Tel Aviv Diary - August 3-7, 2013 - Karen Alkalay-Gut
August 3, 2013 Thursday morning three-year old Omer did his blood tests in preparation for the monday morning adenoid operation. This evening the results came in on the internet. There might be an irregularity which will delay the procedure, but I am so impressed with the efficiency of the medical system here I'm not surprised that even my most anti-Zionist friends are happy to pay into to national health. Even if they don't live in this country. One of the had open heart surgery on a visit to the 'homeland' from NY. The other had a check-up from the doctor who saved her leg - and her life - when she was a child. The fear of the recurrence of the cancer is sometimes stronger than the ideological hatred of apartheid. August 5, 2013 How can one define the apartheid here? I am at a loss. Arabs and Jews work together in some environments, but they don't usually party together. I invited a number of Arab students last night to my party but none came - it was inconvenient to go home to the villages at night, they said. And anyway there is Eid. I will try again, and make it in the day time after Ramadan. Maybe it will work.
August 6, 2013 August 7, 2013 It got to me yesterday, the heat, the smells, the losses of summer. For months the dog upstairs has been losing her enthusiasm, her joy of life. And now her master has died, leaving his woman and three fine sons. Her sadness seems like part - not only of the family - but also of the summer in general. I thought today was better, but going outside was hell. Driving to Tel Aviv was okay, but parking there was murder, and when I finally found a spot, it turned out to be incredibly small. With proper manipulation and a bit of Vaseline I manage to get in, but then the nerves began. My parking card wasn't working. It had run out of money. There is an electronic parking method I hadn't used in a while, but suddenly the application got stuck. "I'll get a ticket for sure," I thought as I weighed the option of getting out of the perfect space. There was a police car standing across the street, lights flashing and I was sure he was either after my unpaid for parking or he had seen me drive down a bus lane (by mistake) for three blocks. But he was worried about catching some petty thief and I slipped away. Four hours later my car remained undisturbed, but I was truly exhausted. As I passed the mirror at the entrance to our building I saw that every bit of makeup I had put on only recently was now on a different part of my face. Except the lipstick. That was still on, around the edges of my mouth. This was not my day.
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