it must have been 10 years ago – the Knesset wanted to know about writers and their needs. Someone posted the picture of Avihai speaking for Avihai Kimhai’s birthday and I remembered that the moment they snapped this picture, I was realizing that something could be done for the arts – but it was going to be because of Avihai, not weaklings like me. My mood had been so positive entering the meeting – but now you can see in the picture how glum I am.
people keep asking me why I’m doing this evening on the 25 in so many languages. well one reason is simply that 3 of the books that came out during COVID have been dual language in other languages – french-english, yiddish-english, danish-english. The other languages have given me perspectives on my own language, but they have also helped me become more aware of the multilingualism that seems to become more common in Israel. The fear of Yiddish, for example, has disappeared. Arabic appears more often in Hebrew, and there is much more interest in the language. French too.
come on guys, don’t forget to come by next Thursday, if only to drink wine and eat cheese, but also to understand the difference between languages, and the different identities we have when we move between languages.
Even though the Forward has lost its connection with Israel, I read it all the time and am especially happy when they play Jewish Geography, a game I’ve always enjoyed but almost forgotten about. So this week’s Jewish geography lesson is a book about Elvis
and I ate it up. But our game in the family isn’t whether someone is Jewish or not. We ASSUME it. The fun is when it is some other race. Today, for instance, when I got fed up with my credit card and decided to get another one I filled out a form online and a guy called to finish the process. He talked so fast I had to stop him to repeat himself a few times and clarify. To Ezi I noted that he must be a yeshiva boy because he speaks like haredim pray. But I waited until the end to ask him what his name was. “Ali.” “Pleased to meet you, Ali.” “And you.”
Apparently, people my age are not supposed to be standing in lines. I’m old – even though I think I don’t look my age. So I can forgive the people who don’t offer to give me their place. But the guy today who complained that he should have been before me in line went a little further than usual. In a loud tone, he told the saleslady that I wedged in the line after he’d been waiting. The saleslady, who had been busy on whatsapp the whole time I was standing there, shouted back at him that she’d been taking care of me for half an hour and he had some nerve. His response was to dump his shopping basket on the floor and stomp out of the store.
Since I haven’t been out shopping for a long time and today I did a lot of errands, I was suddenly reminded of the behavior difference that people have been complaining to me about. I mean the lack of sympathy and awareness of others. Other people have become dangerous to us. And both the saleswoman and the customer reminded me of it.
We were driving down the sea road to tel aviv when one of Zvika Pik’s songs came on the air. As we sang along, I stopped and said, “He must have died.” And indeed a few moments later the announcement came. it didn’t really seem possible – he was only 72 – and despite his stroke, he was almost ready for a new round of concerts.
And then I remembered that I had last seen him long ago, in 2004 at Natan Yonatan’s funeral. He was very tall and stood a head above the others. We didn’t know each other well, but exchanged a few polite words of respect for a fine poet, and I was surprised by how noble he too was.
I’ve been conceiving of this evening of 5 languages for weeks. Everyone has been so wonderfully compliant that it should be easy to put this idea of poetry as transcending languages and culture and its antithesis as well. But putting the concept together and executing an abstract with my own poems is going to be really difficult. Why can’t I just be a poet?
And there are so many other issues to worry about!
Having given up on the concept of rebuilding our building for the moment, my neighbors have been arguing about what color to paint the columns – which shade of grey. Finally I suggested that no matter what shade we ultimately decide on, we should make sure to have a photograph of all the tenants before the house when it’s been painted. That, we agreed on.
Richard – How often we would sit together at lunch and he would notice something special about me – my dress, my earrings, my nail polish, my poems, my research. How often his courtly behavior impressed me – so unlike Israeli gentlemen. Even when his Parkinson’s progressed to the point where it was difficult to have a conversation with him, I loved sitting with him.
So tonight we went to a memorial ceremony for him – and in his honor we sang “American Pie.” What a strange and appropriate memorial – noble and generous – just like him. Will we ever see the likes of him again?