June 29, 2017
Men and Women praying together at the wall. A few years ago we were with family at the wall. The women and men separate, of course. I found it impossible to really treat the wall seriously and was astounded when my companions backed away from the wall, as if it were the king of siam, not showing their backs to the holiness. What is really holy in our lives?
June 30, 2017
Akiko remains my favorite restaurant. Especially for Friday lunch. Right after that I go to the kosher takeaway and get their packages of take home food for half price. So tomorrow we feed the gang with kosher majadra and bamia and our home made meat and schnitzl.
July 1, 2017
Spent the evening with old friends. But in the mood I was in everything sounded somehow off. When they spoke of how their parents didn't allow them to marry outside of their background nationality, that Lithuanians didn't approve of Rumanian partners, etc. etc. I almost lost it. That world is gone, my friends. We're all mixed up together now, and most of us have ashkenazi and sephardic blood, and that whole world is gone. Get over it.
You know my favorite poetic quote - from Alexander Pope's "Essay on Man," Man, like the generous vine, supported lives;/The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives./ On their own axis as the planets run,/ Yet make at once their circle round the sun;/ So two consistent motions act the soul,/ And one regards itself, and one the whole." I do not always manage to remember this, and sometimes, I simply hate being a part of the society I myself embrace. Even though I learned a lot about what is going on in the world, somehow tonight was like that.
July 2, 2017
it's midnight and i just got off the radio - great program with Eran Sabbag. i only wish i spoke more about socialism and my longing for it.
Next program on Tuesday at 103 at 5. i'm not sure what that's about.
Now I'm hearing more and more that people don't know the event is in Tmuna at Soncino 8 and not at Beit Hayotzer. Very trouble to think of people standing in the parking lot. Please tell everyone you know that it is not in the port.
I'm rephe company who showed up as Shabbat guests, apparently because they are friends of Adam and Idit and the man wanted to visit a child of his living with an ex-wife in Netanya, arriving at our house shortly before the beginning of Shabbat, turned out to be racist settlers who lived in Hebron, an Arab city deep in the Occupied Areas. They constituted a young man, his wife, and four wholly uncivilized children, one of whom kept assuring Idit that she was “fucked up” (d’fuka, to transliterate), while stealing objects from a neighbor’s yard. We celebrate our openness to guests, especially on Shabbat and holidays. I am left with questions about hospitality, Jewishness (would I accept the presence of a Gentile racist as, for Shabbat – and Idit – I accepted these six wretched examples of humanity), my Levinasian openness to the other. These convoluted sentences should match the twistedness of my mind now. The situation: I knew a couple and their children would be our guests. I did not know they were settler from one of the nastiest of settlements, perhaps the cruelest and provocative of settlements, fewer than a thousand Jews in an Arab city of tens of thousands, whose presence requires large troop deployments. For their sake, the Arab population is effectively barred from many streets and movement in the city has been made difficult and humiliating to the Palestinians. But there they were, half an hour before Shabbat, noisily at our door. We welcomed them warmly. Only after we were sitting around the Shabbat dinner table, the man at my right, Adam at my right, Susann at the other end of the long table between the woman and Idit, children filling the spaces between. When I learned where these people were from and what their attitude was towards Palestinians and all Arabs and, as the conversation went on, towards all non-Jews, I decided to be quiet. I am ashamed of myself for this. At the time, Friday night, I thought I was like Americans who, in the 1960s, listened quietly to Southern white racists and made excuses for them (they were brought up that way). My excuses: It was Shabbat. I was not able to tell a racist couple to take their children and leave, violating important ritual laws associated with the Holy day. I decided, consciously, to wait until after Shabbat to make clear what I thought of them, to make certain they knew they were not welcome in our house ever again. I worried about my relationship with Idit, who had rather sponsored these evil people. I had fought fiercely at Shabbat dinners with Idit’s first husband, who I will not categorize here except to write that I am not sorry I fought those pointless battles, and Idit was afraid I would repeat my pointlessness and turn Shabbat dinner into a loud and horrible experience. So I kept quiet. At the other end of the table, Susann also held her tongue, but this seems easier for her, a woman peaceful to her core but also as aghast as I, in some ways more aghast. Who were these people? The man was tall, dark haired, with the peyot (side locks hanging down his cheeks) of some of the ultra-Orthodox. I learned in conversation with him that he was a tenth-grade dropout who knew almost nothing about Judaism except for elements of ritual law. His wife spoke of being expelled from schools. What he thought he knew was surface propaganda from the far quasi-Zionist right. When I mentioned, giving unimpeachable sources, that he was factually in error, he insisted on his right to his “beliefs,” his absolute certainty in doctrines that proclaimed the Jews a people different from, superior to, all other people. These are not attitudes toward truth or ethical stances. They should not be heard at our table. Had it not been Shabbat, when Jews – among other restrictions – cannot drive, I would have thrown them out. I have to question my own definition of “Jew.” Should I have taken upon myself the right to excommunicate them and throw them out? I would not have allowed a Gentile to speak as these people, man, wife and children, spoke. Immediately upon the conclusion of Shabbat, on Saturday night, I tried to redeem what I feel was my honor. The couple were effusive in their thanks for the excellent food and company. I responded by stating (in Hebrew, neither could speak English) that they were evil, racist people who would never again be welcome. The man was surprised. He thinks he represents normative Jewish attitudes. I have to hope he is wrong. Most Jews, according to public opinion polls, reject settlements like theirs in Hebron. I was far more concerned with Idit’s reactions. I had told her privately, earlier on Saturday, what I thought of our guests. She will read this. I hope she understands my disgust with these people (and with their children, badly behaved proto-criminals growing up in an atmosphere of hatred for their neighbors.) <-> My grandson, Ashrei, has peyot. This has begun to upset me. Peyot have become a symbol of ideological cannon fodder, people mislead into dreams of Jewish triumphalism. Adam also has peyot, as has Yosef, Idit’s first husband. Idit herself has attitudes close to those of Meretz, the left-wing Zionist party that includes some Arabs. I assume her dinner table avoids all talk of politics and the Occupation. Obviously, there is much I fail to understand about the daughter I very deeply love.
