The woman we visited today, the daughter of close friends of Ezi’s parents, was dismantling her home in the Galilee, and wanted to give away photos of the group of friends – pictures of their friendship in the 1930’s in Palestine. A honeymoon in Cairo, athletics at the beach in Haifa, groups of people in love with each others’ company. Simple, pure enjoyment.
The joys and hopes they had then are being dismantled now. I think of Ezi’s mother, who isn’t in these picture but was one of the crowd – she had gone to Berlin to get a doctorate in psychology, and returned to her birthplace, Palestine, in 1933, just in time. “But I am Jewish!” she told her classmates who were beginning to follow the Reich’s antisemitic program. “No,” they answered, “You are Palestinian!”
What difference does it make? Trump has sold us down the river and Iran will go back to making nuclear bombs to destroy Israel. So the poetry read in celebration of Rafi Weichert at Beit Bialik last night was all about love and kindness – and somehow to return to these basic values was comforting.
For people not living in the north, this was a short war, and after what we’ve been through, a few sirens, a few rockets, shouldn’t mean anything. But that’s not what happened. In 17 hours we relived the hysteria and the dangers of the past two and a half years, and somehow we were back there. We suddenly realized what we had immunized ourselves from – expressing the fear and the loss of two and a half years of our lives.
This is a tiny country of less than 9 million people – compared to 93 million people in Iran, and in 17 hours we got shot at from Lebanon, Yemen and Iran.
Twenty, forty years ago, I spent a great deal of energy and time translating Hebrew Poetry to English. I translated thousands of poems by great writers and lesser writers, edited an issue of Pen Israel that included poems in Arabic and Russian, I edited Tel Aviv Review and Jerusalem Review (with Gabriel Moked’s ‘corrections’ he never told me about), and I published them in major journals all over the States. For Free! But sometimes I would get flak from a writer – I remember the one or two who decided their English was better than mine and withdrew their permission. And worse.
So I stopped, cold. It wasn’t a decision, it was a repulsion. Since then I’ve gone back to it once in a while – doing favors here and there – sometimes for money – but I don’t usually feel compelled.
All this is an introduction to the poem of Asher Reich his widow put on Facebook in honor of the anniversary of his death. So appropriate to the situation at the present time. Here it is:
Prayer for the Road
If without You there is turmoil in the darkness of this way, let me pass through, pass through this long night.
Naked of lead, empty of falling leaves, and no grove but nightmares grows in me.
Open a fresh firmament for me
filled with light, and surround me with angels.
Do not make peace in Your heavens, for angels are not like human beings, who labor in adversity on this earth. Make peace so that we may move upon these roads,
to cross the dark barrier of the horizon, find our way home, home to be fulfilled.
So far, only the north is under fire, but we expect unwelcome guests tonight. School is already cancelled for tomorrow. For some reason I’d rather play solitaire than write the details of what’s going on – but what I’m worried about is that my daughter is at work where there is no shelter and she’s got to get home to her kids.
I’ve been avoiding restaurants lately, but for Ezi’s birthday I decided to have his absolutely favorite people in a classy private room at Claro. And for food and service and atmosphere it was perfect. The guy in charge of our room was Elad, and he was perfect. What with all that has been going on in our lives neither of us have any organizing energy left, so it was a blessing that Elad made it simple for us. Even the powerpoint I prepared went smoothly.
But the food, the food was magnificent. Even the salads, which usually bore or repel me, were extraordinarily appetizing. But the whole fish prepared in salt, was amazing. The squares of entrecote and the pasta, assured that everyone would be satisfied with the main course. And the desserts that began with a mille-feuille that was so surprising I ignored the fact that the others had gobbled the chocolate mousse down before I got my spoon ready.
I’ve been to Claro before. Always loved it even though it was sometimes slow. But this private room business was perfect.
Why did I write “genes”? There are so many other things to write about – the memorials we went to this weekend, the amazing birthday party for Ezi, the news that wraps me in question marks all over my system?
The whole concept of testing Jews because they live all over the world when usually populations with similar genes usually live in one place got me interested. And then when they discovered that some of these genese remain even though they were so scattered – and they are similar to the ancient graves of people in this area of the middle east. wow! Now I know why I get such a thrill walking in this country. I actually feel a physical connection.
Then I was talking with my 13 year old granddaughter last night and she was saying things that I remember saying when I was 13. It was about the thrill of scary movies. When i was older that thrill was replaced by the terror of it becoming reality. And I was right.
that happens a lot with grandchildren – but it may be I’m just reaching…