did you miss me? my domain disappeared. and instead of spending the day with friends, I tried to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it. it’s back, temporarily, and now I will have to spend tomorrow on how to make it permanent.
So even though there is so much to discuss, I’m dead.
I’m not afraid of heat, and didn’t mind walking through Tel Aviv today in 40 degree heat. But it’s almost sunset and it’s still 35 – Celcius of course. I remind you – this is April. Imagine what it will be like in the summer.
And I remind you, this is Ramadan. That means almost a quarter of our population is fasting all day – no food OR water until sunset.
It shouldn’t be surprising that we had something of a riot in Yaffo last night. We’ve been gentrifying the neighborhood for almost a generation – It must be almost 20 years ago that I was rehearsing with Liz in her house in Jaffa when a stone flew in the window next to me. “Just children playing,” she said, and went back to our music. I saw a video yesterday of a tv interview we did together in her practice room and it reminded me of that moment. What were we doing playing jazz in that neighborhood anyway? I don’t mean that Jews shouldn’t be able to live in Arab neighborhoods, because we have many Arabs living in our Jewish neighborhood. The problem with Jaffa is that the very nature of the neighborhood has been changed by wealthy entrepreneurs.
This is just a bit of autobiography – but you’re welcome to write me about your reactions. In case you don’t remember my address is gut22@tauex.tau.ac.il.
There are things about Biden that bring tears to my eyes – his humanity, his honesty, his sense of equality. And yet, sometimes he scares me. What if he’s right, but the rest of the world is so wrong we’re going to blow ourselves up in the meantime? what if he is so interested in working with Iran that a bomb is enabled within months that will be used immediately on us?
Even though cemeteries are locked on Saturdays, when Muma expressed a desire to visit her father’s grave on the anniversary of his death, we went. After all, we’ve missed the memorials of Ezi’s parents for two years, and it has always been their way of mourning. No kaddish, no candles, no speeches. Only a moment of silence over the grave.
But although the gates were, of course, barred, we knew of a back door and found our way through the deserted cemetery. “Not a living soul,” Muma remarked.
Something there chilled me to the bone, and I find myself frozen in bed under heavy covers. I’ll watch Prince Philip’s funeral like many many of my fellow Israelis, and see if I can’t get up to go visit the kids.
Every conversation I’ve had with friends has been the same – what have I done with this year. It’s a total waste. If I had known at the beginning it would go on like this I might have taken up a project. Maybe I would have learned a language, remodeled my house….
well we didn’t and now that maybe the corona is over for Israel – we don’t know what to do.
but let it be over first, and then we’ll talk about the pecular ptsd we’re going through.