blog, poetry

12 kilometers on the Israel Trail today.  There are parts I’ve erased from my memory already.  I think I walked the whole section from the Hedera river to the Alexander river still asleep.  Actually, I was talking to friends most of the time.  But it was gorgeous.  Really.

But I woke up when we got to the beach for lunch. 

It was a perfect beach – beit yanai, maybe?  I’ll have to check with my partners.  Suddenly I saw the seagulls, each one on their own post, and I realized that we were all individuals sitting together, watching the sea and eating our sandwiches and thinking very different thoughts.

From there we went to Gan Shmuel, one of the first kibbutzim, and as we drove in, Ezi whispered to me – “My grandfather built a silo here. ”  He’d never seen it, he admitted upon grilling, but he had a picture of it, and described it.  All this was new to me – but as we stood in the middle of the kibbutz he spotted it. 

For goodness sake, I’ve been married to the guy for over 40 years and knew that Ezi had built silos in Gan Shmuel – because he was working with concrete that had to be mixed and poured continuously – so he was working around the clock, but I had no idea about this silo.

It didn’t impress our instructor, either.  He went on to show us things like the Etrog orchard and the spot where a weapons stash from the British rule here, and the graveyard, but never went near the silo.  

I came home and looked up the silo – and there was a plaque with the history of the silo, but no mention of the builder.  So now we have to find the photographs of the building of the site and send them to the historical society.  Here’s the plaque

of the link in English translation.  The Hebrew one doesn’t seem to work on this site.  No mention of Gut. But the silo is very reminiscent of Arpad Gut’s work:

and in fact, here it is – among his photographs.  His name forgotten by the preservation society.

december 22, 2020 – seagulls and silos Read Post »

blog, poetry

with all the terrible news going on right now – new strain, increase in infection, elections in march, terrorism – you’d think there’s nothing to smile about.  But no.  There are always things to smile about.

Here’s one.  Ezi has a bunch of friends on whatsapp from the old days, and one of them is the father of the news presenter on channel 13.  As Ezi was figuring out what to wear for the hike tomorrow, I turned on the news to hear that she was going to present her parents being innoculated against the virus – live.  So  I call Ezi and we watch this little event.  Ezi texts congratulations immediately and receives a little response in Aramaic to the tune of “the deed is done” and the other guys chime in to share their pleasure.  I’m pretty sure he was embarrassed at all this attention of friends – more than the fact that he was on live tv.  

What else can I laugh at?  the fact that Seamus Heaney once said in an interview, “If we winter this one out, we can summer anywhere.”  I’m one of those who barely lives in the winter – I’m the old lady in a puffy coat shivering in the corner of the room cradling my tea, while everyone else is in t-shirts celebrating with a glass of wine.  So I’m always waiting for summer…

 

december 21, 2020 – always something to smile about Read Post »

blog, poetry
I don’t know how many poems have been written about the shortest day of the year (Called St. Lucy’s because she was the saint of light) but they are usually all depressing.  We have a feast of lights in so many religions to counter the shortness of the days.  But certainly Donne had much to be depressed about, and the short day must have made it worse.  
 
John Donne
 
A Nocturnal upon Saint Lucy’s Day
 
‘Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,
Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
The world’s whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed’s-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr’d ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death – things which are not.
All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave
Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown’d the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death – which word wrongs her –
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know ; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.
But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night’s festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.
 
 

december 21, 2020 – john donne – St Lucy Read Post »

israeli politics

After a long wait on the phone, I was shocked to discover a live person talking to me and had to catch my breath before I could answer him.  Yes, I want to vaccinate but I have an allergy to penicillin. “Do you carry atropine?” “No” “December 30, 12:15.”   

Now I have to find out what it entails, if Ezi should vaccinate, if my life has significance, and other questions of universal importance.

We’re still full of half-answers, mistaken notions, and open possibilities.  For example, a friend said he was coming by on Thursday because he will be safe since he’ll be vaccinated on Wednesday.    

Then I remembered.  There was a time when I did carry atropine – during the Gulf War.

Mistakes have been h

 

 

December 20, 2020 – vaccinations et al Read Post »

blog,

As Ezi explains the story of the chapter of the week to the 10 year old I hear the little boy adding the details under his breath.  This is a kid that at the age of 3 negated the existence of the divinity.  I don’t know whether to be very proud of his knowledge or worried that he is getting a religious education in a public school.  but it was nice to know.  And yes, I was proud.

december 19, 2020 – explaining the chapter of the week to small grandchildren Read Post »

blog,

Can you imagine Joseph in Egypt?  When I was wandering around the Egyptian museum, his image kept coming into my mind.  A slave, sold by his brothers, to a guy named Potiphar, who turns out later as Potiphara, and the rabbis say he bought Joseph as a sex slave but was later castrated.  You can see the status of slaves as they appear – hands and feet bound – on the footstool of the Pharoah, and anything could be done with them.  And then Joseph gets thrown in prison for turning down Potiphar’s wife, but when he interprets the Pharoah’s dream he gets to marry Potiphara’s daughter.    So the 7 years of plenty and then famine for Joseph was all good.  He’d already gone through hell, and now he’s making life bearable for his adopted nation.  what a story – how sexually complex!  how emotionally flexible!  i rarely talk about the weekly portion of the bible but i do read it every week, and this one may be the most dramatic of them all.  Especially now that I have been in Egypt and constantly think about the Egyptians I wanted to meet there. 

december 19, 2020 – parashat hashavua Read Post »

israeli politics

Because our internet is out – for some reason – I’m writing this offline and will post it without looking when it comes back.  You know I don’t even go back and correct anything even if Grammarly tells me to. 

First off, I woke up with a sense of doom and by the evening hope I will have forgotten this feeling.  It was partly because everything went wrong with yesterday.  Except for the IAWE arc reading itself last night, it was quite mad. We spent a great deal of the morning updating my computer, and then tried to install the usb microphone so I could record poems for Robert Priest.  That seemed to wreck my audio in zoom and I couldn’t give my little speech at the amazing arc 28 launch about the Israel Association of Writers in English and how we work together to finance the journal and produce these evenings and how we’re going to have a newsletter soon…. 

There was also the matter of the discovery that I will have to take the vaccine in hospital surroundings because I’m allergic to penicillin, and we have no idea how the vaccine will behave on anti-body-less Ezi.  In the meantime my son-in-law is in isolation having been exposed to a corona family member. 

And every muscle in my body aches – for no reason. 

But the worst part is that I’ve been so long away from a hairdresser – partly because of corona and partly because of my sinuses – that I dyed my hair and it turned out black and I look like a witch.

Just writing that down made me feel better, made me realize that all my troubles are minor and my own situation is the best it could possibly be.  Yes, I will gradually lighten and ultimately go grey as it grows in.  and I’ve seen it on my cousins – it’s totally white and gorgeous.  Watch me,  by 2022 I’ll be a distinguished mature lady.

Maybe I’ll even grow up.

And I made friends with a hedgehog today who gave me proportions –

i mean if she can survive in a totally unexpectable world, so can I

december 18, 2020 – Read Post »