It’s a home for young people who have not been done well by society. Maybe their parents are in prison, or they’ve been raped in the family, or they were adopted from Russia from alcoholic mothers, or they have committed crimes, or whatever. But here they are treated with love and comfort – whether they are Jewish, Christian or Muslim.
And I got to meet the counselors and the children, the organizers and the counselors – and I got to grill them. They told me they try to help the kids get themselves together – without the use of drugs unless necessary – and with constant supervision and love.
It seemed like a dream to me – When I was in college I spent many many hours with unhappy children, problematic children. I would take a kid that talked to no one out in a little sailboat, and after a few hours, I’d report back to the shrink what was bothering him. The psychiatrist in charge would tell me how to help, what to say, what to do – and I’d do it. And it worked.
So I know the methods in this place save souls. And I’m happy about giving money to keep this place functioning.
If I were you, I’d help these kids as well. Check out their website: https://www.childrenshome.org.il/Jerusalem_Hills_Childrens_Home.
End of year celebrations continue – Not only did I blow all my recent earnings from lectures and appearances on Lancome today, but I think I’ve already blown my entire monthly pension this month on restaurants. Tonight was particularly celebratory – with birthdays and grandchildren and graduations – at a restaurant where nothing familiar was on the menu and everyone had to figure out what to order from scratch. For example, I usually like to order familiar foods – say – kebab – and then I know what I’m getting. But at Pastel, everything is local but put together in a new and strange way – sweet and bitter and sour and sharp. And the kids actually liked it!
So even though I’ve been depressed all day that I can’t get things together at the English Writers’ Association, and I had to cancel the event I’d planned on the 27th, I began to think that mixing things up might be a good idea – that things may work out even better that way.
The idea that ‘this too shall pass’ made me think that the depression of an old friend and the complete discombobulation of some of my ex-students and younger friends are not the same thing. My old friend may or may not be over the hill, but those younger people will continue on to have much better lives than what we’re having now.
Of course it was patriotism that Samuel Johnson defined as ‘the last refuge of a scoundrel’ but there are cases when it is the prime minister’s office which is the last refuge, where a person can escape prison…
The testimony today in the bribery case of our former and prospective prime minister may not lead him to prison, but it sure shows his disgusting values.
The same trial is going on in the US about a former and prospective president.
When I was in my late teens I ran up against people like them – they always made my skin crawl in a way I will never forget.
I have friends who don’t go out after 10 in the morning and stay hidden until sunset, from Shvuot until Rosh HaShana. To see them, I have to meet them for morning coffee. They are wise, not wizened. So I met a friend for coffee at the port this morning at 8:30. No one else was up, but by the time I went back to my car, the ‘parliament,’ tables of retired men, filled the cafes there. I have to say – these are the people who know how to live: The ladies who hide from the hot and damaging sun and meet at sunset, and the men who meet together every day to analyze the situation of the world.
i haven’t dared to watch this yet, and I think the sound isn’t good, but I loved reading with these musicians, even though I don’t know their names…yet.
We were having a very civilized panel about American music and poetry, but when I got asked what I think of Bob Dylan, I said he wasn’t much of a poet. So the band asked me to read out “Blowin’ in the wind.” I found it on my phone and read it out. It is my favorite activity, reading to music.
It was a good panel otherwise. Happy Fourth of July!
When I said I’d do a talk about the beats tonight, I thought I’d be reviewing years of lecture notes, but I found myself remembering how I grew up with the beats. How I wore black in high school, and sunglasses whenever I could, how I read Ginsberg out loud, and clicked my fingers at good poems in coffee houses, and listened to folk music.
And then I remembered how Yair Lapid appeared at a poetry reading in honor of Rony Sommek a few years ago – wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses and playing the beat poet.
What crazy stories I remember, and how irrelevant they are to the real experience of the Beat poets.