I spent the evening listening to a zoom about Amihai. It has been a long time since I’ve listened to his poems – especially by such loving readers and such an admiring audience. Hundreds of people listening to analyses, commenting on lines and sources, reminding the world of how much controversy about the Hebrew language he evoked, and how much he changed the face of literature.
I’m not good at listening to people talk lately, but Amichai’s humanism struck me deeply – again. I remembered how much I enjoyed reading with him at the Nassau county museum, at the Library of Congress, at the U.S. Cultural Center in Tel Aviv, how much both of us enjoyed our meals together, our visits. The last time I spoke with him we made plans to meet in New York for lunch. And then he disappeared. And I couldn’t find him. And then he was gone.
His poetry reminds me of what it is like to be a human being. I tend to forget it in today’s environment.
The number of celebrations seems to increase in proportion to the troubles in the world. We’re having lots of celebrations right now.
today there was a wedding anniversary in Beit Kandinoff in Jaffa – an enormous feast. After that, we had a birthday party for the kids at home. I probably didn’t understand but they were expecting dinner, and I was a bit tired and had prepared only a cake. So they came hungry and all I had was pizza dough. So the children divided into 3 teams and made 3 pizzas. They were finished before we could have ordered out. And they were great.
We have eaten in numerous wonderful places in the past few weeks – but I wish we weren’t eating as compensation for the vacation we dare not go on. I just don’t feel like waiting for hours in the airport, having my luggage lost, spending enormous amounts, and having one of us catch covid again.
But before my internet connection got lost, we were talking about eating out. (“You see,” as Joseph Fielding’s Shamela says, “I write to the moment.”) So I have been to the Meatbar, Pastel, Yehuda, and some other excellent restaurants – and have enjoyed them all. But now I can’t say more because I have to fix another internet leak.
I walk into the room and ask the people what they are watching. “A discussion of Bibi’s trial.” “Which one?” I ask. I can’t keep track. Is it the one where he’s a crook, or the one where he’s crazy, or the one where he’s dumb?” “Many think he’s a hero.” “One doesn’t preclude the other.”
Our long-time doctor in the health clinic left the system for private practice years ago and took with her a few patients in a supplementary capacity. We had been very happy with her and decided to continue with her, so even though we have a GP in the health system, we have a subscription with her as well, and she tells us what tests we need to ask for, what these tests mean, and what we can do to maintain good health.
Sometimes what she recommends is not totally proven, but usually it works. So today she prescribed silver water for our long corona. So if I turn blue, you’ll know why.
Forgot to note why we follow her blindly – When Ezi was getting his first chemo, he felt terrible. She walked him through it with minor medications – and continued to help him with years of simple advice.
As the elevator came down from the 16th floor, I heard the children arguing – and the mother screaming for them to stop. When the door finally opened, there were two shamefaced girls – about 6 and 8 – with thick glasses – and the mother with a baby carriage – maybe with a baby inside. As they left the elevator and walked to the door of the building, the mother continued her tirade, “How could you shout at each other like that? You are sisters, and you should be friends! And where did you learn to shout like that? You are an embarrassment to me!”
It struck me that in this hard time – with everything going a bit haywire in the world – parenting is even harder than ever. We’re all on a short fuse and the emotional effects will be longer lasting than the heat spell or the Corona.
I haven’t thought much about the issue of my identity in a long time. Although I think most concepts of identities are determined by the ”other” in the way that Jews in Europe discovered their Jewish identity only when Nazis came to arrest them, I believe that my own identity was also created by the blurring of borders. That is, I also see my identity along gender borders – women experiencing similar situations in different races – and along character borders – people who think and feel like me. Why am I thinking about this today? In part, because I was communicating with a guy I used to think was similar to me but has been behaving very badly to others I respect – breaking promises, sabotaging their plans, insulting them, etc. In part, because I saw Anu museum through the eyes of Americans: where I thought the museum was an exercise in bragging, my American friends assured me it was an important lesson in identity. Information I thought was obvious and known to all, was, it emerged, not available to many. Now I have to go back and see the exhibition through my friend’s eyes.
The more I depend on foreign media, the less the local news discusses the world. Today, for instance, it is half an hour into channel 12 and all we’ve heard is about this tiny country. Of all the terrible things that happen here, this seems the most frightening – that we’re into our own ass. With all that’s happening in the world, why are we doing this to ourselves?