With the last heatwaves, even we can’t bear being home all the time despite the ideal conditions. All the crowds, we heard on the radio, were at the shopping malls where no testing or green passes were required. So we picked up the grandchildren in Tel Aviv in the morning and drove to the Natural History museum where they give quick-results corona tests, required to get into museums and pools. Unfortunately, after 20 minutes waiting in a very slow-moving line, the single technician announced that the system was down. So we went home for an early lunch, and came back over an hour later, where the same technician was dealing with a much shorter line. The system was back up. But what we didn’t know was that we had to scan a code, fill out forms for each child, and get a code. And that’s when I discovered that my phone stopped getting messages for some strange reason. I went back to the line, and when my turn came, told the technician my problem. He stopped testing, looked up the data for me, and sent me the test code to my email. Unfortunately, my email also suddenly went haywire. I went back, and this time and cut through the line to the technician, who once again, stopped everything, and took Ezi’s number. Eventually we got our negative results, and cut across the street to the Anu museum.

I want to point out that the single technician who worked with remarkable patience, professionalism, and devotion was a very young Arab man. I didn’t think to ask his name, but he deserves special recognition for taking such good care of so many children, interrupting his long hours of testing only with repeated warnings to the people to observe social distance.

We were not in a peak mood for this museum. This deserves another entry.

HOW I LOST YET ANOTHER FRIEND

“I won’t have anything to do with that vaccine,”

she complains, “Not just because I trust in freedom,

but you know I won’t put any substance in my body

that hasn’t been tested and approved.”

We are both old ladies. I don’t respond

with the same rapidity as days gone by,

and think first about how I used to admire

her wild way of being alive,

the liberty and ease of her ways.

And then I recall that at my age

I’m allowed to be rude,

And look down at my lap and say,

“What about all those guys you screwed?”

Today was the day I was planning to devote my time to organize my research and finally finish the paper I promised to submit about English Writing in Israel, make up for the glorious days with grandchildren But everything is down, even my email. Out of commission. I’m grateful that the university provides such protection – it is really needed these days. And maybe I can go back to my Arabic lessons.

I will return to this page when I see that my mail is back – just to let you know

Of course, I can’t figure out how in blazes President Biden determined the strategy of leaving Afghanistan, and how the evacuation chaos couldn’t have been foreseen. What worries me more is what is going to happen to the entire Middle East now that the extremists have a country of their own. And how we’re beginning to botch things up in the same way Biden did, letting out-of-sync people control our lives and future.

And Blinken is making a fool of himself trying to cover for his boss.

There was an NYT article the other day about how the vaccines have not cured covid in Israel, and we’re back where we started. I must admit I am more comfortable now that masks are back and everyone is being more careful. It was foolish to open things up totally, and it always made me feel more vulnerable. And stupid. I mean I was the only one not going out, fearful of meeting friends, buying only online. I don’t mind another year of being careful, but let it be a care that all of society takes.

On the other hand, we have to find ways to get past the sense of ageing and isolation that so many of my friends feel. Even my nephew today complained of the failure he felt for having to leave his father his dinner at the door of his house for the year before he died. How much did that age them both, do you think?

And now I visited with a friend who has been kept from her grandchildren for the past year. She has blown up and looks old and sad. “Will I ever return to myself?” she asked me. I looked at her and thought we have to find a way. A dance group, volunteer work, something significant… Any suggestions? Me, I’m getting a new car tomorrow. It’s my solution.

But the article in the Times is wrong. Things ARE getting better here, but we thought it was over and opened the gates…

I used to worry that our children don’t even want to learn about the history of why they are here. but when we mentioned the Palmach in dinner conversation we started to get speeches from the younger children about the organizations around World War one who tried to help the British against the Turks. Where did they learn it? Locked up on home with the internet and television.