great, all in all (except for the surgeon that missed my friend’s breast cancer) but their bedside manner is generally a bit abrasive. So this guy’s perfect mixture of intimacy and humor seemed perfect to me. And it was my turn. And I had a perfectly wonderful visit with him, even though it means I’ve got to do more tests and probably more, because he ended our meeting with “Thank you for giving me the opportunity of seeing inside your ears.”
