this is the local highline, built on the old turkish rail line that went to Mecca….
and here’s the mosque the Turks built with the tax money they extricated from the locals. Hassan Bek = surrounded by cranes. not a good sign.
february 3, 2022 – Local Highline Read Post »
I always loved Amos Oz, and tonight, when I saw the program on channel 12 about his daughter’s book and her accusations against him, I even watched the commercials. I kept hearing his wonderful voice – and his terrible pain – so much greater than his daughter’s revenge. Rena, you who were his student, know the greatness of his heart. It wasn’t a mask, and when he didn’t win the Nobel prize I lost my admiration for the prize.
What he wrote to her, that even an empty pail that refuses to be filled at the well, is filled again, that has to happen to his daughter. I too had problems with my mother that I understand through the years.
A person must be larger than anger – even if it was carried with that person from infancy. Think of the poem by Taha Mohammed Ali, “Revenge.”
February 3, 2022 – Amos Oz Read Post »
Rony Sommek took a poem of mine and made it into art.
february 2, 2022 – Read Post »
What was once mothers’ day has been recently celebrated as family day. If you walk around Tel Aviv you can see why: Families are very important and can consist of two fathers, two mothers, one parent, but almost always children. It’s always puzzled me because although in thinking about what I will talk about next week when I speak about Yiddish in my life, I realize how much I was involved in my parents’ lives, and always wondering if I was really related to these people. Their foreignness was always strange to me. But now I see families who grew up in the same country, and who value family life – that’s such a fine experience.
Because my daughter and granddaughter have corona we didn’t get together, but we had dinner on zoom.
It’s amazing to me how so many of my friends come to Tel Aviv from abroad to meet the gay world.
february 1, 2022 – family day Read Post »
There is so much going on with writing here. Here are translations of two recent poems by Rony Sommek and Rafi Weichert respectively. Copyrighted.
Rony Sommek
It’s no trick to hear only the call of the crow
on top of the lion’s head in Tel Hai,
or to picture the robin pecking
the parachute cords of Hana Senesh.
The trick is also to salute the raised hands
of the Milker from the battle of Nitzanim,
the hands that knew how to squeeze the cows’ teats
for the cups of coffee in the dining hall
from whose windows were squeezed
the trigger of a rifle more than once.
In the end he surrendered,
because after the clip was emptied of ammunition
it was preferable there, in the dust of the desert,
to fling up his hands
To the clouds of his God.
Heroism is sometimes to want not
to become another row in the 1948 guide
that indexes dead birds.
Translated by karen alkalay-gut
A Lament for a broken peeler
Without you how will I breach the body of a carrot
How can I cut a peeled apple for a muesli
For without the blade you’re like a poet without laurels
Unable to injure but only to softly tremble
In front of a potato or the skin of a zucchini
In the face of smirking cucumbers
facing your body that is like a imprisoned eunuch
within the impotence already empty of action
Tomorrow you will find rest in the garbage bin
With the rest of the vegetables peeled by a blade
Of the knife that played them like a harp
When it stripped them of all their arrogance.
translated by karen alkalay-gut
february 1, 2022 – two poems by Israeli Read Post »
The numbers are going down, the chances of a medication that will render Ezi immune are going up, and his shingles are disappearing
. This makes me more able to cope with the crises in the IAWE, in my family and my health. I will finally be able to look at the m
aterial for my talk next week about my book (to which you’re all invited, by the way)
But the subject for today is ‘found’ – and today in the middle of an attempt to make peace in a feud, one of the guys asked, “But how can I speak to him? He’s totally mad!” And I started to tell a story. When my father was in the ward for brain-damaged patients, my mother spent every day with him. One of the first times I went to visit him,when I got out of the elevator to his floor, I was confronted by a man in his underwear who began screaming at me in Yiddish, “You took my trousers! Where did you put them? Give me back my trousers?” My stuttering attempts to assure him that I had no idea what he was talking about did no good, only angered him more. Then my mother appeared suddenly, turned him away from me, and said, “A platoon of soldiers came and took them away.” This – he accepted, and he disappeared back into his room.” When someone is mad, I added, go with it. This, I’ve decided, is the only way to go.
january 31, 2022 – found Read Post »
I thought it was only a local phenomenon – people going crazy. After all, where else in the world but Tel Aviv does a pedestrian fear for his life from the delivery boys on their scooters? Where else in the world do people scream at each other for almost no reason? In what other country do the writers fight with each other for no reason? Everyone in this country is crazy.
That was the kind of day I had.
And then I invited some cousins to zoom with me from the other side of the world – and I realized that they’re crazy now too. And so am I.
And my cousin tried to point out the positive aspects of our situation – like I do off and on. But seeing him in me made me realize how crazy I really am.
And I belong to this world that is falling apart because of our own foolishness
january 30, 2022 – crazy Read Post »
What we all seem to be lacking is a measure of control. The more a person knows about the world right now, the more confused and helpless that person feels. If you don’t know about anything more than what is going on in your little village, maybe you can cope.
Today I suddenly remembered the first year my family had television in Israel – 1972. There was only one channel and it was black and white. One afternoon I tuned on to an Arabic lesson. I wrote a poem then:
MABROUK
Confined to the couch by a bad back,
I watch Israel Educational TV with my son.
There is an Arabic program on
and we slowly learn that the man
at the final fitting for a suit
(“Mabrouk, Jamil!”), and the woman
showing her new dress to her best friend
(“Mabrouk, Azziza!”), are getting married.
We watch the men come in to shave the groom,
the women warm the bride with dance and song,
the separate dinners with ululations
and more congratulations. Then
the two groups bring the couple to the square.
And when Azziza and Jamil look at each other‑ ‑
slowly, shyly‑ ‑I begin to cry.
I always cry at chasenes.
My own life was simpler, and I believed that the problems of the world could be solved through understanding – and maybe through television. I think it’s in my book, Ignorant Armies. It’s out of print, but maybe I’ll include it in my Selected if there’s a demand. Tell me if you like it.
January 29, 2022 – control Read Post »
