The siren woke us a little after 8 this morning. We were shocked and shaken but dressed, and had some expectation of being woken. Still, after 7 times of running down 2 flights of stairs, waiting half an hour or so in a dusty uncomfortable shelter, then returning home to grab something to eat and go to the bathroom before the siren starts again, we are wiped out. I suppose that’s the point of bombing a city endlessly.
We’ll probably have to sleep here. So I think I’ll just pop up for some dinner and wash my face and come back again.
There’s no internet in the shelter so I’ll download this when I get back to civilization. We also get very little news so I don’t know if we’re winning or losing. What I do know is that a lot of people are dying needlessly, and I hope I’m not one of them.
While we were visiting the Canary Islands we participated in three carnivals, and each one was totally different from the others. Each one seemed to exhibit the character of the island, and each one reminded me of a different Purim I’d lived through.
The second island we visited was Teneriffe, and there the beautiful princesses of the carnival, all so gorgeously dressed they could samba only with their arms and head reminded me of Queen Esther, so much more beautiful than all the other girls in the parade, even though they revealed much more of their vibrating bodies. I was never Queen Esther – I was always one of the chubby girls dressed in bad taste, until I discovered my true identity. And that came back to me on the first carnival in Palma when we got to peek at the selection of the queen of the festival from between the tv barriers, and the contestants were all totally at home as cross-dressers.
In Yiddish School we performed a Purim play every year, but the boys never wanted to participate. Ultimately Velvel became Mordechai, but to my great joy it was I who got to appear on stage with my moustache, whip and turban as Haman. I loved it as much as the dancers loved their sequins at the festival in Palma.
But it was at Lanzarotte that my greatest identification with the carnival occurred, Almost total chaos. The distinction between the participants and the audience was imperceptible. Like when we drink so much on Purim we don’t distinguish between Mordechai and Haman.
And now we’re waiting for the powerful missiles of Iran to smash our world. Tonight. We go to sleep in our clothes. And have no idea if we will ever wake up.
One of the reasons I’ve been staying away from friends is that everyone seems to know exactly when we’re going to be bombed. lots of people are even gambling on the exact moment the barrage begins. All this frightens me even more than the fact that my kids don’t have shelters. We’re fatalists.
I was very proud of the fact that I had not binged at the supermarket, that I’m not holocaust-determined. Then I watched the news. And I got online and bought out the store.
Now that I am beginning to wake up – I can begin to explain that I went on a tour of the Canary Islands with a group. Our guide, Yuval Kalev, was much younger than most of us, and managed to encourage us to visit many more places and events than we had energy for. And they were all worth it. Whether it was a volcano or small town carnival the effort was well worth making. Now that I have slept for the past day and a half, I really appreciate the amazing intensity of the trip.
But I was so wasted that when we got to Madrid to fly back, I watched my computer so carefully on the conveyor belt (remember – my last computer disappeared at JFK) that I forgot to pick up the other stuff. As I was putting on the shoes I’d been ordered to remove, a young inspector came over with my passport and chided me sweetly for my memory loss.
The embarassment remained with me as we found our way to the train for the next step. And half way to the next terminal I realized I had also forgotten to pick up my watch.
We have to call Yuval, someone – maybe me – said. Because we were among the first in the group to check-in and Yuval, the good shepherd, would probably be the last, there was a chance he would still be at the security station.
Would you believe it, he found the watch. And identified it with the help of a photo of me wearing the watch. But how to convince the security officials that the watch was mine and he had the right to take the watch to me? Yuval found a photo of me on the watch, and the photos matched.
Of the entire miraculous trip, this moment was the most miraculous to me.
Since Ezi sometimes reads this blog, and knows how forgetful I am,I knew he would get a kick out of this.
when i woke up this evening (I’ve been sleeping since my return, I saw the invitations never went out. if you’d like a link, let me know by mail – gut22@tauex.tau.ac.il
well nearly. im on the way. and that, i feel, give me the right to express my terror at what may happen in the very near future.
it doesn’t look good. sorry. whatever the US hits in Iran, they will respond by hitting us. and whatever they hit us with, it will do serious damage.
Still I am with a bunch of Israelis who have no qualms about going back home. No logic in it, but having just read “reading Lolita in Teheran” I find many similarities between the discussions of staying in a country that that is despressing their way of life, that is, in fact, endangering their lives. And yet, the difference is great. You leave Israel – Israel is gone. Even the thousands of people who have left Israel don’t want it to disappear. They want to come back when it’s livable.
Everyone talks about the superb level of the carnival in Brazil = but what I loved by Tenerife’s carnival today was its natural love of what there is. Beautiful girls, perfect costumes, etc. it was there. But there were also fat girls, uneven dancing, mothers in sparkles and sneakers pushing baby carridges, leading the dancers…
I loved their love of the parade, the music, their lives.