At this moment 90% of our relatives are abroad or coming or going. Of the few of our friends who are left, half are here staying with sick relatives or are sick themselves. On the other hand, we’re overrun with friends from abroad and having trouble scheduling them all separately. It turns out we have so many places to show our guests and can go out every night without repeating ourselves, and without breaking the language barrier. Restaurants, museums, parks, beaches – At this moment, I just want to stay home and watch reruns…
people always seem to get sick on fridays – when there are only skeleton crews in the hospital, very few pharmacies open in distant places, and no doctors available. But we were in the heart of Tel Aviv when our travelling kids realized they needed something against air sickness and tonight are flying out. And it was simple – the pharmacy a few blocks away was open and empty. And I was in and out in seconds. “Take a double dose,” said the pharmacist. “They’re not only going away, they’ll have to come home…. and sometimes it’s much harder to go home.”
I’ve never seen her before, and I will probably never see her again, but that quick night visit was so intimate, it really struck me. This is a girl from a village, I could hear by her accent, and she was talking about something she knows well – going home. And she knew I understood.
We usually meet our friend every week at the beach. We have a drink, go for a swim, have dinner, and have great conversations. This week the swim was great and so was the conversation. The dinner we ordered got lost for over an hour, we barely got compensated for it (free watermelon) and all I could think about was how stressed the waiter was and how unsuccessful the manager was. In retrospect, I was focussing on the wrong things – I should have been paying more attention to what my friend was thinking beyond the conversation. Now that I understood what she was worried about I can’t sleep.
Then – against my better judgement – I followed my friends to their next choice, Dissensus, which was also very informative, but too close to my heart to bear. It is about the senseless building going on all over Israel. Entire communities built without access roads, without proper facilities. How does this bother me so much? I mean it is obvious that we were all mixed up about land and housing from the beginning, not knowing where to put all the refugees from so many places, how to allot space, how to determine who wanted to kill us and who could be left alone, what was ours and what didn’t belong to us but we decided to keep – for the time being. This mess still has to be sorted out.
But we’re just continuing in the same path – instead of undoing the damage, we’re complicating it. .
As we unpack our weekly groceries, another program on television is comparing prices in Israel to groceries around the world. This is maybe the fourth program I’ve watched with one eye, and it always concludes with the evaluation that we are one-third more expensive. Why? They ask. Who is ripping us off? The farmers? The wholesalers? The importers? The supermarket chains?
I am unpacking the delivery and all the fruits and vegetables are in plastic bags that I have to unpack and discard. On each bag is a certificate of Kashrut. Okay, isn’t it obvious? We’re paying for another middleman.
I spent the evening listening to a zoom about Amihai. It has been a long time since I’ve listened to his poems – especially by such loving readers and such an admiring audience. Hundreds of people listening to analyses, commenting on lines and sources, reminding the world of how much controversy about the Hebrew language he evoked, and how much he changed the face of literature.
I’m not good at listening to people talk lately, but Amichai’s humanism struck me deeply – again. I remembered how much I enjoyed reading with him at the Nassau county museum, at the Library of Congress, at the U.S. Cultural Center in Tel Aviv, how much both of us enjoyed our meals together, our visits. The last time I spoke with him we made plans to meet in New York for lunch. And then he disappeared. And I couldn’t find him. And then he was gone.
His poetry reminds me of what it is like to be a human being. I tend to forget it in today’s environment.
The number of celebrations seems to increase in proportion to the troubles in the world. We’re having lots of celebrations right now.
today there was a wedding anniversary in Beit Kandinoff in Jaffa – an enormous feast. After that, we had a birthday party for the kids at home. I probably didn’t understand but they were expecting dinner, and I was a bit tired and had prepared only a cake. So they came hungry and all I had was pizza dough. So the children divided into 3 teams and made 3 pizzas. They were finished before we could have ordered out. And they were great.
We have eaten in numerous wonderful places in the past few weeks – but I wish we weren’t eating as compensation for the vacation we dare not go on. I just don’t feel like waiting for hours in the airport, having my luggage lost, spending enormous amounts, and having one of us catch covid again.
But before my internet connection got lost, we were talking about eating out. (“You see,” as Joseph Fielding’s Shamela says, “I write to the moment.”) So I have been to the Meatbar, Pastel, Yehuda, and some other excellent restaurants – and have enjoyed them all. But now I can’t say more because I have to fix another internet leak.