I fell asleep while writing this last night. The alarms in the middle of the night have ruined what’s left of my normal bedtime. And then we were awakened around 2, but I decided to stay in the hallway and not go down to the shelter because I was so sleepy it was clear I’d trip.
It was amazing to me that I slept at all, after I had a long conversation with some people from the Gaza envelope, people who had been born there and have always felt their lives were in danger every day. I’ve always been far away from this, usually feeling I had some control over my safety, some choice about where to hide. But the murder in Washington, the stories of the kibbutznikim, the constant bombing of civilians in Israel, is beginning to make it look impossible.
Hard to believe we haven’t been there before, the neighborhood pizzeria in the park. kiddies, movies, 2 kinds of delicious pizzas (I had both), good beer on tap, and that’s all. For some reason we’ve been having all kinds of reasons to meet friends in restaurants in the past weeks, our old haunt in Tel Baruch, Keton on Dizengoff, etc. And the only one that disappointed me was Tel Baruch – not because of the food, which was the same as always – fine – but because the noise was deafening and the manager refused to turn it down. While my phone kept telling me to get out of that environment – I wanted to stay and enjoy the sunset over dessert. But I didn’t. And I don’t know if Groneman, with its meager menu, might replace my ‘regular’ place.
Why am I talking about food when our neighbors are running out of supplies? I cannot believe any Jew would use food as a weapon. It’s all we think about. Something has gone terribly wrong with us.
If you read the papers or watch the news on tv it is clear that the press is against the government, and expresses this opposition at every opportunity. It is a given. Except for channel 14. And most of the people I know agree with the press. But the government is now working on laws to control the media.
After all, the press is getting in the way of the government, encouraging opposition, keeping attention focussed on the hostages, reminding the country of the foibles and other limitations of the leaders, and so much more. It is always painful to watch or read the news here – and wonderful – that there is so much daring and openness.
I’m not the kind of person who dares to speak when I think I’m not wanted – I wonder how I would behave under opposition. I hope I would dare to say what I think – but I’m not sure.
There is so much to do in Gan Meir – not only the Gay Theater and coffee house, the gym, the playground… But for me the history is overpowering. Even Ezi has stories of a kindergarten visit to the park. And then the birthday parties of my grandchildren, the scout meetings, the gay pride center being built, the integration of all the communities. So Tel Aviv.
For some reason this country always goes crazy over the Eurovision competition. We’ve won a few times, come close some other times. and bombed a few times. For some reason we love the camp.
But this year is different – the singer, Yuval Raphael, was a captive in Gaza and sings of hope for the future in the song, “New Day Will Rise.” I don’t know how she can possibly win, because all Europe is against Israel, but I’m staying awake to see what they decided.
She was so winning, so honest, and so full of promise – she won my heart.
My friends come here from the States all the time to demonstrate. They demonstrate in the States all the time too, and they wonder why we have virtually ceased our protest activity.
Here is my response:
fear – the first time i saw a police horse heading towards me I wanted to pull out my handicap card and say whooa, I’m an old lady with delicate limbs. then i understood that he wasn’t trained to read and went home and got under the covers.
helplessness – i want to get rid of the government. Yesterday I was in a kibbutz and wept that this was the society i had always dreamed of. But it’s going to take plodding work before and after the elections to undo the damage created in the past 15 years. I do what i can.
My kids called me to tell me about Asher’s death. Even they knew how close we were, how long we knew each other, how it would strike me. Thank goodness it was them, and not some poet who would start telling me stories about how close they were.
Never mind. I once put together a collection of his poems, before he got too hard for me to translate. Here they are: