I’ve done it again, misunderstood the dates of the invitation my friend sends for the second night of the holiday, and showed up on the wrong night. Caught her in her pj’s too.
So we took off for Orit’s, where I was longing to be anyway, and had dinner with grandkids, who told us of their horrible teachers. And we also had a chance to see Ezi’s sister and her family. And discuss today’s politics and ancient memories.
What a wonderful evening! I can see friends any time.
The Hebrew poets have been doing a poetry challenge on Facebook, where one posts a poem a day for ten days and with each poem invites another poet to do the same. A little poetry Ponzi. When Gad Keynar Kissinger invited me, I started to invite other Hebrew poets and found that most of them were free only after the holidays, so I decided to invite my Arab friends, and then a few of my English friends and maybe Sudani.
here’s my take on the scenario. 6 terrorists, 4 who have murdered already, have cars, clothes, and plans for the future – they split, team up with others, and spend our holidays blowing up pre-determined places all over the country. I would stay out of public areas for the next month.
The escape of 6 terrorists from the Gilboa Prison – about an hour or so from here last night was so simple and stupid on the part of the prison itself (that was built in a hurry on porous ground in 2004 and therefore raised on short stilts so easily dug up, with no slurry wall to prevent tunnels through the external wall to the main road) the police (who transmitted the information of the witness who noticed the prisoners loose on the main road but apparently waited for the prison to act on it) and of course the terrorists themselves.
They are actually the ones who bother me – that they will manage not only to cause some serious damage to numerous civilians, but they will inspire others to kill and kill and kill.
The worst part of it is the distrust it raises in both populations.
Let me take this opportunity to wish a good year to all the people who have filled up my mailbox with new year wishes. So happy new year to all the banks, health clinics, theaters, supermarkets, department stores, journals, etc. who took the trouble to send me one of the identical cards you sent to thousands of others. You really made my day with all those hard-to-load videos of apples and honey.
There’s a whole big thing in the Times magazine today about the name Karen and how it means a white self-indulgent bitch, usually racist and narcissistic, and how the name became popular in the 60’s I think but now is totally uncool. So I have to make a declaration: My name is not really Karen.
I know, I’ve written poems about how my name Karen in Hebrew means a ray of light as well as a horn, and when the King James Bible was first translated they mixed up the translations, giving Moses horns instead of light emanating from his head. But the truth is, I was named after my grandmother, Haya Keila, but the registrar entered my name as Karen Hilary, and that’s what I became.
So I’m not a Karen, okay? Well, I am, but not really.
It’s all over the busses here – how terrible abortions are and how you will regret it later. I’ve been seeing them for years – a few at a time – and thinking it is some extreme religious organization, and who will pay attention. But somehow it seems to infiltrate – that thought that even if the mother is endangered, the child should not be sacrificed – even though it goes against Jewish law to put the fetus before the mother. And suddenly I had a flashback – when anyone in Israel could have an abortion, without a board to approve it. And people still had children, and they were loved.
The plan was to go up north with a bunch of friends for a birthday trip today. But with my back still suffering from a minibus trip a few days ago, I decided my health comes first and joined some other friends for a catamaran jaunt. I always find the sea invigorating, but I hadn’t had more than a veg shake for breakfast before we toasted with champagne on the yacht and by one began to feel queasy. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the usual sea sickness because it was accompanied by all kinds of bathroom difficulties before the quadruple vomit in the galley.
I could not partake in the feast the group shared and went home to sleep it off. Now I am back to normal and if I weigh the beauties against the faults, still come out positive – the view of the shore from Netanya to Jaffa is magnificent and the conversation fascinating, with many important issues raised. But if I promised to do something for you this weekend, forget it. I’m out of commission,