I have much more in mind to write about this past Shabbat, about Judaism and hospitality. I am interested in captive minds, what I just called ideological cannon fodder. Trumpists in the US fall under this heading. If anyone is interested in more of this, I will continue tomorrow.rinting a letter on facebook from Ed Codish.
the company who showed up as Shabbat guests, apparently because they are friends of Adam and Idit and the man wanted to visit a child of his living with an ex-wife in Netanya, arriving at our house shortly before the beginning of Shabbat, turned out to be racist settlers who lived in Hebron, an Arab city deep in the Occupied Areas. They constituted a young man, his wife, and four wholly uncivilized children, one of whom kept assuring Idit that she was “fucked up” (d’fuka, to transliterate), while stealing objects from a neighbor’s yard. We celebrate our openness to guests, especially on Shabbat and holidays. I am left with questions about hospitality, Jewishness (would I accept the presence of a Gentile racist as, for Shabbat – and Idit – I accepted these six wretched examples of humanity), my Levinasian openness to the other. These convoluted sentences should match the twistedness of my mind now.
The situation: I knew a couple and their children would be our guests. I did not know they were settler from one of the nastiest of settlements, perhaps the cruelest and provocative of settlements, fewer than a thousand Jews in an Arab city of tens of thousands, whose presence requires large troop deployments. For their sake, the Arab population is effectively barred from many streets and movement in the city has been made difficult and humiliating to the Palestinians. But there they were, half an hour before Shabbat, noisily at our door.
We welcomed them warmly. Only after we were sitting around the Shabbat dinner table, the man at my right, Adam at my right, Susann at the other end of the long table between the woman and Idit, children filling the spaces between. When I learned where these people were from and what their attitude was towards Palestinians and all Arabs and, as the conversation went on, towards all non-Jews, I decided to be quiet. I am ashamed of myself for this. At the time, Friday night, I thought I was like Americans who, in the 1960s, listened quietly to Southern white racists and made excuses for them (they were brought up that way). My excuses: It was Shabbat. I was not able to tell a racist couple to take their children and leave, violating important ritual laws associated with the Holy day. I decided, consciously, to wait until after Shabbat to make clear what I thought of them, to make certain they knew they were not welcome in our house ever again. I worried about my relationship with Idit, who had rather sponsored these evil people. I had fought fiercely at Shabbat dinners with Idit’s first husband, who I will not categorize here except to write that I am not sorry I fought those pointless battles, and Idit was afraid I would repeat my pointlessness and turn Shabbat dinner into a loud and horrible experience. So I kept quiet. At the other end of the table, Susann also held her tongue, but this seems easier for her, a woman peaceful to her core but also as aghast as I, in some ways more aghast.
Who were these people? The man was tall, dark haired, with the peyot (side locks hanging down his cheeks) of some of the ultra-Orthodox. I learned in conversation with him that he was a tenth-grade dropout who knew almost nothing about Judaism except for elements of ritual law. His wife spoke of being expelled from schools. What he thought he knew was surface propaganda from the far quasi-Zionist right. When I mentioned, giving unimpeachable sources, that he was factually in error, he insisted on his right to his “beliefs,” his absolute certainty in doctrines that proclaimed the Jews a people different from, superior to, all other people. These are not attitudes toward truth or ethical stances. They should not be heard at our table. Had it not been Shabbat, when Jews – among other restrictions – cannot drive, I would have thrown them out. I have to question my own definition of “Jew.” Should I have taken upon myself the right to excommunicate them and throw them out? I would not have allowed a Gentile to speak as these people, man, wife and children, spoke.
Immediately upon the conclusion of Shabbat, on Saturday night, I tried to redeem what I feel was my honor. The couple were effusive in their thanks for the excellent food and company. I responded by stating (in Hebrew, neither could speak English) that they were evil, racist people who would never again be welcome. The man was surprised. He thinks he represents normative Jewish attitudes. I have to hope he is wrong. Most Jews, according to public opinion polls, reject settlements like theirs in Hebron. I was far more concerned with Idit’s reactions. I had told her privately, earlier on Saturday, what I thought of our guests. She will read this. I hope she understands my disgust with these people (and with their children, badly behaved proto-criminals growing up in an atmosphere of hatred for their neighbors.)
My grandson, Ashrei, has peyot. This has begun to upset me. Peyot have become a symbol of ideological cannon fodder, people mislead into dreams of Jewish triumphalism. Adam also has peyot, as has Yosef, Idit’s first husband. Idit herself has attitudes close to those of Meretz, the left-wing Zionist party that includes some Arabs. I assume her dinner table avoids all talk of politics and the Occupation. Obviously, there is much I fail to understand about the daughter I very deeply love.
I have much more in mind to write about this past Shabbat, about Judaism and hospitality. I am interested in captive minds, what I just called ideological cannon fodder. Trumpists in the US fall under this heading. If anyone is interested in more of this, I will continue tomorrow.
Tell him on Facebook if you're interested.
July 3, 2017
Galei Zahal last night. I heard it in the morning and loved the dialogue between Eran Sabag and me. It's here. I wish I could do another on work songs. I've been thinking about it all night. How can we create work songs for the contemporary worker? there seems to be no rhythm in our work. Only sports.
Tonight is my little song and dance at Tmuna. Hope people enjoy the poems.
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